《Starfall》


 Chapter 1

    * * *


    "And then, Your Lordship, you had the pleasure of swearing in unknown words..."


    "Well, that''s good - so no one understood!"


    "Well, it would have been if it hadn''t been for a protocol droid being nearby!"


    There was a carefully concealed shadow of gloating on my "Security Officer''s" face: the only acceptable way to avenge her lord and fate was telling the truth. That was not exactly what the soul craved (a good kick would have been better), but the wise could rejoice in small things. And the security officer considered herself a wise person.


    "And what did this droid... record?" I asked cautiously.


    "He did not record at the moment, Your Lordship. But what you call Baron Kouifi he did translate," the girl glanced at the tablet in her left hand and recited with a certain solemnity and almost undisguised pleasure. "By the male sex organ of a large mammal who dares to wake me, and also by the female sex organ with increased hairiness of the legs or lower limbs, who should immediately be removed by the method of performing sexual intercourse with all those around!"


    "Wow, that''s quite a twist! What about the Baron?"


    The Baron said that the only thing that saved your life was that he accurately identified the type of poison. This neurotoxin has a strong effect on thinking and memory, and had it not been for this circumstance, the duel would have taken place immediately, despite his advanced age and despite your lamentable condition.


    It''s embarrassing, hurting the old man for nothing, while he saved my life... Anyway, what the hell with him, he''s not in the mood now - we''re going to audit everything...


    So... I''m in a room the size of a medium-sized football pitch - the setting is reminiscent of Louis, Versailles, and the smart word "baroque". I''m lying on a bed about five meters across, simply bursting with all sorts of fancy trinkets. The bed and the rest of the furniture are in two colors: white and red. White ranges from snowy to platinum, while red degrees from purple to bright scarlet.


    Above my head was a domed ceiling with an epic battle scene: against a background of explosions, flames, and a pile of bodies in incomprehensible armor, a bloodied and eerily heroic young man with a burning gaze as if calling... probably to attack. He had no armor on. Instead of a weapon, he use a tattered and scorched scarlet flag, on which stood a white heraldic beast, a griffin apparently. The wall in front of the bed was missing, replaced by a full-length window. The window was filled with white clouds and the green tops of some vegetation.


    In the room, there was also a blond girl of the most determined appearance, dressed in a red and white... tunic? livery? And some kind of machine, most reminiscent of the props from the seventies movie "Killer Robots from Mars".


    To my legitimate question - "Who are you?" - the girl introduced herself as a "personal security specialist" and described the mysterious machine as a "medical droid". And all this around, if she was to be believed, was my bedroom in my private estate, where I had been taken after an attempted poisoning.


    The question remains: why would anyone want to poison me, Alexander Flim? Or just Alex, a twenty-four-year-old Moscow resident, Russian citizen, unemployed, unaccounted for, uninvolved, institutional, and so on and so forth... And where did I get a castle and a "personal security specialist" with a droid? Excuse me - a medical droid...


    * * *


    The day ended in a perfectly mundane way. Having finished creating new businesses in AdWords, I went to Azugl to see how much I had earned. My joy at what I had earned was overshadowed only by the foreboding of the troubles associated with cashing out. But, in any case, it would be a pleasure. Somehow sleep did not come, so I started killing time in my favorite way: proving to someone on the Internet how wrong they were - an activity, absolutely pointless but bringing a lot of moral satisfaction.


    It was a heated argument - I had long and persistently argued on the forum with someone called Nemezis that even if a person is transported to a completely unfamiliar world, everything depends only on their abilities, not their environment. If that environment allows a person to survive, at least in theory. There was no convincing win, so I jokingly agreed to "prove it in practice" and went off to bed, slightly annoyed.


    And then I had a bad dream. I hadn''t had a nightmare in the last twelve years - I''d been lucky - and then, suddenly! I was either falling or flying somewhere, a sea of lemon-yellow flame raging beneath me, with occasional giant waves of purple and gray smoke. I couldn''t feel the heat, but I could feel myself getting more tired with every second.


    A wave of purple, almost black, flames swept over me, and with it came darkness and heaviness. It got heavier and heavier, and I wanted to scream, but I couldn''t even breathe. There was no sense of time - it seemed to go on forever. There was a sluggish hope in my mind that I would soon wake up, that I was about to wake up, and that would be it.


    And so, when suddenly there was wild pain, light, and an incredible cacophony of sounds echoing in my skull, it was perceived as deliverance. There was a bright light in my eyes, some old man in a freakish turban was trying to pour some nasty stuff into my mouth, people were running around, shouting, and sirens were howling in the distance.


    I pushed the old man away with the last of my strength and fell into oblivion.


    * * *


    Taer sat by the bedside of her lord, trying to figure out what was going to happen to her next. In the four days since the assassination attempt, she had thought many things over and exhausted her nerves almost completely. It was only on the third day the ray of hope for an awakening began to flicker.


    At first, everyone thought the lord was about to die. This meant, at the very least, an end to her career and most an accusation of complicity with the prospect of hard labor (at worst) or a firing squad (at best). She spent three days without sleep and began to resemble her own shadow.


    And, yes, she wasn''t the only one getting on her nerves - there was someone to help her with that, there was...


    She was questioned eight or ten times a day. On the way to the hospital. The police... Extremely polite and pale at the prospect of investigating the Lord''s murder, fearful of incurring the wrath of the Great Houses with both successful and unsuccessful investigations.


    In the hospital corridor outside the emergency room, she was approached by men with ''House Fyron''s own Intelligence'' credentials and made transparent hints about her fate if important information left the family. And then, a series of interrogations and threats coalesced into a huge lump of problems that seemed about to crush Taer and change the once successful young guard into a miserable convict. Or a grave with the prisoner''s number instead of a name.


    She was interrogated by everyone:


    Sector Rangers. Who seems to have just happened to be in the area and decided to look for contraband here, just in case. Or the showdown of those who controlled the smuggling. Her reserve of aplomb and Guardian impudence was still enough to quickly dismiss these upstarts.


    Then there was the Guardia''s Internal Investigation Service. These tried to frighten her. They were very interested in the degree of her competence. They claim it was only possible to poison the lord with her assistance. Taer erupted, yelled at them, threatened to challenge them to a duel, and reminded them that as long as the lord lived, she was under his hand and out of their jurisdiction. The counter-intelligence men, smirking rancorously, departed, and promising to continue the conversation "after all formalities with the lord have been completed". She could barely keep herself from pulling out her blaster and shooting them on the spot.


    But that was just the beginning - it didn''t take long for the berries to appear.


    At night - she had heard that nighttime was a favorite time for such visits - the second day, the Imperial Security Service came to her. Three burly men in civilian clothes and a Stack-lieutenant in a black SS uniform. In the boots instead of shoes, as if from a parade.


    After showing their IDs, they asked her to surrender her weapon. In response to Taer''s question, "Am I under arrest?" they were ominously silent. She was handcuffed and taken to the black six-seater aerocar waiting outside the hospital.


    Then some shouted at her and threatened her with hard labor, execution, prison, and dismissal from the Guard. Others talked heart-to-heart, persuaded her, offered her drinks, offered to help and patronize her, and reminded her of her honor as a Guardsman.


    She had not been beaten or injected with Lim''s serum, so Taer drew two conclusions: first, the lord was still alive; second, there had been no authorization for her arrest, and she was still "detained until further investigation", which was, in theory, against a member of the Great House Guards.


    The interrogations continued for twelve hours: every two hours, interrogators changed, but Taer was still the same. She sluggishly fought the interrogators off, feeling more and more groggy by the hour. And she was already beginning to look at the blaster in the holster of another interrogator with a wicked interest, thinking, "I wonder if I can snatch the gun from him, shoot the bastard and shoot myself before the security guards react..." When suddenly, the angel of salvation appeared.


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    The door swung open, and Countess Darlurl gracefully burst into the interrogation room, smiling at those present. She had always burst in for as long as Taer could remember her. She was followed by the crayfish-red Chief of Security on the Capeira Stack-major Sheldon. Holding up her dress, the Countess found herself beside Taer, glared at her, and, with a wave of her arms, began to scold Sheldon:


    "Release this poor creature immediately!"


    "But, Countess, look, she may be part of a conspiracy and..."


    "I don''t want to hear anything! Immediately!" The Countess raised her voice two octaves and stomped her foot menacingly.


    The almighty SS clashed with the Nobility. Sheldon puffed up even more:


    "This may be a dangerous criminal and a valuable witness!" The major started to get worked up and finally broke down into a shout. "You have no right!"


    I wonder if it will burst or not? Taer thought aloof as she watched the scene.


    The Countess approached the scarlet-haired SS chief and, extending her hand so that the Major could get a proper look at the ring, shouted no more quietly than he did:


    "I am IN MY RIGHT here!" the Countess lowered her tone, almost hissing. "If you do not release her immediately..."


    Classy vocal ability, Taer languidly observed.


    Stack-major somehow deflated, as if the air had been blown out of him:


    "Take her! But know this, I won''t leave it like this... Governor.¡±


    The Countess did not let Sheldon speak and, smiling radiantly, led Taer out of this branch of hell.


    Later, in the flyer, Countess Darlurl showed the Privy ring to Taer as well, hinting that both the Consulat and the Privy would be very upset if the shadow of suspicion fell on anyone from House Fyron. And there was no need to "wash our dirty linen in public". Seeing the girl''s reaction, the Countess moved closer to her and continued without any threat in her voice and a more trusting tone:


    ¡°Well, well, Guardsman, that''s not a threat, that''s a hint. Very useful and timely for you. Imperial Intelligence and Imperial Security, in their eternal attempts to outmaneuver each other, are diligently searching for conspiracies against the Emperor and the TAC terrorists. Even where there weren''t any. They want something big so they can proudly bring it to the Imperial Council, and then, who knows, maybe they''ll get it. They''d eat you alive if you gave them the slightest hint of weakness.¡±


    The Countess snarled as if to show exactly how the poor Guardsman would be eaten and continued:


    "And you take it easy - remember, for now, Sheldon only has Sector SS behind him and House Fyron behind us. Sheldon is not dangerous - the Governor will not support him, seeing that this threatens to bring down relations with the Great Houses. After all, he has a retirement in two years, and he''d really want that retirement to be an honorable one..."


    Two hours later, Taer was already saying goodbye to the Countess, standing on the landing pad outside the Blue Flame Castle, which was normally used by the Lord as his country residence on Copeira, and where he had been brought from the hospital:


    "I don''t even know, Your Grace, how I can thank you for saving me..."


    "Oh, come now, my dear! Just hint to your Lord, when he wakes up, that if it were not for me - he would not have his best Guardsman, and that thanks I prefer to take in the form of yachts of the first rank, or puppies of Worskl!" seeing a slightly confused Taer, Countess laughed resoundingly, and winked mischievously added." Just joking, guardsman, don''t worry! You don''t owe me anything. You don''t have to shoot yourself!"


    Patting her on the shoulder she disappeared out the door of the flyer.


    The first person she saw in the castle was the steward. Weyang Barra, a slightly overweight but not yet old, is a short man with a luxurious mustache and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing the ceremonial livery of House Fyron, which, by its appearance, had been on for twenty-four hours. The turmoil of the attempted poisoning had not escaped him. His face was marked by fatigue, his eyes dulled, and he seemed perceptibly older. Remembering that she probably looked no better now, Taer suppressed the urge to tease Barra about his appearance.


    "Good afternoon, Barra! Has the long arm of imperial justice reached you, too?" Taer wagged her fingers at her temple, a sort of vaguely military salute.


    "I''m a modest bird; I was only interviewed by the police investigator yesterday. Not like you. I thought I was going to have to send parcels to you in prison," he smiled wearily.


    "Why do you look so bad, then? And he''s all crumpled up! Are you abusing the maids again?" Taer tried to think of a better joke, but it was all she could do at the moment. N-o-o-o-o, bed now! Or I''ll bury my reputation for good! She decided.


    "I''d rather be groping maids than this!"


    After some brief questioning of Barra, it became clear that all the near and distant relatives and other potential heirs had turned up immediately upon hearing of the incident. The Lord never drew up a will, so the showdown began as soon as more than one heir arrived. For the next two days, the castle resembled a scorpion jar, and the noble lords preferred to vent their frustrations on Barra. Sympathizing with the butler, Taer quietly, using the back rooms, made her way to her bedroom and fell into bed. As she was, dressed.


    She was awakened by a shrieking and, as usual, slightly panicky protocol droid, whose shouts made her realize that the Lord had not only regained consciousness but had even sworn at those present. Though in an unknown language. H2U4 immediately translated, causing an unhealthy commotion in the noble audience present. Taer switched on the security terminal and activated the camera in the lord''s bedroom, which she had covertly installed six months ago (no, no, she is not a pervert, but if you are going to ensure security, then ensure it everywhere!).


    The Lord, lying on the bed, pushing off Baron Kouifi, and the professor urgently brought in from Riena University, who were trying to give him an injection. As he did so, the Lord swore floridly. The protocol droid standing beside him translated meticulously. With every word the lord spoke, the faces of the "heirs" present grew darker and darker. No, he did not touch them personally in his speech - it was addressed mainly to the baron and the professor - but with each word money and potential power flew further and further away from the potentially hereditary hands.


    When the lord was transported from the emergency room to the castle, and it was clear that he was not going to die right away, it was hoped that it was just such a long agony. However, the medics said there was no reason to worry about his physical health. Neurotoxins are tricky, though, even if he survives, the lord stands a good chance of becoming a vegetable. He is not a bad thing either for the ''heirs''. A person in such a state would require a guardian. Now, the lord has made it abundantly clear that he has no intention of becoming a vegetable, for he swears quite deliberately and ingeniously (albeit in an unknown language) which means proving incompetence will be far more difficult. If at all.


    I hope they wouldn''t poison him a second time. Because of frustration. Or an accident with the medical equipment, Taer thought, quickly changing into fresh clothes.


    I''ll have to be a nurse, the girl decided as she stepped out into the corridor. She decided not to use the secret door between their bedrooms (one must always be able to intervene) so as not to expose it to the "heirs". She bumped into Lady Cayrin in the corridor and couldn''t help but congratulate her on her third cousin''s recovery, almost without hiding her gloating. The Baroness measured her with a cold stare and thanked her, promising, however, not to forget her care and to bestow it on her at the earliest opportunity. Yeah. This one definitely won''t forget. and she will pay back. I have to control myself!


    By the time Taer entered the bedroom the professor and baron''s fight with the lord was over, and the latter was sleeping peacefully - the injection seemed to have taken its toll. The "heirs", trying to keep poker faces and appear cheerful, dispersed. Seeing the girl, the baron smiled, causing the wrinkles to form a bizarre network.


    "Ahhhh, my dear Taer! You probably already know, don''t you?"


    "The droid informs me that the lord has regained consciousness and is speaking profanely of those present," Taer tried to keep her face as serious as possible, but her eyes were still laughing.


    "Yes, when Professor Ayuyun started giving the injection, Allesandro woke up and said everything he thought about those who woke him up. I have to admit I learned a lot about myself! Where did he get it from? He had never had a taste for rare languages, that''s for sure."


    "The Lord has always had a talent for originally expressing his thoughts. Especially when he is in bad mood."


    "Yes, but luckily you usually managed to stop him from doing that," Baron Kouifi winked at her amicably. "If it hadn''t been for you, he would have been killed in duels for sure by now. Five or six times."


    "I''m afraid you are exaggerating, Baron. I think the reason for the lack of calls was the lord''s reputation. And he''s always just refused. You know that."


    "I''d call a duel on you if you were of noble birth. That''s what Lord Reithy seemed to have said when the kid, while drunk, poured wine over him and called him a spongy brat, boasting of the antiquity of his wretchedness."


    "Yes, sire, unfortunately, I was not able to stop him," her voice became darker; she did not like to talk about her failures.


    "It''s not your fault, clever girl! You''ve done what you could to keep the reputation of the Family and the House intact, unlike Alex. He''s done everything he can to ruin it! All his drinking, his girls, his drunken escapades... And most importantly, in front of everyone! If it hadn''t been for your he would have put on a halftime show," the Baron shook his head grimly. "The death of his parents had taken its toll on him. I was a friend of Galen''s, and I swore I would look after his son, but it seems..."


    "Sire, what is your assessment of the Lord''s condition now, and when will he make a full recovery?" Taer made a desperate attempt to salvage the conversation.


    "Well, it''s hard to say. He''s physically fully recovered now, but neurotoxins are insidious. We don''t know how badly his thinking is affected. Maybe he''ll wake up tomorrow as he was before, or maybe he''ll be an idiot who only remembers swearing. We have to wait."


    After escorting Baron Kuifi, who had urgent business in the capital, Taer waited, making sure that no one put anything in the medicine or even approached the lord. The wait was short-lived as the lord regained consciousness the next morning.


    The girl was just checking the scanner when the lord suddenly opened his eyes, looked around, stopped his gaze on her, and asked:


    "Who are you?"


    "I am your personal security officer, Guardian Taer Diltar," the lord clearly did not recognize her - that could have caused problems.


    "Bloody hell! Where am I?" He kept looking around dazedly.


    "You are in your castle on Capeira, where you were taken after an attempted poisoning," Taer tried to speak as calmly as possible, but excitement cut through her voice.


    "That''s great! What the hell is that?" The lord pointed a finger at the Meddroid.


    "A medical droid, Your Lordship."


    "And who I am?"


    "You are Lord Allesandro Cassard."


    "Hmm... interesting. Listen, girl, has there ever been an old man in a purple turban like that around here?"


    "Of course, he was, Your Grace. This is Baron Kouifi."


    Thank God he remembers something.


    "He also poured some nasty stuff in my mouth..."


    "Yes, Sire, he was the first to determine that you were poisoned and administered the antidote that saved your life," Taer''s voice brightened visibly. He is beginning to remember! I hope he remembers gradually.


    "How long have I been here?" The lord was looking at her with noticeable interest, and the initial daze seemed to be gone, replaced by curiosity.


    "Fourth day, sire," he said, making Taer look a little embarrassed, but she didn''t show it. There''s something strange about him. He usually doesn''t notice me at all!


    "What have I been doing here for four days?" He was already staring at her frankly.


    That doesn''t look like him at all!


    "You lying down, sire, and then you deigned to swear in unknown words," the "security specialist" took the opportunity to explain exactly how the lord had sworn at those present... and who exactly.


    That helped a little - he stopped staring at her, sat down on the bed, and in a bit of thoughtfulness, first pressed one eye with his thumb, then the other, and then began to pinch himself. Looks like I rejoiced too soon: the words about the idiot are beginning to come true, Taer thought in a slight panic and reached for the communicator to call the professor and his nurses-assistants.


    * * *

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2


    * * *


    After looking around, I concluded that I was either hallucinating or still dreaming. As I remembered for sure that I was Alexander Flim, but not Allesandro Cassard! Well, hallucinations are hallucinations. I began to try all the ways I knew how to identify hallucinations. The first thing I did was to press on my eye - a glitch is not supposed to split, but I couldn''t remember which eye to press on, so I pressed on both of them in turn. Then pinched me, looked alternately with my left and right eye, and as an apotheosis of my attempt, I stared at the girl and declared "Disbelief" mentally casting a "Will-save". Either the will-save failed or something else, but everything was duplicating, the pinches were hurting, and the girl was not disappearing. Watching my experiments, the beauty grew more and more serious, and when I attempted a "Disbelief" - pulled out some sort of mobile phone and called some kind of doctor. Well, that''s it - the good doctor will come and give you a sedative, I thought to myself.


    Less than half a minute passed, and the door swung open. Two girls in white dressing gowns with incomprehensible blue symbols on the left side of their chests, some tinny robot parody... and THAT rush into the room.


    The THING wore a white dressing gown, was short, had an extremely slender build, and had large green eyes on an almost triangular head. No, it is more accurate to say that the eyes were HUGE, almost the size of a fist, with long dark lashes. The eyes took up most of the face, making the smallmouth and the small, flat nose almost impossible to see. This was completed by a goatee with small sideburns, ears sticking out sideways (somewhat like sheep''s ears), and a small white cap.


    "Damn! What''s that!?" Alex recoiled and reflexively covered himself with the blanket, trying to huddle into the corner of the bed.


    "This is Professor Ayuyun Lirria, a leading neurologist at Riena University. He observed you while you were unconscious," the girl shrugged slightly as if emphasizing how obvious this must be.


    "I see you''re feeling better now, young man! If I may, I''d like to examine you and ask you a few questions," the THING appeared to have a very high, birdlike voice, which was also quite pleasant to hear and melodious.


    "The Lord is indeed much better off, Professor," Taer tried to put as much feeling into the word "Lord" as possible, hinting at the inappropriateness of the address "young man".


    "Ahhhh... leave it, sweetheart, I don''t discriminate between my patients," THE THING brushed off the "security specialist" with a nonchalant gesture.


    THE THING... Or rather, the professor approached the bed and tried to take Alex''s hand - must be to feel for a pulse (or what do doctors do with hands?), and it became apparent that Ayuyun Lirria''s hands were four-toed with small claws on his thin fingers, which did not add to the desire to communicate.


    So the novice lord, defending himself against the professor with a blanket - like shield, began to crawl back to the opposite side of the bed where Taer was standing.


    "Don''t you think the professor looks a little strange? Well, there... the eyes are a bit large..." Alex attempted to draw Taer''s attention to the strangeness in the professor''s appearance, thinking to himself: Oh, shit! And the glitches are getting worse. The monsters are coming!


    The girl scrutinized the professor from head to toe and replied in a completely calm voice:


    ¡°No, sire, Professor Ayuyun looks perfectly normal for a myrlisty of his age.¡±


    "I mean, four fingers, eyes the size of a saucer - is that normal?"


    "Perfectly normal for members of my race, young man!" The professor cornered Alex after all and was finally able to begin his examination. Quickly feeling his pulse and examining his pupils, he proceeded to question him, which revealed that Lord Allesandro remembered almost nothing except the occasional moments after his poisoning. When, at the professor''s request, Alex began to describe what he thought had happened to him before the poisoning, the people around him began to react strangely. The professor asked his assistants to fetch an injector and some chemical vials, and the ''security specialist'' began to squint in surprise.


    Sensing that he was about to be heavily medicated and would not rest until he was healed half to death, the "lord" chose to quickly drop the subject, fighting back with the standard phrase "I don''t remember anything". The questions went on for another hour or so, all with the same "I don''t remember" answer. Finally, the professor was satisfied with the result - reality began to match his expectations.


    "We seem to be dealing with widespread replacement amnesia, which has developed as a result of nerve damage caused by the active component of the poison," he put one hand behind his back and stared into the distance, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.


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    "Perhaps, over time, the brain will create alternative circuits, bypassing the damaged areas, and the memory will return, albeit partially," he said, not addressing anyone in particular, but as if he were giving a lecture. Then suddenly. he shook his whole body and, addressing Alex personally, concluded:


    "But congratulations, young man, you have survived a dose of Grey Dust (which is unique in itself) by getting away with a mere memory loss. That''s a thing of the past, at your age, after all!" With a cheerful pat on the shoulder, the professor signaled to his assistants to assemble the equipment and, turning to Taer, added:


    "I recommend him to take Fenote regularly, two capsules a day. If there is no improvement, the dose can be increased to seven capsules a day," he held out a plastic tablet to the girl. A prescription or something?


    "Thank you, Professor Ayuyun, I will make every effort to ensure that my lord takes this medicine regularly!"


    "It''s not a medicine. It''s just... a mild memory and mental stimulant. That''s all I can do in this case, so I''ll take my leave," the professor scurried off, the girls scurrying about, packing up and carrying the equipment out of the room. Already at the door... myrlissti (So, like, right?) stopped and tossed over his shoulder:


    "I wish you a speedy recovery! And if there are any problems, do not hesitate to contact me!"


    Waiting until the door closed behind the doctors and he was alone with his ''specialist'', Alex exhaled. Well, at least they won''t take me to the clinic for tests if they don''t catch me.


    There was an awkward pause. Taer stood at attention, swaying slightly in her heels. And Alex wondered feverishly what he could say without getting caught.


    "Does the security specialist always have to be with me?" With a little hope in his voice, he asked.


    "Technically, as you wish, sire, but the Consulate is very insistent that I should always be with you when you go ''out''."


    "But right now I don''t seem to be going ''out'', I''d like to be alone to ''collect my thoughts'', maybe remember something," Alex said in as confident a tone as possible, What the hell am I talking about?


    "Very well, my lord, I shall await the call in my room," the girl said coldly and walked out, stamping her step.


    Once he was sure by the sound of the retreating footsteps that he was finally alone, Alex leaned back on the bed and surrendered to the thoughts that were pounding feverishly in his head:


    Is she upset or something? Maybe we had something going on with her. After all, there''s always a pretty girl around. Though if there was something, she''d probably have hinted, or not, proud as a daughter of savannahs, it seems...


    Anyway, fuck the beauty, I''ll apologize if I have to. Or don''t lords apologize? Fucking hell!


    Alex lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, where a dark-haired young man was calling after him, and chewing his fingernail thoughtfully.


    OK, let''s look at all the options. Option one: I, Alex Flim, from Moscow, am twenty-four years old, and so on and so forth, and I''m hallucinating. That''s a sad scenario. Well, hopefully, at least the medics will have fun. Option two, I, Allesandro Cassard, ate some "dust," which made him lose his memory and hallucinate that he was Alex Flim. That''s more fun. At least all this splendor runs under the heading of "objective reality", which is a joy in itself. But not much.


    The lord was lying in bed for a while, continuing to chew on a nail that was almost finished, when his gaze focused on his finger... He examined the entire hand closely. It was a well-groomed, burr-free hand, with fairly long polished nails, something Alex had never done before, but most importantly... There was no small crescent-shaped scar on the back of the palm.


    Remembering what had actually happened before he woke up in that castle, he mechanically slapped himself in the face.


    There''s also a third option: me, Alex Flim, who''s been shoved into Allesandro Cassard''s body by some fucker!


    You shouldn''t have agreed to the practice test, smart-ass! The inner voice sneered. All right, stop talking! As a psychologist to a psychologist, I say: the inner voice is the first sign of schizophrenia.


    Alex lay there for a while, mulling over the idea of consciousness transfer. Finally, he made up his mind, threw back the dark red blanket, and headed toward the mirror.


    The mirror was huge, almost as tall as he was, on a massive metal frame, covered in some kind of floral ornamentation. Spinning around in front of it and examining himself, he found out the following. First, he was completely naked and something had to be done about it. Second, there was a gorgeous fluffy carpet on the floor, which was very pleasant to walk barefoot. And third, the body was not his.


    Yes, very similar, very similar: height, eye color, hair color, the shape of face and nose, even some belly due to the sedentary lifestyle - everything was there. But there were a lot of details, like the scar on his abdomen that he had earned as a child by diving directly into a broken jar, the chipped incisor was missing. And a couple of moles were in the wrong place.


    Back in bed and crawling under the covers, Alex began to remember everything he remembered about the transfers and thought about the risks. The situation was bleak at first - the disadvantages were: he was not a paratrooper (in fact, he had never served in the army), not an expert in hand-to-hand combat (yellow - ha-ha! - Belt in karate and three years in the sambo section after five years of sitting behind a computer and the lack of training can easily be written in the section of pure theory), magic abilities also have not yet found (although he honestly tried to conjure something nice and move the mirror by gaze). He was hoping that Lord Allesandro''s body could do something special, though, and he just didn''t know it yet.


    Well, enough about the cons! There were some pros: first, everyone spoke clear Russian, or at least he understood them without any problems. Second, there was a roof over his head and a roof that was not bad and even seemed to belong to him. Third, I was a lord here, and I think that was cool. Fourthly, there was no immediate threat to life, and, moreover, there was a pretty girl whose duty was to eliminate the threat.


    Speaking of the girl... How can I get her to bring me some clothes? And I''m hungry already, the newly made lord started looking for a way to contact his "security specialist". Nothing resembled a telephone, switchboard, mobile phone, or, at the very least, a bell. He did not want to wander around the castle naked, so he decided to shout, rightly believing that security must be somewhere near and respond to his wailing.


    * * *

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3


    * * *


    Taer sat in her room and was angry.


    She dragged the hog up to the aerocar, stayed up all hours while he was passed out, went through interrogations... And what? Nothing!


    "I want to be alone, get my thoughts together," she mocked, turning on the security terminal.


    "No, after all, I''m a modest girl, and I didn''t expect to be accepted into the House Blades. Though they accepted for less than saving a lord''s life. But at least he could have given me a hint about nobility! Anybody else would have been... eh!" The girl, sighing sadly, leaned back in her chair and, turning to the terminal, called up an image from the lord''s bedroom. He was twirling in front of the mirror, seemingly admiring himself. This made Taer even angrier, and with the words, "What a smug jerk," she switched the terminal.


    Yes, she was unlucky with the lord: her meteoric career crashed against Lord Allesandro like crystal dreams crashing against the harsh concrete of reality.


    Taer was born and brought up in a small mining town, there were no prospects there. It was just a shithole. She''d received a scholarship to a public school in Riena, paid for by the retainer of House Fyron. They found the girl promising. She did her best to prove - there was no mistake. After school, there was Riena University, then a navigator''s course, and everywhere she was top of the class. A well-deserved reward was the epaulets of Peleng-Lieutenant in House Fyron''s Naval Intelligence Service.


    Three successful operations and a record in her personnel file: ''officer with an artistic and original approach'', an invitation to the Guard, an intensive training course, and a year as a retainer. By the age of twenty-two, she was already a Guardsman of the ''inner circle'' with a good chance of becoming a Captain in the next two or three years. It was an obscenely dizzying career that couldn''t help but generate rumors. Given her looks, most of the rumors were more than ambiguous. However, two duels, one of which ended in her opponent''s prosthetic arm, resulted in the rumors being quashed and a reprimand from the Ergo-Captain of the Guard.


    All in all, things were going so well that they could not have gone any better, and when she was offered - to join the "arm" and the post of "personal security specialist" - she did not even hesitate and agreed. After all, the prospects were such that it was breathtaking: as everyone knows, young nobles tend to grow up, and when they grow up, they take up positions. And she had not just been given an Earl, but a Lord! Which means a family representative in the Consulate, and then a place in the ''Privy''. And that''s where they decide who, where, and what place will be occupied, and they prefer to appoint people close to them to important positions. So First Blade Taer, then Knight Taer Diltar, and then, who knows, by the age of thirty-five, Countess Diltar! That would be a good time to get busy with her personal life. But it was either fate or jealousy in the Guard that put her in harm''s way. And then such a stopper!


    Lord Allesandro Cassard. Completely, utterly uninterested in politics. And if only that. But by this point, he had quarreled with most of the powerful families of House Fyron and had acquired a reputation so scandalous it was doubtful whether it could be called a reputation! So Taer was doomed to remain a perpetual guard under Lord Allesandro.


    "It could have been daim Taer Baron Diltar. Sounds good, doesn''t it? Or even, daim Taer Lady Diltar. She was distracted from her pleasant thoughts of the possible title by the shouts from the next room.


    "The lord seems to have forgotten where the communicator button is," she guessed and decided to make the most of that guess. First, she blocked the droids, then switched on the security terminal and, making sure no servants or guests were around, waited. The screams from the next room grew more pitiful by the minute.


    "There was even a hint of despair in his lordship''s voice," she remarked gloatingly.


    After about eight minutes, the lord grew tired of shouting and made another attempt to find the communicator.


    Well, I''ll catch him with his butt naked as moral compensation, Taer thought and walked into the room, putting on her best protocol face possible.


    Shit, how do I call her? Well, they didn''t hide the phone under the bed! Still, it''s worth seeing if that''s how they do it. Alex squatted down to look under the bed when suddenly, "Did you call my lord?" came from behind him. Turning sharply, he saw Taer. A wall panel was sliding into place behind her (Nice castle I''ve got here, even the secret passages! he thought). He made a reflexive attempt to cover himself, then remembered: he is, after all, a lord, and there is nothing to be ashamed of maids.


    "Security, are you always this quick to react? I''d have been stabbed a hundred times by now, or worse," he sat down on the bed and threw the blanket over his hips with the utmost carelessness.


    "My lord, if you had used the comm or the servants'' call button, I would have arrived immediately. If you had been attacked, the biomonitors in the bedroom would have detected the change in your physical status. When I received the signal, I would have reacted accordingly," Taer said, standing at attention with a completely impenetrable face.


    "Look... Taer, eh? What do you want from a memoryless man? I don''t remember anything: neither where the button is, nor what a comm is, nor how to use it," deciding that criticism was unnecessary in this case, "lord" decided to come at it from the other side.


    The girl, keeping an impassive face, walked over to the bed and showed me where the button was (one of the trinkets on the bed was being pressed) and where the communicator was - Alex mistook it for a desk lamp.


    "The communicator is switched on here, Your Lordship. The green channel is the link to the attendant on duty, and the red channel is the security service, i.e. me," Showing how to turn on the communicator, Taer bent over and presented herself to the newly minted lord in a rather peculiar way. Interesting pinching the ass of a Guardsman and a security specialist - how is that? Is it allowed to noble lords, or is it going to be punched in the eye? To distract himself, he moved on to more practical matters. And, trying to put as much gratitude as he could into his words, he thanked:


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    "Thank you very much, Taer!"


    "I am only doing my duty, my lord! I''m sorry I didn''t think to tell you sooner!" The girl stretched out again.


    "Here''s the deal. I have a proposition for you: since I don''t remember anything yet anyway, we forget all the lordships and milords, and we talk like normal people. You help me remember, and I promise to be a good lord and obey you. And above all, no hard feelings! Do we have a deal?" Alex looked intently into the girl''s face. I wonder if I''m just screwing around, or incredibly screwed up? She even seemed to warm up a little, but it was hard to tell, her face was masterful.


    "All right, Your Lordship!" Taer relaxed her left leg and arms, demonstratively moving from "at attention" to "at ease".


    "I thought we agreed without the lordships. And you''re not on parade - just sit back and relax."


    "Good," she sat down in the chair beside the bed, folding her arms across her chest. The mask of impassivity was still on her face.


    Still sulking, Alex chagrined.


    "Look, I really don''t remember what it was before (even the professor will tell you) and if I''ve offended you, I really don''t mean it. I''m sorry, huh?"


    "You have nothing to apologize for."


    "Really? That''s great! I don''t want to offend you," Alex tried to smile as ''friendly'' as possible.


    "Well, now that we''ve agreed, no hard feelings, just so there are no misunderstandings... nothing happened between us? Because I''ve forgotten everything."


    "What do you mean?" Taer seemed so surprised that she forgot her mask of impassivity.


    "Well, you know, between a man and a woman, especially if they live together, things can happen... well... things."


    The girl jumped up angrily from her chair, then came to her senses and sat back down:


    "There was nothing!"


    "Well, now that we''ve sorted out all the misunderstandings, you''re not holding a grudge. Can you help me get some clothes?"


    As she approached the wall, she pressed some kind of panel, and a passageway opened up:


    "Your dressing room, My Lord," There was such a range of feelings embedded in the word "My Lord" that Alex realized there was definitely nothing between them, and pinching her ass was not a good idea, to say the least. Wrapping himself in a blanket, he walked over to the wall and peered into the opening: shelves, hangers, and racks of various garments went deep, forming a narrow corridor twenty meters long.


    "Erm... could you pick something up for me. I can''t even remember what to wear here," he looked a little confused.


    Twenty minutes later, Alex looked at his reflection and sighed sorrowfully. Finally, his soul couldn''t take it anymore:


    "Don''t we have anything simpler? Well, at least like yours?"


    "It''s your favorite costume, and it''s the latest thing," Taer smiled. It was a wicked smile.


    Well, of course: a bright scarlet turban combined with a yellow shawl and grey flared trousers - Zverev would have been jealous. But all he said out loud was:


    "Yes, I don''t argue, the look is very fashionable indeed, but I''d like something that doesn''t restrict movement. I could wear it to the walk around the castle, walk around the park, and, well, have something to eat."


    Taer roared softly and went back into the wardrobe. After another half an hour, we settled on a light "hunting" set - moccasins, baggy trousers with an equally baggy shirt. After changing, we went to have a "snack" looking around the castle at the same time.


    They walked up the wide staircase, which was a dark red marble with white veining, down a floor, passing several corridors and arched bridges that spanned the vast halls. Taer stayed slightly behind him, appearing over his right shoulder whenever a door needed to be opened. She was also the first to enter any room.


    She''s watching, yeah. I''ll have to ask her for a map because if I go alone, I''ll get lost. That is, of course, if I''m allowed to walk around my own castle alone.


    Taer opened another door, and they entered a room paneled in dark red wood. A single but huge window faced the garden.


    "This is the small dining, my lord, where you used to take your friends. I thought you might be more comfortable here now."


    "Thank you, very cozy indeed. And didn''t we agree on "my lords"?"


    Taer pursed her lips and looked away, defiantly ignoring the last words.


    What a prick, sulking for God knows why...


    The room was indeed small by local standards - a measly hundred square meters, to the eye. The room was dominated by a huge, low table accompanied by massive low-backed chairs. The table, like the chairs, was wooden, judging by the legs peeking out from under the tablecloth. Three monstrous machines (those... what do you call them... "droids"?) with trays were just finishing setting the table with a variety of food. The droids were commanded by an imposing man who looked so imposing that if he had put on a burka and a papa, he would have looked like Chapaev. The mustache alone was worth it!


    On seeing the entrants, Chapaev bowed his head slightly and pushed one of the chairs aside with the words: "Please, my lord".


    "Barra, the steward of this estate," a whisper came from somewhere over his shoulder.


    "Thank you, Barra," Alex plumped into the chair with all the aristocracy he could muster and sniffed cautiously. It smelled delicious - roast meat and something else unfamiliar. The implements around the plate were horrifying in their appearance and quantity. Finally finding something on the table that most resembled a fork, he grabbed it quickly.


    "What is this?"


    "Roast fillet of Karsarg with a side dish of Arnichons, my lord," "Chapaev''s" voice came from somewhere behind me. "One of your favorite dishes."


    "Right, my favorite..." Alex plunged his fork into the appetizing piece and dragged it into his mouth, but then Taer''s hand was on his arm, and she answered his questioning look with a reproachful tone:


    "You are forgetting something, my lord."


    "What, are you going to make me wash my hands?"


    "No, my lord, Professor Ayuyun has asked me to ensure that you take this medicine," Taer placed a small jar of clear plastic on the table, filled with dark blue capsules that sparkled slightly in the light. "But in case you ever want to join in on the hygiene benefits, the door to the lavatory is behind you."


    "How nice. Thank you for the information, Guardsman. All right, if medicine insists." Alex, sighing, popped one capsule into his mouth and downed what the alert Chapaev had poured into his glass.


    "What was that?" He grimaced and asked, putting the jar into his pocket.


    "Fenote is a memory and mental stimulant. You were prescribed to take it three times a day," Taer added gloatingly. She seemed to be hoping that the medicine tasted very nasty.


    "No, I mean what was in the glass. Can I get something non-alcoholic? I don''t like that stuff."


    "This is your favorite wine, my lord, Bentar Dew."


    Oooh, I think I''m busted, the way they''re looking at me like I''m asking them for a star in the sky. Looks like Lord Allesandro started drinking early in the morning. Yes, a gift of cirrhosis for everyone who brings it.


    "I''ll make the arrangements now!" The steward''s long practice did not help him to hide the surprised tone in his voice, and he stepped back against the wall and began dictating orders into his sleeve - he must have had a communicator there.


    Two minutes later, when Alex was already savoring a fillet of Karsarg, a droid appeared with drinks, which was very welcome.


    "By the way, are you guys still going to stand over me and stare at me? I can''t get a bite in my mouth," Alex queried, trying to catch the slippery arnichon with his fork.


    "I beg your pardon, my lord, if you need anything, then..."


    "Stop!" Alex interrupted Chapaev and, pointing to his chair with his fork, continued. "I''m only suggesting that you have breakfast together. Have a seat, Barra. That goes for you too, Guardsman."


    "But effectively ensuring your safety means being able to move freely," Taer protested.


    "You being able to move freely around the table. And then I''d feel safer with a well-fed security specialist, or you''d pounce and bite me. Anyway, think of it as an order."


    * * *

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4


    * * *


    Unlike Taer, who was distinctly sluggishly picking at her plate, the steward turned out to be a good fellow. When he got the invitation, he didn''t flinch, and in a minute he was already eating something, and there was enough food on the table to feed a crowd of hungry students, and the three of them would certainly not manage it until late at night.


    The snack had been going on for about an hour, and I wondered, philosophically, whether eating that pastry now would be hunger or greed. Suddenly Barra''s face became serious and focused, his right palm pressed to his ear, which appeared to have a communicator headset speaker.


    "When will she be here?" Hearing the answer from the unknown person, my ''Chapaev'' frowned and got up from the table:


    That''s how ''Chapaev'' looks like. So the steward looks about the same.


    "My lord, Baroness Rionale has learned that you have recovered and is on her way here to check on you. The servants can no longer stop her, so she''ll be here in about a minute and a half," Barra managed to speak and command the droids as they cleared the dirty dishes from the table and put out new ones at the same time.


    "And who is this?"


    "She is a distant relative of yours."


    "And what is she doing here?"


    "When you had your accident, almost all your relatives came here to support you."


    "And to be close in case the distribution of the inheritance suddenly begins," Taer added with a sweet smile.


    "Well, that''s the way it is," I snatched the pastry as a moral reparation for my impending contact with my family. Then the door opened, and I almost choked on the ill-fated pastry.


    The girl who walked in was so beautiful that she reeked of something unreal.


    The loose, night sky-colored long dress emphasized her height, and the wide sparkling belt accentuated her slimness. Her shoulder-length black hair glistened with interwoven jewels. Her perfect white skin, which seemed to glow from within, contrasted with her almost completely black eyes. She walked forward and sat down in a chair carefully pushed aside by Barra. A wave of freshness gradually enveloped the room, the scent of her perfume reminiscent of a summer garden after a thunderstorm.


    "Alessie, I''m so glad you''re all right! Can you imagine how worried I was about you? I was gone for two years, and before I could even fly in from the Capital, you were already lying poisoned!" The Baroness''s voice was melodious, with velvety notes.


    "Er... Thank you for your attention, Baroness. I''m very happy I''ve recovered as well."


    What the hell am I saying? Calm down! Haven''t you seen pretty girls?


    "I guess I wasn''t fooled about the memory lapses. When did I stop being Kay and become a Baroness?" She arched an eyebrow meaningfully.


    Wow, looks like we were close friends. Or maybe even more than friends. A very interesting theory, I cheered.


    "Yes, Kay, I do have a memory lapse. I don''t remember anything," he smiled and shrugged guiltily. The Baroness smiled back. The effect was amazing.


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    A couple more smiles like that and I''ll melt under the table. Come on, get it together! Maybe it''s a childhood friend and you have a fond and undefiled brotherly bond... or sisterly?


    "Nothing at all?" The girl asked with a playful wink.


    "Well, thou... you are absolutely impossible to forget," I tried to pull my chivalry together, but it wasn''t coming out so well. "And there''s something in my heart when I look at thou... you''re admiring. I think it''s trying to awaken my memories of you..."


    "Tell me you''ve been bored for two years," she laughed.


    "Horrible, just now realizing how much I''ve suffered all this time and you weren''t there!"


    "Well, I''m sorry, you know I''ve been called up to the onstum twice in a row," the Baroness said.


    "I don''t know, I''ve forgotten everything," I said. "I don''t even know what onstum is or why you were summoned there... I don''t remember."


    "Onstum is the Emperor''s annual call for the most worthy nobles to serve. They are summoned to court and serve the Emperor for a year," Kay recited as if reciting from a textbook. And then she added after a moment: "Well, serving is an overstatement... it''s just some sort of courtly sinecure."


    "So you spent the last two years in the Emperor''s court?"


    "Yes, imagine that, twice in a row! In theory, it''s a great honor to be at court and be given a court position, so they try to make sure that there is an equal number of representatives from all the powerful families, from every house, so as not to offend anyone. Either there was no one else in our family, or someone in the Imperial Office liked me so much, but I was honored twice. I had to be bored for two years in the capital!"


    "Well, you could not go, If everything is so bad."


    Hearing this, Baroness Rionale looked at me like I was insane. I''m exposing myself without a break. But then she seemed to remember that I was, indeed, insane (well, at least memoryless) and softened.


    "Alessie, it''s onstum! The Emperor''s call cannot be denied!"


    Then I was flirting with Kay, and she was flirting back and telling the court gossip. Barra, who, as it turned out, could become completely invisible by disappearing into the setting, made sure the glasses were always full. Taer, on the other hand, looked at us with those surprised eyes as if I''d grown a second head. She apologized a little later and then walked out, claiming she was busy.


    The Baroness and I had been chatting for about forty minutes when I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. My head felt like it was filled with lead, and it was hard to think. I could see reality as if through a gray film. Kay''s voice was distant, asking me something, and I was so apathetic that I wanted to agree to everything just to get away. I tried to pull myself together and get back to reality.


    Then, after muttering some vague apology, I went to the bathroom.


    After three minutes of struggling with the tap, I finally stuck my face under the icy water. It helped, but not much. That doesn''t sound like me. I''ve gone completely off my head. Has there been a relapse into poisoning? The water treatment did not bring tangible relief but spurred my mind enough to remember that I had a specially prescribed chemical in my pocket, which was supposed to help. Fumbling for the jar, I scooped the capsules onto my palm. The little blue spheres sparkled on my wet palm like glass. I crinkled my nose and popped the first one into my mouth. It didn''t have much effect. After the third, my thoughts started to run faster, and the gray shroud fell away. After two more capsules, which were chewed up just in case, my thoughts became unnaturally clear and sharp, and my memory sharpened so much that I seemed to be able to remember what was happening at any given second. The sensation was quite unusual. The world seemed brighter and clearer as if I had switched to an HD widescreen.


    Feeling ready to socialize again, I found a mirror and cleaned myself up. In the mirror, my wet but satisfied and slightly flushed face looked back at me. Yes, that¡¯s a thing after all! And where were that Professor Ayuyun and his chemistry when I was studying for my exams? Tidying myself up, I thought about what could have caused such an attack while at the same time replaying the conversation with Kay in my head. And something was wrong with it, something familiar about it that shouldn''t have been there, like the tune of an old song being sung in a new arrangement.


    I remembered again what the Baroness had told me and how she had said it, which was no problem now, and stood in front of the mirror with my mouth hanging open in amazement. During the conversation, Kay was quite professionally anchoring me to her name in a positive way. Damn NLP! But that didn''t make me feel so bad, did it? Something was not right. I was almost drooling at her. Why would she put positive anchors on me as well? Or was it just a coincidence? Eh, no, a normal person wouldn''t twist words like that. Okay, screw the anchors. It''s not the anchors that make me sick, maybe, she used some dope to fortify the result. Why not? They seem to be big fans of poisoning around here.


    I''ll have to hint to Taer to check the food. I walked out of the bathroom with that in mind, vowing to be vigilant and not to relax at the sight of pretty girls. The security specialist appeared to be standing in the corridor that connected the dining room with the bathroom, leaning against the wall and folding her arms across her chest, her face serious and preoccupied with something.


    * * *

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5


    * * *


    Finally, overwhelmed with emotion, they could no longer restrain themselves and threw themselves at each other, swirling in a fiery whirlwind of passionate sucking... or kissing? Taer amused herself by mentally accompanying the conversation between the Lord and Baroness with quotes from love affairs novels. The two cooed like schoolboy lovers... or were they lovebirds? What was going on was reminiscent of a love affair. And a love affair of the lowest kind. Something really trashy, like Flame of Everlasting Love or something. Even though she''s not an expert on romance novels, Taer added mentally. Ah, your lips are like scarlet rose petals... The stock of quotations was quickly coming to an end, and the pair kept on going. I never thought I''d regret not reading enough romance novels. Maybe if I''d read more, I wouldn''t be tempted to giggle. No, nothing really wild was going on: Their passionate impulses were restrained only by the presence of witnesses. There was nothing unusual about the flirting itself... if you ignore who was flirting with whom.


    Taer was just carefully pretending that she didn''t want to eat at all and was only sitting at the table by the Lord''s orders when she found out that Baroness Rionale was on her way, despite the heroic resistance of the servants. She was already mentally prepared to prevent or clean up a full-blown scandal. With broken dishes, mutual insults, and everything else, a full-blown scandal should have been. But things suddenly took the exact opposite direction.


    Alessie, I was so worried about you! the girl mentally mocked the baroness. The Lord had always hated being called Alessie rather than Alex, and he disliked the Baroness, to put it mildly, and as far as she knew, had disliked her since childhood, considering her a nuisance and a naughty girl.


    All their meetings at family gatherings inevitably ended in scandals. You... you, it is absolutely impossible to forget. - no, Alex could be understood, he had, after all, forgotten everything and saw before him just a pretty girl, but she remembered everything! The dislike of Lord Cassard and Baroness Rionale was entirely mutual. She disliked him too, to put it mildly - considered him a spoiled and scandalous individual, denigrating House Fyron, whose reputation she regarded with excessive maximalism even for a Guardsman. And here''s the change - she''s flirting with him all over, making eyes at him, and she''s got a dress with a... with a plunging neckline. She hadn''t worn one before, as far as I remember, not when she met the Lord. Well, I''ll grant you, it''s the capital''s fashions. But everything else? Did she miss her third cousin so much after two years?


    It was clear that the Baroness was up to something, but it was unclear why she was doing it. Well, yes, the Cassard family was shamelessly, mind-bogglingly rich, but the Baroness was not one of the impoverished gentries. Nor was she keen on exorbitant sums to pave the way for them with her "breast"... and through whom? Alessandro Cassard, with his reputation! There''s obviously something wrong here, but what?


    She was pulled out of her reverie by a distinctive tingling sensation under her communicator bracelet - someone was calling on a secure line.


    "I''m sorry, but I have to leave. I''m sorry, but I have to leave. It''s an urgent matter," Taer said as she bowed out of the cooing couple. She walked briskly, practically running, to her room, where the secure communications terminal was located.


    She ran into the room, flopped down in her chair, and, switching on the suppressor, was finally able to respond to the inviting blinking light on the communicator panel. A sturdily built man in his forties with tenacious light grey eyes and a powerful chin appeared on the screen. Immaculately shaven, wearing a light brown business suit.


    Nicklom Forret was one of the finest House Fyron retainers on Copeira. They had worked together during her short retainer career, and afterward, when she entered Lord Cassard''s ''arm'' they kept in touch and saw each other regularly. Anyway, serving Lord Cassard and not seeing the retainers was almost impossible - minor legal troubles, born of the Lord''s spiteful, unruly nature, occurred with depressing regularity.


    "Hello, Taer! You look disgusting. Heard you spent the night with the hot guys from SS?" The cheerfulness in Nicklom''s voice was clearly artificial, as it always was when something was troubling him.


    "Hi, Nick. Yeah, it was a great night. I''m sure you would have loved it!" Taer decided to play the game, waiting for Nicklom to get down to business.


    "I don''t think so. You know, I don''t like noisy gatherings. My choice is an evening at home, with a good book and a glass of wine."


    "Well, you should get out once in a while, or your belly might get bigger than necessary to build up respectability. Take it from me if it wasn''t for the service..."


    "Well, that''s an obstacle you can soon part with," Nick''s tone became, suddenly, very serious.


    "Explain yourself," Taer also got in a businesslike mood.


    "A lawsuit has been filed with the Consulate Court to declare Allesandro Cassard incapable."


    "How long ago?"


    "About ten minutes ago... It''s the kind of thing they send a notice to the governor, and I have my people there," he hastened to explain, seeing the puzzlement on Taer''s face. "I thought you might be interested."


    "More than that. Who filed the lawsuit?"


    "Count Disper."


    Aushe Disper was a very distant relative, and Taer tried to remember what he looked like. It wasn''t working. Unfavorable and uninfluential, his chances of becoming a guardian were minimal. So he was someone''s frontman.


    "What was the basis of the claim?"


    "A medical certificate of..."


    Nicklom picked up a flat plate of the infoblock.


    "Extensive replacement amnesia," and after reading it, threw it back on the table. "Signed by the attending physician, Professor Ayuyun Lirria of Riena University. By the way, is he really the attending physician?" The retainer asked with genuine interest. Taer only nodded grimly in response.


    "Then things are a little worse."


    Nicklom was silent in thought, but his eyes said, You understand, girl, how serious this is, don''t you? Taer knew it was as serious as it could get, and she began to think feverishly:


    So, this is the beginning of the ''golden season'' and the entire Consulate is grazing in Copeira for the holidays. Consequently, it will take at least a week to get a quorum together. Or one day if they decide to hold a retreat at the representation office. Could that be possible?


    Taer began to nibble her lower lip in anxiety.


    Of course, it could. It''s an urgent matter! Well, they''ll get together, make some noise, and we''ll give them one or two more days to do it. Then if the higher realms are involved (and they certainly are), it will be the fate of Cassard that will be vetoed by the Council of Privies. Everything will be decided at the Privy Council. They will only let through the option that suits them. Will they be satisfied with the guardian? Yes, if they have already discussed and divided everything. And no, if there are no agreements - there will be terrible infighting, and perhaps the recognition of Alessandro Cassard as capable will be a pass-through option - "neither ours nor yours". All in all, we need to find out what the Privies think about this as a matter of urgency. We also need very good lawyers.


    Taer came out of her reverie and stopped biting her lip, which was already slightly even bleeding:


    "Thank you, Nicklom. I''ll try to find a way to thank you!"


    "It''s nothing, we no strangers, after all," Nicklom was not a nobleman either, and he had entered the service from outside, which was a rare thing for a retainer of his level. "You just have to make sure it''s an opportunity."


    "Can I rely on your guys for legal matters?"


    "Yes, you could send out a request, but..." Nicklom looked away and rolled his eyes up, clearly a little uncomfortable. "You know, it''s better to get someone from the outside. Someone uninterested."


    He lowered his tone, leaned closer to the monitor, and added:


    "I''ve just been contacted by Lord Arteld, and he''s been dropping hints, you know..."


    Taer held back a heavy sigh: Oh, yes, I understand, it''s only the first bird, and then there will be more... birds... more noble and powerful and will make... hints. And aloud, she rounded off the conversation decisively:


    "Thanks again! And for the hint, too!" She turned off the terminal and stormed out of the room.


    Taer jogged to the small dining room, Let''s consider this in lieu of missed training" and, stepping to a step at the door itself, adjusted her uniform, and entered, making the most impassive expression on her face. To her surprise, the lord was not in the dining room - only the blatantly bored Baroness Rionale and Barra, frozen beside her.


    "Ah, Taer! How are your urgent matters?" The baroness smiled sweetly."


    "Unfortunately, they turned out to be really urgent, Kayrin." At Taer''s mute question, Barra pointed his eyes to the corridor door leading to the washroom. "So I have to leave again."


    The Baroness just shrugged - Well, what can I do?


    Taer went out into the corridor and waited, leaning against the wall. Soon the bathroom door opened, and the lord himself appeared, wet, a bit dazed, and disheveled. As he came closer, she noticed the pupils of his eyes were unnaturally dilated, hiding the iris almost completely, making them appear black.


    "My Lord, are you all right?" She asked with genuine concern. Joking is joking, the offense is offense, but if the ward''s health suffered again...


    "§¡h? Now, I would even say it''s wonderful." He was about to walk past her into the dining room but suddenly stopped. "By the way, what did you think of Kay?"


    I think she''s a piece of crap!


    Taer raised her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully:


    "Well, an intelligent and very pretty girl, I mean, she was pretty before, but after the surgery, she became... well, you saw."


    "Surgery?" The lord was clearly surprised.


    "Yes, as far as I know, a year ago in one of the clinics in the capital. The work of one of the Empire''s finest biosculptor." The shadow of a malevolent sneer slid across her lips again but vanished instantly. "But what is it about you? Your eyes..."


    "Relax, there''s nothing wrong with me," Alex brushed her off. "It''s just a mild side effect of the Fenote, and by the way, I remind you again, we agreed about Your Lordship.".


    "Are you sure you''re okay? Shouldn''t we call in a medroid? Shadows are with the grudges, the main thing is to deal with the lawsuit quickly! Taer was surprisingly quick to forget things that interfered with the case.


    "I''m sure, but in the meantime, just out of pure curiosity, could you check what I ate and drank for various... let''s say additives."


    "One moment..."


    Alex caught her by the sleeve:


    "Uh, no. First, we will have a very, very polite conversation with Baroness Rionale, thank her for her attention and concern, and find out how long she intends to grace us with her presence."


    No longer Kay, but Baroness Rionale, Taer liked the change. Yes, she liked it, but out of pure spite, she mentally excused herself hastily and returned to what she had run here for:


    "You distracted me with your Baroness, and a very unpleasant thing happened."


    "Baroness, unfortunately..." Alex thought for a moment. "Or maybe, fortunately, she''s not mine. What''s the trouble?"


    "They want to declare you incapacitated. They''ve filed a lawsuit in the Consulate court." Taer waved her hands as if apologizing for the bad news.


    "The freebies couldn''t last forever..."


    "What do you mean?" The girl frowned.


    "Oh, forget it!" he brushed it off. "Because of the memory, huh?"


    "Yes, because of Extensive Replacement Amnesia."


    "And who is this well-wisher?"


    "Count Aushe Disper, your distant relative, very distant."


    "Yes? What interest does he have in it?"


    "Most likely, he is someone''s screen name, someone closer to him. Only a close relative would be able to take advantage of the results."


    "Maybe..." Alex pointed with his eyes toward the dining room, where Kayrin was waiting for them.


    "Maybe," Taer shrugged. "But one needs a lot of influence in the Consulate and the Privy Council, and as a political figure, Kayrin Rionale has no weight. And she hasn''t had much appetite for money before."


    "And what can be done with this lawsuit?"


    "You can try to delay the proceedings at the Consulate - until a decision is made, you retain all your rights. You could try to negotiate with the Privies because if they get custody of you, some families will be greatly strengthened. The zero option could be a compromise. You could try to reach out to the ruling Lord of House Fyron, but your reputation..."


    "Well, go on," he sighed.


    "Frankly, you have a horrible reputation, and it affects the reputation of the whole House. So it will be extremely difficult to gain the support of the Privies or the Reigning Lord," Taer warned him.


    "Then we''ll do without them. Is there anything we can do right now?"


    Taer thought for a moment, reflexively biting her lip. Bad habits, coming back. I''d better not start biting my lip at some party.


    "We can hire lawyers, right now."


    "Great! Then let''s go and have a nice chat with the Baroness, and then let''s hire lawyers."


    Further communication with the Baroness no longer resembled the cooing of lovers, although Alex continued to be extremely nice, and his gaze periodically, willy-nilly, slid down and dug into the cleavage of Kayrin.


    When all else fails, our boobs keep working no matter what! Taer couldn''t resist a mental comment, twisting a famous slogan from a droid commercial.


    In the course of the conversation, it became clear that the Baroness plans to spend at least the entire "golden season" on Copeira (which was obvious) but has not yet decided where to stay:


    "... or at the Fyron representation on Copeira, but it''s so... There are all these young nobles, these "blades of honor," I''m afraid there will be dueling again." Kayrin wrinkled her graceful nose and pouted. "Maybe we can rent a decent cottage... But you know how it is, Alessie, all the decent places are sold out a month in advance." The Baroness sighed so heavily and sorrowfully that her breasts almost popped out of her cleavage, catching the Lord''s gaze as she did so. "I''m afraid I''m a little late - its ship was two days late because of the ion storms."


    She fluttered her arms and bowed her head as if resigned to her fate. What a sly bitch, that poor creature. Of course, Alex immediately offered to let her stay with him if it was convenient for her. The Baroness was a little reluctant, just a little, saying she didn''t want to bother... and, of course, she agreed.


    Taer stifled a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes, thinking, Boobs did the trick. I wonder, if I''d had cleavage like that, would I have been able to neutralize Kayrin''s influence? You fight fire with fire, don''t you?


    Twenty minutes later, the baroness began to pack up. She asked Barra to contact the Representative office to send a flyer. All her travel luggage was left at the Representation, and she still had some business to solve, the essence of which Alex did not understand. However, Baroness Rionale did not go into much detail, and Alex did not ask. The steward went out into the corridor, and from muffled speech - he seemed to be communicating with someone by comm. When he returned, it appeared that the flyer would arrive in fifteen minutes.


    The castle was, after all, monstrously huge. So by the time all three made it to the exit, the flyer had already arrived and was standing at the foot of the front stairs. The silvery machine, eight meters long and of impetuous proportions, was hovering at an elbow''s height without making a sound. A red griffin was flaunting on its side, and an open side door showed off the interior of the flier, a dark scarlet velvet material with gold floral ornamentation.


    By the door of the flyer stood a young man in a short, thigh-high, dark red tunic with a high-standing collar, belted in a wide black belt with a holster and something resembling a short baton or flashlight. A black leather cape, still bearing the same red griffin, covered his entire right shoulder. He nodded at Taer, ignored Barra, and silently bowed low to Alex, glancing at him with implicit disdain. And he flattered Kayrin, giving her a hand as she got into the car.


    Alex shrugged mentally. Must be some sort of local etiquette, or it must be that passionate admirer of Kayrin''s, the dueling types she mentioned. He looked at me... eloquently.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "I don''t know how quickly I''ll be able to sort things out - there''s been so much crap in two years - but I''ll try to get back as soon as I can. I think I''ll be back here by midnight." The Baroness was already sitting in the flyer, so she was much lower than Alex standing there, and the view of her cleavage was amazing.


    "We''ll look forward to seeing you when you get back." Through sheer force of will, Alex managed to look solely into Kayrin''s eyes, keeping his gaze from sliding lower.


    The door of the flyer slid gently into place, and the machine began to gain altitude with a soft, throbbing sound. As it accelerated, the throbbing became more frequent, and when the sound became a monotonous hum, the flyer was out of sight.


    "My lord, perhaps, if you will permit me to attend to the rest of the guests, for I fear that my assistant-" There was a clear expression of alarm on Barra''s face for his assistant''s mental abilities.


    "Yeah, of course," the lord said. "By the way, how many relatives have come to see me?"


    "Thirty-seven people, including Baroness Rionale, and not counting the attendants."


    "And with the attendants, how much?" Holy crap! Not only did they come uninvited, but they also brought a bunch of people with them!


    "Sixty-one persons," Barra groaned sorrowfully, as if he, Barra, were the culprit of this kindred invasion.


    "Wow..." Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How long have they been here?"


    "Most arrived two days ago."


    "Did they say when they were going back?"


    "I think, my lord, you might find that out from them. For instance, at the dinner party."


    "Oh..." Alex couldn''t stand his own much smaller family for long, and the prospect of talking to a bunch of total strangers to whom he must have feelings of kinship didn''t inspire him at all. "Can we do it sometime... well, later... tell them I''m still not feeling well..."


    "I am afraid, my lord, that they will find out that you are on your feet anyway, and it would be impolite..." Barra''s tone became very unhappy and begrudging, which was not in keeping with his brave "Chapaev" appearance.


    However, Barra''s babbling was interrupted by an angry whisper from Taer:


    "Your relations with your family, my lord, have always been far from ideal. And that''s putting it mildly! And you can throw them all out now, of course, but I would remind you that your disability is about to be examined. And it would be shortsighted of you to cause unnecessary hardship... my Lord."


    Once again, "my lord". It seems she was offended by the Baroness. Alex decided with a sigh and told Barra to take care of everything necessary to arrange communication with his kin. The steward bowed and, delighted with the lord''s agreement, walked quickly away, giving some instructions to a communicator as he went.


    "It was an interesting machine... a silver one... and does it fly fast?" Alex tried to change the subject, avoiding meeting his gaze with Taer.


    "This model can reach a top speed of 650 submer, my lord." In the word "my lord," Taer managed to put such a depth of intonation and feeling that Alex even shuddered.


    "Look, Taer, let''s not get into this whole "my lords" thing again, shall we? I admit I was wrong. Inviting the Baroness to visit wasn''t the best idea. But I couldn''t help it. Pretty girls are my weakness," Alex said with as apologetic an expression as possible.


    "But you suspected her. Is it possible to be so stupid..."


    "Yes, it''s stupid," he interrupted the girl, who was getting angry. "Yes, I did, and I still do. Anyway, it was a mistake, I understand it. What''s the point of making a fuss and sulking? Let''s try to fix the situation."


    Taer, who resembled a boiling kettle, seemed about to burst into an angry tirade in response but then, perhaps realizing the pointlessness of the event, exhaled and waved her hand as if to say, What''s sense to arguing with the brainsick?


    Alex was more than happy with this way of looking at things, and to develop success, he tried to switch his security specialist to other problems:


    "So, what do we have with lawyers? Don''t we have any lawyers of our own?"


    "Usually, if there were any legal difficulties, your family would contact the Fyron House Retainer Service."


    "And why don''t we go there again?" Alex realized that the standard options were a problem, but it always pays to know exactly what the problem is.


    "Because," the girl sighed wearily. "We can''t be sure of their impartiality - they are, after all, in the service of the House, not your family. And some malcontent in a position to do so might press them."


    "And as I understand it, I have a lot of ill-wishers with the position, don''t I?"


    "Yes, enough," Taer admitted frankly. "Your reputation, your behavior... well, a lot of the Old Nobility and Guards don''t like you."


    "Is that why the dickhead who came for the Baroness looked at me like Lenin at the capitalists...?" Seeing the girl''s eyebrows raised in surprise, Alex hurried to explain. "I mean, very unfriendly..."


    And he thought to himself: At this rate, buddy, if you don''t get sued now, your own ''security'' will give you up because you''re messing up all the time.


    "The guardsmen, especially the officers, especially those of the Honor Blades, don''t even hate you anymore. They despise you." There was gloating in the weary voice of the security specialist. The innate malice of his nature was taking its toll. "Even those who serve on Copeira, though to call it a gathering of the Guard..."


    Taer realized that she might have said too much and hurried to change the subject:


    "Why don''t we go into the castle?"


    Alex shrugged and made an inviting gesture toward the door. He didn''t care where to talk as long as he didn''t let the security expert off the hook since so much interesting stuff had come up:


    "A gathering? Looks like the scorn of the Guards doesn''t just extend to me, does it, Taer?"


    The girl arched an eyebrow and looked back with a look that said, Is that all? You could do better than that!


    "No, they don''t despise me. They sympathize with me; it''s not my fault I have such a... lord," Taer said with a smile. "They know that, despite what you do, I do what I can to protect the House''s reputation."


    "So this gathering supports you and treats you very positively?" Alex smirked as he let the girl through the door first.


    "No, I have the support of the Guard, and I don''t care how the "Gathering" treats me." She threw her head up proudly and took a quick step, about to interrupt the conversation. But it didn''t work, Alex practically ran beside her and continued to conduct a casual conversation-questioning:


    "And what is the difference between the "Guard" and the "Gathering"? Just the fact that the gathering serves on Copeira? And in the rest of the place, then, exclusively noble Guardsmen? Some kind of discrimination by place of service!"


    "No, it''s not just the location. It''s just..." Taer stopped abruptly and spoke quickly. "The competition for the Guard is enormous. Only sixteen percent of the men and two percent of the women pass. Do you understand? People work their asses off to get in. But any little bitch ... daughter of a noble family who wants to play soldiers and wear a nice uniform gets in the Guard. Out of competition! Regardless of ability! Because that''s the tradition!"


    "Do they also get promoted faster? That''s why they get a lot of "love" from their less noble colleagues?" Alex squinted slyly and clarified.


    "All noblemen receive at least the rank of Sub-Lieutenant of the Guard upon graduation. But it''s not about rank." Taer leaned against the railing of the wide, gently curving staircase they were ascending at that moment and went into a lengthy explanation.


    "For several reasons, House Fyron is very interested in ensuring that its Guards are combat-ready and trained. And this is very difficult to achieve under such conditions. If anyone, even a complete idiot but, for example, an earl, becomes an officer of the guard, such a guard will not do much war. That is why the Guard is essentially divided into two parts. One part consists of people who have proved their right to be called Guard," the security specialist poked her chest with her thumb incredulously. "They''re the ones who do real work. The other part consists of the offspring of noble families who cannot be refused admission, and the imposition of penalties would cause a political scandal. They are gathered into separate units and sent to places where they are never seriously shot, and their dismal incompetence and complete lack of discipline will not jeopardize the really important cases."


    Taer peeled herself off the railing and walked on, gesticulating vigorously:


    "For example, the Representation on the Copeira. There, noble dullards can wear nice uniforms as much as they like, stroll around social gatherings, scowl menacingly, and grasp their swords when they think someone has insulted their dignity or the dignity of their House. And, of course, to poke each other with those skewers in duels. It''s not just House Fyron''s Guards that have noble knuckleheads, but other Houses as well. And those Houses need somewhere to put them, too. As a result, a crowd of freshly minted noble officers of the Guard from various Houses are engaged in drunkenness, womanizing, and dueling. And they sincerely believe that they are the salt of the earth in general and the Guard in particular."


    When the girl spoke out, Alex, modestly silent throughout her monologue, could not refrain from a snide comment:


    "The only thing I don''t understand. Why do you care so much? As I understand it, they don''t bother you, and you don''t bother them, either. Everybody''s happy. And you, you''re about to burst. Maybe you''re just jealous?"


    Taer sighed heavily and said quietly, looking away:


    "No, but I served two months in the Representation office on Copeira."


    Alex hummed and walked through the door, which was opened by the girl. He decided not to broach the subject further, fearing that the specialist would pout again and stop making contact.


    As it turned out, the door led to Lord Cassard''s office.


    Judging by the pristine cleanliness of the desk, Lord Cassard wasn''t into business, though who knows, maybe everything is so computerized that it hasn''t been written on paper for five hundred years." Alex sank into the huge high-backed chair that stood behind the desk and looked questioningly at Taer, who was nestled in the chair opposite:


    "And what we gonna do?"


    The girl shrugged in response:


    "I''ll look for a good lawyer, and you can answer the mail for once." She was silent for a moment, thinking. "Well, or at least just check it."


    She turned on the terminal, which appeared to be hidden in the countertop, and asked for the mail, then leaned back in her chair:


    "Cluster! A list of lawyers recommended by the Noble Union!"


    A glowing and slightly flickering screen appeared in front of Taer, and lines and pictures ran across it. From time to time, she asked to stop and asked for more details.


    Alex, not wanting to distract the specialist from her work, was quietly idling, rocking in his chair. But soon the idleness was interrupted by the appearance of the droid. An enigmatic machine, reminiscent of a medieval knight in scarlet metallic armor, with a quiet whirring marched to the table and hoisted in front of Alex a large tray filled with long shallow boxes. The boxes were neatly stacked with colorful envelopes.


    "Your mail for the last three days, my lord," the droid rattled in an "electronic" voice with a bow.


    There were definitely more than a hundred envelopes. Thirty letters a day? If I answered all of them, I''d have to spend the whole morning and evening in the epistolary genre!


    "And what, I have to read all this and answer everyone?" Alex asked a rhetorical question with a sigh


    Taer, absorbed in studying the list, only shrugged, and the droid bowed and rattled again:


    "Usually, my lord, it is I or your Office, depending on where the letter came from, that sort it out and answer it."


    "You''re good," Alex muttered.


    And with curiosity (it''s always interesting to read other people''s letters, even if they are technically yours), I began to open the envelopes:


    It was with great sadness that I learned of your accident... my deepest condolences and wishes for your speedy recovery. Agip Therolor, CEO of Tashida Corporation. I wonder who that man is who cares so much about my health.


    Alex tossed the letter he had read aside and unsealed the next envelope:


    It is with sorrow and dismay that we receive the news ... we wish you a speedy recovery. The Cassard Industrialists Association. Scary, a whole association named after me. I must be their honorary chairman.


    The letter flew to the side. The text of the next letter came as no surprise:


    I''m shocked by the terrible news... I wish you a speedy recovery. Head of the LatiPro Board of Directors.


    Alex opened a couple more letters. The contents were depressingly monotonous as if they were written by the same person.


    Well, I bet, thought Alex. The director throws his secretary, ''Sweetheart, send Lord Cassard my condolences and wishes for his recovery! She gives a command to a droid, and the droid writes the letters, the letters come here, and the same droids read them and reply. The result: a fascinating correspondence between droids and droids. Great!


    Alex opened the rest of the envelopes, not reading the letters but looking directly at the signatures:


    So... from Istal''s representative assembly, from Arabund''s board of directors, from the director of the First Mutual Aid Bank, from KosMinCorp - what the hell is that anyway? - from Arlit Optics...


    In all, there were sixty different companies and a couple of dozen different parliamentary groups, factions, senators, deputies, and other people, and a couple dozen more letters from all sorts of earls, barons, lords, and ladies.


    "Who are all these people?" Alex expressed a thought that bothered him.


    "Those who are obliged by their position to send you all sorts of wishes," Taer shrugged, and then she turned her attention back to the list of lawyers.


    "And why, for example, does the director of Arabund, a certain Gerib Varim, have to congratulate me?"


    "I have no idea!" The security specialist brushed me off.


    "My lord, the Cassard family owns a blocking 30% stake in Arabund," the droid rattled in my ear.


    "Yes?" Alex raised his eyebrows. "That''s interesting, but does KosMinCorp also belong? What''s that all about?"


    "The Free Kosmik Mining Corporation is owned in its entirety by the Cassard family."


    "Oh, right here somewhere," Alex rummaged through the pile of open envelopes and letters. "There! ChiVato Pharmaceutical Union. I own that, too?"


    The droid''s voice sounded apologetic (or did it just seem like it?):


    ¡°Unfortunately, my Lord, I have no information about this company. If you want, I can contact the Office. They have information on all the assets of the Cassard family.¡±


    "No," the lord leaned back in his chair and chewed his fingernail thoughtfully. "I''ll get in touch with them myself, and you better take these letters and write an answer to them all, telling them how grateful I am for their attention."


    The droid bowed, collected the letters back on the tray, and departed with a slight whirr and unmistakable dignity.


    So I own factories, newspapers, and steamships, and I don''t know a damn thing about it! On the one hand, of course, Alex was pleased to be the owner of it all, but on the other hand, the idea of having to manage it all, and preferably with knowledge, was troubling.


    "I own a bunch of companies, and I don''t have my own lawyers?" Alex was genuinely surprised. On the one hand: corporations, blocking stakes, and boards of directors. And on the other: a complete lack of in-house lawyers. Somehow these things did not fit together. You can''t even sneeze there without a contract and, therefore, without a lawyer!


    "Well, the companies certainly have, but these are their lawyers, and they may have their motives. And it''s unlikely they have any experience with the court of the Consulate. Not their level."


    "Well, who, for example, drafted the contracts with these companies, or what was in their place? I bet there was tons of waste paper."


    Taer tore her eyes from the list and, making a disgruntled grimace, said in a teacher''s tone:


    ¡°I told you before that in the past, any legal problems were solved by the Retainer Service of Fyron House, but in the current situation, we shouldn''t turn to them.¡±


    "Okay, okay, sorry to interrupt, but while you''re distracted, could you show me how to get in touch with the Office?" Alex pointed his eyes at the terminal and shook his hands regretfully.


    Taer got up from her chair and, showing her irritation, walked over, typing a step. She jabbed her finger at the button on the terminal, which appeared to be even signed "Office," and then turned over her left shoulder and marched back to her chair, where she plunged back into it, again staring at the lists.


    "Lord" had only to raise his hands again, this time with an apologetic look, like, what do you want from a memoryless man?


    After Taer''s actions, another holographic screen appeared above the table, showing the now-familiar heraldic beast, a griffin, rising on its hoof. The screen sauntered for three seconds and was replaced by a picture of a light red droid with yellow eyes the size of a nickel... eyes? cameras? sensors?


    The droid had just had time to mutter something like "Your Lordship, such an honor than I..." as the picture blinked, and instead of the droid appeared a round-faced man in his late forties with lively and shifty brown eyes. His grayish brown hair had light bald spots, and a white livery with a red vegetable pattern, reminiscent of the steward''s livery, accentuated his master''s paunch. He looked rather surprised, if not taken aback:


    "My Lord, such an unexpected honor for us, how may I serve you?" and must have noticed something in Alex''s eyes, he hastened to introduce himself:


    "Rist Giom, Your Lordship''s Secretary-General," at this, the Secretary-General tried to bow, but as he was seated, he could only demonstrate a slight bow of the head.


    "Secretary-General, could you give me a report on my income and also prepare a list of companies in which I have a stake," Alex tried to give his voice an authoritative tone, relieved to think that somehow he managed to keep from inertia and blurted out Comrade Secretary-General.


    "It will be ready in a few seconds, Your Lordship," the secretary-general squinted his eyes behind the screen and furrowed his brow, probably hurrying someone out of sight of the camera. "Meanwhile, My Lord, the master plan is being strictly carried out, and the over-fulfillment this year is twenty-four percent! Six percent more than the previous year!"


    The round-faced man tried to bow again, but his stomach and the table prevented him again.


    For the next dozen seconds, "Comrade Secretary General" ate his superiors with such a loyal expression that the superiors, perhaps unused to it, became a little uncomfortable. But fortunately, soon the line "data transfer in progress" ran under the image of Rist Giom, and after a few seconds, it was replaced by "data transfer completed". And Alex hurried to say goodbye to the secretary, listening to the parting assurances of readiness to fulfill any wishes of "Your Lordship". Having disconnected communication, "My Lord" decided once again to tear his security specialist away from the lists:


    "Taer, how do I look at the files?"


    "Who do you want to see?" The girl, looking at Alex over the holographic screen, had a look of genuine surprise on her face.


    "Well, Giom sent me the income and company reports. How can I look at them?"


    "Ah, the data! You''ll think of... ''files''," she stared at the screen again, hiding behind it. "Just say open the lists of received data. The cluster is smarter than most droids, he''ll understand you just fine and order to activate the help and assistance system, so you don''t have to bother me anymore.


    "By the way, why did the Secretary-General get so excited?"


    "Well, it was the first time in two years that you had contacted them, as I recall. Usually, they''d run after you and ask if Your Lordship would like to see the annual report, and you''d tell them to go off. You even swore at them a couple of times. And rightly so," Taer looked up from her monitor and squinted at her angrily. "He''s a nasty piece of work, that Rist."


    "Who''s watching them, then?" Alex wondered.


    "They somehow take care of themselves. At least they don''t do anything outrageous," I heard through the screen hanging in the air.


    Alex tried to imagine what he could have done in at least two years of total uncontrollability in a very large business, and squeezed his eyes shut:


    The size of the theft is beyond even the wildest imagination.


    In the decency of people who literally sit on other people''s money, he somehow did not believe. He sighed and began to communicate with the terminal, hoping to read the reports.


    After following the instructions of the specialist, Alex was rewarded with a melodious ringing, after which a pleasant female voice reported:


    "Welcome to the Zarya-Elite cluster. Help and assistance system activated."


    "Well, that sounds promising. Come on, Zarya, show me the income figures," as soon as Alex said this, a glowing screen appeared in front of him and began to fill with tables.


    Mm-hmm, that''s the complete dominance of the voice interface. They just don''t know about the mouse here, and the keyboard, according to the "cluster" is only used by professionals.


    Alex sighed heavily - it was inconvenient to look through the text every time commanding "Open the next page"! The same thing could be done with a wave of his hand. But even that was "not good enough" - his hand was constantly in the balance, and after half an hour of digging through the data was getting pretty tired.


    By all accounts, the Cassard family-owned or had interests in tens of thousands of companies of various sizes. The size of Lord Allesandro''s available operating funds was fifty-six billion danari, with a net profit of nearly a billion a year. How much had been stolen by the vigilant secretaries and "managers in the field," one could only guess. The real size of the assets was problematic since most of the money was in the form of real estate and stakes in companies.


    Alex sat back in his chair, staring at one point at the ceiling, stunned by the resulting sum - fifty-six billion! A billion is nine zeros, right? The number "fifty-six" and nine zeros... Mm-hm...


    No wonder I was poisoned - you don''t live long with that much money. Billy Gates, on the other hand, is doing fine without bodyguards.


    The number glowing on the screen made the newly minted lord feel uncomfortable. No, he, like most people, often dreamed of becoming a billionaire. But naturally, he did not think about the possible intrigues attached to such a lot of money and in a completely unknown environment. Like most people who dream about it. And now he had... Now the sight of a huge figure with nine zeros did not arouse any positive feelings in him. He was taken out of the trance by a hoarse voice that sounded above his ear - Alex even shuddered:


    "My lord, everything is ready for dinner. Your relatives and guests are already gathering in the main dining room of the castle," Barra stood beside him, bowing in a slight bow. It is unknown how he found himself in the office.


    "Oh, yes, of course, we are! Taer, are you coming with us?" Alex muttered as he emerged from his stupor.


    The girl shrugged in response, turned off the monitor, and with quick steps, caught up with the men who had managed to get out.


    As they walked through endless enfilades of halls and corridors, interspersed with air bridges, it occurred to Alex that maybe that 56 billion wasn''t so much. He has no idea about the purchasing power of these "denarii". Maybe a loaf of bread costs five thousand?


    "Taer, how much is your salary?" He asked the question innocently.


    "Forty-five thousand denarii a year. Do you want to cut my salary for being wicked?" The specialist smirked. "I''ve got a fifteen-year contract, with a fixed sum, plus a condition that you must pay me for the duration of the contract if you terminate it prematurely. By the way, you insisted on it yourself."


    "And maybe I want to increase for unhealthiness and give milk for it," Alex smirked back at her. "And now I''m thinking that an attempt on my life was logical, and you''re right. There''s no reason to increase it... What about you, Barra?"


    "Twenty-five thousand danarii a year and a scholarship for my son''s education - eight thousand danarii annually - provided by you, My Lord."


    That doesn''t indicate anything, either. They can both be atypically high-paying or vice versa.


    Alex strained his economic knowledge, which had once resulted in an entire diploma, and remembered the Hamburger Index. Well, there''s obviously no McDonald''s here, but I can get some idea. Let''s try...


    "How much does it cost to have a meal for two at the average diner where ordinary people who are not overburdened with money go?"


    "Depends on your appetite," Taer looked up with interest, like, what''s that for, eh? "Probably twenty or twenty-five credits."


    "How many denarii are there in the credit? Or is it the other way around?" Alex continued to wonder.


    "There are ten credits in one danarii, and ten fractions in one credit," the girl said slowly in a tender voice. The ending, you got it, kid? was begging for it.


    You''d be thrown in some oligarch. I''d like to see how you got out., muttered the lord mentally.


    "How much is the flyer, you know, not particularly luxurious, in a medium-sized package?"


    But there was no further dive into the maze of comparative economics, and Taer did not have time to answer - they came to the main dining room.


    * * *

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6


    * * *


    A huge hall, a hundred meters long, with obscenely high ceilings. The walls were draped in a kind of golden silk covered in intricate silver embroidery. The tall windows were almost entirely covered with scarlet drapes, and tapestries hung along the walls. Painted on the ceilings was yet another battle scene, with starships crushing each other across a starry sky. In the center of the hall was a giant table filled with various dishes, and behind it in tall, massive armchairs sat people, or rather a crowd of people - more than forty, that''s for sure.


    Relatives have gathered, Alex thought without enthusiasm as he sat down at the head of the table, with Taer to his left and an empty chair to his right. Barra remained somewhere behind, giving instructions to servants and droids, more than a dozen of them bustling around.


    The family stared expectantly at Lord Cassard. He sighed heavily - to himself, of course - took the glass promptly filled by Barra and, gathering all his politeness into a fist, launched into a lengthy speech. For about fifteen minutes:


    "Thank you for your support in my hour of need... I hope that in the future... you are the closest people to me... our next meeting will be connected..."


    Alex thought to himself with pleasure: We can do it when we want! Sometimes I express myself in such bureaucratic language that if I had been born earlier, I would have been a Komsomol leader!


    The family erupted in cheers and began an endlessly long series of reciprocal thanks and wishes. Alex thanked the relatives for their attention and care with raised glass but did not eat or drink much. He had become temporarily paranoid after reading the numbers, so he was wary of eating in front of such a crowd of interested persons. Although he understood that it was foolish if they wanted to poison him, even a small sip would be enough.


    After an hour and a half, the atmosphere became less tense. The kin, visibly drunk during the reply speeches, were actively communicating with themselves. Alex whispered to Taer about the prices of consumer goods, and she (from nothing to do) answered.


    It turns out that the imperial credit is slightly cheaper than the dollar, so one denarius is worth about eight bucks. That means that I have four hundred billion dollars in foreign exchange reserves. Stabilization fund, he grinned at this thought and mechanically sipped from his glass.


    Just then, he noticed that in the chair to the right, which had been empty until then, an imposing old man in his seventies was sitting and smiling, looking at Alex. A strong face riddled with deep wrinkles and agile gray eyes that sparkled under bushy eyebrows. On his head was a small scarlet turban adorned in the center of a large brooch with a large transparent stone in which iridescent iridescence played. A long gray braid was thrown over his shoulder, and some elaborate ornament ... of gold, it seemed. He was dressed in dark pants and a burgundy tunic, over which was some semblance of a dark purple robe without sleeves, decorated with gold embroidery. The old man''s face seemed vaguely familiar: That''s right. He was the one who poured some nasty stuff into my mouth; Taer said it was the antidote that saved my life.


    "Baron Kouifi?" Alex asked as politely as possible.


    The old man laughed out loud and clapped Alex on the shoulder:


    "And I was told by that silly healer that you''d forgotten everything, kid! That''s right. I always thought those assholes couldn''t be trusted!"


    "I really had almost forgotten everything. So... just vague shreds of memory."


    "I''m thinking maybe it''s for the best." The baron winked. "You even met your relatives. And - without swearing. Who would have told me about it before - I would not have believed it!"


    "It was Taer and Barra who insisted. To improve the image in the view of the impending case in the Consulate Court," Alex commented modestly.


    "There! You''ve begun to listen to smart people, and soon you''ll stop drinking and hanging around in an obscene manner!" continued joking Baron.


    "Yeah, I don''t really have any positive feelings about alcohol."


    "You?" He snatched the glass from Alex''s hands with a deft movement and drank it, after which he looked completely dazed and defiantly grabbed his heart. "Pity the old man, call him an old fart, or I''ll die of happiness. What a useful poison it turned out to be! And where were they before!"


    Alex only now realized that the Baron was quite tipsy, and it made him a little tense:


    "Well, if it helps the man who saved my life, I''m willing to call you "old fart" as much as you want."


    "That''s it! You saved the day! You''re not exactly a saint after all, though," Kouifi winked slyly. "I heard you invited Kay Rionale for a visit."


    "Uh... yeah," Alex said, a little embarrassed, just in case.


    "Don''t be shy. It''s a young thing, and the girl - wow, she''s good! But," the baron suddenly lost all his hops and feigned merriment. "I am no longer your guardian, but listen to the old man, keep an eye on her - you have not been on good terms with her before, to put it mildly. And Kayrin''s not the kind of person to let go of old grudges."


    "All right, I''ll keep that in mind. And you were my guardian?"


    "Yes, I was your guardian until you were eighteen, and then you went off on your own," the Baron winked again and emptied his glass in a gulp.


    "What happened to my parents?" Alex asked, who decided it wasn''t unreasonable to know his family''s history.


    The old baron sighed heavily and began to tell the story.


    Galen Cassard, his wife Astil, and his older brother and sister, Cort and Jaoni, were aboard the family yacht, the Cassard Star, when it went into hyperjump to Copeira, never to leave it again. External observation stations confirmed that the jump vector was correct, and the route was repeatedly checked, but neither the yacht nor her wreckage was found. The yacht had simply disappeared into hyperspace. When two years had passed, the Cassard family was declared missing, and the will left by Galen went into effect. And the guardian of the only surviving heir, eight-year-old Allesandro, was Baron Kouifi, an old friend of Galen''s from his days in the Guard.


    At this rate, the paranoia will progress rapidly.


    Alex was sure there was something unclear about the missing yacht. But since it was a thing of the past, he moved on to more pressing matters:


    "Baron, since you were my guardian, perhaps you know what the "master plan" is? I contacted the Office, and they told me something about its execution, but I found only two lines about it in the reports and no explanation."


    "Well, it was my idea," Baron Kouifi looked a little embarrassed. "When all this happened with Galen, so many things piled up, and then there was the Office with the Retainers - with all the mortgages, the loans, the taxes, the excess of costs over revenues. I didn''t have time to deal with it, and I can''t stand it either... Anyway, I went to the Office, caught that young chink Rist, and said: "I''m putting you in charge here! By next year, I want you to be profitable! And increase every year by a tenth. That''s your master plan! And if you don''t, I''ll find you and skin you!" And then, somehow, it became a tradition. They steal, of course, but if enough for the whole household, and even with a profit, then the hell with them, I think so!" Baron resolutely finished.


    There was certainly a grain of truth in the Baron''s words, but the fact that someone there is completely uncontrolled to run all the affairs caused Alex a slight discomfort.


    Anyway, what the hell with them, if they corrupt ones - I don''t have any others anyway. I don''t have to sort out the paperwork myself, do I?


    Encouraged by this thought, Alex continued to communicate with others. About an hour and a half later, Baroness Rionale arrived, but there was no more strength to communicate with her - I wanted to sleep. And they put her quite far away from Alex.


    So, after half an hour, seeing that the relatives were still in the middle of the party, Alex hurried away, citing the general weakness after the poisoning. As he passed Kayrin, Alex sent her the most apologetic look he could muster, and with a look of regret that if it weren''t for circumstances... She replied with a smile of understanding and proceeded to chat with some older woman who seemed to be a third cousin or something like that.


    He made his way to the bedroom with the help of Taer, who happened to have a bedroom next door ("Purely for your safety, my lord!" she commented on his meaningful look.), "my lord" stripped off his clothes and flopped down on the bed.


    The dark room was flooded with a ghostly, slightly reddish light from the window, which felt like it was well past midnight. Alex overpowered himself, got up, and went to the window to see what was shining there. And he froze in shock.


    An incredible number of unfamiliar stars shone high above, a wide silver ribbon crisscrossed the sky, and a giant red cloud hung in the starry depths just above the lone greenish moon, pierced by an intricate web of dark fibers. The crimson nebula flooded the earth with a steady reddish glow.


    Alex stood against the cold glass, looking up at the sky, which was so alien. And that''s when he felt especially sad, really sad. The fact that he was in a completely different place, and everyone he knew - including parents, brother, and friends - remained in Moscow finally penetrated his consciousness, dazed by the rush of events and impressions. And the thought made something in his chest clench and become very dreary.


    Hey. You can cry some more and it''ll all go right away... Go to sleep, you wimp!


    "From the first sign of schizophrenia, I hear!" he said aloud, waddled over to the bed, collapsed, and burrowed under the covers. He fell asleep instantly.


    * * *


    When he woke up the next day, he lay in bed for half an hour, too lazy to get up. Then he put on the same "hunting" suit that he wore yesterday and went out into the corridor - to explore. The reconnaissance did not yield any tangible results. So back in the bedroom, he contacted Taer, who said that if he is not killed right now, she is very busy, and Barra will explain everything. Barra explained that: Taer and Baron Kouifi had gone away to communicate with potential lawyers and to settle some matters with the §³onsulat court and that they would appear by evening. They both very much asked that they not leave the castle in their absence. Barra also handed over a letter from Taer.


    How nice - house arrest! Alex muttered as he opened the letter. Though, of course, mentally, he knew that going anywhere alone was a stupid idea.


    The letter turned out to be more of a two-line note: "No traces of poisons or any foreign substances were found on the dishes used during the dinner with Baroness Rionale. Taer."


    Alex hummed and shrugged:


    "All right, what''s the plan for today?" tiredly, he asked the steward.


    It turned out that the plan was to have a general breakfast with the family, then see the family off, and then "my lord" was free to do whatever he wanted. Alex sighed heavily, thanked Barra, and went on to the first point of the plan - to the breakfast.


    After breakfast, the long farewells to the kin began. Standing with the steward on the platform near the front entrance to the castle, Alex thanked the relatives for their participation and support as they loaded into the flying flyers. He didn''t offer to stop by just yet, though, hoping the kinfolk would take the hint. Baroness Rionale had some business on Fyron, but she planned to return in just a couple of days and for the whole "golden season".


    There was absolutely nothing to do, so Alex, taking his secretary droid with him as a guide, went on a long walk around the castle to explore the area.


    It''s not cool to walk around your own castle with an escort.


    Indeed, towards evening, Taer and Baron Kouifi arrived and brought Alex, the lawyer they deemed worthy to represent them in court, for approval.


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    All three were waiting for him in the office. The lawyer turned out to be a blond man in his forties, with regular features, dressed in something resembling a light brown trench coat with a cropped collar and loose gray pants. He held out his hand to Alex and introduced himself:


    "Anzati Ritero, I hope to represent you in court Lord Cassard."


    "I hope so too, and I expect my representation will be successful," Alex shook his outstretched hand firmly.


    "Oh, don''t even worry about it. I''ll only get paid if the case is successful, so I''m more than motivated," Anzati smiled broadly.


    "Well, that''s good! Have you already discussed all the terms of our cooperation?" Alex asked, looking at Taer and Baron Kouifi.


    "Yes, Allesandro, all we have to do is sign the contract and discuss the next steps," Baron Kouifi was sober, focused, and in no way reminiscent of yesterday''s jolly joker.


    Before signing, Alex habitually ran his eyes over the contract, causing Taer''s and the baron''s eyebrows to rise in surprise. Allesandro must not have bothered to read the contracts.


    Anzati Ritero''s fee was a hundred thousand danarii, payable if he won the case. I don''t know how much they''re supposed to pay lawyers here, but it looks all right.


    Having signed the contract, they began to discuss the necessary preparations for the trial, which consisted of preparing some papers and coordinating future testimony. It was Alex''s duty to be out in public more often and to demonstrate his sanity in every way possible.


    "Tomorrow, there''s a gala at the Emerald Gardens hosted by the House of Bentar. You''re welcome to attend to say a few unimportant words or two. Taer will back you up if you need it," Baron Kouifi suggested.


    "Yes, it would be a great way to draw the opinion of the majority of the nobility to our side. They will not like it if one of them, though not the best reputation but perfectly sane, is deprived of rights. It''s an unpleasant precedent." The baron supported the lawyer.


    Alex saw no reason to refuse - to the Emerald Gardens, so to the gardens! It was better than being bored.


    After talking for about three hours, Alex and Taer went to see the lawyer and Baron Kouifi off. Already at the door of the flyer, the lawyer held out his hand again and, looking Alex in the eyes, asked:


    "But please, Lord Cassard, restrain your impulses. Your reputation will already be a problem."


    "I''ll do my best," the "lord" sniggered back. And after waiting for the flyer to depart, he turned to Taer:


    "Yes, what''s wrong with my reputation? You - all about reputation, the baron - about reputation, even the lawyer - about reputation? What''s wrong with it?"


    Taer smirked maliciously, anticipating revenge, and began to tell the story. The story took about half an hour, during which Alex''s eyes widened more and more with horror.


    If she was to be believed in the story (and there was no point in not believing it - she was a girl who could certainly add color, but there was no point in lying), Lord Allesandro Cassard was an organic combination of Paris Hilton, Shnurov, and the unforgettable Zhirinovsky. There was even a tape of pornographic content, though it never made it to the Holo-V, thanks to the heroic efforts of Taer and the Retainer Service of the House of Fyron. And all sorts of disorderly acts and appearances in public places in indecent looks and insults to others. Sometimes even a banal brawl! That, of course, did not add to Lord Cassard''s charm in the eyes of the other nobles of the House. To prevent the devastating effects of the lord''s lifestyle, the consul had persuaded him to be accompanied by a "specialist in personal security" whose main task was to prevent various antics... or to keep them out of the public eye if they could not be prevented...


    "And what, I''m on that tape in the nude with the girls and..." whispered a dumbfounded Alex.


    "Exactly! And with three!" Taer smirked maliciously and decided to deliver the final blow. "But the commoners love you. You''re a star! They used to sell posters of you, and you weren''t alone, but with beautiful strangers amid the process. You liked those posters, by the way, and you always regretted that they were confiscated as "offensive to the dignity of House Fyron"... though," she winked playfully. "In the Free Worlds Zone, they''re still quite possible to find."


    Well, at least it''s a good thing it was with girls, Lord Allesandro, judging by the description, would have expected more than that. He shuddered, imagining what might have been in there instead of the girls.


    "Okay, let''s go to dinner. We''re going out tomorrow." Alex grinned crookedly. "You make sure I don''t embarrass myself."


    The next morning passed in feverish preparation for the Emerald Gardens event. A consilium of Taer and Barra reviewed and rejected over a dozen different outfits, decided that Alex needed a shave (Taer had decided this), and gave Alex a long lecture on how to behave and how not to behave. By the middle of the day, exhausted but dressed and shaved, Lord Cassard was ready to leave when suddenly, it turned out that Taer, as a witness, was urgently summoned to the Consulat court and the reception. So he would have to go alone. Realizing he was left without Taer''s cover and advice, Alex panicked at first, but it was no longer possible not to go - the invitation had been confirmed as early as last night. So Lord Cassard, swearing to himself for pro forma, exhaled and reminded himself that: Moscow is behind us, and there is nowhere to retreat! went to the reception.


    The Emerald Gardens were a huge park complex with various pavilions, gazebos, lodges, and even stables to provide horseback riding, The Emerald Gardens were and were something of a private club, being a favorite meeting place and hangout of the nobility on Copeira. They got their name from a small garden of crystal plants taken from some unimaginable distance. All of this Alex knew thanks to the morning enlightenment given by Taer. Today''s reception was held in the "summer pavilion," so he probably wouldn''t be able to see the Emerald Garden itself.


    Well, you can always walk a couple of kilometers through the thicket, get lost just in case, but still find the Emerald Garden, though with "sane" behavior does not fit, Lord Cassard reminded himself, getting out of the flyer.


    The pilot, a young guy in his twenties in a white livery with a red floral pattern, said he would await the call nearby.


    At the entrance to the pavilion, he was met by a charming and graceful girl of about twenty-five with piercing blue eyes and raven-wing hair, in which a strange, as if glass flower glittered. A long gown of golden silk accentuated her figure, and an airy, translucent shawl glowed slightly on her shoulders. She had a soft, velvety voice:


    "I am so glad that you have recovered and were able to accept our invitation, Lord Cassard. We were all so worried about you!"


    "Yes, luckily, it''s all right, but the memory lapses sometimes take their toll, lady..." Alex looked expressively at his companion, hinting that it wouldn''t be a bad idea to introduce oneself.


    "Ah!" she smiled embarrassedly. "Forgive me, Lord Cassard, I have been warned, but it seems you are not alone in having lapses of memory. Lady Laquita Asta."


    "It''s a pleasure to meet you again, lady."


    Behind Alex, there was the throbbing sound of a flyer flying in, and the quiet click of a door opening heralded the arrival of another guest.


    "Well, I dare not stop you any longer, Lord Cassard! You, like all young people, must want to have fun." She smiled charmingly and made an inviting gesture. "I hope you have a good time."


    Alex, slightly surprised by the "young" passage, entered the pavilion.


    The hall fully met the local architects'' idea of what normal size is. That is, it was incredibly huge. In the center of the pavilion, there was a fountain whose jets made incredible shapes in the air, turning it into an intricate web of water ribbons. Dozens of couples were dancing around the fountain. More than a hundred members of the "cream of society" laughed, chatted, and flirted in the hall. Alex began to carry out the orders of Taer honestly: exchanged with someone a couple of insignificant phrases, accepted five congratulations for recovery, and thanked them for their worries. After talking for about twenty minutes, he decided that his task was done and took a glass with something less resembling alcohol from the table with drinks and went to prop up the wall. He was afraid to engage in long conversations without the informational support of Taer, he could not dance, and after the stories about his reputation - to seek the company of local beauties - he was just shy.


    So, choosing a position near one of the exits to the park, Lord Cassard began to kill time by looking at the local crowd. Next to him for about twenty minutes was also propped up against a wall, a very young boy, maybe eighteen, a little unsteady, with the classic appearance of a nerd and traces of youthful pimples on his face.


    He probably can''t dance either and is too shy to approach the girls, Alex decided as he looked around at his fellow bore.


    The boy did not attempt to communicate, nor did Alex. They stared at the noble crowd in silence, occasionally sipping from their glasses. He was plucked out of his contemplative reverie by a stranger, "about the same age, maybe a little older," Alex estimated. A rather tall brunette with an eagle''s nose and a frowning mouth, and thin lips:


    "Lord Cassard, I have an urgent matter to discuss with you which cannot wait!" He pointed to the exit of the park.


    "Well, if it''s so urgent," Alex shrugged and followed the stranger.


    They hadn''t gone more than a hundred yards before two men emerged from behind the dense, trimmed bushes, blocking the way forward. Alex noticed, with his peripheral vision, a figure appearing behind them, blocking the path of retreat.


    It was all so familiar that Lord Cassard almost said, on the spot: "No change, no cell phone". But he was overtaken by one of the "thugs," a blond man with dark gray eyes and a faint scar on his right cheekbone, wearing leather pants and a short gray tunic:


    "Lord Cassard, your illness has excused you, but now I demand satisfaction!" He looked at Alex angrily and grinned wickedly.


    Alex''s eyebrows went up. In his head flashed what satisfaction do you want, you homosexual thug?


    Seeing the surprise and incomprehension on Alex''s face, the blond grabbed the handle hanging from his belt and growled:


    "Duel! Now!"


    "But I..." The dumbfounded Alex was just beginning to think of a lie when he was interrupted by the brunette who brought him in:


    "I don''t like you, Lord Cassard, but I''ll give you my sword and be your witness." With these words, he unhooked the hilt with an openwork hilt hanging from his belt and handed it to the bewildered Alex, stepped back two steps:


    "Would you gentlemen care to reconcile?" asked the companion of the aggressive blond.


    "Never!" He roared, and in his hand flashed a golden blade about a meter and a half long.


    "Yes, I''d like to..." But the seconds didn''t listen to Alex and gave the go-ahead:


    "Start!"


    The blond man smiled and, squinting his eyes evilly, began to approach slowly, treading softly on the grass. His smile didn''t bode well.


    So, Your Grace? Did you enjoy being a lord? Eat this. That Jedi''s gonna cut you up like a sausage, and you don''t even know how to use that damn sword! Instantly his hands were sweating and trembling with the adrenaline that was rushing in; Alex was feverishly trying to decide whether he could escape if he darted into the bushes now and whether he could lose his nobility for the dishonor of running away from a duel. He would not, for the witness stand too unfortunate. Alex threw k glance at his sword, trying to figure out how it worked, but then a voice came from behind:


    "Gentlemen, don''t you think it would be more proper from the point of view of the Code of Honor if Lord Cassard''s second were a man who is undoubtedly honest but who is not concerned with the offense he has caused? I, for example."


    Alex, not turning his body, quickly looked back - the nerd was standing there, holding the hilt hanging on his belt. The brunette, who had appointed himself as second, started to object but was interrupted by the nerd:


    "Or are you questioning my honor, gentlemen?" He removed the hilt from his belt and smiled with a look of challenge.


    The "Thugs" immediately began to assure him that they were in no way questioning Lord Lister''s honor. It''s strange, they seem to be afraid of him.


    "Very well, then! Then allow me, Lord Cassard, to be your second," and without waiting for Alex to agree, he went straight to the point:


    "As a challenge, you choose your weapon. What do you prefer? A sword? Saori? A blaster?"


    The sword didn''t promise any chances; he didn''t know what a "saori" was, but a blaster...


    "Blaster!" Alex blurted out, calculating that it wasn''t much harder to shoot than a pistol.


    The nerd shrugged in surprise and headed toward the group of "offended":


    "Gentlemen, the challenged party has chosen the blaster as the weapon of the duel. Let the offended choose the form of the duel."


    "But we don''t have our blasters with us," the brunette protested.


    "I''ll arrange for them to be delivered in about two hours," Lord Lister brushed him off.


    The blond man looked angrily at the nerd, clearly disrupting his plans. He cursed silently and licked his dried lips:


    "Okay, blasters at fifty paces, in five hours on the south boardwalk." He waved his hand, pulling the rest of the "offended " behind him, who, radiating fury, walked quickly away toward the pavilion.


    "An odd choice, Lord Cassard." The nerd crouched on the grass beside Alex, who was breathing heavily, slowly recovering from his shock. "You were never a great swordsman, but your nightmarish shooting is legendary."


    "I think it gives me a better chance," Lord Cassard shrugged. "I see they''re wary of you." He nodded in the direction where the "offended" had gone.


    "Nerd" smiled predatorily:


    "Well, you are not the only one with a reputation, Lord Cassard. True, my reputation is of a somewhat different kind."


    "By the way, it''s not against the laws of honor if I practice with my blaster before the duel because they will be delivered before it starts."


    "Why not? It''s quite possible - the Emerald Gardens has a shooting gallery. We can go there."


    Two hours later, a much calmer Alex was already firing at the holographic targets with the blaster. The blaster made a high-pitched sound, like a shriek, and a red streak of discharge rushed toward the next target with a loud whirring sound. It blinked and disappeared in a swirl of bright lights.


    The weapon looked very much like a common sports pistol, which Alex had used in his time in the section at the institute. A massive developed grip, a thin long barrel, ending in a small bell. The trigger, rear sight, and front sight were all very familiar, except there was a "ready lever" instead of a bolt. The blaster had no recoil, and the light trigger and well-developed sights allowed for very accurate shooting. Much more accurate than an ordinary pistol - fifty paces would be an almost impossible range for it. For a blaster, that was a serious range, too, though Lord Brenor Lister (that was the nerd''s name) showed Alex how to adjust the focusing crystal - reducing the clot''s power and increasing accuracy. After firing off the series, all he had to do was to throw up his hands in amazement:


    "Looks like all those stories about your shooting was speculation, you''re an excellent marksman. Will you teach me?"


    "After the duel, of course," Alex grinned wickedly.


    The initial shock was gone, and now he was full of determination and anger. He was anxious to make the blond man pay dearly for his fear and insecurity. And so, full of icy rage, he sent shot after shot at the targets, getting used to the unfamiliar weapon.


    Two more hours later, they arrived at the duel site in Lord Lister''s flyer. Leaving the car at a distance, they walked to the south quay. It was late evening, and the waterfront was completely deserted. The tall trees growing along it provided additional shade, interrupted by the occasional lanterns hidden in the dense foliage.


    The group of the "offended and humiliated " was already there: four silhouettes were darkening under one of the trees. After the formalities, the seconds again proposed reconciliation, but this time a firm "No" was given by both of them. The duelists stood with their backs to each other and started to move apart. They stopped exactly at the twenty-fifth step. Then the seconds, having made sure that the duelists were ready, would give the command, and it would be possible to turn around and shoot.


    Alex had a plan: fall sharply to his knees in a U-turn and open fire while holding the blaster in both hands. As he found out, such a maneuver was not forbidden by the dueling code.


    His hands began to shake slightly again, and the handle of his blaster, wet with sweat, slid slightly. Alex quickly wiped his hand on his pant leg and exhaled deeply, trying to calm himself... And then the command sounded:


    "Fi...!


    Alex started to turn around while still in the middle of the command, dropping to his knee, when suddenly something stung him hard in the shoulder, and an unbearable pain flared up in his head.


    So fast... he managed to think, seeing the sidewalk rushing toward him.


    And then darkness fell.


    * * *

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7


    * * *


    "Damn students," Krain Werk cursed softly and prepared to shoot, showing Marek to join him. Actually, according to the original plan, which he, Krain, had developed and personally, three times, presented to the "resistance fighters", Rodik and Milun were to shoot, for which they were given a heavy stun gun, the only one available to the group.


    But the duelists were already moving away, and no one was shooting. And he had to make adjustments on the fly.


    Or else they''ll put holes in our dearest lord.


    He lowered the window of the aerocar a little and stuck the barrel through the gap. Marek, who was sitting behind him, did the same. The smell of wet leaves and the quiet rustle of the waves on the waterfront wafted into the cabin.


    "Fire!" Krain exhaled briefly and pressed the trigger.


    A loud throbbing gun howl reverberated along the embankment, gradually drowned out by the dense foliage of the densely planted trees.


    The two ribbons of purple lights buzzed like angry wasps and swept toward the "offended" and smashed into him in a series of flashes. The duelist, cramped, collapsed on the sidewalk, frozen in an absurd pose before he could turn around.


    The standard imperial R-55 in non-lethal mode pissed off the target, stinging it painfully rather than paralyzing it. But at thirty paces, in two barrels, in a burst...


    Krain was about to turn his fire on the rest of the "offended" when a heavy stun gun struck from the darkness of a side street - a broad blue beam smeared across Lord Cassard and started searching for the rest of the dueling party. The last to fall was the lord''s second, but he, too, didn''t seem to have time to comprehend.


    Krain gave the go-ahead for phase two and barked into his communicator:


    "Why did it take so long to fire? Why did you change your position? What kind of amateurism is this?!"


    The doors slammed shut: the two jumped out of the car and ran toward the still bodies of the dueling men, whose figures still had sparks of residual discharges flickering across them. Nick and Yuri had to make sure Lord Cassard was all right and fake a robbery.


    "Krain, we didn''t have time to open fire, we had a "sportsman" here, and we had to calm him down." Rodik, as an old underground fighter, always spoke by his first name. There was tension in his voice, and he always hissed harder than usual with excitement.


    "What the fuck is a sports..." Kraine started to get angry but didn''t get a chance to finish.


    Three gray figures jumped out of a side street, where a heavy paralyzer had recently fired and rushed toward the duelists'' bodies as well. Without thinking who it could be, Krain, on pure reflexes, covered one of the figures with the red dot of his sight and opened fire. Flashes of hits flashed, turning into short bolts of lightning streaming down his legs and reaching for the ground. And that was it! The target wasn''t falling!


    The runners reacted almost instantly: they rushed to the parked cars and, taking cover behind them, fired back several rounds, obviously blindly. A few of the charges hit the side of the aerocar and spread out with crackling aftershocks with no effect.


    Once again, a heavy stunner struck Nick and Yuri, who fell next to the duelists'' bodies.


    Okay, time to switch to normal fire mode. We''re in an aerocar. They have power suits. So no one''s gonna get anything with the stun guns anymore.


    His feverish thoughts were interrupted by Rodik''s hissing voice in his earpiece:


    "Krain, I see one of them, I can try to nail him."


    "They have power-fiber suits..."


    "Not from a stun gun, from a C-80, which was inherited from a sportsman," added the gnarm.


    "All right, keep them in sight, but don''t shoot yet. Let''s try to have an amicable breakup. And tell me, who''s the sportsman?"


    Krain, who always thought very quickly when it came to shooting, thought that since the unknowns were also firing the stun guns, their interests might temporarily overlap. And he didn''t want to have to go to the point of firing live ammunition.


    The unknowns seemed to think the same because it had not taken twenty seconds for Krain to figure out that while taking his position, Rodik had discovered some dopey guy nestled comfortably at the hearing window with a Sport-80, and he had knocked that "sportsman " out just in case.


    From the dark depths of the side street came a scream:


    "Hey, passersby, shall we talk?"


    "We can talk," Krain shouted back.


    Just in case, he switched the rifle to combat mode and changed the charger. Opening the window of the aerocar a little wider and sliding under the door, he shouted:


    "Who the hell are you?"


    "We''re robbers," they said after a moment''s confusion. "And who are you?"


    "And we''re robbers, too," Krain shouted, glaring at Marik, who was obviously about to yell something stupid like "resistance fighters".


    "Well, then, maybe we should discuss everything in our own way as the robbers? One on one, without shooting," it came from the darkness.


    Krain thought for a moment and, having made a decision, began to instruct his bewildered troops:


    "So, I''m going to negotiate now, you keep me safe from here, and if the shooting starts, you fly across the embankment, covering the body of Lord Cassard and the guys. Marik opens a barrage of live fire in the enemy''s direction, and you, Juno," he clapped the pilot on the shoulder. "You drop the stick and get the lads and Lord Cassard into the aerocar. Rodick and Miloon, you..."


    "I hear you, Krain, we''ll cover you with fire, and then, when we''re sure you''re gone, we''ll retreat to the original plan," the gnarm hissed, not letting the commander finish his sentence.


    "All right, is it clear?"


    Marik and Juno nodded in response.


    I hope it doesn''t come to gunfire, Krain thought as he got out of the aerocar.


    He was not sure that the "resistance fighters" "understood everything".


    He stepped out onto the platform where the duelists lay and, walking closer to Lord Cassard and the lads, stopped. The air smelled strongly of ozone and crackled with static after the active shooting.


    It was unpleasant to stand in the place where the shots had recently been fired. Krain seemed to feel the sight lines crawling over him, his hands trembling slightly. He gripped the rifle tighter to quell the trembling.


    Footsteps were heard from a side street, and Krain saw his vis-a-vis. He had never seen such strange "robbers", even on Zavax.


    He''s a robber, just like you! He doesn''t look like a guardsman or a retainer, either; they''re not so unceremonious on Copeira.


    The man who stepped out was tall and dressed in a gray, blown-foam antiblaster jumpsuit over which he wore a standard imperial armor, though repainted gray, and a soft helmet of the same antiblaster foam on his head. A long-barreled assault rifle dangled loosely from his chest. He wore no insignia. He smirked and lifted the transparent visor of his helmet:


    "Well, hello, brother in the profession!"


    "And you don''t cough!" Krain sniggered. "What are you doing?"


    "Well, we wanted to rob the noble gentlemen, rob them of their underwear, and then call the police, so they wouldn''t catch a cold, but there was a hitch," the big man said, friendly as if he was an old acquaintance.


    Krain smirked - they were going to do the same thing.


    After a brief negotiation, joined by Marik and Juno, who came out without orders (Resistance, your discipline sucks. Students, Krain mocked internally, but said nothing aloud), the "robbers" agreed that both sides would inspect the duelists, each taking half the loot, then leaving observers who would confirm the picking of the noble gentlemen by the police.


    "But, bro, if you''re going to rob them again, you''d better get in touch with me, so there''s no trouble," the big man said, handing Krain a communicator.


    He thought about it and took it. I''ll have to check this comm later for planting. The big man smiled:


    "Cheers then, brother. Let''s go!" he said into the receiver of his comm, and the greys disappeared into the depths of the street.


    Where they had left their observers, the big man did not say, and Krain was modestly silent about Rodik and the "sportsman". Half a minute later, he saw the Aegis taking off from behind the neighboring buildings with its lights off.


    Perhaps not a bomb then, Krain decided, looking at the communicator. He tossed it in his hand and slipped it into his jacket pocket.


    The Aegis, otherwise known as a ''housewife battleship'', was technically a yacht for business travel. In practice, however, she passed on the thin line of acceptable field and armament capacity for civilian vessels. And it easily crossed that line thanks to a second reactor installed for "emergencies". She had enough firepower to take out a light corvette and half the firepower to blow this place to smithereens. Rich kids. We wish we had!


    And said aloud: "All right, let''s move out! Rodik and Miloon, you''ll supervise the picking up of the lord by the police. Meet me at the agreed place."


    Seven minutes later, when the resistance fighters'' aerocar was a good thirty komers away from the scene of the "robbery" a call came in from Rodik, who confirmed the unconscious Lord Cassard and the other duelists had been picked up by the police.


    Lounging in the back of the aerocar, Krain thought about what had happened and planned what he was going to say at the upcoming debriefing. And that there would be a debriefing, he had no doubt. When word got out that Lord Cassard was having a duel - the whole ''resistance'' network in the Tail sector rose to its ears. Network is a big word. But, anyway, the problem was looming larger than ever.


    The Anti-Imperial Alliance, or as it was called, the Resistance, was not particularly popular in the Tail sector. To put it bluntly, no popularity at all. And the remoteness of the sector from the main Alliance bases created a dual situation: on the one hand, the "authorized resistance representatives" had a hard time, as they had no money, people, or support, and on the other, the local representation of the Imperial Security Service was a pale imitation of the "searchers" from the central sectors. In other words: everything had to be created from scratch with their own hands, but at the same time, there was no one to interfere with the process. The staffing issue, despite Krain''s active resistance, was resolved at the expense of Riena and Tallana Universities - there were enough students with dopey minds and romantic ideas.


    There were huge problems with logistics. Shipping from the main bases was a gigantic risk, as the cargo had to be dragged halfway across the Empire, and the inspection service was thoroughly and unfamiliar. One could have bought locally: after all, smugglers are everywhere, especially at the intersection of major hyperlines, but there was trivially no money. There was a similar problem with bases and safe houses. A sympathetic population willing to shelter "resistance fighters" was simply not available.


    So a young, romantic clerk, who shared the ideas of the "anti-imperial alliance" and served in Lord Cassard''s secretariat, proved to be a lifesaver for the "empowered representatives". The clerk in his youth was not a bread-and-butter business - Lord Cassard''s real estate. It could not be sold without his lordship''s command, nor could it be rented. He could, of course, rent it out secretly, but that would be a pittance for which it was not worth the trouble. All in all, what had been rubbish in the eyes of the Secretaries turned out to be a treasure to be resisted. Lord Cassard had flats, studios, houses, and castles on all the key planets of the sector in incredible abundance. And, of course, most of them he had never even been to. And then there were the various "outbuildings": warehouses, garages, generating stations, finally.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    This splendor was used by the Resistance Network of the Tail Sector as bases, hiding places, safe houses, and meeting places.


    And all that happiness almost goes deep in zwiggolot ass!


    The death of Lord Cassard could have caused an automatic end to the free-riding. So at an emergency meeting of the leadership cell, it was decided to intervene.


    So they intervened, at least it didn''t come to gunfire.


    Fortunately, the rebels had their own men among the Blades of Honour, who had a close relationship with Lord Lister. It was through them that they learned of the place and time of the duel.


    I wonder how the ''greys'' found out?


    These ''greys'' really bothered Krain. They just pissed him off with their absurdity!


    Let''s say they didn''t want Lord Cassard dead for their reasons either, why not. It would take five men... well, okay, eight. And a heavy stun gun... A couple, maybe. There were at least fifteen of them! In assault armor with heavy weaponry. And the Aegis. The ''Greys'' were clearly expecting much more serious trouble and were preparing for a serious mess. So serious, they weren''t even ashamed to bring in the Aegis!


    Krain sighed and drew a disappointing conclusion:


    They clearly know something. But that doesn''t explain why they didn''t spread us thin along the street. And then there was the sportsman.


    The Sport-80 rifle from Arlit-Arsenal was technically a sports rifle. But its excellent accuracy and ability to be stowed in a small case made it very popular among professionals of a certain kind. So much so that it was banned from sale after a while. So the ''sportsman'' was not clearly a random passer-by.


    The only question is who put him there. Gentlemen duelists, "Greys", or some third party wanting certainty in the outcome of the duel?


    "I don''t like it," he complained aloud, albeit quietly, and stepped out of the aerocar which had landed.


    At the debriefing, he did not share his thoughts with "Lady Chief Representative Liora", only dryly, the military-style recounting of events. Rodik, who arrived a little later, completed the picture from his point of view:


    "We were lucky, I spotted the "sportsman" by accident."


    Krain could only shrug - yes, they were lucky:


    "The operation was hasty but successful - lord alive, students intact, some profit to be made." He nodded at the loot piled on the table: jewelry, credits, a five thousand danari chip, a communicator, and three swords.


    "We''ve descended to robbery, like the Imperials," Liora commented squeamishly, staring at the loot. "Why did you bring that filthy thing with you? What if it''s a bug?" she hissed, jabbing her finger at the communicator.


    "There''s nothing there - we''ve checked it thoroughly and even dismantled it. Have we been sent here to make contacts?" Krain asked a rhetorical question. "Here''s your contact," he nodded at his communicator. "Keep in touch as long as you like," he stood up to leave."


    "All right, I''ll deal with it," she picked up the com, wary and a little disgusted, like some nasty, biting insect. And then she was reminded of her idea:


    "What about the message?"


    "Delivered," Krain nodded, waving two fingers carelessly from his temple as he left.


    * * *


    Alex woke up to a strong but pleasant menthol-like smell. Everything else was disgusting: his head ached, sounds echoed painfully, and painful spasms rolled through his body.


    "How are you feeling, Your Lordship?" He asked, with genuine sympathy, about fifty years of age, a round-faced man in a dark blue tunic with a gold floral pattern on the shoulders. He held a small white spongy ball in front of Alex''s nose. A strong menthol-like smell emanated from this particular ball.


    "Thank you, I feel disgusting," Alex said, barely moving his tongue, and tried to stand up.


    It turned out badly: the numb limbs were like cotton wool and did not obey their owner well.


    He looked around: a small room, dim light from two wall lamps, a massive table with a tabletop covered in blue cloth, and a couple of armchairs, one of which was Alex lying in. Besides Alex and the man in the blue tunic, there was a woman in a pale green dressing gown, probably a medic, and Lord Brennor Lister. Brennor''s appearance was not good: half-dressed and disheveled, with a pained expression on his face, he was lying in a chair opposite, and the resemblance to the battered school nerd was even more striking.


    Judging by the way I feel like shit, I don''t look any better, Alex realized and decided to clarify the situation:


    "What happened? Who won..."


    The question was cut short by an instantly perturbed "nerd":


    "We were attacked by robbers as we strolled along the promenade." Brenor put special emphasis on "strolled" and pointed his eyes at the man in blue: Not now, later. "And there were no winners in our wager, a draw."


    "Robbers?" My head was buzzing, and my thoughts could barely wiggle. And what was the reason for the secrecy Alex did not understand? But decided to consider Lord Lister''s hint just in case.


    "Yes, Your Lordship. They are incredibly brazen. During your walk, they fired on you with a stun gun and blasters in non-lethal mode, stealing money and valuables. They fled with the stolen goods, leaving you unconscious on the waterfront. Where a police patrol picked you up. The best forces of my department have been sent to investigate, and I think the scoundrels will soon be brought to justice," the round-faced man in the blue tunic with gold embroidery hastened to answer the question.


    Seeing Alex''s questioning look, he introduced himself:


    "The Head of the Fourteenth Metropolitan Police Department of Copeira, Alozar Rimer," with these words, the "head" bowed slightly.


    "Mr. Rimer, I would like to discuss something with Lord Cassard in private. Where might we do so?" Brenor asked, looking innocently at the head of the department.


    "Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen," Alozar said with a welcoming gesture around his office. "We have so much to do anyway. Shall I have them bring you some tea or teymar?"


    After receiving a negative answer, the "head" and the woman in the dressing gown, who never said a word, diplomatically left and shut the door.


    "Look, Lord Cassard, this is not a matter of importance, but we''d both be better off not mentioning the word ''duel'' in front of the police," Lord Lister said as he waited for the footsteps outside the door to subside.


    Alex shrugged in response, his head was splitting, and he didn''t really care - not mention it, he didn''t mention it. He fumbled in his pocket for the jar of Fenote he''d been carrying around since his lunch with the Baroness. He poured three blue sparkling capsules into the palm of his hand and popped them into his mouth. Soon his mind became clearer. Sounds around him were no longer painful, and his thoughts began to run faster.


    Brenor continued to say something about how, of course, the police don''t usually interfere when it comes to noble honor, but it''s not worth involving the police in such delicate matters as duels... But Lord Cassard''s mind was already at full capacity, and he was interested in more specific questions:


    "Where have my opponent and his entourage gone?"


    "Count Areno was hit harder than we were. According to the police, he was shot with a blaster in non-lethal mode. So he was all bruised and lightly burned, and his face was swollen... Anyway, they took him to the hospital, and his friends went with him," Lord Lister reported. "I think he''ll be in bed for a couple of days."


    Count Areno must be the aggressive blond. I hope he''s got a good hit! Alex thought with mild gloating.


    "Look, Lord Cassard," the nerd began hesitantly. "Please answer me honestly. I won''t give you away. They were not your men?" he asked with the face of a teenager buying condoms for the first time in his life in a drugstore.


    "Who?" There was a genuine surprise on Lord Cassard''s face.


    "The robbers who attacked us during the duel."


    "No, not mine."


    Hearing this, the "nerd" was visibly upset. He leaned back in his chair, rolled his eyes, and sighed sadly:


    "Forgive me, Lord Cassard, for questioning your honesty, but you have no idea how badly I feel about the sword. I had hoped it was your men, and you had the sword now."


    Lord Cassard responded by shaking his hands in regret, "if only I had one..." The nerd sighed heavily again, but then he perked up and added with much more determination:


    "If you consider yourself offended, I am ready to give you satisfaction at your convenience!"


    Alex waved his hands, assuring him that he didn''t feel insulted in the slightest, and given his reputation, it would be strange if no one thought anything of the sort.


    To hell with these duels! There''s not another one to go, the first one I''ve had to recover from!


    Lord Lister wanted to say something in reply, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door.


    "I''m sorry to interrupt, but Lord Cassard''s security specialist has arrived, and Lord Lister''s flyer has also arrived," the department head, Alozar Riemer, appeared in the open doorway, and Taer, towered behind him, radiating irritation and anger.


    "Are you all right, my lord?" she inquired.


    "It''s just a bit of robbery, no big deal," Alex said tiredly as he rose from his chair.


    Taer insisted on an immediate flight to the castle; Alex saw no reason for her to object. After saying goodbye to the cordial Head of the Police Department and receiving his assurances that the criminals would be located soon, Alex and Lord Lister, accompanied by Taer, headed for the flyer site.


    There were two elegant cars on the platform, one silver-white with the familiar red griffin, the other dark gold with a scarlet wyvern spreading its wings against a golden sun.


    Already approaching the flyers, Lord Lister suddenly stopped and held out his hand for a handshake:


    "You know, Lord Cassard, I was wrong about you! You didn''t refuse a duel, and you behaved with dignity. You are a man of honor!" With those words, Lord Lister shook Alex''s hand and got into the flyer, nodding to the driver.


    The vehicle took off gently and, quickly picking up speed, disappeared into the dark sky, leaving a bewildered Lord Cassard behind.


    So I could refuse!?


    The thought that all the fuss and nerves involved in the duel had been for nothing just infuriated Alex. He flopped down in the back seat of the flyer. Taer, who was sitting in the pilot''s seat, looked over her shoulder and hissed angrily:


    "Why, for the Great Shadow, did you go to the boardwalk?!"


    Alex realized that he was about to be accused of stupidity, he himself now realized that the duel was stupidity.


    But damn, I didn''t know!


    He sighed heavily:


    "I had a duel there."


    "What?! A duel?!" The girl jerked, reflexively trying to turn around, which caused the flyer to shake.


    She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, then pressed some button on the dashboard and gave a curt command:


    "To the Blue Flame Castle!" And after the electronic "Execution" she turned to Alex:


    "You''re out of your mind! You always had the good sense to refuse before. Or was it you who called?"


    "No, I didn''t. And I didn''t know you could say no! I didn''t have anyone to ask, you know," Alex snapped back, folding his arms across his chest and staring out the window defiantly.


    "I hope at least the police don''t know about the duel?" The girl asked venomously.


    Alex, not looking away from the window, muttered back that no, they didn''t know and that it wasn''t a big problem anyway.


    Taer, cursing quietly, returned to the control of the flyer. The car was going low, so the city spread out below was perfectly visible. The large domes of buildings, topped by tall spires, were illuminated by hidden searchlights. The soft yellow light of the street lights, muffled by the dense foliage of the trees, reflected in the numerous canals, whose dark mirrored threads wove into an intricate pattern. Alex spent some time just admiring the view that opened up, but a freshly acquired worm of paranoia made itself felt:


    I didn''t know it was possible to refuse a duel, but those who challenged me couldn''t know that I didn''t know about it. So they could have been sure I would refuse and still - a duel.


    Alex drummed his fingers on the armrest thoughtfully the picture was clearly not forming. And then a thought occurred to him that almost made him jump:


    It''s simple, lad. It wasn''t a duel. They were going to quickly and quietly stab you with a sword simulating a duel, but Lord Lister showed up at the wrong time and ruined it for them! And on the boardwalk, they were already interrupted by robbers!


    The robbers showed up too just in time to be an accident, but who might have needed to secretly rescue him Alex had no idea:


    Or not to rescue... Maybe they didn''t need your corpse, but your temporary unconsciousness to do something?


    Sensing that his paranoia, spurred on by his imagination, was about to run wild, Alex tried to calm down and think in order:


    If it was a failed assassination attempt after all, who would want it?


    Alex tried to remember the name of the blond that challenged him to a duel, and his memory, invigorated by the "fenote," immediately gave him the answer:


    Count Areno


    "Taer, tell me, does the name Count Areno say anything to you?"


    She looked up and wrinkled her nose thoughtfully for a while, trying to remember:


    "Unfortunately, I don''t know who that is, my lord," the word "my lord" was pronounced in a very sarcastic way. She seemed to be sulking again.


    "And Lord Brenor Lister?" Alex decided to make inquiries about everyone involved in the duel.


    "Lord Brenor, despite his age, is the best blade of House Bentar, a brether, and a very dangerous man," the girl jumped at the unexpected guess:


    "So he was the one in the department?" She had a mixture of surprise and admiration on her face. "And you had a duel with him? And did you win? Or was it a draw?" As a surprise, Taer forgot that she''d sulked and forgot the titles.


    Alex enjoyed the effect for a while, fighting the urge to lie, but in the end, honesty won out:


    "No, I had a duel with Count Areno, and Lord Lister was my second."


    The glint in Taer''s eyes faded slightly, but the fact that Lord Lister had agreed to be Cassard''s second didn''t seem to surprise her any less.


    "Why is Lord Lister a dangerous man?" Alex continued to wonder.


    "I have heard of nearly a hundred duels with Brenor in two years, and he is, as you have seen, quite alive and not particularly damaged. He''s the reason the guardsmen of House Bentar are so brazen on Copeira. But," Taer smiled wickedly, "it won''t be for long."


    "Why not for long?" Alex asked, expecting to hear a plan of revenge developed by the guardsmen of House Fyron or at least a hint of the existence of such a plan.


    House Bentar does not seek conflict. They have always tried to be neutral, so Lord Lister''s behavior creates political problems. In general, the parents have promoted Brenor to a position at court, where he will be sent at the end of the "golden season" so as not to muddy the waters.


    Alex mentally sympathized with the "nerd" and stared out the window again, wondering who might have wanted to kill him. Count Areno was clearly someone''s executor, but whose? Someone was persistently trying to send Lord Cassard to the afterlife. First, a poisoning that Alex had forgotten all about, and now a fake duel.


    Dedicated assholes! Next time they won''t make a fuss and will plant a mine.


    The thought that someone really wanted to kill him made him a little uncomfortable, so he stayed quiet the rest of the way, trying to think of something.


    Back at the castle, Alex sluggishly dismissed Barra''s offers for dinner and staggered straight to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and stripped off his clothes, going over the list of people potentially interested in his death in his mind. The list was long.


    Then a folded piece of paper that had fallen out of a discarded boot caught his attention. Alex got up from the bed and picked it up. It looked more like plastic to the touch - smooth and slippery. He sat back down on the bed, unfolded the piece of paper, and began to read the text, written out in perfect handwriting:


    Dear Lord Cassard, we want to apologize to you for having to paralyze you, but it was the only way to save your life. We are interested in cooperating with you, and you may find our help useful. If you are interested, come to the Unification celebration wearing a red neck scarf and we will contact you.


    Alex leaned back on the bed and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. The heroic young man was still calling for an attack, and Alex was beginning to understand why there was no one near the young man.


    Probably went alone and died heroically, for which he ascended to the ceiling.


    The "rescue robbers" who showed up did not bring clarity; on the contrary, everything became even more unclear.


    Yeah, and everyone wants something from me. At least this one needs me alive.


    With that thought in mind, Lord Cassard went to shower and sleep, also flushing the torn message down the toilet.


    * * *

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8


    * * *


    All the way back from the police department Taer was quietly angry. Not at anyone in particular, but at reality in general. It had been a pretty crappy day. First, she''d been thwarted in the Consulate court. Actually, technically, she didn''t have to go: after all, she was part of the Lord''s Arm and not answerable to a court, not even the Consulate Court. If anything, it''s up to Lord Cassard. But after consulting with Baron Kouifi, they both decided it was not worth aggravating relations with the court on the eve of the hearing. So instead of a reception at the Emerald Gardens, she went to the Consulate''s secretariat.


    No good deed goes unpunished. In the end, Daim Azkrilla Vitas, who "well, we''re noblemen, too," tortured her with absolutely idiotic questions about Lord Cassard for four hours, hanging on Taer with a deadly grip whenever she tried to escape under plausible pretext.


    "Well, there''s so much I haven''t asked yet!" Could this moth-beaten maiden be just a secret admirer of Lord Cassard? When she finally managed to fend off the official zeal of the Daim Azkrilla, it turned out that her flyer had been stolen by a police tow truck. Those blind brats of the dumbest zwigolot had managed not to notice the markings of Fyron''s House on the boards nor the ''diplomatic number'' on the responder. She spent a half-hour yelling at the innocents, first the droids, then the tow truck clerks, while they searched for the exact location of her car. She took the monorail to the police station in the evening. After the ride in the crowded carriage, she was in such a "good mood" that she didn''t even have to say anything in the car park - after seeing her face, the terrified attendants found the flyer in less than a minute and a half.


    On arrival at the Emerald Gardens, Taer was informed that Lord Cassard had departed for an unknown destination. She almost made a scandal out of inertia, but she contained herself in time to yell at the pilot, who was still waiting for Lord Cassard and was unaware that he had been gone for half an hour.


    The lord''s comm did not answer, nor was he at the castle. She called a couple of his favorite clubs. But he didn''t show up there. Half an hour later she was already beginning to panic quietly, wondering what she should say to the Countess of Durlurl about the Lord''s disappearance, when suddenly a call came from the retainers. Police officers had picked up the stunned nobles, who had apparently also been robbed. One of the nobles was identified as Lord Cassard and, of course, the retainers were informed.


    Ten minutes later, having broken most of the speed limit regulations, Taer was at the door of the Fourteenth Department, where the Lord had been brought. She was met by the head of the department in the reception area:


    "Alozar Riemer, Fourteenth Department," the fat-looking man in the ceremonial blue tunic with gold embroidery introduced himself wearily. He was, it was evident, noticeably overdue because of the discovery of the robbed nobles.


    "Guardsman Taer Diltar, Lord Cassard''s arm, and his personal security specialist," Taer mentally cursed the wreckers once more as she introduced herself - the journey in the overcrowded monorail car had not gone unnoticed for her white tunic. "As far as I know, you have Lord Allesandro Cassard?"


    "Yes, Mistress Diltar, he was picked up by a unit from our department and is now in my office," Alozar Rimmer thought for a moment before adding. "According to our medic, he''s fine."


    "Take me to him. and I have a request for of you, Alozar, which I hope will be met with understanding."


    "Please follow me," the headman bowed slightly, making an inviting gesture with his hand and leading Taer into the back of the building.


    Along with Taer, a young officer with a thick leather folder, probably an assistant, silently shadowed the boss.


    The Head of the Department proved to be an understanding man: his request to remove the journalists who had begun to assemble there from the car park was met with no objections. As they made their way to his office, where the recovered lords were, Taer discussed with Alozar Rimmer what he should say to the press and what would displease His Lordship and House Fyron.


    "Don''t worry, Mistress Diltar, I understand," the round-faced department head assured her with a little cover of his eyes. "No details will get on HV. Will you or the Retainers of House Fyron be handling this case from your side?"


    "Retainers," Taer hated boring bureaucratic correspondence and shied away from it at every opportunity. "But I''d like to see the reports from the experts and the team that picked up the lord."


    "Of course, Mistress," the head looked expressively at his subordinate, and the latter, without stopping, quickly opened his file and drew out two Info Strings. "Here they are. One is the expert assessment, and the other is the report of the team that found the lord."


    Alozar Rimmer''s attitude and diligence flattered Taer, and she made a mental note: I must hint to the retainers to take note of Mr. Warden.


    In the office of the head, there was Lord Cassard himself and a young nobleman of some sort. Both looked awful - half-dressed and dirty. The pallid expression on their pale faces and the dark circles under their eyes indicated that post-paralysis syndrome was in full swing, but the lord was still looking not so bad.


    What the shadows were he doing there? What if he''d been killed? Countess Durlurl would have skinned me. Alive. Infantile idiot! Taer began to get worked up again.


    Already in the flyer, she pounced on "his lordship" with questions. The answers dumbfounded her:


    A duel?! Great Shadows, a duel?!


    Allesandro Cassard and the word ''duel'' did not connect. The lord was a mediocre swordsman and a terrible marksman. And so the constant refusals to all the challenges he received were certainly a wise decision. Though, this did not help his reputation among guardsmen and young nobles. However, Lord Cassard had always not cared what others thought of him.


    And there''s a duel. And with Lord Lister as second, Taer glanced furtively at her lord as if doubting that this very man was involved in the duel. He sat staring thoughtfully out the window. Hmmm... Where, what comes from? Once a year and a stick is a blaster. But it looks like if the robbers get caught, I should ask for a reduced sentence - they just saved my career!


    Smiling at her thoughts, Taer concentrated on piloting again - the lights of the Blue Flame Castle flashed to the port side and it was time to come in for a landing.


    On arrival the lord declined supper and went straight to bed, which was understandable: after the stunner, everyone was always dizzy and their heads were pounding. In such a state, even if you wanted to eat, you couldn''t eat a bite in your mouth.


    Taer drove the flyer into the garage and returned to the grounds in front of the castle. Barra was still there. He must have been waiting for her.


    "I see the lord has made a full recovery," grinned the steward, taking a seat on the steps leading up to the castle. "He looked as if he''d been drinking for a week. What brothel did you find him in?"


    Taer hummed back. The nights were warm in the golden season, the breeze carrying the scent of wet leaves from the garden and the faint singing of finches. She could talk, she decided, sitting down next to him on the stairs, and there were no extra ears here.


    "In the Fourteenth Police Department," the specialist smiled slyly and added. "But I''ll bet you ten denarii you''ll never guess why he got there."


    "Don''t keep me in suspense. Tell me."


    "A duel!" Taer declared, admiring the impression she had made.


    The dumbfounded Barra was silent for a while, then let out a long breath, waving his hand:


    "Yeah... how did he stay alive? You might as well go to the temple and take a vow to Ir''Maridae for keeping him safe."


    Taer arched an eyebrow in surprise:


    "I haven''t noticed you being particularly religious before."


    "You start..." Barra sighed sadly, lowering his head. "I''ve been worried sick about him since he was poisoned. And then, boom, there was a duel. A duel. You''ve got that fire in your eye, guardsman. You''re stupid, but think of others!" I could hear sincere resentment in his voice. "You, if anything, you go back to the guard, but me? The Office will write so much stuff on me... enough for two lifetimes sentences to get clean before the new master."


    So you, Mr. Weyoun Barra, must have dirty hands. You''re a fool, Taer, a fool! You should have known the steward of the manor wasn''t living off his wages. They''ll write him up, all right. Say you take cashback from contracts and share them with the inspectors from the Office.


    As the true cause of the steward''s genuine frustration dawned on Taer, her gaze filled with contempt. Which, however, disappeared instantly when Barra looked up at her:


    "Come on. It was all right!" The girl gave the steward a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "No more dueling, and I''ll look after the rest. Right, I''ll be off."


    She stood up and mechanically shook off her trousers.


    "By the way, Barra, honey, make arrangements for a nice big dinner, preferably straight to my room," she folded her arms in a feigned prayer and made herself look as unhappy as possible. "I have police reports to read and requests for retainer escorts to confirm, and I''m starving because I''ve been on my feet all day."


    "All right, go ahead, I''ll do it. Give you free rein, and you''ll eat on the run, no respect for tradition."


    Taer fluttered her arms in response and smiled charmingly:


    Real guardsmen can eat and sleep in any condition.


    After saying goodbye to Barra, she walked briskly toward her room. And as she moved further away from the steward her face grew darker and darker:


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    What an asshole, huh? Generations of faithless service to the House of Fyron. Yeah.


    Taer remembered exactly how one of the High Society shows had said that Lord Cassard''s servants were the highest paid and received, on average, twice as much as the others. And still, not enough, Taer finally reached her room and, continuing to radiate anger, plumped into a chair:


    No, Lord Cassard could be accused of many things, but he was never stingy. He always helped out with money if something happened, even to his servants. That asshole had gotten his son into Riena University when he''d been kicked out of Tallana University. Gave him a scholarship.


    The girl''s wave of righteous anger was interrupted by a sneaky little voice that surfaced from somewhere deep in her subconscious, reminding her that she was scared for her career, too.


    At least I didn''t stoop to stealing and always carried out my duties honestly!


    It''s just that everyone has their price. Here''s if you were offered nobility..., the voice countered.


    Taer honestly tried to imagine how she would respond to the nobility''s offer and, sensing the treacherous insecurity deep down, became even angrier, but now at herself. And since anger at herself is a shame, and shame she did not intend to feel anymore, she ordered herself to "start thinking like a professional and an intelligence officer rather than a parody of a Guardsman", and to distract herself, she delved deeper into police reports.


    The reports had a miraculous effect - within five minutes, she was wading through mighty police procedural language, oblivious of all her mental anguish. She was so engrossed that she didn''t even get a good look at who had brought her food. She poked her analyzer at all the dishes, noting to herself that her paranoia seemed to be exceeding the limits of her profession.


    And so she was fascinated by the fact that the whole robbery story was an ineptly orchestrated set-up. If the report is to be believed, some of the "walkers" were stunned with a heavy stun gun and a certain Count Areno with a non-lethal blaster, presumably from two R-55. Incidentally, Count Areno, as the report said, was from House Peltar. The Peltarians had always been enemies of House Fyron and, in recent years, had been hated so fiercely.


    The shadows with him, though, with the Peltarians, what interesting robbers had appeared. Two with blaster rifles and one with a heavy stun gun.


    Taer knew from personal experience what a heavy stun gun was - an unwieldy dummy almost as long as a man. The instructors loved to give it as a ''permanent weapon'' to delinquent cadets.


    Yes, the perfect weapon for robbers, which, by the way, according to witnesses, was well over three - five to ten.


    And the "robbers" were retreating in two aerocars, yep.


    The chances that a group with a heavy stun gun accidentally stumbled upon Lord Cassard just as he was about to engage in a duel on a very deserted southern boardwalk were so negligible that there was no point in considering it as a working theory.


    So they were there for a reason. The question is, why were they there? Well, they weren''t there to rob, were they? Although twenty thousand danarii on either side is a very substantial sum, Taer stripped off her uniform and, throwing it into the utility block, headed for the shower. Turning on the massage mode, she stood in the shower, scrolling through the various reasons for the ''robbers'' attack in her mind.


    She somehow could not believe in a trivial robbery: first, the swords, which were half the value of the stolen goods, would be very hard to sell. Second, how did the robbers know about the place and time of the duel? This was nonsense! She tried to look at the question from another angle, wondering who could benefit from the attack. It appeared that the attack was most beneficial to Lord Cassard - it saved his life. But he simply could not have organized the attack so quickly and not let her know.


    Who else could have benefited? You!


    But for herself, Taer could say with absolute certainty that she had done nothing of the sort; she had an ironclad alibi.


    There are also Barra and many others who are scared shitless of the revision that will follow the lord''s death. The Office, for example.


    She liked the office option much more, there was clearly a motive here, but the opportunity...


    Then the piercing beep of the communicator left in the bedroom intruded on her thoughts. After putting her face under the tight jets, Taer mentally cursed the men who had pulled her out of the shower and followed the communicator, leaving puddles on the carpet behind her. It was Barra, telling her that Baroness Rionale''s yacht would be arriving in about ten minutes, and it would be nice if Taer was among the greeters.


    "Okay, I will," she groaned, tossing the comm onto the bed, cursing once more at those who interfered with her plans and going to dry her hair. A swim in the pool before bed was not going to happen.


    Ten minutes later, the absolutely perfect Taer in her fresh uniform was standing on the grounds in front of the castle with Barra, waiting for the Baroness to arrive. Soon the group of moving lights in the night sky began to grow rapidly gradually, turning into a yacht. The milky white hull hovered over the treetops, and the yacht humming quietly with its thrust generators began to descend to the site.


    Yes, Faison the Silver Arrow, there''s a three-year waiting list for them, someone must have given them to her, Taer thought with mild envy.


    The yacht was very beautiful: the elongated hull with its swift outline, the slightly lowered bow, and the short wings of the gravel stabilizers made her look like a bird of prey. The perfect whiteness of the hull accentuated the intricate black ornamentation that runs along the sides. In the center of the side, the ornament became the Baroness''s monogram, with a small scarlet griffin glowing in a bloody drop in the middle. Without letting go of the supports, the yacht froze at palm height, the airlock door opened with a faint rustle, and Baroness Rionale herself appeared in the glowing aperture.


    "Welcome, Your Ladyship!" Barra bowed, simultaneously offering his hand to the Baroness.


    "Thank you, Barra!" Leaning on his arm, the baroness jumped to the ground and turned to Taer with a beaming smile. "I''m so glad to see you again, Taer, and that in spite of the late hour, you were able to meet me. Where is Allesandro?"


    "Lord Cassard is not feeling well and has gone to bed. We thought you''d be arriving tomorrow morning," Taer said in a formal tone and added with a cold smile. "It''s good to see you, too, Kayrin."


    "We had a very successful jump. We were seven hours ahead of schedule," the Baroness smiled apologetically. "And I decided that hanging around in orbit all that time would be silly."


    The specialist only shrugged in response, glancing at the line of droids unloading luggage from the yacht. The visitor followed Taer''s gaze with an embarrassed smile and commented:


    "I just want to be prepared for the festival of Unification. I hope you''ll be there with us, Taer?"


    How nice, just a reunion of girlfriends. Where had the old familiar bitch Kayrin gone? It''s like she''s been replaced since the lord''s recovery, Taer smiled back. "Of course, Kayrin, I accompany the lord on all outings."


    "Great, by the way, I''m starving. Will you keep me company?" The Baroness, without waiting for an answer, deftly took Taer under her arm and led her into the castle. Behind them, the steward gave dinner orders while the yacht soared white into the sky, unencumbered by its cargo.


    After settling in the small dining room and waiting for dinner to arrive, Kayrin summoned the steward to her side:


    "Thank you, Barra. You can rest now. I think we can manage quite well from here," she smiled sweetly at him and, interrupting his objections with a wave of her eyelashes, sent him out of the room, leaving himself alone with Taer. The Baroness began to eat, chirping something about how she was thinking of rejoining the Guard and regretting that she wouldn''t be able to serve in the same unit again. Taer blatantly didn''t listen, trying to understand why Kairyn needed her company. Suddenly the Baroness interrupted her chirp, instantly becoming very serious:


    "You know, Taer, I''d like to talk to you frankly so that there are no misunderstandings between us. Not as a baroness to Lord Cassard''s guard or as two former guardsmen, but as a woman to a woman. Tell me, do you have any plans for Lord Cassard?"


    "I don''t understand you, Kayrin. What do you mean?"


    "I''m asking you, as a woman, if you have any plans on Lord Cassard," the Baroness repeated slowly, almost syllabically, moving in close proximity to Taer.


    "No, I''m not interested in him in ''that'' sense," she tried to answer as firmly as possible.


    "Are you sure?" The Baroness said with obvious hesitation.


    "Sure! Why do you ask?" Taer genuinely didn''t understand why Kayrin would want that.


    "Lady Nastase spoke to me the other day," the Baroness twirled her fork thoughtfully in her hands, looking only at it and not at Taer. "She asked about my plans, hinted that I should be married at my age, and said that she thought Allesandro would be a good match."


    Hearing this, Taer almost choked. Lady Nastase wielded enormous influence in the Consulate. She was listened to very closely by the Ruling Lord, and she was practically the official matchmaker of House Fyron. All marriages were agreed with her in one way or another, unofficially, of course. If she said that, in her opinion, someone was a splendid candidate, it meant that the highest circles considered that candidate to be politically optimal, and any other option would cause displeasure to the House and the Ruling Lord. A very strong displeasure. Lady Nastase had a very rich palette of means of pressure at her disposal.


    "Is it that serious?" Taer realized that she might be sitting next to a potential Lady Cassard, and she didn''t like that prospect at all.


    She''ll destroy me or I''ll destroy her.


    "I don''t know," Kayrin shrugged and went back to eating. "As I found out, I was on standby, but now things are looking up for me to be the main option."


    "Who was the main option before you?" The "specialist" asked cautiously, secretly hoping that there was a better candidate.


    "Valerie Bellar," Kayrin replied with a predatory grin. She must have realized why Taer was interested in the main option.


    Hearing the name again almost made Taer choke: "What? The Ruling Lady of the House of Bentar?"


    "You''re surprisingly quick to understand. Now, do you see why I''m interested in your feminine view of Lord Cassard? Come to think of it again, I''m a man without complexes or prejudices, and I don''t see a problem as long as you don''t get in my way. What''s between you two is of no interest to me."


    She couldn''t stand him, and when Lady Nastase hinted, she rushed to do her bidding. That didn''t sound like the Kayrin I knew.


    "Frankly, what''s your interest, Kayrin? Did you want money?"


    "I''m doing this for House Fyron!" The Baroness squinted her eyes angrily and set her fork aside. "We don''t need the rancor that is bound to start now if the other family gets Cassard. The balance of power will change too much. I am zero option, everything will remain in the same family, and the stability of the House will not suffer. As a Guardsman, think about what would be best for the House. And I swear by the name of Ryan, if you get in my way, all I have to say, Lady Nastase, is that my goodwill is hindered by one Guardsman..."


    Such self-sacrifice: ''I''m getting married out of patriotism''... Pour it on others! You have some interest of your own here, and it''s not money.


    "I didn''t mean to interfere," Taer shrugged as indifferently as possible. "If you want to marry Lord Cassard, that''s your business."


    "You don''t just hiss at me every time I go near Allesandro! I thought you were jealous. If you don''t care for him, we could make a great couple," the baroness thought about the obvious ambiguity and corrected herself. "I mean an alliance, come to think of it. You help me establish a good relationship with Alessie. I''ll plead your case to Nastasi, and she''s powerful enough to thank you...", Kayrin smiled sweetly, like a temptress with a track record. "A nobility, for instance."


    Taer was momentarily affected by the word ''nobility''. But then she perked up, all her intuition, all her experience with Kayrin, screaming that there was something wrong here! There was some fundamental wrongness in the Baroness''s words and actions:


    If I got in her way, she would intrigue me, set me up in any way she could, do everything she could to quarrel me with the lord. Poison me in the end, or challenge me to a duel. In short, Kayrin would have acted like the proud bitch with the ambition and connections that she was. Instead, she offers me an alliance by seducing me with nobility. Why? It''s not up to me who the lord will marry or if he will marry at all...


    "Roasting an unkilled Karsarg?" Taer remembered that Lord Cassard, on principle, didn''t give a damn about Lady Nastase''s wishes. "Alex could just send them all away and not marry at all or marry that Marquess of his. He''s not an earl of any kind. There''s no way to push him around."


    "That''s why I need your help while he can''t remember anything, and that includes the Marquis. You will help me, won''t you?"


    She was about to politely dismiss the baroness when suddenly a heaviness came over her, the world seemed to turn grey, and her thoughts became slow and lingering, and Taer, not knowing why, said:


    "Yes, I will help you."


    * * *


    And Kayrin seemed so sweet to her...


    "I''m so glad!" Kayrin smiled charmingly. "I hope we get to spend tomorrow together: you, me, and Alessie."


    "Of course, Kay, I hope so, too. You should call him Alex. He hates Alessie," Taer smiled wryly. "You know, I''d better get going. I''m really tired."


    "See you tomorrow then, Tar."


    Taer reached her bedroom and collapsed on the bed as if she was delirious, not knowing what was wrong with her. Already falling asleep, she remembered that she thought she had heard of symptoms like hers at some lecture at the Academy. But she fell asleep before she remembered what the symptoms meant.


    * * *

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9


    * * *


    The next day, she struggled to wake up to the beep of the biomonitor.


    Lord Cassard is awake, so it''s time for me. Why can''t the bastard sleep this early?


    Taer staggered into the shower, and as she walked past the mirror, she was horrified at how she looked: she looked as if someone had chewed her.


    What shadows I slept in my clothes!


    Quickly refreshed by an icy shower, she began to get dressed. Putting on her communicator, she glanced at the time. It was the middle of the day, and the lord was awake as usual.


    I, on the other hand, am a bit sleepy.


    And she had planned to get up early so that she could practice.


    Yeah, I guess I got a little overexcited last night. She usually got five hours of sleep in abundance.


    She stepped out into the corridor, and less than a minute later, Lord Cassard appeared. He was frowning and thoughtful:


    "Tell me, Taer, do you know anything about the outcome of the investigation into the first attempt on my life? Well, that was when I was poisoned."


    "No, the investigation is being conducted by the Imperial Security Service and House Fyron Intelligence. I''m afraid my personal request will not be enough to obtain the information. Your signature is required." In fact, she might well have inquired informally, such as from Countess Durlurl, but the poisoning just slipped her mind.


    "Make a request, then, and I''ll sign it. And also... tell me, if you were to kill a high-ranking target - you know, some lord - would the bodyguards help him?"


    "Depends on what resources I have: if I only have a hand blaster, then bodyguards can help the target a lot," she looked expressively at Alex. "Why do you ask?"


    The lord sighed heavily and darkened even more:


    "You know, I''ve been thinking. And I realized it wasn''t a duel. It was an assassination attempt. Someone tried to poison me, and now this. If they keep trying, they''re probably going to bring in the professionals now."


    Taer, who was somewhat shocked by the duel presented in a new light, opened her room door:


    "Come on, let''s go to my place, and you can tell me your thoughts in detail. And why you thought it was an assassination attempt."


    "Er... come on," he walked into her chambers and looked around. "You''ve got a cozy place, not like mine. And why your place?" Alex smiled, and his face was no longer grim. "Not my room or the study, for instance?"


    "Because the suppressor in my bedroom is much better!" Taer replied in complete seriousness as she closed the door behind her.


    Pointing to the lord''s chair by the window, Taer waited until his back was turned to her and, with a couple of quick kicks, threw the uniform and towel lying on the floor under the bed, sincerely hoping Alex hadn''t noticed them in time. Hiding the signs of her hasty awakening, she walked over to the desk and turned on the suppressor. A yellow light flickered on top of the pyramid, and the room filled with a quiet hum.


    "There, now we can talk," the girl turned the armchair by the table towards the lord and settled comfortably in it. "What makes you think it was an assassination attempt?"


    Alex sighed heavily, and ran his palm over his face, pressing his eyes lightly, massaging them. Looks like he didn''t sleep well. And began to explain his reasoning.


    Fifteen minutes later, both sat in thoughtful silence, the silence broken only by the bass hum of the suppressor. The Lord waited for a response, and Taer''s mind was in a terrible mess:


    From what the lord had said, even the last idiot would understand that the whole duel thing was pure spectacle. Except who would want it?


    It could well have been an assassination attempt foiled by the appearance of Lord Lister, or it could have been a production by the same Lord Lister.


    Though why he would do that is beyond me!


    The instigator of the duel, Lord Areno, was from House Peltar, and Peltars don''t need much convincing to mess with House Fyron. And if there''s a price to pay...


    Could it have been the Peltars? An act of delayed revenge for the fight at Pell? Oh, come on, that''s ridiculous!


    "What do you think of that, Taer?" The lord seemed tired of waiting for a meaningful response and decided to remind her of his existence.


    "I think the duel was staged, and perhaps indeed for murder," Taer was a little uncomfortable admitting that she had missed her second assassination attempt in a week, but it was pointless to deny the facts.


    But, shadows! After all, I''m not a bodyguard!


    "I think so, too," Alex grinned wryly. "The question is who needs it and what to do."


    "Hire guards, of course! Sixteen men at least, I think. Plus, you could get a dozen more droids and order..."


    "Wait, wait, wait," the lord interrupted the specialist. "I was thinking along those lines myself, but then it occurred to me that if they''d tried it twice, they might try it a third time. The first time I survived by accident. The second time I was interrupted by Lord Lister and the "robbers" who appeared too just in time to be an accident. So those who want to kill me will mistake them for my guards. So next time they will act for sure and with the guards in mind..."


    Alex leaned slightly towards the girl trustingly:


    "That''s why I asked you, how would you attack a target guarded by... well, the same sixteen people you were talking about? As long as you''re not short of funds... within reason."


    Taer was about to declare, "No way! I''m not an assassin!" but thought about it, imagining the operation to eliminate Lord Cassard as a sabotage mission assigned to Fleet Intelligence. The first thing that came to her mind was an accurate sniper rifle and a well-chosen position, but after thinking it over, she dismissed it - one might miss, and the target might be protected by a personal shield - after all, Lord Cassard could afford one.


    No, a sniper rifle is not enough! The sabotage team will only have one try - they need to hit for sure. They''ve already missed twice.


    She thought about the bomb for a while but gave up on it because it would be hard to plant the bomb into the castle and twice as hard to get it to the reception. And the high flyer wouldn''t be able to reach even the bouncer.


    And then it hit her - the HGM! A heavy guided missile could be easily obtained by a well-connected and well-resourced man, and the assault team had them on the payroll. An experienced operator can easily hit a flying flyer or put a rocket through a window from a decent distance.


    She imagined very vividly how the silvery cylinder of the rocket, opening its guiding flaps and buzzing like an angry wasp, leaves the container on the soft launch engines, only to turn in a few moments into white-tailed death, which rumbles to its target with a crashing crack of supersonic tearing air. A blue, blindingly bright flash of the explosion and the flyer, as if hitting an invisible wall, shatters to smithereens, becoming a cloud of flaming debris. Or a missile strikes the window of the lord''s bedroom, the primary charge overloads the weak field set rather against the robbers, and the main charge explodes inside. The room bursts into flames, a wave of heat instantly scorching everything in it, the ceiling and walls collapsing. The hit leaves a gaping black hole in its wake, illuminated by the uneven flames of the flaring fire. "Contact lost," the operator says, pulling down his glasses, and the observer confirms the hit... An unpleasant chill runs down Taer''s back.


    I''ll get baked with the lord - the wall between our bedrooms has been weakened by a secret door.


    Yes, that''s exactly what she would have done. A late-night bombardment of the bedroom from HGM, and to make sure the lord was where he was supposed to be, the droid could be hacked, or a bug could be slipped in.


    Great shadows. The droids were last checked almost half a year ago!


    And after the strike, the group will retreat in a flyer waiting for them.


    Or they''re just firing from a semi-truck aerocar - the launcher will fit quite nicely. There''s a very busy road leading to the spaceport ten minutes'' flight from the castle, and the launcher could well be disposed of by dumping it into one of the countless canals.


    "If I needed to securely eliminate a heavily guarded target, I would fire an HGM at the target''s bedroom," the "specialist," said quietly. "And sixteen bodyguards would not help at all."


    "HGM? What that?" Lord asked.


    "A Heavy Guided Missile - it could well be placed in a large aerocar and fired through the open side door. The warhead has enough power to destroy a fragment of a castle or blow up a flyer."


    Alex raised an eyebrow skeptically:


    "Is there nothing that can be done? Like cordoning off possible launch sites or something... Shouldn''t there be some way to deal with it?"


    "A cordon will do nothing: some samples have a launch range of up to fifty comers, it''s only ten comers to the estate boundary, and the rest is municipal land. But even if we agree with the municipality of Copeira to create a security ring of this radius, it would take several thousand men and a couple of thousand droids."


    Taer wondered what could be done, and the Planetary Action Handbook immediately came to mind:


    In the event of a threat of shelling of bases or squad material by guided missiles, bases, and field camps are sheltered by stationary or mobile shield generators of continuous operation with a minimum capacity of 500 pwt. The movement of equipment should be carried out in convoys with a minimum distance between vehicles of sixty measures and with mandatory cover by assault aircraft...


    "Something can be done," Taer grinned grimly. "And it will be very expensive..."


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "How much?" Alex perked up.


    "Well, I don''t know yet," Taer said, leaning back in her chair. She already had a clear plan of action in her head, and the situation didn''t seem so bad anymore:


    "We need to find out. Probably a hundred million, plus surcharges for urgency."


    "A hundred million what? Credits or denarii?"


    "Danarii. And that''s only an estimate. Plus, you will still need people - ten people at least."


    "Not more expensive than money," Alex sighed in relief. "And what is proposed to be done?"


    "Change the fleet of flyers. "Isato-Planet" is certainly a fancy machine, but it won''t survive an HGM hit. Buy shield generators to cover the castle. Hire pilots capable of flying really, really low and really fast. Hire a couple of "free lances" to take care of the droids, and the little things there..."


    "All right, then, find out the prices and buy whatever you think you need."


    Anything I see fit? Hmm... sounds good...


    Her eyes sparkled at the thought of a pair of personal wear shields and a brand new Sparkle with a boosted generator... and an adaptive sighting system. Her thoughts drifted from the Sparkle to a black pearl Mirage convertible sports coupe, but she quickly dismissed the captivating image:


    "As you command, Your Grace."


    "By the way, is firing missiles at the lords the order of the day? Wouldn''t they dare or use something more modest?" Alex asked.


    "I don''t know," the ''specialist'' shrugged and twisted in her chair. "You asked about the method. An HGM is, in my opinion, a very reliable method. I have no idea what professional assassins will do and what they will use. And whether or not they will decide to do so depends on the assailants, whether this approach is acceptable to them or not. In the end, it can be blamed on the PVD terrorists."


    "Who would want to attack me?" the lord continued to inquire. "And what is the inquest''s main theory about the first attack?"


    "I don''t know. We should send them a request. But I think the Imperial Security Service is looking for Anti-Imperial Alliance conspirators or PVD terrorists. The SS sleeps and sees the conspiracy being uncovered, so they''re looking everywhere for Rebels and PVD terrorists. The Copeira police suspect some lone-wolf maniac. Because they''re shaking with dread of the possible political fallout if the investigation leads them into the Great Houses squabbles. And Fyron''s Intelligence is still undecided about the culprits and will decide depending on the political situation."


    "How lovely!" Alex marveled. "So no one''s going to look for the real poisoners at all? Who do you think it could be?"


    "Anyone," Taer waved her hand vaguely. "Some insulted aristocrat, unscrupulous in his methods but scrupulous in matters of House honor. Guardsmen... though hardly likely, of course. Some relative - for the sake of inheritance."


    "Like Baroness Rionale, for example?"


    "No, she arrived later than your poisoning, and she doesn''t have many motives, at least not right now."


    But if she does marry you, who knows...


    Taer stared thoughtfully at the ceiling and drummed her fingers on the armrest:


    "Actually, I doubt they were relatives. You were poisoned at the reception at the House of Kerlith, and there were only two of your relatives there. Plus Baron Kouifi. We can dismiss the Baron at once - he had no sense to poison you and then save you. The Marquis of Azzardo and his wife? First, very distant kin. Second, quite well-off, and third, they''re both almost a hundred years old. They have no motive at all. There were no strangers at the reception, and it''s unlikely that any of your kin would have sent someone. They''re not that powerful..." She paused meaningfully, hinting that high politics were involved.


    And remembering Vallerie Bellar as the number one spouse candidate is very high politics!


    But thick-skinned Alex didn''t seem to catch the hint:


    "And who, if not family? Someone so offended that they decided to poison me, and when that didn''t work, arranged a "duel" for me? Do you often have such a reverent attitude towards honor?"


    "Anything can happen, but what I meant was that there may be political motives involved..."


    "Political? Did I undermine someone''s electoral base? Or could I have gotten too many votes?" There was obvious sarcasm in the lord''s words, but Taer could not grasp the essence of the sarcasm.


    "What "base"? And what does this have to do with mining, anyway?" she genuinely didn''t understand. "I mean, someone might not like the alliance between Fyron and Bentar, for example."


    "And who wouldn''t like him? And what does that have to do with me?"


    "Like the Peltars, or those forces in House Bentar who are against an alliance with Fyron. How should I know? I''m no expert in politics! And you''re involved through your potential bride."


    "My... what?!" Alex was taken aback.


    "The bride," Taer tensed slightly.


    Didn''t I say too much? But, after all, he couldn''t help knowing!


    "Do I have a fianc¨¦e as well?" The lord was clearly taken aback by the news.


    "Well, it''s not quite there yet," the "specialist" hesitated. "They''re still negotiating... But if they do, yes. There will be a bride!"


    "And who is she that they want to kill me because of her?"


    "Valerie Bellar, the Rulning Lady of House Bentar. But it''s not necessarily because of her. It''s just a guess," Taer "reassured".


    "Why me? Do we have an incredible love affair? Despite my reputation?"


    This slightly confused Taer:


    Really, this is nonsense. Why Lord Cassard? Do we have a shortage of lords? Could have found a couple of suitable ages with untainted reputations. So Bentar needs money so much that they''re willing to turn a blind eye to Lord Cassard''s reputation?


    "As far as I know, there is no incredible love between you two. It''s a political marriage. I would even say highly political," Taer explained at length. "House Fyren is voting for House Bentar in the High Council, weakening the House of Kilreat as well as the House Melato. The Bentarians, on the other hand, gain access to Lord Cassard''s resources."


    ...and everyone is happy. "And what does Lord Cassard get? Alex was clearly beginning to get angry. I take it Bentar wants to get money from me. Fyron wants to get Bentar''s vote. What''s in it for me? Valerie Bellar and a lot of pain in the form of poisoners and duelists?"


    "It wasn''t my idea!" Taer raised her hands conciliatory. "And then, you''re going to be Lord Consort!"


    "I don''t want!"


    "Well, then you''ll probably get a lot of persuasions... by very persuasive people... until they do."


    "That they''re going to torture me?" Alex grinned evilly.


    "No way! No, of course not! But they''ll use all the pressure they can get. Besides, I don''t know the whole political business," Taer''s voice sounded apologetic. "Maybe you were offered something that suited you fine."


    Alex sat, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his face in his palms. Then he rubbed his face vigorously and looked tiredly at the girl:


    "OK, we''ve just got one more item to deal with. We''ll deal with security, then we''ll figure out what to do about marriage. And by the way, where can I get a short course on History and the Political Situation for Idiots and Memoryless, because all these Melatos, Kilreths, and other Great Houses don''t mean anything to me!"


    Damn, I keep forgetting he''s lost his memory!


    "You know, I don''t know how to help..." She paused, remembering that she hadn''t thrown out her university notes. "Wait, maybe I''ll find something, though."


    She rummaged through her desk and drawers and, after a couple of minutes, found a scrapbook of notes. Pulling out info sticks of notes on the History of the Sector, Geopolitics, Imperial regulation, and overview lectures on the Great Houses, Taer threw the folder back into the desk and handed the info sticks to the lord.


    "And how is this being used?" Alex asked, looking at the info sticks with interest.


    "There is a slot in the terminal to plug them in, and that''s it - you have access to the information."


    "Then I''ll be in my office reading, and you do the purchasing and hiring," Alex got up from his chair, about to leave.


    "Er... of course I will, except... there''s Kayrin. She is alone... probably long awake and bored. You invited her, and it''s not good to leave her, after all," Taer said, a little surprised at her concern for the Baroness.


    "Kayrin? Is she here yet?" Surprised the lord.


    "Yes, she flew in last night. We didn''t want to wake you up."


    "All right, I''m off to entertain the Baroness," Alex began cheerfully. "I''ll read at night," his cheerful tone faded away, and he summed up with a sour expression. "I won''t get much sleep again."


    The "specialist" shook her hands, like, what can you do? And she reminded him:


    "Before you go to entertain the baroness, please contact the secretariat - have them open a line on me for one hundred and fifty million."


    Alex just nodded in response and walked out. Taer sighed in relief, pulled a uniform and a towel from under the bed, threw them into the utility drawer, and sat down at the terminal. She had a lot of old guard acquaintances to call, and some of them to be lured into service with Lord Cassard.


    There was no problem with "seducing" old acquaintances: she simply offered thirty-five thousand danarii a year each, which was about four times the salary of a Guardsman. She also talked about the accommodation. An hour later, she had three Pilots, a Lance, and a Field operator. And the need to get them transferred out of the Guard. Only Lance wasn''t a problem - he was on a short contract and could break it at any time.


    With a heavy sigh, Taer dialed the number of the Countess of Durlurl. There was no point in contacting the Ergo-Captain of the Guard, Lord Tsorto; he couldn''t stand Lord Cassard and would have stuck. Just out of spite.


    On the screen, a red griffin appeared on a grey field, enclosed in a golden circle. Beneath the circle was a stylized Golden Eye, the emblem of House Fyren''s Intelligence.


    After a few seconds, the screensaver disappeared, replaced by an elegant young man in a dark scarlet Guard uniform:


    "Her Ladyship''s secretariat, the Countess of Durlurl! What can I do for you?"


    "Guardsman Taer Diltar, arm of Lord Cassard! I would like to speak to Her Ladyship."


    "Is it urgent?"


    "No, no, I''ll wait," Taer hastily assured him.


    "I''ll contact you as soon as Her Ladyship is free," the secretary nodded. "Don''t stray too far from the terminal."


    "I''ll be waiting," Taer replied, and after saying goodbye to the secretary with a slight nod, she disconnected.


    As soon as the screen shut down, she relaxed and sighed in relief. Despite the fact that Countess Durlurl was very sweet, smiling, and charming - for some unknown reason she made Taer feel a kind of unnatural trepidation and nervousness. So deep down she was glad that the conversation had not taken place.


    But the emergency transfer issue can still only be resolved by her.


    With a sigh, Taer pulled out the All Copeira Companies info-stick and began searching for someone who could sell her a shield generator and, preferably, three landing-assault shuttles right now.


    After two hours, she managed to contact about a hundred different companies and intermediaries. The landing and assault shuttles were not the sort of thing you could buy "right now" especially since she wanted a model with dismantled armaments. The generator on the other hand, apparently, could be bought from the local Zonn-Mer office, as they say, "off the showcase". At least, a charming brunette in a strict grey business suit assured her that "we can certainly come to a mutually beneficial agreement, Mrs. Diltar. Come and discuss it!"


    And she would have arrived in Zonn-Mer long ago, but waiting for a call from the Countess kept her at the terminal. Not to be bored just yet, she searched for something civilian, fast, and with a very powerful field, reckoning that such a beast would be found among the special machinery for environments of increased aggression.


    She was just discussing with another consultant the specifications for the Industrial Flare ''Bleek'' with external protection level IM92, trying to figure out what the very ''IM'' meant when suddenly a call signal flickered in the corner of the screen on another channel. She quickly said goodbye to the consultant and, inwardly freezing, changed the channel. On the screen appeared the former secretary, who said that the Countess was free. A moment later, Countess Durlurl appeared in his place in her own right.


    "Hello, guardsman! What do you want with the old woman Durlurl?" She asked in a ringing voice of a girl in her twenties.


    "Greetings, Your Ladyship! I wanted to ask for your assistance in placing four Guardsmen under Lord Cassard as soon as possible."


    Taer remembered her as a bossy woman with a look that stared straight into her soul and long past her fifth decade. This made her even more nervous.


    "What, you don''t want to mess with Lord Tsorto? Well, I don''t blame you - he''s a mean man. But he''s afraid of me," the Countess smiled dazzlingly and waved her hand as if she were a sorceress. "Give me those poor people''s cases, and I''ll see what I can do."


    "Please, Your Ladyship."


    "Well, let''s see," the Countess''s gaze shifted to the side. There must have been an extra screen. "A Field operator and three Stoorm Pilots," she tapped her finger on her chin thoughtfully. "Well, that could well be arranged." She took her eyes away from the screen and looked intently at Taer. "By the way, ma cherie, don''t you think you''re being unkind to your rescuer?"


    "What is my fault, Your Ladyship?" The girl muttered, shuddering inwardly.


    "Can you imagine how offended I was to hear about the duel and its details from strangers and not from you, my favorite?"


    "I only found out the details this morning," Taer squeaked. "I didn''t want to worry you with my speculation before then, Your Ladyship."


    And her eyes are as icy and prickly as ever, an inappropriate thing flashed across the edge of her mind. And anyway, get it together. Why are you squeaking like a strangled mouse? She''s not your boss anymore - technically, we have almost equal status!


    The auto-training was of little help, the Countess continued to stare at Taer, and she cringed under her gaze, shrinking in size.


    "Oh, you woe is my, guardsman!" The Countess stopped glaring at Taer and smiled charmingly. "When do you need these pilots and operators of yours?"


    "As soon as possible, Your Ladyship!"


    "All right, the personal contracts will be handed to you in half an hour," the Countess almost chanted and passed out before Taer had a chance to splash out a thank you.


    As soon as the terminal shut down, Taer sighed in relief and leaned back in her chair, unbuttoning her collar:


    Why do you tremble in front of her, you shameful thing? You might as well hang up a picture of her and look at it every day for practice!


    Having mentally scolded herself, Taer took a shower, changed her clothes, and went to negotiate the purchase of the generator, taking with her an elegant black leather folder with the "Emerald" infoblock. She always took it with her when she wanted to look more solid.


    * * *

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10


    * * *


    The generator stella was topped by a sheaf of focusing needles of gleamed metal in the center of the lawn. Around it, a swirl of shimmering heat swirled the shield being formed. The central funnel grew narrower and narrower, and the shield went into working mode, looking more and more like a perfect sphere woven from shimmering and gleaming glass.


    "That''s great! Eight seconds faster than the passport data! Your operator is unparalleled, Mrs. Diltar!" The manager looked up from his stopwatch and smiled - the demonstration was clearly going well.


    Taer put the loose strand back in place - the forming shield was creating a tangible breeze around itself - and, with a sigh, said what she was expected to say:


    "I think there''s a credit to your technique as well."


    "Saphiron is the best on the market in this segment!" The manager smiled dazzlingly again and went on another run, recounting the delights of the machine.


    And the only unit you can buy on the Capeira, "right now", thought ''Mrs. Diltar'' unhappily.


    The games around the generator had been going on for the third hour. A wall of smiles and thoughtfulness greeted Taer''s arrival, and ''Mrs. Diltar'' was almost carried around on the arms. They took her to see the models, showed her three films about the company''s products, gave her a deliciously good teymar, filled her in with technical details, agreed to a test run, and entertained her for the two hours it took the urgently needed field operator to arrive. But they did not quote a price for the installation. The manager of the Zonn-Mer Mission, the charming and gallant Atuya Rakem, was describing the benefits of the Saphiron. Taer agreed with him at great length and wondered how much it would cost to purchase this engineering marvel, but she received no direct answer. Instead, she was told to wait until the end of the test run.


    The wind blowing from the unit subsided. The sphere of the shield stopped spinning, and the small waves that produced glittering ripples stopped shaking the surface. The shield became almost invisible, covering the clearing with a glass hood - the field stabilized and went to the mode of constant operation.


    "Would you like to try out the unit in combat?" Atuya was pointing somewhere behind him.


    Taer turned, following his hand, and saw a light Vortex blaster... if "light" was the word applicable to Vortexers at all. Three workers in gray overalls with the ZM emblem on the back had just rolled the platform with the blaster out of a nearby hangar and began lowering the supports. A hand-thick bundle of power ran from the vortexer''s massive body to the depths of the hangars.


    It was two hundred paces from the blaster to the edge of the shield. The heatwave would come weakened, of course.


    But I can forget about the hair, and Rima would just kill me for having to walk through a scorched clearing.


    The Field Operator had already changed into her Cassard colors, so she was wearing white, as was Taer. Rima didn''t have her own uniform yet, and she flatly refused to show up in the garbage, so on her way to the test, the Master Operator raided the Blue Flame Castle, looting Taer''s wardrobe and forcing the maids to "adjust it to fit".


    "I think I''d better make do with a power dipstick," Taer''s smile came out a little strained.


    The manager, with a quick wave of his hand, called for a group of technicians who had huddled modestly near one of the hangars, trying not to attract attention. The technicians ran over, set up a tripod with a dipstick, and in a few seconds, a bright red beam shook the field. The shield at the point of impact turned opaque, deep white, and waves of shimmering ripples ran down the sides.


    After a couple of minutes of testing, the generator was switched off, and the shield disbanded, giving everyone a dense wave of air as a goodbye.


    Rima, who had listened with an embarrassed smile to a heap of enthusiastic compliments on the speed and beauty of the shield she had created, stood up from the operator''s console and walked over to Taer.


    "What do you think of my shield?" With a touch of smugness, she asked.


    "You know damn well I don''t know anything about it," Taer looked at her friend expressively, ''don''t be a show-off''. "I''m not going to be able to tell you what the unit is like."


    "Well, the unit as the unit," Rima shrugged. "It''s new. It''s not worn out, and the inertia is even a little lower than normal."


    "Well, is it worth buying?"


    "That''s for you to decide, ''Mistress Diltar''," Rima smirked. "The generator''s working, and the results are better than the passports. By the way, it showed almost six hundred "pvs" on the shield, and I''m not used to it yet. But whether you need it or not, that''s for you to decide."


    Taer sighed - now she was no longer sure that the installation was really necessary. On the other hand, it does no harm - only good, and it does the lord no harm. Encouraged by this thought, she summoned the manager, who diplomatically stepped aside while ''Mistress Diltar'' spoke to her technician:


    I think it''s a good time to discuss the financial side of our cooperation.


    "Of course, Mrs. Diltar," the manager nodded. "I suggest we discuss this more privately in our conference room while our technicians take care of the test reports."


    He opened the door of the flyer in front of Ta?r and helped her in by giving her a gallant hand.


    Even though I''m not wearing a dress and don''t need help, it''s still nice.


    Soon they were in the meeting room - an oval room with large round windows and a large round table in the center, which was surrounded by oval-styled armchairs. And everything - the furniture walls, the trim on the chairs - was white. Taer, with her snow-white tunic, blended in with the surroundings somewhat more than she would have liked. Apart from the manager and ''Mrs. Diltar'' there was no one in the meeting room.


    "What do you think of the unit after the test run?" Atuya Rakem sat opposite, folding his palms together.


    "My technician is pleased," Taer made a careless gesture with her hand. "I think your Saphirone is satisfactory, and I would like to know its price."


    The manager thought for a moment and then answered with a sigh:


    "You see, Mistress Diltar, Saphiron-level shield generators are not the sort of thing that has any one retail price. A lot depends on the history of our relationship with the buyer, some kind of established arrangement," Atuya Rakem sighed once more. "To my regret, our company has not cooperated with you before. And I hope that we will now find some arrangement that will be beneficial to both parties." He added with a smile.


    "How much, though?" Taer genuinely didn''t understand the reasoning behind this beating around the bush and wanted to hear some figure.


    "In this sector, our company''s pricing policy limits the minimum price for Saphirone to ninety-seven million danarii," the manager stopped talking and looked expressively as if waiting for something to happen.


    "Does this price take into account our requirements?" For Taer, speed of delivery was paramount in the first place.


    "Er... this is the base price, you must understand, Mistress Diltar, we certainly need to take into account the costs associated with the urgency of the order..." Atuya was expressively silent again. "As well as the interests of all the contractors..."


    "Listen up, dear man, so how much?"


    Shadows, what does he want to hear from me?! "Mistress Diltar" was already beginning to quietly lose her temper. I am, after all, a guardsman, not some peddler! What does he expect? That I''m going to start bargaining with him?!


    "Um... well, I don''t even know..." The manager was clearly confused and agitated. "Let''s say we can come to an agreement around the figure of one hundred and thirty-five million denarii. What do you think?" Atuya looked again at Taer with a meaningful look. "With all interests taken into account, of course!"


    Taer frowned. A third more expensive than expected. The Saigonians are only asking ninety-eight million for the installation, but ''right now'' they don''t have it and won''t for the next three weeks. She leaned back in her chair, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. On the other hand, the lord''s life is more precious. And he won''t get poorer. Plus, he needs to be protected right now.


    The manager, who must have seen the agony of choice on Taer''s face, decided to add fuel to the fire:


    "Actually, Mistress Diltar, I think you understand that due to the incredible urgency of the order, the price may be increased..." he paused for a moment, looking at her questioningly, as if waiting for a clue, but then he continued without waiting. "Let''s say up to one hundred and fifty million."


    "WHAT?" Taer shrieked, jumping out of her chair, almost unable to hide her anger: The bastards have realized that I need it urgently, and now they are trying to squeeze the money out of me!


    Seeing his customer''s twisted face, Atuya backtracked:


    "It was just a suggestion. We can go back to the hundred and thirty million option... with all interests taken into account, of course," he repeated the cryptic phrase for some reason.


    Taher sighed: Shadows with those bloodsuckers, let them choke on it! Five more minutes of haggling like this, and we''ll have to give up a billion:


    "OK, we''re OK with that price, but the unit has to be delivered tonight, with a deadline of overnight."


    "Of course, Mrs. Diltar, the unit will be delivered in the time frame you mentioned." The manager smiled ingratiatingly and asked a leading question. "Do you have any requests for calculations that are in your party''s interest?"


    "No," Taer shrugged, "we''re happy with the standard method."


    "So you are satisfied with our usual method of payment?" Atuya Rakem''s voice was clearly relieved.


    "Well, yes," she was beginning to lose patience, and there was a trace of irritation in her voice, "I told you, the standard option is completely satisfactory."


    "Then I would like to know how quickly you can transfer the money once the contract has been signed," the manager looked at Taer again expressively, as if hinting at something. "I think you understand, Mistress Diltar, that we will not be able to proceed with our obligations until we receive the money."


    "Give me the contract to sign and the account number. You''ll have the full amount in a moment," Taer opened the folder, revealing the Emerald with its ID plugged in.


    Just don''t let the bastard haggle again... I can''t stand it. I''ll smash his face in and rip everything to shreds.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Now Taer glared at Manager, waiting for some kind of trick that would allow him to bargain again. The manager''s eyes widened


    "You... You..."


    Bastard, I''m going to punch you in the face, Taer''s body tensed involuntarily.


    "...You... are an amazing partner, Mistress Diltar!" The manager wasn''t just glowing. He was beaming and shining with his whole body. "It''s a pleasure doing business with you! I''m so glad you chose our company... I hope we won''t disappoint you!"


    Atuya switched on the comm and babbled in a short gibberish:


    "Ilochka, a set of documents for Mistress Diltar. Immediately!" and smiled again, looking at Taer.


    A few seconds later, the door opened, and a secretary (or assistant?) practically ran into the meeting room with two infoboxes and a pile of papers in her hands. The manager snatched the documents from the hands of "Ilochka":


    "The contract is one hundred and thirty-five million danarii, with a due date of one day," Atuya looked expressively at Taer as if waiting for her approval. And when she nodded, he quickly wrote something in the contract and handed the two sheets to Mrs. Diltar:


    "Please sign our option. The account number is in the contract."


    Taer glanced quickly at the contract and, finding nothing objectionable, signed both sheets, handing one back to the manager. He handed his copy to the secretary, who flew out of the meeting room with a tap of her heels.


    "When would it be convenient for you to pay, Mistress Diltar? Perhaps some tea, teymar, or wine?"


    "Right now. Give me your account number - I don''t remember it."


    Atuya Rakem handed her an infoblock plate on which the account number was highlighted. "Mistress Diltar" quickly, wielding her stylus somewhat briskly, entered the account number and amount into her infoblock, signed, and pressed the "transfer" button, confirming the transaction by touching her finger to the sensor. Emerald fed her request with her signature and fingerprint to the bank''s executive center. The signature and fingerprint seem to have satisfied the security systems to the fullest: "Executed" was displayed on the infoblock screen, and those present plunged into an anxious wait. Taer communicator beeped with a nasty beep - a call came in from the bank:


    "M... Mrs. Diltar, this is Rivol Turan, branch manager of the First Mutual Bank of Copeira. A request has been received for the transfer of one hundred and thirty-five million danarii from one of the lord''s Cassard accounts assigned to you.." Rivol Turan spoke confusedly and stuttered a little. It must have been agitation.


    "Yes, that''s a valid request. Why, is there a problem?" problems at the bank was the last thing she needed.


    "No, no, not at all, Mrs Diltar! But please forgive me, it''s just that in the case of such amounts, additional confirmation by your personal code is required."


    "Wait," Taer muttered to the com and quickly entered her code into the infobox. "Well? Everything all right now?"


    "Yes, all is well, Mistress Diltar. Your transfer request has been fulfilled. Once again, please forgive me for unnecessarily disturbing your ladyship!" The manager seemed to get so excited that he called her "ladyship".


    ''Her Ladyship Mistress Diltar'' turned off the comm and looked up at ''The Honourable Atuya Rakem'', who sat motionless and seemingly not even breathing, waiting for the translation to finish.


    "The money is in your account."


    The manager pressed the button on his infoblock with a trembling hand, and when he saw the updated account data, he let out a long, long sigh, wiping the sweat on his forehead with his hand:


    "All is well, the money has been received. You are a fantastic business partner, Mrs. Diltar, and I am very glad you chose our company! You can rest assured that we will fulfill ALL our obligations!" he said the word "all" with a special emphasis and asked the question with a kind of incomprehensible entreaty. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Diltar?"


    He''s so excited and starting to repeat himself, isn''t he? Taer thought wearily, getting fed up with the whole thing.


    "No, I think I''ll be on my way. And I expect to have the unit at my place tonight," she got up from her desk, threw the contract into the infoblock folder, and with a careless gesture, tucked it under her arm, headed resolutely for the exit.


    The manager followed her, beaming with happiness and repeating incessantly:


    "I assure you, Mistress Diltar, our company will fulfill all its obligations in the shortest possible time!"


    In the foyer, she picked up Rima, who was chatting sweetly or flirting with three managers at once. When they were seated in the flyer, the manager, exuding streams of charm, asked Taer in passing what her favorite color was.


    "Pink," she replied with undisguised sarcasm, thinking to herself: Is he hitting on me, the miserable peddler?"


    In the flyer, she relaxed a little, chatting with Rima - she had been told a bunch of fresh navy news and gossip. Taer even felt something akin to nostalgia for the old days:


    How much easier it was for me to be a Palang-Lieutenant, no need to negotiate and bargain with all sorts of assholes, I wasn''t catched by the freaks in the SS, Countess Durlurl probably didn''t even know I existed, no need to think what would happen if the lord was killed, she sighed regretfully. I didn''t care about any lords at all! The only thing I could have been in danger of was a reprimand from my superiors. No, I was drawn to the higher realms!


    She sighed sadly again. Rima continued to babble on about the rumored affair between Captain Glimi and Daim Evio, hinting that Dame Evio''s husband was aware of it and didn''t mind.


    On the other hand, I''m obviously having a lot more fun here - at least there''s just no time to think about who''s sleeping with whom, Taer smirked and reminded herself of the pleasantries. And they pay four times as much!


    After half an hour''s flight, complete with casual chatter, they were outside the castle. Rima had not had time to see much on her first visit to the Blue Flame - she was in a hurry to loot her wardrobe and fly off to the trials - so Taer slowed down and put the flyer into a gentle turn, giving her a chance to admire the castle and the gardens.


    The huge lake at the back of the castle glowed in the sunset rays. The weather was calm, and the surface of the water was covered with a multitude of blooming Isoris that looked like tiny sparks from above.


    "It''s beautiful!" Rima whispered, leaning against the window.


    Taer remained silent, also captivated by the view. Then Rima turned to her with the most conspiratorial look:


    "Shall we go swimming? The water must be warm..." she purred.


    "In the lake? You''re craz..." Taer began but was interrupted by the piercing beep of the collision warning system before she could finish.


    The system simply wasn''t installed on normal flyers, so it took her a few moments to figure out what was beeping. They were flying the service Isato-Planet, and luxury cars of this class are packed with all sorts of safety-related equipment, including a collision warning system. Intersecting vectors flashed on the navigation screen, and an inscription appeared: "Attention! Intersecting courses, excessive speed vector, possible collision!"


    Taer ditched the vehicle to the left and turned around - a bright red sports flyer was quickly approaching from behind, clearly coming in at the rear. Various possibilities swirled in her mind - who it could be and what it would be shooting at her with. She was being chased by a coupe convertible, which meant it could be fired from anything, like a rocket launcher.


    While her mind was thinking about the situation, her body reacted instantly and on automatic: the turn to the left became even steeper, the nose dropped, and the vehicle went into a steep dive, performing a "split", trying to jump under the belly of the cabriolet into its "blind" zone. The flyer went upside down, flying upside down for a few seconds, green treetops whizzing overhead, Rima and the safety system yelling as they both thought they didn''t have enough altitude left to make a U-turn. She turned the vehicle back to the normal position and found her pursuer, who didn''t repeat her maneuver, but took advantage of the sport flyer to make a minimum radius turn and stepped into her path, only a little way off.


    Taer frantically considered what to do - her flyer was flying almost over the treetops, so there was no way to gain speed in a dive, and competing in a straight line with a sports coupe was foolish. So she swung the vehicle sharply to the right, flying behind the castle, using it as cover. The wall came within a palm of her hand, the flyer was still a bit low in the turn, and she was practically scraping her belly on the ground as she flew past the front door of the castle. At that moment, the pursuers'' flier jerked out from behind the castle - its pilot must have lost control of the turn. The machine tumbled toward the ground, then suddenly froze, halted by the emergency automatics, its nose up in an awkward sort of way.


    Taer drew her blaster, nodded for Rima to follow suit, and, making sure her friend had a shot at the pursuers, drove the vehicle towards the frozen red flyer.


    "Surrender!" through laughter, Lord Cassard announced - he was sitting in the pilot''s seat.


    "Taer, you buried your talent in the ground! You could have been a fighter ace!" Baroness Rionale chuckled next to Alex in the passenger seat.


    "You took a great risk, Your Lordship. What if I had opened fire?" Taer put the phaser away and climbed out of the flyer.


    Jokes like two young idiots! And she didn''t think too: why would someone else''s flyer be over the estate?


    "Ahh, don''t be a killjoy!" The Baroness jumped deftly out of the flyer. The two differently directed fields of gravity and height didn''t embarrass her. "I was just teaching Alex to fly the flyer, and this was an opportunity," she patted the side of the flyer, "but as for shooting, it''s Faison-Osaro," she said, "You know what kind of fields it has."


    The Lord straightened the car, putting it horizontally, and jumped to the ground too:


    "How''s procurement?"


    "Successfully, my lord, the main components have already been purchased and will be delivered tonight," Taer said in an official tone.


    "Are you buying something?" Kayrin asked, hugging Alex as if unintentionally.


    "It''s just trivial stuff," he brushed it off.


    What he''s secreting isn''t clear - the generator stella isn''t the sort of thing that''s hard to spot. In fact, I see Kayrin hasn''t been wasting any time!


    Taer excused herself and hurried away, saying she was busy. Which was true; there was a lot of work to be done.


    "Is Lord Cassard''s service always this much fun?" Rima asked as they drove the flyer into the garage.


    Taer grinned grimly in response:


    "It''s hilarious, especially with Baroness Rionale around. By the way, be careful with her. She''s a bitch..." she hastened to warn her friend.


    "Is she his date?"


    "No, kin. Although who''s to say - she has plans for Lord Cassard, so if you decide to flirt with him, look around more often."


    After handing Rima over to the steward - she had yet to be housed in the castle - Taer went to her own quarters to find replacements for the flyers. She did so until late at night, interrupted only once by the arrival of the pilots and the lance.


    Almost overnight, she managed to find a suitable option - a "light" transporter for worlds with high radiation. Its shield characteristics were not much inferior to the landing shuttle, and its appearance was quite decent. She was assured by the company representative that she would have the three vehicles tomorrow morning, with the contract ready for signature.


    After midnight, the Zonn-Mer heavy transporter arrived with the generator. The technicians were hustling around the mounted stele in the spotlight, pushed by Rima - the start-up of the generator was not to be delayed - and Taer stood to the side, watching the commotion. She was tired but content: a clear plan of action had been devised and clearly implemented.


    I''m a good girl!


    After launching the installation, as the technicians were already loading back into their transporter, Atuya Rakem approached her and called her aside:


    "Our company would like to offer a small gift to you and Lord Cassard in honor of the successful transaction"


    The manager''s voice exuded fir, and the technicians behind him were just rolling out of the transporter two sports coupe convertibles. And one of them was bright pink.


    I could have said my favorite color was a black pearl, blue, or red... But - no - a heightened pest of character, Taer though aloof.


    "I hope that our cooperation will grow," Atuya continued to rant, the technicians, meanwhile, drove the pink flyer towards Taer.


    "Erm... Look, sir, I think it''s unnecessary, and then..." she started to object but was interrupted by the manager:


    "Not at all, Mrs. Diltar! You are an excellent business partner. We have never signed such contracts so easily and quickly! And it would be disrespectful to you and Lord Cassard not to thank you!"


    The manager took out a stack key with a pink fob, pressed the key, and the convertible opened the boot. He made an inviting gesture. Taer walked over and peered into the boot - there was a black leather folder similar to the one she carried her Emerald in.


    "What is it?" she asked.


    "Performance of our company''s obligations with ALL interests in mind."


    Atuya undid the clasp and opened the folder without taking it out of the boot. The tight stacks of five thousand denarii gleamed dully in the darkness. Making sure Taer saw the contents, the manager quickly clasped the folder and handed her the keys to the flyer:


    "As we agreed, Mistress Diltar, I hope you are satisfied with our standard payment scheme!" He was silent for a moment and then continued. "I think you understand that the contract with you was very hasty, so we simply did not have time to fulfill all our obligations in full. But I can assure you that our company will meet them as soon as possible and I will personally supervise the delivery of the accompanying equipment. Goodbye."


    With these words, Atuya Rakem jumped into the vehicle, which began to slowly ascend, leaving a distraught Taer alone with a folder full of money.


    Taer stood on the platform, the quiet rustle of the generator warming up could be heard in the distance, and she began to feel incomprehensible jitters - she suddenly realized how much money was in the folder.


    Over a million for sure!


    She started to unzip the folder to make sure she saw the correct denomination and suddenly froze, realizing what had happened.


    Great shadows, it''s a cashback! I, a Guardsman, an arm of Lord Cassard, took a bribe like some clerk!


    She suddenly felt very hurt, almost to tears: eight years of clean service and now this. She wandered, faintly aware of what she was doing, to her room, clutching the folder.


    But I didn''t ask for it or even hint at it - they literally shoved it at me! It was just a cry from the soul that was cut short by a mean-spirited voice:


    Well, well, that''s what they all say. Barra didn''t ask too, but of course, he''s clean as a tear.


    In her room, Taer turned on the suppressor and, without knowing why, counted the money - ten stacks of one hundred cards - five million danarii. She smiled sadly.


    My wages for more than a hundred years.


    Putting the money back in the folder, Taer tried not to think about it, but she couldn''t - her mind was filled with more vivid images: her own ship, her being disgraced by being kicked out of the Guard. To distract herself, she showered and then tried to sleep. But her awakened conscience and Guardian honor wore her out in just over half an hour. And after another half hour, Taer, having successfully exhausted herself, made a decision: To shadows career - honor is dearer! Judging by the security terminal, the lord was awake in the study alone.


    With a sigh, she took the folder with the money and, dropping her head, went to turn herself in.


    * * *

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11


    * * *


    The bright red flyer pierced the white cloud and continued to gain altitude. There was no "lack of thrust" - the machine went steeply upward, gaining speed like a rocket. The white sea of clouds remained far below, the horizon gradually curved, gaining roundness. The speed of the flier was indicated by the figures on the dashboard and the white flashes of compaction in front of the pointy nose of the vehicle. There was nothing else but the gentle breeze in the hair and the steady chanting of the engine behind. In front and around, as far as the eye could see, was only the sky, which was growing darker and darker, and for a moment there seemed to be an uneven flicker of stars.


    "I think it''s too early for us to go into space," Kayrin murmured.


    Her breath tickled Alex''s ear pleasantly, and her tight breasts rested against his shoulder. The Baroness sat half-embracing him, her hands resting on his arms. The whole thing was called "learning to drive a flyer" by Baroness Rionale.


    Alex realized he was being shamelessly seduced, but first, he liked it, and second, anything flying had been a weakness of his since childhood.


    "As you say!" he smiled back.


    The grip is on himself! And the sides of the flyer swelled up with milky white blasts of compressed air, turning into two huge snow-white wings. The sky and the ground reversed, and the machine looped downward. The overload gauge poured yellow. Twenty-two units! Alex couldn''t believe his eyes. He was sitting in the sports convertible on the sofa that was here instead of the seats, unbuckled - because there was nothing to buckle up with - and he felt nothing at all! Although, in theory, he should have been pressed into the floor with two tonnes of force. Knowing about the inertial compensator from the Baroness'' words and feeling it working for myself were "two big differences".


    Still, I bloody like it here! Alex thought as he put the vehicle into a horizontal flight. The flyer flew in a canyon of clouds. The surrounding beauty was breathtaking, a light breeze was blowing in his face, and an incredibly beautiful girl was smiling charmingly beside him, the collar of her shirt generously unbuttoned to reveal a stunning view.


    In the back of my mind, however, the unpleasant thought lurked that all this beauty was accompanied by purposeful guys who wanted his dead body, and the girl clearly had some selfish motives. But this thought did not hinder the enjoyment of the flight.


    There was a melodious chime and a yellow square with a lightning bolt in the center flashed on the central panel.


    "Less than a third of the energy left," Kayrin explained the signal. "Time to go back, and I''d better slow down, or we''ll miss it," she stopped talking and then spoke again, probably not to Alex anymore, but in a cooler, more commanding tone. "Navigation lay in a course for the departure point!"


    Obediently, the flyer''s electronic brains plotted the direction of the castle on the central screen, and in a few minutes, the machine emerged from the clouds in direct line of sight of it.


    "Look," Kayrin pointed to the right.


    On a parallel course, but much lower, another flyer flew, looking like a silver droplet from above.


    So observant, Alex marveled as he guided his vehicle downwards.


    "It must be Taer," the Baroness concluded.


    There was now a two-hundred-meter difference in altitude between the machines, and the flyer going below was clearly visible - the model, indeed, resembled the one the "security specialist" was flying.


    "Let''s parrot her!" Kayrin''s tone was quite playful. She gave a serious expression and pointed to the silver flyer. "Come on, fighters! To Fyron!"


    "Yes!" Alex decided to play along.


    The machine lay on its left side and went into a combat approach like a World War II fighter, by all the rules, from the side of the sun. For a moment, the flyer flew upside down, and Alex was once again surprised that it wasn''t falling out. The target was fast approaching, increasing in size - a scarlet griffin was already visible on board - when suddenly, having must have spotted the ''attackers''. The silver one jerked to the left and then - collapsed down, turning around near the ground, and reversing, under the belly of the attacker.


    Alex didn''t risk repeating such a maneuver - he simply took advantage of the incredible maneuverability of his vehicle, turning in an almost zero-radius turn, and dashed after in pursuit. The speed advantage was clearly on his side, but the ''victim'' suddenly took a sharp right, swerving behind the castle and pressing up against its wall. He threw his vehicle following. The castle wall was rapidly approaching, and it was clear that the turning radius was too small and was about to hit the wall. A left turn, away from the wall, and the vehicle was dangerously close to the ground. A sharp jerk. Handles in to gain altitude. The flyer kicked up and down, whirling like a skittish horse, hurtling across the ground. The world spun at an unbelievable speed.


    And suddenly, everything stopped. The vehicle froze, staring nose up into the sky, stopping a few meters from the ground. Alex burst out laughing nervously, with hysterical notes - he hadn''t had time to be frightened in flight, but now he was scared, even though it was already over. The Baroness was genuinely amused; she did not seem the least bit frightened by what had happened.


    After all, with that kind of recklessness, the first day''s driving could get you killed, Alex decided. Though the Baroness had assured him that the Osaro could crash into a rock at full speed without any harm - the fields and inertia compensators would hold up.


    She was persuasive, but there was no sense in checking it out for himself. He was still in shock from the fact that he was driving the flyer himself and at such speed.


    It all started when Alex, talking to the Baroness, dropped the fact that he didn''t know how to fly a flyer because he''d "forgotten everything§¿. Kayrin immediately offered to teach him, and right away. She was jolly, easy-going, and with a great sense of humor, so the three hours that Alex "entertained" Baroness Rionale flew by without a trace. She was a rare pleasure to spend time with. The joy was marred only by the fact that this NLP enthusiast wanted something out of him, and her interest was clearly not dictated by the depth of his personality.


    Anyway, the baroness went to change because her dark blue short sundress with an inflated waist was, in her own words, "not suitable for driving a flyer". Five minutes later, Kayrin was in front of an admiring audience in a short-sleeved white shirt with a high stand-up collar. The high collar, however, was unbuttoned by more than three buttons revealing a gorgeous chest. The shirt was accompanied by light blue trousers and moccasins. After all the compliments they were due, they went to the garage to choose the most suitable apparatus for the trainee.


    In the huge room filled with a cloud of machinery, the Baroness gave him a full-scale tour, telling him about the various models and expertly explaining their advantages and disadvantages - it seemed that sports flyers were her little weakness.


    "You know, this doesn''t seem right to me!" Kayrin ran her hand lovingly over the shiny side of another sports engineering marvel. "A man who hardly ever drives has such a huge collection of sports flyers. They''re supposed to fly, they''re built for speed, and you keep them locked up!"


    "I admit my fault," Alex smiled guiltily. "I''m ready to make amends immediately and start flying. As soon as you choose what we''re going to fly."


    Kayrin stopped in front of a large convertible with a sharp, predatory nose painted bright red.


    "Great shadows, Faison-Osaro!" she almost groaned. "Where''d you get that thing? You''re not..." she paused, remembering something. "What am I talking about, though? It would be strange if it wasn''t here."


    The Baroness slammed her palm on the bonnet:


    "We''re flying it!"


    "Is this the suitable vehicle for the first time?" Alex hesitated.


    "More than that! Powerful fields, an autopilot that makes the machine fly better than a pilot, excellent emergency automatics..." Kayrin went on to detail the charms of the machine.


    As it turned out, it was the fastest production convertible: a thrust generator of monstrous power, easily taking five times the sound, with an inertial compensator, with a limit of eight hundred units, and an arbitrary overload vector that would do honor to any fighter, if it wasn''t too expensive to put on fighters.


    "But most importantly," the Baroness said with a gasp. "Dynamic control plane generation system"


    She pointed her hand to a spherical bulge at the side:


    Normally flyers, even sports flyers, do not use aerodynamic control systems except for stabilization. But the Osaro''s special field generators create differently shaped wings and stabilizers, depending on the flight profile and control torque required. With an experienced pilot, this machine literally dances.


    Oh! It''s like she''s reading! Pretty girl - and a sports car fan, who''d have thought? Pretty girls rarely have hobbies at all - maybe aristocratic origins have an effect?


    Kayrin smiled slyly and swung herself over the side, plopping down on the sofa:


    "Get in," she slammed her palm down beside her. "I''ll teach you how to fly."


    Alex opened the door and sat down next to it - there were no armchairs, just a single rather wide sofa with a low back covered in something that looked like velvet. The interior was trimmed in leather and chrome metal.


    Aristocrats degrade with taste, he smiled and ran his finger over the inlay on the light-polished wood dashboard.


    While the Baroness was taking the flyer out of the garage, she had time to tell him what Osaro had had to pay for all his wonders. First, the price of a million and a half denarii, and second, the almost hand-assembly and the incredibly complex calibration of the equipment, which made them scarce and left the Osaro, as for most of Fizon''s products, in a queue. And quite an impressive one at that. They consumed a great deal of energy, making the normal energy cells empty almost immediately. A special power unit with an enormous capacity had been developed for the Osaro. They would only fly for an hour and a half, though, and then they would have to recharge from the generators. There was no quick cell change system like on most fliers.


    All in all, a very smart and exclusive machine. I wonder. Why is it here if Lord Cassard wasn''t a fan of piloting himself?


    The flyer jumped out of the garage, the generators hummed melodiously, and the vehicle went up, gaining altitude at a rapid pace.


    As the nose stared up into the sky, Alex frantically searched for something to cling to but was surprised to realize that he was in no hurry to fall out. As it turned out, the apparatus, for the comfort of the noble public, was equipped with a small gravity-generator, which created its own field of gravity, always directed at the floor of the machine, so that there was no need to worry about the contents of the stomachs and the calmness of the vestibular apparatus.


    When the vehicle came to a halt, hovering silently several kilometers high, Kayrin turned to him and smiled dazzlingly:


    "We''ll practice here - it''s much safer at altitude, and there''s no risk of hitting something hard. Come on, get behind the wheel, and I''ll teach you."


    The baroness moved to make room for Alex at the controls and began to explain what they were for. The controls were strikingly similar to an airplane, except that the pedals were used to control the thrust of the generators when flying "helicopter style," and the left and right turn of the nose was set by turning the control handle around its axis.


    So he started to learn. At first, it wasn''t so good: the flyer yawed sharply, and Alex kept trying to turn into a plane-like turn and pedal the nose, causing the flyer to jerk sharply up or down. The Baroness, hugging Alex and placing her hands on his, helped steer the machine by parrying the excessively abrupt and wrong maneuvers. Gradually the thousands of hours in her favorite flight simulators took their toll, and Alex became "quite proficient at flying the flyer for the first time," in Kayrin''s words... but she was in no hurry to stop hugging him as she "helped steer," though.


    Eventually, lulled by the compliments, he relaxed and almost flew into the ground, mismanaging his control in pursuit of Taer.


    Yeah, it''s not the same thing to fly behind a computer screen as it is to fly in person, and you''re just showing off, you bloody aviator!


    After surrendering to the ace fighter, Alex chatted briefly with Taer. He found out that the security plan had been successfully implemented, and, somewhat relieved by this news, he continue to entertain his dear guest. He did so until almost late at night. The Baroness taught him how to play the local mix of cards and chess - to Alex''s surprise, he did well and even won four times, which made him regret his decision to play for "fun" rather than "undress" as Kayrin had suggested.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    However, she might have given in on purpose.


    Then they went fencing, which ended in his complete defeat, though now the Baroness was definitely going easy. Alex declined the horseback ride for fear of exposing himself completely. So they went for a walk through the evening gardens. He should say night gardens because the sun had long since set, and he felt it was already about midnight.


    The gardens surrounding the castle were illuminated by lights concealed in the dense grass at the roots of the trees. The trees and trunks glowed with a mysterious bluish light that gently enveloped everything around them.


    The atmosphere is the most romantic.


    They sat on the grass beside a small river, the starry sky above shining with an unearthly beauty, illuminated by the reddish light of a crimson nebula, and somewhere in the distance, some nocturnal creatures were trilling.


    "I wonder what it''s singing?" Alex asked, sitting down on the grass beside the baroness.


    "They are finches, little fluffy animals with long tails. They nest in the trees and sing beautifully in the spring. It''s just a little early for them," Kayrin moved closer and snuggled against him. "It''s getting chilly."


    At night her eyes, already black, seemed like bottomless lakes filled with gleaming darkness. The reddish light of the mist played on her full, slightly open lips.


    If you don''t hug and kiss her now, you''ll be a complete idiot! And if you kiss her, you''ll be a complete fool.


    In Alex, desire fought against freshly acquired paranoia: ///Two assassination attempts in four days - and the Baroness is up to something.


    "Yes, indeed, it''s chilly. Let''s go to the castle," his paranoia won out, and he decided not to test his resilience to temptation any further.


    Alex stood up and offered his hand to Kayrin, and she rose easily and followed him to the castle, showing no sign of disappointment. The lights were shining outside the castle, and there was a lot of activity - they must have brought in the equipment Ta?r had talked about.


    What on earth does she want from me? Alex wondered after walking the baroness to her bedroom door. Afterward, Kayrin asked for help in choosing an outfit for tomorrow''s festivities, which she said required a ''man''s eye''. Guessing that the fitting would end, or even begin, with the spectacle of a woman''s nudity, Alex refused, citing the late hour, a desire for sleep, and a complete ignorance of women''s fashion.


    Because a naked Baroness Rionale is not something I can resist.


    Kayrin didn''t push or talk her way out of it. She smiled sweetly and said goodnight as if to say in passing that she herself would not be able to sleep for a long time.


    For once, I get hit on by a stunningly beautiful girl with some ambiguous offers and - sure enough - some kind of set-up!


    Alex wandered towards his office, lamenting the unfairness of what was happening. Lecturing on history and geopolitics instead of going to the Baroness was perverse, but it was, in his opinion, the only reasonable option.


    Alex, lounging in his chair, stared at the screen floating in front of him. The notes that Taer had given him in the morning turned out to be video recordings of lectures with pop-up text comments, which must have been made by the owner of the notes.


    "So! As you and I found out in last week''s lecture, the Tail sector became a unified cultural and political space three thousand years ago when Lord Heroti Tail, together with the great houses, defeated the houses of outcasts at the Battle of Toliara, uniting all thirteen kingdoms, something we all celebrate every year during the Unification Festival."


    A thin old man with a small beard, giving a lecture, turned to a huge hologram depicting star systems connected by white lines. Borders flashed red around them. They began to transform as they merged, some of the star systems, marked by blue circles, turned grey and became translucent. A text commentary ran across the screen, +++Thirteen conquered kingdoms under the rule of Emperor Teyla the First ''Unifier'' transformed into ten Great Houses." The old man coughed into his fist, urging the students to be quiet, and continued:


    "Thus ended the era of the battling kingdoms and began the era of Empire Tail," the lecturer paused, seeking out someone in the audience with his eyes. And, pointing his hand beyond the camera''s line of sight, he offered:


    "Count Vastol, give us your assessment of the reasons for the collapse of the Tail Empire."


    "Ahem... the Empress Dialla provoked a conflict with the Great Houses with her decree on ''Reform of Administrative Boundaries'', which resulted in a revolt of the Guard," the Count had a brittle, youthful voice and spoke, stammering heavily, probably from excitement.


    The old man pursed his lips with a sour expression:


    "Superficial, young man, superficial. Does anyone have anything to add?"


    The lecturer roared his eyes around the audience again. His gaze fixed squarely on the lens. And Alex heard a low whisper, in which he recognized Taer''s voice:


    "...Not me, not me..."


    "Respected Diltar, anything to add?"


    "The recognition of the Tallana Separatists and their incorporation into the Federation negated the competence of the central authority, the Tail Empire could no longer secure the political interests of the Great Houses," Taer muttered.


    "Not bad..." the old man nodded approvingly. "But incomplete!"


    He put his hands behind his back and turned again to the map:


    By admitting Tallana, the Federation had sent a clear message to the Great Houses. Now they could resolve their problems without looking back at the Empress. They could apply for membership and gain the protection of the Federation fleet at any time. This led to a series of intermittent territorial conflicts, in which a House which achieved the desired configuration of borders immediately applied for entry into the Federation on an "as is" basis. Of course, the best results in this situation went to the Houses that acted first.


    The lecturer turned to the audience again and pointed his hand at someone:


    "Name the parties who benefited most from the collapse of the Tail Empire."


    "Peltar, Fyron, and the Separatists who have joined Tallan!" The young man who had jumped up possessed a distinctly nerdy aura.


    "That''s right! So, as we have found out, there have been many situations in the history of our Sector where a change in the balance of external forces has been the trigger for the resolution of conflicts between the Houses. So we come to the topic of our lecture today..."


    A duplicate inscription ran on the screen: +++Rebellion of the Orders as a major factor in creating the current scheme of geopolitical balance between the Great Houses.


    "...The Federation, being the guarantor of peace, deprived the Great Houses of the ability to resolve conflicts militarily. And House Peltar''s historically well-developed ties with the Orders and the federal center have led to a power imbalance. As a result, the economically and demographically more developed and militarily powerful Houses - Fyron and Melato - were political pariahs. The possibility of political lobbying at the federal center and the use of the power resource of the federal fleet made House Peltar dominant in our sector."


    The lecturer stopped and looked at the red-haired, curly-haired girl who was persistently reaching out her hand:


    "I know what you want to tell us, Marquess Cheryl: that House Peltar kept the aggressive aspirations of House Fyron in check and was the guarantor of the peace that allowed our Sector to flourish, almost a thousand and a half years without knowing war. Isn''t that right?"


    The girl lowered her hand and said something inaudibly. The old man frowned and continued:


    "As I told you before, we have to try to abstract away from ethical issues - we should only be interested in the balance of power and the factors influencing it. The balance of power tells us that the weak House dictated its will to the strong, relying on external power. And as for the millennium of peace, I think the representatives of House Fyron will disagree with you. But we are not here for polemics - let''s get back to the topic of our lecture. The situation with the domination of House Peltar continued right up to the event we all know as the Mutiny of the Orders, which happened twenty-one years ago. The adherent orders of the ''guardians'' revolted against the Emperor, demanding that he resign his Imperium. House Peltar sided with the Orders, which was predictable but not reasonable..."


    The red-haired Marquise began to reach out again, but the lecturer did not notice her:


    "The Emperor did not even have to enter the Sector - at his command, the combined fleets of House Fyron and House Ispar preemptively destroyed the fleet of House Peltar at the bases during the battle of Pella."


    An inscription appeared at the bottom of the screen, announcing that the combined fleet was commanded by Lord Galen Cassard, who had also planned the attack.


    It turns out Lord Cassard''s father was not in the lowest ranks in the Navy.


    "The attack on Pella was carried out without a declaration of war during negotiations!" shouted the girl from her seat, tired of dragging her arm.


    "Quite right, Marquess Cheryl! With that, the first staggering blow put an end to organized resistance in space. And after the planetary shields fell, House Peltar was no longer a tangible force in the Taile sector. Seven systems were occupied and handed over by House Fyron to its ally, House Ispar, and had it not been for the mercy of the Emperor, House Peltar might have ceased to exist. Thereafter all the Great Houses swore a personal oath to the Emperor, becoming his mainstay against the Orders and the remnants of the Guilds armies. As you know, the Emperor''s gratitude was great. This explains the position held by the Great Houses and the nobility of our sector in general. As well as the freedom in matters of self-government. And here we must first consider the influence on these processes of the Empire''s officer corps, staffed at the time of the mutiny and immediately afterward, predominantly by nobles from the Great Houses of our sec..."


    Alex stopped the record and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was sleepy, and the thought of Baroness Rionale waiting for him in his bedroom prevented him from concentrating on his notes. He was about to go back to watching the lecture when there was a shy knock on the office door.


    Something new - usually everyone just walks in. I wonder, who needs me? Deciding that the pause was dragging on and that the killers were unlikely to knock, he turned off the screen and gave his face a benevolently neutral expression:


    "Come in!"


    Alex secretly hoped it was Kayrin, but the reality was slow to meet expectations. The door opened and Taer entered the office with a drooping head.


    "Has something happened?" The depressed state of the "specialist" did not escape him.


    "Yes, Your Lordship. Here..." she said in a trembling voice, holding out a plump leather folder to him.


    Alex took the folder in his hands - there was clearly something weighty inside. He wrestled with the clasps, but without much success. Taer stepped closer and helped her with the locks, the file opened and stacks of cards spilled out onto the table.


    "What is it?" the lord inquired, looking curiously at the gold embossing on the dark and smooth surface of the cards.


    "A bribe," Taer sighed, "which I took..." she added quietly, looking down at the floor. Her face went from red to pale.


    Alex opened one packet, tearing off the blue ribbons with which it was bound, and began to study the card with interest. It was thin and supple, almost square with rounded edges as wide as the palm of his hand. "Five thousand denarii," he read the inscription along the edge.


    "Why don''t you tell me more?" Alex put the card aside and looked up at Taer, who was clearly not at ease.


    "Yes, Your Lordship," the "specialist" almost whispered and began to tell the story of her "fall".


    As she told him, Alex became more and more amused.


    Poor naive child, she signs a contract for one hundred and thirty-five million danarii and doesn''t notice that she is being heavily offered a payback, although it''s clear that such contracts are not made that easily. I wonder how much the payback is?


    He interrupted Taer''s story and inquired:


    "They had to give a base price. How much?"


    "Ninety-seven million danarii, it seems, Your Lordship."


    And the contract was for one hundred and thirty-five. So nice! Thirty-eight million on top - more than a third extra! He was curious as to how much that was in dollars; according to his initial estimate, the dinarii was about eight bucks. So, roughly speaking, they pay back about three hundred million on a billion-dollar contract.


    While Alex pondered, calculating the amount of payback in dollars, Taer finished her story and froze, waiting for the "verdict". He sighed and carefully, concealing a smile, asked:


    "And how much is there?"


    "Five million danarii, Your Lordship," the "specialist" was pitiful to look at.


    "Taer, Taer... you know, I didn''t expect this from you," he added sadness and reproach to his voice. Alex was about to hold a proper pause, but seeing the quivering lips and red eyes that looked like they weren''t crying just because of the Guardsman''s pride, he took pity. "You''ve been robbed, Guardsman!" he laughed.


    "What do you mean, Your Grace?" whispered Taer. She was a little taken aback by the turn of events.


    "That''s what I''ve meant. They''ve added thirty-eight million on top, and you''ve only got five. A real robbery! You were supposed to get one-third to one-half of the markup, that''s ten or fifteen million danarii. They must have seen your inexperience and decided to warm their hands a little."


    /Although it''s strange to cheat on a partner on a billion-worth contract - the management should eat everybody alive for that.


    "But I didn''t ask for a kickback at all!" Taer protested.


    "You agreed to it. First, they asked you about the markup, then they asked you about the payment scheme and your interests - you said ''the usual''. So you got the ''business as usual''," Alex nodded at the money scattered across the table.


    "What am I supposed to do now, My Lord?" asked the slightly relieved girl.


    "My Lord" looked intently at Taer. The situation frankly amused him. The strange dark squares with gold letters did not feel like money. Especially not his money. And Taer''s naivety in the field of applied economics might have made him laugh if the girl had not reacted so acutely to the bribe she had received.


    On the other hand, if you had been bribed with thirty million dollars - I''d have looked at you - your hands would have been trembling, too. And there she is, giving herself up! She seems to have a morbid sense of pride and a hypertrophied sense of honor. Though maybe that''s the norm for a Guardsman. And in fact, such honesty should be encouraged in every way possible! He was about to rake the money back into the folder and give it to Taer when a thought suddenly occurred to him. I''ve got some unaccounted-for money in my hands that could come in handy, especially since someone really wants to kill me. For instance, they might need to buy some services secretly. And you shouldn''t deprive a ''specialist'' of financial motivation either.


    He counted the cards in the bundle - there were exactly a hundred of them - and scooped the money back into the folder, leaving one bundle on the table.


    "What to do? First, you should switch on the suppressor, just in case..."


    "I turned it on before I came in, Your Lordship," the girl pulled the pendant from her shirt - it hummed softly, the light in the center glowing softly yellow.


    "... Second, you should sit down, relax, and remember that we switched to ''you'' a long time ago," Alex continued, waiting for her to settle into her chair. "Third, you should make an appointment for this Atuyu Rakem and ask when you''ll get the rest of it."


    "What?" Taer wondered genuinely, "I - a Guardsman - have to demand a bribe?! I cannot! It''s dishonorable!"


    "Take your time," Alex interrupted her. "For a start, it''s not a bribe - think of it as a special operation - you''re not taking it for yourself. We might need some clean, unaccounted-for money, especially since someone''s trying to kill me."


    Taer thought about it in a way she hadn''t thought about.


    "Okay, your high... Alex, I''ll do as you say," she looked him in the eye and asked. "You don''t think it''s my fault?"


    "No, of course - I think you''re a  of person of incredible self-control and very honest. I bet those mugs in the Office steal a lot more than that, and no one who comes forward to confess! All in all, I think you acted like a true Guardsman, and you should be proud of what you did because it''s not for everyone to risk their careers in the name of honor."


    God, what am I saying? Good thing she''s in shock and not thinking straight. Alex, seeing Taer''s condition, thought a few compliments might do her good, but he seemed to be going a bit overboard.


    "Thank you," Taer smiled appreciatively. "I was afraid you wouldn''t understand," she brushed a small tear from her eyelash and stood up, heading for the exit. "Shall I go?"


    "Wait. Generally speaking, people who help carry out such operations are paid a percentage to five percent of the amount. But taking into account your moral expenses and your demonstrated integrity, I think ten percent is the right figure for this operation," he stood up and handed the wad to Taer.


    "I can''t! It''s not right..." she protested, but there was no firmness in her voice.


    "Take it! It''s a well-earned reward for showing honor and restraint!"


    Taer took the packet, muttered some words of thanks, and headed for the exit, dazed by the events that had occurred. At the door, the voice of the Lord caught up with her:


    "By the way, do you know if there''s a safe in here?" It occurred to Alex that keeping five million in a folder was not a good idea.


    It turned out that there was a safe, and more than one, but no one knew the code to the main safe except Lord Cassard, and now no one at all. So Alex limited himself to a key-locked mini-safe in a desk drawer.


    After sending Taer to sleep, Alex "read" the notes for a few more hours and went to his bedroom. Before going to bed, he opened the wardrobe, find something he thought was a scarf, and put it next to the bed.


    Well, let''s see what you have to offer me, gentlemen well-wishers.


    The scarf was a bright scarlet color.


    * * *

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12


    * * *


    A huge white platform, richly decorated with scarlet escapes of embossed designs on the sides, floated above the rippling sea of people like a ship. Large flags with a red griffin at their center hovered over the platform, further enhancing the resemblance to the ship by resembling snow-white sails. All around, except for the narrow strip over which the platforms flew, the crowd raged. The people filled the entire avenue and the surrounding streets, as well as the accessible balconies and rooftops, shouting, waving flags, and throwing ribbons of color toward the platforms, which fell in a bright arc to the pavement. The snowfall was slowing down as it overcame the protective field covering the platforms, making clouds float in the air.


    The platform - a hundred meters long and shaped like a huge boat with low sides - could comfortably accommodate five hundred people if not a thousand. Alex stood alone in the middle of the gigantic structure, and he was uncomfortable, to say the least.


    Well, OK, not alone, but with Taer, but that doesn''t make it any easier!


    The "specialist" stood to the right like a statue - not moving or blinking. And Alex could more than understand it - while the other platforms held several hundred nobles each, cheerfully waving back at the crowds and scattering small orbs from the platforms in the air in a shower of colorful sparks, the lone Lord Cassard and his guardsman got a disproportionate amount of attention, making him feel like a rare animal in a zoo on Open Door Day.


    Before the festivities began, Taer had explained this strange isolation by the simple fact that the platforms represented domains, and the nobles on them were arranged by clan. And at the moment, Lord Allesandro Cassard is the only representative of both the family and the domain of Cassard.


    Yep... Cassard is a rare, endangered species of the lord. No hand-feeding! Alex grinned grimly. At this rate, I hope we don''t become extinct...


    The other platforms were packed with nobles, except for one... There was a tall, lonely girl with short platinum hair and skin the color of bronze. Accompanying her were two enigmatic beasts in ceremonial robes. The two were far away, though, and Alex could not see all the details.


    Waves of flashes and flying flags with house emblems constantly swept through the sea of people around them. The shouts of greeting from the crowd were a joyous roar in which no words were intelligible, Lord Cassard waving and smiling in response as the festive ceremonial events were well into their third hour and in full swing. They had already had time to take part in the laying of "wreaths of remembrance", which looked like throwing huge wreaths from the bridge into the water. The floral waterfall, illuminated by the setting sun, was mesmerizing in its beauty, but the sizzling heat spoiled the whole experience.


    Then they piled onto the platforms and leisurely headed towards the complex where the rest of the official part... and the unofficial party was to take place. The air conditioning on the platforms was working, and Alex took a little breather. But the platforms were moving slowly - standing, smiling, and waving were tiring, and he also wanted to go to the bathroom. And while the other nobles could take turns resting on the small lower deck, hidden from the eyes of observers for Lord Cassard this option was out of the question.


    To hell with these representative functions, this "Unification" celebration, and Anzati Ritero and Baron Kouifi and their idea of increased publicity as a means of winning a case in court


    From the look in Taer''s eyes, she had about the same opinion of what was going on.


    It''s idiotic, Alex continued to get angry. A celebration of some freak conquering everyone three thousand years ago. He gave them a lot of... brain fixes - they''re still celebrating!


    Almost without moving his lips, he asked aloud: "Taer, why is everyone so happy about the fact that they have been conquered by Emperor Tail?"


    "He united the Sector, ending the feud between the kingdoms by making it one," she whispered back.


    "What good was Fyron in this? An independent kingdom became a noble house within the Empire. What''s to be happy about?"


    "As part of the Empire, House Fyron increased its territory considerably and the nobility was protected by the Emperor from the arbitrary rule of kings and ruling lords," Taer was clearly quoting from some textbook.


    That''s even how - that is, the nobility en masse were happy to be conquered. That''s nonsense! Although it may not be nonsense if they did not suffer property damage and the "oppressive top brass" were dealt with.


    Judging by the speed, the rest of the journey will take about half an hour at the platform.


    Yeah, another half an hour and we''ll have to polite the "bride". What the hell is this: some want to kill him, some want to marry him and threaten to do so, some want to sue him, some want to rob a stunned man and then offer him friendship... well, and Baroness Rionale, who also wants something.


    Alex sighed heavily and remembered his conversation with Countess Durlurl, who had informed him that he now definitely had a bride. And, as they say, nothing seemed to foretell trouble...


    The awakening came much earlier than planned and not in the most pleasant way. An eerie rumbling and crackling sound broke into the bedroom, despite the light protective field that covered the windows. As Alex, mentally chastising himself for his excessive curiosity and reminding himself of the fate of one cat, approached the window, he was presented with a picturesque scene.


    A silver flyer of an unfamiliar model was hovering beside a huge fallen tree that used to be part of the alley leading to the castle. Some men in white uniforms were standing beside the car, apparently inspecting it. The central part of the tree, which must have had three arms around it, was torn into splinters. The culprit of the collision, however, looked undamaged, as far as Alex could see.


    "What''s going on in there?" Alex got to the comm and summoned Taer.


    While flying the new flyers at a low altitude, one of the pilots lost control. A three-hundred-year-old reswell was damaged. I don''t think the tree can be repaired. The machine is intact," the specialist''s voice was hoarse and tired.


    Bloody flyers. Woke me up, you bastards! Alex just hated being woken up. Especially if he''d been awake for a long time. "Okay, I''ll be right down," he added out loud and went to get dressed.


    His head was pounding from lack of sleep, so Alex, munching on three capsules of Fenote, perked up, and went to see the hero pilots.


    Shit! I wish they''d give me a scooter. Or is that instead of a morning jog for the tonus? He thought wearily outside the porch. The enormous size of the castle was beginning to get a little tense.


    He was met by a perfect line of people standing at attention on the castle grounds. Four lads, one of whom stood out for his giant proportions, and a pretty girl, a little shorter than Taer and much frailer. As Alex approached, Taer, standing first in the line, shouted "''At attention!" which caused the rest of the brethren to turn their heads in sync, and mutter something like "Ready to serve Your Lordship!". Alex was surprised at the manner of the "salute" - two fingers to the temple instead of an open palm - but the "security specialist", meanwhile, marched to the "lord" and, stretching out in front of him, reported:


    "My lord, the reinforcements for the inspection have been lined up!"


    She seems to have misinterpreted my "I''ll be down to see you," thinking I was going to give the troops an inspection, thought the "my lord," a little embarrassed by the reception. However, judging by her grey face and red eyes, Taer was now in a rare alternate state of mind, brought on by lack of sleep and nerves - so she could draw more original conclusions.


    "At ease, guardsman! Let''s look around while you''re in line," Alex commanded, adding in a barely audible whisper. "By the way, how do I address you in public?"


    "Out of the ranks one at a time!" Taer shouted and then answered in the same whisper. "Guardsman, Or "Sain lieutenant." Or Sword."


    "Master Pilot of the Guards, Ittori Lieutenant Pakrat Mithut!" The blond-haired guy, a little shorter than Alex, with green eyes, who stood first, stepped forward.


    "Master Pilot of the Guards, Ittori Lieutenant Rokot Vodin!" The co-pilot, a blond brown-haired man with fine features and the appearance of a poet, was even shorter than the first and somewhat more subtle in build than Alex had expected from a pilot. Although with these compensators, maybe they don''t care about physical attributes at all, as long as they''re able to react.


    "Master Pilot of the Guards Ittori Cadet Ogerd Wispart!" If the first two pilots were about Alex''s age or a little older, this one was at most twenty. Blond like the first pilot, he was short and gaunt but wiry as hell. He radiated activity and energy.


    "Master Operator "Lance" Dudo Guwar!" a man of heroic proportions stepped forward. At first glance, he looked about thirty, and his physique and general appearance were worthy of an action movie hero. He remembered from Taer''s lengthy explanations that the lances'''' were some sort of hacker. Lance... weird, atypical guy. Alex imagined hackers in a very different way, and the "keyboard and mouse" fighters he''d met in person weren''t usually known for the bulk of their muscles. And judging by the calluses on his knuckles, he didn''t work out in the gym. He mentally shrugged and turned his attention to the girl.


    "Master operator of the field Rima Talariv!" A graceful girl with dark brown hair, a sensuous mouth, brown eyes accentuated by thick eyelashes of mind-blowing length, and charming dimples on her cheeks that appeared while smiling, like now for example. And judging by the way her tunic is tattered - with a great figure! Alex admired the ''master field operator'' for a while, but unfortunately, the pause was dragging on, and to keep his attention from escalating beyond decorum, he took a couple of steps back and glanced around the entire formation.


    Yep, just like an Olympic reserve! The snow-white uniform with a red floral pattern on the right side that covered part of the sleeve was remotely similar to that of the Russian Olympic team.


    "At ease, eagles! What''s wrong with the tree?"


    "This is my fault, Your Lordship!" The energetic voice of Ittori Cadet Ogerd came out. "I had suggested an alley race to practice ultra-low altitude flying and to get to know the machines better. But, unfortunately, the inertia of the flier was unusually high, and I lost control in a turn," the pilot stopped and looked cheerfully at Alex, like oh, come on, it''s nothing.


    They''re not afraid of the bosses, the bastards, they break three-hundred-year-old trees and don''t give a damn! I wonder if they''re all like that, or if Taer has recruited the craziest of them.


    "All right," Alex sighed. "Keep practicing your ultra-low flying, but if you crack any more, I''ll take it out of your pay. Dismissed!"


    The troops hastily retreated out of sight of their superiors, the pilots ran to their machines, and the two master operators headed for the castle, followed by Taer...


    "And you, Sain Lieutenant Diltar, I''m going to ask... to stay," Alex grinned. He waited until Taer came closer and asked with an air of concern in his voice:


    "What, you haven''t slept at all?"


    "I slept!" the ''specialist'' answered defiantly but, with a sigh, admitted it. "An hour and a half."


    Alex took a jar of Fenote from his pocket and poured six capsules into the palm of his hand:


    "Take it. You''re scary to look at.. Eyes like a mad herring."


    "Would it help?" Taer hesitated. "My memory is fine."


    Alex dropped the capsules onto her palm:


    "Chew it! We still have the Unification party ahead."


    She looked doubtfully at the blue pills in the palm of her hand and, with a sigh, sent them into her mouth.


    After a few minutes, her cheeks flushed, and her gaze became more meaningful.


    "There were no less adventurous ones out there, were there?" Alex nodded at the flyers that were bobbing wildly around the alleyways, picking up tattered leaves and small branches.


    "The less adventurous don''t go to the Stormtroopers," Taer shrugged. "And they don''t teach the rest of them to fly low, and we all get screwed up," she nodded toward the fallen tree.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "Well, you know best. Have all the preparations for attending the celebrations been completed?"


    "Yeah, we''re all set. In the remaining four hours, we''ll change the power units on the flyers, have breakfast, and then we can move out."


    * * *


    Baroness Rionale also joined us for breakfast. As usual, fresh, smiling, and charming. She complained that she couldn''t decide on a dress for the ball, which would take place after the official events were over. She asked for help in this difficult matter, looking at Alex with a hint. He did not refuse, so he spent the remaining two hours before departure in a very entertaining way.


    Yeah, it certainly wasn''t going to happen without my help! He thought, slowly unbuttoning Kayrin''s dress. With each clasp, the Baroness''s perfect back exposed more and more, the clasps going almost to her... buttocks, causing his head to think, I wonder if she chose this style on purpose?


    The help in choosing a dress looked like this: the Baroness would come out half undressed, and Alex would help her put the dress on, after which she would parade the new dress around the room, listening to the raptures. Afterward, with a charming smile, she suggested putting it off and trying something more original. Alex, of course, agreed with her, helped her undo the "most insidious" clasps, and - everything was repeated. Through this simple process, Kayrin managed to demonstrate all the advantages of her figure both visually and tactilely, making an indelible impression. Which, by all appearances, was what she was trying to achieve. But all pleasant things must come to an end, and with a cautious knock, Taer looked into the room:


    "The flyers are ready. We need to leave in thirty minutes."


    "Thank you, Taer, we''ll be right down," the Baroness replied ahead of Alex.


    After changing into the costume Barra and Taer had selected beforehand and tying a red neckerchief with the help of the "specialist", Alex went to the site, where three fliers were already waiting for them.


    The vehicles were hurtling a few meters above the ground, trees, and houses flashing through the window. At first, Alex was sure they were going to crash into something - obstacles were flying dangerously close to the fliers - but the pilots seemed to know their job. At least they made it to the start of the festivities without incident.


    They were met on the spot by a dozen anxious stewards who were in charge of manning the platforms. As Alex now realized, those guys in charge of his platform were freeloaders - the rest had several hundred nobles to pack with merit and titles, and in the case of Lord Cassard, the panic on their faces was unnecessary.


    Although maybe they were afraid I wouldn''t come and the platform would be left empty?


    Baroness Rionale and the stewards went in search of her kin - they belonged to a different domain, so she had to travel on a different platform. Having already arranged to meet Kayrin at the ball, Alex realized he had made a mistake.


    Where was your head - the contacts from the "well-wishers" will come to you at the ball too! How will you get rid of the Baroness?


    Mentally berating himself for his excessive preoccupation with female charms, Alex, accompanied by Taer and the stewards, made his way to his platform.


    They were already waiting there. A short, or rather petite, girl in her twenties, gray-eyed with a hint of green, her coal-black hair pulled up into a long ponytail with a gold fishtail. A dark blue dress with open shoulders and a skirt that flared downward, ending just below the knee. Her shoes, with their incredible heels, made her look a little taller, but she was still barely over Alex''s shoulder. Behind her were two young men of the most determined appearance, dressed in dark scarlet, almost purple, uniforms with a high, standing collar. Their right shoulders were covered by black leather capes with a griffin pattern.


    That was also the attire of the dandy who had flown in for the baroness from the Representation, so these two were the guards of the House of Fyron...


    When she saw them approach, the girl smiled dazzlingly and went to meet them:


    "Lord Cassard! You have no idea how glad I am to see you! I was afraid you weren''t coming..." she paused, eyeing Alex curiously, seeing that he didn''t recognize her, and glancing expressively at the "security specialist". "Don''t be silent, Taer! Introduce me!"


    "Daim Esta, Countess Durlurl Ergo Ca..." began Taer, but the Countess interrupted:


    "Why all these titles," the Countess looked reproachfully at the "specialist" who froze like a rabbit in front of a boa constrictor. "We''re having a friendly meeting," she smiled dazzlingly again and, with a wink, took Alex under her arm.


    "By the way, Taer, my dear, I suppose you want to check out the platform before Lord Cassard climbs it? We''re going to take a walk. You can trust me to guard his lordship..." Esta nearly sang the last words as she led "Lord Cassard" away.


    "Of course, your ladyship," a pale Taer whispered.


    "The view of the city from the cliff is spectacular, and I bet you''ve forgotten it, too. You''d be foolish not to take advantage of it," the Countess told Alex, a little taken aback by the display of power.


    Weird - it looks like my brave guard is afraid of this brat!


    Alex looked at the Countess in surprise - nothing was intimidating about her. A very pretty and graceful girl, beautiful, if you like inch-long girls. In the meantime, the Countess was chatting away:


    "Actually, my name is Estal," she said with a smile. "But Estal Durlurl is kind of silly. Doesn''t it? So I prefer to be called Esta - although it''s simpler, it sounds nicer and cozier."


    Alex remained silent, not knowing what to reply, but the Countess was not satisfied with that:


    "Well, why don''t you say something, Lord! Well, say a word to your old friend!"


    "Were we friends?" Alex asked cautiously.


    "And very close..." she murmured in his ear, her hot breath on the side of his neck.


    Alex took a new look at the girl, falsely lingering his gaze on her distinctive roundness.


    So, that was who Lord Cassard was spending his evenings with, and that she was very much... It was only strange that she had shown up so late. Or maybe it''s some old relationship that''s grown into a friendship? His thoughts were interrupted by a peal of laughter:


    "Ay-yi-yi, your lordship," she wagged her finger at him playfully. "I know what you''re thinking!"


    "Lordship" wanted to make excuses, but decided it would look silly, so he preferred to change the subject:


    "Why "your lordship" if we''re old friends?"


    "Indeed! To hell with these formalities between old friends! I''ll just get rid of my dummies, and we''ll talk like humans," she turned to the guardsmen, who had followed the Countess at all times:


    "Leave us the orber and go and help Taer or something..."


    "Yes, Your Ladyship!" With these words, one of the guardsmen removed something from his belt that Alex first mistook for a grenade and threw it in the direction of the Countess.


    A small ball the size of an orange hovered at the top of the trajectory and began circling Alex and Countess Durlurl, humming softly. The guardsmen turned around in unison and walked quickly towards the platform.


    He and the Countess, accompanied by the strange balloon, moved a hundred meters away from the platforms and stopped at a low stone railing.


    There was a cliff beyond the railing - it looked like the ''gathering place'' was set on top of a small mountain or a large hill. There was a city below, and the view was magnificent.


    "Very pretty indeed," Alex appraised the view.


    "I''m glad you liked it," the Countess smiled sweetly. "Alex... or should I say Alessie?"


    "Alex is better."


    "You know, I have amazing news for you!" She announced happily. "I found you a bride!"


    "And who is that?" Alex asked cautiously.


    "Valerie Bellar!" The Countess solemnly declared.


    OK, I''ve heard that name before. What a terrific arrangement for political gain on the one hand and financial gain on the other... but where my interest lies are unclear.


    "The Ruling Lady of House Bentar?" he cautiously clarified.


    "Well, who else? She is! Clever, beautiful, and a very positive girl! We''ve already arranged everything - all the political niceties have been taken care of, just the formal details: publicity of your hopeless love affair, the engagement, and the wedding! So let me congratulate you in advance..."


    Alex interrupted the rowdy countess - marriage was not part of his immediate plans:


    "Don''t you think, Esta, that''s a bit too fast?"


    "Why is it fast?" The countess was surprised. "You''ve forgotten all about it - we''ve been discussing the matter for over a hundred days, and we''ve finally come to an agreement with Bentar!"


    "No, I mean the wedding. Isn''t it a little early for me? And then - my reputation - what did Valerie think of that?" Alex went about his favorite business, one at which he was practically a pro - bullshitting.


    "Why is it early? You''re twenty-four, soon to be twenty-five - it''s time to get married! And as for your reputation... well, that''s ridiculous! Who hasn''t made a mistake when they were young? That''s what youth is all about. And, of course, Valerie, being a clever girl, understands that very well!"


    It was worth admitting that Countess Durlurll dismissed the first batch of excuses with aristocratic carelessness.


    "Honestly, Esta," Alex continued to fight back. "I don''t see the point of marrying Valerie Bellar. I think it would only bring complications"


    "Well, that''s no way to treat your friends," the Countess pouted. "We''ve tried, we''ve made arrangements, we''ve found you a bride. And what a bride! A Ruling Lady! And you refuse!" She turned to Alex, gazing intently into his eyes. "Look, isn''t it possible that the rumors of mild insanity are true? Who in their right mind would refuse such a bride?"


    "Let''s be serious - I see no reason to marry anyone. Especially Valerie Bellar."


    "Ew, so boring!" She wrinkled her nose, and then her tone turned cold, and her gaze became prickly:


    "Well, seriously so, Lord Cassard. You seem to have forgotten our deal - that''s forgivable, but I''ll remind you of the generalities," she poked a sharp fingernail into his chest. "You - marry Valerie Bellar. I''m keeping you out of trouble."


    These must be the ''persuasive people who will persuade you until they persuade you'' Taer was talking about, Alex knew he was being threatened, but he wasn''t scared. He had doubts at all that Countess Durlurll was capable of frightening anyone.


    "What kind of trouble are you protecting me from?" With the utmost courtesy in his voice, he asked.


    "First, from yourself!" Esta smiled predatorily. "Secondly, from the wrath of the Ruling Lord..."


    "And what kind of trouble could the wrath of the Ruling Lord and you cause me?" Alex asked innocently, slowly beginning to get annoyed.


    From what he had read in Taer''s notes, it was quite clear that the Ruling Lord had no direct influence over him at all. And if he did, he could appeal to the Emperor, who, for some reason, was not very fond of House Fyron''s Ruling Lord.


    "Don''t try to make me angry!" hissed the Countess. "First of all, you will be in trouble for the fact that I know your TRUE nature..."


    Alex''s eyes widened involuntarily and an unpleasant chill ran down his spine: Does she really know who I am?


    Daim Esta, pleased with the effect she had produced, continued:


    "You must have forgotten it, but I know who you are. And I think you understand, Lord Cassard, that neither the Ruling Lord nor the House Intelligence would allow an Adept to appear in the Council of Privy," she smiled again. The smile, however, came out ominously. "And then, I can always take a hint about your nature of the Imperial Inquisition. Yes, you''ve successfully fooled them all these years, but mostly because you''ve never been tested hard enough. But if that''s not enough either," she squinted her eyes angrily. "Believe me. I will devote all my intelligence resources to protecting House Fyron from you."


    What is the adept? Or is that what they call transferees? The Countess was convinced that she knew some secret about him and that this secret was fraught with consequences, but Alex was certain that he was no "adept."


    What if, adept, the gentlemen inquisitors take you by the gills and throw you on the bonfire? Or what do they have instead?


    Looking at Alex, who was frantically trying to figure out exactly what exactly his terrible truth was, Daim Esta decided that the enemy was defeated and swapped the stick for the carrot:


    "So let''s not talk in threatening language," she took his hand, her voice warming. "I don''t want the only line of psions in our House interrupted, but I can''t have an Adept on the Privy Council, either. I had great respect for your father. He was a truly great man and did so much for the House. I wouldn''t want his only son to die. So let''s do as we agreed: you marry Valerie Bellar, and I cover your back. And believe me, in a situation like this, I''ll be your most loyal and trustworthy friend."


    The Countess looked intently into Alex''s eyes and asked: "Are we agreed?"


    Alex remained outwardly calm and even smiled, but inside, anger was already rising and boiling - he hated being pushed around and bossed around.


    I''ve spent half my fucking life making sure no bitch decides anything for me! And now some little brat''s gonna decide who I marry and who I don''t!?


    So at first, he was going to say something like, What do you think, Countess, what would happen to me if I just tripped and fell on you and carelessly broke your arm?


    But fortunately, a timely wakened prudence reminded him that someone was already trying to kill him and there was no need to increase the number of people wishing him dead. He exhaled, gradually calming down: They won''t marry me right now anyway, and then I''ll see if I''m Adept or not, what that means for me, and how to deal with those who are displeased by that fact.


    "It''s a deal!" Alex replied as firmly as possible.


    "That''s great!" Daim Esta blossomed. "Then, after the formal part, we''ll arrange a couple of recordings for the Holo-V. Well, you can dance together..."


    "I can''t dance."


    "It''s strange. You used to be so good at it. Well, then, just hold hands and sigh languidly," the Countess didn''t seem at all embarrassed by the refusals. She took him by the elbow and led him toward the platforms:


    "I don''t understand your refusal at all, I swear to Ryan. With your abilities, you''d be, actually, the Ruling Lord of House Bentar. Wouldn''t that be a splendid prospect?"


    Truly splendid. For you. Not only do you get political dividends from House Bentar, but you also get rid of the "adept", whatever that means, by slipping him to others. With the prospect of that Adept running the place, you can easily control him by blackmailing him with the fact that you know who he really is. Win-win diplomacy - getting everything without giving anything away.


    Approaching the platforms, Daim Esta deftly caught the balloon that was flying around them and must have turned it off because the metal orange stopped humming and flashing lights and went silent in her hands.


    "Well, have a nice holiday Alex!" She practically jumped up and kissed him on the cheek. "Don''t forget - I''ll be expecting you after the formal part."


    As Countess Durlurlle and the guardsmen who accompanied her departed, Alex climbed up onto the platform to Taer and, trying to look as natural as possible, inquired:


    "What does Countess Durlurl do?"


    "She is the Ergo-Captain of House Fyron''s Intelligence," she replied with a shrug.


    "Is the Ergo-Captain the highest rank?"


    "Yes," Taer nodded.


    "So Countess Durlurl is in charge of intelligence..." Alex bit his fingernail thoughtfully but remembered that he was a lord after all and could be seen. He hastily withdrew his hand:


    "Yes, that''s what I expected. Why are you afraid of her?" he asked Taer.


    "I''m not..." she began but stopped and sighed heavily. "I don''t know why," she seemed very uncomfortable with that fact. "She was my boss, and..."


    Wow! So Taer is the Countess''s man. Yes... I might be cut off by my security if I go against party policy.


    "But isn''t your boss different now?" Alex threw in a test bite.


    "Yes, of course, Your Lordship, I am in your Arm, and technically we have almost equal status with the Countess, but... I don''t know," the "security specialist" was clearly weary of this conversation and hurried to change the subject:


    "What did she talk to you about?"


    "She made me an offer I couldn''t refuse," Alex replied with regret in his voice. "And let''s not have any titles. I thought we had a deal, and there''s no one around."


    Meanwhile, the stewards once again ran up to them, asking if everything was all right, and warning them that the platforms would soon be heading out for the Memorial Wreath Laying.


    Then there was a flower waterfall and scorching sun, and after that, it was off to the complex where the rest of the ceremonies were to take place. As Alex found out, they were not going anywhere but to the very real palace of Emperor Tail, built during his reign.


    The huge dome of the palace and the giant wings were getting closer... The building was huge, but probably no bigger than his castle and - definitely lower.


    Although maybe my castle is abnormally large?


    The platforms slowed down and, after circling the vast square in front of the palace, came to a standstill at the front door.


    Well, one last dose of formalities, then a chat with the bride, then with the "well-wishers", and then with Baroness Rionale. Yeah, I''ve got a busy schedule! Alex grinned grimly at his thoughts and stepped off the platform, taking the first step up the wide stairs leading to the palace.


    * * *

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13


    * * *


    "...and concluding, I want to say that we will never forget the sacrifice of the people who died for the sake of unity, to bring us all life and prosperity. They paid for our happiness with their lives! Eternal memory to them!"


    "Eternal memory!" the audience responded.


    Alex was silent because he was absorbed in looking at his neighbor on the right. The neighbor was also silent, but judging by the expression on her face, there was a storm of emotions behind the silence... Negative emotions. Not towards Alex, but - in general - towards what was happening.


    The noble crowd was surrounded by a flock of stewards as they disembarked from the platforms and entered the palace. They quickly sorted the arrivals into a column, the place in the column being, according to Taer, determined by the antiquity and nobility of the clan. Alex found himself in the front rows, which were not crowded at all. Lord Cassard with "Lieutenant Diltar," a lone girl, escorted by two beasts in the scarlet ceremonial cloaks of House Fyron, and a small group of men with azure ribbons over their shoulders who were careful to pretend not to notice Alex and the strange girl.


    "The Pell clan of House Peltar," Taer commented in a barely audible whisper. "The oldest surviving clan in the Sector."


    Oh, yes, I remember! House Fyron and his allies beat the Peltars, who had previously been ''sector watchers'', and they''ve been mortally offended ever since - they weren''t beaten by... by the rules! Alex mentally chuckled. He genuinely believed that the word ''rules'' did not apply to wars. And the local aristocrats, who were passionately poisoning each other in political struggles, must understand that very well.


    Meanwhile, the convoy moved on. At the head, to Alex''s surprise, was the girl with the beasts, followed by the "group in the azure swimsuits," as Alex called them, and behind them were Lord Cassard and Taer. Behind them began the tight order of the less ancient and noble aristocracy. And so, in line, they went to lay wreaths of remembrance at the "Monument of the Fallen". There were no joyful crowds in the palace, but they were successfully replaced by journalists and reporters, who settled near the walls along the route of the column. The thought of being filmed by thousands of cameras and most likely many of them broadcasting live added to the unpleasant feeling of nervousness, and Alex mentally cursed those who had persuaded him to come here. He walked on full automatic, thinking only of how not to embarrass himself. Next to him, pale with excitement but with a completely impenetrable face, walked Taer, holding the wreath that was to be "laid".


    Fortunately, it was a short walk, less than five minutes. After entering the strikingly large internal garden, the procession approached the monument in the center. A large and slightly battered metal plaque with a concise inscription reading To those fallen in action at Toliara.


    A modest monument - with the giganto mania around here, you could count on something the size of the pyramid of Cheops. The giganto mania is understandable, given the crowd that has gathered, Alex thought as Taer ceremoniously handed the wreath to two guardsmen in the dark gold uniform of House Bentar.


    After the laying of the wreaths, a series of speeches began. A representative from each house, and sometimes the ruling lord himself, came out and spoke briefly, for about ten minutes, about "no one is forgotten, and nothing is forgotten". There was little variety in the speeches. That would have been half the trouble. But, firstly, the speeches were heard standing up, and, secondly, the speeches lasted ten minutes, given that there were eight Great Houses. Almost an hour and a half of speeches. During that time one might have been completely dumbfounded, were it not for the fact that the neighbor on the right was the strange girl and her no less strange attendants.


    The girl was standing about three meters away from Alex, and for the first time, he was able to see her up close. She was a particular character: She was tall, about six feet tall, broader in the shoulders than Alex, and muscular - a real "Grenadier woman". She was incredibly tanned, which made her stand out from the other aristocrats present - they had perfect white skin. Her dark bronze tan contrasted with her short, boyish platinum hair and gray eyes. Her outfit also stood out from the surrounding ladies - dark brown leather-look trousers tucked into high boots, a wide belt laden with two blasters, and a light-colored long-sleeved shirt. The collar was wide open, revealing a powerful chest on which rested a massive gold chain.


    The image was completed by a two-finger-wide gray metal hoop, without any sign of adornment, that encircled the girl''s head and two massive bracelets of the same gray metal. Her face, especially compared to the local ladies, did not look sophisticated - it was not beautiful, but rather pretty, and the contempt in her eyes was not nice.


    The companions were also colorful. A very furry "something" as tall as Alex''s chest, looking like a six-legged raccoon with a huge tail like a squirrel. And a chitin-covered monster displaying magnificent claws on all eight limbs. The limbs were disproportionately long and had lots of joints. The creature must have kept its arms and legs half-bent, which made it difficult to tell where anything was in this tangle. Eight eyes gleamed red at the back of the tangle. The creature was intelligent, as indicated by the handles of its phasers that protruded from beneath its ceremonial cloak.


    The fluffy creature acted so naturally that Alex could not tell whether it was a representative of an intelligent race or a tame animal. The mysterious beast, as if sensing his gaze, turned its head and stared at Alex with its almost round brown eyes. It must have recognized nothing of interest and turned away, yawning widely, showing a long pink tongue and an enormous mouth full of tiny needle-like teeth in three rows. This was accompanied by incredibly mobile triangular ears, which swiveled to indicate the source of the sound.


    Yeah, the girl obviously likes to go against public opinion, well, probably to draw attention to herself. Or maybe it''s the ceremonial clothes and the no less ceremonial beasts she''s entitled to as a noblewoman, Alex thought, and asked in a whisper, almost without moving his lips:


    "Taer, who is that on our right? And why did she go first if the Pell family is the oldest?"


    "Baroness Istar and her squires. The first to go was because if the nobility and antiquity are the same, the older one goes first."


    Alex found the Pell family with his eyes - there were a few people ''over fifty'' and looked at the girl again, Well, twenty-eight, maybe thirty-something at most.


    He was about to ask how old she was, but it was the turn of the party''s hosts, the House of Bentar, to speak. His potential "bride", Lady Valerie Bellar, stood on the podium of the monument. Green-eyed and golden-haired, wearing a lavish dress with cleavage and what appeared to be a corset. A tiara gleamed in her hair.


    Well, just like a Barbie princess. However, it could have been much worse - an ugly old damsel, for example.


    The Ruling Lady did not take too long, quickly saying all the necessary words for such an occasion. She ended her speech by reminding them that "we will not forget this fateful moment that determined the fate of the sector and those who gave their lives to win the battle of Toliara".


    With her last words, the sky above the inner garden began to darken rapidly. Soon the sparse stars appeared and grew brighter, the yellow ball of the sun flashed to the left, and the black disk of the night side of some planet came into view. Just above Alex''s head a spindle-shaped spaceship floated by, followed by another and another. Above the garden, two star fleets were approaching, preparing for battle.


    Yes, the special effects are top-notch, Alex thought admiringly as he watched the battle unfold.


    It was unclear who was for whom - almost all the emblems on the ships were different - there was simply no uniform insignia. So Alex mentally named the fleets - Left and Right. The Right hovered near the planet while the Left was rapidly approaching it, firing some sort of minutiae - fighters, it must be. A few minutes later, the battle was brewing. A swarm of Left fighters, backed by smaller ships, struck a wide arc into the flank of the Right fleet while the heavy ships, moving in a straight line, aimed for the center of the enemy formation. After that, Alex stopped understanding what was going on and who was who. And began to simply admire the action, mesmerized by the beauty of the battle. Bright beams sliced through space, clots of shots smashed into the mirrored haze of shields, and missiles exploded in dazzling flashes, blasting fighters and smaller ships to shreds. The fleets fought with no clear advantage, no large ships were destroyed, and the losses of the smaller ones were roughly equal...


    As a dozen medium-sized ships appeared out of nowhere behind the Right-wing fleet, the hulls flashed with blue light, and the fleet sped towards the Right-wing fleet. Alex thought it was the Right''s reinforcements arriving, but he was wrong. The ships that emerged in a single group attacked the Right''s heavy ships one by one, attacking from behind. In a matter of minutes, there was a decent-sized gap in the Right''s formation, and two of their ships were slowly falling apart, illuminated by the flashes of explosions.


    But then, for some reason, the largest ship of the Left exploded must have been the flagship, followed by another heavy ship and another. No longer bound to fight with equal opponents, the battleships of the Right slowly turned around and engaged the ships that had attacked them from behind. After a few more minutes it was all over - the ''Right'' had won. The sky took on its natural color, the ships became translucent and froze in place, and the audience present erupted in thunderous applause. Alex joined in - it really was an amazing sight.


    "Well, that''s the end of the official part. We can go to the rest area of House Fyron and tidy ourselves up," Taer sighed with relief.


    The noble crowd was in motion: some reached the garden exits, and small groups were forming - people were greeting their acquaintances and chatting animatedly. The journalists huddled along the walls and went out into the street.


    One journalistic "squad" was moving purposefully towards Lord Cassard. He had no desire to be interviewed, so when it became clear that they were not aiming at him but at Baroness Istar and her menagerie, Alex was relieved.


    "Lady Faith! Lady Faith! The audience wants to know what you think of the Unification Festival and the simulation just shown." The red-haired journalist swooped down on the baroness with questions and seeing that she seemed in no hurry to resist the ''fifth estate'' she introduced herself. "Azuri Terbala. Free Worlds News."


    The Baroness smiled sweetly at the journalist. And suddenly, without a swing, but clearly hard, she hit her in the face! The girl was just beginning to fall, and the Baroness''s right hand hit the cameraman''s solar plexus. He dropped the camera from his hands and bent down, gulping for air, at which point Lady Faith grabbed him by the hair and hit him in the face with her knee. The operator collapsed to the floor and was immediately kicked in the groin. It all happened in literally a second - here was Lady Faith listening to the question with a sweet smile, and now an enraged Baroness Istar was kicking the defeated journalists with hatred.


    The men in black uniforms appeared from out of nowhere and surrounded the battlefield, shielding the scene from prying eyes. They began to exhort Lady Faith to stop. But no attempt was made to stop the beating by force. The Baroness''s "squires" did not intervene either. At last, the Baroness yielded to their entreaties and left, surrounded by men in black, while the journalists were picked up by the guards of the House of Bentar.


    There was an unnatural silence in the hall, which, after Lady Faith had left the garden, was replaced by the usual hubbub of the nobility discussing what was going on without looking at the victims. Azuri Terbal''s face was splotched with blood, her nose smashed by a blow, and she was sobbing and moaning muffled. The cameraman, by the look of him, was more badly hurt. The blow of the knee shattered his lips, and the massive opaque glasses that covered his eyes cracked open, exposing the electronic stuffing. They left the garden, supported by the Bentar Guards. In a minute, nothing reminded them of the incident - the stewards had wiped off the blood, and several men in black uniforms were talking demandingly to the journalists.


    "Is beating up reporters who ask inconvenient questions a regular thing?" Alex asked Taer, shocked by what he saw.


    "Of course not, Lord Cassard! Such behavior is unacceptable, unworthy, and unacceptable to any civilized man, much less a nobleman!" A low male voice, coming from somewhere behind him, preceded Taer.


    The "specialist" who was standing sideways and so could see the speaker froze and made a statue of herself. It must have been the big bosses who spoke, concluded Alex, who had already studied the Guardsman''s habits.


    He turned around and looked carefully at the speaker: a short, trim man in his sixties with a slightly distracted face, which was adorned by a small neat beard, graying with gray. His brown eyes were slightly squinted, and his short-cropped hair was completely white.


    "How will she pay for it?" Lord Cassard asked, nodding in the direction Lady Faith had gone.


    "Absolutely nothing, most likely," his companion shrugged. "She could have shot that poor woman on the spot, and even then the case would probably not have gone to trial."


    "Is that in the order of things too?" Alex asked. "And, you know, unfortunately, I''ve completely forgotten your name..."


    "No, it isn''t," the stranger smiled. "But this is a unique case. Lord Sargo Athand, at your service!" He introduced himself with a barely perceptible bow.


    "Nice to meet you," Alex replied with a bow of his head. "What makes this case unique?"


    "By the magnitude of the participant''s personality, Lord Cassard, by the magnitude! The Baroness Istar is legendary in every sense of the word! And renowned for her badass temper. So this journalist should have thought before asking provocative questions. Anyway, she got the story anyway," Lord Athand added with a smile.


    "What was the provocation?" asked Alex, to whom the question seemed quite innocent.


    Lord Sargo Athand glanced at Alex in surprise, then, as if remembering something, gave him a smile:


    "Your partial amnesia has completely slipped my mind. Look," he held up his hand and pointed to one of the surviving ships that had so successfully attacked the Right wing fleet from behind. "This is the Cusaka, Baroness Istar''s attack frigate, and this," the lord''s hand pointed to the mangled hull of the Left''s flagship. "The heavy cruiser Black Spear, flagship of the Outcasts, Baron Lormir Cassard''s ship. They say he was her lover. Your distant ancestor, by the way. According to the official version, the Black Spear was destroyed due to a cascading overload of the shield modulators caused by a lucky hit. As demonstrated to us in today''s simulation of that battle."


    "And in reality?"


    "In reality," Lord Athand grinned. "The Black Spear was shot almost point-blank from the direction where the shields were nullified by its allies, who had decided that being a Great House within the Tail Empire was far more interesting than being barons in the Kingdom of Fyron. This treachery brought victory to the Imperial forces. Everyone knows this, but it is not customary to talk about it. Now, do you understand the Baroness'' reaction?"


    Alex shrugged in response:


    "In my opinion, she overreacted emotionally when asked about events that happened three thousand years ago to her distant ancestors. Even if we were shown an incorrect version of what happened today. It is not the journalist''s fault."


    "You misunderstand me, Lord Cassard," Sargo smiled softly. "This is the Baroness Istar. It was she who commanded the frigate raid. It was her lover who died on the ship, shot by traitors. However, even if he wasn''t her lover, still Baroness Istar was one of Emperor Tail''s fiercest opponents... and we are celebrating his victory."


    "So she''s, what, three thousand years old?" Alex wondered.


    "Yes, a historical oddity," Lord Athand said with a wave of his hands. "Or rather, an embarrassment. Just after the collapse of the Tail Empire and about six hundred years ago, when the idea of secession from the Federation was being actively discussed, it became very fashionable to remember the heroes who fought for independence. And then there was such a symbol - the warrior maiden. There are still monuments to her on Fyron and the Kilretzes and two awards for bravery named after her. The Church of United Flame even wanted to canonize her as another incarnation of Ir''Ryane, but fortunately, they didn''t get around to it. The historians have had their doubts as to whether she fought in person or was the mastermind," he gestured indefinitely. "However, men of science rarely have the same opinion. Six years ago, during an excavation on Istar, a stasis pod containing the Baroness and her squire was discovered. After talking to the real Baroness, doubts that she personally led the boarding parties and commanded the fleet fell away."


    "Is that why her actions are met with such piety? Because she''s a living relic of the past?" Alex asked, eyeing with interest the Cusaka, which happened to be commanded by Lady Faith.


    "Well, that''s why, too," Lord Athand nodded. "Mores were more direct then, and the baron in his land could execute and pardon without restraint."


    "It must be hard for her here after all these years. And her enemies'' victory day is still being celebrated."


    She''s practically transported to another world, you might say, a fellow sufferer! Alex sympathized.


    "You don''t say, Lord Cassard, it''s very hard!" Sargo agreed. "That''s why she''s rarely in the Sector. She gets bored with us," he lowered his voice and, with a sly smile, asked. "Would you like gossip?" He waited for a nod and then continued. "They say that out of boredom, she''s formed a pirate fleet, sacking ships near the Free Economic Zone. Collaborated with the Gnarm cartels - must have been selling what they seized - and then some sort of conflict ensued. That''s why she wanted in the Gnarm space for the murder of the head of the Shiisrodak clan - Ropata the Wise - and his two sons. All in all, a personality of staggering proportions."


    "And she gets away with it, too," Alex nodded understandingly. "As a historical figure."


    Lord Athand smiled ironically: "Well, it doesn''t matter what some gnarmes who aren''t even part of the Empire say! And about the pirate fleet," he said with a wave of his hands. "You''d have to prove that. Whoever looks like that on the record is no cause for concern to their Ladyship, Lady Fayth, a person in the Emperor''s good graces."


    "The Emperor''s good graces? Does the Emperor like historical curiosities?"


    "Well, it''s not about curiosities," sighed the interlocutor. "Because of her antiquity and nobility, as well as several legal and genealogical reasons, the Baroness is entitled to claim the position of Ruling Lady in two houses at once, Fyron and Kilret. The Emperor is therefore very fond of displaying the Baroness to the Ruling Lords when they get too carried away. A very graceful way of intervening in a situation on occasion. That''s why she''s so carefully guarded by the Security Service."


    The men in black uniforms must be the Security Service, Alex decided, and he was about to question Lord Athand, who turned out to be very well informed, but his plans were not going to happen.


    "Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, but I wanted to remind my husband of a promise he made..." A beautiful tall woman in her thirties came up behind Lord Athand, placing her hand on his shoulder. A tiara glittered in her dark hair with massive stones, and her black dress was adorned with a train so long that it lay another two meters behind its mistress.


    "Of course, darling, I''m on my way. I was just explaining to Lord Cassard the reason for Baroness Istar''s anger." Sargo replied with warmth in his voice as he stroked her arm.


    Hearing Lady Faith''s name, Lord Athand''s wife pressed her lips together squeamishly:


    "Disgusting scene! Poor Lakita, she''d worked so hard to make everything perfect, but this stunt had ruined everything hopelessly. And Baroness Istar herself - everyone has already resigned themselves to her behaving like a commoner and to these characters - her squires... After all, it''s her own business! But some actions cast a shadow over the whole House! It''s a pity, but some nobles (an eloquent glance in Alex''s direction) don''t understand that! And what''s sad is that they represent the oldest families of our House, our honor and pride..."


    "Unfortunately, I must take my leave, Lord Cassard," Sargo interrupted his wife with a strained smile. "I think I''ll be seeing you again today."


    After saying goodbye to Lord Athand and his wife, Alex turned to Taer:


    "So, who was it? Was it someone in positions of power too?"


    "Lord Athand has been head of our House Privy Council for eight years now," Taer replied.


    "What an interesting man," he said, but his wife is a pompous, enthusiastic fool. "Well, let''s just hope I don''t give the impression of a nutcase," Alex grinned. "It''ll be the Privy Council that makes the final decision about my eligibility, won''t it?"


    The "security specialist" nodded silently, confirming his hunch, and pointed to the exit from the garden with her eyes:


    "Your Lordship, shall we go to House Fyron''s recreation area?"


    "Yes, let''s go," agreed Alex, who had been exhausted by four hours of official business and, more importantly, was more and more drawn to the "room of reflection".


    When they reached the recreation area, with the help of the stewards, they found the rooms allocated to Lord Cassard, two huge rooms with a private bathroom. Where they finally managed to catch their breath and tidy up.


    The sheer size of the local palaces and castles is becoming more and more understandable. If every lord had a room or two, and they gathered in such crowds, you''d have to build something a couple of kilometers across!


    Alex sat half in a luxurious armchair and looked around the room - it was no less luxurious than the one in the castle.


    He put his hand to the embroidery that covered the silk-covered walls - the tiny golden flowers were as lifelike.


    The other rooms are probably just as well decorated. Plus the servants - there must be at least a couple of thousand people for such a big place, and probably more. Someone has to pay for all this and in such quantities. Or all noblemen - owners of factories, newspapers, steamships.


    The latter was very unlikely - he had interacted a little with the local aristocracy, but they did not resemble hardened businessmen. More like politicians, yes. There was no talk of business or money, but there was politics all the time.


    So, the oppressive top brass is directly eating up taxes, and judging by what we have seen they are doing it in a big way...


    Alex''s thoughts on the fate of the underclass were interrupted by the arrival of Taer:


    "My lord, there is a guardsman to see you with a message from Countess Durlurl. Her ladyship asked me to remind you that you had promised to see her."


    "Well, let''s go!" He sighed heavily.


    They had long since fixed themselves up, and Alex saw no point in excusing himself as "needing to rest". So after leaving the resting rooms and passing the guardsmen who guarded their rest, they followed a serious young man in the black and red uniform of the House Fyron Guards.


    Lord Cassard glanced absently around the palace, mentally preparing himself for the conversation with the ''bride'' and her entourage.


    His entourage and his ''bride'' were waiting for him in the spacious hall, richly decorated with gold moldings and ornaments, the upholstery of the furniture also gold with fine embroidery. A small group of House Fyron was present, and familiar faces stood out, including Countess Durlurl, chatting sweetly with his potential bride, and Lord Athand, chatting with a stout older man. In all, the hall glowed with gold and the plastic smiles with which those assembled greeted one another.


    "Alex!" The Countess exclaimed when she saw them enter, and, taking Valerie Bellar under her arm, she headed towards them. "At last, you''ve come. We''ve been waiting for you!"


    Approaching Alex and Taer, Daim Esta lit up with a smile: "Well, there''s no need to introduce anyone here. We''ve all known each other for a long time, haven''t we?" she asked.


    "Yes, we have known Lord Cassard for a very long time, and I met Mistress Diltar during the last golden season," Valerie said quietly, with a slight smile.


    Alex, who was looking at his "bride", preferred to remain silent. He simply did not know who knew where, when, and with whom.


    It could have been so much worse... once more his mind raced. Lady Valerie Bellar was pretty - huge green eyes, a doll face, and slightly full lips. And perhaps even pretty - a little shorter than Alex and with a good figure, though it was hard to tell if it was a credit to nature and a credit to the corset. Probably not stupid either, though the doll princess image obviously doesn''t emphasize intelligence... Ergo, not stupid at all.


    "Then I shall hand you over to the cameramen!" With these words, Countess Durlurl called for a group of people who stood modestly in the far corner.


    Alex spent the next fifteen minutes with the idiotic smile of a teenager in love on his lips, holding hands with Valerie Bellar. The cameramen circled, filming them from different angles. "Lord Cassard and Lady Bellar holding hands." "Lord Cassard and Lady Bellar standing by the window looking out into the distance", "Lady Bellar looking at Lord Cassard" and similar idiocy. Fortunately, the photo session was over relatively quickly - the plan was to have a "demonstration for the public" next. Having listened to the parting instructions and continuing to smile non-stop, the "hopelessly in love" set off for a romantic stroll around the garden. The plan was to film some footage with a "hidden camera" to make it more realistic.


    From what he had already seen, the various gardens in the palace were innumerable. Emperor Tail must have loved fresh flowers. The particular garden chosen for the lovers'' stroll was on an open balcony about the size of a football field. It overlooked the sea, or some large lake, the water surface of which was now playing with the scarlet glow of the setting sun. A perfect scene for a walk of lovers, Lord and Lady!


    The "lovers" were strolling along the narrow sandy paths that covered the garden, followed at a respectful distance by the guardsmen from the ruling lady''s guards, accompanied by Taer. The garden was rather deserted, and in addition to the lovers and their guards, there were several other couples and just single members of the aristocracy strolling through the garden. When Lord Cassard and Lady Bellar saw the "lovers", they cast meaningful glances at them and hurried out.


    Either out of politeness or a desire to share the news sooner, Alex decided, glancing after the other dignified bystander as he fled. Rumors of negotiations have probably been circulating for some time, and since we''re walking together here, it means the high parties have reached an agreement. The demonstration for the public has clearly succeeded.


    He was distracted by the quiet melodious voice of the Ruling Lady:


    "It''s a lovely garden, one of my favorites in the palace," Valerie commented as if casually running her hand over the soft and dense moss that carpeted the balcony railings.


    Alex, thinking to himself, I wonder if I act like an idiot now and crash the wedding, will they kill me right away or not? absently glanced around the garden.


    A few small trees with lush crowns were growing in the middle of small islands of greenery separated by narrow sandy paths. The islets themselves were formed by a strange, waist-high, green moss-like plant that had been clipped in the shape of sea waves crashing onto the shore. The waves were great - swirling and white lumps of foam made of some small flowers.


    "It''s beautiful. And the view of the sea is excellent," he nodded toward the blazing sunset.


    Lady Valerie stopped at the railing and, leaning against it, looked up at Alex as if she was thinking about something:


    "Tell me, Lord Cassard, why do you want to get married? You haven''t been interested in politics before."


    "Let''s just say it was an offer I couldn''t refuse," Alex replied with a frown.


    "Are you so enthralled by the title of Lord Consort? I thought you satisfied your vanity in other ways..."


    No, I just don''t know how I can get away with it, he thought angrily, and said:


    "No, frankly, I am not enthused by the idea, but I was persuaded by very persuasive people until I was persuaded that it would be better for everyone."


    "What a coincidence, I was both convinced and persuaded too," Valerie''s voice sounded a little sad.


    "So you''re not in favor of this marriage?" Alex asked cautiously.


    If the Bentarians refuse the marriage, I have no problem with it. I just need to gently persuade them to refuse


    "Frankly, I don''t like the idea." sighed the Ruling Lady, absently stroking the moss-covered railing. "But the Privy Council is right. Our House needs an alliance with either Melato or Fyron to develop. And having considered House Fyron''s offer, I was forced to agree. After all, the welfare of the House was far more important than my personal worries."


    "Since when is marriage a prerequisite for a union?" Alex hinted as if casually. "If the agreement between the Houses has been reached. Marriage is nothing more than a formality to seal these agreements. Above all, marriage is no guarantee of the union''s longevity: the political situation can change, and our houses can turn from allies to rivals. Why do something that could cause problems in the future?" he looked at Val¨¦rie expectantly, is it working or not?


    "You''re right about something, Lord Cassard," the ruling lady looked slightly surprised, /oh, so it also talks! "Marriage is not a prerequisite for the union. But how will my House gain access to the resources of the Cassard domain and, more importantly, to the shipyards owned by the Cassard family if I am not part of your family?"


    "I see no reason why you wouldn''t have access to these Shipyards even without the marriage if our Houses have already agreed on everything."


    Valerie, said nothing in reply, only looking at Alex with a certain amount of scepticism.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    They are probably afraid that without a defect they may be scammed.


    "There are always options. For example, you could propose a direct contract with the Shipyards owned by my family for the services you are interested in. Perhaps such a contract would be an even better guarantee than marriage since it could be enforced in an Imperial Court."


    "I''m afraid the agreement isn''t quite what we need," Valerie sighed, and she stepped away from the railing and walked leisurely through the garden again. "But I''ll think about what you said."


    After taking a couple more laps around the park and chatting about the weather with sweet smiles, the "couple in love" returned to the same golden hall where representatives of the two Houses were waiting for them.


    "The two of you look so lovely together," Countess Durlurl chirped happily. "It''s especially good with the garden. I bet it''ll be all over the channels for the rest of the season." Daim Esta showed her a clipboard on which Lady Bellar and Lord Cassard were standing near the railing of the balcony, smiling sweetly at each other in the setting sun, talking. The picture was filmed from a distance, and the details were poorly visible, as it was shot through the foliage, which must have been some kind of hidden camera.


    Idiot! Pray, they don''t record the sound! mentally scolded Alex, who had forgotten that they might be being filmed. If Countess Durlurl heard our conversation, it could create more problems. On the other hand, what will she do to me while they want to marry me? Alex mentally smirked - he didn''t want to get married, but while he was "getting married", not only could Countess Durlurl not do anything to him, but on the contrary, she was interested in making sure nothing happened to him. And, therefore, is an ally against the unknown assholes trying to kill him. But as soon as he upsets the marriage, she becomes a person of interest in eliminating him because of his "adept" nature.


    Yeah, it''s a stupid situation.


    After supporting everyone''s opinion that the recording was very successful, Alex politely excused himself from the audience and hurried out of the room. He wanted to talk to Lord Athand, expecting that the head of the Privy Council would know what the Bentars wanted since they had to marry off their Ruling Lady, and he might have some idea of who wanted to kill him. And talking about Lady Faith was probably no coincidence, which means Sargo Athand wants something from him. He didn''t just walk up to him, did he? But unfortunately, Lord Athand was no longer in the hall, so Alex decided to find him later, at the ball.


    "Look, how is it that Countess Durlurl became Head of Intelligence at that age? Wasn''t there anyone more experienced?" Alex asked the question that had long plagued him as he and Taer walked back to the restrooms. He suspected either patronage from a lover somewhere very high up in the echelons of power was involved or some kind of kinship there as well.


    "Last year, Daim Esta was given a procedure of destructive rejuvenation. And the operation was very successful. And so... she''s over fifty years old and has been in the Intelligence Service for a long time. And she''s not a noblewoman - they try to appoint people to this position who are not connected to the Main Families."


    Alex froze as if frozen: No way! Valerie and the Countess looked the same age, but Taer looked noticeably older - about twenty-five. How old are they?


    "And how old is Valerie Bellar then? And you?" he asked cautiously as he continued to move.


    "Lady Bellar is twenty-two, and I''m twenty-four," Taer replied with an ironic smile. "You think you''ve been slipped some old ladies?"


    "What was I supposed to think?" Alex objected. "You look older than Countess Durlurl, and if she''s over fifty, how old are you?"


    "Come on, I don''t look that much older," she shrugged.


    Upon reaching the rooms reserved for Lord Cassard''s rest, Alex and Taer were stunned by a statement from the Bentar guardsmen standing at the entrance:


    "You have a visitor, Lord Cassard!"


    When the intrigued Lord Cassard entered the room, he saw Baroness Rionale sitting in an armchair, staring thoughtfully into the infoblock. From the way her eyes moved, she was reading something:


    "I didn''t expect to wait for you!" She broke away from her reading and raised her head, the sunset''s rays touching her face in a shower of golden glare. Kayrin set the infoblock aside and walked over to Alex:


    "You look serious and tired. Is the holiday wearing you out, or is something wrong?" She asked, putting her hands on his shoulders. Now that she was very close to him, her face was covered in a network of fine gold threads interwoven in intricate patterns.


    "Just some unexpected business," Alex brushed it off


    So, it looks like the conversation with Lord Athand and the "well-wishers" has been ruined. How can I get away with it?


    "What about your face?" he asked.


    "What is it off?" She touched the netting with a slight fright, ran her finger over a few strands, and sighed in relief. "Phew, it''s okay!"


    Baroness Rionale looked reproachfully at Alex.


    "You scared me! I had already decided that I would have to put it on again. It would have been a nightmare!"


    "No, everything''s fine as far as I see!" he assured her. "Just curious. I haven''t seen that on you before."


    "Well, you know," Kayrin explained. "My parents and the rest of my immediate family are really nerdy when it comes to ceremonies. And I find the baronial crown tasteless. And you can''t get a proper haircut! But listen to them - come naked, but with a crown and all the regalia. So, as a compromise with my relatives, I wore a sevaril instead of a crown."


    "It suits you very well," Alex admired sincerely.


    The gold sheen of the threads was accentuated by the waterfall of dark hair and set off by the dark purple open-shouldered dress Kayrin was wearing. And the long, elbow-high gloves to match the dress added to the glamour.


    "Thank you, all thanks to your help in choosing," was the flirtatious reply.


    Alex honestly didn''t remember such a dress, much less a net on the face, but made the right decision to remain silent.


    "Shall we go to the ball?" Kayrin asked enthusiastically. "It''s already in full swing, and then the unofficial party starts!"


    "Let''s go!" Alex tried to show enthusiasm, mentally resigning himself to the fact that he could not seem to get away from the Baroness.


    Accompanied by Taer, who had not uttered a word since Kayrin had appeared, they reached the hall where the ball was being held.


    The bright walls, made of pink marble, were decorated with bronze wrought iron, stylized as the shoots of some plant, these metal stems stretching upwards to the domed ceiling, decorated with murals, where they blossom into small graceful flowers. However, given the gigantic height of the ceiling, the flowers must have been enormous. The floor, of some light grey stone with bluish streaks, was decorated with a pattern in the same plant motif. Light green lines lined with crystals as wide as a palm glowed softly green and intertwined with each other in concentric circles on the floor.


    The high domed ceiling was supported by numerous columns, their slender rows forming the elongated oval of the main hall. The columns made as if of amber, glowed softly, radiating warmth from within, and were braided by a dense network of bronze stems. The painting on the ceiling depicted a very beautiful dark red-haired girl in a long loose green dress surrounded by intricate floral ornamentation. The girl''s green eyes shone visibly.


    Yes... It seems that three thousand years ago, they were crazy about art nouveau and lively greenery here, thought Alex, admiringly looking at the hall. The gigantic room was filled with light and music, long tables with snacks stood along the walls, and around them, there were groups of people discussing something and just onlookers. Couples were dancing in the center of the room and, to Alex''s surprise, above his head too - in the air, surrounded by what looked like giant soap bubbles, already dancing in three dimensions. The bubbles surrounding the flying couples were distorting slightly at the base, filling with shivering mirrored haze, probably to prevent peeking under the dancing ladies'' skirts.


    Degrade not only elegantly but with gusto! Alex thought admiringly.


    The Baroness, seeing with what interest he was looking at the couples dancing in the air, immediately offered to dance. Alex began to talk about how he couldn''t dance, and in general... But Ka§ßrin didn''t listen to his objections and dragged him somewhere in the corner of the hall.


    "Alex!" he was called out loudly from the side by a woman.


    When he turned around, he saw two girls about twenty meters away - a short-cut blonde with wavy hair and a brown-haired girl with a high, complicated hairdo.


    "And I couldn''t find you!" The blonde informed him, not the least bit embarrassed by the fact that she had almost shouted.


    "Who''s that?" Alex hissed, looking at Taer.


    He had grown weary of the sudden appearances of "old acquaintances" who usually brought nothing but trouble. And now, at the very least, he wanted to know in advance who had decided to make him happy this time.


    "Lady Isalaya Marquess of Turang," Taer replied and, with a slight gloating glance at Kayrin, added. "Your mistress."


    The day had been so exhausting and hard that Alex showed far less emotion than Kayrin had hoped for. For that, he could even make a joke:


    "Oooh, I happen to have excellent taste!"


    Lady Isalaya, meanwhile, was quickly shortening the distance with swift gliding steps. A tall girl of about twenty-five with a hawkish nose and bright blue eyes, her wavy blonde hair was cut short. As she moved, crimson waves rolled across her tight, long dress of deep pink. There was a kind of predatory beauty and impetuosity about her.


    "Did you miss me?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving Alex an embarrassed kiss.


    "It''s good to see you, Isalaya, but we were in a hurry," Baroness Rionale stepped forward and smiled predatorily, her gaze very eloquent and not boding well.


    Isalaya, with an "oops, who''s there?" expression, broke away from Alex and turned to the irritant. The two members of the feline family disagreed over a cat (or mouse?) and stood - eye to eye - against each other, tails slapping violently at their sides.


    Damn! Looks like there''s going to be an ugly scene here with two angry women fighting, Alex thought feverishly about what to say to quell the conflict, but his newfound mistress beat him to it:


    "Oh, Kayrin!" She shrieked in delight and immediately wrapped her arms around the girl, giving her an equally luscious kiss. "I didn''t know you were here! Well? How was the Capital?"


    Baroness Rionale had not expected such a maneuver, was stunned into silence for a few seconds, and had just started to say something when Isalaya beat her to it again:


    "By the way, this is Liora," she gestured casually toward the brown-haired girl. "Countess Wistrile," the Marquise looked up at Alex and added playfully. "By the way, Alex, she''s been dying to meet you."


    "Your neckerchief is lovely, Lord Cassard, especially the color. Red is my favorite," the brown-haired girl finally spoke up. "Shall we dance?" She put her hand on his arm and then added, in a low voice. "And talk."


    Baroness Rionale was clearly about to object, but Isalaya was hanging on to her, chirping excitedly, and there was no way of influencing the course of events.


    The brown-haired woman raised her hand, revealing a massive bracelet, and snapped her fingers in some intricate way. A transparent bubble immediately coiled around her and Alex, lifting them smoothly into the air.


    The sphere rose ten meters and began to move in a spiral amongst similar spheres.


    "Now we can talk," the brown-haired woman said in a serious voice. "I''m Liora Wistral, Representative of the Anti-Imperialist Alliance for the Tail Sector. You were rescued by my men on the south quay."


    "Very nice of them," Alex grinned. "Tell them I said thank you."


    "We''d better pretend we''re dancing," with these words, she took his hands and ''led'' him.


    Alex honestly tried not to step on her toes. Along the way, it became clear that the sphere moves where you go. How it controlled in height, he never understood. Pretending to be busy dancing, he stared furtively at his dancing partner and authorized Representative of the Anti-Imperial Alliance, Countess Liora Wistrile.


    She was of medium height, about half a head shorter than Alex, or maybe even shorter, given the impressive heeled shoes and the high haircut, thin, if not subdued. She, unlike Baroness Rionale and her newfound mistress, could not boast an athletic figure and bulges in all the right places. Quite average, what they called ''no highlight''. Her face was unfortunate with make-up - bright blue eye shadow and orange lipstick. Not the best combination.


    Although who knows, maybe it''s the newest local fashion.


    There was nothing remarkable about her brown eyes either, and he didn''t want to drown in them, like Kayrin''s eyes. An ordinary girl, not ugly by any means. But compared to the stunning beauty of the local high society women, she was inconspicuous.


    So, all in all, a gray mouse with a ''but I''m smart'' look, Alex decided as he examined the girl. But after all, you''re not going to make love to her. You''re going to do business with her..."


    Countess Wistrile (or not the Countess, who knows) seemed determined to take the bull by the horns and got straight to the point:


    "You are wearing the red scarf, as we asked, so you are interested in working with us?"


    "Perhaps," Alex said evasively. "First, I would like to know what you can offer me and what you want from me?"


    Liora seemed to be waiting for this question, a strange gleam appeared in her eyes, and her face took on a kind of lofty-inspired expression:


    "We invite you to join the Anti-Imperial Alliance! You personally and your entire domain! In return, we shall use all our strength to support your fight against the usurper..." she spoke ardently, urging Lord Cassard that delay was not an option and that he, as a nobleman, should understand that the Emperor would not stop at the Houses of the Central Sectors - sooner or later he would no longer need the support of the Tail Sector, and then...


    As the "authorized representative''s" fervent speech was delivered, Alex''s face began to look more and more like that of a man who had eaten a lemon but was forced to keep smiling. He was counting on some local mobsters, or at worst, local nobles interested in changing the current policies of the Great Houses. But he got some anti-imperialists! And judging by the gleam in their eyes, they were fanatics who had lost their minds!


    Some kind of Boy Scouts... Alex thought disappointedly as he listened to the "representative" speech.


    Being a cynical man, he did not genuinely believe in democracy, considering any power to be an elaborate form of business, and treated any suggestion of "getting off the ground and doing heroic deeds in the name of..." as a clumsy attempt to use him.


    Well, or it''s an inept provocation. If they fail to kill him, he will be imprisoned as a malignant conspirator against the Emperor.


    The Countess Wistrile had just gone on to say that Lord Cassard would certainly have no trouble raising an anti-Imperial rebellion in his domain, which would, of course, be immediately supported by all available forces of the ''anti-Imperial alliance''. Even for Alex, who didn''t understand a damn thing about local politics, it sounded like complete nonsense. He wasn''t about to become a patriot whose blood would be poured on the next "tree of liberty".


    "...and then all the progressive forces of all the races, seeing your example, will unite in a single wave of people''s anger that will sweep away the usurper!" "Representative" Liora Wistrile seemed to have learned this speech by heart and was now sputtering along like a scribble, not noticing Lord Cassard''s sour expression.


    "Lady Liora," Alex interrupted her. "You know, I''ve been preoccupied with the attempts on my life. I thought you might have some information about it and might be able to help me."


    Liora hesitated halfway through the word and looked back hurt and disappointed - she seemed to have genuinely hoped to enthuse him with her revolutionary ideas.


    "Yes, we do have certain information about those who have attempted to assassinate you," the "alliance representative''s" tone became noticeably colder. "And, well, if you are far from our ideals, we can sell you that information, and that will be the end of it."


    Alex did not want to quarrel with a useful source of information - it might come in handy in the future. And saving a life is a very useful service that could be called upon more than once. So Liora had to be persuaded that he shared high ideals in every way, but as long as he was assassinated, he could do nothing to help.


    "Are you sure our conversation is not being monitored?" he asked cautiously.


    "A power cocoon," she circled her hand around the bubble surrounding them. "It interferes with any eavesdropping equipment. And I have a suppressor with me," Liora demonstrated her massive bracelet once more.


    The bracelet, indeed, could have been a suppressor, or it could have been a recording device. Fifty-fifty. Alex didn''t like the idea of having to trust someone else''s equipment.


    I''ll have to hang on to Taer right after the party and keep up until she finds me so useful device. I need to get my own suppressor up and running. I''ll have to find out how they work... and if they can be bypassed.


    "Then I''ll be honest with you, Lady Liora..."


    Alex tried to give his face the same spirited expression as that of the "Madam Representative" during her speech. He pulled her tighter against him and peered into the girl''s eyes with the carnivorous gaze of a hungry predator. All his acting skills were called upon to help. He was always good at persuasion and lying, though, as long as he believed what he was saying:


    "My heart, like the heart of any decent person, groans at what is happening now. All the injustice..." He sighed heavily. "It is hard for me to see what is happening in the country. Freedom is dying..."


    He had no idea what exactly the ''anti-imperial alliance'' with the Empire did not share or what the Emperor had usurped, but he was not embarrassed by this. In such cases, it''s not the arguments that matter. It''s the emotional attachment. Deciding that "the one who does not risk, does not drink champagne", Alex babbled about how freedom is in danger, at the same time, hinting that his entourage is mostly pro-imperial, so it''s too early to talk about rebellion and other public acts of defiance. He watched the reaction of the "representative," who, to his delight, seemed to agree - she did not break out of her arms and listened attentively and looked at him fascinatedly, like a rabbit at a boa constrictor.


    "...and then I think you understand, Lady Liora - if I am killed, my usefulness to the Case will be zero, and perhaps even negative," he ended his speech a little awkwardly... but, as said before, it is not the meaning of the words that matter, what matters is the emotional vibe, very similar to the ardent courtship...


    "I so understand you, Lord Cassard!" Liora sobbed. "I believed that you, like any nobleman, understood the threat to our freedom that the Emperor was doing. You have no idea how pleased I am that I was right about you! You''re right - as long as your entourage is unreliable, you shouldn''t act. I will ask the Centre for instructions about you, but in the meantime, my cell will help you find the people behind the assassination attempts!" she spoke very emotionally and a little disjointedly.


    Alex thought at first that she had figured him out and was subtly mocking him, but then realized that - no - she was being sincere.


    Creepy! Not an anti-imperial alliance, but naive children! "Kindergarten trousers on straps" and "fighters against tyranny" all rolled into one. How they haven''t all been caught yet! Alex thought with quiet horror. Liora looks about nineteen or twenty, though. But apparently, you can''t trust the local ladies'' looks when it comes to determining age.


    If somewhere enthusiastic children are genuinely trying to overthrow the government and they haven''t all been caught yet, it means that there is someone old and clever behind them who benefits from the existence of these children.


    I should find out what these rebels are, who invented them, and what they are for. Eh! I wish I had a ''Concise Encyclopaedia for Fools and Transported Persons'' book, or a reliable informer!


    "Lady Liora, I''d appreciate it if my real name wasn''t mentioned when dealing with the Centre," Alex asked with a charming huff just in case. He rightly assumed that with such a contingent in this ''Centre'' of theirs, every other ''snitch'' to the Imperial Security Service.


    "But then how will the Centre know the results of my communication with you?" Liora wondered. "And will they be able to send you instructions if they don''t even know who to write them to?"


    "And you tell them that you''ve made contact with ''Lord X''. You can count on his help, but he can''t be active at the moment," Alex advised. "Let them send you the instructions. In the end, it''s the increase in capacity and the overall results that count, not who has done what personally. And thanks to this scheme, if someone from your cell or the Center becomes a sni... captured, it will not lead to my arrest, and on the contrary, if something happens to me, even under torture, the poli... imperialists will not know anything!"


    Liora resisted the idea sluggishly - she probably already had the texts of the victory speeches associated with the name of Lord Cassard prepared. But then she agreed that, yes, it would indeed be better for the "anti-imperial cause".


    "You said you had information about those who attempted to assassinate me," Alex approached the question he was really interested in, as cautiously as on thin ice.


    "Yes," Liora nodded. "The thing is, during the duel, a sniper must have shot at you. Our fighters neutralized him. Unfortunately, due to several different difficulties, we were unable to interrogate him, only to take a picture. This photo was used to identify him - a fighter from the PVD. In the past, when the PVD was not yet engaged in terrorist acts against civilians, we maintained active contact with them. We even carried out some joint operations. One of our fighters, who used to work with the PVD, recognized the sniper. And thanks to our old contacts, we found out that a large group of experienced fighters had flown to Copeira before the start of the golden season."


    "Why would the PVD (I wonder what kind of terrorists they are anyway?) want to kill me?" Alex asked.


    "We don''t know yet. Usually, PVD actions are directed against imperial officials, military personnel, or people who actively support the Empire. You don''t fall into any of those categories, especially since they prefer spectacular means, such as a thermal mine, rather than a sniper shot, which would create a far less public outcry. We have established surveillance on one of the PVD leaders, but so far, the team following him has not obtained any data."


    "Is there anything I can do for you?" Alex asked. "Like money?"


    "The supply of our cell is very difficult, as the Tail sector is very remote from the main Alliance bases," Liora admitted. "So we''re definitely short of funds," the Representative was clearly uncomfortable in saying this, but the anti-Imperialist gentlemen did seem to be short of funds. "We are particularly short of ships. We only have one transport here, so it''s hard for us to move groups around the Sector..."


    "How much do you need?" Alex interrupted - they had been "dancing" for a long time, and he feared it might cause suspicion and completely unnecessary conflict with Baroness Rionale and his mistress. "And I think you understand, in this case, we need "clean" money, so even my options are somewhat limited."


    "Of course I understand," Liora assured him. "We need about three hundred thousand danarii."


    "That can be arranged," rejoiced Alex, who was expecting to hear a very different number - he''s gotten used to a slightly different order of money in the meantime. "Where can we meet so I can give you the money? And how will we keep in touch, anyway?"


    "I''ve been invited to this Voigrom - we can do it there. Or, if you''re not flying in for the hunt, we could do it during the Great Ring races. And as for keeping in touch..." Liora was silent, clearly embarrassed. "Well... we''ve already worked that out. It would be best if I were your mistress... In public, of course!" she hastily assured me. "That would allow me to see you often without arousing suspicion!"


    Well, really, Alex smiled grimly to himself. Baroness Rionale, Marquess Turang, Valerie Bellar, and Taer is always hanging around... Another girl would be lost in such a bloom. One wonders how Kayrin will react to "one more" mistress. And the "official" mistress - Isalaya? Both, by all appearances, are not at all conflict-free girls.


    "Yes, that''s a really good idea, let''s do that," he agreed tiredly.


    When the orb descended, Alex saw a picturesque scene:


    Isalaya, chatting nicely with some elderly man and woman in steel-grey dresses - clearly a couple. Kayrin tried to devastate Marquess with her gaze but was so far unsuccessful. And Taer, who had stepped aside and tried her best to pretend that she wasn''t here at all... quite successfully, by the way.


    "Alex!" Isalaya rejoiced. "We were just talking about you... or rather how well you dance!"


    "I''m afraid that''s no longer the case," Alex said with a wave of his hands. "I''ve forgotten everything - how to dance, too."


    "Well, Keyri, say goodbye, and let''s go!" The woman in the grey dress spoke up.


    "My parents are Baroness Valira Rionale and Baron Joro Rionale," Kayrin commented as she continued to cast furious glances at Isalaya. "You''ve known them for a long time, but since you''ve forgotten everything, I thought it would be a good idea to introduce them to you again."


    Kayrin''s father was tall, grey-haired, and had a neat little beard.


    Grey hair and beards seem to be the trend of the season, Alex mentally remarked, remembering Lord Athand


    Baron Joro Rionale was dressed in a sort of collarless uniform the color of the night sky and light grey trousers. A massive gold hoop crowned his head. Kaytin''s mother, Baroness Valira Rional, was a tall, stately woman in her forties with expressive brown eyes and thin "stern" lips. She wore a gray-steel silk dress covered in fine black and silver embroidery and sparkling with a scattering of small diamonds. A deep neckline revealed a view of her breasts, on which rested a massive gold chain covered with intricate ornamentation. But all the splendor of the dress was overshadowed by the headdress - a veritable crown - with massive prongs slightly bent outward and adorned with large black stones, deep within which flickered purple sparks.


    It must be the baronial crown, no wonder Kayrin was shaking it off - that thing must weigh six kilos or more.


    "I apologize, but I have to break up your company!" Kayrin''s father apologized, showing his clear and deep voice. "The family hasn''t spoken to the girl in two years and are anxious to see her, and it''s such an occasion to have everyone together," he smiled regretfully. "And then, I think you''ll still be able to organize some sort of youth party. Kayrin is staying with you, isn''t she, Allesandro?"


    "See you at the end of the party, Alex!" Kayrin said a doleful goodbye, giving Isalaya one last meaningful look, and left with her parents.


    "Isn''t the party over yet?" Alex wondered naively.


    "Oh, it''s still in full swing!" Isalaya murmured playfully, approaching with the gliding gait of a predatory feline.


    "I will leave you, Lord Cassard." Liora smiled sadly. "I hope to see you again sometime."


    After hearing Alex''s assurances of an early meeting, Countess Liora Wistrile dignifiedly retreated to the back of the hall.


    "Interesting girl," Isalaya commented, looking at the retreating Liora''s back. "So eager to meet you, she even offered me money!" She laughed and winked at Alex. "You know I couldn''t resist! What do you think of her, by the way?"


    "Great," Alex nodded. "I''m thinking of asking her out."


    Isalaya didn''t answer anything - only a surprised eyebrow arched and she changed the subject:


    "You can imagine, the poor parents couldn''t find Kayrin..." Marquise complained with a feigned sadness on her face. "It''s nice to have true friends who can help! Isn''t that great?"


    Really great... now you have to think about what to do with another girl. All the girls around and all they want is something from you. And not something good... On the other hand, if there were men around, would it be better?


    "Looks like Kayrin has a bit of a grudge against you," Alex studied his "mistress" with a thoughtful eye.


    Alessandro Cassard had good taste indeed. At least when it came to women.


    "Was she?" The Marquess pretended to be surprised. "I think she was remarkably calm. Two years ago it would have been a duel or at least a challenge." She stopped, noticing Alex''s scrutiny, and did a spectacular dance move, turning around, and showing herself off to all sides. "Do you like me?" she asked, flashing her eyes playfully from under her long lashes.


    Tall and slender, Isalaya moved with the grace of a predator - dangerous but mesmerizing. The tight, slit dress accentuated her magnificent figure and allowed her legs to show just as well. The high, taut breasts did not spoil the impression of grace and impetuosity, despite their... ample size. And judging by the steep roundness below her back and developed shoulders - the marquise was clearly no stranger to the sport. (Fencing, Alex decided, remembering his fencing experience with Baroness Rionale.)


    Eyes of a deep blue color, there was something maddening, playful, and provocative about them. What they called "impish" or, in Isalaya''s case, more like "demonic". The blond, slightly wavy hair was cut short and highlighted a graceful face with "sharp" features, sensuous lips, and a predatory straight nose completed the picture.


    "I like you," Alex admitted honestly.


    I like you so much that if we were somewhere else, without all this political stuff... However, in the "other place," I don''t think there are girls like you even exist... well, except as a product of photoshop masters.


    In one swift step, Isalaya was at his back and hugged him from behind.


    "Then why don''t we go back to my place? I missed you," she whispered hotly. And suddenly, she bit her ear gently.


    Alex turned his head towards her, her lips and eyes were very close and there was something about them that made him want to drop everything and follow her. Anyway, when a girl like that calls like that, you don''t say no.


    But, as always, willpower and common sense woke up when he least wanted them to. A very unpleasant thought crossed his mind: She was Allesandro Cassard''s mistress, she knew him well, and she might notice differences in behavior. Or something else. Maybe they''re having sex differently here. I''ll fucking expose myself...


    "In any case, we should discuss our relationship...," the Marquise continued to exhort. "In private. Oh, and your - blade," she pointed her eyes at Taer, propping up the wall with an absent look. "Rest while we... communicate."


    Isalaya managed to say the last word so ambiguously that the part of Alex''s mind that really wanted to go along with the Marquise jumped at the opportunity with a joyful hiccup and immediately ''made the theoretical basis'':


    Indeed, it''s worth discussing the relationship anyway - an unexpectedly dumped mistress can start asking all sorts of questions and digging in the wrong places. So it''s worth talking to her, yes, yes!


    Common sense was powerless in the face of such a "pitch":


    "Yes, it''s worth discussing the relationship in private," Alex agreed cheerfully and turned to offer his ''mistress'' a hand. "Where to go?"


    "We will find it," she smiled, taking him under her arm. "I know Tail''s palace well - we won''t get lost!"


    It was not a long walk by local standards, only ten minutes. The Marquess Isalaya Turang occupied four huge rooms, that is, exactly two more than Lord Cassard.


    In the rooms they were met by girls in white knee-length dresses and turquoise aprons - they must have been maids. And four guardsmen of House Fyron from the Marquess'' escort. Leaving Taer to "rest and mingle with their comrades in arms," Isalaya and Alex secluded themselves in the bedroom. And it was exactly a bedroom - with a giant bed and a couple of armchairs. The rooms allocated to Lord Cassard had only modest sofas.


    She pointed Alex to one of the armchairs and walked over to a small table, on which there was a bottle of dark gold glass and a pair of tall glasses. There was a quiet murmur of wine in the room.


    "Very spacious, my place is more modest. Did knowing the castle help?" Alex asked as he assessed the surroundings.


    "No, it''s just that I know the right people in Bentar''s house," Isalaya winked, holding out her glass. "And besides, I don''t share your famous asceticism. I''ve got the servants and part of the ''arm'' with me. I had to put them up somewhere."


    Alex took the offered glass and took a small sip - the wine might even be splendid, but it still didn''t taste good, so the glass was placed on the armrest of the chair. The Marquise arched an eyebrow in surprise:


    "Strangely, I always thought Bentar''s Dew was your favorite wine."


    Alex just threw up his hands in response, showing, well, I don''t feel like it. She sat down in the chair opposite and was silent, looking at him thoughtfully as if thinking about something:


    "Tell me, Alex, do you remember the party at Baron Cilaro''s?" Isalaya asked cautiously.


    "Er... no. Should I?" he answered, slightly surprised by the change in his "mistress". When they were alone together, her playfulness was gone, and her aura of sexuality seemed to have been turned off.


    It clearly smells like another ''political'' conversation, thought Alex disappointedly, quickly catching where the wind was blowing. No, of course, he understood that for the case and to maintain the cover story, the conversation was better than sex, but... the "mistress" was too good.


    "You mean you''ve forgotten everything?" the Marquise clarified.


    "Yes," Alex sighed, mentally preparing for another negotiation.


    No, what the heck! They lure you into the bedroom with innuendo and then slip you into politics! You can''t trust anyone!


    "Do you know what happened to your family yet?" Isalaya seemed determined to go in from afar. Waiting for Alex to nod, she continued. "You do realize that this wasn''t an accident?" The question was clearly rhetorical, so he did not answer. "They were killed because the new Ruling Lord''s position was too fragile and their influence too great," she lowered her eyes, tracing the rim of her glass with her thoughtful fingers. "Especially your father''s influence. After the battle at Pell, the Guard worshipped him, and his command of one of the Imperial fleets during the war with the Orders gave him a measure of political capital in the Capital too. All that combined with the wealth of your domain..." she stopped talking and laughed softly as she leaned back in her chair:


    "You know, I feel so stupid telling you all this. You told me all this yourself when I asked you why you were getting involved in all this intrigue," she stopped talking again, then waved her hand, looking at Alex strangely. "Well, never mind the old case. Let''s get down to business. Let''s just say you''ve become the mastermind of a group of people who are dissatisfied with the current ruling lord and are interested in replacing him as quickly as possible."


    Hearing this, Alex sighed heavily: Nice! I''m in for some kind of conspiracy as well.


    "And why would I want to do that?"


    "I told you before," the Marquess said with a frown. "Even though you''re still the only one of your Clan, you''re still very dangerous - your domain is rich and strategically important to the House. You are wealthy and strategically important to the House. Especially since you will soon be taking your place on the Privy Council. Living under the constant threat of death is not something anyone likes..."


    So Lord Cassard was an alcoholic, a womanizer, and a debauchee not out of spirits, but out of the strict necessity of conspiracy. Anything away from the women and booze and they would think him overly talented and whack him just in case. And he quietly, in between drinks, cherished his insidious plans..., Alex leaned back in his chair, digesting what he had heard. He had two questions on his mind at the moment:


    "Why are you only contacting me now? What do you want from me?"


    "You see, when you were poisoned, we thought that the House Intelligence or the Ruling Lord himself had uncovered our conspiracy and were now systematically destroying its members," Isalaya did not look up and looked uncertain. "There was a split in the organization. Some felt that we should simply retreat, the more aggressive ones suggested eliminating the Ruling Lord and, if the situation was favorable after his death, trying to take over. I saw no point in arguing and simply went on the run. But now that we know that the plot has not been revealed, it is necessary to call off the assassins and continue the systematic work. But these idiots..." the Marquess was about to add something else and clearly obscene, but for some reason, she stopped, sipped from her glass, and continued in a much calmer voice:


    "That''s why we contacted you so late. It took until everyone came back before we found out exactly what had happened... When word got out that you''d lost your memory, there was some debate about who would be a leader now, but that''s not important," Isalaya sighed wearily. "The important thing is that the assassins have still not been recalled. And we are not ready to take over now, which means someone else will do it for us. So they will be looking for the killers, and they can find them... What do we need now...?" Marquise leaned forward and raised her head, looking him straight in the eyes. "We - meaning you and me - need you to sort out the mess Dimir made, put him in his place, call off the killers and, most importantly, restore access to the accounts!"


    Isalaya took a few greedy sips from her glass and added:


    "Of course, you can''t be an effective leader in your current state, but you don''t need to be."


    Throughout the entire speech, Alex honestly tried to ignore the effect of his companion''s appearance and concentrate on analyzing the conversation. It worked, with partial success:


    What can be said about Lady Isalaya Marquise of Turang? Firstly, she is a magnificent actress, so neither her playful looks nor her current heavy sighs are to be believed. Secondly, she is trying to drag me into some foul-smelling conspiracy event, although, according to her, I am already up to my ears in it and almost the chief organizer. Thirdly, as a manipulator, she plays in the big leagues - Baroness Rionale was taken out of action with ease and grace, and I was taken to the right place. Though, she had a first-strike advantage over Kayrin. And taking me to a pretty girl''s bedroom is very easy.. Fourth, she didn''t need me in the conspiracy with my memorylessness - she needed me as a flag to deal with some internal conflicts and as the golden key to some accounts. Speaking of accounts...


    "What accounts?" Asked Alex, who had little interest in who was in charge of some murky conspiracy, but ''accounts'' were always interesting.


    "This is "laundered" money in "closed" OBG accounts. Only you have access to those accounts. In the event of your death, I would have access, but no one could have guessed that you would lose your memory!"


    "How much is there?"


    "A little over a billion and a half denarii," she grimaced as if she was suffering from a severe migraine.


    Oh, damn, they''ve done a lot of laundering there...


    "And how do I get access to those accounts?" Alex asked businesslike.


    "I can give you the account numbers, but only you knew the codes. Maybe you wrote them down somewhere, I don''t know," she shrugged.


    Right, it''s worth opening the safe in the castle, maybe there are codes in there. Or not, I wouldn''t put the codes for a billion and a half billion in the safe. Actually, it''s interesting. According to her, the Marquise will inherit the money in the event of my death, but since I am alive, she cannot get it, and I cannot get it because I don''t remember a damn thing.


    "Look, ''love of mine''. Why didn''t you just kill me?" It suddenly occurred to Alex that this option removed all of the conspirators'' voiced concerns.


    Isalaya grimaced again:


    "Because I am against it! Such an idea has been suggested, but without my support, there is no point. Even in the event of my death, no one else can have access to the accounts."


    "Why are you against it?" cautiously asked Alex, who had little faith in the goodwill of people when it came to billions...


    "Because the word of the Marquess of Turang is worth more than a billion and a half denarii," Isalaya replied grimly, taking in the rest of the wine in her glass with a gulp. "And then, I don''t know about you..." she broke into a classic feminine - I do you, but you don''t do me at all! "Our relationship meant something to me."


    Maybe they were trying to kill me, after all, there was someone else''s sniper during the duel. Or was the sniper from the people who were trying to poison me? Or maybe there was no sniper at all, and it was just staged by the anti-imperialists to gain my trust? Or maybe Marquesa is now just blatantly screwing me, and there is no conspiracy, but a closed account, which she had learned about when she was a mistress, and now she just wants to get access to it? The last idea reeked of delirium and paranoia, and Alex hastened to stop before the speculation took him too far.


    "What kind of relationship did we have?" he decided to clarify.


    "Friendly. I trusted you very much, and you trusted me..."


    Seemed very trusting indeed since she was the one who had access to a billion and a half denarii in the event of his death. That''s over nine billion backs.


    "Friendly? Was the lover''s status used as a cover?"


    So it''s a standard scheme here, and Liora is not original with her suggestion?


    "Yes," she nodded. "It allowed us to spend a lot of time alone, avoiding suspicion. Well, sometimes..." Isalaya''s eyes went back to a sexual frenzy. "Things have happened... Being friends doesn''t interfere with THAT," she added, smiling invitingly.


    * * *

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14


    * * *


    A large, almost palm-wide, octagonal card of rough, dark green plastic lay on the purple velvet of the table, taking its place among its counterparts.


    "The Triple Ring! " Asmi Lertar, a beautiful woman in her thirties in a long, light green dress, proclaimed and looked around triumphantly, her light gray eyes fixed on Alexa. She smiled sweetly and asked. "How do you answer, Lord Cassard?"


    There was practically nothing to answer with. All of Alex''s blocks had gone down at the beginning of the game, so there was no way to destroy the piece. There was some hope that the next hand would bring a pair of Golden Blades, but...


    "I''ll pass," he said with a sigh and threw the cards on the table. All Alex''s experience of playing the local mix of cards and dominoes had been a couple of games with Baroness Rionale - he wasn''t a fan of gambling at all, and to risk such slim odds...


    "The Fyronians always pass when the odds aren''t in their favor," Baron Janos commented with a lazy voice and, grinning wickedly, laid the Black Lord and Lady out on the table. The Triple Ring, so carefully constructed by the esteemed Asmi, appeared to be broken.


    Alex glared at the baron and, smirking kindly in return, once again pretended not to notice the outburst in his direction. Baron Janos had been trying to quip Alex at every opportunity throughout the game. Perhaps the real Lord Cassard would have been annoyed by such remarks long ago, but he - hardened in forum discussions - such clumsy attempts at "trolling" only made him laugh: too fat, dear Baron, too fat.


    Seeing the smile, the Baron answered with a look of anger.


    Ser Ven Baron Janos was a brown-eyed, dark-haired, mustachioed handsome man with a dashing look, a kind of ''hussar''. He looked a little older than Alex, about twenty-eight, maybe thirty. A black leather hunting suit, girded with a wide belt that was laden with the hilt of a sword and a blaster. The rolled-up sleeves showed off his muscular arms, and a long, thin scar on his right cheek and a jaunty mustache completed the macho image. But this macho man was clearly not strong in verbal duels and fights. And he seemed to be well aware of this weakness, which made him even angrier.


    "We just know when to be brave and when to be stupid," retorted Lord Sargo Athand, who seemed to think the honor of the House had been touched.


    Three of his Blades covered the Baron''s Black Lady and the Blue and Scarlet Knights took out the Black Lord.


    "It''s a pity that not everyone can do that." Sargo Athand added with a sigh


    The Three Rings were restored, and Asmi gave Lord Athand the most bewitching smile she could - her chances of victory were once again greater than ever.


    "Stopping in time? The Fyronians?" laughed Lady Nadine Pell, a gorgeous green-eyed beauty in a pale blue camisole decorated with abundant gold embroidery. "That was the most absurd thing I''d ever heard."


    Laughing out loud, she leaned back in her chair and shook her head to flick her hair away from her face. A wave of long, fiery red curls swept over Alex, scenting him with a delicate floral perfume. Lady Nadine had been paired with Lord Cassard and seemed to find it hard to do. For one thing, as the ruling member of the House of Peltar, she was forced to play in alliance with a Fyron, and not just anyone, but with Alessandro Cassard himself, son of the very Cassard who had planned and executed the unexpected and dastardly (from the Peltarians'' point of view, naturally) attack on Pell. Secondly, and more importantly, Alex played a very average game, undermining Lady Pell''s chances of winning.


    "Fyron won''t stop until he''s conquered the whole Sector," Nadina added and dropped her cards too.


    "The last time House Fyron had expanded its territory was over four hundred years ago, adding a Neutral Sector that did not belong to any of the Great Houses," Baroness Rionale said as if casually, laying out a rack of Guardsmen on six colors. Kayrin was pairing up with Asmi, and everything was going towards a victory for this duo, which was clearly to her liking. And given that their main rivals for most of the game were the pairing of Alex and Nadina, the victory promised to be particularly sweet.


    "And the occupation of the seven systems doesn''t count, of course?" A sarcastic man in his sixties with a large bald head and a small grey beard asked.


    Baron Antrem, head of the Privy Council of House Kilret. His dark green camisole was unbuttoned, revealing a snow-white shirt and a massive gold chain with links as thick as a finger. A broad golden belt only emphasized his rather imposing belly, and his powerful arms and shoulders indicated that the baron had once boasted a hero physique. He was paired with Baron Venom Janos and was now doing his best to destroy Asmi''s Triple Ring, but his pair of Knights Black and Gold weren''t even strong enough to deal with Kayrin''s Four of Guardsmen.


    "These systems were never officially part of House Fyron," Lord Athand replied.


    "Oh, that''s a caveat worthy of a Twilight Adept! Bravo!" Baron Antrem did not let up. "You could say it wasn''t an occupation, but the transfer under a responsible administration."


    "Strange to hear you talk about excuses. Doesn''t your house buy Strike Cruisers on Tallan under quotas for antipiracy ships, calling them - Assault Frigates?" Earl Marell Kerrim, a knight of House Ispar, inquired.


    "If it''s not carrying his fighters, it''s a frigate!" Antrem snapped, discarding his cards. "And besides, the Emperor''s representative didn''t find any wrongdoing in that!"


    "Oh, that''s an excuse worthy of a Twilight Adept!" Marell returned the courtesy.


    "You and your ally Fyron are no better. Take, for example, the infamous representative program." Nadine Pell rushed to Baron Antrem''s aid. After all, House Kilret remained the only ally of House Peltar.


    "What''s wrong with our representative program?" Lord Athand resented it.


    "Well, for example - the purchase of yachts."


    "You know that, unfortunately, not all members of House Fyron can afford to buy their ship..." Lord Athand was eager to explain: "That''s why, apart from pensions, our House has also decided to give yachts for representation purposes to those noblemen who are in certain financial difficulties so that they can lead a life in keeping with their status."


    Wow, they live here! Mentally marveled at Alex. So, if any of the noble class cannot degrade further on their own money, they will be provided with everything they need from the treasury. I wonder how much this ''poverty allowance'' is?


    "Is that why you bought three hundred boats?" Nadine innocently asked.


    "Why not? We can afford it!" Lord Athand shrugged. "And besides, we have over a hundred clans in our House - they are quite numerous, and we are even thinking of increasing the number of yachts!"


    Nadine stepped forward and asked, narrowing her eyes slightly:


    "And the fact that the yachts purchased turned out to be Aegis models is surely a coincidence?"


    "A reliable yacht, well established. And spacious, and very many ladies prefer to travel with a rather large entourage."


    "Yes?" Nadine was indignant. "The fact that this ship has nearly corvette-like fields... The fact that it can be armed in two hours by four technicians... The fact that it has two moorings to which your stormtroopers can easily dock... Is that all it takes, a cute little thing? And then, of course, it''s purely coincidental, just a silly coincidence, that House Fyron has decided to increase the number of Stormtroopers by six hundred vehicles. Isn''t it?"


    "The Stormtroopers are being ramped up in line with the planetary security plan," Lord Athand replied in a condescending tone of voice. "And the Aegis'' external sling assemblies are used to transport flyers and shuttles, as you know...


    "You''re simply bypassing the Emperor''s edict limiting the number of hyperdrive warships!" Nadina persisted.


    "The Aegis is a civilian ship. And besides, the Emperor''s representative found no wrongdoing in that." Lord Athand replied with a smile, taking advantage of Baron Antrem''s argument, which was what Nadine was defending.


    "Please, no more politics," pleaded Lord Asparo Velaske, who was acting as the organizer of the current Voigrom from the House of Melato. "We are, after all, on a hunt, not at a meeting of the Council of Great Houses."


    "Yeah, well, you don''t have to worry about that since the entire Imperial fleet is at the disposal of House Melato," Nadine quipped.


    She stood up from the table, adjusting the dress that didn''t exist, and turned to Alex with a cold smile:


    "Thank you for playing, Lord Cassard. You have been a pleasant partner. And congratulations on your victory, dear Lartar, and to you, Lady Kayrin. My loss will be brought to you by my secretary," with these words, she quickly left the games room.


    "Pity the Lady Nadine has left us," Asmi sighed, leaning back in her chair and picking up her glass of wine, "Now we''ll have to find another person for the fourth pair. Lady Kayrin, will you continue to be my partner?"


    And, after waiting for Baroness Rionale to nod, the esteemed Lartar suggested:


    "Another match, then? Just find the eighth..."


    "Dear Asmee, I''m a little tired, so I''m going to hold off," Alex said. "And I''m not much of a player, so you can play three doubles."


    He put his loss on the table - two cards of five thousand denarii - and hurriedly slipped away before Baroness Rionale could think of anything. After all, he had come to this Voigrom to meet Liora, and that was a meeting best held without witnesses.


    Well, almost no witnesses - Taer will know anyway. Alex mentally corrected himself.


    During the day''s flight from Copeira to Estella (where the Voigrom was taking place), he decided, after much deliberation, to tell Taer everything, believing, not unreasonably, that he could not do without confidants, and that much depended on Taer as it was. His only concern was whether his "security specialist" was "snitching" to Countess Durlurl, so to speak, "for old times'' sake". Intuition said no snitching - not the right person - and reason countered that given the panic-stricken terror, Taer felt towards her former boss, she should only "ask properly" for her to tell it all herself. But, in any case, hiding from someone who literally follows you around and sleeps in the next bedroom is extremely problematic. So when Taer came into his quarters to report on the execution of the security arrangements, Alex decided to have a ''heart-to-heart'' talk.


    * * *


    A short, rather timid knock on the door distracted Alex from his meditative contemplation. He stared at the blue pulsing fabric of hyperspace that rippled outside the window. It was his way of trying to cope with the excess of emotions and impressions. Just ten days ago, he could only dream of flying into space, and now he was aboard his own goddamn yacht, flying to another star to hunt some native beasties there.


    People have gone crazy for less.


    He grinned and placed his hand on the cool surface of the huge window that occupied a good half of one of the bedroom walls. Beneath his palm, behind the thin layer of glass and force fields, a living hyper tunnel glittered and pulsed as if it were alive. The one his yacht had pierced through on its way to Estelle.


    The knock on the door was repeated, this time more audacious.


    "It''s open!" Alex shouted, plopping down on the long sofa along the window, covered with the snow-white skins of some very furry but unlucky animal.


    The door, finished in light red polished wood, slid open to the side, and Taer stepped into the cabin. As usual, in her perfectly white uniform, she carried a large plastic container in her hand, and a stylish leather folder with an infoblock tucked under her arm.


    "I hope I haven''t disturbed you too much, Your Lordship?" inquired the ''security specialist'' with as cold a smile as possible.


    After the story that happened in Isalaya''s bedroom during the Unification Feast, Taer took offense and was again very formal, knocking every time and wondering at every opportunity: "Am I disturbing Your Lordship too much?"


    The problem was exacerbated by the fact that it was Alex, with a protocol face, who told the bursting expert that it wouldn''t be a bad idea to knock first. Lady Isalaya the Marquise of Turang, on the other hand, expressed herself in less conventional... in far less... or should I say, not conventional at all. Hypothetically, the Lady and Marquess should not have known such expressions at all, but not only did she know them, but she masterfully applied them, flashing at least a couple of very original idioms in the process. However, her ladyship was excused by the fact that it was her shoulder that had been struck by the paralyzing discharge fired "on reflex" by Taer.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The Marquise dodged the second shot, which was aimed at her head, with an inhuman reaction and fell on top of Alex. Thanks to this, the incident had been free of casualties and destruction. The only casualties were a healthy black and purple bruise on Isalaia''s shoulder and a shattered kneecap on the shoulder of one of her Arm''s guardsmen who had attempted to stop the "security specialist" from coming to her aid. Mere trifles, really.


    If it had hit the awning in the face, it would not have helped to change the fa?ade of the dress. But everyone got off lightly. However, the understanding of the "bodyguard" was lost. When it became clear that what was happening in the bedroom was clearly not a threat to the life and health of the Lord (rather the opposite), Taer began to babble, apologize for her hasty actions and explain that the induced reactions required her to shoot first and then deal with ...


    This was where Alex should have sided with his "specialist" - after all, responding to any suspicious rumbling and shouting was her direct responsibility, even if the rumbling and shouting were due to entanglement in the sheets and falling off the bed directly onto the tiny dessert table due to over-occupation with what was happening and because of the incredible energy of Marquise Turang. But instead of saying something like, "Oh, come on, Taer, it''s all right - it''s your job," Alex made an obviously silly remark about knocking and trying not to be disturbed.


    On the other hand, at the most important moment - crashing to the floor and smashing the table to pieces, when someone bursts in and starts shooting... I should be given a medal for composure - how did I manage not to yell in foul language, "stepping on a cat in a dark room"? Congenital aristocratism for sure!


    Anyway, since then, there have been cold shades in the relationship with the ''specialist'' because Taer considered herself guiltlessly offended in the best of feelings, and she was even right in some ways.


    On the other hand, maybe she''s just jealous. Alex wondered, hypothetically, while pointing to the opposite chair. But after thinking about it, he dismissed that option. It''s called overconfidence. You''re an irresistible heartbreaker, sure!"


    "Have a seat, Taer. What brings you here?"


    "I''ve brought you a report on the measures to strengthen your security, as well as a report on how the allocated funds have been spent," the "specialist," said as she seated herself on the edge of her chair.


    "Well, come on, it''s interesting," Alex leaned forward, looking at the girl with interest.


    Taer opened the container and took out a rather large suppressor shaped like a truncated pyramid. The suppressor was placed directly on the floor in the center of the cabin. When the yellow light on top of it flashed, and the room was filled with a quiet hum, the ''specialist'' took an infoblock out of her folder and began to read it out:


    "During the reporting period, five standard days, the following items were purchased as part of the security enhancements: one stationary, pulsating-type protective field generator with continuous operation of the Saphiron model, three high-speed flyers for planets with high radiation fields of the Porolir model with protection level IM99, personal shields of Sorquim Labs, two of them," Taer interrupted, coughing into her white glove and continued reading again:


    "In addition, an increase in staffing was made to support the security plan. For this purpose, three Master Pilots with the specialization of "assault" were hired, and two Master Field and information systems operators were hired. They all have a standard five-year contract, with a salary of thirty-five thousand danarii per year for Pilots, thirty-seven thousand per year for Master Information System Operators, thirty-nine thousand per year for Master Field Operators," Taer paused again and looked expressively at Alex:


    "If I may remind you, Your Lordship, you should pay your attention to the question of the status of the people hired, namely the Pilots and the Information Systems Operator - do you wish them to be included in your Arm or not?"


    "What''s the difference?" Alex queried with interest as he watched the performance of the ''Taer official offended''.


    "The difference in status and position in society - being part of the Arm of the Lord is very honorable. According to the Imperial Edict on the Guard, it is compulsory for all those holding combat positions or positions equated to them to be enrolled in the Arm of the nobility. Therefore a Master Field Operator must necessarily be included in your Arm. Pilots, because they drive non-combat vehicles and information systems operators, may not be in the Arm, but may be on the list of employees.


    "What would you advise?" Alex asked, getting up from the sofa and heading for the panel behind which, if he remembered the captain''s explanation correctly, there should have been a bar.


    "I would suggest, as a morale booster, that you take all the replenishments under your Arm. However, you should remember, Your Grace, that the size of the Arm is limited by Imperial edict. For the Lords of the Empire and their equals, it is one thousand men."


    "How many people are in my Arm now?" Alex asked, hiding almost waist-deep in the alcove where the bar was located - nothing non-alcoholic could be found yet.


    Tinkling with the stash of bottles, he asked: "By the way, Taer, do you want anything?"


    "Thank you, Your Lordship, but I am on duty, and so I will refrain," the girl mouthed and added: "There is one man in your hand at the moment."


    "Well, I don''t see the problem then," his lordship shrugged as he approached Taer with two bottles and glasses. "We''ll put them all in the Arm."


    He sat down comfortably at the girl''s feet, stooping down on the thick and fluffy dark red carpet that covered the bedroom floor. He opened one of the bottles and sniffed carefully at its contents.


    "Hmm, juice, I think, for cocktails. What do you prefer, Taer? Juice or Bentar''s Dew? It was recommended to me as a decent wine."


    "Thank you, but nothing, Your Lordship! I''m sorry," she said, pushing herself deeper into her chair and moving her legs away from Alex.


    "Well, suit yourself. If you change your mind, here..." he set the wine glass on the armrest of her chair and took a sip of the juice himself.


    "If Your Lordship sees fit to enlist all the replenishment into your Arm, then you must also choose your First Arm. This man will be the First Sword of your Retinue." Taer was silent for a moment, raising her eyes to the ceiling as if remembering something. "And since you are the only one in your Clan and Domain - this man will also be the First Blade of the Domain and thus will be among the Blades of the House..." Taer, only now beginning to think what her words meant, spoke more and more quietly, and her voice began to lose confidence again. "Which means bringing him to knighthood, which can only be awarded to the most worthy..." she quoted the last words almost in a whisper, then fumbled for her glass and drained it in a gulp.


    It had somehow never occurred to Taer that the growth in the number of her lord''s arm might well have the prefix Daim in front of her name...


    "And who would you recommend for the job?" Alex asked innocently as he refilled the Bentar dew into his ''specialist'' glass.


    "I don''t know, Your Lordship. I think someone you can trust. You know best..." said Taer, barely audible, taking the newly filled glass in her hands.


    "You know," Alex sighed. "I wish the person I could trust was you. You help me a lot, especially now that I can barely remember anything." He paused, took a small sip of juice, and, with a heavy sigh, continued:


    "And, by the way, I''m sorry that I said "you should knock" back then - I was wrong. I really could have been killed there, and you were absolutely right."


    "Erm... thank you, Your Lordship, it''s my duty..." Taer whispered, still a little baffled by the prospect.


    "...Two things really worry me," Alex went on, not noticing the babble of his ''specialist''. "The first is that you didn''t come to my service on your own, but you were appointed by the Consulate. That is, it was not your own choice but the idea of your superiors. Maybe you saw it all in a coffin?" he asked, finishing the rest of the juice.


    "Saw what?" Taer asked again, her eyes widening in surprise.


    "I mean, maybe you don''t like it at all and would rather do something else or serve somewhere else?"


    Taer thought about it:


    "No, Your Lordship, I wouldn''t want to serve anywhere else. I''m glad I am, in fact, to be serving with you."


    "That''s good!" Alex smiled. "Then there''s the second thing that worries me."


    "Even two moments," he added, thinking, "Your excessive piety for Countess Durlurl and your resentfulness. I''m not perfect, of course. (Alex was going to say "not an angel," but who knows if there are angels around.) And I''m a bit of a nuisance, but you''re a good one, too. You''re the one who starts mumbling "Your Lordship" and walking around with an impenetrable face. That''s not the way to do it!" He stated categorically and looked at Taer, waiting for her reaction.


    The girl sat in her chair with a sort of distracted look on her face and looked through her lord. So the prospect of a knighthood seems to have struck my specialist to the core. Realizing that a coherent response from her now would be impossible, Alex continued:


    "I would like my relationship with my First Blade to be more friendly. Something more than a boss-subordinate relationship. And more trusting," Alex added, refilling his juice.


    He twirled his glass thoughtfully in his hands and, after taking a small sip, said:


    "You know, I need someone to lean on, someone I can trust 100%. And I''m willing to encourage that person in every way, both in terms of status and financially. Encourage him very generously. I would like to see a hundred percent loyalty in return. And not blind loyalty but a conscious and proactive one. That''s why I''m concerned about your attitude towards Countess Durlurl. I have certain tensions with her, and the fact that Taer Diltar''s guardsman is afraid of her makes me somewhat uneasy. Can I trust Daim Taer not to be afraid of Daim Esta?" he asked, staring intently at the specialist.


    "Yes, my lord... I mean, Alex," Taer assured him in a daze and asked cautiously. "What''s your problem with Countess Durlurl?"


    "Um... how can I put this..." Alex started to drag it out, frantically thinking about what to tell the ''specialist'' and what not to. "Anyway, she wants me to marry Valerie Bellar, and I don''t want to."


    Well, don''t get married. She can''t force you to, especially since you''ll soon be one of the Privy, and she''ll be forced to listen to you.


    Yeah, except Countess Durlurlle is threatening to bury me before she''d let me, so scary, into the Privy Council, Alex thought unhappily. And I haven''t got the tools to bury the Countess before she can bury me. I don''t have a ready-made "my lady" and I don''t have my own secret service - I''ll have to grow from what I have... with unpredictable results.


    There was Isalaya - far more suited to the role of "my lady" - but the loyalty of the lovely marquise was so dubious to Alex that he regarded her only as a "temporary ally"... well, as a fabulous mistress, of course.


    "You see, the Countess thinks I''m an Adept," Alex admitted, deciding there was no point in keeping it from Taer. If she''s going to tell anyone, it''ll be the same Countess who already knows everything. "And she said she''d do anything to keep the Adept out of the Privy Council. Like, tell the Inquisition about it. Or somehow she would use the resources available to her."


    She almost choked on her wine when she heard the word - Adept. She swallowed frantically and asked cautiously: "And you are... an adept?"


    Who the hell knows?


    "How do I know? From what I understand, no, I''m not adept. But I''m not even sure I understand what an adept is," Alex sighed.


    "An Adept is a specially trained initiated psionic," Taer came to the rescue, clearly quoting some long-remembered text. "Adepts have different talents, but most of them can influence other people''s thinking and sense of the future. Initiation greatly affects the mindset of the adept, making them mentally unstable and socially dangerous. Adepts must strictly control their emotions and adhere to special psychological techniques to maintain their sanity. After the Orders of Guardians showed their inability to control adepts, the Inquisition was established to control and select stable adepts and isolate or destroy unstable ones."


    The last words about "isolation and extermination" Taer spoke in a dropped voice, looking frightened at Alex.


    "I''m not adept!" he reassured her. "I can''t read minds, and I can''t seem to see the future, either. And then, as I understand it, I''ve already been tested."


    But the real Lord Cassard might have been. Who the hell knows?


    "An uninitiated psionic or specially trained adept is very hard to detect if he doesn''t use his abilities." The girl cheered him on.


    "I got that from Countess Durlurl," Alex nodded with a sigh. "But I don''t think I''m adept. She suggested I marry Valerie as a compromise, saying that if I did, I would not harm the House. But if I don''t..." Alex traced an eloquent finger across his throat. "That''s the kind of trouble I have with her."


    Taer looked thoughtfully at the wine in her glass, then looked up at Alex and asked quietly:


    "Maybe it''s not such a bad idea. You''ve never been interested in politics, so losing your seat on the Privy Council isn''t a tragedy. And Valerie''s a pretty girl and a Ruling Lady, after all. Or..." Her face lit up with inspiration. "You love Isalaya, don''t you? But I don''t think Valerie would interfere with your relationship..."


    Alex stared thoughtfully at Taer, trying to work out whether this was a carefully considered speech from the talented actress and agent of influence of Countess Durlurl or - a genuine concern for his safety coupled with the romantic naivety of youth.


    No, she seems to be sincere - "Katz offers to surrender!" Fuck you, gentlemen - the Russians don''t surrender! - he decided with cheerful anger. - Some little brat is going to decide who I will or will not marry...


    "You know, I think we can surrender at any moment. But I don''t want anyone deciding what to do for me. I don''t want to have a conflict with Countess Durlurl (just because her chances in this conflict look much better), but I don''t want to put up with her diktat either."


    "What to do then?"


    "I don''t know! Thinking is the first priority. Maybe there''s some method of proving that I''m not adept?"


    "A check by the Inquisition might confirm that you are not an Adept... And if you are?" Taer put the glass back on the armrest and leaned toward Alex.


    If it''s a yes, then it''s a shame. And then to the bonfire or whatever they do to the adepts here. And if not, there''s nothing to stop the Countess from still pushing for the purely political benefits of her alliance with Bentar.


    "So it''s not an option," Alex concluded.


    The option is to "whack" the countess and replace her with someone more loyal. According to Isalaya, ''killing'' is being done right now, but ''bringing in someone loyal'' is a problem, so it''s better to put off ''killing'' for the time being.


    "Well, I hope we can work something out." Alex got up from the floor. "By the way, what are these?" He asked, pointing to the two massive thick padded belts and a set of massive bracelets that were in the container by Taer.


    "It''s personal shields," she informed me as she took the belt out of the container. "I was talking about them. It''s powerful enough to absorb a dozen or so blaster shots or the energy of a small explosive device. I''d advise you to keep it on while you''re hunting since it''ll be more difficult to keep you safe when you''re there." She added grudgingly.


    "You see, I have to meet Liora there," Alex admitted.


    "Well, if a date with this girl is worth risking your life..." the specialist said.


    Right, she''s a romantic... Do they have chivalrous novels here too?


    "Erm... she''s not just a girl, she''s a Representative of the Rebels - they''ve offered me cooperation..." Alex said, a little shyly.


    "Whose Representative?!"


    Taer moved sharply forward, and in doing so, she knocked the glass off the armrest. The glass fell to the floor with a melodious clink and a dark stain of spilled wine spread across the carpet.


    "Damn shadows!" She scolded as she raised her glass. "Do you have any idea what you''re dealing with? If the SS gets wind of this...!"


    "I understand, but they were the first to report anything intelligible about the assassination attempts on me, which is, you know, very important information... from my point of view," Alex excused himself.


    "And what did they report?" With doubt in her voice, Taer asked.


    "It''s a long story..." Alex sighed and began to tell her what Liora, "Madam Representative", had told him.


    His story was received with great skepticism - Taer suggested that the ''rebels'' themselves had organized the second attempt to gain Lord Cassard''s support. She suggested that, before it was too late, all communication with them should cease. He had had similar thoughts, but in the letter he had received after the trial, Liora had hinted at some new and important information "on a case of interest to you''.


    "...That''s why I decided to go to the Voigrom."


    "If someone still wants to eliminate you, there''s no better place and time to do it than on the hunt," Taer muttered, folding her arms across her chest.


    "I know," Alex agreed. "And what to do?"


    The question was clearly rhetorical, so Taer did not answer it. She got up from the chair and headed for the exit from the bedroom, turning around just inside the door:


    "I hope this information is worth it." And went out into the corridor.


    And how I hope so... Alex flopped down on the huge bed, draped in black silk bedspreads.


    Outside the window, the hypertunnel pulsed in a blue haze.


    "Damn, what a mess I''ve been in!" He complained aloud.


    * * *

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15


    * * *


    Taer moved her body slightly to the right and, without stopping, with a single powerful movement of her left hand, tossed aside the short blonde girl in the incredibly lush, dirty gray silk dress that had so unfortunately gotten in her way. She cried out in surprise and collapsed onto the marble slabs of the floor, arms outstretched wide. The older woman, standing behind the girl, was simply knocked off her shoulder and continued her run.


    Taer was almost out of breath now and was "in mode", picking up speed rapidly - she was almost flying, pushing her body forward in sharp thrusts. Her shoulders were still, and so was the bullet gun clutched in her right hand.


    The perception narrowed, and there were only three objects left in the world: her, her partner, and the target. Everything else was only an obstacle in the way of the target - a tall and short dark-haired man in his forties, wearing a brown jacket and dark grey trousers.


    The man ran thirty paces ahead, easily sidestepping the many passersby - literally seeping through the crowd that filled the transition junction of the monorail station. Taer and her partner walked through the crowd like two blades, leaving behind the commotion and shouts of people unlucky enough to get in their way. This ingenuous running strategy was paying off - Taer felt that they were faster, and the distance was inexorably shrinking.


    Their target seemed to have come to the same conclusion. The fugitive was no longer in time for the monorail platform. He jerked sharply to the right, towards the stairs leading to the snack bars. In a few jumps, he passed the stairs, jumped over a couple of tables, and darted toward the public restrooms. For a moment there was an empty space between him and Taer. The bullet whirred and twitched in her hand, bullets flew dryly near the target''s head and struck the jamb of the passage, knocking sharp stone chips and fine grey dust from the marble slabs that covered the wall. One of the walls, unable to withstand the impact, burst with the sound of broken glass, covering the floor with jagged shards and exposing the dark red fluted base of the plastic wall.


    The man cried out, reflexively covering his face with his hands as several sharp shards of stone slashed across his cheek. And dove into the passageway.


    Taer froze in the aisle against the wall, glanced at her partner, and, waiting for him to nod, put a machine gun out in her outstretched hands and pressed the trigger. A moment later, two machine guns were whirring, spraying fire into the washroom. The small room was filled with the sound of bullets hitting, the clang of bursting exterior panels, and the crunch of tearing plastic partitions. Without stopping to fire, they burst inside in one swift burst and immediately dispersed sideways, away from the opening where it was so convenient to send a round.


    The gunmen froze, driving their barrels cautiously, but no one fired back - there were no new targets.


    The small public lavatory - literally fifteen paces long, decorated with cream marble tiles - was tattered with numerous hits. The partitions of the individual cubicles were mangled and lay on the floor, which was quickly covered with water spurting from broken cisterns and sinks. There was fine stone dust in the air. Here and there in the walls gaped dark red patches of plastic that had appeared in the place of the split slabs.


    In the center, lying face down on the floor was a dark-haired man in a brown jacket - the target. There were three gaping holes in his back near the spine. Behind the target, near the opposite wall, covered in shards of mirror, a young woman was frozen in a ridiculous pose. The sink beside which she stood had been shattered by several hits, and water was now gurgling quietly over her, making dark, damp paths spread across the bright purple suit.


    Perfect silence - only the sound of water carpeting the room in a gleaming carpet. The water near the bodies was darkened by a slight reddish haze.


    Taer pressed the trigger again, breaking the silence with a buzzing sound, and the man''s body twitched faintly as several more bullets struck his back.


    Cautiously treading on the wet floor, covered with squeaky tile splinters, they approached the target. The partner kicked aside the light stun gun the target was clutching in his hand and froze, taking a couple of steps back. Taer squatted down beside the man and rolled the body over onto its back.


    The brown jacket was blackened with water and blood and gleamed slightly. His dark wet hair was sticking to his forehead, his brown eyes with long "female" lashes were wide open, a slight smile was on his full lips, and a thin, slightly upturned nose and the corner of his mouth were streaming out of a rather wide, slightly blurred, scarlet stream of water. There was a look of surprise and joy on the target''s face as if he had been given an unexpected but pleasant surprise.


    She started to search his pockets when she was interrupted by a surprised cry from her partner. Taer reflexively reached for her weapon, glancing up at the same time, and then froze.


    The target''s eyes glowed softly blue. Before she could even be surprised, the glow faded, and a small, apple-sized glowing ball of soft reddish-yellow was woven over her body at about the level of Taer''s face. It was slightly blurred, like a candle flame hanging in the air.


    And at that moment, a sticky wave of animal terror came over her.


    "Close your eyes! Don''t look!" yelled her partner from somewhere on the side.


    But she was already watching, and a panicked thought was flitting wildly around in her head.


    We killed him wrong!


    She didn''t know why it was ''wrong'' or how it should have been ''right'' to kill him, but she suddenly realized that it was wrong to kill him that way and that the touch of that fire was the creepiest and scariest thing that could happen. It''s disgusting. It''s nastier than death. It is to cease to be yourself. It is the absolute end. It is scary and vile.


    The realization flooded her mind, she didn''t know where the thought had come from, but its truth was obvious. It was too close. Taer wanted to run as far away from that balloon as possible, or at least turn away, but she realized with horror that she could not move. She couldn''t even close her eyes! Fear gripped her. Her body no longer obeyed her - she didn''t believe it could happen. Especially that it could happen to her - to be paralyzed by fear. Her consciousness was beating inside her paralyzed body, struggling to cover her eyes even a little - she wanted to scream from the horror that filled her, but she couldn''t even do that.


    The orb, swaying slightly as if propelled by a gentle breeze, began to move closer to her face. Consciousness howled with pleading: "Please, not me! Not me! Not me! Not me!"


    As the flame approached, a tightness deep in her chest grew to her heart, and the nasty feeling grew stronger and stronger, filling her whole body. She couldn''t breathe. She wanted to scream... just to breathe - to get relief - to die, but not this. It was already very close - the distance was so close that it was too far away, and it was too late. It was already very close - about a palm away - her face could already feel the soft warmth coming from the orb. And that warmth, for some reason, made her consciousness rush and howl like a terrified animal.


    This can''t really be happening! Her consciousness was howling. I can''t be that scared, I have blocks, I can''t be that scared!


    Taer realized this was a dream; reality could not be that frightening. But she was sure that the touch of fire in her dream would be just as frightening and disgusting. She tried to wake up, but it didn''t work, which made it even scarier.


    I want to wake up! Please, I don''t want to be here!


    The fire was quite close, the first soft petals of flame touching her face...


    At that moment, Taer felt a terrible pain in her legs as if hundreds of red-hot needles had been stuck in her calves.


    And she woke up.


    * * *


    She sat up on the bed with a jerk and gasped for air as if she had been underwater for so long. She wanted to scream to get rid of the unpleasant heaviness that filled her chest and enveloped her heart, but all she could do was wheeze. She was covered in sticky, cold sweat, both legs aching and cramped, her body shaking, each breath hard to take.


    The blockage remembered that it existed - the pain had subsided. Taer dangled her legs off the bed and kneaded her calves to calm the cramp. She was still a little shaky.


    But she was in her stateroom aboard the Estal and was flying on a Voigrom. The wooden panels of black fire oak with mauve silk inlays, the huge round bed draped in dark purple sheets, the thick dark red carpet on the floor... It was her favorite cabin, which was supposed to be for her Lord''s noble guests, but had long since been ''occupied'' by the ''security specialist'' on the grounds that the cabin had a ''strategically important location''.


    "And, most importantly, no flames nearby - I woke up in time!" She said out loud with relief and winced at the sound of her voice - it was hoarse and lifeless.


    But anyway, the environment was soothing to her: the abominable heaviness in her chest had gradually subsided, her breathing had recovered, the large shivers had stopped, and the cramp in her legs was gone, only reminded by a slight ache in her calves.


    And the flames, indeed, were nowhere to be seen.


    Taer squeamishly tossed aside the sweat-soaked blanket and waddled cautiously with her still ''wooden'' legs to the shower room. On the way, she slammed on the security terminal panel as an old habit, triggering the test mode.


    Turning on the massage mode, she put her face under the tight, hot jets and exhaled a long breath:


    "Be cursed the day I agreed to install the induced reactions!" she moaned.


    Although the position of ''personal security specialist'' mainly meant preventing scandals and dealing with unwanted leaks to the Holo-V - it was thought that Taer should also be able to act as a bodyguard, which required certain skills, such as hand-to-hand combat, which the former Navy lieutenant had no chance of acquiring.


    So when she (by the way, by Countess Durlurl herself!) was offered the prospect of receiving Induced Skills, she did not hesitate long and agreed. After all, it was a measure that allowed her to enter the Lord''s Arm without wasting two years in training - she could have sacrificed her right hand for the sake of such a prospect! All the more so at that moment, the possible side effects did not seem to be anything really unpleasant. Headaches? What nonsense! Possible insanity? Statistically, a fraction of a percent! Far more likely to crash on a flyer or not come out of another hyperjump. Death? Oh, don''t be ridiculous - even rarer than insanity!


    When the tests showed that Taer had an excellent susceptibility and rejection was unlikely, she was completely clear of any doubts. Anyway, she was given, as the clever people at the Medical Intelligence Center put it, "big, fat skills". The more complex and "better" the skill being induced, the greater the chance of conflict. Even if you''ve never had a similar skill. Because a true skill does not exist on its own but is closely linked to the personality. So, when you get a skill of this level, you also get a piece of personality... with all the consequences. At least, that''s what scientists think.


    "I bet those freaks in the white coats were just happy to experiment and cram three times their skills into me!" Taer hissed angrily, leaning against the shower wall.


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    But, as it was explained to her, she had almost zero negative feedback... Anyway, anyway, after the terms of the roll-out, she did not become a vegetable and run around screaming; "Oh, how colorful everything is". Which was taken as a victory by the project staff. And, in fact, they weren''t much wrong.


    Then there was a course of replacement surgery to bring her body up to the level of skills she had acquired, though Taer had no complaints about her fitness before that. Two more weeks later, having received braided bones, new tendons, altered muscle structure, and a perception booster, and becoming nearly twice as heavy - she began an intensive training session that would show what of the induced skills had been assimilated.


    The result? Uh-oh... She could drive and pilot anything that had been released five years before. She was pretty good at fighting (to put it mildly) and had a lot of security reactions built up in her. She also developed the habit of ordering bitter taymar, which she hated, and wrapping non-existent locks around her finger (because she always had her hair in a tight knot or ponytail).


    It would seem to be little things, unintrusive scraps of the "donor''s" personality... But then the nightmares began. Surprisingly vivid and realistic, in which she died in different ways: she was torn apart by burst thrusters, she was eaten alive by some creatures, she found herself in an ion breakdown zone without bio-protection, she was burnt alive in an airborne capsule that had depressurized...


    Taer, of course, decided that it was the donor''s memory, hence schizophrenia. Or worse. But she was reassured by the psychologists and medics who were watching her - they pointed out that it was difficult for a person to die more than once, so it was not a memory at all, just a reaction of her mind to the installed skills.


    "If you think about it, you got off very lightly - we were expecting much more serious problems, so just take plenty of sedatives at night!" The psychologist in charge of the project told her at the time.


    "You should get off as easy as I did today with that ''orb''!" The memory of the ''orb'' made Taer shiver.


    Now, having rested, she could not understand what was causing such a panic-stricken terror. But the mere memory of the orb made the nasty heaviness in her chest wake up again. This nightmare clearly stood apart from the others - she had no idea that the horror could be so monstrous that she could be so afraid.


    After stepping out of the shower and wrapping herself in a towel, Taer called for a droid to make the bed and, pouring herself some cognac from the bar, plunged into an armchair.


    "It was bullshit," she reassured herself. "He was wearing a jacket with a collar that hadn''t been worn in about five hundred years, and I''d shot him with a bullet gun - they''d been around since the Guild Wars, at the most, twenty years ago!"


    "And that orb..." She twitched involuntarily again. "It looked like a description of Graceful Fire. But why was I so terrified of it? Maybe it symbolized my parents'' religiosity, and my reaction to it was compensation for my failure to live up to their expectations." At one time, back in naval intelligence, during very long shifts, Taer had a huge collection of inventories from the "Know and Reveal Yourself" series at her disposal. From time to time, that kind of reading was reflected. "And why shouldn''t one look at him? Idiocy..."


    She sipped her cognac thoughtfully and looked at the clock that flashed on the small screen of her communicator: six in the morning, ship''s time - no point in going to bed.


    I won''t survive another nightmare like that.


    The nightmares usually came after the active manifestations of the installed skill. Fortunately, Lord Cassard''s service was not conducive to active manifestations, and in the two years that Taer had been a ''personal security specialist'', the installed skills had only manifested themselves twice - once during the poisoning and again at the Unification Feast, after the embarrassment in Marquess Turang''s bedroom.


    Yeah, it manifested itself, didn''t it? Taer grinned grimly, remembering the huge bruise on Isalaya''s shoulder and her tirade about it. Where did she pick up that? It''s not like she was on the Guard...


    The manifestation of induced reactions is a very strange sensation. Suddenly you start to do something, even though you don''t understand why or what you are doing.


    There was a lot to remember.


    She thought I wonder what that rumbling sound was in the bedroom, but the accelerator had picked her up gently, making the world grainy, the sounds grainy, and everything around her slow and fluid. And the body that had been sitting peacefully at the table with the Marquise Arm Guards before suddenly literally threw itself out of the chair and towards the bedroom, simultaneously snatching a blaster and knocking the table over on those very Guards in the process. The Guardsmen got the worst of it that time, and the worst of it was the poor fellow at the door as he was blocking the way.


    A side kick to the knee is very painful, and if the kicker weighs as much as a muscled man and a half... Anyway, the guardsman blocking the path was still falling, and Taer was already firing. She wasn''t aiming. She wasn''t looking for the target. She knew exactly where it was. This was a new experience for her. No, she didn''t foresee it, like an adept. She just knew where it was, the target, as if she had entered the room before because the target could only be there and nowhere else.


    Eventually, she shot first and only then realized what she had shot at - Lord Alessandro Cassard, partly wrapped in light turquoise sheets and partly... naked, was lying on the floor on his back. On top of him lay Lady Isalaia Marquise Turang, hissing in pain... completely undressed. Her porcelain shoulder was reddened by a paralyzing shock, and her left arm was hanging by a whip.


    Taer, who until then had only been an unconcerned observer, had managed to think aloofly that "I think Isalaya has bigger breasts" when suddenly the "installed skill" "realized" that the protected object was in no danger and made her hand, leaving Taer alone with the noble gentlemen.


    With very annoyed noble gentlemen..., Taer pulled out a tracksuit from the wardrobe. She decided to go to the gym - she hadn''t been able to find time to exercise lately, and it was making itself felt with the occasional cramp. She had to pay for everything: cramps for her altered muscle structure, nightmares for her induced reactions, and an inability to wear pretty shoes with heels and swim in the pool without a compensator for her heavy weight (despite her rather graceful contours).


    I wonder what I''ll have to pay for the prefix Daim in front of my name. Anything but dreams like this! A couple more nightmares like this, and I''ll be able to retire, having lost my health in the service of the House! Could these be echoes of the donor''s personality and her fear?


    Taer often thought about who her donor was. She must have been a strange girl... or woman, used to shooting first, talking later, piloting anything that flies and rolls, and being able to fight very violently.


    Probably some kind of Intelligence agent or Navy sabotage team. That''s an odd skill set for a bodyguard.


    She was distracted from her thoughts about her donor by the growing noise coming from the ajar door of the gymnasium. She was not sure why, but instead of just walking in as she had planned, she crept up to the door very quietly and almost without breathing. And peeked inside with literally half an eye.


    At the back of the gymnasium, paneled in light polished wood, inside a wide circle for exercises with bladed weapons with her back to the entrance, was a girl in a milky white fencing jumpsuit. Baroness Rional. She was literally tormenting the fencing droid with ferocity. The noise was caused by hitting the hull of this droid. Why Rional§å? There was no other girl with a figure like that on the ship.


    Taer was still contemplating whether to go in or leave Kayrin alone with herself and her incomprehensible problems - when suddenly the baroness kicked the droid away from her with a kick to the body and shouted:


    "Stop the program!" And turned towards the entrance.


    It became apparent that her face was covered by a solid milky white mask with a black monogram in the center. She pulled the mask off and smiled strangely:


    "Well, come in, Taer. What are you standing there for?"


    Taer walked in, looking as if she was going to do it anyway, thinking to herself: //Damn! How did she see me?" She was about to sneak out, not that the Baroness''s company would be intolerable to her, but she was not in the mood for polite smiles.


    "Would you like to warm up with an old friend?" Kayrin asked, nodding towards the racks of weapons and equipment.


    "Er, no thanks Kayrin, but I''m not in any shape to be - a little workout on the machines is probably all I can do."


    "Yes? And I heard that Lord Cassard''s Arm defeated the Arm of Marquess Turang. And that you were involved in that momentous battle. I wanted to learn from that," the Baroness smirked.


    "An unfortunate misunderstanding and my mistake," Lord Cassard''s Arm replied dryly, then thought for a moment and added with a wicked smile:


    "I am very sorry to have interrupted their lordships at such an intimate moment."


    Kayrin raised an eyebrow in surprise, then laughed when she realized it had been said seriously:


    "Great shadows, Taer, do you really think I would stoop to jealousy?" she wagged her finger.


    "Come on, Kayrin, I always thought you were above petty emotions and knew how to lose with dignity," Taer sat down at the trainer.


    "What makes you think I''ve lost? Ah, Sain Lieutenant Diltar?" Kayrin asked, still flippantly, pulling off her gloves and sitting down at a nearby trainer.


    "Because when I burst into the bedroom, it was Marquess Turang, not Baroness Rionale, and when one speaks of Lord Cassard''s potential bride, the name Valerie, not Kayrin, is heard... That''s why I came to this conclusion, Itory Cadet Rionale."


    "Flag Captain Rional," Kayrin corrected with a polite smile. "I told you I was going to reinstate myself to the Guard."


    "Ah, what an impetuous career!" Taer smirked, lifting the weight with her legs with an effort.


    "Well, you know us noble fools, patronage here, relatives there, acquaintances there..." She glanced at Taer. "But something tells me you''ve got a better career... Oh, First Blade Diltar?"


    Rumors are spreading obscenely fast - the Lord only offered me the position of First Blade last night, and early this morning, Baroness is already in the loop. Eavesdropping?


    "Why did you decide to come with us on the Voigrom?" Taer hurriedly changed the subject.


    "Why not? I''ve always loved hunting. You know that. And the fact that I decided to go with Alex... well, I''m a bit of a sybarite, and there''s no gym on my yacht, for instance."


    "This is the first time I''ve heard of anyone being dissatisfied with the level of comfort of the Silver Arrow."


    "Beautiful, isn''t she? Admit it, you''ve got a crush on her too, haven''t you?" Kayrin smiled. "I lent her to Ayuni for the time being - she and her brother are planning some big party for the ''youths''. You know how important it is for them to "prove themselves" at that age."`


    I sympathize in advance with the poor souls who will be cleaning the boat after a bunch of sixteen-year-olds have had a go at it


    Taer pretended to concentrate on the exercise.


    "By the way, Taer, would you mind telling me, as an old friend, what exactly is troubling Alex? I''m a little worried about him," Kayrin naturally ignored Taer''s "concentration" with an aristocratic nonchalance.


    "I have no idea. What makes you think he cares about anything?"


    "Well, I am, after all, a member of the Guard, and I can recognize the stella of a heavy-class planetary generator. Then again, there''s another escort added besides you... very distinctive looking."


    By ''escort of distinctive appearance'' she must have meant Lance Dudo Guwar, the only one of the new arrivals Taer had taken with her on the Voigrom. Because there was no point in the others being there. And Dudo wasn''t a lance just anywhere. He was a member of a sabotage group in the fleet, and they, too, occasionally have the need to tap into the nets, to break into block-circuits. But Dudo''s training, as well as his appearance, was indeed appropriate. And if it came to firing, she was even more confident in him than she was in herself.


    "You know, Kay, I think you''d better discuss this with Lord - it would be a violation of my oath," Taer replied coldly, picking up her compensatory belt and heading towards the pool.


    Taer entered the pool, tossed the compensator on the nearest sun lounger, and, just as she started to undress, remembered that she hadn''t brought a swimming costume - she wasn''t expecting to see anyone here this early in the day.


    Ah... to hell with everything! she thought angrily and threw off her clothes.


    She took a couple of steps to get a running start, pushed off the edge with force, and dove straight in, without a compensator. Her body arched and plunged into the water in the middle of the pool, raising a huge column of spray. In principle, even if her body was perceptibly denser than the water, she could still swim - she just had to work her arms and legs very hard. So after fifteen minutes, Ta?r climbed to the edge of the pool and sat up, breathing heavily, all her muscles aching pleasantly, the characteristic residual pain that had plagued her after the cramp is gone. She reached up and grabbed one of the nurlong towels that were on all the chaise lounges, folded in neat black triangles.


    I''m surprised Kay didn''t follow me, Taer thought, wiping herself off. It''s not in her character to fall behind so easily.


    Usually, if Baroness Rionale noticed that she was annoying her interlocutor, she would only increase the pressure. It was always a favorite pastime of hers to annoy others.


    And she was up obscenely early - even during the service, it was rare to see her before eleven o''clock. Probably she didn''t sleep at all.


    After wiping herself off, Taer tossed the towel aside and settled into a lounge chair, watching the small waterfall on the other side of the pool with thoughtful eyes.


    She was torturing the droid like she was taking her breath away. The baroness seemed so pissed off about something that she just wasn''t paying attention to me. I wonder, what could have made her so mad?


    Actually, Taer had a gut feeling that something wasn''t right about Kayrin Rionale - if at first her sweet flirting with Alex could be explained by her desire to marry him (Also, by the way, I don''t know why), then now, after the near official announcement of his marriage to the Ruling Lady of House Bentar, it just didn''t make sense!


    Again, a sudden desire to serve in the Guard again, though she had resigned from the service before she left for Onstum, saying she was bored with it.


    The horrendous scandal that broke out in the family did not stop her, and after all, Baroness Rionale is not Allesandro Cassard - she depends on her family for many things."


    She hadn''t even arrived yet and had already been reinstated to the navy, which she had always disliked and had shown Taer with her navy past in every possible way.


    And she was reinstated during the celebrations and immediately promoted to the rank of Flag Captain


    There was little surprise in the fact that she had jumped five ranks at once - her family was rich and very influential, and her father was a member of the Privy Council.


    But Flag-Captain... It was only now that Taer realized how strange that in itself was. To command a ship? Somebody''s been pushing the political levers as hard as they can.


    * * *

 Chapter 16

    Chapter 16


    * * *


    The yacht, gently illuminated by the blue glow of the onboard lights, gently approached the Melato House guest station, gradually leveling up and preparing to land.


    They left behind a twelve-hour jump to Istal, a meeting with the House Bentar escort, which turned out to be unexpectedly impressive - six fighters and a light corvette-and a four-hour flight from the jump zone to the planet because after a meeting with the captain, and given the difficult navigational situation, the in-system jump had been abandoned. It was unlikely, of course, that something could be on the trajectory that would noticeably damage the yacht, but the captain did not want to embarrass himself in front of the Bentars by crashing into some stray asteroid. Taer was in complete agreement with him on that.


    Milord, who had acted like a thirteen-year-old on a free tour of a military museum, had finally settled down and was no longer tantalizing Taer and the captain with endless questions of "What is it?", "How does it work?", "May I...?" and was quiet, literally sticking to the huge panoramic window in the bow. He kept his eyes fixed on the fighter jets circling in a figure-of-eight pattern as they periodically approached the yacht.


    After escorting the yacht to the station, the escort fighters bid farewell shook their gravistabilizers, and moved at full speed into the interior of the system, almost instantly transforming into small dimly glowing dots that disappeared a few seconds later. The Corvette, on the other hand, had slowed to a crawl, according to the Tactical Terminal, and had kept well behind the yacht. He must have intended to wait for a landing.


    Bloody bastards! Taer looked with admiration at the disappearing fighters.


    The lap of honor was performed in defiance of all regulations dangerously close to the yacht, but - impeccably precise, perfect - she never once noticed the characteristic flare and haze that appears when the forcefield is hit.


    The triangular silhouettes of the latest Tallan-built Iskra were covered in mounds of blaster ports and launchers. Their charcoal-black hulls were covered in a painting of two golden branches, starting from the middle of the "wings" and joining around the golden cockpit dome, surrounding it in a delicate ligature as if it were a frame.


    The black-and-gold machines suddenly leaped out of the void and, with an eerie screech as if someone was scraping glass with a blade, whizzed by the observation deck, covering the large panoramic window entirely for a moment before disappearing into a small, shimmering star. They came so close you could make out the silhouettes of the pilots, hidden beneath the golden veil of the cockpit lantern.


    "Impressive!" Alex stood closest to the panoramic window and could see the Sparks almost at arm''s length.


    Taer didn''t answer, shrugging as if to say, we''ve seen better. She was not proud of her naval pride to admit out loud that the Bentarians, who didn''t even have a fleet, were capable of anything impressive.


    You have to admit they have at least six very experienced pilots, she added mentally. Well, or the pilot module on the Sparks is something very special.


    The Lord turned to her with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face and asked: "Hm... Taer, what was that about?"


    "Circle of honor as interpreted by Bentar."


    "No, I mean the squealing that was heard as they flew past," he was even more embarrassed.


    "Well..." she sighed. "The machines were passing very close, requiring great precision in positioning, so the gravity keel and grav stabilizers were likely to have peak power, and they were coming very close, so it was a bit loud."


    Alex made a disgruntled grimace as if he''d eaten something sour:


    "Maybe I''m wrong," he began cautiously. "But it seemed to me that in space," he waved his hand towards the panoramic window. "Sounds can''t be heard because there''s no environment that transmits vibrations..."


    Taer smirked it''s always nice to be the smartest person in the room and to avoid yelling across the observation deck, she came down from the command gallery and walked over to the lord, and sat down in a nearby chair:


    "The point is that we don''t hear the sound of a passing fighter, but the resonance of our bio-protection field, which reacts to the radiation from that fighter''s engines and generators... and, in general, to all tangible energy sources in the vicinity or directly affecting the ship..."


    Taer didn''t want to go into the physical stuff, which she had forgotten after her navigator training, so she tried to explain things as simply as possible:


    When a bio-protection field comes into contact with an energy source, such as a radiation stream, it resonates, partly absorbing and partly reflecting this energy, thus protecting the ship. And because the structure of the bio-protection field is in direct contact with the intra-ship atmosphere - this resonance causes the sonic vibrations that we hear.


    Alex was silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling and digesting what he had heard, then asked again: "Then why can''t we hear our engine or the noise of the star in whose light we fly?"


    "Because Istal is a very, very expensive yacht!" Taer smiled sadly. "She has a special noise suppression system installed on her. The fighters came very close, and their energetic imprint was very strong - so we heard them. On regular ships, where no such system is installed, you can indeed hear the hum of engines and stabilization systems, and you can also hear the "whisper of the stars" or "starburst" - the bio-protection response to radiation from nearby stars."


    It''s also stunningly beautiful, she mentally added with a sentimental smile.


    "Isn''t that disturbing?" Alex watched the expression on Taer''s face with interest.


    "Nope," she shook her head. "It is said to help - one quickly gets used to it and stops noticing the hum of the engine. Many people even like "stars'' whispering". Silence, on the other hand, is a signal that the bio-protection field is overloaded or disabled, which means there is a threat of irradiation or depressurization."


    Because of this, those who have been flying for a long time develop a real fear of silence.


    "Interesting..." Alex exhaled, staring out the window again, where the Melato House guest station had already changed from a tiny star to an identifiable object.


    As they approached, the station grew larger and larger, filling the screen and the portholes of the forward observation deck. His Lordship Lord Allesandro Cassard stared at the approaching station without looking away.


    There really is a lot to see, though, Taer grudgingly admitted, catching herself staring at the station as well:


    In the cold abyss of space, a huge white castle, built in the classic Melatian style, floated on the green disk of Voigrom, tucked into the green of the gardens. The central dome was slightly pointed and formed a cupola. Luminous windows of light pink crystals, starting from the top and running to the middle of the dome, cut through the structure. It was as if a huge pink flower covered the dome. The building had two wide wings that covered the inner garden and, of course, columns... Classical Melatian architecture - and without columns? There is no such thing!


    Four massive columns of light marble with fine pink veins, twined with vines of dark bronze, towered above the castle, ending just above the dome. The tower was crowned by the figures of dragons, patrons of the hunt, spreading their wings and opening their mouths.


    The castle and the gardens surrounding it rested on a circular metal base - about three chambers in diameter and about two hundred steps high - which must have been where the technical floors with their support systems were hidden.


    Great shadows, how much does it cost? Taer mentally exclaimed


    The huge open zone, which a pair of heavy cruisers would have easily entered, required enormous field strength, for the bio-protection and forcefields were the only barrier between the blooming gardens of the station and interstellar space with its void of radiation and fluxes of micrometeorites.


    She glanced at the focusing blocks around the perimeter of the disk on which the castle stood. They were clearly not standard - instead of the usual sheaves of needles there was something resembling druses of crystals, and there were many of them. The protection system must have been repeatedly backed up in case the main generator failed.


    "I heard the Melatians had something special planned for this Voigrom, but it seems they''ve managed to exceed even their wildest expectations," Marquis Degrasto''s husky voice came from behind her and made Taer wince as she did not see him enter the observation deck.


    So good "security specialist". All the hope is in the guidance system!


    "The castle and sculptures are stunning!" The marquis continued. "I think the interior decoration will also surprise us. It would be interesting to know the name of the architect..."


    "I think our hosts will allow us to do so," said Taer.


    The castle is pure posturing. It would be much more interesting to know what company supplied the field generators. It would also be interesting to see the specifications for these generators. However, the owners will certainly not give us such an opportunity.


    "I take it that the stations usually look a little different?" Alex wasn''t addressing anyone in particular.


    "Yes," Taer and the Marquis replied at the same time.


    There was an awkward pause, Taer with a look trying to make it clear to the Marquis that she was apologizing and keeping quiet in the face of his experience and age. And the Marquis, also with a look, apologized to Taer and hinted that, of course, he was conceding the right to vote to the lady and so on


    The staring game with the Marquis dragged on. so Taer sighed and continued:


    "Usually, the stations look much simpler - some chaotic jumble of residential and technical modules. Or a spheroid of some kind, at best decorated with flowers and the logo of the House to which the station belongs."


    "So this station is something special?"


    "Exactly!" Crebo Degrasto gave a solid nod.


    "Your Lordship, station control has given us a vector and cleared us to land. What do you want us to do? - The captain asked tactfully as he came down from the command gallery."


    Alex looked questioningly at Taer, who shrugged her shoulders, thinking to herself slyly: No, we''ll hang around and admire the station.


    "What do you normally do in these cases," Alex replied to the captain. "Go for a landing or something..."


    The captain bowed his head and with the words, "Will do, Your Lordship," hurried back to the command gallery.


    The yacht, illuminated by flashes of mirrored glare, slowly sailed under the protection of the station''s field and, with the solid thud of the traction generators, hovered over the spacious area in front of the main entrance.


    The hatch swung open, and Taer immediately jumped down onto the dewy green of the lawn. It was so natural that she didn''t even think about what she was doing. Here was the open hatch, here was the ground, her body habitually grouped and jumped, and her hand pressed to her side to hold her missing weapon. The girl took a step to the side to make room for the retractable gangway, and only then did it suddenly dawn on her what had happened:


    Great shadows, all protocol screwed! She was mentally horrified. First to go should be Lord Cassard, then me as First Blade of his retinue, then Kayrin, then the Marquis Crebo Degrasto... and then the rest


    Damn it! I''m totally screwed! Taer exclaimed in her mind as she froze beside the gangway.


    She put on as blank a face as possible and tried to pretend that everything was going as planned.


    The welcoming party, a handsome tall brunette in his forties, also pretended that everything was going according to plan, only the smile on his face became a little more intense. And the face was somehow familiar to Taer - she must have seen it before - but trying to remember the name was to no avail.


    One of the lords of the House of Melato?


    Meanwhile, seeing Alex and Marquis Degrasto descending the gangway, the welcoming party stepped forward and began a prearranged speech:


    "I am pleased to welcome you on behalf of the House of Melato to this Voigrom! Allow me to introduce myself, Lord Asparo Velaske!" with these words, he held out his hand in greeting."


    My lord introduced himself as well and then took the greeting man''s hand and shook it, just as if two commoners had met. Taer mentally groaned, but it was too late to change anything. One could only hope that the Melatian would not cause a scandal and would prefer not to notice the insult.


    Lord Velaske''s smile became strained and somewhat bewildered - there was an awkward pause:


    "Let''s better get into the castle." he finally said, hiding his hands behind his back and taking a step back.


    At the castle, the "hospitable" host took his leave quickly, citing business and incoming guests. The steward, a short, dark-skinned, and bald man of indeterminate age, escorted them to their rooms and departed, assuring them that he was ready to fulfill the wishes of his dear guests.


    Marquis Degrasto and Baroness Rionale, surrounded by servants, immediately went to their rooms to change while Taer and Alex were left alone in the spacious room.


    The room was decorated in the classic Melatian style: long low sofas covered with small silk cushions, dark red velvet rugs embroidered in gold, plenty of draperies, and long narrow windows from ceiling to floor, covered with dark purple curtains with gold trim.


    "Dudo, check the rooms," Taer waved her hand towards the bedrooms.


    "Yes, Madam Lieutenant!" Dudo muttered and, picking up his bag of equipment, walked out.


    "Your Lordship," Taer began as soon as they were alone. "What is acceptable in a meeting of friends, or when dealing with commoners, can be taken as an insult by another lord, especially one from another House..."


    "What do you mean?"


    "A handshake," she explained. "In terms of accepted protocol, lords from different houses should greet each other differently."


    "And how should it be?" Alex got up from the sofa and came closer.


    "Like this," she showed him, gripping her arm around his wrist.


    "That''s original!" Alex smirked. "Well, I''ll keep that in mind next time. So, shall we go mingle with the noble public?"


    A short servant reported that "most of their lordships gathered in the hunting hall". Taking him along as their guide, Alex and Taer set off in search of "their lordships".


    And without waiting for Kayrin! she thought with a slight sneer.


    The participants of the Voigrom were just arriving at the castle, so the hunting hall was half-empty - the rare guests were lazily wandering among the stuffed trophies from the previous Voigroms.


    "Taer, are we going to hunt something like that?" With a touch of panic in his voice, Alex asked, peering at the stuffed Onyx screamer. The screamer''s mouth was open in a soundless roar, showing sharp, needle-like teeth.


    "No," Taer shook her head. "The trophy of this hunt is an Oiker. But it''s not here," she added, glancing around the display. "Perhaps in another part of the hall..."


    "Let''s go and look then," Alex glanced absently at the people in front of him.


    Densely arranged scarecrows and tall vases of flower bushes lined the narrow, winding paths that converged in small "clearings" with the most imposing of the spoils in the center - around another corner, they came upon a small group of guests gathered around a huge stuffed Platypus. In a corner were tables with refreshments and a few servants, frozen in anticipation of orders.


    They were about to pass by with polite smiles when a woman in her thirties, standing among the guests, called out to them:


    "Lord Cassard!" She exclaimed as she placed her glass on the tray the servant had so diligently placed and headed toward them. "It''s so good to see you!"


    "It''s a pleasure, too," Alex replied with a casual smile, sending Taer a questioning look at the same time.


    She looked intently at the woman who approached, genuinely trying to remember who it was. She was tall with dark brown hair and green eyes, beautiful, though her age was already a little noticeable, and was dressed in a long evening gown of a light green shade, which was a little strange - most of the guests were dressed in various versions of hunting costumes.


    I have no idea who that is, Taer thought, at the same time trying to convey that thought to Alex with a look.


    "I am so glad you have recovered! You have no idea, your Lordship, how worried we were about you!" The stranger was smiling broadly.


    "Thank you for your concern - it''s very kind of you. But, you know, I''m sorry to say that I have completely forgotten your name, lady..." The lord held up his hands in guilt.


    "Asmi Lertar," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. "A member of Tuskor''s board of directors. And only ''honorable,''" she added. "I am not a noblewoman."


    "It is a pleasure to meet you, honorable Asmi," the lord cautiously looked at the outstretched hand.


    Shake it! Taer tried to show, shifting slightly to the side so her signs wouldn''t be visible to the ''honorable'' Lertar.


    Alex continued to hesitate, probably not knowing exactly how to shake the outstretched hand. Taer shook hands with herself behind Asmi''s back, showing the lord the correct way to shake hands.


    Alex, seeing the clue, shook the outstretched hand in relief, shaking it vigorously:


    "I am very glad, honorable Asmi, very glad. What do you think of this Voigrom?"


    "I think everything is just fine!" Asmi smiled back. "Although, admittedly, the invitation was a complete surprise to us."


    The Lord replied with an absent-minded smile.


    "Tuskor and House Melato have often had misunderstandings in the past," Lertar explained. "I hope that will change."


    "Tuskor is something very familiar, but I can''t remember what it is. My memory has been failing me a lot since the poisoning," the lord complained.


    "Union of Tashida Corporations," Asmi smiled embarrassedly.


    As the conversation progressed, Lertar paid the lord unobtrusive compliments and invited him to visit more often at headquarters, "where your lordship is always very welcome".


    Corporatrix... thought a bored Taer with a slight squeamishness, saw a ''very important person'' and immediately engaged in ''unobtrusive'' personal promotion.


    After fifteen minutes, the lord finally managed to fend off Asmi Lertar''s annoying charm, who finally even tried to stick him with her business card in case "you have any questions about the management of your shareholding in the company".


    Though, on the other hand, that''s her job, Taer intercepted the card with a cold smile before the lord took it.


    Asmi froze with surprised eyes for a moment and then laughed nervously, hiding her hands behind her back:


    "Well, it was very nice to see you, Lord Cassard. I wish you a good evening!"


    "You too, dear Asmi."


    As they stepped back, he turned to Taer:


    "What are you up to?" he asked, slightly surprised.


    "Well, you refused to wear gloves, Your Lordship." Taer pulled out the analyzer as she went and poked the card with it. "Shadows knows what might be on it."


    "I hadn''t thought of that somehow."


    The analyzer found nothing objectionable in the thin gold plate with a monogram of emeralds in the center. But that didn''t tell her anything. So Taer slipped the card into her pocket, deciding to activate the suppressor if the lord were to have a conversation with anyone beyond a conversation about the weather.


    They wandered around the hunting hall for another ten minutes before finding a stuffed Oiker.


    "An imposing beast." Alex quietly assessed, walking around the massive carcass covered in stiff, prickly-looking stubble. "Predator?" He nodded at the two long pale yellow fangs that didn''t fit into its mouth.


    Taer shook her head in the negative:


    "A herbivore. And with its fangs, it tears up the soil and rips the bark off trees. But the animal is aggressive and can trample. Or gouge through with its fangs."


    "What do you hunt with?"


    "With a hunting blaster. One or two accurate hits may be enough."


    "What if I don''t hit it?"


    "There''s me and Dudo for that - we won''t miss," Taer assured him.


    "Do hunting accidents happen often?"


    Taer wanted to tell him that hunting accidents happened often.


    First, aristocrats considered it beneath their dignity to hunt non-threatening beasts.


    Second, hunting with weapons of primitive races and peoples, such as spears and crossbows, has become increasingly popular. The hunting apologists regarded this as a more honorable and valuable trophy.


    Well, there have also been shootouts among hunters who mistook a stray in the nearby bush for a coveted trophy.


    Despite this, all attempts to amend the statutes of the Voigrom have met with fierce opposition from traditionalists and hunting enthusiasts, for "what is the point of hunting if the danger does not make your blood boil!"


    The saying "If you want a friend dead, invite him to a Voigrom" was still true.


    But her story was interrupted midway by the appearance of a young couple, the gentleman, judging by his broad reddish-gold belt, was Bentar, but his companion was flaunting a black and scarlet fringed ribbon tied on the bend of a curlicker''s arm. This traditionalism in dress and the swords on his belt indicated that two ''blades of honor'' were approaching them.


    Taer moved forward just in case - the Blades of Honour were an aggressive people and, given his reputation, not friendly with Lord Cassard, to put it mildly.


    As the Blades approached, Taer was surprised to recognize the Bentarrian as Lord Brenor Lister, who had been the second in the Lord''s failed duel. The Bentar man''s companion also needed no introduction for anyone who follows the most famous Blades of Honour.


    Lady Dahlia Amita was the daughter of a very successful banker. So, successful, in fact, that he was able to buy the name and title of the lord from the house of Kerlith. The practice of selling titles was accepted only in that house, but even there, it caused a lot of controversies. What to say about the others. Such "bought" nobles met with strong resistance from aristocratic society and were not respected, and the Blades of Honour were despised altogether.


    One of the few exceptions was Lady Dahlia, who, despite (or perhaps because of) her origins, took the code of nobility''s honor remarkably literally. Any hint that questioned her dignity was met with a challenge to a duel.


    By the age of twenty-two, she had over thirty duels under her belt, five of which ended in the death of her opponent and over ten emergency operations that brought Dahlia back from beyond the edge of the Bright Flame. In other words, the girl fit in perfectly in the society of the Blades of Honour - after all, ''it''s not origin that counts, it''s the nobility of spirit''. Isn''t it?


    The best companion for Lord Brenor... Taer was already regretting her decision not to wear her personal shields for the time being, to leave the maximum resource for the hunt.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The pair of Blades of Honour approached Lord Cassard, and Taer saw a thin scar streaming down Dahlia''s face. Dissecting her right eyebrow, it disappeared, reappearing on her cheek just below her eye and descending lower before finally breaking off at her cheekbone. It looked like the mark of some recent duel - the last time Taer had seen her, about a year ago, there had been nothing like it.


    Poseur! Taer thought with irritation. I bet she left the scar for beauty''s sake.


    The scar, indeed, did not spoil Dahlia in the slightest. On the contrary, it added mystery, highlighted the perfect shape of her face, and gave strength to the gaze of her light brown, almost yellow lynx eyes.


    "Lord Cassard, I am glad to see you!" Brenor Lister exclaimed, smiling happily.


    "I''m very glad to see you too, Lord Brenor!"


    "I didn''t expect to see you here - I thought you weren''t much of a hunter. By the way, I''d like you to meet Lady Dahlia Amita! Lord Allesandro Cassard. I must tell you, Lady Dahlia, contrary to all the rumors, Lord Cassard is a man of honor."


    "It''s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Cassard. I''m sorry I trusted the rumors too much before. My apologies."


    "Oh, Lady Dahlia, you have nothing to apologize for! I''m very pleased to meet you." Alex looked at Dahlia with interest.


    Lord and Dalia shot each other''s eyes curiously for a while.


    "I must confess that you have made me a little sad, Lord Cassard!" Lord Brenor put on an ostentatious look of sadness.


    "What happened?" the lord was genuinely surprised.


    "I remember you said you''d stop by sometime before the duel to give me some blaster lessons. You never came to see me."


    It was Taer''s turn to be genuinely surprised


    Not to mention the fact that the lord is simply an abominable shot, it''s strange that Brenor Lister would need anyone''s shooting lessons at all.


    Although he was known primarily as a superb swordsman, he demonstrated equally superb marksmanship in blaster duels.


    It''s kind of weird.


    "I''m so sorry, Lord Brenor!" Alex''s hands threw up his hands with a sorrowful expression. "The worries of this ridiculous Consulat trial have taken over me entirely..."


    In the course of further conversation, Alex assured Lord Brenor that he would certainly drop in on him as soon as business permitted and invited him to "visit on occasion".


    Lord Cassard''s and Lord Lister''s conversations were illuminated by the spectacular appearance of Kayrin, who immediately joined in the conversation, lighting up those around her with benevolent smiles and no sign of displeasure at being ''dumped''. All four of them continued to chat vigorously under the polite silence of Taer.


    They talked for about an hour, wandering leisurely around the hall, discussing the trophies on display until their conversation was interrupted by a very courteous servant of the House of Melato. The short and swarthy servant bowing incessantly, ushered the noble lords into the main refectory, where a feast had already begun on the occasion of the beginning of the Voigrom. At the feast, the conversation was naturally interrupted as the "talkers" were seated rather far apart Lord Cassard, as a member of one of the noblest and oldest families, sat practically at the head of the table, as did his "blade", while Lady Dahlia and Lord Brenor sat somewhere nearer the middle. Baroness Rionale sat just three seats away.


    All the more so when the Peltars were caught between them, who were clearly not delighted with such surroundings.


    * * *


    So, that''s who the Imperials have claimed the Exclusive Patrol Zone for. Taer saw whoever was sitting at the head of the table.


    At the head of the table, with her head propped on the right of precedence and bored, sat the reason for such unceremonious behavior of the imperial security - Baroness Faith Istar. To her right, her companion, the Stack-Captain of the Security Service, was seated in her dress uniform and was telling the baroness something, but the latter did not even pretend to listen.


    Lady Faith stared into space, tracing her finger thoughtfully over the edge of her plate. From time to time, she took a larger piece and tossed it to the left without looking. The piece, having made a high arc over the table and leaving a trail of sauce drops on the tablecloth, disappeared into the teeth of the baroness''s squire.


    The seat to the left of the squire was empty, and the representative of House Rien, seated a little farther away, squinted warily and flinched a little every time the swirla slammed shut with a loud clang, bite another piece. And House Rien''s representative was understandable... More than that, her composure was enviable!


    "What''s that beast across the hall?" Alex whispered, leaning over to Taer, who was poking at the dishes with her analyzer as she tried not to draw attention.


    "Swirlla," she whispered. "It''s a very dangerous and aggressive creature."


    "Then what is it doing here?"


    "This is the squire of Baroness Istar and the First Blade of her domain," Taer replied with a barely perceptible shrug. "Not giving him a seat at the table would be a terrible insult. Both to the Baroness and to our entire House."


    I can imagine the Melatians agonizing over how to place such a squire, Taer thought with a slight gloat.  Even went out of their way to break protocol by placing the squire on their left side. And rightly so - I''d be mad to have that thing near the lord. Though, swirl can easily jump across the table.


    "Can an animal be a squire?" Alex asked in surprise, squinting at the object of the discussion.


    At this point, Swirlla was gnawing on a large piece, grasping it with her upper paws, grunting happily. She was scratching her belly covered in long blond fur with her lower pair, her scarlet cloak tucked underneath.


    "Swirlla is not an animal... I mean an animal... I mean..." Taer sighed, trying to find the words. "As far as I remember, the most intelligent Swirlas are at the developmental level of a six-year-old child - not enough to recognize them as an intelligent race. But in Baroness Istar''s time, things were somewhat different, and anyone could be appointed a squire as long as they could perform the duties. Even a non-human..."


    "That''s not the way it is now," she added.


    "Then one more question," Alex whispered even more quietly. "Why is the red-haired girl in the green camisole sitting on the left looking at me so strangely?"


    "Lady Nadina Pell of House Peltar - they hate Fyron and the Cassard family especially."


    "I have amazing neighbors," Alex muttered, grabbing his glass from the table and leaning back in his chair.


    While Taer was answering Alex''s questions, the other guests of the Voigrom had time to gather around the table, and a succession of welcoming toasts began.


    The first to speak as ''host'' was Lord Asparo Velaske, the representative of House Melato. He welcomed everyone in the name of his House, expressed his joy at the presence of the Peltars, and wished everyone good luck in tomorrow''s hunt. The oldest representative of the noblest family, who sat at the head of the table, was to make a toast next. All eyes turned to Baroness Istar:


    "It''s so dull here..." she sighed, absently scratching her squire.


    Swirlla purred softly, her ears and large fluffy tail twitching slightly - probably from pleasure. Lady Faith stood up from the table, tall as she was, and looked around the room for a long, appraising look:


    "There''s no one to punch in the face," she concluded frustratedly. "Hopefully, tomorrow will be more fun."


    The SS officer accompanying her tried to say something, but Lady Faith, paying no attention to him, headed for the exit from the hall. Stack Captain, with a slightly confused look, shook his hands, pretended to smile apologetically, and hurried after his ward.


    Well, one less potential problem, Taer thought contentedly. Two even, if you count the crazy girl and her squire as two separate problems.


    "It seems to be a good tradition," Alex remarked with a smile in the ensuing silence. "As long as I''ve seen her, Baroness Istar has been thrilling the noble public, and the public is in awe. Maybe that''s why they invite her? To add spice to the dullness of everyday life?"


    "I''m afraid it''s a little too spicy for our mundane days, Lord Cassard," Lady Nadine Pell smiled thinly. "But since it''s seasoned for us, the Emperor..." she waved her fork like a magic wand and tipped a small piece of meat into her mouth. "Everyone will eat it up without a trace. With smiles..." she added, showing a few more teeth than necessary for a polite smile.


    "As long as the body doesn''t reject..." Alex sighed and leaned towards Taer, whispering:


    "What''s so dangerous about them?" He nodded at Lady Faith''s squire as they moved away.


    Swirla walked funnily - walking upright was clearly uncomfortable for her, so she would occasionally drop down on all six paws to catch up.


    "They have a different perception of time," Taer replied, surprised herself, Why would I think that? What kind of time?


    Why she said that was unclear to her...


    "I mean, they''ve got mad reactions and agility," she explained, seeing Alex''s eyebrows rise in surprise. "And they can sense danger, they say, just like the Adepts. And if they''re particularly clever, they can be trained to use a blaster, as they have good paws for that. They are also fearless, aggressive, and incredibly loyal to their handlers."


    "It''s a useful little beast, isn''t it?" Alex concluded.


    Lady Faith and her companions departed. With their departure, the silence that had hung there was replaced by chatter. They tried to act casual and pretend that nothing had happened, but the official part of the "feast to commemorate the beginning of the Voigrom" was uneventful.


    At the end of the feast, the company reunited and continued their conversation. Taer was diplomatically silent, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.


    Lord Lister suggested going to a local shooting range where Alex could demonstrate his shooting skills. The suggestion was enthusiastically supported by Kayrin and Lady Dahlia. There, to the delighted smiles of Baroness Rional, and the surprise of Taer, her lord demonstrated a quite passable, even good, blaster fire. After shooting for about an hour, they went to the main hall and from there, at Kayrin''s suggestion, to the games room, where they were stuck for a long time.


    Taer did not take part in the game, sitting comfortably on the sofa behind the gaming table. The stakes were "friendly" - five hundred denarii per "round". So the two Blades of Honor were out of the game rather quickly, a wise move on their part - this was never a lavish audience, and members of the clan were usually reluctant to sponsor such scandalous offspring.


    Amid the game, a young girl in a light brown hunter''s suit of soft suede, with large emeralds shining on the collar and cuffs, surrounded by intricate embroidery of red gold, entered the hall.


    There''s our ''rebel''! Taer squinted unpleasantly as she noticed her entry.


    Not that she had any personal grievances against the rebels - Taer was far removed from intra-imperial politics - but the thought of WHAT the SS or Imperial Intelligence would do if they found out about the lord''s contacts with the Anti-Imperial Alliance gave her goosebumps.


    The Lord of the Empire is involved in a conspiracy! Yes, by cracking such a high-profile case, you can make a career and rise very high - the noise will clearly reach even the Emperor!


    What''s more, this could all have been a provocation. Or an attempt by the rebels to take advantage of the Lord''s resources and then blackmail him. For that matter, the attitude of the Lord - and of Lady Liora - was sharply negative.


    Alex noticed her as well, they exchanged meaningful glances, and Liora nodded faintly. She glanced around the room and, finding Taer, whispered something to her attendant with her hand.


    It''s not going to end well!


    Taer stared at Liora''s escort, who was walking towards her with a brisk, springy stride. A dark-haired man of about thirty-five, with a pleasant, even handsome, face with sharp features and clear green eyes. He was dressed in a very simple light green hunting costume, reminiscent of the uniform for planetary operations.


    "My mistress asks me to give this to your master," the attendant said as he handed Taer an envelope sealed with the blue wax seal bearing the Countess of Wistrile''s monogram."


    One of their enforcers, Taer accepted the envelope with as cold a smile as she could muster. Called the Countess ''mistress'' and the lord ''master,'' as if I were a servant. I would have killed him!


    "You can go, I''ll pass it on."


    She waited until the attendant stepped away, tore the envelope open at the edge, then pushed the analyzer in, pressing it hard into the surface of the letter. A yellow light flickered on the handle.


    "Well, at least I won''t be poisoned," Taer grinned mentally as she opened the envelope and read the message quickly:


    ...I hope to meet you at the earliest opportunity. I look forward to it. Kisses, Liora...


    There was nothing criminal in the letter, so Taer carefully folded it so that it would fit easily in the palm of her hand and headed toward the players.


    "A letter for you, Your Grace," she whispered, coming up behind him and leaning over Alex while placing the folded letter in his palm. The Lord nodded at her and quickly flicked the message across his eyes, keeping it out of sight of the others playing. After he read it, he gave Liora a faint nod and continued with the game.


    Having delivered the envelope, Taer returned to her beloved sofa and summoned the "Lance":


    "Have you finished yet? I might need your help."


    "Yes," Dudo muttered. "Found something interesting..."


    "What do you find? OK, you can tell me all about it later. Now, grab an infobox, a linear jammer, and a couple of suppressors, and head for the game room."


    "Where is it?"


    "Take one of the Melatian servants with you as an escort - they are always gathering near the guest chambers, so you won''t have to look for them."


    About ten minutes later, Dudo appeared at the entrance to the games hall in the company of a short, dark-haired servant in full dress - a white livery with a scarlet Cassard branch at the heart and two cords at the shoulder, white and red with lace. The tunic he was to wear as a Lord''s warder was not yet available to Dudo, and Taer was obviously the wrong size. He was clutching two enormous chevrette trunks, and was, to put it mildly, drawing attention to himself.


    Taer made fearful eyes and gestured for him to leave everything in the corridor and walk towards her.


    A little more in the same vein, and anyone who wasn''t interested in who Lord Cassard is dating will become very interested.


    "So," Taer began in a low voice as Dudo approached her. "First, take this and stick it in the infoblock, then we''ll check," Taer said as she slipped the "lance" a thin gold card of "respected" Asmi Lertar.


    "Second," she continued, waiting for Dudo to slip the card into his pocket, "Their Lordship wishes to meet with a lady, and our job is to ensure the security and privacy of that meeting. So now you grab the equipment and move to the lady''s quarters. You tell them you are a member of Lord Cassard''s retinue and would like to check the room. If they agree, fine, check everything there and put up suppressors. If not, then - and shadows with them! - Prepare a line jammer - we''ll turn it on when the lord gets in."


    "The walls are thick," Dudo disagreed. "And it looks like fibersteel in the core, and there are a lot of energy circuits around - there might not be enough power..."


    "You seem to have taken amplifiers - plug them in. If one is not enough, connect more."


    "I did," he nodded. "But with the amps, they''d knock out everything in there - maybe even the lights - and there might be a glitch to the neighboring rooms."


    "Let it be. I don''t think they''ll really need the lights, and if there are any complaints from neighbors, we''ll politely apologize. Any questions?" Taer jabbed a finger at Dudo''s chest.


    "Where is this lady''s room?"


    In addition to the fervent lines in the letter given by Lady Liora''s escort, there was also a copy of a guest pamphlet that showed how to reach the rooms provided to Countess Wistrile. It was the contents of this pamphlet that Taer recounted to the "lance". After listening to the explanation, Dudo was about to leave, but she stopped him:


    "Wait, you said you found something interesting."


    "Yep," smirked the lance. "Marks from bugs.".


    "What? And you didn''t say anything! What kind of bugs, exactly?"


    "The traces, not the bugs themselves - they used to be there permanently, and then someone took them off. And apparently recently."


    "Maybe it''s to make us relax. Have you checked everything in there?"


    Dudo sighed heavily, raising his eyes to the ceiling:


    "Look, what do you take me for? Of course, I checked after I found the footprints. Checked again - literally looked all over the place."


    "OK, then the shadows are with them!"


    The hosts must have had fun peeping, and before the guests from the other Houses arrived they took everything down so there wouldn''t be a scandal...


    "Go get the amplifiers, then go to the lady''s rooms, and I''ll come with the lord."


    The lord played to the end of the round, which took another twenty minutes, laid out the loss, and quickly slipped out of the games room, leaving Kayrin to "finish the game". Accompanied by Taer, he walked quickly to the rendezvous with the anti-Imperialists.


    "Alex, are you sure about this meeting?" Taer caught up with the lord, her face expressing clear doubt as to the wisdom of such an undertaking. "It could cause huge problems. (Huge, if the SS or Imperial Intelligence finds out, and for everyone from the ruling lord to me.) And the benefits are questionable."


    "I''m not so sure." He snapped back, not slowing down. "Do you have any better ideas?"


    "Well, we could..." Taer paused and sighed heavily. "I don''t know. But I''ve got a bad feeling about this, and our lance found traces of surveillance devices in the room."


    "You mean our rooms are being watched?"


    "Not anymore. Used to be monitored, but they took it off recently. Shortly before we arrived. But that in itself makes me nervous. Maybe it''s just ours..." she held Alex by the sleeve and whispered in his ear. "Maybe it''s not in Lady Wistrelle''s. And only the shadows know what she''s going to talk about."


    "I think I have this for just such an occasion..." Alex demonstrated the suppressor pendant and moved on.


    "A suppressor is not a shortcut to ascension..." she grimaced.


    "What do you mean?"


    "I mean, don''t rely too much on suppressors. There are means to bypass them...," explained the ''specialist''.


    "What''s the point of having them, then? If they can be bypassed?"


    "They help against most surveillance, but there are rumors..." Taer made an indefinite gesture with her hand. "That the Imperials have the means to bypass them."


    "Let''s hope such talented guys aren''t interested in me."


    Taer waved her hand and remained silent, though her heart was filled with all sorts of things, mostly foul language, about people who pry into things they shouldn''t be prying into. And dragging others along with them.


    Soon they arrived at the rooms allocated to Countess Wistrile. In front of the entrance, leaning absently against the wall, Dudo was waiting for them. Two large cases of equipment were huddled at his feet, while across the hall in a brown and blue livery (Must be Countess Wistrile''s colors... Is she an Imperial noble?), leaning against the door with an equally absent look, was a gnarm bored.


    Or not bored? Taer was unfamiliar with the race and could not claim that the gnarm''s face expressed exactly boredom.


    The Lance in Lord Cassard''s arm and the servant in Countess Wistrile''s retinue was staring at the ceiling, watching the mural where two dragons - a white dragon and a blue one - wrestled to death.


    How symbolic... grinned Taer.


    As they approached, Dudo pulled away from the wall and, catching Taer''s gaze, pointed to the door and winked at her, saying, It''s all right.


    Meanwhile, on seeing the lord, the gnarm pulled out his communicator and hissed something into the receiver - he must have warned those inside.


    "Are you sure you want to go there alone? " Taer squinted incredulously at the gnarm.


    Alex nodded silently and put a neutral smile on his face.


    As Taer and Alex approached closer, the gnarm bowed awkwardly and opened the door, revealing to all interested glances the interior of Countess Wistrile''s rooms and the Countess herself.


    The room was filled with the colors of autumn: from the rich ochre upholstery of the small sofas with dark red cushions to the burnt-orange color of the carpets that covered the walls and, of course, the gold embroidery. The Countess was in a tight, bright red evening gown, clutching a wine glass in her left hand. Lady Liora''s face wore rather bright and, from Taer''s point of view, not very successful make-up


    "Allesandro, I''ve been waiting!" Liora sighed languidly as she embraced the lord.


    "We''ll be waiting for you here, Your Lordship," Taer officially announced.


    No matter how you paint a chicken, you won''t get an eagle.


    The false mistress - Liora - could not stand in Taer''s eyes any comparison with the real mistress - Isalaya.


    As the door closed behind the lord, Taer leaned against the wall beside Dudo, listening warily to the sounds coming from Countess Wistrile''s rooms. Nothing suspicious had been heard so far.


    "Has the linear jammer been set up?" she whispered, keeping her eyes on the closed door.


    By the door, leaning against the jamb, the gnarm bored with the same unconcerned look.


    "No," Dudo whispered back. "It''s no use - there are five rooms, and the walls are thick. It''s not clear where they''ll be. I put the suppressors in there."


    "Did they let you check the rooms?" Taer clarified.


    "They did. They put one on me, but I was allowed to check. I did not find anything strange, but there was no time to check very carefully."


    "Are you sure the suppressors are working? Maybe they''ve been turned off?"


    Lance snorted and, taking a small infoblock from the pocket of his snow-white trousers, proudly showed it to Taer - a blizzard of interference shone on the display that was displayed.


    "I have a narrow-focus scanner in my case," he explained. "It''s a weak one... But it doesn''t matter - if the interference disappears, it means the suppressor is off. I look at it from time to time..."


    "Well done," praised Taer and stared at the door again.


    There was a long wait for the meeting to end, and the lingering feeling that it was not going to end well was only getting worse.


    "A suspicious countess..." Dudo said with a knowing look, snapping Taer out of her troubled thoughts with a loud whisper. "The two of them are so..." he impressed the utmost arrogance into his expression and turned his nose up at her. "And they''re still trying to grasp the hilt of their swords with their right hands like the Carpathians. The other two were strange, not exactly fighters or servants. They look too sloppy. Maybe Lance and this "servant" gnarm. This is nonsense: a gnarm is a servant. He''s got tattoo marks on his face. I know about that sort of thing - we used to have a lot of them in Naimo. Muzzle tattoos made by tash-pee cartel fighters."


    "Won''t he hear?" Taer pointed to the gnarm with her eyes.


    "Nah, the hearing''s not their strongest trait... Anyway, that''s my point... Their Lordship shouldn''t have gone in there alone, and then there''s five of them and two of us. That''s all I brought with me..." he pointed to the holster of the blaster on Taer''s belt. "If I''d known I''d be part of Arm. I would have brought other toys."


    "A hand-held stun gun wouldn''t be a bad thing either..." suggested Taer.


    "Nah, gnarms don''t paralyze well - so put it on ''combat'' right away," advised the Lance. "Better a shock grenade. Or better yet, two."


    "What are you, stupid? What about the lord? He''s inside too!"


    "What''s wrong with that? The sooner we get them out of action, the safer he''ll be. So what if he''s concussed, but he''s alive, and his eyes..." He stopped, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling, then covered them and rubbed them lightly with his left hand. "Well, in a couple of days, if all is well, will recover... I have recovered."


    "Screw you with ideas like that!" Taer said with a disgruntled look. "You could end up destroying a guarded object without any help from outside. If you need to get everyone out of action quickly, I''d take...."


    Anyway, the twenty-two minutes it took for the lord to meet Lady Liora, the "security specialist" and the "lance" from Lord Cassard''s Arm spent passionately discussing in loud whispers exactly how and with what they would break into Countess Wistrile''s rooms. In the end, the discussion came down to the fact that the competent parties (Taer and Dudo) agreed: it would be optimal to have an eight-man team in assault suits and a group with emergency medical equipment nearby. But when the door to Lady Liora''s chambers opened, Lord Cassard was greeted only by Taer and Dudo, armed with a blaster. One for two.


    Lord Cassard was gloomy and thoughtful. Without saying anything, he waved his hand in the direction of the rooms allotted to them and walked briskly in that direction.


    "Has something gone wrong?" Taer cautiously inquired as they moved a respectful distance away from Lady Liora''s rooms.


    "I didn''t get everything I hoped for, but I''m not happy with what I have," he added, seeing the silent question in Taer''s eyes. "I''ll explain when we get there."


    When they were alone, the lord tossed her the info stick he had removed from his pocket and flopped down on the sofa:


    Take a look, and we''ll discuss it later.


    Taer caught the stick and, retrieving her Emerald from her belongings (the suitcases were still standing in the center of the room, as she had no time to attend to them and the servants of the House of Melato were forbidden to enter the rooms allocated to Lord Cassard), launched a view of the contents.


    It was a visual recording - filmed from above, from the ceiling.


    A small, darkened room, a round table, and six people at the table. The faces were hard to see, especially as the picture occasionally flickered and the sounds were distorted - the suppressor in the center of the table was clearly working, but judging by the fact that you could make out what was going on, the method of bypassing the suppressors was not a myth at all.


    Or the recording device is shielded by a layer of fibersteel a couple of palms thick.


    "Frankly, comrades, our partners are very disappointed in these blunders with Cassard," the face was so darkened that Taer could not make it out, and the voice was harsh with some rattling notes, indicating the age of the speaker.


    Judging by the tone, the speaker was VERY unhappy:


    "The other phases undertaken by our partners are progressing as planned, and Lord Cassard is still alive!" Here the speaker practically turned to shout. "The whole operation could be without cover and fail!"


    "But, sir, he was just lucky the first time, and the second attempt was prepared in a terrible hurry; it won''t happen again, I''m sure!" A dark-haired, bearded man in his forties, wearing a leather jacket with the emblem of the miners'' guild, objected.


    "I should very much hope so, Grom," the old man''s words had a decidedly sarcastic tone to them. "With us already ten days behind, we have one last try. I really hope no one screws up this time. If we FAIL AGAIN, Cassard will be taken over by the Lord''s men so we can concentrate on our main task..."


    The recording was interrupted further on. Taer took the stick out of the infoblock and threw it back to Alex:


    "I think it''s staged," she grimaced. "And a rather inept one at that. For three hundred thousand denarii, they could have made an effort."


    "Maybe. Or maybe not. Liora claims that within a Voigrom, she will have information about who exactly is behind the attempts on my life."


    "Why didn''t she tell you right away? Does she want more money?"


    "I don''t know. According to her, the cell that monitors one of the PVD leaders reports directly to the Centre over Liora''s head. And they''re running some kind of an operation of their own. That''s why we get the materials secondarily. She''s been told that the liaison who''s supposed to hand over the evidence materials will contact her during the Voigrom. So it''s someone from the guests, but so far, no one has contacted Liora. However, the Voigrom will still last for three days, so there is time..."


    Taer said nothing, only looked at Alex questioningly.


    They just want money and are willing to tell you anything to get it.


    The lord smiled sadly in reply: "I understand your doubts, Taer. I have similar doubts as well. But you must agree the loss of three hundred thousand danarii is not fatal. But if this recording is true, it means they will try to kill me again soon, and they will try again and again. Because they really need my death to cover up some operation. Do you have any thoughts on that?"


    Alex stood up and headed towards the bar.


    "Your Lordship..." Taer held out with an accusing tone. "You could have told me to call a droid, or I could have done it myself."


    "Come on, don''t be silly. It''s not hard for me." He brushed it off. "And I thought we''d agreed on "lordship." You want anything?"


    Something to clear my mind would be nice.


    "A tincture of Tarija and some ice would be nice."


    "Tarij? What is it?"


    "Such a square bottle..." Taer began, then, with a sigh, got up from her chair and headed for the bar as well.


    "This is the Tarij." She poured the emerald liquid into her glass and threw ice in it.


    "Hmm, smells good..." Alex assessed, sniffing. "What is it?"


    "An extract of the root of a particular plant. It grows here in Voigrom, by the way. Usually used in cocktails, but it''s also very good on its own and clears your mind perfectly. Will you try it?"


    He looked at the glass with mild doubt, then waved his hand - "pour!"


    "So, what are your thoughts? Who would need to kill me to - cover an operation?" Alex asked as they got comfortable in their chairs again.


    She looked up and wondered... Then she sighed heavily and turned to Alex; there was nothing else to think of:


    "I don''t know. I''m not a politician. Maybe they want to use the rancor among relatives over inheritance? But what good would that do them?"


    "I couldn''t think of anything else either. Is there someone in my family so influential that it makes sense for them to be distracted by such an event?"


    "The Rionale clan?"


    "Kayrin?" Alex wondered.


    "Not Kayrin, but the entire Ryonale clan. They are one of the most influential clans, they are quite powerful, and they have a strong ''Arm'', her father is a member of the Privy Council from their domain."


    "And who benefits from the Rionale family being distracted by the division of my inheritance?"


    Taer silently spread her hands and offered:


    "Why don''t we ask an expert? Marquis Cr¨¦bo Degrasto teaches in the Department of Geopolitics and Sectoral History after all."


    Alex pointed a finger at Taer and winked:


    "Great idea, Guardsman! What would I do without you? Let''s go find the Marquis!"


    You''d be gone to all the shadows. And anyway, appreciate me!


    Marquis Degrasto could only be found after Taer had communicated with his servants - he was in one of the inner gardens, chatting passionately with a man who was not young but rather old. Apparently, a Tallana.


    "§°! Lord Cassard!" exclaimed the Marquis. "We were just talking about you! I present the Dean of the University of Tallana, the good Fayyor Takkar," he said. "And this, my colleague, is the lovely Mistress Taer Diltar, First Blade of the Arm of Lord Cassard."


    "It''s a pleasure to meet you," bowed Professor Takkar slightly.


    "Likewise." Alex smiled, and Taer gave a polite nod. "We were just looking for you, Marquis, on a professional matter."


    "Yes?" Crebo was genuinely surprised. "How interesting. What is it?"


    "We had a theoretical argument on a historical topic and needed an expert opinion. Who do you think would have been most affected if I had been poisoned?"


    "Well, that would be a nightmare, Lord Cassard!" exclaimed the Marquis. "Absolutely everyone could have been affected! It could come to war between the families within our house! So, until you marry or better until you have an heir don''t you dare die!" He winked and jokingly wagged his finger at the lord.


    "Are you sure that money, even a lot of it, can start something like this?" Alex asked incredulously.


    "So it''s not about money at all, Lord Cassard," the Marquis assured him. "It''s the fact that all the lan-titles are free in your domain, and there are plenty of them."


    Right - the land of lords! I''m such an idiot! I should have been better at lectures on recent history!


    "Lan-titles?" the lord interjected.


    "Well, yes, the lan-titles, the possession lands, that is, the lands that give the right to a name and..."


    "Ah, there you are, and I''d lost you all," the Marquis Degrasto was interrupted by a Kayrin who appeared.


    "Meet Lady Kayrin Baroness Rionale, Professor at the University of Tallana, the esteemed Fayyor Takkar."


    Kayrin smiled charmingly: "I seem to have interrupted you Marquis, forgive me, and please continue..."


    "Well, Kayrin, can you interrupt..." the Marquis began, but then he seemed curious and decided to return to the question. "Let me explain with an example. The lovely Kayrin, as you all know, is a baroness, as are her mother and father. Baroness, as I recall, you also have a younger brother and sister. What are their titles?"


    "They have been elevated to the count''s dignity," the baroness shrugged.


    "And why?" asked Marquis Degrasto a leading question.


    "It''s obvious - our clan no longer had the free lan-titles of baronial dignity," Kayrin replied and looked at those around her with interest. "And what prompted this strange question?"


    "I was simply trying to explain, by way of example, what would cause a hypothetical war between the Clans in the event of the equally hypothetical - heaven forbid! - Lord Cassard''s death by poison," Marquis explained.


    "Thank you, Marquis. It all makes sense even to me now," Alex smiled. "No longer daring to disturb your conversation..." with these words, the lord politely said goodbye to the professors, who immediately returned to their conversation.


    "Alex, sweetie, is something wrong?" Kayrin asked excitedly as they stepped away from the engrossed conversation between the learned husbands.


    "No, it''s fine!" Alex assured her.


    But it seemed that his gloomy mood, which had become even darker after his conversation with Marquis Degrasto, had not escaped Baroness Rionale. She held the lord''s hand, paused, and, taking his palms in hers, looked at him with a look of dismay:


    "You''ve been a bit gloomy lately, these strange questions about your death, the planetary generator in your castle. I''m starting to worry about you," she pressed his hand to her chest and asked softly. "What''s wrong, Alex? Is someone threatening you?"


    What a... @%$! Taer thought dumbfoundedly as she watched the scene. The way she pressed his hand! As if she''d spent two years taking acting lessons at Court. She could be in a soap opera right now!


    "Let''s just say, Kay..." Alex seemed a little taken aback by the Baroness'' impetuousness. "I have some problems, but I think I can manage."


    "Why don''t you tell me more about it?" she suggested, pointing her eyes towards the guest rooms. "Perhaps I could be of some help. Or maybe not me, but my family. We''re not exactly distant relatives, after all. Blood helps blood, fire helps fire," she added with a smile.


    "Let''s talk about it later, like tomorrow. This isn''t the time or place for that kind of talk," Alex lowered his voice confidentially. "You''re probably not going to be able to help me right now, anyway."


    To Taer''s surprise, Kayrin, who knew how to be more annoying than a dozen pearl wasps, didn''t push. She smiled sweetly and shrugged her shoulders:


    "I''ll take you up on that - tomorrow is tomorrow, after the hunt."


    She did not bring it up once for the rest of the evening, trying whenever she could to cheer the lord up and distract him from his sad thoughts. She did it so sincerely and sweetly that Taer had her doubts.


    Wasn''t she really worried about him? After all, family, and shared childhood memories


    But the thought was so contrary to her entire experience with Kayrin that Taer preferred to see it as a subtle game.


    * * *

 Chapter 17

    Chapter 17


    * * *


    "Your Lordship!" A short, dark-skinned servant in white overalls bowed to the lord and looked up as he waited for him to pay attention. "We are approaching your position. Do you have any requests for a landing site?"


    "No, as long as it''s not in the lake." Alex smiled and leaned back against the railing of the platform.


    The open circular platform glided as a thin, silvery disc over the purple-reddish sea of Voigrom''s jungle. Below, emerald patches of clearing and small lakes, covered in a shimmering ripple of glare, flashed intermittently. The melodic pulsing hum of the platform''s traction generators startled the scarlet creatures as their swarms rose in bloody clouds into the sky, leaving a melting scarlet trail behind the flying platform.


    Baroness Rionale, dressed in a stylish hunting costume of light red leather adorned with large black crystal, finally broke the silence that reigned by this side:


    "I love Voigrom! Especially this continent - it''s so beautiful here," she fixed her disheveled wind-blown hair and gave Alex a charming smile.


    "Yes, it''s very beautiful!" He sincerely appreciated both the view and the smile. "But how to look for Oikers in such thickets, I have no idea."


    "Come on, they''re big, and when they go through the jungle, there''s such a rattle..."


    The platform sprang out into the open and hovered in a wide semi-circle on the ground. A part of the side went down into a wide gangway.


    "Their Lordship Lord Cassard''s number!" The usher proclaimed and bowed, making an inviting hand gesture towards the dais.


    Taer unlocked the safety of her hunting rifle and, fixing the white shoulder pad with the scarlet griffin was the first to step onto the green ground. The thick layer of moss softly sprang to take her weight, and small puddles of brownish water appeared around her feet.


    "It''s a bit wet," Dudo looked suspiciously at the bump he had made under his boot.


    The hunt began at noon station time, but it was still early morning in the hunting area of Voigrom. The foliage, illuminated by the dawn sun, glowed red, and the dense moss carpeting the ground was steaming with moisture. The fog clung to the ashy gray branches of the trees in whitish wisps and rose in a solid wall over the still surface of the small lakes.


    Imagine what will happen if it starts to rain.


    "Yes, indeed, it''s a bit wet," the Lord got off last.


    "Good luck, Alex!" Baroness Rionale shouted from the platform as it began to slowly take off. "I''ll bet my Oiker will double..." her last words were drowned out by the melodious hum of the traction generators gaining power.


    The silver disc of the platform tilted slightly, took to the right, and drifted off towards the sunrise, towards the rest of the numbers.


    "Shall we look for the Oikers?" Taer glanced at the platform and made sure it was out of sight. "Or..." she patted her pocket meaningfully.


    In her pocket was an info stick obtained from Lady Liora''s attendant during the loading onto the platforms. And, as they call it, "burned the hands" - there was supposed to be a video on the stick with information about who exactly wanted to kill the lord. But watching the footage right there on the platform, surrounded by guests?


    "I think we can..."


    A loud low roar from somewhere above drowned out Alex''s words. The coal-black machine, with its wide-spread, triangular stabilizer wings, looking like a dagger with a wide diamond-shaped handguard from below, flew over the treetops and disappeared, heading somewhere to the north.


    "Prism-E," commented Dudo. "The Imperials are vigilant."


    "I guess we can at least pretend we''re looking for an Oiker." Alex repeated, tearing his gaze away from the fighter and gripping his hunting long-barreled rifle. "And, Dudo, you brought the infoblock with you, didn''t you?"


    "Yeah," he nodded.


    "As I understand it, the Oikers are grazing at this time, eating roots in shallow water..."


    Taer waved her hand toward the gleaming lake in the dawn''s light and froze - the still water swelled up to form a small hill in the middle of the lake and, a moment later, exploded into a huge splashing fountain, spitting the air out of a small aerial vehicle.


    Taer felt the ''accelerator'' pick her up - the world froze and became slow and draughty. Streams of water glistened in the sun and flowed smoothly down the dirty grey sides of the aircar. Each drop became clear. The sights of a lightning-quick rifle slowly entered her field of vision. The vehicle, howling with the thrust generators and gleaming glare on the cockpit glazing, began to turn smoothly sideways.


    The Taer ducked into the scope and aimed the red dot of the marker at the side door of the aircar that appeared in her field of vision. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dudo shouting something, very slowly - from her point of view - raising his weapon. In fact, it was almost instantaneous.


    The side door of the aerocar slowly crept to the side and, at the same time, her long barrel shrieked, sending the first shot through the opening. A bright blue glowing ball of discharge flew into the opening and shattered against the mirrored morass of the shield. The door finally opened, revealing the dark interior of the aircar and what Taer feared most: the HGM launcher and the red glinting eye of the passive guidance channel.


    Damn!


    The launcher was under the shield, and the long rifles could not do any damage to it.


    Maybe if I cover the lord with me, the combined power of the personal shields would be enough?


    But her body, under the control of the installed skills, kept sending out discharge after discharge into the opening, probably hoping to dazzle the operator or interfere with the aiming device.


    Although the aerocar was two hundred paces away, she saw the membrane of the first compartment in the launch container become covered with a network of fine cracks and burst under the pressure of the missile''s sharp nose. The HGM pierced the cloud of shrapnel with a silver needle, the stabilizers flashed with a sharp glare in the sun, and the rocket very slowly began to move to a safe distance from the launcher on the soft launch engines.


    The long rifle in her hands gave a long howl, and a swarm of discharges pulsed toward the missile, followed by a second one fired by Dudo.


    The rocket, rotating slowly, drifted through the stream of gunfire until one of the blue lights touched the edge of the stabilizer, bursting into a bright flash. The silver hull needle folded in half and, engulfed in sparks and smoky flames began to fall.


    There was movement in the interior of the aerocar. Metal gleamed faintly, gunfire pulsed rhythmically, and a string of purple flashes curved in a predatory arc. The trail of tracers, which stung the Taer in the leg and smashed into the mirrored glow of the flaring personal shield, drew a trail of bursts toward Dudo, knocking out fountains of earth and steam in its path.


    Lance Dudo was still firing when one of the discharges struck him in the chest. The bright flash of the hit immediately disappeared into a burst of smoke and sparks from the instantly burnt form. Slightly shaken by the impact, Dudo began to fall slowly, gradually tumbling onto his side.


    Taer''s first impulse was to lunge at him, but the guidance system decided otherwise - seeing a second missile begin to emerge from the container as it tore the membrane, the guidance system hurled her body in the direction of the lord. The aerocar''s heavy assault speed gun howled behind her, sending a whirlwind of discharges in its wake. Scarlet tracers whirred around her with angry wasps, bursting with a loud dry hiss and showering her with waves of heat. The shields erupted, enveloping them both in mirrored ripples, as Taer knocked the lord to the ground and collapsed from above, pushing him into a small hollow.


    She had time to think that it would hardly help if the missile hit them directly when suddenly she heard a familiar low rustle that drowned out the howling and hissing of bursting discharges.


    Around them, covering almost the entire clearing in a swirl of glittering firepower, the shield being formed spun.


    The central funnel went somewhere upwards, gradually dissolving into the sky. A white-tailed missile struck the still-forming cone of the shield and disappeared, shattering into a mirror-like ripple.


    The attackers'' aerocar jerked, trying to gain altitude, but froze, enveloped in flashes of static, nailed by the glowing rod of the force grip that had struck it.


    Nearby there was a deafening cracking sound that turned into a rumbling noise, a tight wave of air hitting the ground, tearing down leaves and pressing tree branches to the ground, and knocking a white haze of water drizzle from the ubiquitous moss.


    A landing null-boat appeared near the ground, dropping its visual camouflage and hovering between the aerocar and the shield, roaring with its traction generators. A scarlet griffin stood on its black side, and beneath it shone the golden eye of the search branch, the emblem of House Fyron''s Intelligence.


    The landing ramp touched the ground, and the forward eight in heavy assault suits immediately rumbled across it. Leaving deep trails that quickly filled with water, the paratroopers ran under the shield that opened in front of them. Behind the stormtroopers came four men in light blast suits carrying bulky white overalls and airbags. Medics.


    The "guidance" "released" her.


    She rolled off the lord and sprang to her feet, wanting to punch the paratrooper with the field biomonitor as hard as she could. The only thing that stopped her was that he was wearing armor.


    Those bastards knew about the attack beforehand and didn''t warn us! They used us as bait! They endangered the lord''s life! They put Dudo under fire!


    Taer gritted her teeth as the blue glow of the medscanner slid across her eyes.


    "The second is normal - a slight sensory overload!" A muffled sound came from beneath the visor of the spacesuit.


    "The first one is fine - minor bruises!" The second paratrooper medic, who was checking on Alex, who was spitting up mud, responded.


    The communicator of the nearest paratrooper clicked, accepting the call, and Taer heard what she least wanted to hear.


    "The third one is red, zero response! Urgent resuscitation!"


    One could tell that the Third was not normal without a biomonitor. When Dudo was turned over on his back, the remains of his clothes were still smoldering, there was a huge smoking wound in the center of his chest, covered in a black crust, and the skin on his face and neck were burned and flappy.


    There was popping and hissing - Dudo was flooded with cooling foam, a white triangle of the applicator was applied to his neck, a puncture was pressed - and bright scarlet blood gushed from the receiver...


    "What the...!" started shouting at the paratrooper Taer...


    Suddenly a scarlet beam of ignitor flashed across the attackers'' aerocar, frozen in a storm of static. The machine''s shield flashed white and immediately burst from the overload. The beam burned through the hull, and purple tongues of faint, barely visible flame erupted from the open side door. There was a rumbling noise inside, and black smoke billowed out.


    The Imperial Prism appeared from behind the treetops, and with a dry rustling crackle, it flew overhead before disappearing from view again.


    "Damn," the nearest paratrooper said from behind his visor.


    "...demons, you waited so long with the shield if you knew about the attack!" Taer finished her tirade in an angry whisper, rather than a scream, as they hoisted her, just as they had the Lord, into the null-bot.


    "Mistress Guards Sain Lieutenant! The shield was given in three and a half seconds! It was technically impossible to give it any faster!" The paratrooper who was carrying it replied as the ramp went up behind them.


    Taer thought ten or fifteen seconds had passed - she wanted to yell to stop being bullshitted but remembered that she was under ''guidance'' and ''acceleration''. So she shut up.


    The null-bot howled with its generators, the ground on the small overview monitor dropped somewhere down, and only a column of black smoke rising above the downed aircar show a line at the location of the attack.


    In the narrow landing compartment, Taer found herself sandwiched between guardsmen in assault suits.


    In the passage between them, in the pale light of the decontamination lights, covered with white triangles of applicators, covered with foam and blood, lay Dudo. Due to his burned brow and wide-open eyes without lashes, he seemed to be very surprised about something.


    Damn it, why did I only take two shields! Mentally howled Taer as he watched the doctors methodically cut open his clothes and apply applicators to his arteries.


    Inaudible in the hum of the generators, the puncher clicked, and blood spurted from the intake opening, a bag of blood substitute was inserted into the intake, and it began to shrink with a loud hiss, squeezing out its contents. The dark red blood mixed with the bright blue blood substitute and flowed through the stretcher onto the floor, where a small dark purple puddle had already formed.


    On the opposite side, also sandwiched between the paratroopers, sat the lord - crumpled, muddy with blood, and dazed.


    "What''s the matter with him?" He asked, muffled, nodding at Dudo.


    "Very severe injury, Your Lordship, fifth-degree penetrating burns and barotrauma. The left lung is badly damaged, four of his ribs are burned, and his heart is damaged," one of the medics answered without turning around. "He was wearing a blaster-foam waistcoat that saved him from a penetrating burn and severed his spinal cord. But now the melted remnants of the waistcoat and clothing are obstructing access to the damaged organs and preventing cooling."


    Saying this, the medic never stopped deftly wielding the vibroscalpel, crunching into the gummed crust on Dudo''s chest.


    Taer glanced at the stretcher''s biomonitor - the automated system had detected a cardiac arrest forty seconds ago. She looked away from the screen to avoid seeing those numbers.


    Damn, this sucks!


    Another applicator slid into place, the puncher clicked, and a stream of blood splashed the lord and the guardsmen sitting beside him. Lord wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and looked into the eyes of the Taer sitting opposite:


    "Let''s find out who sent them..."


    She only nodded grimly in response.


    * * *


    Alex, absent-mindedly chattering wine in his glass, gazed longingly at the plate where a cephalopod called "arbuds under black salt, with a side dish of sweet Tallan turnips and amber caviar" was spread out picturesquely.


    For some reason, he craved Navy macaroni and ice-cold Coke. A hot dog or something.


    The ship''s cook must have decided to show his best.


    Alex, wrinkling painfully, leaned back in his chair. The ribs on his right side ached as if he''d been hit by a truck rather than a dainty girl.


    If it hadn''t been for the protective field, I''d have been guaranteed a couple of cracks or even a broken rib.


    "Shall we go straight to dessert?" Flag Captain Dimo Gradam politely suggested, seeing the longing on Lord Cassard''s face.


    Alex glanced at Taer and, noticing the hungry glint in her eyes at the word ''dessert'', nodded to the captain:


    "Yes, I suppose that would be just great!"


    The captain pressed the communicator button and, after asking for dessert, continued to smile at his guests. A little strained, though.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Considering how we yelled at him in two voices, the man has nerves of iron and an angelic temperament!


    A polite conversation did not go smoothly - Alex and Taer were not inclined to discuss the weather after the assassination attempt and asked mostly about when they would finally be told "what is going on here" and what about Dudo. And they were asking in very angry tones.


    The captain sympathetically shook his hands and said that, of course, he understood and shared their emotions but that he knew absolutely nothing. The planetary operation was handled by Intelligence. He and his ship were here solely to provide security from the "space" side, so to speak. And offered to wait for bearing Captain Sarvola, who was overseeing the operation on the intelligence side of House Fyron. But Lord Cassard and his guardsman were a little on edge after the incident and did not listen to the Captain''s ''voice of reason'', mostly demanding something... and clearly unfulfillable...


    A man of steel. I couldn''t do that.


    Alex stared at the captain, a tall, trim, and gaunt man in his forties or forties-five with a hard face and the same hard light gray eyes. He wore the dark scarlet uniform of the House Fyron Guards, which added another "+10" to the overall sternness.


    The captain, on the other hand, did not give the impression of being "dry" and tried his best to be courteous and hospitable.


    Now Alex - washed, soothed, and changed into a clean blue jumpsuit with a "Lord Cassard" patch on it ("when did that happen, I wonder!") - understood the moral cost of dealing with two not quite adequate people, one of whom was also a lord. A lord of very scandalous reputation.


    He could have told us he had business to attend to and dumped us on some deputy. Especially since he''s the one who''s been handed the scouts, and the navy''s got nothing to do with it!


    But Flag-Captain Gradam kept up the good work keeping a close eye on the guests and even offering them a tour of his ship, which they declined. Which Alex now regretted a little.


    "Does Your Lordship prefer teymar or tea?" There was a mechanical, rattling voice near his ear that snapped "his lordship" out of his reverie.


    "§¡h? Better tea," Alex allowed the droid, who was holding a tray of cups and teapots.


    The other two droids were at this moment displaying saucers with some cakes and some very appetizing-looking buns decorated with pink foam.


    "I apologize for the humble table and the lack of proper servants. But I think you understand that this is a warship." The flag captain sighed sadly and, for argument''s sake, circled his arm around the officers'' quarters they were in.


    The decorations were indeed very... "humble".


    The walls of the room were black marble with light blue streaks and wrought-gold vines, and it was spacious and perfectly circular. The vines were woven around the walls, starting at the amber-tiled floor and stretching up to the dark blue ceiling, on which a mural glowed softly from within - a fleet of spacecraft frozen against the blue disk of some planet.


    The whole furnishing consisted of a massive round table carved from a solid piece of dark green stone and twisted silver chairs surrounding it, fixed on a single rotating support.


    "Not at all, Captain!" Alex smiled. "Everything is just fine. It''s just a pity that the occasion that allowed us to enjoy your hospitality is sad," the smile faded.


    The captain nodded sympathetically and went on to say some platitudes appropriate to the occasion. Alex nodded absently, nodding in agreement as he watched a droid, resembling a small pole on wheels with a single long arm and a fixed stand of cups and teapots, pour tea for him.


    The locals treated droids like furniture, paying no more attention to them than, say, chairs. But from personal "interaction" and questioning of Taer, Alex had concluded that most droids could safely be called fully sentient.


    A sensible stool is another matter entirely, Alex watched as the droid, whirring softly, placed a cup of tea in front of him and poured it perfectly to a golden border. A stool like that needs an eye on it.


    Alex reached for the cup, but Taer, who was sitting next to him, was sooner. She took his cup, slipped the tip of an analyzer that looked like a fountain pen into the tea, and after waiting for the green light to turn on, she returned the stolen item to Alex.


    Alex, sighing heavily, took the returned cup, took a sip, and with a strained smile, put the cup back on the table - the tea tasted like brewed hay.


    The next few minutes passed in complete silence. Ta?r was absorbing cake after cake with a sort of absent-mindedness, not even seeming to taste it. Alex stared thoughtfully at the drawing on the ceiling, occasionally taking small sips of tea.


    The captain remained diplomatically silent.


    Finally, the door to the wardroom hissed open, revealing a young man, about thirty at the most, with blond hair, large brown eyes, and a wide, slightly upturned nose. And with an almost square chin. A black shoulder pad with a gold eye, worn over a dark scarlet Guard uniform, accentuated the width of his shoulders. All in all, the Peleng Captain Sarvola was far from the image of a scout as Alex had imagined him to be, but more reminiscent of a boxer with a track record of... let''s say, somewhere in the middleweight range.


    Seeing the looks on his face he raised his hands in a conciliatory manner:


    "I apologize, Lord Cassard, Mistress Saine Lieutenant, for keeping you in the dark for so long. Unfortunately, it''s taken me a while to get to the bottom of this. But now I am ready to answer all your questions," he added as he sat down at the table.


    "What''s with Dudo?" Taer blurted out before Alex could open his mouth.


    "Honourable Guwar, as you already know, has suffered a very serious injury. Fortunately, thanks to the successful action of the field doctors and the timely treatment, his life is currently out of danger."


    Hearing this, Alex let out a sigh of relief.


    Everything was happening before his eyes, literally at arm''s length. The red face with white flakes of sloughing skin, eyes wide open and empty, a black, melted stain on chest, blood, and the smell of burning everywhere.


    And then, back on the ship, Alex felt nauseous as he washed someone else''s blood off him. He thought he could smell it even there. He''d seen dead people before, and a corpse was not a sight that would shake his peace of mind much, even in this form: fried with a blaster, ''seen worse''. But here it was different - the man had died because he was trying to protect him, and the thought evoked a heavy, oppressive sense of guilt and ''duty'' in the back of his mind.


    If it wasn''t for the captains with their grim faces, I''d be jumping and shouting for joy, thought Alex, who had never felt so relieved in his life.


    "He has been taken to the hospital ship Mareide of the Bentar fleet and placed in the intensive care unit," the peleng captain continued. "The doctors assess his current condition as moderate."


    Sarvola fell silent, opened the leather folder he had with him, and pulled out an info stick:


    "And in anticipation of your next question, here..." he held out the rod to Taer. "Here are the contact details of his attending physician."


    "Why weren''t we warned?" Taer snatched up the outstretched stick.


    "Mistress Diltar, I can assure you we knew nothing...," Sarvola began.


    "Don''t turn my ears back on me. I''m not a skurf!" The "security specialist" interrupted, getting hotter and hotter. "You want medals and titles? Show up as heroes and save the day?"


    "Sain Lieutenant Diltar, I assure you, we had nothing but suspicions," Peleng Captain Sarvala stressed at the rank of Taer. "But we have tried to give Lord Cassard maximum protection."


    "We almost got fried in there!" she almost shouted. "All because someone thought they were in control, and by their criminal inaction they endangered the life of a Lord of the Great House! That, by the way, qualifies as a crime against the foundations of the Empire and the Emperor himself. I want to know whose idea it was to use us as bait! Otherwise, I will see to it that your criminal negligence reaches the Imperial Tribunal, and then immunity will save you... So do not even think of lying to me... Peleng Captain!"


    In the last word Taer managed to put such a range of feelings that temporarily the rank of "peleng-captain" became equivalent to at least a three-floor profanity construction.


    Well... communication was clearly not working. Alex looked at the purple-faced peleng-captain and the same Taer. Something had to be done.


    "Saine Lieutenant!" Sarvala tried to equal the volume with Taer. "You are essentially calling me a liar, and as an officer, I will not tolerate..."


    "I''ll...," Taer was already showing the peleng-captain a clenched fist.


    Alex, seeing that this was heading for a trivial brawl (in which he thought Sarvola''s chances were better) or even a duel, which would not be desirable at all, sighed heavily and drained his cup of leftover tea in one gulp. He gave Flag-captain Graydam an apologetic look, held the cup high and slammed it to the floor.


    The porcelain-looking cup, black with a fine red pattern and fancy handle, had accomplished its task by crashing to the floor with a loud clang, shattering into small pieces.


    After this loud non-verbal argument, there was silence in the wardroom.


    "After all this turmoil, I''ve become a bit clumsy," Alex repented to the officers who turned to him in sync. "I apologize for interrupting the discussion, but my Blade and I will be leaving you briefly and will be back in just a few minutes."


    He took Taer, who was sitting next to him, under his arm and dragged her towards the exit.


    "What''s wrong?" Taer fumed as soon as the door closed behind them. "Can''t you see that we''ve been used by these freaks? They''re trying on their medals now. Saved the Lord and his retinue! It was a miracle we survived! We hit the first missile. If it had, those "saviors" would still be looking for ashes to identify us."


    Alex interrupted her, pointing his eyes at the figure in the dark blue jumpsuit approaching down the corridor, and pressed a finger to his lips. Taer remained silent as the crewman walked past them in surprise and was about to start her denunciation again, but she didn''t have time.


    "You know, Taer, I totally agree with you!" Alex was momentarily ahead of the "specialist", who had already opened her mouth. "I called you here for a different reason."


    Taer closed her mouth and looked questioningly at Alex.


    "I have two very important questions that I don''t want to discuss in front of outsiders." He leaned against the warm, slightly rough wall of the corridor. "First, what about the info stick you were given? Is it in one piece?"


    "Yes," she patted the side pocket of the same blue jumpsuit with the ''Saine Lieutenant Diltar'' patch on it. "It looked intact, but there was no way to check."


    "That''s great! Second question... can you go back in time?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "The fact that after you shout at this captain, information he is willing to share with us won''t make it any more true. And it won''t get any truer, either."


    "Don''t you understand?" Taer burst out angry. "The frigate Artela," she slammed her palm against the wall. "A House Fyron battleship! And we''re in Bentar space! She''s been brought in ahead of time, negotiated passage with the Bentars! All this for suspicion? This is nonsense! They brazenly lie to us!"


    "And if you yell, will they tell the truth?" Alex squinted. "If you''re going to poison them with an imperial tribunal, don''t threaten to do so. At first, you have to find out what it will gain you besides moral satisfaction."


    Taer opened her mouth to say something harsh but then changed her mind and waved her hand with a heavy sigh.


    "So, let''s go and listen quietly to what this guy has to say, and then we''ll think about what to do and whether he lied to us or not. All right?" Alex looked into Taer''s eyes.


    "So, let''s go and listen quietly to what this guy has to say, and then we''ll think about what to do and whether he lied to us or not. All right?" Alex looked into Taer''s eyes.


    The captains in the wardroom were discussing something, but they all simultaneously fell silent at the appearance of Lord Cassard and his Blade. By the look on their faces, they seemed to be the subject of the discussion. There was an awkward silence, broken only by the quiet whirring of the droid as it finished picking up the shards of the cup from the floor.


    "Sorry again for interrupting your story," Alex sat back in his seat. "Please, Captain Sarvolla, continue."


    "So..." Sarvola coughed into his fist. "After analyzing the previous attempt on Your Lordship''s life, the Intelligence Analysis Division suggested the possibility of a second attack. It was then assumed, on learning that you would be participating in a Voigrom, that this was the best place to conduct another attack. Intelligence had no other evidence to support that theory," the captain said emphatically. "Otherwise, we would certainly have warned Your Lordship."


    Taer had already gathered air to say what she thought of this version but held back, limiting herself to a very expressive grimace.


    Peleng Captain, distinctly ignoring the expression on Taer''s face, continued, occasionally glancing at the infoblock screen lying on the table in front of him:


    "Suspecting a possible attack on Your Lordship''s yacht, we contacted the House Bentar fleet and asked them for an escort to House Melato station. We also asked them for permission to use the frigate Artela in their space, which has been assigned the role of controlling the near sphere of hyperspace. We also negotiated with our partners from House Bentar the possibility of using a reinforcement team, which was to be used if a situation requiring forceful intervention arose on the planet or station." Sarvola broke away from the screen and looked at Alex. "Fortunately, Your Lordship, House Bentar had responded in agreement, aided especially by the ruling lady''s position. Lady Valerie''s help was invaluable in negotiating with the House Bentar fleet."


    "I hope I can thank her properly," Alex said with a slightly strained smile.


    "The security team was divided into two sub-groups - an operational and a reinforced one. The operative was stationed on the station as an entourage of Count Decero, who is also the Sain Lieutenant of House Fyron''s Intelligence service. The reinforced, equipped with assault suits and heavy weapons - waited in space aboard the null-bot, ready to intervene at any moment...


    "Captain, House Melato didn''t object to the presence of a frigate and our House nullbot near his station?" It was an obvious misunderstanding from Alex''s point of view. "After all, I understand we have a bit of a strained relationship."


    "The Nulbot was in Null Mode..." Sarvola began to explain, clearly trying to find simpler words. "It was hard to detect in that mode, all the more so because it was camouflaged by the interference of House Bentar''s hospital ship. And as for the frigate, I think the Flag Captain can explain it to you." He nodded toward the Greydam.


    "The frigate was positioned a great distance deep in the system, Your Lordship," the flag captain explained. "Ready to make a short hop to the station on signal, for which purpose our drive beacon was located on the Bentar ship, and the spectrum used by such beacons was allocated to us."


    "I see," Alex understood almost nothing except that the null-bot was a kind of local stealth. "What, in fact, about the assassination attempt itself?"


    Captain Sarvola sighed sadly and lowered his eyes to the infoblock screen again:


    "At 4:53 local time, a small flying reconnaissance drone detected the appearance of an aerocar-type vehicle in threatening proximity to Your Lordship and raised the alarm. Upon receiving the alarm, the hospital ship Mareide began to put up a shield and the force support team began to move out to provide protection and fire support."


    "The primary shield outline was formed within three and a half seconds of receiving the signal. At that time, the attackers'' aircar had time to fire two heavy guided missiles and a heavy assault blaster. In the course of the firing, the respected Dudo Guwar of your lordship''s entourage was seriously injured. The warheads of both missiles failed to fire, the first because the missile was destroyed by fire from the ground, the second because it made contact with the surface of the shield before the safety fuse was disengaged by the safe distance. Six seconds after receiving the alert, the Artela frigate completed a short jump and blocked the attackers'' aircar with a power grab."


    "At the tenth second, the null-boat of the force support group landed near Your Lordship, and the landed guardsmen immediately proceeded to evacuate Your Lordship and provide medical assistance to the injured. At the fourteenth second, the attackers'' aerocar was fired upon from heavy igniters by a Prism-E type fighter of the Imperial Security Forces. Since the fighter''s intentions were unclear, Lieutenant Arali Teigro decided to speed up the evacuation...


    "Can you tell me more about the imperial fighter?" Alex interrupted the captain. "As I understood, once the shield was installed, the attackers were no longer a threat and could be captured. Right?"


    "Right, Your Lordship. That was the original plan, but unfortunately, there were no survivors in the aerocar after the Imperial fighter attack. Regarding the attack itself," Sarwalla frowned. "Unfortunately, I can''t give you any more information than the report the SS sent me," the Peleng Captain drew two more info blocks from his infoblock folder and handed them to the Taer. "Briefly, the Imperial pilot detected the intruder and detected the rocket. He said he didn''t use his weapon because of the danger to the people on the ground but chose to approach and engage the target with his onboard ignitor fire. Which he did."


    "During the attack, he also detected a power group nullbot and, assuming they were also intruders, went for a second run. Fortunately, the pilot also saw the emblem of our House on board the nullbot and started requesting instructions from his superiors, so the nullbot was able to leave the danger zone in time. We received this information in the form of a report from the SS. We were not allowed to speak to the pilot in person. Her Lordship Ergo-Captain Durlurl has been notified about the incident, and negotiations with the Imperial Security Sector Directorate are ongoing.


    "Sadly," Alex sighed ("how fortunate that Imperial had made a move, all ends up in the water!"). "So you couldn''t get any information on the attackers?"


    "There''s something I''ve been able to find out. But, unfortunately, not much. Three of the six attackers have been identified as Bentar, two of whom were educated at the University of Tallana, and there is no further information, but I think we will be able to find out more shortly. Analysis of the missile wreckage has revealed the model of the HGM. "Dagger-2U" manufactured by Zonn-Merr with a reinforced warhead - this model was purchased in our sector only by the Guards of House Bentar. Peltar''s Azure twin-skinned aerocar. Presumably, the attackers were camouflaged in an artificial underwater shelter or a natural cave in a lake. When the transport from Bentar with special underwater equipment arrives, we will be able to say more...


    Sarvola closed the infoblock folder and pushed it away from him:


    "That''s all I can tell you at the moment, Lord Cassard."


    "You mean I''ve been attacked by Bentarans...?" Alex wondered. "What did they have against me?"


    "I urge you not to jump to conclusions, Your Lordship," Sarvola said.


    About my far-reaching political conclusions, he was specifically instructed, Alex realized.


    "There is no certainty that Bentar is behind the attack," the captain assured him. "After all, the Bentars has been a great help to us in keeping you safe. But we can''t deny that there might be some group within House Bentar who have a vested interest in your death, either."


    It''s clear that the case is unclear.


    Alex rose from the table:


    "Well, thank you very much for the information and your timely appearance - I am incredibly grateful to you, Peleng Captain Sarvola, for your foresight and to you, Flag Captain Gradam, for your hospitality and assistance," he shook hands with the approaching officers.


    Taer stood up from the table without a word, but she might as well have said nothing, for her expression was so full of thoughts about the organizers of this operation. The thoughts were, by all accounts, profane.


    "Lord Cassard? Perhaps you could come and stay with me. You''ll be safer on the frigate." Flag Captain Gradam, who had been aware of Alex''s intention to move to his yacht immediately after his conversation with the Intelligence representative, suggested.


    "I thank you for the offer, but Baroness Rionale and Marquis Degrasto, with whom I have been traveling, are due to arrive on the boat soon. I think they''re worried enough as it is. And to stay with you all this time is to give rise to unnecessary doubts." Alex, with regret in his voice, as if to emphasize that he would certainly love to, but...


    "Perhaps you would agree to take a few of our men with you?" Sarvola interjected. "To enhance your security."


    On the one hand, some extra barrels have been shown to be quite useful, but on the other...


    And on the other hand, Alex never doubted for a second that this heightened security would be just as much of a snitch to Countess Durlurl.


    And I still have the footage sent by the rebels to watch...


    "Thank you, but no. I think the fact that my yacht will be escorted by a frigate is more than enough. On the boat itself, my Arm, in which I am more than confident, will be able to ensure my safety.


    "As Your Lordship wills..."


    Accompanied by the captains, they reached the flight module (No, Your Lordship, the hangars are where the machines are stored, this is the flight module), where the curious public, Lord Cassard, was shown the thrilling spectacle of the opening of the receiving port directly into space.


    And I know that the protective fields... Alex looked out at the green continent, overcast in a haze of clouds - the frigate was in low orbit, and the huge airlock door, which had gone somewhere down, offered a spectacular view of the planet. Still, it felt a little uncomfortable.


    The view was not to be admired for long. With a booming roar, the scarlet wall of Istal''s starboard side emerged from somewhere below and hid the planet behind it.


    The docking began. The low hum of the engines blended in with the ship''s noises, gradually intensifying as the ship, which was not much smaller than the frigate, drew nearer. The transparent tube of the intake port, which swung out with a low hiss, encircled the opening of the airlock door, beyond which the light oak panels and the scarlet carpets of the Istal interior were already visible.


    Exactly midway down the intake port tube, Alex and Taer stopped. The walls of the boards loomed up against the blackness of space, the scarlet hull of the Istal behind, and the white of the frigate in front. The white surface of the hull, instantly covered in frost, smelled cold, so the farewell to the captains was brief.


    "Strange man," Alex shuddered as the airlock door closed behind them.


    "Just trying to make a quick career, ''saviour''!" Taer snorted.


    "I mean the Flag Captain," Alex gestured for the boat captain to leave. "According to you, people like him either hate me or despise me."


    "Maybe he was hoping to make a good impression." Taer shrugged. "So that you could put in a good word for him with the Council of Privy. Or one of your father''s admirers. I don''t know."


    "Where are you going?" Alex tried to catch Taer by the elbow as she turned to the side, but to no avail.


    "Change," she pointedly pulled back the high collar of her overalls with her finger.


    "That''s for later, but for now, march with me to the bedroom."


    "What for?" Taer was taken aback.


    "What do you normally do in the bedroom... I''ll get you into bed... Right! Easy, easy, easy! That was a joke!" Alex hastily backed away when he saw the change in Taer''s face. "We''ll watch the info-stick before Kayrin and Marquis come running in..."


    * * *

 Chapter 18

    Chapter 18


    * * *


    The golden threads of the tablecloth stretched as far as the eye could see. The scarlet threads of embroidery flowed across it, now in thin, curving branches, now in dragon-like curves. Small lakes of light, honey-colored tea froze motionless in a haze, smooth with the porcelain shores of the saucers.


    Above this pastoral scene towered mountains of cakes, topped with snowy caps of icing sugar and glittering peaks of bottles. In the gaps in the confectionery landscape, somewhere behind, the silhouettes of servants glided in vague white shadows. With quiet tinkling and faintly audible chatter, they set out, corrected, and checked.


    The view, however, was very poor - it was literally being recorded from the table. So the cups, teapots, and cakes blocked a large part of the view. Alex was about to rewind that part and go straight to the interesting part when part of a perfectly white sleeve of cloth, similar to gauze, appeared in the frame, and a swarthy palm placed a pyramid of a suppressor on the table very close to the recording device.


    The control light at the top of the pyramid glowed dimly yellow, streaks and rhythmic waves of distortion went across the screen, and the sounds became quieter and more metallic and scratchy, but the camera continued to work, and, in principle, everything was visible and audible.


    "I wonder if that''s how someone''s recording us, too." Alex glanced at the suppressor pyramid next to him, which also had a yellow control light on it. "What''s the use of them, then?"


    "It''s certainly the best thing to do," Taer frowned, taking the passage about the suppressors as a rebuke to herself.


    Perfectionist! Alex sighed, watching the gloomy face of his ''personal security specialist'', And a resentful perfectionist.


    He leaned towards the screen again. This movement was echoed with a painful wave in his bruised ribs.


    But brave and with a frenzied reaction.


    Meanwhile, there was movement on the monitor again. Someone, judging by the build, a man appeared on the opposite side of the table opposite the recorder. He was dressed in something between a kimono and a gown of a delicate cream color. This something was adorned with massive dark stones around the collarbone. The man sat down at the table, and his face became visible, broad with a strong chin, a predatory nose with a slight hook, rather large lips, and brown, almost black, eyes.


    "I think it''s the same guy who met us at the station." Alex tried to remember the name, but the only thing he could remember was the ''wrong'' handshake.


    "Lord Velaske," Taer prompted.


    Next to him sat a grey-haired man with a small "academic" beard and lively, slanted eyes that stood out in his wrinkled face.


    "The professor the Marquis Degrasto was talking to!" Alex was surprised and raised his eyes to the ceiling and tried to remember his name as well. "I think. Takkar, and the name was something complicated... Fayur, or something..."


    "Fayor," the "specialist" corrected without taking her eyes off the monitor.


    In the meantime, a third person joined the crowd. Judging by the hand that flashed in the frame, it was probably a woman. And a young one at that. But that was all I could see - she sat behind the camera.


    "I''m glad you were able to find an opportunity for this meeting!" Lord Velaske smiled, pressing his left hand to his chest. "I hope that we will have time to discuss what is happening and make any necessary adjustments," he took the saucer of tea in his hands and took a small sip.


    "I am primarily concerned about Lord Cassard," he looked expressively at the professor. "Frankly, we didn''t think it would be so difficult for you, given your capabilities. My colleagues and I have already had to improvise a lot."


    "Inevitable accidents in such circumstances," remarked Professor Takkar philosophically. "I''m sure it will be a success tomorrow. The group is already in position, and the HGM is not a weapon that leaves any alternative for the outcome of this attack."


    "I would like to hope so, Professor," a distorted, interfering female voice came from somewhere outside the camera''s field of vision. "The inability of your people to cope with such a simple case is the main reason why my deadline is being disrupted in the first place!"


    "I think it will go well this time," Lord Velaske hastened to put an end to the conflict. "And even if, by some improbable coincidence, Lord Cassard were to survive, the matter would be handled by the experts I''ve already summoned. And the professor''s men can concentrate on their main task on Tallana."


    "It''s taking too long as it is," objected the lord''s unseen interlocutor. "I can''t wait for your ''specialist'' to get to Cassard as well. The ships..."


    What kind of ships were meant remained unknown. The picture froze - the recording came to an end.


    "And why so much attention to me alone?" Alex sighed heavily as he watched the screen that hung in the air slowly fade away, scattering golden sparks.


    Taer remained silent, ignoring the clearly rhetorical question. She sat absentmindedly with her head slightly tilted, clearly in contemplation and mechanically twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Not wanting to disturb the thought process of his ''security specialist'', who was, in any case, more knowledgeable, Alex took advantage of the pause to gather his thoughts:


    First, the "specialists" to whom the honorable challenge to "whack Lord Cassard in the shortest possible time" had been passed on. The thought of another assassination attempt sent an unpleasant chill down his chest. He had always thought he had no fear of death at all, but the determined consistency of these guys was beginning to act depressing, to say the least.


    Second, what was it about me that displeased them so much? Third, who is Lady "X" and what interests do they have in common - the Lord of House Melato, the Professor of the University of Tallana, and the mysterious stranger? Fourthly, can''t we just turn these woeful conspirators into the local police? Or the Security Service or whatever.


    "It''s pointless, even dangerous, to go to the Security Service with this recording," Taer''s voice, which came out of her stupor, sounded like a commentary on his thoughts. "We can''t prove the authenticity of this recording, and investigating its origin by the SS or Imperial Intelligence could create complications of such magnitude that it would be better not to even begin."


    "Well, let''s just say." Alex looked at Taer with interest. "What are your suggestions then?"


    "Contact Countess Durlurl as soon as we get to the secure terminal and show her this recording," she stated flatly. "They''re clearly plotting something against our entire House, and your murder is just a cover-up. Intelligence must be aware of that."


    "I don''t mind intelligence knowing about the threat to the House. But as soon as Daim Esta sees the video, she''ll claw its source out of me and then eat them alive with their guts. I wouldn''t want Lord Cassard''s gratitude for providing vital information to be expressed in this form."


    And I certainly didn''t want to give Countess Durlurl any more leverage on myself. This time the very real fact of my association with the anti-imperialists


    Taer thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers in triumph:


    "I can tell her that the bag with the stick was amongst the mail. Or it was just planted. And you don''t have to explain anything then. Let them think for themselves. You can even say if you like, that you don''t know anything about it yet."


    "And you really think Daim Esta would believe that?" Alex asked with an extremely skeptical expression on his face.


    "What is there for her to do?" Taer shrugged her shoulders innocently. "She has no other sources of information. And I''m not going to tell her anything."


    Except that some of the guardsmen react to Countess Durlurl like a rabbit to a boa constrictor.


    "And then," the specialist pushed, "In any case, something has to be done about Lord Velaske and the Professor..."


    For example, to kill so they don''t try to kill peaceful lords


    "... and House Fyron''s intelligence has the means to deal with such a problem," Taer continued. "After all, it is their direct task! We, on the other hand, can''t do anything about it."


    Well, according to Isalaya, they managed to order the Ruling Lord with the Head of Intelligence. With a professor and just a lord, with four million danarii in cash, the matter would probably be resolved even faster, mentally objected Alex, but did not say anything aloud because deep in his heart, and understood that so, out of the blue, without connections and other things, to take and "order" someone - would be more expensive. But I don''t want to go and bow down to that bitch...


    "All right," he sighed heavily. "You get in touch with Countess Durlurl, tell her you were planted with the record, and you contact her immediately without even telling me so as not to worry me unnecessarily."


    "That''s good!" Taer got up from the sofa. "I can go and change now, can''t I, Your Lordship?"


    Alex just nodded wearily and waited for her to come out, then began to pull off his overalls as well:


    I think she''s having a nervous breakdown, he thought aloof as he stretched out on the couch. Just fifteen minutes ago, she was tearing and thrashing and ready to tear Lieutenant Sarvola apart with her teeth... and now she''s smiling and cheerful, even trying to joke...


    Though there was no point in nagging at the girl, Alex grinned grimly as he stared at his reflection in the dark mahogany panel, polished to a high shine. You''re freaking out, too... deep down.


    He was not allowed to lie on the sofa in peace. In just a few minutes, a call came on the communicator, and the captain of the yacht apologetically warned that the shuttle with Baroness Rional and the Marquis Degrasto would be arriving in just a few minutes.


    Realizing that he was about to be jumped on and expressing his concern, perhaps even sincerely, Alex began to put the overalls back on, picking up the many fasteners, cords, and some wires that had previously belonged to the overalls and were picturesquely scattered around the bedroom. The lord was too lazy to go to the wardrobe to find something more appropriate.


    By the way, it''s interesting - the Marquis was definitely in contact with this Tallana professor, and the third "unknown" negotiator is young and female. It''s a piquant thing if they''re both in on it.


    Adding to the spice was the recollection that the Marquis was traveling with four servants, three of whom, in Alex''s view, were of the right build and age to be fighters.


    Yes, Taer and I are clearly outnumbered.


    Alex looked at Kayrin and Marquis Degrasto walking down the clear tube of the receiving port that connected the yacht and the small silver shuttle, something subtly similar to the sports boats of his world. With the Marquis, of course, were his servants - all four of them. The faces of all of them were very worried.


    Well, let''s hope they don''t become so blunt as to attack outright.


    "Alex! What''s wrong? Are you all right?" Kayrin was pouncing with questions before she could get out of the shuttle. "When we were taking off, I saw the Flyer crash outside your site. I was so freaked out!"


    "We were contacted by an intelligence representative and told that you were leaving urgently," Marquis Degrasto looked somewhat annoyed. "And he didn''t explain anything."


    Alex thought for a moment about what to say and what not to say. Then he decided that they would find out anyway:


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "There''s been another attempt on my life," he said in as mundane and bored a tone as possible. Like bad weather, he complained. "He was unfortunately not without casualties this time - one of the guardsmen of my Arm was badly wounded."


    "Is Taer hurt?" Kayrin exclaimed, stunned. "What happens to her?"


    "Not with Taer, thank g..." Alex hesitated but corrected himself in time. "Luckily she''s all right. Dudo''s wounded."


    When she heard that Taer was all right, Kay sighed in relief. She then asked a few general questions about Dudo''s health out of pure politeness. His fate was far less interesting to Baroness Rionale.


    I wonder why she got so excited - I thought they didn''t like each other, to put it mildly.


    For the next thirty minutes, Alex answered the endless questions of the Marquis and Kayrin. Though there wasn''t much to say, from his point of view, it was almost instantaneous: the only things he remembered were the huge column of water surrounding the machine that had popped out of the lake, the howl of the phasers and the air filled with buzzing blasts of tracers, and then - he was knocked down and pinned to the ground by Taer, who was surprisingly heavy.


    The results of the investigation did not shine with the variety either - "no witnesses, no suspects, no detainees, no evidence..." - so the Marquis soon enough left Alex behind and, bowing out, went with his servants to his quarters to change - he was still in his hunting suit, bearing the marks of a long walk through the wet thickets of Voigrom.


    Kayrin, on the other hand, seemed determined to take the opportunity to squeeze everything out of Alex:


    "I think you''re hiding something from me," she sighed sadly as she and Alex walked to the main hall. "First the poisoning, the shield generator in the castle, and now another assassination attempt. Why won''t you tell me everything? Maybe I can help you. And if I can''t, my Clan can."


    Really, Kayrin, you couldn''t have killed Lord Velaske and Professor Takkar. And one other unknown damsel. Those bitches are on a deadline because of me, so they''re trying to do their best. And if you can''t, maybe your Clan can do it?


    "You know, Kay, frankly, I don''t really have much to tell you," Alex sat comfortably on one of the cozy couches around the perimeter of the main lounge where he and Kayrin had come "to talk". "Someone wants to kill me, but you already know that. It was obvious after the poisoning. Why someone wants to kill me, I have no idea," he said, and that''s the plain truth. "I may have known it before. But after the poisoning, my memory is far from perfect."


    "If you''ve forgotten everything," Kayrin arched an eyebrow. "Then why did you buy a shield generator and hire more people? Look, Alex, I''m not your enemy, I really want to help you!"


    "Why?" tiredly asked Alex, who slightly doubted the sincere altruism of this young NLP-girl.


    "That''s a strange question! In our generation, I am closest to you. Blood to blood, fire to fire!" she quoted some local proverb. "You have to stick to each other in these matters! An attack on you is an attack on my Clan. You are the last of your kind, and if you are killed, I have no one else to avenge you."


    "I agree," Alex didn''t believe Baroness Rionale''s version of ''one for all and all for one.'' "And how exactly can you help?"


    "Well..." she began, stepping closer and touching him on the shoulder as if unintentionally (I see, you have limited resources, my dear...). "It depends on what exactly is going on around you. But, at the very least, I could summon some of my Arm. Taer alone, for all its merits, is obviously not enough."


    And find yourself surrounded by a bunch of armed brutes who obey you? Yes, you''re my sweetheart - do you really think I''m that naive?


    "I don''t think that''s necessary," Alex assured her. "It''s unlikely the killers will dare make another attempt anytime soon."


    "I don''t understand why I deserve your distrust!" Kayrin frowned and pulled away. "I really want to help you! But you won''t even tell me what''s going on! If there''s a secret involved, I''ll give you my word!"


    And after all, what am I risking? In any case, we''ve already decided to leak the footage to Countess Durlurl.


    "The word?" Alex raised an eyebrow.


    "I give my word as Baroness Rionale!" she pressed her right hand to her chest, and her voice was solemn. "That I will keep your secret, whatever it may be! I can swear on fire. If you want me to." She added after a moment''s hesitation.


    "I think your word is more than enough," smiled Alex, who had little faith in the effectiveness of any vow


    "Then tell me about it!" Kayrin declared, moving closer again. "What''s going on?"


    "Well, all right," he got up from the sofa and held out his hand. "Let''s go."


    In his quarters he went to the suppressors first, out of a habit he had already picked up.


    "It''s very nice here." Kayrin looked around curiously.


    Alex just nodded absentmindedly in response, saying that I liked it too.


    This entry was in the mail. Unfortunately, we looked at it after the assassination attempt.


    He switched on the cluster built into the small table. Two holographic screens flashed in front of the chairs, and the picture on them shook slightly, gaining depth and clarity, gradually revealing a familiar picture...


    "We need to contact Countess Durlurl," Kayri said in a strangled voice after the recording had ended. "This is clearly directed against our entire House."


    And so is she! She''s not a countess. She''s a lifesaver!


    "That''s probably what we''ll do once the boat arrives in Copeira. I don''t really like the idea myself, though."


    "That''s the most sensible thing to do in a situation like this!" Kayrin objected firmly. "Your Arm is very small, you have no Clan to fall back on, and for some reason, you refuse my help. And Taer isn''t omnipresent. She''s not enough to protect you. And Daim Esta has to be warned anyway: It seems to me that the attempt on your life is no more than a cover for an attack on our House. The girl was talking about some kind of ship."


    "Yes, I understand!"


    Alex was reluctant to let Kayrin in on his difficulties with Countess Durlurl and diplomatically overlooked the passage about people helping to guard him.


    But Kay is right: Taer alone will not be enough - I must get some people together and people as far away from politics as possible!


    "Are you having some sort of disagreement with Countess Durlurl?" guessed Kayrin, who couldn''t help the lack of enthusiasm at the mention of the head of intelligence.


    "Ah, never mind," Alex brushed her off. "A little misunderstanding..."


    "Is that all?" There was a slight tinge of irony in Kayrin''s smile. "What had caused this misunderstanding?"


    He wrestled with doubts for a few moments - whether or not to tell - and decided, what the hell - it can''t get any worse:


    "Let''s just say it relates to my possible marriage..."


    "§°h!" Kayrin''s eyebrows went up. "She''s against marrying Valerie Bellar? I didn''t know."


    "No," Alex shook his head. "I''m against it."


    "You?!" she exclaimed with a kind of joyful amazement. "Alex, but why?!"


    He shrugged his shoulders with as indifferent a look as possible:


    "I don''t want to."


    "I was told that you were almost the author of the idea! And you certainly weren''t against it!"


    "Maybe. But I, you know, managed to lose my memory in the process. And I lost it hard. And then I''m told I have to marry this girl, who I''ve never seen before! And why I need this marriage - I just don''t understand! So I''m not enthusiastic about the whole idea."


    "Well... Well, don''t get married!" With the broadest and most sincere smile, Kayrin suggested. "What''s the big deal? They haven''t even announced the engagement yet."


    "The difficulty lies with Countess Durlurl, who does not want the whole arrangement with House Bentar to go down the drain just because someone has suddenly changed his mind."


    "Who cares what she doesn''t want?" Baroness Rionale smirked defiantly. "Let her look for another candidate! I''m sure finding someone willing to be Lord Consort isn''t the hardest thing to do."


    "I understand that the Bentars insist on my candidacy..." Alex sighed. "But, generally speaking, I''m not in the mood for marriage problems right now..."


    "I see..." Kayrin nodded sympathetically. "I think we should contact Countess Durlurl, anyway. And about marriage..." she cheered up again, winking conspiratorially. "You know, I think... no, I''m sure I have a way to help you. And without offending anyone!"


    "I wonder how?" Alex raised an eyebrow with interest.


    "Well," said a pleased Kayrin. "Let''s just say I''m not promising anything yet. But if it works, it''ll be a force majeure, and you won''t be in any danger! Wouldn''t you?"


    Alex nodded silently, not really counting on anything.


    You never know, but let''s see!


    She jumped up enthusiastically from her chair:


    "I need to send an urgent message then. Where''s your communicator?" Kayrin turned to leave and was about to go but froze when she saw the gently pulsing blue fabric of hyperspace outside the stateroom window. "Great shadows! We''re already in the jump. I didn''t even notice the transition!"


    She sighed sadly but waved her hand:


    "All right, then, I''ll wait for the arrival on Copeira! By the way, Alex, what do you think of a light meal? I''m starving - the last time I ate was before I landed on Voigrom."


    "I think that''s a great idea!" Apart from the flag captain''s attempt to feed Alex some cuttlefish, he didn''t eat anything at all.


    "Then, meet me in the refectory!" Kayrin suggested, sending him one of her dazzling smiles. "I''m going to take this off and change into something more appropriate," she pointed a finger at her luxurious reddish leather hunting costume.


    Waiting for the door to close behind Kayrin, Alex let out a long groan and started to pull off his overalls, but then spat and began to zip them back on.


    To hell with them all! After all, whether I''m an autocrat and a drunkard or not! I can walk around my yacht in overalls!


    Alex spent the next nine hours, which it took for the yacht to jump to Copeira, trying to find out from the Marquis of Degrasto in roundabout ways what interest the Melatian lord and the Talana professor had in causing chaos in House Fyron by killing Allesandro Cassard.


    No clear motives emerged: House Melato was, of course, a rival and almost an enemy of House Fyron, but they had no common border, and a direct attack was highly unlikely. The Tallana option was murky - the Tallana oligarchy had no interest in making trouble for House Fyron. Especially not in this way.


    There was also the possibility that the Professor was, in fact, a terrorist representative from the PVD, but that did not add to the clarity since Alessandro Cassard was not an imperial official and had never even spoken particularly enthusiastically about the Empire.


    So when the yacht landed near Blue Flame Castle nine hours later, Alex and Taer, having unloaded their guests to the majordomo, went straight to the bedroom of the "security specialist".


    "Don''t move, or you''ll get caught in the terminal camera''s field of view!" Taer instructed, making sure she was the only one in sight of the secure terminal.


    After checking the fit of her uniform (which Alex thought was perfect) and brushing an invisible speck of dust off her shoulder, the "specialist" entered the number into the terminal.


    A red griffin on a grey field appeared on the screen, enclosed in a golden circle. Beneath the circle was a stylized gold eye. After a few seconds, the screen saver disappeared, replaced by a blue-shaven young man of about twenty-five in a charcoal-black uniform:


    "Identify yourself at once!" he blurted out. "Otherwise, you will be charged with resisting the investigation!"


    "Er..." the stunned Taer only had time to utter before an angry shout came from across the screen, the picture blinked, and Countess Durlurl appeared on the screen.


    A very, very pissed-off Countess Durlurl, to be precise:


    "Lieutenant, remember! In this office, I, or my secretary, answer the call!" she hissed, looking sideways.


    "They may be accomplices to the assassins whom you can warn in some way, so we have to limit your public..." the lieutenant started to object from somewhere outside the camera but was interrupted by the countess:


    "Please come to me, Lieutenant," she chanted affectionately, smiling sweetly.


    Soon a young man in a charcoal-black SS uniform appeared in the camera''s field of vision.


    "Tell me, Lieutenant, did they teach you the part of the law about the Great Houses of Tail and their liberties at the Academy?" she asked, flashing a charming smile.


    "Yes, Your Grace!"


    "Then you must be aware," Daim Esta continued smiling absently, twisting a button near the collar on the lieutenant''s uniform. "That despite the witty legal loophole your office has found, the Grand House Guards, like the nobility, are outside the jurisdiction of the Imperial Security Service... Well, Lieutenant, what do you think would happen to you if I were to complain to the Emperor at my next meeting about a violation of the freedoms of the nobility by an SS Lieutenant? By the way, confirmed personally by His Majesty? Guarding a very distant asteroid or going straight to the disciplinary section?"


    The Lieutenant swallowed frantically and opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, Countess Durlurl surprisingly, for her submissive build, suddenly tugged at his collar. Her brown eyes were black with anger, and her face was so black with anger. For a moment, Aleix thought that Daim Eesta was about to clutch at his throat:


    "So it''s in your best interest to make sure I don''t remember your name a month from now," she growled in his face." Have I made myself clear enough, Stack Lieutenant Asfi Terger? Do you have the right to conduct an investigation?" She inquired, a ring of ice in her voice, and without waiting for an answer, she brought her free hand crashing down on the table, causing everyone to wince in surprise:


    "Well, then investigate!" raised her voice to a shout from Esta. "But remember, this is where I decide who talks to whom and when!"


    She was silent for a moment, and after taking a couple of deep breaths, she continued in an angry whisper:


    "And if those present continue to be inappropriate, I may be tempted to express my displeasure in other ways. And then it won''t be up to the disciplinary section."


    Countess Durlurl released the Lieutenant''s collar. He immediately recoiled, squinting frightened at her, and began frantically tidying up his uniform.


    "So please, Lieutenant," Esta''s face brightened, and she smiled charmingly. "Don''t interrupt - it makes me very angry."


    "Yes..." Alex gradually withdrew from the scene. "The ability to work with people.is God''s level."


    The lieutenant mumbled something unintelligible and retreated to somewhere outside the camera''s field of vision. And Countess''s attention shifted to Taer, who, after the scene had played out, sat as quietly as possible, without any indication of her presence:


    "Taer, sweetheart, sorry to keep you waiting, we''re in grief..." she said in a ringing voice, giving Taer a sweet smile.


    "Grief? What happened, your ladyship?"


    "Twelve hours ago, the Ruling Lord of House Melato died," Esta sighed sadly.


    "Oh...", said Taer, dumbfounded by what was happening.


    "Yes, a grievous loss," the Countess said. "He was shot dead with a bullet gun. And, imagine, the Melatians think they have found the killers. Or rather, their bodies. Because they died in a skirmish with the guardsmen. Yes... And all three of them were carrying House Fyren''s retainer medallions. And they turned out to be our retainers who disappeared on Tallana a week ago."


    "But that''s absurd!" Taer exhaled. "Why bring medallions with them?"


    "I''m glad you understand me!" Esta smiled happily. "But unfortunately, our friends in the Imperial Security Service..." she paused, eyeing the button torn off the lieutenant with interest. "...Yes, our friends think otherwise. And they have found one legal loophole that allows them," her lips curled, and she spat out. "Investigate. And now they''re literally everywhere, even in my office, getting in the way. We have, of course, already sent our complaint to the Emperor and the Imperial High Tribunal, but since the Imperial Navy has refused to allow us to use the zero-communication systems, it will be a couple of days before the message reaches the capital... Yes... So what did you call?"


    Ta?r hesitated for a moment, probably wondering what to say, but then she answered immediately:


    "There has been another attempt on Lord Cassard''s life, and I wanted to ask for your assistance in transferring some Guardsmen to the Lord''s Arm."


    "Yes, I have already been informed of this distressing incident," the Countess nodded. "Well, send me the names, and I''ll arrange for a transfer."


    "Thank you for your help, Your Ladyship! I''ll send you the names later," Taer nodded to Esta and disconnected.


    "You know, I don''t think we can count on Countess Durlurl''s help for the next week. The shadows there know what''s going on! It''s unlikely she''ll be able to deal with Lord Velaske and the Professor before she gets rid of the SS watchdogs."


    "Well, that''s not our only option. You know, I''ve been missing Isalaya for a while now. I think I should go see her as soon as possible."


    * * *

 Chapter 19

    Chapter 19


    * * *


    Great shadows, how things have changed. Vimo Derbal wondered in his mind as he walked leisurely towards the sanctum sanctorum of the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters.


    The long corridor was perfectly clean and perfectly empty. The sound of footsteps echoed off the marble slabs of the floor and bounced off the walls, echoing somewhere in the dark height of the ceiling. The walls of black stone with golden veins were slightly sloped inward, giving a kind of unerring monumentality to the situation. Every ten steps, the wall''s mirrored surface interrupted to form wide darkened niches. Some of them had doors leading into offices, and some of them stood guard like statues. Six years ago, the last time Vimo had been in the office, the corridor was crowded with people, someone eating something, someone discussing something, and the atmosphere was much simpler.


    You were also six years younger, the ladies of the capital were still crazy about officers, and the Old Man was in charge... he grinned absently, glancing absently at his reflection in the mirror-polished wall surface.


    There, a tall, fair-haired man, in his "mature age", was walking with a confident gait. He wore the snow-white uniform of a senior naval officer, and on his sleeve glinted a metallic insignia: three stylized intersecting vectors connected by a circle, indicating his affiliation to the Imperial Intelligence Service. A gold epaulet on his right shoulder and an axel band with a sword suspended from it indicated that he was a full Sain Major in Imperial Intelligence.


    "Do you have an appointment?" Cautiously asked a young blonde with the shoulder straps of a Stack Cadet as Vimo approached her desk at the end of the corridor.


    "I think so." He smiled. "Sain Major Vimo Derbal."


    "§°! You are expected, Mr. Sain Major." The girl stepped out from behind the desk and opened the massive double doors with a touch of the test unit, making an inviting gesture. "Please follow me."


    Artie''s always been exceptionally good at arranging things, thought the sain major thoughtfully as he watched the blonde''s "stern," who was strutting ahead, her pretty heeled feet in clear contradiction to the formal regulations.


    The small corridor, designed in soft golden colors, ended with a single door with a golden sign: ''Head of the Fourth Department, Artul Traveri''. The girl knocked briefly and opened the door in front of him.


    "Sain Major Vimo Derbal, Sir." The pretty guide announced him, stretching out at attention.


    "Thank you, Stack Cadet, you are dismissed." said the Ergo Captain, seated at the massive, wide aryat table. He too was wearing a white ceremonial uniform. His narrow face, with its predatory eagle nose, was earnest, his dark hair slightly touched with a white dusting of gray, and his light brown eyes gazed fixedly at the entrant. But as soon as the door was closed behind her, all seriousness vanished from the master of the office:


    "Vim, you scorched face," the Ergo Captain threw himself into a hug, "it''s a long time since I''ve seen you, a demon..."


    Vimo, ignoring his friend''s rhetorical question, hugged him silently. If you''ve served two years on advanced reconnaissance ships without taking your spacesuit off for months at a time. Because on scouts, there is no bio-defense field. And your only entertainment is to communicate with your partner, who as well as you, is locked in a cramped dark chamber of the cabin for the next couple of months, then you either become best friends for life or will hate each other. The latter happened a lot more often than the former. But he and Artie became best friends, and when the "Old Man" set up a reconnaissance unit from scratch and invited Stack Captain Artul there, he "dragged" his friend Vimo Derbal after him.


    "I see you''ve got yourself settled in." Vim grinned meaningfully, nodding towards the door behind which the pretty stack cadet had disappeared.


    "Oh, don''t remind me..." Artie sighed sadly and pointed to one of the chairs. Can I get you something to drink?


    "Well, I''m sort of on holiday," he shrugged, "so I won''t say no. Why are you sighing? Girl''s a..."


    "I''m scared of her at all." Artie declared, taking out glasses and a bottle of dark yellow glass from the mini-bar. He sat down in the opposite chair and poured the amber liquid over the glasses. "She''s the boss''s niece, so no affairs... And I''m not cut out for a serious relationship."


    "What boss?" Vim wondered, taking a sip from his glass and feeling the thick, slightly tart liquid with a soft honey tone melt into his mouth:


    "It''s Bentar''s Dew..." Vim exhaled in admiration and raised his glass to the light. "Your salary seems to be in line with rumors about it."


    "It''s from an untouchable and carefully saved for an occasion like this." Artie smiled slyly. "And which boss''s niece... Admiral Durav, of course, the Old Man had no nieces."


    Vim shrugged indifferently and took another sip. He frankly didn''t like the new ''Chief'' even though all their communication had been reduced to a dozen comm talks. Admiral Asunho Durav had succeeded  "The Old Man" as head of Imperial Intelligence, who had retired four decades ago due to his advanced age. One hundred and eight years old was certainly not a small age from any angle, but the "Old Man" was as strong as the frontal armor of an attack cruiser and lived up to his job. In any case, Their Imperial Majesty knows best... And the "Old man", when Vim visited him, didn''t seem particularly upset by his retirement. But the one who replaced him... Frankly speaking, everyone thought that the new chief would be Artie, who was the right hand of the "Old Man". But instead, the Emperor put Admiral Durav, from Vim''s point of view a rather dumb soldier, in charge of Intelligence. Especially since he''s from the fleet''s line forces and has the faintest idea about intelligence. And if only the admiral had been quietly enjoying the privileges and "shining" in society, leaving all the real work to the deputies. But no, he wanted to command...


    "And then count the Bentar Dew as an advance for your next assignment." Artie broke the silence.


    "You must want me dead if you have to give me Bentar''s dew before the mission."


    "Have you heard about the Lord Director...?" Instead of answering the question, Artie asked.


    Being in the capital and not hearing about the death of Lord Director of Imperial Security Renis Teito as a result of the shuttle disaster was almost impossible. Absolutely all the holo channels and all the news lines of the com networks were full of it. "Tragic accident that cut short the life of a great man". The shuttle exploded on an ''aggressive'' landing, a power shield failure, and a minor disturbance in the outer shell on a normal glide path and speed would not have led to disaster. But Lord Teito didn''t like to wait - that''s what ruined him. Of course, there were theories of an anti-imperial alliance assassination. But Vim didn''t believe that; he was familiar enough with the way the Lord Director was guarded. No, the rebels don''t have the arms for that sort of thing...


    "You want me to take over this investigation?" Vim almost choked on his wine. He didn''t want to become "guilty beforehand" by taking on a clearly failed case. And the attention to the results would be the most intense.


    "No, you didn''t." Artie shook his head. "I was at the Chief''s today. He''s furious. You wouldn''t believe it. He even yelled at me. Intelligence and Security are not going to look into this. The investigation has been entrusted to the Emperor''s Shadows."


    Wow. Vim was surprised in his mind. Either the Emperor decided to show the highest degree of displeasure with Intelligence and SS. Or he really believes that the death of the head of the Security Service is not accidental. He was about to open his mouth to share the thought with his friend when he noticed that here staring intently into his eyes, making a circular motion with his index finger. That was how they signified that they were being eavesdropped on.


    "That''s how..." he muttered aloud, looking questioningly at his friend. I wonder who has the nerve to eavesdrop on the Head of the Fourth Department in his own office? The new ''Chief'' might well be looking out for an overly talented deputy... Or maybe we should look higher. The Emperor''s doubts engendered by the death of the Lord Director may well have found material embodiment...


    "That''s the way it is..." Still nodded gravely Artie. "By the way are you aware of the Astrese rumors?"


    "No. What about the rumors?" Asked Vim in a very calm voice, remembering that when he had visited the "Old Man", he had also remembered the court adept Astreus, who was still alive at the time. Suddenly he asked if he - Vimo - had ever thought of resigning because: "It''s about time, son." He took it as a joke at the time.


    "I don''t know anything myself." Artie sighed, emphasizing the word "anything." "They say he made some kind of prediction before he died. But in my opinion, that''s nothing more than idle gossip; the death of an adept is always a mystery in the eyes of the court drollers."


    Vim shrugged, letting his friend decide what to say out loud and where to hint, and went for a cigarette - prayer always helped him to concentrate.


    "So what''s this appointment that''s got me kicked out of my cozy military attach¨¦''s job at the Sociara Mission, and now they''re giving me Bentar Dew?" he asked, holding out a second cigarette to Artie.


    "Well, you know I''m not religious, unlike you." He started to object but still took a cigarette. It was their old ritual. He always refused first and then smoked one with him.


    "The flames are ready to receive all." Vim grinned, giving his friend a light. "Yes, and the Lord Director, it is worth remembering, though he was a scum he knew his job well. May the Patroness watch over his soul."


    "Let her keep it..." Artie agreed, inhaling. He let out a puff of smoke and suddenly coughed heavily:


    "I think I''ve had enough of this stuff." He said in a slightly husky voice, handing the lighter back. "How do you keep it up... One word fanatics."


    "It''s all about constant training. So what about the appointment?"


    Artie grimaced like a toothache and took another puff:


    "Eight days ago, we had a group missing in the Tail Sector." He reported in an even huskier voice and took a big sip from his glass."And there''s something murky going on. I don''t know what."


    "Sector Tail..." said Vim. "It''s a delicate matter, and I don''t know much about their cuisine. I''d get embarrassed. Or mix up the Lordship with the Grace, and there''d be a political scandal."


    "Don''t insult your superior." Artie sighed wearily. "I understand all that... And that it''s impossible to work there. I know. I''d rather stick my dick in a beehive with a pearly wasp than work with the local aristocracy. But there''s no one else. They''re all dumb kids. They only know how to push straight ahead, waving their IDs like some SS."


    "There seemed to be a confidante there specifically for this purpose."


    "I''m afraid the confidant has a vested interest in the muddle that''s gone up in Tail''s Sector. That''s why we need someone on the outside. Besides, you''re a Fire Worshiper, so you can visit the shrines as well."


    "Fire worshippers." Vim grimaced. "Don''t say that in a public place, Mr. Ergo-Captain, or there might be a scandal. "Servants of Ryane," or "Secondarist" at the very least. And from the Fire Throne''s point of view, I''m a heretic, so I can''t go there."


    "The main thing is not to tell His Purity "Guardian of the Fire" your original theory, and you can visit the shrines all right. And as for the name, the shadows will sort you out. I was recently persuaded by the protocol department that the correct name to call them is "Ir''Ryanists".


    "Look, Artie, let''s be serious. What kind of field agent am I? I''m not so young anymore. I can''t remember the last time I was in the field. For the last six years, I''ve been working with Sociara''s top brass."


    "Let''s be serious." He nodded. "Did I say anything about a field agent? No. You''re going there officially. And age... ...forty-four is the prime of your life, don''t be so humble."


    "Officially?" raised an eyebrow at Vim. "In what capacity?"


    "As an Imperial Investigator. There was a very successful attempt to poison a lord of the empire. The High Tribunal has already sent a request for an investigation."


    "I thought the Emperor preferred not to get involved in the family conflicts of the Great Houses."


    "And now he decided to intervene." Artie put his hands together with a sarcastic grin. "And then I wouldn''t be surprised if this assassination attempt is connected to that mudslinging going on in the Sector. There''s something going on out there. I need someone to listen to what the stars are whispering about. Do you understand me? Someone reliable and experienced. It has to be you." He said, underlining "you" in his voice.


    Vim silently folded his arms and thought about what Artie wanted to tell him:


    Me, exactly? And what''s the significance of an old friend, Sain Major Vimo Derbal? Because he''s a friend. Vim answered himself but immediately dismissed the option. The head of the Fourth Department must have an ass instead of a head if he has no other confidants. Friendly connections were out of the question. He had spent the last six years outside the Empire in the capital of the Sociara Union, playing the game of ''I know you know I know...''. It certainly gave him a certain amount of experience. And that experience told him that in aristocratic society almost everything was defined by title and connections. And he had neither. Titles went mostly to brave naval captains and pilots, with a little extra for the army. And almost never for Intelligence or SS, that was the unspoken order. And connections... He had no connections, even though the Court was teeming with aristocrats from Tail''s Sector.


    It''s hard to make connections when you''re nearly two decades from the capital... Vim thought jovially and froze. That''s it! I have no connections there, but no one in Tail''s Sector has any connections with me either, and he can be sure of that. He doesn''t know that about anyone else.


    "All right," he said aloud, "but what am I going to do there, without people, without resources..."


    "You will have the widest possible powers. All local groups will be temporarily subordinated to you." With a broad smile, Artie assured him, "If anything, involve the confidant''s men, but with some caution."


    "What''s the deal with this lord anyway..." Vim began but was interrupted by Artie:


    "Here is all the information you need," he declared, holding out the two info sticks. "And as for the lord, of course, the criminals who have plotted against the illustrious prince and lord of the empire are highly desirable to be found. If you do, it won''t stick with me - you know me. And if not, then no..."


    "When do I leave?" queried Vim unhappily.


    "The sooner - the better." Artie shook his hands regretfully, "A courier is waiting for you in orbit. So as soon as you get the investigator''s paperwork and all that bureaucracy, you''ll be on your way. The deadline is tomorrow."


    "Oh, damn. And I thought I''d have time to get out with you on the hunt..."


    "You know," Artie sighed, a pained look in his eyes. "I think it''s for the best that you''re leaving now. When you get back, you and I are going to have a blast..."


    They chatted about the past for about an hour, and then Vimo started to leave. He decided to leave today. He had nothing special to do in the capital, only minor bureaucratic matters, and to pick up the still unpacked suitcases from the service flat. So six hours later, he was aboard an imperial intelligence courier ship. Putting his Infoblock on the narrow table in the corner of his quarters, Vim began to change his clothes. He replaced the ceremonial uniform with a large slanted sociarian dressing gown, sat down at the table, and inserted the first rod. The infobox beeped grudgingly and asked for a personal code and confirmation of identity. Five minutes later, when the security measures had finally been overcome, it became clear that the information on both rods was the same. This was obvious stupidity:


    Artie couldn''t have slipped me two identical sticks, thought Vim, frustrated, checking the data once more they were exactly the same. He pulled out both rods - they looked identical. Acting on a hunch, he tried to unscrew one first and then the other. The second stick gave way - the head clicked, opening the hiding place - three white pills and a note rolled up into a tube fell out on the table.


    Hope this helps you mate.


    Vim picked up one of the tablets and held it up to the lamp - the white surface under the light was clearly pearlescent - "Rainbow".


    I wonder how many regulations, acts, and laws Artie has broken, he thought unhappily as he looked at the iridescent iridescence on the surface of the pill. The Rainbow allowed the most ordinary person to become almost an adept for a while - he developed the strongest empathy, intuition increased manifold, a "sense of danger" appeared, and what happened to the full-fledged adepts who took the Rainbow... That''s why the usage of the Rainbow was strictly regulated - it was nothing to say. Each usage required permission from the First Inquisitor or an edict from the Emperor. Vim took Rainbow just once, during a training course on the use of "medications of the third class and above". The dose was about a quarter of a tablet, but he had had enough of it...


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Why did he give them to me? And in violation of official procedure. Artie must have known how I felt about that stuff. I wouldn''t eat rainbow voluntarily unless I was desperate. Vim''s first impulse was to throw the pills in the incinerator. In front of him on the table was not only the sure end of his career but three higher sentences all at once. But thinking about it, with a heavy sigh, he shoved the pills back into the stash. And for what shadows I have been ripped from Sociara? Mentally he groaned, opening his record collection folder and hiding the stick, among hundreds of others. I liked it so much there, snooping quietly. The Sociars pretended they didn''t know what the First Attache was up to, I pretended I didn''t know what they knew. I went to my appointments and in my spare time, I collected materials on the Church of the Flame... Easy.


    He looked regretfully at the bundle of sticks with unstructured information on the ancient period of the "Ryan Service " and sighed heavily, tossing them back into the folder. He had a mountain of analyses and reports from groups in the Tail Sector to read.


    After four days of sitting in his quarters and vigil in front of the terminal, the courier ship arrived at Tallana, home to the main base of the army, the navy, and, in addition, the sector office of imperial intelligence. They were already waiting for him, a stack captain in a white senior naval officer''s uniform, and two attendants in navy blue, stretched at attention across the gangway. Judging by the somewhat nervous faces of those greeting him, there was a wave of "pep" coming from the head of the Fourth Department, or maybe someone higher.


    "Welcome to Fortress Forizet, Mr. Plenipotentiary Investigator." The stack captain began as Vim stepped off the ramp onto the springy, mirror-finished silkscreened flooring of the station''s enormous ramp field. "Let me introduce myself. I''m Stack Captain Greg Tundali, head of local Imperial Intelligence," he said, holding out his hand. He was in his early thirties and already head of a sector office - a fine career for such an age. His dark hair and brown eyes gave off an aristocratic breed, and his skin was as pale as anyone who lived on the stations. The stout and trim stack captain didn''t look like a "staff bug". He must have transferred from the navy.


    After exchanging greetings with Captain Tundali, Vim politely declined the offer to go to his assigned rest quarters:


    "Actually, I would prefer to get straight to the point."


    "Oh, well, I guess we''d better head for the office." Proposed Tundali, pointing towards the exit of the access field.


    The station area allocated for Intelligence purposes was not too far from the outer perimeter, so ten minutes later, Vim was sitting in the stack captain''s office, tastefully furnished by the way, and sipping the taymar brought by a rarely pretty assistant. Looks like in the six years I''ve been on Sociara, there''s a fashion in intelligence for pretty female stack cadets. Unfortunately, minus the setting and the assistant, there was nothing else Captain Tundali could please him with:


    "Is it really that bad?" With a slight skepticism in his voice, Sain Major Vimo asked his interlocutor. When it turned out that the whole "unofficial" part of the management, i.e. field groups, agents, and informants, was run by a Confidante:


    "Admittedly, I thought the Tallana department had its own, independent of the confidant, agents among the Great Houses. The lack of direct channels could adversely affect the quality of information." He added.


    "Here on Tallana, and on the Free Worlds, we have our own informants." Dullly sighed the stack captain. In the realms of the Great Houses, we have men where it is critical, in the Shipyards and in the Fleet. For the rest, we have to rely on the Confidante.


    "Is someone in the leadership of the Guard cooperating with us?" Vim raised an eyebrow. As far as he knew, the higher ranks were from the aristocracy, and they were all connected in one way or another and might know something.


    "Oh, no, sadly not." sighed Tundali. "It''s mostly junior technicians and dock workers. The guardsmen are hard to work with, House pays them an awful lot, and our funds are very limited. No way to pressure them either. They hide behind immunity. With aristocrats, it is even more difficult. They are quite a closed society - just establishing acquaintance is already a big problem." He shook his hands. "That is why we have to rely on the help of a confidant in many things that concern the higher circles."


    "So you have nothing to add to what I''ve already read in the reports?"


    "Quite the contrary." protested the Stack Captain. "There was a second attempt on Lord Cassard''s life eight hours ago." He pulled two info sticks out of his desk drawer and handed them to Vim. "Here is the report of the initial investigation and a note from our analysts on the current situation."


    "Well, thank you. Were your people in charge of the investigation?"


    "No, sir. This is a copy of what the SS sent us. Also, the House people are investigating, we have certain arrangements with them, and they keep us informed."


    Vim''s eyebrows crept up: "So no one from intelligence is doing it?"


    "Confidant is keeping a close eye on the case." Seeing the disgruntled grimace on the face of the `authorized investigator'', Captain Tundali hastily added:


    "I only have a hundred and forty people, sir." He again sadly shook his hands, "Thirty of them are analysts, and another twenty are technicians. And there are eight Great Houses in the Sector, not to mention the Free Worlds. We just can''t keep up everywhere."


    Vim frowned thoughtfully and twirled the sticks in his hands; he didn''t like the situation at all:


    "OK, can you outline the situation in your own words? Briefly."


    "In a nutshell. It''s a shit situation." Tundali admitted. "The latest attempt on Lord Cassard''s life, not at all like a family squabble within the House, he was fired upon by an HGM. This kind of cavalierness is possible when no one thinks of the consequences. Our informants and hyperspace intelligence ships report active movement by Great Houses Fyron and Kilret fleets, and ships are moving into the border zone near Istar. Analysts believe there may be an armed conflict, and the killing of Lord Cassard is a distraction."


    "And what does the Confidant think about this?"


    Confidant agrees with the analysts in the sense that we are dealing with a conflict between Houses. But he believes the conflict will not be military but more political between Melato and Bentar, and Lord Cassard''s murder is a means of keeping House Fyron busy with an internal squabble and knocking the ground out from under the feet of the pro-Fyron party in Bentar''s Privy Council.


    "Well, at least it makes more sense than House Kilert attacking Fyron," chuckled Vim, "as I recall the Fyron fleet being twice as large."


    "The Analytical Department believes that Fyron, not Kilret, is the firestarter of the aggression."


    "What''s the point for them?"


    Tundali shrugged slightly absent-mindedly: "A preemptive strike. There''s too much friction between them. Kilreatz is sitting on the only access to Tallana and is strangling the Fyron trade with duties. Right now, the Kilreatz fleet consists of eight battlecruisers though, they call them ''antipiracy frigates,''" Tundali added with a grin, "and is supported by a hundred fighters and two light aircraft carriers that aren''t exactly LPCs. Lady Baala is well aware that Fyron''s fleet is much stronger, so they''re building ten more strike cruisers and two more light aircraft carriers at the Tallana shipyard on behalf of Kilreatz. They will be ready in a year. Eighteen strike cruisers and four aircraft carriers are a serious force, plus four strike cruisers from their ally House Peltar. In addition, the Peltars are actively trying to repair their flagship, and if they succeed, they will also have a Heavy Cruiser. In principle, this will be enough power for Fyron to give up the idea of going directly to ''deep space''. Given the rumors of negotiations between House Kilretz and the Melatians, the balance of power may be tangibly shifting and not in Fyron''s favor."


    "That''s why they decide to attack now." There was a distinct hesitation in Vim''s voice. "Despite the fact that an attack would incur the Emperor''s wrath. And at the same time, trying to kill one of their lords, knowing that this could cause incredible internal feuding, perhaps even a war between the clans."


    "Well, they may not act so overtly. Analysts think they will provoke the Kilretz in some way. Perhaps, the attacks on Lord Cassard have something to do with it. Also, they don''t have to invade and start a full-scale war. Perhaps, it will come down to a quick border conflict in which most of House Kilretz''s fleet will be destroyed. As for Lord Cassard - he''s not dead after all, so maybe they didn''t want to kill him.


    "So he didn''t die?" Vim wondered. "After being hit by an HGM?"


    "He''s as lucky as an ascended." smiled the stack captain. "He doesn''t have a scratch on him. Perhaps the assassination attempt was nothing more than an act. At least that''s what our analysis department thinks, and that''s what the report says."


    "I''ll be sure to familiarize myself with it." Nodded Vim, sinking into unhappy thoughts. This assignment had smelled bad from the start, but now it was beginning to stink. Luckily, he was formally sent here to investigate an assassination attempt, and the potential war was not on his conscience.


    "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Sain Major?" Tundali asked cautiously


    Yes. Do you know if the Navy has any plans for what''s going on? If I were the Navy, I''d be unobtrusively conducting exercises as close to Istar as possible by now.


    "As far as I know, none. Almost the entire Sector fleet, at the request of the Senate, has now gone to Alira to fight the pirates. And even if Admiral Felcherev is ordered to return right now, his ships won''t be at Istar for another ten days. Tallana has five KSCs left, but three of them are undergoing maintenance, and the ships are not fully operational."


    "What a lucky coincidence." smiled sarcastically Vim, who had long been able to see that most lucky coincidences are carefully orchestrated.


    "It''s too lucky." Tundali agreed.


    "Well, we''ll work with what we''ve got." Vim slapped his knee and stood up. "I''d like to see a list of your most intelligent operatives and arrange for me to meet with a confidant."


    "All right, Mr. Sain Major, the list will be ready in about ten minutes. But arranging a meeting with the confidant is somewhat difficult given the signal delay, we won''t be able to contact him for at least three hours."


    "Well," sighed Vim, "then I''ll go back to my room and read the data you gave me," he waved the info sticks he had received, shoved them into the folder, and headed for the exit. Captain Tundali hurried after him:


    "Not to be indelicate, Mr. Sain Major, but how long do you plan to stay on Tallana?"


    "That depends on how quickly you can get me a meeting with an intruder." Vim shrugged. "After what I''ve learned, I don''t see much point in sticking around."


    A shadow of relief slid across the Stack Captain''s face.


    "We will make every effort to ensure this meeting can take place as early as possible. And I would be very grateful if you would agree to our guards if you decide to visit the planet or the commercial stations."


    Vim raised his eyebrows in surprise, not that he planned to visit the planet, but..:


    "I thought Tallana was quite loyal."


    "As a matter of fact, it is, sir. But there''s a thing..." Tundali wrinkled his nose as if he''d eaten something sour. "There''s been a recording of a group of men dressed in imperial uniforms raping three female students at the University of Tallana. Experts believe the footage is most likely authentic. Testimony from the students also confirms it."


    "Rape?" He did not hide his astonishment and asked Vim. He had served in the navy for six years but had never heard of rape. Theft, drunken brawls and assaults, and drugs were common offenses among the crews, but not rape. The majority preferred to ''grind iron'' by using droids, and although ship psychologists saw this as a potential problem, most sane captains did not discourage the practice.


    "In addition to the Sector''s main naval base, we also have the army''s main base here. More than a million young men - such excesses are inevitable even from a statistical point of view."


    "What''s the army''s shortage of appropriate droids? Also, as I recall, there are usually certain kinds of establishments associated with the bases, with which the command usually establishes certain arrangements."


    "Such activities are forbidden on Tallana. And ''appropriate'' droids have been banned under the new army regulations."


    "Why?" Have they all gone insane over there?


    "Ergo Captain Astalia Thalerd thinks they have a corrosive effect on discipline."


    Vim shook his head sympathetically; he was suspicious of the abundance of women in the army leadership, and such idiocy in the regulations, he thought, only confirmed his doubts:


    "Then one is surprised that only three people were raped."


    "Actually, it''s happened before," Tundali confessed. "It''s just that we usually manage to find the culprits quickly, and keep the story from escalating."


    "What about now? Have the culprits been found?"


    "Unfortunately, no sir," Tundali sighed. "The bastards were smart enough to use condoms, and the footage doesn''t show faces. That''s why we couldn''t find them quickly, and that''s why rumors started flying that we were harboring criminals."


    "Yeah, it''s a nasty story," agreed Vim.


    "Even nastier, sir. After the footage went viral, a large group of drunken students attacked four paratroopers on leave, probably for revenge. One of the soldiers had a gun on him. He shot four of them and wounded three others."


    "Since when is it allowed to go on leave with a gun?"


    "It wasn''t a regular weapon." The stack captain shook his head negatively. "He owned the blaster on general civil rights and took it with him on leave."


    "Oh, I hadn''t thought of that possibility. Has he been punished yet?"


    "No sir, the tribunal found no crime. The students attacked first. He acted in self-defense. The local Holo-V people made a big story out of it. We tried to intervene, but you know this damn Sector has such privileges..."


    Yes, privileges  Vim agreed mentally - including the absence of an imperial censor board on the holo. And financial tools didn''t work on a journalist drunk on potential fame.


    "We failed to impose a censor''s ban. .." The stack captain went on with the frankness of a man who has finally found someone ready to listen to his sorrows. "We tried to negotiate differently, using other means. You see..." He looked at Vim to make sure he understood what he meant and continue after the nod. "Well, students have always been the most unreliable public, and after the report of the results of the trial, they just exploded. A crowd of about a hundred thousand marched to the imperial office, demanding that the criminals are handed over and the garrisons and bases are removed from Tallana. For a while, they were just making noise, but then they began shouting political demands and insulting the Emperor. Someone in the crowd fired a blaster at the guard of honor at the imperial standard, and the crowd tried to tear it down."


    And the guards, according to the imperial order ''On defending the honor of the flag'', opened fire with live fire on the crowd. Vim added mentally, mechanically taking a cigarette out of his pocket. What was happening was a carefully orchestrated provocation, where a mob of teenagers had done exactly what they were supposed to do. Guards had no choice, caught between the rampaging and armed student soldiers and the direct command of the Imperial order to use their weapons if the flag was endangered. The fact that the guards were not accused of anything only served to inflame resentment even more


    He took out his lighter and lit it thoughtfully. The stream of thought instantly curled into a thin grey bundle and disappeared into the hood: Oh, I guess someone decided to please Ryan with a decent shot, damn.


    "By the time the police bots arrived with their heavy stun guns, there had been sixty-five casualties among the guards and about a thousand casualties among the demonstrators. So it''s not safe to be alone on the planet or the commercial stations," Tundali finished his story with an odd squint at his cigarette.


    For some time now, the SS has deemed "servants of Ryan to be politically unreliable".


    Vim grinned and somewhat defiantly took another puff. Looks like the new generation of intelligence officers have the same shit in their heads as the SS.


    "Well, thanks for the warning, Captain." He said aloud. "Anyway, I still need at least four operatives, so find someone who''s a little more subtle but in a way that won''t cause too much damage to your investigation. And get me someone who can get me into the local communications center" I need to speak to Artie right away.


    The pretty assistant of the stack captain escorted him to the communicators'' fiefdom, where the glint of the Sain Major''s epaulets and the phrase ''plenipotentiary investigator'' quickly made his way to the instant communication units. But it was unfortunately not possible to speak to Artie, his secretary, flapping her long eyelashes, reported that: "Mr. Ergo-Captain has been summoned to the palace, and it is not known when he will return." So Vim confined himself to a quick report to the head of the Fourth Department, expecting Artie to contact him after watching the video.


    He spent the next two hours studying the material given to him by Stack Captain Tundali until he was interrupted by the appearance of the captain in the flesh. It turned out that a meeting with the confidant could be arranged in as little as eight hours, but he needed to leave right away for that. So after an hour, Vim showed the droid where to put his suitcases, in the cabin of a small transport, with the emblem of some holo channel on board. A more conspicuous and therefore less suitable courier had to leave later, together with Vim''s selected operatives.


    Confident met him aboard a luxury yacht that was waiting for them near the Copeira jumping area.


    "It''s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sain Major." She held out her hand to him, temporarily throwing Vim into a stupor as he frantically remembered whether it was customary to kiss or shake in the Tail Sector. "I am Lady Lakita Asta, a Confidante of Imperial Intelligence in Sector Tail." The confidante had a velvety enveloping voice, huge blue eyes, a wide smile with charming dimples, and the appearance of a girl of about twenty-five. A long snow-white dress and an equally snow-white mantle of long furs accentuated the jet-black color of her hair, which fell in a brilliant waterfall over her shoulders.


    "Likewise, lady," replied Vim, kissing her hand. Judging by the smile, it was the right thing to do.


    "I take it you are here to investigate the attempted assassination of Lord Cassard?" She asked, gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs and calling for a servant with refreshments.


    "That''s right." He replied as he waited for the servant to leave them alone. "And I''m counting on your help."


    "All my powers are at your service." She smiled brightly. "What kind of help do you need?"


    "For starters, information - what exactly do you know?"


    "I have set out almost everything I know in my note on the subject. I think you''ve already read it. There''s not much to add." She raised her eyes thoughtfully to the ceiling and leaned back in her chair, the slit in her dress sliding to the side, revealing a view of her mind-boggling legs.


    Vim, who always had a weakness for blue-eyed brunettes, averted his eyes from her legs, constantly reminding himself that he was here to do business and Lady Lakita was not only five years older than him but married to the Deputy Chief of Naval Staff, Admiral Kerith Dunnir-Asta.


    "Perhaps the fact that he''s been spending more time with his third cousin Baroness Kayrin Rionale lately, though they didn''t get along before." Lady Asta continued, breaking her thoughtful silence. "There are rumors that they are having an affair, but I know for a fact that Lord Cassard continues to maintain a relationship with his old mistress and is not hiding that relationship from Kayrin. I think this is no more than a visible part of the alliance with the Rionale Family - but that is only a guess. It is also said that Lord Cassard is becoming increasingly reliant, and one might even say dependent, on his security specialist Taer Diltar. In my opinion, it is true and even natural." She smiled brightly again. "After all, he has lost his memory and is completely helpless."


    "Who do you think is behind the assassination attempts?"


    "I wrote about it in a note." Lakita sighed, taking a sip from her soap-bubble-thin glass. "I believe House Melato is behind this; they have much to lose by the alliance between Fyron and Bentar. They have the support of pro-Melato circles within House Bentar, as well as those who want to be able to elect the next ruling lord, hence the Bentar trail in the second assassination attempt. These forces have clearly found common ground. I think it will end with the physical removal of the current ruling lady and the election of a new pro-Melat ruling lord. Fyron can stop that from happening. So by killing Lord Cassard, they will have shot two finches at once - Fyron will be busy with internal wrangling, and the pro-Fyron party will lose their main trump card - the alliance through marriage to Cassard."


    "Do you know the specific people behind it, too?" Vim asked cautiously.


    Lady Lakita made a disgruntled grimace: "Unfortunately, only on the Bentar side, and they are clearly the doers, not the authors of the idea."


    "Is there nothing else you can do for me? I was sure that such a trusted confidant, who is also an intelligent and perceptive but no less beautiful woman, clearly knew something that the Imperial Intelligence Service did not know."


    Lakita met his awkward attempt with a cold look in her piercing blue eyes. She stared at him for a while, probably trying to understand how serious he was, and then laughed out loud:


    "Major, you''re an obnoxious flatterer. You can''t do that. I can help you with something, though." She reached out a hand toward the small transparent table between the chairs, and under her palm flashed icons of the hidden info-block or cluster, and a huge screen wove itself into the center of the room. "Well, I thought of saving it for myself. But since I''m such a trusted confidant." She laughed again. "I''ll give it to you."


    On the screen, a pretty but tall and broad-shouldered girl dressed in a white uniform similar to his own but with scarlet stitching on the right sleeve was taking a briefcase of money. Judging by the hands of the man, his face was not visible because the camera was somewhere on his chest, probably in a button. The briefcase contained bundles of money but not in creds but in denarii. Vim was ready to swear there were at least a couple of million danarii in there. The girl''s face was vaguely familiar:


    "Is this by any chance Lord Cassard''s security specialist?"


    "Exactly." Nodded Lakita. "In fact, she''s being bribed here, to the tune of five million danarii for the purchase of a planetary-class shield generator."


    "Five million," Vim said involuntarily - the sum was fantastic.


    "Yes." Lady Lakita nodded with a smile of understanding, "It seems Lord Cassard''s well-known breadth of the heart extends to his Arm as well."


    "And where did you get this record from?"


    "One manager was caught cheating on military orders for the Empire. And I managed to convince him that cooperation was better than penal servitude."


    "Perhaps that''s exactly what I needed for a productive visit to Lord Cassard." Vim stretched thoughtfully without taking his eyes off the screen.


    * * *

 Chapter 20

    Chapter 20


    * * *


    The flyer ahead flashed sunlight on the silver plating and swerved sharply to the side, flashing a scarlet griffin on the hollow side. Alex craned his neck, glancing over the pilot''s shoulder to see what was going on ahead, but at that moment, the engines of their vehicle shrieked and squealed, straps slamming into his shoulders, a sudden jerk which almost resulted in a tongue bite. The flyer tilted, went up, and to the right. In the long narrow window above the head of Taer sitting opposite, the white rectangle of the roof of the horned cargo platform flashed, which seemed to be the reason for the abrupt maneuver.


    "I can only imagine how much the Retainer Service will write off after this trip..." she commented, sending back the loose strand.


    Alex was about to say what he thought Retainer service was for, but the flyer shook sharply again, and he prudently covered his mouth for fear of losing his tongue.


    In the side windows the silhouettes of blurred vehicles whizzed by, some of them able to react to a trio of flyers suddenly appearing in front of them - and the track was rattled by a thunderous howl of sirens. The pilots, when told that "the only thing you have to worry about is the maximum defense of the lord", go crazy. They ended up flying most of the way in some narrow tunnels, among houses, and on-ground equipment tracks, where it appeared flyers were forbidden to fly. At least there were no other flyers in sight - the other machines flew in a dignified manner about half a meter from the grey-steel surface of the track.


    Alex glanced at Itori Lieutenant Vodin, who was driving their flyer. He sat unmoving and unblinking, his eyes wide, staring through the windshield, where the scarlet line of the route was winding, and an absent-minded smile wandered across his lips.


    I bet it had nothing to do with safety - these maniacs just wanted to drive around town their whole lives, shitting on the rules, Alex thought grudgingly after another jerk caused the fliers to dive into some side tunnel.


    Judging by the fact that just a few moments later, a train whizzed underneath at breakneck speed, it was the local underground tunnel.


    "Are we sure we won''t have too much trouble after this trip?" Alex asked, taking advantage of the fact that the flyers were going through the tunnel without making any sudden maneuvers, so he could speak without fear of biting his tongue.


    "No," Taer shook her head. "Diplomatic immunity!" she shouted, trying to break through the howls of the engines that filled the cabin. "As with all high nobles, Copeira is considered neutral territory. The only thing that matters is that there are no casualties."


    At this rate, I wonder if there won''t be any casualties.


    "What happens if we hit someone?"


    Taer thought for a moment, raising her eyes to the ceiling:


    "A lot of unnecessary noise and unnecessary fuss, but nothing serious," she finally answered. "There might be trouble if we hit a nobleman, but that''s unlikely."


    How delightful! Alex marveled. The such directness of impunity!


    "And what prevents the nobles from racing like this all the time?" he asked aloud.


    Taer, who must have had enough of shouting, quickly unbuckled her harness and, in one sliding step, crossed the cabin and sat down next to Alex:


    "Clan usually gets in the way," she replied, buckling up. "There''s always a lot of noise from races like this, and a young jackass can be pressured by older relatives. For example, by cutting back on the allowance."


    "Is it work?"


    "I don''t know. There are a lot of young people who like to drive, but mostly at night and in deserted areas, so it usually doesn''t cause too much trouble for anyone," she added, seeing the disapproving expression on Alex''s face. "By the way, you, my lord, used to be a big fan of this kind of entertainment."


    "Me?" Alex raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I didn''t seem to drive the Flyer myself before the poisoning."


    "You used to be a passenger with your close friend Marquise Turang, and she is a big racing fan."


    "Good then! Don''t worry, I''m sour from lack of sleep," he saw fit to explain. "And I don''t really care how anyone has fun."


    Taer shrugged and remained silent with a "yeah, and I just said that" look.


    On another sharp manoeuvre, the flyer shook. And again. The sky flashed through the narrow window, and the vehicle turned and went upwards, making a steep arc. He felt the weight, like lead, weighing down on his chest and pulling his cheeks up toward his ears. Alex thought he was going dark in his eyes when suddenly it stopped abruptly.


    "Can someone explain to me why we''re so bent out of shape?" he was relieved that he was no longer squeezed in his chair and could change the uncomfortable subject. "Are there supposed to be compensators, or did they forget to turn them on?"


    "This model was originally designed to transport miners and geologists," replied Taer. "They''re not the pickiest of people, and they don''t do a lot of maneuvering, either. Good compensators are very expensive, so there''s a simpler model here - it only works well for one vector, and there''s no, or delayed, compensation for the others.


    "That''s great! I''ll have to give the pilots a hint later that I''m excited about them, but I really don''t like it when lunch gets to my throat. Is there any way to change the compensator to a more advanced one?"


    "It''s easier to order a bespoke flyer," the "specialist" sniggered. "The Fyson, for example. But that would take three or four decades, minimum, and we needed the cars right away."


    "Got it."


    He turned again to the window, where the turquoise waves and the white sandy coastline were glimpsed - they had clearly left the city limits, and, therefore, Marquise Turang''s estate was not very far away.


    Alex tried to concentrate on his upcoming conversation with Isalaya. The conversation promised to be anything but easy...


    So what was it you said about assassins? I could use a couple here.


    Even though the motives of the lovely Marquise were clearer to him than, for example, those of Kay... - with women, one could never be entirely sure. He had to decide what to say to his "mistress" and what not to say. And - how to say it. But, as luck would have it, my thoughts were barely moving, my head was throbbing, and my face was slowly starting to burn.


    Shit! How long have I been awake?


    The last time he slept on the station before Voigrom, they went down to hunt in the afternoon, but it was still morning on the planet. Then there was an assassination attempt and an orbital evacuation, followed by a nine-hour jump to Copeira. As it turned out after landing, it was morning again on Copeira. Now the sun, which left a long golden trail on the surface of the water, was clearly approaching sunset.


    I wonder what time it is? Six o''clock?


    Alex glanced around the Spartan interior, trying to find anything resembling a clock, but to no avail.


    I should get myself a watch or whatever they use here. One can go crazy with these different daily cycles!


    He fumbled in his pocket for a jar of Fenote and looked at the light - there was less than half left. The flyer was moving smoothly, so Alex dropped the blue sparkly capsules onto his palm without fear. The capsules were soft and smooth as if made of transparent rubber, and there seemed to be liquid inside. Counting out seven pieces, he popped them into his mouth and chewed them with a thoughtful expression. The pensive expression was instantly replaced by a twisted grimace. His mouth felt like it was bursting with a frozen, wormwood-flavored concoction.


    God! It''s so disgusting!


    "Nasty?" Taer watched Alex''s actions with curiosity.


    "It''s bearable," he replied when the cramp in his cheekbones had finally subsided. "It makes my whole body brighten up, though."


    Alex handed the jar to the "specialist", who, judging by her red eyes and staring into the void, could also use a more adequate state of mind.


    With this lifestyle, we''re both going to be hooked on this thing soon.


    Taer, with a silent shrug, took a few capsules and chewed them with the same thoughtful look... with predictable results:


    "Great shadows, what an abomination!" she shivered. "Are you sure you have to chew it?"


    "No," Alex hummed. "You have to swallow them whole. I was just curious what would happen."


    From the look on the "specialist''s" face, though she was silent, she clearly thought something obscene about her lord.


    "We should get some regular stimulants instead of eating this crap. Maybe it''s not good for people who don''t have amnesia at all," she finally said.


    "Come on, it''s perfectly sa..." Alex started to object but was interrupted by the intercom.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Two minutes to Marquess Turang''s estate, my lord," Vodin''s quiet voice, thanks to the amplifiers, successfully overrode both the howling engines and the loud conversation. "You asked for a warning. We can give you a couple of tours around the manor if you''d like."


    Alex glanced at Taer. After the Fenote, the "specialist" was clearly back to normal, and he felt much better himself:


    "Thank you, Rokot, I think we''re ready, so you''re good to go," Alex almost shouted into the intercom.


    The vehicles turned sharply and raced over the narrow canal that connected the coast with the estate without slowing down. The treetops flashed through the side window.


    The main thing is that some three-hundred-year-old tree doesn''t get torn down again.


    A few minutes later, the flyers came to a sudden halt, hovering a palm high off the ground. The side door swung open, flooding the darkened interior with light, and Taer quickly ran a hand through her hair, making sure it wasn''t disheveled, undid her restraints, and stepped out first, turning into a blurry white silhouette for a moment - spurred on by the general paranoia of the pilots who had not jammed the landing fields. After giving the ''specialist'' a few seconds to look around, Alex came out next.


    The small white pearl-like balls that lined the front porch rustled underfoot. A wave of air, lifted by the flyers, swept the cars to a halt, bringing with it gusts of warm wind, leaves plucked from the trees, and the smell of the sea.


    After passing through the haze of the protective field, Alex got a chance to look around. The manor appeared to be a two-story house. It was small and probably tiny by local standards.


    The ground floor, made of massive and deliberately uneven blocks of reddish stone, flowed seamlessly into the second, made of dark red timber. In places, there were no walls, giving way to huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The wide double doors of the front door were wide open, and in front of them on a wide, almost flat porch lined with huge white slabs, Isalaya and eight guards of honor from her "hand" were already waiting for them.


    Isalaya was wearing a white and silver sparkling flowing gown with a high waist and a train. The short sleeves widened sharply at the elbows, turning into two long silvery ribbons that fell to the floor. A wide semi-circular neckline revealed a neck adorned with a chain with massive navy blue jewels, which ended in a bright red sparkling spindle-shaped stone resting on the chest.


    "Alex!" Marquise exclaimed anxiously and hurried towards her, the ribbons of her sleeves fluttering in a silvery inversion trail behind her.


    Once beside him, Isalaya hugged him impetuously, kissing him on the cheeks at the same time:


    "I''ve already heard about the assassination attempt. That''s terrible! Thank the Protectress, you''re all right!"


    "I''m glad as well," he smiled wryly, looking intently into Isalaya''s face.


    Her eyes widened and moved in quick jerks as if they were probing Alex''s face, her lips twitched slightly and her cheeks flushed slightly. She literally radiated a sincere concern and concern that didn''t sit well with her "predatory" features. It gave a rather strange impression.


    Kind of like a distraught hawk. And yet her problems with accessing the accounts would disappear with my death.


    But it was hard to believe it was just a "play" - she looked so natural and excited.


    And insanely beautiful.


    And if there''s one thing Alex has learned from experience, you have to keep an eye on beautiful women.


    Isalaya finally opened her arms and sighed in relief: "I''m sorry," she smiled embarrassedly. "I got so excited. I don''t know why. Let''s go inside now."


    It was very spacious and bright inside - a simple wooden staircase without a banister led up to the first floor, where they ascended, leaving Taer on the ground floor in the company of the guards from Isalaya''s Arm.


    Alex sent his ''specialist'' a look of apology goodbye, she was to be left alone with eight men who might not be treating her well after she''d smashed one of their knees. But taking her along wasn''t the best idea either - hiring assassins was to be discussed and how Taer would react to the idea - he didn''t know.


    On the other hand, the guardsmen don''t look aggressive, more like curious, Alex mentally excused himself as he followed Isalaya up the stairs. And Taer has the perfect opportunity to paint a picture of personal heroism during the attack.


    "Well, where shall we go?" Marquise asked slyly. "Left or right?"


    A wide, slightly rounded, wood-paneled wall ran down the middle, dividing the room into two parts - the right side appeared to be the bedroom (at least there was a huge bed covered with snow-white fluffy skins, patterned rugs on the floor, and a mysterious half-light filled the room), while the left side was filled with the light that came from the two absent walls. Right in the center was a large horseshoe-shaped sofa with a small table in the middle. A huge chandelier, similar to a column of thin triangular crystals, hung from the ceiling almost to the table. The light breeze made the crystals shake slightly, filling the room with a melodious chime.


    "I think it''s better to the left," Alex waved towards the sofa.


    "So you''re here on business," Isalaya sighed sadly, gesturing for him to take a seat.


    She snapped her fingers and summoned a small holo-terminal that appeared in front of her, at chest level, in a cloud of golden sparks. She pressed a few keys and, with a wave of her hand, made it shatter into a cloud of weightless dust:


    "What do you think of my place?" she asked as she sat down across from me.


    "Very cozy," Alex admitted sincerely, receiving a grateful smile from Marquise in return. It was the first local space he''d ever visited that wasn''t overwhelmingly cyclopean. "And the view is great," he nodded toward the small lagoon on the "inside" side of the manor.


    Soon footsteps were heard from the staircase, and two pretty girls in brown shirts and pale knee-length skirts with turquoise aprons, accompanied by a small floating platform laden with various bottles and vases of fruit and snacks, came up to the first floor.


    "You know," Isalaya said, eyeing the maids, who remained completely silent as they set the table. "I''ve been thinking a lot about your memory loss, and I don''t think it''s such a bad thing. You can see so many beautiful places all over again and so many interesting things to do for the first time. And it''s a good reason to know if it was friendship or habit - we can literally get to know each other all over again," she looked intently into his eyes. "If that''s what you want."


    "How could I mind?" Alex smiled as naturally as possible.


    "Do you already know who is behind the attempt on your life?" Isalaya asked after the maids had left, leaving the switched-on suppressor on the table.


    Alex took out his mini suppressor and placed it on the table. Marquise raised an eyebrow in surprise but said nothing.


    "Let''s just say," Alex scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I have several assumptions, and they seem close to reality to me."


    "Will you tell me about it?"


    "I don''t think it will do any good," he shook his head. "So far, it''s nothing more than my thoughts for internal use - it takes a long time to explain, and it''s not much use. In short, I think there''s another House behind this, something that seems to be connected to a possible marriage to Valerie Bellar."


    Isalaya stretched out on the sofa and gave him a skeptical smile as if to say, ''if you don''t want then don''t talk''.


    "All right," she grinned after a moment''s hesitation. "What can I do to help?"


    "Remember you told me about the so-called ''hired professionals'' who should preferably be called off."


    "I remember," Isalaya nodded. "Maybe I imagined it, but I think you made it clear that you didn''t care."


    "In light of what happened, I realized I was wrong," Alex reported with a sad smile. "Could you tell me more about that, who hired them, and how they should be called off."


    ...Or better yet, redirect.


    "Well..." Marquise looked up at the ceiling. "I don''t know much. It was you and Dimir. Mostly you. Dimir, through his contacts in the Security Service, found out who was doing this, and you had already negotiated and handed over the money."


    "SS?!" Alex was stunned. Are they out of their minds here? "Er... is it safe to involve the SS in this sort of thing?


    "No, of course," the shadow of a condescending smile slid across Isalaya''s face. "But no one involved the SS - Dimir, thanks to his connections, has had access to very secret SS lists. And they, you know, try to keep an eye on professionals of that kind."


    "And what kind of professionals are these?"


    "I have no idea. I only know the middleman with whom you negotiated terms and to whom you gave the money. Baroness Istar."


    "Er... you mean Lady Faith Baroness Istar?" Alex clarified. Marquess had managed to surprise him twice in one conversation.


    "Well, yes," Marquess nodded with an ''it''s obvious'' look. "As far as I know, there are no other Baronesses Istar."


    "It''s just that what I''ve seen doesn''t seem to fit with this kind of activity," Alex admitted. Maybe - just a disguise, though? Hiding where it''s brighter? "How much money did we give her?"


    "Four million danarii and the same amount afterward. Besides, it''s not like she''s doing this on her own. Despite her conflict with the Shisrodak clan, she still has plenty of connections to the Cartels, and they have specialists of that sort."


    "I meant the secrecy," Alex explained. "There''s always a crowd of SS around her, and generally speaking, she doesn''t seem to be a low-key person."


    "You know," Isalaya snickered. "I''ve never been particularly fond of Lady Faith, but one thing about her is that she''s a real noblewoman of the old school. You know, the "four rules of nobility"... Well, she is, and if she''s got her word, you can be pretty sure she''ll keep a secret. And, then... The SSs only accompany her during public appearances and planet descents. There are none on her ship, and that''s where you met."


    "I see." Alex had no idea what the ''four rules'' were. "And how do you envisage the ''recall'' procedure?"


    "Very simple. You need to meet Lady Faith again and persuade her to call off the ''specialists''."


    "Simple indeed, how I didn''t realize it myself," Alex hummed.


    He remembered very vividly at that moment the scene of the beating of the journalists. Baroness Istar gave him the impression of an absolute badass.


    How, one wonders, is one to negotiate with such a person?


    "I''m sure everything will go perfectly." Isalaya reached forward and stroked his arm encouragingly. "After all, it''s not like we''re going to revoke their payment. You could say they''ll get money for not doing the work it sounds like a great deal to me. For them. I can go with you if you like," she added, stretching out on the sofa again.


    "I don''t think it will have any effect on the negotiations."


    Alex watched the play of sunlight on the surface of the waves thoughtfully. He sat like that for a while, then shook himself off and looked at Isalaya more cheerfully, even enthusiastically this time:


    "And how do I contact her?"


    "I don''t know." She smiled back. "Maybe your Office knows? Or Taer, or maybe the data was left in your communicator or in the cluster. All I know is that you''ve been in contact with her under the guise of gathering information about your ancestors. Although your meetings weren''t advertised anyway."


    "I see," Alex sighed and got up from the sofa, patting himself on the knee. "We''ll keep looking. Anyway, thanks for your help."


    "You''re welcome." Isalaya got up from the sofa, too. She stepped closer and looked into his eyes. "Alex, are you sure there''s nothing else I can do for you?"


    "You''ve already helped me a lot!" he assured her.


    She lowered her eyes and ran her hand across his chest with a somewhat distracted expression on her face:


    "I want you to know that I''m afraid for you. What if you''re unlucky a third time? You can''t be lucky all the time, can you? You''re not ascended, are you?" She asked, looking into his eyes again with such pain in her eyes and such a pitying expression on her face that Alex''s first impulse was to hug her and tell her that he really was "ascended" and that everything would be all right.


    "I''ll manage," he finally managed to get out. "Everything will be all right."


    "Are you sure? After all, I can hide you until things settle down," she smiled sadly. "I''m a big expert at that."


    "I''m sure!" Alex nodded as firmly as possible.


    Just rebook one lord along with the professor, and all will be well!


    He smiled at Isalaya (with what he hoped was a confident smile) and headed for the stairs - he still had to figure out how to contact Lady Faith and convince her to cancel one order. And accept another.


    As he approached the ''dividing'' wall, something hot came around his back - Isalaya knew how to move completely silently when she wanted to.


    "Did you really expect to slip away so easily?" She cooed playfully in my ear. "I''ve forgotten everything, and I can show you the whole estate all over again."


    "Well, I don''t even know..." Alex hesitated. "I had hoped to make an appointment for today..."


    "I''ve been planning this all by myself." Isalaya ignored my objections and didn''t stop hugging me. "This is my pride, and you''re about to leave, and it''s not clear if you''re coming back! No! I won''t let you go so easily!" she said firmly. "For instance..." She turned him toward the bedroom and pointed to the huge bed:"


    "You know how fluffy it is..." the huge, predatory cat purred in my ear. "Do you want to flop?"


    "Well, unless..." he smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. "Only if it''s very quiet, or the evil Taer will come and shoot again."


    Isalaya''s eyes flashed back at him, and she suddenly but gently pecked him on the ear.


    * * *

 Chapter 21

    Chapter 21


    * * *


    "Your Lordship! Baroness Istar''s yacht confirms the docking request," whispered the captain of the Istal from somewhere behind me.


    Alex reluctantly looked away from the screen and turned around:


    "So dock!" With a slight irritation, he replied.


    The captain''s manner of asking his permission for every occasion was beginning to piss him off. The endless "What shall we do, Your Grace?" questions were only paused in hyperspace.


    "Yes, Your Lordship!" The "troublemaker" nodded courteously and quickly headed back to the command gallery to " execute".


    Though, perhaps, the captain is simply demonstrating his utmost respect for my Lordship in this way. Indeed, he can''t live without my wise guidance. Or maybe it''s in their code of conduct: "If you have any questions, please address them to your lordship personally".


    On the screen was the destination of their short voyage - Baroness Istar''s yacht. Close-up and enlarged. Through the observation window, the yacht looked like a small, bright star - exactly like thousands of others, moving around and stationery.


    "It''s a strange yacht, isn''t it?" Alex shared his doubts.


    It was a shark in the shape of a wrinkled gray yacht, with a huge cube of engine block instead of a tail. Along the side in big jagged letters, as if painted in red paint, was inscribed "Gryzlik" - must have been the name of this proud ship. The drawing at the bottom of the bow, of a huge grinning toothy mouth, was done in the same sloppy manner as the inscription on the side and only made the ship look even more like a shark.


    Like a cheeky, ruffled shark.


    And what it didn''t look like at all was a yacht.


    "It''s not a yacht," Taer replied, not taking her mesmerized gaze off the screen. "It''s a disarmed frigate. Well, at least it should be disarmed," she added somewhat uncertainly.


    "Is it only Baroness Istar, as the Emperor''s close friend, allowed to use frigates instead of yachts, or can ordinary nobles join in as well?" Alex inquired, counting on the fact that Taer, with her "navy" background, should be aware of the matter.


    "In general, this use of old military equipment is allowed, but it is rarely used because each ship needs separate permission from a special vehicle commission. It''s such a hassle that most people prefer not to get involved. Besides, inside, a frigate is much less comfortable than a yacht. "


    "By the way, what kind of frigate was it?"


    "It sounds crazy, but it looks exactly like the Furious. Although I definitely remember being told in an introductory lecture on modern warships that this class was still on the design machines. As such, the events of the HV-Show are all fiction."


    Alex raised an eyebrow in interest:


    Some kind of famous ship?


    "It''s a Holo Show," Taer brushed me off. "I didn''t see much of it when it started. I was getting ready to join the Guard, and after that, it was no longer about the holo."


    The ships drew nearer, and Baroness Istar''s yacht was already clearly visible through the panoramic window. Soon the Istal, which was even slightly larger than the frigate, was "lying on her side" and began to move carefully under the belly of the Gryzlik, aligning the docking windows.


    "Your Lordship," the Captain leaned over the gallery railing. "The docking will be completed in about a minute."


    Releasing the Captain with a wave of his hand, Alex took the sleek leather briefcase containing the "arguments" from his chair and, accompanied by Taer, headed quickly towards the large airlock door.


    "Still, it''s not a good idea," Taer said nervously. "I mean, from a security point of view. Meeting Baroness Istar when it''s just the two of us and in her territory..."


    "Well, let''s hope she doesn''t kill us on the spot, and we get away with minor damage," Alex tried to quip, who was a little nervous after watching the footage of Lady Faith.


    The beating of journalists was not the most brutal episode at all.


    "It''s unlikely she''ll kill us," Taer agreed. "But we might come back in the same shape as those poor souls from the ''resisted'' transport." She added with a grim smile.


    Alex shrugged but said nothing. Twenty haggard poor souls with severed legs were an uncommonly unpleasant and memorable sight. Especially as the unknown cameraman, probably to shock the venerable public, paid a great deal of attention to the spot where the gray uniform trousers were interrupted by a scorched stripe and transitioned to a dark red gore. After this footage went viral through the news channels, the vast majority of ships encountering Lady Faith''s small pirate flotilla preferred to surrender without a fight. For obvious reasons, no one wanted to become the next group of ''shorteners''.


    There were persistent rumors that the Baroness personally chopped the legs of the prisoners, for which she was nicknamed the "High Lady". This information, along with three video recordings and the baroness'' communicator code, Alex received when he was asked by the cabinet "cluster" to find "all available information on Baroness Istar". And while the veracity was in many cases questionable, the picture did not paint a most appetizing one. The one virtue most sources acknowledged for Lady Faith was that the Baroness always kept her word. And that gave one a certain amount of hope.


    They arrived at the airlock door, where a technician in a white yacht crew uniform was waiting for them. Taer interrupted his attempt to open the door with a gesture, unbuttoned the bottom clasps of her tunic, and fiddled with the info box of her personal shield belt, which was hidden under her clothing.


    "So you''re saying that the high nobles used to be allowed to have their own battleships?" It occurred to Alex that it would be much cozier to negotiate with Lady Faith by flying in, say, a dreadnought rather than a yacht.


    He would fly around so unobtrusively and we would have a conversation...


    "It''s still possible," the "specialist" sniggered, not raising her head. "Just without the hyperdrive."


    "What''s the point?"


    "Well..." Taer sighed, buttoning up. "A ship without hyperdrive isn''t what you''d call a fully-fledged warship, but it makes sense. Planetary defense and intra-system patrolling," she squatted in front of Alex, pulling up his shirt as she tried to do so. "It''s useful to have ships in case of conflict among the noble clans of the same domain... or an attack from some external enemy or unrest among the commoners. Then again, many buy fighters or stormtroopers, and they can also be transported to the site by civilian freighter in case of emergency."


    "I see." Alex tucked his shirt in. "Do I have anything like that?"


    "No, before the poisoning, all your armed forces consisted of me alone." The ''specialist'' smirked as she stood up. She ran her hand over her tunic once more, checking for anything sticking out, and waved to the technician - "open up!"


    The airlock door hissed faintly to the side, and they stepped out into the transparent tube of the intake port, where it was quiet and frosty. Ahead of them, the square aperture of the airlock port of the Gryzlik glowed.


    There was no one in sight to greet them. Alex glanced at Taer and shrugged at her silent question, We''re not proud - we''ll go in ourselves when we have to. As they approached, it became clear that there was no floor beyond the airlock, just beyond the opening was a steep well, the opposite wall of which was illuminated by long and narrow glowing panels. Freezing in front of the well, Alex noticed an inscription above the opening, made in red, slightly faded paint: "Warning! Opposite vectors of gravity!". Above the inscription was a diagram showing how to overcome such a predicament when picking up passengers and cargo. Alex cautiously peered through the opening.


    So the outer wall of the well with the lights is the corridor ceiling and the inner wall is the floor.


    "Don''t be afraid, Your Highness!" A man''s voice came from deep within the well. "Go ahead. I''ll catch you and your companion up here if you need me. You will not fall!"


    Taer shrugged and, keeping the same nonchalant expression, stepped down, plunging almost plumb into the well. With her arms slightly outstretched, she touched the inner wall of the well, and after taking two quick steps to slow down, she stopped.


    Alex looked longingly at the specialist who had run so gracefully up the sheer wall and sighed heavily.


    OK, let''s think of it as a parachute jump, just stepping into the hatch and not thinking about anything.


    He stepped into the well. A moment later, his body signaled with horror that instead of falling honestly further down the manhole, he was falling against the inner wall, and his feet missed it, and he had every chance of flopping on his ass. Fortunately, at the last moment, just before his heel touched the metal floor, he was gently picked up by the shoulders and brought to his feet.


    He turned around and was about to thank Taer but literally choked on his words...


    Four pairs of beady little eyes glinted faintly red right beside his face. Alex recoiled involuntarily - the second squire of Lady Faith''s without his ceremonial cloak made an even more intimidating impression.


    The creature''s head was about his chest, but the "elbows" of the upper pair of massive half-bent arms, which, like the rest of his body, were encased in a shiny dark blue shell, towered about half a meter above him. All four legs were also bent, holding the spindly body on the very floor. How much the squire would tower above his surroundings if he decided to straighten up was anyone''s guess. He was wearing something more akin to an eight-fingered gauntlet or pouch. A garment of light and rather thick material resembling white foam covered his entire body from the base to the first joint on his legs and arms. It ended at the chest, exposing the shoulders and neck. There were holsters attached to all four legs in the "hip" area, from which the massive, intricately shaped handles protruded.


    "Um... I''d like to see Lady Faith." Alex finally broke the uncomfortable pause with a resurgence.


    "The captain is waiting, Your Excellency. Follow me."


    The squire displayed a pleasant male baritone and moved forward down the corridor, leaving the already visibly tense Taer with the difficult choice of stepping aside and allowing Baroness Istar''s squire to get between her and the "guarded object", or staying put and forcing the squire to "squeeze" past her. Choosing the second, the ''specialist'' pressed herself against the wall and, placing her right hand on the hilt of her blaster, waited for the squire to squeeze past and followed him, managing to send Alex a very expressive ''I told you so'' look.


    After walking through the narrow intake corridor of the Gryzlik, they took the lift and entered the "habitable" area of the ship.


    First came Lady Faith''s squire, clawing quietly across the metal floor. Next was Taer, who kept her hand on the hilt of her blaster. Completing the walk was Alex. He tried his best not to twist his head or stare, reminding himself that he was Lord and had to keep his face.


    There was plenty to watch: only five of the two dozen crewmembers encountered on the way were human; the rest displayed an incredible variety of shapes, colors, and coatings. Taer was indifferent to this celebration of life and its forms, but His Lordship had to make a considerable effort not to look like a child in a zoo.


    They appeared to be passing through the local equivalent of a barracks or crew quarters; at least the entire central part of the room was occupied by three bunk beds, and along the wall were rows of tall and narrow lockers. The bulk of the barracks'' inhabitants were found in the far corner in a small, tight group. From the familiar clatter of dice and loud shouts, the crew was engaged in a frenzy of gambling. As they approached, the game ceased in an instant, but the players did not disperse. Instead, they ate Lady Faith''s squire with adoring smiles. He let out a grunt but didn''t say anything, brushed past them, and the players immediately returned to their work. Alex could even see the dice - two pairs of multicolored octahedrons: some rather burly subject with yellow feline eyes and dark green skin had just thrown out black and red, which caused another burst of excited cheers.


    So, to the cheers of the crew, they entered another small corridor that ended in a massive double door with a half-faded inscription: "Com. Gal."


    Their attendant, deftly wielding his long claws on a four-toed hand, typed some combination on a small panel embedded in the wall beside the door, which opened with a low whirring sound.


    "... and hint to those ''fireflies'' that the Baroness is thinking of taking them next golden season." Lady Faith, sitting with her back to the door so that only part of her head, gleaming platinum hair, was visible from behind the high back of the semicircular armchair, came crashing in through the open door.


    The Baroness''s squire made an indefinite wave of the hand, which could be interpreted as "follow me", and in one long stride, he climbed a slight rise and stepped inside, stopping not far from the Baroness''s chair. Alex and Taer followed his example and went in after him, also climbing the stairs in one step just in case.


    The semi-circular room of the Com. Gal was small, the walls covered by impersonal light grey panels, some of which were slightly sooty around the perimeter as if something was burning inside. There were massive airlock doors in the center of the right and left walls, the low ceiling covered by the same panels interspersed with long flat lights. Along the opposite semi-circular wall ran rows of screens and massive consoles. Tall armchairs of milky-yellowish plastic stood beside them, empty except for two. In one, a gray-skinned creature lay sleeping with his head on the console, while in the other, the baroness''s other squire was snuggled in his tail, his lower legs wrapped around his own.


    Swirl, sticking out its long pink tongue with eagerness, was pawing at the buttons of the console with its upper paws, its middle paws clutching something like a small joystick. The screen in front of the whirlwind pulsed and glowed and exploded, apparently a game or training program of some sort.


    "...Since they''ve decided it''s perfectly safe to cheat and play ''captain'' here, let them sit in the local ''university'' - maybe they''ll learn something." The baroness continued.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Her chair was in the center of the room on a small platform, slightly elevated above the floor. In front of her was a pair of consoles in a semi-circle and a small, narrow table with two terminals, above which hung a holographic screen.


    "But, Baron..." her interlocutor, a broad-shouldered man with grey eyes and short-cropped blond hair, tried to object. He wore a shabby and smudged orange waistcoat of thick foam-like material. His right shoulder and visible part of his arm were covered in chrome metal - either protection or a prosthetic. The tanned face, with its chopped features, hard mouth, and narrow lips, had a tattoo of a scarlet wavy line resembling a vertical squiggle. It began above his right eyebrow and went down to the middle of his cheekbone.


    "That''s it! Later!" Lady Faith interrupted him. "I have guests..."


    She touched a few buttons on the remote control in front of the chair, and the holographic screen with the distressed big man disappeared. The Baroness twisted in her chair, turning it towards her guests. She was wearing a simple, slightly worn gray and blue jumpsuit carelessly unbuttoned to her chest. Beneath it were a thin, lusciously curvy white tank top and a massive gold chain with a medallion in the shape of a rising griffin. The jumpsuit was cinched by a broad black belt holding weapons, prominent among which were two large phasers holstered along the thigh and the delicate handles of swords. Lady Faith also wore the now familiar massive bracelets of gray metal and a similar hoop encircling her forehead. The Baroness glared at the squire who had brought her guests, and he stepped forward:


    "Baroness, their nobility Lord Cassard and his companion come to you."


    "Good to see you, Lord Cassard," Lady Faith smiled warmly as she rose from her chair and approached Alex. "I''m sorry I didn''t meet you at the door, but there have been some slight, but..." she grimaced. "A personal problem that needs my attention."


    Alex, not knowing how best to respond, just smiled understandingly and shook his hands - it''s a known thing.


    "By the way, Bar," the Baroness turned to her squire. "Fetch a couple of chairs for our guests. I may give the impression of an inhospitable hostess," she continued, waiting until Bar, quietly clawing his claws, exited the room. "It''s all rather sudden, and I don''t get many visitors." Lady Faith shook her hands in regret. "By the way, to what do I owe the pleasure?"


    "I would like to discuss with you something related to my distant ancestors. Preferably in private." Alex added, casting a look of doubt on the subject, napping at the console.


    "Strange," the Baroness frowned. "Last time we met, we had already discussed this in detail, and you, lord, learned everything you wanted to know about your ancestors."


    "The thing is, after the poisoning, I''ve had certain memory lapses," Lord Cassard explained. "So once again, I would like to ask for your help in this matter."


    "Oh," Lady Faith raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I''m sorry. I didn''t know you''d lost your memory."


    She looked around the room with an absent-minded glance, walked to the airlock door to the right of her chair, and typed the code on the panel that came up - the door hissed softly upwards, revealing the stairs:


    "Let''s go up to my place, it will be more comfortable."


    The stairs were short and ended in a massive ceiling hatch, which, after a short manipulation by the Baroness, opened directly into space.


    Above, just above their heads, flooding everything with red light, hung a huge purple nebula like a scarlet cloud, streaked with black threads and studded with glittering droplets of stars. To the left, the edge of Copeira could be seen. It was nighttime on the planet, and the dark disk was covered in a golden web of night lights. There was a low rustle from above, like a distant whisper or the sound of a gentle breeze in the leaves.


    That must be the "whispering of the stars". Alex froze involuntarily for a few moments.


    Lady Faith, not at all impressed with the view, waited until the hatch was fully open and then rose, making way for Taer and the slightly embarrassed Lord Cassard. Upstairs was a room that must have served as an observation gallery, not at all a direct exit into space, covered by a force field, as Alex had first thought. The light gray wall panels, which formed a perfect circle, ended at about waist height, passing into a continuous, seamless, transparent dome. The room was initially quite spacious and cluttered with things. The piles of large crates of dark green plastic were interspersed with long, flat cases of the same material, on top of which was a pile of clothes, from overalls to what looked suspiciously like an evening gown.


    In the center of the room, a huge square bed hovered a palm away from the floor, the pale purple sheets and blanket were crumpled, and one of the long round pillows was lying beside it on the floor. A huge dark blue spacesuit stood beside the bed, and the door on the back, formed by the satchel that had been pushed aside, was wide open, giving a view of the white interior lining. Leaning against the suit was a monstrous something resembling a large-caliber double-barreled machine gun with an under-barrel automatic rocket launcher. A nearby crate was open, where the pointy noses of some projectiles, assembled in drums, gleamed. Just above the bed hung a small hologram in the shape of an elongated cloud, which was pierced by a complex system of glowing intersecting lines - a map or plan.


    The Baroness walked over to a terminal nestled on one of the drawers and, switching off the hologram, sat down on the edge of the bed:


    "Have a seat." She waved towards the crates. And seeing the doubts on the guests'' faces, she added. "Courage, of all the things you can break, there''s nothing here I''ll regret."


    Tossing aside some overalls of very thick fabric, Alex settled comfortably on the long case, and with one eye invited Taer to sit beside him, but she remained standing. She must be worried about her snow-white trousers.


    "Give it to me straight, Lord Cassard," Lady Faith continued. "What''s the matter, and what do you want? No wiggling - it only irritates me."


    Alex nodded to Taer and she took a small suppressor from her trouser pocket and placed it on one of the nearby crates.


    "I''d like to change the targets of my previous order," Alex began, ignoring the Baroness'' condescending chuckle that appeared at the sight of the suppressor.


    "What exactly does ''changing targets'' mean?" Lady Faith, judging by her unhappy grimace, was very unhappy with the start of the conversation.


    "It means I want to put my first order on hold and redirect it," Alex chose his words carefully, making sure it was clear on the one hand and not something to pick on on the other.


    "What?" The Baroness burst out. "Lord Cassard, this is not a couture parlor. You do not order a suit here to decide in the process of sewing that you need "the same, but green"! Do you have any idea how much work has already been done and how many people have ALREADY been involved?" she raised her voice. "You can''t go back on it!"


    "I''m not suggesting a back on," he objected, "it''s just that the situation has drastically changed, and in the new circumstances achieving the old goals is not only pointless but harmful. Your people should simply stop doing this case."


    "Just stop?!" Lady Faith jumped up.


    She froze, hovering menacingly over Alex, but after a moment or two, she let out a long sigh and sat back down, either because of the forward motion of Taer or because she was in control of herself.


    "Yes," Alex replied firmly, "just stop and switch to another target."


    "The first time we met," the Baroness began wearily, "you gave the impression of being a serious man, Lord Cassard. But now," she shook her head dejectedly, "you sound like a childish babble. Do you have any idea how such operations are prepared and how long it takes to introduce and prepare? People are already on the ground, and there is almost no communication with them."


    "In my opinion, there''s a pretty big difference between ''almost'' and ''not''." Alex rested his fingers on his chin thoughtfully. "If there is a connection, then the men must be withdrawn. If it is within your power, Baroness Istar."


    "And you want me to withdraw diligently deployed groups and reassign them to a new target?" Lady Faith squinted.


    "Yes," Alex nodded, but seeing that the Baroness was about to unleash another scathing reprimand, he raised his hands conciliatorily, "but I''m not suggesting that your people do the job twice for the same money. These are two different contracts. Yes, the first one had to be canceled because of the changed situation, but you still have an advance, and nobody demands it back. Your people just need to stop doing this case. I think it''s a great deal," Alex smiled, "you got an advance, and yet you don''t have to do anything. And the second contract is a completely separate case with a separate payment."


    "Withdrawal of embedded groups is an additional cost..." the Baroness brooded.


    "Which is what the advance is intended to cover," Alex countered. "I am more than sure that a professional like you have factored these risks into the amount of the advance."


    "All right," she smirked, "let''s say I can call off the teams. And then what? Who do you have to kill this time?"


    At the word "kill," Taer made a choking sound, and Alex crinkled involuntarily-his desire not to leave direct evidence was clearly not supported by the Baroness. He remembered that he had not explained to Taer the purpose of his meeting with Lady Fayth and was unsure of her reaction. He could not think of a better way to put it.


    "Well, don''t be embarrassed, like a Synths preacher in a dockside pub," smiled the Baroness, seeing the sour expression on Alex''s face, "I prefer to call things by their proper names."


    "I''m more concerned about how accusatory the possible record will look," he admitted. "And the words themselves don''t embarrass me."


    "If I wanted to set you up, I would have enough evidence without those words. If your surroundings are not reliable, then such caution will not save you either."


    Alex shrugged his shoulders with an indifferent look: "Your surroundings can be unreliable."


    "If my surroundings were unreliable," Lady Faith grinned, "I''d have been dead long ago. So tell me directly who you need to kill and on what terms."


    "Well, okay," Alex sighed, "I need your men to kill two people. Lord of the House of Melato Asparo Velasque and Professor Fayyor Takkar of the University of Tallana. I offer two million danarii for each. Two million in advance, accordingly, and two more after execution.".


    "Is that so?" The baroness arched an eyebrow. "Are you already determining my rates, Lord Casssard?"


    "I''m not encroaching on your privileges, Lady Faith, it''s just the most I''m willing to pay."


    Alex unzipped the briefcase and, opening the first compartment, spilled the contents next to him. Bundles of dark, gold-embossed cards, intertwined with a blue ribbon in the middle, spilled onto the case with a quiet clatter, forming a small pile.


    "To be honest, I think I''m overpaying," Alex looked at the pile of danarii with a wry expression, "but I''ve always found professionalism to be worth paying a little extra for it."


    Either the compliment or the two million denarii had a positive effect on the baroness:


    "What other information do you have about this lord and the professor?" The baroness smiled.


    "Unfortunately, practically none," Alex sighed with genuine sadness.


    "Then I won''t be able to give a definite answer right now," Lady Faith informed him as she stood up.


    She walked over to the terminal and touched one of the buttons:


    "Bar, Urick, Tlan, come up to me."


    She turned to her guests again:


    "I need to get some advice, and then I''ll tell you if I can help you or not. I don''t think it will take more than half an hour - if you''re curious, you can take a look around the ship. Bar will show you around. Or you can wait on your yacht."


    "I''d love to see the ship," Alex hastened to assure me.


    He was curious, of course, but mostly he wanted to buy time. Throughout his conversation with Lady Faith, his "specialist" stood there as a statue, her eyes dilated with horror. To be alone with her on the yacht was to start explaining things, and he had not yet figured out how best to do that.


    Damn! I should have talked to her beforehand!


    Meanwhile, the hatch to the Baroness''s room swung open, letting in a picturesque trio, led by Lady Faith''s squire. Following Bar, a pitch-black man in a stained orange overall with straps and massive boots like ski boots came up. He was short and rather thin. There was a large pocket in the chest area of his overalls, where the top of the infobox was sticking out.


    The last man to come in, probably for contrast, was a tall man with unnaturally white skin, charcoal-black hair and almond-shaped black eyes. He wore a deep blue uniform with a stand-up collar embellished with abundant gold embroidery, beginning at the neck and reaching down to the epaulettes. The same color trousers with gold edging were tucked into low black boots, polished to a mirror shine. Two eight-pointed stars, one with a bright red stone in the center and the other with a blue one, and an oddly shaped cross gleamed with metal on the left side of his uniform. A white-gloved left hand rested on a hilt with a curved handguard to which a scarlet ribbon was tied, a long lacquered wood scabbard bound by metal rings. A face with perfect features radiated an inhuman calm and majesty.


    A strange personality. Not a man, but a statue. Somehow he doesn''t fit in with the general relaxed-spitting atmosphere on the ship.


    Lady Faith moved to meet those who entered.


    "Bar, show our guests around the ship," she said, pointing to Alex and Taer.


    "What do you want to see, Your Excellency?" The squire inquired as they descended into the Com. Gal.


    "Um... I don''t know," Alex stretched out, more concerned with his upcoming conversation with Taer and what decision the Baroness would make.


    He was hardly worried about Lady Faith, though - judging by the twinkle in her eyes, she genuinely loved money. So Alex had tactfully left the advance in her room just in case, reckoning that the sight of the slide of denarii would encourage the conferees to make the right decision. There was the risk that Lady Faith might decide that simply taking the money and throwing Lord Cassard out was more profitable. But that was a risk Alex had decided on beforehand - otherwise, he might not go.


    "I think you''ll be pleased to see our Sanctuary of Ryan," Bar suggested and moved forward, tapping softly on the metal with his claws.


    After about five minutes of walking through endless narrow passages, locks, and staircases, they found themselves in a small room strikingly similar to an ordinary shooting gallery. In a corner to the right of the entrance was a small pedestal made of dark stone, similar to an altar, and decorated with scarlet ribbons. On its top was a pattern in the shape of an eight-pointed star, with a small flame fluttering in its center. On the wall above the altar, just above human height, was a mask of dark material. Behind it - either a fire too or some kind of fluctuating light source - it was as if a bright orange flame was beating in the slits in place of the eyes. The mask was tilted slightly downwards so that it felt as if it was looking down from above. The overall impression was rather eerie.


    "We''ve got a shooting range and a gun room," Bar explained. "We wanted to put it in the wardroom, like on the flagship, but then we thought it might be more appropriate near the guns." He stepped up to the altar and gently tidied up a couple of tangled ribbons. "This is a true live fire, we had to rework the ventilation system on purpose, and behind the face of the Incarnate Flame, we have a capsule with a petal from the Fire Throne.


    "That''s nice," Alex smiled as if on duty and turned to the "specialist," who hadn''t said a word the whole time. "What do you think, Taer?"


    "Very nice indeed," she nodded with an equally officious smile. "I didn''t know Lady Faith was a Secondarist."


    "No, Baroness is not a believer," the squire sighed visibly. "But I think when Ir''Ryan incarnates, the flames will accept a fighter like her."


    "Lady Faith is certainly over three thousand years old," Taer smiled after all. "But catching the incarnation of the flames in person probably isn''t even possible for her."


    "The Sisters say the incarnation is near," the squire objected. "And there has been a war recently."


    "The True Fire Church has been saying ''incarnation is near'' for the last four thousand years," the ''specialist'' shrugged. "But it''s still not incarnating. And there have been wars before."


    "Were that wars?" He waved his paw. "The War of the Guilds, yes, it spread all over the Empire. And then..." He paused for a moment. "The Baroness is summoning us," he announced and moved toward the exit.


    "How did you find out?" Alex, who had been here for more than two weeks for the first time in more than two weeks to talk to an "alien"... and THAT kind of alien.


    "I have an implanted com. It''s not easy to use," he showed Alex a clawed paw that looked more like a double claw.


    After escorting them upstairs to the Baroness''s room, Bar stayed downstairs. Lady Faith alone was waiting for them upstairs, while the black guy with the infoblock and the imposing ''general'' was already gone.


    "You didn''t give me a deadline," the Baroness immediately took the bull by the horns as soon as the entrance hatch closed behind Alex and Taer.


    "As soon as possible. The sooner you get them, the better."


    "Okay," she smiled as she approached Alex. "But since you demand speed, there won''t be any time to infiltrate, and there won''t be any way to make it look like an accident."


    "As you wish," he shrugged. "As long as there''s no evidence linking their deaths to me."


    "Well, in that case, I can help you, Lord Cassard," Lady Faith held out her hand.


    Alex cast a glance at the case where the money was lying - it was gone:


    "I''m glad we were able to come to an understanding on these matters!" he smiled back, shaking her hand. "I can only hope for your word and professionalism."


    Ice glinted in the Baroness''s eyes, and the handshake turned steely:


    "Unlike the current House of Fyron, not only do I remember why the Baron title used to be above all others, but I am proud of it. The Baron''s word is unbreakable!"


    "Her grip feels like it''s been squeezed," Alex complained, kneading his arm as he and Taer walked down the clear tube of the intake port back to the Istal.


    "Her Ladyship Baroness Istar has had both her arms replaced with biomechanical prostheses," Taer said in an icy tone.


    "Made it to yourself to hit harder?"


    "No, there was a burst heat pipe. The jet should have hit Baron Lormire Cassard. Lady Faith pushed him away and lost both her arms in the process. The level of medicine in her time did not allow her hands to be restored after such a severe injury."


    "Oh," Alex said with a smirk. "And how do you know that?"


    Taer was embarrassed for a moment and then answered in a less impassive tone:


    "I saw it in the Holo series Eternal Love."


    "Ah... I see. Can''t the hands be restored now too?"


    "It''s possible. But Lady Faith said no."


    The captain and two of the crew were waiting outside the yacht''s airlock door, as usual.


    As soon as Alex let them go, Taer came at him, throwing lightning bolts from her eyes but with a nonchalant mask on her face:


    "Your Lordship, don''t you think you''ve been a little rash? The attack on the lords of the Empire is being investigated by the Imperial High Tribunal!" she hissed.


    She has a talent, Alex admired, for saying the words ''Your Lordship'' in a way that makes it sound like ''you vile little shit!


    "It seems," he agreed, "what do you propose to do?"


    Taer opened her mouth, but Alex didn''t let her say a word:


    "Calling Countess Durlurl for help? So she''s been incapacitated by the SS for an unknown period of time. Now what, sit around and act like a target at a shooting range? No, that tactic almost got Dudo killed. I''d hate to think a man was on the verge of death because of me. Who''s next? You? Me? Someone else?"


    Alex was silent, but when Taer tried to object again, he made one last "killing" argument that he had been thinking about the whole time they had been looking around the ship:


    "They started first."


    * * *

 Chapter 22

    Chapter 22


    * * *


    Three silvery droplets of flyer, rhythmically turning scarlet in time with the flashes of the Iastal''s navigation lights, detached themselves from the dark bulk of the yacht and plunged, instantly disappearing into the golden glow of the Copeira''s night side.


    The thrust generators were switched off, and the machines, having rolled up their gravitational mirrors, simply tumbled down in almost total silence. Taer deliberately sat on the same side as the lord but two seats away from him and now, avoiding meeting his gaze, stared out the narrow window above the opposite side seats. As the flyers descended lower and lower, the bright arc of the horizon, already tinged with the gold of distant dawn, gradually straightened and faded, dissolving into the dark blue velvet of night. But Sain Lieutenant, immersed in somber musings, remained unconcerned by this beauty.


    What an idiot, for what shadows did I get involved in all this? If I''d stayed in the Navy, I''d have been a Peleng Captain on some patrol corvette by now. Or, with any luck, one of the Triumphs. But no, she was in trouble... And what a mess she''d been in. An assassination attempt on a Lord of the Empire!


    She glanced at the lord, who was sitting staring out the window, obviously unaware of what he had just gotten himself into.


    ...And who did you get involved with? With that madwoman! Even if the High Tribunal finds out, what does she care? The Senate would still be considering whether to put the question of removing her immunity to a vote, how she would pirate in the FEZ again and if they did remove her immunity, she would also begin to prowl around in Imperial space. That''s all. And we...?


    The "we" was silenced by a nasty little voice in the back of her mind, which reminded her that she was not to be questioned in any case - she was bound by oath to testify against the Lord and was not responsible for her actions, let alone the actions of the Lord.


    Besides, I have five hundred thousand denarii on my desk, and the account allocated for procurement is at my disposal...


    Then Taer, with an audible sfqueak, froze in horror... How could she even think such a thing? She hastily dismissed the idea, and she shuddered in disgust.


    No, I won''t fall for that!


    Taer glanced at Alex, a little frightened, wondering if he had noticed the change in her face. But he was still staring enthusiastically out the window.


    Well, he could at least have consulted me! There was a look of resentment in Taer''s eyes again. I am, after all, his Blade.


    Lord, who must have sensed her gaze, turned and looked at her questioningly. Taer snorted grudgingly and turned back to the window:


    What if that recording with Lord Velaske and the professor is even faked? There must be some way of contacting Countess Durlurl... she thought with a touch of despair.


    Her thoughts were interrupted by the beep of a communicator - a call from the castle. She was being called by one of the secretary droids:


    "Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Mistress Sain Lieutenant Diltar of the Guard," the droid rattled courteously, "but we have been contacted by representatives of House Bentar. They informed us that the ship carrying the esteemed Dudo Guwar had arrived in the Copeira system and wanted to know where to put it."


    Great shadows, Dudo, I''d forgotten all about him!


    "Pass me the Bentar numbers. I''ll take care of the matter myself," she pulled out her infobox and, after making sure the data had arrived, cut the connection.


    "Did something happen?" Alex asked, listening intently to her conversation.


    "No, it''s just that a ship with Dudo has arrived and needs to be accommodated."


    "Shit, I''d forgotten all about that! But I don''t suppose that''s a problem? There''s a room in the castle that could be used as a ward."


    "I don''t think that''s a good idea," Taer shook her head. "He''s very badly injured - we won''t be able to provide the necessary conditions in the castle. We''ll have to arrange accommodation with a decent clinic."


    With it being nighttime in the main zone on the Copeira, there''s no one to be found.


    "I hadn''t thought of that," Alex sighed wearily. "Maybe there''s no point in going to the castle, then? We''ll just go meet Dudo and go to the hospitals."


    Taer glanced questioningly at Alex. The effects of the Fenote seemed to have worn off, and there were deep dark circles under Alex''s eyes, and they were flushed, their complexion painfully pale, and their movements unsteady.


    "It''s better if I search for the hospital alone. You, Your Lordship, go to the castle and get some sleep. And tomorrow, we''ll visit Dudo together."


    "Are you sure?"


    "Absolutely!" she nodded back. "You are in a state of extreme fatigue anyway, and you have no understanding of medical matters. And I have had general medical training."


    "You haven''t slept as much as I have," the lord remarked uncertainly.


    Taer cast a quick glance at her comm screen:


    "It''s only thirty-nine hours," she retorted. "It''s perfectly normal for me: when I was in the Navy, I used to have sixty-hour watches. So I don''t want to sleep at all!" she was modestly silent about the fact that she was on proper stimulants for the watch.


    And she really didn''t want to sleep, not out of any excess of energy, but simply because she was afraid of another bout of nightmares, which seemed almost inevitable after such a strong manifestation of the implemented skills. And the prospect of exhausting herself enough to fall into a dreamless slumber was tempting.


    "Well, okay," Alex agreed tiredly. "You''re right, I don''t know anything about it anyway, so I''m not much help."


    Taer, with a look of triumph, nodded in satisfaction and turned again to the window.


    Bloody hell, where am I going to find a decent clinic now?


    Nothing cleverer than raising the ears of the retainers had occurred to her so far. Because she, too, had a rather vague idea of how to distinguish a decent clinic from an indecent one. Especially in a matter as delicate as extensive blaster wounds.


    But you can''t take him to Fyron to the Guard General Hospital!


    Taer tortured herself with this question for a while longer, but soon fatigue took over, and her barely moving brain came to the conclusion that as a last resort, she would simply go to the most expensive clinic she could find.


    Soon the thrust generators hummed softly, the flyers came into a turn, and the castle appeared in the side windows. The gardens, illuminated by a soft blue light, surrounded the castle in a glowing ring. The pale blue glow of the castle walls faded into bright purple spires, the glowing mass was reflected in the black mirror of a rippled lake, and the entire manor seemed to be engulfed in a cold, ghostly flame.


    But neither Taer nor Alex had the strength to admire this beauty.


    The vehicles came to a standstill on the landing in front of the front entrance, the large double doors were open, and the warm yellowish light in the front stretched in a narrow lane to the base of the stairs, where the majordomo was already waiting for them.


    Signaling to the pilot to wait - she still wanted to pop into the garage with them to get her service Isato - Taer gently jumped down onto the sand of the grounds, followed by the lord out of the flyer.


    "Arrange for dinner, Your Lordship?" Barra inquired.


    "No, that''s unnecessary," Alex brushed him off. "I''m going to bed. And you go, too."


    After dismissing the majordomo, he turned and, pulling a jar of Fenote from his trouser pocket, handed it to Taer:


    "Here, you''re already scary to look at, and you don''t know how long it will take to find a clinic."


    She was only pretending to be reluctant and, with a heavy sigh, picked up the jar, mentally vowing to stock the medicine cabinet with normal stimulants.


    After reaching the garage, Taer said goodbye to the pilots and went in search of her Isato-Planet. Finding the flyer, she collapsed tiredly into her seat and clicked the key on the dashboard. The vehicle''s dark interior began to fill with flickers and lights as the dashboard came alive with terminals and system tests started up.


    She watched the lights on the dashboard for a moment, sinking deeper and deeper into prostration, her eyes swimming, her eyelids heavy... Waking with a jerk as her head snapped back onto her chest, Taer woke up and looked around with mild surprise, remembering how she had gotten here in the first place.


    No, we can''t go on like this! I''ll fall asleep in flight!


    She reached back towards the back of the sofa where the mini-bar was located. Taking out a greenish bottle of Tarius tincture, she twisted off the golden cap with one swipe of her thumb and placed the open bottle on the floor beside her. Counting out five capsules of Fenote, Taer popped them into her mouth and chewed them. Wrinkling and squeezing her eyes shut from the unspeakable extravaganza that was going on in her mouth, she groped for the bottle of Tarium and took a few greedy sips right out of the bottle.


    "Definitely, if you chew that crap up, it has twice the effect," she said aloud in a husky voice and, closing the bottle, steered the flyer towards the garage exit.


    The search for the hospital took six hours, five pills of Fenote, and the night shift of the Retainer service of House Fyron alarmed. Finally, when it was clear to all involved that, on the one hand, it was not a nobleman and, on the other, Lord Cassard was taking care of all the expenses without much concern for their size, a suitable hospital had been found. The doctor on duty, a polite and short-spoken man with a noble grey in his temples, assured Taer that their equipment and experience were sufficient to deal with blaster wounds of this complexity. And that they would begin therapy as soon as the casualty was brought to them.


    It remained to deliver the casualty, so after another hour and a half, Taer stood on the golden sunlit landing pad, shivering from the piercing gusts of cold wind that wafted across the roof of the clinic. She would have gladly waited for the Bentar transporter in the warm and cozy flyer, but beside her, the three medical technicians, led by the doctor on duty, were freezing, clearly more chilly than she was.


    The Bentars were noticeably delayed. They had to spend another ten minutes on the roof before the carcass of the transport passed over their heads. The vehicle turned heavily on its nose towards the lifts and descended with a loud hiss as it lowered the nose ramp.


    The young man in the gold uniform of the Bentar Guard jumped onto the platform without waiting for the ramp to fully lower. A few moments later, a pair of blue overalls followed him down the ramp, pushing a massive closed preservation capsule on a trolley. The upper cover of the capsule was transparent, but no one could see the face of the man lying underneath through the jumble of tubes, the extended observation units, and the blue glow of the regenerators'' spirals.


    The personnel, who must have been delighted to escape the roof and the piercing wind, rushed to the capsule and literally snatched it from the Bentar technicians, and hurried to the lifts. Only the doctor on duty was left, inquiring about his medical history and the procedures that had been carried out.


    "Stack Lieutenant Guardsman Lit Medel," the Bentar Guard approached Taer, raising his hand in a military salute.


    "Sain Lieutenant Guardsman Taer Diltar, Lord Cassard''s Arm," she replied, waving two fingers from her temple. "I wish to thank you and all the forces of House Bentar on behalf of his lordship, as well as myself, for your help and concern for the wounded."


    "Well," the guardsman objected, "I''m afraid we didn''t do enough. So, in turn, on behalf of House Bentar, I would like to offer our deepest apologies for our failure to prevent the attack on our guests. I would also like to give His Lordship Lord Cassard a letter from Her Ladyship Lady Bellar."


    He held out the golden envelope and bowed his head slightly. She took the letter, bowed her head slightly and said goodbye to the Bentar, and hurried to the lifts, mentally beating herself up for her hindsight:


    Well, the Lord forgot, but me... No letter of thanks, no gift! Word will get out that Lord Cassard is an ungrateful stingy! We''ll have to hint to "his lordship" to bestow a gift on all those involved in rescuing him...


    "Except for the intelligence freaks who planned this operation!" She added aloud, finding herself alone in the spacious lift cabin.


    At the clinic, she watched as Dudo was taken out of his medically preserved capsule and had a long talk with the head doctor of the clinic, who was waiting for her.


    The clinic was very expensive, so the head physician, Jussi Pintirsi, was, as Taer had expected, a short, lean man, even for this race of mirlisti, wearing the green coat of a servant of the Protectress. He invited her into his office, a tastefully furnished oval Vythian-style room, windowless and finished in polished red elm.


    "You see, Madam Diltar," the chief medical officer explained after Taer politely declined the drinks brought by the assistant, "the injury sustained by the esteemed Guwar is extremely serious."


    There was sorrow in his huge green eyes. He sighed heavily, raised his folded palms to his mouth, and was briefly silent, obviously trying to find the right words:


    "There are several approaches to treating such wounds," Mirlisti finally said. "And they are very different in both price and results."


    "What''s the difference?"


    "Primarily in the speed and completeness of recovery. If we begin classical therapy, then, taking into account the time required to grow a lung, to perform implantation surgery, to build up the ribs and restore the skin," he was silent again and, with a heavy sigh, he shook his hands, "the treatment will take at least three decades - about thirty to forty days. And after the active phase of the treatment, it will be about the same amount of time, perhaps more, before the dear Guwar will be able to move about actively. It is also possible that for the next ten to twelve decades, he will experience some breathing problems. Not life-threatening, of course," he added hastily, seeing the look on Taer''s face, "but preventing prolonged physical exertion."


    So simply put, for six months, Dudo will be an invalid who is constantly panting and suffering from shortness of breath, Taer thought unhappily.


    "I assume there is some alternative?" She ''nudged'' the head doctor.


    "Yes," the doctor twitched his ears in agreement. "Intensive care with Vitalin. In case of immediate life-threatening and severe wounds, you don''t need to get on the waiting list." For some reason, he clarified. "And we can get the necessary amount of Vitalin at once for a full course. In that case, if all goes well, we can release dear Guwar in three or four days. And in about another five days, he will be able to move about actively." He fell silent and, clasping his palms together in a lock, sadly added. "But it will be very expensive."


    "Dear Pintirsi, can you tell me directly how expensive it is?" Taer sensed a familiar dance around the price of the generator.


    "I can''t say for sure yet. I have to wait for the doctor''s report, but not less than two million credits. Of course, with the additional costs the amount may increase." Pintirsi hurriedly added and, smiling embarrassedly, nervously drummed his claws on the polished surface of the table.


    Her first impulse was to immediately agree to intensive therapy with Vitalin. There was still more than ten million danarii in her personal account from the money that had been earmarked for the purchase of equipment. She could have paid for Dudo''s treatment right now without even requesting the lord''s visa. But a worm of doubt stirred in her chest, her conscience chanting in a sneaky voice:


    Joyfully proceeding to utilize the funds, Madam Guards Sain Lieutenant, eh?


    The thought that she was already beginning to take charge of the money allocated to her, that she thought of it as her own, kept her from agreeing. Although, deep down, she was absolutely convinced that Dudo deserved the best treatment possible.


    The lingering pause was interrupted by the chief physician, who folded his palms together again so that they were almost covering his small mouth and leaned forward a little:


    "There may be a certain discount... For you personally," said Mirlissti as if in between, probably taking Mrs. Diltar''s silence as an expectation of an offer.


    He only added fuel to the fire: "In the case of such sums," Taer smiled coldly, "I must consult with His Lordship Lord Cassard, so I will inform you of our decision at a later date. I hope, dear Pintrisi, to see the final calculations by then, with the exact REAL amount."


    "Of course, of course," he nodded sympathetically and, smiling apologetically, slid a flat table of one of the infoblocks lying on the table towards her. "Perhaps then, Mistress Diltar, we should make a contract for accommodation in the intensive care ward in the meantime?"


    "It is possible."


    Half an hour later, Mirlisti, smiling embarrassedly and constantly apologizing for everything in turn, escorted her to the car park on the roof.


    Taer arrived at the Blue Flame only to arrive at the clinic with the Lord after forcibly cramming in her breakfast, four hours and three fenot pills later.


    "So, how long would it take you to get him back on his feet?" Alex asked, observing through the transparent wall of the room the steady blue glow of the regenerator tubes that enveloped Dudo''s body.


    Dudo''s body was almost entirely covered by the gold foil of isopholia. Completely, except for a huge dark red hole on the left side of his chest. The translucent flickering beam of the clamping field, illuminated by the cold shimmer of the disinfecting lights, beat directly into the wound, almost obscuring all detail. Which, in Taer''s opinion, was only for the best. The resuscitation unit in which Dudo''s body lay was tilted almost vertically and pushed forward for all to see, making the golden figure, entangled in blue tubes of a blood substitute and with a dark scarlet hole in its chest, look like some kind of grotesque sculpture.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "In the case of intensive care, three to four days, Your Lordship." The chief physician replied, bowing his head in a courteous bow.


    "And when can you start?"


    "We could do it now, Your Lordship." Smiled Mirlisti.


    His ears were twitching - he was nervous.


    "Well, then I guess we''ll just have to decide formal..." Alex began but was interrupted by the piercing beep of Taer''s communicator.


    "I beg your pardon!" The "specialist" smiled tensely and went out into the corridor, retrieving her communicator as she went.


    "Yes. What is it, Barra?" The call came from the castle from the steward''s personal communicator, and the steward never made a trivial call.


    "There are officers from Imperial Security here..." Barra''s voice trembled slightly, "and a commissioned investigator from the Imperial High Court. They want to see Their Lordship, Lord Cassard. And their lordship Baroness Rionale is shouting at them. What am I to do?"


    Her memory, which must have been spurred on by the Fenote, instantly produced a question before Taer could be surprised or frightened:


    "Do they have an injunction from the Imperial Tribunal or authorization from the Senate?" She asked in a matter-of-fact manner. "And why is Kayrin shouting at them?"


    "I... I don''t know," Barra''s voice was suddenly lost, "they didn''t show anything." He mumbled and, clearing his throat, continued in a normal tone:


    "As I understand it, it has to do with the assassination attempts. They have brought some kind of equipment and are measuring something with it all over the castle, and they have entered the Baroness'' rooms, and she..."


    "What kind of equipment?!" Taer started to get agitated but stopped just in time. "I''ll tell you this. Get them all into the main living room, give them tea, teymar, wine, whatever they want. Tell them they''re not to do anything in the castle without their Lordships'' permission, including the use of any equipment, and their Lordships will speak to them as soon as they are free."


    "What if they don''t obey?" There was a pity note in his voice that did not sound at all like the majordomo''s.


    He must have thought that some of his financial frauds had been uncovered and they had come to get him, so he panicked.


    "They have no choice, they will obey! If not, call me!"


    When she entered the reception area of the ward, Alex, surrounded by the chief physician and his two assistants, was just reading the contract on a small flat-panel infoblock. The Mirlisti opposite and the others around him were trying their best to show that they were not shocked by the spectacle. But it didn''t work out so well.


    "We''re having some difficulties at the castle," Taer whispered in his ear, coming up behind him. "It would be good to get out there."


    Alex squinted his eyes and, seeing the frown, set the infoblock aside on a small table:


    "Is it that serious?" he asked again in a whisper.


    He only nodded silently. The lord hummed thoughtfully and then turned back to Mirlisti:


    "Well," he smiled sweetly. "I think everything is fine, we are completely satisfied with your conditions, and I hope your clinic will not let me down in such a sensitive matter. I really hope that my man will be all right."


    The chief medical officer got the hint:


    "Of course, Your Lordship!" he fluttered on. "We are more than ninety-four percent sure of the outcome and, in any case, your servant''s life is in no danger as he will be treated by our best team! They are, without exaggeration, the finest resuscitators, surgeons, and regeneratologists on Copeira!"


    "I hope very much for your professionalism!" Alex nodded solemnly. "And, as I now have urgent business to attend to, I would like to complete all financial matters as quickly as possible."


    "Of course, Your Lordship! If you are in a hurry, you can postpone the signing of the contract and the transfer of funds to a more convenient time."


    "I''d prefer to pay for everything now. If that''s possible, Mr. Pintirsi, of course."


    Mirlisti smiled in response and nodded.


    "What happened?" Alex asked as they said goodbye to the smiling Chief Medical Officer a few minutes later and boarded the flyer waiting on the roof.


    Despite the eerie noise in the interior of the accelerating vehicle, Taer first took out a small suppressor pendant and switched it on:


    "The SS has come to the castle," she shouted, trying to block out the roar of the traction generators. "And an investigator from the Imperial High Court. According to Barra, they want to discuss something concerning the assassination attempt on you. They''ve also brought some equipment with them and are prancing around the castle with it. I told Barra to put them in the living room and keep them out of the rest of the castle until we arrive."


    "Imperial Security? Something tells me I don''t like it. Can I refuse this joy?"


    Taer shook her hands: "Technically since they don''t have the Senate''s sanction, you could order to kick them out. But..."


    "... but it would raise a lot of unnecessary questions and suspicions," the lord continued for her. "All right, we''ll talk."


    A pale but outwardly unruffled Barra greeted them on the doorstep of the castle.


    "How many guests do we have?" Alex asked the majordomo as he walked up the steps.


    "Twelve men, Your Lordship. Eight respected members of the Imperial Security, with them the Mr. Officer, and also the Mr. Investigator. I have placed them in the lilac salon. And your former guest - Her Lordship Baroness Rionale is in her room, writhing in anger. His Lordship Marquis DeGrasteau is not here. He left for his friends after breakfast and promised to be here this evening. There are only two of his entourage in the castle."


    "What was it that made Kayrin so angry?" The lord inquired with genuine interest.


    "The honorable men from the Security Service went about the castle making some measurements and entered Baroness Rionale''s rooms without any warning. Her ladyship was in the make-up room, and this made her incredibly angry."


    Barra, who must have been overexcited with excitement, began to speak in "lackeyish ".


    And Lord Cassard never liked that, Taer thought wearily as she watched the scene.


    "Wow," Alex chuckled. "So nice! How long have they been here?"


    "It''s been an hour and a half, Your Lordship."


    "I see... And what, they all want to talk to me at once?"


    "As far as I understand, only two people want to talk to you - Mr. Investigator and the Stack Captain from the Security Service, and the rest are technicians."


    "All right," the lord waved his hand. "Let''s have these two in my office in about twenty minutes. Both of them at once."


    "It will be done, Your Lordship!" Barra hurried towards the purple drawing room.


    They stopped in the corridor outside the study. Taer was still going in to freshen up:


    "How are you feeling?" Alex asked. "Will you be able to be present during the conversation? Because your eyes..."


    "I''m perfectly all right! I''m fine," she assured him hastily, though she was already feeling a bit rough. But she could not miss the conversation with the investigators.


    After all, the lord has lost his memory, they may try to take advantage of his ignorance, and I am the only person in the castles with any legal training.


    "Well, look... It''s just that instead of standing around like a lunatic, you''d better go and sleep - it''s no use anyway."


    "Well, I''m good enough to talk," Taer smiled wearily.


    The lord shrugged in doubt and waved, walking down the corridor toward his bedroom.


    No, I''m definitely enough to have a conversation. Especially if I eat a capsule of this abomination before talking


    Five minutes later, eating three Fenote pills and washing her face with ice-cold water, but still slightly stupefied, Taer entered the small meeting room that adjoined the lord''s office. The windowless circular room, finished in dark scarlet silk, was small and modest, about thirty paces in diameter. In the center stood a simple but elegant round table. Small in height, it was carved from a solid piece of dark stone, the depths of which played with scarlet overtones. The outer rim had a "Branches of Flame" ornament made with bright scarlet glowing etching. The table was surrounded by massive and low upholstered armchairs of dark brown leather, in which two "guests" were already waiting for them.


    A young, thirty-something at the most, a stack captain in a charcoal black SS uniform.


    And an older man in the snow-white uniform of a senior naval officer with the gold epaulets of a Sain Major. Judging by the "Peleng" on his sleeve, he had served in Imperial Intelligence - he must have been the authorized investigator. Behind the guests, two droids and a small hovering platform with drinks and snacks lingered.


    SS man sat reclining in his chair, putting his foot on his leg and wiggling impatiently with the toe of his boot. His right hand was tapping an intricate beat around the foot of a half-served glass of Bentar Dew. From time to time, he cast quick, irritated glances at the scout. The SS man only gave Taer, who entered, a lazy glance that lingered a little in the area around her chest. Taer, to her surprise, was not at all annoyed by this:


    It''s from fatigue.


    The Sain Major, seated next to the Security Officer, smiled at Taer and greeted her with a courteous nod. The scout, unlike the Security Officer, radiated calm and serenity with a steaming cup of Teymar on the table in front of him.


    Apparently, having an interrogator and a whole Sain Major was not in the SS man''s plans. And that just pisses the SS man off, and the Major likes it, Taer thought aloof as she looked at the pair of them.


    Following Taer into the meeting room, the lord entered - at his appearance, the Sain Major stood up. The SS Stack Captain glanced at the Major, in which initial surprise was instantly replaced by anger, and with a second''s delay, not hiding his irritation, reluctantly rose to follow. Staying seated with the whole Sain Major standing next to him was simply not an option.


    "Sain Major Vimo Derbal, the commissioned investigator of the Imperial Tribunal," the scout introduced himself, bowing his head and clasping his right hand to the chest of his white tunic.


    "Stack Captain Libut Februro, Imperial Security Service," muttered the Security Officer, forced to follow the Major''s lead.


    And you, Stack Captain, didn''t seem to have planned the conversation at all, Taer mentally sneered, unable to hold back a smile.


    "Guard Sain Lieutenant Taer Diltar, Lord Cassard''s Arm," she introduced herself as she greeted the Sain Major with a wave of two fingers from her temple.


    She didn''t dignify the SS man with a nod. She signaled to the Lord with her eyes to sit down and went to her chair, forcing the Major, but above all the Security Officer, to stand and wait for them to sit down. Somehow she was sure that the Major would not be offended by this, but the SS Captain was quite the opposite.


    "Nice to meet you, gentlemen! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" The Lord smiled and gestured for them to sit down again.


    The officers looked at each other and the SS officer, barely able to contain his anger, smiled tautly and made a silent gesture, inviting the scout to speak first:


    "I have been appointed by the High Tribunal of the Empire to investigate the assassination attempts on Your Lordship," Vimo Derbal began, nodding politely to the Security Officer. "I''d like to speak to you personally and clarify some of the issues involved in this case."


    Having said this, the Major looked expressively at the Captain, inviting him to continue.


    "Actually...," the stack captain hesitated and continued after a moment''s pause. "We are interested in the same question. I would like you to tell us everything you know, it would help the investigation a lot."


    He seemed to have an entirely different beginning to the conversation prepared, Taer laughed mentally. And the Sain Major''s deliberately polite tone confused his plans.


    The conversation was clearly beginning to please her. Looking at the stack captain she could not hide her smile and, as she hoped, the smile must have been a rare nasty one.


    "Well... Ask."


    "Your Lordship, if you don''t mind telling us, could you tell us if you have any idea who might have wanted you dead?" Major Derbal nodded to the SS Officer to ask his question.


    "I was about to ask you the same thing," the SS officer added, literally squeezing out, "your lordship."


    A mental laugh rang in Taer''s head - she suddenly, despite her monstrous fatigue, experienced a feeling of a kind of crystal, icy clarity. Everything became clear as if she had simply tossed the puzzle crystals into the air, and they formed a pattern of their own.


    The SS was simply going to blatantly ignore the liberties and interrogate the lord brutally, against all the rules, just as they had done to her after the poisoning. Probably even by force, thanks to the fact that they had eight "technicians" with them.


    "You know, unfortunately not," Alex shook his hands. "I''m sure it''s not someone from our House. It''s some outside force, but who would want me dead..." he sighed heavily. "I might have known, but as you know, the poison made me completely lose my memory."


    It was a provocation - she did not understand how she knew that, but she was sure of it. That was why the SS officer was behaving so brazenly and he planned to behave even more brazenly. To take and interrogate the Lord of a Great House against his will, without the sanction of the Senate, could be described as a very sophisticated form of suicide. Such an insult, and from a commoner, would not be tolerated. Stack Captain Libut Februro was a card to drop, but he didn''t realize it. Apparently, he was from the Central Sectors and had only recently been transferred here. And he had only met nobles from there. And now Captain Februro just didn''t understand what he was being asked to do. He had only seen the petty nobles of the Central Sectors, most likely he had never encountered the "Lords" - they were too few in the Central Sectors and usually held the titles of Princes, though in our Sector they would be at best Marquesses.


    Poor idiot, Taer''s thoughts erupted into a ghostly trace of pity. He''d almost signed his own death warrant. He must have skipped all the lectures on the structure of the nobility. He had interrogated nobles hundreds of times and saw nothing special in it. Someone had made sure that a man was sent to talk to the lord who absolutely did not understand what he was doing. He would have tried, as usual, to "shake out" the information. He might even have succeeded. After all, there are eight of them, and I''m the only one in the whole castle who can resist. The House would have been obliged to react after such an insult. And even if the House had restrained itself when such an insult became known, there would have been some overzealous "fanatics" ready to avenge the "descendant of a lineage blessed by Flame", even at the cost of their own lives. And, by all appearances, that was all someone wanted. But then an Intelligence representative showed up, the whole Sain Major at once, whom the brave Stack Captain had obviously not expected to see. And not just any Sain Major, but a representative of the Imperial High Tribunal. Shadows, he''s so high up he could force to march Stack Mayor Sheldon, Head of the SS on Copeira, never mind a Stack Captain.


    The conversation between the officers and the lord continued, and Taer barely heard anything anymore. She basked in the feeling of omniscience. She didn''t have to listen to them. She knew ahead of time everything they would say or even think. Poor silly Captain Februro would try to push, but the Major would shut him up with his monstrous politeness and rank. In the end, the Major will blow off the interrogation. He was not interested in it in the first place, and this conversation is an empty formality. And the Captain would give up and walk away, not realizing that the Major had saved his skin and possibly his career.


    What kind of career can a fool have in the SS, though? He will be traded at the first opportunity in another combination since this one didn''t work out...


    Sain Major doesn''t need an interrogation too. He''s sure he''ll find out because we''ll tell him


    Taer''s mental laughter shuddered in her mind - she felt genius and enjoyed the feeling, she knew that the Major was right, and although it had not happened yet, they would really tell him everything he wanted to know.


    A crystal, icy, ringing joy was beating inside - she suddenly felt omnipotent, this simple and sweet feeling of absolute freedom literally flooded her.


    One can push off and fly, just like taking a full breath, she smiled.


    Reality trembled under her gaze, everything became fuzzy, and at the same time, she could distinguish the smallest details. For a while, she admired the intricate weave pattern of the threads from which one of the officers'' uniforms had been sewn and then shifted her gaze to them. She raised her palm and looked at them through spread fingers:


    One can push them, and they''ll wrinkle like paper bags.


    Under her gaze, the figures of the officers trembled, eliciting a cheerful smile.


    I can do anything! She looked at her right palm resting on the edge of the table. I can take a piece of the table and break it off


    She suddenly felt an unbearable urge to try it. So that the small stone crumbs splattered to the sides, and she had a nice chunk left in the palm of her hand. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, feeling the pleasant coolness of the polished surface. She tightened her grip just a little and felt it succumb under her palm.


    One has to squeeze. It crumbles quite easily, like a sand biscuit, she decided, increasing the pressure.


    And a moment before stone should have cracked and remained in her palm. She was scared out of her wits - what if she really could? The eerie terror that belonged to her, the normal Taer, erupted like fireworks, eating away the ringing sense of omnipotence with a smoky flame.


    If I can do that, it won''t be me. I won''t exist anymore! It''s scarier than dying, She thought, and reality came crashing down on her in a muddy waterfall.


    "...I would like to speak to your security specialist in private so as not to bore your lordship. There are several boring technical nuances which, in the meantime, are worth clarifying..."


    She took a deep breath, as if after a long dive, and looked around.


    The Lord was talking to the Sain Major, who must have noticed the oddity and was looking at her suspiciously. And Stack Captain Februro was burning the Sain Major with his hateful eyes and didn''t notice anything around him.


    Taer looked down at her hand, which still covered part of the table as if it were stuck. Inwardly freezing with creepiness, she slowly moved her hand and let out a sigh of relief - under her palm was a clean and intact tabletop.


    Along with relief came a sudden feeling of pangs of resentment and loneliness, like a small child being led by a hand and suddenly looking around and not seeing the familiar hand. And strangers and huge indifferent beings pass by. And it is so frightening, hurtful, and lonely that it makes you want to cry.


    Taer took another deep, convulsive breath and felt the tears come to her eyes. She wanted to howl with resentment:


    Why did I stop? I could have! Mentally she moaned, remembering the pure ringing feeling of absolute freedom, and felt like crying.


    Fortunately, the blockade finally remembered that it existed. The pain in her chest prevented her from breathing, and the tears receded.


    "Well..." Alex stretched and Taer felt a touch on her elbow, "it''s not really a problem, but..." he continued to draw in, glaring at Taer just in case she nodded, not quite sure what he meant, "why not?" He finished with a sigh of relief. "You talk while I take Mr. Stack Captain and his men out." He smiled at the SS officer and made an inviting gesture towards the door.


    When they were alone, the Sain Major took a small holo-projector out of his breast pocket and placed it on the table.


    "I would like to show you one footage," he said as he leaned back in his chair.


    The screen above the table flickered, and Taer saw a tape of herself, in her own right, taking a familiar folder filled with money from someone. It would probably have caused panic if she had been in her normal state, but now she was only mildly surprised. They''ve got spies in there, too.


    "And what is that?" she asked aloud.


    "Visual evidence of the commission of the serious crime of accepting a bribe on a particularly large scale."


    "A visual record is not evidence and cannot be considered by the court," Taer quoted idly, thinking to herself: Great shadows! Must have been an overdose of Fenote. Bloody hell, what a high, and the fools at the university were trying to get a hold of a real bloof. All it need was a trip to the pharmacy.


    She mechanically continued to say the phrases she had memorized: "And I, as a guardsman of the Great House and an Arm of the Lord, have immunity from prosecution."


    "True," smiled the Sain Major softly, "but who''s talking about a trial? Think what would happen if we showed this tape to their Lordships? How will your career go on?"


    And nothing is going to happen - ''their lordship'' already knows, she thought wearily, at the same time trying to play frightened.


    "And what do you want from me?"


    "Nothing that threatens you or your Lord," the Major assured her. "I want information. It seems to me that Lord Cassard knows somewhat more about the assassination attempts than he has chosen to disclose. But after all, it is in his interest to find the killers as well. I''m sure you, Mistress Diltar, as their lordship''s confidant, know a great deal about what''s going on. Share this information with me, and your privileged position will no longer be threatened."


    Some pathetic crumbs of the insight she had experienced told her there was no need to discuss it now.


    The Major thinks he needs the cooperation a lot more than we do. He can wait.


    The memory of the effect sent a slight wave of longing through her, but this time her mind was on guard: No, I don''t want to get hooked on stimulants.


    "You know, Mr. Sain Major, I haven''t slept in almost two days," Taer admitted honestly. "Let''s take a rain check on this conversation. I''ll give you my comm number," she held out her business card to Derbal. "I can''t answer your questions reasonably now, anyway. Or you can tell the Lord everything now. I don''t care. "


    The scout, who was clearly expecting the conversation to go the other way, hesitated and, taking the business card, looked at it with a look of surprise:


    "All right, Mrs. Diltar, let''s put it off..." He stood up and, twirling his business card thoughtfully in his hands, headed for the exit.


    At the door, he turned to Taer, who was standing to escort him out, and said with a heartfelt expression:


    "Just please don''t drag it out. It would be very unfortunate if the next attempted assassination took place before we spoke. And, I tell you what... take one too," he held out his card to her. "In case you have something to tell me."


    After escorting the Major to the grounds, where the lord was just escorting ''guests'' from the SS. Taer, after waiting for the flyers to depart, signaled to the lord that: We really need to talk, and taking him under her arm, she led him to the "back yard," where a stela of the shield generator loomed as a silver arrow among the green tops of the reswells. Stepping behind the massive main storage unit so that they could not be seen from the castle and mentally waving, To wash anyway, she sat down directly on the grass, motioning for Alex to sit beside her.


    "What''s wrong again?" he asked, staring at Taer with curiosity. "And why here?"


    "We''ve had eight SS techs in the castle with some unknown equipment," she explained, turning on her suppressor and placing it next to her in the grass. "According to Bara, they didn''t get to our rooms in time, but they could have unleashed miniature droids or some shit like that, and they could have already spread all over the castle. All the more reason for these little buggers to be clever enough to stalk us."


    "Can''t they get here?"


    "No." Taer waved, leaning back against the warm metal of the generator. "We''ve got a planetary-class shield here - this thing''s radiating so badly, it''ll blow their brains out."


    Alex looked at the stela with obvious doubt:


    "Is it radiating? Isn''t it dangerous?"


    "If you''re not a droid, it''s not fatal." The specialist brushed him off and changed the subject:


    "Sain Major Derbal showed me a video of me getting..." she stammered, and with some effort, she finally said it. "How I received the bribe."


    "Wow, a manager taking the risk of screwing over a partner on a billion-worth contract..." Alex stretched out in surprise and, with a smirk, inquired. "And what did ''Mr. Plenipotentiary Investigator'' want from you?"


    "He wanted cooperation. He thinks you or I... well, one of us knows more about the assassination attempts than we''ve been told. Threatened to put an end to my career by showing you the record." Taer smiled wearily.


    "A serious threat." Alex shook his head. "You have no other choice but to cooperate."


    "As a matter of fact, yes." Taer stood up, shaking off her trousers. "You''d be in a remarkably stupid position if he did show it to you, and you wouldn''t dismiss me in disgrace."


    "Exactly!" Alex smiled. "So we will co-operate with the investigation. We''ll just have to think about what we give to the investigators." He looked at Taer with interest and, squinting slyly, inquired:


    "How do you feel about yourself, by the way?"


    "Fine." Taer shrugged. "I''m sleepy, of course, but if you need anything..."


    "No, no." Alex waved his arms. "I was just asking because you''re so mysterious when you don''t get enough sleep."


    "What do you mean?" The ''specialist'' frowned.


    "Well..." Alex made an indefinite gesture with his hand, trying to find the words. "Well, it''s like I''m talking to a completely different person. I don''t know how to explain it. It just feels like that."


    Taer defiantly checked herself:


    "No, it seems to be the same. There''s even a sense of clarity, despite the fatigue. Maybe I just ate too much of that Fenote." She suggested.


    "I don''t know." He sighed. "It was probably just my imagination. And you better go to bed because you''re making me uncomfortable with your mystery."


    Taer shrugged again and waved a silent goodbye with two fingers from her temple. She stripped off her clothes when she reached the bed, threw her belt and holster on the table near the terminal, and, with the temperature control set to "cool" - she was suddenly hot for some reason - collapsed on the bed, instantly falling into a deep sleep.


    * * *

 Chapter 23

    Chapter 23


    * * *


    Taer woke up immediately - a sharp jolt - as if the nightmare had chewed her up and, not satisfied with the taste, spat her out.


    "Damn..." she groaned, pulling down the sweaty sheets and trying to sit up on the bed. "Again..."


    The nightmare started right on schedule the night after the guiding was activated. Her body was shaking with small shivers, like a chill, and every joint was aching. She felt as if she had shattered into a thousand little pieces, and someone had hastily glued them back together. Not much care had been taken to fit the pieces in proper order.


    Taer stretched out her arm, and with a loud snap, the elbow joint snapped into place. The palm crunched into a fist - the nasty aching feeling subsided a little. Reaching for the small table by the bed, she pulled out her communicator. Blue numbers flashed on the screen...


    Three o''clock! Taer wondered. I slept for almost twenty-four hours!


    She summoned the droids to make the bed and tossed the communicator back onto the table. She rose carefully from the bed. It seemed that if she shifted more weight on her leg, it would burst like a glass of the finest crystal in a careless hand, and she would collapse to the floor like a broken doll. Whether or not that was really the case, she did not want to find out. So Taer moved slowly toward the bathroom, carrying herself gently across the room like it was the greatest jewel in the world.


    Walking past the security terminal, she mechanically ran a diagnostic, glancing unseeingly at the scattering of images from the tracking sensors, and was about to turn away when suddenly her body froze, and a moment later, she seemed to burst into flames from within.


    A wave of heat swept through her, burning away the shivers and weakness, her lungs on fire like after hours of cross-country. Taer took a deep, scalding breath, as if she''d inhaled pure flame instead of air, and stopped breathing altogether. At the same moment, her right hand shook the blaster from the holster left on the table in one incredibly crisp and graceful movement, simultaneously cocking the ready lever and setting the power to maximum. The accelerator turned on, and as her body floated in a thick syrup of thickened air in a swift dash towards the cloaked sliding panel that separated her and the lord''s bedroom, Taer realized what had caused the homing reaction.


    None of the pictures of the security terminal showed any summoned droids. It hit her belatedly. Either someone had blocked my communication channel, and they just didn''t summon, or someone had hacked into the surveillance network, and now there was a "visual loop" on the terminal, spliced together from old records


    The panel slid noiselessly to the side, and Taer stretched out in a crawling leap at the very floor, eager to escape the dangerous confines of the doorway. The fluffy pile of carpet swept in front of her face. She rubbed her shoulder gently against it and went into a roll, frozen in a tight clump behind the huge, human-sized mirror in the lord''s bedroom. Only the edge of her right eye and the muzzle of her blaster protruded beyond the boundaries of the mirror.


    The dark room was flooded with the ghostly reddish light of the night sky, glinting dimly on the scarlet silk of the upholstered walls. One of the segments of the huge window that occupied the entire outer wall was open, and the slight breeze brought with it the scent of wet leaves, the quiet rustle of cilias, and the distant trill of rare finches. The frame of the mirror against which she snuggled cooled her cheek and smelled of old metal. There was silence and peace in the bedroom. The lord sprawled out, and slept across the bed, seemingly unharmed.


    She slid out from behind the mirror and moved in a wide arc toward the lord''s bed, flowing from place to place, from one hiding place to another, with the scarlet dot of her aim resting on the door leading to the hallway and frozen virtually unwavering despite all her movements. Guider, managing to aim, survey the room and look behind the doors to the corridor and dressing room at the same time, brought Taer up to the lord, her palm resting near his face. The sleeper''s calm breath came in a warm wave over her fingers.


    Thank shadows, false alarm! With relief, she thought.


    And a moment later, she realized how uncomfortable her position was. Deep in the night, in her lord''s bedroom, holding her palm to his face for some reason, with only one blaster, even without a holster or belt, still pointed toward the door. A cool, damp breeze blew in from the garden, sending shivers down her spine:


    Oh, Ryan, don''t let him wake up, she mentally pleaded. He''ll think I''m crazy, or they''ll put me in some kind of asylum.


    And then, to her horror, she saw the lord''s eyelids flutter open, and his eyes (very slowly from the still ''accelerated'' Taer''s point of view) begin to open.


    For a few moments, they stared into each other''s eyes. The lord''s look of confusion was replaced by surprise, and Taer began to think feverishly about what to say when suddenly there was a quiet click, and the door to the corridor began to open...


    As the light beam of the ajar door widened, a dainty hand and the edge of a dark purple dress became visible...


    The blaster in Taer''s hand shrieked, and a ball of orange firefly discharge raced towards the opening door. She watched in horror as the edge of the door slowly drifted to the side, revealing an intruder - a small scarlet Istalia flower pinned to the shoulder strap, long flowing gold earrings that accentuated the beauty of their owner''s neck, dark hair gathered in a long tight ponytail with wide, dark red ribbons. It was Baroness Kayrin Rional in the tight dark purple dress she had worn during the last breakfast. The discharge shattered into Kayrin''s face in a bright flash, scarlet sparks of instantly burnt hair splattering to the sides, the tight scarlet bud of the explosion burst with smoky petals, fading into a black frost of soot. The Baroness swayed slightly but steadied herself, and her left arm went slowly upward.


    Taer threw the lord back so that he fell behind the bed and darted away from the intended line of fire with one mighty swing of her hand. The next shot fired by the ''specialist'' also hit Kayrin''s head and - again - with no tangible result. Baroness Rionale trembled a wave of light sweeping through her arm and a dainty silver slicer leaping out of her wrist and into the palm of her hand.


    In response to this, the guider must have decided to change tactics as Taer''s blaster let out a pulsating howl, lighting the baroness''s chest in flames of smoke. Kayrin began to swell rapidly like a disturbed swamp jumper, and her skin began to take on a distinct silver hue, a slither rustling. An invisible jet ran across the room, trying to catch up with Taer, knocking white fountains of filler from the bed, flourishing a reddish stream of sawdust on the polished sides of furniture and light wisps of pile flowing across the carpet.


    Taer felt a slight jolt to her left side and was hit by something warm and wet. An alien prickly thought flashed through her mind. No pattern correction required! The guider continued to send out discharges. The scarlet dot of the sight twitched to the side, and a bright flash of tearing covered the Baroness'' palm with the clenched slither.


    Kayrin, who by this point resembled a strange headless semblance of a human with rough silver skin and huge arms and legs that looked more like poles, jerked awkwardly and collapsed to the side, stepping out of the doorway and out of sight. There was a soft clap, and a cloud of energy-absorbing mixture hung like a pearly wall in the corridor.


    Taer stood frozen for a few moments, holding the doorway in her sight, then she frantically exhaled the scalding air and took her first breath of the whole time:


    "Ancient Shapeshifter. I thought they were extinct," she heard her own voice, more like a croak.


    And she realized that the "guider" was right, and it really was an ancient shapeshifter, just like in the scary fairy tales her older sister liked to tell.


    Her body turned towards the lord - the latter, seemingly unharmed, was peering out from behind a parted jumble of beds and staring at her like a mesmerized man:


    "Taer, the hand..." he said at last, with some strange intonation.


    Her gaze dipped a little lower, and the "specialist" realized with horror what the lord meant.


    Her entire left side was covered in blood, there was a dark wound just below her chest, and her right arm was missing above the elbow. Or rather, it was not where it was supposed to be, but on the floor. And around it, a dark stain was swiftly pouring across the carpet.


    "He went for reinforcements." As if nothing had happened, the guider continued. "We should change positions."


    At that moment, her left hand swiped the phaser forcefully across her thigh, exposing the focus to the minimum, and brought the barrel to the wound.


    Taer realized what was about to happen and became unbearably scared:


    I don''t want to! The thought rushed through her mind, and for the first time, she tried to resist the guider.


    "I don''t want to..." she heard herself wheezing. Her hand loosened, hanging limply, the blaster falling to the carpet with a thud.


    She suddenly realized that she was incredibly cold, and every breath was followed by a flickering pain in her left side. Another hoarse breath made her break into a convulsive cough. Taer wiped her lips and stared in surprise at the scarlet droplets left on the back of her palm. At that moment, the world shook around her, black dots danced in her eyes, and the floor swept toward her with splotches of scarlet.


    * * *


    The sensation of living warmth that had appeared near his face made Alex wake up. When he opened his eyes, he tried for a few moments to figure out what it was that he was seeing. And when he did, at first, he thought he was still asleep. Above him, holding his open palm close to his face, leaned Taer in her Eve costume. Simply put, completely naked. Despite the obvious unreality of the sight, Alex''s gaze slid almost spontaneously down to the mouthwatering curves and roundness of the "specialist," gleaming in the reddish light of the night sky.


    And when she in uniform, where does that disappear to? Dumbfounded, he thought, instantly realizing that the curves and roundness were perfectly real.


    Alex looked at Taer in surprise, trying to figure out what that was about, and froze, gazing into her face. Her unnaturally dilated eyes seemed to be completely black, staring unmovingly through him. Or rather an eye. The right one. Because the left one was looking somewhere in the direction of the front door, which gave an eerie impression. The barrel of the blaster in his left hand was pointing in the same direction.


    At that moment, the lock on the door clicked softly, and Alex was thrown into the air. The world around him flipped and spun, exploding in a whirl of flashes and howls of flying discharges. He suddenly realized that he was flying toward the small table behind the bed, and he reflexively clutched himself into a lump, covering his head with his hands.


    Rhythmic flashes of gunfire rolled through the bedroom with a howl, momentarily illuminating the room with orange light before exploding with loud pops somewhere in the hallway. Alex tried to rise from the floor, but at that moment, something unseen rustled dryly through the room, tearing everything in its path.


    The bed behind which he had fallen spewed out a swirling cloud of shreds and sawdust and collapsed on its side with a loud crack of shattering wood, a swirl of silk paneling, sawdust, and filling material swirled over the small, elegant couch that stood next, and it collapsed flat in half, a huge mirror collapsed to the floor with a loud clang. Something drew a bizarre zigzag across the carpet and caught up with Taer. A wound opened on her forearm, splattering a scarlet blotch to the sides, and the "specialist" disappeared for a moment in a swirl of tiny blood droplets. In the corridor, something clattered softly...


    Suddenly it stopped as suddenly as it had started.


    An unnatural silence fell over Alex, so quiet that he could hear the thud of his own heart. He rose again from behind the ruins of the bed and searched for Taer with his eyes. The girl stood frozen like a statue on the other side of the bed. She was covered in blood, her right arm was missing, and blood was gushing from a dark cut on her forearm. Her face was perfectly still, and the blaster in her outstretched hand was perfectly still.


    "Fuck!" Alex whispered dazedly.


    "Ancient Shapeshifter," Taer commented blankly, taking a deep breath as if after a long dive. "I thought they were extinct."


    She turned her head towards him, her eyes still unnaturally dilated and staring through him. Blood poured darkly down her side, but the "specialist" seemed not to notice.


    "Taer, the hand..." Alex finally managed to get it out.


    The specialist looked at her wound with the same vacant expression, but judging by the serenity of her face, she had no emotion whatsoever.


    "Gor azad va'' zor," she said as she slid the blaster across her thigh. "Do sa" per koli."


    The barrel of the blaster froze near the open wound, and then her face came alive with fear in her gaze:


    "I don''t want to..." she wheezed, coughing. Taer swayed and collapsed to the floor as if the thread holding her together had broken.


    Alex stood motionless for a few seconds and then, finally realizing what had happened, rushed toward the fallen girl:


    She''s just in shock. It went through her mind. She probably didn''t even feel the pain.


    He struggled to roll her onto her side, his hands sliding over her blood-soaked body, and the "specialist" was just too heavy to lift. Making sure that Ta?r was breathing and nothing seemed to interfere with her breathing, Alex tried to clamp his hand over the wound.


    This obviously doesn''t make sense, he thought as he watched the dark streams gushing out in frequent small jolts from beneath his palms. That''s no way to stop the blood.


    Alex rushed to the bedside table and on the way turned on the light and pulled the belt from his ''hunting'' trousers.


    A ring of light ran along the entire perimeter of the domed ceiling, flooding the room with warm white light. The air was filled with white flakes of bedding and fine wood dust, the carpet was gaping in narrow zigzag gaps, the bed was torn to shreds, the couch was splintered on one side, and the shards of a huge mirror, its massive metal frame slashed aslant, were lying on the other side of the room.


    Where the stripe of impact had touched the walls, long narrow strips of tattered silk upholstery remained, through which the dark gray stone of the walls showed. Almost in the center of the tattered room, drenched in blood, lay Taer. The white filler fluff swirled in a silent blizzard, clinging to her, lingering in melted snowflakes.


    Alex tried to tear the long, narrow flap from the sheet, but the silk wouldn''t budge. With a growl, he grabbed the pillow and literally ripped the pillowcase from it.


    "Oh, how to tighten it!" He exhaled, tightening the strap around the wound with an improvised tampon from a folded quadruple pillowcase. "It poured and poured..."


    He remembered that if the tourniquet was too tight, it could lead to tissue necrosis, and anything that was tightened would then have to be amputated. But for some reason, the instructors had never explained how to determine if the tourniquet was tight enough.


    Tightening the belt, Alex hesitated, his hands clenching as if trying to grasp something; he had been firmly taught that a note must be put under the tourniquet, stating the time of the tourniquet. He knelt beside Taer, glancing frantically for a few seconds for the watch, then suddenly frozen in nervous, silent laughter. He suddenly realized that he didn''t even know how many hours there were in the day or what was written here:


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "God, what a mess I''ve been in," he whispered, cocking his head and looking up.


    Above, the huge domed ceiling, a bloodied dark-haired youth, clutching the flag in his hands, called after him. Flames raged, and piles of bodies lay around him. A white griffin on a burnt scarlet cloth sprang up. He looked menacing and angry from above.


    "What, I don''t deserve the high rank of Lord?" Alex grinned and clenched his fists. He exhaled a long, calming breath.


    Relax, it''s just hysteria, an inner voice came to life.


    "I know!" Alex snarled aloud, trying to palpate the pulse on Taer''s neck.


    There was a pulse. Very frequent but faint, almost imperceptible.


    "How much blood you''ve lost..." he grimaced.


    Although her hand had almost stopped bleeding, there was a sticky, dark stain on the white carpet around the specialist. Then he noticed a thin, scarlet trickle of blood on the side of the Taer, just below her breasts. It was a narrow wound, a little less than a finger thick:


    "Fuck! God, I''m such an idiot! I''m an idiot!" Alex whispered, frantically trying to flip the monstrously heavy Taer onto her other side so that the wound was on the bottom.


    All he remembered of internal bleeding was: dark blood - liver, intestines, kidneys, light scarlet blood - lungs. The trickle was bright scarlet. He yanked a healthy scrap of sheet off the bed, folded it tightly, and pressed it to the wound. Alex was already looking around for a suitable piece of cloth to bandage the Taer, pressing the tampon to her side, when suddenly he heard quiet footsteps in the corridor. Almost wheezing with exertion, he tugged at the wreckage of the bed and, grabbing her blaster from the floor, placed the barrel on the edge of the bed. Near the muzzle, a scarlet dot floated in the air.


    Must be an aim, Alex decided, and the scarlet dot lay just to the side of the entrance - where the entrant should be a split second after appearing in the opening.


    The handle slid a little in his blood-red hand, and he wrapped a second palm around the top of it to be sure. He lurched.


    The edge of something white flashed through the doorway, appearing near the top for a moment and then disappearing. The blaster shrieked and spat out a yellow ball of the discharge as Alex reflexively fired. On the opposite wall of the corridor, a small scarlet ball of explosion burst, leaving behind a black stain with a reddening core on the pale wood panel.


    I know such tricks Alex thought angrily, shifting half a meter sideways from his old position and aiming the sight exactly in the middle of the doorway. He unfocused his gaze and, relaxing his hand, pressed lightly on the trigger picking out the slack.


    Such tricks he did, indeed, know. Some smartass peeked into the room on a swing, hanging from a jamb, standing on something high, or simply jumping up, appearing for a split second where he was least expected - in the upper corner. And now that someone is leaning against the wall and realizing exactly what it was that he saw in that brief moment.


    I don''t think he can distinguish me. Only the edge of his head and the barrel of his blaster showed above the torn mishmash of the bed. And I won''t give him a second time.


    Seconds stretched on, but nothing happened - the unknown enemy was assessing the situation.


    I wish I could throw a grenade at him while he''s thinking -  it will be a good lesson.


    Thoughts, spurred on by adrenaline, formed an unpleasant picture, and Alex began to squint at the open secret door leading to Taer''s room. His body literally shuddered with the urge to dash in there, for he too had marked himself, and the unknown "white one", unlike him, might well have a grenade on him as well. He grabbed the "specialist" by the surviving arm and, trying to be as quiet as possible, began dragging her to the secret door, realizing with horror that at any rate, he would not make it.


    "Allesandro?" There was an uncertain female voice from the corridor. "Are you all right?"


    Alex threw up Taer''s hand and raised his blaster again. The voice was similar to Kayrin''s, but there was no certainty, especially since Taer was saying something about shapeshifters.


    "It''s me, Kayrin," the worried voice came out again. "I was in the fencing hall and I heard rumbling and gunshots..."


    "How do you prove you''re Kayrin?" Alex answered with a question, taking cover behind the doorjamb of the secret door.


    Taer''s words about the shapeshifter were still in his head, and the fencing hall was, to say the least, too far away to hear the soft buzzing and clapping of blasters.


    And what was she doing there anyway, in a fencing hall, in the middle of the night?


    "When I was a little girl," He heard from the hallway. "We used to come and visit, and I used to call you ''Caslem Cislem,'' and you hated it and threw incredible tantrums..."


    "Anything from a more recent history?" he suggested, wondering if ''Kayrin'' knew about the secret door leading to Taer''s bedroom.


    By all accounts, it seemed likely that she did not know and could go out the back and if it had been a case of training, he would have done so without hesitation.


    Except this isn''t a game. There the balls hurt more, Flashing in his head as Alex exhaled slowly through clenched teeth, trying to calm his racing heart and the fever that was gripping him.


    "When we came back from the Voigrom," Kayrin continued after a moment''s pause, "you told me you didn''t want to marry Valerie, but you were being pressured by Countess Durlurl. And when you were helping me pick out dresses for the Unification Party, you supposedly stepped off the top of my dress while helping me unbutton the clasps."


    Alex sighed in relief:


    Unlikely anyone from the outside could have known about the two incidents at the same time, he decided and shouted into the corridor. Come in!


    In the doorway, with arms outstretched, a figure in a tight white suit appeared, the hilt of a sword dangling from her belt. A solid helmet with a white, opaque visor, on which was an intricate monogram, covered her head. It was Kayrin''s fencing costume, and the figure was clearly hers:


    "The Great Shadows!" There was a cry muffled by the helmet. She wanted to run to him but froze. She must have seen a phaser pointed at her. "Alex, are you all right? Are you hurt?"


    "Don''t move. My hands are shaking." He warned honestly. "Take off your helmet."


    The baroness pulled off her helmet, and a dark wave of thick hair fell over her shoulders. Kayrin''s bottomless black eyes glowed with concern. Her face, which must have been devoid of makeup, seemed a little paler, but as usual, it was impeccably perfect and incredibly beautiful.


    "It''s me." She said it again. "Don''t shoot."


    "Or something that looks like you," Alex whispered tiredly, not lowering his blaster.


    He had to choose whether to shoot or not. On the outside, it was 100% Kayrin, but...


    Fuck! Shapeshifters or something. Should I poke her with silver?


    "Don''t worry, it''s me, Kay." The Baroness assured him, seeing the disbelief in Alex''s eyes as he stared at her through the scope. "You''re covered in blood..." She added with a strange intonation.


    Alex made a decision and lowered his blaster. Kayrin, still anxious face, ran towards him but froze in horror when she saw Taer''s body, hidden by the ruins of the bed until then:


    "O Protectress!" She exclaimed, frozen. "What''s wrong with Taer? What''s happened here, anyway?"


    "Someone or something attacked us. I didn''t understand anything. Taer said something about a shapeshifter, an ancient." Alex began to explain his confused impressions of what had happened. "By the time I woke up, Taer was already shooting at someone, then something slashing was flying across the room. Taer''s arm is severed, and there seems to be a slight lung injury. She needs to be rushed to hospital."


    "Then why didn''t you call the servants in?" Kayrin asked, not hiding her amazement at why such an obvious thing had not been done.


    "Because I''m an idiot!" Alex whispered dazedly


    He had honestly forgotten that the castle was full of people. Maybe there was a doctor too. He rushed to the communicator and, clutching the knob responsible for calling the servants, shouted: "Run to my bedroom! Call an ambulance at once! Get two bags immediately, one filled with water and ice. The other must be clean and dry."


    The communicator responded to his call with silence. It was probably damaged during the firefight.


    "What are the bags for?" The baroness wondered, squatting beside the Taer but keeping her eyes on Alex.


    "To save the arm," Alex explained. "If they can fix a burnt-out Dudo, I don''t think they''ll have a problem sewing her arm back on."


    She gave him a strange look but said nothing. The Baroness got up and peered over his shoulder: "This is the passageway to Taer''s room, isn''t it?" She asked.


    "Er..." Alex stretched out without understanding. "Yeah, what?"


    "I bet she''s got a first-aid kit in there," Kayrin exclaimed excitedly, shoved Alex aside, and disappeared into the room. "Keep an eye on Taer for now." It came from over there.


    He leaned over the specialist and listened. Her breathing was faint and a little hoarse. He moved the sheet that covered the wound in her side a little to see if the blood was foaming...


    And at that moment, a golden blade flashed with a quiet hum next to his face.


    "Don''t move." Kayrin hissed from behind me. "Or I''ll blow your head off before you even think about it."


    Alex, not moving and at the same time wondering if he could reach the blaster without Kayrin noticing, beckoned his eyes in her direction.


    The baroness hovered over him as a white statue with grim determination on her face, her left hand clutching the hilt of her sword, whose golden blade froze a few centimeters from his face, burning his skin, and in her right, she clutched something like a drill with a large screen. She stepped forward slightly and kicked the blaster that lay beside Alex away with a kick of her foot.


    "Kayrin? What''s wrong with you?" As calmly as possible, Alex inquired, who suddenly thought that if she wanted to kill him, she''d just blow his head off without any conversation. "Don''t you think..."


    "Shut up!" She shouted angrily at him. "Tell me where Allesandro is, or..." The streak of gold glittering fire moved menacingly closer. "I know what I do with the likes of you... Tell me where he is or I swear I''ll cut you in four times eight pieces."


    "Relax, there''s no need to dissect anyone. I am Allesandro, the real deal."


    Kayrin leaned towards him without removing her blade and squinted unkindly into his eyes:


    "The real Allesandro couldn''t stand the sight of blood." She hissed. "He would get sick and literally faint. And almost no one knew about it because he was too shy and hide his weakness. He was, after all, the Heir to the Cassards."


    "Um... you must have forgotten. I''ve lost my memory..." Alex began to excuse himself, squinting at the blade that was burning his skin more and more... "A phobia could well be forgotten, being in the damaged areas..., more so in an extreme situation."


    God, what am I saying... I''m so busted, he thought, watching the baroness''s reaction carefully.


    "You''ve forgotten the phobia, then." She smiled wickedly. "And you remembered the Survival and Adaptation course, didn''t you?" Baroness nodded at the belted arm. "Only the Searchers and Saboteurs get to read it, and Allesandro wasn''t even in the Guard!"


    "I''m doing this intuitively..." said Alex, who decided that explaining that he''d taken a course in extreme medicine along with anti-avalanche training as a snowboarding free rider would be suicidal. "Believe me. It''s me, Alex, I mean Allesandro."


    "And we''re about to find out..." Kayrin brought the ''drill'' with the screen she had in her right hand to Alex''s neck and suddenly jabbed him in the back, just below the shoulder blade, in a sudden, lightning-fast motion.


    "Well, I hope that convinces you..." Alex said, wrinkling his nose at the unexpectedly painful sting. "By the way, while you''re figuring out what I am, maybe you could help Taer. She''s dying."


    "She''s not dying." The baroness snarled, squinting at the screen of the softly beeping drill. "Her head was unharmed, her blood had stopped, and she breathing. She had at least an hour."


    For a few lingering seconds, the Drill chirped softly, probably analyzing the sample, the flaming gold of the blade stinging the skin mercilessly:


    I''ll probably get blisters later, Alex thought aloof.


    The ''drill'' made a low, shimmering sound:


    "The human..." Kayrin groaned, clearly unable to believe her eyes. The surprise on her face changed to anger. "So the disguise..."


    "Kay, come on, don''t be silly..." Alex started, but he stopped when he saw the look in her eyes.


    "I can feel that you''re not Allesandro!" She whispered, bringing her open palm to his face and standing still. "I''m sure of it."


    Alex suddenly felt as heavy as if he''d been rammed by a thousand-ton train. The world lost its colors, the sounds were gone, and only the thud of his heart convinced him that he was still alive. Somewhere in the depths of his chest shuddered a heavy dragging nasty feeling. He looked up at the baroness through the grey haze that obscured his eyes. There was an incredible tension on her face, a tiny drop of sweat crawling down her temple, the look in her black eyes literally burning him, and for a moment, he thought they were a dull blue somewhere in the depths.


    Suddenly everything stopped, the world became colorful, and the nasty feeling in his chest disappeared. Alex sighed in relief and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the gray haze out of his eyes. Kairin, on the other hand, stood frozen with some incredible mixture of fear and surprise on her face. She looked at her hand with the blade at Alex''s face in surprise, as if to say, "My God, what am I doing!" The Baroness stood in indecision for a few moments, but then there was a desperate determination in her gaze like someone determined to do something incredibly frightening:


    She gonna strike.


    Alex was about to jump aside, desperately aware that he wouldn''t make it in any case. Suddenly something like a frantic inspiration lit up Kayrin''s face, and the blade flashed away:


    "Oh, forgive me, Allesandro!" She gave him a big hug. "I don''t know what came over me. When I saw you covered in blood, I didn''t think it could be you, and what you said about the shapeshifter... it was stupid."


    "Okay, never mind." Alex touched the burned cheek lightly and grimaced in pain. "What was that, by the way?"


    "What do you mean?" Kayrin asked though she seemed to know exactly what he talking about.


    "Well, when you put your hand to my face. " That''s what Taer did, by the way. Alex remembered. "I suddenly felt so sick, and I think your eyes even lit up."


    "Are you sure?" Kayrin interrogated deafeningly. "What color?"


    "Er... Blue, I think, but I''m not sure." Alex, who was blinded by the light of the blade, admitted.


    "You imagined it." She exhaled in relief and smiled. "And you were sick from the burn. Please forgive me. I didn''t mean to." She added with an unhappy expression on her face.


    "Yeah, well..." Alex began, and then his eyes caught on Taer, whom he had completely forgotten about with the whole "interrogation" thing. He rushed over to the "specialist" inwardly freezing and checking a pulse. He sighed heavily. Alive.


    "We need to get her to a hospital right away. She has lost a lot of blood and may have hurt her lung."


    Kayrin, without saying anything, disappeared into Taer''s room and returned with a small plastic case with a complicated green sign on the lid:


    "I''ll take care of Taer for now." She informed him as she removed his improvised belt tourniquet and wrapped some sort of instantly healed tape around the wound. "You get the servants to contact the hospital and get your Arm up. And explain to me what''s going on!"


    "The communicator is damaged, and I can''t remember what else to call them," Alex confessed. "I don''t know what happened, but I woke up, and Taer was shooting a blaster at someone in the hallway, but I couldn''t see who. Then something threw me out of bed, and something whizzed across the room, cutting everything. When it all settled down, Taer''s arm was cut off. She said it was a Shapeshifter and that they were extinct, then she added something, not in English, and said, I don''t want..."


    "Not in what she added it?" Kayrin interjected.


    Although her face wasn''t visible because she was leaning over the specialist injecting her with a red tube, you could see her tense up:


    "In another language." Alex fumbled. "Said something in another language, then "I don''t want to," and passed out. From shock, blood loss, or both." He added, looking sympathetically at the motionless Taer."


    "What did she say in another language?" The baroness asked as she continued to work on the ''specialist''.


    "I don''t remember exactly..." Alex stretched, squinting his eyes up and trying to remember exactly what the Taer had said. "Gor azat vazor, I think it was..."


    Kayrin obviously tensed up again: "We need to call the police urgently, or better still, a squad of Guards from the Representation."


    "The communicator doesn''t work." Alex reminded her. "And what do those words mean, by the way?"


    "It''s the language of the ''branch of the flame''."Kay frowned. "I don''t know it very well, but ''Gor'' means enemy, and ''zor'' means reinforcement. That''s why we have to call in the police and guards as a matter of urgency. There should be a room near your bedroom with servants on duty. Tell them to look for the communicator."


    "I''ll go and find them then..." Alex started towards the exit but was stopped by the Baroness:


    "No, you''d better stay here with Taer in case the attacker is still in the castle."


    "But then, who would call the police and the servants?" He objected.


    "I''ll make a quick run for it," Kayrin suggested, but then, seeing Alex''s gaze, she added. "Okay, we''ll make a quick run for it, and I don''t think anything''s going to happen to Taer."


    Within two minutes, Lord Cassard and Baroness Rionale had dropped in on the unsuspecting maids on duty, nearly fainting the poor girl. Whether it was the way Alex looked - he was wearing only his pants and covered in blood from head to toe. Or the tone in which Kayrin demanded that they get out and quickly find a working communicator and the steward with pilots.


    Panic and commotion quickly filled the waking castle. Soon Lord Cassard''s bedroom, despite its imposing size, was crowded. The guests, servants, droids, a crowd of half-dressed people bustling about. Soon the droids assisted Taer was hoisted onto a makeshift stretcher of the two hovering platforms used to serve the table, and accompanied by Kayrin and two pilots, she headed for the garages. Alex lingered a little longer. He tried a seemingly primitive thing: two bags, one filled with ice and water and the other empty and dry, to save his hand. But the servants just didn''t seem to understand him. Especially as it turned out that no communicators worked in the castle, and it was impossible to explain anything to the people on the spot - they had to send "messengers".


    Finally, Barra, who proved to be the cleverest, came running in with two bags of something that looked like foil and a bucket of ice. And Alex, together with Lord Brenor, who was also soaked in blood, inwardly shuddering with horror, packed the limb first into a dry bag and then plunged it into the bucket of ice:


    "To be honest, I''m not quite sure why we did it, Lord Cassard." Lord Brenor, who had dropped in the day before as he had promised to "pay a visit" and check on his health after the assassination, confessed. "Wouldn''t it have been easier to use a freezer or just put ice on it?"


    "The thing is Lord Lister, that direct contact with ice..." Alex began, but then there was a pulsing howl from the traction generators, a dry snap, and blue ball lightning exploded with a violent crack under the bedroom ceiling. A savage, unbearable pain burned his entire body, and Alex collapsed to the floor, cramped.


    His body was completely disobedient. He couldn''t even move his eyes. His consciousness was trapped in an unruly, inert statue. Massive, angular metal boots came into view, then another. Something snapped again as if a huge lash had struck the water, and a bursting ball of discharge crackled somewhere far away. Someone flipped it over, and Alex saw a figure bent over him, clad in a black, oily gleaming spacesuit with a sheer opaque visor.


    Here comes the reinforcement of the enemy, he thought, as he, frozen as a motionless monolith, was carelessly taken by the shoulder, lifted lightly with one hand, and dragged somewhere. We should have left at once.


    He was thrown into the open side door of some vehicle hovering opposite the bedroom. The yellowish porous surface of the floor threw itself against him and hit him in the face. Soon the aerocar was rocking from the massive passengers scrambling inside, the door slammed, and the engines howled:


    "What demons!" There was an angry cry from somewhere overhead. "What is this?"


    "All who matched the description of the target." There was a clear challenge in the tone of the man who answered.


    "Oh, shit! Why didn''t you just blow them all to all shadows?!"


    "The Grand insisted that identification had to be done, and they were all covered in blood. It would take a long time to analyze. You interrupted the operation yourself! What was I supposed to do?"


    "Blow up the whole floor!" Shouted the first speaker. "Not dragging them on board!"


    Alex, who was slowly regaining his ability to move, turned his head gently.


    The rather spacious saloon, clad in light beige plastic, was cluttered with massive figures in black spacesuits and weapons. Six people sat along the walls. One seat was empty, and the seat opposite was occupied by a ruptured spacesuit with a huge fused gash on its chest.


    One of those freaks must have got to him after all. With satisfaction, Alex thought, he noticed some kind of weapon not far from him, placed between the seats, with a massive perforated barrel and a muzzle into which his fist would fit freely: If I could reach it... But the body listened very badly.


    "Come on. You''re making a lot of noise." It came from above. "Let''s identify this Cassard of yours, run a scan, slash, and throw the body out."


    "No, fuck, once we got them alive, let Grand... look, this one''s moving..." And a blinding ball of pain exploded in Alex''s head, and he whirled off into the darkness somewhere.


    * * *

 Chapter 24

    Chapter 24


    * * *


    It was one of the most disgusting awakenings of his life - so bad he felt. His shoulders and collarbones hurt like someone was trying to tear both his arms off. His head hurt like a monster, and the burn on his cheek ached. Alex almost groaned, but the memory of what had preceded this awakening burst into consciousness, silencing him. He froze, trying to keep the sleeper''s breathing pace, and began to listen carefully, trying to understand where he was and who was around him.


    A light, a faint breeze blew around him, and it was quite cool. He might have thought he was in "nature" somewhere, but the air smelt of old dust.


    Some large abandoned room.


    Next to him, someone''s breathing and some quiet clinking could be heard a monotonous "machine" noise was coming from somewhere in the distance


    There is definitely one person nearby, and the noise seems to be sounds from the street.


    "Well, well, your lordship," a dry, old voice rumbled close by, almost making Alex flinch. "Don''t pretend! The biomonitor shows you awake..."


    Realizing that the little performance had failed, he struggled to open one eye and, squinting at the unexpectedly bright light, looked around.


    Right above him, clutching in his hand something resembling a massive calculator with a large screen, stood an elderly grey-haired man with a small "academic" beard and lively, slanting eyes of a light grey color that stood out vividly in his wrinkled face.


    So the rebels weren''t lying after all - at least the professor was involved.


    Alex was almost one hundred percent sure that Professor Takkar was in front of him - he had seen him in person on the Voigrom and on the recording that the "resistance" had passed on. There the professor was discussing his murder with Lord Velaske and some mysterious stranger who remained offscreen.


    Well, the footage appears to be authentic. It remains to be seen why the dean of Tallana University would want to kill me, Alex decided as he continued to look around actively.


    The huge room, which at first seemed so brightly lit, was drowned in darkness - the long, elongated cylinders of lights were lost somewhere in the height of the dark ceiling slabs. As far as the eye could see, several square sand-colored containers were piled high, displaying the word ''Yummy'' alongside a smiling cartoonish face. Stacked on top of each other and stacked in tight rows, the containers formed a bizarre landscape of ''mountains'', ''canyons'', and entire ''plateaus''.


    In one of these "canyons," his captors seemed to have settled down. Right in the middle of the improvised corridor, formed by two solid "walls" of containers, was a long metal table with some kind of equipment, above which three holo-screens glowed like ghostly canvases.


    At the table, on a small folding stool, sat a young man in his thirties, looking back at Alex, with an unusually athletic build. On his lap, a weapon that looked like a submachine gun gleamed with dark metal. Two more of the guerrillas leaned absently against the opposite wall. All three wore light, loose brown jackets, gray trousers, and what looked like white trainers with high ankle grips.


    A young man was sitting squatting in front of Alex. His blond hair and reddish beard were sparsely disheveled, and his "uniform" brown jacket only accentuated the thinness of its owner. He held an injector in his hand and his agile, slightly slanted gray eyes stared in curiosity at Alex. Beside him stood Professor Takkar himself, his jacket unbuttoned and simply slung over his shoulders, making it obvious that the gray trousers were actually part of his overalls.


    To the left and right of Alex stood two plastic chairs.


    On the left, covered in blood, half-naked, and clearly unconscious, was Lord Brenor Lister. Lord Brenor seemed to have picked a very bad time to visit Lord Cassard.


    On the right, a dark-haired man in his thirties, dressed like the other kidnappers, sat with his hands cuffed behind his back. There was a bleeding abrasion on his left cheek and a smashed lower lip. He had been dragged over something rough and dirty for a long time judging by the state of his clothes. The left pant leg of his grey trousers was burned just below the knee and a crimson-black wound was visible through the hole. He was staring at Takkar steadily, his pale green eyes radiating such fury and anger that he looked as if he were about to vaporize him. The injured man''s face looked familiar to Alex...


    "Still, the blood could have been washed off." The professor remarked grudgingly as he finished looking at Alex. Turning to the young lad, he ordered:


    "Give their lordship some kind of stimulant or painkiller, or they won''t believe he''s alive when they look at him."


    "It''s all nerves," Alex complained, trying to remember where he might have seen the wounded man. "One assassination attempt, then another - there was no rest at all!"


    "Well, then you should be grateful to us," smiled Professor Takkar as he watched his assistant''s manipulations, "for the three days'' sleep we have provided you. I think that''s enough to get you a good night''s sleep."


    The lad took a clear cylinder of blue liquid from the small plastic case lying at his feet and filled it into the injector.


    The cold metal of the injector''s head touched his skin, and a sharp pain burned Alex''s shoulder, sending searing shivers down his body.


    "Anything else?" The guy asked as he looked up at the professor.


    "No, no, Yuta, go ahead. Thank you." Takkar waved his hands and turned back to his prisoners after a glance at the young man.


    "How are you feeling, your lordship," he asked, leaning over Alex.


    "That''s better now.? Alex smiled tautly, not taking his eyes off the injured man.


    That''s right! I definitely saw him at the Voigrom - he was among Liora''s men.


    "That''s good. You had an exceptionally sickly look."


    "Maybe you can untie my hands," Alex suggested, nodding toward the bored guards. "You''ve got a lot of guards, and my shoulders hurt like hell."


    "No, that is unnecessary, your lordship," the professor shook his head, "the buyer might not understand."


    "...and it would be quite wonderful if you could tell me where I am." "His Lordship continued his thought.


    "This is the Yummy Company''s automated warehouse." Takkar''s hand circled the jumble of containers in a matter-of-fact manner. "It''s a great place. You just have to hack into the central unit and you''ve got a lot of space. It''s can accommodate heavy freighters and shuttles, all without any prying eyes. There are none here at all - only droids. So no one''s going to bother us. Ironic, isn''t it?" He asked, turning to Alex again, seeing the incomprehension in his eyes:


    "You own the Yummy company almost entirely."


    "Yes?" The new owner was surprised and glanced around the warehouse. "Very nice." He concluded and looked at Takkar disapprovingly:


    "So you''re also a burglar and robber! It''s a bit shameful for the dean of the University of Tallan... Or is it a hobby?"


    "I have to admit, Lord Cassard," the professor said with a chuckle, his gaze fixed on his face, "you''re very confident, even a little insolent. I would have expected you to behave a little differently - don''t you want to offer us money?"


    "I had that thought," Alex admitted, "but unfortunately, I forgot my wallet in my breast pocket..." The only clothes he was wearing were his blood-stained hunting trousers.


    The professor came even closer and looked into his prisoner''s eyes with undisguised curiosity:


    "You know, your lordship, I have a confession to make... When the fourth attempt failed, I had a thought unworthy of a true scholar. I thought, Is all this nonsense about the Blessing of the Flame really true? Your luck was way beyond statistical limits, and the fact that you''d survived a double dose of gray dust defies common sense. And now you''re as calm as an ascended man..." Takkar stretched thoughtfully.


    ... And suddenly and forcefully, he struck the prisoner in the face with the back of his palm.


    Alex jerked from the impact, almost falling over with the chair, and hissed in pain.


    Come on, you bastard, just let me get out...


    "I see, Grand, you''re already in full communion of minds with the SS." The injured man wheezed and spat blood at the professor''s feet. "The manners are the same, only missing the black uniform. Maybe you should ask your friends. Wouldn''t they say no?"


    "You''re wrong, Krain." The professor objected. "It was a science experiment." He grabbed Alex by the chin and turned him to face the wounded man:


    "Look at him! His eyes are full of anger and fear, the usual animal fear for his life! Could he possibly be Ascended?" he ''demonstrated'' Alex for a few seconds, and then he must have decided it was enough.


    "And as for you..." Takkar stretched out, wiping his palm with a handkerchief taken from his pocket with squeamish care. "I have my share of guilt, of course: discipline must be maintained even in the case of traitors, and there will be penalties for violators."


    "Traitor..." laughed the injured man hoarsely. "Coming from a man who had sold out the entire Resistance Network on Tallana, that sounded like a compliment."


    "Fool!" The Professor threw an irritated look at the words that seemed to have hurt him. "I didn''t sell the resistance. I created it. I gave it a real purpose - Rebellion! Not painting toothless proclamations on the walls. The Empire can only be broken by force! But you, Kraine, are a traitor! You didn''t just leave the PVD. You surrendered everything you knew to those snot-nosed "Anti-Imperial Alliance" brats and this foolish attempt to free Lord Cassard." Takkar shook his head, disappointed. "Not to mention the sheer insanity of it - how many people would have been killed or sent to penal servitude?"


    "You have already sold them out!" The injured man shouted and jerked towards the professor but collapsed to the floor with the chair to which he was chained and, raising his face distorted with anger, he growled:


    "You sold out the entire underground! Five years of our labor will die on Tallana when the Imperial fleet returns. Your rebellion is doomed, and you know it. You are a provocateur!" He literally spat that last accusation out along with the blood.


    "Yes, this rebellion is doomed." Takkar agreed, gesturing for the guards to stop. There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. "It is a necessary sacrifice-it will show that the Empire is not all-powerful, that it can be resisted. This rebellion will spawn thousands more. Isn''t that what we''ve been dreaming of? Haven''t we, Kraine?"


    "The Emperor will just get what he wants! He will declare a State of Emergency, and there will be no trace of freedom in the Tail Sector - just another faceless Imperial Region. There won''t be a second uprising. There won''t be thousands more just like it. Everyone will have Tallana in front of them, and no one will want to repeat its fate."


    "Yes, they will declare a State of Emergency," agreed the professor. "So much the better! Sector Tail will feel the imperial boot on its own skin and then they will understand why it is necessary to fight against the empire. The more brutal the pressure, the more fighters and support the Resistance will get. Too bad you don''t understand that, Kraine..." He waved a hand at one of the guards and a blue paralyzer beam struck the wounded man.


    "Well, I know the answer to the first question that''s been bothering me," Takkar muttered. "Now all that remains is the answer to the second." he turned to a silent Alex.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "What is the name of the adept you hired to protect you, and how did you come upon him?" Takkar asked, and, squinting menacingly, he added. "And, believe me, I have worse things in my arsenal than a slap in the face."


    "I didn''t hire an adept," Alex said as clearly as possible, coping with his initial surprise at the question.


    "Well, what''s the point..." the professor grimaced, squatting in front of the open case with the cylinders for the injector. "Your resistance friend and failed savior is paralyzed, so why the show of heroism? You don''t have to show off for me, young man. I know for a fact that there was an Adept. I even know the profile of the adept - it was a telepath and quite strong. And you know that the Adept was..."


    He took the injector and filled it with a cylinder of clear liquid marked with a green stripe.


    "...... And we both know you don''t have a blockage, so you''re going to tell everything anyway. Either voluntarily or after the injection of Lim''s serum. So how about we talk like civilized people? Believe me," he pointed to the loaded injector, "you don''t need to test it on yourself."


    Stirlitz said: study, study. The inner voice came to life, and despite the horror of the situation, Alex''s face contorted into a wry grin. I didn''t hire an adept, but that beautifully intelligent man wouldn''t believe me; you could certainly call Kayrin...


    Alex had certain suspicions about her... even a whole wagonload of suspicions. If anyone in the castle was an adept, it was her.


    But then again, he won''t believe me... And why? They want to kill me anyway...


    "You''re not saying anything?" The professor raised an eyebrow skeptically and shook his head dejectedly. "In vain, your lordship, in vain..."


    Takkar held the injector up to Alex''s shoulder, who stared at it mesmerized:


    If I bite him and fall on top of him, the guards might well paralyze me in the commotion. He thought, trying to figure out where to bite - the jacket looked pretty sturdy. Stupid, of course, but at least some moral satisfaction and a break from the interrogation.


    "Grand, the aerocar has arrived with Lord. He''ll be right with you." There was a young voice, and Alex peripherally saw a young helper appear from somewhere on the side from behind the containers.


    "Splendid." Takkar sighed in relief as he put the injector down. "He''s made up his mind! Get ready to go!" He ordered the guards, who were boredly propping up the containers, and turned back to Alex:


    "Well, as you can see, business. You, your lordship, will have to wait a little longer." The professor said as he put the injector back in the case and closed it. "Think it over. Well, why should you deny the obvious?"


    The wait was not long, and soon footsteps were heard from somewhere to the right of the containers, and three men stepped into the makeshift "corridor": a muscular dark-haired man in his forties, dressed in a short light tunic and loose dark trousers, and two guards in black tunics trimmed with blue cord.


    It''s Lord Velaske! Alex thought in surprise when he saw the brunette. It''s like a convention of those who want to kill Lord Cassard - the only thing missing is a mysterious woman.


    "I''m so glad you could make it!" The Professor smiled warmly and spread his arms as if he were going to embrace Lord Velaske.


    "You have no idea, Grand, what it has cost me to sneak onto Tallana now, during the Rebellion," the brunette grimaced and paused before he could reach the professor for a few steps. "I hope what you want to show me is worth it."


    "Oh, believe me, you won''t be disappointed!" The professor took a step to the side, revealing a view of Alex chained to a chair, and made an inviting gesture with his hand as if to invite him to examine the trophy.


    "So you got him alive after all!" Lord Velaske''s voice was an odd mix of envy and amazement. "We had agreed that your men would destroy him..."


    "Yes, we had planned to destroy him," Professor Takkar nodded, "but there was a mishap, and he was taken alive. And then it occurred to me that it was an incredible stroke of luck. Imagine the news headlines - Lord Cassard was captured by the Cholan Conspirators..."


    Lord Velaske froze in deep thought, but then after about a minute his face lit up with inspiration:


    "You''re goddamn right!" In excitement, he began to pace the makeshift corridor with vigorous steps. "This is going to be great! First, they''ll go on the planetary channels with some insane demand and show the captured Lord Cassard, and then, when they''re turned down, they''ll kill him live on air! Cassard will explode! Secondarist will explode! Yes, it''s a godsend! This is going to be great!" He paused, silent for a moment, snapped his fingers, and turned to the Professor. "Well, I''ll take it from here!"


    "I''m glad I could help you." Takkar bowed his head slightly. "But, Your Lordship," the Professor''s face grew anxious, "perhaps you could take my men to guard him. Tallana is swarming with Fyron''s agents, looking for Lord Cassard," he jerked the paralyzed man carelessly with his boot, "they must have known something, and you only have two guards."


    "Nonsense!" Lord Velaske brushed me off. "There are six more people waiting for me in the aerocar. In any case, I am not going to linger on Tallana." He beckoned to his guards. "Take him away, but be careful."


    Lord Velaske''s guards moved toward Alex...


    And at that moment Professor Takkar looked expressively at the brown-jacketed men who were idly propping up the containers and closed his eyes. The fighters, who had previously been bored with their interior decorations, raised their weapons with surprising and clearly rehearsed synchronicity, and the room filled with the howl of blaster discharges.


    Two shrieking scarlet jets struck the lord''s guards in the back and exploded in a string of purple orbs, devouring flesh in flashes of black smoke and scatterings of scarlet sparks. The guards, knocked off their feet by the bursts, collapsed to the floor as broken black puppets before they could even draw their weapons.


    A third sliver of discharges struck Lord Velaske himself, smashing into the mirrored haze of the flaring personal shield. His face was still in surprise before it could be replaced by anger, and his hand reflexively tore off the hilt of his sword. The flaming golden blade swung at the professor''s head with incredible speed, but the shield was struck by the volleys of two more of the freed fighters.


    The mirrored cocoon of the shield burst with a sound like a mournful sigh, and a furious jumble of blasts cut Lord Velaske open, striking him in the stomach. He collapsed in half with an indescribable crunch of shattering flesh, caught in a whirlwind of purple sparks. The golden blade of the sword, which the lord never let go of, sizzled and cracked into the ribbed floorboards at Alex''s feet.


    The unwillingly frozen professor, the blade missing by some twenty centimeters, exhaled a long sigh of relief and walked over to Lord Velaske''s body, switched off his sword, and signaled to the guards. The fighters moved closer to the defeated bodies, and the room lit up with short bursts of check shots to the face.


    "Yeah..." Takkar stretched, staring thoughtfully at Velaske''s remains, "Shadows only give you warning once..." He involuntarily twitched. "He must have suspected something. All right then. Go and help the others with the ones in the aerocar," he ordered the men, glancing at Alex with a sneering look:


    "Why are you so quiet, Lord Cassard?"


    "I didn''t want to disturb the conversation between business partners," Alex replied mechanically, still dumbfounded by the scene.


    He lowered his gaze to the upper half of Lord Velaske''s body, lying at his feet. Below his waist, the muscular brunette was a blackened head, exuding a nauseating stench of burning meat. A lump rose in his throat, and Alex looked away, trying to breathe through his mouth.


    "Well, what do you..." brushed Professor Takkar off, also looking thoughtfully at the remains. "It''s not a partnership, just a... temporary alliance. Their lordship was going to do about the same thing to me... maybe more formally, but... You nobles tend to underestimate commoners, and, thanks to that, I got there early. As it was, I was practically no longer needed even on the contrary, once the state of emergency was imposed, the new authorities would certainly want to demonstrate their effectiveness and bring the head of the main firestarter, i.e....."


    And Alex, continuing to pretend to listen to the professor, observed the surprising phenomenon with interest.


    One of Lord Velaske''s slain guards lifted his head, his eyes showing through the smudged mishmash of blaster wounds that had replaced his face. His hand rose unhurriedly with a kind of majestic slowness. A wave slowly swept through it, and in the guard''s palm was a tiny silver pistol. Or a blaster.


    The small blaster in the hand of the rising guard hummed softly, and a tiny blue ball of disgruntled wasp padded forward.


    "So, well, if SS gives me a blaster to shoot the empire, I''ll use it, but that doesn''t mean..."


    The professor faltered as the discharge burst against the back of his head with a dry hissing crack, and he swayed and collapsed to the floor face down, almost catching the chair with Alex under it. The back of Professor Takkar''s head was a smoking dark gash half as deep as his head.


    I just hope the THING doesn''t think it''s worth shooting me, Alex thought hopefully as he watched the "guard" slowly rise with the same unhurried majesty and approach him in the same smooth manner.


    "Er, man, what do you need all this for now?" Alex smiled. "Your employer''s dead anyway, so whether you kill me or not, nothing''s going to change. Why don''t you help me get out of here? And then I''ll reward you. I have a lot of money, believe me!"


    The strange creature, still keeping a sepulchral silence, approached Takkar''s body and turned him over on his back. He leaned over him. The features of the ''guardian'' faltered, and with a crunching crack of gelled crust the professor''s face emerged from under the wound, then the torso came...


    A moment later, Alex watched as the freshly minted Professor Takkar slowly, as if floating through syrup, dragged the body of the former professor behind the containers.


    "Be quiet, please, Lord Cassard," the creature turned to him slowly, hiding Takkar''s body. "When I return, we shall talk." With these words, the "professor" walked at a leisurely pace in the same direction as the brown-jacketed fighters had gone.


    It was only when he was alone with himself that Alex realized how scared he had been all this time. The cheerful indifference in his conversation with the professor was in fact a manifestation of complete despair. He was chained and there was nothing he could do about it, the only question was how would he be killed - quickly or slowly? From his point of view - almost equal options.


    What difference does it make in how damaged his body is if he ends up dead anyway?


    So the professor was right. There was no "tranquillity of the ascended" in him at all.


    He dismissed the idea of bribing Takkar and his men at once - if they really needed the money, they would have demanded it themselves and immediately. And they would not have tried to kill him earlier.


    No, the bastard was clearly an idealist, Alex thought, looking thoughtfully toward the container behind which the werewolf had hidden the professor''s body. Just hope Lord Velaske''s sidekick isn''t just as principled.


    Though he sat still chained to the chair, hope loomed before him. Lord Velaske''s body, still smoldering below the waist like slowly cooling embers, exuded heat, and a disgusting stench. Professor Takkar, with his head, shot through, lay behind a nearby container. Everyone who wanted to kill him was dead. And now all that was left to do was to get out of here in as whole as possible:


    I don''t think the shapeshifter is an idealistic guy... He was with Lord Velaske, and he didn''t seem like an idealistic fighter - more like a purely self-serving schemer. So the shapeshifter was probably working for money. Now his employer is dead, and there''s no reason to do the job... Alex reasoned rather trying to convince himself.


    The idea that the shapeshifter had been hired by House Melato, for example, or a mysterious stranger or someone else, and Lord Velaske was nothing more than a "customer representative" was stubbornly ignored by Alex as completely unpromising for him.


    And if so, why think about it?


    Five minutes later, after giving Alex a chance to torture himself with thoughts and assumptions, the shapeshifter appeared. Still, in the guise of Professor Takkar, he stepped with leisurely slowness into the makeshift "corridor" littered with bodies - paralyzed and dead - and, in deadly silence, began to perform strange manipulations:


    "Erm... venerable..." Alex stretched out cautiously, tired of watching as the shapeshifter carefully and, as usual - very slowly, shined some sort of small red torch shaped like a lighter over Lord Velaske''s body. The red flickering spot of light probed literally every inch. "Shall we talk?"


    "Don''t worry, your lordship. I''ll make time for you." Slowly, carefully separating the words, the ''Professor'' replied without stopping his manipulations.


    After about a minute and a half, which seemed like an eternity to Alex, the shapeshifter finished scanning the body. And the torch was replaced by a transparent needle two fingers long, which he drove into Lord Velaske''s neck. The withdrawn needle, filled with pinkish-red flesh, was capped and returned to where it had come from, directly into his hand.


    Looks like he''s carrying the equipment right inside him, Alex decided, glancing after the shapeshifter, who, having finished with Lord Velaske, headed towards the container behind which Professor Takkar''s body was hidden. Where he expectedly stayed for another two minutes.


    "You said something about gratitude, your lordship," the shapeshifter reminded me, stepping out from behind the container.


    He walked over to Alex and, pushing Velaske''s body aside with his foot, crouched on the floor. "His Lordship" licked his suddenly dry lips.


    "Any reasonable amount," he offered with a slightly less confident look than he would have liked. "As soon as you help me... I mean, us... out of here." He corrected himself, remembering Lord Brennor and the wounded ''resister''.


    Still, according to Takkar, this guy was trying to save me and had already saved me once, as had Brenor


    "And it will be more than he would have paid you anyway..." Alex added with a nod at Lord Velaske''s body lying next door.


    "Lord Velaske was not my employer." The shapeshifter objected, confirming the worst assumptions.


    "What difference does it make?" Alex smiled and tried to shrug his shoulders. "In any case, I can pay more. Let''s say two million denarii once we get out of here."


    "The Code forbids me to accept a contract I cannot fulfill," the ''Professor'' shook his head. "I am badly injured and already very slow, and soon I will lose my ability to move. The least I can do is remove the handcuffs. How much would you pay for such a service?"


    "How about a hundred thousand denarii and the possibility of further employment?" Alex suggested, continuing to smile charmingly. "That''s a good sum, huh? Maybe not much, but considering I can''t give you any guarantees, it''s very realistic. You can demand more, of course, and I can say yes... but I''ll end up paying as much as I can afford. And I am all for maximum sincerity in relations with future partners, and I certainly don''t feel sorry for a hundred thousand!"


    The shapeshifter was frozen like a wax statue for a while, and then his face came to life, slowly stretching out in a smile:


    "Interesting way of speaking, Lord Cassard. You''re right. A hundred thousand is good money for a small favor that requires no effort. Especially since I don''t have much choice..." He stood up, and a familiar silver pistol jumped into his hand. "And as for employment, thank you for the offer, but for now, I am satisfied with my current employer."


    "Hey, come on, I thought we had a deal!" Alex started to object, frantically trying to think of an argument. "If you don''t like something, there''s always room for maneuver and concessions... something could be reconsidered..."


    "We do have a deal, Lord Cassard." The shapeshifter nodded slowly. "And I am counting on your word. And as for this..." his blaster''s hand moved slightly, "don''t be afraid, I''ll just paralyze you before I release you."


    "But, why?!" Alex wondered sincerely. "Frankly, I don''t feel well enough as it is, and another paralysis would be unnecessary. Besides, it''s a waste of time."


    "You wouldn''t believe, your lordship, how many people honestly believe that if one eats the eighth slice of a dying shapeshifter, one can gain its power... In my condition, I wouldn''t want to take that chance." He extended his arm forward, aiming for Alex''s chest. "And as for time, don''t worry. It''ll take less than a minute..."


    The tiny silver blaster hummed softly, a flash of discharge, icy flames engulfing his chest, and Alex, thinking Damn! Why again..., fell into the darkness of unconsciousness.


    * * *

 Chapter 25

    Chapter 25


    * * *


    When Alex regained consciousness, the shapeshifter was no longer there, nor were the handcuffs that chained him to the chair, and his hands were free. For a few minutes, he listened to the sounds in the huge warehouse, barely moving. Especially from the side where the guards were leaving. But there was nothing to indicate that they were alive.


    So, trying not to make any noise, he rose carefully from the chair but was immediately forced to squat down with his hands on the floor - his legs were like cotton wool after a long period of immobility, and they were practically unresponsive to him.


    After sitting for a few seconds to let his muscles get used to the idea of "Now you must work again!" he paced cautiously and looked around carefully, heading towards the body of the guardsman who had proved unlucky enough to be in Lord Velaske''s retinue for the day.


    The blue-black tunic had numerous fist-sized holes in it, still smoldering around the edges. The holes were still smoldering at the edges. A crust of crimson-blackened crust covered the wounds and gave off an unbearable stench of burning and rotting meat. Fighting a bout of nausea, he unfastened the restraining sling and drew his blaster from its holster, which the guard had never managed to reach. After the "ready lever" was lowered, the tiny display on the back of the receiver flashed the number "twenty" changing to "five", with the power adjustment ring turned to maximum.


    Not much at all... The guard had one more replacement unit on his belt and that was it. Alex slipped it into his trousers pocket and looked around thoughtfully.


    The only weapon other than the guard''s blaster available in the room was Lord Velaske''s sword, which he still clutched in his hand.


    No, no, no... I''m more likely to be killed with it than without it, Alex thought, glancing skeptically at the sword. If he could count on anything with shooting, his swordsmanship skills were so modest that they weren''t even worth mentioning.


    All right, then, let''s get out of here quickly. He decided, and after looking over the motionless bodies of Lord Brenor and the ''rebel'', he headed towards the remains of Professor Takkar.


    He couldn''t afford to leave without searching for the bastard.


    And I really hope he has something with him that explains why they had to kill me


    A quick search revealed that the Professor had a miniature blaster, a wallet containing three thousand credits, a small disabled infoblock, a bundle of info sticks, a small card, which Alex identified as the Professor''s Institute badge, and a mysterious piece of plastic.


    On a thin square piece of plastic paper, it said "Tallana Emergency Committee" and there were three shimmering holographic seals: the seal of the "Northwest Municipality of Arkun", the "Union of Tallana Students" and the seal of the "United University of Tallana".


    Looking over the sheet and grinning puzzledly, he slipped it into his pocket just in case, hoping it wasn''t bugged, and, lugging everything but his blaster and Institute pass, he took the loot to the equipment table.


    That leaves Lord Velaske.


    Judging by the way his midsection had turned, if he had anything useful in his pockets, he could forget about it, Alex tried to convince himself, because if I searched that, there''d be one more senseless body in the room.


    Covering his nose and mouth with one hand and making an effort to keep nausea at bay. He pushed the remains of the lord''s lower half aside and retrieved the case with the injector and its cylinders from underneath.


    "I think the stimulant they gave me was blue..." Lord Cassard rummaged through the briefcase, discharged the injector, and put Lim''s serum in his pocket.


    He found a cylinder of blue liquid, filled it up - the professor had performed the operation in front of him - and grinned grimly at the gleaming, chrome-laden injector:


    "So, volunteers required... you and you, step out of line!" He informed the motionless bodies of his fellow unfortunates.


    Alex, biting his lip pensively, stared for a while, measuring himself now for Lord Brenor, now for the "Resistance". Finally, with a heavy sigh, he made up his mind, approached the paralyzed insurgent lying on the floor, rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, and, placing the injector on his forearm, pressed the trigger.


    The injector made a sharp hissing sound. A reddish stain was left on the skin, and Alex took a couple of steps away and waited for the results.


    After about a minute, the paralyzed rebel moved and, with evident difficulty, raised his head and looked around the room with a hazy gaze:


    "Where''s the bastard?" he wheezed, turning to Alex. "Grand..."


    "Dead. He''s lying behind the container." Alex nodded in the direction of Professor Takkar''s resting place. "Do you know anything about medicine?"


    "General course only..." replied the rebel, making an unsuccessful attempt to rise. "Will you get my hands free?" He asked, glancing up at Alex. "Your Lordship..."


    His hands were restrained by a semi-transparent loop of what looked like plastic, a couple of centimeters thick and without any sign of a lock:


    "Can this be cut? With a sword?" Asked "his lordship", having finished examining the handcuffs. And, waiting for an affirmative nod, Alex pulled the hilt of the sword from Lord Velaske''s still-warm hands.


    "You have to squeeze the grip tightly and press the button near your thumb." Instructed the wounded man, seeing Alex''s confusion.


    "Actually, I was thinking about how not to saw off anything of value to you." Alex snarled, gently bringing the buzzing strip of golden fire to the cuffs. "Don''t move because I''m a bit clumsy with these things..."


    The glowing blade touched the handcuffs, which immediately dispersed into black bubbles and streams of grey smoke. The smell of burning plastic was added to the smells of burning meat that filled this part of the warehouse.


    "Did you do this to them?" The injured man asked, nodding at the mangled bodies of Lord Velaske and his bodyguard after Alex helped him up and into a chair. "My name is Krain, by the way." He added, breathing heavily. "Krain Werk. I''m with the Anti-Imperial Alliance."


    "No, I didn''t." Alex shook his head, answering the question. "They''re the ones who make each other feel that way. Conflict of interest. Do you know what he needs to be injected with to bring him to his senses?" He waved a hand in Lord Brenor''s direction. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."


    "You need a neutralizer. Probably the same one they gave you." He sighed and leaned back in his chair, silent for a few seconds. "No, I don''t remember which one. I think the color markings are two brown stripes and one blue... And there should be an inscription on the bottom..."


    "Isn''t there a container of that murky white liquid, marked with three blue stripes and a Vitalin sign?" Krain asked hopefully, watching Alex as he rummaged through a case of cylinders for the injector.


    "I don''t think so..." He grunted, studying with interest the markings on the cylinder that matched the rebel''s description. The marking on the cylinder indicated Nullifier-AC3, followed by a jagged array of numbers and letters that must be a chemical formula or a commodity code. "Nullifier-AC3 is it?" He asked, glancing up at Krain, who only shrugged his shoulders in response.


    Well, let''s hope it''s a neutralizer and not some kind of poison, Alex injected Lord Brenor and sat down beside him, waiting for the results.


    "Or maybe there were pills? The big ones with ''Vitalin'' written on them, too," Krain persisted.


    "No, there were no pills, just cylinders for the injector. Why - some kind of critical medication?"


    "I''ve been shot by these bitches," the rebel showed a burned hole in his left pant leg, through which a gash could be seen. "I couldn''t even limp unless I had someone to lean on. Vitalin would have saved me."


    Alex shrugged and rummaged through the case again, hoping that the Vitalin he was looking for would turn up, but there was no cylinder with that marking. Soon his search was interrupted by Lord Lister, who came to his senses:


    "Damn it!" He groaned and looked around with one eye open. "In the name of all shadows and the lansa of light flames, Lord Cassard, where are we?"


    "In captivity." Alex chuckled but then added immediately. "I mean, we were prisoners, and now we need to escape from that captivity quickly."


    "Did the Melatians attack us? We attacked Melato?" Lord Brenor looked at the body of Velaske''s guard with surprise. "And who is this man?" He added in a barely audible whisper, pointing his eyes in the direction of the rebel.


    "No, as far as I understood, we were attacked by quite different people, but the Melatians had some interest in that as well. And we''re on Tallana, from what I understand... By the way, if you''d like to meet Krain Werk, our comrade in misfortune and the man who got hurt trying to help us... Anyway, we need to get out of here. How are you feeling?"


    "My whole body burned. My arms hurt like a hundred demons trying to tear them off, and I''d pay a million denarii for a single glass of water, not even wine, but..." Lord Lister wrinkled in pain and stood up, wobbling a little, but he kept his balance. He stared up sharply and then back down at Alex. "You can count on me! What do you want me to do?"


    "We must get out of this place very quickly." He replied and turned to the rebel. "Krain, do you have any idea exactly where we are and which way to run?"


    "No." He shook his head. "They brought me here paralyzed, and I was shot near Three Creeks Square. I don''t remember there being any big warehouses..."


    "Pity." Alex pushed the cylinder case away from him with a sigh and told the rebel the unpleasant news. "Vitalin doesn''t seem to be here. Maybe a painkiller? It worked for me..."


    "I don''t care if there are demons under my skin!" Krain wheezed, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket. He did not look well. Pale with trembling hands, his eyes flickering reddish...


    Stolen story; please report.


    "Maybe we could contact the representation on Talana of one of our Houses?" Brenor suggested, watching Alex manipulate the injector and stretch out his stiff hands. "They could take us away from here, send in the Guardsmen or Retainers. I bet they must have a com and more than one." He added, glancing expressively towards the metal table littered with equipment.


    "Guardsmen..." Krain snorted, visibly revived by the injection. "And a police escort... You have no idea what''s going on on Tallan..." he spelled. "R-E-B-E-L-L-I-O-N. Do you understand, Your Lordships? All the missions have been evacuated since this whole thing first broke out. There may have been a few left to "monitor the situation," but you won''t find them by the standard numbers."


    "They didn''t leave the buildings completely empty, did they?" Alex objected. "Maybe there was someone left behind... a security guard or something..."


    "Nope..." Werk shook his head tiredly. "No way. The Fyron outpost got torched yesterday. I don''t know about the Bentar one, but I doubt there''s anyone there but droids. Even the droids, I doubt it. The Great Houses have never been well-liked on Tallana, and they''ve got the reputation of being the "First Knights of the Empire" to add insult to injury. Furthermore, either the Imperials or the Rebels are jamming all communications except for the shielded planetary channels. And they jam so much that the screens shine!"


    "So, until we get into orbit, we can only count on ourselves. The knights in shining ships won''t save us," Rebel concluded.


    "Then, for starters, Lord Lister and I will head out to do some recon while you sit behind the computer... I mean the cluster," he corrected himself, "and try to get as much information about what''s going on here and why and copy it onto the sticks. Well, we''ll do a quick recon and come back for you... any objections or suggestions?" Asked Alex, scrutinizing the faces of his fellow unfortunates. Lord Lister, who had just been handed his sword, was blooming and showed that he was ready to fight all of Tallana at once. Krain, on the other hand, looked at them both as if they were idiots, expressing extreme skepticism.


    Or maybe it''s just the expression on his face from being wounded?


    "All right." The rebel sighed heavily. "Go on with the scouting. Just help me sit down first." He pointed to the metal table, littered with machinery, illuminated by the flickering bars of holo-screens. "And that... your lordships... don''t get lost."


    A couple of minutes later, any observer original enough to appear at that time in the Tallan warehouse of the Yummy Company would be able to see a truly picturesque spectacle.


    Two half-naked men, covered in dripping blood, crept along the corridors of the huge warehouse. The first was a scrawny teenager armed with the openwork hilt of a sword. And following him, clutching his blaster with both hands and holding it almost at his face, was a young lad of no fighter''s constitution.


    Alex, who was sufficiently aware of the depths of his ignorance, was occasionally struck by waves of awareness of the absurdity of what was happening, but Lord Lister''s 100 percent sincerity helped him fight this feeling - the "blade of honor" was sneaking around in all seriousness. He would tiptoe up to doorways and corners and then literally leap into the opening, freezing there in a strange posture, hilt raised menacingly above his head.


    This manner made all Alex''s reflexes and little knowledge howl, but he reassured himself that he was just out of touch and that this was some sort of local thing. And Lord Lister hadn''t watched a local action movie, and he knew exactly what he was doing.


    Maybe he''ll blast away all those shots with his sword, Alex mentally reassured himself after another of Brenor''s antics. Because otherwise...


    The alternative was the most unpleasant: if there was anyone in the room with a weapon, the first thing they would do was reflexively poke the doorway with Lord Lister frozen there. Alex had a thought or two about sending Brenor to the rearguard and himself normally going first. But such an arrangement would have practically eliminated the chance to use the sword after all since all the effect of surprise would have fallen on Alex. And second, though Alex was not pleased to admit it to himself, for all the shortcomings of Brenor''s way of moving, it made him an almost perfect "front-runner".


    If we meet someone, the first shots will be his


    Fortunately, the only bodies they came across were those of the assistant professors, all in grey jumpsuits and brown jackets. And all neatly killed by a shot to the back of the head. Thanks to these encounters, the scouts'' arsenal was enriched with two local analogs of submachine guns, which Brenor called ''shorty'', and three regular blasters. Another trophy discovered was a waistcoat of soft porous material resembling foam - these were "blaster foam" waistcoats, mostly completely undamaged as the guards'' wounds were to the head.


    But while Lord Lister had been quick to dismiss the idea of wearing the flak jacket, Alex, even though he understood that it was the right thing to do, could not bring himself to wear it... A sudden squeamishness was stronger than his reasoning! One could only wonder why the weapons taken from the murdered men were not subject to this disgust.


    So when the chain of bodies finally led them to some small hangar, Blade of Honour looked like a model action movie hero.


    Bloodied and half-naked, he clutched a sword in his right hand and a shorty in his left. Two blaster holsters and numerous spare blocks were strapped to his belt at once. The only thing that didn''t match the action hero was the physique. Alex, who was following him, did not look much different, just had a shortened blaster slung behind his back. He was left behind as a "weapon of last resort". Since all his skills with the "shorty" were reduced to Lord Lister showing him where they had the "ready lever".


    Inside the hangar was a large, light-green aerocar with blue stripes on the sides. The entire hull was riddled with gunfire, and thin bluish streams of smoke stretched through the huge holes in the windshield, illuminated by flashes of light - something was flashing in the cockpit.


    The side door was open, and a body in a black tunic scorched by gunfire was hanging from it on the floor. Alex signaling for Brennor to cover, moved closer to the aerocar and peered inside.


    The light green plastic of the cabin was riddled with black sores of hits, some of which continued to smoke slightly. The burned bodies of five more of Lord Velaske''s companions - another in a black tunic, two in light green jumpsuits with blue emblems on the chest, and two in "civvies" - lay in strange poses on the seats and the floor. Everything inside the cabin was covered with some kind of thin white patina. The blinking light from the light panel that had been burned in two places played white glints on the plastered bodies, making them look like mannequins.


    Lord Brenor approached the door of Alex''s aerocar, peered inside, and froze:


    "Who were all these people?" He finally asked, swallowing - the mixture of the smells of burnt meat and plastic was nauseating. "And who had killed them?"


    "Terrorists and Melats..." Alex muttered and, shuddering in disgust, began a search.


    "Allesandro... Are you sure it''s worth it?" It came from outside. Lord Lister''s voice was a bizarre mix of fear, disgust, and surprise.


    "They were Lord Velaske''s men." Explained Alex, trying to make as little contact with the body as possible, to pick up the melted tunic of one of the bodyguards. "I really want to know why he wanted to kill me, and there might not be another opportunity."


    When Alex got out of the aerocar, he was literally shaking, and he was damn glad he hadn''t eaten anything for the last three days. But what he found was worth it...


    He found an infobox, though shot, a small folder of info sticks, and, most importantly, two small leather ''folding pads'' with palm-sized metal plates - ID cards...


    "Lord Lister, do you think I got this right?" Alex showed the open identification cards.


    "The credentials of imperial security officers. It seems Lord Velaske''s position was high enough for the house to arrange for such security..." commented Brenor in surprise.


    Uh-huh, and he went with those guards to the rebellious Tallana to meet with the PVD terrorists... he grinned wryly at his thoughts. "I''m guessing those weren''t guards at all."


    "Maybe stolen or counterfeit?"


    "The faces are the same." Alex summarized, peering into the aerocar and comparing what he saw to the three-dimensional images swirling over the metal surface of the ID cards. "About the fake one... I''m not an expert here, but I doubt it... All right, Sain Captain Pekri Tsklo and Sain Mihar Holphiret, what shall we do with you?" He muttered thoughtfully as he slammed his credentials shut.


    I didn''t want to take it with me but leave it... Eh! I wish I had a notebook and a pencil to write it down... I don''t have anything. He rummaged about the papers for a minute, then decided at last. Throwing them into the aerocar, he drew his blaster, taking careful aim. Two orange orbs hit the floor of the aerocar with a howl, spattering the IDs into tiny scarlet droplets of metal and clouds of stinking smoke with a loud pop and crackle.


    "So there would be no question as to where my fingerprints came from on the IDs of the murdered Imperial security agents." He explained, seeing the genuine confusion and mute question on Lord Lister''s face.


    "But your footprints are still in the aerocar and in this hangar."


    "I might as well have left them behind when I was escaping terrorist captivity." Alex shrugged and looked around, waving a hand toward the opposite wall of the hangar. "I think there''s a vehicle behind the container."


    Lord Lister looked around distractedly, then shook himself as if trying to shake off an obsession and looked piteously at Alex:


    "Lord Cassard, perhaps you can explain to me what has happened and what is going on. You obviously understand more than I do."


    "If I..." He shrugged it off. "As I understand it, we were captured by some rebels or terrorists..." Alex continued explaining after they had moved away from the aerocar, heading towards some small yellow car standing in the far corner and looking completely undamaged. "And their customers or allies were Melatians... whether they were Melatians in general or Lord Velaske''s men specifically, I don''t know." He shrugged. "And they got into some kind of conflict, must have been over the price... and that."


    "And they killed each other?" Lord Brenor''s eyes widened in surprise. "All of them?"


    "Well, why all of them..." Alex grinned smugly. "I had to help two of them myself. But really, I only had the chance to do so because of the commotion." He added hastily. "And there may well have been a few bandits who didn''t make it out alive - the warehouse is enormous. Which is why we should get out of here as quickly as possible. Do you think this thing could help us?" He asked, slapping the side of the yellow car with the word "Yummy" emblazoned on the side.


    "It looks like a service glider." Lord Lister suggested. "The key to it might be in one of the back rooms. Or one of the dead men." He grimaced.


    "At the very least, we''ll get a taxi." Alex smiled encouragingly - he didn''t feel like searching through burnt corpses again.


    Fortunately, I didn''t have to. The key to the glider, which looked like a square bar of dark plastic, and several sets of overalls and jackets worn by the "rebels" were found in a nearby store room. They had a few sets of overalls and jackets worn by the insurgents, which were very useful for half-naked and cold "lordship". All these riches were in neat, narrow lockers labeled "Yummy", which appeared to be reserved for the personal belongings of the staff and were, of course, locked, but, as the practice had shown, such conventions were nothing to a man with a blaster.


    Soon the service glider, loaded with everything worth taking, and driven by Krain (their lordships were completely unfamiliar with Talana), pulled up to the outer gates of the warehouse.


    Alex, grabbing a bundle of all the "keys" he had found, got out of the car and headed towards a small box with two dimly glowing "up" and "down" arrows.


    After a brief picking of the keys, the ginger gate went upward at an unseemly speed for its size, the smell of coolness, and the unfamiliar slightly tart scent of some flowers. On the other side was a pitch-black driveway, sandwiched between gray pavement slabs and lawns of purple-reddish grass, with beds of bright yellow plants that looked like small mossy mushrooms lined in huge letters. It was still the same "''Yummy''." The melodic purr of an approaching glider could be heard behind him, and Alex stepped out into the street mechanically, clearing the passage. Bare feet gently tasted the warm rough surface of the pavement slabs - no shoes were found in storage.


    It''s still warm and the weather is nice, though. Alex smiled mentally and took a full breath with his chest, suddenly happy. I''m still alive! Those who wanted to kill me were dead. All I have to do now is get out of here, and that''s it...


    It made him want to run across the grass and - the hell with it being purple! He took a couple of steps across the lawn, stepping out from under the huge canopy overhanging the entrance to the hangar, and froze.


    The sky was crashing down on him.


    It shimmered with millions of lights as if thousands of silver fireworks had blossomed in it and remained forever, covering everything with a huge pearly cloud of glowing mist streaked with twirling and flickering droplets of light. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a strange pinching feeling that this sky might be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life...


    "Lord Cassard, Lord Cassard..." Brenor''s voice came from behind me, frightening the unreal moment. "If you''re having a picnic, now might not be a good time, for the PVD could turn up at any moment." He peered out the open door of a nearby glider. "Or is something wrong?"


    "No, no." Alex shook his head absent-mindedly and, taking one last look at the incredible beauty, walked back. "Just admiring the stars..."


    "These are not stars. It''s a flow."


    "A Flow? What do you mean?"


    "Tallana''s transit flow." He explained. "Transit ships."


    "These are all ships?! How many of them are there?!"


    "I don''t know." Brenor sighed, turning to his ''observation area'' - the back window.


    "Up a zwigolot''s arse," the rebel grinned as he moved the car, "a couple of million, maybe."


    The figure voiced had as much impact as the sight of the Talana sky.


    "A couple of million interstellar ships..." Alex said it out loud because mentally he couldn''t believe it, the figure didn''t stick in his mind. A spaceship refused to be associated with anything that could be "a couple of million".


    A thousand, tens of thousands... but millions... He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. What the hell have I been up to?


    * * *

 Chapter 26

    Chapter 26


    * * *


    A small glider, like a yellow soapbox, was speeding over the black surface of the road, covered with light patches of trash and glowing dots of markings. Forever chained to the ground by the primitive nature of its grav-mirrors, it was content to do little and, with its engine rumbling melodiously, glided at arm''s length.


    "We arrived here, it was already blazing, but they hadn''t taken over the stations yet, and the Flow was running..." Krain said, keeping his eyes on the winding road that was now and then blocked by abandoned and wrecked vehicles. "But now the rebels control all the stations. They don''t let anyone take off or land, and they don''t give a jump vector either, so it''s all over... Only demons know what''s going on in orbit now. There were rumors that the Imperials have imposed a blockade..."


    "You mean we can''t fly away?" Alex asked, listening half-heartedly, cradling the heavy plastic carcass of the "shorty" in his lap. "Where are we going then?"


    "To contact, I know. We''ll get back to our senses and see what''s going on. I''ve got about five more hours, tops. Unless, of course, anyone has a better idea." He added, turning back to the passengers.


    Both passengers had no ideas, staring silently out the windows - Lord Cassard in the side and Lord Lister in the back.


    "That''s what I thought for some reason." The rebel muttered, picking up speed.


    My head was buzzing, and I was thirsty. The stress, the drugs, and the constant paralysis were taking their toll, and despite three days of "chemical sleep", I wanted to sleep.


    Alex leaned his head against the window. The tight stream of cool air hit his face and took the drowsiness away with it. The lowered glass was completely draped over the anti-blaster waistcoat, but a narrow slit remained at the top. The same waistcoats were sandwiched between the seats and side doors, as well as tucked under the front and rear bonnet, turning the service glider into an improvised armored vehicle. The loose ends of the waistcoats, thrown over the windows, fluttered under the incoming stream like short brown wings, fluttering against the unfamiliar city.


    The arrow-straight side streets, alternating with the rhythm of a metronome, were completely empty and would have looked like two peas in a pod were it not for the abandoned cars and the revolutionary proclamations on the walls, which did not shine with the variety either. "PVD", "Don''t forget the Four", and calls to "Kill the grey creatures".


    The town seemed extinct. In the twenty minutes they drove, Alex didn''t see a single person. Only the granite squares of buildings, the glass strips of floors, surrounded by shiny scatters of broken windows, the gray scraps of security shutters, the black stains of burned machinery, the yellow fluttering drops of small islands of flame, and a thin layer of rubbish - from broken plastic and empty bottles that looked like colorful cones to torn clothing and spent blaster blocs.


    Lone figures of small yellow droids, resembling a hybrid of a dustbin and a hoover, tried unsuccessfully to remove this plume of ''revolutionary masses'' from the streets, revolutionizing the shops.


    "I wonder how ''Death to the Grey Creatures'' and shoplifting combine?" Asked Alex a rhetorical question as they drove past another looted building.


    "This is a corporate district. Corporations are active supporters of the emperor." Explained Krain. "And a good source of booze." He added, shrugging as if to say, It''s inevitable and natural.


    The glider plunged into the orange-glowing jaws of the vast tunnel. The windows flickered with the red-black pillars of the many columns, reflected in the white gloss of the walls. Ahead of them was a darkened carcass, lit by yellow flames, partially blocking the passageway. Alex lowered the readiness lever just in case and ducked down. As they drove closer, they could see that the carcass was something that looked like a dark gray APC with hypertrophied huge wheels and two "machine gun" turrets. The transporter was flipped on its side and looked as if someone had chewed it long and hard and spat it out. The walls around it were covered in soot and numerous traces of blaster hits. Near the walls and the APC right on the track, there were numerous piers in which tongues of fire were beating, which from a distance, Alex mistook for the remains of a fire:


    "What are those piallas with the lights?" He asked as the glider picked up speed again, coming around the obstacle.


    Lord Lister''s voice came from behind before the rebel could open his mouth:


    "They are put at the place where the man died." He said dryly, without turning around, and added for some reason. "It''s a tradition."


    The bloodless revolution didn''t work. Alex commented mentally, turning away from the window and settling deeper into his seat.


    "How long has it been like this?" He asked aloud.


    "The first demonstrations started about twelve days ago. We..." Krain paused for a moment and, catching Alex''s gaze, jerked his chin toward the back seat where Lord Brenor was sitting with his back turned to them, watching the tail.


    Seeing the rebel''s mute question, Alex hummed and shook his head negatively, as if to say, ''Fuck knows, so better not...''.


    "... didn''t think there could be such a thing," Krain continued after exchanging glances with Alex, "they''re just stupid, though... what can you take from them, s-s-students...," he stretched mockingly, "no brains."


    The tunnel curved slightly upwards. Ahead of them was the exit portal, illuminated by the edge of a pearl sky. The glider sprang out onto a curving trestle, which abruptly broke off as it ran into the motley wall of the barricade.


    Overturned cars, some huge orange containers, fragments of fences, grates, rubbish bins, and wall debris were all piled together to form a huge barricade that completely blocked the flyover at the point where it branched off in three directions.


    Krain reacted almost instantly. Glider braked sharply and spun on the spot. The engine howled, accelerating the car back towards the tunnel. But not fast enough - this was a service vehicle, not a sports car, after all. From somewhere on the right, something very large and orange emerged from under the overpass. A huge arm, like a twin bucket, swung over the car. The interior of the glider was filled with the sounds of scraping metal and cracking plastic, the shattered windows spattering into the interior with a subtle clang.


    The manipulator flipped the machine sideways as if it were a toy and ripped it off the scaffolding, and lifted it three meters into the air. From above, the pearly skies were obscured by a massive disk-shaped body with four long arms, one of which was clutched a small yellow glider with the word "Yummy" written on it. Alex, hanging from the harness, saw through the broken and mangled starboard window as a small black sphere spun under the belly of the steel monster, turning to face the clutched glider with a glowing scarlet eye.


    If it''s a cannon, we''re screwed...


    He tried desperately to reach for the "shorty" that had fallen down somewhere. Krain was busy trying not to fall out. Alex was blocking his view, and Brenor was trapped by the crumpled roof, and he could only hope he was alive.


    "Who do we have here?" A speaker-enhanced voice boomed overhead. "Corporants..." The manipulator shook the jammed machine, and the numerous pieces of body armor piled into the glider spilled onto the scaffolding. "Decided to play ''special squad''..."


    During the jolt, the coveted ''shorty'' fell out through the broken left-hand side windows, and there was nothing left to shoot back with. That left the usual blaster, but "the chances of damaging such a stupid thing with three shots..." There weren''t many options left and, sighing heavily, Alex grabbed the edge of the door and peered out the broken window:


    "Have you all gone mad?!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. "Don''t you see, your own!"


    For a few seconds, nothing happened, but the silence gave way to a measured throbbing hum, and the huge carcass moved towards the barricade with its prey.


    "Is everyone all right?" Breathing heavily, Alex asked after he''d climbed back out of harm''s way and helped the insurgent, hovering over the control handle, to get comfortable.


    "I seem to be in one piece, but I''m pinned down." I heard from the back seat. Krane, in turn, confined himself to nodding.


    "So then... no sudden moves - we''ll try to "negotiate".


    From below, the piles of barricades floated by, and the humming of the engines of their "captor" changed - it was clearly going down.


    "Put it there." Shouted from somewhere on the ground. "We''ll see what kind of ''ours'' they are."


    The car tipped over again and collapsed with a crash onto the black pavement of the trestle.


    * * *


    By the time Alex had recovered from the concussion, the barrel of a long-barreled hunting rifle was already pointed in his ear, so he looked around without making any sudden movements, with just his eyes.


    On the other side of the barricade was a makeshift camp: fifteen or twenty men and non-men and a couple of aerocars. The side door of one of them was open, and a stretching awning was unfurled beside it, partially covering the car. Alex couldn''t look up, and the roof would have been in the way, but judging by the quiet hum, the huge spherical carcass was also here, hovering overhead.


    The chewed glider was surrounded by about a dozen "rebels", extremely diversely dressed and heavily armed... no less diversely. Judging by the color of their faces and the distinctive glint in their eyes, many of the ''revolutionaries'' around them perceived reality to be more beautiful than it was and were at the height of a long binge.


    The wielder of the long-barreled gun resting against Alex''s ear, a young dark-haired lad with eyes red from either sleep or substance and sporting a tight, bright orange jacket, looked doubtfully at the men he had captured:


    "It really does look like his own..." he said uncertainly and turned to the others. "The jackets are the universities..."


    "Then why did you run from the barricade like a cosmic from his debts?" A categorical objection came from somewhere behind.


    After shoving the other observers aside, a mustachioed man of indeterminate age with ripe aubergine skin and glistening dark eyes approached the car. He wore a gray jumpsuit that encased a beer belly and a round orange helmet that had obviously been removed from someone else. He wiped his sweat-shrouded forehead with his sleeve and looked at the prisoners with no small amount of doubt:


    "Look at the eyes!" He muttered, glancing unkindly at Alex. "And the jackets must have been stolen or taken from the dead... what a bargain..." He spat at his feet and held his head up, shouting upwards. "Come on, get them out! Get your arms out to the sides..." He added, playing with a short silver blaster.


    The revolutionaries moved back a little, and a huge metal paw appeared from somewhere above and came down on the bonnet, crumpling the metal like paper. At that moment, there was a rattling noise from above, and a second paw easily tore off the glider''s roof and tossed it aside.


    "I said stolen!!!" The mustachioed man shrieked happily as the prisoners emerged from the remains of the glider. "He was barefoot, the other two, and his pant leg shoot. They probably take it from a dead man."


    "This man was wounded in battle, fighting for your freedom!" Alex interrupted him, glaring at the twitching Blade of Honor. "And we''re barefoot in mourning. A lot of our comrades died in battle today - it''s our custom."


    "Don''t shut me up!" The mustachioed one squinted. "How can you prove it?"


    Well, it looks like the game of "prove you''re not a camel" is about to begin. Alex thought to himself and decided that this was a totally futile exercise, so he went on the offensive:


    "I''ll prove it," he said firmly, and (If I''m going to tell a lie, it must be something big, he decided) slowly drew a card from his pocket from the Tallana Emergency Committee. And, making sure they had a good look at the inscription, he asked coldly:


    "How can you prove that you are not a traitor or a provocateur? You have infiltrated this detachment and are taking advantage of your position to disobey discipline and sow discord among the progressive forces... Think, comrades, how long have you known this man and whether he is who he says he is?"


    At that moment, the crowd around the prisoners parted and, zipping up his brown PVD jacket as he went, a very young man, in his twenties, with long dark hair gathered in a ponytail and tenaciously slanting eyes of grey, blazing with revolutionary determination, approached the glider. He appeared to be the local ''commander''.


    As he approached the prisoners, he silently took Alex''s card and, taking something resembling a miniature torch from his jacket pocket, "shone" on the seals.


    Under the beam of the torch above the seals, holograms of some colored symbols flickered in the air.


    "Hm, the pass is authentic." He said without hiding his surprise. "But that really doesn''t prove anything."


    "I''m telling you, they robbed the dead!" The mustachioed man shouted from behind the commander.


    The commander, gesturing with his hand to silence him, asked Alex, returning the card to him:


    "Who are you and what are you doing here?"


    He opened his mouth to tell a plausible lie, but Krain beat him to it:


    "You''ve got to be kidding me." The rebel grinned mockingly, shaking his head. "That''s actually Atur Chermega and Bren, representatives of the anti-Imperial alliance with Tunai! I am their escort from the PVD. Our squad was ambushed not far from here, trying to break through to our people. There... we broke through."


    "Chermega, indeed..." Krain from somewhere in the back rows, a cheerful and obviously drunk voice. "It looks like..."


    "What the hell is a Cermega?!" The mustachioed man went on, turning black with anger. "Why was he even on Tallana? Since when did Tunaians go barefoot in mourning?"


    "What are you, an expert on Tunaya or something?" Alex snapped. "We have arrived. Comrades, he''s a pure provocateur!"


    "Order! Discipline!" Shouted the commander in a breaking voice. "Let''s get things sorted out. Let''s get in touch with the revolutionary headquarters and get on with it! Tarb, let''s make a request." He tossed to the man in the orange jacket, who darted off in the direction of the tarpaulin aerocar.


    Under the awning was a terminal, clearly torn from somewhere, to which a bay of colorful wires stretched from under the trestle.


    "I''m sure of it." The commander continued with a wicked smile. "That if ''Atur Chermega himself'' had been present at Tallana, especially as a representative of the emergency committee, the revolutionary headquarters would have known about it."


    We screwed. Unhappily Alex thought, frantically wondering what to do.


    In a combat encounter, the odds were slim: the huge spherical carcass still loomed overhead, leaving no doubt as to the outcome of the battle.


    Now revolutionary legitimacy is about to descend upon us. Though there''s still a blaster on my belt, and Lord Brenor still has two. If I shift sideways a little, get behind the Commander, block the line of fire, and try to take him as a hostage...


    Alex threw a quick glance at Krain - the rebel was outwardly perfectly calm and, seeing Alex''s gaze, winked imperceptibly at him.


    Deciding that the rebel knew what he was doing, Alex decided to wait while giving Lord Lister a look that he wouldn''t make any sudden moves.


    The returning "communicator" jumped up to the commander and whispered loudly in his ear. As he spoke, the commander''s shoulders slumped, and the fragments of phrase he heard were a healing balm to Alex''s soul: "Really coming... Grand himself... to meet with the Emergency Committee... in our area... to assist in any way possible."


    The rebel seemed to know exactly what to say. Alex thought contentedly and smirked as he looked at the commander.


    "Well?" He asked. "Has the necessary clarity been made? Can I finally put my hands down?"


    "Of course, of course!" The commander nodded and shook his hands regretfully. "Sorry, respected Chermega, there''s been a mistake. But you reacted so strangely to our barricade, so we suspected..."


    "That''s how we got ambushed near the same barricade!" "Atur Chermega" shouted, gesticulating emotionally. "The scum grabbed it. When we got close, they attacked us! Who knows if it was the same here? Risking again? It''s stupid! We wanted to reconnoiter first, and you..." Alex added a hint of accusation to his voice. "You didn''t even try to look into it first! You ruined a commandeered vehicle, and at least no one was hurt!"


    "But we..." The commander started to look deflated but was interrupted by Alex:


    "And it is absolutely right! Revolutionary awareness and caution!" And, ignoring the rounded eyes of Lord Lister and the equally astonished Crane, he climbed onto the remains of the glider and addressed everyone. "This is the only way to win our hard fight! But unreasonable suspicions must not be allowed," he glanced at the mustached man, "to create dissension in our ranks! Together we are a power! Together we will win!"


    The crowd responded with cheers, and someone elbowed the mustachioed man, "I told you so, Chermega, and you...". Seeing this, Alex grinned mentally and continued to build on his success... Four minutes later, the whole small "barricade squad" was listening to him with interest, especially animated after the explanation of the concept of "expropriation of expropriators".


    Thinking the job was done, he climbed down from his makeshift podium and found the "commander":


    "Comrade..." Alex squeezed his shoulder and looked expressively into his eyes. "I''m sure you understand... a matter of revolutionary importance... we need a vehicle and a doctor."


    * * *


    The allocated aerocar swallowed up the kilometers and the low squares of corporate district buildings, replaced by the giant squares and half-kilometer spires of the municipal area.


    The pilot was separated from the cabin by an intermediate wall with a small window, and "the representative of the Tallana Emergency Committee, Atur Chermega, and his escorts", were left to their own devices.


    A touch on his elbow distracted Alex from contemplating the beauties of Tallana, nestled comfortably against the large side window:


    "Lord Cassard, don''t misunderstand me..." Lord Lister began somewhat tentatively when Alex turned to him. "I don''t want to accuse you of anything, but are you sure this was all acceptable? Calling yourself by another name, and then that speech..." the Blade of Honor paused as he chose his words. "I am essentially a liberal man, but there is an oath of allegiance to the Emperor. after all."


    "I think you''re taking this a little too seriously," Alex replied with a sigh. "After all, you can come to a carnival or a masquerade wearing a pirate mask, present yourself as a pirate, and even talk like a pirate, but would that be dishonorable?"


    "But this isn''t a masquerade, Allesandro." Brenor protested. "It''s not a carnival, and you''re not wearing a mask."


    "Well, at least I have a masquerade costume." He smiled back, picking up the sleeve of his PVD jacket. "And for that matter, I didn''t introduce myself by another name. I was introduced by our fellow sufferer. Yeah, I didn''t say anything. But we mustn''t shoot with these madmen, who thought we were either Imperials or Corporatists, which we most certainly were not. I don''t think they, in their condition, would listen to reason. So I don''t think it was a lie, but a military ploy, after all, you''ve hidden your sword too."


    "I thought it unlikely that they would search us at once." Lord Brenor replied, looking somewhat embarrassed as he removed the hilt of his sword from the sleeve of his jacket. "It would have had the effect of surprise anyway. They were standing close. I might have managed to take a dozen with me."


    "Exactly the right idea." Alex agreed and pushed the thought in the direction he wanted. "Same here, as long as they thought I was one of them, ''Atur Chermega'', I still had the surprise factor, a common military trick designed to balance the odds where they were unequal. And as for the speech, remember I never said a word against the Emperor, and I really don''t have the best feelings for corporations."


    Lord Brennor nodded absently, but his eyes didn''t seem to dispel his doubts. Mentally he shrugged, the desire to be too good has never been good for anyone. Alex left Blade of Honor alone with his thoughts, crept to the back of the cabin where the dozing rebel was nestled, and gently tugged at his sleeve.


    "I''m just in case." He whispered as Krain opened one eye and muttered something indefinite. "I''d really like to know who this Atur Chermega is. And how quickly they''ll know I''m not him?"


    "Nobody," Krain whispered back in the same way. "It''s an alias used by a few of the PVD leaders. The real Atur died five years ago in the penal colony."


    "There must be a PVD leader posing as "Atur" somewhere around here, and it''s a matter of hours at the most to uncover us." Sadly concluded failed Chermega.


    "Uh-huh." Nodded Krain. "He''s lying hacked to pieces on the warehouse floor. Under this name that Melatian, who''s been with Grand, arrived, and I doubt he''ll turn up to expose you now." The Rebel reached up and, with a heavy sigh, straightened his injured leg and added. "I''ve been at the terminals for a reason, after all."


    "Did you find out anything else useful?"


    "Only that the anti-space defense forts have managed to put up shields and are not going to negotiate with the rebels. As for the rest, everything that could be copied I copied, but I''m not a "lance", you know."


    Finding that his cover story would still work in the near future, Alex hummed contentedly and moved closer to the window again.


    Soon a huge circular building, like a giant indoor stadium, appeared below. On its roof was the familiar green symbol often seen on medical equipment and doctors'' coats. It appeared to be the promised hospital.


    The aerocar made a semi-circle over the building as if aiming and began to descend cautiously. Alex pressed his forehead against the cool glass and looked down: a large landing pad located on the roof was creeping up from below, increasing in size. Tiny black dots and specks of color turned into people and cars - the pad was densely packed with both.


    The aerocar nestled neatly between two white cars with stripes along the sides. The quiet, melodious humming of the engines disappeared, and Alex opened the side door and jumped down onto the sprung white roofline.


    While they were helping Kryn out of the aerocar with the help of the pilot, a skinny, tall man in a green lab coat approached them. His eyes had black circles under them, and his cheeks were covered in a blond two-day stubble. He was accompanied by a small black droid that looked like a nightstand with two long arms:


    "Well, what have you got?" He asked tiredly, looking over Alex''s shoulder.


    "Here it is." He moved to clear the narrow passage between the cars and pointed to Krain.


    "Light." The doctor concluded with a glimpse of the rebel''s leg. He held the infoblock up to his eyes, red with sleep, and made some notes and waved towards the large square superstructure. "Get in line."


    A queue emerged from the door, several loops wrapped around the lift superstructure and pressed tightly together under a small canopy.


    Fifty people, at least. Decided Alex. And practically not moving. How long it lasted inside the building was anyone''s guess.


    "The revolution..." he prodded, holding the Emergency Committee card up to the doctor''s nose. "Has to develop, or it will fall over."


    And seeing that the card had little or no effect, he added a blaster:


    "This man needs to be back in action as soon as possible." Declared Alex. "This is critical. Who''s in charge here?"


    The doctor focused his gaze on the blaster and waved the infoblock towards the door of the superstructure with some unimaginable fatigue:


    "It''s all there. I''m just a sorter, don''t disturb the work."


    A small flyer whirred melodiously overhead and began to descend gently into the distance. The sortie looked at it with an unseeing glance and, ignoring the blaster pointed at him, moved on to the next landing site.


    Alex exchanged surprised looks with Lord Lister, and slipping his blaster back into its holster, shouted into the back of the receding figure:


    "Hey, sir, is there even a stretcher or a wheelchair we can get somewhere?" I didn''t want to carry a rebel on my back.


    The doctor, without turning around, made some indefinite hand gesture, either "piss off" or "look over there". There was nothing there, except for two green-striped light green aerocars.


    Deciding it was probably the local ambulance and there might well be a stretcher. Alex left the rebel in the care of the pilot and went there with Lord Brenor.


    The first vehicle was locked. Having unsuccessfully yanked on the doors, they decided not to open them yet and approached the second vehicle. After pushing the handle, the side door of the second vehicle slid gently to the side.


    Alex peered cautiously inside. In the aerocar, face down on the dashboard, a young dark-haired man in a light green jumpsuit with a green emblem on his chest must be the pilot, and in the center of the cabin, half a meter above the floor hung a long white platform well suited to play the role of a stretcher.


    "Lord Cassard, would you like to try to get out of the queue?" Brenor asked after they had removed the stretcher from the vehicle carefully so as not to wake the pilot. "I don''t think that''s quite fair..."


    "It''s very fair." Alex protested. "Our comrade''s life, and ours too, depends on how quickly we can leave this place. It won''t make any difference to the rest of them if they get help half an hour later, and it could cost us our lives."


    "I guess you''re right." He nodded. "I hadn''t really thought about it that way."


    After loading Krain onto a stretcher and ordering the aerocar pilot to wait for them in the car park, they proceeded to the lift superstructure.


    As the stretcher with Krain approached the wide sliding doors, more and more disgruntled looks were directed at them in addition to the queue:


    "Where are you going?" A disgruntled woman''s voice came from behind me. "The queue starts there..."


    "We''re on a procedural matter." Alex snapped back without turning around. People don''t even react to the blasters on their belts.


    To the disgruntled muttering of the queue, they entered the lift, and Alex jabbed at the "Distribution, Registration and Information" button.


    The lift, which seemed to go down only one level, brought them to a very spacious if not huge room decorated with a statue of a beautiful girl, which seemed to Alex something familiar. Around the statue was a round table, behind which were about a dozen droids, apparently the local receptionist.


    The hall was filled with a huge number of people sitting, sleeping on mattresses on the floor, eating, or talking. They did not look sick or wounded. The hall was filled with a multitudinous hubbub and the smell of something resembling oatmeal. Refugees or something?


    Making a poker face and waving his Tallana Emergency Committee ID card, Atur Chermega made his way almost to the counter, then the stretcher twitched and stopped:


    "Hey, spit, are you watching where you''re going?!" There was a shout from behind me. "Stop right there..."


    When Alex turned around, he saw a big, red-faced man grabbing Lord Lister by the scruff of the neck, who was pushing the stretcher from behind.


    "Apologise immediately..." Blade of Honour whispered through his teeth, glaring at the brute.


    "What were you gurgling at?" He asked as he moved closer to Brenor''s face so that he was almost pressing his forehead into it. "I''m going to make such an apology..."


    Alex, with the nerdish appearance and generally subtle physique, had somehow forgotten who Lord Lister really was; he was still figuring out how to blow the bouncer away, and the "blade of honor" drew his sword and spun, going in behind his back. The flaming blade swept through with such speed that it smeared into a solid golden loop, punctuated by bursts of smoky, sparkling flame where the sword had touched flesh.


    The brute collapsed to the floor with a howl, the surviving arm scratching the pavement helplessly, the other lying beside it. The legs were not cut by the blade, but judging by the depth of the wound, it was only a little short.


    "Apologize at once." Lord Lister repeated, bringing the flaming blade to the offender''s face. The man made an indecipherable sound and then he turned to shout. He shouts in a frightening way.


    "He''s not up to it," Krain commented, lifting himself up on his elbows.


    "I think we''d better get a move on," Alex spoke up, still somewhat shocked by what he saw.


    Brenor glared at the wheezing brute and switched off his sword.


    In the silence, broken only by the moans and cries of pain of the unlucky brat, they reached the reception area and asked how to find the "chief". They hastily retreated to the lift:


    "Yes, you''re right..." Lord Lister began in response to Alex''s surprised look as the lift doors closed behind them. "He''s clearly a commoner and couldn''t possibly have insulted me, but..." he said with a look of regret. "I simply couldn''t help myself, Lord Cassard. In any case, it will serve him well."


    "Memorable at the very least." He sighed back.


    The lift doors opened with a melodious chime, and leaving Krain in the care of some girl in a white coat, the two lords set off in search of the ''head man'' which fortunately did not last long:


    "Well, you see, I can''t! I swear by Protectress. I can''t." The doctor on duty, a short mirlisti in a green dressing gown, was persuading them. He ran quickly from one wall of his office to the other, gesticulating frantically. His long, coiled ears twitched angrily as he began to explain something particularly emotionally. He looked like a hyperactive little sheep with huge violet eyes, but he was clearly a sheep at heart.


    Realizing that Alex wanted to trick him into a Vitalin treatment, he stubbornly refused:


    "Your comrade''s wound is light. We''ll operate on him quickly, out of the queue, put a matrix on, crystalloids in the blood, three tablets of detox, and he''ll be walking in four days."


    "Revolutionary necessity demands..." ''Atur Chermega'' began again.


    "Will this revolutionary necessity of yours get me Vitalin? I have thirty thousand wounded with this revolution of yours!" Myrlisti exploded, pointing his finger angrily at the ceiling. "There are people lying in the corridors, and those are only the heavy ones, I send light and medium ones home after the operation. Even now, at four in the morning, five hundred new patients are arriving every hour. And all this at the clinic''s expense, I must point out, a revolutionary necessity for all, and as for the treatment, it''s an order. I''m running out of surgical supplies and you demand that I waste precious Vitalin on a lightly wounded man. And then what do I do if one arrives that''s just as emergency and revolutionary, but critically ill? Or worse, in a state of artificial animation, or maybe even conserved. You, for instance," he ran quickly up to Lord Lister, "will be wounded. Deadly." He jabbed a long finger at his heart. "Sixth-degree penetrating burns, massive barotrauma, destroyed left lung, heart, and three vertebrae... So what? I say, "you know Vitalin''s gone, wasted on a calf wound..." Your revolutionaries will kill me, and rightly so.


    "We could..." Alex began menacingly.


    "Shoot," Mirlisti said categorically, and with his hands in his pockets, he sat on the edge of the table, turning away from the window. "Let the droids do your operations then," he threw over his shoulder, "I''ll look at you and laugh, oh I laugh, my dear."


    "Allesandro, I think he''s essentially right." Lord Brenor said in a half-voiced voice, pulling Alex aside. "It would be ungentlemanly to take advantage of the situation to deprive people of salvation. Our comrade is indeed lightly wounded."


    The doctor on duty, pretending to look away, squinted a sly eye, waiting for his reaction. Alex turned his gaze to the blade of honor: Lord Brenor was full of sympathy, seemingly hurt by myrlissty''s words. What a sly sheep.


    "To hell with you." He sighed heavily, waving his hand. "But for fuck''s sake, then," he wagged his finger, "it was the best surgeons or whatever you''ve got! Understand?"


    "You''ll have the best," Myrlisti muttered grudgingly, though Alex could have sworn his face was glowing with happiness.


    Having left Krain in the care of the droid team and the surgeon, Alex was bored by the operating room door. Lord Brenor was asleep, curled up on a couch nearby. The rest of the corridor, white as the rest of the clinic, was perfectly empty and boring, except for an elderly gray-haired doctor lazily writing something in the infoblock.


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    "Are you come from the Third?" She wondered. Probably from boredom too.


    "No, what makes you think that?"


    "So, it''s been about four hours since all the revolutionaries from the Third Transit Station are coming. It''s not much, but it''s nighttime. I thought an assault had begun, don''t you know?"


    "I don''t know." Alex shook his head and, sensing that the old lady was obviously well-informed, asked a leading question. "What made you think it was an assault?"


    "Well, the other day, we had a real Assistant to the Third Department of the Municipality, a very knowledgeable man, he told me all about it... That''s what he said: "The Imperials will take over the Transit Stations first thing, otherwise they won''t land on the planet."


    "Why is that?"


    "Well?" The old woman wondered. "The Flow is in the way, and without Stations, it takes a long time to disperse it, that''s one, power manipulators two."


    "And there''s no way around it?"


    "Well, it''s probably possible to bypass, if one or two ships, but if many? They''ll divert the flow, and the ones that got through will be captured by a force grab, maybe one or two, but no more." She stated categorically.


    "And that there is enough force grabs for all the ships?" With obvious doubt in his voice, Alex asked.


    "Well, there''s enough to control the flow. There are fewer shuttles on Forizzet, though..."


    "On Forizzet?"


    "So you''re not from around here?" The doctor guessed, and with an affirmative nod, she immediately assured Alex. "So I''ll tell you all about it!"


    Mara Flasir turned out to be a remarkably well-informed person. The hospital was receiving wounded from almost all over the center, and with them, the information was flowing in. And Mara was the kind of person who took genuine pleasure in sharing information, some might say she was just a very chatty bored old lady, but in Alex, she found a very attentive listener. In half an hour of endless monologue, interrupted only by the local, grass-like tea, he found out the following:


    Over the Tallana Revolution, the sword of Damocles was hanging over in face of "Fortress Forizet". It was the main base of the Sector Navy and Army. Simply put almost two million guns, not counting the heavy equipment. And that, of course, was more than enough to crush the entire rebellion. The only problem was that there was no way those two million men could make it to Tallana. No, they had the necessary transport shuttles and barges, but not enough.


    As long as the rebels controlled the Transit Stations and their navigation computers, it was only a miracle that the planet could be reached. The navigation system wasn''t producing correct landing vectors through the mishmash of transit Flow. And the power grabs of the Transit Stations intercepted those who were willing to take the risk. No, with certain luck, it was possible to break through with one or even two small vessels, but one could not dream of a full-scale landing in such conditions. Therefore it was necessary to wait until the fleet which had unsuccessfully left to Alyra will return. Take over Stations, and will return the Flow under control, and provide the landing of the army.


    "And when is the return of the Fleet expected," Alex asked, digesting the information.


    "Who knows?" The old woman shrugged her shoulders. "They say in five days."


    "Can''t this very Fortress Foriset, just destroy the interfering Stations, and drop off whatever it wants?"


    "Well..." She was silent, thinking. "Maybe, but that''s a lot of people... and it''s not... The wreckage..." Her eyes widened in horror. "What would happen, oh Protectress forbid." The terror in her eyes faded away, replaced by a keen desire to share an idea. She took something from her pocket that looked a lot like a folding mobile phone and quickly dialed the number:


    "Oya? Can you talk? What? Oh, come on, I''ve just found out..."


    Realizing that he had temporarily lost his source of information, Alex sighed heavily and sank into his own thoughts:


    It was, therefore, only a matter of time or political will. As Krain rightly said, the whole rebellion was doomed from the start. And when the Fleet comes back in five days, it''s going to be a lot of fun, probably even with bombings. So we need to get out of here as soon as possible.


    Soon a stretcher with Krain on it, accompanied by two droids and a bearded man in a baggy green surgeon''s suit, emerged from the operating room. The Rebel was apparently under anesthesia, wearing a sort of shiny foil cloak instead, and the wounded leg was encased in a hard case of light plastic, starting at the knee and extending to the ankle.


    "Well? How were the results?" Somewhat worried, Alex asked the doctor.


    "The shadows are with you. What are the results?" The surgeon brushed it off, undoing the clasps at the elbow and pulling down the long gloves. "The wound is simple, even primitive. Predictable surgery. Even the droids would have done the job. Only the bone had to be fiddled with."


    "So everything is all right?" He clarified.


    "Yes, of course." The surgeon nodded and gestured for the droids to move the stretcher toward the lifts. "Now your comrade will lie under the crystalloid solution for another three or four hours, then we''ll remove all the products of catabolism, and you can take him anywhere you want, even to the barricades."


    "You mean he will be able to walk?"


    "No. It''s best not to put any strain on the leg yet, but he could limp."


    The lift doors opened with a melodious chime, and the droids gently pushed the gravity stretcher out towards the promised "VIP room".


    The featureless white walls of the monotonous corridors of the clinic were replaced by wood paneling, there was a claim to style in the lighting, and the ceiling was simply absent. The walls simply disappeared to a height of two meters, giving way to a boundless blue sky with occasional swirls of white clouds. A warm breeze blew lightly across his face, and somewhere in the distance foliage rustled.


    Alex stared dumbfoundedly for a few moments but then remembered what the roof of the clinic actually looked like and realized that it looked like some kind of advanced hologram or something.


    The stretcher stopped outside the wide sliding doors of one of the wards a lad in a recognizable PVD jacket was bored on a small couch nearby:


    "Hey, who''s that?" He exclaimed indignantly as he saw the stretcher with Krain being carried into the ward.


    "And this is your brother the revolutionary," the surgeon answered him, "also an emergency commissioner, or whatever your name is."


    "What brother..." The lad started but shut up when Alex showed him the Emergency Committee card.


    "Who is that? And what is he doing in the room with my man?" Alex was equally indignant when he entered the room and saw another stretcher lying on which there was a glowing, tube-shrouded subject, who was clearly missing two legs and one arm.


    The doctor pressed his finger to his lips in response, urging Alex to be quiet, and pointed to the door in the corridor:


    "Don''t make so much noise, for heaven''s sake. Wake him." He called out to Alex as they walked out, leaving the droids fiddling with some tubes and tubes connected to Krain. "I told you, the same revolutionary."


    "A member of the emergency committee by the way." Inserted the guy in the pvds jacket.


    "And what is he doing here?"


    "Waiting for the operation to begin, of course! What do you want? We''ve got people in the corridors. And it won''t be long anyway. In four hours, the regeneration tank will be free, and we''ll start repairing this poor guy''s limbs."


    "You said not to make any noise. What could Krain be waking up to soon?"


    "No, your comrade will sleep for at least another three hours, but the representative of the emergency committee periodically regains consciousness, and I must say that despite the pain suppressors, it is quite a painful process."


    Alex glanced suspiciously at the PVD man and took the surgeon aside to inquire:


    "Did you say Emergency Committee representative?"


    "Oh, yes... Oh, I forgot, so did you..." He raised his eyes to the sky in misery. "Well, to be honest, they did not tell me his name. Maybe you will recognize him... But I can assure you that his life is not in danger. In six days, we will finish repairing his limbs, and in a month or so, he will be able to move properly." The doctor politely nodded goodbye and was about to leave, but was caught by the sleeve by Alex:


    "I''m sorry, I''m not an expert, but..." He looked around once more defiantly. "I don''t see any staff here. What if one of them feels ill?"


    "Don''t worry. There are bio-monitors in the ward. If anything happens to your friends, we''ll know about it straight away, and a droid or duty nurse will arrive immediately."


    "Biomonitor..." Alex stretched out in amazement as a crazy plan began to form in his head. "That''s it? No visual surveillance?"


    "That''s enough." The doctor said irritably. "Anyway, if you want, you can sit and monitor visually. Can I go now? I have sick people waiting for me."


    "Of course, just one last question. We fought my friend off from captivity. He was tortured and probably injected with Lim serum. It won''t cause any problems in terms of drug interaction. Painkillers, for example."


    "Lim''s serum?" The doctor frowned. "You should have said so before the operation." He thought briefly before continuing. "Not at all. It is, of course, rather painful, but on a... shall we say physiological level, it is relatively harmless. I haven''t heard of any side effects of painkillers, although, as far as I know, painkillers are often used at the end of an interrogation. So I think your friend is perfectly safe, but if anything suddenly goes wrong, it will be reflected on the biomonitors, and we can intervene."


    "Thank you very much. Sorry for the delay."


    After seeing the doctor off with a thoughtful glance, Alex walked back to his room and sat down beside the PVD man without saying a word.


    The guy looked to be in his early twenties, probably even younger. His hair dyed the color of egg yolk, was cut short, with long, shaved lines that divided his head into even squares. His brown PVD jacket was unbuttoned, and underneath was a very thin turtleneck, a deep orange that only served to accentuate its wearer''s thinness. The overly wide gray trousers with side pockets were belted with a black belt around an empty holster, and the blaster just rested in his lap. The gray slanted eyes and hunched nose gave an odd impression, but as he''d seen were common on Tallana.


    For a few minutes, they sat silently beside each other, but soon curiosity got the better of him:


    "Are you really from the Emergency Committee?" He asked, nervously licking his parched lips.


    Alex was silent with a quiet nod.


    The lad was silent for a while, but he soon made up his mind again:


    "May I ask you a question?"


    "You may."


    "Why are you barefoot?"


    "We have such a tradition." Alex sighed, leaning back on the couch and stretching his bare feet almost to the middle of the corridor. "To go barefoot in mourning. A lot of my comrades died recently."


    "Ah..." PVD lad muttered, glancing at Alex''s bare feet in surprise. "My name is Dirav, by the way." He held out his hand.


    "Atur." Alex introduced himself and, after a moment''s hesitation, confidently shook the outstretched hand. I don''t know how they do it here. If anything, I''m not from around here.


    "Where was the fight?" The lad asked after an exchange of handshakes, which did not seem to cause any surprise. "Here, or up there already?"


    "What fight?" ''Atur'' was sincerely surprised.


    "Well, where your comrade was injured."


    "Ah... He wasn''t wounded in combat." Alex answered, and leaning closer to the lad, he added. "We fought him out of captivity. They tortured him."


    "You mean with Lim''s serum? What about his leg?"


    "Lim''s serum first." Agreed Alex, and with a grim look added. "And then they took the blaster and just abused him..."


    "What a bunch of bastards." The PVD lad''s eyes filled with hatred. "Bastards, they used to come to us too. They knew we only had freshmen coming, so they came especially to hurt us... but that''s alright..." He gripped his hand on the hilt of his blaster. "We''ll make it up to them..."


    "And this one where hurt." Alex decided to change the subject before it got bogged down in a discussion of imperial wrongdoing.


    "At the rally." The guy sighed, and seeing Alex''s surprised eyes, he shook his head. "No, there was no attack. It was an accident. They made a bad stand, or maybe it was just bad luck. It snapped under the respected Gromom, and the rally was at the railroad station... He fell right on the track, and they were still under the power..".


    "Yeah..." Alex stretched out sympathetically. "ShIt happens. Then what are you doing here?"


    "Well, I kind of monitor it." The lad shook his hands. "Coordinator Turan told me to make sure nothing happens. Nothing ever happens. I''m the only one here." His eyes flashed with a thought:


    "Respected Atur..." he stretched out piteously, looking into Alex''s eyes. "Since you''re here, can I make a quick run to the registration floor? I''ve been here for seven hours, I''m thirsty, but they serve tea and taymar and say they serve food..."


    "Leaving the post then... What about revolutionary discipline?"


    "Well, I''m here..." He started to make excuses.


    "That''s right. You stay here. If you''ve been assigned here, you''re needed in case something happens. An imperial security agent infiltrates and kills a member of the emergency committee!" Emotionally gesticulating, Alex exclaimed. "Or worse, extract critical information."


    "Well, you''re here anyway."


    "And who told you I wasn''t an imperial agent." He smirked.


    "Well, honorable Atur, you have an ID, I''ve seen..." objected the lad.


    "Maybe it''s fake? No, you can''t leave the post. You stay here." Atur admonished, and seeing the lad''s droopy face, he added. "And while you''re at your post, I''ll get you some tea or some teymar."


    When Alex went up to the registration floor and found a place where tea and something that looked like dark and very liquid porridge were being poured out of huge bins, he realized that he would not be able to get tea today: The queue was simply mind-boggling. So he merely picked up two cups of white porous material, which looked like Styrofoam, and went to the floor, where the sleeping Lord Lister and the chatty doctor remained.


    After making sure the ''blade of honor'' was all right and still asleep, Alex found his ''informant'' and confessed to her that he was overwhelmed by her tea, and if one of his mates didn''t share this happiness with him, it would be safe to say that a huge part of his life had gone to waste:


    "That''s because you have to know how to brew." The doctor smiled flatteringly as she poured tea from a small oval teapot. The smile made the wrinkles on her face form an intricate network. "Even with regular tea, if you brew it right..."


    "I think it''s all about your experience." Alex smiled back, taking the cups, and was about to leave when he remembered something. He put the cups back on the table and, with a heavy sigh, asked:


    "Respected Mara, can you help me one more time? To be honest, I''ve lost all my sleep. I''m exhausted." He confessed, and judging by the look of him, a good night''s sleep would really do me good. "But I can''t sleep, all sorts of thoughts start creeping into my head, and I can''t do anything. I was thinking. This is a hospital. Maybe you have something to make it go away."


    "Young people," said the doctor, "not even sixty yet, and you''ve brought yourself to such a mess. All right." She sighed and waved. "Let''s go."


    It wasn''t far to go. After walking through three doors, she entered the office:


    "Here." She held out a small clear vial, with little red capsules inside.


    "Thank you very much." Alex thanked her, putting the bottle in his pocket. "Would it be all right if I took a lot of it?"


    "I don''t. If you take one, it''s five hours of sound sleep, and then it''s natural sleep. If it''s two, it''s seven hours, which adds up to an hour and a half or two hours."


    "Can I put it in my tea?"


    "You what?" Mara''s eyes went wide. "Of course not. It tastes bad. You don''t dare. It would be an embarrassment, not a tea."


    "All right, I won''t." Alex raised his hands conciliatorily and, after taking the cups of tea and thanking the doctor again, headed for the lifts.


    Now, the main thing is not to mix it up. He mentally instructed himself as he counted out the pills into a cup. The other had to be placed on the floor of the lift. Left hand to me, right hand to him.


    After stepping out of the lift, he waited a little while for the tablets to dissolve and then moved toward the ward.


    Approaching the PVD man, Alex handed him a cup and sat down beside him:


    "Here you go, fighter. Sorry, there was no teymar."


    "Whatever, dear Atur." The lad smiled gratefully accepting the cup. "I''m so thirsty," he said.


    He took a couple of sips, stopped, and began to race the tea through his mouth with a concentrated look:


    "It tastes kind of nasty." He shared his doubts.


    "Uh-huh." Alex nodded. "Mine too. They''re saving money, I guess."


    "You know, respected Atur, I don''t think this is tea at all, but some kind of shitty synthetic..."


    "I guess so. What can we do?" He shrugged.


    There were synthetics in the tea, but they were not crap, and as it turned out, they were of high quality. The PVD lad was sliding off the couch before he drink half of the tea. The nine sleeping pills had done their job. Alex took the cup out of his hands so he wouldn''t spill it. Alex laid the guy down on the couch. He sat for another ten minutes with a thoughtful look on his face, finishing his tea and finally deciding to put the cup on the floor and get up.


    As he entered the room, he glanced at Krain, making sure the rebel was all right, and turned to the second gravi-bed.


    The rebellion is doomed. I understand that Krain understands that, and the Professor understood it. Thought Alex thought thoughtfully, looking at the mishmash of glowing tubes covering the body of the second occupant of the ward. Their goals extend far beyond this rebellion. They must have some kind of escape mechanism, some kind of secret passage, and I bet it leads off-planet. At least part of the top brass they must have taken out, just to be sure.


    He paused beside a motionless member of the Emergency Committee:


    And if I find out where this "escape mechanism" is, I may be able to use it with an ID.


    A source of information lay before him. A high-ranking officer. He could not have been unaware of the evacuation plan, if it existed at all "unless, of course, he was an impostor like you".


    Alex stood hesitantly beside the stretcher for a while:


    Screw it all! What am I risking?


    He retrieved the injector from his pocket and took a cylinder of Lim''s serum from his trouser pocket and charged it.


    And with a sigh, he pressed the trigger. The wounded man twitched faintly, probably from the prick, and opened his eyes.


    Alex suddenly felt remarkably silly, as if he had been caught in some petty hooliganism, after all, he had never questioned anyone. Where to start then?


    "So, full name, rank, position, how many tanks do you have, and where are your missiles?"


    The wounded man blinked, his pupils constricted to a point, and he let out an incessant shorthand:


    "Alaryan Tiliri, Imperial Security Sain, supervisor of the third PVD group, I don''t know what tanks are. The missiles have been disassembled. The warheads have been transferred to PVD performers. The engine parts are stored in a warehouse at Tallana, Klaria, thirty-fourth block, Turanno Street, building twenty-four fraction five."


    "Holy Mother..." Alex breathed out.


    "Mother Valesa Tiliri..." The interrogator began, mistaking an involuntary exclamation for a question, but Alex was too distracted:


    That''s a ''member of the emergency committee''. Dumbfounded, he thought. There don''t seem to be any real ones... This one''s an agent of Imperial Security.


    You thought you were "risking nothing. An inner voice came to life inadvertently. What do you think you''ll get for interrogating an officer in the line of duty with special drugs?


    Nothing will happen. He snapped mentally. How will they know it was me who questioned him? It''s so chaotic in here. And then how did I know... Alex stammered and developed the thought. I didn''t. Now I do... There''s a PVD terrorist lying here, a member of the Tallana Emergency Committee, and an Imperial Security Officer. That''s who was behind this. A lot of things were becoming clear. An imperial fighter jet flew over us before the shelling on the hunt. Then it also, supposedly by accident, destroyed the aerocar with the disarmed attackers, cutting all the ''strings''. Then an SS investigator with "technical experts" comes to me, and literally, one day later, the assassins pass through the security system undetected. And when that didn''t work, we''re descended upon by a whole posse in spacesuits, for whom someone has disabled the shield generator. And Lord Velaske''s entourage had two of the SS. So the PVDs, all this time, were helped by Imperial Security...


    Or was it the other way around? Maybe it was the PVD that helped the SS, or was it just their tool? Or maybe this guy is an honest undercover agent exposing terrorists? Or an equally honest provocateur and the SS had nothing to do with it?


    He shook his head, dismissing the swarm of conjectures that filled his thoughts, and deciding that he could just ask, interrupted the wounded man''s story about his mother:


    "What does the supervisor of the third PVD group do?"


    "Provide liaison between the PVD actors and the operation coordinator, management of agents assigned to the team, information gathering, and general observation."


    Here comes the operation. Unhappily he thought and asked aloud. "What is the essence of the operation? Briefly."


    "Destabilize the Sector Tail, demonstrating the incompetence and dangerous ineptitude of the local authorities. Create conditions for the imposition of a State of Emergency, bringing the Sector under direct imperial control."


    That''s lovely... Alex gulped nervously. But what''s that got to do with me?! He thought, digesting what he had heard. Well, some high political games, why kill me? And what does this have to do with Lord Velaske?


    "What was the purpose of the attempts on m..." Alex wanted to say "on me". But he corrected himself in time. "Lord Cassard?"


    "I don''t know," the injured man exhaled and spoke quickly as if something was pushing the words out of him in quick and hard thrusts. "I didn''t do it. That''s what the first group of PVDs dealt with. Grand himself supervised it. I wasn''t privy to it. I found out about it by chance from Klayok when I asked what the assault suits were for..."


    He raised his hand, interrupting the flow of the wounded man''s words:


    "Make a guess as to what it might have been for."


    "To destabilize his Domain and House Fyron in general."


    OK, that seems pretty logical. But why didn''t they just accuse me of something then and execute the hell out of me? Or put me in jail. It''s dictatorship and absolutism here... He raised his eyes to the ceiling, remembering everything he''d learned about the local polity from Thaer''s notes and his conversations with Marquis Degrasto. Absolutism wasn''t on the cards. And for a dictatorship, the nobles had very, very many rights. Let''s assume that they simply couldn''t act against me officially, the political climate didn''t allow it. But what''s that got to do with the Melatians? They are not supposed to benefit from the introduction of Direct Rule either. Wouldn''t they? About the House of Melato, Alex knew woefully little. What interests they might have in this case was completely unclear. And he was talking about some missiles...


    "What is the role of the Melato House in the operation?"


    "I am not aware of that. I have not heard anything about Melato House in connection with the operation. Agents and PVD cells have not been sent into their territory. Perhaps the head of the operation knows more."


    "§°!h" Quite a smirk on Alex''s face. "Who''s in charge of the operation?"


    "I don''t know exactly. Probably Sheldon''s deputy, Sain Captain Tarbell."


    "Probably?"


    "It was a delicate operation, almost no paperwork, all verbal. But he was the one who briefed me on the case. He also handed over the operational plan. He''s also the coordinator. I report to him. There must be someone higher up in the center, but I don''t know."


    "Who else is running this operation? Imperial Security and the PVD or someone else?"


    "I... I only know about the SS and the PVD. Even among the SS, few are privy to the very existence of the operation. Perhaps there are others involved. I don''t know."


    "Imperial Intelligence?" Alex suggested. He remembered that the tribunal investigator, who was also an intelligence officer, had spoken to him along with the SS specialists.


    "No," the SS man shook his head with a pained sigh. "Intelligence is uninvolved at all, too important. The Emperor has never trusted those swaggering..." His tirade was interrupted by an impatient question:


    "How do you know that?"


    ''One reconnaissance team got too close to the PVD. We found out about it. We have an informant amongst the instant communication operators in the fortress. We intercepted their report. The spy had to be eliminated."


    "Maybe it''s just that these particular intelligence people weren''t privy to it?" Alex suggested. "After all, even among the SS, not everyone is privy to it."


    Then the Head Office would just move them away from Tallanah so they wouldn''t cause trouble. But they were working in a very substantive way. They weren''t interested in the PVD. They wanted to know exactly who was behind them. It was very dangerous. For the whole operation. The whole thing could have fallen apart.


    "Why? After all, the Emperor could have simply ordered it all to be put in the closet, in the sense of being classified."


    "I don''t know. That''s what Captain Tarbell said. He said if Intelligence got wind of it, it would undermine the whole case. They have to be eliminated. I don''t know why he said that."


    "Make an assumption."


    "Intelligence, they''re still Navy. There are a lot of nobles out there. Information will spread even if it''s classified. The mere demand for secrecy would confirm the existence of Operation Wave. It''s unacceptable, politically."


    "Operational Plan Wave..." Alex sighed heavily and drummed his fingers pensively on the bed rail, glancing around the room with distracted eyes.


    "So what''s the plan?" Finally, he asked.


    "Completing the evacuation of selected PVD cells from the planet. Conserving agents for the duration of the explosions, waiting for the fleet to arrive and the army to land, legalizing..."


    "Explosions?" Alex interrupted him. "What kind of explosions?"


    "Explosions of missile warheads. The Constellation-BM type."


    "And how badly is this Constellation exploding? And who is going to explode it and where?"


    "The simultaneous detonation of all sub-munitions of the warhead in a Type I atmosphere will result in an explosion equivalent in power to the L-10 class. Explosions will be carried out by PVD performers. The first explosion will take place near the army''s "northern base" on Tallana. I don''t know where the rest of the explosions will take place, the instructions were on a sealed block, I don''t know what''s there."


    "Make an assumption," Alex said.


    "I, I don''t know." The wounded man was clearly nervous, his eyes darting over the options, his face a panicked expression. "I can''t answer that. There are too many possibilities!" he practically shouted.


    "Easy, easy, no need to answer that question."


    Alex looked around the room for a chair, but to no avail - it looked like they didn''t count on visitors. He dragged a small bedside table to the bed with the SS man, sat down on it, and once again regretting that he did not have a recorder with him, suggested to the wounded man:


    "Tell me the contents of the operational plan in detail..."


    And the SS man began to tell the story. Very quickly, clearly in a hurry. Pouring out the words in a restless, quick-talking manner. He seemed eager to tell everything as quickly as possible, to get rid of these questions as if they were something that hurt. From time to time, he broke into a completely indistinguishable recitative, and Alex had to stop him, starting again.


    Fifteen minutes later. When he realized he seemed to have learned all he could, the Imperial Security Sain lying before him was breathing heavily with a wheeze, running his eyes restlessly around the room, waiting for more questions. The serum seemed to be still working, and all he could do was answer. But there was nothing to ask.


    Alex had already learned all he wanted to know. He knew that the PVD were evacuating via the Sixth Transit Station and that today was the last day of the evacuation, so he had to hurry somehow. Because it was about to get really violent fun with bombings, the landing of the forces of the incoming Imperial Fleet, and other events that one didn''t want to take part in. The man knew nothing of the events surrounding Lord Cassard, nor of what was happening outside of Tallana. It remained to be seen what to do with him.


    He stood looming over the bunk, trying to figure out what to do. On a conscious level, it seemed to him that the most sensible thing to do would be to shoot the SS man. Just in case. But he realized very quickly that he could not shoot the wounded man, who had also done nothing to him personally. And besides, the shot and the wound associated with it would have triggered the biomonitors, and therefore cause completely unnecessary problems with the local staff and possibly with the rebels.


    "Okay..." Alex muttered aloud. "He''s about six days in the regeneration tank anyway, and what are they going to find out..."


    Realizing that he couldn''t leave him like that, Alex took a half-filled glass of sleeping pills and poured them into the SS man''s mouth, soon causing him to fall into a deep sleep.


    Carefully closing the door of the room behind him, he stepped out into the corridor and plopped down wearily on the sofa beside the sleeping boy from the PVD


    Alex stretched his legs and leaned back, staring up at the illusionary sky that covered the ceiling.


    White lambs of frivolous clouds, driven by the gentle whiff of a warm wind that tangled in my hair, drifted leisurely across the turquoise sky. Unnatural and unaccustomed, but frighteningly plausible. An oblique line of wavering white dots floated out from behind the clouds, and a multi-voiced melodic chirp sounded from above.


    "They even have birds here." Alex gritted his teeth and threw an empty tea cup at the ceiling.


    As expected, the cup hit an invisible barrier before it flew three meters and fell to the floor.


    He gave him a tired look. He put his feet under him and rubbed his face with his palms.


    He felt sick to his soul. So disgusting, as if he had bathed in a puddle of shit. He was nauseous and not so much from what he had learned as from the interrogation itself. It was just hard to watch. He didn''t know exactly what Lim''s serum was doing to the man, but clearly something extremely nasty.


    He also felt like a complete stranger. Some people with some murky agenda were going to kill a bunch of other people.


    And it''s all in the middle of nowhere. In his mind, he groaned. On some planet with spaceships instead of the sky.


    Alex heard a low buzzing sound, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a small droid, looking like a dustbin with an arm, drive up to the fallen glass.


    "Esteemed." He rattled, turning two yellow lights-like eyes towards Alex. "If you''ll excuse me, I''ll put this cup away if you don''t need it anymore."


    Alex silently waved his hand, and the droid interpreted the gesture as agreement to pick up the glass. The top lid on its body parted to the sides, and the manipulator slid the glass into the container.


    "I apologize for the inconvenience." He rattled, and with an equally quiet buzzing sound, he departed.


    "Yeah, that''s their plan." Alex grinned wryly as he glanced at the droid.


    And the plan given to Alarjan Tiliri was, in essence, very simple: "Don''t interfere with the PVD guys to throw the situation off balance, and don''t let others get in the way, which was a bit more difficult - but doable."


    The active phase began when they leaked to civilian channels a video recording of a group of "imperial soldiers" abusing Tallana students. Alarjan had no idea whether the tape was authentic or staged, but it didn''t matter. Their job was to ensure as much publicity as possible and to ensure that the case would not be ''bogged down'' by the locals or intelligence. This spark was enough for the PVD agitators to cause a disturbance on campus. What happened next was a pleasant surprise with a shootout between students and soldiers on leave - purely impromptu. But to the credit of the PVD people, they were able to make a big deal out of it, and the SS people again made sure that no one interrupted them...


    The rest was easy - a couple of lorry loads of booze and a disgruntled crowd of students outside the administration building. An unfortunate "accident" prevented the nearest police flyers with heavy paralyzers from taking off, and the sentries went one-on-one with the drunken crowd. An attack on a flag, a few shots from the crowd at the guard, which were fired by the "right people" and here is a completely senseless and bloody massacre with hundreds of dead that has outraged the entire planet. Demonstrations of millions, a few arrests in the municipality of those who thought too well, and now the government has asked for help from the imperial center. The rebels have miraculously managed to break through the defenses of the transit stations and seize them all in a matter of hours, taking control of all short-range space.


    What happened next, Alex already knew. And by the end of the banquet, for dessert, the organizers of this riot had prepared explosions of warheads "Constellations", each of which would be enough to completely wipe out a medium-sized city, and the rebels were given three of them... In general, there would be more than enough reasons to declare a State of Emergency.


    All in all, in a way, not without elegance. Mentally, he admitted. Then they''ll catch them heroically... If they can. Professor Takkar clearly understood what the ending would be and wanted to replay it...


    In theory, there was still something that could be changed. The charges had not yet been detonated. Alex was aware of the plan and perhaps, in theory, could have done something to prevent it...


    Utter absurdity. He declared to himself, trying to quell the tiny worm of conscience that was gnawing at his soul, demanding that he do something about it. I''m not a local. I have two blasters, a cripple, and a mentally unstable teenager moved by the concept of noble honor.


    But the unpleasant feeling in the back of his mind did not subside, which was beginning to irritate him:


    Screw them all anyway, he cursed in his head. What am I, a superhero to save everyone? Suppose I wasn''t transported here at all, then what? After all, there''s a whole planet of adult, intelligent people here who, if they want to live, could go and save themselves.


    He made up his mind, and with a jerk, he rose from the sofa, heading for the lifts: Everyone is free to help themselves. That''s what I''ll do. The rest are at will.


    After waking Lord Lister, Alex quickly gave him some tea (this time without any additives), and the two of them, without a word to the staff, snatched the sleeping Krain from his room along with the gravity stretcher and everything that was connected to it.


    It was much brighter at the top, the purple sun was climbing up, eclipsing the pearly shimmer of the night sky, and the light wind that was blowing across the roof was noticeably fresher.


    "Hey, get up." Alex knocked on the cockpit window as they pushed the stretcher up to the aerocar. "Take off."


    The pilot sleeping in the front seat woke up and looked through the lords with an unseeing gaze, clearly not understanding who was in front of him.


    "Open the back door," Alex commanded, seeing that the lad was up but not yet awake.


    "Has he been cured yet?" The pilot asked in surprise, finally coming to his senses. "So quickly?"


    "Not really. But we have to go now. Can you get us to Transit Station Six?"


    "Er..." the pilot, clearly dumbfounded by the question, said. "Actually, this model, in theory, can go into close space, but it''s not a shuttle, after all. And then there are the controllers that don''t work."


    "You mean you can''t," Alex concluded. "Okay..." he was quiet, straining his memory. "Do you know where Ol'' Tamit Stadium is?" He nodded affirmatively and then ordered. "Then that way, as fast as you can."


    Obedient to its pilot, the aerocar came to life, and with a melodious purr of the thrust generator, it rose into the air, heading off into the distance away from the rising sun.


    "Allesandro," Lord Lister asked in a whisper, closing the partition between the cabin and the cockpit. "Why are we going to the stadium? You said we could only leave from the Sixth Transit Station."


    "The shuttles depart from this stadium for Transit Sixth."


    "Oh..." Brenor sighed in surprise and, leaning towards Alex''s ear, whispered even more quietly, "I don''t mean to be indelicate, but how did you know?"


    "I managed to get one man from the PVD to talk to me. I met him at the hospital," he admitted honestly.


    "Won''t we need some sort of password or something to get into the station?"


    "I hope not. From what I understand, the rebels are now bringing large numbers of people upstairs to defend the Stations, so I expect there''s not very strict control. As a last resort, I hope we can work something out."


    The flight took them three hours, during which time Krain woke up, and while he was getting dressed, Alex introduced him in as succinct terms as possible.


    "Sounds dangerous, like a pack of drunken swirls." A rebel commented on the idea of evacuating through the station. - The PVD is not a bunch of amateurs. I bet they know the names of those who will be leaving. And no Atur Cermega is on the list. Although with Grand''s death, they could have started some chaos... And that little feller had to go somehow. I don''t know, too risky anyway, more chance of the station getting to the calculation blocks and getting a vector to jump from some point away from the Flow."


    "This requires a ship."


    "Transit is halt. There are a lot of ships out there."


    "Well, they''re not empty."


    "I think a hint to the captain that he can get out of all this would be enough to get him to agree to almost anything. And I bet there are some empty ones, too."


    "Okay." Alex agreed. "That would be plan B."


    "Why the B?" Lord Lister, who had been silent until then, asked with some surprise.


    "Well..." Alex was a little confused. "Because ''B'' is the second letter of the alphabet, or isn''t it?" He said uncertainly.


    "Actually, the second symbol is ''Ra''. You know, Flame. Great shadows, I keep forgetting you''ve lost your memory. But, Lord Cassard, you can''t have forgotten the alphabet, can you?"


    "It turns out I could." He shook his hands, feverishly trying to figure out What has ''Ra'' and flames got to do with it?


    Alex closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Letters and words were swirling in his head, he did not understand what "Ra" and "flame" had to do with it, and at the same time, this combination seemed natural to him.


    No, that''s not the way to do it. He opened his eyes, pressed against the window, and let out a long exhale, writing with his finger on a light patch of condensation. Flame.


    For the next few minutes, he just stared at the inscription trying to figure out what was wrong, and it inexplicably caused some very unpleasant feeling in his head like a severe migraine, but everything seemed normal - "flames are flames...". But then it got to him:


    Two signs. With quiet horror, he realized, there were only two signs on the glass. Two. It should be five: F-L-A-M-E.


    As he stared at the inscription, the headache grew worse and worse, as if his blood pressure had suddenly spiked or he had just been kicked in the head, and Alex realized that he was looking at two intricate symbols, something resembling a mixture of Arabic script and hieroglyphics. "Rai''e" and "Ni''a" popped into his mind, along with another bout of headache.


    "Lord Cassard, are you all right?" Lord Lister asked anxiously, watching Alex, with a trembling hand, write some strange symbols on the glass.


    "Yes, yes." Quickly mumbled Alex, trying to spell ''flame'' normally. "So just an experiment."


    As it turned out, this required serious concentration, which only increased the headache, and his hand kept trying to draw a hieroglyph instead of letters. When he finally finished, there were five stubby letters F-L-A-M-E on the glass underneath the two signs.


    Alex stared dumbfoundedly at the result for a moment, then stretched back in his seat, letting out a long sigh:


    It turns out I''ve been reading fluently in another language all this time, and I seem to be speaking too, and I didn''t even notice it! The headache slowly began to recede, leaving room for confusion. How can that even be?!


    "Fr... Fl," Damn, what the hell is that, "Flame." He finally got it out.


    "Sounds like some sort of swear word. " Krain, who was also watching Alex with interest, commented.


    "Nobody understood what I said?" Without much hope, he asked.


    "No. What was that, Lord Cassard? It sounded like Chihalrian. There were a lot of those sounds."


    "I see..." Alex muttered. "It''s just that your remark about the alphabet confused me, so I decided to revise my knowledge. It''s funny, but I thought I was speaking another language the whole time..." He added with a bewildered smile.


    Alex was willing to believe that the force that had transported him here could have stuffed knowledge of the local language into his head. Or perhaps the knowledge of the language was some skill he had inherited with this body. But, damn, why didn''t I notice that?!. It took tremendous concentration just to notice the fact that unfamiliar letters were being used around. Causing a severe headache and discomfort as well. When this is all over, it''s going to have to figure out how I got here. I feel it has something to do with the ''adepts''.


    "It must be a consequence of the amnesia." Lord Lister judiciously concluded. "The scraps of your former knowledge are all mixed up in the most bizarre way."


    "Yes, that seems to be the case." He nodded in response and turned to the window to let them know the discussion was over. And he remained silent, immersed in a whirlwind of rambling thoughts until he arrived at the stadium.


    It was a very long and, by local standards, a low building, no more than ten storeys high, resembling an elongated white pavilion. The rebels - judging by the huge crowd and the haphazardly stacked cars and containers - were not using the stadium itself but the upper level of a huge multi-storey parking area.


    There were just crowds of young men with guns flaunting brown jackets everywhere, so when their pilot finally found a suitable landing pad, the two lords and one former rebel instantly melted into the crowd. The only thing that made them stand out was their deadpan sobriety. Most of the real freedom fighters were slightly drunk and cheerful. Well, also Alex and Lord Lister''s lack of shoes, of course. But that doesn''t seem to bother anyone here.


    They passed through chaotic piles of rubbish, abandoned vehicles, containers, and sleeping people and arrived at the ''meeting point''. A fairly large crowd of people was crowding closer to the center of the small relatively clean area where some tables stood, and behind them could be seen the massive white carcasses of giant white soapbox shuttles with black stripes of cabins in the front and the fancy hollows of docking elements on their humpbacked backs.


    Alex stood up on his tiptoes and strained his vision, trying to see what was going on around the tables. As far as he could see, it was all down to a couple of phrases. No one seemed to be showing any documents.


    One of the shuttles with a solid thud bounced off the ground. It closed the rear ramp in flight and flew overhead, gradually gaining altitude.


    "I think it''s this way..." Alex suggested as he glanced at the shuttle. "First to those tables over there to see where the shuttle was going, and then up."


    A couple of questions posed to the local "natives" confirmed this assumption, and they moved toward the tables


    "The more I think about it..." the Rebel muttered quietly as Alex and Lord Lister helped him waddle. "The more I realize it''s a gamble that can only work in some holo. Five to one that we''re going to get caught on our asses, if not on departure, then definitely at the station. Why don''t we lay low after all?"


    "Look how many people are here and how much of a mess it is." Alex objected just as quietly, waving a hand toward the chaotic crowd surrounding the ''coordinators'' desks. "They don''t check IDs. They just send everyone who wants one. You can get through a hundred or two without being seen, let alone the three of us."


    Besides, I wouldn''t want to be on the planet when the charges start blowing up in a very powerful way.  He added mentally. One might be in the vicinity... Accidentally. But that won''t make it any easier.


    "The shadows are with you. But it looks like I''m about to regret it." Krain concluded even more quietly as they finally made their way to the coordinators'' desks.


    "We need to get to transit six." Alex turned to the exhausted girl with the infoblock in her hands.


    "And the last shuttle has already been formed there." She shook her hands. "They''ll be gone in about five minutes. Now we need people on the tenth."


    "We should be on the Sixth, we''ve got comrades there. Maybe they''ll take us on that shuttle as cargo, eh?" Asked Alex, showing the card of "emergency committee" added. "Well, we really need it."


    "Why didn''t you say so in the first place...." The girl muttered and looked around absent-mindedly. "I''ll just run in and find out..."


    "Don''t need it." Alex stopped her. "You''ve got enough work to do here. We''ll go ourselves. Which shuttle do you want me to go to?


    "That one over there." She pointed to a nearby shuttle. Its rear cargo ramps were lowered. People with carts and some sort of elongated, gray containers were slowly being loaded into the yellow interior.


    When they reached the shuttle, they climbed silently inside and sat on the nearest vacant seats along the sides. As expected, no one asked them any questions or stopped them.


    There were a hundred people inside, maybe a little less, and although they were all dressed about the same, they were noticeably divided into two groups. Most were in their early twenties, their eyes glittering, talking excitedly and gesticulating frantically, and their flushed faces suggesting that they were obviously drinking alcohol "for courage" or an overabundance of adrenaline. The lesser part, however, were in their thirties, sober, and looked like bored professionals.


    It looks like the PVD enforcers. Alex decided for himself.


    People sat along the sides, and the center was rapidly filling up with cargo pulled up on hovering carts by several blue-colored droids.


    It took the droids a few more minutes to finish loading and one of the PVD enforcers quickly counted the containers and said something into his communicator - the rear ramp crept up, slowly eating away at the last view of Tallana.


    "Now we''re in luck." Seizing the moment, Krain said as the shuttle began to ascend and the cabin was filled with the hum of engines. "But as experience shows, it can''t last forever."


    "And I happen to be lucky in life if it''s not about gambling," Alex answered him, thinking to himself. And I really hope it stays that way.


    There were no portholes inside the shuttle, the hum of the engines made my ears prickle, the folding seats were stiff, and for some reason, there was also a lot of shaking. Long gray containers occupied the entire middle of the cargo bay, leaving only a narrow passageway for people on both sides. The ascent to the station had been going on for half an hour. It was boring. Krain was asleep. There was no chance of talking to Brenor and no way to stretch one''s legs because of the containers.


    Alex couldn''t help but push his neighbor to his left - who was chewing incessantly, staring up at the ceiling with an absent look on his face:


    "Weapon." He stared at the ceiling again.


    The PVD man turned to Alex and reluctantly parted his lips, and said:


    "Weapon." He stared at the ceiling again.


    "Which one?"


    "Relax lad, it''s for the more experienced ones."


    Alex smiled wryly in response and also stared at the ceiling. I wish they''d come sooner.


    * * *

 Chapter 27

    Chapter 27


    * * *


    The flight to the station took at least another hour and a half. When the hum of the engines died down and the back door opened again, Alex saw a starry sky filled with a myriad of stars and the rim of the white floor beyond which the cosmic void began, and the jagged pins of some kind of antennae, riddled with narrow coal-black opaque shadows. Having gotten over the initial shock, he realized that they were actually already inside the station and that space was separated from them by a protective field.


    Those who sat closer to the door, not at all surprised by what they saw, jumped down quickly without waiting for the ramp to fall completely. On the left, several droids and a forklift with long arms and manipulators like giant forks stood in silent anticipation.


    "Hey, hurry up in there. Why are you standing up?" There was a call from behind, and a hesitant Alex quickly ran off onto the station''s white floor, which was slightly springy and rubbery. And quite cold for his bare feet.


    The shuttle was in a relatively narrow but incredibly long hall with a high ceiling. The room stretched to the right and left as far as the eye could see. It was difficult to estimate its true size, though, because of the sheer number of ships, containers, and equipment of some kind.


    The entire crowd of arrivals reached the huge square of the freight lift at the back of the hall, and after the grey containers were loaded onto it, the platform, large enough to fit the entire shuttle, went up smoothly. The PVD men who had come with them to the lift remained at the bottom, from which Alex deduced that they had gone with them to make sure everyone had left.


    "I think we should get ourselves some shoes after all." Lord Lister mouthed in a half-voiced voice, wringing his frozen fingers as they made their way up the stairs. "Not to say it just attracts attention. It''s a lot colder here than on Tallana."


    "As soon as possible.'' Sincerely, assured him Alex, who was already starting to freeze.


    The first thing he saw at the top was the four barrels of some kind of cannon covered by transparent shields and looking straight at him.


    Two double-barrelled machines, which looked like heavy machine guns with very thick barrels, stood at an angle on either side of the platform to provide a crossfire if necessary. Around them were piled some sacks, metal crates, and plastic containers, creating improvised embrasures. There were no people near the guns, though.


    The relatively small room they arrived in matched Alex''s idea of a space station room. It was finished in grey metal panels and filled with some kind of equipment. And exclusively by people from the PVD. Alex thought so because they were all solidly sober and busy with business. There were three entrances to the hall-their lift, two corridors wide enough for two forklifts to pass through at a time. Near the exit to one of the corridors, another cannon was welded to the floor, causing the hall to hum and hiss. At the second corridor, the cannon was already mounted, and an embrasure was being built around it.


    The containers were greeted with cheers, and they were immediately dragged to a disassembled square box a couple of meters high, made of light grey plastic strips. In its depths, something gleamed with a dull gleam of metal and into which several white hoses as thick as an arm ran. Replenishment, on the other hand, was all but ignored. It was only when they were all dragged to the crate and began to open it that a tall, broad-shouldered man in his thirties approached the new arrivals. Judging by his slanting grey eyes and long dark hair gathered in a ponytail, he was a Tallana. He wore a brown jacket over a pair of light gray overalls, like all PVDs, and was armed with a shorty, sporting a large gold earring and a pair of gold rings curled into a small goatee.


    Krain made a gurgling sound as he approached and tried to duck down so that he couldn''t be seen behind those in front of him, but he had to hang onto Alex''s arm to keep his balance.


    "It''s Balik," he gritted through his teeth in response to Alex''s surprised look. "I know him, he knows me, and he knows how I left the PVD. If he sees me..."


    Luckily, they were almost in the center of the incoming group. As Balik approached, he introduced himself as the chief defense coordinator of Transit Six and began to explain how important this station was to Tallana''s freedom.


    As he spoke, Krain ducked sideways to the edge of the shaft, where there was some kind of panel with buttons, which must have served to summon the lift. Before either Alex or Lord Lizard could stop him, he struck the panel with two swift blows, each one resulting in a pathetic pop of broken plastic which was barely audible amidst the noise in the hall.


    "What are you doing?" Alex hissed angrily, barely moving his lips when he finally pushed his way over to the rebel and stood so he had covered him. "Do you want to get us killed here?"


    "Later," Krain whispered back, straightening up and hiding his blaster.


    When Balik finished his speech, they were led into a huge hall, which, judging by the partially melted signs, was the ".....ing Area". In the .....ing Area, there was music, songs, snoring, and other often indistinguishable sounds made by a huge number of "freedom fighters" - several thousand at least. There was also the "Resistance Headquarters of Station Six".


    "And what did you do there?" Alex asked when the PVD man finally left them to their own devices, and most of the new arrivals reached for the smell of food and drink.


    "I''d like to know the same thing," added Lord Lister in a whisper. "But first, I suggest we move behind that container over there."


    "I broke the call marker and the sound box," Krain explained as they stepped back.


    "Why?"


    "Balik is a sick psycho who doesn''t know a damn thing about tactics. He''s as much a defensive coordinator as I am a poet. Grand used to use him in acts of... let''s say, "intimidation" that others just wouldn''t go for. And I want to know what this zwigolot regurgitation is doing here."


    "And?"


    "And... these panels not only summon the lift but can also be used to communicate between floors, so you can yell at those holding up the lift, I guess. So now you can summon their floor, and they won''t know about it because the signal marker is broken and the sound box doesn''t work, but the recording element is perfectly serviceable."


    "There''s a lot of noise, and the hall is quite big. Can you hear anything?"


    "The thing is." He explained with a mentor-like tone, "that most recording systems are far more sensitive than the human ear. And they record and transmit all sounds, even the ones we can''t hear."


    "And?"


    "Look, your Lordships." The rebel grinned, gesturing to the magician to retrieve one of the trophy infoblocks. "An expensive model, with a voice recorder mode." He explained, loosening the screws on the case with his fingernail. Having removed the upper panel, he took out some small device connected by a transparent stem and started to fiddle with the settings of the infoblock, commenting at the same time:


    "We remove the recording unit from the casing. Select the recorder mode, set the sensitivity to the maximum, and switch on the option "record speech only". The noise amplification and filtering device are now ready. The only thing left to do is to find a secluded spot, call their floor, and connect our recording unit to the sound unit." With these words, he screwed the case back on, leaving the wire with the little device on the outside. "So much for a hand-held eavesdropping device." He added with a smug look.


    "Okay..." Alex said as he watched the rebel''s manipulation with interest. "You take care of this Balik. Lord Lister and I will get the lay of the land and find the shoes." He added, shivering.


    "So, how did you say you met the esteemed Krain?" Lord Lister asked softly as they stepped back. "The specificity of his skills, I couldn''t help but wonder."


    "In the warehouse," Alex lied without thinking. "He was tied to a chair, too. Only unlike you, he was conscious. He helped me when the commotion started."


    "I think he''s a secret agent, probably from the imperial security service." Brenor shared his doubts. "Or even a pirate."


    "Anything is possible." With a doubtful look on his face, Alex nodded. "But we weren''t doing anything completely illegal anyway. And even if he is a pirate, we have a common interest now, to get out of here as soon as possible. Why not use his help? Anyway, we need to find the shoes and find out where the ''evacuation'' groups are forming here."


    The atmosphere at the Station was interesting. There were several hundred of the crews of the ships stranded at the Station. Needless to say, they were extremely unhappy. Several thousand enthusiastic Tallanas of both sexes, mostly students and mostly not sober. And only sixty PVDs. The number was an estimate, but Alex was sure it was well under a hundred.


    The PVDs, though few, must have been the most organized to run the process. They held both control rooms, the flight and lift area, and that lounge. They did not let anyone else in. The people from the PVD practically never left their posts, except for the dozen "crowd pleasers" who were constantly in the crowd, making speeches, and seemed to Alex to be making a strictly calculated mess of the "resistance headquarters" which technically was supposed to run everything here.


    The most troubling thing was that no hint could be found of any evacuation of the PVDs from the station outside Tallana. Maybe something could be found out with an "emergency committee" card, but the idea seemed excessively dangerous. So Alex decided to postpone that option for later. At least after we''ve got our shoes.


    They found a working information terminal and Lord Lister grasped and summoned a map of the station. In front, at eye level, a hologram appeared composed of translucent colored blocks with captions. Together, they looked like an avant-garde-painted grand piano: in the area around the keys, a flight deck of several stories opened out into space. In the center, there was the transit and passenger area. And in the elongated part and in the space next to it - the cargo area.


    Somewhere around the "lid" of the piano, a small blue ball pulsed with the sacramental signature "You are here". Judging by the markings on the map, they were indeed in the waiting area and had come from the ''transition zone''. It remained to be seen where to look for the source of the shoestring here.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "Where do you think there might be a place with shoes?" Alex asked Lord Lister when he finally got tired of looking for something like a ''staff changing room''. Such places just didn''t seem to be marked.


    "In the shops?" he suggested, looking around with interest.


    Right, duty-free, why I hadn''t thought of that. Alex thought, looking for something with ''shops'' on the map. "Shouldn''t they be near the passenger terminal?" He asked out loud.


    "That sounds reasonable." Nodded Brenor. "Or near the VIP lounges. In any case, I think it''s better not to guess but to ask at the terminal." Lord Lister turned to the map hanging in the air and, looking at it pointedly, ordered:


    "Create a route to the nearest shoe shop."


    The terminal responded with an electronic "Executing" and a jagged blue line stretched across the map. As Alex suggested, it ended at one of the walls of the adjacent passenger terminal.


    "Well, looks like we got lucky." He smiled. "It''s not far to walk."


    It really wasn''t far to walk, but as they got closer to their destination, it was clear that their luck seemed to be running out.


    The wide, brightly lit corridor curved in an arc that obscured the opposite exit. The walls are almost invisible because of a continuous layer of holographic screens with advertisements stretching from floor to ceiling across the length of both walls. Free of the riot of color, lettering, and pictures were only the floor, lined with ribbed metal plates (quite cold to the touch), and the ceiling, which consisted of a solid milky white panel that gave off a soft warm glow.


    A bright orange holographic triangle marked "Third Passenger Terminal" hung from the ceiling a few meters high. Its top pointed forward, from where a distant, indistinct hum was heard. As they approached, the hum intensified, growing louder and louder...


    "It''s not the machines..." said Lord Lister in a half-smile, pausing and listening warily.


    Alex, following his example, also stopped and listened to the sounds coming in; it really didn''t sound like a machine.


    "I think it''s people..."


    They were indeed people and people in great numbers. They were squatting on their knees, with their legs pressed tightly together and their palms folded together. With their heads bowed and their eyes closed, they were all muttering something, and this thousand-voice muttering merged into a mighty unintelligible rumble, like the sound of a waterfall.


    The noise reverberated off the impossibly high, curved roof of the passenger terminal, illuminated by the many circular lights that looked like distant stars because of their height. It wandered through the gleaming metal web of the ceilings and bounced off them in the adjoining corridors.


    Looks like some kind of religious ritual. Decided Alex, cautiously examining the hall from behind the unopened sash of the door. "What are they doing?" He asked in a whisper, turning to Brenor.


    "Praying..." He shrugged. "When Synths pray, they''re supposed to sit like that."


    Around the square filled with seated people gaped white holes of gutted shops. They were empty, and only their floors were littered with shelving debris and small flower scraps. There was only one winding store that gleamed with merchandise, and it looked intact, and the best part was that they seemed to be selling clothes.


    "One shop clearly survived," Alex commented, pointing his finger at the window of a lucky shop. "Maybe we should try and check what else is left."


    Lord Lister quickly peeked out from behind the door and looked where Alex was pointing:


    "I bet it''s just a power shield in there, and they couldn''t cut the power to it. Besides, it would be an insult to walk around during prayer and, well... you know, rummage around."


    "You said something about a VIP area..."


    "Yeah, but according to the map, it''s behind that gate, very close to the passenger terminal. I don''t think there''s anything left."


    "Then why don''t we try the tried-and-true method?" Alex hummed, pointing towards an inconspicuous door marked "Employees Only".


    After opening the lock with a blaster, they entered a labyrinth of narrow service passageways, alternating with wide corridors that were used to move cargo around the station.


    Lord Lister thought the staff changing rooms should be near the ''technical pillar'', whatever that meant. So they began to make their way deeper into the station, until at the exit to another corridor, they were stopped by a commanding shout:


    "Stop." It came from somewhere to the left. When Alex turned around he saw four PVD men with guns blocking the passage. "What are you doing here?" Behind them, the corridor widened in a semicircle encircling a huge metal column reaching up into the ceiling. The column was marked with some sort of bright red, unfamiliar pictograms that looked like yellow beams. Some of the equipment next to the column was in crates, and there were a couple of other roving POV guys around. They were seemingly assembling or cutting something off, and there were bright blue flashes on the other side, sparks flying to the floor.


    "We''re just looking for shoes," Alex admitted guiltily with a wave of his hands. "We woke up and shoes disappeared. Someone had stolen them. Maybe as a joke. We thought we might find something in the back rooms. What are you doing there?"


    "None of your business, so stay out of it." Cut off the guard. "Get out of here, for good."


    Alex, warningly put a hand on Lord Lister''s shoulder as he began to boil:


    "Yes, we were just leaving." He assured the guard. "Just... Do you know where the changing rooms are? It''s cold..."


    "Go back, turn left, and follow the sign to ''support services''." The PVD man grumbled grudgingly.


    "Your stoic tolerance, Allesandro," Brenor said with a frown. "I am astonished. That commoner''s behavior was insulting."


    "Well, first of all, as you rightly pointed out, he''s a commoner." Alex objected. "It would be beneath our dignity to notice his behavior. And second, there are a lot of them." And seeing the objection in the eyes of the ''Blade of Honor'', he added. "Imagine that we are scouts in the enemy camp. Especially since we are."


    "And these ignoramuses are still doing something to the central heat accumulator." Lord Lister added grudgingly. "If they manage to crack open the defenses, the ejection could burn out several sections."


    "Let''s hope they know what they''re doing." Alex shrugged.


    The PVD man was not deceived, and they soon found the locker rooms they were looking for, so they returned to Krain with their shoes on. After briefly outlining what they had learned, Alex asked with a sly look:


    "So how did you manage to overhear anything interesting?


    "Nothing useful." Reluctantly, the rebel confessed. "They''ve brought in parts of some kind of "Constellation", and they''re assembling it, and will be another twenty-four hours, maybe more. All in all, a waste of time so far." He summed up.


    "Did you say "Constellation"?" Alex asked, swallowing nervously, and his thoughts went at a panicked gallop without waiting for an answer:


    The plan was to detonate the charges on the surface and evacuate via the Station. But that was a plan put together by Imperial Security or whoever else was behind it. And the Professor had clearly decided to replay the whole thing. He''d attacked Lord Velaske and the SS men that were with him. Which means he wouldn''t use the escape routes known to the Imperial SS. I''m such an idiot!


    "Well, yes, The Shining." Nodded Krain. "Why, ''your lordship'', do you know what that thing is?"


    "I know." Nodded ''your lordship''. "We''re screwed." He added with a grim look and began to tell him what he knew.


    The situation was getting dire. At least one warhead was at the station. What they were going to do with it was not known. But the work being carried out at the heat accumulator gave one a bad idea. There was no evacuation from the station either. Alex even took a risk and showed up at the "resistance headquarters" as Atur Chermega - but nothing. He was welcomed and invited to speak, but there was not even the slightest sign of evacuation, although he asked almost directly.


    Towards nightfall, their "listening post", at which they were alternately on duty, finally clarified plans for the warhead. It was going to be turned into several charges, and placed on the station, to be detonated in case of capture by the Imperials. Transit Station Six had become a death trap.


    The only ray of hope was making contact with the captain of one of the ships stranded on the station. Because of its irregular size, the cargo ship Old Redhead was not in the general guarded field but was docked at the hybrid hub. And it could be freely accessed through the passenger terminal, bypassing both rebels and PVDs. The only remaining obstacle was the docking bay grips controlled from the Control Room:


    "We could try to take over the Control Room," Brenor suggested at another of their meetings. Like the others, he was a bit on edge and sleep-deprived.


    "This is madness." Krain sighed. "There are over twenty PVD fighters with heavy weapons in there alone. You won''t have time to do anything before you get shot. At best, you take two or three with you."


    "Better to die fighting." Lord Lister said with grim determination. "Than to just wait for your fate."


    "We should not wait for fate but for a chance. Maybe they will lower their guard or be forced to disperse their forces. No Imperial fleet in sight yet. Who knows what will happen in a couple of days..."


    "The bomb is not ready to detonate now," Alex remarked, "if we give them time, they''ll set up the hardware and mine the critical elements. Then all they have to do is push a button. We have to act now. It''s much more dangerous to attack later."


    "We''re not in the right position now." Krain objected. "Even if by some miracle we manage to get past the guards, we''ll be torn apart by this crowd by the time we get back to the ship." He jerked his head back to where the human sea was raging behind the makeshift stage.


    With nothing to answer, Alex straightened up from his squatting position, making his head appear above the upturned forklift that acted as the stage.


    Behind the forklift, a crowd of would-be freedom martyrs raged, several thousand, maybe even five. They occupied almost the entire area of the giant passenger terminal, shouting, hugging, and occasionally shooting at the ceiling, which left white spots here and there left by the fire extinguishing system. They were really enthusiastic and could have ripped, and even telling them they were going to be blown up would not have helped. The crowd had been so fed up with booze and speakers that they might as well have blown themselves up voluntarily...


    But the point is not that they''re ready to explode. It''s the drinks and the speakers. Thought Alex, looking at the whole thing. And games like that can be played both ways. At least we can try.


    "We have two thousand possibilities here." He declared as he ducked down. "And the situation is just perfect."


    "What do you mean?"


    "These people." He jabbed his finger in the direction of the crowd. "They''re not PVD fighters, they''re not fanatics. Maybe they want freedom for Tallana, or the Imperials off the planet''s surface, or whatever their demands are, but they''re not fanatics."


    "Yes, but now they have been turned on to the point where they can safely be considered fanatics."


    "Exactly! Exactly. It''s just a bunch of youths, drunk and drugged out of their cool aid who have been given guns and liquor. It''s a force, but a force beyond the control of the PvD, and while they''re in such a state, it can be used..."


    The current speaker was clearly exhausted and Alex looked around to make sure there were no fighters nearby, grabbed the handrail, and climbed onto the "stage".


    "Hang on." Krain grabbed him by the pant leg. "What if they just don''t go after you, if it just doesn''t work out? We''ll sign our own death warrant."


    "Then you just run to the transition tube and lock yourself in the ship. Sit there with the fields on full and not unhooking so you don''t get ripped off by the beam. They can''t get you out, and it might help you in an explosion."


    "What about you then?" Asked Brenor.


    Alex measured the distance to the open opening of the transition tube. About a hundred meters, maybe a little less.


    "It''s quite possible I''ll make it in time, too. It''s not that far to run. I don''t think they''ll start shooting right away. Also," he threw over his shoulder, "when it starts, don''t let anyone near the stage or the equipment. And this one," he pointed his eyes at what he considered to be the most talented ''mass entertainer'', "you''d better knock him out as soon as I start talking."


    Climbing on top, Alex clapped the speaker on the shoulder and quietly said:


    "I would like to speak."


    Relief flashed in the speaker''s eyes. He nodded and shouted into the small balloon hanging in the air that acted as a microphone:


    "And now I give the floor to one of our most hardened fighters, the implacable freedom fighter, Atur Chermaga!" He stepped back to give way to Alex and immediately disappeared from the stage, pulled down by Krain. Lord Lister''s flaming blade froze in front of his face.


    There were several thousand people in front of Alex, and he could have sworn they were all looking at him. The idea suddenly seemed extremely stupid, even idiotic, but it was too late to change it. He caught the ''microphone balloon'', and placing it in front of his face, took a full breath, Well, God with us...


    "That''s one thing you nobles have going for you, though." With a touch of envy in his voice Krain said, holding the half-strangled PVD speaker with his right hand. "It''s the way he sticks out in front of a crowd. Spoken like he''d been at rallies all his life and he''s got no memory."


    "Yes..." Lord Lister nodded, watching the raging crowd from behind the forklift. And he added in a much quieter voice. "Memoryless, but he knows rebel terminology from somewhere." And he asked in a normal tone, turning to Krain:


    "And what do you mean by ''El pablo unido, hamas sera ventido'' and ''No pasaran''?"


    "I have no idea." The rebel shrugged. "But it sounds encouraging."


    * * *

 Chapter 28

    Chapter 28


    * * *


    The feeling of d¨¦j¨¤ vu was so strong that it even partially drowned out the pain of the wild cramps all over his body. He was lying on the floor again, face down, unable even to move his eyes. The only difference was in the field itself - it was milky this time, smooth, and slightly shiny, which was a palpable disadvantage looking at it was far less interesting than the carpet. And to look at anything else, Alex just couldn''t:


    "How long has it been?" He asked himself. "Five minutes? An hour?" His sense of time was clearly failing.


    It started well, and the crowd, to Alex''s surprise, took his message and erupted in righteous anger. In addition, one of the PVD guys showed inappropriate zeal - during the speech, he fired a heavy stun gun at the stage - slightly hitting Alex and a dozen of those around him - which only added fuel to the fire. Luckily Krain wasn''t confused and, holding the half-stunned Atur Chermega in his arms, managed to turn things around simply by shouting: "Traitors!".


    The crowd rushed to the transition area, where there was an unassembled bomb and most of the PVD fighters. Who fired first is no longer known, but a firefight ensued...


    Then Alex, who had come to his senses, realized that he was losing the initiative and things could end very badly.


    They failed to seize the transition zone at once, and then the PVD''s advantage in armaments took its toll. The attackers retreated, leaving several dozen wounded and dead. The narrow corridor did not allow the numerical advantage to be exploited, and the situation was stalemated.


    Alex felt that the elusive power he had over the crowd was fading by the second. The heat of battle and excitement would wear off, and people would start asking questions; all the PVD would have to do was show a modicum of reason to turn the situation in their favor. And he won''t even be able to retreat to the ship as the new "leader" has been surrounded by a small crowd.


    All in all, while he retained relative control of what was going on, things were about to get very, very bad in the future.


    It is safe to say, however, that he didn''t even have time to freak out. He had barely half an hour before one of the outer airlock doors burst open with a loud pop. Alex saw a figure in a bright red spacesuit, and then the lights went out, and there was the familiar sound of a giant whip hitting the water.


    It looks like they''ve outflanked us somehow. Thought Alex, staring at the floor. And where did they get this squad in spacesuits from? There weren''t any... Maybe it was the Imperials who started the assault. He thought with desperate hope.


    The lights came on again after a few minutes, and again the waiting was prolonged, soaked in the pain of the cramps that shackled the body.


    There was a buzzing sound from somewhere above and a quiet but solid thumping sound - as if something very heavy had been carefully placed next to it. Alex didn''t feel the touch - he couldn''t feel his body at all - but the image before his eyes flipped, and he was on his back. Above him, kneeling on one knee, leaned a massive figure in a bright red spacesuit. At the joints through the slightly curved plates of the armor was something like shiny black resin, and the same material covered the neck, partially covered by a wide collar, and long narrow segments of armor-like fringes hung from the helmet. The face was covered by a solid, flat plate without any sign of transparency. Only the right edge of it had a yellow glow from a sensor, or maybe just a lighter.


    A figure in a red spacesuit held a device ending in a black tube up to Alex''s face and a blue flickering light flickered in front of his eyes.


    Are they allies? Hope for a better outcome peeked out from somewhere in the depths of consciousness and gingerly sniffed the air with its nose. During the assassination attempt on the hunt, the Fyron scouts shone the same thing in the eyes before evacuating...


    When the scan was finished, the man in the suit quickly put the device somewhere behind his back and, with his left hand, pressed Alex firmly against his chest plate. There was another whirring sound, and the suit rose into the air and flew over the bodies of paralyzed rebels, almost touching them with its massive boots.


    As they approached the massive airlock door carved out by the blast, they were joined by two more in spacesuits, and a small black "ball" the size of a grapefruit was curling in figures above their heads. They all flew quickly into the opening and immediately shifted to the side so they could not be seen from the hall.


    On the other side was a small vestibule room with a huge yellow holographic blotch hanging in the air, exactly in the middle of it: Station Six! Our meeting place! Alex was placed on a semi-circular conveyor belt located against one of the walls, and people in scarlet suits immediately began a feverish activity.


    He was injected with two injections into his neck, which he did not feel, and put on his chest something that looked like a huge rucksack or a case of white plastic. Then they rolled him onto his side and fastened the clasps of the ''rucksack'' on his back. All this took a few seconds, the final chord being the handing into the little iron paws of the ''ball'' flying nearby, a small device with a big green headlamp.


    After a brief halt, the whole squad moved on with a bassy whirr.


    Where they were flying to was not visible. In front, a few meters away, a massive figure in a red spacesuit was gliding, blocking the view. The sides were flashed by the same type of corridors and passages, and he could not get his bearings. One thing was clear: they were heading somewhere in the direction of the outer wall of the station, where there was a giant flight and reception field that protruded directly into space.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    At least we can hope they''re saviors. Alex corrected himself mentally. Otherwise, why would they bring me back to normal? He felt the injections begin to spread through his body in a wave of heat, bringing mobility back one drop at a time. The black ball circled around him and a narrow cone of rich, even dense green ''light'' shot out from the device clutched in its clutches. Where this "light" touched his body, a pleasant coolness spread, soothing the pain.


    He was being carried by the scruff of the neck, on an outstretched arm, like a stray kitten, by the straps of a backpack on his back. He tried to turn his head slightly to look at whoever was carrying him, but he couldn''t. His muscles wouldn''t respond:


    We should warn them about the bomb somehow. If those PVD crazies are still in one piece, they might think it''s an imperial landing force and blow it. Who knows, maybe they''ve already assembled it? We gave them at least half an hour during the fight, though maybe they just weren''t up to it.


    "Bo-bo." His tongue felt leaden and barely moved in his mouth, unable to make any meaningful sound. But that didn''t seem to be necessary, Alexa was turned around to face him, and a suave male voice came from the mask:


    "Has something happened, Your Lordship?" His mooing must have caught the "savior''s" attention.


    "B-i-m-b." His lordship spelled it out, turning his eyes frantically.


    To the "savior''s" credit, he didn''t ask meaningless questions like, "Are you sure?" or "What kind of bimb?" Instead, he pressed one of the buttons on the front of Alex''s backpack, causing the air around him to shiver and ripple, and confined himself to a single word: "Where?"


    Which put Alex in a quandary. It was impossible to explain exactly where the bomb was with his current communication skills.


    "Th-ere." After a few moments, he gave out and tried to wave his hand towards the hall, where he was paralyzed. Instead of swinging, his arm dangled helplessly in the overhang. It was the best he could think of.


    "Is that where we found you?" The ''rescuer'' clarified, and seeing ''his lordship'' trying to make a desperate grimace, he asked again. "The place you attacked?"


    "Y-e-a." Alex exhaled in relief and, gathering his strength, added. "Li-s-s-s..."


    The man was silent for a few seconds and then continued in a polite, calm tone:


    "Don''t worry, Your Lordship. His Lordship Lord Lister has already been detected by another group and is being evacuated. I''ve relayed to the Sword your warning about the bomb."


    Good. His lordship, thought excitedly, sagging like a sack on the outstretched arm of the "rescuer". Hopefully, the "rescuers," whoever they are, will be able to deal with the PVDs around the bomb, and Lord Lister will be found, apparently alive. That leaves only Krain, but if those rescuers are imperial commandos, we''d better leave him where he is. We''ll both be safer that way, or God forbid, they''ll dig something up...


    While Alex was figuring out how to determine exactly who his rescuers were working for, their short flight ended in the vast white field of the flight zone near a pair of aggressive-looking ships.


    The long, elongated hulls, dark grey cobblestone in color, began with a chisel-like prow and then turned into a fifty-meter-long "neck" studded with some kind of hulk. From there protruded something strongly resembling large-caliber barrels. The "neck" ended at a massive central part sandwiched between vertical plates of "wings" that protruded ten meters above and below the hull. The ships hovered above the landing field, the straight edges of their ''wings'' not reaching the surface by about half a meter. Because of their length, they clearly could not ''land''.


    Beneath the ships, a few centimeters above the snow-white surface of the airfield, large flat platforms with low sides stood still. Judging by the size of the hatch in the bottom of the ships, these were the platforms used for loading and unloading.


    There were three more men in suits standing by the platforms, and a few bodies of PVDs lying around:


    Most likely paralyzed. Decided Alex, as he couldn''t see the wounds.


    The "rescuer" from the group that had found Alex flew ahead, flying towards the ships, while the one carrying "his lordship" flew on, towards the platform.


    As Alex was carried past the fighters, they synchronously, as if on cue, raised their right hands to their heads and touched the helmets at the temple with two fingers, causing the visors to rise up with unexpected speed, turning into a ''visor'':


    "Hail to your Lordship." The men shouted in unison, eyeing the "lordship" as it passed by.


    "Thank you." Alex let it out, trying to keep his head straight and sincerely hoping that it sounded more like a ''thank you'' than an attempt by ''lordship'' to get rid of his stomach contents.


    And not a single familiar face. He noted to himself with slight regret. Could it be intelligence again? Countess Durlurl might well have known through some channel of her own that I had been taken to Tallana. Though how would they know I was on the station?


    The platform shuddered faintly as the "savior", with Alex in his arms, landed on it and began to rise with a rhythmic, throbbing buzz towards the opening hatch in the bowels of the ship.


    Inside it was clean, empty, and smelled new. When the platform came to a stop, and the low sides surrounding it dropped to the floor, they found themselves in a spacious elongated room, finished with steel-grey smooth metal panels interspersed with narrow glowing strips. Running along the walls and ceiling, they ruled everything in a large glowing cage. The floor was paved with slabs made of a very fine network of metal strips. About three meters from the platform, one of the plates had been removed from the floor, and from the resulting hole, bundles of colorful wires and some kind of glowing translucent bundle were sticking out.


    The whole interior of the room consisted of huge double sliding doors. The strong smell of plastic and chemicals permeated the whole place, and for some reason, Alex associated it with a new car.


    As soon as his lordship''s carrier stepped off the platform, the double doors parted to the sides, letting in two men in light green overalls with large plastic suitcases in their hands. They appeared to be medics, at least as they took the lord in their arms and immediately began to examine him, groping and scanning him:


    "Are you experiencing a severe migraine, Your Lordship?" One of the doctors asked, shining a small torch into Alex''s right eye.


    "Nt," He tried to shake his head, but instead it snapped to the side. "I cn''t tak." He shared his distress.


    "Don''t worry," the doctor reassured him, "the necessary injections have already been given and the muscles and nervous system will be functional in a few minutes."


    While he was being examined, the platform went down with the "rescuer" and the opening was closed with a double hatch painted in a bright yellow stripe and a giant sign that read DO NOT STOP.


    And soon, it was up again, along with its passenger. A soldier in a red spacesuit stepped down onto the ringing slabs of the floor and stopped beside Alex and the medics, saluting by placing two fingers on his helmet near his temple. The visor instantly fell away, revealing the face of the rising one: "I''m sorry, I can''t help it:


    "Taer, you hve no ida how pleased I am." Alex muttered when he saw that under the visor of the suit was his "personal safety specialist''. He tried to smile, but it was only halfway; the right side of his face was still paralyzed. "How did yu fin me?"


    * * *

 Chapter 29

    Chapter 29


    * * *


    The circular square, like a carpet, was covered with a dense mishmash of colorful dots. The buildings surrounding the square were of old Tallan style and formed an enormous bowl. The multicolored masses came up to their massive broad bases of dark grey granite, which turned into concave inwardly shining walls of reddish glass, rising somewhere under the clouds, gradually straightening, only emphasizing their resemblance to a gigantic flowerbed.


    Or a huge salad bowl. Taer decided, watching the square intently through the window of a caf¨¦ on the first floor of one of the buildings. Luckily the salad came out fruity...


    The automatics reacted to her strained squint, and a silent shadow descended over the world, a grainy veil of visage. The bright spot that caught her eye, enlarged and encompassed by whitish lines of markers, was a young red-haired girl with regular features and surprisingly fair skin, contrasting with her red curls and the bright red T-shirt with unreadable writing in large black letters. She must have held her gaze too long; a scarlet halo of sight flashed around her face, and Taer shook her head grudgingly as she forced her visor back up.


    They''d been on Tallana for two days, gutting the safe houses and rebel bases Countess Durlurl''s men had pointed out and pumping all those captured with Lim''s serum. They''d been counting on it, or it was a coincidence, but the last patrol was surrounded by an incredible mob of seven thousand at least, some armed with light blasters.


    And I almost burned them all. Taer was mentally horrified. Just because it was ''acceptable''.  She thought she even felt a faint trace of someone else''s, not her own, thoughts. A surprise when she interrupted the guidance, for the choice should have been obvious: 3.4 seconds to burn, two minutes and forty-two seconds to paralyze. And a slight regret of ''non-optimality''.


    The motley mass covered the square thinned down closer to the cafe and a hundred paces away, disappearing altogether, exposing sandy-yellow plates and forming a small clean patch on which three heavy aerocars were parked. The dark metallic gray of the streamlined sides of the cars, set in a semicircle, merged into a makeshift wall in the rare gaps which loomed bright red figures of security guards.


    When the fuss of the hasty departure subsided and they entered hyperspace, they found that all the heavy assault suits they had been given were of the "ceremonial" type - black with ornate red enamel painting and glowing scarlet griffins on their shoulder pads. The only paint they could find on the ship was also bright red.


    However, they are even less conspicuous this way - from afar, they look like lifeguards or firemen.


    The firemen really wouldn''t have caused much surprise. At the far end of the square, a heavy construction robot stood like a huge metal octopus, several powerful arms topped with grippers, breakers, and cutters staring upwards as if trying to grab the sky, the circular disk-shaped body was split open, and streams of thick black smoke and flashes of orange flame erupted from the cut, which nobody was in any hurry to put out. The rebels were very clever in their use of heavy construction equipment against the police aerocars, but...:


    But I have more firepower than the police.  Taer grinned grimly.


    As she waited to meet the Countess of Durlurl, the events of the past few days kept replaying in her mind, trying to understand why things had happened this way and what to tell her. And as she thought about it, she saw with absurd clarity in each other that they had simply always lacked firepower. If they could destroy the aerocar at once, Dudo would not be wounded, and the Lord''s guard would not be reduced by half. If she had killed the shape-shifter, she would not have been unconscious, and she would have been able to protect the Lord. So going to Tallana, she made sure that such mistakes would not happen again. She had twenty-four men in heavy assault suits with her, and another eight men from the reserves stayed on the yachts. And what it had taken her six hours to buy three Aegis and rip the identification units out of them...


    A loud clang of broken glass nearby snapped her out of her brooding reverie:


    "Damn it!" The glass she was holding burst, and green streams ran down her arm, leaving behind pieces of fruit on her glove. Distracted, Taer simply crushed it. In anything not related to combat, the guider was occasionally off, and she became clumsy in her use of the assault suits.


    "Never mind, Sword. Would you like to make another one?" It came from behind her.


    "Yes, I suppose so." Taer nodded, crinkling unhappily as the glass crunched beneath her feet and turned to the bar.


    The unknown designer was true to the classic Tallana style - the bar was a massive square slab of dark grey with red flecks of granite, slightly glistening from the thin layer of icy water flowing down it.


    Behind the bar, a massive figure in a bright red suit, accompanied by three reconnaissance bots, similar to small black balls, studded with twinkling round sensors. Raised visor opened the face of the "bartender"-wide, with a little "square" chin and snub nose, it just radiated mischievous charm. His light blond, short-cropped hair and sly, slightly squinting green eyes spoke volumes about his noble origins, and his slightly sloping nose reflected his love of ungenerous pastime. "Twice Lieutenant" Grii Dirav was one of the men handed over by Countess Durlurl. And he was one of the most expensive as he was an ''Iper''. That is to say, simply put, his head was stuffed with metal and bio-clusters enough to hold eight scout bots at once.


    "Shall I repeat it to you?" Grii asked, and seeing that he had captured the attention of his "superiors", he demonstrated the ultimate chic by tossing up and catching the cocktail glass again, which looked more like a transparent tube of the finest glass. "Or would you like to try Nun''s Kiss?"


    "Repeat," Taer grumbled grudgingly. She was a bit jealous of Grii''s manipulation of the glass. She certainly couldn''t do it herself.


    Stepping carefully so as not to crush or knock anything over on the way, Taer approached the bar.


    The cozy little caf¨¦ where they were seated was decorated in a deliberately Tallana style, which must have been aimed at tourists. Near the massive rounded columns, decorated with small shiny mosaic tiles, were low oval tables made of dark wood. The tables were flanked by Tallana "tapu" of the same dark wood, either long narrow chairs without backs or small benches. On each tapu lay hanging down on either side were large, gold-embroidered cushions of darkly red velvet, their long tassels of twisted fringe almost touching the dark gray slabs of the floor.


    The cafe remained miraculously unlooted by the rebels, and while the spears gutted the secure communication lines of a nearby bank. Taer allowed the team to take their first break in three days and eat a decent meal. There was no point in rushing now. They found traces of the Lord and the others who had been kidnapped at the last point they had seized, bits of skin, hair, and even a few drops of blood, as well as many dead PVD''s who had been dead for at least a couple of days. Someone had beaten them to it by two days and taken the lord.


    Taer was almost certain that Lord Cassard was still alive, they had not found a body, and the amount of tissue they had found did not indicate that he was at least wounded. But now he was definitely not with the rebels, she had to think about what to do next - and the peaceful surroundings were just right for that. The only thing she could think of so far was to tap into the Rebels'' lines of communication - perhaps they knew who had attacked them and kidnapped the Lord again. To do that, they knocked out a nearby bank of PVDs. They were using the bank''s network as secure lines of communication between their headquarters.


    Taer walked over to the bar and ran her hand over the water-covered slab to wash the remains of the cocktail off her glove:


    That''s probably why they invented watering it, thought the "specialist" lazily as she watched Grii make a cocktail for her. So you can wash your hands without leaving the table.


    The massive figure of the ''Iper'' moved surprisingly naturally, as if he wore no suit at all. He deftly chopped the fruit with his knife without chopping up the cutting board and simultaneously commanded three scouts bots, two of which brought him ingredients, while the third was frying thin flatbread for sandwiches.


    "Your cocktail, Sword," Grii smiled, handing her a glass decorated with a small slice of green melon carved in the shape of a flaming heart.


    Taer sent him a sour smile in return and taking her glass, turned her back and leaned against the bar, the water gurgling softly down her suit:


    After the operation, I will fire him to all shadows, back to the guard, she thought with a heavy sigh and picked up a heart in her teeth and chewed it.


    The holographic screen on the side wall shows some kind of rally of the rebels. Near the screen stood three soldiers in scarlet suits with raised visors, staring blankly at the screen, eating sandwiches. As it was found out practically, the tapu could not bear the weight of a heavy assault suit, and it is necessary to be able to sit on them, fixing the knee joint. Three more slept - standing up, right in the armor.


    With a low whirring sound a black scout ball came out from somewhere over his shoulder. In its short clutches was clutched a tray on which lay a healthy sandwich, exuding the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread and roast meat. Taer, who had previously thought she wasn''t hungry, involuntarily swallowed her saliva.


    "A sandwich Dirawski," Grii commented from behind her. Seeing the predicament of Taer, whose left arm was still not moving, suggested. "Would you like me to hold the sandwich? Because you, Sword, would be uncomfortable with one hand..."


    Is he trying to feed me by hand? She almost hissed in anger and turned to the Ieper with a single glance to silence him.


    Putting the glass back on the counter, she raked a sandwich off the tray:


    Or better yet, not fired, but demoted to cook, she decided after taking her first bite - the sandwich was overwhelmingly good.


    Despite all her indignation and angry looks intended for Grii, eating with one hand on the weight was indeed uncomfortable:


    "Hold still," she ordered the little scout with the tray and, clutching the sandwich in her teeth, reached for the glass to put it close. At that moment, her gaze slid to the huge screen on the side where the rebel rally was still going on. The cameraman, tired of filming close-ups of the frenzied crowd, moved the camera closer to the speaker. He wore a brown Tallana student union jacket, as did most of the PVD members, and climbing onto an overturned forklift he called out, with glowing eyes, "To defend the young revolution from the imperial hirelings." The speaker was a perfect "charismatic rebel" You could put it on a poster right now: a lofty expression on his face covered with days-old stubble, a slight burn on his left cheek, probably from a close hit, ruffled hair was the typical dark color of Thallans.


    Except for the eye shape, it''s not Tallana''s at all.  Taer thought and was about to turn away when she realized who she was looking at:


    It just can''t be... She blinked involuntarily to ward off the obsession, but Lord Cassard was still on the screen. With slightly sunken cheeks, covered in days-old stubble, disheveled, with a burn on his cheek, dressed like a PVD man, and calling out to a raging crowd of clearly not sober students: "sweep the traitors away with a wave of righteous anger". This was Lord Cassard, he and no one else.


    A sandwich fell out of the "specialist''s" involuntarily open mouth and slammed to the floor:


    "Where are they filming this?" she asked, muffled, still seemingly in a state of prostration but coming to her senses.


    "I''m sorry, Sword. I don''t understand you. What is "this"?" Grii interrogated from behind me.


    "THIS!!!" she yelled, pointing her finger at the screen. "Where is that picture coming from?!"


    The soldiers, munching their sandwiches by the screen, turned at once to hear her shout:


    "I think it''s at Transit Station Six," one of them reported and, after a second''s hesitation, added. "Where it''s broadcasting from, I don''t know."


    "Commanders of the eights, assemble the men. Leave immediately," Taer commanded, turning on the communicator and switching to the external communication channel added. "I want to see all three Aegis over the square and ready to receive aerocars in three minutes. We''re on our way." Taer took a handful of credits from a small chest container and poured them onto the counter:


    And for the food and for the damage, she thought as she slammed the discharge from her heavy blaster into the shop window.


    The glass shattered, showering the caf¨¦ with a stream of tiny shards, and a few seconds later, the steel-grey sloping back of the aerocar rose from below. The car hovered in front of the shattered window, and the side door swung open to the side, inviting me inside.


    The whole departure took even less than three minutes; we got there in two and a half. It could have been quicker - but the "lances " were in the back of the building, so it was a bit of a mess.


    The aerocars caught up with the yachts, which had already begun to gain altitude to save time, and with their speeds leveled, they began to cling to the onboard clamps.


    "Set a course for the Sixth Transit Station," Taer commanded as she flew into the Aegis''s deckhouse, then connected to the ship''s intercom and continued. "We have some indirect evidence to suggest that Lord Cassard is on Transit Six, along with a large number of rebels. They may have captured him, but it is also possible that they are simply unaware of his true identity. Our task is to retrieve him from there unharmed and, if possible, find and also evacuate Lord Lister."


    There was a low hiss from behind - the door slid aside, and Dudo stepped into the cockpit. Though he had recovered, Taer didn''t want to take any chances in such circumstances and left Dudo in charge. He was in charge of all communications and coordinated all the ''lances'' without leaving the ship. So he was without armor, just wearing a white tunic with scarlet stitching.


    "Did you get anything worthwhile out of the last break-in?" Taer asked him, lifting her visor.


    "They only had time to crack the protocols and connect before your order came up"


    "Damn, I was counting on some information about what was even happening on this ''transit sixth''."


    "I ordered the equipment and the optical transmitter to be left on the roof so we can reconnect as soon as we stop actively maneuvering."


    "Isn''t that risky?" Taer frowned.


    Dudo shrugged: "If anything, the equipment just self-destructs. The guys left a couple of surprises in there."


    "OK then, as soon as you get a chance, connect to their networks, and what''s more, have the telecom guys intercept anything coming from that station, see if there''s anything other than propaganda broadcasts."


    "We will," Dudo nodded and headed for the exit, muttering something into his communicator as he went.


    "And I need as detailed a plan of this station as possible." Taer managed to shout before the door closed.


    "Sword..." the senior navigator''s cautious voice echoed on the common channel, though he was sitting a few meters away from her. "We have finished calculating the elevation. It will take about two and a half hours to pass the Flow, maybe more. We''re based on the current configuration, and the flow pattern may change in that time."


    "That''s unacceptable," Taer said. "Anything can happen at the station at that time. After all, the lord could be moved elsewhere in that time. Do you have any other ideas?"


    No one seemed to have any ideas. Finally, the silence that filled the command channel was broken by the ringing voice of the pilot of the third Aegis:


    "If we drop the aerocars we can optimize the shields, in shape and energy. If we put everything on the front hemisphere, the Aegis could well survive an aggressive lift." The pilot''s voice faintly trembled with impatience and a desire to tell his plan sooner rather than later. Ogerd being the youngest of the hired pilots, and perhaps the most talented, was in that dangerous period when the sense of impunity induced by simulations had not yet had time to atrophy under the influence of reality. And the idea of "ramming" through the Flow seemed to him just chic:


    "Most of the ships in the stream are small, and their kinetics are low. If you build the yachts in columns or triangles, we can change the lead vehicle after impact, giving it time to inflate the shield structure. In this mode, we''ll be at the station in fifteen, twenty minutes, tops."


    After this sentence, there was silence once more. The chances of one of the yachts being smashed to bits by the kinetic impact were fifty to fifty. At least we won''t even have time to feel anything.


    "Quite realistic," confirmed the pilot of the first Aegis, Rokot, who must be defending his comrade''s idea. "If there are no more than two or three strikes per yacht, and we don''t get hit head-on by an ore carrier or a long-haul truck with a hundred thousand containers."


    The latter could have been dispensed with, Taer thought grudgingly. There were plenty of freighters in Tallana''s orbit:


    "I ask the leaders of the eights, and the crews of the yachts, to comment on this proposal." She said aloud. She had nothing to lose, but she wasn''t going to make the others heroes by force.


    "We will obey Her Ladyship''s orders at any cost." Carpathian number two responded almost instantly, without a second thought.


    "A warrior''s honor demands that you do whatever it takes to obey an order, no matter what it takes," Codm, the elder of the Carpathians allocated by Baroness Ryonale, agreed. "Her Ladyship has ordered us to obey any order you give us. We will follow your word, and any danger shared by the swami will be an honor."


    It was the turn of the first and second eights, staffed by scouts, but so far there was silence. With the men of Baroness Rionale''s hand, all was clear. The Carpathians, those strange pale fellows, would rather die than allow themselves to show indecision or fear.


    And the scouts haven''t even had time to take the oath of allegiance to the Cassard family, this is one of many operations for them yet, and to take that risk... Taer thought, watching the lights on the communication panel opposite the scouts'' tactical names flicker on and off. They were clearly now discussing the ''idea'' over the intra-group communication. One could, of course, connect and listen to what they were talking about... But Taer decided that would be rude and dishonest.


    After a few minutes, the flickering of the intercom finally ceased, and Taer heard the voice of ''double lieutenant'' Dirav followed by a quiet click, connecting to the general channel:


    "It''s as dangerous as kissing a nun with oil on it," Grii said, but the mirth in his voice was somehow unnatural. "But both eights are willing to risk it."


    Taer took a breath, her main fighting force was still intact, and all others were no longer so crucial. Unless a couple of lances and medics are needed, even that could be dispensed with.


    "What do the ''lances'' think?" she asked aloud.


    "Four are agreed, and two are against," Dudo replied. "I am agreed."


    "Medics?"


    "Ahem... Opinions are divided," came the uncertain voice of the senior medic. Taer didn''t even know his name. It was just too much to ask in the turmoil. "Half agreed, half against, six of us in all, so three..."


    "Navigators and engineers?"


    "Four in favor and two against." The senior navigator, despite sitting beside her, used the common link as usual. "I am personally against it, and I must say. in my opinion, the idea is reckless and endangers not only our lives but also Lord Cassard''s life, for if we die, who will save him? Two, maybe four hours is not such a..."


    "Thank you, I see your point." Taer interrupted him. "I take it the pilots are for it?"


    "Yes, that''s right, Sword!" Ogerd answered cheerfully for everyone.


    "I''m against..." came from behind the pilot''s seat. Out loud, not over the general comms. Pakrat turned off the microphone and twisted in his chair, turning to Taer.


    "Against?" the specialist was genuinely surprised. Pakrat Mithout, like the rest of the pilots, was of the ''first set'' and had managed to swear an oath to the Lord and Clan, if only verbally. But he swore an oath, swearing to defend at all costs even with his life...


    "Against," he nodded. "The idea is absolutely insane. At this rate of lift and with the local density of ships, the strikes could be much less than a second apart. The yachts simply wouldn''t have time to swap, let alone that there might not be two or three strikes but four or six in a row. A streak of bad luck, and that''s it. I agree with the navigator that there''s no point in being in such a hurry. After all, what can happen in, well, four hours that can''t happen in fifteen minutes?"


    "So you''re against..." Taer concluded, quietly starting to turn on herself. "Well..."


    "But!" continued Pakrat. "Since you need three yachts for the plan and you don''t have another pilot... then I agree."


    "Don''t bother," Taer cut him off. "I''m driving this yacht."


    "Pilots and navigators, prepare for docking." She commanded on the common channel. "All aerocars but one will be jettisoned to free the nodes. Those who don''t want to take the risk will take the remaining one."


    "Sword, with all due respect..." began the senior operator. "But an aerocar is not a yacht. Its sensor and navigation systems are remarkably primitive. It will take a lot longer to lift through the ''Flow'' in an aerocar."


    "What''s your hurry?" The "specialist" raised an eyebrow. "When this is over, one of the yachts will pick you up."


    "What if all the yachts die during the lift?" The navigator would not let up.


    "Then you will fly to the fortress of Forizet and ask for asylum. That it. Go and gather any personal belongings you may need. Dismissed."


    After a few minutes of the carefully orchestrated confusion it took to re-equip the yachts, the onboard units began to open one by one, and the aerocars flew down like huge bombs, swaying slightly in the incoming currents. The last of the jettisoned vehicles unhooked from the Aegis and lowered a little but soon joined the yachts at the tail end. There were those who did not wish to take the risk, and they had a long lift through the "Flow".


    "Lucky for someone..." commented the engineer sitting next to him looking at the falling aerocars with mild envy.


    Each of the jettisoned aerocars was worth sixty-five thousand danarii. All the systems on them were switched on, the keys were left on the panels and the autopilots were set to hover near the surface. More than enough to get inside.


    "Only if they can sell it," Taer snickered, squinting her eyes at the viewscreen where the aircars had all but disappeared into tiny grey dots.


    She sat in the pilot''s seat of the Aegis and regarded the dashboard with slight nervousness. The fact was that she herself had never flown a yacht like this before, and all she knew was how to disable the emergency automatics and parallel control of the autopilot. Therefore, all her hope was in the "guider", as she was supposed to be able to control anything that flew.


    "Is everyone ready?" she inquired, a shudder in her voice, and when she heard a resounding "Ready." She commanded:


    "Here we go!"


    The Aegis turned its nose up into the sky and sped upwards, picking up speed. The "flight corridor" frames drawn by the navigation system looked more like a perfectly straight red column. They were to fly directly below the sixth transit station to minimize their time in the Flow and to reduce the chance of possible interception by the station''s Force-grabbers.


    The stabilization automatics beeped, and a huge white disc burst with a deafening crackle in front of the sharp bow of the yacht, leaving behind faintly visible streaks of compaction surges. The Aegis went into supersonic. The horizon began to round, and the pearly light of the "Transit Flow" began to show through the azure of Tallana''s daytime sky.


    The silence of the common channel was broken by the strained voice of the navigator:


    "Fifteen seconds to go into the Flow."


    "Start the convergence," Taer commanded.


    On the right and left the grey noses of Ogerd and Rokot''s Aegis loomed up. The yachts pressed against each other, keeping a few meters away from each other, with Taer in the center of the formation, which had been pushed forward like a spearhead.


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    The shields surrounding the Aegis rippled a little and became visible - forced pumping had begun. Somewhere behind Taer, the gravity drive accumulators were howling for maximum power to keep the boat on course, despite all the shocks.


    "Four seconds..."


    The cockpit windscreen began to swiftly fill with ship markers. Little whitish triangles were appearing one by one at an incredible rate, merging into a solid blur. So many that Taer had to turn them off because the white blur obscured her view.


    "Enter!"


    Pearl stars burst into view, instantly transforming into ships whizzing past. The white, flickering silhouettes of various designs merged into a solid corridor as the three Aegis raced through.


    The first impact was so sudden that Taer, even though the accelerator was on, didn''t realize what had hit them. Suddenly the collision warning system started screaming, and the front hemisphere of the shield was flooded with a mirror-like haze. The second impact, despite the stabilizers, jolted the yacht a little, and blue blobs of ionic breakdowns, like spiders made of twisting lightning, flashed under the mirror-like ripples of the shield:


    "Overloading of the forward hemisphere! Multiple ion breakdown! Leaking nose shield structure!" The automatics and the engineer shouted simultaneously, the cold steel voice of the machine merging with the nervous cries of the human into one anxious hum.


    Taer reset the mode switch to its lowest setting and pulled the thrust lever slightly toward her. On the navigation screen, a translucent yellow silhouette of the yacht crawled down, indicating her future position. She had to back up literally half a length, which, given their speed, was not an easy thing to do. With the silhouette in the correct position, she squeezed the confirmation key. The audible tone of the forward thrust generators faintly changed, and the piloting formation began to correct, but too slowly. The yacht was too inert to execute such a subtle change quickly.


    There''s going to be a third blow, and we won''t survive it, Taer thought with a detached calm. She knew in advance when it was going to hit, to the tiniest moment, as if she had already flown through the Flow a thousand times over and over again. This strange sense of predetermination was familiar to the girl and was clearly caused by the "guider" that had been activated.


    Fortunately, there was no third blow. On the right, Ogerd''s yacht came out in a blurry gray silhouette and took the hit. A small merchant ship, the kind that flies around the galaxy, came out of nowhere and crashed into the Aegis. Shields erupted, and the merchant ricocheted off to the side, spinning wildly.


    I hope that poor bastard doesn''t crash into anyone else or that his fields will hold, Taer thought to herself as she looked at the ricocheted merchant. Despite the activated perception accelerator, it was almost instantaneous. She realized, somewhat belatedly, that such a rise was a threat not only to them but also to those who came their way.


    Ogerd''s yacht, which had taken the hit, was moving fast; the pilot must not have quite got the hang of the piloting, and the acceleration was too great. The formation was broken, and the lead yacht would not last long on her own.


    "Sword, we need at least ten seconds to pump up the shield...!" shouted the engineer, seeing as Taer gave the hilt away from herself, building up the thrust.


    The two stragglers surged forward to catch up with the Ogerd. Before he was replaced by the second yacht, the leader''s shields flashed three times. As the formation was reestablished, Taer, out of the corner of her eye, caught sight of the blue lightning bolts crawling across the hull of the third Aegis. The generators held the shields literally at the last drops of structure.


    "Hold the line! As tightly as possible!" She shouted into the microphone, her eyes following the yellow bar of the shield inflation indicator, in two seconds, her yacht would replace Rockot as a leader.


    The three Aegis was shadowing grayly through the Flow, constantly shifting. The fast-moving ships were merging into a slowly rotating white tunnel of red course lines. The field around the lead boat kept flaring, and the unlucky ships flew off to the sides spinning haphazardly. After a few minutes, it was all over. The Aegis pulled out into a relatively clear area below the belly of the Sixth Transit Station.


    Taer took her hands off the controls and laughed nervously:


    It was a little easier than I expected, she thought, wiping her wet palms on the velvet upholstery of the armrests. The "guidance" left her to her own devices, which made her heart thump in her chest and her palms instantly sweat. She reached out a slightly trembling hand and displayed a diagnostic. Apparently, there was nothing wrong with her yacht.


    "Report damage and casualties," Taer commanded on the general channel as she leaned back in her chair.


    "All systems normal, one faint." There was a purring tone in the voice of the first man to answer, and the usual phlegmatic attitude had disappeared.


    "The forward generator resource appears to have been exhausted..." Ogerd''s voice was cheerful and energetic as usual, even more cheerful and energetic than usual. "A light haze, the induced ion bursts have burned out some subsystem, we''re trying to figure out which one. But if we''re still alive, it was some unnecessary subsystem. And it was just amazing!" He exclaimed happily at the end.


    They''re damned lunatics, after all, Taer decided to herself as she switched to a direct link with Dudo:


    "Did the connection to the ground station show up?" She asked when a green response light flashed across the lance''s name.


    "Not yet. Apparently, the ''Flow'' is interfering. There are a lot of ships that can block the beamline. Maybe if you circle a bit, you can catch the signal. And we''re intercepting some kind of transmission down from the station itself. The protocol is simple enough. I think the guys will crack it in the next few minutes."


    The yachts lined up silently as they glided through the pearly void of near space, the bulk of the transit station looming directly overhead, lined with impenetrable shadows from space. In the distance was the jagged silhouette of Transit Two, its long, elongated center section, lined with numerous terminal spurs and docking stations. And to the right floated in a pearly glow one of Talalan''s many shipyards. From a distance, it resembled a small white crab, with many claws that held in its wake the cocoons of future ships. The crab''s back was full of huge red "A2-R" symbols.


    "And this is the Ariam Two-Rogen Shipyard," Grii''s voice came over the general channel. "They''re fulfilling House Kilreat''s order for Assault Frigates. I''d wager there''s no one there now. Pity we''re not on a cruiser."


    House Kilret was one of the most obvious opponents of their house, House Fyron. And their feverish fleet buildup had a very definite purpose.


    But there''s nothing that can be done about it, Taer sighed philosophically. The buildup of the fleet was perfectly legal, and their ship quotas had been increased personally by the Emperor. To fight the ''pirates'' of course.


    "If we stay here for a couple of weeks, the Aegis will do its job too." Someone chuckled.


    "Sword, we have completed the analysis of the station shields." The engineer next to her turned to Taer and moved the hovering holo-screen of the station layout closer to her with a wave of his hand. "The fields are impermeable only in the area around the flight and lift field and the hybrid docking facility. The rest of the biosecurity fields are in normal mode, the shields in the rest of the area are functioning as "elastic," and the activation rhythm is flickering. Our power is enough to push through the shields and land on the cladding."


    Thaer nodded graciously to the engineer and twisted in her chair to summon Gr§ê§ê and Kodm:


    "I need a tactical plan to infiltrate the station and find Lord Cassard. The sooner the better. The available forces are twenty-eight stormtroopers, two lances, and three field medics. The rest are in reserve. We''ve only got a few minutes, so I don''t expect too much detail. All available information on the station will be sent to you by the lances."


    "Roger, Sword," the scout and the Carpathian replied in sync and switched off.


    After giving her orders, Taer yanked her communicator out of its connector and jumped out of her chair, rushing to the "dining room" where they had set up the armory. She had to put her armor back on.


    The two Carpathians and the technicians helping her put on the armor had already begun to attach the outer armor plates when a call came in on her communicator from Dudo:


    "We''ve cracked open transmission from the station. They are requesting help from the ground. They''re having some kind of shooting disturbance, and the PVDs can''t deal with them."


    Taer even squeezed her eyes shut when she heard this. It was just a gift from fate:


    But would it be acceptable to do so, it would be a deception unworthy of an officer. The mental prick of conscience was uncalled for. What demons? We''re not at war, these are bandits in general, how can you... she thought grudgingly, and said aloud:


    "Tell them through their channels that we are ready to help stop the unrest."


    Oh yes, I give my word the unrest there will stop, on both sides, Taer thought contentedly. And if possible, make them believe...


    "Will do, Chief," Dudo hummed and passed out.


    The three dark gray silhouettes of the Aegis flew under the station shields and froze over the white field of the flight zone. On the dark sides of the yachts, white patches of frost were rapidly forming, and steam was faintly visible. As the yachts came to a halt, the lower cargo hatches opened, and three cargo platforms began their descent simultaneously. On each of them were no less than a dozen massive figures in bright red assault armor. The platforms touched the surface with a thud, and the stormtroopers began to fly off one by one with a booming whirr.


    Having disembarked the landing party, the ''yacht'' with the remaining reserve on board filed backward, flying out of the station shield.


    "Erm... You''re the help, aren''t you?" The greeter in the brown student union jacket ran his eyes confusedly over the passing silhouettes in red armor. He did not even try to touch the long-barreled rifle hanging from his chest.


    "Yes, help," rumbled a loudspeaker-amplified voice, one of the fighters remaining to cover the ''yachts''. A heavy paralyzer shrieked, and a thin blue beam struck the welcome party.


    The rest of the Stormtroopers, forming a small column in two rows, moved deep into the station.


    Taer flew at the head of the column, just behind the forward pair. A little behind her, in the gap that had formed, was their Tallana trophy. A small, bright yellow glider - more like a bench with a steering wheel to which two large plastic cases were strapped. Sitting on top of the glide were two figures in light gray armor that looked more like tight overalls. ''Lances'', whose light armor did not have built-in thrust generators, were using the glide to avoid slowing down the main group. The combat interface system, now operational, painted the world with bright patches of tactical markings: symbols of tactical names, orange epaulets hung over the fighters'' shoulders, blue cones of "attention zones" and green beams of sight lines slid across the walls. She squinted her eyes at the ''double lieutenant'' flying on her left hand, the automation tracking the movement of her pupils, and a red dot of ''focus of attention'' jumped on the massive figure of the Iper.


    "Two bots to reconnoiter the route," Taer commanded, activating the direct link to Grii.


    "Acknowledge," he responded. Two small black orbs, gleaming with sensors, popped out of their sockets on the backpack and darted forward like huge flies.


    The squad flew through the flight deck and into the interior of the building. At the first switchboard, the glider stopped, and the lances quickly jumped off and began to open the outer lid without wasting time. A pair of stormtroopers remained near the switchboard, next to the gray figures of the operators to cover them. They also needed the data from the station''s visual observation systems to evacuate Lord Cassard, and control of the airlocks and doors would be of great use.


    Leaving the ''lancers'' and their guards behind, the convoy divided into five groups. Two groups, mostly consisting of Carpathians, were to take the shortest possible route into the chamber where they assumed Lord Cassard was. Two more groups, led by Taer, were to neutralize the PVD fighters, and the last group was to take control of the station''s command gallery.


    Taer and her squad sank to the ringing slabs of the floor near the open shaft for the loading platforms. Above, illuminated by yellow outlines, the edges of other floors gaped:


    "One scout bot up," she commanded. "As discreetly as possible."


    Obeying her words, another black orb detached itself from Grii''s back and flew into the shaft, gradually becoming translucent from the holographic cloak that had been activated. After a dozen seconds, an incoming visual stream icon flickered on the right edge of Taer''s visor. A red dot of ''focus'' jumped over the icon, unfolding it into a small screen broadcasting the scout''s ''vision''.


    On level four, where they were headed. The PVD men had set up a veritable fortified area of containers, nets, and fiber-steel plates bolted from somewhere. Judging by the positioning of firing points and turrets, this "fortress" was supposed to defend the exit from the mine, but most of the personnel huddled in front of one of the side exits, leaving the mine itself virtually unattended.


    "There''s even a light vortex gun," Taer muttered, peering at the makeshift fortifications of the PVDs around the shaft''s exit. "There were only two in full armor, and both were not behind turrets. And they were going to hold their own against the imperial landing force. What were they counting on...


    "Taer." Dudo''s voice echoed in her ears in surprise. "The guys have broken into the system. Control of airlocks and doors received. There is partial control of the biosecurity system. Data from the station''s visual system is being relayed to our data feed. We''re doing some initial filtering of the images we''re getting."


    "Great," she replied. "Circle the whole security system for them. I don''t want anyone to know where we are."


    "Already done," retorted the ''lance''.


    "Then we wait for the Kodma group to get into position and begin. On my command, turn off all interior lights. I see a lot of people here don''t have helmets or masks..."


    She waved, and the fighters moved towards the shaft. Beams of sight lines, and blue vision cones, flickered along the floors, taking aim at possible threat directions.


    "A reminder," Taer said as she switched on the general comms. "Until Lord Cassard is contained, use lethal weapons only as a last resort."


    She opened the tactical map, watching the group of Carpathians advance. They were still quite far away. It took almost two minutes before Kodm appeared on the link:


    "We''re in position," he reported. "The airlock is blocked from the outside, so we''ve applied a paste blast. Ready to act on your orders."


    "Here we go," she commanded, and as soon as the lights went out, she discharged the area paralyzer upwards.


    A bright blue ball of lightning erupted with a screeching sound from the barrel and burst beneath the ceiling of the fourth level. At the same time, the advanced foursome of fighters boomed upwards. Above their heads, red crosses, drawn by the coupling system, pulsed, warning that they were about to cross her line of fire.


    She lowered the barrel and jumped upward, the thrust generators kicking her up at the highest point of her trajectory, turning the jump into a flight. The pale colors of night mode suddenly glowed brightly as a blue jet of plasma flashed high overhead, illuminating everything with a pale light, dabbing at one of the Stormtroopers. The mirrored glare of the shield flashed, and the beam leaped off its target, striking the opposite edge of the lift shaft, leaving a glowing hot melted scar and a shower of sparks. Tiny droplets of molten metal rained down in a luminous rain toward the rising Taer.


    Looks like one of the bandits not only avoided being paralyzed but also had time to react, she decided as she mechanically braced herself against the wall of the shaft to be at the very edge of the expected line of fire.


    But the battle didn''t happen. When Taer rose, the stormtroopers were just finishing dealing with the shooter. The partner of the plasma-hit stormtrooper flew swiftly forward, straight at the shooter, covering his comrade with a weakened shield. PVD fighter, in his light but totally covering body armor, took time to fire again, lighting up the hall with a whimsical burst of light reflected from the mirror-like ripples in his shield. But he was prevented from firing a third shot. The Ignitor in his hands squealed pitifully, crumpling beneath the stormtrooper''s armor mangled, and the already useless weapon was ripped from his hands. A helmet was ripped from his head, followed by a brief flash of paralyzing discharge into his face.


    She glanced around the battlefield, her squad''s men on their feet, scattering quickly across the hall, taking control of their sectors. She glanced around, but there were only paralyzed bodies. There was no time to check if the Lord was among them. The main thing was to take control of the station quickly, and then the search could begin.


    "Dudo, can you open this door?" Taer asked, looking at the massive sliding slab of fiber steel blocking their further progress.


    "No, there''s a manual lockdown and it looks like they''re waiting for you there."


    "Give me a picture," she said, gesturing to the stormtroopers to get to the door.


    The visual stream from the sensors of the station''s observation system, unfolding on her visor, did not inspire optimism. In the first place, the "pillboxes" of containers in this hall were assembled in such a way as to completely cover the shooters, including from above, and to paralyze them quickly would not be possible. And second, there were much more bandits there, and many of them wore blown dark-grey coveralls with high collars combined with soft helmets with visors. Fortunately transparent.


    "I need a visual filtering of everyone in this room by Lord Cassard''s mask." She ordered the ''lances''. "At least everyone who is definitely NOT Lord Cassard." She added, realizing that the quality of the filtering in such circumstances would leave much to be desired.


    The figures of the PVDs waiting for them began to turn red as they filtered, the visual filtering clusters certain about a third of the targets that they were definitely not Lord Cassard. The rest were not so sure. Either the slice of their face in the sensor''s field of view looked like a slice of Lord Cassard''s, or their position did not allow for analysis.


    "Grii, these are yours," Taer reported, highlighting the dense group of reds where most of them were men in armor.


    While she studied the surroundings, the others wasted no time. A grey strip of explosive paste had already been applied to the door, forming the contours of the future opening. Released from the cylinders, it had already finished forming its structure and looked like a perfectly flat semi-circular strip of grey metal. On the right side of the future opening, an "assault chain" of seven stormtroopers had already lined up behind each other, with a single "opener" standing on the left. The rest had spread out across the hall in preparation to support with fire.


    Taer walked up to the second in the "assault chain" and clapped him on the shoulder, telling him to make room.


    "Is everyone ready?" she asked as she took her seat. When she answered affirmatively, she ordered: "Let''s begin!"


    With a loud clang, a blast of golden fire erupted, burning through the metal. "The opener," with a kick reinforced by the artificial muscles of the armor, knocked out the slashed area with a bell-like chime. Two sparkling lightning bolts flew into the opening and struck golden needles of power spikes set to minimum power, they had to disable the vortexguns in the embrasures of the "pillboxes".


    The golden threads of arcane bolts faded into thin air as the attacking party charged into the opening, literally shoving one another and filling the air with streams of purple, howling nonlethal discharge. Just above their heads, a black wasp flew scout and bypassed the container, flew into the thick of the PVDs, followed by a whirlwind of pale purple flame, with a low dragging sound, sucked into its surroundings, leaving behind scorched bodies and a glowing stain on the metal floor.


    A bright flash of discharge erupted from the embrasure of one of the pillboxes with a piercing howl, looking like an elongated, glowing blob under the perception accelerator, and the shield of the first in the assault chain erupted in an orange tearing ball, leaving a slant of black soot on the floor.


    In a single movement of her right hand, Taer shoved the first one aside and, to the howl of the suit''s thrust generators, rushed forward. In a few seconds, the world suddenly darkened, and in front of her burst, a ball of explosion obscured by a shield that had almost lost its transparency. The vortex accumulators pumped the focus crystal every second and a half - almost an eternity in the "accelerator''s" stretched time - but she was flying as if bursting through a sticky gelly. A second such discharge, the shield of her armor would certainly not have withstood. The indicator on her visor was already pulsing alarmingly red, the chances of her armor holding out were slim, but she had to make it. Taer could already hear the piercing sound of hoarders about to discharge as she collapsed her entire mass onto the makeshift fortification, collapsing the structure and crushing the protruding vortex barrel with the palm of her hand.


    The "assault chain," which had jumped through the kill zone, swung behind the barricade of containers and went into hand-to-hand combat, ripping the helmets off the survivors of the armored PVDs and paralyzing them. The sparse return fire shattered against the mirrored morass of shields. The support team flew in behind and spread out on top of the containers, taking control of the room.


    Taer quickly scattered the containers of the "pillbox" she had collapsed and breathed a sigh of relief. The shooter was not Lord Cassard.


    The little scoutbots whirred softly over her head and slipped into the adjacent corridors:


    "Everyone is paralyzed. The main resistance node is suppressed. We''ve made contact with Kodma''s groups," Grii reported after a few seconds. "They are on the other side of the corridor."


    In confirmation of his words on the visual channel from the scout appeared a picture of a huge hall covered with a mishmash of paralyzed bodies, over which the stormtroopers in scarlet armor hovered. The bodies. There was a huge number, several thousand at least.


    "All right. Wait for the capture of the command gallery and proceed to identify Lord Cassard and Lord Lister."


    In a few minutes, the entire station was under their control. The main groups of people were paralyzed. The few that were in the back of the station were simply locked up, blocking the bulkheads so they wouldn''t cause any trouble after making sure that the lords they were looking for weren''t in their midst,


    The long-awaited report of the lord''s discovery had to wait a few more minutes. Lord Cassard was found among the pile of rebels in the great hall. Leaving the command of the two eights to Grii, Taer took one stormtrooper with her and flew to the yachts. Already on her way, she was caught by a report of the discovery of Lord Lister and a bomb of some sort.


    "Grii, their lordship thinks there''s a bomb somewhere near you," Taer reported, though Iper had likely heard the first report. "Get on with it, but be careful."


    "We''re already looking, Sword."


    "Once found, destroy and prepare to evacuate. We''re leaving as soon as the guys are done with the central cluster and get a jump vector from it. And place Lord Lister on the second Aegis, and if possible, put him to sleep." She added, thinking she and the Lord were clearly going to have a lot of confidential conversations, and Lord Lister would only get in the way. Besides, there was a subtle political point here: officially, neither Lord Cassard nor Lord Lister had gone anywhere. House Fyron had hushed up the story, of course, warning the ruling Lady of House Bentar, but no more than that. "Therefore, all conversations should be postponed until arrival on Copeira."


    As the platform lifted her onto the yacht on which Lord Cassard had been placed, she was trembling with impatience. Taer couldn''t believe that everything had already ended well, with no casualties, with the lord unharmed, according to the medics, and in just two days.


    The Lord was just inside the cargo hold, not far from the platform. Pale, barely moving, a couple of medics were working on him, giving him a full scan. He seemed to have just been brought aboard and had just not yet had time to move him into more comfortable quarters and remove the "individual shield" container from his chest. The large white box, worn over the chest and held in place by wide straps, had little resemblance to the sleek concealed carry models but had two distinct advantages: power and relatively low cost.


    Seeing her face, the lord tried to smile, but from the looks of it, her facial muscles were still paralyzed:


    "By pure accident," Taer admitted to the lord''s question about how he''d been found. "We saw a broadcast of a rally, and I wondered if the speaker had an atypical eye shape, so..."


    "So there was a broadcast..." Lord stretched out, torturing the letters. "Damn, how I didn''t think of that."


    "I thought that was the plan, you know, to make it easier to find..."


    "I didn''t really have time to... Wait," Alex said. "It was only half an hour, maybe an hour ago. How could you do it so fast?"


    "''My lord, we''ve been down on Tallana for the second day, looking for you," Taer replied, trying to keep herself emphatically formal in the presence of her subordinates. Speaking of subordinates...


    "Perhaps you could move His Lordship to a more suitable room." She turned to the medics, her voice disgruntled.


    "Of course, Sword. Just a few moments, we''re almost done."


    "Who are all these people," Alex asked in a whisper when they were finally alone. Almost alone, the Carpathian was standing near the front door, still wearing his armor, like Taer who had found the lord. "And by the way, what about the bomb?"


    "It''s an addition to your Arm, recruited from Intelligence and part of Baroness Rionale''s Arm. And the bomb is already being dealt with by our biggest specialist in the matter."


    "I understand about the replenishment," he nodded. "But Baroness Rionale''s Arm is here for what."


    "We couldn''t find any more men trained to wear heavy armor on Copeira. So I agreed to accept the help offered by Lady Kayrin. I thought the lack of firepower and numbers might compromise the whole operation..."


    "I see... And no one else?" Alex inquired and, receiving her affirmative nod, leaned back on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. It seemed that after the injections designed to relieve the cramp, he was prone to sleep. "Look." He muttered more quietly. "There''s another man left at the station. You know him. It''s Lady Liora''s assistant, Krain. Do you remember him coming up to you at the hunt with the letter? We must get him out, he''s been a great help to me here on Tallana, and then he has important records that I don''t want to lose."


    Hearing this request, Taer was silent, trying to figure out how to find a single "rebel" among the thousands of paralyzed, given that only she had seen him. This threatened to take a long time.


    "He must be close to where they found me," Alex came to her aid.


    "Then I''ll leave immediately," Taer said as she stood up and turned towards the door. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."


    "Wait," the lord stopped her. He opened one eye and pulled out two small infoblocks, one of which was shot, and a scattering of infosticks from the inside pocket of his jacket. "I''m totally knocked out." He confessed, handing her the infoblocks and sticks. ''I''ve got some very important information here, something about an assassination attempt, encrypted as I understand it. Let Dudo and only Dudo deal with it. Don''t show the intelligence of any of this yet. Just you and him."


    "All right, I''ll tell him," she said with some surprise as she accepted the pile of infosticks.


    After handing over what she had received to Dudo, who was hanging around the door, and dispersing the prying eyes with the phrase, "Everyone to your posts," Taer rushed to the place where the lord had been found. There was no point in saving the resources of the thrust generators, so it took her a couple of minutes to get all the way there.


    Lady Liora''s aide was indeed not far from where the lord was found. After handing over the ''rebel'' to the stormtroopers, Taer was about to follow on to the yacht when she received a call from Gr§êi:


    "Sword, could you come to us, please? We need a consultation. We''re in the next hall across the hall from you."


    She quickly oriented herself on the tactical map and headed towards the "double lieutenant". It was a short flight, and after flying through a corridor littered with traces of heavy fighting, she found herself in a small room filled with containers, many of which were open. Both Eights were here in full force, huddled against the far wall, near the tables with some kind of equipment.


    The man''s eyes flashed up to Taer, and Grii raised his visor and signaled for her to turn off the visual recording and follow his example.


    "Sword, perhaps you might find it possible to delay the evacuation somewhat?" he asked as Taer, too, lifted her visor and turned off the recording, and stepped closer.


    "What for? The sooner we get out of here, the better."


    "You know, the bomb His Lordship was talking about..." he began, a little hesitantly. "Turns out to be the warhead from the anti-ship missile Constellation. There are ten sub-munitions in it. It has already been disassembled. It all has the necessary equipment to detonate each sub-munition as a separate charge. These bandits must have intended to turn the missile into ten powerful bombs."


    "What''s the problem? I don''t know the intricacies of the type, but can''t it be destroyed? If there''s a problem with that, just destroy the equipment needed for the explosion, that''s all. We have to leave now."


    "No," Grii shook his head, "there will be no problem with destruction. Just remember what I said about the Shipyard."


    "I thought it was a joke," Taer frowned.


    "Yes, of course, it was a joke at the time. It was not worth trying on the yachts alone. But we''ve been thinking, there are eight "assault frigates," and we''ve got ten charges now. The ships are standing on slips unassembled - neither outer nor inner shields are likely connected, the more so inside the slips there''s an atmosphere for the convenience of the workers. Even one charge would blow the place to smithereens, leaving us with two more to spare. And there''s probably no security there at all right now. At least not enough for four eights in an assault armor."


    "I heard you right," Taer said, lowering her voice. "You''re suggesting we attack the unfinished Kilret ships and blow them up. It''s an act of war. Do you understand that?" Suddenly she exploded and began gesticulating vigorously around Grai:


    "Don''t you think we''re not out of rank and title to start a war? Not to mention it''s a dishonorable act, unworthy of House Fyron''s name. There''s been enough talk about us since the battle at Pella to make you want to add "Tallan Meanness" to the tale."


    "The ships have not been completed and have not been handed over to the House Kilret fleet, so they are currently Tallana ships."


    "Great!" she exclaimed. "Let''s start a war with Tallana!"


    "We''re already at war with Tallana," objected the ''double lieutenant'' but under the sizzling stare of Taer, he couldn''t stand it and added. "Technically..."


    "It was a demon knows when!" Taer shrieked, waving her only moving hand expressively. "A thousand and a half years ago!"


    "Nevertheless, the peace treaty was never signed. And Tallana is very fond of bringing this up every time we need to get battleships bought from the Empire through them."


    Taer stammered, and glancing sideways at Grii, sighed heavily: it was the truth. Anyone in the fleet would tell you that sending a warship through Tallana is a fairy tale of idiocy, nagging, red tape, impossible demands, delays, and approvals. And if it''s a big ship, it''s also a murky political fuss on the planetary council. And as a former naval lieutenant, she had first-hand experience with this.


    Taer sighed again and continued less emotionally:


    "Anyway, before taking such action, it is worth consulting the Ruling Lord or the Privy Council. The Countess of Durlurl, after all."


    "Sword, you know as well as I do that''s impossible. The fortress is jamming all long-range communications near Tallana. And then when we left here, Countess Durlurl said: "...act at your own discretion, as circumstances dictate."


    "I think it was about rescuing Lord Cassard, not carrying out sabotage operations."


    "Madam Guards Sain Lieutenant Diltar, no one will know! Or they''ll think it''s the rebels. "Grii, for some reason addressing her by her full name, raised his hands pleadingly and continued. "You see, a chance like this comes along once in a thousand years. It''s a miracle. We should all dress in gray and go praise Ir''Ryan for this good fortune. Defenseless Kilretan ships and us with the charges and the Aegis! They''re procuring those ''frigates'' against us. It is clear to the last idiot that they are not "antipiracy frigates" but attack cruisers. It''s only a matter of time before they come down on us, along with House Peltar and maybe Melato, and we can blow up those toys now without any risk."


    Taer cast another leering glance at Grii, folded her arms across her chest, and with a heavy sigh, applied her final argument:


    "I cannot risk the safety of the lord and delay his evacuation." It was more to assuage her conscience because, in her heart, the ''specialist'' was in complete agreement with the arguments. "Infiltrating the shipyard, placing the charges, it would take at least a few hours."


    "You don''t have to wait for us," Grii agreed cheerfully. "Leave us one yacht, we''ve outlined our plan to Ogerd, and he agrees. Two eights will suffice. We can pick up an aerocar with the ''cautious'' ones."


    This option solved many problems. Taer was going to leave one yacht to wait for the stranded airboat anyway.


    The great shadows. They already managed to negotiate with the pilot and among themselves. I should make a habit of listening to the intra-group conversations from time to time, Taer made a mental note to herself.


    She glanced around the group of hushed scouts who were curiously observing the argument:


    "And what are you all willing to risk and stay?"


    "What have we got to lose? It''s our destiny in Intelligence to help the Navy. It''s worth it, and there''s no risk. We''d be foolish to let it go."


    "The shadows are with you," Taer waved her hand in anger. "Take the third Aegis. But if you fail..." She wagged her finger at them. "Don''t come home."


    She switched to the general communication channel and commanded:


    "The third Aegis goes under ''double lieutenant'' command. Engineers and communicators stationed on it to move to First and Second. The rest of you prepare for departure. We''re going home."


    * * *

 Chapter 30

    Chapter 30


    * * *


    The yachts jumped to §³opeira and plunged into the calm blue of hyperspace. Thanks to the hacking of the station''s navigation system, the jump went smoothly, and there was no need to worry about its results. Rescued slept, under the watchful eye of medics, recovering from numerous paralyzes and injuries. According to the navigators'' calculations, the jump should have lasted eleven hours.


    There was nothing to do and Taer, like most of the crew, languished in her cabin, thinking for a change about the possible failure of the remaining "saboteurs" and blaming herself for her foolishness.


    The mental self-eating session was interrupted by a nasty beep from her communicator:


    "I finished cracking open the blocks and sticks handed in by His Lordship." Dudo''s voice was somewhat strained.


    "So fast?" Taer wondered, glancing furtively at the little blue screen on the back of the communicator. Less than two hours, she wondered again.


    "Nothing complicated, just password-protected. Not even physical access to the memory is blocked. The owners didn''t seem to expect it to fall into the wrong hands."


    "So what''s in there?"


    "That''s exactly what I wanted to discuss. Can you come over? It would be more convenient," he added. "The info blocks are gutted, and it would be very inconvenient to move them."


    You let it slacken and then it starts, Taer thought unhappily as she buttoned her tunic. Already I have to go to them. A bit further in that direction and it''s finished with Hey, you, run and get the Teymar.


    Taer was about to give Dudo a good disciplinary thrashing, but when she opened the door of his quarters, she had to give up the idea. "Lance" sat surrounded by gutted machinery with three suppressors turned on and pale as a Carpathian:


    "What happened?" she asked, waiting for the door to close behind her.


    "Well, the information the lord gave me..." Dudo began, removing some spare parts from the seat beside him and gesturing for her to sit down. "It does relate to the assassination attempts, but it''s more than that. It''s a whole elaborate plan to destabilize the entire Sector. The assassination attempt on Lord Cassard is just one episode."


    "Let''s say." Taer nodded, sitting down and looking at him with interest. "But why all the panic? They''ve never been secretive about wanting to destabilize, not just the region, but the whole Empire."


    "So they''re a curtain. It''s all here..." He jabbed a finger at the dark tap of the disassembled infoblock. "The PVD is just a tool behind them, the Melatians and the SS."


    "Imperial Security?" she interjected, raising an eyebrow. "Sponsoring a PVD?!"


    "Yes, according to the records, they organized all this unrest on Tallana!"


    "This is insane. Why would SS make a commotion?"


    "To impose a State of Emergency and then Direct Imperial Rule."


    "But..." Taer started but stopped talking and leaned her elbow on the table to think, reflexively trying to wrap a non-existent curl around her finger.


    There was definitely a point to the hypothesis expressed, twisted and bizarre, but there was one. The Tail sector received its privileges in exchange for the service of the nobles to the Emperor during and after the War of Orders. But the irony was that it was only the nobles of the Great Houses who served, and the entire Sector, including the Free Worlds, got the privileges. It came out by accident and was not exactly fair. But the Emperor didn''t take back what he had given from Tallana and the others. Perhaps he simply decided to put things back the way they were...


    "But why do it like that?" Taer exclaimed aloud. "That''s a whole sector of problems out of thin air. It would have been easier to revoke privileges by direct Edict or by Senate Resolution... And then what did Tallana and Lord Cassard have to do with it? And the Melatians?"


    "I don''t know," Dudo said. "Maybe there were some reasons. I''m not a great politician to know all the ins and outs. I''ll tell you what I''ve read. About the Melatians, I never understood what their interest was, but they''re involved. And Lord Cassard is not a simple story there." He''s got his infoblock to it. "Here, read it."


    The infoblock screen shimmered in every shade of white: "Turn your suppressors off then, paranoid."


    "Oh, sorry, I forgot." He reached for the suppressors and started to disable them one by one. "I just realized Imperial Security was involved, and I panicked."


    "I know what you mean," Taer murmured as she read.


    "Anyway, the attempt on the lord''s life is only the first stage," Dudo commented. "They were going to take advantage of it and make a riot on Cassard. The Cholanians would have taken credit for it..."


    "And the outraged commoners would just burn them," Taer finished for him. "They''re not liked as it is, to say the least."


    "But they wouldn''t watch them get burned, would they? It''s Cassard who''s all armed. Statistically, 12 guns per person."


    "They don''t stand a chance anyway," she objected. "Cholanians, just over fifty million, and that is on a planet of fourteen billion."


    "Perhaps," Dudo agreed. "But it''s not an instant process."


    "Exactly. The Guards would have cleaned it up in no time. All it would have taken was a couple of Triumphs and a few hundred paratrooper bots with paralyzers."


    "I understand they had some kind of plan to divert our Fleet. I haven''t had time to read everything. There are a lot of unconnected blocks, and I don''t even have an analysis droid. But from what I understand, something is going on with the Bentars and House Kilret at the same time. Fleet would have been scattered over these points. Someone in the Municipality of Cassard is involved. Amid the unrest, they would have had to appeal to the Emperor for protection and direct control."


    "And since Lord Cassard has no direct heirs, the emperor must take care of the domain. Dammit." She looked at Dudo. "Do you think the lord knows about this?


    "I have no idea. But if he doesn''t know, he should find out as soon as possible."


    And Countess Durlurl, and the Ruling Lord, and the Council of Pryvies. The great shadows, practically all of them. Taer grimaced in her mind as she realized the enormity of what was happening. Someone, even an SS, wanted to reclaim the jewel of House Fyron. - Cassard. The second most important planet after Fyron itself, and perhaps first in value.


    "I''ll go wake up the lord," she concluded. "He should look into it."


    * * *


    As Alex read the data, he grew darker and darker. Taer and Dudo sat next to each other, quiet as mice, casting wary glances at the lord. Finally, he finished reading, and, throwing the infoblock back on the table, leaned back on the sofa:


    "Did I understand correctly that Cassard is actually a planet, not a domain?" He asked, glaring unkindly at Taer.


    "Erm... Yes..." Taer was a little taken aback by this question. She had expected him to be more concerned with the role of Imperial Security than with the intricacies of property rights. "I mean, not really." She corrected herself. "The planet Cassard is part of the domain of Cassard, which is, of course, bigger than one planet."


    "Bigger?" Alex interjected, swallowing nervously. "How much bigger?!"


    "Well, actually the whole Cassard System and the light year of the surrounding area."


    "Pipec," cursed the lord, in an unknown language, in a dropped voice. "And what is there in this light-year?"


    "More than three dozen planetoids..." Taer began to list, trying hard to remember her lessons in navigation. "Two small gas and dust clouds. And the Cassard System itself, which in addition to the planet Cassard, includes six other planets, as well as two dense asteroid belts. But they''re not inhabited, so they''re not usually mentioned," the specialist added with a bewildered look.


    The lord was obviously shocked, but what shocked him, she could not understand.


    "Well, really, three dozen planetoids and six planets. Why mention them?" The lord smiled nervously. "There is no population there. And where there is, how much population?"


    "About fourteen billion."


    "So you''re saying," Alex said slowly, separating each word carefully. "That I own a planet with fourteen billion people?"


    "Of course not!" she resented. "For over twenty years now, slavery has been banned throughout the Empire."


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Well... Slavery is forbidden. That''s a relief." He sighed. "What do I own then?"


    "Nothing," Taer assured him, which made the lord''s face brighten, and he exhaled in relief:


    "I guess I just got it all wrong. I was a little scared..."


    "The Cassard Domain, which includes the planet Cassard as a property, belongs to the Cassard family." Taer continued a brief lecture on ownership rights. "Well, and since you, my Lord, are the sole representative of the Cassard family, you have exclusive rights to dispose of all the property and assets of the family. You can set duties and levies and are the highest judicial authority within your Domain. But to say that the planet belongs to you would be legally illiterate."


    "Total Pipec! I mean, I got it right..." He muttered, and then he threw his head back and studied the ceiling with a thoughtful look on his face.


    Taer followed his example and looked up too. There was nothing of interest on the ceiling. The usual gray metal panels are crossed with lines of light panels. The yacht was in a remarkably "basic" design.


    Taer exchanged surprised looks with Dudo, who didn''t seem to understand what was going on with the lord either. /Maybe he''s in post-traumatic shock from his experience?"


    "Did something happen?" The specialist asked cautiously, coming closer and squatting down beside Alex.


    "It''s nothing. Except that, I happen to own an entire planet. And I only found out about it now, and that was by accident!"


    "But that goes without saying." Taer was genuinely surprised. "Lord Cassard, the domain of Cassard, and you knew you were the only one of your Family."


    "And a planet with fourteen billion people also goes without saying?" He exclaimed. "Why should I have guessed that? Where is everything? Where are the assistant secretaries, ministers, and advisors? How can it be that the head of a planet with such a population manages not to know about its existence for twenty days? Why I went hunting in the middle of nowhere, accompanied by two men? Where are the hordes of guards? Where, after all, is the briefcase with the red button?"


    "What do you mean, with a red button?" Dudo, who had been sitting quietly until then, asked again.


    "Ah... never mind," Alex said faintly, raising his eyes to the ceiling again. "I just don''t understand how that can happen."


    "Your Lordship..." Taer began firmly. "I don''t understand your reaction, either. You yourself have always insisted on having as few people around you as possible, and you refuse to be guarded. That''s why your secretaries, your assistants, and your other staff, are all on Cassard and won''t bother you more than once a year."


    "Let''s say," he nodded. "But why is it that when I contacted the Office and asked for a report, there was not a word about the planet."


    "I''m sure it was. You were just looking at assets and shares in companies only. And the planet is in the real estate section."


    "Real estate..." he rolled his eyes. "Why didn''t I think to look there..." There was an overabundance of wicked irony in the lord''s voice, but the reason for it still eluded Taer.


    "Would it have made any difference to know that the Cassard domain included an inhabited planet?" She asked a leading question.


    "Hell, literally everything!" Alex exclaimed bitterly. "I wouldn''t be wondering why they wanted to kill me because it would be obvious. I wouldn''t have gone on that stupid hunt. Increased security, I suppose. I''d think of something, you know."


    "But it''s not too late to "think of something", is it?"


    "No, of course not. But you can''t do without the help of Countess Durlurl now, and you might be able to get by on your own."


    "But in a case of this importance, it would have been indispensable in any case"


    "That''s not what I mean," he said. "Look, there''s someone in the municipality helping those Cholan assholes besides the Security Service and the Melatians, and now it''s Durlurl''s people who will be looking for that someone. Because it has to be done quickly, and I have no one to do it."


    "What''s wrong with that?"


    "Don''t you get it?" Alex was silent for a few seconds, clearly trying to find the words. "It''s like leaving a child in a sweet shop. After Countess looks for the culprits in the municipality - she''ll tear it all down, leaving only HER people behind. Any cleanup leaves only what the cleaner needs. Do you understand? You just can''t let that happen. It''s basic management. And I have to let her do it. I just don''t have a choice."


    "Is that why you were so upset?" Taer asked bluntly.


    "And because of that, too. Well, how can I explain it to you? Even a large company is a very complex organism. There''s a whole planet with fourteen billion people. Can you imagine how complicated it all is to manage, and then it turns out that it should be me!"


    "But you''ve managed before, haven''t you? And then, the lords rule, not manage. That''s the job of the Office and the Municipality. And if, for some reason, after checking on of Countess Durlurl, you can''t trust them anymore, you can just change them."


    "With who? Where am I going to get managers who can be trusted with a fourteen billion planet? Shall I advertise?"


    "You could just resign the municipality and call for re-election." She shrugged. "And even if that can''t solve the problems, appointing someone from the Office, after all, to handle the business routine is their direct responsibility."


    "One of us doesn''t seem to know anything about planet governance, and I hope it''s me." The lord summed up with a sour expression, and with another sigh, he waved his hand languidly. "Well, let''s forget about the planet for now. Do you have any idea what to do right now?"


    "Pass on all the information to Countess Durlurl and enlist her help before visiting Cassard?"


    "Visiting Cassard?" He jumped up. "No way. I bet that''s where they''d get me the fifth time, for sure. For the next few months, I''d rather study the situation remotely. Till things settle down there."


    "Your Lordship, there is a "Day of Gifts" in five days. You must be on Cassard on the Day of Gifts." She said with particular emphasis on the word ''must''.


    "Think about it. If I have to be there. I really should be there. The PVD, the Cholanians, and, let''s say, the Security Service know about it. And there''s no telling if they''ve abandoned their plans. And, of course, in that case, they''ll try to kill me, probably in a particularly noisy way. To make a big deal out of it. So, no, I won''t go to Cassard. The ceremonies will be fine without me."


    "Your Lordship..." Taer was somewhat confused. "Day of gifts isn''t just a ceremony and handing out gifts with reports. It''s an Act of Ownership. Technically, at this point, the clan confirms rights to their domain. You are required to attend. There can''t be a Day of Gifts without a representative of the Ruling Clan. And you are the only representative. You must be there." Taer paused for a moment, trying to find the words to convey to the lord the importance of a day of gifts. "Otherwise, it would be like a wedding without a bride... Great Shadows, it would rather be a wedding without a bride than a Day of Gifts without you."


    "Being present at the Day of Gifts is the only duty of the nobility, and there is no way to avoid it." Dudo, who had been paying close attention to their conversation, affirmed this.


    "And what happens if I''m not there after all?" Alex asked quietly, looking at Taer doubtfully.


    "I don''t know..." she threw up her hands. "In ancient times, it meant the possession was now entitled to find a new patron. What that threatens now, I don''t know. As far as I can remember, it just hasn''t happened yet. Usually, the absence of representatives of a clan only happened if it was terminated, and so the domain was declared vacant a year later, at the next Starfall, and passed to non-direct heirs or to the House."


    The lord sat silent for a while, tapping his chin thoughtfully until he finally agreed:


    "OK, let''s say this ceremony is so critical that it should not be missed. What then do we do with all these "well-wishers"?"


    "It''s going to be difficult to deal with the PVD terrorists as I understand from the captured materials, their groups, and equipment are now on Kopeira, which is neutral territory, where the imperial control is in place. We can''t use force. We could, of course, go to the local police, but assuming the Imperial SS is helping them, it won''t do any good. We could go through the House Council, but that would take a lot of time, and we wouldn''t have time before the "Day of Gifts". So they would have to be intercepted already on Cassard, maybe even blockade all transit traffic to Cassard, for the time of the Day of Gifts. Although the Privy Council probably won''t go for a blockade, the transit through Cassard is too important to the entire House. And I don''t see any problem with the Cholans. Thanks to this." She tapped her fingernail on the infoblock. "We know the names of most of the ringleaders, their plans, and even where they''re hiding. We''ll just pass it all on to Home Intelligence and the Retainers, and that''s it."


    "And Countess Durlurl will wave her magic wand and solve all these problems." The Lord summed it up. "Well, why not? And as for those sneaky-ass PDDs on Copeira, I''ve got an idea. Tell me something, Dudo." He smiled, pointing his finger at the lance. "Is it possible to transmit data to a man who only knows his communicator number without him knowing who transmitted it?"


    "Easy," the big man nodded. "Provided his communicator is within range and connected to the infoblock."


    "Even if they really, really look?" Alex clarified. "Say, with Imperial Security resources?"


    "If done right, not even the entire Imperial Security Service can reliably identify the source."


    "That''s good," smiled the lord again.


    Seeing that smile, Taer tensed slightly: "What''s the idea?" she asked.


    "Remember that wonderful investigator from the Imperial Intelligence Service who came to ''talk'' to me? And then he "talked" to you too, and left his card? So. I want all of it to leak to him."


    "With all due respect..." said Taer doubtfully. "That doesn''t seem like a very wise decision. If the intel we''ve obtained is correct, Imperial Security could be behind all this. And handing the data over to an imperial investigator..."


    "As I understand it, the Imperial Security and the Imperial Intelligence are somewhat at odds," the lord explained. "What''s more, this operation," he pointed his eyes at the infoblock and the scattering of sticks, "is so secret that not even the entire Security knows, and certainly not the Intelligence is privy to it. So we''ll just give Mr. Investigator a chance to distinguish himself. Find my assassins, even if they''re already dead. And uncover a terrorist network. I bet he won''t miss that opportunity."


    "But if the Imperial Security Service intervenes..." the ''specialist'' began, but was interrupted by the lord:


    "How will they interfere?" he smirked. "Will she tell you not to touch our terrorists? An officer from a rival agency?


    "I don''t think so..." agreed Taer.


    "That''s what I think too," Alex nodded. "So Dudo, if the data transfer requires preparation, do it now."


    "No special preparation is necessary. Just a number."


    "You can get the number from Taer," the lord replied, getting up and heading for the door. "I''ll go to bed now."


    As he opened the door, he paused, turned to Taer, and asked:


    "By the way, I still don''t understand who these Cholanians are and why they want to kill me?"


    "They are refugees and descendants of refugees from Cholana who, during the ''Guilds War'', your father agreed to take in."


    "And they want to kill me out of gratitude?"


    "No, it''s just that they are Synths, and the majority of Cassard''s population, are Secondarists, and this causes certain conflicts. Anyway, there''s a radical group among them who demand autonomy rights for the Cholans..."


    "Synths? Secondaryists? What that is? Nationalities?"


    "No," Taer shook her head. "It''s religions."


    "So I''ve got a religious conflict on top of that," Alex concluded. "What were they thinking when they took in these refugees?"


    "But your father gave his word," Taer spoke up in defense. "Giving asylum to families and relatives was a condition of the surrender of the Cholana garrison."


    The lord was clearly going to say something to that, but he seemed to change his mind and walked out with a wave of the hand.


    "He''s strange," Taer said, exchanging surprised glances with Dudo. "He doesn''t look like himself."


    "Nervous shock," he concluded with an expert look. "After a fight, it happens healthy men cry like babies if they don''t have drugs or wine. He''d been kidnapped, and he''d been shot at the station. It''s a bit of a rush."


    "Well, let''s hope it goes away when we get to Copeira," she said and stood up, reflexively adjusting her trousers. "I''ll be at my place if you need me. As soon as we get out of the jump, try to contact Countess Durlurl at once."


    Dudo nodded silently in response and the cabin door closed behind her with a faint hiss.


    Taer decided to devote the rest of her time to transforming the data from a pile of unconnected documents into a reportable form. Of course, a droid could do that. But for one thing, there was no suitable droid on board. And second, it would have to be shown to Countess Durlurl or maybe to the Council of Pryvies, and in a matter of such importance, it was better to do everything yourself.


    There were four more hours in hyperspace.


    * * *

 Chapter 31

    Chapter 31


    * * *


    Shortly before the jump ended, the identification blocks were put back in place, and the two yachts that popped out of the hyper were once again extremely legal and shining diplomatic numbers on all scanners.


    Immediately after the exit, Taer tried to contact Countess Durlurl to arrange a meeting, but her ladyship was incredibly busy, and the meeting had to be postponed for several hours.


    Not wanting to take any chances, Taer ordered the yachts into acceleration and powered up the hyperdrive so that in case of ''unforeseen trouble'' they could jump at any time. After that, all she had to do was give way in the communications room, the Dudo. Lance, along with the curious lord, had to organize an ''information leak''.


    A few minutes later, not far from the yachts, the frigate House Fyron, listed in the ceremonial squadron and intended mainly for parades, emerged from a short jump:


    But for lack of a better one, Taer thought, looking at the tactical screen where the frigate, which resembled a huge predatory fish, was circling the yachts. Apparently, this was the Countess'' reaction to her call.


    Half an hour later, the first rendezvous took place, but contrary to the wishes of the "specialist", it was not with Countess Durlurl. The three yachts jumped out of hyperspace within minutes of each other and made a close approach. Two Aegis''s, like two drops of water like their own, and Silver Arrow. The two Aegis and the Silver Arrow, snow white as dazzling as if she looked cold even through the viewscreen. On the bow and sides of the Arrow, charcoal-black ornamentation was rolled into the monogram of Baroness Rionale.


    Taer had forgotten all about the Baroness, but half of her ''army'' manned by Kayrin''s ''Arm'' obviously remembered and continued to carry out her instructions.


    The frigate guarding them jerked towards the approaching yachts but soon turned back sharply, like a beast of prey that had unexpectedly been given a peck. What exactly Baroness Rionale had said to the frigate''s captain was anyone''s guess.


    When the yachts finally finished combining their intake ports and the sluice doors opened, the baroness who burst in resembled a concentrated blob of happiness.


    She was in a tight white gown with gold sparkle, complete with a thin silver sash, and she was all glowing with joy. Kayrin flew through the transparent tube of the port of entry, forcing her attendants to change to a jog to keep up with her ladyship, and hung onto the lord, embracing him. Then she listened with a benevolent smile to Kodm''s report, with Taer''s comments, and immediately presented him with a ring from her own hand. Agitated, Kayrin was about to snatch a second ring from her finger and give it to the Taer. But it seems, in time, she remembered that the Taer, though in absentia, and already the First Sword of the Domain, and therefore the Blade of the House, and such a gift would be too ambiguous, if not insulting. The Baroness smiled guiltily and gracefully turned it into a joke. A small jeweled marvel of black twisted myrtle framed a white crystal "V''To" inside, which flashed a scarlet glow. The ring was worth a small fortune because of the stone alone and was clearly not appropriate as a gift for a stranger''s blade.


    Only my lord can give me something like that, Taer thought philosophically. He seems genuinely oblivious to gifts. Or rather, he prefers to give gifts in a more practical way. She corrected herself, remembering the half a million danarii she had been given. But you won''t put them on your finger, will you? the "specialist''s" secret love for such "insignia" remained completely unsatisfied.


    The Baroness poured out her joy for at least a quarter of an hour. She chirped incessantly about how glad she was that everything had worked out, how excited she was, and that on such an occasion, she would, after the "Day of Gifts", be sure to visit the Throne of Fire to lay gifts for the "Second" for such a lucky rescue. Although everything seemed utterly sincere, Taer could not shake the impression that the scene was somewhat contrived. As far as she knew, Baroness Rionale had never been known for her strong displays of emotion of any kind or any kind of religiosity.


    I wonder what she''ll sacrifice to the Fire? Taer smirked mentally as she watched Alex and Kayrin interact. Neither martial nor amorous victories, she can''t boast of late. Though the latter wasn''t entirely true, to be honest, of the Guard idiots in love with Kayrin, one could probably assemble a combined wing, if not a squadron.


    After a while, the conversation predictably turned to questions about what had happened: the Lord was curious to know how the Baroness had managed not only to get out of the castle unnoticed by the attackers but also to get the wounded Taer out. And Kayrin, of course, wanted to know who had kidnapped him after all and what exactly had happened on Tallana.


    As the conversation clearly threatened to drag on, the Baroness suggested that it be moved to a more comfortable environment on her yacht. To Taer''s delight, Alex did not support the idea, and the conversation was moved to one of the gray-faced halls of the Aegis. There, to Taer''s enormous anger, the lord, contrary to the previously discussed tactics of communication with the Baroness, gave her everything. Not just everything, but absolutely everything, and even asked her to show Kayrin the report she had prepared for Countess Durlurl.


    There was nothing to be done, and Taer, sending a sultry look to the lord, was forced to hand the baroness an infoblock with the report.


    There are unexpected advantages to this option, though. Taer decided, watching the expression on the face of the baroness, who was reading the report. From the beginning, joy fluttered from it, gradually being replaced by a focused seriousness. Then, despite her self-control, fear showed in the Baroness''s eyes. Kayri finished her reading in a state close to horror. And though the Baroness quickly controlled herself, the opportunity to see the horror in her eyes gave Taer a few, rarely sweet moments. One might consider this as moral compensation.


    "I just can''t believe it," Kayrin finally said, putting the infoblock aside. "The Emperor never would have gone for it. The problem of Free Worlds unfairly receiving our privileges certainly exists. But the Emperor is a noble man. He wouldn''t stoop to such a thing... I bet someone in the First Ministers is behind it, or rather even the Melatians."


    "What is their interest in this?" Alex asked, openly interested.


    "The Emperor trusts them the most," Kayrin sighed sadly. "There are four Melatians among the first ministers and only one Fyronian. Two of the Emperor''s open shadows are Melatian, and I''ll bet there''s at least one more among the secret ones. And that is the highest form of trust. We have not a single adept. If there were direct Imperial Rule in the Sector, it would be exercised by the Melatians."


    "Was it worth the risk?"


    "Who knows how deep the black hole is?" Kayrin shrugged. "Maybe they had some other motive. Either way, we have to act." She grasped resolutely and held out her hand to Alex. "I''m sorry to leave you so soon, but... I have a message to send to my father, and there''s something I need to know here on Copeira. And in light of what''s been revealed, no offense, but maybe you''d be willing to have a part of my arm go with you on a Day of Gifts? I am very nervous." She confessed.


    Alex sent Taer a questioning look and received her affirmative nod.


    "I would only be grateful," the lord replied with a smile.


    "Oh, that''s so great," Kayrin rejoiced. "My Arm has almost fully arrived on Copeira. It''s not a big one, two hundred. Maybe you''d like to take the full two hundred, so you don''t have to split up your squads."


    Alex, judging by the expression in his eyes, clearly wanted to, but still sent another questioning look first, to which he received another affirmative nod: You can''t have too many Carpathians, and working with them for pleasure is easy.


    "Why not? I think two hundred is just fine," Alex agreed. "By the way, Kayrin, just so I don''t get into any awkward situations. What race is your Arm drawn from?"


    "Of humans, of course," Kayrin replied, somewhat surprised.


    "I was just confused by the way they looked," Alex admitted with an apologetic smile. "White as paper, all looking the same, and all... Never mind, you know, memory lapses. It''s some kind of modification, isn''t it?"


    "No. They''re Carpathians. They''re all like that - plain white. There are all kinds of people. You don''t have to worry. I got used to it pretty fast when I came to Carpathia," Kayrin said. "White, that''s all. You''ll get used to it, too, and soon you won''t mind it at all."


    "Yeah, you could say I''m not paying attention anymore," Alex smiled. "I was just curious."


    The Baroness''s departure was clearly earlier than she had originally planned. This was not surprising, such news can change plans abruptly.


    "I''ll see you after the Day of Gifts," Kayrin said, hugging the lord goodbye. "I''ll fly back as soon as I receive the gifts in my domain. We have so much to discuss. I shall visit the Throne of Flame as well." She added with a smile.


    "I''ll be waiting," Alex smiled, courteously kissing the Baroness''s hand. He was generally, as Taer had noticed, showing incredible progress in etiquette, at least when it came to dealing with Kayrin.


    The massive airlock door, with a quiet hiss, slowly closed, cutting off the baroness from them.


    "Do you want to talk about it?" the lord asked, turning to her.


    "If Your Lordship sees fit," Taer replied with as much coldness as she could muster.


    "Even so," Alex sniggered. "Well, where shall we go then?"


    "Wherever Your Lordship pleases."


    "I see, then to the meeting room."


    The meeting room was an impersonal grey room adapted for armor storage.


    "Your Lordship, you weren''t planning on telling Kayrin everything, were you?" Taer pretended to be surprised when they were alone again. "What made you change your mind?"


    "Oh, don''t start that with the "you," "my lord," or "your grace". Alex brushed it off with a disgruntled face. "We''re alone, aren''t we? It''s not really the best way to apply ''pressure'' in case I like it, is it? And about Kayrin, it''s quite simple." He sighed. "I figured, what was the point of keeping things from her? For one thing, she would already know a lot from her people involved in rescuing me. And second, if we''re going to leak everything we know to Imperial Intelligence and Countess Durlurl, how is Kairin any worse? At least she''s already helped a lot, both of us. Maybe she can help again. And in my opinion, it''s good for building a "trust" relationship. Family, after all."


    Taer remained silent in response, trying to keep the expression on her face from looking too sour. Lord reminded her in passing that she owed Baroness Rionale a large debt of gratitude. After all, it had been Kayrin who had pulled her wounded and unconscious from the attacked castle and thus saved her life:


    And not alone but with Pakrat and Ogerd. Great shadows. Only with my luck out of the three who rescued me, two of them could be such unpleasant characters, Taer thought grudgingly. To remain indebted to these two, the ''specialist'' didn''t want to at all, and she needed to think of a way to repay them.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Her thoughts were interrupted by a call on the intercom. Perfectly modulated by the hall''s acoustic system, Dudo''s voice suddenly descended upon them somewhere from the ceiling:


    "Your Lordship, Her Ladyship Countess Durlurl has arrived," he warned. "Docking will be over in a moment."


    Almost at a brisk pace, Taer and the lord made it to the port of call just in time. A small section of the ''Arm'' dressed as ''greeters of honor'' was already in formation, ready to welcome the important guest, and they had only to lead the process.


    The enormous airlock door slowly opened, and they saw the Countess, who shifted swiftly toward them through the transparent tube of the intake port. Just behind the Countess, as usual, towered two young men, pleasant looking and athletic in the uniform of the House Fyron Guard. This time the Countess, contrary to usual, was dressed to the tone of her escorts. Which meant she had arrived at their doorstep, having escaped from some unimaginably formal event. Her long, pitch-black hair was gathered in a tight knot at the nape of her neck and encircled by a thin gold wreath with a large red stone. She wore the dark scarlet uniform of the ergo-captain of House Fyron''s Intelligence, with all the regalia, making the entire right side of her tunic look like a bizarre scaly armor made of numerous decorations.


    All this, combined with her diminutive proportions and the appearance of a nineteen-year-old girl, gave a very strange impression:


    Frighteningly disharmonious, Taer determined to herself.


    Upon entering their yacht, Daim Esta gave the greeters a brilliant smile:


    "You can''t imagine how glad I am that you two weren''t killed," she said cheerfully, and she practically jumped up and kissed Alex on the cheek, which was totally unexpected for Taer. Because of this formal attire, the Countess wore uniform shoes,.No heels making her look even lower than usual.


    "And very much hoping," she continued, "to hear your very interesting story... For the last two hours of a tedious meeting, I consoled myself with that thought. And if I don''t hear it, I''ll be furious!" Esta added, smiling charmingly.


    "Oh, absolutely," the lord replied with a smile. "I see your misunderstanding with the Imperial Security Service has been resolved already?"


    "Even faster than I expected." Esta shrugged and continued with a half-smile:


    "As I know, the Emperor personally summoned Sheldon on the instant connection and demanded: "Stop this nonsense". So, as you can see, I''m without my attendant in black. Even admittedly, I miss him a little." She added with feigned sadness.


    "Well, I hope we can make up for his absence," Alex said, making an inviting gesture toward the meeting room. "There''s so much we want to tell you."


    A few minutes later, Countess, leaving her attendants outside, was reading the report with interest. She was nestled on the sofa and purring something quietly. She was the exact opposite of the first reader of the report. Unlike Kayrin, Countess was not horrified by what she had read on the contrary. She demonstrated a joyful curiosity and playfully wiggled her foot, causing the black uniform shoe at times almost flew off, hanging on the very toe.


    "Magnificent, simply magnificent," she finally proclaimed, throwing the infoblock on the table and stretching out sweetly on the sofa. "I really enjoyed this reading. And the attack on the Kilretz ships under construction is worthy of a HoloV. If they manage to pull it off without compromising our House, I swear I''ll get them six Scarlet Petals. No less. And the Ruling Lord must love it. It''s his kind of adventure. And speaking of business," she added, taking her seriousness back:


    "Lord Cassard, I will quite understand if you wish to put the whole municipality on trial. And if you make that decision, I will help you carry it out. Conspiracy against the Lord Protector is not a crime that the House will let anyone..." Countess said with a grim look. "But I just want to warn you. I''m sure it''s the work of some over-ambitious loner, maybe two or three. And most are loyal to you and have not even thought of betraying you. At worst, they have had some vague suspicions. Now, how would you look at it if we didn''t publicize the story but just did covert interrogations with Lim''s serum, found the culprits, and that''s it? I think, on reflection, you would agree that you and, of course, the House would not benefit from creating chaos in the running of such an important planet as Cassard."


    Taer saw Alex literally filled with joy, he was somehow wary of the potential purge Countess might have arranged, and this suggestion met literally all of his aspirations:


    "That would be just perfect," he smiled and hastily added. "Only I''d like to see copies of the interrogation notes. And the results of the investigation in general."


    "Of course," Countess said. "That goes without saying."


    "And what do you intend to do with the rest?" Alex asked cautiously.


    "What any true to his word nobleman should do," said Daim Esta in an admonishing tone, and seeing the bewilderment on Lord Cassard''s face, she continued:


    "We''ll take it all," she waved her hand towards the infoblock with the report and the scattering of "originals," "and deliver it to His Majesty with all possible speed!" She announced with a triumphant look and squeezed her eyes shut with pleasure. "That he may know of this... The despicable plot against the Empire and the Emperor!"


    "It seemed to me that the Empire was behind all this anyway..." Alex said somewhat nervously, obviously not understanding the reason for the joy.


    "The Empire..." Countess wrinkled her nose. "That is too broad a word. But even assuming for a moment that the Emperor himself is behind all this... All the more reason to hand it all over to him."


    "Why? And why don''t you believe that the Emperor orchestrated all this?"


    "Then to show him what we know. So that he would abandon these plans for fear of... Let''s just say unpleasant political repercussions. And why I don''t believe that is very simple. The Emperor is a wise and calculating politician, and this intrigue is of no use to him or the Empire. So why would he do such a foolish thing?"


    "But if not the Empire, then who?"


    "Great Houses: Kilret and Melato. At least Kilret''s for sure," Countess added. "House Melato''s interest in this venture is more elusive."


    "What''s the point of them?" Lord Cassard asked with obvious skepticism. "And what does that have to do with Tallana and House Kilreat?"


    "Destabilization on Tallana will lead to a change in the main transit routes," Esta explained. "The only way to bypass Tallana is through the spaces of House Kilret. They will have a tangible advantage, albeit a temporary one. And there are several other advantages which need not be mentioned," she added with a nonchalant waving of her hand.


    "Let''s say," the lord nodded. "But what does this have to do with the Imperial Security Service?"


    "I think the whole Security presence in this story is a trivial bribe. But..." the Countess smiled wickedly, "we''ll leave it to His Majesty to find out. And for him to believe us, we''ll add to the paperwork the ones who are here on Copeira."


    At these words, a chill ran down Taer''s spine as she realized that ''leaking'' to Imperial Intelligence was incredibly stupid:


    And I''m good. I didn''t even think to stop him. The ''specialist'' belatedly repented.


    "Erm..." the lord stretched uncertainly, picking his words. "I''m afraid there might be a problem with the ones on Copeira."


    Daim Esta raised her right eyebrow: "What''s the problem?"


    "They could have been arrested by now..." Alex admitted.


    "Who?" The Countess asked in a tone that did not bode well.


    "Imperial Intelligence," he said dryly, answering Countess with an equally heavy stare. "I have seen fit to give them some data."


    "How long ago?" she asked boiling over.


    "As soon as we came out of the jump."


    The air literally rang with tension. Countess Durlurl jumped up, hovering menacingly over the lord, her eyes ablaze with unbelievable anger. Taer realized with horror that a most frightening scene was about to take place and that she would be forced to op Daim Esta. But thankfully, all was over. Lord Cassard and Countess Durlurl burned each other with glances for a few seconds before she let out a long sigh and collapsed on the sofa, head clutching.


    "Lord Cassard, you are insufferable!" she moaned. "Damn the Twilight, sometimes I''m sure you''d cut off your own arm if it gave me a trouble. Why, why did you do it?!"


    "To keep them out of Cassard," he snapped. "I''m in enough trouble there as it is, you know!"


    "But why Imperial Intelligence?!" she shouted. "Couldn''t it have been trusted to me?"


    "But, Your Grace," Taer interceded, herself terrified. "Copeira is neutral territory, partially under the Empire''s jurisdiction, so we can''t officially operate there."


    Countess gave her a pained look:


    "So what? We would have taken them unofficially! Wouldn''t someone have stood up for them?" She turned to the lord and looked at him reproachfully:


    "Well, Taer, her holy simplicity is worthy of a Protectress. But you, Lord. Don''t you realize you''re committing catastrophic folly? You seem like an intelligent young man. Weren''t you interested in what these terrorists had to say? Or did you really expect Imperial Intelligence to share information with you?! You couldn''t have been that naive!"


    "Perhaps I did do something foolish," the lord admitted grudgingly, much to the surprise of Taer and, to all appearances, Countess. "It seemed like a neat solution to me."


    "Using this material, and the living witnesses, we could put things in the right light." She explained in a calmer tone. "Now, whatever is revealed, we won''t know anything about it. Everything will be buried in the archives of the General Department of Intelligence. You literally gave them our influence. And most importantly for nothing."


    In response, the lord silently threw up his hands.


    "Why are you doing this to me?" Daim Esta continued with sadness in her voice. "I wish you nothing but good, and I always come up against the blackest ingratitude. Do you still think it was so terrible to marry Valerie? Was it worth the risk of refusing my help?"


    "Maybe not," the lord nodded philosophically. "Perhaps I overreacted a bit..."


    "Well, you see," Countess has brightened. "Perhaps, in that case, you will find time to visit your castle and Valerie''s guest there?"


    "Is she a guest there?" Alex was a little taken aback. "With me being kidnapped?! Is that normal?"


    "And we haven''t told anyone that you''ve been kidnapped," winked Countess Durlurl conspiratorially. "I was not to create a panic. And with Valerie, we had to discuss Lord Lister''s kidnapping. Besides, your infatuation is a process that must be constantly nurtured. So we thought an invitation to visit would be a good idea. Even made some new notes." She added. With a holocopy, though."


    "You must have been very worried about me, Daim Esta," the lord smiled ironically. "If I had been killed, you would have been in a very uncomfortable situation."


    "I didn''t even think about worrying about you," Countess brushed it off. "I''m a believer. But we were all very worried about Lord Lister. He''s a renowned brether, of course, and his death wouldn''t have been surprising, but if we hadn''t managed to find the body... Anyway, let''s not talk about sad things," she changed the subject, "so why don''t you find some time to talk to Valerie? You''ll have to wait a few days for Cassard to resolve this anyway."


    "I wouldn''t want to risk it," Alex stretched out. "Especially since it turned out to be very easy to get into the castle."


    "As you wish," she sighed as she stood up. "I won''t insist. It is indeed more difficult to penetrate the ship, but I advise you to wait not at the Copeira but in our space, where we can provide you with acceptable protection, preferably in something more serious. Or would you prefer to stay on your boat again?"


    "If you find something more serious, I will gladly accept your invitation."


    "Good," Countess sang, her spirits seeming to return. "I''ll leave you to it, then so much to do."


    She went to the door of the "meeting room" and opened it, calling to her attendants:


    "Somebody take these sticks and infoblocks," Countess ordered, pointing to the scattering of machinery on the table.


    Already at the airlock door, Esta kissed them on the cheek again, this time as a farewell:


    "Have a nice Day of Gifts. And Taer," she added with a wink. "Keep an eye on him."


    When Countess Durlurl finally left them, and the ''seeing off'' part of the Arm dispersed, Taer did not hide her surprise:


    "Have you decided that the Countess was right?" She was genuinely amazed. "And agreed that you were wrong? What happened?"


    "Well, we''re not in court, are we?" Alex shrugged his shoulders with an indifferent look. "What do I have to admit I''m wrong or agree with Countess. With her, it''s the best tactic, a lot of effort saved. But that doesn''t mean I''m going to blindly follow her will. By the way, what did she mean when she said she wasn''t worried about me because she''s a believer?"


    "Well, the Countess is a Secondarist," she explained with a shrug. "I don''t think she''s the most religious, though."


    "What does this have to do with me?"


    "Briefly?" she asked.


    "Briefly," Alex nodded.


    "A long time ago. During the Second War with the Synth," the specialist said, "a great many temples of the Ryan were destroyed, and the Secondaries, unwilling to abandon their ''faith in demons,'' fled the Old Kingdoms. They wandered through the Galaxy, denied safe haven for fear of retaliation. Baron Varun Cassard, your distant ancestor, dreamed of Ryan herself. She told him that if he retained the Throne of Flame and accepted those bearing her name, his Clan would be blessed and would not be interrupted until the Third Incarnation of the Flame. Thereupon he accepted the refugees and the Throne of Flame. And the desolate steppes of Cassard were filled with people, the planet prospered, and the lineage blessed by the Flame still exists today."


    "So that''s it," Alex said with a smirk. "And since I''m the last of my bloodline, I won''t be able to die until this third incarnation comes, will I?"


    "Or until an heir comes along."


    "And this whole flame thing, how serious is it?" He decided to clarify. "Does it really work?"


    "The Cassard Bloodline has indeed not been discontinued," Taer stated judiciously. "But there are older clans that have not been dissolved without the blessing. It all depends on one''s point of view. The Secondarists believe that the very existence of Cassard''s bloodline was one of the wonders of the Flame."


    "Are you Secondarists?"


    "I don''t," Taer shook her head and anticipating the next question, added:


    "But my parents, Secondarists, are very religious."


    "I see." Alex looked at her meaningfully. "It''s a day of discovery today. Most of the Secondarists are on Cassard. Did I get that right?"


    "Yes," she nodded.


    "How am I being treated there?"


    "The commoners adore you."


    "Despite my reputation and all sorts of images in the company of naked girls?"


    Taer shrugged.


    "Church of Ir''Ryan has never called for restraint."


    "This Cassard seems to be an interesting place," concluded the lord.


    Taer only shrugged in response. She liked Cassard, but the people she encountered there did not.


    * * *

 Chapter 32

    Chapter 32


    * * *


    The thin, ribbed metal steps rang in time with the footsteps of the rising Taer, filling the narrow well of the spiral staircase with multiple echoes bouncing off the walls. As she ascended, a low humming noise grew from above, gradually drowning out all other sounds. The shield generators were operating at full power, and a bio-defense field resonating in unison filled the interior of the frigate with a piercing low hum that sounded like infrasound and echoed deep within the solar plexus. After a few turns the stairs ended, hitting a massive hatch that slid gently upward to reveal an exit to the observation deck.


    Upstairs, near the hatch, she was met by an impenetrably calm Carpathian, wearing a white tunic with black embroidery - the Rionale colors - with a scanner in his hands and one of Countess Durlurl''s men. The scout was armed with a "shorty" and dressed in a gray-green planetary uniform without insignia, over which he wore a white anti-blaster waistcoat. After the attack on the castle, the lord was careful not to be left alone, even in perfectly safe places.


    The observation deck was a small transparent dome on the sloping foredeck of the frigate, with seating inside and a pair of navigation terminals, which were now switched off. In a chair at the left-hand edge, Lord Cassard sat broodingly with his head resting on his hand. Above his head, a fighter glided like a black cloud. On its short, downward-facing grav stabilizer wings glowed scarlet, griffins standing. Two more fighters glided left and right. They looked like giant needles or black stilettoes, with short, crescent-shaped wings at their hilted ends. In the distance, near the horizon, the grey blurred silhouettes of the many towers of the business center could be seen, against which the chain of police aircars of the outer cordon was strewn in white drops.


    While the Carpathian scanned her, Taer sent a questioning look to the scout, pointing her eyes at the lord, "How is he?" He only shrugged his shoulders slightly in response.


    Having finished scanning her, the Carpathian bowed courteously and stepped aside, clearing the way.


    "Your Lordship..." Taer gently touched the lord''s shoulder. "We''re already at the castle, landing in a few minutes. You told me to warn you."


    "Is it always so... red around here?" Alex asked her without turning around.


    From above, the parks of the historic center of Cassard looked like a patchwork of red. Lush crowns of reddish foliage hung in scarlet clouds over the black lines of the paths, merging into a continuous hilly field, the gaps between them revealing glades of yellowed grass.


    "Only in winter," she replied. "In winter, most Cassards trees have reddish leaves."


    The Lord, for some reason, was very sharply taken by the fact that his domain included the entire planet, and though the flight from Copeira had helped him come to terms with the idea, he still looked somewhat dejected, staring down as if searching for something, and must have turned to the Taer before he could find it.


    "Doesn''t it snow here in winter?"


    "As far as I know - it doesn''t happen in this zone. But I have seen snow caps in the mountains at the Pole."


    At the mention of mountains, curiosity sparkled in Alex''s eyes:


    "And high mountains?"


    "I don''t know," Taer shrugged uncertainly. "I wasn''t interested, a few comers probably."


    "Are there any rides?"


    "Unlikely, individuals are banned from owning flyers on Cassard."


    "What do flyers have to do with it," Alex wondered. "Forget it, though," he waved."


    As they spoke the frigate turned slightly to the right and began to descend. From below, engulfed in an orange glow, the Flame Incarnate, or as it was called, the Face of Fire, a gigantic statue of the second incarnation of Ir'' Ryan at full height and with a flaming sword in her outstretched hand, was swiftly looming over them. It was located directly across from Istal Palace, separated from it by a long square that was now filled with a motley mass of people who had come to see their lord.


    The original plan had been to land at the foot of the statue and travel to the palace on an open platform, but this idea had been abandoned for security reasons, despite all the resistance of the protocol committee, who did not want to disappoint the visitors. Though, as Taer guessed, it wasn''t just about the loyalist sentiments of those gathered. Information of attempts on the lord''s life has clearly reached Cassard, and the rumors here must be the most bizarre, and the municipality wanted to dispel them with a demonstration of the lord, so to speak, from close up.


    As they descended, the top of the white palace loomed up directly in front of them. Two enormous towers of incredible height, rising from a low and very wide base, shaped like an eight-pointed star. The towers were flush with each other and only near the tops of the towers curved to make room for the orange glass sphere that glinted in the sunlight. They were tapered at the tops to resemble two hands clutching a ball of flame.


    "We''ve already arrived," she said aloud, pointing her eyes in the direction of the Face of Fire. "We have to go now."


    When the lord turned around the frigate was just passing across the face of the titanic statue. Against the dark gray stone glowed, orange gaps of eyes filled with roaring flames, each of which could easily fit a fighter jet. A huge torch of lemon-yellow fire enveloped the statue''s head, forming a sheaf of short hair flowing in the wind with a slight black fringe of smoke.


    "So huge..." the lord stretched out in shock as he appraised the size of the outstretched arm that had floated by. If the palm clutching the sword had been extended, the frigate could have used it as a landing pad.


    Even though Taer had seen Flame Incarnate many times, even she was still impressed by the scale, especially up close. She was in the midst of it, and her own insignificance was felt more keenly than ever.


    "Is it even real?" Alex asked, turning to the specialist again. "Or is it a hologram?"


    The descending frigate ducked under the outstretched sword in Ir''Ryan''s hands, and for a moment, the sky was obscured by the blazing canvas of the blade. The fighter coming over them must have passed too close to the sword, and the hitherto invisible protective field gleamed, reacting to the heat.


    "Perfectly real," Taer assured him and made an inviting gesture, pointing to the open hatch. "The tallest statue of Ir''Ryan in known space, but we have to go anyway."


    The palace of Istal, which gave its name to the capital of Cassard and marked its beginning, was a very old building. It started as a fortress, then was rebuilt over many centuries to suit the needs of new generations. Because of its past, the outer gates of the hangar were large enough to allow a frigate and escort to enter and not risk unnecessarily landing in an open area.


    The frigate did not have a separate passenger gangway, so they descended into the hold. The wide cargo ramp had already been lowered, revealing an empty hangar from which everything had been removed before they arrived at the Taer''s request. At the edge of the ramp, colorful groups of greeters were huddled in a lonely huddle.


    Directly in front of them on the ramp were two blurred red blobs - part of the advanced team. The fields were still running at full power, so everything within their structure was distorted.


    "We could have taken our time," Alex murmured softly so that only Taer could hear. "I''d look at the castle from the outside..."


    They had been standing in the hold for several minutes, waiting for the advance teams to establish contact with the rendezvous and once again check the room and set up a perimeter.


    After a few minutes, Taer felt a slight tingling under her communicator bracelet and nodded to the lord:


    "It''s all right, we can go down."


    "I don''t like all this officiousness," Alex complained quietly, taking on a nonchalant, arrogant look. "It makes me nervous and angry."


    When they finally descended onto the humming metal slabs of the hangar, passing through the thick fluctuating haze of the force shield, an unusually thin chain of "admitted to rapturous gazing" appeared before them.


    Taer had already been with the lord at the two Days of Gifts, and usually, his lordship was simply greeted by crowds of various officials, of course, of the highest rank. This time because of the unprecedented security measures, there were fewer greeters than guards.


    First, at the edge of the ramp, was a small group of secretaries in white livery, led by General Secretary Rist Gyom. Behind them were not the usual representatives of the Municipality but a group of House Fyron scouts in dark scarlet tunics. They were the ones tasked with catching the instigators among the Cholans and tacitly searching for their municipality''s associate. Just behind the scouts, a trio in bright scarlet robes stood out: Prelate and the universal benefactor Teessir, accompanied by two young aides. The head of the Church of the Flame, conversing quietly with a not-so-elderly man in the snow-white uniform of a Sain Major of Imperial Intelligence standing beside him. The last to be seated, a little apart from the others, were the representatives of the municipality, as grim as their uniforms.


    It seems that information about the investigation has leaked out to the Office, Taer decided as she looked around at the strange arrangement of greeters. And the current composition of the municipality has already been put to rest.


    As soon as the lord stepped down the ramp, the secretaries and officials bowed and stood still, awaiting "his lordship''s" attention. The others confined themselves to a courteous tilt of their heads.


    The lord paused beside the secretaries, looking around the motley crowd with a somewhat bewildered look.


    Taer wanted to hint to Alex to raise the bowed ones but changed her mind, deciding that in this position, she liked the secretariat much better.


    A few seconds passed, and the first of the bowed tops, gleaming with baldness and grey in the liquid brown hair, lifted, revealing the round face of the general secretary. Seeing that their lordship was not going to pay any attention to the secretaries, Rist Giom, despite his more than sizable bulk, slipped gracefully out of the cramped ranks as an agile white ball and froze one step from the lord:


    "Your Lordship." The General Secretary bowed once more. "Such a joy for all of us to see you here, safe and sound."


    "I''m so glad too." Alex nodded sarcastically. "How''s that going for you?"


    Rist''s brown eyes darted around as if searching for the best answer:


    "As your lordship already knows," he continued, devouring the lord with his eyes. "The over-achievement of the master plan is twenty-four percent. The annual report is ready and will be presented to you after the ceremonies." The Secretary-General paused for a moment as if contemplating whether or not to continue and then continued with assertive energy in his voice. "But this year''s planetary performance is far from ideal. And if it pleases Your Lordship. The secretariat has prepared a program to examine the spending and the transformation of planetary governance..."


    So lackeyish... Taer thought, looking at the general secretary with ill-concealed contempt. In a hurry to bite the man in disgrace.


    Rist Giom could not finish the sentence as the lord, who was about to move on to the scouts, suddenly turned towards him with an expression that did not augur well:


    "The General Secretary..." he interrupted him. "It seems to me that you are overstepping your bounds. Leave it to the Municipality to report on planetary management and let me think about transforming planetary management. If I, see the need for such a transformation." Pronounced the lord, putting special emphasis on ''me'' and ''I''.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    These accents clearly did not escape the attention of those gathered, and while most simply took note, a wave of animation and barely perceptible whispers through the group from the municipality.


    An unexpected turn... mentally commented the ''specialist'', catching the consternation in Rist''s eyes. I''ll have to ask later why Alex decided to stand up for the municipality. The types there aren''t any better than at the Office.


    "Please forgive my inappropriateness," bowed again the secretary-general, sensitive to the moods of his superiors. And he stepped back, literally dissolving into the white mass of clerks.


    "And how are you doing, Peleng Captain?" The Lord asked, with a wry smile, the scout standing behind him.


    The question was a pure formality; they had received their first report on the situation on Cassard immediately after coming out of hyperspace five hours earlier.


    "All is well, Your Lordship..." replied Peleng Captain Sarvola with calm assurance. "The instigators among the Cholans have been arrested. Those who aided them have also been arrested. We were greatly aided in this by Sain Major Derbal and his men." He remarked separately and continued in the same tone. "The riots, which had started due to the arrests, had been stopped by the police, and those involved had been detained. The local police and the House of Fyron Retainer Service are conducting further investigations. Further reports will be forwarded to you when you so wish."


    "Good." The lord nodded approvingly in response. "The work is worthy of an award. I hope Countess Durlurl will listen to my appraisal of the distinguished. We''ll leave the reports for later. After the ceremonies," he added.


    Taer only had to grind her teeth silently and exchange glances of dislike with Sarvola. The captain was sent to §³assard as the original in charge of the case:


    And now this prick will get all the glory of ''solving the plot'' and ''saving the lord'', thought the ''specialist'' angrily as she walked past the captain. Even there''s not a bit of credit to it! He didn''t lift a finger to save the lord, and the whole conspiracy was, in fact, revealed by the lord himself! The obvious injustice infuriated her terribly, but there was nothing to be done. If the Lord wasn''t kidnapped, then I didn''t save him, and he couldn''t have known what was going on since he wasn''t in captivity.


    While Taer pondered the vicissitudes of ''secrecy'' that caused the honors to go to the uninvolved, the Lord approached the church representatives.


    The head of the Church of Ryan was in mundane garb, a simple scarlet robe reaching down to the floor and girded with a narrow, rope-like sash. Such attire only emphasized his tall and thin stature. The "Provider" Teesshire looked older than he was in his sixties and gave the impression of a deeply tired man:


    He is, however, on his fourth day of celebrations and has three more to go. With constant solemn services.


    "My soul blazes with joy at the sight of you, Lord Cassard," Teesshire said, spreading his hands slightly. "In your miraculous rescue, we have all witnessed divine providence. May the goodness of True Fire continue to be with you," he added, blessing the Lord.


    "May it be," Alex agreed and, as per earlier instructions, bowed his head slightly to receive the blessing of "his purity".


    That was the end of the conversation with the benefactor, Teesshire. The lord was clearly trying to keep contact with church representatives to a minimum.


    With Sain Major Vimo Derbal, Alex only exchanged greetings. Although it was obvious that he was eager to ask the Major about what exactly had happened on Copeira and how he had handled the information he had received.


    From the brief list of ''news'' they had received from Countess Durlurl, they knew only of the removal of the head of the Imperial Security Service, Stack Major Sheldon, on leaving hyperspace. And the unexpected suicide of one of his deputies. Two days ago, Sain Captain Tarbel, alone in his office, had shot himself in the face with his blaster.


    Taer was ready to bet that there was a reason for all this. But there was no questioning of the Major at the moment:


    If he wants to tell us anything at all, she mentally sighed.


    The last in the line of greeters were the representatives of the municipality. They had looked a little frightened before, squinting at the massive figures of armored guardsmen with heavy weapons in their hands. After the lord rebuked the general secretary, they became more enthusiastic.


    As the lord approached them, the dark blue mass of ''municipals'', again bowed in a long bow. The only exception was the Head of the Municipality, Doiur Luor, who was seated in a hovering grav-chair. His face was pale, his usually round cheeks sagged, and a pained expression lingered in his swamp-colored eyes. A thin, transparent tube of oxygen went to his nose from the medblock built into the chair. His collar, high and full of gold stitching, was open, and beneath it, the edge of an injection unit flashed with control lights, and on his left temple, a protruding circular sensor. Behind the chair a gleaming statue of a meddroid stand


    "Forgive me, Your Lordship, for not being able to greet you as I should," Doiur said, breathing heavily and nodding his head uneasily. "However, with long years of service comes not only experience but also less desirable fruits."


    I really hope the guards have checked both the chair and the droid, Taer thought doubtfully, looking at the head of the municipality. She was sure he wasn''t half as bad as he portrayed. She''ll have to clarify, and if they didn''t...


    "You shouldn''t trouble yourself," sighed the lord sympathetically, eyeing the crouching officials curiously. "You should have stayed at home. You shouldn''t mess with your health."


    "In my thirty years of service to Cassard..." said the Head of the Municipality with undisguised pride. "I haven''t missed a single ''Day of Gifts''. And if it pleases Your Lordship and the people of Cassard. I intend to continue this custom."


    "Frankly, recent events have caused..." Alex paused for a moment, picking up his words. "Certain doubts as to the loyalty of the Municipality. I can only hope that this was an unfortunate exception. And I can be sure that the Municipality will continue to serve as before, faithfully and effectively," he added, with special emphasis on "as before".


    "You may rest assured, Your Lordship!" With glee and enthusiasm, the officials said, bowing once more.


    "Good," the lord said, and he looked around at the huge hangar in confusion. "Shouldn''t I be greeting the people in the square? I''d hate to keep them waiting, even more so. If we''re done greeting, of course."


    The General Secretary, reacting before anyone else, slipped out of the white mass of secretaries, reappearing before the lord with a slight bow:


    "This way, Your Lordship," he said in a gracious tone, pointing to one of the exits from the hangar.


    The guards politely and accurately cut off the other "meeters" who were about to follow the lord, and they walked through the deserted corridors of the castle almost alone, apart from four guards in heavy armor and the Secretary-General who remained on the sidelines of the ceremony.


    They walked through the oldest part of the castle, the humming sound of soldiers in armor echoing through the wide corridors adapted for the movement of machinery. The sparse light panels and solid bluish fiberglass walls, without any decoration, gave the impression that they were inside a huge warship but not a castle. Their entire route, at Taer''s request, was cleared of humans and droids, and only at the intersections with the side corridors and staircases were pairs of guards. One from Intelligence, one from Baroness Rional''s arm, accompanied by small scoutbots balls from which the detonation blocks had been removed, just in case. This was only the ''inner'' ring of guards. The much larger ''outer'' ring extended even further and was manned by the best of Cassard''s police force.


    Shortly before their destination, the guards politely dismissed the secretary-general, and out onto the balcony, the two of them stepped on their own.


    The bright sunlight, dazzling after the half-dark corridors, reflected off the white outer walls of the castle and gleamed on the wrought iron railing of white steel. Because of the height, the square beneath the castle was not visible. Directly in front of them blazed the face of Ir''Ryan and loomed menacingly overhead with a sword in her outstretched hand. The huge blade, engulfed in slashes of orange, wavering and roaring in the wind, stretched toward them, while on the sides the piercing blue of the winter sky flooded all around as far as the eye could see.


    The lord paused only for a moment and then strode resolutely towards the edge. As he approached, the horizon receded, revealing the scarlet sea of parkland surrounding the castle, and a multitudinous noise came in waves from somewhere below, like the roar of a waterfall. The "specialist" stopped before reaching the edge a few paces away, and the lord approached the winding white railing alone. At that moment, the noise from below suddenly turned into a roar, and it drifted into silence like a wave crashing on the shore. He looked down, and Taer could see the white of his hands clutching the smooth rail. Even from her vantage point, she could see that people were filling the entire square that stretched between the castle and the statue in its entirety, and a grainy carpet was covering the base of the statue. There were about three million people who had gathered to see their lord. At least, that''s what the Cassardian police thought.


    "What shall I do now?" Without moving his lips, but with obvious panic in his voice, Alex asked, clinging to the railing.


    "Well, I don''t know." She answered, also without moving her lips. "Wave your hand and smile."


    The lord followed her advice, and the crowd responded with an uproar that quickly turned into an enthusiastic roar. To the right and left, a succession of loud claps erupted, and red clusters of fireworks bloomed in the sky above the square.


    The organizers were clearly well-timed, but the bright sunlight made the fireworks look pale. But tradition demanded that the arrival of the Lord at the "Day of Gifts" should be celebrated with fireworks. It was just usual to arrive in advance and in the evening. But they did the best they could.


    After about a minute, the lord had clearly got the hang of it and was already waving quite naturally, and his smile became less strained.


    "Why did you turn down Rist''s offer?" Taer asked, taking advantage of the pause.


    "Won''t they record us?" Alex asked cautiously, not stopping to wave his hand.


    "There are so many layers of defense fields, and I have a suppressor on," she reassured me. "Just don''t move your lips." And after a short pause, she asked again:


    "So why did you decide to cover up the Municipality? In my opinion, they are just as nasty as those in the Office."


    "Because I don''t yet have one, no, even two much-needed elements."


    "Which one?"


    "Hundreds, maybe thousands of auditors I can trust and a spare management team that I will swap these ferrets for."


    "Does this have something to do with the reorganization?" She genuinely wondered.


    "If they are allowed to ''reorganize'' everything now, there will be no end in sight." He explained as he continued to smile at the crowd. "Why do you think they''re making such a fuss? They''ve obviously heard rumors of investigation digging for the Municipality. And I bet they''re with the Office, tied up. Open at the Municipality, and they''ll reach for the Office. There''s Mr. General, and he''s trembling. He doesn''t know the extent of the investigation, but he assumes the worst. Decided to take a chance, in case he comes out to lead the process."


    "How do you know that?"


    "It''s written all over their faces," Alex sighed. "I am..." He started but stopped for some reason.


    "But why? If you suspect them of embezzlement," And they are certainly guilty. She added mentally. "Why not investigate and bring everyone to justice?"


    "Because first, we have to find out what the risks are for us. And somewhere to get replacement officials. By the way, how much longer do I have to wave?" He asked changing the subject.


    "As much as you want. The symbolic part is clearly fulfilled."


    "Then let''s wrap it up," summed up the lord. "My arm is already falling off."


    He made a few "goodbye waves", and they went behind the high dark curtains that separated the balcony from the castle.


    As soon as they were inside, the general secretary jumped up to them again:


    "Everything went splendidly, your lordship," he smiled flatteringly.


    "Great," Alex nodded. "What''s next on the plan?"


    "A ceremony of presenting gifts," Rist was quick to come to the rescue. "All the gift-givers were already gathered outside the main hall."


    "I hope it won''t take long."


    "Don''t even think about it," Taer whispered to him.


    And, of course, she was right.


    A long chain of gift-givers, snaking like a snake through the vast hall, approached a low platform on which Lord Cassard stood, surrounded by four guardsmen in armor. Since some of the gift-givers might have been carrying weapons, and there was no way to remove them, four projecting generators of force shields, hastily clad in scarlet cloth, were set up around the platform. It looked a little strange, but the ceremony should not be hindered. The groups of "gift-givers", who were largely the managers of the largest companies on Cassard, still left their trays with their "share of the higher-ups" at the foot of the platform. The lord, according to protocol, nodded, confirming the acceptance of the gift, and one group succeeded the other.


    Of course, these were no more than symbols. The real "gifts" - tax deductions and annual company reports - had been sent to the Office three days earlier. But the attitude to participation in the "day of gifts" was the most reverent. First of all, admission to the ceremony was a recognition of the importance of the company. Not everyone was allowed to take part. The company''s participation in the event was also a high-profile event, and many companies used the gift as a way of presenting their achievements.


    And best of all, the Corporants would kill each other to give the ''best gift'', Taer commented mentally, eyeing the next gift, a huge white crystal several girths in circumference, surrounded by an iridescent glow. Due to the weight of the crystal, the tray was carried by a dozen people.


    The "best gift" nomination, of course, was not an official one, but the competition was no less fierce. Thanks to this, the first hours of the ceremony were brightened by the opportunity to look at the gifts stacked at their feet. But everything gets boring, even beauty and sophistication. One gift was replaced by another. The zone occupied by the presents was getting deeper and deeper into the hall, and the chain of "the givers" never faded. Standing motionless for hours, pretending to be a living statue is not easy, and by the fourth hour of the ceremony, Taer already began to envy the guardsmen in heavy armor. They had a "waste removal system", but she, clad in her ceremonial tunic, had to endure it. The Lord, too, had to endure it now, but he should be more used to it, having taken part in Gift Day ceremonies since he was eight years old.


    Finally, after six excruciatingly monotonous hours, all five hundred givers gave their "share of the higher-ups", and the ceremony was over.


    "I''m going to die," Alex groaned as they finally left the hall and found themselves in a small adjoining room designed for rest. "My head is going to fall off. It''s not good for my body to nod so much. And why stand all the time? Couldn''t they at least put a small chair in there?"


    "Tradition," Taer sighed, unbuttoning the top buttons of her collar and gesturing to the guards to keep the Secretary-General out. "Hallowed for millennia."


    "I wish to say something about these traditions... That''s it. Let''s get out of here now."


    "You wanted to meet Sain Major Derbal, didn''t you?" Taer wondered faintly. "And that..." She almost said what she thought but held herself back. "Captain Sarvola."


    "It won''t work," the lord shook his head dejectedly. "They''ll misunderstand me."


    "Why?"


    "Because I can only talk to them in a horizontal position."


    "Then I contact the frigate?"


    "Yes," he nodded. "I''ll just visit one small room like, and then we''ll fly."


    Taer, with her eyes, indicated to the scouts standing nearby to escort his lordship out.


    "I made it," Alex said indignantly. "Already going to the bathroom with the guards."


    Taer, only sympathetically shaking her hands, and making sure the lord was gone, hurried off in the opposite direction - it was a long walk to the frigate.


    * * *

 Chapter 33

    Chapter 33


    * * *


    The autumnal air, cool and crystal fresh, was perfectly clear and immovable. The serene sky, a piercing blue inexpressible, had not even a trace of clouds. Only at the very horizon, which went somewhere frighteningly far to the city eye, it twitched a little white, merging with the boundless silver-white steppe.


    Alex pulled in, the cool steppe air filled with the unfamiliar scents of dry grasses, and moved on. The short, silver-white stalks, more like thin paper tubes, scratched his trousers with a quiet rustle and crunched under the thin soles of his loafers. After taking a few steps, he stopped again, looking around.


    The silver smoothness of the steppe was dusted with red dust. Among the withered stalks were small red flowers on thick green stalks. Their scarlet droplets, in the distance, merged into scarlet waves, frozen motionless in the boundless steppe.


    Now I see why Cassard''s colors are scarlet and white, Alex thought, gazing out at the horizon, blending in with the sky. His eyes tingled a little, unused to the distance. The steppe seemed endless, transparent, and empty.


    The only object overlooking the silver canvas of the steppe was behind their backs. Khalis Castle was in the middle of the continent, far from the capital. And it was one of the ''country'' castles on Cassard. It had been chosen as a residence, for the time of the Day of Gifts, for security reasons. Since the capital, Castle Istal also housed the Throne of Fire as well as the headquarters of the Municipality and the Office. It was simply impossible to evacuate everyone from there. There were also millions of tourists and pilgrims to the shrines. The Khalis was the only building for many hundreds of kilometers. Nor were there any tourists, and it was hard to believe fourteen billion people were living on this planet.


    The truth is, they won''t leave me alone here either, he mentally sighed as he continued to walk leisurely toward the destination of their journey. A dark red, wavering mirage, with a black orber circling around it.


    The first morning on Cassard, after the Day of Gifts, began somewhat earlier and not as he would have liked. The scouts, in the company of a dozen retainers in civilian clothes, showed up in the full parade. They were eager to obtain the visas of Lord Cassard, as the highest court of justice, for a pile of various warrants for search, inquiry, and detention. Not the most pleasant activity, especially since he''d read them all. Probably shouldn''t have, though. You won''t see any familiar names here anyway.


    "We''ll stay here, Your Lordship," came the voice of his ''security specialist'' from behind him. At his questioning glance, Taer shrugged and added, her lips curling slightly. "Lady Kayrin wanted a word with you, alone."


    The Baroness, he was informed at the end of the bureaucratic battle, had arrived at Cassard at night. And chatting with her was certainly worthwhile. One could only wonder at the place chosen for the conversation. After the paperwork, though, it''s a good idea.


    Leaving the guards, led by Taer, behind him, Alex made his way the remaining hundred meters through the brittle undergrowth alone. As he approached, a blurred figure made some indistinct gesture, and the orber moved slightly to the side, engaging Alex in its orbit. The blurred veil fell, and Alex saw Kayrin.


    The Baroness was dressed in the dark scarlet guardsman uniform of House Fyron, with a black leather shoulder strap that bore a scarlet griffin hoisted on its hoop. A broad black belt spanned the tunic and dangled from it the hilt of his sword and his blaster. Her long black hair was gathered into a ponytail in a dainty ring of dark matter. She was looking thoughtfully into the distance as she perched on a boulder at the edge of a very large but shallow depression. Filled with the same boulders, almost invisible because of the steppe grass. There was a pattern to their arrangement.


    Some kind of weird rock garden, Alex decided as he stepped closer. The surface beneath his feet became unusually hard, and he looked down for a moment. What he first thought was a large flat rock turned out to be a long-frozen puddle of metal, slightly littered with dust.


    He walked over to Kayrin, and it was clear that the "boulder" she was sitting on was actually the side of some machinery, almost completely sunk into the ground. Alex squinted, taking a closer look at the other ''boulders''. One of them, closer to the edge, protruded heavily from the grass, a dark molten lump of metal that reeked of something military. Apparently, the depression he had mistaken for a long-drained lake was, in fact, a crater from a massive explosion.


    In the distance, there were several more of the same hollows.


    "Is this the scene of the battle?" He asked to confirm his guess.


    "Yes," Kayrin replied without turning around. "About a hundred and twenty years ago. Your great-grandfather didn''t agree with his brother on the issue of kin supremacy. Your brother had the Planetary Forces and the Police on his side. As you can see, they almost made it. But the Orbital Forces backed your great-grandfather at the last moment. After his victory, he decided to leave everything here as it was. As a lesson." She waved her hand somewhere to the left. "There''s a memorial stone further up."


    "So that no more brother would go after his brother?" He asked, sitting down on the "boulder" as well. The boulder, instead of the expected cold pull of metal, was somehow "plastic" and warm.


    "No, to remember..." She sighed, still staring into the distance. "That the power of kin is among the stars, not on earth."


    The conversation is clearly going to be difficult, Alex mentally concluded, and tried to change the subject:


    "A philosophical place. Beautiful, and thought-provoking."


    A dreamy smile slid across the Baroness''s lips: "It''s a good place to think."


    Alex was silent as if to suggest to Kayrin, to speak further.


    "You know, I''ve been thinking a lot lately," she said. "Is kinship a spiritual bond or a blood bond? What do you think?"


    "I don''t know," he shrugged and wondered. "Probably a blood connection. There might not be a spiritual connection to the relatives. But there''s still blood."


    "Yeah, that''s right... I didn''t really get along with Allesandro, you know," she admitted. "When we were kids, though, we were thick as thieves. My parents often came to Cassard in the winter to visit Alessie. We used to run around here all day, hiding from the caretakers. There are fewer damaged vehicles further away. It was almost impossible to find us there. We all came back burnt from head to toe. Baron Kouifi even wanted to get rid of it, but his parents told him not to. It was a pity for such a beauty..."


    Alex listened to this sentimental monologue, wondering feverishly how to proceed. He was spoken of in the third person, and Kayrin might as well have said, "Hey, I know you''re not Lord Cassard". She, too, had a blaster on her belt, and he didn''t want to have to compete with her reaction time.


    On the other hand, why would she attack you? came a sobering thought from an inner voice. She obviously didn''t find out about it today, and if she wanted to turn you in, she had plenty of time for that. And she called for a ''chat''. Clearly, she''s going to blackmail me.


    This version sounded reasonable, and there was nothing very scary about the blackmail itself:


    At least I''ll find out what she wants out from under me after all, Alex decided as he calmed down.


    "...But then something happened," the baroness continued, frowning slightly. "I was twelve, and I felt incredibly grown-up. And Alessie, he was..." She looked up at the sky as if searching for the right words. "It was as if he had deliberately become completely nasty, stupid, and arrogant. He must have been going through an initiation, trying on purpose to keep the number of people around him to a minimum. Ironic." She sighed. "Knowing a man since he was four years old and finding out he was an Adept too, only now. When you can''t change anything."


    "Kayrin," Alex tried to sound genuinely surprised, "why are you talking about me in the third person? And what adepts, anyway?" He decided not to "stonewall" until last to see what else she had to say.


    She finally turned to him and gave him a look more like a blaster shot.


    "We both knew what was going on back then. During the assassination attempt at the castle. You know I''m an Adept. I know you''re an Adept and not Alessandro Cassard, but someone else in his body."


    Alex glanced at the orber circling around them, I wonder how reliable that thing is.


    "What makes you think that?" He asked out loud, trying to look as innocent as possible.


    "I''ve known Alessi since I was a child! I could feel him through any defenses," she cut off and added in a calm tone. "Well, it''s obvious you''re an Adept because only two very powerful Adepts can swap souls."


    "Is that why you almost killed me then?"


    "Yes," the Baroness nodded grudgingly. "I was frightened. When I started the scan, I expected to see a shapeshifter or a spy in disguise. But suddenly, the Adept. And stronger than me. Although you have to admit, I''m not exactly what you''d call weak. I thought maybe I''d be fast enough to get the sword..."


    "What made you change your mind?" The feigned curiosity in Alex''s voice was replaced by a completely genuine one.


    "I decided what the demons..." She shrugged. "Why kill you when we can negotiate? Besides, it was almost a second later, and I was still thinking freely. So you shouldn''t have lied about your manifestation." Kayrin added, stumping Alex. "You''re definitely not a telepath. Probably a seer, considering how lucky you are. Although I bet you set up the first assassination attempt with Allesandro, right after the ritual, to give you an alibi...."


    "Why did you backtrack in the castle, then?" he asked, deciding to leave the matter of "manifestations" for later when he knew more about the Adepts.


    "You have a visual recording system in your bedroom," Kayrin smirked. "I didn''t know if it was on or off."


    "And?"


    "It was on, but I took the sticks away before Countess Durlurl''s men got to them."


    "Did you ever think for a second that I wasn''t an adept after all?" Alex asked with a sly look.


    "Well, that would mean you were in this body by the will of the Flame itself... Or the Twilight. I''m not so religious."


    How the hell am I supposed to know if I''m adept or not? And sort out the ''visual record'' in my bedroom because it''s not decent.


    "All right," Alex said excitedly, patting himself on the knee. "What''s the deal, Sister Adept?"


    "I''m not a Sister..." Kayrin grumbled grudgingly. "I''m a telepath."


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    "Never mind..." he brushed her off. "What do you want?"


    "Mutual aid," she smiled, though she showed a few more teeth than was necessary for a polite smile. "I help you. You help me. And we keep our little secret together about who we are."


    "And how can you help me?"


    "I''ve already helped you," the Baroness said indignantly. "Half the people who got you out of Tallana were from my Arm. And I could help you further, like better impersonating Lord Cassard. Otherwise, if someone who knew him intimately would have seen you all bloody then..."


    Yes, of course, help be good, Lord Cassard agreed mentally and asked:


    "And what you want in return."


    "A ship."


    "What do you mean?"


    "I want a ship under my command," she explained. "Not some poor Corvette with no hyperdrive. A real battleship. One of the Triumphs, for example. And it''s a lot easier to do with a voice on the Privy Council."


    "Well..." Alex exhaled happily. "As you wish. Only they''re trying to marry me and by extension the voice..."


    "I promised to help you with that," Kayrin interrupted him.


    "Then I don''t see any problem," he shrugged. "I''ll do my best to make sure you get your Triumph. Why do you want it, by the way?"


    "Power..." she quoted again, bending down and plucking one of the little red flowers. "Lying among the stars." Kayrin pulled the glove off her right hand and placed the flower on it, looking at Alex expectantly:


    "Give me your right hand," she explained, seeing he didn''t understand.


    "Why for?"


    "We will swear on fire, on eternal friendship... Quickly!" impatiently exclaimed the baroness, wrinkling as if in pain. "It stings. Squeeze my hand with the flower. And don''t resist!"


    Alex reached out his hand and immediately regretted it. Kayrin gripped his palm in a deadly grip, and it felt like there was not a flower between their palms but a real burning flame. And as if that wasn''t enough, a heaviness, already familiar from his interactions with Kayrin, came over him. And a gray shroud cut off the world:


    "Swear it!" Kayrin demanded. "Do no harm to the Clan or the House. To help an equal in the Fire!"


    As Alex barely squeezed out the words of his oath, it was the Baroness'' turn:


    "I swear to help an equal in the Fire," Kayrin said in a single exhale and finally let go of his hand, dropping the flower to the ground. "I told you not to resist," she added, breathing heavily.


    "And I don''t know how not to resist." He hissed, examining the burned arm. It was a real burn, and it hurt like holding a frying pan. "Would it at least heal? I have to go to the "unofficial meeting with the leaders of Cassard".


    "You put some gel on it and put a glove on it. Ally," Kairin smiled, kissing his cheek in surprise. And wrinkling in pain, she pulled the glove over her equally burnt hand. She jumped off the "boulder" and walked over to the orber circling around them, catching it:


    "Is he alive?" Kayrin suddenly asked, turning to Alex. From the look on her face and the way, she said "he," it was clear that she was talking about the real Lord Cassard.


    "I don''t know," he admitted honestly.


    * * *


    The spacious pavilion, somewhere on the periphery of Castle Istal, was filled with the most formal-looking people, with servants in white offering drinks and refreshments. All this elegant company condensed toward the center, where Lord Cassard stood surrounded by guards in armor. The Guardsmen were complemented by men from Cassard''s police force, who stood on the perimeter of the hall.


    The "unofficial" meeting with Cassard''s "first men" was a natural extension of the "Day of Gifts" and was intended to give the "gift-givers" an opportunity to speak to the lord in a less formal setting. The event, unlike a Day of Gifts, was not mandatory, but both the Municipality and the Office were unanimous in encouraging the lord to attend. The lord was very curious to see what the "top people" were all about.


    To his great regret, on his arrival, he was immediately ''occupied'' by representatives of the Church, whom Alex, a little apprehensive, did not know how to behave.


    "You must take up theology again," assured him, "Sororitas Tanouf," a tall, elderly woman of about forty-five with a straight face. She wore a loose black suit, and her dark gray hair was cut in a very short braid. But despite her age, it looked very natural. She smiled incessantly, and around her grey eyes and the corners of her lips was a dense network of characteristic wrinkles. "How will your soul find its way to the flame if you have lost the knowledge that would show you the way!"


    "Well, not that I mind," Alex stretched out uncertainly, sending Taer a look full of mute pleading, Please get her away from me. But the "specialist," who was actively communicating with Major from Imperial Intelligence, only made fearful eyes in response. Kayrin, who was standing nearby, also listened to the "sororitas" with polite boredom on her face.


    Someone important, that''s for sure, Alex concluded grumpily. He hadn''t yet figured out how to behave with representatives of the planet''s dominant religion, so he was extremely polite just in case. So when the head of the Church of the Flame introduced him to Sororitas Tanouf. Alex felt it was better to talk to the person the head of the church represented. But the "sororitas", whose status in the hierarchy remained a mystery, had been babbling on and on for twenty minutes. She sincerely did not notice the respectable gentlemen with a model of a "starship" in their hands, stomping on the proximity.


    "Splendid!" Sororitas Tanouf bloomed, broadly interpreting the words ''Not that I mind''. She even clapped her hands for joy. "I will ask one of the sisters who has taken up the ministry to serve as your mentor, the first steps on the path of fire. I''m sure one of them will gladly agree!"


    "Sister Tanouf..." The head of the Church of the Flame Teesshir, finally decided to intervene. Judging by the look on his face, he was no longer happy about the "sister''s" garrulity. "Revealing the mysteries of Ryan is certainly necessary for a member of the family blessed by flame. But it seems to me that we are abusing his lordship''s time. He has worldly affairs to attend to."


    "Ah... Indeed, I won''t disturb you," she smiled again. "But I''m sure this won''t be our last meeting, Lord Cassard. One of the sisters will be sure to contact you." She added and left without saying goodbye. She walked toward the nearest exit, placing her glass on one of the servants'' trays as she went.


    Despite the difference in size and apparent age. Sister Tanouf reminds me painfully of Countess Darlurl. The same manner, Alex decided, seeing her off. For sure, it''s turned out to be some sort of ecclesiastical inquisition.


    The group with the "starship" stomping around, seeing that the sister had left and "his purity" was in no hurry to continue the conversation, worked up the courage to come closer, bypassing the massive figures of the guardsmen in their spacesuits.


    "Your Lordship, the United Shipyards of Cassard, would like to present to you the design of a frigate designed by our best group..." The tall, elderly man holding the model of the ship was not speaking. There was a shout in an unknown language from somewhere to the left, and a string of blaster discharges ripped through the air with a screeching noise as they streamed toward Lord Cassard.


    * * *


    Taer was having a polite conversation about nothing with Major Derbal when suddenly her gaze drifted, and her body control was taken over by the guider. She saw the policeman standing behind her slowly, reaching for his weapon. At the edge of her vision, from the right where Kayrin stood, a blaze of gold instantly disappeared in a smoky emission of burning cloth and flesh. The dismembered servant folded in half, and the upper half of her body began to fall slowly down through the thick syrup of air. At that moment, her right hand, which had drawn her blaster, sent the first shot into the policeman''s head and immediately changed target. The guider managed to kill two of the policemen, but the third still managed to draw his weapon, and before he could die, a string of discharges rushed toward the lord. One of them hit the arm of the man holding the model frigate, and two more struck "his purity" in the chest. The orange orbs burst with a crackle, sending out scatterings of scarlet sparks, and the Teesshire bent as if struck on the back of the head and slowly began to settle.


    At last, the guardsmen in armor reacted. One of them grabbed the lord, incorporating him into the radius of his shields and enclosing him with his body, slightly rising into the air and moving towards one of the exits. An evacuation plan began to be executed.


    The guider continued firing as if on a shooting range, not changing position, only moving her blaster to the next target. A few times her shield chirped with discharges, and suddenly it was over. The cold, emotionless rhythm of the battle disappeared, leaving her in the middle of the pavilion.


    The fire-extinguishing mixture poured down in a milky rain of howling fire-fighting systems. The smell of burnt plastic and the moans of a wounded man could be heard. Someone in the commotion was trying to open the doors, blocked during the Lord''s evacuation. The others looked around dazedly, trying to figure out what had happened. The attackers, frozen on the floor and on their white uniforms, the marks of the hits were clearly black. They were policemen, servants, and three of the guests.


    Taer got over the feeling of unreality of what was happening. She turned on the communicator and began to give out orders. She had to make sure that the evacuation of the lord was successful. To summon the Carpathians from Baroness Rionale''s Arm to cordon off the pavilion and remove the journalists. Contact the scouts, and call in the medics. And no local police. A few minutes later, she left Kayrin in command of the Carpathians and went into the small adjoining room where the wounded Teesshire had been carried out.


    It was a waiting room for journalists. It was practically empty except for four small sofas and equipment cases. Taer carefully closed the door behind her, cutting off the noisy ruckus and the loud, jerky commands in the room. The head of the Church of the Flame lay on the floor, on his back, a crumpled camera bag under his head. Sain Major Derbal was leaning over him. He looked up at Taer, who had entered, and shook his head.


    No chance. It was clear enough. The only medical team was scheduled to evacuate with the lord and were now on the frigate that had taken off. Those summoned were not due to arrive until five or six minutes later. Teesshire''s injury did not allow for so long a wait; if he was still alive, he was doomed.


    But the universal benefactor would still be alive. He turned slightly and looked at Taer:


    "Lord Cassard..." he wheezed, panting. "Is he alive?"


    "He''s all right, your purity. He''s safe. Don''t say anything, save your strength, the medics will be here soon." The specialist replied in a hasty voice, thinking in panic, Great shadows, his right lung is burnt, how can he speak at all?


    "Good..." Teesshir smiled. "It''s early..." he whispered, and he let out a long sigh and stood still. The wrinkles on his face smoothed out. There was a bewildered smile on his lips, and it was as if he were younger or relieved of a heavy burden.


    Major, leaning over Teesshir again, took a few quick breaths into his mouth and, placing his folded palms on his chest, pressed forcefully, then again. His body twitched in time with the presses, but Taer felt it was useless. She reached out to stop him as she suddenly saw the soft blue light in ''his purity'' eyes.


    Memories flashed through her, reminding her of the horror she had lived through, and she instinctively recoiled.


    "Don''t look!" she managed to shout, turning away before a wave of clammy fear touched her. But that was unnecessary. Major was already lying on the floor with his hands over his head.


    A nasty, gut-wrenching creeping sensation spread like icy tentacles through her body. Her lungs froze, and she choked, trying to scream. Suddenly she felt the homing switch on, her lungs on fire, and the painful heat transferred to her muscles, driving the stupor away. The blockade finally kicked in, and the fear receded. Taer turned and saw what she had expected to see, a ball of orange flame, the size of an apple, hovering over Teesshir''s body. The ball swayed faintly in the air, and there was a palpable whiff of warmth from it. She just stared at the flame for a few seconds when the ball poured blue and blew a wave of cool wind over her - disappeared.


    The guider stepped back, and her convulsive sigh coincided with that of Major. They were both shaking and struggling to catch their breath, drawing in as much air as they could.


    "...and souls are shaken, for there is no purity or power in them..." Sain Major recited in a hoarse voice, lifting himself and leaning back against the wall, "and their mortal will and wretched desires fill the soul with worldly fears..." He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, calming his troubled breathing:


    "Here you are, learning what it means to be ''dirt in front of the pure Face of Flame''..." he added with a wry grin, his hands shaking as he took out a cigarette case and a thin gold lighter. Pulling out two cigarettes, he held one out to Taer.


    "I don''t..." the "specialist" started, but her hands habitually picked up a cigarette, and she lit it quite automatically. She took a puff and coughed convulsively. "Damn! I can''t stand it, not even the smell, ever since I was a kid."


    Major shrugged silently and, letting out a long bluish stream of smoke, quickly whispered a prayer.


    They sat in silence for a few minutes. There was nothing to say, Taer did not dare discuss the appearance of the blessed fire, nor did the Major, it seemed.


    "And they weren''t going to kill His Lordship, Lord Cassard." Finally, he said, staring at one point. "If they really wanted to kill him, they would have carried a small charge. Inside the blaster so as not to arouse suspicion. And then one of the servants would try to put it, slowly, so as not to trigger the shield, against the lord''s body. If the Second had been on their side, it might have worked. But they rushed in with their usual blasters and some even with table knives..."


    "Then what was it? An act of desperation?"


    "I don''t know," Major shrugged, taking another puff. "Maybe they weren''t after the lord... Or maybe... The Cholans are Sinth. Suicide was an unacceptable sin among them. They knew sooner or later we''d find them all, pump them full of Lim''s serum, and find out. And now there are no survivors among the attackers, and there''s no way to interrogate them. Although I am very curious to know what it was, or who they wanted to cover up that they even sacrificed their lives."


    "Among the attackers was Cassard''s third deputy police chief. It looks like he arranged it."


    "Is he a Cholan?"


    "No, a cassardian in almost the tenth generation."


    "You see, there are so many interesting things we won''t find out now." Philosophically concluded the Sain Major. "What did one have to offer a man in such a position?"


    "Let''s leave at once," Taer decided. "Until the scouts have gone through the place, there''s nothing for the lord to do here." She declared and stood up, and headed for the exit.


    "Mistress Diltar." A voice called out to her at the door. She turned around and saw that Major had also risen and was looking at her with some embarrassment. "How did YOU know that one should not look at the blessed fire?"


    "It was a dream." She threw up and walked out into the hall, filled with people and bustle.


    * * *

 Chapter 34

    Chapter 34


    * * *


    As they ascended, the night was taking over. The trunks of the many trees, illuminated by blue lights hidden at the roots, grew farther and farther away, and darkness covered the summit. The grass, wet and shiny from the recent rain, creaked and slid under their loafers as they climbed a low hill lost somewhere in the gardens surrounding Blue Flame Castle. Slightly ahead of them, in her rightful knowledge of the path, was Lady Kayrin Baroness Rionale climbing the slope with no apparent effort. She wore a tight-fitting suit with a closed neck and long sleeves. The velvety fabric of which it was made was a deep navy blue, making Baroness Rionale literally disappear into the bluish twilight that enveloped the garden, making her look like a ghost.


    A ghost with a very seductive outline. Alex thought involuntarily, looking up at Kayrin. He walked a little behind because although he was technically the owner of this garden, he wasn''t at all familiar with it, especially at night.


    The hill was not high, and they were already at the very top, level with the treetops in a ghostly, witchy glow that flooded the orchards with a cold blue flame.


    "Here, I think." On reaching the top, Kayrin stopped and threw the ''plaid'' on the grass.


    The thin golden film folded into a small envelope touched the ground, and with a quiet crunch, it unfolded and literally spread over the top of the hill in a rustling, gleaming puddle. The "plaid", having finished unrolling, instantly gained volume, as if inflated, and changed texture, becoming soft and fluffy.


    Waiting for the "plaid" to unfold, Kayrin climbed onto it with her feet and made an inviting gesture.


    Alex squatted cautiously beside the Baroness and ran his hand over the rug. Under his palm was a thick, short piece of fur, or fleece, no, more likely fur.


    This thing, just a moment ago, was the thinnest of foils and even seems to be metallic. How could it possibly be? he thought, groping the plaid incredulously. It was several centimeters thick and dense. Some things, it seems, can only get used to.


    "You''re in danger of missing the whole thing," Kayrin said impatiently. "It''s about to start."


    As if to obey her words, the ghostly light that enveloped the trees suddenly disappeared, and the gardens were plunged into darkness. Only the castle still shone, a wavering blue light of the walls and the blazing bright purple spires.


    "Is this the way it''s supposed to be?" Alex asked quietly, wary. Even though their stroll through the garden was covered by almost the entire Baroness Rional''s "Arm" supported by a dozen in assault armor from his men. He, after the known events, was still nervous.


    "Yes," Kayrin reassured him. "The light from the garden is too bright. We wouldn''t see anything. Let''s get you settled in." She added, patting her palm beside her. "And look up. It''s about to start."


    Alex sat down next to her and stared upward as instructed.


    After Tallana, the sky of Copeira seemed... laconic. The crimson nebula that floated in the depths was crossed by a silver ribbon that had become a bit narrower, turning into a thin line. All that remained of the moon was a thin greenish crescent lurking at the very edge of the sky.


    Nothing else was going on. Alex spent a few minutes honestly trying to find something for which they had been walking through the gardens for almost an hour, but there was nothing. Then for a few more minutes, he entertained the hope that it was just Kayrin''s devious plan to seduce him, but it was unlikely. For one thing, they were in full view of the vast number of people ensuring their safety, and for another, after their conversation at Cassard, Baroness Rionale had clearly changed her approach to relations to a friendly-businesslike format. Which Alex, secretly to himself, periodically regretted.


    They sat in silence, looking up at the sky for about five minutes, and nothing happened. Alex was about to become indignant when he suddenly noticed a golden sparkle sweep across the sky, followed by another and another.


    With every second more shooting stars flashed in the air.


    "Are those meteors?" He asked, staring up at the sky, glowing golden.


    "Yes, Starfall..." said Kayrin with a faint shadow of sadness. "It''s been a year now."


    The meteors became more and more numerous, and soon the whole sky was lit up with golden flashes.


    It was worth the trip for an hour. Alex decided, admiring the shimmering sea of gold across the sky:


    "Very beautiful indeed," he added aloud.


    "You haven''t seen anything yet. This is only the beginning." She lifted herself and began to look around carefully. "Look!" She ducked down to Alex and pointed her hand somewhere down the hill. There was a faint glimmer of light at the base of the hill, and then, as if a switch had been flipped. Droplets of cold blue light spattered outward, streaming across the grass in a glowing wave, covering the entire expanse of the vast orchards.


    A few lights flickered in the grass beside them, and Alex reflexively reached for them to get a better look: a bud of a tiny flower was glowing, lost in the grass. The stem trembled and the light left the flower, rising up into the sky, leaving only the dark opening bud behind.


    All around, as far as the eye could see, countless droplets of light swirled above the garden, like shining rain falling upwards.


    "Copeirnican fireflies," Kayrin commented, keeping her eyes open. "They sense starfall somehow, and they rise into the sky every year."


    The fireflies kept rising and rising, gradually swirling into a giant glowing vortex around the castle.


    "Incredibly beautiful," Alex said admiringly, cocking his head. "How long is this going to last?"


    "Just a few hours. In the morning, the insect killers are switched on."


    "But... But why?"


    "They''re a rare kind of nasty-looking." Kayrin shrugged her shoulders in disgust. "And they respond to heat, too, and literally swarm over people."


    "So every year they are all wiped out? Where do they come from?"


    "In spring, they plant flowers with their larvae..." the Baroness began but paused, listening intensely. "There seems to be someone flying towards us."


    A characteristic throbbing hum was coming fast from somewhere on the side of the castle, now Alex could hear it too, and just in case, he removed the retaining loop on his holster and lowered the blaster''s readiness lever.


    A small open platform flew atop the trees, catching the light of the headlights, the strange interlacing of branches, and the glow of damp foliage.


    The platform circled their hill, rising fireflies sputtering out from underneath like sparks from a bonfire in a sudden gust of wind. There was a whirring sound as the gangway lowered, and Thaer was the first to descend onto the grass. The security specialist was in her usual spotless white tunic with scarlet floral embroidery on the right sleeve and her weapon. Although she tried to keep a mask of nonchalance, her eyes betrayed excitement.


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    OK, something''s happened, Alex thought as he saw Taer''s face.


    The glare of the headlights made it difficult to see who else had arrived with the specialist, but when black boots appeared on the gangway, Alex realized what had caused such excitement.


    The black boots belonged to a short, smooth-shaven man of about forty-five, with dark hair touched with a touch of gray dust, his gray eyes staring at Alex with mocking interest. His boots came with the coal-black uniform of an imperial security officer. Following him, shoulder to shoulder, monolithic as a wall, came down three other men in black uniforms, each about six feet tall and with a mask of indifference on their faces.


    "Your Grace..." Taer''s voice trembled faintly. "There is someone to see you."


    Did they really risk taking me out in the open like that, Alex thought feverishly, fabricating an accusation. Hell, they might not even have fabricated it if they''d dug up anything about Lyora and her company.


    Without waiting for his reaction, Officer SS stepped forward and bowed his head slightly:


    "Allow me to introduce myself, Stack Captain Plauth, Asanti Plauth. Acting head of imperial security for the Tail Sector." He smiled coldly at Alex and added. "Normally we just send two lieutenants with a couple of Sains on such occasions... But in your case, Lord Cassard, I couldn''t deny myself the honor of attending in person."


    There are four of them and three of us, and Kayrin is unarmed. But Taer''s standing behind the SSmen... Alex estimated the odds in a straightforward conflict. It wasn''t bad. He was wearing a personal shield, and most likely so was Taer. The SSmen had lightweight waistcoats, at best, and their weapons were the usual blasters. He had a good chance of surviving five or six hits and putting them all down... Except does it make sense? And would Taer back him up? After all, she knows I could be arrested quite legally. He gazed intently into the specialist''s eyes. She didn''t look ready for a fight. She was confused. No chance...


    The silent scene lasted a few seconds as Stack Captain Plaut, not noticing or pretending not to, turned to one of his attendants and took a small polished wood case from him. He took a few steps closer to Alex and, with outstretched arms, held out an open case for him. Inside was a small scroll:


    "Sovereign Prince Alessandro Cassard..." The captain''s voice rumbled with solemnity. "Truly, the Emperor summons you. Accept the Onstum, by the word of your ancestors and for the glory of your House."


    Alex froze, staring at the scroll, trying to figure out what was going on. From behind the SSmen, Taer gestured for him to take the case. After a few seconds, he got himself together enough to do it.


    Passing the case to the stack-captain and his escorts bowed their heads in sync, and turning over their left shoulders, began to climb onto the platform.


    Taer sent him a look of panic and started to follow them up to get the SS gentlemen to the landing pad with their flyer.


    With a soft throbbing hum, the platform rose into the air and swept away towards the castle.


    It was quiet and dark again. His eyes, accustomed to the blinding light of the headlights, could only discern a general outline.


    "Onstum..." repeated Alex, looking at the case


    "Onstum," the Baroness echoed, coming up behind him and embracing him with one arm while she took an orb from her pocket and turned it on to whirl. "I promised to help you with the marriage..." she added, leaning forward and peering into his eyes.


    "Onstum..." Alex repeated again, with a heavy sigh, and turned his gaze to Kayrin. Her black eyes gleamed slyly in the darkness, a smile playing across her slightly open eyes. He suddenly had the feeling that he was being tricked, but he didn''t know what it was yet:


    "And what''s my marriage got to do with it?"


    "What do you mean by that?" The Baroness was genuinely surprised. "Alex, you told me you didn''t want to marry Valerie, and I promised to help."


    "I don''t want to," he confirmed. "But what''s that got to do with Onstum? As far as I remember, it''s some sort of conscription service..."


    "Exactly." Kayrin nodded and settled back onto the plaid, stretching out seductively.


    "And how does that help me?" He asked, sitting down next to her.


    "You''ll be gone for exactly a year. Until the next Starfall. A lot can happen in politics in a year..."


    There was some truth in this; a lot could indeed happen in a year, and maybe the changed political situation would no longer require him to marry Val¨¦rie Bellar:


    "Besides, it wasn''t my fault anyway," he said aloud, understanding where the baroness was going with this. "I remember correctly that the Emperor''s summons cannot be refused, don''t I?"


    "Exactly." A white-toothed smile gleamed in the darkness. "You''re not going to be your own man this year, and there''s no way you could have faked it. You''ve never even been to the capital."


    Alex sat down on the plaid next to Kayrin, staring up at the sky where the stars fall were still blazing:


    "And how did you manage that?" He asked without turning around.


    "Oh..." stretched the Baroness. "It wasn''t easy. Actually, you were supposed to be summoned after a year." She explained. "And since the Emperor personally decides on the list of summoners, there was nothing I could do about it. But, two years of service in court gives you certain advantages. For example, connections in the Chancellery. When the Emperor canceled the summons for many members of the House of Melato, a replacement had to be chosen. And I managed to arrange for your name to come to His Majesty''s attention. From then on, we could only hope. As you can see..."


    "And what''s the catch?"


    "No catch," Kayrin assured him and added with a smile." But since the wedding is postponed, you must get a seat on the Household Council, which will be elected in the new year, and since you are leaving for Onstum, you must appoint a Representative."


    "You," Alex said half-questioningly, looking intently at the baroness.


    She bowed her head slightly: "That would be a wise decision."


    "And if I offer this burden to Isalaya?" Alex asked her, looking at her expectantly.


    "Lady Isalaya the Marquess of Turang will be forced to refuse," Kayrin smiled again, "as a person of clerical rank."


    "A clerical rank?!


    "Well, she''s a nun," Kayrin explained. "You didn''t know? She even still has her hair like a sororitas. She hadn''t taken the priesthood, of course, but she was not discharged, either."


    What the hell, in general... Alex was sincerely surprised. The Marquise of Turang''s hair was indeed unusually short for a local lady. But Isalaya refused to be associated with a nun. However, that wasn''t the issue at the moment:


    "Baron Kouifi?" he suggested.


    "Baron Kouifi is already on the Privy Council as a representative of his domain. And then Alex," Kayrin frowned, "we had a deal, I help you, you help me. I helped you. Now it''s your turn."


    Alex fell silent. Baroness Rionale had indeed helped him. Very helpful indeed. But to give her such leverage, just like that...


    It''s called greed. An inner voice commented on his mental tossing. What are you going to do with that leverage? You don''t understand anything about local politics yet.


    And that was true again; he on the Privy Council would, at best, just take a seat. But damn, he felt that Kairin had him wrapped around her finger, and he didn''t like it very much:


    "So you get everything you want, and then you send me off to the devil." Alex summed it up in an unfunny way. "You''ve got a lot of finesse."


    "Well, don''t be like that," she frowned grudgingly. "I wish you well. You''ll be a lot safer in the capital. It would take Intelligence and Security at least a year to clean up all the crap raised in the Sector. Some of the survivors may well have a score to settle with you."


    "So you''re suggesting I go straight into the jaws of the SS?"


    "The regional SS has absolutely no influence and no power in the capital. The Melatians, when all is revealed, will not risk operating in Court. They have already incurred the Emperor''s wrath. There, you''ll be safe."


    "Well, all right," he sighed, acknowledging her arguments. "What am I going to do there?"


    "I don''t know," Kayrin shrugged. "Whatever the Emperor decides. I was the Imperial representative on Carpathia for two years." She turned to Alex and patted him on the shoulder. "Don''t worry. You''ll enjoy the capital. New experiences, acquaintances, balls..."


    Yes... Out of the frying pan into the fire, Alex thought, and, breathing in the cool night air, he stretched out on the fluffy "blanket" and sighed in relief. For the first time in many days, he somehow felt light and free. What''s going to change, after all? He asked himself. What''s out there, what''s in here, I''m still in the middle of nowhere.


    It was a shame that he wouldn''t be able to take care of Cassard as he wanted to...: But he''s been on his own for six years now. Hopefully, he''ll last a year without me, especially since... Alex smiled at the idea. He would clearly need to leave someone to look after Cassard. Why don''t I ask Isalaya? She certainly wouldn''t be intimidated by the local Municipality, the head of House Fyron Intelligence, or the churchmen. She could keep an eye on Kayrin too. Given their avowed ''friendship'' it''s unlikely they''d agree.


    Alex turned to the Baroness and asked with a sly squint: "Well, will you at least write to me?"


    "I promise," she murmured in his ear, tickling his neck with her breath. "Once every six days, no less."


    "Why only once every six days?"


    "Alex, the delay in communication with the capital is three days."


    "Ah... I see," he stretched out and stopped looking up.


    They sat silently beside each other and simply admired. The fresh night breeze brought with it the smell of recent rain and the iridescent trills of the first finches, and the fireflies, appearing from somewhere behind and swirling, fell in blue droplets into the night sky, disappearing in a shining rain into the golden sea of Starfall.


    * * *

 Chapter 35

    Chapter 35


    * * *


    In the left window of the command gallery, the Tallana hung like an orange apple, glimmering with the sparks of the transit ships. From the distance, millions of ships in the transit Flow merged into a continuous silvery plume, with the Forizet Fortress floating as a gray pearl.


    Flag Captain Vitsul Tarreich was reclining half in his chair, admiring the view. He had an absent-minded smile on his lips, and his fingers were tapping a tune on the armrest.


    The Flag Captain had plenty of reason to be in high spirits. The unexpected trip to Tail Sector was a success. Although, the start of the trip had caused the command staff a near panic. Their ship, which had literally just come out of the slip, was snapped right from the first go-around. Seventy percent of the crew were graduates, to put it mildly, inexperienced and not yet used to the ship and its equipment. The ship looked like a newly hatched baby bird: many systems didn''t work properly, and some didn''t work at all.


    They were not told the purpose of the campaign, but rumor had it among the "most-informed-people-in-the-fleet": the instant communication operators were rumored to be either to break up the fraying Great Houses or to force them into submission. The problem with either of those two possibilities was that they were a patchwork group, not all of them knew much about the Tail Sector and the fact that they only had eleven warships in their fleet that could easily be classified as cruisers. If the Great Houses really decided to go up against the Emperor, it would be one toot for them. They had plenty of ships and experienced officers. Especially since the sector fleet, along with Admiral Felcherev, had gone somewhere unimaginably far away, and there was a risk that they could be crushed piecemeal before they could connect at Tallana.


    What''s most frustrating is that it would have been a totally ignominious and pointless death, thought the Flag Captain as he continued to admire the view. The way I got the squadron, we wouldn''t have had a heroic death, even if we all had set out to do so. And would have blamed it all on me as the leader of the squad. You''d think I put it together like that.


    But luck was on their side. The rumors were not confirmed, and there was no need to go to war. Instead, they successfully provided a ''barrier'' in the near sphere of hyperspace around Tallana until the main force of the sector fleet arrived. True, the engineering department had to work a minor miracle to power the main "plug" through the reserve storages, which were continuously pumped directly from the power unit. It was frightening to think what would happen to the resource capacity of the storage units afterward. But the order had been carried out, the honestly deserved commendations received, the experience gained, and now, the Dictator-class Large Linear Barriership, the Pride of Assara, was lying adrift in the fourteenth jump zone of Tallana conducting a full pre-jump diagnostic.


    Just half an hour more... Tarreich thought, and the smile on his lips became more pronounced. Just another half hour and the chaos of the Tail Sector would be left behind, dissolving into the precise order of hyperspace. The most important thing, Admiral Felcherev, would also be in Tale Sector, and that was probably the best part... The Flag Captain was distracted from his pleasant thoughts about the increased length of the command line by the drastic change in the tone of the usual working commands. He glanced down into the control room, an abnormal commotion coming from the operational communication terminals. A heavy stone was laid on his heart by the foreboding of impending trouble:


    Great shadows, don''t let this be an order to remain in temporary command... Tarreich prayed, watching the information he received as it flowed from one post to the next, climbing up the chain of command.


    The fuss that had begun with the communicators quickly caught up with the decoders, and then it was on to the black uniforms from the secrecy department. In a matter of two minutes, there was a clatter of uniform boots up the arc-shaped staircase of milky-white plastill, taking their wearer up to the command gallery.


    Damn it, I should have jumped straight away... thought Vitsul, seeing exactly who was coming up to him.


    Peleng Captain Kanir Agitom was senior on the LLB and part-time head of the service: "Communications and Surveillance". It was a very bad sign that a Peleng Captain was coming to report in person, and Kanir''s face looked a bit surprised and tense:


    "Sir, we have received an encrypted message from a local channel demanding the immediate boarding of a yacht with passengers. The source of the transmission is in the immediate vicinity. A yacht Aegis type. The transmission is encrypted in basic naval code, using the Imperial Seal key instead of a signature..."


    "Damn it..." Vitsul involuntarily blurted out.


    The chances of someone from the Imperial family deciding to visit their ship were vanishingly small. So that left only the "emperor''s shadows". And given the mess going on in the Sector it was no surprise that one of them showed up. With a heavy sigh, he pressed the communicator key:


    "Hangar Bay, prepare to take the Aegis-type yacht to the second deck." He ordered and, after thinking about it, called in the paratroopers, just in case.


    "I don''t think it''s the princess." He shared his doubts as he and the Flag Captain ascended the lift.


    "I don''t think so." agreed Kanir, adding with a chuckle. "But one can always hope for the best."


    The paratroopers had already lined up in a guard of honor, forming a wide corridor from the proposed landing site to the lifts, when the steel-grey Aegis, without any inscriptions or emblems, rumbled through the curtain of the biosecurity field with an iridescent hum. Soon the noise of the thrust generator died down, and the yacht came to a silent standstill over the red outline of the allocated pad. There was a faint hiss as the hatch in the floor opened, and a cargo platform with a single passenger floated down, a small orb swirling unstoppably around it, which made their unexpected guest look like a wavering charcoal black shadow.


    "It is a pleasure to welcome you aboard the Pride of Assara," said Vitsul, bowing his head as their visitor stepped off the platform. "And I would like to... Make sure." He added as he held out a dial pad. "Enter your personal code, please. It won''t take long."


    The black figure silently accepted the dialing panel, which immediately disappeared in a cloud of distortions created by the orber, and quickly returned it. During the moment, while the panel was changing hands and the orber was adjusting to the new target''s silhouette, Vitsul got a good look at their guest''s arm, but there were no surprises at all. He was wearing a regular light space suit, or in Navy parlance, a black ''hide''. The only certainty was that the "shadow of the Emperor" was not of heroic proportions and was probably a woman if it was human at all.


    All the explicit shadows of the emperor are definitely human. But does that apply to the secret ones? Vitsul genuinely couldn''t remember. And in principle, what difference does it make now? A woman or a mirlisti, if the code is confirmed I am supposed to act as if the Emperor himself is on board.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The panel beeped softly and illuminated green. Allocation of instant communication channel... request sent. It remained to wait for the control request to go through the long chain of instances: the sector office, the regional office, the united headquarters, the higher headquarters of the fleet, the Emperor''s office... Or do they have it through the Inquisition? I don''t remember...


    The uncomfortable pause dragged on, and still, no answer came, and Flag Captain Tarreich began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. They were sandwiched between two silent chains of ''honorary guard'' troopers. He and Kanir, as the two senior officers stood at attention just in front of the blurred figure of their guest, the orber work making it look more like a black flame wavering in the wind, all in complete silence.


    While the wait stretched on, Vitsul ran through his options as to why exactly they were so lucky to have such a fortune. For some reason, he did not doubt that this was the real ''shadow of the emperor''. It was unlikely that any of the crew, or himself, was such a significant figure that the higher powers of the empire were interested in him.


    We don''t even have any nobles in the crew, just a couple of baronets.


    It appeared to have something to do with the ship. The Pride of Assara could provide a hyperspace blockade, and because it was a very new ship, it had an instant communication facility.


    At best, they''ll just ''call it in'', and that''s it, thought the Flag Captain, looking blankly at the point that was hypothetically just above their guest''s head, or they''ll take us somewhere to block something. The worst options were simply not something he wanted to think about.


    Finally, after at least a dozen minutes, the panel beeped again. When Vitsul opened the answer, his eyes were dazzled with colorful visas confirming the correctness of the request, below there was a single line: "To render all possible assistance, to carry out any orders" signed by the personal adjutant of the emperor. However, this was probably unnecessary, as it was already clear that they now faced one of the "second men in the empire", and in the absence of the Emperor, it was the first.


    "Your Majesty..." The Flag Capital swallowed involuntarily and smiled somewhat tautly. "I beg your pardon..."


    "Don''t!" the figure rumbled, making a vague gesture with his hand. Orber must have been attuned to the distortion of speech, for the "shadow''s" voice was more like a metallic rattle. "No need to apologize, Captain. Your vigilance is commendable. Let''s not waste any time, order the operator''s room of the instant communication facility to be cleared, and escort me there."


    "This way, Your Majesty," said Vitsul, making an inviting gesture towards the lifts.


    ............


    Once in the control room, the "shadow" locked the door and released a small round droid, which began to thoroughly scan the room. After about a minute, it finished its inspection and beeped loudly, flashing a blue light. Making sure everything was all right, she turned off the orbiter, removed the translucent mask that covered her face, and began typing a request on the remote. After a few minutes, the screen opposite blinked, and a rotating emblem of the Imperial Office appeared on it. The screensaver lasted for a few more minutes until finally, on the screen appeared an elderly man of fifty, wearing a white navy uniform with gold admiral''s epaulets on both shoulders.


    "Your Majesty..." The Shadow bowed her head slightly, her voice rare feminine, even enchanting, without the orber. "I hope my call has not distracted you too much..."


    "Nothing I can''t talk to my own shadow about..." The Emperor brushed the matter aside with a touch of irritation. "I have been informed of the ''suicide'' of this..." He pursed his lips and paused for a moment, trying to remember the name. "Captain Tarbell... I hope you found out from him why..." He pouted with obvious anger. "How dare he..."


    "He knew about the prophecy, Your Majesty." She nodded in response, and seeing the surprise in the Emperor''s eyes, she continued, "Lord Velaske told him. It was all a Melatian plot. At least, the late captain thought so. They involved him, promised him the title of Lord, and a tenth of Tallana''s income... After it happens."


    "Such generosity." The Emperor grumbled, looking thoughtfully away. "How did they know?"


    "I don''t know." With a quiet sigh of regret, the shadow replied. "Lord Velaske died on Tallana before I could reach him during the rebellion over a decade ago. There''s reason to believe he was killed by his ''friends'' in the PVD, probably to cover his tracks. So it has not yet been possible to ascertain exactly how the Melatians came to know this. But people from Melato occupy very high positions in the court and even among the shadows..."


    "All right, that''s enough..." The Emperor interrupted her and added with a weary gesture. "I see where you''re going with this. I''ll follow them personally... Does anyone else know?"


    "Lord Velaske could not act alone. They killed their Ruling Lord, who must have been too loyal to his word. They were preparing to take over the whole Sector. It''s not possible without widespread support from within and outside the House. They clearly had confidence in the position of the Sector Fleet, not to mention its strange movements during the mutiny... At least ten initiates, maybe more, and who knows if they have the intelligence to..."


    "I said that''s enough." The Emperor interrupted his shadow again. "I''ll take care of the House of Melato, and I''ll take care of the Admiral too. What about Fyron?"


    "Countess Durlurll doesn''t know yet," the shadow said and added with a little shrug, "but it''s only a matter of time. She has an awful lot of spies in the House of Melato, and not just there... Maybe six months, a year at best."


    "And Lady Baala?"


    "I have no proof yet of House Kilret''s involvement in these events," the shadow admitted with a sigh.


    "Though I have no doubt you have been looking for them very carefully." The Emperor muttered disapprovingly.


    "Melato has a long association with House Kilret." She shrugged. "Involving them in the conspiracy seems logical. So does House Peltar."


    "Simply put, you are suspicious of all the enemies of your House."


    "I suspect only the enemies of the Empire." A shadow protested calmly. "For example, Tallana, and the other free worlds are official enemies of my House, and are known to be fronts for your government, but I believe that in this story, they are no more than victims of their own idealism, which the conspirators took advantage of."


    "All right." The Emperor sighed wearily. "Do your best to keep Countess Durlurl''s ignorance on this matter as long as possible. But without conflict and rudeness. And it''s unlikely the others will find out anything, but just in case, keep an eye out."


    "It will be done, Your Majesty." The Shadow bowed her head again, and a slight smile crossed her lips.


    The Emperor drummed his fingers on the table, sighed as if to relieve himself of his burdens, and added with an ironic smile:


    "By the way, I''ve already seen the new House Fyron Privy Council, congratulations, three votes..."


    "A little different from what was intended..." said the shadow with a little shyness in her voice. "But..."


    "But what matters is the result." The Emperor finished for her. "Well, if that''s all..."


    "There is something I would like to ask of you, Your Majesty." The shadow said hastily. "About Lord Cassard..."


    "What about him?" The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "He has already been removed from the Sector as you intended, and the Chancellery still has to struggle to devise assignments for him worthy of his family''s nobility, antiquity, and in keeping with his abilities..."


    "He gives me certain..." The Shadow was silent for a moment, picking her words, "Let''s say doubts. You couldn''t have arranged for him to be checked secretly but very, very thoroughly."


    "Adept?" He frowned. "Well, when he arrives, he''ll be dealt with."


    * * *


    When the door to the communications room opened again, a wavering black silhouette reappeared before Flag Captain Vitsul, who had been waiting in the corridor all this time:


    "Flag-captain." He murmured. "As soon as I leave your ship, you will leave immediately for the jump."


    "It will be done, Your Majesty." He bowed his head, dancing with happiness in his heart. At last!


    "Do I need to tell you about the secrecy?"


    "I do understand, Your Majesty. The necessary steps will be taken..."


    "Good." Interrupted him shadow. "This will be monitored. Very thoroughly."


    Soon a small Aegis starlet separated from the Assara Pride''s white hulk and instantly dissolved into the millions of sparks in the Tallana''s transit Flow. The ship, having disposed of its unexpected guest, vanished into the blue of hyperspace.


    * * *

 Book 2. Bastions of Pride Chapter 1

    Chapter 1


    * * *


    "Lord Cassard, have you ever seen such an enthusiastic group of hostages?" Lady Nadine said with feigned surprise in her voice. "Great shadows. It seems they''re about to elbow each other."


    "I think there''s a scientific term for it..." continued Lady Pell, tapping her long polished nail on her chin thoughtfully... "Sacrifice syndrome... or is it? ... Hostage syndrome."


    ...Stockholm syndrome... He was about to correct her, but he stopped himself in time with a neutral chuckle. His lordship Lord Alessandro Cassard did not need to know such words:


    And I don''t think there''s any Stockholm, so the name must be different. He thought and then was belatedly surprised. The "Arrival" ceremony had not started for some reason, and they had been bored at the top of the artificial hill for almost an hour, all alone. And this phrase was the first attempt at communication by the blood princess of the Great House Peltar.


    Alex looked up curiously at Lady Nadine. Her perfect, aristocratic features were completely impassive, but in the green eyes of this red-haired beauty, there was a whimsical mix of boredom and judgment with a slight tinge of contempt.


    More boredom, perhaps. He decided.


    Temporarily deprived of her usual surroundings of numerous suitors and occasional girlfriends, Lady Nadine seemed desperately bored.


    What''s lonely at the top... Only you and your enemies.... Or rather an enemy... just me, that''s all conversation partners. He smirked in his mind and put aside the infoblock with another batch of economic reports, and smiled at her for real:


    "I think you should be more lenient with them," Alex said, trying to keep the conversation going.


    The object of their discussion was a group of similarly young but far less noble and influential nobles. They, by their status, were situated on the lower tier of the hill and now having abandoned their seats, were gathered by the huge windows of the pavilion that covered the garden, trying to get a glimpse of the Imperial Palace.


    A huge artificial hill, at least fifty meters high, which adjoined the outer walls of the imperial castle, was composed of eight lush terraces connected by a long winding path along which there now stood tables and armchairs for the many noblemen who came to the castle. They were arranged in strict accordance with the title, antiquity, nobility, and the position a nobleman held in his house. From knights to earls and barons, from forgotten grandnephews to heirs and heads of clans, higher and higher. The nobility got nobler, richer, more influential, and so on up to the top.


    And at the top were they, with a lineage lost somewhere in the darkness of millennia past, the highest of all present. Lady Nadine Pell, the younger sister of the Ruling Lord of House Peltar and second in line of succession, with a personal estate the size of a continent. And he, Lord Allesandro Cassard, head and only representative of the Cassard family, whose ancestral domain included a planet with a population of fourteen billion.


    Enemies... No, that''s kind of pompous, more like adversaries. Alex mentally corrected himself.


    Their feud was aristocratic and refined to the extreme; there was nothing personal about it at all. Only very high politics and old family scores they had both inherited.


    Hurried footsteps were heard from outside, and one of the stewards almost ran out into their clearing, trying to catch his breath as he went:


    "Your Ladyship Princess Pell. Your Serene Highness, Prince Cassard," he said, bowing in a bow that contrasted with a face grey with horror.


    I wonder what could possibly have gone wrong. Alex thought absently, trying to imagine what sort of "messes" might be possible at ceremonial events. Three maidens are drunk out of their minds and they''re being hastily replaced? Does someone have a broken heel or a torn hem?


    That was the third assurance that: "it''s about to start" in the last forty minutes.


    And it''s not starting.


    After receiving gracious nods from their "Lordships", the steward immediately disappeared, sounding at once to be on the run. He soon reappeared within sight on the next level of the hill and, bowing courteously to the nobles below, ran on down a winding path lavishly decorated with green vegetation.


    This is the fourth time. Shitty job.


    "Imperial titles..." snorted Lady Nadine, glancing up at the Imperial Steward as he moved swiftly away. "When I am suddenly transformed from ''Lady Pell'' to ''Her Serene Highness Sovereign Princess Pell'' upon my arrival in the Capital, I am sickened by the air of that loquacious pathos."


    For an heiress to one of the great aristocratic Houses, Nadine Pell had an unusually democratic, even rebellious, attitude which she demonstrated at every opportunity, particularly when it came to imperial power.


    Must be all about education. Alex thought as far as he knew, instead of the typical home education of someone of her standing, Nadine had graduated from the University of Tallana, which, as the recent rebellion had shown, was quite a hotbed of freethinking. I wonder what her parents had in mind when they sent her there? Or did she insist?


    "I wasn''t used to it at first either." He agreed aloud. After all, it wasn''t even a month before I was in the body of an aristocrat. He added mentally.


    "But, man gets used to everything." Alex continued aloud. "Isn''t that so, your most Serene Ladyship, Nobleborn and Most Serene Princess of the Blood of Pell? If I have omitted something of your full title of honor, please excuse my memory as you know it is not what it used to be after the poisoning."


    "Is it only memory?" asked Lady Nadine, and defiantly, with a weary sigh, she covered her face with her palm. It would seem that she was indeed dizzy.


    This round is clearly for her. Mentally, Alex admitted.


    The verbal banter had been part and parcel of their interactions with Lady Nadine from the very first time they met. And it seemed to suit them both completely. At least it diluted the boring ceremonies.


    "By the way, I bet in your first Onstum, you too, were suffering from curiosity." He continued the conversation, which was interrupted by the arrival of the stewards.


    "Me?" Lady Pell raised an eyebrow. "No, I was rather longing to get out of here. And Lord Cassard, it''s your first time here, too..." she added, seeing the irony of doubt in her companion''s eyes.


    "Lazy..." Alex admitted with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders. "It''s a long walk. And the stewards had been assuring me that the ceremony was about to start"


    "In any case, it''s a waste of time." Nadine stated categorically, "The palace must be seen from the air. Well, unless the Almighty Emperor decides to send you to the frontier as an observer of our tyranny, you will have another opportunity to see the capital and the palace. Though I have to say that for the fourth time, it''s all boring."


    "Well, maybe this time they''ll send you somewhere as an imperial observer for a change?"


    "Me?" She arched a very eloquent eyebrow again, emphasizing the absurdity of the suggestion. "I''m doomed to get some colorful court position. Dictators prefer to keep those who resist them close so they can strangle them at any moment."


    Alex chose not to comment on the politically straightforward phrase, limiting himself to a neutral smile. After all, he had come to the capital to sit out the politically turbulent times, not to get involved in a political scandal. But Lady Nadine appeared to understand everything in her eyes:


    "I see you think differently?"


    Oh, the hell with you... take it, beauty.


    "As you know, I have lost my memory." Just in case, he reminded me again. "And perhaps I lack completeness of information or experience. But from my point of view, "dictatorship" and tyranny do not look like that at all."


    "Is that so?" Nadine grinned with interest and leaned towards him with a hand under her chin. "Maybe you could give us some arguments then?" she suggested, smiling sweetly."


    "Why not... Look at our conversation from the outside. Do you understand that it would have been impossible in a real tyranny and dictatorship? You spoke ill-favorably about the Empire, the Emperor, and not somewhere in your castle, alone with your confidants, in utterly protected and shielded chambers, with the hum of the suppressors ringing in your ears. No, we''re in a garden adjoining the imperial palace, surrounded by servants and, worse, droids, with recording devices hidden somewhere, and to top it all, you''re talking to me. A representative of, shall we say, not the friendliest of houses, and let''s be honest, politically, we''re adversaries. You can''t be sure I won''t report this conversation, though it might not be very noble of me..."


    "Even if I did? If you were to report our conversation, or even if there were recording devices hidden somewhere in the room, even though it''s just not appropriate. But I was just making a point. I did not insult His Majesty. I did not call for mutiny... I have nothing to accuse him of. No court would have found it a crime."


    "What court...?" Alex''s eyes widened in surprise, "No..." he shook his head. "There wouldn''t be any court. We''re talking about tyranny, aren''t we? A dictator? A real tyrant doesn''t need to bother with a trial. He does what he wants. Dissenters are removed, and those who resist are destroyed. No objections, no other points of view. The dictator''s word is the law. The inconspicuous, silent men would just take you away, that''s all. You''d disappear quietly into some dungeons."


    "Would I just be taken away?" Nadine smiled indulgently. "In front of everyone?"


    "It doesn''t have to be in plain sight." He shrugged. "Maybe they wouldn''t want to spoil people''s holiday and try to do it discreetly when no one was looking. At night or early in the morning. In a cargo aerocar labeled Bread. In a real dictatorship, that would be the case. But as you can see, no one is taking you away, you are not afraid of anything, so I conclude that this is not a dictatorship."


    "You''d think, Lord Cassard," snorted Nadine, "that you had some perfect benchmark for dictatorship in a neutral gas capsule, and you have something to compare it to."


    I really do have something to compare it to. thought Alex, Earth''s history had no shortage of dictatorships of all kinds. But he shrugged his shoulders in response. I''m getting carried away enough as it is, I''d better not raise any unnecessary questions.


    During the time they had been talking, the ceremonial conflicts seemed to have been resolved. The stewards scurried about seating everyone back to their seats, and soon everything was ceremonial. On the lowest tier of the garden came the ushers: the maidens in gleaming court dresses and the imperial guards in full sea-wave uniforms. They came in a majestic, sparkling wave that flooded the garden, and as they swept up the hill, they slowly began to climb up the paths to find their charges. They were to accompany the nobles who had arrived on the onstum during their stay in the imperial palace.


    And make sure no one screws up during the ceremonies, of course.


    Judging by the leisurely speed of the ascent, they had to wait another twenty minutes for their escorts. And then another flight to the central part of the palace and more ceremonies there. Unhappily Alex thought, tracing the upcoming route with his eyes. At that moment a group of six sturdily built young men in black uniform of imperial security, with a concentrated look, appeared from somewhere on the side from behind the lush bushes which ran along the edge of the garden and disguised the passages intended for the servants, came into his sight. Quickly they crossed a short distance and found themselves one level below, just below Alex and Nadine, where three elderly representatives of the House of Melato were talking quietly. The conversation was interrupted when the SS men surrounded the surprised-looking Melatians.


    "Lord Tosso, Baron Lovilli." A lean but visibly wiry man in his forties, with sharp features and bright gray eyes, turned to those seated, bowing his head slightly. He seemed to be in charge, though there were no insignia on their black uniforms. "Please come with us."


    "What''s the matter," one of the Melatians asked imposingly before he was unceremoniously yanked out of his chair and held up by his arms.


    "You''re under arrest." With an ironic smile, the "lean man" reported as they were dragged past him.


    "How dare you..." One of the arrestees, who must have recovered from the shock, tried to wrest his hands from the clutches of the burly Security guards, but he was poked in the side with something. There was a quiet, dry hiss and a faint glint of blue sparkle. Melatetz immediately collapsed, hanging on the arms of the guards.


    "If you have any questions, you may put them to my superiors. You''ll soon have the opportunity to do so." The gaunt man said in a neutral tone to the only remaining nobleman, showing an open left palm.


    There must have been some kind of badge or identification clutched in his hand because the Melathean, who seemed to be about to burst into an angry tirade, suddenly went pale and swallowed the words that were about to come out.


    Satisfied with the effect produced, SS-man, with an attentive glance, looked over the clearing, and at that moment he noticed Alex and Nadine, who were watching the show from above, spellbound. He gave them a piercing look, bowed his head in greeting, and with a two-finger salute turned on his heels and hurried after the others.


    It took less than a minute, and because of the location of the terraces, the scene was only visible from above and went unnoticed by the vast majority of the nobility, already engrossed in the ceremony that had begun.


    "Did you mean something like that, Lord Cassard?" Lady Nadine was pale and frightened, but there was so much anger in her voice that Lord Cassard gave her a surprised look. "I must admit that I was really wrong. Your idea of dictatorship is much more accurate than mine."


    "But they didn''t take you away..." He muttered quietly, just to reserve the last word.


    "§°... " She twinkled her eyes and quoted his own words. "Maybe they don''t want to spoil people''s holiday and try to do it inconspicuously when no one''s looking. At night, for example, or early in the morning.


    "I hope not." With a sigh, Alex replied, trying to add a conciliatory tone to the situation that was no longer conducive to pique. "I wouldn''t want to lose such a pleasant companion."


    The emperor''s palace was beginning to seem a much less safe place than he had been led to believe. Just removed, very, very powerful people, though they sat lower down, it was nothing more than a tribute to tradition. Unlike Alex and Nadina, they held real power in their House.


    Thoughts, excited by what I saw, ran chaotically through my head and generated a scattering of versions of what had happened:


    Could the Emperor have become aware of any connection between these Melatians and the uprising or attempts on the reigning lord''s life? There''s still an investigation going on, something became known, and they were informed by instant communication and on arrival right under the arms. Or maybe they were summoned to the onstum on purpose to arrest them? In isolation from the support of their home, including the force. After all, assuming that they dared to contact terrorists and organize a mutiny, who knows what else they might dare to do? In addition, the emperor may not be interested in inflaming the fact of the participation of the high nobility in all this. Then this strange arrest makes perfect sense. It became known about their participation, they did not want to cause a scandal, and they were summoned to the onstum, where they were quietly arrested. Mutiny and an attempt on the lord of the empire, each one separately enough for an arrest, but together... Alex shivered, he felt uncomfortable, and somewhere in the depths of his chest, an icy worm of fear lurked. Because, in a certain sense, he, too, had been part of the rebellion and had ordered the murder of the Lord of the Empire. No, he had an excuse, of course, that he had to take part in the mutiny, otherwise, he would simply be shot, and the assassination attempt he had organized in pure self-defense- on those who wanted to kill him... but...


    Stolen story; please report.


    Illegal actions, as the saying goes: "Sure as eggs are eggs".


    There was another possibility, which I didn''t want to think about at all. This arrest was nothing more than an attempt to remove dangerous witnesses, a failed operation of the Imperial Security Service, and that there really was an operation, and not the actions of several functionaries bribed by Melatians, as they now try to present it.


    And then I might as well be on the shortlist, the biggest witnesses. Alex concluded with a fallen heart. The only hope is that they''re just not aware of my awareness.


    While he silently tried to digest what he had seen, a wave of guardsmen and maidens, thinning on the way to a thin stream, managed to get almost to the top. At the level where the prisoners had previously been seated, a maid of honor separated from the "brook" and approached the only remaining representative of the House of Melato, who was still in shock.


    Judging by the fact that there was only one maid of honor, the organizers knew about the arrest in advance, otherwise, they would have sent three people. But, unfortunately, that didn''t tell him much.


    Further up, the only couple that was obviously supposed to "meet" Alex and Nadine moved on. They turned, followed the curve of the path, and temporarily disappeared from view. Just a minute later, they reappeared, already in the upper clearing:


    A stately, dark-haired guard was leading a tall girl with piercing blue eyes, also dressed in a guardsman''s uniform. Her pitch-black hair was cut short into something resembling a braid. She looked about twenty-something, but Alex forbade trying to define her age by her appearance long ago. She might as well have been thirty or sixty. The girl walked slowly and with a visible effort, for over her uniform was a long cloak or plume decorated with a complex pale purple and floral pattern, which stretched behind her another three meters, not less, inevitably clinging to everything that came in her way. On her well-shaped face, with its neat mouth and slightly upturned nose, there was a tense mask of social politeness, but in her eyes, there was an unladylike sternness.


    The guardsman, on the other hand, was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that he could have been mistaken for a synthesized hologram of the "dream man". He was tall and perfectly built. His dark hair contrasted with his bright green eyes. A handsome young face with a strong chin and straight nose managed to be both masculine and refined. Gold embroidery glittered on the immaculate navy blue uniform, the gloves could be used to set the balance of white in the most capricious technique, the arrow on the dark blue pants was sharp as a razor blade, and the soft low boots were polished to the extent that they resembled two black mirrors.


    She''s being greeted like that, and she''s cussing at the empire nonstop. Alex was indignant in his mind as he looked at the "greeters". The obvious unfairness of what was happening was obvious. Honestly, I should have gotten some mind-bogglingly beautiful maid of honor, and Nadine something less presentable and as boring as possible.


    The greeters came closer and bowed their heads in greeting.


    "Imperial Guard Stack Cadet Arlet Santo." The guardsman introduced himself by raising his head and dashingly clicking his heels. He let go of his companion''s palm and extended his hand in a snow-white glove to Nadine. "Glad and proud to accompany your ladyship to the onstum!"


    Lady Pell, with an unusually warm smile for her, accepted his hand and rose from her seat.


    As she approached closer, Nadina quickly exchanged courteous nods with the girl in the Guard uniform. They were clearly acquainted and clearly not friends.


    "Imperial Guard Second Wing Chief Captain, Artala Niazur." The girl introduced herself, stretching out stately and clicking her heels together, though much less dashingly. "I''m pleased to welcome your lordship to Weylar Talis.


    A whole captain, Alex whistled mentally, inwardly softening toward those who had organized the meeting. Even his modest knowledge of the local military hierarchy was enough to realize that the captain was immeasurably more than a stack cadet. How old is she really, then?


    She came even closer, holding out her hand to Alex, and it was clear that her incredible cloak was held around her neck by a massive, intricately decorated gold chain.


    This is a mantle of the Order, not a cloak. From what he read, Alex remembered that the appearance of the greeters at "solemn" events was strictly regulated, and all elements of their dress were essentially uniforms, where every detail meant something. That was why the mantle was a sign that Artala was also a cavalier of some order. That meant that the person they were greeting was not an ordinary one at all.


    However, ordinary greeters are not allowed to Lord Cassard by status. Unfortunately, that was where his knowledge, which at best could be considered sketchy, came to an end. He couldn''t even tell which order the chief captain belonged to. All he knew was that members of the most influential Order of the Arm wore scarlet and white robes. That was all. Which Order wore pale purple and silver, he didn''t know. I''ll be sure to check after the ceremonies, though, because I''m curious as to who exactly I''ve been assigned to accompany me.


    Alex also stood up and gave his hand to Artala, to which she responded with a faint nod and a secular smile. That was the end of the "welcoming ceremony". The first pair of Lady Nadina and the brilliant Guardian turned around and began their solemn descent. Alex was about to follow but was stopped by Artala, who gripped his palm tightly. To his mute question, she only shook her head negatively.


    "I thought..." Alex whispered a little surprised as Nadine and the guardsman disappeared around the first corner of the path, "We should go down to the lower tier with the others now. The ceremony should start soon."


    "Nothing important." Artala brushed it off with an inexplicable irritation, "We''ll join them before the grand opening."


    The gala was to take place in the central part of the emperor''s palace, And that''s in another hour by the most optimistic estimate. Alex felt a little uncomfortable, and he furtively looked around. But there were no burly men about to arrest him.


    So far.


    "And what are we going to do the rest of the time?" He asked aloud.


    "This time..." said the Chief Captain, glancing unhappily at Alex, "we''ll spend it doing me one small favor. Namely, that you change your clothes and make yourself look - worthy of a sovereign prince going to meet the Emperor!"


    "I guess that''s okay." Sincerely declared Alex, ostentatiously glancing over his "hunting" suit of light suede. And a lot better than a stone-embroidered nightie. "And then," he continued aloud, "I specifically inquired about this issue. There are no requirements in the area of appearance of arriving, the ceremonial protocol does not put forward ..."


    Captain Niazur gave Alex the look of a man plagued with nonsense and raised her index finger, urging Alex to be quiet:


    "Prince Cassard, I am aware of your rebellious nature." She pronounced in a tired tone. "And at other times, I might even have supported your escapade. But I have not been to court for two years, this will be my first, since my return, outing, and I want us to be dazzling." The "we" was emphasized. "So please do me a favor and give in to this little feminine whim. And besides, think of what''s coming in ten, or twenty years from now! This is not a meeting of the provincial nobility, where whatever you do will be forgotten in five years. This is a solemn reception at the Emperor''s! Its record will go into the chronicles. What will it all look like? Even if you don''t personally care about the honor of your family, at least think of the children!"


    "What children?" Alex was stunned, not expecting such a turn of the chief-captain''s angry monologue.


    "About yours, about your children, Prince Cassard!" She exclaimed with a wave of her hands.


    "But...I have no children. I think so," he protested, a little startled, and I don''t think Lord Cassard has any children either, and I haven''t heard anything about it in almost a month... Or... He got really scared. Hell, I only found out about a whole planet with fourteen billion people in three weeks, and almost by accident, so children on that scale can be lost for no reason at all.


    "Not now," Artala agreed, and unknowingly she reassured him. "But they will! They certainly will, and why should they be stigmatized? How will they be accepted by society after this? Tell me, is this foolish outrage really worth their misery? Worth the stain on all future generations of the Cassard family?!"


    Alex, who had never considered his actions from the perspective of "future" generations, was a little stumped by this question.


    "I hadn''t thought of that." He admitted honestly. "But... Your nightgowns with stones... that''s just... Isn''t there any other decent option but the mantle?" He groaned pitifully. "Maybe I''ll wear the uniform of my Arm Guardsman?"


    "But you weren''t in the service, and this isn''t a masquerade..." Artala began to object, but she paused as she ran her hand thoughtfully over her own uniform. "There may be some symbolism in that," she agreed, "but the mantle would be better."


    "Not the mantle," Alex stated categorically, interrupting the Chief Captain. They exchanged sullen glances for a few seconds before Artala finally gave up.


    "But why?!" She exclaimed, giving him a look of genuine incomprehension.


    "Let''s say..." He tried to articulate the reasons for his dislike of nightgowns in a way that would not arouse suspicion:


    "... it''s a matter of principle," he said with grim seriousness.


    "Do you have some kind of bet?" Artala asked, looking at him suspiciously. "Or something to do with religion? But you''re a secondarist..." She held up her hand as if to stop herself. "Never mind, if the mantle is so out of place, let it be a guardsman''s uniform. It''s more than decent, maybe a little too deliberate, but in your case, it''s more of a plus than a minus.


    "All right, uniform it is." Alex agreed tiredly. At least there are pants, and they''re not translucent fabric, but that stand-up collar is death to the neck...


    "Then let''s go." The Chief Captain declared, grabbing his hand firmly and heading in the direction of the bushes where the arrested Melatians had been taken.


    "Where exactly do you want to take me?" Alex asked in as neutral a tone as possible, just in case, and stayed where he was.


    Chief Captain stopped, her face showing sincere doubts about her interlocutor''s intelligence:


    "Somewhere where you can change, of course. You''re not going to do it here, are you? We''ll find a servants'' quarters... and it''s quicker, and there are elevators..." She pointed eloquently to her long robe.


    In the bushes was indeed an elevator, or rather a carefully camouflaged platform with a code panel, which, however, did not confuse Artala. She quickly typed some code, and the platform silently lowered to a narrow corridor, a laconic decoration that reminded more of warships than the palace of the emperor.


    The appearance of the Grand Prince and his entourage took a couple of servants by surprise as they hurried down the corridor with empty trays in their hands. They hesitated at first, but then, having probably seen exactly who came down, made an attempt to disappear from the sight of the nobles, as if they were not here at all.


    "You two, to me." Captain Niazur''s commanding voice cut short the clumsy attempt to escape.


    "You carry the plume," she declared and pointed a finger at the chest of the first servant who had run up and turned to the second. "And you, at once, find the head steward and tell him that I have ordered the white guardsman''s uniform of Prince Cassard to be brought here."


    Making sure her message was understood correctly, the captain took Alex under his arm again and walked quickly deeper into the maze of utilities under the garden. She was walking very confidently, obviously very well-versed in all these passages.


    A few minutes later, they seemed to be in front of a faceless, gray door, which Artala opened without knocking. The small, modestly furnished room seemed to be for the servants'' rest. At least that was what the three of them were doing at the moment, and there was a tray of sandwiches on the table and hot tea steaming in mugs. There were more mugs and sandwiches than the three of them needed.


    "Out, all of you." She ordered the captain, with so much ice in her voice that Alex shuddered. "You, too, out." She told the servant who carried her mantle. "Until Prince Cassard''s uniform arrives, do not disturb us."


    "They tire me out," Artala said, closing the door behind the hastily departing servants. She picked up the plume of her mantle and sat down at the table with the plume on a nearby chair.


    Once settled, the captain placed a small pendant with a suppressor on the table beside her and, without much ado, snatched someone else''s sandwich that had already been bitten. She took two bites out of the leftovers and reached for the nearest mug of tea.


    "Have a seat, Prince." She offered with her mouth full, pointing a second sandwich at an empty chair nearby. She ate quickly, grabbing large chunks while leaning over the table and keeping her elbows up so as not to stain her uniform. "It will take half an hour, at least, to deliver your dress."


    "It''s not bad, by the way, if you''re hungry," Artala commented on her feast. "Help yourself."


    She must have come from the lowest of the low. Alex thought, taking a silent seat across from me. A noble lady would have to spend a lot of time in the barracks to learn how to eat like that.


    Artala must have noticed something in Alex''s gaze:


    "Must be an unpleasant sight, Prince?" She asked slyly, as she continued to eat her sandwiches.


    The prince honestly cast his gaze over the captain once more as if seeing her for the first time:


    "On the contrary, you''re quite cute." He answered quite sincerely, a little surprised himself. Her cold sternness had disappeared from Artala, and her features had somehow softened. In front of him was a pretty girl with mischievous blue eyes, happily munching on other people''s sandwiches. How old is she, after all?


    The captain stopped chewing for a moment and, with an expressive eyebrow raised, measured Alex with a long, testing look:


    "You''re a man of weird tastes," she finally concluded. "I''ve heard something like that about you, though."


    "Speaking of rumors. We''re here alone, locked in. Won''t that generate rumors?"


    "Absolutely." Nodded the captain. "Something wild. She lured and dominated by force, that sort of thing."


    "Why not the other way around?" He wondered. "With my reputation, it would make more sense."


    "I''m a monster," she declared, gurgling her tea. "Can''t you see?"


    She did it rather charmingly. Alex was about to parry, with some harmless compliment, when suddenly he felt Artala''s hand touch his knee under the table. He moved away reflexively, but the captain insistently touched him again.


    Ignoring Alex''s astonished looks, she continued to pretend she was just drinking her tea. She looked back, however, not playfully, with obvious irritation.


    The possibility of flirting or a bad joke could be ruled out, and after a couple of seconds, he realized that the chief captain was trying to give him something inconspicuously.


    Stopping to dodge, Alex put his hand up, and two small objects settled in the palm of his hand.


    It was an ordinary-looking white pill and a miniature earpiece.


    Progress has advanced. They make cicuta in pills. It ran through his head when he saw what he had received.


    His first impulse was to throw it away. It is unlikely that, locked in the servants'' room, under the table, with the suppressor on, he was handed something incriminating. But, "one who shall be hanged shall not be drowned," he was already potentially charged with sedition and murder of the Lord of the Empire.


    Whatever they wanted to give me, I don''t think it would make my situation any worse. How much worse can it get? And instead of throwing it away, Alex silently turned his questioning gaze to the giver. What''s that supposed to mean, Guards Chief Captain?


    Artala clearly understood his mute question, and instead of answering it, she touched her ear, as casually as she could, but so that he could see it. It was a clear hint that the earpiece was worth using.


    The instructions are in the attachment. Alex sighed and put the earpiece in his ear as inconspicuously as possible. It''ll be funny if it''s some kind of explosive device.


    There was a quiet squeak in the earpiece, and he heard a voice modulated by the machine:


    "You have fallen into the domain of the Inquisition, Prince," Alex thought there was a gloat in the nonchalant tone of the machine that read the message, "The inspection is scheduled for the day of your arrival at Court."


    So I hid in the capital during a turbulent time. He thought unhappily.


    The inspection did not bode well. His very appearance in Lord Cassard''s body was, to put it mildly, an abnormal event. And although Alex didn''t notice any special possibilities for himself, Kayrin sincerely believed that the exchange of bodies was possible only if both changelings were adept. And she, being a telepathic adept, probably knew what she was talking about.


    "My ability to influence the Inquisition is not great," the voice in the earpiece continued, "but I managed to arrange for you to be tested by a rather weak adept. In the pill you were given, a double dose of Black Rainbow. It significantly suppresses the manifestations of the ability of all types of Gifted. Hopefully, this and your innate talents will be enough. The drug needs about a minute to take effect, and the effect will last for about two hours. After the test, try to drink as much alcohol as possible and refrain from going to the bathroom for three to four hours, during which time Rainbow will completely decompose."


    The mechanical voice fell silent briefly, and after a pause added:


    "As you can see, I am no stranger to gratitude. Good luck."


    With the gifted ones I understand, but what about the limited ones? thought Alex, hiding the pill and the earpiece. A clear greeting from the past from the real Prince Cassard. Who is this benefactor? Artala herself, or is she just the doer? If one has an entire captain of the guard as executor, Prince Cassard must have had some very powerful friends in the capital.


    Too bad I don''t know them.


    "What if I''m not hungry?" he said, looking expressively at Artala, hoping she would understand that it wasn''t really about sandwiches.


    "As you wish," she hummed and shrugged her shoulders, adding, "My business is to offer, Prince."


    Eating unknown drugs, with unclear effects, did not seem like a good idea:


    But a reserve, too, doesn''t stretch your pocket. Especially before the Inquisition inspection.


    Soon servants delivered a white guardsman''s uniform for Prince Cassard. Ten minutes later, he and Artala took their place at the very beginning of a huge motley wedge drawn from the uneven rows of nobles who had arrived at the onstum. Its tip, like a battering ram aimed at the gates of an enemy''s fortress, rested against the "ceremonial entrance" - an incredible height of the golden mirrored doors decorated with gold and metal vines on top of the mirrored surface. Somewhere behind there thundered the staff of the chief steward, evidently not without hidden speakers, and nervous whispering that filled the garden instantly subsided. The doors shook and began to move apart slowly, the light breeze that came in from that side was cool and smelling pine, and the narrow strip of sky above was the pale-pale slightly purple tint. When the doors opened, a long palace staircase and a large stone platform, or rather an open terrace, onto which the staircase led, became visible.


    The grounds were almost empty except for a guard of honor in white navy uniforms, standing motionless like statues, with their long, rifle-like blasters fancifully wrapped around the stocks of their white-gloved hands. They stood in two thin chains on either side of a blue carpet embroidered around the edges with some kind of luminous markings. The path began at the foot of the stairs and, crossing the small open space of the balcony dipped into a broad archway and disappeared into the glittering depths of the palace.


    To the music pouring out from all sides, the first couple of the brilliant Lady Nadine and her equally brilliant attendant began their ascent.


    Alex mentally counted to four, as he had been trained to do, and, taking Artala''s hand at the perfect "statutory" angle, he followed, counting his steps so as to match the pace of his escort''s footsteps. The ranks of the other noblemen who had come to the onstum followed. They descended the ramp in ever-increasing numbers and entered the palace, walking through endless enfilades of halls, toward the center, the throne room.


    The top nobility of the empire,... The offspring of the most influential and powerful clans....The Hostages.


    No. Worse. An inner voice, as always inadvertently, interfered with the philosophical train of thought:


    Conscripts.


    * * *

 Chapter 2

    <div>


    <div>


    Chapter 2


    * * *


    Taer lay on her back, her heavy breathing settling in a white mist on the glass of her visor. The automatics of the helmet whirred quietly, trying to clear the fogged glass, but they failed. It was hard to breathe - the weight of the armor plates pressed against her chest, pressing it to the floor. The world outside the fogged glass seemed distant and unreal, leaving only the deafening thud of my own pulse in her ears and the sensation of sweat slowly dripping down her face.


    This must be how they die. Taer thought aloof, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pull herself together.


    "Why are you doing this to yourself?" Her friend''s voice came from far away, and soon, instead of the ceiling, Taer could see Rima''s face bent over her:


    "Would you stop?" She offered sympathetically, and her dark brown eyes were full of worry and concern.


    Not wanting to shout through her visor, Taer shook her head in response, making it clear that she wouldn''t give up so easily.


    "Fanatic." With a sigh of regret, Rima summed up, stood up, stepped aside, and disappeared from sight.


    At the same moment, the helmet was filled with the piercing beep of a timer, and Taer tore the soft ball of escape cord with her teeth. There was the familiar clang of the opening pyro locks and the entire mass of chest armor, no longer restrained by the support of the exoskeleton, piled on top of her, letting out an involuntary wheeze.


    "Depressurization. Warning. Depressurize. Attention..." A droning sound echoed in her helmet headphones as Taer hissed with frustration as she tried to lift the armor plate that was pressing down on her with her shoulder and pull her arm out of the armor sleeve.


    The plate lifted, but not enough. Then Taer lunged with all her might, and then some, as if she were trying not to lift the plate but to dislodge it. With the third blow, she managed to free one arm, and with a triumphant howl, she tossed aside the chest plate and broke free of the energy-depleted armor.


    "Satisfactory minus." The training droid reported, and Taer''s shriek of victory turned into a groan of disappointment.


    "You''re just tired." Rima hurried to reassure her; she was admiring the view out the window and didn''t turn around right away, and when she did, her face was filled with horror:


    "Great Shadows, look at you!" She exclaimed angrily. Her face showed an urge to add a few less favorable words, but Rima restrained herself. "I''ll get the first aid kit." She threw it out as she ran out of the room.


    Taer looked at her friend with a surprised look and examined herself. She ripped the soft "thermo-skin" out of her training armor, and she scraped her arm. Slightly. She didn''t even feel it, but the scratches were bleeding badly. Thin, bright scarlet streaks of blood merged on her right arm in a bizarre pattern, as if trying to replicate the patterns of the Scarlet Branch of Cassards on her uniform. And in that scarlet weave, there was so much enchanting beauty and surprising tranquility...


    Right.


    Rima''s hurried footsteps could be heard from the corridor, and it brought Taer out of her stupor, and she shook herself up, looking around again:


    How long have I been standing like this, looking at the bloodstains? thought Taer with fright, reflexively hiding her hand and hastily assuming the most relaxed posture possible. A minute? Half? There were quite a few drops of her blood left on the snow-white fluffy carpet. She mentally retraced Rima''s route; it came out to about a minute. Great Shadows, I stood for a minute staring at my own blood.


    "So give me your hand," Rima declared, busily settling on the round sofa in the center of the room and opening a small medicine kit.


    Taer approached, trying to act natural, and at the same time looking at her friend. Did she notice? Not noticed?


    If she noticed, she didn''t show it:


    "If you get blood on my dress, I''ll be your mortal enemy," Rima murmured in a mellifluous voice. "Bloody, even..." she giggled as she began to spray it on Taer''s arm.


    The dress on Rima was like a cloud - white and airy, with just the right amount of shoulders and neck peeking out from the top and chiseled, swarthy legs underneath. A thin coal-black belt emphasized her thin waist and, in comparison, made it clear that the mistress was not so dark. The darkness of skin was one of Rima''s few complexes. And Taer certainly did not check but was ready to bet on a year''s wages - that this dress was the latest capital fashion, approved by the most influential magazines and society ladies, the most appropriate for a noblewoman of her age and position. At the same time, the dress looked very innocent and pretty, as did Rima in general.


    Her friend could literally radiate waves of amusement that stung old and young alike. One look of laughing dark eyes with long lashes and a dazzling smile with charming dimples on her cheeks and anything could be forgiven. What Rima actively used during their joint service - literally twisted the ropes from most of the senior command staff and was an object of adoration - junior and line staff. As the team''s favorite mascot, everyone just loved to spoil her.


    It wasn''t that Taer was jealous... It was just that sometimes she wished she could have just a little bit of that charm and cuteness.


    It''s hard to be a pretty little cutie when you''re two heads taller and more senior in ranks, Taer sighed in her head. Rima was rather short. Taer was taller than most men. Rima was dark, and she was blonde. Dark eyes, light eyes. Cutie and... Taer. Not that Taer complained about her looks, but let''s face it:


    There''s no way to call me cute. And now I''ve got a title, too. When people saw Taer''s regalia, most of them either looked away or began to flatter. The first was understandable the second was terribly annoying. That''s probably why she only actively maintained relationships with people she''d met before her career ascent.


    "Why, tell me, the Great House Fyron First Blade of Cassard, wear herself out with this pointless training, even to the point of injury?" Rima''s voice interrupted Taer''s self-questioning, and the touch of the cold spray on her scratches made her involuntarily wince. That stuff stung pretty badly. And Rima, with sadistic pleasure, was in no hurry to finish the procedure; instead, she continued the "interrogation," and with each question, her voice oozed more and more sarcastic sarcasm:


    "Who are you trying to impress, Sword? Why do you torment yourself? Why this senseless suffering?"


    "Actually, the ability to wear armor is for every nobleman." Taer snapped. "And one squire, too, would do well to practice so as not to dishonor his knight''s choice."


    Rima broke away from the procedure and, with defiantly pressed lips and raised eyebrow, threw at her friend a look full of genuine doubt about her intellectual capabilities:


    "As if you took me for the ability to wear armor as a squire. By the way, my knight, you still haven''t answered my question. Why torture yourself so? Especially in such a strange way."


    "I want to improve my skills." Taer sighed softly, staring thoughtfully into the distance.


    "What do you mean?" Rima was sincerely surprised. "You were born in that armor, and you were slipping out of it like water before you exhausted yourself. Excellent plus, plus. I didn''t even know there was such a grade."


    "It wasn''t me," Taer answered even more quietly, avoiding meeting her friend''s gaze. "I got the maximum: Satisfactory minus."


    "That''s silly," Rima murmured melodiously, surveying her own work with satisfaction. If you didn''t look closely, it was hard to even notice the existence of the scratch. "That''s exactly why you were put on the guider, to close the gaps in your own training. It''s impossible to know everything."


    "Yes, impossible." Taer sighed sadly. But it was hard for her to shake off the idea that the donor of her guider, whoever it was, was quite good at it. She''d never yet encountered a situation in which a ''guider'' was incompetent... Though I guess it just wouldn''t activate in that case, would it?


    "I don''t want to rely on it all the time," Taer muttered aloud. "I have to wear armor a lot lately."


    "By the way, don''t you find that strange?" Rima asked an obviously rhetorical question after she put the medicine cabinet aside and leaned back on the couch. Her friend''s inarticulate mutterings were completely ignored with true aristocratic candor:


    "Two young noblewomen, without much commitment, in the capital for the first time... Finding themselves here." She glanced defiantly around the room where Taer was practicing.


    Mirrored dark blue floors with islands of snow-white carpets, slender columns of dark bronze like twisted legs of glasses, intricate patterns on the pale blue ceiling, and antique furniture of lacquered aryat, not counting some old-fashioned decorations in the luxury room could compete with the imperial palace, if not surpass it. Plus, the magnificent view from the huge stained-glass window of the imperial palace itself.


    "Well, you know what I mean." Rima frowned grudgingly, sensing that her run was getting off to a weak start.


    At that moment, as if wanting to support her argument, the room was flooded with the unmistakable sound of an ultrasonic cutter that was working nearby. A wild, indescribable screeching sound seemed to penetrate directly into the brain and gave off an unpleasant vibration in the teeth.


    "There." Rima declared, wrinkling painfully, at the temporary end of this sonic attack. "This is some kind of construction site. This is no place for two noble ladies!"


    "The tower must be rebuilt in time for Lord Cassard''s arrival." Taer exhaled wearily. She already knew where this conversation was going. Rima had begun it several times before. "Time is short, and this is a critical element of his security in the capital. I have to control everything."


    "Well, check it out when it''s done!" Rima splashed her hands. "You''re not just a "personal security specialist" anymore. You''re the "First Blade of the Domain," and you can''t even control the construction site."


    "Controlling upon completion is pointless." Taer habitually objected. "Critical vulnerability can be created at the moment of construction. They''ll embed something in the wall, for example."


    "It''s a huge construction site. You can''t keep track of them all. Besides, you spend hours on that armor." Rima kicked the training armor that lay on the floor in front of them.


    "I brought with me two dozen spy droids. I personally programmed them. I personally review all their records: I can keep track of them all."


    "The ability to delegate is..." Rima was obviously going to continue her objection but froze at the beginning of the sentence, her face became serious, she was obviously mentally calculating something and frowning:


    "Two dozen droids?" She asked again, with a tone that didn''t bode well, "Plus the training... When was the last time you slept?"


    "Four days ago," Taer muttered, averting her eyes involuntarily. It made no sense to lie, even though it was a different specialty, but Rima had served with her and had a good idea of how long it took to control even a dozen droids.


    "Is it because of the nightmares?" Suddenly my friend asked in a whisper as if someone could hear them.


    "No." Taer laughed with relief. "Nightmares aren''t a problem." And it was true that, compared to the "other" dreams, nightmares weren''t a problem at all.


    "I don''t believe it." Rima spelled it out, glaring at her friend. "I know you like the back of my hand. Who are you lying to? Have you seen your face? You could put it in Tallan sauce - it''s so sour. What are you dreaming about again?"


    "Well... I don''t know how to explain," Taer admitted with a sigh. In the "other dreams," she didn''t dream about death, she couldn''t remember what she dreamed at all, but they were filled with a feeling of ringing pure freedom and a feeling that she could do absolutely anything, so similar to what she had experienced when she overdosed on Fenote, only stronger, much stronger. It was a lot worse than the nightmares - when she woke up and realized that it had only been a dream, it was so upsetting that the tears came out on their own. Reality seemed faded and meaningless, and she wanted to howl in anguish.


    "Have you ever had the experience of waking up and regretting it was just a dream?"


    "Regretting..." Rima thought about it and brightened. "It was!" She exclaimed excitedly, grabbing Taer''s hands. "I once fell so-o-o-o in love in a dream. An affair, just mind-blowing..." She sighed with a dreamy face. "I was so angry afterward when I woke up."


    "Well, something like that." Taer nodded, suppressing a flicker of envy. She would have loved to swap with Rima.


    "You mean it''s nothing like that?" She questioned her friend doubtfully. "No nightmares? Then why the four days without sleep?"


    "It''s just there was a lot of fiddling with getting settled. Nightmares are unpleasant, but they''re just dreams. You can control them. You know, conscious dreaming, self-training." She nodded toward the table on the far wall, on which there was a compact silver infoblock, like a case for a hairbrush. "It''s just like in the manuals. I write down dreams and try to consciously control the dream. Sometimes it really works..."


    Taer didn''t finish because Rima rushed to the infoblock like a wild wolf, like a lightning bolt. But Taer was quicker. The modified body has its advantages.


    "Give it to me," Rima demanded grudgingly, glaring at the infoblock.


    "No." Taer hid it behind her back and took a step back.


    "I thought we were friends." Rima immediately scowled. "I have no secrets from you."


    "There are no secrets there." Taer sighed. "No secrets, no secret desires or anything like that. Just unpleasant bloody scenes. I don''t want you to hear this. It''s enough for me alone."


    "Oh, please," Rima muttered grudgingly, turning away. She grudgingly sulked defiantly for about a minute:


    "Why didn''t you say anything to me?" She asked, at last, in a much more conciliatory tone, "I am, after all, your squire. I could have taken your place."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "You were so happy to come to the capital. I didn''t want to disturb you... Besides, it wasn''t so bad. Grii helped me..."


    The last phrase was clearly a mistake:


    "So it''s not about the workload..." Rima flashed her eyes triumphantly, and stepping closer to Taer, she asked in a conspiratorial tone. "Did something work out with the Griis after all? Tell me."


    "I don''t understand you. What could have happened to me with him in the first place?"


    "Well, it''s the second decade he''s been trying to hit on you." As if it were self-evident, her friend told her.


    "Grii?" Taer was genuinely surprised. "To me?! He''s just friendly, in his own way because I was wounded and couldn''t do anything with my right hand, and I''m his superior, and Lord Cassard was kidnapped, then this attack, and he tried to distract me somehow, even invited me, and..." Taer interrupted her flow of words, sinking into thought:


    "If you think about it, it really does feel like courting." After a minute, she admitted with a sigh.


    "The great shadows and the entire light throne!" Rima shrieked, demonstratively clasping her hands together and rolling her eyes. "Don''t tell me you just haven''t noticed anything all this time! You really are like a child at times."


    "You''d think." snorted Taer. "I had other things to think about besides the intentions of the double lieutenants in my charge."


    "Double Captains." Rima corrected her. "Still. What do you think of him?"


    "Well, captains. Grii? I don''t know... Suave, but... If you''re right, I bet it''s some ridiculous wager or something. A case of Bentar Dew to whoever gets first in the bed, First Blade of the domain. It''s quite in the Guardian spirit. I don''t want to be the subject of a bet."


    "And in my opinion, Grii is not the kind of guy who will bet on a girl he likes."


    "Don''t confuse yourself with me. I don''t fall into the ''liking'' category until the second week of the long voyage, and..." She decided to parry Rima''s objections in advance. "I''m not in the mood for a relationship right now, anyway."


    "Is that so?" Rima squinted, and suddenly with a shout. "Then give it back!" She threw herself at Taer, trying to throw her down on the couch.


    "What should I give you?"


    "Legs! You''re not using them anyway!"


    "I walk with them!"


    "You don''t need legs like that to walk! They''re made to drive men crazy! And you? "I have no time for nonsense." And always in uniform and uniform pants! I can''t even remember the last time I saw you in a dress. Speaking of dresses, you can''t crumple mine, so stop resisting!"


    There is no telling how long this might have gone on, but their wrangling was interrupted by the demanding beep of the communicator:


    "Please excuse my inappropriateness Daim Taer," rattled her secretary droid with all the courtesy possible, "but you asked me to remind you--you have an appointment with the Count in an hour..."


    "Yes, I remember." Taer interrupted; she was about to pass out, but the droid didn''t stop:


    "Also, Mr. Mellpurr."


    "What''s wrong with him?" Taer sighed tiredly, "We already sent him a letter."


    "He insists on seeing you and refuses to leave. He waits for you in the hallway."


    "How long has he been waiting there for me?" Taer asked. She carefully took Rima off herself and rose from the couch.


    "The current waiting time is one hour and forty-two minutes. You asked not to be disturbed except in the most extraordinary cases." The secretary reminded her. "I took the liberty of classifying Mr. Mellpurr''s visit as a non-emergency. Was that a mistake on my part?"


    "No, your assessment is perfectly correct."


    Mr. Devand Mellpurr was the head of the local division of Lord Cassard''s office and an unbelievable nuisance.


    "Glad I could be of service to my mistress, I am honored..."


    She didn''t want to hear the rest of it; this model did the job well, but great shadows, it was able to be complimentary for hours.


    "What''s going on?" Asked Rima. She put her hand to her head and looked out the window at the imperial palace with a philosophical sadness in her eyes.


    "Yeah, I have a meeting in an hour, and then there''s Devand..."


    "What meeting?" Rima asked indifferently, but she couldn''t hide the gleam in her eyes.


    "I bet you know better than I do what this meeting is all about!" Taer snorted, looking at her friend with displeasure. "That''s why you showed up all dressed up."


    Rima didn''t pretend she didn''t know what she was talking about:


    "He''s a count. He''s single, young, and handsome!" She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands.


    "How did you manage to find out that he was handsome?" She was always amazed at her friend''s ingenuity when it came to matters of the heart.


    "Elementary." She brushed it off as if it were really something very simple. "I called our representation. He tried to arrange a meeting with Lord Cassard through them first. So I talked to the girls there. They told me everything."


    "With such diligence and in the service..."


    "So, will you take me?" Rima fluttered her eyelashes, disregarding the hint of pretension.


    "Oh, of course, I''ll take you." Taer rolled her eyes. "You''d literally wear me out otherwise."


    She was about to head for the shower when suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to her:


    "I will, but not for free." She added with a knowing smile, "There''s a squire here who was just saying something about transferring authority and willingness to help."


    "I''ll do whatever you say!" Rima vowed, pressing her right hand to her chest, and after a short pause, she added in a low voice. "Anything a frail girl who can''t wrinkle her dress or ruin her makeup can do."


    "You''ll be more than capable of it," Taer assured her, heading for the shower room. "You''ll take on this Mellpurr."


    When they, led by a Taer refreshed and casual uniform without insignia (you can''t go around in rags), came out into the corridor, Mr. Mellpurr was indeed waiting for them there.


    Looking fully in his almost eighties, Devand Mellpourr, head of the local branch of the Office, was gray, lean, tall, and, as was his custom, in immaculate white livery, with a scarlet Branch of Cassandra on his chest.


    "Daim Diltar!" He exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa with an unexpected speed for his age, "I formally protest the barbarism that is taking place..."


    At that moment, another tooth-crushing trill of the ultrasonic cutter sounded, and his obviously prearranged speech was put on forced pause, but not for long:


    "This tower is four hundred years old!" Mr. Mellpurr said indignantly, clearly winding himself up on purpose. "It is the same age as the Senate Palace, that is, the Imperial Palace. It is a historical monument. And what you are doing to it is unacceptable, and as its custodian, I cannot ..."


    Another wave of unspeakable grinding literally ripped apart the flow of his claims sparing only the ending:


    I will be forced to complain. I will write to Mr. Giom." The last phrase served as his trump card, quite sincerely.


    Devand Mellpurr was unbreakably stubborn, and the local Office, remote from Cassard by three days'' delay in communications, lived in a world of its own. And despite numerous attempts to hint at the real state of affairs, he perceived the chain of command in a more than peculiar way.


    "Unfortunately, I cannot spare you the time, Mr. Mellpurr." Trying to keep up appearances, Taer complained. "I have an appointment, but here is my squire," she stepped aside slightly, bringing Rima forward, "please tell her everything you have planned to tell me, and she will try to help you in some way."


    "Squire?" Mr. Mellpurr was clearly discouraged by Taer''s reaction and didn''t understand what was going on. "I beg your pardon. The squire has nothing to do with..."


    "It''s like a deputy, only for nobles." Rima came to his aid, dragging him aside and opening the way for his knight to retreat. "I would love to hear from you, Mr. Mellpurr. Just tell me first: do you like your job?"


    Taer''s plan succeeded. Devand Mellpurr was neutralized by Rima. Taer took advantage of the seized initiative and the temporary disorientation of the enemy and hurried to hide in the elevator.


    "The shadows see, if he doesn''t calm down, I''ll have to ask the lord to just fire him," Taer muttered to herself, summoning the floor where her quarters were located. The meeting was only an hour away, and she still had time to change.


    The newly opened elevator doors presented her with an unexpected picture. In the solid gray cloudy layer of protective cloths that covered the furniture gaped in a completely inappropriate sky-blue gap - a young man in an azure uniform of the Imperial Guard with a small briefcase in his hands. The uniform sat flawlessly on him, and his shoulder-length brown hair was straight and perfectly styled. All this irreproachability was only more disharmonious with the utterly lost expression on his face. Next to him was a black Disdroid Observer from among the Taer brought in, which meant that this guardsman was a visitor.


    Taer involuntarily froze, not knowing where to put herself. He shouldn''t even be here yet, it''s over an hour before the appointed time. The situation came out very awkward, but there was nothing to do and she got out of the elevator.


    "Help me, beautiful stranger." Meanwhile, the guardsman pleaded, clearly delighted by her appearance. "You are my only hope."


    "What happened, and what are you doing here?" Asked Taer, trying to sound as professional as possible, while trying to remember what the visitor''s name was: Some Count. The name was absolutely impossible for her, but in her defense, she could say that in these few days, more than a hundred different people had tried to meet her.


    "I tried to find Daim Diltar and got completely lost," he said with a sorrowful expression and pointed to the droid circling nearby with doubt, "and this little guy, I think he''s broken. I tried to ask him directions, but he wouldn''t respond to any attempt to communicate with him."


    "This is an observation droid. It is not capable and not designed to hold conversations. And regarding the subject of your search, as far as I know, the time reserved for visitors doesn''t start for another hour."


    "I decided to try my luck at the wrong time." He admitted frankly, with an embarrassed smile. "My previous four attempts to meet with Daim Taer were a total fiasco, so I decided to change tactics. The people in the Office assured me that Daim Diltar was in the tower right now, and they even gave me the droid to accompany me."


    Taer felt a little uncomfortable. She really couldn''t meet many of them, but there were so many of them, and she had so much to do.


    "So, will you show me to her?" The count did not relent and, with a pleading fold of his eyebrows, added: "Please."


    "All right, then." Taer sighed, waving toward the elevator. She felt guilty, which was why she had asked to be put first by those who had already tried to meet her. And the guest was surprisingly nice and friendly for a count who was trying to meet a mere knight for the fifth time. "Come."


    "You''re a lifesaver." He smiled happily as he hurried after her to the elevator.


    The cabin arrived with a faint hiss, and with a soft hiss, the doors opened, and Taer stepped aside as the hostess, letting the guest go forward. He was about to enter the cabin as suddenly stopped abruptly in the doorway so that the walking behind Taer almost collided with him, being face to face, so close that for a moment, the world shrunk only to his light brown, almost yellow eyes:


    "Let''s, after your boss gets rid of me, continue our acquaintance." He whispered as if he were proposing a conspiracy. "You''re off duty now, judging by your uniform, and this must be your first time in the capital."


    And he''s even a little taller than me. Taer though aloof. She fell into a kind of prostration, not knowing how to react.


    "And let me introduce myself: Count Alario Zeper." He went on without even trying to pull away a little. "Please don''t take me for an empty womanizer. It''s just that I''ve decided that I won''t forgive myself if this meeting turns out to be only a passing acquaintance."


    "I... We have to go." She finally found something to say. And instead of answering, she squeezed past, sending the elevator to the floor below, where her reception area was located.


    The elevator doors closed with a slight chime, announcing the beginning of an awkward pause. The awkwardness, however, seemed destined only for Taer. Count Zeper wasn''t the least bit embarrassed, and he looked at her straight and confident. Feeling that she was beginning to blush, Taer involuntarily turned away: it was all nonsense, of course, but it was nice to hear something like that in her address.


    A few seconds passed in embarrassed silence. She just didn''t know what to say on such occasions, and what''s worse, she suddenly got a kind of migraine. Not in the sense of a headache, but an unpleasant, twitching feeling, as if she had suddenly forgotten a word she had always known, and now it was rolling around on her tongue but wouldn''t come. Something began to persistently "swirl" in her head but could not manifest itself in any way.


    The elevator doors opened again, and the first to obey her gesture was Count Zeper, followed by the droid barely audibly purring with the engine.


    A droid? thought Taer as she walked out last. She''d somehow forgotten about him. Maybe that was it. He''d recorded the whole scene. I''ll have to clean that up later.


    But the twitching feeling didn''t go away, and maybe it wasn''t the droid. Perhaps a few days without sleep on stimulants alone was taking its toll. But she had been on stimulants for five or six days more than once or twice during her time in the Navy and never felt anything like it. It was so distracting that she even forgot all her embarrassment, walking automatically to her office.


    "Daim Diltar," the secretary''s droid voice snapped her out of her self-criticism as she entered her waiting room, "should I mark your meeting with Count Zeper as having already begun."


    "Yes," she said, "don''t let them bother us." And she turned to the Count.


    The Count looked surprised and even upset: "So, Daim Diltar is you." He said, looking away. "Believe me. I didn''t know. And please accept my apologies for the scene; it was inappropriate and presumptuous of me."


    "Is that so?" Taer was ostentatiously surprised as she sat down in her chair and summoned a droid with drinks for the Count. "Do you have anything to apologize for? And please, come and sit down. Would you like something to drink?"


    "The difference in our position is enormous." Count Zeper muttered, still avoiding meeting Taer''s gaze. He carefully sat down in a high chair, more like a throne. "And no... Or water..."


    "Really, I''m only a knight, and you''re a count." With a sigh Taer agreed, watching the steward droid, who moved with a characteristic clumsiness and seemed about to topple the tray. Maybe I should think about a human servant, Taer thought to herself, after all, I have to welcome noblemen.


    "It''s just a title" The Count laughed involuntarily at her remark. "I''m just a guardsman, and you are the second person on the whole planet."


    "You''ve got some warped notions." Lord Cassard is certainly the first man in his domain, but I am by no means the second.


    "The one who decides who the first person sees can in no way be less than the second." Absolutely seriously parried the count.


    Taer had never thought of her situation in that way, she even felt a little uncomfortable:


    "You had some business with me, didn''t you?" She hastened to change the subject.


    "Yes." Nodded Count Zeper, clearly switching to a businesslike approach. He unzipped his briefcase, revealing its contents: a huge number of colorful envelopes, apparently perfumed because a cacophony of different perfumes covered the Taer even across the table. A distinctly feminine perfume.


    "And what is that?" She asked with sincere bewilderment.


    "Letters for Lord Cassard, mostly invitations." The count explained. "I suppose you''d be uncomfortable if I just dumped them on the table? Perhaps we should send for a droid with a tray?"


    "Yeah, I guess so." Confused, Taer nodded, summoning the secretary droid. "But wait, who are all these invitations from, and what does this have to do with you?"


    "Normally, they would simply be sent through the representation of House Fyron, but even before the arrival of Prince Cassard, we were informed that all correspondence and all meetings of the Prince take place only through you."


    "Well, yes." Taer nodded absent-mindedly. "A security requirement. There have been a series of attempts on the lord''s life."


    "''So there.''" The Count shook his hands. "I had to stick to that way. And I ... consider me just an envoy from the noble assembly of the capital, and I confess it is a matter of life and death for me to get these letters really to Prince Cassard." And seeing Taer''s eyebrows raised in surprise, he hastily added. "Certainly, in the social sense, a matter of life and death."


    "All right, it may take some time, but after I check, I''ll give everything to the lord." Taer nodded, looking at the fragrant, colorful pile of envelopes. Lord Cassard had always received many letters, but from various businessmen and officials, from companies he owned, but not from nobles. "But who is it all from?"


    "From the ladies, of course," shrugged Count Zeper, "or their families, which is basically the same thing."


    Seeing the speechless question in Taer''s eyes, he explained:


    "In the capital has arrived, perhaps the most enviable groom in the empire. He is incredibly rich and noble at the same time. And many noble families of the capital''s domain are as poor as a kosmick without a ship. Of course, many are willing to do anything to arrange a party."


    "But he is engaged to Valerie Bellar."


    "Engagement is not marriage." The Count brushed it aside and added in a more trusting tone. "And many would gladly settle for less. They say the Prince is generous with his mistresses, and he has several of them. So there might be room for one more."


    "But there are so many..." She whispered disbelievingly, "There were at least a hundred envelopes, maybe more."


    "Of course, there will be losers." With a philosophical look, the count nodded. "Broken ambitions are replaced by anger, backbiting, and envy. These are the inevitable companions of wealth and position. I can imagine what will happen during the ball to celebrate the arrival of the onstum." He added with gloating anticipation.


    "What''s going to happen there?" Taer, who was starting to get a bad feeling about this, decided to ask.


    "It''s a real bloodbath!" Count Zeper proclaimed with theatrical bloodthirstiness. "Hundreds and hundreds of girls and their mothers ready for anything." He circled his hand around the imaginary battlefield. "And one Prince Cassard. One for all. The carnage, the tears. A majestic and yet terrifying spectacle Daim Diltar."


    "Is there any way to avoid this?" She asked cautiously. The lord was certainly a lover of women''s attention, but this all even sounded grotesque, and who knows what desperate mothers might even do. ..I''ll have to check the letters again. There are certainly no poisons in them - otherwise, the Count would not have come into the tower with this briefcase. But for all sorts of arousing substances, who knows what''s in that perfume?


    "Avoid completely? Unlikely." The count shrugged and added with a meaningful look that implied bargaining. "But reduce it? Who knows, Daim Diltar? Who knows? If someone knowledgeable in what''s going on, take care of this..."


    "And what would make this ''somebody'' do such a feat?" Daim Diltar asked a leading question.


    "Well..." The Count raised his eyes to the ceiling playfully. "You could lend me your kiss. I swear on my honor I will repay you that debt."


    "It seemed to me, or did you just apologize for your words."


    "And now I apologize." The Count affirmed in all seriousness. "But that does not mean that I retract my words. Of course, it''s much harder to impress the imagination of the First Blade of the Domain than that of a simple guardsman from the Arm of Prince Cassard, but I''ll still try if you give me at least the tiniest chance."


    Actually, it was all nonsense. Social mayhem was none of her business anyway, and the lord hadn''t been listening to her much lately. It would be good for him to chew on everything himself. Besides, she did not know at all what kind of man this Count Zeper was, so she even mentally formulated a polite but unambiguous refusal appropriate to the occasion, but:


    "I don''t know much about the odds," she said in an unexpected way. "But it might make sense to meet again if we have something to discuss."


    "Maybe it could even be held somewhere else? For the sake of secrecy."


    "Maybe."


    * * *

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3


    * * *


    The spacious circular hall, in soft turquoise tones with blue velvet fabric inserts, was filled with the quiet, pervasive rustling that occurs when large numbers of people try not to make noise.


    The arriving nobles stood along the lines of a dark blue concentric pattern that covered the white, mirror-polished floor tiles, creating a giant spiral converging to the center of the hall, where instead of the expected throne, there was something like a rather large, round rostrum of the speaker, now empty. A huge white luminous crystal, playing the role of a chandelier, hung over the rostrum and over the first rows of noblemen who arrived at the Onstum, like a sword of Damocles. It was hanging by itself, motionless in the air, without any visible supporting devices.


    It''s amazing, though. A huge number of people engaged in a tedious, tiresome, and, funnily enough, expensive business. All the time on their feet, in uncomfortable positions, all they can think about is how to scratch themselves without creating a political scandal... Alex as a representative of one of the most ancient families, entered the hall among the first and for the fifteen minutes that it took to go to the others, had time to consider and "throne-tribune" and the part of the hall that was behind the throne. And most importantly, it is not clear who needs all this! Who invented it? Whose profit? Why? I bet most of the participants of this "solemn arrival" would be happy to confine themselves to: "Hello, here we are!", omitting further formalities ...


    At last, the waiting ceased, and the staff of the Head Steward rattled against the polished floorboards:


    "His Imperial Majesty!" A triumphant sound came from above, and the large double doors on the opposite side slowly swung open.


    The Emperor was exactly the same as in the many records that Alex had seen during the flight. He was a short, lean man in his fifties, in a snow-white navy uniform, with a slightly angular face and lively gray eyes. His short, military-looking dark hair accentuated his high forehead, which was encircled by a hoop of gray metal with a single blue stone in the center.


    Stopping in the doorway for a moment, the Emperor waved two fingers from his temple with a smile and moved toward the center of the hall. In the distant rows, a joyous, excited buzz swept through, which only the strict formality of the ceremony seemed to keep from degenerating into applause. As he approached the center, the reaction became more subdued but still positive.


    Despite the long blue cloak over his uniform, the Emperor walked briskly and quickly, with a precise and measured step, forcing the attendants, who were walking a little behind him, to hurry up: a tall, stately blond man wearing a pale green uniform, with a scarlet cloak on his shoulders, fastened with a massive, richly decorated chain of the Order. And a dark-haired middle-aged man with an elongated, tired face dressed in a black uniform without insignia.


    Exchanging smiles and salutatory nods with the arriving nobles, the Emperor walked to the "throne-tribune," and once again greeted the audience with a wave of his hand and took his seat.


    Alex had already thought that the "oath confirmation ceremony" was about to begin, but to his surprise, the staff struck the floor again:


    "Her Majesty, Queen Hershebeth," announced the majordomo loudly, and the doors through which the Emperor entered slowly began to open again.


    The reaction of the hall to this announcement was an icy silence which, after a few moments, was replaced by the rustling of many whispers.


    The queen was tall, impassive, and moved with such perfect grace that it seemed as if she were hovering</a> a few centimeters above the ground. Her pale blue dress, made as if of glittering blue ice, barely reaching the floor, only strengthened this effect, evoking associations with a fairy tale snow queen. Her long, straight hair was perfectly white and styled so evenly that it moved as if it were drawn, like a single flowing mass, tied in the middle with a wide metal ring. A platinum-colored hoop hovered above her head like a halo, and in the center of it was a shimmering blue crystal like a sharp four-sided spike.


    With truly regal grace, the queen glided through the vacant part of the hall, and, accompanied by uncomfortable glances and whispers, she headed toward the center, echoing the emperor''s path. Her perfectly shaped face, with its stern mouth and straight, slightly upturned nose, was filled with a cold, unapproachable beauty, and her piercing blue eyes glanced blankly through the rows of arriving nobles.


    Who she was and what caused such a cold reaction from those present, Alex was completely incomprehensible. In addition, although he was ready to swear that he saw the queen for the first time, he could not shake the feeling that she was familiar to him.


    Standing three meters away from the emperor, who was now watching the queen''s approach with an absent smile, Alex was deprived of the opportunity to whisper with Artala, who should have known exactly what was going on. Questions, for now, we''ll have to put aside.


    As Hershebeth passed by, Alex heard a woman whispering from somewhere behind him, loud enough to be heard by the queen and the emperor behind the podium, and even by his attendants:


    "Great shadows, holo fabric with glow, how old-fashioned!" In the voice of the unknown connoisseur of beauty, one could hear a clear condemnation.


    "She should have worn shoulder pads, too." The other commented contemptuously, causing a faint grimace of weary irritation on the blond man in the scarlet cloak that accompanied the Emperor. "Some kind of hopeless lack of taste..."


    The queen, with the same nonchalant look, passed by and took her seat next to the emperor on the "throne-tribune," giving the hall a completely icy look of a sophisticated customer who does not like the goods on offer.


    At that moment Alex realized who the queen reminded him of - his own attendant, Artala.


    The same icy stare. Maybe they teach it at court somewhere especially?


    The Emperor beckoned with a brief nod to someone on the sidelines, and the ceremony continued.


    "Her Serene Ladyship, Sovereign Princess of the Great House of Peltar, Lady Nadina Pell! Arrived with honor and for the honor!" The majordomo announced, and Lady Nadina, standing to the left of Alex, a little closer to the throne, left her guardsman behind and stepped forward.


    "Illustrious Princess of the House of Peltar!" The Emperor''s voice was stern and solemn, but judging by his eyes, it was more of an act. "Do you swear, as an equal, by the word of your ancestors, to serve me faithfully, by honor and antiquity, from Starfall to Starfall?"


    The pause clearly lasted a few seconds longer than the ceremonial prescribed, until finally Lady Nadina dropped to one knee:


    "I, Nadina Pell, by right of equality, by my word and by the word of my ancestors. I swear..." Her words were entirely canonical and almost exactly like the ones Alex was about to utter, but the intonation... Nadine''s tone had lost its omnipresent sarcasticness. It was unconcerned and lifeless. The arrest scene must have affected her even more than it had seemed at first. Or maybe the excitement had taken its toll. "...To serve you faithfully, from Starfall to Starfall, by honor and antiquity, demanding no other reward but honor and glory."


    "Hail to the clan of Pell!" The Emperor proclaimed, raising his hands.


    "Hail!" The many assembled responded in chorus, and Nadina, who rose and took the guardsman under her arm again, made her way toward the exit at a leisurely pace.


    "His Serene Lordship, Illustrious and Sovereign Prince of the Great House Fyron, Lord Allesandro Cassard" The pounding of the beating heart almost completely absorbed the perfectly staged voice of the majordomo...


    So calm down, it''s only the Emperor of the Star Empire, a few thousand drunken Tallana rebels were clearly more dangerous... Alex engaged in auto training trying to extinguish the inexplicably flared excitement. And why in general, she told me about the record, chronicles, and other things. Maybe I wouldn''t have panicked so much...


    He said the oath on automatic, coming to his senses only at the words, "Hail to Cassard," but still, his gait was somewhat "wooden" when he left the hall.


    "Finally..." Barely audible but greatly relieved, Artala said as the tall doors closed silently behind them.


    On the other side was a small "passing" hall, decorated with huge pictures of battlespace themes, and a group of servants, in livery the color of the night sky, with trays full of drinks in their hands and with a willingness to serve on their faces.


    Alex gratefully grabbed the glass from the servant and drained it in a gulp before he even knew what he was drinking.


    One of the servants bowed in a deep bow and asked to do him the honor of escorting "Your Lordship" to the lounge. Alex could only support such an arrangement.


    As it turned out, literally three steps away, in the next corridor, a small - even tiny, by local standards, round room was waiting for them, with only a corner couch and a table with snacks.


    The chief captain was visibly relieved to throw off her incredible robe, which was immediately picked up by the servants, and then they left at once, leaving Alex and Artala alone.


    "Forgive me for asking, but who is Queen Hershebeth?" Alex had already coped with the strange excitement, and now, he was understandably curious.


    "The Emperor''s wife." The attendant replied, after an awkward pause with a strange look.


    "And what the Emperor is married?!" Alex was sincerely surprised.


    During the flight to the capital, he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of materials about the Emperor, and not a single word mentioned that he was married. He was a lonely, majestic figure with a golden halo of military genius. His wife did not really fit this image:


    Maybe he just got married a short time ago. And the "Court" has not yet accepted the new girl?


    "By the way, I don''t know if that would be convenient..." He unsuccessfully tried to give his curiosity a more decent shape. "But I thought you and the queen looked remarkably alike."


    The captain froze, with a small canap¨¦ in her mouth, which she had taken from the table, and looked at Alex like a hopeless idiot:


    "Maybe it''s because she''s my mother?" Artala sighed disappointedly, adding with participation, "You didn''t take anything... like that?" She wiggled her fingers meaningfully. "Shall I send a servant for the neutralizer?"


    "It''s just that I''ve lost my memory, and I don''t know a lot of even the most obvious and commonly known things..." Alex began to explain himself on the spot but froze in mid-sentence when he realized exactly what Artala had told him:


    "What do you mean - mother?"


    "I mean, how did you lose your memory?"


    They said the words almost simultaneously, and both were silent, digesting what they heard without noticing the suspension of silence.


    One did not have to be a wise man to know that he was facing the emperor''s daughter or, at worst, the adopted one. After all, who else could the emperor''s wife''s daughter be?


    Most likely a blood relative. Now Alex saw the unmistakable family resemblance. Just more like her mother.


    However, there was one question that came out of this that literally came down on Alex with all its shocking simplicity:


    Why am I being met by a princess, and why is she handing over a warning about a test and some obscure pills?


    He could somehow explain the first part of the question to himself, for example, job duties:


    Can a princess serve as the Guard? Why not? For local noblewomen, a military career was frequent, if not commonplace. And she could have met me in the line of duty. As Captain of the Guard. Why not?


    But, here, passing some pill under the table and warning about the inspection of the Inquisition, all this somehow did not fit with the duties of a captain of the Guard:


    So, personal initiative. And then there are the words of gratitude. Did Prince Cassard somehow help the princess? Did they know each other?


    Before he was sent to onstum, he was consulted extensively by Representatives of the Office and the Retainer Service of House Fyron. If they had known of Lord Cassard''s acquaintance with the Emperor''s daughter, this would certainly have been mentioned:


    So, if they were acquainted, it was not public, and the help, most likely, was also unspoken... Some kind of shady dealings...


    And that, the real Prince Cassard, was not alien to shady dealings, on the contrary. As Alex learned from the Marquise Turang, the image of a drunkard and playboy was rather nothing more than a cover for a member of the conspiracy...


    Speaking of Isalaya, the Marquess of Turang. The princess, like the marquise, has atypically short haircuts for local ladies.


    As it turned out in the Marquise''s case, it indicated that she was a nun. Which, of course, was hard to believe, given Isalaya''s more than fiery temperament.


    Does this mean that the princess is also a nun? And perhaps this unspoken acquaintance of the princess and Lord Cassard, and some assistance, took place through her?


    His train of thought was interrupted by Artala''s question:


    "Have you completely forgotten everything?" She asked, peering inquiringly at Alex.


    In the time he had spent pondering, the princess''s face had changed from shock to indignation, which gave way to... Joy?


    "Completely." She concluded, without even waiting for his answer, and sighing with undisguised relief, she smiled broadly. "How could this happen, Prince?" She asked, evidently out of politeness.


    "The result of a failed assassination attempt." The "prince" answered dryly, recounting the official version of his unconsciousness. "When poisoned by Grey Dust, some parts of the brain were significantly damaged. I assumed the greeters had been informed, for the Imperial Security service was aware of what had happened."


    "You think too highly of them." Artala brushed it aside, and for a moment froze, as if remembering something, she asked: "What about your notes or journals? It might help you to recover your memory."


    "As far as I was able to find out, previously, I was not in the habit of keeping detailed diaries."


    "Such a pity." The princess sighed, not even trying to look upset. "My deepest condolences." She said in a pathetical tone and added with a weary wave of her hand. "And all kinds of nonsense like that."


    On the one hand, the princess was obviously glad of Lord Cassard''s oblivion and did not even think it necessary to hide it. But on the other hand, the situation was, as they call it: "informal and confidential." The princess treated him as an equal, if not as a friend, so Alex decided - that it was silly to miss such an opportunity and did not hesitate to ask questions:


    "If you''ll excuse me..." Alex began, trying to get Artala''s attention as she concentrated on the tray of appetizers.


    The princess froze with a canap¨¦ in her mouth and guiltily pushed aside the tray of food, which was already more than half-empty:


    "Excuse me, Prince. I got carried away." For some reason, she began to make excuses. "You know how stimulants whet the appetite, and I have so much to do, I haven''t had time to sleep in days."


    The guilt-ridden Artala looked unexpectedly cute. So much so that Alex, despite the seriousness of what was happening, was even tempted to support the game just to admire that guilty face, but the need not to miss such a valuable source of information and curiosity took its toll.


    "I''d like to torture you with more questions..." He finished his sentence, pushing the tray of appetizers back to Artala. "As long as we have, at least a little, free time."


    "Then don''t be shy. It is, after all, part of my duties as your chaperone." She practically purred back, taking another canap¨¦ off the tray.


    "Thank you in advance." He thanked her sincerely. "I wouldn''t want to get into an awkward situation, and with my memory problems, it''s all too easy. Your hair. Am I correct in assuming that it indicates a spiritual rank?"


    "I was trained in a Sororitas Monastery on Hessan." Nodded the princess. "And anticipating your next question, Yes. I studied with the Marquise Turang. Moreover, she is my Elder Sister."


    "Elder sister?" Alex asked again, realizing that it was clearly not a matter of age.


    "In the monastery, it is customary for girls who begin their training to be given as novices to their elders. A kind of personal mentor and equally personal novice."


    "That''s how..." Alex thoughtfully stretched out, trying to imagine what it would be like to study when you have such a splashing-with-energy person as Marquess Turang as your mentor. "Must have been boring."


    "That''s right." Artala smiled, but the smile was a little crooked. Artala smiled, but the smile came out a little crooked. "However, Isalaya is such a person that it''s impossible to be offended by her for long. You should know."


    That explains the familiarity between the princess and the real Cassard. Thought Alex, responding to Artala''s remark with only a polite smile. Through his mistress: Isalaya the Marquess of Turang.


    And it also answered the question that tormented him: "How old is Artala? She was younger than Isalaya, which meant she was in her early twenties.


    There was one last oddity. Alex thought absent-mindedly watching as the princess with an inhuman appetite, finished with the remains of appetizers. How did I manage not to know that the Emperor is married and has children? Let''s assume that I personally am a fool and could simply miss it. But before the flight to the capital, I helped to prepare people from the Retainer Service of House Fyron, and they were clearly aware of the issue.


    "Your Highness, there is one point that I found very strange, and now it torments me." Alex broke the silence that had settled briefly. "You may find this hard to believe, but I have been preparing for my arrival at court, and I have had professional help. But somehow, even the fact that His Majesty is married managed to elude me."


    The princess froze, stopped eating, and leaned back on the couch, staring at the questioner with a sudden heavy gaze:


    "And I''ve already decided that ''torturing with questions'' is just a figure of speech..." She sighed, looking straight into Alex''s eyes; it was obvious she didn''t like the question:


    "First of all, why all these titles and ranks between people of the same circle, especially when we''re alone." Artala began from afar. "And I''m basically annoyed by the title of highness, so if this isn''t a formal ceremony, but you still want a formality, please: call me Captain Niazur. As to the point of your question: this is a very long and completely unnecessary conversation. To put it bluntly: my parents'' marriage is not a popular topic. The fruit of this marriage." The princess pointed her finger at herself. "Because of a huge number of religious and political reasons, it''s an even more unpopular topic. So it''s perfectly normal that the people who prepared you avoided this topic."


    The princess took a short pause and, leaning toward Alex, added:


    "I can advise you the same thing." She said, in a half voice. "Don''t touch the subject, at least not in public. Otherwise, you just run the risk of getting into a very uncomfortable situation where no matter what you say, everything will be against you."


    "Excuse me." The question seemed innocent enough, and he didn''t expect to strike an obviously sensitive chord. "Perhaps we''d better change the subject."


    "Nevermind." With mild irritation, Artala brushed it aside. "I''m used to it. Speaking of changing the subject." She added with a meaningful look. "If you want something to eat, this is literally your last chance."


    As if to obey her words, there was a cautious knock on the door.


    "Yes?" Artala asked loudly at the closed door. Her tone and demeanor had changed dramatically, filled with an icy mannerism.


    The door opened, and a servant slipped into the room like a snake:


    "Come to see their lordship, the gentlemen of the Inquisition and a representative of the Great House Fyron." He said in an apologetic tone, bowing deeply.


    "Let them wait. We haven''t finished yet." The princess cut off in a tone that implied no objection, and the servant, still bowing, slipped back into the corridor, carefully shutting the door behind him.


    "But you really should hurry, Allesandro." She added in a half-smile and in a much more personal way when the door closed behind the servant. "If we keep them waiting for more than a couple of minutes, even for my taste, it will come out somehow too much cause for gossip."


    Alex threw a look of doubt at Artala, but the latter twitched her shoulder and rolled her eyes defiantly as if to say, It''s up to you.


    I had to make a decision. On the one hand, I didn''t like the idea of eating unfamiliar pills, and on the other hand, I didn''t like the idea of failing the Inquisition test. If it turned out that he was really an "adept," even more:


    Isolation or extermination. That''s the prospect of an illegal ''adept''. He thought, unhappily, fumbling for the pill in his pocket. It was rough and slightly porous to the touch. Prince Cassard, on the other hand, has already been poisoned. At that moment, I swapped places with him. Who''s to say they won''t try again?


    Another round of long glances was exchanged with Artala. The princess was outwardly calm, but in her piercing blue eyes, there was a slight irritation that she didn''t think it necessary to hide, and the fingers of her right hand were tapping the table faintly. She was clearly irritated by Alex''s indecision, but there was no ulterior motive behind it.


    Artala Niazur did not look at all like someone who wanted to kill him:


    On the other hand, I''ve already met people who actually wanted to kill me: Lord Velaske, for example, or Professor Thakkar. And they didn''t look like bloodthirsty monsters, with their hateful stares or anything like that. No, they were both quiet, rather suave, and intelligent conversationalists. Maybe even more suave and calm than the princess. Alex made a mental remark, looking at Artala, whose gaze was becoming more and more irritated. After all, there was nothing personal between us, only political interests.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    About Artala''s political interests, one could only guess. Alex had only just learned of the existence of the Emperor''s daughter, and there were clearly some secret dealings between her and the real Lord Cassard...


    On the other hand, to poison directly, especially by handing over the poison... Alex thought about it but remembered his forced change of clothes and the princess''s mannerisms when they were alone. Her Highness had the directness and candor of a rail when she needed something. Such a one could easily pour poison down his throat personally, too, if she needed it...


    Exactly. Artala is straight as a rail and clearly a person of action. If she wanted me dead, she wouldn''t have relied on chance - I could refuse, no, she would have chosen a more direct method of delivery.


    Alex made a decision. Of course, there were a thousand other possibilities. The pill could have been swapped by someone in her entourage, or it was not poison at all. Or some other substance and the purpose was not to kill him, but, for example, to embarrass him or set him up somehow, but if you think about all the life is not enough: he took the pill and put it in his mouth, pretending to cough as inconspicuously as possible.


    "I think if the Inquisition gentlemen want to see me, there''s no point in postponing it." He said aloud, after pouring a glass of cool drink, which tasted almost like water with faintly berry overtones.


    Artala just shook her head disapprovingly and silently squeezed the ring on the ring finger of her right hand. Literally immediately, there was a knock at the door, and it happened again: the same cold "Yes?" Artala, still the same serpentine slithering servant bowing all the time.


    "Call this Representative of House Fyron," Artala commanded tiredly, looking displeased, "and those of the Inquisition, too, if they are together."


    The servant slipped back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him only to open it again in a few seconds.


    On the threshold of their small recreation room stood a young but solidly built blond man. He wore the dark red and black uniform of the House Fyron Guard, which looked somewhat odd on him. A small, neat beard accentuated his round, carefully shaved, glossy cheeks. Behind the blond man in the corridor stood two tall, shoulder-bellied fellows in uniforms of a pale green hue. For some reason, Alex associated them with burly paramedics, ready to "pack up the patients". The "orderlies" had short metal stacks on their belts: paralyzers.


    "Incredibly pleased to welcome you, Lord Cassard," said with undisguised enthusiasm, the round-cheeked blond standing in the doorway, "Allow me to introduce myself," he added, extending his hand, "Ulter Ralval, Knight of House Fyron. I will represent our House during your lordship''s inspection." The words "Knight" and "House" were pronounced with the deepest pride, "Gentlemen of the Inquisition," He twitched his chin slightly toward the pair in green uniforms "Everything has been prepared, the necessary equipment has been delivered, the witnesses have also arrived. So if you don''t mind..."


    "What kind of test?" Alex asked with quiet surprise. "No one told me anything."


    "A pure formality, Your Grace," Ulter smiled disarmingly. "Before being appointed to certain positions in the Empire, aspirants are once again screened by the Inquisition for abilities or signs of initiation."


    Alex paused for a moment, wondering how best to stall because the pill had to be given time to take effect.


    "Do we have to do this now?" He said, raising an eyebrow lazily, and, with a weary sigh, added:


    "I honestly don''t feel well."


    "Unfortunately, yes, Your Lordship, I must." The blond man bowed his head guiltily. "But it won''t take much of your time or effort."


    There was nothing to do: If I start pretending how bad I feel they might start treating me seriously and find out that I took this ''black rainbow'' or whatever it is.


    "Well, all right," he surrendered, "let''s go then, quickly."


    Shit, now we''ll find out if I''m adept or not.


    Taking advantage of the appearance of a Representative of the House, and people from the Inquisition, the princess chose to ignore her duties as an attendant and did not go to check with Alex, citing the sudden urgent business, promising to meet him at the end.


    So it was just the four of them who rumbled through the echoing and practically deserted enfilades of the palace.


    "Would you mind telling me, Sir Ralval, what this examination is all about?" Alex broke the awkward silence. The gentlemen of the Inquisition were somewhat behind them and did not look like potential interlocutors. "I confess I have no idea what to expect."


    "You have nothing to worry about, Prince," Ulter hastened to assure him, smiling warningly, "in fact, the inspection is nothing more than a simple conversation. During the test, there are two representatives of the Inquisition. One of them will be your interlocutor, and the second, a specially trained adept, at this moment observes you and conducts some investigations of your aura..." At this point, the Representative of the House hesitated a little, obviously having no idea what exactly the adept should do. "But in any case, everything here is under strict control." He added hastily. "The adept''s mental flow and state of mind during the inspection is recorded by special equipment, two sets, to be exact. One, of which our House provides, and upon completion is analyzed by our experts, so it is out of the question that Your Lordship would dare be influenced in any way."


    By the end of his tirade, Sir Ralval had acquired a look of triumph and contentment, as if he had been the author of all these precautions.


    "Well, I guess that calms me down a bit." Alex smiled tensely. He was rapidly becoming ill, and the pill must have kicked in. He was feeling a little dizzy. All the sounds seemed more rumbling and distant, and there was a kind of uncertainty in his movements as if he were a little drunk. And most importantly, his head. To say that his head hurt a lot was to underestimate what was happening. There seemed to be a lump of concentrated pain in the center of it, and it was growing rapidly, literally pressing on his brain.


    "How long does this ''conversation'' last?" Lord Cassard squeezed out, trying not to give away his condition.


    "Usually less than a quarter of an hour, and often half that, unless, of course, the first Lord Inquisitor is delayed, Your Grace."


    "Does the First Lord Inquisitor have to be present at the inspections?" His Grace asked blankly, staring straight ahead.


    In normal circumstances, Alex would probably be very surprised at such news. Even his more than limited knowledge was enough to know that the "First Lord Inquisitor" is actually the head of the Imperial Inquisition, as well as the master of the "Order of the Arm" and the very man who followed the emperor during the ceremony of the oath. But now he didn''t really care about that.


    "Normally, of course not." The Representative of the House hastened to assure him and continued, beaming with pride. "But there is a tradition that the First Lord Inquisitor personally speaks to aspirants for the highest positions. This is not surprising, considering the antiquity and nobility of your family, Lord Cassard, and the position it holds in our House. It would be entirely inappropriate if, for the duration of the onstum, you were not offered the highest post."


    "Sounds logical." Lord Cassard nodded, completely unconcerned by the torrent of dithyrambs poured upon him by a Representative of the House. He was simply too focused on walking upright and not wrinkling the blinding pain in his long-suffering head. He also wanted to come and sit down already. But the imperial palace was completely following the tradition of gigantomania of local palace architecture. Alex was willing to swear that it took them at least ten minutes to get there. Fortunately, during the time they walked, the pain subsided somewhat, dropping to a level that was unpleasant but quite bearable.


    "Please, Your Grace." Ulter Ralval waved his hand as the servants opened before them the thick double doors, wood-colored on the outside, but the thickness and slowness with which they were opened were more like a safe door.


    The inspection room turned out to be a small square room, with the walls covered with a soft porous material of the same soft green hue as the uniforms of the inquisitors, one wall was completely transparent, and behind it, there was a table with equipment, and three men in gray tunics - as the incessantly smiling Olter explained - witnesses, moreover - professional witnesses. The furniture was a table and four chairs, which appeared to have grown out of the floor, monolithic to it, and seemingly of the same matte gray metal as the floor. Next to the table, there were two open briefcases, which looked absolutely identical, with some flickering index lights and obviously working equipment.


    "Have a seat, Lord Cassard." The representative hospitably pointed to one of the chairs at the table, opposite which there were two more, probably for the inquisitors, and another one a little further away, probably for the representative himself.


    Fumbling for a chair with his hand, Alex cautiously sat down. The pain in his head had almost subsided, replaced by dizziness, and he was afraid he would fall off the chair and onto the floor because his body felt like it was always tilting to the left.


    "To eliminate the possibility of interception and copying of records, contact neural antennas are used," Ulter explained while the inquisitors were fiddling with the cases, apparently screwing them to the floor. "And all information is transmitted through special shielded cables that are also separately sealed with the seals of our House..."


    Sir Ralval went on saying something: about the precautions, about how the seals were certified, that it was all a formality because there had never been a case... But his voice seemed to drift away, becoming increasingly muffled as the dizziness receded. After a few minutes, when the room finally stopped spinning around him, Alex realized that he was sort of "not really there". It was a very strange feeling of detachment - as if he had ceased to exist here and now, having retreated somewhere "deeper." His body didn''t feel like his own - it felt like a puppet he was remotely controlling, and the control wasn''t exactly comfortable, so Alex just nodded in time with the House representative''s lengthy explanations, trying not to show his altered state.


    Fortunately, Sir Ulter was soon distracted. The adept who was to participate in the inspection arrived - a sickly-looking young man with very expressive dark eyes, who, for some reason, blinked all the time so that despite the Inquisition uniform, he looked like a bewildered teenager. With his appearance began some formalities on the verification of equipment, signing the protocols, and from Prince Cassard to the inexpressible relief of Alex, all for a time left behind.


    When the formalities were over, there was an awkward pause:


    "Forgive me, Prince, but I have been informed that the Lord Inquisitor is somewhat delayed," Guilty whispered Sir Ralval leaned toward Alex and spread his hands as if to emphasize that some circumstances are clearly beyond his modest powers.


    "That''s all right." Alex waved him off graciously. "I''m sure he was held up by matters of service."


    He was grateful to the Lord Inquisitor for the delay. He was getting better by the minute, and though the feeling of "aloofness" had not disappeared. He had already begun to get used to it, feeling that he could hold a conversation without looking like a mannequin that had come to life. Even more so because the culprit of the delay - he had not given himself very long. Though, Alex was not sure of his sense of time. It seemed to him that almost seven minutes passed before the heavy doors of the room opened again.


    The Lord Inquisitor was still in full dress: a pale green uniform and a bloody scarlet cloak, which even stretched behind him on the floor, but, by all appearances, did not cause much discomfort. The Lord-Inquisitor walked easily without any apparent effort, with the confident gait of a man who always arrives on time.


    "Morir Quezox, Knight of the Empire and First Lord Inquisitor." The man who entered dryly introduced himself to Alex, putting his right hand to his chest and bowing his head slightly.


    It was very official. With a heavy heart, Alex realized that he would have to do the same. As he rose from his chair, he mentally shifted his imperial title, already so mind-bending twisted, into the form used for the actual introduction. One couldn''t have one form of title for all occasions, could one? No, that would be too easy.


    "Alessandro Cassard, sovereign prince of Cassard and all it lans, High Lord of the Great House Fyron." Alex introduced himself, and was answered with a courteous nod:


    "I am honored." The Lord Inquisitor gestured to a chair, inviting me to sit down again. "Please, Your Lordship, let''s get started; I''m sure you''re anxious to finish your inspection as soon as possible."


    "Indeed, all the more so, it''s all rather unexpected for me." Alex honestly admitted to sitting down at the massive table again.


    "Totally common practice," Quezox assured him. Carefully he held up the order chain that held his cloak and sat down across from him.


    A stately blond man with brown eyes, Lord Quezox was the type of man in his forties who liked to be filmed in commercials for banks and expensive cars, and he was one of the few people Alex knew about beforehand and without introduction. His name often came up when he was being prepared for a trip by the men of the Retainer Service of the House of Fyron, and during his own preparations, too - a very influential personality was looming. The head of the Inquisition, and at the same time the head of the Order of the Arms, which was a kind of analog of the nobles'' "arms", that is, something like a personal imperial military retinue, outside the usual line of subordination, and on a much larger scale. In addition, during the flight to the capital onstum, the rumor often surfaced in conversations that Lord Quezox was the main candidate for the position of the new head of the Security Service.


    If not the second man in the empire, then at least the third.  Alex thought as he watched the Inquisition "guards" who had brought him here help their boss to adjust his cloak. It was all done with incredible piety.


    The Lord Inquisitor nodded to let the adept know that we can begin. He hastily snapped two semicircles, which Sir Ulter previously called "contact neuro antennas" turned it into a hoop, and put it on his head. The view, given the thick hoses hanging over his ears, was quite comical, but the "tested" was not amused at all.


    Lord Quezox gave Alex an appraising look:


    "The verifier is a very strong adept," he warned. "Some people may experience discomfort when exposed: disorientation, nausea, headaches, tunnel effects. If you feel any of these things, don''t be alarmed, just let us know."


    "Now try to relax, and let''s just have a conversation. This will help bring out your natural mental background more deeply. Tell me when you''re ready, and we''ll get started."


    "Good." Nodded Alex, and added absolutely serenely. "Go ahead."


    The sense of detachment created by the pill the princess had given him was still there, and everything was happening as if it were not with him. There was no fear, no excitement, and it gave such a sense of calm confidence that Alex expected the inspection with a kind of detached curiosity.


    The young man, who was checking, stopped blinking incessantly, somehow pulled himself together, and, clenching his fists, began to stare at Alex with a heavy, unmoving stare. But he felt nothing strange, nothing at all.


    "We can always talk about insignificant things." Meanwhile, smiling indulgently, Lord Quezox began. "About the weather, your flight, or your impressions of the capital... But perhaps you have some questions about the inspection itself?"


    "Sir Ulter," Alex nodded gratefully to the Representative of the House who was watching from the sidelines, "pretty much described the whole procedure to me. In any case, I''m sure it will be done right."


    "Maybe some questions for me?"


    "To be honest, I have too little idea what the Inquisition does in general to ask any questions. Of course, apart from fighting against illegal adepts."


    "It''s just a stereotype." The Lord Inquisitor rolled his eyes tiredly. "I guess you have the holo serials to thank for it. Most of our work involves controlling droids and investigating cases classified as abominable crimes. It''s boring and meticulous work, but it''s necessary. We''re the very cogs that spin just to keep the whole machinery of the empire running well, and chasing fugitive adepts and fighting demons is a tiny and fortunately much rarer part of the job than it seems to the average citizen."


    "Demons? That''s not a myth?" Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise: Do they have that here, too?


    "Unfortunately, no. Sometimes when a strong, unstable adept dies, with manifest manifestations, a demon or what they call a "ghost" can form, a very dangerous phenomenon that is extremely difficult to deal with, but very, very rare."


    Lord Quezox glanced at the young man in charge of the inspection - he looked like a marathon runner, his face reddened, his breathing uneven and heavy:


    "Are you feeling all right, Prince?" He asked Alex, making sure the adept was able to continue.


    "Some discomfort." Just in case, Alex lied, who felt nothing but aloofness.


    "What kind?" The Lord Inquisitor inquired softly.


    "Well...heaviness..."


    "Can you continue? Or is it necessary to break off?"


    "I think I can handle it if you don''t take too long." Alex flirted. He felt like he could sit like this all day.


    "Then I''ll entertain you with a little more nonsense, Your Lordship. How was your flight? Was it all right? The decorations on an imperial courier might seem a bit too modest compared to the way one travels in the Tail Sector."


    "It''s been great." Alex shrugged. "Especially in this kind of company, I didn''t even notice how the week flew by."


    "Yes, company..." Lord Quezox nodded, evidently intending to continue small talk, but suddenly stumbled as if his thought stumbled on something. He paused for a few moments, scrutinizing Alex with his eyes, then gestured quickly to the man from the Inquisitorial Guard to accompany him. They exchanged a few whispers, and the escort, leaving the Lord Inquisitor a small infoblock, returned to his seat.


    "You misspoke correctly, my illustrious prince." The inquisitor finally broke the pause, watching something in the infoblock. "Your flight lasted a little less than a week, only seven days..."


    He put the infoblocks aside and looked up at Alex again:


    "There are eight days in a week, after all, and a golden week counts double that." He stroked his smoothly shaved chin thoughtfully, looking at Alex and obviously figuring something out.


    "Indeed, I must have completely lost track of the days." I chuckled to myself, Alex thinking to himself: He''s quite a pedant, isn''t he? "In good company, time goes by without a hitch."


    "A week, a week, a week." Lord Quezox drummed his fingers on the table as if urging himself on. "And how is your health?" At last, he asked, trying to put a sympathetic expression on his face. "Have you fallen recently? Or perhaps any other difficulties with your memory?"


    "I have partial amnesia." Directly replied Alex, who was beginning, not like where this conversation was turning. "After the poisoning attempt, some parts of my brain were damaged. I honestly assumed that everyone who needed to know that was put on notice." He added with pretension in his voice. "After all, the case was handled by the Imperial Security Service."


    "No, I didn''t know, for instance." The inquisitor waved his hands. "It must be all about communication delays." He added in a conciliatory tone and with ostentatious participation asked:


    "I hope they found the villains?"


    "Poisoners? As far as I know, not yet. But those who took part in the second and third attempts were caught, but they were not taken alive."


    "Two more attempts?" Lord Quezox asked again, his feigned sweetness gone, and he seemed genuinely surprised. "Recently?"


    "They''ve tried to kill me at least three times in the last twenty days," Alex answered, somewhat glumly, thinking to himself. And that''s only officially, in fact, all seven, if not more.


    "So..." Inquisitor quickly wrote something down on the infoblock. He was going to ask something else, but at that moment, red with tension adept, wheezed his eyes rolled back, and to the alarming beep of the equipment, he settled in the chair and unnaturally threw his head back. The men from the escort rushed to him. One of them took out a white porous ball, tore off its protective foil, and held it to the nose of the inspector. A strong cold scent, something resembling menthol, wafted through the room.


    "I don''t think there''s any point in continuing." Pronounced the Lord Inquisitor, sighing as he rose from the table, ignoring the commotion that had begun. "We won''t find anything anyway. Let''s move on to the protocols for now." He turned to Sir Oelter.


    While they were dealing with the formalities, the adept got better:


    "It''s completely empty..." He whispered when he came to himself. "Level eight, no less."


    "Anything strange?" Lord Qu¨¦zox asked, not looking up from his papers.


    "No." The adept shook his head. "Absolutely plain background."


    "It was to be expected." The Lord Inquisitor murmured as he handed the documents to Sir Ulter. "The old noble blood." He added, looking at Alex again. "In Old Families, there is often a high resistance. Of course, it will require more detailed analysis, but I am sure there will be absolutely everything in order, and the experts will not find anything strange. So I can congratulate you in advance, my illustrious prince. You are not adept. Moreover, you have a very strong resistance, at least level eight. This, by the way, corresponds to the results of the test you took as a child, though the level of resistance was determined to be much lower then."


    Alex, slapping his knee, sprang to his feet. But it all went by in an unexpectedly simple, even mundane way, except that the lord inquisitor was acting strangely:


    "And what does this resistance mean to me personally?" He asked aloud with sincere interest, "Except that I''m not an adept."


    "Oh, very much," the young man who checked came to life, "this means that you are very difficult for adepts to influence in any way. Resistance is not uncommon in about five percent of the population, but in most cases, it''s not significant. A strong adept can push through it, and the only advantage is that the target will feel the impact... But you already have a very strong resistance. In a sense, you don''t exist for adepts, or rather, you exist very weakly. If you go through special training, it will be almost impossible to affect you. He paused to regain his breath and continued as if reading:


    "Have you ever considered a career in the Inquisition? With your abilities, you could be incredibly useful and..." Lord Quezox coughed deliberately loudly, interrupting the adept''s tirade. He stumbled and added, embarrassed, "Sorry, Your Lordship, it''s a habit. But please, think ..."


    "Allow me to congratulate you once again, Prince, and take my leave." Lord Quezox interrupted him, pulling the adept back and interrupting his monologue again. "Many guests, many inspections to come. We''ll send you a copy of the report. And yes, I hope to have the opportunity to speak with you again soon, in a different setting."


    The phrase "about a different setting" didn''t sound very friendly to Alex''s taste.


    When the whole inquisitorial delegation had already gone out into the corridor, and the door had not yet had time to close, Alex heard the tirade of a young man: Why can''t we send a request? He came to the service anyway. What difference does it make where..."


    "The Inquisition may insist on a retest." As if in between, the House Representative reported. "A specially trained adept can emulate the resistance. Yes, and in any case, if you have any difficulty, contact me. I will always be glad to help you." He added, holding out a business card made on a thin metal plate. "Now, if you''ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my next inspection."


    Taking the business card, Alex realized that his suit did not imply pockets, so when, on his way back, he bumped into Lord Lister in the "passing hall," he was still twisting the card in his hands.


    Lord Brenor Lister was a lean, unkempt young man of about eighteen and, to Alex''s incessant amazement, one of the sector''s most dangerous brethers, with more than a hundred duels under his belt. It had little to do with his appearance, which had something of a "nerd" about it.


    Lord Lister, to all appearances, had just emerged from the throne room after swearing his oath: his eyes gleamed excitedly. He was a little flushed and a little excited. He noticed Alex and hurried toward his "comrade in arms," forcing his attendant, a very tall maid of honor with a strange, eye-catching hairdo, to hurry. Long, toe-length, milky white hair was gathered into numerous tight strands as thick as a little finger, and from the base were chained with metal rings every ten centimeters. As she moved, the rings of the neighboring strands struck each other, producing a quiet metallic clatter. It was scary to think how much all that beauty weighed.


    "Allesandro, you won''t believe it. Today was the first time in my life that I''ve ever complained that my family is not as old as yours..." Lister said in a faltering voice, greedily taking the glass the servant offered him. "Have you ever noticed," he went on, draining his glass in a gulp and immediately grabbing another, "that when you repeat the same word a lot, it loses its meaning and becomes a collection of sounds... Hail, `ail, ail..." Brenor took another big sip and took a breath. "I''ve said ''Hail'' at least a hundred times. The poor guys standing at the end are probably hoarse by the time they take their oaths."


    "Only the Emperor is worse off." On reflection, he added.


    "Your Lordship." Lister''s attendant intervened in the conversation. She spoke with a slight accent, a little lingering and at the same time abnormally resonant in the consonants. "You have yet to be tested..."


    At that moment, Alex noticed there was something unnatural in the features of her face, certainly very beautiful, with expressive blue eyes, something elusive and alien, something that cut the eye with its presence but which he could not grasp. Maybe she wasn''t human at all. Or a representative of a ''distant morphotype'' like the Carpathians?


    "I remember." Lord Lister nodded to his maid of honor and, leaving his nearly empty glass on the tray, turned to Alex again. "We really should be going. And you, Lord Cassard, I suppose they''ve had time to check on you already?"


    "They did," he nodded, and with a faint shrug, he added without confidence:


    "They said I had high resistance."


    "Lucky..." Brenor sighed enviously. "And I confess, I''m afraid something might be revealed. There were rumors about my great-grandmother on my father''s side..."


    At that moment, the doors to one of the side aisles opened to let Artala in, accompanied by two officers, judging by their white uniforms, Navy officers.


    "How was your inspection, Lord Cassard?" Asked Artala heading toward him, and added with a polite smile. "And who is your interlocutor?"


    "My lord creator, save me from evil." The maid of honor who accompanied Lord Brenor whispered quickly, literally hiding behind him, trying to keep as far away from Artala as possible.


    "Ah..." Alex muttered, squinting at the maid of honor and trying to understand the reason for her behavior. "Lord Brenor Lister, my good friend, and this is my charming attendant prin-"


    "Of the Imperial Guard of the Second Wing, Chief Captain Artala Niazur." The princess blurted out in quick succession, not allowing herself to be introduced, and extended her hand to Lord Lister. "Let''s meet."


    "I am honored." The brether bowed his head politely but judging by the confused expression on his face, he didn''t quite understand what was going on either.


    "Prince, you don''t have much time! Don''t make me late, at least." The maid of honor exclaimed, and without waiting for Lord Lister''s reaction, she turned sharply, making the rings in her hair beat a frequent beat, and went in the direction of the door that leads to a side corridor.


    "If you''ll excuse me, I hope to see you again tonight." The "blade of honor" added one last word, and with a guilty shrug, he followed his escort.


    "Prince." Artala snickered, glancing behind the maid of honor and Lord Lister, who had already caught up with her, with a sarcastic look in her eye. "I should have an eye on you, you might make a political provocation out of nothing."


    She waved her hand and let go of her attendants, and turned to Alex so that she could be comfortably taken under his arm.


    "Is that so?" The "prince" sighed sorrowfully, taking the princess under his arm. "Then please enlighten me so that such a thing will not happen again."


    "You were going to introduce me as a princess, weren''t you?" She asked, squinting slyly at Alex and leading him into the side corridors of the castle.


    "Yes." He nodded tiredly. All this incomprehension was beginning to tire him out, or maybe it was just the effect of the pill coming to an end. "Is there something wrong with that?"


    "Well... I''ll bet you a thousand denarii you were going to introduce me as just Princess Artala, weren''t you?"


    "Right."


    "Well, your friend would automatically be in a very uncomfortable position, and so would you, in principle. There is no title of princess in the empire, but there is a group of people who think there should be one. I could be called Princess of Soltara, though there is no such title. We could say that "Young Mother" corresponds roughly to the Crown Princess, but there are difficulties of a different kind... Do you see where I am going with this?"


    "Any choice puts the chooser, in an uncomfortable position?"


    "Exactly. As I said before, when it comes to me, whatever you say will be against you."


    "Well, with such a pleasant companion, it is a pleasure to be silent." Alex made a joke.


    "Flatterer." Artala snorted, but I could tell she was pleased.


    They emerged into a spacious and surprisingly deserted enfilade of halls, where, hovering a few inches above the floor, a small open platform of a couple of chairs awaited them.


    "Settle in." The princess suggested, sitting down at the controls. "It''ll be faster that way."


    The platform slid silently forward, gradually accelerating to the speed of a running man. The halls were in succession, in a masterly ensemble, creating an unhurried play of tone and style, underscored by the impeccability of the execution. All this beauty was utterly deserted, save for the guardsmen in their azure uniforms, who stood in the doorway.


    "And what happened to the maid of honor who accompanied Lord Lister," Alex ventured to break the brief silence, "she was acting strangely."


    "A religious moment." The princess brushed it off. "She''s just synths. Most of them, the more religious ones, react the same way to me."


    "May I ask why?"


    "Well, it''s obvious," Artala shrugged, looking ahead without meeting Alex''s gaze. "I am the daughter of Queen Soltara, born of a sinful mortal and not of divine seed. According to the holy teachings of the synths, I am yet another ''Anti-Mother'' and ''Child of Perdition''. Any orthodox synths should not be on the same planet as me, let alone in the same room. Also, "Anti-Mother" and "Child of Perdition" are my most flattering names. Most of them aren''t."


    "I''m sorry." It was obvious that the princess was uncomfortable discussing it. "I''m not ...."


    "Yes, I remember your memory." She sighed sorrowfully. "And let''s just change the subject."


    "With pleasure." Alex could only support that approach. "Where are we going?"


    "To the ball! Where we will dance and have fun and drink." Drink, the princess said with an obvious hint.


    Oh, yeah, you have to take the pill with alcohol, he remembered, and judging by the feeling he was starting to feel some kind of withdrawal, the feeling of "detachment" was almost gone, he felt lethargic and apathetic, he just wanted to sit and not move anywhere.


    "Of course, I''ll have most of the fun," the Princess went on with obvious malevolence, "and you will drink and dance until they completely tear you apart."


    "Honestly, I''m not in the mood to dance, and I have absolutely no idea who''s supposed to tear me apart."


    "Oh, you''ll see now." Artala smiled as she stopped the platform near the large carved doors at which a pair of servants were on duty.


    She took Alex under his arm again and walked with him to the door, beckoning to the servants. The large carved doors began to slowly open, revealing a huge hall behind them, and Alex literally felt the stares on his skin. Beautiful, smiling women were looming over him, slowly squeezing the circle.


    * * *

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4


    * * *


    The door opened, letting the bright light into the semi-darkness of the small office, revealing a large desk, and its owner - a short, thin but obviously wiry, man "over thirty" with sharp features and bright, curious gray eyes. He was not sitting at the table, but standing, shuffling documents and info sticks between two folders.


    "Please, Sir Morir." The stack-cadet who opened the door was the kind of woman whose uniform could not hide her virtues, and she had more than enough of those virtues, she stepped aside to let the guest in, and when he entered she closed the door behind him.


    "This is hardly conducive to a working atmosphere." The Lord Inquisitor, who had entered, said with judgment, looking through the door behind which a stack cadet remained.


    "Envy is the lot of the weak." The "lean one" parried, not looking at the man who entered and not stopping to quickly sort through the papers and information on the table, arranging them in folders according to some scheme that only he understood. "And let''s cut the crap. I''m not going to run up and tell you how glad I am to see you, offer you wine or a cigarette. And you get right to the point. Frankly, I''ve been meaning to leave the palace for almost half an hour, and I only stayed because of you."


    "I am officially Aight," explained the entrant, taking a seat uninvited in the chair opposite. "As Lord Inquisitor to the Emperor''s Shadow."


    "Then you should call me ''your majesty,''" smiled the lean man without raising his eyes. "What''s the matter?"


    "Prince Cassard, this is one of the arrived ..."


    "I know who it is." Aight interrupted with a slight annoyance. He finally looked away from his folders and shifted his gaze to the Lord Inquisitor. "And I even knew his father."


    "He''s possessed."


    Lean man did not outwardly react in any way - but pushed the folders aside and indefinitely hummed and reached to the edge of the table for a cigarette case:


    "And how''s that?" He asked, lighting a cigarette. "The prince has just today successfully passed the test."


    "Remember, almost two decades ago I reported the case of twenty-three-sixteen and twenty-three-sixteen-two."


    Aight nodded silently instead of answering and smoked intently for some time, staring at the Lord Inquisitor through the clouds of tobacco smoke.


    "Suppose so." He finally reluctantly agreed, averting his gaze and venting a stream of gray smoke thoughtfully to the side. "I suppose there is good reason to believe that Prince Cassard is possessed?"


    "He misspoke during the inspection." Lord Quezox shrugged. "Used a seven-day week. A strange way of measuring the time that matches previous occurrences, plus memory loss. But it doesn''t matter," he waved, "an interrogation with Lim''s serum will suffice, and all the evidence you need will be there."


    "Don''t tell me you''ve come to ask for a visa to interrogate a sovereign prince on suspicion of possession, the very existence of which is classified."


    "What do you take me for?" The Lord Inquisitor sighed wearily. "I have come for advice."


    "Advice is what I do best." The gaunt man said, putting his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. "Well, let''s see. You know all about the Tallana Mutiny, of course. About the events on Cassard, I think you''ve got it all figured out, too."


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    "Yes."


    "After what happened, the Great Houses are somewhat nervous, especially Fyron. And this is not some "Great House" from the Core, with only titles as assets. We''re talking about sixteen domains, twenty-three inhabited planets, and a fleet bigger than our sector one. And although no one talks about it out loud, they know that the local branch of the Security Service was involved in all these events. So far, they have been persuaded that it was nothing more than a ridiculous gamble by local officials, who have already been more than roughly punished. The situation seems to be calming down. The Emperor wants it to calm down." With pressure, the dry-haired man added, "The empire needs it to calm down."


    "We can act in an unofficial way..." The Lord Inquisitor calmly suggested.


    "No one will guess, will they? What do you take them for? The OIFH is capable of eating SS idiots for breakfast, raw. There have been three assassination attempts on the prince, just the ones we know about. Now he is guarded almost better than the emperor: the guards of House, the OIFH, his own Arm, the Arms of the allied clans, the retainer service of House, his own retainers, almost a thousand men deployed in the capital, including half a hundred Carpathians in full armor. And most importantly there is the religious moment."


    "I know. That''s why I need advice."


    "What about - keep watching?"


    "This is what I swore to protect the empire against." With pressure, the Lord Inquisitor pronounced. "They didn''t have any prerequisites. They didn''t visit quarantine zones. They weren''t contacted by some adepts of incredible power or, god forbid, demons. No, they were perfectly ordinary people, and then hop." The Lord Inquisitor snapped his fingers. "A completely different entity wakes up, and there''s no trace of the old one. Aren''t you frightened? Something has taken this poor man''s essence and completely replaced it, and he is a descendant of a blessed clan. Who''s next, then? You? Me? The Emperor?"


    "You know very well that there is a directive to routinely check all persons of category "C" and above. If any of them are "replaced" at least that will be known."


    "That''s it," Lord Quezox spread his hands with an unfunny smile. "It has become known."


    "Let''s put it this way." Tiredly, the gaunt man said again, taking out his cigarette. "It''s all disturbing, I agree, but there are problems more mundane and more urgent. How to stop it right now, we don''t know. We''re unlikely to know if we take Prince Cassard specifically. You have a lot to work with for experiments. In any case, given the religious moment, the words'' possession and Lord Cassard should not be used in the same sentence. If you want the Emperor''s support, any claims against the Prince can only be of a political nature, and only irrefutably proven. If you really want to take him, you have to take him on something mundane but serious enough to justify the detention of a sovereign prince. Anyway, a man of his money and position is just doomed to get caught up in some conspiracy or intrigue. Do you understand me?"


    "More than that." The Lord Inquisitor said coldly as he rose. "Thank you for your advice. I understand His Majesty''s position."


    "You can go to him directly." He shrugged.


    "So far, I have nothing to go to him with." The Lord Inquisitor confessed, heading for the exit. He paused briefly at the door, thinking about something, but after a moment, he shook off his stupor and thanked once again for the advice.


    The lean man, on the other hand, smoked gloomily for some time, staring unseeingly at the door that had closed behind the Lord Inquisitor.


    Soon the cigarette was finished and methodically crushed in the ashtray, then a second one followed.


    "Stubborn..." Finally mumbled to himself when there was a third cigarette in the ashtray.


    He sighed heavily and reluctantly pressed the communicator''s secure communication button. The screen blinked, revealing the emblem of the Imperial Chancellery, which began to rotate slowly over the sacramental "call" inscription, and this went on for several minutes until a somewhat out-of-breath voice came from the terminal:


    "You caught me at a bad time. I ran out for a minute, so make it quick." The interlocutor blurted out. The image still didn''t come up; the screen was still just an emblem.


    "It seems the Male Guest has arrived." The lean man said.


    The answer was a long pause, and when his interlocutor spoke again, the tone of his voice became much heavier:


    "Who?"


    "Prince Cassard."


    Pause again.


    "And the Female Guest?"


    "No sign yet."


    "I see. Is it all good news?" He asked in a tone that didn''t imply anything good.


    "So far, yes."


    "Okay." The terminal screen flashed the word "over" and the rotating emblem dissolved into darkness.


    * * *

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5


    * * *


    The ¡°unofficial¡± party in honor of those who arrived at the onstum had formally begun, but the atmosphere was nervous and full of anticipation. The number of those gathered did not yet correspond to the grandiose dimensions of the main hall of the imperial residence, and rare groups of guests were simply lost in the huge and empty spaces of the parquet floor. So, for the time being, most preferred to stay at the refreshment tables along the walls or at one of the four polished metal columns that served as an informal "meeting place".


    Near one of the tables with drinks, a young man in a turquoise uniform of the imperial guard propped up the wall with an indifferent look. He lazily drove wine in a glass and, obviously had nothing to do. He listened to the rustle of conversations hovering around the hall. The thin, even slightly feminine features of his face expressed desperate boredom, and the look of brown eyes glided lazily over the audience until it settled on one guest. An ash-haired beauty of hard-to-determine age with a meaningful look of an experienced person. After waiting for her to look in his direction, the young man saluted her with his glass.


    He was noticed. He received a smile in return, and the beauty bade farewell to her companion and moved toward him.


    She was wearing a long maroon dress that showed off one shoulder and accentuated her green eyes surprisingly well.


    "Lady Laer. You are stunningly elegant tonight." He reported, kissing her hand. "And believe me, this is no routine compliment. To what do I owe the pleasure? You are a rare guest at boring palace gatherings."


    "Decided to make some variety in my life." She answered, looking back at the front doors. "And how did you end up here, Count?"


    "As a connoisseur of the beautiful. So many ladies have chosen to attend today, and many are going out for the first time."


    "At the onstum party? Count Zeper, so you must have gotten rich since the last time we met? And forget about your old friend?" Laer pretended to be indignant.


    "Alas, no." With sincere sadness, the count sighed. "My financial situation, if anything, has changed only in an unfortunate way."


    "Then your chances with the assembled ladies look very doubtful. You and I both know what they are here for."


    "Yes," he nodded, "to get a rich man from Sector Tail, and a richer is better. But there are many more of them than have come to the onstum."


    "Three times as much." Lady Laer agreed, casting an appraising glance across the room.


    "I think there will be a real fight between them." The count''s eyes sparkled with anticipation. "And it''s just nice to look at this alone. Not everyone is destined to win. The losers are inevitable. Someone will have to extract them from the rubble of ambition, console them."


    "It seems to me," Laer pronounced with friendly irony, "you''re trying to join those today who eat the fruits of battle without participating in it. They are called marauders."


    "Oh, how merciful. Thank you for not calling me a scavenger. But I won''t deny it. I''m not looking for the hard way, and I see interesting opportunities here to add a trophy or two to my collection. Speaking of trophies, I don''t see your companion. Who is he?"


    "I''m on my own, but I expect to fix that soon."


    "Here?" The Count''s eyes widened in surprise. "I remember you were always above the fray. Did something happen?" He inquired with almost genuine excitement.


    "No, it''s still the same." Lady Laer shrugged her shoulders with a sad smile. "It''s just worth trying something new sometimes. I thought when I become an old hag who no one visits and who communicates only with servants who quietly hate her. I will have no choice but to indulge in the memories of wasted youth. I don''t want to be tormented by the thought that I had a chance to spend a life of bliss and fun, not thinking about where to get a good loan. So I decided to cut off the path to retreat and try to arrange a party for myself. Doing my best, just so that later I would not I could reproach myself with insufficient perseverance. Well, if you are to take on such a thing, then you need to choose the most worthy goal. "


    "Prince Cassard?"


    "And why did you think of him specifically?" Laer answered question after question without denying it.


    "He''s all anyone talks about." The Count shrugged. "So I guessed?"


    She nodded silently in response.


    "So, what attracted you to him?"


    "Well," she shrugged again, "for example, he''s mind-blowingly rich."


    "All the lords of the Tail Sector are mind-bogglingly rich."


    "He''s mind-bogglingly rich, even by their standards." She countered. "And most importantly, unlike everyone else, he''s the Head of his own Family. Which means he won''t have to be subordinate to some crazy two-hundred-year-old matron."


    "Yes, a perfect husband." The Count sighed wistfully. "And why are there no such brides..."


    "There''s Nadina Pell."


    "Pell?!" He snorted indignantly. "Thank you humbly. Even I don''t like money that much." And he added much more calmly. "Yes, and then she is not the Head of the Family. And Prince Cassard: rich, noble, and without pesky relatives. The only drawback is that he''s young. I bet many assembled would prefer to see him on his way to the bright edge of old age... But it''s not without advantages. At least you can look at him without shuddering."


    "I hear interesting intonations Count. Is it an envy?"


    "Guilty as charged," he lowered his head guiltily, "I have caught myself thinking that it is a wild injustice when one man is so rich and noble at the same time. It has to be one thing or the other. If he were one of those corporate nouveaux riches, it wouldn''t be half as annoying."


    "You talk like a utopian," his companion sneered. "Also suggest that to share everything."


    "I''d love to share his fortune with you." He closed his eyes dreamily as if imagining something. "What a party you could throw."


    "You are surprisingly generous to share such a sum. I''m not sure I could do the same.


    "§¡h..." He waved his hand philosophically, "What are words worth? It''s unlikely we''ll get a chance to put them to the test."


    "Speak for yourself. It''s too early to write me off."


    "So you''ve made up your mind in earnest?" Her interlocutor raised an eyebrow incredulously. "And he is the one ''foolish enough, noble enough, and rich enough'' to count on your hand?"


    "Dreams, dreams..." She rolled her eyes, "I''ll settle for being a lover, too. For starters."


    "And yet?" Count Zeper did not relent.


    "And yet, it''s more of a sport," Laer admitted honestly. "A worthy target, worthy opponents, why not find out what I''m worth in this field as well? Besides, he is said to be a man of free morals and at the same time very generous to his mistresses."


    "They say so, yes." The count nodded accordingly. "But, Lady Laer, I have heard that he already has a mistress, and it seems he has more than one."


    "Where there''s two, there''s three." She threw back, keeping her eyes on the door from which Lord Cassard was about to emerge. "Especially since he has none with him."


    "Beware," jokingly warned the count, "One of them is a nun and must be as terrible in anger as she is jealous."


    "Astonishing awareness." Laer frowned just as jokingly. "You''ve heard so much about him that I''m beginning to fear whether you should be counted among my rivals."


    "As far as I''ve heard," the count repeated, this time with an obvious smile, "Lord Cassard is quite indifferent to men. But he and I share a common interest in fine wines and beautiful women. Perhaps we can get along on that ground."


    "Are you counting on becoming his confidant?"


    "I''m too lazy and inconsistent for that. And I don''t have the spirit for a sex change, and the old man would curse me. Have you decided exactly how you''re going to seduce him?"


    "I''ll rely on impromptu. The main thing is to catch attention. Maybe I can get close enough if I work my elbows properly."


    "Then perhaps we should move to the door beforehand?"


    "No. I''m counting on the constant spectacle of girls and mothers with hungry eyes to wear him out in no time, and he''ll try to get away from them. Either right to the alcoves or left to the tables. But he doesn''t know anyone here, so he''ll rush to the drinks, where he''ll bump into me."


    "A strategist dies in you.... By the way, I can imagine how Prince Cassard will be slandered after this evening." Count Zeper added after a short pause, and for some reason, he explained, "Relatives and acquaintances of the rejected candidates will not miss such an opportunity to slander."


    "It doesn''t touch me much," Laher confessed, continuing to watch the entrance carefully.


    "Really?" Count inquired, but he got no answer. Lord Cassard and his companions had just entered the hall:


    "Who''s that with him?" asked Laer, looking at the entrants with interest.


    "Lady Niazur. She accompanies him for the duration of his stay at the Palace, on the rights of Captain of the Guard."


    "I didn''t recognize her in her uniform. So she had already returned to the capital"


    "Not only is she back, but she managed to get an appointment to become the Head of Imperial Intelligence, haven''t you heard?" Count Zeper was sincerely surprised.


    "You know," she grimaced, "I get tired of politics." And with a grudging sigh, she asked, "Well, at least her, Count. Can not be counted among the potential rivals?


    "I don''t think so." He suggested cautiously. "From a religious point of view, it would be a horror. For synths, of course." The Count clarified with a meaningful chuckle. "Though who knows, twenty years ago his majesty wouldn''t have minded terrorizing synths."


    "Count you are obnoxious." Lady Laer threw a disgruntled look at him. "Just when I said I was tired of politics, you start discussing it.


    Meanwhile, just as Laer had predicted, the ladies gathered near the entrance instantly enclosed Prince Cassard in a tight ring. And his face went from astonished to dazed rather quickly.


    "I think it''s about time." Laer, who had been closely watching the development of the Cassard Swarming, decided and moved swiftly to intercept the prince.


    "Good luck." Count Zeper saluted the rapidly departing Lady Laer with his glass and, with a sigh, began again to lean against the wall, absent-mindedly watching what was happening.


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    Lady Laer reappeared about twenty minutes later, slightly flushed, with dilated pupils and ragged breathing, as if she had really been in battle.


    "How did the battle go?"


    "Without trophies," she said grudgingly, and she snatched the glass from the servant''s tray and emptied it in one gulp, "the drink was more interesting to him," he barely glanced at me. It seems I missed my weapon of choice; I should have followed Irisa''s example and worn something vulgar, too."


    Lady Irisa''s dress was so tight and thin that it was easier to consider her naked. And she really got more of Prince Cassard''s stares.


    "He must be a man of simple tastes," Count commented, his eyes lingering slightly on Lady Irisa.


    "It has to be," exhaled Laer, gradually calming her breathing. "Strange for a man of his background, though."


    "Rumor has it. He hasn''t been himself since the poisoning. He changed a lot and completely lost his memory."


    "I didn''t think it was that bad."


    "It''s all relative." The count shrugged. "By the way, you''re not the only one who seems to have failed. Lady Caryell looks so unhappy... Well, I must hurry before someone else takes advantage of her condition. I wish you good luck. The company doesn''t end with the first battle." He added and bowed, then hurried toward the lushly-breasted brunette in the night sky dress, who, by the look in her eyes, was ready to cry.


    An attentive observer, however, would have noticed that before Lady Caryell, the Count gracefully missed her and, occasionally bowing to his acquaintances, began to make his way toward the alcoves. Fortunately, Lady Laer, absorbed in her misfortune, could not yet be classed as an attentive observer.


    * * *


    As soon as he and Artala entered the hall, they were surrounded on all sides-by several dozen people, if not more. Alex, at first, thought the reason for such a stir was his companion, the Emperor''s daughter. But most of the interactions with Artala were limited to polite greetings and occasional dry congratulations on her new appointment. No, unlike all his previous few visits to aristocratic gatherings, the focus of all this interest was himself, and as Alex noticed very quickly, the interest was mostly in women, mostly young and pretty. And the interest was very intense.


    And for the first few minutes, it was only a little strange and unexpected but quite within the bounds of the usual, as suddenly, with a decidedly malevolent smile and with the words:


    Well, I won''t bother you, Prince, have fun." Artala left him, joining the small group of men in white uniforms, most of whom looked about three times her age.


    At that moment, it was as if an invisible protective barrier had disappeared around Alex, some magic of the princess'' presence that protected him. The beauties around him, as if they had received a command: "Get it!" they almost jumped on him all at once.


    He found himself in a kind of cycle of smiles, endless introductions, questions about whether he had received previously sent invitations and offers to drink to the meeting or dance, offers so insistent that Alex even felt some despair behind the perfect smiles of the beauties.


    So he started "having fun", trying not to forget the rather intricate rules of politeness, and drinking a lot of alcohol because he still had to drink the "illegal" pill.


    And it was supposed to be fun. The beauties surrounding him were surprisingly cute. The number of them, however, made it impossible to have a normal conversation but pleased the eye with the incredible variety. Alas, he gradually became more and more uncomfortable.


    Alex never suffered from fear of the audience or stage fright. Large numbers of people didn''t scare him, nor did the attention of large numbers of people to his person scare him. It was okay. If necessary, he could perform even in front of a million people. And he did. He didn''t know how many people there were at the Gift Day ceremonies at Cassard, but there must have been a couple of million. He liked women in general, especially the pretty ones, and if he became the object of a woman''s attention, it was a nice ego boost.


    But that''s not what happened here. Never before had he experienced a woman''s attention in such quantity and so intensely concentrated as a laser beam. And it did not warm his ego at all - on the contrary, with every minute, Alex felt himself more and more as food or something...


    So when a servant approached him with a florid apology and a bow, Alex took it as a welcome respite:


    "To Your Lordship." The servant bowed again and handed Alex a small, elegant communicator.


    He took the communicator with interest and, apologizing, stepped aside:


    "Your Lordship." He heard an unfamiliar male voice. "Forgive my inappropriateness, but from the outside, it seems as if the hustle and bustle of the holiday and the cares of the day have tired you out?"


    "Maybe," Alex replied quietly, squinting at his beautiful surroundings. They stepped back a little, out of politeness, but continued to circle around, keeping their eyes on him. "And with whom do I have the honor to talk?"


    "Count Zeper." His interlocutor introduced himself. "We don''t know each other, but Daim Diltar has asked me to help if you have any difficulties at the palace. And I thought you might benefit from some friendly advice: if you head toward the restrooms, you''ll be left alone, then you can say you felt ill and be free, at least for the day."


    "Sounds interesting," Alex admitted honestly in a half-voiced voice, trying not to let his enthusiasm be too noticeable from the outside. "I''d love to take your advice."


    "Then you need the third door on the left wall, as seen from the entrance to the hall, or ask one of the servants to escort you, and I''ll meet you there."


    As the atmosphere around him became more and more electrified. Alex hurried to follow the advice he had received, especially since all the alcohol he had previously drunk was already making itself felt.


    Behind the door, he was met by a young man in a turquoise guardsman''s uniform with very fine, aristocratic features:


    "Count Zeper." Once again he introduced himself, bowing his head slightly.


    "Very glad, and thanks for the timely advice, I was really starting to feel uncomfortable somehow already."


    "Sometimes attention can get tiring." The Count nodded understandingly. "Though I can only guess."


    "I don''t usually get that much attention either. But in any case, your help was very helpful. I hope to be able to return the favor one day."


    "An absolute trifle, not worth mentioning, just a touch of participation among good acquaintances."


    Right, I''ll have to thank Taer later for such thoughtfulness and foresight. Alex remarked mentally, asking out loud:


    "Are you friends with Daim Diltar? Did you study or serve together?"


    The answer was a diplomatic smile:


    "Friendship is a big word. I think Daim Diltar knows whether or not it''s appropriate to use it in this case, but I''d like to think we have a good relationship. And yes, we have crossed paths with her in the service."


    The Count pointed toward the door down the hall:


    "I have already warned the servants. You will be escorted to your assigned quarters, and I will inform them that you have become ill and have gone to your room. Otherwise, the assembled people might start to worry."


    "Thank you again." Alex sincerely thanked and, after saying goodbye to the Count, headed in the direction indicated, where a pair of servants with a small hovering platform was indeed waiting for him.


    The platform began to glide smoothly over the floor, and Alex had already prepared to admire the beauty of the decorations floating by as a frightened servant with a communicator in his hands caught up with them from behind, practically running:


    "Your Lordship." He panted, handing the com to Alex.


    "Have you escaped, Prince?" The princess''s voice overlapped with the homage of the general hall, and it was hard to tell from her tone whether she was annoyed or amused.


    "I don''t feel well." Alex lied honestly. "Probably had a few too many drinks."


    "Is that a reason? The main star of this onstum. It''s cowardly of you. If you''ve had so much happiness, you should drink to the bottom of it.


    Now Alex was sure Artala was just gloating, but just a little, not seriously.


    "I think I''ll have many more occasions to finish it."


    "Don''t even doubt it." The princess giggled, and then, after a while, she added in a serious tone:


    "I don''t think it''s necessary to say this, but... you really have been drinking. Please don''t hurt Liora." She asked, and she disconnected before he could ask who she was talking about and why he could hurt her.


    The platform soon stopped, and Alex entered the rooms assigned to him. He was greeted by a spacious living room in golden tones, with intricately shaped walls - like a huge oval with smooth curves and hollows. Around the out-of-the-way alcoves were armchairs and small tables on which stood trays of fruit and some drinks.


    Right in front of the entrance, in front of a pyramid of neatly stacked suitcases, stood a very pretty brown-haired woman. Her blue dress, which was strikingly reminiscent of the livery of the palace servants, despite the modest cut, perfectly emphasized the luscious roundness of its hostess. On top of the dress over her shoulder was a broad white ribbon with silver embroidery and two colored stripes along its entire length - a thin blue and a wide purple.


    At the sight of Alex, the girl bowed, and her more than the prominent chest, thanks to the low collar, appeared at a particularly seductive angle:


    "Your Highness, it is a great honor and joy for me to greet you." She said in a velvety voice, her eyes flickering from under her low bangs with obvious interest. "My name is Liora. I am the eldest of the maids assigned to your quarters and your maid for the duration of your onstum. Your Highness''s luggage has been delivered, but there was no indication of accommodation with it, and I took the liberty of waiting for you."


    "Yeah, uh..." Alex stopped in surprise, staring at the view. He''d been warned about the servants. They''re the sort of permanent personal servants that everyone arriving on the onstum must have so that they always have someone in their charge, regardless of the position they''re given. Some kind of status-related shtick. He didn''t get into the details.


    "Just put everything in the closets." Finally, he said, making a willful effort to look only into her eyes.


    Hearing the request, the girl reached for the keychain communicator hanging around her neck, and he hurriedly added:


    "Not tonight, maybe, but tomorrow." It occurred to him that a crowd of servants gutting his suitcases and putting things in their places was not the right environment in which to think things through in peace. "I''ll just need my infoblock for now." He added, looking doubtfully at the mountain of suitcases. "If you could help me find it, that would be wonderful."


    "Of course, Your Highness." Liora took a few steps to the side and turned and bent over one of the suitcases, looking for something there.


    Watching the maid from this new angle, Alex himself did not notice how his thoughts drifted to speculation that he was, in fact, a very lonely young man, virtually free of obligation...


    "Here, please, Your Highness." The maid finally straightened up and walked over to him, a little closer than necessary, and held out an infoblock decorated around the edges with flat dark crystals. Her perfume had a subtle, tantalizing scent reminiscent of vanilla. At that moment, "his highness" felt a heat sweep over him. He felt the urge to hold her against him, and to avoid doing so, he concentrated on the infoblock.


    A centimeter-thick flat tablet, a metal frame a shade of dark platinum, and some crystals, or gemstones, around the edges. The Infoblock was not his. He had an "inappropriately cheap," as his droid put it, an army model advised by Dudo.


    "Unfortunately, Your Highness''s infoblock is still being checked by palace security." The maid added, lowering her eyes sorrowfully. "So as not to inconvenience you, all data has been copied onto this one and assigned your communication number. The inner palace and main planetary channels have been entered into memory. If this is not enough for Your Highness, there is a cluster in the cabinet."


    "How nice of security." Alex smiled confusedly, looking at the brand-new infoblock. "Copy all the data..." And probably keep a copy, just in case. Well, thank you.


    "If Your Highness needs anything, I''m always here for you," Liora added, pulling a small cylinder with a chain from a pocket on her skirt. "You can call me on this communicator at any time, and I''ll do anything."


    That last phrase sounded very ambiguous.


    "Anything?" Alex couldn''t help asking, looking at the maid with undisguised interest.


    "Absolutely anything..." She began, sparkling her eyes excitedly, and after a meaningful pause, she finished. "... whatever Your Highness desires." She bowed once more and left the room, followed by a long look.


    Her gait was like everything else.


    Finally, the door tinkled melodically, hiding the maid, and Alex was left alone, clutching the communicator keychain in his sweaty hand.


    His breathing became like after a run, heavy and intermittent. He took several deep breaths and exhales to calm down, but only his breathing calmed down. His head was full of confused thoughts and images, and they were not about politics:


    I reacted like a thirteen-year-old schoolboy. Alex was genuinely surprised by his reaction to this girl. And the reaction didn''t want to go away. He was just tempted to turn on his communicator and call... Was it the alcohol?


    He had never noticed this reaction before. Alcohol had no particular effect on him at all. He just got worse at coordinating his movements, and his tongue would get slurred if he drank too much. He might get absent-minded, that''s all. He didn''t have the urge to do anything stupid after drinking.


    Something had to be done about it. Throwing the keychain on the way to the couch so he wouldn''t be tempted, he quickly found a small bag with his "personal" things in it: folders with history sticks, a now empty blaster holster, and a Fenote, all the other mountain of "necessary" things he had been supplied with by Retainer Service.


    Fortunately, the palace security did not have any complaints about the Fenot. Plastic jars with sparkling blue capsules were in place. Alex chewed one capsule: his mouth and throat burned with icy wormwood, making his cheekbones cramp.


    This "mild memory and thought stimulant" tasted unspeakably gruesome. It was exactly what was needed right now. He stood for a few seconds, getting away from the taste of the Fenote and tiredly leaning back in his chair, snatched a large purple berry from the tray on the nearest table - to eat.


    My mind cleared up a little, the "reaction" was not gone, but at least he could think about something other than Liora.


    By the way, that name sounds familiar. Alex wondered belatedly, That''s also the name of the rebel representative. I''m making a habit of bumping into Liora on my first visits to the palaces. The first Liora, though, didn''t have that effect...


    And what caused this effect was completely incomprehensible.


    It''s no coincidence that the princess asked me.


    It seemed to him that after his interactions with Kayrin and Isalaya, he had developed a kind of immunity to the mind-boggling beauty of some of the local women. And to Nadine, for example, or Queen Hershebet, he reacted absolutely calmly, admiring their beauty, as one can admire the beauty of the sunset - that is, without the stormy sexual overtones. But here... And there was no extraterrestrial beauty in Liora; she was rather cute.


    She was pretty and devilishly attractive. And she was hitting on me absolutely shamelessly. It was like being in the opening scene of a porn movie. And it wasn''t that he didn''t like it. Quite the opposite. But... it means she wants something from me... Although it could just be part of her job description. Hospitality to the fullest, so to speak. It was a very appealing idea. Tempting. It again produced thoughts and images, this time not rambling but quite definite. It was quite possible: to get up, walk over to the couch, grab the communicator, call the "head maid"... Very simple, in fact.


    Instead, he chewed another capsule of Fenote, took the infoblock, and sat back in his chair. The palace seemed to be an increasingly complex place. And in his picture of the world, there were obvious gaps in the area of the imperial family, inheritance, adepts, the Inquisition, and authority in general. And since he found himself close to that authority, it was worth filling them as quickly as possible. And with a week at the interrogation, it was strange. The first thing he decided to deal with was the calculation of time as the simplest issue.


    * * *

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6


    * * *


    Time is a strange thing. The heavy, thick curtains were pulled wide open, and the pale blue light of the moon filled the bedroom. Bright and unreal at the same time, it cast a ghostly silver on the polished sides of the furniture, making the room look like a painting in bluish colors or a faded photograph. Nothing disturbed this cast of frozen time. The windows, though open, were additionally covered by a protective field and let no breeze through, and only the occasional gleam of the distant lights of the capital on the ceiling let Alex know that time had not stopped.


    Time is a funny thing. Dreams were not coming, and he had been lying in bed staring at the ceiling for hours. Sixty minutes in an hour and sixty seconds in a minute. More than a couple of hours had passed, which meant he had been lying in bed staring at the ceiling for more than seven thousand seconds. Because there are three thousand six hundred seconds in each hour.


    Alex was a little proud of himself. This fact was not known to him by memory, but his brain exhausted by insomnia and alcohol still managed to multiply sixty by sixty, in his mind, without resorting to the help of the infoblock. However, he "cheated" with further calculations, using the calculator function to the fullest extent.


    Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, twenty-four hours in a day, sixty minutes in an hour, sixty seconds in a minute. When you use that kind of time all your life, it becomes ingrained in you, becomes something completely natural that you don''t think about, just as you don''t think about the composition of the air you breathe until that same composition becomes a problem.


    He hadn''t been able to sleep for hours, but he still had plenty of time, because there were thirty hours in a day, of which normally ten were for sleeping. He had first encountered thirty hours a day during the flight, but he thought it was a purely "ship''s" invention. It turned out to be the standard, thirty hours on a standard day. And the capital lived by that time. The situation was complicated by the fact that the planet itself revolved around its axis in fifty-six hours, but he guess it didn''t matter. It was night now, but Alex was ready to swear that he could read a book outside without any artificial light, so bright was the moonlight. On the contrary, they were on the moon, and the huge silver-purple ball that filled the floor of the sky was the gas giant around which they were orbiting.


    I wonder what counts as a local year here? Alex thought lazily, throwing his hands behind his head and looking at the ceiling. The rotation of the moon around a gas giant or the turn of that giant around a star.


    He did not know, and he was too lazy to look because in principle it was absolutely unimportant. As he had already found out, the standard year, like the standard day, had nothing to do with revolutions of anything around anything and consisted of three hundred standard days.


    The cherry on the cake was the discovery that the hour is actually a hundred minutes:


    Why? That makes sense. Why not a hundred? Convenient.


    And there are fifty seconds in a minute. Why not a hundred? Because there was also a "full minute" of a full hundred seconds, but outside of scientific laboratories and precise calculations, it hasn''t been used for a long time.


    All these facts added up to the fact that everyone around was actually older than at first thought. Simply because the local standard year, in seconds, was noticeably longer than Earth''s. True, there were difficulties with the length of a second. There was nothing to compare it with.


    In fact, nothing more than an amusing fact. After all, what difference does it make how to count time? The problem was that there was no place for weeks and months in this system. There were decades. The year was divided into thirty decades, and the date was nominated very simply, the number of the day in the decade, the number of decades in the year, and the year itself. That''s all, no weeks. True, once upon a time, there were weeks, and there were even months, and traces of them remain in determining the timing and duration of some holidays, especially religious - but no more than that, even the church did not use weeks for a hundred years, if not more.


    No wonder the Lord Inquisitor reacted this way. Alex generally suspected that Sir Quezox might have realized there was something wrong with him. But if he guessed something, then why did they formally complete the inspection?


    Even in the evening, a message came to him from Sir Ulter of the house representation. They had received all the necessary documents from the Inquisition, and there were no claims against him. It was unclear whether the pill passed by the princess was to be thanked for this or whether he really wasn''t an adept either, but all the formalities had been completed. He passed the test.


    Perhaps if Quezox had suspected something, he would not have completed it? Sir Ulter warned that sometimes the case could drag on. They could easily find an excuse if they wanted to. Not that Alex was afraid of the attention of the Inquisition, but after the alcohol, the withdrawal from the pill, and general fatigue, he instead felt apathy to everything that was happening. Sleep did not come anyway, and he just stared at the ceiling. Sometimes for boredom, he turns on the infoblock, only to turn it off again with a sigh after a few minutes.


    He had been like this for at least an hour, maybe more when he heard the door to his bedroom quietly open with a thin streak of yellow light in a silver moonlit realm:


    "Your Lordship." He heard Liora whisper through the ajar door. "You are awake, aren''t you?" The door opened a little wider, and she poked her head out from behind the door and asked louder:


    "Will you let me in?"


    "Yes, of course." Alex leaned up on his elbow and pulled the blanket up higher with his free hand. "Is something wrong?"


    "No, Your Lordship." Liora entered the room, and at her gesture, a small platform, in fact, a flying tray, floated in. What exactly was on the tray was hard to see, but it was stacked with some plates and jugs, and glasses. "Just sleeping pills if you choose to sleep, stimulants if you choose to stay awake, and some snacks."


    Liora remained at the very entrance to the room, shutting the door behind her, and the tray, making faintly audible purring noises, flew toward Alex.


    Well, if it''s not too much for him... He thought, looking at the tray of food that was literally bursting with food; in the large dish closest to him was a pile of tiny, crispy cakes, each the size of a fingernail, which was supposed to be served with soup, but Alex liked them terribly on their own. The tarts smelled so good, and his body suddenly reminded him that he''d hardly eaten anything with a loud rumbling sound in his stomach:


    "I just love these tarts." He murmured, a little embarrassed, "I didn''t expect they made them here, too. Thank you, that''s a nice surprise."


    "I contacted your Office," Liora explained from the far end of the room. She stood perfectly still, her blue dress disappearing into the moonlight, making her look like a ghost. "They helped me a great deal. Also, based on your preferences, I took the liberty of adding a few more dishes that you might like. For example, ''tartlets from Kasala,'' perhaps Your Lordship would find them delicious."


    It did not escape Alex that Liora''s voice was dry and lifeless in contrast to the sensual and playful tone he had heard just a few hours before:


    Of course, I''m the one with insomnia, and she woke up in the middle of the night because of me. There must be some kind of biomonitor in the bedroom, too. Although... He remembered there shouldn''t be any such thing in the guest rooms.


    So there''s a biomonitor or something like that in the bedroom? He asked aloud, with obvious displeasure, not that he was surprised that the Imperial palace could peep at its guests. It''s just odd that they don''t even try to hide it.


    No, Your Lordship, nothing like that," Liora hastily assured me, "any form of technical surveillance of guests is absolutely forbidden by the palace regulations. I..." She hesitated a little, and her voice sounded confused, "I sensed you were bored. I''m almost adept, you know..." She added, pointing to her ribbon in a low voice.


    "I thought there was supposed to be a purple vine or branch like that on the Adept''s ribbon." Pronounced Alex, pulling the tray of snacks closer to him. He was interested in adepts in general and was aware of their insignia, and the combination of blue and purple stripes was not among them. At least, he didn''t find one.


    "The Inquisition does not classify linear payo as full-fledged adepts because of their extreme weakness of ability. They are placed in a separate category, Your Lordship."


    "Who are the linear payo?" He asked with sincere interest, taking from the tray a tartlet advertised by Liora. It was an ordinary tartlet, small, made of sandy dough, with some kind of filling that smelled pleasantly of mint and a small green almond in the center. A peanut, maybe.


    "The payo are slaves, Your Lordship." There was suddenly so much unexpected aggression and challenge in Liora''s voice that Alex froze with the tartlet in his mouth, looking at the maid in surprise:


    "Bred in Sociar by direct selection." Liora continued, and despite the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he could see her eyes glinting angrily in the opposite corner of the room. "With genetically inherent servility and psionic abilities so degenerate that loss of stability is impossible. Linearity was provided by inbred insemination by the male line. This, your lordship, means that each new generation of Payo girls became pregnant by their own fathers. Or should I say father, the same genetic material was used for all payo, which is how laboratory animals are bred. It was a disgusting practice that gave rise to an equally disgusting result."


    ''His Lordship'' froze, looking at Liora glaring angrily, not quite understanding what happened, he had the feeling that he was verbally slapped on the cheeks, but it was completely unclear why:


    It''s a shame, isn''t it? I didn''t do anything but ask. He paraphrased the classic in his mind as he sat down on his bed and chewed the tartlet thoughtfully. It was a salty, crumbly tartlet with a very light filling of low-fat cottage cheese, almost neutral in flavor, which only emphasized the taste of almonds. It turned out to be a very juicy berry with a delicate but rich fruit flavor and a pleasantly subtle sourness, the texture resembling that of a large cherry.


    "A very tasty tartlet." He said it out loud to lighten the mood, and I had to hand it to Liora. Her recommendation was one hundred percent accurate, and he really liked it. "Especially the berry, so tender."


    "It''s not a berry, Your Lordship. It''s a fruit bug that lives on Kasala." It was hard to see Liora''s facial expression in the half-light, but her tone didn''t sound like she was joking.


    "A fruit bug?" Just in case, he asked again, hoping he''d misheard.


    "A fruit bug," Liora repeated clearly.


    "An insect?" Alex clarified, fearing that the tartlet might go in the opposite direction.


    "Quite right, Your Lordship, it is an insect. It must be served alive, only thoroughly washed, and its legs torn off. For ease of serving."


    He listened to his body, the tartlet didn''t seem to go back:


    "Interesting." Philosophically, Alex sighed. "I haven''t eaten live fruit bugs yet." And pushing the tray slightly in Liora''s direction, he asked:


    "Don''t you want one yourself? Pretty tasty fruit bug."


    "It is unbecoming of a maid to eat in the presence of an illustrious prince." Liora categorically cut her off. "I will tell the cooks that you were satisfied. I will not disturb your lordship any further. If you need anything, you can summon me at any time." She added and quickly bowed and exited, dazzling Alex for a moment with the bright yellow light of the open door.


    That''s what''s interesting, though, is that there was no wild reaction like the first time. He noted in his mind, staring thoughtfully at the tray of food. She didn''t come close this time, kept to the other side of the room - maybe that''s why? Some kind of aura around her? Since she''s "almost an adept" or something, pheromones of some kind. I''d better find out...


    His hand reaches for another tartlet, deciding that resistance is futile, Alex shrugs it off and poisons it into my mouth:


    Fruit bug or not, it''s an extremely tasty wretch. Anyway, what''s the big deal? I ate ants when I was a kid.


    After wiping his hands with the wet towel left on the tray, Alex stretched out on the bed again, taking the infoblock with him:


    Well, let''s see what we can find about payo. If only they had some normal search engines here ...


    He did not sleep, so he decided to rely on stimulants, as he had heard from several people that not sleeping for a few days was not a problem at all. He pondered for a while which to use, the one that Liora had suggested or the one he had been given in his things. After some thought, he came to the conclusion that there was no difference. Liora had been alone with his things for an unspecified amount of time. Yes, and rummaging through the suitcases was lazy. And in the end, the local chemistry didn''t let him down. He couldn''t even remember the last time he''d felt this great in the morning. "Morning," of course, in the calendar sense. It was still twilight outside the window, with the huge disk of the gas giant obscuring the sky.


    But the night vigil itself was relatively fruitless. He found little about the Payo. The personal slaves of Queen Soltara, ruler of the entire Sociara Region. It was believed that there were about a hundred of them, all identical in appearance and genetic makeup. For this reason, there was little about them in public sources - except very general information: that their creation had a primarily religious and symbolic meaning. The very name "payo" meant "sinful," and a search on them turned up a bunch of religious nonsense about the inevitable triumph of virtue over sin.


    The Payo also participated in some synth religious rites, such as the rite of "Trampling on Sin," in which Queen Sociara, as the embodiment of virtue, "trampled" the Payo as the embodiment of sin. As Alex understood, this action was purely symbolic. Accordingly, for the same reasons, the payo was mostly used by the queen''s servants since it was believed that an ordinary mortal could not handle so much "sin". Sometimes, for special merits, the queen could give payo to all the high-ranking dignitaries as recognition of their "virtue". And, accordingly, with the subjugation of the Empire to the government and the abolition of slavery, all this practice ceased to exist.


    It was what could be called "trustworthy information," but beyond that, there was just an abyss of bullshit of dubious validity, mostly revolving around the incredible sensuality and sexual talents of the Payo. Claims that they are capable of giving incomparable bliss by anticipating any desires of their lovers, which then makes ordinary women not even want to look at them. To statements that just being near a Payo will drive any man, woman, or even a droid crazy instantly and irrevocably. All in that vein.


    "They say just being in a room with payo can drive men crazy." Alex shared his discovery as Liora entered his bedroom to warn him that it was time to get up and that his escort, Princess Artala, was coming.


    "That is quite impossible, Your Lordship." Liora looked nonchalant, serious, and focused. "One would have to be of sound mind to go out of mind, which is not the case with most men."


    Alex put the infoblock aside and raised an eyebrow, and gave Liora the same look:


    "Of course, it has nothing to do with your Lordship." She assured him in a nonchalant tone. "If you don''t need any help getting dressed, I''ll go and arrange for breakfast. Do you have any requests, or will you leave it up to me?"


    "No, you know, I could use some help after my bath." Proclaimed Alex, watching the maid''s reaction with interest. "With clothes and all."


    Not a muscle on Liora''s face flinched:


    "Of course, your lordship. As you, please. Lady Niazur has sent her recommendations in this regard. Would you care to look at them, or do you have other wishes?"


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Perhaps I should take a look at the references." Alex agreed. After all, if all went according to plan today, he would have a private audience with the emperor and receive his appointment. It was a rather important event, and he didn''t know much about the intricacies of local protocol yet.


    Liora quickly bowed and dashed out of the bedroom. When he emerged from the bath in his bathrobe, she was already greeting him with new arrivals: with her were two more maids dressed in the same modest blue dresses but without ribbons. One of the maids was leading a small floating platform with his suitcases in front of her.


    Liora began to read Artala''s recommendations from her infoblock while the other two maids, following her commands, opened the suitcases, showed Alex the matching clothing options, and put back the ones he rejected. It was incredibly fast and neat:


    If someone gives them the task of searching all my things, they will do it in ten minutes, if not sooner, so I will not know later that someone has gone through my things. He thought as he watched them work harmoniously, though, in principle, this whole demonstration was quite unnecessary, as the decision "what to wear" was made as soon as he heard that "the guards uniform as at the ball" would do just as well.


    "Thank you, I''ve made my decision. You''re free for now," Alex said, turning to the maids, and looking at Liora, he added:


    "And Liora, I''m going to ask you to stay." He said, almost without hiding a smile. "I''ll still need your help getting dressed."


    It seemed to him that all this time Liore had been trying to stay away from him, and he wondered what would happen if she came any closer. A new bout of "teenage sexuality"? Or was it the alcohol last time, after all?


    The maids bowed and slipped out of the room, and Liora took out his chosen uniform and began to help him. She was a great helper. She was courteous, considerate, and attentive. Alex, however, hardly noticed all this, immersed in the analysis of his feelings. Laura was very close to him. He could feel her breath and the scent of her vanilla-like perfume, she touched him to help him dress, and sometimes when she moved around, he felt the touch of her long hair.


    The atmosphere is much more sensual, and nothing at all. Alex thought, slightly disappointed, Is it all because of the alcohol?


    "Is there something you wish to ask your Lordship?" Asked Liora. She was buttoning the buttons of his uniform and was standing quite close, right in front of him.


    "I just read a lot of nonsense about Payo overnight. " Alex admitted, feeling a little guilty. "And I was curious to see if any of it had anything to do with the truth. I''ve been having trouble remembering since the poisoning, and sometimes the most obvious things slip through my fingers."


    "I was warned of your memory difficulties, the House Fyron representation, and your Office, when I was preparing for your Lordship''s visit. Your Office also warned me that you couldn''t stand being helped to dress." Liora answered as she was buttoning the collar of his uniform, and her fingers were just touching his neck, but she had a look as if she wanted to strangle him, maybe not to death, but at least so that he "felt" it.


    "Usually, yes." Alex didn''t deny it. "But this is a special occasion, so I decided not to deny myself the pleasure."


    "As your lordship pleases. That''s my job."


    The dressing was done, and she took a step back, examining the work of her hands:


    "What exactly is of interest to Your Lordship? I will try to answer any question you may have."


    "You know, like ''driving mad''? I really felt weird yesterday when we first met."


    "In some situations, pheromone levels in the payo can exceed those of the average female. This can have an arousing effect on some people."


    Alex looked at Liora expectantly, as if to hint that she should continue, but she stood opposite him, defiantly ignoring his hints:


    "In what situations?" Finally, he couldn''t stand it.


    "In situations where the payo senses a desire directed at her, from the person in whose command she is," Liora pronounced, looking through Alex.


    "But I''m not..." Alex began. "Although..."


    "In any case, you have nothing to worry about, Your Lordship. I took medication that suppresses this effect." She answered quickly and evidently tried to change the subject. "Would you have any requests for breakfast?"


    "No, I''ll rely on your choice, those tartlets, for example, I really liked them."


    "I''m glad I could be of service to you," Liora replied with a bow and left him alone.


    Well, at least, it didn''t seem that way to me. Alex thought thoughtfully, looking at himself in the mirror despite his perfectly fitted uniform, he looked a bit guilty or something. Yeah, not a dashing hussar, that''s for sure.


    While some of the maids cleaned the bed and others served breakfast in the next room, Alex settled down with the infoblock in the living room, where he was caught up in the princess'' visit:


    "I knew you''d be wearing white again." She stated grudgingly instead of greeting you. "So we''ll blend in. You should have worn something darker to set me off.


    This time Artala wore a snow-white uniform that resembled his own, the only difference being that hers had gold epaulets and a sword pendant cord, and it suited her remarkably well, blending well with her jet-black hair and bright blue eyes.


    "No matter what I wear, I can only accentuate you, for no one is meant to outshine you," Alex replied with a compliment, seeing from the princess''s face that her claims were clearly not serious.


    The princess only rolled her eyes in response to the compliment.


    But I think she likes it, he mentally remarked, asking aloud:


    "Do we have to go yet?"


    "No, we have a minimum of an hour or more yet. There''s plenty of time for breakfast." She answered with a hungry gleam in her eye.


    Breakfast would have been nice. He was already working up an appetite, too. The princess said that the longer one was on the stimulants, the hungrier one got. What would happen if one didn''t sleep for a week?


    "By the way, yesterday at the ball, everyone was congratulating you on your appointment." Alex decided to change the subject. "I wish I''d joined them back then, but I never understood exactly what you were congratulated on."


    "It pleased His Majesty to merge the Ranger Service and Imperial Intelligence, and since Intelligence has been without a Head for almost half a year, the management of the merged service has been given to the Head of the Ranger Service, me," Artala told him proudly, bowing her head slightly.


    "You can''t help but be congratulated on that. I''m sure it''s the best choice."


    The princess gave him a pained look in reply:


    "Great shadows, Prince, what is happening to you? I''m beginning to feel like I''m at a formal gathering."


    "I''m tuning up. I have an audience with the emperor, after all."


    "Don''t get too set in your ways. Father is not a fan of the excessive ceremony."


    "Do you have any advice?"


    "Just be within the bounds of propriety." The princess shrugged. "Your appointment, a long-decided matter anyway, is all just a formality."


    "And where am I going to be assigned?" cautiously inquired Alex, who was generally a little frightened by the whole service thing. He didn''t feel ready, to put it mildly.


    "No, I won''t." Artala grinned a pissed-off face. "Let the uncertainty torment you."


    They managed to exchange a few more minutes of unspiteful banter before Liora showed up to tell them breakfast was ready.


    "Thank you, Liora, we''ll have a little more private time with Prince Cassard and then we''ll come." Unexpectedly for Alex, Artala answered her, and after waiting for the maid to leave, she turned to him:


    "She has this phase..." Artala grumbled unhappily, pointing her eyes in the wake of Liora''s departure. "Be brave. She''ll be unbearable for a few days after the pills. Then she''ll be the sweetest, most affectionate person you''ve ever met in your life."


    "Is it because of pheromone suppression?"


    "Pheromones? No, what makes you think? It''s the antidepressants. Payo has a need to..." The princess paused, obviously choosing her words. "Let''s just say to please. They sense what you want, and if they don''t succeed in pleasing you, they produce enough depressants to drown three regular humans. It''s a genetic trait. So she takes antidepressants. And because they make her want to lie down and not move, she also takes stimulant mediators. This makes her character deteriorate noticeably, and she usually has an attack of self-loathing. Because of the fact that she is: "servile, can''t control her instincts, acts like an animal," that sort of thing. This cycle of self-injury usually takes her a couple of days. Then everything goes back to normal."


    "Sounds awful." Sincerely, Alex sympathized. "Does that happen often?"


    "Not really, once or twice a year," the princess shrugged. "Depends on the owner, of course, for this attack is clearly to thank you."


    "I really didn''t do anything." He sincerely assured her.


    "I don''t even doubt it." Artala snorted. "You came after the ball, where a dozen or so girls tried to rub up against you, and you were greeted by Liora, looked at her with a hot stare long enough for her to "warm up," and then sent her away."


    "Somehow, that''s the way it was." With a sigh, Alex admitted.


    "Well, it''s worse for you, too." Artala declared. "You''ve lost a lot."


    "So all these stories about Payo are true?"


    "Great shadows, how should I know?" The princess was indignant. "What do you think, just because I studied in a Sorority Convent, that I am interested in women?"


    "No, I guess not." He was confused, not expecting the conversation to turn this way.


    "It''s the perfect clich¨¦. Okay." She sighed, taking his arm. "Let''s go get some breakfast, or I''ll bite someone."


    "Everyone says those sororities, they even sleep in each other''s arms." The princess continued her enlightenment after she sat down at the table and kicked out all the servants except Liore. "This is nonsense!"


    Artala managed to eat and talk while gesturing expressively with her food:


    "They just don''t understand. Hessan is a desert. In the daytime, it''s so hot that you could die, and at night it''s cold, very cold. And the upper levels of the monastery, where the disciples'' cells are, get cold in the middle of the night. It''s terribly cold there."


    She suddenly interrupted her story and handed one of the plates to Liore, who was standing near the table:


    "Do you want some? The tubes turned out really good."


    "Thank you, I''ve already had breakfast," Liora answered quietly.


    "As you wish." The princess rolled her eyes and went on with her story, conducting a tube of spicy paste:


    "Of course, the students sleep snuggled up to each other, but not because they''re feeling anything. It''s just very cold. The older sisters genuinely think it''s good for their metabolism to be cold or something. But they measure up to themselves, and after taking the service they can sleep in the snow. I guess." Artala added without certainty. "So all these stories about maiden love among the sororities are just idle speculation. It happens, of course, but not more often than usual, maybe even less often."


    "Why?" Out of politeness, asked Alex, who had completely lost the thread of the conversation and was just trying to keep the conversation going.


    "Well, because it''s too easy. After all, there are only women around, and the nearest man is on another planet. And if it gets out that some poor girl is dating a girl, that automatically puts her in the "desperate" category. And that''s not a reputation worth having in a 100% female collective."


    "If the closest men are on another planet, does that mean that most keep their chastity throughout their training? I have heard that, on the contrary, sisters are attributed a very turbulent love life."


    "A tumultuous love life? Among the sisters? I don''t think so." The princess burped, clearly thinking about something of her own. "In their dreams, maybe. But once every sixty-four days, most go to the Throne of Fire, on Cassard, for two days of ceremonies. That''s the reason for all this talk of unrestraint, by the way. When you only have two days, there''s no time to flirt."


    "You must have fond memories of Cassard?" Alex continued to keep the conversation going, thinking. So that''s how the real Prince Cassard and the Princess could have met. She must have been a regular visitor to his domain.


    "No, it was horrible," Artala assured him with the blank stare of someone who''d seen more horrors than the psyche could handle. "I had Isalaya with me, and whenever anyone would even look in my direction, she would lunge at him like a vorskl sniffing blood, only to scare him away and say, ''See, he wasn''t serious about you''. Although anyone can understand that it''s hard to be ''serious about me'' when Isalaya is wiggling her ass in front of him."


    "She probably wanted to protect you."


    "She''s just a mean bitch." Artala cut him off in a blunt voice. "I love her as a sister, but when it comes to affairs of love..." The princess froze in speech, clearly thinking about something, her gaze focused on Alex, filled with a kind of morbid mischief and a glint of anticipation:


    "Liora, read Prince Cassard''s fortune for love," Artala demanded, even slamming her palm on the table with uninhibited anticipation. "It''ll be great," she assured Alex.


    "I am now in the service of Prince Cassard." Liora calmly parried, not moving from her seat.


    "I hate it when you''re like this." The princess snorted. She turned to Alex and pulled his sleeve. "Well, order her, Prince. It will be interesting. All the female half of the palace runs to her to fortune-telling."


    The princess''s eyes shone with such childlike delight that it was embarrassing to refuse her:


    "If it''s not too much trouble..." Alex turned to Liora, who was standing indifferently beside him.


    "As Your Lordship wills," she replied, taking a deck of local cards from the pocket of her dress. "What would you like to read your fortune on?"


    "For love, the Small Four." The princess screeched out for him, kicking up a chair for Liora and unceremoniously shoving trays and plates aside. "There''s no time for a Full Eight."


    Liora sat down at the table with them and began to shuffle the deck:


    "First, you must pay for the fortune-telling, otherwise, it cannot be real." The maid explained, shuffling the cards like a professional card player. "That is the tradition. I used to take a token one danarii, but after the conflict with the gray monks, I had to promise to charge no less than twenty-five danarii for divination..."


    Alex silently pulled out a hundred denarii card and handed it to her. Liora put the cards aside for a while, and to Alex''s surprise, she broke the card into four pieces - returning three of the pieces to him.


    You live and learn. He thought, mesmerized as he watched the cards change face value on the pieces and gradually begin to grow to their normal size.


    "Let the Twilight reveal the future," Liora said in a somber and solemn tone, and the cards fluttered even faster in her hand, swapping places at a rapid pace. "Pull." She said in a commanding tone, placing the deck in front of him.


    Alex reached for the card that was on top, but at the last moment, he changed his mind and pulled one out of the middle of the deck and placed it upside down on the table. The map depicted a subject sitting cross-legged, wearing an asphalt-colored robe, with a charcoal black mask covering his entire face. Alex didn''t remember a card like that.


    "The Grey Monk..." Artala commented with some surprise. "So you are the duplicitous man, Prince Cassard."


    "It''s a good card in its own way," Liora contradicted her. "It may speak of your powers of observation, your ability to listen to others, and not to lose your head... Let''s see what else the Twilight reveals?" She took the deck in her hands and shuffled it again, drawing another card and placing it under the first:


    On the card, against a background of two orange orbs that must have represented two suns at once, stood a man in a light-colored jumpsuit with black stripes. Behind him was a solid metal wall, or rather the side of a ship with a wide-open door.


    "Cosmic is a vagabond and a stranger. You are very far from home..."


    "Well, seven days of flying." Just in case, Alex put it in, getting a little anxious.


    Next, a square fell out. The Emerald Guardian lay over the first card.


    "There are many pleasures around you, and you know how to enjoy life..."


    "Come on, who''s coming for his heart." The princess hurried, almost jumping with impatience.


    "Who goes after your heart," Liora repeated, laying out a card with a hot brunette in a bright red dress:


    "Scarlet Lady. It''s definitely Isalaya." The princess sighed disappointedly. She was obviously expecting something else.


    "You have a rare and passionate admirer, Your Lordship." Liora continued. "But beware of rejecting her. Love will instantly turn to hate."


    She laid a new card under "admirer," "The Seven Stars are a branch of the search. Obviously, you''re not together yet, but she''s looking for a way to connect with you. So who is she..." Above the Scarlet Lady lay another card. "Castle - that''s someone close. Not necessarily a relative, maybe just someone in your circle."


    "It''s definitely Isalaya." Once again, the princess repeated with obvious dissatisfaction.


    "What''s between you..." Liora continued to divine, unaware of the princess''s vagaries. On the table lay a card with a bowing man. "A Servant...- some person of low birth stands between you."


    "Hmm?" Artala raised her eyebrows in interest. "Now that''s interesting. Who is it?"


    To the right of the Servant lay a card on which was a couple spinning in a dance, their faces covered by brightly colored masks.


    "Ball. Masquerade. This person is not at all what one seems. All you see is no more than a mask."


    "Now that''s interesting." The princess whispered with renewed interest in her eyes."


    "What in the future..."


    A new card lay beneath the Servant. It was again an unfamiliar card: a white-haired girl of demonic appearance clad in golden armor. There was a bloody laceration in the center of the armor on her chest, a bloody dagger in her left hand, and a flaming heart in her right. Blood dripped from the heart, turning into fiery petals at the bottom of the picture.


    When the princess saw this card, it was as if she choked. She stopped halfway and just stared at it for a few moments:


    "You didn''t shuffle the deck well." She finally declared, looking at Liora with displeasure. "So much gray came out."


    Liora, too, froze looking at the card that fell out:


    "Let''s start over." She finally suggested and reached out to collect the cards from the table. "I must have really just shuffled the deck badly."


    "But why?" Alex protested. "I wonder what''s next. You''ve already intrigued me so much with these secret admirers... What kind of card is this?" he asked, pointing his eyes at the white-haired woman.


    "Gray Lady." Reluctantly, Artala said, looking at the map with displeasure.


    "Mistress of this world, High Shadow, Champion of Twilight," Liora proclaimed in a muffled voice, clearly assuming the role of grim prophetess. "All living things are in her hand, for she is Death."


    "Oh, don''t you start." Artala shushed her.


    "I didn''t recognize it," admitted Alex, who was completely unaffected by the whole scary thing. "They draw it differently in playing cards, and what does it mean in this case?"


    "A symbol of inevitability and death. Bad death." Liora said, looking him in the eye.


    "Is there a good one?"


    "Of course, it happens," the princess rolled her eyes. "Death in battle, for instance. And this is an accident or death at the hands of an assassin."


    "So the two-faced servant that stands between us is about to die a bad death?" Alex clarified.


    "In this case, this card affects you, not the source." With more and more creepiness in her voice, Liora said. "It''s what your obstacle will do or turn out to be."


    "So I should be wary of assassins. That''s not news."


    "I guess so..." Liora replied, somewhat embarrassed, without any gloom in her voice.


    "So that''s it?"


    "You can still see what awaits you when you join." The maid pulled out the last card and, with a cryptic chuckle, showed it to Artala, which upset her completely.


    "What''s up there? Some bad card again?" Alex wondered sincerely.


    Liora silently laid the card on the table. It was gray, and only two eyes burned with a blue light in the middle.


    "The Gray Lord." Alex determined. "The card is a shifter, it can be played in place of any other card, and what does it mean here?"


    "Twilight. The Master of Randomness. The Giver of this world." Liora triumphantly proclaimed, looking at Artala triumphantly.


    "Don''t listen to her." Mumbled an obviously frustrated princess. "She''s a member of the Twilight Church." And she added with annoyance. "I told you she just shuffled the deck badly. You should have started over. I hate that sort of thing. Of course, it''s not serious at all, and it''s silly. But I still get upset and feel guilty."


    "So that''s a bad card too?"


    "It all depends on the point of view," Liora answered him. "For a secondarist, maybe a bad one."


    "And for the non-secondarist?"


    "Twilight is the opposite of Flame and therefore of love and passion," Liora explained. "Its blessing is available to anyone who is willing to accept it, regardless of strength, moral or physical. He symbolizes reason and calculation. He is the Lord of chance. Lord of the minds of mortals, as well as patron of money-grubbers, for this, is his Gift."


    "What does that mean?" An impatient Alex asked, intrigued.


    "That means it''s all up to chance," Liora said in a patronizing tone, clearly enjoying her role as a gloomy fortune teller. "And that chance can be both incredibly happy and incredibly unhappy. What it certainly can''t be is anything moderate because of the Gray Lady''s presence..."


    "That means it will all turn out to be lies, death, and possibly money." Artala interrupted her, rising from the table.


    "For whom will it turn out?"


    "I don''t know," she shrugged. "Maybe for everyone. I''m sorry... We have to go anyway.


    "I don''t think it''s a big deal," Alex said, quite sincerely, as he stood up too. "I''ve been threatened by assassins before, so it''s nothing new. And it turns out I''m going to have a passionate love affair, which will turn out to be a sham, but with profit." He added optimistically.


    The princess replied with a silent wave, clearly out of the mood.


    * * *

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7


    * * *


    The large, glowing projection of the galaxy, riddled with colored sectors, blinked out, and the "conference room" was once again in darkness, leaving only a brightly lit long table of slightly rough gray metal and nine men in dazzling white admiral uniforms seated around them in high armchairs.


    "So, gentlemen, no later than the end of the decade, I await your suggestions." The emperor ended the meeting. The instant communication went off, and the five present scattered golden sparks. Those that proved tangible headed for the exit, escorted by the master of the office. Soon the farewells were over, and the large wooden door closed, cutting off the brightly lit corridor and the guardsmen from the personal guard.


    "Is there anything left?" Asked the emperor to the aide-de-camp, who kept silent


    "Stack-Captain Estrem." The adjutant replied, not looking at the infoblock. "Waiting for your audience."


    "Ah, checking of Lord Cassard..." He hummed, settling back in his chair. "Call him in. And summon Aight, too. Let''s see what he has to say."


    The adjutant nodded silently, and collecting the infoblocks left on the table, slipped out of the office, and soon the door opened again in front of a short brunette in a black security uniform. He had an unexpectedly thin face, elongated with sunken cheeks and light brown eyes, in which there was something feline, the kind of cats that like to play with their prey.


    As he entered, he ducked reflexively as if afraid of hitting his head. The low ceilings of the "conference room," with their black color and the shrouding semi-darkness, seemed even lower, overhanging like a crushing press.


    After the captain, the emperor''s aide slipped into the study and immediately retreated to the side, practically disappearing into one of the dark corners.


    "Your Majesty." The captain bowed his head again, pulling himself up at attention, which was somewhat awkward because of the two infoblocks he was holding.


    "Come in, come in," the Emperor impatiently beckoned him with his hand and pointed to one of the chairs. "Have a seat. Will you please me with something interesting?"


    "Thank you." Captain Estrem sat down opposite and held out one infoblock to the emperor. "There are a few curious points, Your Majesty. But they are rather curiosities. The analysis so far hasn''t shown anything directly incriminating or just ''interesting'' from a professional point of view. But there are still quite a few gaps in the dossier. Before the recent events on Tallana and Cassard, the prince was somewhat out of the focus of our sectoral control."


    The emperor took the infoblock, immersed himself in the reading, and asked without raising his eyes from the screen. "And what would you emphasize?"


    "Prince Cassard, indeed, has changed greatly since the poisoning and loss of memory." Answered the captain and added after a short pause. "Well, the assassination attempt must have played an equally important role. He doesn''t behave as you''d expect from a sovereign prince, but not because he''s up to something. It''s because of the trauma. And as it seemed to me from personal experience, this change creates a kind of aura of suspicion around the prince. During communication, there is a sense that he is not telling you something. He does sometimes miss the point, but for the most part, he simply has nothing to say.


    "Did you have any personal contact with him?"


    "Had no honor. I judge by the records."


    "Well, the record is a twisted matter, you should know..." The Emperor muttered. "I see you have discovered the Prince''s ''guidance''?


    "Exactly, Your Majesty."


    "And what''s he got there? I guess weapons skills and languages?"


    "Only languages, or rather one, native. The prince suffered from dyslexia as a child. This is an officially made induced reaction, but we confirmed its existence on two levels. And there are a few oddities there." Added Captain Estrem and raised his infoblock to his eyes and read, "During the flight, the object showed a striking tendency to increase the length of the day, primarily increasing the time spent in a state of fatigue."


    "As you must know, Your Majesty, in a state of fatigue or intoxication, controllers of behavior are depressed in the first place, and such behavior by the prince may be a subconscious attempt to throw off some kind of control or restriction. And this is certainly a circumstantial sign." The captain hastily added, seeing the question in the emperor''s eyes. "There has been no opportunity for a detailed analysis of the thought flow."


    The Emperor indefinitely hummed again, left the infoblock, and asked:


    "Are these all curious moments?"


    "No, not at all, Your Majesty." The captain fussed somewhat, looking for something in his infoblock. "There are two entries, but the analysis machine thought the material was important, and I''ve included them in the report. I can run the projection, but I think you would be more comfortable with..."


    "Connect the captain''s infoblock, and begin visual record playback." The emperor commanded in a neutral voice.


    A large holo-screen began to form behind the emperor, and his majesty spun around in his chair, turning his back to the captain.


    The tape showed an excited crowd of drunken youth being purposefully led by a brown-jacketed speaker standing on an overturned forklift. The cameraman finished filming the crowd and took a close-up look at the "leader''s" face. A little above average height, with dark brown hair, he really looked like Prince Cassard, and at the bottom appeared the text, obviously added later - "Talana, sixth transit station, recorded by rebels."


    "However..." The Emperor grinned strangely. "Is that Prince Cassard?" He asked without turning around. "He looked rather like..."


    "Unfortunately, Your Majesty, it is probably not Prince Cassard. This recording, due to its compromising contents, has been particularly scrutinized. Specialists believe it is authentic and not synthesized, but in their opinion, the man on the tape is not Prince Cassard. A comparison with previous recordings of Prince Cassard''s public speeches revealed that the manner of speech, the micro-movements of the eyes and hands are not the same."


    "Yes?" The emperor gestured to stop the replay and turned to the captain. "Maybe he was in a state of affect or under disguise?"


    "It is quite possible, Your Majesty. But, unfortunately, at the time of the events on Tallana, he was in his castle on Copeira, with his fianc¨¦e Lady Valerie Bellar, as several records confirm, most likely also authentic."


    "If the records there and there are authentic, then who is it?"


    "A clone, or, more likely, a pheno-twin. Tallana is a very populous planet, and with a certain amount of persistence, finding a doppelganger is possible."


    The emperor looked at the captain with genuine curiosity:


    "And what is the fate of this "pheno-twin"?"


    "Pheno-twin" sounded with some sneer, and the captain clearly hesitated:


    "Um... Tracks get lost." He admitted. "Missing at Tallana Transit Station Six, right where the recording was made, during a fight with a group of Sororitas. There''s a suggestion he was captured by them."


    "With a group of Sororitas?" His Majesty did not bother to hide the obvious surprise in his voice.


    "There is no direct evidence. But a well-coordinated group in heavy scarlet armor went through the terrorist posts like a knife through butter."


    "Interesting, interesting. And what do you think they were doing at a station captured by terrorists?"


    "It is not known. An official request has been sent to the Order''s representatives, but no answer has been received yet. All we can say is that they landed in two Aegis-type yachts, paralyzed or isolated the resisters, put the navigation computer under control, and left the station."


    "Admirable impudence." Said the emperor. I couldn''t tell from his tone whether he was amused or angry. "We''ll have to contact the Order. We can''t leave it like that." He remarked aloud. "Let''s see what else you''ve got..."


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    On the second record, there was no doubt Prince Cassard, and next to him at a small table sat Princess Pell. They looked bored, and their leisurely conversation was clearly about nothing to do, and as you might expect from people of their circle, it was about politics anyway. A line at the bottom of the screen said the recording was made during the arrival ceremony.


    The Emperor watched the record with approving interest, and only the appearance on the screen of people from the Security Service made him frown:


    "And in whose interest was this recording made?" He asked, with a wave of his hand, stopping the playback.


    "It was produced by Palace Security."


    "I see..." The Emperor stretched and drummed his fingers on the armrest and turned to the Captain. "Well, that''s it?"


    "Unfortunately, for now, Your Majesty, but if you authorize more direct observation, I''m sure we can gather much more information."


    "Absolutely not." There was a clang of metal in the emperor''s voice and his palm cut the air cutting off any possible objections. "Only general analytical work." And he added in an already calm tone. "Right now, I don''t need another political scandal with the Great Houses. Thank you, captain, you are dismissed."


    Even before the door closed behind the captain, a short man in a black uniform without insignia stepped out of the wall of the office and headed for the nearest chair. He was short, thin but evidently wiry, with sharp features and bright, curious gray eyes. He resembled the Emperor in some way and could have been mistaken for a younger, skinnier brother.


    "Did you hear that?" Without turning around, the emperor tossed, coming out from behind the holo vail. "A group of sororitas in red armor, a pheno twin. Ha... What crap they try to feed me from time to time."


    "Well, Your Majesty, I don''t think it''s out of malice, more out of ignorance." He sat back in his chair and slumped back in it, taking a cigarette case out of his pocket. "And the assumption seems quite sound. I would be the first to think of them. The Fire Throne is not indifferent to the Cassard clan. Then, I''d have thought, really, that it was a bit too clean for the sororitas and not enough casualties." He confessed, taking out two cigarettes and handing one to the emperor. "But after all, it''s me. The captain, I could make a bet, he''s never seen a sororitas alive. Of course, if I were him, continuing to think about the sororitas, I''d ask for flow control data. Let''s say the records on Tallana were destroyed by rebels. So we take all the neighboring systems, feed them to the analysis machine, and... Oh, my God! Three Aegis left Copeira in a coordinated jump to Tallana, not an uncommon event. Two of them came back just in time for us, and where did they..."


    "Aight." The Emperor interrupted the flow, taking out his lighter. "If you''re getting to that age where you want to share your experiences, I can give you a series of lectures at the SS Academy.


    "No need." Aight waved it off faintly, lighting a cigarette from the lighter he''d held out and letting out a puff of smoke. "I can''t do the series. Once or twice to ruffle feathers in front of cute students..."


    "All right." Again the Emperor interrupted him with a weary hand. "Do you have anything to add to the Captain''s report?"


    "I don''t know. I just got here. I might have missed something."


    "Take a look." The emperor pronounced, pushing the infoblock toward his interlocutor. "There''s even a profile on the prince: ''Sociable, easy to get along with people. Lies easily without thinking. He has a mobile mind. Has a weakness for the female sex." The emperor quoted from memory and added, without hiding his sarcasm. "Surprisingly accurate in describing about half of those who arrive on the onstum."


    "But it''s true. He does lie a lot." Said Aight, taking in the report with interest. "And indeed a sort of ''heart-collector,'' at least he was. So far, the Prince has maintained his atypical chastity. No contact for the entire flight, but he drools occasionally."


    "Keeps the loyalty?"


    "Which one of the two?" Aight smirked. "No, danarii vs. cred, he fears something, and by a mighty effort of will, he restrains himself. And that''s with a linear payo in the room servants. That''s self-control, huh?"


    "And how did that occur to you?" The Emperor coldly inquired, glancing disapprovingly at his companion, putting his cigarette in the ashtray. "I told you not to provoke."


    "And I had nothing to do with it at all, Your Majesty. This is the result of a tumultuous intrigue within the Palace Service and their decision. We did not interfere, and as far as I know, neither did the Palace Security Service. Officially, for the prince was chosen the best of the best. No wonder payo was among them. Not officially, the Palace Service, knowing the reputation of the prince, decided that if he would not get off the maid, it would be easier for all. But in reality, there was a real battle for the place, and payo just came out the winner."


    "Is this Liora?"


    "Liora." Nodded Aight. "And let me tell you right off the bat, I don''t know if it was her personal choice or if she was asked to seduce the prince by a person we both know, known for her recklessness in her choice of means. And no one knows."


    "Not the palace, but some kind of brothel." The emperor grumbled angrily, leaning back in his chair and philosophically letting out a puff of smoke into the canopy that was lost in the darkness.


    The interlocutor, who was immersed in the report of the Security Service, ignored this rhetorical remark, and they smoked in complete silence for a few more minutes.


    "Boring." Finally declared Aight, tossing the infoblock aside. "Nothing interesting."


    "And you?"


    "And everything''s bad for me." He admitted without any enthusiasm. And began to report, this time in a more formal tone:


    "All tissue samples taken from the object, at the gene, structural, and field level coincide with the samples of Prince Cassard. A comparison of bone structures was not carried out. Data of hardware observation allows with high probability to assume that at a physical level, the object really is Prince Cassard. Observations of three different adepts indicate the presence of high resistance diagnosed by the Inquisition..."


    "Morir asked to delay the appointment of Lord Cassard." The Emperor interrupted the report. "What didn''t he like? In his department, he is cleaner than a Synths priest."


    "He has ... doubts." Aight wrinkled his nose. "So did the initiator of the inspection. He found the prince''s way of measuring time suspicious."


    "Wonderful. And because of that, he offers to hold the domain owner of the strongest of the Great Houses of the Tail Sector in the hallway?"


    "Yes." Without enthusiasm, Aight nodded. "I talked to him, but he was stubborn."


    "He''s generally been stubborn in all the wrong places lately." Clearly, the Emperor made a mental note and waved his hand at Aught again. "All right, go on."


    Though physically, it''s probably Lord Cassard," he continued. "Behaviorally, it''s a very different personality. The micromotor patterns, the turns of speech, and the established habits don''t match.


    "At all?"


    "Practically, yes. For example, all previous sources noted the prince''s love of wine and some stimulants. Nothing now, completely dry. I''ve already mentioned the women. And he speaks strangely from time to time, out of order. Strange turns of phrase slip through. But to his credit, rarely. That''s what Morir reacted to. If I didn''t know better, I''d say he was under control, a guise or a drug-induced hypnosis."


    "And it''s not like that?"


    "Yes. We analyzed the composition of the prince''s feces..."


    "Well, such details could have been spared." The Emperor rolled his eyes.


    "... and found the presence of traces of only one drug. Fenote. A fairly strong neurostimulator, however, is pure and without detectable side effects. Which we found was prescribed to him after he was poisoned. However, the use of Fenote, although frequent, is not systematic, which may indicate an emerging psychiatric addiction."


    "All right with the chemistry, but how can you be sure about the guidance?"


    "Pure coincidence." Staring up at the ceiling, muttered Aight. "His Lordship walked by the directional neural antenna several times, quite by accident, and by someone else''s mistake, the device was turned on..."


    "If the Fyronians find out about this and demand your head on a platter, I will only ask what color should the platter be."


    "Well..." Aight brushed it off carelessly. "That''s how we live. Head on a platter is almost an occupational disease in our business."


    "What did you find out?"


    "Almost nothing. There is not enough data to decipher flags and thought images. He practically does not think with a mental speech in the external background. It''s just images and charts, maybe he was taught on purpose, or maybe it''s just natural. But if there had been such an induction there, we would have noticed it for sure. And there''s nothing there except a basic linguistic one. Which leads to certain thoughts..."


    "Amnesia, strange turns of phrase, complex mental flow, and high resistance to the influence of adepts." The emperor listed, looking thoughtfully at his interlocutor. "A familiar pattern. What do the Sororitas say?"


    "What can they say." Aihgt shrugged his shoulders with a sour expression. "They say Blessed by the Flames."


    "Is that what Tanouf says?" Clarified the emperor, "she''s only met him a short time ago. Hasn''t she?"


    "That''s right. She met with him the day the Benefactor Teesshire died."


    At the mention of this name, the emperor wrinkled his nose like a severe migraine but said nothing, only taking a couple of particularly deep puffs of his new cigarette.


    "You mean Tanouf said he was blessed?" Finally, the emperor said after a long pause


    His interlocutor only nodded silently. The emperor rose vigorously and began to walk impatiently around the table, clearly thinking about something.


    For a few minutes, there was silence in the office, broken only by the sound of footsteps on the carpet.


    "And let''s not, let''s not argue with the clergy about the nature of the divine." Finally, the emperor suggested with a smirk. "Blessed is blessed," he said, "they know best."


    He stopped at his desk and pressed the communicator button on his chair:


    "Warn Lord Cassard''s attendant that I am ready to accept him for an appointment."


    "He''s left a trail on Tallana. It''s the captain who hasn''t figured it out, but Morir is digging under the prince, and he''ll find it sooner rather than later."


    "it''s not good."


    "Not good." Aight agreed, glowering in his chair and shrugging his shoulders, he added lazily. "The Lord Inquisitor wouldn''t miss this for the world.


    The emperor made another circle around the table and apparently having decided something, stopped near the chair of his interlocutor:


    "I think I''m going to put a reprimand on you." He pronounced, glancing slyly at Aitht.


    "A reprimand?" He stretched out lazily. "For what?"


    "You''ll let it leak."


    "A leak?" Aight perked up with interest. "To whom?"


    "I thought there was no point in delaying the inevitable..." The emperor smiled. "Since Morir is so principled about Prince Cassard, maybe he''s reckless enough to act outside the law. Let''s let him make that mistake. And if he does make it, it can be used later in..." The emperor''s smile grew considerably darker, "For disciplinary purposes."


    "Then I''ll be right back." Said Aight rising, clearly liking the idea. "By the way, we''ve been enriched with a new definition of tyranny."


    "Yes." The emperor grinned. "At the last Council meeting, I saw the unusual appeal of the idea of ''silent people taking everyone away in the morning''. I wonder... I wonder what he''s comparing it to," He explained, picking up the infoblock again and running the record..... "He clearly has a complete image in his head."


    * * *

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8


    * * *


    Their journey through the palace did not take long. The platform glided silently through the mirror-gold kaleidoscope of endless corridors and halls, and the princess was clearly not in the mood for conversation after the divination. Soon more colors of red copper and shiny black appeared in the decoration of the halls, and the halls were no longer so desolate. There were noticeably more guardsmen, servants, and court officials in very fancy uniforms of deep blue with lots of gold embroideries. After only a few minutes, the platform stopped at the huge black doors, polished to a mirror-like shine and decorated with metal filigree and plant motifs in bright blue. Near the door were two guardsmen, motionless as statues and standing, clearly waiting for the platform with the guests, was an older man with a tired face in a plain black imperial security uniform without insignia. Alex recognized him; it was the emperor''s aide-de-camp.


    "I am pleased to present my compliments in person to Your Lordship Prince Cassard." The adjutant bowed his head as the platform with the princess and Alex stopped in front of him. "And a bearing to you, too, Peleng Admiral Niazur." He added, nodding to the princess as she stepped off the platform.


    "Uh... Nice to meet you." Confused, Alex replied as he followed, not knowing how to respond because the aide didn''t introduce himself.


    "His Majesty is already waiting for you." The adjutant pronounced, noting something in the infoblock he had in his hands. "Please follow me."


    The guardsmen, having received a sign from the adjutant, opened the doors to let them into a spacious room in pale blue colors, most likely intended as a waiting room. At least there were plenty of armchairs and sofas and small tables with drinks and snacks:


    "I''ll wait for you here, Prince." The princess declared, avoiding meeting his gaze, and sat down near one of the refreshment tables. "I don''t think this will take long." She added with the look of someone who would wait forever.


    Alex had only to shrug and hurry after the adjutant, who, without waiting for them, was already heading for the exit at the opposite side of the room. They found themselves in a long empty corridor with many doors, exactly the same as the ones they had come out of. And completely empty except for two pairs of guardsmen at the beginning and end of the corridor. The corridor turned into a staircase that led to a couple of floors below, and the atmosphere changed dramatically. Illumination became painfully bright, and rich decoration, stucco, and walls covered with embroidered silk gave way to the laconic panels of polished wood. There was a simple gray carpet underfoot which, however, was somehow noticeably springy, as if walking on thick moss, but most of all, the ceilings were surprising - they were low. And by local standards, even very low.


    Usually, palace architecture was incredibly gigantomaniacal and was more than true for the height of the rooms, where one floor could fit a normal three if not more. Here Alex could probably easily reach the light panels that covered the ceiling with his hand.


    They stopped at a featureless door, which could have been easily mistaken for part of the corridor if not for the four guards of honor standing beside it:


    "His Lordship Prince Alessandro Cassard." The adjutant announced, entering first and stepping aside to make way for Alex.


    A little hesitant with excitement, Alex went in next. The room or office was quite spacious, despite the same atypically low ceilings, the same wooden panels on the walls, a long oval table with lots of chairs, and a huge green sphere at the opposite wall.


    A perfect shiny ball of neon-green glass hung motionless, almost touching the floor, its top almost reaching the low ceiling; the wall of the room behind the sphere curved to form a niche, clearly indicating that this was its rightful place, but still, this green ball looked like a completely alien element.


    "Lord Cassard!" Smiling broadly, the emperor rose to meet him from his seat at the head of the table. His Majesty, as at the ceremony, wore a snow-white naval uniform, but this time without the mantle and crown. Walking toward Alex, still smiling, he suddenly took him by the shoulders:


    "Great shadows. It''s as if Galen is standing in front of me again." The emperor pronounced, looking at the frozen Alex and not letting him go. "One face, isn''t it?" He turned to the adjutant."


    "I, too, noted how his Lordship remarkably resembles his father." The adjutant''s voice had evidently warmed.


    "You''re probably going to have a hard time understanding right now." The emperor continued, turning to a bewildered Alex, who did not know how to respond to such a clear breach of protocol. "But when you see grown-up children carrying on the work of their fathers, there is a special feeling..."


    His majesty was silent for a moment, continuing to consider Alex, and then added with obvious sadness in his voice:


    "If Galen could see you now, he would be very proud."


    Alex, not realizing what was going on, chose to talk his way out of it. He tried to keep a straight face. All he knew was that Galen Cassard was the father of the real Lord Cassard, and had died, along with most of his immediate family, years ago. And I think Taer said he had something to do with the Navy... So he was connected to the Imperial Navy, not the House Navy?"


    "If you please, Your Majesty?" The adjutant inquired and, receiving a consonant nod from the emperor, closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.


    "You''ll have to excuse my sentiment." The Emperor said in a good-natured tone, finally letting Alex go, and pointed to the chair next to his. "Have a seat, Lord Cassard. How''s the palace treating you?"


    "It''s more than that." Confused, Alex sat down and quickly looked around. He could smell the ozone that seemed to be coming from the green sphere.


    "What, is it interesting to try?" Suddenly the emperor asked, following Alex''s gaze.


    "I ...." Alex started, but it was too late. The emperor had already jumped up from his seat again. "Don''t be shy. Everyone is curious." He exhorted condescendingly, dragging Alex with him vigorously toward the sphere. "There are so many stories around them..."


    Near the sphere, the smell of ozone was even stronger, and there was a strange feeling as if you were standing next to something very massive, like a mountain.


    It''s kind of creepy. Alex thought, peering over the Emperor''s shoulder at his distorted image on the glass surface of the sphere. He generally trusted his intuition, and now his intuition was somehow unsettling.


    "Just getting close to it." The emperor continued with undisguised enthusiasm and approached the sphere, stopping about two meters in front of it. "And... " He froze, waiting for something, and indeed in a few seconds, a distinctly audible female voice came from the side of the sphere, saying something in an unfamiliar language, and a screen with the bright yellow outline of a human palm appeared in the air in front of the emperor:


    "It means: ''Identify yourself.''" The Emperor commented, covering the emerging outline with his right hand. "Although, who am I to explain it to? You must have flame language as your native tongue."


    Above the outline of the palm appeared columns of rapidly changing numbers, gradually some groups of numbers were highlighted in yellow:


    "Isn''t it dangerous?" Alex asked apprehensively, watching the chaotic yellow pattern sprawl across the screen. ''Cause that thing looks like it might explode.


    "No." The emperor replied confidently, absorbed in the swift running of the numbers. "Not usually." He corrected himself. "Very rarely, people just drop dead during an inspection and no means of resuscitation help. A few hundred years ago, there was even a heretical cult whose members believed that such dead people ascended."


    "And for real?" Cautiously asked Alex, who didn''t really believe in any method of salvation through death.


    Meanwhile, the yellow numbers filled more than half of the screen. It blinked red, and again from the sphere came a phrase in an unfamiliar language:


    "Denied." The emperor withdrew his hand from the outline with apparent reluctance. "Two-thirds at most. As for your question," he continued with a philosophical sigh, turning to Alex. "It''s really only the Second knows. The only thing we know for certain is that the spheres are left over from before the Starfall when the world was blessed by the Second Incarnation of the Flame. Well and what is important in a utilitarian sense, that the abilities of adepts around the spheres do not work, and earlier somehow managed to make them produce energy, one such energy sphere still works in the old castle, though not needed for a long time, but to turn off the fear. And so..." He shrugged. "It''s believed that if all the numbers turn yellow then such a person will definitely be accepted by the Second, but..." His Majesty grinned. "Honestly, this idea is no better than the one those poor heretics had, or any other."


    The Emperor stepped back from the sphere, and the screen with the outline of his palm disappeared.


    "Well, will you try it?" The emperor made an inviting gesture with his hand and looked questioningly at Alex.


    "I''d rather not take any chances." Sincerely, he admitted, reflexively backing away from the sphere; he didn''t like that thing at all. "I wouldn''t want to suddenly add to the statistics of the dead."


    "Well, what have you got to fear, Lord Cassard?" The Emperor was genuinely surprised. "You are guarded by the Second. But if you don''t want to, that''s up to you. We''re already distracted."


    The emperor returned to his seat and after waiting for Alex to sit down as well, continued in a solemn tone:


    "In our reasoning, it pleased us to decide that the illustrious Prince Cassard would serve this onstum by honor and antiquity as the First Lord of the High Side and Ergo Seneschal of the Capital."


    "In honor and antiquity, by my word and by the word of my ancestors, I, Alessandro Cassard, accept this service from Starfall to Starfall," Alex repeated a long-learned protocol phrase. And memorized a huge bunch of other protocol phrases that apparently are just unnecessary because his majesty doesn''t really follow protocol.


    "Hold out your hand, Illustrious Prince." The emperor commanded.


    Alex obeyed, and His Majesty pulled a large ring with a bright blue stone from his hand and placed it on the index finger of Alex''s right hand.


    The ring was a little big, and to keep it from falling off, Alex had to hold it down with his thumb, peering furtively at what he received. The stone of the ring was intricately engraved with seven stars intertwined with vines.


    "Well, that''s it. You have the Seal of the First Lord." With a smile, the emperor threw up his hands. "The official part is over. Congratulations on your appointment. I''m sure you''ll do more than adequately."


    "Your Majesty, I don''t know if you were warned, but I..." Alex sincerely doubted that he could cope all the more decently and wanted to tell the story of his unconsciousness.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Lost your memory." The emperor finished in his place, raising his hand reassuringly. "I know, I know everything. That is why the assignment is this way, though, of course, I would like to put you in command of the second ''Scarlet'' fleet that Galen once commanded."


    "I have completely lost my memory, Your Majesty. I do not even know what an Ergo-Seneschal of the Capital should do."


    "Oh, Lord Cassard." His majesty laughed, raising his eyes to the ceiling in agony. "If you were the only one holding a position without knowing what you should be doing, the Empire would be a much better place. As it is, you are one of the few who have the honor to admit their ignorance. That''s why I''ve chosen this assignment for you, where honor and judgment are paramount, qualities I''m sure the Cassard family possesses. Concerning the rest," the Emperor leaned closer to Alex and gave him a wink. "I don''t think we really need to assemble a noble militia and have you command it. And besides, do you really think I''d leave you without help?"


    "Ask for Nadina." Pronounced the emperor to the side, pressing a key on his chair. "Of course not." He continued, turning to Alex again. "You know Nadine Pell, don''t you? And she''s already been the Ergo Seneschal of the capital twice."


    "Her Serene Highness Princess Nadina Pell. " The adjutant announced, opening the door and stepping aside to let Nadina follow.


    She wore a very simple closed gown of silver fabric and looked austere and elegant:


    "Your Majesty, Lord Cassard." Lady Pell greeted them, not hiding her surprise at Alex''s presence.


    "Please, illustrious princess, join us." Smiling cordially, the emperor offered, pointing to a seat across from Alex. "And don''t be surprised by Lord Cassard''s presence. There is a reason for that."


    "The fact is," His Majesty continued as Nadine took her seat. "That I have decided to appoint Lord Cassard, Ergo Seneschal of the Capital, and rightly so, you should have told me earlier that you have longed for the position." He added with participation.


    "But I wasn''t burdened..." Nadine objected, confused, clearly not quite sure what was going on.


    "It''s just that with age, you somehow forget what it''s like to be young." Without noticing Nadine''s objections, the emperor continued. "And it''s quite normal that you''re tired of being in the capital all the time, that you want to travel, to see other worlds..."


    At these words, Nadine''s confusion vanished, and her eyes began to stare into Alex''s, two green lasers radiating pure, piercing anger.


    She assumed I had told the emperor about our conversation. The conclusion was self-evident. Except I didn''t, and I guess I was right about the outside surveillance. The thought gave Alex a kind of moral satisfaction at being right. I wish I understood why His Majesty would set me up like this. Is that divide and conquer? But we''re not friends anyway.


    "Lord Cassard, on the other hand, is in the capital for the first time." The Emperor continued. "So I expect that everything will be new and not a burden to him, but as your Ladyship should know, his memory has been damaged, and so I ask that he not be refused assistance."


    "Did I understand correctly," inquired Lady Pell coldly, "that it pleased Your Majesty to appoint me Second Lady of the High Side to assist Lord Cassard?"


    "No, of course not." Without stopping to smile, the Emperor assured her. "In that case, from the outside, it might seem as if I wanted to belittle your family or House, and you know how much regard I have for your House, illustrious Princess Pell."


    At that moment, it seemed to Alex that the Emperor''s smile was not kind, and for some reason, it evoked associations with dentists.


    "I know, Your Majesty." Nadine smiled back at the emperor, but her face was so tense at that moment that one would have thought she was in the throes of a wild toothache.


    "I, therefore, ask you, Your Ladyship, to help Lord Cassard get used to his appointment, not as a service, but as a favor to me personally. And then we will find you some appointment worthy of the ancient honor of your family, which will enable you not to be confined to the capital. If Your Ladyship will, of course, deem it possible to answer my request with consent."


    "How could it be otherwise, Your Majesty? Of course, I will gladly help Lord Cassard in any way I can."


    "That''s so encouraging to hear, especially since you and Lord Cassard seem to get along well with each other and are about the same age, so it will be easier for you to find understanding anyway."


    "Oh, Lord Cassard and I, we understand each other literally without words," Nadine pronounced, looking at Alex with such a charge of non-verbal communication that he really did understand without words.


    She seems like a smart girl, Alex thought, looking tiredly at Nadine, almost boiling with anger, But she ignite over nothing, and she doesn''t ignite in a good way. She ignite up in a bad way. Though, maybe it''s just her character, and she ignites instantly in the good sense, too.


    "It''s wonderful, so wonderful that the new generation doesn''t give a damn about the old squabbles." The emperor blossomed, admiring them like a proud parent at a children''s amateur night. "And I''m so glad you agreed to help. I do not know how to thank you. Maybe Your Ladyship has some wishes about where you would like to go. What worlds to visit? If so, pass them on to my office. We''ll try to work something out with your assignment."


    "I wasn''t expecting this opportunity, but I''ll certainly think about it," Nadine assured him as she continued to send out discharges of mute speech toward Alex.


    And, of course, I am not a telepath, but there is a strong feeling that what she is trying to transmit to me decent girls are not even supposed to know, let alone said.


    "Well then, I won''t keep you." Declared the emperor, rising from the table. "I''m sure you now have much to discuss. And remember, I am always ready to help any of you." He added when they were already at the door of the study.


    The obligatory protocol farewells, Alex noticed that the Emperor was very prim and formal in his dealings with Lady Pell did not take too long, and soon they were on their way to the "normal" part of the palace.


    "Lord Cassard, please allow me a few minutes of your time," Nadina asked serenely as they stepped out into the corridor led to the room where Princess Artala was waiting for him. "As his majesty correctly noted, we have much to discuss."


    "As you wish." Reluctantly Alex agreed, despite the serene tone, Nadine''s eyes were still seething with anger, and he couldn''t stand women''s hysterics. But, thanks to the Emperor''s assignment, we do have a lot to discuss.


    Having received his consent, Nadine nodded goodbye to the adjutant and took Alex under her arm, and walked confidently to one of the doors. Behind it was exactly the same waiting room as the one through which Alex came, and there was also the guardsman who had accompanied Lady Pell.


    "Arlette, please leave us alone for a moment. We have a business to discuss," Nadine spoke quickly, avoiding meeting her attendant''s gaze.


    The guardsman was clearly somewhat surprised but said nothing and only nodded to greet Alex and left silently.


    "Lord Cassard!" Nadine hissed angrily as soon as the door closed behind the guard. "I knew you were a man of questionable morals, but I had no idea you were capable of such baseness. Like some derelict snitch to tell of a private conversation between equals, and for what? For position? For favor? Great shadows, how low it is!"


    "Lady Pell, I don''t see the point in making excuses for something I didn''t do," Alex replied tiredly, looking at the seething Nadine. "Especially in front of you. You''re such a stubborn person that you can hardly be changed, no matter what I say. But you are a clever man, do you really think that the question of the position was solved because of some conversation?


    "Or maybe not." The flushed Nadine glared angrily. "Maybe it was decided even before we arrived, but his majesty clearly knew the details of our conversation during the ceremony, and it was just you and me."


    And a few dozen droids, with unknown equipment." Alex added, trying to suppress a silly smile because he caught himself thinking that Nadine was surprisingly beautiful when she was angry. And it was strange because she was already an amazingly beautiful woman, and not that anger made her prettier. Rather, from amazingly beautiful, she became - attractive.


    "Or it''s simpler than that, and you told him everything! And now you''re laughing at me. Do you think I don''t notice?"


    "I''m sorry." Alex sincerely didn''t mean to offend Lady Pell, but he couldn''t control his facial expressions one hundred percent. "You''re just very cute when you''re angry. I can''t help it." He admitted honestly.


    "So you''re really doing this on purpose just to make fun of me." Nadine got even more turned on. "It''s even more disgusting than if you were doing it for the position." She added with obvious disgust.


    "That''s enough, that''s enough." Alex shook his head, realizing that this conversation was going nowhere. "You may not believe me. You may think I''m being intentional, but why? Our conversation has clearly gone in the wrong way. Let''s really discuss the business of the service."


    "As you please." Demonstratively, Lady Pell lifted her chin. "When would be a good time for you to meet so I can bring you up to speed?"


    "I honestly don''t know. I wasn''t expecting this appointment at all, and I have no idea where to even begin. But probably tomorrow afternoon. If it''s convenient for you?"


    "I don''t care." Cut off Nadina. "Even if it''s at night. Since I promised the emperor, I will help you."


    "Then let''s exchange communicator numbers to make it easier." Totally on the fly, Alex suggested.


    "My House Representative knows exactly how to find me," Nadine hissed, clearly losing her composure. "And your representation certainly has the competence to find mine."


    She looked as if she had something else to say or rather do, but clenched her fists, she silently stepped aside, pale with fury, making it clear that the conversation was over.


    "I''m sorry. Really, I didn''t mean to offend you." Alex apologized again, but Nadine didn''t seem to hear him.


    What can you do? He shrugged and went out into the hallway.


    As the door closed behind, there was a muffled but distinctly audible cry of anger from Nadia''s room and the sound of breaking dishes. In a situation like this, it''s better not to do anything.


    When he entered the waiting room, through which he himself arrived, there was a complete idyll.


    Relatively sure: the princess was sitting at one of the refreshment tables with a bored look, and next to her was Sir Ulter Ralval who told her something enthusiastically.


    From the look of the princess, Alex would have guessed that the conversation was bothering her, but she wasn''t smashing plates, flashing her eyes menacingly, or looking as if she wanted to kill someone.


    One could say that she is practically satisfied. As they say, everything is learned by comparison.


    "How did it go?" Artala was clearly glad of the opportunity to interrupt the "conversation" with Sir Ulter.


    "I hope it''s good." Uncertainly Alex smiled, showing the signet ring. "I have nothing to compare it to. It was my first audience with the Emperor. But it pleased him to appoint me First Lord of the High Side and Ergo-Seneschal of the capital." Whatever that means.


    "Congratulations, Prince." Artala was clearly not surprised by the appointment. And she said she knew.


    Sir Ulter, on the other hand, did not seem to remember himself for joy:


    "Congratulations! Hail the Second. It''s so great." The House Representative was literally jumping around Alex, which, given his pudgy build, created a comical effect. "Congratulations," he repeated excitedly. "Finally, in nine years, the First Lord of the High Side will be from House Fyron. Now we can..."


    What exactly will now be possible, Sir Ulter did not specify, clearly embarrassed by the presence of the princess, and apologized and ran out of the room that would: "To inform the head of the representation of this wonderful news."


    "How did it really go?" Asked the princess. She looked at Sir Ulter as he ran out.


    "I really don''t know. I don''t even know what my position means."


    "Well, it''s only natural, given your memory. Father planned to find you an assistant."


    "Yes." Nodded Alex. "He asked Lady Pell to help me get up to speed."


    "Nadine? To you?" Artala was clearly surprised. "I''m sympathizing." She added quite sincerely after a pause. "Though they say you seem to be getting along with her?"


    "It''s all comparative." Alex shrugged. "Sometimes I think we get along quite well, sometimes not at all."


    "Anyway, you''re as free as a cosmic now. Will you go to your apartment at once, or will you stay at the palace for a few more days? I don''t even ask if you will stay at the palace for the entire service. The whole capital already knows that they are rebuilding a tower for you, with some inconceivable number of servants and guards."


    Artala is obligated to accompany me while I''m at the palace, and she has so much to do that she literally has no time to sleep.


    "I''m going straight to my room. I don''t want to take up any more of your priceless time."


    "Prince..." Artala squinted disapprovingly, showing that she wasn''t buying that crap.


    "No, really, you said that you haven''t been able to sleep in days because of your new assignment. I''m sure you''ve got your hands full, and I''m here."


    "There really are so many things to do that one doesn''t know what to do first." The princess sulked. "But you don''t annoy me one bit. On the contrary, some distraction from the endless stream of documents and meetings."


    "I''ve probably still got it all to do, too," Alex admitted, hoping he could hide his nervousness because inside, he was panicking. What the First Lord and Seneschal, I don''t know what that means, and with Nadine as my assistant, just when she got the reins under her belt.


    "Afraid you can''t handle it?" Clearly teased Artala with a sly face.


    "Let''s say I don''t feel ready at all."


    "I don''t know if that makes you feel any better, but if you think about it, you have to try very hard in this position, to fail in a way that has any real negative consequences."


    "You underestimate me." With a serious expression, Alex declared. "I''m a man of many unexpected talents." Which caused an involuntary giggle from the princess.


    At least someone understands when I''m joking.


    "Lord Cassard." Sir Ulter ran into the room again. "I have just spoken to the Head of Representation. It would be so wonderful if you could meet him this evening."


    "Why not. I''ll be glad to meet him at my place. I think you know the address." Alex added without certainty since he didn''t know the address himself. Somewhere not far from the palace, but no more than that.


    What do you mean?" Sir Ulter was sincerely upset. "Are you leaving already? Couldn''t you stay until tonight?" Pleadingly folding his arms, he asked. "It''s just Count Barazu has business at the palace. He would certainly find time to talk to you, but for a whole visit, it''s hard."


    "No." Alex objected calmly. "I don''t want to abuse Lady Niazur''s time, and I have a lot to do myself."


    "I''ll try to think of something." Sir Ulter panicked and hurriedly said goodbye and ran out again, pulling out a com as he went.


    * * *

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9


    * * *


    Over the capital, it was raining again, or rather a fine drizzle, and all the light sources in it turned into long stretched streaks. Here were the navigation lights that burst into view with sharp strokes, as if they would freeze for a moment, only to disappear again in a smeared red blotch. With this beating, they set the rhythm to the otherwise unfamiliarly empty and austere sky above the imperial palace. The palace, through this water suspension, looked like a giant orange fire of smeared light in the dark circle of the gardens.


    "There''s absolutely nothing to see," Taer muttered grudgingly, and activating her internal connection, she added louder so her friend could hear her. "Let''s just say I owe you a tour.


    Rima didn''t answer, looking at herself meticulously in the small mirror. This was the tenth time she''d done this clearly nervous.


    "One minute to arrival, sword." A warning from the pilot sounded in her headphones, and Taer, regretfully turning off the external view monitor, ran a glance over her uniform just in case. The Lord will be accompanied by the emperor''s daughter, after all.


    "Do I look all right?" To be sure, she asked Rima, sitting across from her, who was also wearing a uniform and a knight''s cloak over her shoulders for the occasion.


    "One could cut oneself on you. You''re so flawless." Her friend assured her, not taking her eyes off her mirror, though.


    The vehicles slowed down, and it became quieter in the cabin. Ta?r took off her headset, already able to communicate without it, and quickly fixed her hair. Rima frantically followed her example. From the look of her, her friend was on the verge of hysteria:


    "Calm down. You don''t have to worry so much." Taer tried to cheer her up. She was a little nervous herself, but she tried not to show it. "You''re always great in society."


    "I''m about to be introduced to the Emperor''s daughter!" Rima''s eyes widened. "I''ve been a squire for less than two decades, and now this. I could die of horror. I am to be presented to the princess!" She froze and asked again with a frightened look. "She can be called a princess, can''t she?"


    "No." Taer shook her head. "Only Lady Niazur, or if she is in uniform, by rank, Peleng Admiral Niazur."


    She herself never understood the subtleties, but the protocol department was literally screaming at her to never refer to Lord Cassard''s escort as a princess, or worse, as a "young mother".


    "I''m definitely going to embarrass myself," Rima whispered. "Maybe I''ll just hide in here."


    "Don''t be silly. All the more reason for you to take care of this new ''handmaiden'' of the lord."


    The vehicles swayed softly through yet another palace force shield and came to a halt.


    A wide side door split open exactly in the middle, up and down, forming a visor and a landing ramp, and Taer descended to the base of the grand staircase of the imperial palace. The air was humid and cool even though the shields surrounding the palace kept out the drizzle, and the thin layer of slowly flowing water made them look like giant glass domes.


    The greeters were there. A few steps up the stairs, standing with the lord was a girl in a navy admiral''s uniform, in which Taer immediately recognized Lady Niazur, and two in the black and purple uniform of the House Fyron Guard, Sir Ulter Ralval with whom she had had much contact while preparing the arrival of the Lord, and an older man of medium height with a flabby face, with a large wide nose that made the closely set brown eyes seem smaller than they really were. It must have been the head of the local House of Fyron representation, Count Barazu, whom the lord had warned her about. With Count Barazu, she had had little contact and only by correspondence, and it was most likely led by a secretary.


    Emphasized away from such dignitaries stood a girl in a modest blue maid''s dress with a ribbon over her shoulder, most likely the lord''s maid assigned by the court to this onstum. Next to her was a group of droids with the lord''s luggage.


    "Allow me to introduce." Lord Cassard said with a smile. He was clearly glad to see her.


    "The First Blade of the Great House Fyron''s Guard, Daim Taer Diltar. The First Blade of my domain and the man to whom I repeatedly owe my life. And her squire, Rima Talariv."


    "Pleased to meet you," Taer answered as Lord Cassard introduced his companions:


    Lady Niazur, as one would expect from a person of her position, was impenetrable and coldly polite, and the maid was to her likeness. Sir Ulter was nervous and very anxious about something, but Count Barazu was clearly struggling to hide his emotions and even tried to reflexively cover his face with his palm.


    The reason for such a violent reaction was also perfectly understandable. It was all about the vehicles in which they arrived. Three light landing bots: large, angular, awkward machines covered with a jumble of power cables and attachments looked wild and inappropriate near the front steps of the imperial palace.


    And what bloodshed it cost to get them access to the palace grounds... The palace security service naturally fell into a stupor when they found out exactly what she was going to fly for the lord, and for nearly four days its representatives literally crawled on the bots to make sure they were safe. Ter, however, did not regret the effort. Yes, they look wild, but the level of protection is incomparable to even the most protected representative-class apparatus, and no problems with placement. There''s room for a power team in armor if you want, or resuscitation equipment.


    The introductions and farewells were over rather quickly, and the departing men began to get into their vehicles: Rima, with the lord''s new servant, in the first, and she with the lord and Sir Ulter and Count Barazu in the second. As Taer realized these two from the representation, so wanted to talk with the lord about something that they agreed to ride with him here and there. Otherwise, combining the schedules did not work.


    "Here, put these on." Taer handed out the headphones as the guests settled into the deep landing chairs. "It''s pretty noisy in the cabin during acceleration, and you can at least communicate normally with them."


    "It''s like going back twenty years, and it''s war all over again." Count Barazu, still not wearing his headphones, twisted them in his hands, looking around the interior of the bot with a combination of bewilderment and squeamish disgust on his face. "I suppose our departure from the palace will be a highlight of the society pages. I understand, Lord Cassard, we all have our quirks, but there must be a time and a place for every quirk. Such things," the count grimaced as if it was something very unpleasant, "have no place at official events."


    "I was shot by a missile the other day." There was a serene smile on the lord''s face; the count''s grouchiness clearly didn''t bother him. "And that''s the only option I could find that could survive some hits without a problem."


    "Well, that''s no reason..." The count was indignant, but the vehicles went beyond the power shields of the palace, and he had to interrupt to put on and turn on the headphones, it took him long and clumsy, and when his voice was heard again on the intercom, it sounded much more annoyed:


    "I don''t know who advised you on this crap, but you''ve got to get all this nonsense out of your head. Immediately. You are now the First Lord of the High Side. You represent in the capital not only your clan but the entire House in such a high position. Your image, your reputation, is no longer just your own business, but the business of the entire House."


    "It was my idea." Taer intervened. She was beginning to get a little annoyed by this lecture. "I insisted that Lord Cassard use these vehicles."


    Count Barazu interrupted, looking at Taer in surprise as if he did not expect that she could talk at all:


    "Is that so? Very well. It is quite natural that such a young girl, not spoiled by the high society by virtue of her origin, is not aware of the questions of diplomatic etiquette and manners accepted in high society - this comes with experience. In the meantime, just don''t give advice that is not within your competence."


    The Count was about to turn back to the lord without waiting for a response, probably believing that the question was closed when he heard Taer''s answer:


    "I am Cassard''s First Blade. Matters of the lord''s security are my competence."


    He froze, then turned to her again and stared at her from head to toe, as if he had seen something strange before him:


    "I believe that you, young lady, possess certain unquestionable virtues," the Count said at last, fixing his gaze on her chest, "for which Lord Cassard, known for his keen judgment, deemed it possible to appoint you to such a high office. However, it will be absolutely better for all if you continue to do what your virtues dispose you to do and leave the advice to people whose virtues dispose them to these matters."


    The count said all this, looking down at her with undisguised squeamishness.


    The elderly scum. Taer''s hands involuntarily clenched into fists. Does he dare say I got my place through the lord''s bed?


    She felt herself literally drunk with rage, she wanted to destroy it, to tear its jaws open. With a slight jolt, the perception booster turned on, the world became slow and grainy, and the sounds became lingering. The guider went to work, ready to grant the wish. In Taer''s mind flashed an incredibly realistic vision of her easily, with one hand, effortlessly ripping the Count''s lower jaw off, the ligaments and skin bursting, blood spurting to the sides and her tongue falling out of the open wound. How she pulls him out of the chair by his hair, only to have his own jaw in her eyes full of animal horror.


    And she saw this picture in the smallest detail as if it had already happened: a slowly settling body with its tongue hanging out and teeth in place of its bloodshot eyes. And the sight of that blood, that grotesque wound, gave her a sense of calm and "rightness," anger receding.


    That''s what terrified her. Her reaction to this horror and this fear paralyzed her into stopping.


    Thanks to the acceleration, her body only had time to swing forward when she froze and clung to the armrests of the chair with all her might to prevent herself from realizing what she had planned. Taer did not know how long this struggle lasted - the passage of time is difficult to gauge with the acceleration running, but at some point, it was over. She managed to feel a trace of regret because:


    Interesting image. When the guider and the acceleration shut down, and she suppressed her convulsive sigh, she heard the Lord''s voice:


    "...one of the virtues of Daim Diltar that I especially appreciate is that she has saved my life three times, and for that reason, I greatly value her advice in all matters concerning safety. I cannot say the same about you, Count Barazu, your advice in this area is of no interest to me at all."


    "How dare you..." Count Barazu was literally panting with indignation, storming the lord with an angry look, and to Taer''s relief, clearly not noticing her condition. "Boy, I fought..."


    "Fine, but we''re not at war," the lord interrupted him rudely. "And we''re not discussing hostilities. If you have anything to say about my assignment, speak quickly because you''ve already bored me."


    The Count froze, glaring angrily at the lord, and then defiantly took a few deep breaths and exhalations and continued:


    "Good. As I said before, your appointment is not a favor from the emperor to you personally but his way of apologizing to all of House Fyron for what happened. Because attacking you is, first and foremost, an attack on the interests of the House. And this apology from the emperor gives us a unique opportunity..."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Let''s talk about the appointment." The lord defiantly interrupted the count again. "I have little interest in your unique capabilities."


    The Count was only able to continue again after another round of exhaled breaths:


    "As Lord of the High Side, you are in charge of the Squadron of the Capital''s Domain, the trial and investigation of blood feuds, and the affairs of the noble militia." The count growled in a low voice. "The first function in peacetime means nothing at all and is purely ceremonial. The second creates some influence but is limited by the rarity of crimes classified as blood feuds among the nobility of the capital and the possibility of appealing to the court of the emperor. The third, however, is most important because it allows the balance of military power between the great Houses to be influenced. After all, their fleets formally belong to the Noble Militia, which is commanded by the First Lord of the High Side."


    "I understand." The lord nodded graciously. "A representative function, followed by a function no one needs, because of rarity, and an opportunity to play along with the native House Fyron."


    "You don''t understand anything!" The Count hissed indignantly. "This is extremely important! It is the Lord of the High Side who submits petitions to the Emperor for the purchase or transfer of warships. The Emperor may not sign them, of course. But what is submitted to him is up to you, and it is a tremendous power. We have a unique opportunity to override in our favor the decision to decommission and sell the Catchers that Pell dragged through. It''s complicated, responsible, and not an easy matter. No one expects you to handle it yourself, so you will appoint a man whom I will indicate by the Small Arm of the First Lord."


    "Sir Ulter already told me about the "small arm". The lord nodded toward the Representative of the House who sitting quietly in his chair, transferring a frightened look from the lord to the count. "As I understand this man will have to be near me most of the time, so it would be better if it will be Daim Diltar.


    "But she doesn''t know anything about it." The Count raised his voice so high that he could be heard not only in the headphones, he overrode the hum of the working thrust generators as well


    "Of course." The lord nodded calmly. "For she can save my life. Your man can give me priceless advice from out of state. If I deem him suitable, of course. Send me his personnel file for review."


    "One minute to arrival." It sounded in Taer''s headphones, on a closed channel, but it was clear that they were close to the tower. The vehicles slowed, and the noise in the cabin diminished rapidly.


    "What do you think you''re doing, Lord Cassard!" The Count Barazu shouted. "You are behaving like a capricious child! You will stop squirming at once, and you will appoint whom I say and do as I say! And you will appear before me tomorrow, and you will listen carefully to what I tell you!"


    "Or what?" The lord asked nonchalantly, unbuckling his straps and rising from his chair as the bot came to a stop.


    "You don''t think there''s any solution for you?" The Count squinted angrily.


    "Well, come at once with your solution, and we''ll talk there." The lord calmly offered as he headed for the exit. "True, tomorrow won''t be possible anyway. I have a meeting with Lady Pell. The Emperor has asked her to help me get used to my position."


    "How with Pell?" Sincerely surprised Count Barazu. "His Majesty asked for her? There is a reason for that. You must be extremely careful with her, you literally need my man by your side, or you will inevitably make mistakes."


    "We''ll discuss it after we meet your solution." Tossed the lord over his shoulder, already stepping out of the bot. "For now, I''ve lost all desire to listen to you."


    Taer also rose from her chair, and as she passed the Count, she couldn''t help but slap him:


    "You''re very lucky today, Count." Quietly she muttered, admiring the rapidly spreading red stain on Barazu''s cheek. "You may consider it a challenge to a duel. If you''re too old to hold a sword, I''ll gladly kill the appointed defender of your family."


    When Taer got out of the boat, Sir Ulter jumped out after her:


    "Please accept my apologies." With sincere regret, he bowed his head. "Usually the Count, quite a courteous man. It''s just that he attaches a great deal of importance to the public''s impression of our House and..." Sir Ulter stopped it was obvious he was very upset. He apologized again and jumped back into the vehicle.


    As the doors of the boat were closing, the angry cries of Count Barazu could be heard:


    "A duel?! A duel?! Two infantile idiots!"


    "They''re all a bit jumpy in the capital." The lord shared as he glanced at the departing vehicles that were to take the Count and Sir Ulter back to the palace. "First Nadina throwing me a tantrum, now this old soldier. You got yourself all worked up for nothing, by the way." He added in a halftone, leaning toward her. "You don''t have the nerve to react to every old idiot."


    "''I felt like I wanted to kill him," Taer whispered, trying not to look the lord in the eye.


    "Well, if you want, I will order him, as then, to Baroness Istar. I do not spare anything for you," he whispered back with a smile.


    "I do." Even more quietly, Taer answered because she really wanted him dead. Even more, she wanted to kill him personally, with her own hands literally crushing him, turning him into a filthy brown slurry.


    She said it very quietly, but the lord froze. His eyebrows went up in surprise. He obviously heard her words:


    "Are you serious?" He asked again.


    Taer shook her head furiously in response:


    "No." She literally squeezed it out of her because she really wanted to say, Yes! Seriously!


    "Good," smiled the lord with a relieved smile, "and I almost believed it. I mean, you know I really appreciate your integrity, but there''s no need to storm every bump. There are too many bumps, and you''re the only one. And we didn''t come here to fight, we came here to wait out the mess back home. So spit on everything and don''t pay attention to idiots."


    Taer nodded in response, fearing that if she spoke now, the lord would know for sure that something was wrong with her.


    "Come on, then, show me what''s what." Said the lord, looking around with interest. They were now in a large receiving portal with walls of milky white marble trimmed with golden vines. It was just above the middle of the tower and allowed those arriving to fly right in. It was quite advantageous from a security point of view.


    "Are these the local servants?" Asked the lord with a nod toward the group of white liverymen who huddled near the elevator area, hesitant to approach.


    "Yes." Taer nodded. "And the head of your local Office." She added, taking a closer look at the gathering.


    "Then let''s go get acquainted." He suggested, heading in their direction.


    The introduction was entirely predictable. Equally predictably, the head of the local Office, Mr. Mellpurr, went to the lord with complaints:


    "I must point out, my lord, that this tower is a historical monument! It is 400 years old, the same age as the imperial palace!"


    "Yes?" The lord seemed genuinely interested.


    "Yes," Mellpurr answered him and turned his accusing finger to Taer. "And the rebuilding under Daim Diltar''s guidance is a crime, a blasphemy!


    "Oh, that''s terrible." The lord sympathized with him, "You know I''m very reverent about historical monuments."


    "Yes?" Mr. Mellpour''s eyes lit up with hope.


    "Yes." Absolutely serious, the lord nodded to him. "But I am even more reverent about my ability to go on living. That''s why everything Daim Diltar does gets my full support, as she does it to allow me to continue living."


    Taer wasn''t even angry about Mellpurr''s accusation at this point. She couldn''t care less, she could feel her hands beginning to tremble, and all she could think about was how to make it go unnoticed.


    "You know, I have to run." She lied in an apologetic tone, pulling the lord aside. "Rima, she can show you around, and Mr. Mellpurr, though nerdy, really does know the history of almost every Cassard estate on the planet."


    "Is something wrong?" Asked the lord anxiously, gazing into her eyes. "Are you all right?"


    "I just haven''t slept in six days." Said Taer, the plain truth. "And no, nothing''s wrong. It''s just that we have a lot of guards, weapons, and Carpathians in armor. It''s not the norm at all in the capital. A lot of bureaucratic nonsense arises, nothing serious, but it''s often my presence or signature needed."


    "Sixth day, it''s just awful. You must not be yourself from hunger and all. If you have to, run and take care of yourself. As soon as you get a chance, go sleep."


    "Sure." She nodded quickly and rushed to the elevator as quickly as she could. Already alone in the cabin, she extended her palm forward, her hand not even trembling but rather shaking.


    Once up on the floor, Taer rushed to her room and collapsed on her bed. Her whole body was shaking, and, worst of all, she couldn''t tell if it was a reaction to the activation of the guider or if she was pounding with disgust at herself and her desires:


    I didn''t just want to kill him. Taer thought, feeling the tears begin to flow. I wanted to mutilate. And maybe "mutilate" was too mild a word for something that was coming back to her mind, so detailed and detailed that it made her physically sick. And I wanted it so badly that my guider was activated, and that''s not supposed to activate, only when it''s dangerous.


    But I didn''t do anything. She persuaded herself, in tears. I stopped. People have strange urges, but I stopped.


    But the longer she talked herself into it, the more she realized that she was a natural psycho dangerous to others, and the worse it got.


    It wasn''t just a strange desire. I started to act. I had to stop myself. Another moment and I would have really ripped his jaw out. She did not doubt that she would have been able to do it.


    She was getting worse, the tremors wouldn''t subside, and she felt so sick with self-loathing that she thought she was going to vomit.


    She had to do something. She staggered to the medicine cabinet and began frantically rummaging through it, scattering packages and jars on the floor. Soon she found what she was looking for, and hurriedly opened the package and swallowed three pills, the maximum dose of the strongest sedative she had.


    Taer returned to the bed and lay there listening to what she felt. The shivering had subsided but was not completely gone, her breathing gradually became intermittent, as if she were forcing herself to take each successive breath, and there was a fear that grew more intense by the minute. She imagined what would happen if she were seen like this: disheveled, in her uniform, face red with tears, trembling, panting.


    How disgusting. And this is the First Blade of the Domain? A noble knight? The pride of House Fyron? She shuddered in disgust. Disgusting.


    There was only one way to save face before it was too late, while she still looked human and had some control:


    After all, what was the point of putting it off? She thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. It''s not going to get any better. The symptoms are only getting worse. Whether I go crazy now or in two decades, what difference does it make? It''s got to stop, that''s all. At least as long as I can do it with dignity.


    She pulled her blaster from the holster on her belt, cocked the readiness lever, and placed it next to her on the pillow at maximum power.


    She needs to wash her face, put on a fresh uniform, and that''s it. Thought Taer, as if in a trance, looking at the flickering charge figures on the back of her blaster.


    She wondered if there was some way to explain herself to the lord, but she couldn''t find the words. Any explanation for what she''d done would have killed the whole idea of leaving with dignity. She would look in his eyes like some ridiculous, pathetic lunatic with vile, disgusting desires.


    That''s what you are. What have you got to lose? She said to herself, feeling herself start to cry again. Really, what have I got to lose? I''m already an abominable lunatic.


    She struggled to get out of bed. She was clearly having trouble coordinating her movements, but she didn''t care anymore. She opened the first aid kit again; there was a backup kit and the first aid kit assembled for the lord. There was the Fenote.


    With unruly hands, she opened the jar of dark blue capsules and took one out to see the light. The capsule sparkled slightly. Taer always remembered that she had a Fenote in her room, and she had been tempted several times to take it again because then she felt good in the castle. She felt all-powerful, and maybe even more importantly, she understood everything then. But she always refused, fearing that it might make things worse for her psyche:


    But now I have nothing to lose. She thought, chewing the capsule. Her mouth burned with a sharp, cold, incomparable taste, so strong that her cheekbones cramped slightly. Wormwood. That''s what the lord used to call it.


    The word seemed surprisingly appropriate to her. Nausea receded. Staring at the point, Taer chewed another capsule. The taste was so vivid that it was hard to think of anything else, like how disgusting she was. She ate another one, then another. Her cheekbones cramped, and her tongue went numb, but that didn''t stop her. She ate a few more capsules, wiggling her unruly jaw with difficulty. She didn''t even count them. Seven? Nine?


    What is the difference?


    She collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.


    Soon the trembling was gone, and most importantly, her head was filled with coolness, as if a clean, fresh wind was blowing there, strong and steady. This wind gave her strength. It filled her with clarity. It felt good. It felt very good to her. It was not high, but an incredible relief, as if there had never been any problems at all:


    Finally. Taer''s mental laughter shimmered in her consciousness and spilled over into real laughter. She felt all-powerful again. Crystalline, icy, ringing joy was beating within her again. Everything trembled under her gaze, the ceiling couldn''t hold it, and it shook as if trying to dodge her eyes, but it couldn''t. It shattered like a kaleidoscope, shattering into infinite versions of itself.


    Reality is so fragile. She laughed, reveling in her strength, her understanding.


    Somewhere at the very edge of the blinding icy torrent into which her consciousness had turned, she felt a tiny, frightened Taer with her tiny ridiculous problems, but she was so insignificant that she didn''t want to be distracted by that little thing. After all, she didn''t have any problems. The lord valued her. She could ask him for a medical leave of absence at any time and get it right away. She had a title. She had plenty of money. She had already made a career, and there was simply nowhere higher to jump. This tiny little Taer, instead of reveling in her ridiculous fears, and holding on to a place she didn''t know what to do with, could have just walked away at any time. She could isolate herself from possible activations. She could hire professionals for induced reactions and start corrective therapy. She could provide herself with any medication and analyze her dreams as much as she wanted, as much Fenote as she wanted, and as much as she tried to come back to normal with the ability to return at any moment.


    But it was stupid anyway. Little Taer was not the norm at all. It was obvious to her now that there was nothing to be scared of at all, that she couldn''t be scared in principle:


    After all, I am - the scariest beast in the woods.


    She extracted herself from the bed and made her way to the bathroom. It was absolutely obvious that she was going to bleed. It wasn''t clear whether she was flying or walking - the world was just moving around her.


    Taer stopped at the sink. She couldn''t feel it, but she could see a bright scarlet stream of blood coming out of her nose. It became clear to her:


    I''m not losing my mind. I''m going back to normal. She smiled as she looked at her bloody mouth and the scarlet drops dripping from her chin. I''ll be me again.


    She lifted her face as if exposing it to the invisible rain. Now she would be herself:


    No, not now. Here.


    The ice stream that formed her consciousness came crashing down on her in a rumbling waterfall, becoming infinitely larger. She became infinitely bigger. This is me, every second of me. This is the ocean of time.


    Taer knew her body was beginning to fall, for she was time, and she just wasn''t up to it.


    Shame. She knew the floor couldn''t take the hit. It was too fragile. Everything is too fragile around me. Such a shame.


    * * *

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10


    * * *


    She had lost her ability to see before she even touched the floor. Her eyes were simply too tiny a source of information, like a candle flame in a flooded spotlight, too small to be discerned. Her renewed mind was filled with the icy glow of knowledge. Like a blindingly bright flash that repeated over and over again millions of times every moment, in each of these flashes was everything - the state of the whole world was instantly highlighted in her mind, only to be immediately erased by another flash and another version of the world that burned itself out in the Taer''s mind. More and more, The flashes of awareness did not stop. The icy stream of consciousness consisted of them, and it only intensified. It was immeasurably larger than she was, and there was less and less room for her. She felt like a vortex through which the ocean of time was pumping. She was drowning:


    This is me. Taer thought. It was as if she were in a convertible, accelerating and accelerating, and the icy wind that she liked so much was becoming so much that it was hard to breathe. She felt she was beginning to suffocate, but it was not scary at all. She was calm - she did not need to breathe.


    She didn''t know at what point the flashes of awareness finally dissolved her mind. Time simply made no sense to her. There was too much of it, so much that there was no room left for her body, for her eyes, for her breath, and her consciousness. Only a blindingly bright stream in which only a tiny thought remained of her:


    I''m back.


    When Taer regained her ability to see, she saw a light. Not blindingly bright, but a calm, even milky white light, it was everywhere, and it bled.


    Blood was everywhere, too. She was covered in blood, bright scarlet streams of blood wrapped around her in scarlet lace, and there was no other garment she wore. Blood gathered in a scarlet hem at her feet and poured into the crimson puddles that surrounded the mutilated bodies. They were her bodies. She was standing over her own body in a huge pool of blood. Her empty eyes on her bloodshot face stared unseeingly upward through her. Her own body lay before her, slashed from the shoulder obliquely, and behind it was another with a torn throat, and another, and another. Everywhere in this white field were her own mutilated bodies in pools of blood. Thousands, hundreds of thousands.


    Scarlet streams of blood stretched from puddle to puddle, connecting all these bodies into a giant scarlet web:


    That''s all me.</a>


    The body closest to her was suddenly in motion, abruptly, as if an invisible hand had grabbed it, pulling it upward. Taer reflexively recoiled, and the body hovered in front of her, literally sucking blood through its wounds. It was like a tape being played backward - a bloody scarlet splash flew into the wound, and it rapidly fused as if it had never existed. Very quickly, just a few moments later, there she was, standing in front of Taer - like a mirror, but the reflection was very different. That Taer looked at her with calm confidence in her superiority, that Taer was strong and confident. That Taer was better at everything:


    Is this what could have been? Or is it what it was?


    Her copy, which stood opposite, hesitated for a moment as if it were a visual recording with interference, and when the interference ceased, instead of the fingers of her right palm she had curved sharp claws that shone with metal.


    Taer looked at her right hand. Instead of fingers, it had the same claws, only all covered in blood. She knew what was about to happen:


    She''s going to kill me. Taer realized. She''s much stronger. I don''t belong here at all. I''m too weak.


    She looked around - there was only light, blood, and bodies - it was pointless to run.


    She can''t, and there''s nowhere to run.


    The other moved toward her, and Taer reflexively raised her arms in defense:


    "Please." She whispered miserably, looking pleadingly at her looming self. But the woman looked at her with the weary indifference of someone who''d done it a thousand times, ready to repeat it over and over again as long as it was necessary.


    Taer did not notice the blow, so swift it was, only the blood spattering and the gurgling wheeze in her own torn throat, and the world was divided. She was simultaneously slowly settling, covering her own torn throat, and looking at her dying self at the same time:


    It''s all me - at the same time. She realized, and it also became clear that the real her died a long time ago. She was one of the first to die. I''m really dead.


    The thought gave her back her ability to feel emotion, and she was bitter, bitter that she had been dead a long time and that she could not change it. She was in pain. It hurt from being alone because there was only her, and there was too much of her.


    Something happened in her divided world. Something noticed her, something huge. She felt the attention as if she were a tiny insect that the giant was paying close attention to. The white light that filled everything around her moved. It began to crumble around her, to pull her in like a swamp, to dissolve her.


    Everything was gone. Only the light was left.


    As the light receded, Taer realized she was lying there looking up at the sky, a bright, calm, pale blue sky. A light breeze was blowing over her. It was cool but not cold, and the wind brought the tangy smell of tree resin and pine needles.


    A pine? The smell was strange, distinctly woody, but also very fresh and bright. Somehow she knew it was called a pine. It seemed perfectly natural to her.


    She lifted herself on one arm and saw that she was lying on a smooth, springy carpet of soft red needles, which tickled rather than stung and adhered to her blood-covered body in great numbers. She reflexively touched her throat - it was all right - and rose to her feet, gingerly, with the help of her hands, her body not listening very well, and looked around.


    She was in a small forest, or grove, surrounded by tall strange trees, with a bare trunk without branches, covered with large red bark scales, branches were only at the very top, and instead of leaves on them were these same needles that covered everything around. It was not red but pale green. It was from them that the smell of tree resin and this other aroma of "pine" came.


    The Pines.


    The trees were sparse and barely obscured the sky, and she had no sense that she was in the woods, so bright and clear and very peaceful.


    She looked around, at the same time mechanically trying to remove the clinging needles from her bloody hands. The grove, the sky, the red carpet of needles, ahead of her was a small building, a small two-story house in a very bourgeois style - with chopped rectangular shapes, without any decorations, with huge windows. The first floor was of large unworked blocks, and the second was of dark red wooden planks. It somewhat resembled the country house of the Marquise of Turang, where they had recently been together with Lord...


    Recently? Some part of her was sure that she had been lying here forever, staring up at the sky, simply forgetting that she could do anything else, she could exist and think. And another part remembered, remembered that she had only been in the capital for a few days, remembered her visit to the Marquess of Turang a few decades ago.


    Taer realized she was asleep. Her memory was coming back to her. She remembered the Fenote she had taken and everything else.


    I almost always have nightmares after I activate the guider. So I''m just having a nightmare? Taer thought, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and looking around confusedly. The dream was frighteningly realistic. Like the time with the fire sphere. Besides, I took a Fenote. Could there be hallucinations in a dream?


    But that was not important. The important thing was that she realized that she was asleep, which meant she could control her sleep. At least try to:


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    I want to find the source of my nightmares. Mentally she concentrated. I want to find the source of my bloodlust.


    She did not know how long she concentrated like that, but soon a dog barked nearby:


    As in the manual! The fabric of the dream obeyed! Taer rejoiced, trying to find the source of the sound with her eyes.


    A dog jumped out into the clearing where she was, unnaturally huge. Its head must have been at Taer''s hip level, almost the size of an adult vorskl. And fluffy - covered in long golden hair, it wagged its tail happily, holding a healthy, dry stick in its teeth, and despite its size, it gave no impression of being a dangerous creature at all, quite the contrary.


    The dog ran happily toward her but, at about ten paces, stopped abruptly, literally sitting on its hind legs. Her ears flattened against her head, she yelped uncertainly, started to back away, and turned around and ran away toward the house.


    Was she scared of me? Taer was surprised, but she looked at herself again and remembered that she was completely naked and covered in blood from head to toe. No wonder.


    Taer tried to imagine wearing clothes or at least just cleaning up the blood, but it didn''t work:


    It must be one of those dreams where you walk around naked.


    Unsure of her footing on the carpet of soft needles, Taer walked toward the house that was visible at the edge of the grove. Perhaps the dog is the guide that leads to the root of the problem.


    From up close, the house made an even more laconic but very solid impression. There were no decorations, only measured lines, stone, and wood. It was surrounded by a small lawn of trimmed dark green grass, and a path lined with a few large flat stones led up to the front door.


    The entrance door of dark lacquered wood, with a simple straight handle gleaming with chrome, was closed, but there was a huge window in the wall nearby. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling of the first floor and was ajar, pushed aside to form a narrow passageway in which the wind was fluttering the edges of the thick blue curtains, and the floor outside the window showed the wet footprints of a dog''s paw.


    Taer froze in indecision, not quite sure what to do, but she heard a woman''s voice from behind the window:


    "Don''t be shy."


    The speaker was out of sight, and Taer, shaking with a little doubt, decided that it would be foolish to be embarrassed about her own dream. She wiped her hands and feet on the grass as best she could and, with a sigh, grasped the doorknob.


    With a quiet click, the door opened, and she stepped inside. In the spacious hallway that transitioned into the corridor, there was a semi-darkness and the same geometric and laconic decorations that matched the whole house. Then there was an even more spacious living room, full of light thanks to the giant window with the curtains pulled back, where on a white sofa facing the window a woman was sitting with her back to Taer and a dog swirling around with her.


    The woman''s face was invisible - only a mop of straw-like blond, brittle hair tied with a silver ribbon. She sat with her arms spread wide across the back of the sofa and literally radiated anticipation, not anxious or patient anticipation, but calm and peaceful when something good was bound to happen, and all that was left was to wait for it. And it wasn''t Taer she was waiting for.


    "Have a seat." Without turning around, the woman suggested, pointing to the chair next to her couch.


    Taer hesitantly looked around, no one else in the house to be seen, and walked to the offered chair, leaving bloody footprints behind her on the dark floors of tightly fitted, flat polished planks.


    When she entered the living room, it became clear the huge window through which the woman looked out opened onto a small balcony without a railing, and below it stretched a gentle but very large hill, on top of which stood this house, at the foot of it and partly on the hill itself, lay to the horizon - the city. A city that had been destroyed. And it was not an ancient ruin, no. Here and there, bluish clouds of stone dust rose from the crumbled walls, icy placers of broken glass glittered around the empty windows, and pockmarks blackened the holes in the walls. It seemed as if some force had been tearing the city apart just a moment ago, and then it stopped, and the silence and the distant chirping of birds covered everything.


    Taer approached the offered chair and hesitantly stopped - the chair had snow-white fabric upholstery, and she was still covered in blood.


    "Don''t be shy." The woman repeated, smiling absently and stroking the dog.


    Taer sank silently into the chair and looked around, trying not to notice the casing sticking to her skin.


    The living room was also austere and laconic - smooth lines, geometric shapes, light walls of rough yellowish stone, dark floors with a single white spot of fluffy carpet lying in front of the couch. On the rug stood a low, broad table of dark wood. And that was it, two armchairs, a sofa table - no decorations, no accessories, just a small white stand on the table, with some pictures of it standing sideways to Taer, and it was hard to tell what was on it - some people.


    Photo. Another strange word popped into Taer''s head.


    The hostess sprawled out on the couch, was just like the place. She has Taer''s face, but she looked commanding and somehow older. She was wearing a pale mauve pantsuit, an unfamiliar cut, with no embellishments or embroidery. Because of the wide trousers, it could easily have been mistaken for a strict floor-length dress. Dark blue pointy-toed shoes with high heels, long fingernails with varnish to match the shoes, and a very simple necklace, made of polished metal plates with a copper sheen.


    And Taer also noticed that the hostess always looked to the side and never saw her eyes, which was strange because the angle of view was quite allowed.


    A dream has its own logic. Taer thought, sensing that this place was starting to give her a kind of numbness.


    "You must want some tea?" The hostess suggested. She was still playing with the dog, and she liked it, smiling. Even though the dog was clearly nervous, and was squinting warily at Taer, trying to hide behind its mistress''s legs.


    Someone put a white cup of tea in front of Taer. Taer turned around reflexively, but there was no one else in the living room, and the hostess was still playing with the dog.


    Well, I''m dreaming. She wasn''t surprised, though, as she took the cup in her hands, feeling the heat from it warm her hands.


    The tea was hot, and for some reason, it was dark in color. She took a cautious sip. The taste was unfamiliar - tart, and rich, but pleasant and somehow completely natural. Some part of her was sure this was what tea was supposed to be.


    "Do you like dogs?" The hostess suddenly asked, looking somewhere behind Taer''s back.


    "Me?" Taer asked again, looking around involuntarily; there was no one behind her. "I don''t know." She answered honestly.


    "Do you want to pet him?" The hostess suggested, hugging the dog by the neck so it wouldn''t fidget. "I''ll hold it."


    Taer hesitantly reached out to it. The dog shook its head and squinted frightened at the outstretched, bloody hand:


    "Probably better not." She smiled crookedly, hiding her hand.


    The hostess let the dog go, and it immediately snuck behind the couch, away from Taer.


    "He''s a coward." The hostess commented with a smile as she looked at the dog.


    Taer sipped her tea in silence. She felt more and more numb, like she''d been drinking tea for ages, and didn''t dare to do anything:


    "Why don''t you ever look me in the eye?" At last, she dared to ask. "Are you afraid of me?"


    "I can''t be afraid." Calmly the hostess objected, turning to her.


    For a moment, their gazes crossed, and everything vanished, leaving only the gaze of the hostess. She had huge, pale, almost whitish eyes that resembled those of a bird of prey. Motionless, with a thin, pale gray iris and the same unnaturally large, opaque black pupils. And her gaze radiated terror. Taer felt a wave of clammy, animal horror begin to sweep over her, and an abominable pull began to grow in the depths of her chest, reaching up to her heart. And worst of all, she was unable to look away, to clasp her eyes, or even to scream - she was paralyzed with fear. Just like that time with the orb.


    But the hostess averted her gaze, and everything stopped:


    "It''s just uncomfortable. Isn''t it?" Asked the hostess, smiling, while Taer wheezed and tried to learn to breathe again.


    Taer was struck by a crazy idea. She remembered her ramblings under the Fenote, how she''d said she couldn''t be afraid because she was the scariest, and remembered she''d tried to direct the dream toward the source of the fear. And I woke up in the forest, well, almost.


    "Are you the scariest beast in the woods?" Taer muttered.


    These words genuinely amused the hostess. She laughed, her laughter very melodious and so infectious that Taer herself, despite her condition, began to smile.


    "Yes." She nodded, laughing. "That''s me. I am the scariest beast in the woods." And after laughing, she added, with jocular condemnation. "How did you ever catch on?"


    Taer didn''t answer. She did not know what to do. She was at the source of her fear, as she wanted to be, but what to do about it?


    "You must have wanted to ask me something?" Her hostess helped her with a leading question. "You didn''t just come to me for nothing, did you?"


    "I wanted to find the source of my fear and challenge it," Taer answered honestly, realizing how stupid that sounded now.


    "Am I your fear?" The hostess shook her head. "Gee. But you know better." She added with a smile. "And what are you so afraid of?"


    "I?" hesitantly interrogated Taer, looking out the window at the ruined city. "That you would drive me mad, that I would turn into a mad, bloodthirsty monster." Quietly she muttered.


    "Funny." The hostess smiled, spreading her arms out again on the back of the couch, and turning her gaze to the city, too. "''I''m not strong on humor,'' but I think it''s ironic. Why don''t you think you''re a bloodthirsty monster, to begin with? And now you''re just going back to normal?"


    "Why am I a monster?" Taer swallowed. "I was normal before."


    "Was you, or do you think you were?" The hostess asked back with a sly smile.


    "What do you mean thinking? I remember how I acted and..."


    "Do you remember, or do you think you remember?" The hostess continued to smile.


    "What do you mean, I think I remember?" Taer was confused, she didn''t know what was going on, the dream was getting weirder and weirder. Her whole "fear challenge" was obviously going nowhere.


    She turned her gaze away from her contemplation of the city to Taer. The world was gone again, leaving only the heavy, piercing look in her icy eyes and the horror that oozed from them:


    "Maybe there is no such thing as a girl?" Asked the hostess and each word of hers came crashing down on Taer like the blow of a giant hammer. "How long have you been dead Taer?"


    And the horror that radiated from those eyes was nothing compared to her inner fear - somewhere inside, she knew, she always knew, that she had died a long time ago.


    I''m alive! She wanted to scream, but she couldn''t. Her lungs wouldn''t obey, she was choking, and everything was fading around her. Darkness overtook everything.


    * * *

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11


    * * *


    "I''m alive." She heard herself wheezing and opened her eyes.


    She was lying on the floor in the fetal position in her own bathroom. The door to the bedroom was open, revealing an untidy bed with the blankets piled up, the medicine cabinet gutted, and medicine packets scattered picturesquely on the floor.


    It''s like there was an orgy.


    Taer took her communicator out of her pocket and held the screen up to her eyes, squinting against the bright light:


    Sixteen hours, I slept sixteen hours. She was about to put the communicator away but froze, scrutinizing her hand.


    On the sleeve of her uniform, crumpled and red with stains of gore, was a fine crumb of gray-blue stone.


    Where did that come from? Taer put the comm away and began to rise cautiously, leaning on her hands, her body unresponsive, her muscles and joints aching and her head humming as if she''d had a binge.


    She shifted herself into a sitting position and froze, staring at the floor.


    On the dark blue stone slabs that covered her bathroom floor, where she lay, there was a large, deep indentation, outlined by a white web of tiny cracks and roughly following the outline of her body.


    Taer stared at the dent and the cracks for a while and then began frantically unbuttoning the collar of her uniform. Releasing the shoulder she''d been sleeping on. She carefully examined herself for bruises and abrasions - nothing.


    She could admit, of course, that she had hit the floor while hallucinating, and she had the strength to shatter the slabs, but she could no longer believe that it had been without consequence. And the uniform didn''t look as if it had been beaten on the stone slabs - just crumpled and soiled.


    "It complicates things." She muttered, looking at the outline of her body on the floor.


    Normally, she would have panicked, but now Taer was so mentally devastated that she seemed incapable of feeling emotion at all.


    So instead of panicking, she dragged a thick, fluffy black rug from the bedroom and covered the dent with it.


    It still feels like a cavity. She concluded, cautiously probing the sheltered evidence with her foot. But you can''t see it from the outside.


    I''ll have to stealthily call the droids to fix it. She thought, pulling off her uniform and underwear and throwing everything into the utility unit.  Or better yet, order them to change the floors. Anyway, we have a reconstruction here. It will not cause much suspicion. This is even better. If destroy the slabs, there will be no traces. And then reset the droids - the main thing is that none of the people saw anything.


    Undressing, Taer took a shower. It was scalding hot, and it got rid of the aching sensation in her muscles and washed away the stale blood.


    She stepped out of the bathroom, trying not to look at the black rug covering the weird thing:


    I''ll have time to deal with this. Taer thought, heading for the dressing room. There''s nothing I can do about it right now, anyway.


    She was on her way out of the dressing room when she realized she was holding a dress. The pale purple one was a very simple cut that could have been worn as a home dress:


    Where did I even get it? Probably something Rima gave me. Her friend tried to change her closet every chance she got ignoring Taer''s opinion that the dresses weren''t hers and just didn''t suit her.


    And now she took the dress quite automatically, without thinking:


    It must have been the dream; the mistress was wearing something similar. Taer thought as she changed into her tracksuit. The events of the dream were vivid and clear in her mind as if they were real. I have to write it all down for analysis while my memory is fresh.


    She changed her clothes, put the gutted medicine cabinet back together, gathered the scattered medications from the floor, called in the droids to change the bed, and pulled out a miniature silver infoblock, which she used as a voice recorder to record her dreams.


    "I took a Fenote." She began to dictate, trying to make her voice sound natural. "I don''t remember the exact dosage, but a lot, seven or nine capsules at a time, maybe more. After that, just like in the castle, I started hallucinating, only more vivid, and my nose started bleeding."


    Taer interrupted the recording, trying to remember what else had happened before she passed out. Some nonsense about everything being fragile... She stumbled, sticking her gaze on the black rug she''d dragged into the bathroom. No, it''s better not to record...


    "I blacked out." She continued recording. "Or maybe I fell asleep. I haven''t slept in five or six days in a row. The Fenoth and the sedative might have had something to do with the stimulants and... whatever." She stopped her comments, realizing she was just avoiding talking about sleep and the problem wasn''t a memory. She remembered everything perfectly: better than she would have liked. But how to describe this phantasmagoria?


    "In the dream, everything was white, and blood everywhere, and bodies." Finally, she continued after a noticeable pause. "And they were my bodies, murdered, torn up. And in the dream, I thought it was all me at the same time..."


    With a heavy sigh, she paused the dictaphone. The more she recorded, the more she was annoyed by all this nonsense. It just doesn''t even feel good to remember.


    It took her a few minutes to convince herself: that she was working on herself and that her irritation was just a manifestation of her fear. It didn''t help much.


    "And one of these corpses of mine attacked me." Taer forced herself to continue recording. "She and I, on my right hand, had blades instead of fingers..."


    The origin of the blades, Taer understood perfectly. They were the same ones the mad twilight adept had in the holo-horror film that Rima had literally forced her to watch on the flight to the capital:


    I''d be too scared to be alone. She mocked her friend in her head. That''s a good friend, yeah.


    "Claws like a Holo. And that other me, she was stronger, more confident, kind of better than me. Well, that''s what I thought in the dream. " Taer paused again, trying to figure out what had caused that confidence. "Perhaps it''s just a fear of responsibility, that I''m not competent enough for my position." She added after a moment''s reflection. She grimaced, so hurt by her own words. Well, yes, obviously, I''m nowhere near qualified to command the troops of an entire domain. I''ve never been trained for that, and I have no experience.


    She spent a few minutes self-deprecating on the subject of her worthlessness but was surprised to find that it didn''t bother her at all. Some residual clarity of consciousness after the phenom kept her from getting upset over such trifles and going deeper into the abyss of self-deprecation:


    Still, I feel much better with the Fenot. Taer admitted to herself. The hallucinations only started after large doses. I took more than seven capsules in the castle, and now I take a lot, too. What if I take two or three capsules a day? Maybe five...


    She put the recorder aside and opened the medicine cabinet, which was lying next to her, and finding a jar of Fenoth there, Taer began to study the instructions:


    I should have started with that. Taer snorted, plunging into the maze of medical vocabulary: Nootropic neuromodulator. It has a moderate stimulatory effect, indicated in the treatment of amnesia, accelerates the deployment of induced reactions of the complementary type...


    As it should have been. It was prescribed to the lord for the treatment of amnesia. But why did it make me hallucinate? Was the dosage too high?


    It was strange; at certain moments she felt as if the lord were literally feeding on the "Fenote," eating it almost by the handfuls. But he didn''t seem to be hallucinating at all.


    She flipped over the jar looking for side effects, it was all pretty innocent there too -insomnia, psychomotor agitation, feelings of heat or cold, could raise blood pressure:


    The limit dose is not defined. The maximum is sixteen capsules per day for adults. And no hallucinations. Taer sighed and collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling again. The ceiling, to her secret joy, was perfectly fine. I haven''t even exceeded the dosage.


    She lay there for a while, wondering what could be the cause of her strange hallucinations. She didn''t have amnesia, but Fenote could have been used as a stimulant. She has a guider and a huge one. But its deployment had been finished a long time ago, several years ago. There was also the possibility that the producer might not be telling everything.


    It''s worth checking out. She got out of bed, took the jar of Fenote with her, and went to the study.


    "Do a search: side effects of this drug." She demonstrated the color code on the jar to the eyepiece cluster built into her desk. "Pay special attention to cases of hallucinations."


    The cluster came to life and gave out a melodious "Fulfilled" while Taer reluctantly staggered back.


    Hallucination or not, the slabs on the bathroom floor were quite real. And there could only be one explanation:


    "Well, I''m not an adept... She flopped down on the bed and took the recorder in her hands. She didn''t even want to think about her potential psionic talent. "I am not an adept." She repeated, squinting disgruntledly through the open bathroom door at the black rug that covered the obvious evidence to the contrary.


    I''m twenty-four years old, and adepts start initializing at eight or ten, or sixteen at the latest. And I''ve even been tested...


    She could convince herself all she wanted, but the facts were under the mat ten paces away. Feeling herself getting a little nervous, she pulled out one Fenote capsule and chewed it:


    Why am I even bothering with this? The icy taste in her mouth was refreshing and refreshing to think, "I don''t know how to use these powers anyway. And I don''t want to. So I don''t have to worry about discipline, or whatever they call it. I just won''t use it, that''s all. And I won''t even try to develop it or anything else. And to make sure it doesn''t turn out like today, I''ll be careful with the Fenote, five capsules a day, no more. Or better yet, I''ll just carry it with me, and if I have a fit, as I did with Count Barazu back then, I''ll take one or two.


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    She liked that feeling of quiet rationality in her head. And it gave her a simple, realistic, plan of action.


    It can''t help but make her happy. Taer felt quite pleased with herself. It was a rarity, and even the memory of Count Barazu did not interfere with her elation. He''s just a snooty old man who thinks he''s condescended to the small-minded children.


    She mentally replayed everything that had happened in the bot, her reaction, and was pleased to find that it didn''t affect her at all, not one bit.


    It doesn''t matter what I was thinking. It''s the actions that matter. Her actions were well within the bounds of a normal reaction.


    She repeated the phrase mentally several more times, realizing each time that it did not cause her any internal protest. Because I''m normal.


    And that made it all the more satisfying:


    I just have to get rid of those slabs in the bathroom. Normal people don''t leave dents in the stone.


    The tower was still full of construction droids, she could have called in a team with torches, and it would only take a couple of minutes, if not less:


    But the noise. The noise will be terrible. Taer reached for the security monitor and, at the same time, running diagnostics, called up the readings of the Lord''s biomonitor. Despite the late hour, he was awake. His room''s across the wall-it''ll all be audible. And even if he was asleep - the security team on duty isn''t far away. They might have questions, too.


    It turned out it had to be done when the lord and the guards weren''t around. She took out her communicator and summoned the officer on duty:


    Has the lord''s schedule for tomorrow been determined?


    "Only partially, Sword." The attendant on duty answered after a pause. He must have checked his notes. "Two meetings and one trip are scheduled."


    "Send me a copy."


    First, a meeting with Nadine Pell - venue undetermined. Then a trip to the Admiralty, two hours reserved...


    This could have been the opportunity, but the trip had to take place in the afternoon. During that time, someone could have discovered everything by accident:


    Rima, for instance, has a habit of dropping in on me for no reason at all. She wondered what she could do with Rima. There''s always a way to think of some urgent business for her on the other side of the planet, and she''ll whine, of course, but she''ll go.


    But that was all wrong, no matter where Rima was, the longer these plates existed, the greater the chance that they would be discovered. This had to be dealt with immediately.


    I don''t have to wait for the lord to leave. I could just offer him a walk. There was a very picturesque hanging garden on the middle level of the tower. And the weather is just to his liking, drizzling and chilly.


    For some reason, she was sure that the lord would agree. The guards would be no problem at all. They are under her command. She would simply order them to move out and station around the perimeter of the garden. It would be quite logical and would not raise any questions.


    There was still the floor attendant. She could say it was emergency work for security reasons.


    And it''s better not to say anything at all. I haven''t told them much, and if I do, it will only raise questions.


    There was still the possibility that someone would see everything while the droids were working, the same servants.


    .. It''s always a hassle with living witnesses - where they''ll go, what they''ll do...


    This problem, however, was very easy to solve. Taer springily got up from the bed and, leaving the infoblock on it went to the bathroom, where her belt with the weapon had been removed from her uniform:


    It''s all in my power. She smiled, feeling the metallic coolness of the sword in her palm.


    From there, she acted very quickly, surprised at her agility. Standing on the edge of the bathroom, she disassembled the housing of the thermal sensor of the fire alarm and, having removed it, turned the sensor to the wall. If you turn it off, the automatics can get worried, but as it is, it works but does not see anything.


    She wet a mountain of towels and, putting aside the black mat, made a sort of canopy around the dent. On this floor, the whole atmosphere was recirculating, and the strange fumes in it, too, might have been alarming.


    When the preparations were done, she quickly undressed and, covering herself with her wet robe, began carefully wielding her sword to melt the floor. The golden flame of the blade hissed against the damp stone slabs, leaving trails of red handmade lava that quickly faded.


    Taer acted carefully, not getting carried away, or else the stoves would overheat and simply burst. She paused periodically, and poured some water on the floor, filling the tub with puffs of steam. This didn''t bother her one bit, though. The steam in the bathtub would not arouse any suspicions.


    After a few minutes of looking at the melted slabs, it was impossible to tell exactly what had happened here:


    If anyone sees it, they''re more likely to think I dropped my switched-on sword. And my attempt to sneak it out wouldn''t be surprising. It''s embarrassing, isn''t it?


    Taer quickly shoved the wet towels and robe into the utility closet. Getting rid of all the evidence, she got under the shower again to wash off the pungent, dry smell of molten rock:


    That''s all - was it worth the trouble? She was very pleased with herself.


    After jumping out of the shower and making sure the stoves were cool enough, she covered them again with the black rug, and in her joy, she even decided to find the strength to finish recording the dream:


    "Then I woke up in a strange grove or forest where the trees had needles instead of leaves. At that moment, I knew I was dreaming." Taer started dictating, collapsing on the bed without getting dressed. "I concentrated on the source of my fear, and a dog appeared. A very large vorskl-sized dog. The dog got scared and ran into the house, where there was a woman with a face like mine but with scary eyes..."


    She clicked the button, stopping the recording. She hadn''t thought of it in her dream, but now Taer was sure she''d seen those eyes somewhere.


    That''s right, Countess Darlurl, the same piercing undead stare, prickly and cold. It dawned on her. "With eyes like those of the Countess of Darlurl." She went on the recording. "The woman said I was long dead, and in my dream, I believed her. Perhaps she symbolized my fear of authority and elders?" Taer suggested without certainty.


    The hostess looked very bossy. She may well have symbolized authority, but what does that have to do with my death? Taer pondered this for a moment, but she still had no good ideas. Never mind, dreams have their own logic.


    She felt a sense of accomplishment, threw the recorder away, hit the opposite chair with it, and ran to the dressing room with joyful anticipation. She had to choose what she would wear to meet the lord:


    The uniform, of course, is appropriate, but he likes it better when I''m in a dress. Taer went through her things quickly, looking for appropriate options. But wouldn''t a dress be too drastic a change? We could put on something white and strict to smooth out the transition...


    The search did not last long:


    Absolutely nothing to wear! Mentally she groaned after only a few minutes.


    Her closet was woefully poor. Rima had terrible taste. Most dresses were not ashamed to wear only to the beach, and there was nowhere near what was needed. And what was needed, she imagined very clearly: a long snow-white narrow skirt with a high slit on the thigh, the same color jacket with pronounced shoulders. All this would set a kind of heredity with the uniform. Large earrings to accentuate the neck, and with the right color. Eyes won''t get lost in the abundance of white, a warm shade blouse to break up that snowy cover-up, a rich, bright purple lipstick, nails, and shoes to match the lipstick. Simple, elegant, and completely out of her reach.


    Taer looked unhappily at her reflection in the mirror wondering what to do. It was possible to make the cluster find some decent catalog and order delivery, in the capital it should not be a problem: But time...


    It would take her an hour, if not more, and there was lingerie that wasn''t there, and a dress with a high slit required stockings or at least a garter. The shoes, the earrings, there was nothing, not even rings, the annoying lack of attention to detail:


    Although the lack of rings is his fault, he could have gifted them. Grudgingly, Taer thought, pouting at her reflection. Though, he doesn''t know that it''s customary to give them... Shall I say? It''s kind of obtrusive.


    As she pondered what to do, it became clear to her what was wrong with her reflection. Her hair. It was arranged in a tight bun at the nape of her neck:


    It''s hard to think of a duller hairstyle, not even an interesting barrette, but at least it opens up the neck.


    It was all wrong, with what we have, the first impression would be very weak, and there was no time for anything more:


    Maybe it''s not time for a first impression yet. Taer finally decided, looking at herself in the mirror. I''ll just freshen up my face with makeup.


    So she did. She quickly retrieved the makeup bag Rima had given her a few years ago: some eyeshadow, and a drop of foundation, to take away the shine. The only thing she had left from the original plan was lipstick. She thought of perfume, but no: Too deliberate.


    "Would it disturb you if I came in?" Taer summoned the lord''s com when the preparations were done, and she was dressed in her fresh uniform.


    "Taer?" There was a look of obvious surprise in his voice. "Come in, of course, how can you disturb me."


    The secret door that connected their rooms hissed upward, revealing an empty living room. The lord was further away, in his study, sitting at his desk, clearly working on an infoblock when Taer interrupted him. Next to him stood the angular protocol droid they had picked up with Dudo. It was an exclusive model, combining the cognition of protocol with the flexibility of analytical thinking - very expensive.


    "Allow me to attest to my deepest..." The droid rattled but was stopped by Taer''s gesture. This model, for all its merits, is tiresomely courteous.


    "You had such an intriguing voice on the comm that I didn''t even recognize you right away." The lord admitted with a smile as he put the infobox aside. "Did something happen?"


    "No, I just wanted to suggest a walk," Taer answered him with a smile. "If you''re not busy, of course. I want to make amends for leaving you right after I arrived."


    "I was just filling in the gaps in my knowledge of the structure of the empire. It''s something I can do forever, and I could use a break, so I''ll gladly take you up on your offer.


    "His Lordship, with his usual modesty, understates his achievements." The electronic scrooge rattled, but Taer didn''t listen:


    "Then I''ll make arrangements for security and stuff." She pronounced, heading for the door. "I''ll meet you in a few minutes."


    She quickly ordered the security team to move into the garden and just as quickly instructed the droids, just in case she warned the guard on duty that she had ordered. A small re-build.


    "Where are we going?" Alex asked, looking at Taer with interest as the elevator doors closed behind them.


    "There''s a pretty nice garden on the middle level of the tower." Calmly, Taer replied. She was pleased to feel his attention, but she wasn''t about to show it.


    "By the way, you look great. The sleep has obviously done you good." He continued, still looking at her with interest.


    "Sixteen hours of sleep works wonders, and there''s less gravity in the capital than on Copeira, so it''s good for rest. I''m honestly surprised that you don''t sleep yourself because you have meetings in the morning..."


    "I''ve decided not to sleep at all," Alex admitted, a little embarrassed. "I feel great on stimulants. So it would be silly to waste time sleeping now. There''s so much to learn.


    "And what have you learned?" Taer asked playfully, making an inviting gesture. The elevator doors just opened. They arrived in the garden.


    "Well, for example, that Emperor is the highest military rank, not a title."


    "Did you consider it a title?" She asked, taking him under her arm. "Now, that''s quite daring, if not scandalous."


    "Well, yes." The lord agreed. "Good thing I didn''t blurt it out anywhere."


    The garden was designed so it looked as if someone had torn an uneven chunk out of the tower, leaving only the sparse black strands of columns and the jagged triangles of converging walls. Everything else was replaced by wild flora.


    Below, at eye level, it was practically empty. Only soft red moss and sparse paths of polished black stone were highlighted by the dotted lights, but overhead, a continuous blanket of lianas floated like living clouds. Reddish, reddish, purple, green, almost naked, and covered in leaves. Some were more like thick fluffy tails. The yellow light from the ceiling panels tangled in the many greenery, casting the garden in a soft semi-darkness.


    And it was fresh here, too. The cool, moist air flowed in a soft, refreshing wave down to the base of the garden, bringing the scents of leaves and flowers.


    They walked along the path along the edge of the garden, separated from the night city only by an invisible wall of force shields. The guards, who had arrived in the garden beforehand, kept their distance, and it seemed as if it was just the two of them walking down the alley.


    And this leisurely walk filled Taer with such a peaceful serenity that she didn''t want to disturb her with words. She just silently enjoyed his company, knowing that it would not last.


    They, walking in silence under their arms, somewhere below their feet, flowed the lava of the signal lights of night traffic, the vines of the garden floated over their heads at the speed of their step, and the light of the neighboring towers merged into the jagged canyon of the street, through which the aerocars darted, shiny with rain and looking like huge glittering fish. And the city below, from the tranquility of the garden, seemed pointless, filled with the unnecessary bustle of tiny people and cars:


    "Like toys." The lord voiced her thoughts, stopping at the edge of the tower.


    "Fragile and empty." continued Taer, earning him a long stare.


    "You''re mysterious again." He looked at her with interest.


    "You don''t like it when I''m like this?" she asked, looking into his eyes.


    "I like it." He smiled, looking into her eyes, and added, looking down at the city. "Maybe even like it too much."


    "Then," she took him under the arm again, "why don''t we take another walk?"


    And they walked on through the yellow twilight of the garden.


    Sometimes, even the ocean of time is not enough.


    * * *

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12


    * * *


    "If you''ll excuse me." A resounding voice cut into the monotonous speech about "average weekly operating costs". The speaker stuttered as if choking on his words, and fell silent, establishing a resounding silence in the hall. The eyes of the audience turned to the miniature girl in a dark scarlet uniform of ergo-captain of the Guard, sitting at the head of the table.


    "An emergency." With a guilty smile, she explained, slipping out from behind the table. "It''s necessary to go away. Carry on without me."


    The finger under the ring with the big red stone tingled insistently, warning of an emergency call. And Countess Durlurl, the head of House Fyron''s "own intelligence," had figured out long ago that only bad news couldn''t wait.


    The Countess quickly crossed the reception room and, with a gesture, stopped the secretary who had risen to meet her and entered the office, blocking the door behind her.


    A scarlet call light flashed on the secure communications terminal.


    She paused at the door for a few seconds, carefully examining her office, and then leisurely walked over to the desk and snapped her finger on the recognition unit, and sat down quietly in her chair.


    On the terminal screen, the intelligence emblem was replaced by a stout-looking man with a slight baldness in his dark hair. He wore an official uniform, which was somehow unkempt, without gloss.


    "Daim Esta, I apologize for your..." He began, bowing his head, but was shooed away by the Countess''s displeased exclamation.


    "Report!"


    "About an hour ago, another report was received on Daim Diltar''s condition. After a meeting in the Admiralty Council, one of the guardsmen noticed small drops of blood on the collar of her tunic. She looked as if she was washing her face..."


    He went on saying something else: about the actions, about the external observation, about how the samples were taken from her bathroom flush, about the radiation analysis... But the Countess was no longer listening to him. She already understood what had happened, and this knowledge pressed like an overload. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair:


    Taer''s nose was bleeding. Daim Esta knew all too well what that meant. Great shadows, why so early? Such bad timing. We''ll have to think of something, something to explain...


    She gave herself a few seconds of emotion to feel her heart begin to grind with despair, a drop at a time. A few seconds, but no more. Okay, that''s all for later damage control first.


    "These facts are confirmed by hardware control and indirect surveillance." The senior member of the escort team continued to report. "We analyzed the runoff from the latrine she used and indeed found traces of blood. The sample obtained is a match to ....."


    "How many casualties, and what of Lord Cassard?" Daim Esta interrupted this outpouring, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her index finger.


    Her interlocutor was somewhat confused by the question.


    "Lord Tsorto seems to have been very dissatisfied with the actions of Daim Diltar..." He cautiously suggested, "And there was some conflict with the head of the House representation in the capital. Otherwise, no casualties, Your Ladyship."


    "Yes?" The Countess lifted her head in interest. "What, nothing out of the ordinary?"


    "No. But as I understood it, some important decision was derailed..."


    "It doesn''t matter." She brushed it off, clearly cheered up. The Countess straightened in her chair, giving herself a more formal appearance, and ordered:


    "Give your assessment of the condition of the object of observation."


    "Judging from the behavioral signs as well as the external control data, Daim Diltar was greatly annoyed and even angry about something, but she held herself well, looking calm and collected. I don''t know what exactly was going on during the meeting, but from the information I have, we can assume that the reaction of Diltar had an external stimulus and fits into her emotional profile. I have prepared a brief report and have attached observation material if Your Lordship pleases..."


    The Countess silently closed her eyes in agreement. Yes, it will please me.


    "Thank you, Moal." She nodded as the line "data transfer completed" ran across the screen and was silent for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts and formulating her instructions:


    "Increase surveillance as much as possible," she finally said in her usual unapologetic tone, "especially pay attention to her emotional state. Don''t be squeamish about the means. If someone is discovered, don''t deny it. Say you''re observing by my orders for her safety. If anything starts to happen that you don''t understand, immediately... I mean IMMEDIATELY, contact me through this channel. And contact Captain Asali in the capital city office. He''ll help with people and equipment. Otherwise, proceed as instructed."


    "Glad to serve Your Ladyship." Her interlocutor bowed once more and, without asking any more questions, disconnected.


    Countess Durlurl sat for another minute, folding her palms against her lips and staring blankly through the disappearing screen, until finally, with a sigh, she shook off her stupor and summoned her secretary.


    The screen wove before her again, with the image of a young man in a Guard uniform with an obsequious expression on his handsome face.


    "Send a letter to Diltar. If possible, arrange for encrypted transmission over the zero-link so as not to lose three days. Tell her I''ll be in the capital soon and I just need to see her in..." The Countess was silent for a moment, remembering which of the Cassards'' properties in the capital was as secluded and remote from people as possible. "Let it be Black Lake. Try to convey to her, as politely as possible, the importance and urgency of this meeting. Do not give her a specific time frame. If Taer contacts you to clarify terms or circumstances, tell her I was distracted by something of incredible importance, and as soon as I''m free..." She paused as she felt she was beginning to teach the secretary how to do her job. "I think you get a general idea. If there''s going to be an attempt at direct communication, then only connect her with me in an extraordinary case. And arrange for me to meet with Captain Talaydo, Dr. Mhaet, and Professor Tyria as soon as possible. Very quickly, literally immediately."


    "Will do, Your Ladyship." The secretary nodded, but instead of passing out, he continued. "Lord Tsorto insists on seeing you, he''s extremely irritated, and he mentioned Daim Diltar."


    She seems to have derailed some decisions for them... "Tell him I''ll get in touch with him soon."


    "He''s here in person, Your Ladyship."


    "Damn, it..." The Countess raised her eyes to the ceiling and waved her hand wearily. "Well, what to do? Ask for him in about three minutes. And warn the gathering that I won''t be able to continue the meeting."


    By the time Lord Tsorto appeared at the door of her office, Daim Esta had already managed to order an unspoken increase in security, to form a battle group to move to the villa "Black Lake" and to prepare the most toothy smile from her arsenal to meet "old friends".


    "Geard!" She exclaimed, spreading her arms as if about to embrace. "Why such haste? What happened? But I''m glad to see you, anyway."


    Lord Tsorto only nodded curtly in response to this greeting, tearing the gloves off his hands angrily and glancing disgruntled at the secretary who had brought him. The lord was flushed and breathing heavily as if he''d run across the square separating the headquarters and the old castle.


    "You''ve got to keep your girl quiet." He threw as the door finally closed behind the secretary. "She derailed the decision to relocate the Aegis that''s been in preparation for the last two decades!"


    "Are you talking about Taer?"


    "Yes! Great Shadows, I''m about Taer!" shouted Lord Tsorto, losing all patience. "About your creature! If you needed another seat on the Council so badly, why couldn''t you at least find someone competent?!"


    "Well, why is she mine, Geard?" Countess Durlurl raised her eyebrows in amazement. "She is yours. Your colleague and Lord Cassard''s First Blade. And, really, don''t look so worried. Sit down." She pointed to a high chair covered in blue velvet. "Would you like some wine? I just happened to have a bottle of Kenarian Dark, prewar, great for lowering blood pressure."


    "No, Esta." Lord Torto angrily cut off. "She is yours." And looking unhappily at the offered chair. Instead of sitting down, he began slicing circles around it with quick, nervous steps. "You promoted her, coddled her. Who transferred her to Copeira? Who made the leap from Intelligence to Guard and back again? Who suggested her candidacy to the Consulate? Who thought of introducing her into Cassard''s ''Arm''?"


    The Countess shrugged indifferently:


    "I still think it''s hard to think of a better babysitter for Allesandro Cassard. You needed someone who wouldn''t fawn over the title and would do his job. All of the things you listed were necessary to fulfill that function. But it''s one thing to look after the lord and another to look after the domain, not my idea, but Lord Cassard''s. He wanted to thank her for saving his life, and I must say he was quite right to do so. And many people support this decision. It''s a very sentimental story, in the spirit of the old nobility."


    "As a Lord, so is a Blade." Tsorto muttered, clearly in his thoughts, "If a zwiggolot had saved his life, he''d have made him a blade of the Domain, too. This is another one of his pranks. He threw it in our faces. Appointed his wench to the Council, a pretty, unborn upstart - that''s who he equates us with!"


    "Your position in the area of primogeniture is well known to me, Geard." The Countess commented dryly. "I do not share it."


    Tsorto stopped circling around his chair and looked at the Countess in surprise:


    "Esta..." He stretched out reproachfully. "How could you think such a thing? Despite our former misunderstandings, your services to the House are unquestionable... But there''s no comparison. No merit other than the marksmanship. Nothing!" Lord Tsorto erupted again, continuing to circle his chair. "Twenty-five years old! Twenty-five years old! Not even in the war! Without any experience! She wasn''t even in command of a Corvette, and now she''s got two important Stations under her! And instead of keeping her mouth shut, she dares me-" Lord Tsorto literally choked with indignation and, unable to continue, clutched his gloves in his hands as if he were trying to squeeze the juice out of them.


    "How about some wine after all?" The Countess suggested nonchalantly, taking advantage of the pause.


    "I don''t want your wine." Tsorto snarled, finally sinking into his chair.


    "But I won''t refuse." The Countess confessed and, pushing the call button she asked:


    "Pour us a Kenarian Dark one."


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    While the secretary poured the wine, Lord Tsorto forced himself into silence and slowly calmed down.


    "You shouldn''t refuse..." With perfectly sincere regret, the Countess took the heavy glass in her hands and took her first, very long sip. "Terrific stuff."


    "I don''t have time for this, Esta." Torto sighed, stopped tugging at his gloves, and tossed them on the armrest. "We''ve got to do something. She could paralyze all work. Great Shadows, she''s already done that. And I am sure, even to you, a Council in such a state is not beneficial, much less beneficial to the Ruling Lord. So please, take her in restraint.


    "Well, she''s not a horse, Geard, and she hasn''t been my subordinate for a long time. It''s completely out of my hands. Go to Lord Cassard."


    "Then..." Lord Tsorto stated with a grudging jerk of his chin. "I will be forced to bring this before the Privy Council."


    "Your right," the Countess threw up her hands, "but what will you achieve? Three votes against you at once. Maybe more..." Daim Esta pondered a little, trying to figure out the balance of power in the Council of Privies. The votes on Lord Cassard''s side were unexpectedly numerous. In addition to the expected two voices, Cassard himself and Baron Kouifi, most likely added the voice of the Rionale, who had begun to very actively woo Allesandro. And assuming that the Marquise of Turang is really spinning her grandfather as she wishes, two or three more votes of the "old opposition". She had already grown weary of seeing Cassard as a political center, and the new point of view was quite... refreshing.


    I''ll have to think about it later. The Countess made a mental note. Six votes is a lot, too many, almost half. And she continued aloud:


    "Anyway, if you take my advice. I wouldn''t recommend making a fuss about the situation. It will not add your points, Geard, especially if she has made no mistake. And I''m sure the Ruling Lord and the Privy Council would prefer to see the Council of Sixteen working for the good of the House rather than being torn apart by internal contradictions."


    Lord Tsorto was about to object, but Countess Durlurl did not let him open his mouth warningly raising her hand:


    "In turn," she added, "I''m willing to promise that I''ll talk to her. In any case, I was going to meet her soon. But, of course, I make no promises, for you know how often former prot¨¦g¨¦s are deaf to the words of former mentors? And I hope you, Geard, have the experience and wisdom to come out of this situation with dignity."


    "I can''t just watch, Esta." Lord Tsorto chided, rising. "She, stomping on a fine-tuned mechanism, doesn''t even realize what she''s doing."


    "I''m sure it''s not that bad." The Countess objected, rising as well and approaching Lord Tsorto to see him off.


    "Too bad you didn''t want to help me." He muttered indifferently, pulling on his gloves and not looking at the countess. "Well, that''s all right. I think the Ruling Lord will find a way to deal with this girl."


    Great Shadows, what an idiot! In her mind, the Countess sobbed, raising her eyes to the ceiling in agony. She sighed heavily and, with a weary wave of her hand, said:


    Do whatever you want. But, I want to warn you, Geard. Please don''t call her a wench, at least in public. She''ll challenge you to a duel, and it might end in death. Most likely yours. And the last thing we all need right now is your death.


    Lord Tsorto responded with only an unkind glance and, with a brief nod of goodbye, departed in a stamping step.


    What to do with a convenient idiot who is no longer convenient?


    Daim Esta tiredly slumped in her chair, and after emptying the glass of wine she had picked up on the way, which Lord Tsorto had never touched, she summoned her secretary again:


    "Will Dr. Mhaet and the others be arriving soon?"


    "In fifteen minutes, Your Ladyship."


    "Very well..." She stretched, raising her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. The strangeness of Lord Cassard''s political discourse, against the backdrop of even current problems, looked at most like an object of idle curiosity. All the more so, all these "discourses" were not the result of analysis, but speculation, even if it was her own. On the other hand, her gut was telling her that the "discourse" was too good to be made up by itself, so someone was making it up, and she, for some reason, was not aware of it, and it was equal death.


    "Here''s another thing." She added, having made up her mind. "Have them make me an analytical memo on the known contacts of the Marquise of Turang, for the past three years."


    Let''s start eating the Thornhide from this side...


    * * *


    The men who were summoned, though they had to be brought from the other side of the planet, arrived on time. They sat around a low table, with snacks and tea, like mischievous boys, avoiding meeting their eyes with the Countess, which was helped greatly by the infoblocks with copies of external surveillance data. Dr. Mhaet, the donor material expert, the older, grouchy man with rolling eyes, was the most nervous. He was clearly not at ease. He was constantly shifting the infoblock from one hand to another, shaking his leg and nervously tapping his finger on the edge of the table. He knew better than anyone else that the Countess was not one of the enthusiastic supporters of the project.


    The project supervisor Stack-Captain Talaydo appeared calm and businesslike, but his watery gray eyes moved faster than usual, and D§Ôrlurl could sense his nervousness.


    The only one who remained calm was Professor Tyree, the chief specialist in personality construction, young myrlisti, by the standards of his race, with large emerald eyes and the green vestment of the intercessor''s servant. He sat directly opposite the Countess, having long since finished reading, and twitched his ears impatiently.


    No one touched the tea.


    "Familiar?" Abruptly the Countess asked. Communicating with Lord Tsorto had left her not in the mood.


    "Uh... yes, Your Ladyship." Dr. Mhaet pronounced, putting aside the infoblock and interlocking his fingers. "Sad news."


    Countess Durlurl leaned forward, and a predatory expression appeared on her face:


    "You promised me at least eight years. Where?"


    "Your Ladyship!" The doctor and the professor protested in chorus. They exchanged irritated glances, and Dr. Mhaet continued. "Your Ladyship, when we discussed this experiment, you promised that there would be no forced activations for the duration of the service."


    "I didn''t promise, I assumed." Esta protested with a strained smile. She had honestly hoped Taer would not need her skills for the next eight years, and if they did, they would only be needed once.


    "When we called it eight years, we made the same assumptions." In the doctor''s voice, one could hear a poorly concealed nervous tremor. "And it''s not our fault she''s had at least four activations in less than a decade. And I have to say, perfectly justified activations."


    She threw a displeased look at the doctor and snorted, and took a cup of tea from the table with her palms around it as if trying to keep warm:


    "Couldn''t she just be bleeding?" Proclaimed Countess Durlurl, slowly sipping her tea. "After all, normal people bleed through their noses without any psychosomatic reactions.


    The question was almost rhetorical.


    "The chances of that happening are extremely slim." The professor coughed, voicing what she already knew. "As Your Ladyship knows, Taer has a quite perfect body. Without exaggeration, the best we could do while staying within limits."


    "Suppose, then, what do you think is going on?" She asked, turning sideways and examining the pattern on the silk wallpaper thoughtfully.


    "Absolutely nothing wrong." Dr. Mhaet stated unequivocally. "Yes, certain psychosomatic manifestations have begun. However, I would like to emphasize that these manifestations do not mean a loss of control. Taer is an extremely stable, even inert, person.


    "On previous occasions, they have been blown away in literally twenty-four hours." As if in between, he muttered, staring up at the ceiling.


    "You can''t transfer that experience to Taer," the doctor objected, glancing unhappily at the Myrlyssti, "it''s, at minimum incorrect, to say the least. Completely different carriers, different induction methods, none of them had that kind of susceptibility, after all."


    "And what do you think, Professor?" inquired Countess Durlurl.


    "Ah, Your Ladyship, it''s hard to say," murmured Tyree, bowing his head slightly. "There is too little data. I can assume that despite the successful suppression of the outer layers of logic, due to the frequent activations and strong stressful background ...." Professor hesitated a little choosing the wording more streamlined, "the induced part continued to unfold, so to speak, beyond the limits set by us. The needs of the "donor" begin to influence the recipient''s behavior more and more. And while the recipient is not yet aware of this, the psychosomatic manifestations have already begun. In particular, nosebleeds."


    These words provoked an exchange of meaningful looks, but the nature of the donor''s needs known to the audience was not optimistic.


    "I would like to emphasize again," Dr. Mhaet interjected, "psychosomatic manifestations do not yet mean loss of control."


    Professor Tyree glared at his opponent and shrugged his shoulders with a faint snort:


    "I wouldn''t vouch for it."


    "Well, speak for yourself. I am ready to vouch for it, even with my head."


    "And what''s your head to me?" The Countess snickered, glancing sideways at the doctor. "If there''s a whole collection of heads to go with it, some of which may belong to the highest nobility as well. I need to make sure the Taer is predictable and stable because if it fails, it will be a disaster. And your head will not undo that disaster."


    "Taer is stable and predictable as it is." The doctor didn''t back down. "If, however, you want guarantees, you could, for example, introduce, tacitly of course, an adept or several into Lord Cassard''s guard. I think two can handle it."


    "Handle what?" Durlurl''s voice had a mocking tone to it. "Weren''t you, when you promoted this idea to the Ruling Lord, alluding to the special effectiveness against adepts?"


    "What on earth do you want?" Suddenly the doctor shrieked, unaware of himself in horror. "Take this opportunity to destroy her while the Ruling Lord is absent? To undo years of research? You cannot. That is for you to decide alone! You must notify His Grace."


    The Countess''s heavy gaze, which did not bode well, pinned the doctor to his chair.


    The doctor shuddered, his eyes flickered treacherously, and he hurriedly grabbed the infoblock again like a shield, losing his courage as swiftly as he had gained it.


    "If I become interested in your opinion about the limits of my authority, I will let you know." The Countess spoke slowly. "Have I made myself clear enough?"


    "Yes, Your Ladyship." The doctor muttered, staring at the floor.


    An oppressive silence hung for a while in the semi-darkness of the office. The Countess was slowly sipping her tea, staring at the wall, while those gathered exchanged nervous glances.


    "Your Ladyship, shouldn''t we just give her what she wants?" Captain Talaydo ventured to break the silence and, making sure he had the Countess''s attention, continued. "As I understand the Professor, the nosebleed is not so much a sign of loss of stability as we used to think, but a psychosomatic reaction to the bloodlust of the another."


    "More like a desire to see blood." Corrected Professor Tyree.


    "Well, yes." Without looking, the captain brushed it off. "Maybe we should satisfy that need? We''ll organize some kind of attack under controlled conditions or at least an excursion to the slaughterhouse. I think the doctor can tell us the most effective form. I think it''s better than waiting for her to snap at some social gathering and kill everyone she can get her hands on."


    Daim Esta silently turned her gaze to the doctor.


    "I wouldn''t recommend it." The latter hastily replied. "It would stimulate the ''donor part'', and it could continue to unfold right up to the point of completely displacing Taer''s personality. And that, again, is - known complications."


    "At least these complications will come in some secluded place," objected the captain, "not at the Emperor''s party."


    The Countess still remained silent, turning her heavy gaze back and forth between the professor and the doctor.


    "How much will you give her?" she finally asked.


    The scientists exchanged glances again, and Professor Tyree was the first to speak:


    "It''s hard to say, Your Ladyship. We''re in completely uncharted territory. No other specimen has remained stable for so long. The Taer''s personality shows no sign of splitting, and if it weren''t for this unfortunate bleed, I''d give it at least four more years. But now..." He twitched his ears grimly. "In previous cases, they were gone within twenty-four hours, and I can''t guarantee anything. That''s why I vote for isolation."


    "I agree with my colleague. To suggest any timeline would be guesswork. But I would make a more optimistic assessment." The doctor shook the infoblock plate weightily. "She''s very stable, and I think she''ll remain stable. Unless, of course, there are further activations and emotional crises. The only negative aspect, in my opinion, is that Taer shows signs of a developing romantic connection. I fear that an emotional background so alien to the donor might provoke rejection."


    "In any case, if Your Ladyship needs assurances, I also recommend isolation. At least it gives a chance to develop the results obtained. Ideally, I would advise removing our recipient to some safe and comfortable place, where a possible breakdown would not cause much trouble, and to observe."


    "I didn''t hear the answer to my question." There was metal in the Countess''s voice. "So, how much will you give her?"


    "We can''t give you any specific numbers, Your Ladyship." Confusedly, the professor spread his thin hands. "The case is unique."


    The Countess glanced angrily at the downcast scientists, and with a disappointed sigh, she shook her head disapprovingly:


    "The older I get," she said philosophically, "the more often I notice that as soon as an issue becomes really important, it immediately turns out that the case is unique, and no one guarantees anything. It makes me think all these experts," she looked around at Dr. Mhaet and the professor, "are a complete waste of money."


    "If given the time and the opportunity to observe Taer in more detail, we could somehow extrapolate the data and give a more accurate timeline."


    "The problem is, Doctor," Esta smiled wryly, "that Taer is no longer my subordinate. Worse, she is now a Knight, a Blade of the Domain, and therefore a member of the Council of Sixteen. She''s more likely to tell me what to do than I am to tell her. And not to mention the fact that she''s even in the capital now, we have no way to hold her anywhere, let alone isolate her completely. The disappearance of an entire Blade of the Domain, it''s kind of conspicuous, don''t you think?


    "Could it be a disease?!" The doctor didn''t give up. "I mean, certainly not a real disease, but I''m sure if we give it a couple of days, we can pick up some kind of allergen that can cause the symptoms..."


    The Countess silently waved her hand and turned away again, not even wanting to comment on the proposal.


    "Capture and fake death?" The captain suggested without confidence in his voice. "Either way, something has to be done."


    "She might perceive it as an attack," the doctor hastened to insert. "And this is a possible activation."


    "Amazing talent of making trouble out of nothing." Proclaimed Esta into space. She set the cup down on the table and tiredly gripped her forehead with her hand:


    "Prepare everything necessary for isolation by force, Captain. And just in case, a ship with special equipment, all of which should be ready to leave for the capital within twenty-four hours." The Countess paused, pondering whether she should fly personally and go incognito with the task force or officially on her yacht. "I will notify the Ruling Lord and join you. Either way, it''s time to end it all, one way or the other."


    * * *

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13


    * * *


    "Thus, the councils of the First Blades, or the Ruling Lord''s representative, submit petitions directly to the First Lord of the High Side." Nadine Pell''s voice echoed through the Admiralty''s Great Hall of Councils, a gloomy room with high vaulted ceilings and black marble walls decorated with frequent strips of polished bronze throughout.


    In the Admiralty, the whole atmosphere inspired a sense of grim grandeur, which was only emphasized by the effect of "emptiness." Behind a huge long table in the center of the room designed for at least forty people, at the head of which, in a chair more like a black throne, sat Alex, there were only three of them.


    Yes, it''s not a workplace for those with a fear of attention. He was going to spend quite a bit of time here; the Admiralty Council was run by the first lord, and his office was right there, in the Admiralty. One of the offices. He corrected himself mentally, for it still had the Court of Blood Grudges on him and the Ergo Seneschal''s office located in the palace.


    "... Notices, on the other hand, are given through a Second Lord, in this case, a Second Lady." Nadine bowed her head graciously toward Baroness Tayor, who responded with the distracted smile of someone who has heard her name but doesn''t know what it was about. "Who in turn, after proper elaboration, if any, will forward them already to the First Lord, i.e. you, for a visa."


    "And after my visa, they go to the Emperor''s office," Alex repeated tiredly. "I understand, Lady Pell."


    This went on for six hours. Two hours of "preliminary preparation," practically one-on-one, after which they made their way to the Admiralty, where they were joined by the Second Lady of the High Side, the polite and terse Baroness of the House of Rien, who had already received her assignment.


    Short, slightly swarthy, with shoulder-length platinum hair and a perpetually bewildered smile of a lost person, Baroness Iolaya Tayor looked like a pretty enough, blue-eyed woman in her forties. But her head was shaking almost constantly like a very old woman creating an unpleasant dissonance with her appearance. Because of that, Alex suspected that the baroness was much older than forty:


    About a hundred. He thought, glancing at Lady Iolaya, who, as is often the case with very old people, seemed immersed in her own world, not paying attention to what was going on around her.


    "Lord Cassard." Nadine hissed angrily when she noticed his distraction.


    Although maybe it''s not about age, I would also love to disengage from what''s going on. If it were possible.


    "You may believe me, Lord Cassard." Lady Pell continued, glaring at him. "The necessity of being in the same room with you gives me absolutely no joy either, so please, as much as you can, concentrate on my words so that we can both get this ''help'' over with as quickly as possible."


    And it wasn''t that she was neglecting her duties. Nadina was indeed an honest help. Without her explanations, it would have been much worse, despite all his attempts to study the matter on his own, with the help of Sir Ulter and Liora, who proved to be a treasure trove of information on everything concerning the intricacies of palace protocol. Nadina did help, but:


    How that redheaded bastard twists and turns. Alex rolled his eyes. He hoped Lady Pell would cool down in a day. But she missed no opportunity to verbally abuse the House of Fyron in general, much less him in particular. And while this was tolerable for the first couple of hours, by the sixth hour, it began to be quite annoying, even though the angry Nadine looked especially attractive for some reason:


    And okay, me. Thought Alex, silently watching the monologue of Lady Pell, who began to flare up again. At least I can, as compensation, ogle Nadina, but Taer and Baroness Tayor, not only do they suffer quite innocently and so put up with it all for free.


    Fortunately, Lady Iolaya, being mostly in her own world, did not react to what was happening, and Taer managed to keep a positive attitude and even smiled, despite all Nadine''s words.


    I suppose I should be thankful for the long sleep. Such cheerfulness was not at all typical of his perpetually disgruntled first blade, but it impressed Alex a great deal. With a Taer like that, it''s more comforting... Should I force her to take more naps? He smirked, To improve her character.


    "Are you even listening to me, Lord Cassard?!" Nadine burst out, clearly noticing that he was in his thoughts.


    "Of course, Lady Pell, I''m all ears." He smiled at her sparkling, angry eyes.


    "Let me question that." She snorted, cocking her nose defiantly.


    "How could I ignore the words of such a charming lady?"


    "And what did you get out of my words, then?" Nadine asked in a pallid tone, clearly anticipating his failure.


    "You advised me to hand over all unclosed petitions to the Emperor''s Office at once to free up my time at the beginning of the Onstum while I get into the business of the service." Calmly replied Alex, who had mastered the art of listening half-heartedly while reading books under the desk.


    "Is that so? Very good." Mumbled Nadine, with a slight disappointment in her gaze. "At least my words don''t fall into the void."


    "However, in this case," Alex continued, watching with interest the reaction of the red-haired beauty. "I don''t think it''s possible for me to take your advice. Though, I appreciate your attempt to ease my burden. But I''ve been told at least ten times how important the project about decommissioning of light cruisers, which you suggested at your previous onstum, is, and I really don''t understand why. And in such a situation, it seems to me wrong to submit a petition to the Emperor without first figuring out for myself what the matter is."


    "Oh, I had no doubt you wouldn''t miss this opportunity." Nadine snorted again, rolling her eyes defiantly. "I suppose that''s what this was all about. If it were any other person, I''d just ask to be treated fairly, not thinking of the benefits to your house. But in your case, it doesn''t make any sense. The only hope is that the Emperor will lash out at House Fyron if your abuse of office becomes so egregious."


    "It''s rather ironic, given your views, that you rely on the Emperor." Alex couldn''t resist a quip, for which he received, predictably, another attempt to drill him through the gaze of her angry green eyes.


    "His Majesty is simply a luminary of justice compared to the low, unprincipled greed of House Fyron. Particularly vivid among some of that house''s ancient clans. He never stooped to meanness for the sake of a position needed only to be able to cheat in an already prearranged game in his favor without thinking it as his own incompetence..."


    The rumble and loud squeak of the legs of the chair being pushed back interrupted Nadine''s angry tirade, and she froze, looking at Taer, who had suddenly jumped up from her seat.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "I need to freshen up." Taer threw, not even looking at Lady Pell, and walked briskly toward the exit of the hall, covering her nose with the palm of her hand for some reason.


    What''s the matter with her? Alex stared at his security specialist in silence, not quite sure what had happened because just a few seconds ago, Taer had looked completely serene, and Nadine''s many slurs against House Fyron that she had made before didn''t seem to affect his first blade at all.


    There was a pause. Nadine, who had been shot down in the middle of her denunciatory sermon, had clearly cooled down somewhat:


    "Really, we should probably take a break." She said, rising from her seat, too. "We''ve been here long enough. Let''s take a break."


    "Lord Cassard, please tell her already that it wasn''t her fault." The baroness''s voice rang out as soon as the door closed behind Nadine, making Alex flinch in surprise. "I don''t know what exactly happened between you two, but the poor girl has been clinging so desperately for hours to any opportunity to show your sins in an attempt to prove that you are to blame, too, that it just hurts to look at her. A man should be lenient to his woman''s weaknesses, especially if she''s really wrong."


    Lady Iolaya, looking at him with mild dissatisfaction if not accusation. And if her sudden emergence from a prolonged confused-smiling prostration was surprising in itself, her words confounded Alex altogether. Did she take us for a couple?


    It was strange, to say the least nothing was going on between him and Nadine that even hinted at a relationship.


    There''s either some cultural quirk that I don''t understand. Or the old lady is not quite in her right mind. Confused, he thought, trying to figure out how best to respond to these words.


    "I don''t think there is a context in which Lady Pell can be considered "my woman." Alex cautiously answered her.


    "''So?" The baroness seemed genuinely surprised. "You mean you''re not dating?"


    "No," he assured her honestly. "You can''t even call us good acquaintances."


    We crossed paths with her, like, five or six times. But all of them fell within the three dozen days that I''ve been here.


    "I''m sorry, that was awkward." Lady Iolaya laughed embarrassedly. "And I thought I was witnessing a lover''s quarrel... But, then, why do you tolerate it?"


    "I wish I knew myself." Alex sighed, genuinely not knowing the answer to that question. "Maybe I just like looking at her when she''s angry."


    The Baroness only shook her head indulgently in response. She too rose from her seat and headed for the exit of the hall.


    It didn''t take Alex long to admire the decorations alone; a few minutes later, Taer returned.


    "Is everything all right? You jumped up so quickly." He asked as he stared at her while Taer took her seat, a little disheveled but still positive, even pleased, judging by the slight smile on her lips. Her face was still a little glistening with moisture. She was obviously washing her face.


    "It''s all right."


    "I think you have blood drops on your shirt." He remarked.


    "It''s just a nosebleed." Taer smiled nonchalantly, buttoning the collar of her uniform tighter. "It''s nothing."


    "Are you sure you''re okay? A nosebleed isn''t very normal. How are you feeling?"


    "I feel fine." Taer brushed it off. "Don''t make a big deal out of it. It''s probably the Fenote. It can raise your blood pressure, so you be careful yourself."


    "Fenote?" Alex was sincerely surprised. "You look like you slept in."


    "Actually, that''s not what it''s for at all," Taer told him instructively. "And I only took, like, three capsules - two at night and one now, just to refresh my mind."


    "That''s right." He nodded knowingly. "Consciousness is refreshing, especially when chewed up."


    Soon the baroness returned, but the return of Lady Pell was a long wait, fifteen minutes if not more. Alex had even begun to worry about her a little.


    "I''ve been thinking about what you said, Lady Pell." Taer began suddenly as Nadine took her seat. "And I thought we were obviously wasting your valuable time. Perhaps we shouldn''t spend so much time discussing paperwork and protocol - we can learn that from the droids as well. While you''re here, why don''t we visit one of the units under your command?"


    "One of the units?" Surprised Nadine, the long absence had clearly had a beneficial effect on her. At least she stopped flashing her eyes angrily and looked more like she was just tired. "I suppose it''s possible, but not today, the nearest one is on another continent. Besides, House Fyren has just filed some sort of notice for visitation, and I thought I''d look at the procedure with a concrete example..." She added without certainty.


    "Well, we''ve got full-fledged landing bots with us." Taer smiled at her indulgently. "The sub-orbital jump will take less than twenty minutes. And that notice you were talking about, our office has already withdrawn it for revision, and it will take them a few days. Besides, how else can you learn if you don''t see before you an example of what a really competent control can accomplish in two years?"


    "And I almost thought you really cared about your lord''s schooling," Nadine said thoughtfully, glaring at Taer and adding with a heavy sigh. "Well, if you want to give me a surprise inspection, go ahead and evaluate. I''m not afraid of something like that."


    "Why do you say that?" Taer scolded her complacently. "How can I, or Lord Cassard, judge you? Neither of us pretends to. We simply lack the competence to understand and evaluate. But fortunately, we have Baroness Tayor with us." Taer bowed her head courteously in the direction of Lady Iolaya, who slipped back into absent-mindedly smiling prostration. "And here she is, from the height of her experience, able to appreciate everything on its own merits. And the suddenness, well, that''s all nonsense. Surely someone will warn, and in those twenty or thirty minutes, it is quite possible to have time to polish up or to clean up the most egregious violations."


    "Do you really think?" Nadine inquired coldly. "That I''m going to sneak a visit just to look a little better?"


    "You? Not at all, Lady Pell." Taer assured her and, as it seemed to Alex, quite sincerely. "But you know how it is, pilots, guardsmen, they all have means of communication. Somebody''s bound to talk. I tell you that as a former lieutenant in the Guard."


    "Okay." Nadina shrugged indifferently. "Since we''re flying on your bots, I don''t have to tell my entourage where we''re going at all. Where do you propose to go?"


    "Well, since Lady Iolaya is with us, I suggest a visit to the Imperial Guard''s honorable "Amber" assault squadron. It''s one of the closest, and the same base, if I''m not mistaken, is where the Warriors of Arm are stationed. It will be interesting."


    "I don''t see what this is all about." Suddenly Lady Iolaya broke her silence, and her head was shaking in a way that was not at all approving. "There will be irregularities in any really sudden inspection, and it won''t say anything about the quality of management unless something really awful is uncovered. I''m sure Lady Pell has managed the troops entrusted to her with dignity, during her previous Onstum, and there''s no reason to question her service now."


    "Thank you for your trust, Lady Iolaya." Nadine smiled coldly at her. "But please let me protect myself, and give this ridiculous excursion to the new shift from Fyron. Otherwise, they might be left in doubt, they might think you had reason to cover for me. Why leave room for gossip when we can really see for ourselves in an hour?"


    Lady Iolaya was clearly going to say something to Nadine but held back and only sighed heavily:


    "All right, as you wish. Let''s pay a surprise visit."


    "Thank you," Nadina answered as she rose from the table. "I am going to warn my escort that we are going to the palace. Please, Daim Diltar, come with me, so you can make sure I do not give them any conventional signs."


    "I would trust your nobility, Lady Pell." Taer smiled back at her, and her smile was a bit predatory. "But if you insist..."


    What was that now? Alex was taken by surprise by Taer''s activity; he only realized that she had outplayed and successfully tricked Nadina into some kind of inspection. But why? Why?


    "After all, the University of Tallana is not the place where a princess of a Great House should be educated." The Baroness pronounced with obvious condemnation as she looked behind Nadine and Taer. "If she had received a normal education, she would realize how foolishly she was caught, and your First Blade, Lord Cassard, is a very cruel woman. Nadina might be worth knocking down, but to do it in public in front of her former subordinates..." She shook her head disapprovingly. "It''s too much."


    "You say that, Baroness, as if you thought we''d find something awful in this unit," Alex asked with sincere interest. He did not understand what was planned at all, but he liked what was happening much more than a few more hours of dull discussion of papers under Nadia''s already rather bored taunts. Especially since it''s a fighter base - you can see a real space fighter from up close. Maybe, they will even let you climb into the cockpit! I''m the boss. And the bosses are pampered and entertained here. He thought about it, remembering, however, that his very puppy delight was not to break through a mask of secular politeness.


    The answer to Alex''s question was a pained look from Lady Iolaya:


    "You, too, should restore your knowledge as soon as possible to the level befitting a nobleman. The Amber is a mixed squadron, a fighter-assault squadron. Of course, we''ll find something terrible there. They are fighters there, after all." Declared the Baroness with the look of someone explaining something self-evident that it''s a shame not to know. "Otherwise, what are fighters, much less Guard fighters, if they don''t do some tomfoolery in the absence of their superiors? It''s a shame, not fighters."


    * * *

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14


    * * *


    As the bots broke out of the atmosphere and the sky on the viewscreens filled with darkness and the pearly glitter of stars, the deafening roar in the cabin subsided to just a loud howl. This already allowed for communication, but still not very comfortable. Fortunately, the guests weren''t really looking for communication: Baroness Tayor fell out of reality with an absent-minded smile on her lips as soon as she sat in the chair, and Nadina only looked around uncomfortably, occasionally squinting at his personal escort guards, who was sitting at the end of the cabin.


    I must give them credit. None of them got hysterical about being taken in an inappropriate vehicle, unlike that Count. And he calls himself a veteran.


    Alex signaled to Taer to turn on her intercom headset and switch to their special closed channel. For the first time in a long time, they had the opportunity to talk privately, and it was foolish not to take advantage of it:


    "Sir Ulter from the House Representation literally flooded my infoblock with messages begging me to persuade you not to revoke their notice. I realize, of course, that the Count, the head of the House representation, is an asshole. But he''s not the entire House of Fyron, so would you show mercy? If it''s really important."


    "I don''t care about the Count," Taer snorted defiantly, but Alex could have sworn there were notes of gloating in her voice through the headphones. "They made a mistake in the paperwork, hence the rejection. I can''t have my lord presenting a document to the Emperor with errors, can I?"


    "Olter cried that the delay would be a decade, if not more. So many mistakes?"


    "No." Taer shrugged. "By and large, just one. The notice is signed by the signatures of the Council of Sixteen and dated after my appointment, and in place of the signature of Cassard''s first blade, there is the signature of the Head of the Council - Lord Tsorto."


    "Oh..." Alex stretched out sympathetically. He now understood what the matter was. "So what do we do now? Collect signatures all over again?"


    "Yes." Nodded Taer. "Resubmit the draft to the First Blades, and get their signatures."


    "What''s the story there anyway?" Alex inquired as if in between, trying to assess the possible damage to the defense capability. "Something important?"


    "Involvement of House-owned civilian yachts in fleet exercises." Taer wrinkled her nose. "Evacuating the wounded and assisting in natural disasters. Something like that."


    "Well, it doesn''t sound very important." Alex made a cautious assumption.


    Taer shrugged again:


    "If it had been important, they might well have let me know and gotten me to sign in the decade and a half that passed between my appointment and my flight to the Capital."


    It was hard to argue with that, and Alex sincerely thought that he should support Taer in this situation:


    They must not ignore my First Blades.


    Soon the bots re-entered the dense layers, covering the view screens with the red glow of the plaza and filling the cabin with the roar of the burning atmosphere. Fortunately, it didn''t last long - two minutes, and then the volume dropped to more than bearable, leaving only the rustle of the incoming stream.


    "They won''t let us anywhere near the base without your Seal, so let me escort you to the cabin," Taer murmured in his ear, tickling his neck with her breath.


    This maneuver from the first blade gave Alex goosebumps from surprise. Nice kind of goosebumps. And while they were making their way down the narrow passage to the cabin, Alex was looking at Taer, not really trying to hide his interest and surprise: Flirting, not flirting? What was that all about? But Taer didn''t look like she was flirting with him. More like she was playing with excitement and malevolent anticipation. But... It''s still strange.


    In fact, even on the sudden night walk, he''d noticed that Taer was kind of strange. Strange in a good way - that is, he liked her, but at the same time, there was a sense that "something wasn''t right." Somehow he could not describe his feelings on the matter more accurately yet:


    Or maybe you don''t have to. When everything is good.


    In the cockpit, everything was solved quickly, literally with a few touches of the ring to the control panel, and they were back in their seats.


    The bots continued their descent, and on the overview screens, the map, garnished with a few touches of puffy clouds, began to approach rapidly, turning into terrain, soft hills covered with red grass among which here and there like fancy metal mushrooms stuck out shiny circles of radio telescopes, or radars, at least they looked very similar, and straight white rectangles of buildings.


    The base was on another continent, and here the sun was sinking toward sunset, the long, thick shadows making it easier to distinguish the structures. As they descended rapidly, more and more details became visible: next to the "radio telescopes" appeared numerous rows of small squares with a shiny black covering, on which some sharp-nosed machines could be seen. Clearly, landing pads. The paths between the landing pads were the color of burnt clay. Soon it was possible to distinguish people, and it became clear that "radio telescopes" sticking out in the territory of the base were simply gigantic. Each disk about fifty meters in diameter, stood on a delicate metal leg of comparable height.


    The picture in the viewscreen rumbled, groping around the base. If Alex would have loved to see his first space fighter base, it was no surprise, and the camera, under her direction, flitted around the base, periodically taking close-ups of objects - buildings, platforms, strange droids with wide black paws, people in uniform. He didn''t know what exactly Taer was looking for, probably "something egregious," but it looked pretty ordinary for a military space base, of course.


    Soon this yawing stopped, and the viewscreen camera froze on one of the "radio telescopes" closer to the edge of the base:


    "Fly to the focus," Taer commanded the pilots over the intercom. "And give it a half-circle over it so we can get a good look at it."


    Now it was clear what caught Taer''s attention - a huge disc of this "radio telescope" looking directly into the zenith was almost filled to the brim with water, the camera took a larger view, and it became quite interesting.


    In the improvised lake, there were clearly people splashing around, and a lot of them, a dozen or two. The camera zoomed in even closer, the resolution allowed, and the boat flew swiftly in that direction, and it became even more interesting. Near the edge of the dis§ã of the radio telescope hovered two rectangular platforms covered with some black, soft material. One had a full-fledged bar, and the second served as an improvised beach area - there were several sun loungers, now empty, all in the water. Guys, girls in brightly colored bathing suits, and even obviously without. One person was sunbathing topless at the very edge of the "radio telescope" plate.


    Near the bar area, there was a table floating in the water with glasses on it, and right in the center, there was an uneven semicircle of cards framed by a fat pile of craps, where several people were clearly playing cards for money.


    And I''m not a military expert, of course, but the whole thing is exactly like "something egregious." Alex thought, watching with admiration what was happening on the screen.


    "Interesting." He could hear Taer''s voice oozing with a sneer, but the machines had turned the engines down a lot, and it was quiet in the cabin. "The heat reflector mirror of the planetary shield as a pool, that''s a witty solution. And to the question of uniforms, have thought, easy, comfortable, and does not cramp the movements. I do not remember, however, in what statute such described, but it must be just affected by my lack of competence."


    The camera wandered around swimmers and froze on the hickey-kissing couple not far from the bar. The guy was so active with his hands under the girl''s swimsuit that she, in principle, could also be classified as a topless sunbather:


    "Most importantly, the personnel are cohesive." Taer finished with a comment.


    "The mirrors are designed to be flooded with water to accelerate the release of residual heat." Baroness Tayor pronounced, watching the couple on the screen, who seemed ready to devour each other with perfect equanimity. "There is a stock of specially prepared water for this, and by regulation, it must be changed periodically, so why not use it for bathing the personnel? Very nice on the skin, by the way - it is soft. So, in principle, nothing serious."


    "Please, Lady Iolaya, don''t defend me." Pathetically, Nadine squeezed out, clearly not knowing where to put her eyes. "You''re only making it worse."


    I wish we could do this more often. Alex thought to himself, looking at Nadine, almost crimson with embarrassment. I like her this way better, and it''s different, too. The perpetually arrogant and self-righteous Lady Pell was already boring him. He would have to do something to thank Taer for such a rare sight.


    As Taer had asked, the pilots circled the artificial lake plate, giving them a better view, and the swimmers, having noticed their bot, waved and saluted with their glasses:


    Oh yeah, the superiors don''t usually fly that kind of thing. But we have a landing bot, albeit with heraldry on it, and they take us for some fellow warriors.


    After completing the flight, their bot, along with the escort vehicles, landed gently away from the "pool," and the wide landing doors opened to let in the hot air, full of spicy scents of dried herbs.


    A few steps along the landing ramp and the red carpet of brittle, dry grass rustled underfoot, the huge sunset was pleasantly warm and flooded the horizon with gold and purple. The improvised pool was a long way away, three hundred yards at least, but there was still rhythmic music coming to the landing spot:


    /People live. Alex was jealous of all this splendor. Space fighters, sun, pool, beach, beautiful girls.


    "So, what do you plan to do next with this visit?" Baroness Tayor looked around with the disgruntled look of someone who was clearly not in the mood for the whole affair. "You are the First Lord, after all. If you need a formal reason for reprimands or other means of expressing displeasure, you already have one. Unless, of course, that was your sole purpose." She added with a condemning shake of her head.


    The Baroness was clearly not thrilled about using her subordinates in personal squabbles of command.


    And that''s exactly what we''re doing here. On the other hand... The situation with discipline here is indeed egregious. We can''t ignore it.


    Alex, furtively, glanced at Nadine, who was standing nearby, but she noticed it:


    "And so it is quite obvious that the first incompetent person to hold that office was me." The initial crimson of shame had faded, and now Lady Pell possessed the pallid face of someone who had given up on herself. "I will appeal to His Majesty to replace me with a more worthy assistant for you, Lord Cassard."


    It was obvious that it was not easy for her to say such things, but she forced herself. It was such a contrast to the usual Nadine that Alex even felt a little sorry for her:


    "Don''t be too hard on yourself, Lady Pell, you really are helping me quite a lot." Alex objected condescendingly, taking the rare opportunity to be condescending to Nadine. And the local guys should probably be given a chance to justify themselves somehow, too.


    "I think it would be unfair to draw any conclusions so immediately." He turned to the baroness. "We should at least do a readiness check, some sort of alert rise or something like that. But I can''t do without your help here, Lady Iolaya. I''m sure your experience will allow you to pick one that will fairly show the level of combat readiness."


    "As you wish." The baroness rolled her eyes, but it seemed to Alex much less disgruntled. She turned to the guards and pointed a finger at the nearest one. "Turn on your stopwatch and time it. First, let''s see how quickly the head of the unit arrives. He should have been notified a few minutes ago."


    After that, it was left to wait, and that was what they did: the Baroness, completely unperturbed, Taer, quite squinting in the sun with the look of a cat that had had its fill of sour cream and was anticipating the next portion of a feast, and Nadine - with the indifference of the doomed.


    And only Alex, squinting from the bright sun, was looking at everything with genuine curiosity - too bad there wasn''t much to see. They landed quite far from the landing sites, not half a kilometer away. So the fighters standing there looked like little black spots with sharp corners. To the "radio telescope" or as Taer called it: "the heat reflector of the planetary shield" was also quite decent, three hundred meters, but given the cyclopean size of the building - such a distance was rather a plus, allowing to see it in all the details.


    From here, from the ground, the rays of the setting sun glittered with bright yellow highlights over the central part of the "saucer," where something like a tall thin sheaf of differently-sized chrome needles was sticking out. The reflections, however, were so bright that it was impossible to see any details. The "plate" was held in place by an intricate, openwork metal ligature and was porcelain-white, which reinforced the association with fanciful crockery. And also, above the edge of the "plate" appeared the heads of swimmers, who must also be trying to see who had come to them, but because of the distance, the faces were no more than specks above the white edge. Everything below was drowning in the wavering heat, turning into indistinguishable, metal-like shapes.


    It''s a little hot in here, to say the least. The setting sun was shining quite gently, but the dry earth was so hot, mixed with the stifling smell of dry grass, that Alex could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead, though it must not have been a minute before they got out of the boat. It was like being in a hay dryer. It must have been forty degrees.


    Under such conditions, the idea of "Screw it all, and also go to them in the pool" began to gain more and more weight.


    Fortunately, he wasn''t seduced by the thought for too long as an aerocar approached from the central part of the base. It was not a tall, very angular car, something resembling a huge metal suitcase carried over the very ground, with a specific purring of engines.


    "Time?" The baroness asked the guards as she looked at the aircar turning around for landing.


    "Three minutes and forty-three seconds."


    "Acceptable." She wrinkled.


    The aerocar crashed nearby with a thud that resonated in his legs, plowing the dry ground and raising a cloud of fine reddish dust in the air. A side door swung open, and a blond man in his forties with a lush hussar mustache, wearing a turquoise guard uniform with rich gold embroidery on the shoulders and the right side of the collar, hurriedly jumped out holding a large infoblock to his chest:


    "Imperial Guard Stack Major Alet Kunali," he blurted, running up and saluting as he went. "Deputy Base Commander. Glad to greet Your Lordship... Your Ladyships." He corrected himself and stood at attention, trying to eat all the arrivals at once with his eyes.


    "An operative tablet and a command key." The baroness demanded, showing the major her ring with the seal instead of a greeting.


    "A drill, Lady Iolaya?" He asked uncertainly, handing the baroness his infoblock and pulling a chain with a small metal cylinder from his neck. "Or is it just a transfer of parts from Princess Pell to Prince Cassard?" At the mention of princely names, the Major nodded courteously and even bowed slightly to those mentioned.


    Not so bad, Stack Major. Alex remarked mentally. He recognized the whole superior staff at once, even though we''d only been assigned for twenty-four hours.


    "Yes, Stack Major, you guessed right." The baroness answered, absorbed in working with the infoblock, or tablet as they called it. She put a cylinder in it which must have been the "command key"-and was typing something in it quickly. Details were not visible, and to peep over his shoulder, despite his curiosity, Alex did not dare: It''s not decent.


    In just a few seconds, the air around them was filled with a hum, and Lady Iolaya spoke:


    "Training drill. Combat exercise - placing shields on the combat and high-speed lift of the duty wing to intercept. Time''s up." Her words amplified a thousandfold, rumbled from somewhere in the sky like the voice of an angry goddess.


    As soon as the Baroness had finished speaking, there was a howl of sirens accompanied by a dull repetition of "drill alarm" and the sound was coming from literally everywhere. It seemed that the air itself was howling around, resounding somewhere in the depths of his chest.


    There was a piercing, ringing screech from the nearby landing sites, like the spinning of a very fast circular saw, and Alex saw the black, sharp noses of two fighters slowly rise out of the sea of fluctuating heat, scudding into the sky. The metallic screeching grew, and in a few seconds, the two fighters shot into the sky, splitting the air with white flashes of compaction, leaving behind only rapidly scattering clouds of dust.


    Alex turned to ask, "What was that ringing before takeoff," when a wave of sound reached them. The deafening rumble of a supersonic clap hit a tight wave of air, hurling dust and scraps of dry grass in their faces. Alex staggered, reflexively covering his eyes with his hand from the flying debris, but he stayed on his feet, at the same time taking Lady Pell under her elbow, who stumbled and almost fell in surprise.


    Nadine clearly pulled her hand away sharply in embarrassment, but still, she added. "Thank you."


    "Nevermind," Alex brushed it off, trying, despite the slight ringing in his ears, to spot the black dots of the fighters taking off in the bright sky.


    Are they really firing them? Or did they go straight to supersonic? The skies were rolling with thunder like there was a thunderstorm. It was clear where the sound was coming from, but he couldn''t see the machines.


    "Uh... your Illustrious Lordship." The Major was trying hard to be polite, but he was obviously confused about the title. "It''s better not to look up."


    The warning, however, was somewhat belated; two new suns had already flashed in the sky, turning the pale purple sky into a painfully white one for a few moments with their blinding light.


    Alex looked down, trying to blink. Black iridescent circles of illumination flashed before his eyes, and the grass beneath his feet glowed neon yellow, so bright was the light:


    "What was that?" He asked, after a few seconds, as the sky faded back to its natural brightness.


    "Heat dump." The baroness answered, who, by the way, prudently did not raise her eyes, staring at the ground, as did Taer and the Major, and only Nadina, too, blinked confusedly.


    "Major, what are you standing around for?! Detain all the maidens for identification!" The baroness showed a surprisingly commanding voice, pointing her finger demandingly toward the "radio telescope" with the bathers. She said all this without raising her eyes and quite correctly. From somewhere in the distance, perhaps from the grounds deep within the base, distant claps of takeoffs could be heard, and the grass beneath his feet shone again for a few seconds in the reflected light of the new suns.


    The swimmers, by this point, were already surprisingly organized and loaded onto platforms hovering near the edge of the plate. The platforms turned out to be quite agile when required - it was hard to estimate the speed from such a distance, but at least 30-40 kilometers per hour. One of them was already near the landing pads, and the second was flying somewhere away.


    The major scurried back to his aerocar, encouraged by Lady Iolaya''s commanding voice in the back:


    "And Shadows Forbid you to miss a single one! The bot has a record, and I''m not too lazy to count them by heads."


    The platform that had previously served as an improvised bar landed near the landing platforms, and in the wavering haze coming from the ground you could make out the silhouettes of people running toward the machines. Soon the familiar metallic screech that heralded new takeoffs was heard from the platforms, and from somewhere above came a wave of low sound, not loud but pervasive and all-encompassing, as if the whole sky had sighed or a huge subwoofer had gone off.


    "Is that the sound of the first flashes coming through?" Alex asked, burning with curiosity. He squinted one eye to see what was going on up there, but all he could see were rapidly melting ring clouds. Very high up in the sky, like small uneven bagels - when another flash made him squint again.


    "Yes." Lady Iolaya nodded, heading back toward the boat. "We''d better fly closer to the airfields, Lord Cassard. They''ll be back soon, and I''d like to meet all the swimmers on the landing. And I don''t want to splash my dress when the shield starts to work," she added, nodding toward the "radio telescope" where the pool was.


    From the edges of the huge plate, for some reason, water was gushing out intensely, creating an improvised circular waterfall, which because of the huge height closer to the ground, beat into fine water dust, surrounding the foot of the telescope trembling in the rays of the setting sun rainbow.


    Alex looked at Taer, who, judging by her face, was enjoying the event beyond compare, and was clearly ready to support any idea of the baroness:


    "As you say, Lady Iolaya, let''s fly to the sites." Alex nodded, exulting inwardly. Now I''ll get to the fighter, and no formalities will stop me!


    The landing doors of the boat closed, cutting off the sultry air that smelled of dry grass and the deafening clap of fighter planes taking off - there was a pleasant coolness in the cabin and the silence that was not yet broken by the sound of the engines.


    The sound of the engines turning on went from a melodic purr to a steady, powerful hum, and the bots soared into the air, easily lifted off the ground. The viewscreen camera, which must have been programmed by Taer to monitor the "radio telescope," again in focus as soon as the altitude allowed.


    The water in the "plate" which had previously been a calm, smooth lake, was spinning furiously in a giant whirlpool, not just flowing off the edges but naturally whipping in all directions, and in place of the central sheaf of needles, a huge shiny drop of mercury was slowly growing up.


    "It''s a shield, isn''t it?" Asked Alex on the intercom. "I thought they were transparent.


    "Usually, yes, it depends on the characteristics required," Taer answered. "But when they''re first formed, they''re always like this, mirror-like. I don''t know why," she added with a little shrug, "something to do with light refraction in the altered structure of space. I guess you''d better ask Rima about that. That''s her job."


    As they flew, the mercury drop in the center grew larger and larger. It began to show that it was spinning very rapidly and spinning faster and faster. At some point, this rotation simply tossed the entire mass of water out of the reflector plate, splashing it over a huge area in one powerful motion. So far away that it might as well have reached where they had originally landed.


    The large mercury droplet began to grow rapidly upwards, going higher and higher, until suddenly it stopped, and the droplet began to spread out as if it had hit an invisible wall and settled down, forming a dome of the shield. When their boat was about to land, the edges of the dome, being almost transparent, almost reached the ground and covered the black squares of the fighters'' landing pads.


    They landed on a brick-colored path that ran along the landing pads, or rather it seemed like a path only on the approach. When Alex and the others descended to it under the lowered ramp of the boat, it turned out to be a full-fledged road, two lanes.


    The material does look like brick or something ceramic, Alex cautiously tried to push the coating through with his foot, You really can''t see any joints.


    There wasn''t much to see on the landing. The fighters had already taken off, and the platforms were empty, except, of course, for the large droids. High five meters, with a flattened disc-shaped central part, around the perimeter of which hung down a variety of manipulators and rested on four tall, widely spaced "legs"-walkers. Droids stood one beside each pad, and, as one might assume, were supposed to service the fighters.


    "Maybe we should get closer," Alex suggested as if casually, nodding toward the black squares of landing sites. They were about thirty or forty meters from where the boat had landed, and he wanted to see the fighters up close.


    "Better later, it will be, to put it mildly - unpleasant," Baroness grimaced, not raising her eyes from the infoblock. "Immediately after landing, "prisms" continue to dump residual heat."


    It remained only a heavy sigh. In such matters, it is better not to argue with professionals.


    "How much longer until the landing?" He asked aloud.


    "Three or four minutes." The baroness answered, and she stepped closer to him, showing him the screen of the infoblock taken from the Major. "They''ve all made it to intercept altitude and are on their way back now."


    On the screen of the infoblock, a thick rough tablet of unpainted gray metal, which by the way, was noticeably larger than usual in width, on top there was some mind-breaking scheme with orbits and vectors, but below was a table quite understandable even to him, with a list of numbers of machines with call signs of pilots, the points scored for the exercise, and the final grade, both of a wing in general and of each pilot in particular. And if the criteria of scoring ranged from quite understandable: "Accumulated speed at the point of interception" to not so understandable: "Available capacity at the exit", then with the final grade everything was quite clear. The best pair should be the first ones to start, get "Excellent ++",


    the worst got just "Perfect", and the wing as a whole for all eight machines got "Excellent".


    "I take it they did a great job?" Just in case, Alex clarified.


    "Better than great, excellent," Lady Iolaya corrected him and added, turning to Nadine, who was standing in the distance. "So don''t be so dramatic."


    "Why, Lady Iolaya?" replied Nadine tiredly, "What we have seen in this ''pool'' is enough to draw all the necessary conclusions about the condition of the unit."


    Lady Iolaya did not answer, only snorted defiantly, rolling her eyes.


    "You might just consider that your talents lie in the field of combat training." Taer offered with a smirk, making herself look like a cat full of sour cream.


    But it''s hard to blame her, Nadina really managed to bore us with her comments.


    "Entered the dense layers." The baroness reported after a few seconds and looked up to find something in the sky. "There they are," she pointed a finger.


    And Indeed, though barely discernible, in the pale purple sky appeared tiny sparks of descending fighters. The sparks gradually grew into fiery flecks, which Alex admired for about a minute before they disappeared. But soon after, in the sky above the base, black spots exploded, one by one, and quickly became the elongated silhouettes of razor-sharp fighters, their short wings with a reverse sweep to resemble long, narrow stilettoes. Passing through the dome of the protective field, which at this point became visible, diverging around the fighter like circles on water from a thrown rock. The machines, purring melodiously with their engines, flew over their heads, and the scarlet stripes on their short wings were visible, blazing with heat.


    After hovering briefly over the square of the landing pad, the fighters landed gently, and almost immediately the maintenance droid on duty next to them advanced. The disc-shaped carcass of a robot hovered over the landed vehicle, and down went the manipulators, two of them wide apart, attached to the wings of the fighter. And they must have been feeding water, or at least there was a loud hiss of steam pouring from the wings, quickly covering all the landing pads in thick clouds.


    "Residual heat discharge." The baroness explained, watching what was going on, and asked, turning to Alex. "Are you decided how to rate them, Lord Cassard?"


    "Me?" Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I hadn''t thought of that. Excellent, on the one hand, but we can''t ignore what happened in that pool, either. And how would you rate Lady Yolaya?"


    "Excellent for flying, unsatisfactory for discipline. On average, satisfactory." Shrugged Lady Iolaya. "Unless there are aggravating circumstances."


    While they were talking, the fighters lifted their cockpit, and pilots began to run out of clouds of steam. Red and steaming, they ran out into the road and lined them up. Of the eight who ran out, only two wore gray flight suits - the rest were in bathing suits.


    "The Third Wing of the Second Unit of the Amber Squadron is built!" The first one reported loudly, holding two fingers to his temple, and was immediately supported by the whole formation with a resounding, "Glad to meet Your Lordship!"


    The line of pilots stood only a few paces away, and you could see how wet they were. Maybe the steam was enhancing the effect, but it looked like they, except for the two in their overalls, had just come out of the water.


    "The exercise is over." Not the least bit embarrassed by his appearance, he too was in a bathing suit, the first continued. "Ready for instructions and feedback."


    The Baroness approached the first formation and shook her head disapprovingly, and measured it with a look of disapproval:


    "Just an excellent++ from the commander of the Guards Squadron."


    "Guilty as charged." He was demonstratively apologetic. "I''ll do my best."


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The Baroness only snorted and walked along the line, shaking her head in judgment and peering into the faces of the lined-up pilots. The pilots tried to look guilty, but they weren''t very good at it. They smiled too much.


    When she reached the last boy in the row, who was a stubby, curly-haired boy of about seventeen, one of the two in overalls, the baroness, even though she was wearing stiletto shoes, turned on her heels and made a rapid step back, looking somewhere in the vicinity of the swim trunks.


    At that moment, Alex noticed that the Baroness was smirking, too, though she was trying not to show it.


    Passing the formation in the opposite direction, Lady Iolaya stopped again at the first:


    "What were those girls." She inquired. "Outsiders?"


    "No." Hurriedly the first one shook his head. "Those are ours, from the base, the flight personnel, and the technicians. The off-duty ones and the reserve ones. Well, mostly." He added with less confidence.


    "I see." The baroness snorted and walked over to one of the overalls, a rather large brown-haired man who looked about Alex''s age.


    "Explain why you look like that." She demanded with a tone that didn''t bode well.


    "I lost the bet." He confessed embarrassedly. "We had a bet on who had the fewest victories in dueling fights - he doesn''t take part. So..."


    "I see, I see." Lady Iolaya nodded. "How old?"


    "Twenty-six, Your Ladyship!"


    "Well, you''ve got four more years to make a good fighter." The baroness grinned, and it must have been some kind of a corporate joke because the whole formation laughed with glee.


    "What about you?" She asked, turning to the kid at the end of the line. "Lost, too?"


    "Me? No." The man babbled wildly embarrassed, "Your Ladyship, I just, as if I couldn''t..."


    "He''s just shy, Your ladyship," explained the wing commander, smiling. "And we have girls there, and there''s no way he can get over himself, and I''m cant to write him off. In dueling fights, he''s good."


    "What?" The baroness interrogated indignantly and walked up to the boy, literally hovering over him, despite being half a head shorter. "What''s a real fighter like?"


    "A real fighter knows no shame or fear." Looking down at the floor and blushing wildly, the boy replied.


    "Shame. A Guards fighter and you''re embarrassed?! Shame!" Lady Iolaya seemed genuinely outraged.


    "Does your unit go to balls at the palace?" She asked, turning to the commander.


    "That''s right."


    "Then I give you an order." She jabbed a finger at the boy''s chest. "At the next ball, grab a Soltara maid of honor by the ass, with the code of the Soltara queen, as available. And say to her in public, at the top of your lungs, something slutty. Do you understand my orders?"


    "That''s right." The guy replied, burning with embarrassment.


    "If he''s afraid, to all the shadows, write him off as a stormtrooper," added the Baroness, looking at the wing commander.


    "Does the Baroness have anything to do with the fighters?" Alex asked in a half voice, turning to Taer. First, he was really curious, and second, it was easier to hide the fact that he was about to laugh like a horse.


    "Well, yeah." Nodded Taer. "One of the most famous fighter pilots of the war, there was even an HV Show about her: Ash Wings. She didn''t make it to the end of the war, though, because she was discharged in the middle of it."


    "Because of age?" Alex assumed the most obvious option.


    "No, she''s young. She''s about fifty, I think; in the war, she was twenty-five or something. It''s because of the direct control boosters: The Ashes Wing," she explained, leaning closer to him. "They caused neuro degradation when used frequently. That''s why they gave it up after the war - it wasn''t worth it. And before the war, it was thought they would be used once or twice when it was a matter of life or death. But it turned out that life and death at war are quite often, and pilots burn out despite all regenerating chemistry. Among those who fought from the beginning, almost all burned out. Lady Iolaya still recovered well."


    "So she''s a famous ace?" Alex chuckled as he watched the baroness reprimand the shy boy.


    "I don''t know." Taer shrugged. "Except technically, she has twenty or so personal victories. Aces had over a hundred by the end of the war. But she''s got over seventy line-force missions and regular combat missions over a thousand. Fighters kind of have more respect for that. I don''t know why. And then," she added in a whisper. "A noble, an entire sovereign countess, and a woman. There were only two of them among the fighters. She and Lady Baala, the current Ruling Lady of House Kilreath, but she had about ten line combat missions in the war. Lady Iolaya had seven times that number, plus she was a squadron commander. Her fame is her destiny, and she has received many rewards, including five personal rings from the Emperor, and the rest could probably be made into beads.


    "I see." Alex nodded, thinking to himself. It was to be expected. They put a professional as a deputy to a complete idiot. It makes sense. And it is better for me. But it''s better not to join the fighters if you don''t want to grow old prematurely.


    The Baroness, meanwhile, must be tired of scolding the junior staff for their lack of courage:


    "That''s it. I don''t want to see you." She folded her arms across her chest and defiantly turned away from the formation, standing with her back to them. "Get out of my sight before I take your lofty appearance personally. March to the medical unit to give blood and report to the princes for evaluation with your test results and in the form of a proper guardsman before the illustrious prince and princess! And heaven forbid if anyone turns out to be more than a little drunk!"


    The fighters shouted, "Be Fulfilled, Your Grace!" and jogged to the edge of the force shield, where they were soon picked up by an aerocar similar to the one in which the Major had flown.


    "I take it that''s it?" Alex asked the baroness who approached.


    "Why?" She wondered. "Of course not. You''re the First Lord. You have to formally evaluate them, and then I thought you wanted to inspect the fighters?" She added without certainty.


    Alex wanted to, even too much so:


    "I''d love to." He admitted honestly.


    "Well, let''s go then." She suggested and turned to Nadine. "Lady Pell, will you join us?"


    "No, to be honest, I''m not at all interested." She said hastily. "Besides, in this climate, it''s already hot here, and I have no desire to make it any hotter."


    There were still clouds of steam around the landed fighters, though not as thick as immediately after landing, but still quite visible.


    "The climate here is really awful, the heat is terrible." Alex decided to take pity, as Nadine looked tired and exhausted. "Perhaps you would like one of my bots to take you back to your place? After all, we''ve already done so much today, and it makes no sense for you to just wait here for us."


    "I appreciate the offer," Nadine smiled wearily. "But I cannot accept it. It would not be right for me to fly away and Lady Iolaya to remain here to help you. For now, it is my duty too."


    "Stop it, Nadina." The baroness rolled her eyes tiredly. "Off you go, and get some rest. His Majesty did not mean to help Lord Cassard by inspecting the bases. I''m perfectly capable of that.


    "It''s not quite right after all..." Already without any confidence, Nadine objected, and Alex and the Baroness realized she was shaken and quickly convinced her to fly away.


    "Well then." Said the Baroness as she looked out at the white landing craft with the scarlet griffins that had carried Lady Pell and Taer, who had volunteered to escort her. "Let''s go to the machines. In your position, you should know why fighters are treated with a special measure."


    * * *


    From up close, the fighters made an even stronger impression - very elongated sharp silhouettes, literally black spikes with short wings flaunted on the platforms, wrapped in lush clouds of steam like divas on a stage. The only thing missing was the light music.


    The machines were hovering no more than half a meter above the black pavement, unsupported, either by the paws of the maintenance robot hovering overhead or by themselves. Their wings were still hazy, like mugs of hot tea, but occasionally a tight jet of hissing steam would erupt from somewhere in the center of the wing, covering everything in a hot white mist for a few seconds.


    "Don''t be shy, Lord Cassard." The baroness encouraged him. "Come closer if you''re interested."


    There was no need to suggest twice, and Alex stepped without hesitation onto the springy black pavement of the nearest landing pad, approaching the fighter almost point-blank, regardless of the clouds of hot, wet steam.


    It''s so small! he involuntarily thought, looking at the sharp-nosed machine with all his eyes.


    Of course, the fighter was big - ten meters or even more, maybe twelve meters long - but it was still unexpectedly small, long, and narrow. For some reason, it was more associated with a formula one race car than a jet fighter. The effect was only intensified by the low landing of the machine. There was no landing gear, and at its highest point, closer to the back, the fighter was still half a head below Alex. All sleek and smooth, like glass, with almost no protrusions, only in the central part of the spike, the raised cockpit lid gaped open, revealing a view of the soft white gut, contrasting with the dark hull. Now it was clearly visible that the fighter was not really black, as it seemed from a distance - the hull material resembled a dark hardened resin or a matte crystal, like a dark ruby - with a kind of reddish and even slightly yellow play of color in the depths.


    Alex reached out to touch the hull, but he willed himself to stop. After all, the equipment in front of him was unfamiliar, literally just flown into space, and touching such can be harmful to health.


    "Can I touch it?" He asked hopefully, turning to Lady Iolaya.


    "Great shadows! Lord Cassard, it''s not someone''s thigh," she laughed. "It''s only a fighter. Of course, you can. You can do anything you want here."


    He gently touched the sharp nose and moved his hand gently, as if stroking a frightened beast. The lining under his hand was velvety, smooth, a little damp to the touch because of the thin water drizzle from the steam, and noticeably warm.


    Backing up a couple of steps, Alex walked around the machine from the nose, looking at it:


    The long narrow prow was devoid of any details. Only in its lower part near the middle were two oval yawns, either air intakes or some kind of weapon system. Immediately behind them on both sides of the hull were two long narrow hatches, the thick flaps of which were now moved apart like small wings, and under them was the most interesting thing.


    Missiles were hanging from the flaps. At least Alex could have sworn they were missiles - two massive black cones with puffy holes around the base, which must have been engine jets, looked eerily like ballistic missile warheads. From their noses hung brightly colored cords in yellow and blue stripes with the sacramental inscription: "Pull out on the firing mode.".


    "These are missiles, aren''t they?" He couldn''t resist asking a question.


    "Yes." Nodded the Baroness. "A common Witch. We made so much in the war to shoot before the third coming. But enough of these questions, Lord Cassard, get inside." She added impatiently. "It''s too hot there."


    "In the cabin? Alone?"


    "Of course. You and I are not yet close enough to get into the cockpit together." Lady Iolaya replied with an ambiguous smile and, without waiting for his reaction, walked away from the fighter to the technicians who had recently arrived in the aircar and were now huddled on the edge of the field, not daring to disturb the bosses.


    "Isn''t it dangerous?" He asked after her, but the baroness''s back had already melted behind another cloud of steam. It was a little scary, but it was silly to retreat, and it was eerily interesting to sit in a space fighter, so he plucked up the courage and got into the cabin. The low height from the ground allowed him to do it without any problems or devices.


    The main thing is not to press anything. Alex cautiously climbed over the edge and tried to settle into the chair, watching carefully what his hands and feet were touching. I''m not going to fly anywhere.


    The seat was moderately soft and very comfortable, with a porous white cushioning very pleasant to the touch, but it implied almost lying down and formed a rather deep bucket - a second person in the cabin could easily fit - there was enough space, but because of the design he could only lie down on top of the one who was in the chair.


    This type of seat had a special name. He carefully put his head in the unexpectedly deep header and began to twirl his head all around, burning with an overabundance of childlike delight.


    The whole cockpit was white, covered inside with the same soft, porous white upholstery as the pilot''s seat. There were pedals under his feet and controls under his left and right hands, except for the added hordes of colorful buttons in various places, very similar to those in the fliers he had already driven. Just above the armrests of the chair, almost along the edge of the cockpit, on both sides were rows of small luminous screens, each about three centimeters across, with some kind of numbers, abbreviations, and even colored graphs and sector diagrams.


    There was a suspicion that these screens could also play the role of buttons. There were two groups of four similar screens right in front, on each side of the central "big" screen, the size of a book on which was now flashing in black and yellow: "Not lifting mode! Pumping external coolant! Stop supply before lifting!". Beneath the inscriptions were circular indicators from which it could be deduced that only a third of the working fluid was left and that the storage tanks were a little more than half full.


    That was all. Alex turned his head, trying to figure out how the pilots operated the thing. Directly above him looked up into the sky was a raised cockpit cover, but it too was covered in a ubiquitous bright white porous material and was not transparent.


    Are they really looking there? He looked doubtfully at the small central screen. I couldn''t see a damn thing. Maybe it''s got goggles. Like the shooters on the bots?


    Before they stripped the weapons from the landing bots they bought, Alex certainly couldn''t deny himself the opportunity to dabble a little, and there the aiming was done with something akin to virtual reality goggles.


    He looked around again, just in case, even lifting the folds of fabric on the sides of the chair, so they could be covered and even seem to zip up like a sleeping bag. But there was nothing, just a single earpiece hanging from the headrest - perfectly normal, except for the fancy metal rim.


    Well, maybe there''s not much to look at, all by the devices. Although, there aren''t a lot of instruments. Alex thought with mild disappointment. But still, it was great. Especially Baroness Thayor promised to show something else...


    So he waited, and even allowed himself to put his hands on the levers.


    The Baroness must have finished giving valuable instructions to the technicians by this point, at least two of them running through the clouds of steam toward the fighter Alex was in.


    "Are you comfortable, Your Lordship?" One of the technicians leaned over the niche of the cabin and pressed something behind the chair, and it began to change shape, pulling up slightly.


    "Yes, quite." The seat is still semi-reclining, but at least my head has risen, and it''s more comfortable to look forward to.


    At this time, the second technician, swiftly reaching over the edge of the cockpit, stuck a small rod in a slot near the center screen on the dashboard. On the rod hung a strip of bright yellow and blue with the inscription: "Training."


    "We''ll help you with the covering now, Your Lordship." The technicians warned him and began to pack his lordship into a cocoon, fastening the long pieces of cloth that were on the sides of the chair, which Alex at first mistook for a sleeping bag.


    When they had finished, it was more like an apron, or even a blanket, a solid sheet of the same white porous material covering the body from chest to feet, but it did not fit tightly and did not interfere with his movements, and his hands were completely free.


    "Is everything all right, Your Lordship?" The technician inquired. On receiving an affirmative nod, he slapped one of the screen buttons at the edge of the cockpit and stepped back, giving Alex a goodbye two-finger gesture of Victory. The lid of the cockpit hissed loudly and began to descend rapidly downward.


    The cockpit slammed shut, merging with the hull with a loud click, and it became dark and quiet. The uneven light of the small screens only barely dispersed the gloom, and the quiet hum of pumping water could be heard behind. Alex looked around curiously - in the half-darkness, with the glowing indicators - the cabin seemed even cooler. It was also noticeably chilly. He could feel a stream of fresh air rushing straight to his face.


    On the central screen, the word "Training Mode. Getting Exercise" flashed yellow. which in a few seconds changed to: "Activating holo-cover." Here and there, bright drops of light began to appear on the cockpit plating - glowing spatters that quickly dissipated and literally melted the walls - as if a potion of invisibility had been splashed into the cockpit and made it disappear.


    Alex seemed to float a meter above the ground, surrounded by clouds of steam. The entire cockpit and the fighter itself were gone, leaving only the screens that seemed to be just hanging in the air, and all that was left of him were his hands resting on the invisible armrests.


    "Can you hear me, Lord Cassard?" The baroness''s voice came from behind him, snapping him out of his stupor and making him flinch in surprise.


    "Yes." He answered uncertainly into space, still trying to get used to being an almost disembodied observer.


    "Can you see me?"


    Alex looked around using the new circular view and quickly found the baroness. She was standing in the distance, looking into the infoblock and waving to him with her free hand. Right beside her, playing the role of a mobile air conditioner was the aerocar in which the technicians arrived with the door wide open.


    "Yes, I see."


    "Then, let''s begin. I''m about to start a fire curtain exercise in introductory mode. You won''t have to do anything. The droid unit will do it. You just watch."


    On the central screen, a new record flashed: "Simulation mode", and the bright world of the landing pad around him disappeared, replaced by the impassable darkness of space, generously sprinkled with star grits and a lot of incomprehensible luminous icons.


    Some little white triangles, green triangles, red triangles - complex curving lines connecting them. Many incomprehensible pictograms are in the form of stars, squares, and zigzags. Sector diagrams with "Specific Working Fluid Flow" and "Displacement Capacity" hanging down where the central panel of the cockpit was. All this storm of information shone brightly on the black canvas of space, making the eyes scatter and, unfortunately, was completely incomprehensible.


    Except that the convergence speed is sixteen comers per second, and he has only twelve seconds left. That''s what the two inscriptions hanging right in front of his eyes reported.


    In the absence of clear reference points, it was impossible to assess what that speed was and how great it was, but the countdown was clearer. As the countdown progressed, a yellow sphere grew rapidly ahead. At first, it was as small as a fingernail. In a second, it was the size of an apple, and in a second and a half, it covered three-quarters of the front hemisphere.


    It was clearly a virtual object that marked a radius, and this radius was huge, probably hundreds of kilometers, and its boundary was rapidly approaching.


    With five seconds left on the timer, a heavy throbbing howl filled the cockpit, and the inscriptions "Forced shield boost" and "Grav-Keel: Full mass compensation" blinked red alarmingly at my face.


    The space around him shook like water, and on the sides, where the wingtips of the fighter''s wings should have been, two jets of light began to spread out, fluttering leisurely on invisible waves and slowly melting behind him to form something like an inversion trace. It was so beautiful that Alex involuntarily marveled, and while he looked back over his shoulder, he didn''t see the fighter pass the boundary of the yellow sphere.


    There was a frequent quacking sound of some warning signal. Less than a second, he was tossed into the center of the star: everything around him was unbearably bright - just white - for a split second, and then, as if the brightness was turned up, the light diminished, gaining contrast, and it became clear that he was surrounded only by flame. Thousands of flashes of explosions merged into a sea of pulsating plasma, a storm of fire and light. And most of all, the sound: a low trumpet roar that turned into a howl, the flames roared overboard like a horrible creature hungry for blood, like a dragon. And this roar mingled with the quacking alarm and a dull female voice constantly repeating, "Shield overload. Structural leakage."


    Not that it was scary, after all, Alex was quite aware that it was nothing more than a simulation, but it was still a little creepy and a kind of daze at the greatness of the fire abyss, against which the fighter and he seemed like crumbs, gnats, just a speck of dust in a sea of fire.


    "This is what a fighter sees when he passes the fire curtain." The Baroness''s voice was calm, as befits Virgil giving a tour of the infernal abyss. "Because of the constant ruptures, navigation is done blindly. The veil forms like a truncated cone with its base in the direction of travel. The depth of the veil depends on the available performance of the defender''s firepower. On average, it is about fifteen seconds."


    At that moment, the roaring sea of flame overboard disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, and the baroness continued her speech in the almost total silence of the black velvet of space, interspersed only by the quiet beep of the indicator that warned that the working body supply was less than half.


    "When the effective depth of the curtain reaches more than a minute, it is deemed impassable by fighters. The working body reserves for cooling will run out faster. However, it is very difficult to achieve such depth. The wave stations of the defenders can not select small targets like fighters in the background of bursts. Due to the possibility of full mass compensation, gravity-based detection is just as ineffective, and in case of unpredictable attacker maneuvers, escorting them with fire is impossible. Instead, they prefer to create a series of shallow curtains within which a zone of compacted fire is formed, with a force of fire pressure knowingly exceeding the strength limit of the fighter''s shield. The zone is relatively small in terms of space and time of existence because it destroys itself by the "halo" effect - the bursts are so frequent and powerful that they begin to destroy the following pulses ahead of time before they reach a predetermined point. But because the fighters inside the curtain are also blinded, it is impossible to bypass the densification zone with a maneuver.


    Lady Iolaya paused for a few seconds and, with a sigh, asked:


    "Do you understand what this means to a pilot, Lord Cassard?"


    "That he could fly into the death zone and not know about it?" Unsurely he answered.


    "Somewhere inside the curtain is guaranteed death. And whether you get there or not is entirely up to chance." The baroness explained. "You can''t cheat it. It''s deliberately formed at a random point. And the chance of running into it seems not too great, but it is always with you. During the war, it was a little less than five percent statistically. If a squadron goes through the curtain by stretching out along the front, it turns out - on the way out they will be short one. Sometimes they were lucky and got out in one piece, or someone got caught on the edge, their shields would fall, but their hull would hold, their vehicle would pull out despite the ionic damage, and the pilot would get only the radiation sickness. And sometimes, it''s bad luck, and two or three people can go to the edge of the flames. But that''s not the point. The point is that nothing depends on you..."


    Alex was sure that he heard in the voice of the Baroness resentment and bitterness carefully hidden behind a mask of calm.


    "...The rookies died on their first line run, and the seasoned veterans who had more than four dozen died. And someone could turn a hundred and never even drop a shield in a curtain. Everyone thought he was a conspirator, but he burned up in the next mission. It takes very specific people to get into cockpits knowing that nothing depends on them. And convincing them to adhere to disciplinary requirements that seem silly or excessive to them is almost impossible. And what you saw today is a reason to dismiss a commander in any unit other than a fighter unit. But this is just a sample of exemplary behavior compared to what was going on in combat units when the missions as part of the line force were going one after another. Just keep that in mind."


    The black screen in the center of the cockpit blinked, "Simulation over," and Alex found himself hovering over the landing pad again in the soft rays of the setting sun.


    Obeying the baroness''s gestures, the technicians surrounded the fighter again. The cockpit lid clicked loudly, and the magic that made it invisible vanished briefly, leaving everything in semi-darkness until the mouth of the cockpit finally opened to the hot, humid air.


    "What do you think?" Asked the baroness who came up while the technicians helped Alex uncover and get out of the cabin.


    "I don''t know." He admitted honestly, still impressed by what he had seen and heard, and after some thought, he added. "Creepy but majestic, I guess. There''s a beauty in it."


    "Beauty?" Sincerely surprised the Baroness. "In what?"


    "Well, in the curtain itself." Explained Alex. "What it looks and feels like from the inside."


    Lady Iolaya did not comment on this answer, but her head shook with obvious disapproval.


    Seeing that the Baroness was clearly already tired of the heat, Alex suggested that they continue their tour of the unit in some of its climate-controlled areas. And they went to the Headquarters, a faceless administrative building at the edge of the base, where they managed to catch their breath and refresh themselves before they were joined again by the pilots, already dressed, and Stack Major Alet Kunali, who had returned from "catching girls".


    With the pilots, it was simple, taking advantage of the experience of the professionals, the "First Lord of the High Side" gave the pilots an Unsatisfactory for discipline and an Excellent for the exercise, which resulted in a Satisfactory overall, just as Baroness Tayor had advised. And judging by the reaction of the flying staff, one hundred percent met the local cultural norm. The staff already in the parade Guards'' uniforms, though smirked, demonstratively stupid eyes, promised to make amends and not repeat it in the future. Of course, it was hard to believe, but:


    Since it''s their way of doing things here, I don''t want to pry into their monastery with my own rules.


    The Second Lady of the High Side, Baroness Thayor, gave them a little more of a scolding for the fact that their grades could have been higher and for the shyness of some of the pilots, unseemly for an Itori Cadet Guardsman. As it seemed to Alex, her admonitions were listened to with a little more piety by the staff, which was, in fact, quite understandable:


    I was only in this position because of the title, and Baroness is a real combat pilot.


    Having been reprimanded and even managed, obviously in jest, to complain to Alex - for using someone else''s fighter without asking: "It''s like asking someone else''s girl to dance", the pilots were sent away, without any significant personnel decisions.


    In general, the situation with the "swimmers" was defused to the obvious relief of the Stack Major, who had been hanging around the whole time. He had nothing to brag about except that all the girls caught were indeed from the base staff, and most of them were not even on duty. Most, but not all. And with him, the Baroness was much stricter. The Stack Major was saved only by the fact he was still only the deputy chief of the base. The chief himself was on leave - authorization for which was obtained at the end of the previous onstum from Nadina. Well and Stack Major sensing the unfavorable mood of his superiors, very cleverly preempted Lady Iolaya, offering to see the assault part of the squadron as well -Stormers and Arms Warriors. Alex simply couldn''t resist such a suggestion.


    In half an hour, a very comfortable and air-conditioned observation platform with high guests hovered a few kilometers away from the edge of the firing range, which was a large but low hill, scraped by numerous brown potholes of recent hits. Despite the heat, wisps of thick fog clung to the gentle slopes here and there, playing pearly tints in the rays of the setting sun. Regularly, perhaps once every half a minute, a sound came to the platform from this distance like just a loud click, and a new cloud of pearly mist swelled up on the surface of the hill, to which a group of tiny white cockroaches ran over rather quickly, escaping the cloud that had appeared half a minute earlier. As they ran over, the roaches sent a string of sparks toward the top of the hill. It was almost invisible against the red grass brightly lit by the sunset. They somehow appeared only as crimson and black spots of bursts in the places they struck.


    Much more rarely, every two or three minutes, the main act happened. From somewhere over the horizon, a handful of very fast fireflies burst out and smashed into the top of the hill, covering it with a series of bright flashes that instantly turned into gray clouds of smoke rising over the new craters of hits. In a dozen seconds, the sound of the impact would reach the platform, first the rapid, whiplash-like rushes of discharge and then a series of muffled, whooshing blasts from the bursts themselves.


    They were assault troops or rather, assault troops were over the horizon, more than a dozen kilometers away, performing the standard exercise - hopping over the horizon line, striking, and leaving back.


    Judging by the information on the tactical tablets, they performed well, appearing in the line of sight of the target for less than five seconds. And that, of course, was great, and the explosions were quite impressive, despite the lowered "training" mode of the guns, but that was not what I wanted at all. I wanted to see the machines themselves. We had to wait because it was promised that in the last stage of the exercise, the attack aircraft would pass directly over the conditional target to set up an air minefield.


    Similar was the problem with the warriors of the Arm, who turned into white cockroaches on the hillside because of the distance. The observation platform on which all the observers were stationed couldn''t get any closer for safety reasons. And what could be seen from a few kilometers away? Of course, there was also an observation screen whose camera had an impressive zoom. A cameraman from among the local officers honestly tried to look for a more interesting picture but was forced to shoot mostly explosions and clouds of the energy-absorbing mixture. Only for a few seconds, the warriors of the Arm themselves appeared in the frame, huge and many-legged, fully encased in snow-white angular armor, which made them look more like robots than living creatures.


    "These are members of the same race as Lady Faith''s squire, aren''t they?" Alex asked in a low voice, turning to Taer.


    The oldest member of the nobility in their sector had both squires who were non-human races, one or one of them a swirl, resembling a healthy six-legged raccoon with a tail from a flying squirrel. But the other was a chitin-covered creepy four-legged, four-arms, and four-eyed creature, unlike anything he had ever seen before. At the same time, as Alex later found out from personal experience, it''s quite a pleasant and reasonable creature. That''s what the "warrior of Arm" resembled, at least in the number of limbs and the way they moved.


    "Yes." She nodded. "Some kind of collective warrior variety."


    Taer returned from seeing off Lady Pell just before the demonstration began. And if she left as happy as a cat full of sour cream, she came back as a cat who had had enough of the valerian. To outsiders, it might not have been particularly noticeable, but Alex had already studied his "safety specialist" well, and such a gleam in her eyes was not at all peculiar to her. Taer was in a state of unhealthy excitement.


    And I don''t think she''s just drunk. He thought. So while he wondered who the "collective warriors" were and why they had varieties, Taer''s condition was clearly more important.


    "Are you all right?" Alex asked even more quietly, looking into her eyes with all seriousness.


    "Yes, of course," Taer answered hurriedly and looked away, muttering. "Maybe I''m just tired, and the heat..."


    Alex kept his gaze on her, letting her know he couldn''t be bought with that kind of crap.


    Taer, on the other hand, fidgeted like a mischievous student until finally, with some nervousness, she took out a jar of Fenote and, still avoiding meeting Alex''s eyes, quickly chewed one capsule:


    "Why? Is there something wrong with me?" She asked, still wrinkling from the pungent taste.


    "If I didn''t know you, I''d think you were a little drunk."


    "So noticeable?" She was upset and immediately clarified. "I haven''t been drinking, really. It must be the Fenot."


    "I didn''t even doubt that you were sober. It''s just your condition that worries me. What''s going on with you, Taer?"


    She didn''t answer right away. It was obvious she didn''t want to discuss it, but after a minute of internal struggle under Alex''s gaze, she gave up after all:


    "I guess I''m not recovering as well from my injury as I first thought," Taer admitted with a guilty look.


    Damn, I knew it. Alex rolled his eyes. She was almost sawed in half. She lost an arm, her lung was caught, and instead of resting, she came looking for me with a limb in a sling that had been hastily sewn back on. No wonder the trouble started.


    "Are you getting pains?" He asked in a whisper, leaning closer to her. "Are you taking any strong painkillers? Or are you having trouble breathing? I told you I shouldn''t have brought you here." He added grudgingly.


    "The problem isn''t with the body at all." With a strained smile, Taer whispered.


    "What do you mean?" Sincerely, Alex didn''t understand. "And with what?"


    "Let''s talk about it later." Instead of answering, she suggested and added, "Now is not the best place to talk about it."


    Their whispering did attract attention, and the platform wasn''t big enough for them to step aside and talk quietly.


    "Good." He nodded.


    So, in spite of all his curiosity, Alex decided to "wrap it up quickly."


    About fifteen minutes later, with a characteristic supersonic crackle over the top of the hill, plowing through it with jets of rapid-fire blasters, the stormtroopers, angular machines of the same "dark tar" color as the fighters, raced past. Details were almost indistinguishable from the distance, but the only thing I could tell for certain was that, unlike the Fighters, the Stormtroopers were really big, the size of a bus, if not more. The stormtroopers disappeared from view as suddenly as they had appeared, there was no sign of them dropping anything, but after they flew over the hilltop there was a cloud of glittering sparks, like incessant fireworks.


    "Are those mines exploding?" Alex asked the Stack Major, looking at the flaring cloud over the hill that sounded like a huge frying pan of boiling oil.


    "No, Your Lordship, that''s how they bounce." With a kindly smile, the Stack Major explained. "This model of air mines, the Shine, at a given altitude, gives a small electrical impulse, the resulting plasma throws the mine up, and at the top of its trajectory, it opens the petals to become jellyfish-like, and slowly parachutes down, and then bounces again, and so on. A very effective method," the major assured me as if it were his idea. "Without gravity mirrors or thrust generators, it can stay in the air for three to four hours. Under normal conditions, of course. Nice mine, Your Lordship."


    "And when they see a target, they fall on it?" Alex suggested, wondering if the major needed to be corrected in any way. He was hopelessly confused about the titling system.


    "Yes, exactly, you''re right," the major cheerfully nodded. "If there''s not enough charge, they fall on the target, and if there''s a lot, they accelerate toward the target. This makes a very characteristic crackling sound. They can accelerate almost to the comer in a second if it isn''t set in a non-lethal mode. Then they are limited in speed, and the fighting part is deactivated, but all the same, such a blow would break the bones of anyone."


    "I see." With an important look, he nodded to Alex, who was completely incomprehensible but curious as to what non-lethal, bone-breaking air mines might be used for. "Well, tell the stormtroopers my congratulations." He added, peeking at the tactical tablet in the Baroness''s hands for a score. "Excellent execution of the exercise. I hope to be able to congratulate them in person some other time."


    "What about now?" Unsurely the Stack-Major asked, somewhat bewildered.


    "Business." With sincere regret, replied Alex. If he had his way, he would have lived in this base for a week at least, but something incomprehensible was going on with Taer. It was much more important. Lady Iolaya was clearly tired of what was happening, and he did not want to abuse her good attitude.


    "But I''ll keep checking in on you." He added goodbye.


    The departure did not take long. In a few minutes, they were already in the bots, having jumped on them "in the landing style" right from the platform without wasting time on landing it.


    "Tell me," Alex demanded of Taer, who sat across from him, as soon as the bots were up to speed and the noise in the cabin made it possible to communicate privately over the intercom.


    They could not have a better time to talk anyway. In the tower was almost always someone nearby, and he did not want to put it off. Yes, Baroness Tayor was with them now, but as soon as she sat down in the chair, she immediately disconnected from the world with a characteristic absent-minded smile on her face. And it was impossible to hear anything anyway because of the noise, and he sincerely doubted that she had any advanced spy techniques with her.


    "I have a problem with aggression," Taer confessed, avoiding meeting his gaze. "Sometimes I overreact too much. I tried sedatives, but they didn''t help at all. Fenote helps, but it makes me, as you put it, weird."


    Does she have a post-traumatic syndrome? Alex thought with regret, not knowing how to react to such a confession and how to help. And what exactly are the problems manifested in? For instance? He asked, secretly hoping that he was wrong and it was just stress and accumulated fatigue.


    "For example, today, Nadine pissed me off so much. I wanted to kill her."


    "Well, you say that." Alex laughed involuntarily. "Nadine would piss anyone off, especially in six hours. You''re not the only one..."


    "It''s not a figure of speech." Taer interrupted him, and it was obvious from her that she wasn''t in the mood for jokes. "I actually wanted to kill her, to break her, to destroy her. The emotional outburst is very brief, but it''s there. I don''t think it''s normal." She added, looking down at the floor again.


    It was really like post-traumatic syndrome - outbursts of aggression in a stressful situation, stuck in that reaction that was during the traumatic experience. And she was shooting back then, not being polite.


    "What about the nightmares?" He asked a leading question, remembering what other symptoms there were.


    "Did Rima tell you that?" She asked grudgingly instead of answering but then confessed with a sigh. "It happens."


    It all added up, which didn''t make it any easier:


    "Is there anything I can do?" Alex asked. He didn''t have any ideas, and that made it kind of hard. Looking for local psychiatrists and hoping they know what they''re doing? Not the most encouraging idea.


    Taer hesitated for a while, clearly uncomfortable to talk, but then she decided to do it:


    "I would like to ask for a leave of absence. For a decade or two. I hope I can get back to normal during that time, especially if there are fewer people around. And if you need me, you can always call me because it''s a forty-minute flight from anywhere on the planet."


    "I hoped it wouldn''t be necessary." She added in an apologetic tone. "Thought I''d come around as it is. Normally, I don''t have any problems, and the Fenote helps. But first Count Barazu, today Nadine. Anyway, I''m afraid of accidentally snapping and ruining everything. Or, if your lordship thinks I can no longer perform my duties, I will resign." Taer finished with a lowered gaze, and Alex thought she was about to cry.


    "Taer, what are you talking about? You saved my life at least four times. I would do anything for you, not to mention give you a vacation. You shouldn''t have come with me in the first place but to recover from your wounds."


    "I should have had everything organized for your arrival," she muttered with a touch of resentment.


    "Sure." He nodded and added in a soothing tone. "And you''ve done splendidly. But I care about what''s going on with you, you know, and I''m willing to tolerate all the disorganization temporarily to give you time to come to your senses. So take as much time off as you need."


    "What if something happens?" She asked pitifully. "And you''ll need my help?"


    "What''s going to happen here anyway? Will the fighters do something naughty again? That''s what Baroness Tayor is for. Besides, you said it was a 40-minute flight, no more. In a pinch, I''ll call you."


    "Really?" Taer finally looked up, and Alex noticed that there were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.


    "Of course. But nothing will happen anyway." He assured her in all seriousness, and he was right.


    Nothing happened for exactly two days.


    * * *

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15


    * * *


    "It''s cold." Alex exhaled, and the wicked prickly wind greedily snatched away the white wisps of his breath, playing with them among the sparse scarlet drops of stars and technical lights under the dark metallic skies. All that remained of the real sky was a bright streak somewhere near the horizon. Underfoot, under the humming bars covered with frost, floated scraps of clouds, golden at the edges, the rays of the sun left behind the iron skies.


    The communications tower resembled a giant nail hammered into the planet, and they were below the base of the nail''s hat, obscuring the sky, on a small technical platform, ten paces across, made of metal grids.


    It''s not a good place to walk. Alex walked cautiously to the edge of the platform, stopping within a couple of steps of the low railing, and looked down to see where he''d fallen. But a good place to die.


    Through the gaps in the clouds, the corpse lying nearly a mile below resembled a tiny red blotch because of the color of the clothes mostly. "But only mostly.


    There were plenty of other red organics at the scene of death, too.


    He turned to the attendant and clarified:


    "It''s pretty cold, and you said possible traces were probably destroyed by heat."


    "Quite right, Your Lordship." The policeman was wearing a breathing mask, and his voice sounded muffled and unclear. "At times of heavy load, during the evening peak, the tower supports millions of connections at a time and gets considerably hotter-above the denaturation temperature of proteins and certainly well above the melting temperature of the water. Therefore, all traces in the frost the deceased or anyone else might have left behind is destroyed in the first evening peak - that is, within fifteen minutes of the estimated time of death."


    "It was a lucky coincidence..." Alex chuckled, looking down at the golden clouds. It was a little creepy because of the height, and the very low railing only encouraged the silly thought, You''re going to fall.


    "Is it just me, or is the railing dangerously low?" he complained aloud. "Below hip level, you could accidentally fall off. Is there any technical necessity for such a height?"


    "It''s more of a convention, Your Lordship," replied the police forensic officer who accompanied him. "Humans aren''t supposed to be here, and droids have no use for railings. As for this case, there is no conclusion yet, and it is not for me to make one, but it is unlikely that the Duke of Assaro fall down by accident."


    The policeman was quite right. He and the police, in general, were absolutely unqualified to investigate the murder of a titled nobleman. When the droids found the corpse a day and a half after the death, it was just a corpse, and to the police squad arrived, it was just a corpse of an expensively dressed old man. And to the forensic scientist who had time to arrive, it was just a corpse, significantly damaged by the fall and three cycles of heating. It was not until later, after identification, almost two days after death, that the corpse was no longer just a corpse. He became the corpse of Baron Assaro, or the corpse of his lordship the Duke of Assaro, in imperial parlance. A member of the Privy Council of the Great House of Melato and in fact the head of Melatian diplomacy. At this point, the corpse was no longer a police problem but a problem for Alex:


    Of which I was literally informed by his imperial majesty. In a very direct way. The emperor was mildly displeased that a titled nobleman had died while serving the emperor. And very, very much wanted to know how it could have happened. A perfectly understandable wish. Except that the performer is absolutely awful.


    It wasn''t that he personally had to find out everything, but rather create an investigative team and make sure it worked honestly and without bias, but that didn''t make things much better.


    There will be a lot of attention to this case and from His Majesty and not only. It''s unlikely we''ll find anything, and I''m guilty. Once again, Alex came to a disappointing conclusion.


    You set me up, Baron, you set me up. He thought, looking down at the scene of the fall and absently tapping his foot on the frosted bars of the floor: Why wasn''t he arrested before? He''d be alive now. Probably.


    There were clouds below, the glow of the sun on the metal of the city, and a larger platform a level below, where the flyer in which the dead man had arrived stood. It was a black, shiny, very expensive, small, two-seat, sports-type vehicle: Not quite the vehicle you''d expect from a ninety-seven-year-old man, but everyone has their tastes.


    The flyer had stood untouched for two days with the key on the dashboard. This is further evidence that no one was here, and if they were, they weren''t interested in the money.


    "Then why do you think he fell from here?" Alex temporarily stopped his pensive contemplation and looked again at the forensic scientist. "If there''s no sign of him? His flyer is on the platform below."


    "After analyzing possible variants of the body''s fall, the analytical machines assumed that the fall started from here." The forensic scientist shrugged his shoulders. "But that''s just a guess."


    "Well, thanks for the tour." Alex bowed his head gratefully and beckoned to his guards. "Let''s go downstairs."


    After tapping his feet on the rumbling lattice stairs and descending to the landing below, he bid farewell to the policeman and headed first to his bot hanging at the very edge, away from the evidence, the baron''s flyer.


    "How are you feeling, Lady Pell?" He asked her as he finally entered the warm salon, for he had been chilling for a few minutes on the platform.


    "Forgive me, Lord Cassard." In a faint voice, a still-pale Nadine asked. "I reacted like a child."


    "There''s nothing to apologize for," Alex replied sincerely. "I almost felt sick to my stomach myself."


    The sight and, most importantly, the smell of a corpse that fell from a great height and then lay there for two days after going through several cycles of heating - would make anyone sick.


    "I didn''t expect such a reaction." Nadina continued. "I was told the real body is in the morgue, and it''s just a hologram, but the view...and the smell. Why are they simulating the smell?" She asked with such genuine resentment in her voice that even Alex felt a little guilty.


    "The body is in the morgue, but blood and tissue fragments are scattered all over the site. They smell. In fact, given the height from which he fell, I''m surprised he didn''t get smeared more."


    "He didn''t mean what he said about the tissue fragments," Nadine paled more than ever and covered her mouth with her palm, and took deep breaths:


    "Don''t. I''m fine." She said quickly, seeing Alex reaching for her communicator. "Just a mild seizure."


    The first time she saw the baron''s corpse, Nadine vomited and became so dizzy that she could not stand on her feet. Luckily there were medics in Alex''s escort group.


    "After a certain height..." Finally, she said without stopping her breathing exercises. "The human body can no longer accelerate anymore."


    "Indeed. I didn''t even think of that." A little embarrassed, Alex admitted. "It turns out that height only affects the time of fall..."


    "Twelve seconds," Nadine said, breathing deeply and looking somewhere in the space in front of her. "I counted. He was falling for twelve seconds. Twelve seconds, he was alive, and he knew he was doomed. A horrible death." Quietly she said. "He was conscious, wasn''t he?"


    "It''s unknown." Alex shrugged. "They didn''t find anything in the blood, but it''s been a long time. The cops told me: if he was stunned with a paralyzer, for example, there''s no trace of it now."


    "Do they still think it''s not suicide?"


    "Anything''s possible." He stretched, raising his eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. "But forensics found injuries on the Baron''s body unrelated to the fall, traces of multiple blows, abrasions, and hematomas."


    "You mean he was also beaten?" Nadine interrogated in a muffled voice, covering her face with her palm.


    "Well, in theory, he could have gotten these injuries somewhere else and then come here, for some reason choosing his route in a way that would make it as difficult as possible to track him down and get himself killed. But most likely, yes. He was beaten, or it''s a struggle with the killer. Which could have been one. It doesn''t take much strength to handle an old man. Probably."


    "It''s awful," Nadine repeated. "We saw him just four days ago, and now he''s dead."


    "More than once, I''ve thought, I wish they''d arrested him then, too," Alex admitted with a wry smile, "but it seems that he who is destined to crash will not be arrested."


    Baron Assaro was one of the three Melatians who sat on the level below as he and Nadina waited for the arrival ceremony to begin, and he was the only one of the three who was not arrested. Unfortunately.


    "Maybe that''s why he wasn''t arrested." Quietly, Nadine said, looking at Alex meaningfully. "What could he have crashed later?"


    "His Majesty was very annoyed by this death and insisted in every way that I get to the bottom of it." Alex confidently parried the conspiratorial innuendos.


    "Yes, but it''s you, the one with the least experience, who''s going to get it. Lady Pell repeated the call, striking a sore spot. Alex had caught himself several times, thinking this was all too much of a setup.


    And the baron''s death itself, one hundred percent, has something to do with the attempts on my life and the attempt to organize a rebellion. He thought unhappily, answering only out loud:


    "I hope you''re wrong Lady Pell. That''s all I can do, hope."


    "I''m sorry." Lady Pell smiled faintly. "I didn''t mean to upset you. It''s just that it all seems so suspicious."


    "What can I do." Philosophically, Alex sighed. "There''s always something suspicious around me."


    "What do you plan to do next?"


    "Form an investigative team." He shrugged. "But first, I''ll go to the palace again."


    "With a report to His Majesty?"


    "If that''s what it takes, of course, but just a few meetings. This sudden death made a mess of my plans."


    "Do the meetings have anything to do with this case?" In Nadine''s faint voice, a shadow of interest slipped.


    "No," Alex replied, not wanting to go into too much detail. "It''s personal, not part of the service."


    This answer suited Lady Pell well, or else her condition was not conducive to curiosity.


    The formal part of the Ergo-Seneschal''s job, and thus the part where Nadine''s help was required, was already completed, and a car from the Peltar House office soon arrived to pick her up. After saying goodbye to Nadine, Alex quickly, in less than half an hour, dealt with the police officers. There were minor bureaucratic issues, and with a sense of relief returned to his landing boat - this place had left him feeling depressed and cold.


    "On to the next point." He said over the intercom to the pilots as he took his seat.


    The flight was not far, so the acceleration and noise in the cabin were quite bearable. At last, it was possible to have a normal conversation with Taer. They''d already had a moment or two since the summons to the Emperor, but nothing more because Nadine was there.


    "Sure you don''t need my help?" Taer began instead of greeting me, and her voice sounded very concerned. "Maybe I should come?"


    "Right, you''re not an Investigator, and I''m not an Investigator. Besides, Sir Ulter is just eager to help me." Alex tried to reassure her. "I take it intelligence at home isn''t drooling at the thought of being able to conduct ''investigative activities'' on House Melato property."


    "And you''ll accept their help?" From the sound of Taer''s voice, I could tell she didn''t believe in that option.


    "I haven''t decided yet," Alex answered honestly. "On the one hand, why not. On the other hand, I need to maintain at least a semblance of impartiality. Maybe it''s better to turn to purely Imperial Services. I don''t have the best experience with the Security Service, maybe Intelligence? The Major, who investigate the assassination attempt on me, seemed to be a good one... But that''s just it..." He waved his hand, turned in his chair, and stared out the narrow window, where the gray hulks of buildings with long, narrow windows were passing by. "You''d better tell me how your vacation was. How did you like Black Lake?"


    "I''m not at Black Lake," Taer confessed, and Alex thought she was smiling. "Rima was crying out that it''s unacceptable for two young ladies to be languishing in the mountains on their first vacation. So I''m in some seaside villa with an unpronounceable myrlistee name."


    "What do you think of the villa?"


    "I don''t know, I''ve only been here 24 hours. The droids are still unpacking our suitcases. But it''s quiet and deserted. The staff is like an anecdote: "five maids and a housekeeper," the rest is the droids. I panicked them. The first guest in twenty years not from the Office. Emerald sea, beautiful beach..."


    Taer was silent, and the pause was heavy. His First Blade was clearly worn by her first vacation.


    "What about Rima?" Alex hastened to change the subject; he purposely gave her time off as well. Just so he wouldn''t leave Taer all alone.


    "She hasn''t arrived yet. I have forbidden her. Let her hand things over first. There are more than a dozen constant work shields alone in the tower. So do not indulge her. In addition, she will obviously want to buy more in the capital. She will come as soon as she finishes."


    "Well, you have plenty of time just for yourself!" Alex tried to add enthusiasm to her voice to cheer her up. "It''s not bad for a change, and it wouldn''t hurt to get some sleep."


    "Well, yeah..." She grimaced and then added more confidently. "But if anything happens..."


    "Then I''ll call you out." Alex finished in her place. "If you can help me with that. In the meantime, don''t think about anything stupid, and just rest."


    His stay at the palace began with formalities. House Melato filed a formal petition that it was "seeking justice" in the Court of Blood Feuds for the death of Baron Assaro. The petition was personally submitted by Lady Aliza, the head of the House of Melato''s representation in the capital, a very prim, dark-haired lady of about fifty, all in white for the occasion of mourning. The formal event took place in a place just like it. In the "office of the Ergo-Seneschal of the Empire," a hall with walls of dazzling whiteness, decorated with golden metal vines and ceilings so cyclopean in height that it felt like sitting at the bottom of a giant well.


    And I have to work here. Alex thought unhappily, uttering the formal verbal formulas necessary in this case, which he spent a decent part of the day memorizing.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Having received the petition and the formal reason to investigate the baron''s death, he had to talk to the protocol service of the palace. A press statement was supposed to be made, and everything had to be coordinated, and only then could Alex finally do what he had come to the palace for - to meet with Lord Lister.


    Lord Lister''s palace apartment reminded him strikingly of the rooms in which Alex himself had stayed in the palace, the same complex walls like a large oval, the same abundance of alcoves at the edges, the same maids in blue dresses of modest cut. But while Alex got the brown-haired one, Lord Lister had the blonde and the redhead. As soon as Alex entered the guest room, they swirled around him like two caring bees.


    "Thank you, thank you. You are dismissed." Lord Lister hurriedly sent them out, giving the comfort makers a suspicious look.


    Brenor was dressed in a blue uniform of some courtier, lavishly decorated with intricate gold embroidery on the shoulders and around the collar. And though the uniform fit him perfectly, the nervous yet excited gleam of his eyes and his age made him look like a schoolboy dressed as an "adult" and drunk with excitement, daring, and the fear of being discovered.


    "So what''s the matter, Brenor? I didn''t understand anything from your call..." Alex started but stopped because Lord Lister made frightening eyes, and giving him a sign to be silent, he began to fiddle with the suppressor on the table near the chairs.


    "Now we can talk." Berenor sighed contentedly as the yellow light on the device lit up, and a distinctive hum filled the room.


    "I really didn''t understand anything from your call," Alex repeated, watching Lord Lister''s manipulations questioningly. // It''s like some kind of conspiracy meeting. The only thing missing is the black cloaks with hoods.


    "I couldn''t speak directly. The conversation could have been overheard..." For some reason, Brenor whispered, falling completely into the role of a conspirator. "You know a communicator signal is pretty easy to intercept..."


    "So what''s the matter?" Alex sincerely did not understand the reason for this conspiracy. Apart from one duel, he and Lord Lister had not broken the law. Unless, of course, we forget about our adventures in Tallana...


    Lord Lister leaned closer to Alex: "I found out about what happened to Baron Assaro." He whispered. "And I suppose it was no accident at all."


    "There''s a chance he was killed." Alex nodded, still not understanding what this conversation is about.


    Brenor looked at Alex as if he were deciding exactly what to say: "Baron Assaro. He met with me two days ago, as I now understand, just before he died." Lord Lister said with a significant look. "And handed me this..." He unbuttoned the collar of his uniform, carefully removed a small white disk from his inner pocket, and held it out to Alex.


    The disk was small, a little larger than an apple in diameter, a little rough to the touch, as if made of ceramic, about a centimeter thick. On one edge of it, at one point, there was a black eyeball supported by a trio of very tiny holes of unclear purpose.


    While Alex looked at it, holding the disk in his palm, it purred melodiously and slowly rose into the air. It hovered in place, turning on its axis as if looking around, and then, purring like an affectionate kitten, it returned to the palm of my hand.


    "And what is that?" Alex asked curiously, staring at the disk in his palm. "A droid?"


    "A messenger droid." Nodded Brenor. "Although calling it a droid is a lot of credit. They''re purposely made to be very primitive. All it can do is find someone like the description and play the recording. They are often used here in the palace to convey personal messages. It''s considered a slightly more private method than the usual comm."


    "So there might be some kind of message from Baron Assaro in this baby?" Alex clarified, looking at the disk with renewed interest.


    "Yes. Yes." Lister nodded with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "I''m sure there''s some kind of suicide message denouncing his killers! As a matter of fact, Baron Assaro was visibly nervous when we met. He must have suspected something."


    "I didn''t know you were close," Alex commented cautiously. "Especially not close enough to leave a suicide note."


    There was obviously some kind of politics involved, and he always thought Lord Lister was a man infinitely far removed from any politics - obsessed with duels, the honor of the House, and other strange ideas of the "blades of honors" to which he belonged.


    "No, we don''t, Alessandro." The brether hurriedly shook his head. "We barely knew each other. We were just introduced to each other, that''s all. I was incredibly surprised myself, and in another situation, I wouldn''t have messed with... But it doesn''t matter."


    "Then why did you agree to it?"


    "The inner workings of my House." Lord Lister was embarrassed, clearly unwilling to discuss the details. "On which the Melatians have a known influence. I don''t think it has anything to do with what happened or the contents of that droid."


    Alex raised an eyebrow in disbelief:


    "That''s up to you, Brenor, but I''m telling you now as a friend. From the outside, it all looks suspicious. A nobleman from another House, in your own words, an almost stranger, hands you some device with unknown content, and you agree to keep it."


    "I thought it was some kind of provocation myself at first." He shrugged, putting on a look of indifference. "But the droid, the palace one. If you turn it over, there''s a palace security seal on it. And he gave it to me at the palace. So the droid itself is safe, but its contents have nothing to do with me. Of course, it might embarrass me, but it''s a small risk..."


    "And that is why you agreed to such a strange proposal?" Looking doubtfully at Lord Lister, Alex asked.


    "The Baron offered me some information in exchange." Finally, with reluctance, he confessed. "And even this I tell you as a friend, so please don''t tell anyone. It is not my secret, Lord Cassard."


    "All right." Alex sighed, seeing that Lister couldn''t be persuaded, and pointing his eyes at the white disk, asked:


    "What do I have to do to get this baby to play the recording?"


    "I don''t know." Brenor shook his hands. "Usually, they reproduce themselves when they meet the persona embedded in them. As a matter of fact, sometimes they''re wrong." He added with a smile. "I''ve been told a few curiosities related to this. If two people look similar enough, they can easily get mixed up and show a message to the wrong person. And with him, I have already tried everything, and nothing helps. He just looks around, and that''s it, not even looking for anyone, must be waiting for something."


    "I see..." Alex thoughtfully stretched out, looking at the disk, and was about to slip it into his pocket. "Thanks anyway, this might really help. I think my specialists will be able to get him to talk..."


    But was suddenly stopped by Lord Lister.


    "I can''t give it away." Suddenly he said firmly and added in an apologetic tone. "Yet. I gave my word to Baron Assaro that I would carry it with me for two decades and that I would not tell anyone about it."


    "But Lord Lister, you already told me, didn''t you?" Without hiding his surprise, Alex asked, holding out the disk back. If this brether had given his word, it was utterly useless to exhort him.


    Lord Lister carefully hid the disk back into his inner pocket and clasped the collar and explained:


    "The Baron specifically asked me to swear that I would not tell anyone but an official, not of House Melato or Peltar, whose duty would require such knowledge. It seemed a very strange wording to me at the time, but now, after the Baron''s death, I see the sense in it. He meant you." Lord Lister''s eyes grew more and more full of the enthusiasm of a discoverer in a hurry to share his discovery. "Well, maybe not you personally, Lord Cassard, but he was expecting some kind of investigation and made provision to tell the investigator everything. It''s the same with the droid. I can give it up, but only if there is a legitimate imperial demand for it. I suppose, given your position, you won''t have any trouble arranging a court order or whatever is required." He added uncertainly, obviously not knowing what kind of formalities were required in such a case.


    "Probably," Alex answered just as uncertainly. The story looked more and more strange. "So it turns out that the Baron knew or suspected some threat to his life, but instead of seeking protection from his home or the empire. Left some sort of posthumous message with you?"


    "I suppose that''s exactly what he feared of his House." Lord Lister reported in a halftone, once again assuming a pithy look. "I was not present, but the second Lord Keeper told me, privately, that His Majesty literally forced House Melato today, over all objections, to file a formal petition in the court of blood feuds, threatening Lady Alise that if she did not, he would do it himself."


    This was a new circumstance:


    "Did the House of Melato have any reason to object? What do they have to lose?" Alex asked, and then mentally slapped himself: //Of course, they do if they killed him.


    "Officially, they wanted to wait until their internal investigation was over. What if it was suicide? Then to make it public and start a fuss over the investigation would be disrespectful to the will of the deceased."


    "Sounds really like a reasonable reason to wait." Reluctantly, Alex agreed. "Right now, it doesn''t really sound like suicide. But I guess if you want to see it as suicide..." He pondered. "It''s entirely possible if you close your eyes to the small details."


    "Exactly!" Lord Lister exclaimed triumphantly. "But you''re in charge now, and it can''t be hushed up. And for the same reason, Baron Assaro has turned to me. I am not of his House, rather hostile if you consider my several duels. No one would think he would ask for my help, much less have any reason to try to help the House of Melato cover it up."


    "Is that what you think this is about?" Without hiding his skepticism, Alex asked. "Maybe it''s about your position? Forgive me for my memory. You know I''m like a baby in some matters. So your uniform tells me absolutely nothing, but simply by virtue of your title, you were doomed to receive some important assignment..."


    "What are you, Lord Cassard?" brushed Brenor off. "Don''t judge by yourself. First Lord Keeper of Keys and Seals, now an empty ceremonial position. All I do is stand in the presence of His Majesty and attend certain ceremonies. It''s not even all the time. We rotate with the second Lord Keeper every five days."


    "Well, a man who sees the Emperor all the time, it''s in any case..." Alex started, and then it hit him. That you are always near the Emperor? And this disk, you know, the droid, must play a message to him?"


    "Maybe." Brenor shrugged uncertainly. "But I was already near the emperor with him, and the drive didn''t react in any way. But the baron was probably still alive then.


    "There''s no point in guessing." Alex sighed, getting ready to get up again. "I''ll concentrate on getting the necessary ''legitimate imperial demand'' and we''ll find out."


    "But that''s not all." Lord Lister added hastily, preemptively raising his hand. "I''m not sure, but perhaps someone broke into my rooms last night and was looking for something. Or rather someone did, but for what purpose I don''t know. I didn''t pay much attention to it at the time, but now I think it might have something to do with the Baron''s death..."


    And seeing the raised eyebrow in mute question, he added:


    "Then I thought it was one of the local ladies." Brenor blushed a little. "They''re surprisingly persistent here. A few days ago, one of them even broke into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and anyway..." He turned all teary-eyed and looked away, finishing. "I explained to her that my heart is not free."


    Looking at Lord Lister''s flaming ears, his stated ending was not very believable, but he had no intention of condemning teenage ardor, either:


    "So, while you were sleeping, someone broke into your rooms and was looking for something?"


    "No. I wasn''t there. Lady Amita, I introduced you at the voigrom, had some sort of a party, and I was there, and when I came back, things were out of place."


    "What about palace security?"


    "I didn''t go to them then. It would have been silly..." Brenor muttered, embarrassed again. "And now, two days later, I don''t think there''s anything to be found. I''ve already asked my maids. They didn''t see anyone that night."


    "Maybe the security service has some records?"


    "No. No, Lord Cassard, it is forbidden to record anything in the interior of the palace, let alone in the guests'' rooms."


    If only someone else cared about these bans. Alex sighed, knowing full well that records were being kept, but he didn''t mention it out loud, just made a mental note to try to shake them out:


    "In any case, if it was those who killed the baron, they can try again."


    "Yes, I was thinking the same thing." The excitement glittered in Lord Lister''s eyes again. "Great way to catch them!"


    "You need to move to a safer place..." Alex had already begun, but he thought about Lister''s suggestion. It made sense. "An excellent idea, Lord Lister." After a second''s thought, he seconded him. "And nothing prevents you from combining it with my suggestion. Move you somewhere safer, and place some sort of ambush here. Probably have to negotiate with palace security..." Alex added, pondering the possible difficulties. "But I think everything can be solved here. After all, His Majesty seemed very interested in the outcome of the investigation."


    "No," Brenor argued persuasively. "We must keep everything secret and do it ourselves. I''ve already thought of that; either one of the palace servants or one of the guests could have broken in, and either way, it wouldn''t be hard for them to know that I''d moved in and there were other people in my rooms. And then, what if I was wrong and it was a girl, and we ambushed her... That would be terrible." He added, blushing again.


    "It''s too dangerous." Trying to exhort Alex, / /If not to say stupid.


    But Lord Lister was stubborn. He clearly had a heroic stroke in one place, and he wanted to catch the villain personally, whoever he was. As Alex was able to see with his own eyes, Lister used the local sword very skillfully, and despite his age, he was a very experienced and dangerous duelist...


    Taer says he''s almost the best in the whole Sector, with a hundred successful duels to his credit. Alex remembered. But this isn''t a duel. They could always just shoot him with a blaster.


    Brenor also shot very decently:


    But how would it help him if they shot him in the back?


    The more Alex thought about his idea of personally catching murderers, the more it seemed to him like a load of nonsense: // But how to change his mind?"


    Lord Lister could be more stubborn than any sheep, especially if he got something into his head.


    "Please, just don''t take any unnecessary risks," Alex asked goodbye, getting ready to leave. First of all, he had to be quick about getting a "legitimate claim," and secondly, he was already on his third day of stimulants. The feeling of hunger was brutal, and he did not want to make a public session of wild gluttony.


    After saying goodbye to Brenor, he also stopped by the palace security to ask them to keep a particularly close eye on Lord Lister''s chambers. He did not tell them directly what the matter was. Lister forced him to give his word not to reveal what he had told them. But this visit was for nothing, at least, it was Alex''s impression. He did not manage to get a meeting with his superiors, and some ordinary Sain-Lieutenant, in response to his request, apparently issued a standard billet that the entire guest area is guarded with special care.


    It''s safer to sleep in a shooting gallery than in a palace, thought Alex unhappily, sinking into his bot''s chair.


    After settling and signaling to the pilots, he called his secretary droid by comms while opening a container of food prepared by the prudent Liora:


    "Were there any other disasters?" He asked with his mouth full, thinking: The princess has really got the composure of steel if she just ate fast on the fifth day. It''s only my third day on this shit, and I''m ready to gorge like a pig.


    "No, Your Lordship." The droid''s raspy voice rattled. "As usual, one hundred and twenty-four different invitations to your name have been received so far, and I have responded to them according to your instructions."


    "That''s right, there''s no time for them," Alex muttered, only now noticing a note on the lid of the food container.


    On a small piece of plastic it read, in impeccable handwriting, If your lordship plans to continue taking stimulants instead of sleep, you should consider taking weight-loss drugs. The feeling of hunger that stimulants induce is purely psychological.


    And below: Your maid Liora. And a signature. Liora''s signature was fancy and beautiful, too.


    "Ouch." Silently Alex hiccupped, remembering everything he''d eaten in the last few days. Four kilos, that''s at least.


    "Forgive me my limitations, Your Lordship, but I don''t know what you mean," rattled the droid, who was still on the line.


    "I''m not talking to you," Alex replied sadly, sighing as he pushed the container of food away from him. Liora filled it with all the good stuff. "You''d better get in touch with Sir Olter, or better yet, write to him for me. Write that I need his help. I need to work out some legal basis that would allow me to formally take an object, possibly evidence, from another nobleman. Specify that from another house." He remembered a little later. "It might be important. And a similar letter to my office in the court of blood grudges. They must have their lawyers or something."


    "Shall I submit prepared versions of the letter for your approval?" The secretary asked politely.


    "I guess so," Alex replied and immediately regretted it as his tablet beeped to indicate that the transmission had begun. // Well, yeah, I forgot who I was talking to. It''s a droid.


    As a result, he spent the remaining ten minutes in the tower wading through the teeth-grinding combination of clerical and florid forms of politeness that made up the bulk of both letters. At least it distracted him from his hunger.


    Upon arriving at the tower, Alex was incredibly relieved to tell the officer on duty who had planned his movements that he wasn''t going anywhere else, and he thanked the escort guys. Some of them had had to spend a dozen hours in the armor today, if not more.


    During dinner, he restrained himself as best he could. A quick consultation with the medic on the escort team confirmed Liora''s warning. The hunger was indeed purely psychological. He had even been promised to pick up something safe that would prevent the rapid bloating of his waistline, but not until tomorrow.


    He was called by Sir Ulter on the secure line. And then he had to dive back into the maze of legal intricacies. As it turned out quickly to take anything from a titled nobleman on a legal basis - very, very difficult. The more Alex immersed himself in the question, the more it seemed to him that personally without His Majesty and his extraordinary powers, there was no way out. The procedure was too complicated and, most importantly, long. And no one, especially Alex, did not want to disturb the Emperor unnecessarily because of trifles.


    He stayed up late into the night, at least according to his watch. It was a long, faded morning outside the window, the calendar time once again out of sync with the astronomical time, until he was distracted by the quiet ringing of his tablet. It was a text message from Rima:


    Your Lordship, will you let Taer go back? Or should I go back as well?


    Taer''s squire, the master operator of the field, RimaTalariv, was one of the few people in his rapidly expanding "Arm" who addressed him directly, but this message of hers utterly stumped him.


    "Rome, I didn''t understand your message," Alex called back, quickly saying goodbye to Olter. They, together with the lawyer from the representation office, had been talking for five hours and they were all obviously tired.


    "I just didn''t want to bother you by calling, but Taer''s comm didn''t answer." Rima apologized, and she did it very nicely. "I just wanted to know when she''d be back and if there was any point in waiting for her."


    "I still don''t understand you, Rima," Alex admitted with a smile, to whom it was obvious that there was clearly some misunderstanding. "Taer is supposed to be at this coastal villa, and you came to Black Lake?"


    "No, Your Lordship, I''m at Villa Amilassa." She protested. "I arrived about an hour ago."


    "And Taer isn''t there?" Clarified Alex, who was starting to get a little nervous.


    "No, Your Lordship, but her flyer and her things are still there," so I thought it was you who summoned her urgently by sending a bot to fetch her..." Rima''s voice was very quiet at the end.


    "I didn''t call her," Alex answered just as quietly. "What about the servants?" He asked hopefully.


    "They haven''t seen her since she arrived, and she asked not to be disturbed. And the droid that was assigned to her says that the hostess said she had business and left. Without any details. That''s why I thought it was you who summoned her..."


    "I didn''t summon her," Alex repeated and took a deep breath to calm his emotions: I hope she doesn''t do anything to herself in her condition.


    "Where is she?" Rima''s voice sounded worried, too.


    "We''ll find her now," Alex assured her, trying to hide his nervousness. "Stay where you are. I''ll get back to you soon."


    Alex immediately tried to contact Taer. As Rima had said, her com did not answer, and all three numbers: general, personal, and a special number of internal communication of his entire security system.


    He tried to call her for a few minutes, and then realizing that he was just wasting time, he called the second person in his Arm:


    "Are you awake?" He asked instead of a greeting.


    "Not anymore," Dudo muttered muffled. "Did something happen?"


    "Do you know what it takes to find a man quickly?" Alex answered a question with a question.


    "Yes."


    "Then gather everything you need, a reinforced security team, and let''s fly out. Taer is missing."


    * * *

 Chapter 16

    Chapter 16


    * * *


    The emerald waves rolled onto the pearly beach with a quiet rustle. And after licking it they went back, melting in the green sea, playing with the reflections of the low sun.


    Another kick sent a plume of pearls into the flight, and they dropped in a pearly hail into the sea, making ripples that glittered in the sun.


    Alex squinted at the play of the sun''s gold on the green mirror of the sea:


    It was either sunset or dawn... He was already confused by the change in latitude and the constant discrepancy in time. It was a deep night, according to his watch. And here, they say, there is no night at all for half a year.


    For the umpteenth time, he kicked another batch of coastal pearls into flight. Not out of frustration but more out of a gnawing need to do something.


    But there was absolutely nothing to do. The villa was considered unsafe, so he couldn''t even inspect the "place of disappearance" yet. The local staff, who were now a frightened bunch squeezed by the guards, knew nothing and had last seen Taer three or four hours before the supposed time of her disappearance. Well, it was not in his competence to understand the metrics of the local security system. So it remained only to listen to the negotiations of technicians and sprinkle the sea pearls surrounded by two rows of guards, under the shadow of bots white clouds hovering directly above him.


    That''s what he''s been doing for the last half hour.


    I wonder how deep they put it? Distractedly, Alex thought, picking the pearls with his foot, trying to get to the real beach, but the pearls poured into the hole he dug, hiding the true nature of the island with a quiet clatter.


    The island was volcanic, with beaches of black volcanic sand that could get so hot during the day that you could get burned. That''s why the entire shoreline on his villa property was covered with pearls. It doesn''t burn or get where it shouldn''t, like sand.


    How come they haven''t dyed the sea yet? He sighed, looking at the emerald waves. It was their natural color, because of some microscopic algae. ... And on the other hand, - why not? If they can...


    There was a distinctive throbbing sound coming from deep within the island. Alex turned around and saw a low-flying freighter with a scarlet griffin on board. The vehicle slowed and landed gently nearby.


    "Your Lordship." Dudo saluted, stepping down onto the pearls of the beach.


    Like the rest of the "technical team," he wore a simple gray jumpsuit without insignia, which only made him stand out more than the others because the jumpsuit could not conceal the overly athletic physique of its wearer. Dudo was tall, muscular, short-cropped, and in that odd age they call middle-aged. In principle, he could have been dressed in a ballet tutu, but it would still have sat on him like a uniform - there was something so ineradicably military about him, absorbed in his eleven years of service in the Navy. And Stack-Captain Dudo Guwar was second in Lord Cassard''s Arm. Formally third, but for all her charms, Rima was not to be taken seriously, and as soon as it was finally clear that the matter was serious, Alex, just in case, sent her back - to the tower.


    "I thought you were going to report on the intercom." Alex was surprised.


    "I wanted to report personally." He answered, demonstratively turning off his communications headset.


    "Did you find something?" Half-voice, Alex asked, inwardly freezing, after he''d turned off his headset, too. He was willing to accept anything as long as what he found wasn''t Taer''s corpse.


    "Here." Dudo showed him a small droid, a metal spider that seemed quite tiny in its huge paw. "An industrial microbot. Usually used to check communication lines and inspect all sorts of hard-to-reach places. Sat on the cluster that controlled the villa''s security system. Most likely served as an external connection point."


    "An attack? Or is this a trail of surveillance?"


    "I don''t think so." Dudo snorted. "Too careless. Whoever did this wasn''t trying very hard to cover their tracks. The records of external surveillance over the last twenty-four hours have clearly been tweaked, and that would be evident in any inspection. All the droids have traces of memory tampering. The last one Taer saw can''t reconstruct the picture of the environment at the time he received the instructions. And that." He showed the spider again and tucked it into his pocket. "Those who did this didn''t care that the fact of the intrusion would be uncovered, it''s usually unacceptable for surveillance, more like traces of forceful intrusion."


    "So someone kidnapped Taer?" Alex, trying to somehow comprehend what happened. "But why?"


    "I don''t know." Dudo shrugged. "Maybe it''s because she''s the First Blade of your Arm? In any case, it''s safe to say Daim Diltar''s definitely not: "Just went away on business."


    "Okay." Alex took a deep breath, equalizing his breathing. "That''s not the worst news. It''s almost good news." And seeing the confusion on Dudo''s face, he explained. "If she''s been kidnapped, that means she''s needed alive. That means all is not lost. Any sign of them identifying the kidnappers?"


    "Not yet." Dudo shook his head. "We can only assume the villa''s security system was compromised nineteen hours ago on another delivery of food that the staff remembers but is no longer on the records. And the abduction itself took place sometime between fourteen and twelve hours ago. Most likely on the beach."


    "What else can we do but ask the House for help?" Alex asked, running through the options in his mind. "Go to the police," he had already dismissed, remembering in time that Taer was actually a noblewoman, and it was not up to the police to search her, it was up to the Ergo-Seneschal. That is to say, me.


    "I sent the guys to the beach, where Diltar was most likely resting, to take chemical samples. We could also work with the company that supplied the food to see if they left anything behind. Otherwise, we should work with our Representation. Maybe Orbital Intelligence will have something. Unlikely, though." Dudo added with a sigh. "The area isn''t the most interesting."


    "What are we watching the capital from orbit?" Alex asked in a half voice, not hiding his surprise. "Is that even allowed?"


    "Of course, we can''t." Nodded Dudo. "But if a ''science vessel'' or even a transporter with a very good astro-correction station gets into orbit around the capital, that''s not a crime, is it?"


    "I see. Well, we have to hurry to the Representation office." Said Alex, signaling to the guards that it was time to wrap it up. "We need to talk to them anyway. If there''s an official request to the "court of blood'' grudges," it would help a lot. At least there won''t be a problem with interrogation. It''ll all be part of the official investigation."


    There was a risk, though, that the head of the mission, Count Barazu, might go on an "Italian strike" out of spite and start slowing things out:


    At the very least, perhaps I can petition myself, as suzerain of Taer. Alex thought uncertainly, In any case, I could use the help of a lawyer.


    "Yes, the possibility of applying Lim''s serum comes in handy." A little embarrassed, Dudo confirmed.


    When they first arrived at the villa and realized Taer was really missing, the "former" scouts from his guards nearly injected all the local staff with Lima''s serum. It''s called "just to be safe." Fortunately, someone remembered that they were in the capital and not in Cassard''s Domain and had no right to use special means.


    So they did not linger in the villa, leaving those specialists "to finish the samples" flying away almost immediately. In order not to lose time, Alex, still in the bot, contacted the Head of the capital branch of the HFOI - the House Fyron''s own Intelligence. Bypassing the Representation. Almost half of his "arm" was recruited from former intelligence officers, who were only nominally former, and some even knew him personally.


    So there was not much difficulty in getting help from the HFOI, especially since they were promised involvement in the investigation of the murder of Baron Assaro, partly as a bribe. Intelligence slept and saw how it would "investigate" at the House of Melato Representation, and partly because time was running out - and with Taer missing, Alex had no time at all to pick up an investigative team.


    But they persuaded him to wait on filing a petition to the "court of blood grudges," pointing out that right now it would not do anything except make a lot of noise - which could only hinder. It could affect the behavior of possible kidnappers. Alex did not fully agree with this, but he had no better ideas and decided to trust the professionals, at least for now.


    Having enlisted the help of the HFOI and having spent a few more hours to solve all the bureaucratic formalities in the "court of blood grudges. He should have included the intelligence people on his investigative team. Alex began to torment himself and those around him because of the overwhelming feeling that something had to be done when there was not much else to do.


    Until he was forcibly sent to sleep:


    "This is a mild sleeping pill, Your Lordship." Liora placed a small plastic jar on the table beside his plates. "It will allow you to rest despite your excitement."


    "I can''t sleep right now." Crookedly, Alex smiled. "And then, what if the kidnappers show themselves?


    "If that happens, I''ll ensure that you are awakened." The maid replied with a polite smile, making it clear that resistance was useless. "Your worries will not help whoever you are worried about. Go to sleep." She added more affectionately. "You are of blessed lineage. Perhaps, Ryan will send you a dream."


    "Maybe..." He sighed heavily. It was stupid to argue. Four nights without sleep and nervousness were not the combination one might need in an emergency. "Do you really believe in Ryan?"


    "The Church of Twilight has never denied Ryan''s divinity." Liora smiled. "Without the Flame, there would be no Shadow. They are inseparable."


    * * *


    The red spot of reflected light flashed rhythmically on the ceiling, the piercing trill of the communicator filling the dark bedroom like a little siren, going straight to my head. Alex, only awake, just lay staring at the pulsing spot on the ceiling, trying to figure out what was going on. It took him a few seconds to realize before he rushed to the switch, sweeping away the pillows and sheets on his way.


    It was his personal comm, whose number was known to at most five people, and the vast majority of them would never want to wake Lord Cassard.


    The small screen glowed "Unknown call":


    It could be the kidnappers. Before answering, Alex turned on the recording of the conversation.


    "It''s me." It came over the phone. It was Taer''s voice, quiet and tired.


    "What''s up with you? Where are you?"


    "I''m alive." Still muffled, Taer replied. Her words seemed to be hard to get through. "I''ll tell you when I get there. Soon. I''ll need a full body scan as soon as I get in. Have everything I need placed near the lobby and isolate the place."


    "I''ll take care of it. Are you hurt? Maybe we can meet you." Alex hurried. His mind jumbled with a thousand possibilities of what could have happened so that Ta?r could suddenly return. "Can we send aircars or..."


    "No. Don''t. I''ll do it. And... don''t come until my scans are finished. It could be dangerous."


    It didn''t take five minutes to make the preparations. After Taer''s abduction, the entire security system was already on constant alert. As it turned out, the technical team even managed to get a ping on Taer''s call, but it did little good. The source was moving fast. It must have been the caller from the flyer. At an emergency meeting of the "Arm of Cassard," management decided not to call back, at least for the next hour, so Alex had plenty of time to torment himself thinking about what exactly happened:


    Did she manage to escape? Then why the scan? Injury? But then why, no meeting? Was she let go? Why kidnap her then? Was something done to her and let her go? That would explain the need for the scan.


    "Your Lordship, we have contact with a mask matching that of Diltar''s." The calm voice of the officer on the outside surveillance team finally stopped the mental tossing. "We have a picture from the droid. If Your Lordship..."


    "Turn it on." An impatient cry from "his lordship" interrupted the politeness formula, and a large screen flashed over the table in the conference room.


    Above the shining canyon of the street, through which slowly flowed the lava stream of stop signs of night traffic, hovered a black spot highlighted by navigation lights, the disc of the landing pad. Rounded sides of a small robot taxi coming in for landing shimmered with the glow of street lights. Through the windows of the illuminated cabin, a single passenger was visible, but you had to be a droid to discern Taer inside through all this riot of light and shadows. The cab landed, the wide side door swung upward, and the passenger stepped onto the platform. It really was Taer. It was unusual to see her in casual clothes, but there could be no doubt. She leaned over and retrieved a large bag from the flyer and headed for the entrance to the building.


    "Let me know as soon as you know it''s not some hologram but a real Daim Diltar." Proclaimed Alex, switching the communicator to the command line. "I want to see her as soon as possible."


    The isoscanner''s snow-white frame, devoid of any ornamentation, looked like some alien artifact against the marble walls decorated with gold vines. Two half-circles of the external scanner swirled slowly around Taer, the milky white plastic of its casing covering and revealing her face. Pale, exhausted, with flushed eyelids, she stood in the isolation capsule: squeezed and clenched, as if waiting for a blow.


    Alex stepped even closer and touched the cold glass of the capsule:


    "How are you, Taer?" He asked cautiously.


    She heard it anyway, even through the glass. She flinched frightened and opened her eyes:


    "I told you..." The pod made Taer''s voice seem so distant.


    "Did you really think I was just going to wait?" Alex frowned defiantly. "I came as soon as the scan showed you didn''t have a bomb or something."


    "The bomb isn''t the worst of it." She tried to smile, but the smile came out crooked and forced. "There are worse things..."


    She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath as if gathering her strength:


    "Alex, listen, I..." She began in a faltering voice but stopped herself, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "I..."


    She made several more attempts to continue, but each time she stopped, choking back tears. Suddenly, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, and everything suddenly stopped. Her face smoothed and filled with serenity:


    "I''m incredibly happy to see you." Finally, Taer finished her sentence, opening her eyes and smiling warmly. "Forgive my condition, there''s a wild cocktail in my blood, and my emotions are running wild."


    "Did they torture you?"


    "No." She answered, and Alex felt a mountain fall from his shoulders. "Just interrogated, but with something non-standard, not Lim''s serum."


    "It doesn''t matter." He smiled with relief. "Let''s finish the scan, and you take the neutralizer."


    "I''d rather wait until there''s a full analysis of the substance I''ve been injected with." Taer objected calmly. "A reaction to the neutralizer could be undesirable.


    "The primary analysis will take over an hour." The mechanical voice of the medical droid cut into their conversation.


    "We know it''s not poison, so we can wait." She brushed it off.


    "Whatever you say." Alex nodded in agreement with her reasoning. "What happened anyway?"


    "The usual story." Taer shrugged, smiling crookedly. "Abduction, interrogation, escape. Trying to find something to convict even Lord Cassard for."


    "So, it''s because of me..." He repeated, with difficulty, what Alex had been tormenting himself with since she''d been kidnapped. Who else could it be because of?


    "Well, there must be some disadvantages to the title of First Blade of Cassard." Taer objected with obvious irony. "I did manage to find out a few things, by the way. I''ll tell you when we''re in a more congenial environment." She added, glancing around the capsule that enclosed her.


    As the scanning continued, Taer preferred to remain silent. After all, it was uncomfortable to talk through the glass, and they had only to look at each other, but his "specialist" looked calm, if not relaxed. Her initial tension and readiness to cry were gone, and she even winked at him.


    It looks like it all worked out. Alex thought hopefully. He couldn''t remember the last time he''d seen Taer this peaceful. Looking at her made him more and more calm. She is always either anxious or disgruntled. I wonder if I''ve ever seen her satisfied or relaxed., Alex wondered. He had known his "security specialist" for over a month, but such a thing was hard to remember:


    Once was, after all. He remembered. Even before she was wounded. At the castle, when the SS men and the Major from Intelligence were there. Taer looked both content and relaxed then. Well, and in the fighter unit, after the Fenot.


    The quiet hiss of the opening of the capsule interrupted a further plunge into the maze of memory.


    "No additions regarding the verification chart were found." The med droid circling nearby spoke in the voice of the head of medical services. "You''re all right, Sword."


    "Wonderful." Taer smiled coldly as she looked at the med-droid, "Do a full analysis. I know it''s long. You can send me the report later. And by the way." She turned to the guards that were accompanying Alex. "Have they checked the bag I brought in yet?"


    Yes, Sword. Nothing that would pose an immediate danger was found there."


    "Then have it taken to my room. I''ll need it later."


    "Probably need some sort of debriefing on the results of my abduction?" Taer asked as they walked to the elevator.


    "In free form." Alex smiled back, not quite believing it was over all of a sudden. "But yes. I still don''t understand what happened.


    "Good." Taer nodded and gestured to the guards accompanying them to turn on the orber. "Would you mind if I dealt with this quickly?" She continued, taking Alex under her arm to avoid disturbing the little orb that swirled around them.


    "Of course not."


    "Wonderful." Taer smiled with relief and continued in a slightly more formal tone.


    "The kidnapping was carried out by a group of mercenaries. Competent, but random people. Directly supervising the operation was a former stack captain of the imperial security service. Also, the executor. This executor thought that the real orderer of my kidnapping was the Security Service. Probably their new head, aka the first Lord Inquisitor. The purpose was to obtain compromising material that could be used against you. Something like that." Taer shrugged, smiled a little, and then moved closer to Alex and added:


    "But it''s nothing more than a performer''s considerations; he might have been deliberately misled. By the way," She held out her hand. "Can I borrow your comm?"


    "I get it. We can''t trust this information." Unhappily he sighed, asking, holding out his communicator. "And how did you manage to escape?"


    "They made a mistake in the interrogation." Taher shrugged. "I managed to free myself and take possession of the weapon. The rest was easy. There weren''t many guards. And a question for you: I plan to use Hous Intelligence assistance. What do you think about that?" She added, switching the communicator to the command line.


    "House Intelligence?" Alex asked Alex with surprise. "We''ve already informed them about your kidnapping. We used their help, so I don''t mind, but why?"


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "I want to hire mercenaries. The enemy operates outside the legal field. We may need such opportunities too."


    "They''ll probably share all the information with Intelligence..." Alex stretched out thoughtfully, trying to figure out how much he didn''t like it. They had just reached the elevators, and the short pause came in handy.


    On the one hand, he did not like the fact that Countess Durlurl would get another source of information. On the other hand, he was sure that during the rapid expansion of his own "Arm," among the transferred guardsmen, he had gained more than one or two of the Countess''s spies. It''s unlikely to make much difference.


    "Okay, I don''t mind," Alex replied as they followed the guards into the elevator, and its doors began to close with a soft chime.


    "Great." Taer smiled. "Then, literally two minutes, I''ll deal with it quickly." She added, putting her communicator on speakerphone.


    "Diltar is on the line. Greetings gentlemen. Thank you if anyone was worried about me. There''s nothing wrong with me. Bring this information to your subordinates in a form you are comfortable with." She was silent for a while and continued only after switching the communicator to direct call mode:


    "Double-Captain Dirav, I''m going to give you the address of the clinic where I was held. You will form a team and go there immediately. Objective: to inspect the place and collect data. Pay special attention to the local security and information system. There may be interesting records. Use droids only, don''t go anywhere near the place. The place should be empty, but if someone appears there, do not move just try to identify. In case you are detected, leave everything and go away. The priority is to go undetected. Any questions?"


    "Available force outfit?" The communicator beeped back.


    "It''s up to you. Just leave us at least two aerocars, but otherwise, I rely on you."


    "It will be done, Sword."


    Taer was silent again for a moment, changing the destination of the call:


    "Dudo, sorry to bother the stack captain with fieldwork, but this is your area of expertise. I''m about to drop the coordinates of where I left all the infoblocks and memory rods taken from the kidnappers. Get a team together and work with them. There might be something interesting there. They may be tracked, so it''s best not to bring them here. Well, you know how it is. The priority is to go undetected. If anybody is hanging around the bookmark, you drop everything and leave."


    "I will," Dudo replied.


    In the meantime, the elevator stopped, and Alex and Taer, after passing through the guard post, went to the floor where their rooms were located.


    "Stack Lieutenant Shaar, we need to form two groups of mercenaries for blind operations." Taer, not stopping to give commands, caught Alex''s eye and gestured for him to go to his room. "The operations profile is infiltration, extraction, elimination. You need competent people, so contact the representatives of House Intelligence in the capital. Tell them it''s my personal request. The total budget is up to half a million danarii. And give your thoughts on who from the Cassard Arm can be brought into such operations."


    Taer waited for the statutory "Will do Sword," and disconnected the communicator, by which time they had just approached her rooms:


    "Sorry, I don''t seem to have made it to two minutes." She sighed guiltily.


    "You know, that was an uncommonly impressive example of direct control," Alex admitted sincerely. It was also completely unlike Taer''s usual manner. But that, of course, he kept to himself.


    "Oh, thank you." Taer defiantly ducked her eyes. "I love it when you praise me."


    She turned off the orber that was still flying around them and returned it to the escort guards, letting them go at the same time.


    "As you might have guessed, due to recent events, I don''t have a key." After a moment''s pause, Taer announced, looking eloquently at the door of her room.


    "Sorry, I was thinking." Alex applied his key, and the door opened with a quiet click.


    "Do you think your escape wasn''t staged?" He asked, letting Taer go forward. He was glad he hadn''t made a mistake, but the fact that in an operation with such a client and such a target, someone would make a mistake and allow a prisoner to take possession of a weapon was suspicious.


    "I had that thought." Taer nodded, walking into the room. "That''s why the full scan was necessary. It could also have been an attempt to provoke you into something emotional, rash, underhanded, and easily provable. But since I freed myself, you''re not under attack now. Unless, of course, you do something new stupid." She added with a giggle.


    "Do you think everything turned out okay? With recent events, when everything seems to be going well, I get nervous."


    "No." Taer shook her head. "If it is really the Lord Inquisitor, and he has stepped outside the bounds of legality so easily, he will not stop after the first failure."


    "You''re right." Alex sighed uncheerfully. "That''s unlikely."


    "Would you like me to handle the matter?" She smiled.


    "What do you mean?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How do you handle it?


    She shrugged with an indifferent look:


    "As usual. Humans are mortal."


    It took Alex a few seconds to realize the strangeness of the suggestion. Taer, who panicked at the thought of breaking the law, and who carefully avoided any dealings with Imperial justice, suggested eliminating the head of the Inquisition.


    In fact, she''s still under some kind of chemistry. Alex reminded himself, casting a doubtful glance at the girl. She looked, however, quite calm, obviously watching her lord''s reaction with interest. "Are you serious?" He asked aloud.


    She nodded, keeping her interested eyes on Alex, but a sly smile touched her lips.


    "I can''t help but get the impression that you''re joking." He admitted it frankly.


    "Be sure." She shook her head negatively. "The offer is completely serious. But I''m really interested in your reaction."


    If you''re serious... Alex thought over the proposal. He liked it, but the risks looked completely unjustified. They didn''t have any opportunities to realize such a thing in the capital, besides...


    "Perhaps that''s what the Lord Inquisitor wants." He finally answered. "The mere fact of preparing such a thing is enough to apprehend even a lord prince. Besides, there may be someone else behind your kidnapping. We need to get to the bottom of this first, so let''s not make any drastic decisions."


    "As you wish." She lowered her eyes obediently with the same sly smile, however, not for long. "Then the debriefing can be considered over?" She asked, her eyes flashing again.


    "I guess so..." Alex stretched out confusedly, suddenly realizing that their conversation would end, and he didn''t want it to. "You probably need to rest. Will you go to bed?"


    "No, I was just planning on taking a shower and changing. Why?


    "I... Then I, after that, would like to talk some more, if you don''t mind."


    "Of course not." Again she smiled. "Wait for me here, I''ll take a quick shower, and we''ll continue."


    Taer left, and Alex sprawled even more heavily in his chair, immersed in trying to make sense of his sensations. His ''first blade'' was kind of weird again, that''s for sure. She was relaxed and content, something she wasn''t usually known for. One could put it down to the effects of the chemistry the kidnappers had used, but her manner of speaking had changed a lot. Very much so, sometimes it felt like he was talking to a different person. And that impression gave Alex a very strange feeling as if he was missing something, something important.


    I can''t think of anything good. Alex sighed, stretching in his chair.


    "So, what did you want to talk about?" Taer asked, coming out of the bathroom, where she hadn''t spent two minutes.


    He turned, planning to think of some topic of conversation on the fly, but said nothing. Taer came out of the shower naked and headed for the dressing room as if nothing had happened.


    She was just going for her clothes, perfectly natural, not flirtatious, not lingering to show off, not looking in any special way, but she passed by so close that he could smell the scent of her wet skin.


    Alex silently followed her with his eyes, unable to look away.


    "I don''t think it''s an accident..." He finally uttered as he continued to stare at the doorway the girl had hidden in. "You probably have a panel in your bathroom to summon a droid. It could bring clothes. You could also wrap yourself in a towel or ask me."


    "Don''t make a big deal out of it." It came back. "This isn''t the first time you''ve seen me naked. Back at the castle, my only piece of clothing was a blaster. You''ve already had a chance to look at everything."


    "You were covered in blood, your left arm separate from your body..." Alex smiled crookedly. "And all I could think about was how not to let you die right now. No time to look."


    "And I never thanked you for that time." He heard something from the dressing room.


    "Kayrin pulled you out then. I just stopped the bleeding ."


    "I should have asked: Would Kayrin have pulled me out if you hadn''t stopped the bleeding?" Taer asked as she came out of the dressing room with her clothes. She was already wearing her uniform pants and shirt, but it was unbuttoned:


    "Well, and if I walk around naked in front of her." She continued. "The reaction would be completely predictable, not interesting."


    "So I was right, and you''re studying my reaction again."


    She nodded back with a smile: "Yeah. How''s that?" She asked as she began to button her shirt.


    Alex watched her fingers move, each movement looking remarkably precise and graceful as if she''d been practicing buttoning this particular shirt forever.


    That''s why I couldn''t take my eyes off her. He realized. Because of the way she moved, not because she was naked.


    "You are very graceful."


    "Thank you, that''s an appropriate compliment." She thanked him with a polite smile.


    Taer walked over to the table where the big bag was sitting and unzipped it. "Is there something you wanted to talk about? Hardly about my virtues."


    "More about my condition." He sighed and paused for a moment to put his doubts into a more polite form. "Don''t get me wrong. I''m incredibly glad it all worked out. But, I can''t help but get a strange feeling..."


    "Like talking to a very old, close friend you don''t recognize for some reason?" She suddenly asked, looking at the contents of the bag as if she wasn''t looking at Alex on purpose.


    "Yes..." He exhaled in surprise.


    Actually, he was going to say something completely different, but Taer''s words were surprisingly accurate to this strange sensation.


    "Well, hello, then." She looked up at him and spread her arms with a smile as if inviting a hug. "Long time no see."


    "Hi..." Alex whispered dazedly, completely confused. "Taer... Is that even you?" He asked the first thing that came into his head, not really knowing how to react.


    "Am I Taer?" She thoughtfully retorted, taking the injector from her bag and examining it. Alex felt the question hit her, and her smile became cold and measured.


    "Philosophical question." Taer finally uttered and put the injector to her neck.


    There was a low hiss, and a red stain spread across her skin, immediately covered by the collar of her shirt.


    "Let''s say this." She suggested, looking intently at Alex, and there was a power in her voice and face. "I am as much Daim Diltar as you are Lord Cassard. And by the way, I''m not very good at humor. But ironic, isn''t it?" Taer asked and laughed softly.


    It was someone else''s laugh, very melodic and deep but sad. That wasn''t how Taer laughed.


    But I''m not Lord Cassard. I''m only occupying his body. So it''s not Taer, but someone just occupying her body, Alex thought, and there was irony in that. Not Lord Cassard, asking not Taer, is it you?


    "Ironic indeed." He nodded with a smile.


    Except that it wasn''t funny at all. It turned out that now they were left alone in the personal zone, where there was no surveillance, and in case of discussion of sensitive information, all the rooms were well isolated. On the belt of Taer''s uniform pants, there was a holster with a blaster and a sword handle, Alex also had a compact concealed-carry blaster, but he had seen with his own eyes more than once that Taer could be inhumanly, blindingly fast when it came to using a weapon. It was unknown if she retained that ability in her current state, but he didn''t want to check. His communicator was timely borrowed and not returned:


    Interesting. So she thought of this beforehand? Alex thought with detached approval as he looked at Taer.


    His First Blade was: collected, calm, and looking at him expectantly. But it was clearly not a friendly expectation; she seemed to be waiting for an attack.


    And that''s what''s really weird. It wasn''t that I was dangerous to her, with or without a blaster.


    Actually, there was another possibility to call the guards. He remembered that he was also wearing a biomonitor, a small washer taped under his collarbone, which transmitted data about his condition to the security team on duty. If it was torn off, the alarm would be raised. Alex wasn''t sure if that was a good idea, but just in case, he tried to move his shoulder inconspicuously, checking if he could snag the sensor with his shirt without attracting attention.


    "If you try to remove the sensor, I will be forced to damage your body considerably." Warned Not-Taer, in a very friendly tone.


    And the strange thing is, it doesn''t scare or irritate at all, not even a little bit. Alex thought, involuntarily surprised by his sensations. Although the situation was creepy and obviously dangerous. On the contrary, I feel comfortable with her now. Maybe it''s some form of compulsion.


    Not-Taer looked at him coldly and determinedly as if looking through a scope. But Alex didn''t notice any aggression; it was more the determination and willingness to defend herself, multiplied by a calm confidence in her abilities than the assailant''s determination.


    He also felt an inexplicable sympathy for her, and that was the strangest thing.


    With Taer something is wrong. Maybe it''s someone else occupying her body. It could be dangerous. Most likely dangerous. Alex made an attempt at auto-training. But it didn''t help; he still caught himself feeling a strong sympathy for this new version of Taer.


    "I hope you don''t think it''s rude..." Alex finally broke the silence, interrupting the lingering period of mutual scrutiny. "If I ask you, who are you, and what do you want?


    "That''s a good question." Nodded Not-Taer. "Let''s explain ourselves." And she added, a little bit grimacing with annoyance as if some thought had hurt her. "As much as possible in our condition."


    "First, I''m very happy to see you." She said, and for a moment, through her armor of cold determination, a smile flashed so bright that Alex felt ready to beg her to smile at him again. But the smile disappeared, and she added with regret in her voice. "But, seeing you like this is sad. Let it be, considering the way I look." She grinned defiantly, giving herself a judgmental look as if she were something reprehensible. "That may sound a little hypocritical."


    "I don''t understand you..." Alex began. Who could only take it from this tirade that he was being mistaken for someone else.


    "Stop." Interrupted him Not-Taer, with a reassuring smile and added surprisingly affectionately. "I''m not talking to you; I''ll answer your questions later."


    The affectionate smile disappeared, and she continued in her old icy tone:


    "Second, you''re obviously going to do ridiculous things. I, on the other hand, reserve the right, until everything is settled, to suppress any absurdities if they disturb me."


    "As for your question, "Who are you and what do you want?" The wording itself is rather strange. Who am I?" she asked with a look of apparent bewilderment. "I''m your old comrade-in-arms. I''ve saved your life several times. And to hear you say, Who are you? And what do I need..." She raised her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. "A good cigarette, I guess."


    "I''ve never seen you smoking. I''m sorry, but you don''t look like a typical Taer."


    "Is that so?" Non-Taer grinned. "And what makes you think that the typical Taer is the real one?"


    It was a good question.


    "Because it''s the only Taer I know."


    "Were you trying to find out any other ones?"


    "I wish I could," Alex declared. Demonstratively making himself comfortable in his chair. "Tell me about yourself."


    She grinned: "It would be a very long story."


    "Don''t you have a lot of time? Are you in a hurry?"


    "If there''s one thing I have in excess, it''s time. But in about twenty minutes, the first reports from the place where I was held are coming in. The whole security system is going to be in flux. You''re not going to be able to hold back and try to do something ridiculous."


    "Ridiculous?" Alex raised his eyebrows, really surprised. "That''s not my style."


    "In yours." She smiled back. "Yours. You''re playing boy now, so there''s bound to be something silly like, ''I don''t understand what''s going on with Taer, but it''s something bad, she must be stopped for her own good. And the boy''s paradigm, it''s a very limited decision space. There you won''t find anything better than a covert attempt at isolation and forced rescue. And it is hastily prepared, with unclear goals, and, of course, disgustingly executed. As a consequence, nothing will work. I will simply be forced to kill at least a third of everyone present in the tower."


    "Not that I mind." She added after a short pause. "But it''s long, it''s not interesting, and most importantly, it''s inconvenient. I would prefer to avoid such inconvenience in the near future. So, I''m going to end this ridiculous conversation. Take you under my arm. Let everyone know that we have an urgent visit to make. A secret visit. In connection with my kidnapping. We''ll get in a flyer and fly out of here, not far. Then I''ll drop you off and call the security team on duty to pick you up."


    "What if I don''t agree to play along?" Alex asked with an indifferent look on his face.


    "And I will insist." She replied, and her charming smile became much more predatory.


    "Why do you have to go to all this trouble? Am I threatening you in any way?"


    "Aren''t you going to try to get "the old Taer" back somehow? No?"


    "I have to." Alex finally answered, feeling that lying now was pointless. "Must at least try."


    "Why?" She asked with an innocent look.


    "Taer saved my life, and more than once." He answered the first thing that came into his head.


    "But it was me." Not-Taer smiled disarmingly. "Every time, it was me. That Taer can''t even hold a blaster. Well, she is able to fence, mediocrely. Certainly doesn''t have a tendency to cover anyone with herself."


    "She''s my friend." Alex made his next argument, a little taken by surprise by the "not Taer" argument and not knowing how to respond to it.


    "But that''s not true." Slowly, almost syllable by syllable, said "Not Taer," savoring every word. "You don''t trust her. You still haven''t told her who you really are. And by the way, between you and me, you don''t trust her rightly. You''re nothing more than a career to her. That''s the only explanation for why she didn''t figure it out despite all your reservations and mistakes. She just didn''t care.


    This argument came even more to the heart; Alex wasn''t really sure how Taer would have reacted if he''d confessed to her:


    Well, she wouldn''t turn me to the authorities. That wouldn''t be good for her career... He thought and then caught himself thinking that he was, in fact, echoing the arguments of Not-Taer.


    "It is my duty as her suzerain." He said, not really believing his own words.


    "From your mouth, it even sounds ridiculous." She shook her head with a smile. "You don''t believe any of this. Well, we were both there at the time of the oath. She can''t wear armor, either.


    "Maybe that''s just the way I want it." With irritation, said Alex, who was beginning to get angry at his inability to justify the return of the Ta''er he knew.


    "Now that''s another thing." Bloomed Not-Taer, smiling at him. "Then I am the enchanted princess, and you are the wrong knight. You''ll be trying to undo my spell. I''m afraid a kiss won''t do the trick. But you can try anyway." She laughed.


    And she was so natural, smiling so warmly, that Alex had to remind himself that he was not flirting with the most charming girl in the world but was in a very dangerous situation.


    "Do you think I don''t have a chance?"


    "There''s always a chance." The Non-Taer shrugged. "But what do you think will happen if you succeed? She''ll kill herself immediately." She waved her hands.


    At that moment, Alex noticed that the right side of Not-Taer''s face trembled a little, and a large tear rolled down her cheek.


    She poked the drop with her ring finger and looked at it in amazement:


    "She still manages to cry." With a gasp uttered Not-Taer. "Look, a tear. It''s amazing..."


    She shifted her gaze from her tears to Alex:


    "It was her idea. To come here," Not-Taer explained, looking distractedly through him. "But once she saw you..." Not-Taer sighed sadly. "The girl has completely fallen apart. Though she put so much effort into it, so much agony, fighting her fear, all just to ask you."


    "Ask?" With ostensible indifference, Alex interrogated. "About what?"


    "I''ll give a word to the original." The Non-Taer smiled, and her face filled with excitement, and her eyes widened fearfully:


    "Alex I..." Her voice trembled treacherously, but she continued to pull the words out of her as if she were trying to get rid of them quickly:


    "I don''t control the guider. At all. They injected me with something. It''s stronger. Don''t believe me. Don''t believe a word of it. You must..." She started, but she choked on her sobs before she could finish.


    "Destroy me." Finished Not-Taer quite calmly, she obviously wanted to go on and say something else, but her lips treacherously trembled again, and she had to stop and close her eyes and take a few deep breaths.


    The new Taer''s control was clearly not absolute, and the old one was ready to break through to the surface.


    I just have to help her somehow. Get her to wake up somehow... Alex thought and grasped the thought hopefully. "It turns out that Taer was quite herself when she arrived in the tower, and only during the inspection, she ''switched...''


    "Oh, emotion... Laughed Not-Taer with a guilty look, wiping away her tears. "So much self-pity. Isn''t it touchy?"


    What if the emotion is switching her? He thought feverishly: During the test, the control was taken over by the non-Taer, and now the old Taer is manifesting itself emotionally.


    "Very." Alex agreed dryly. "But why did you tell me that?" He asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.


    "Could it be to my advantage?" Asked back Not-Taer disarmingly smiling. "And then the child calmed down a little. She''s as hysterical as an animal in a cage, ready to smash against the bars. It''s exhausting." She was briefly silent, closing her eyes tiredly when she opened them, her gaze was serious and appraising:


    "You don''t want her to die." Concluded Not-Taer, and added with an ironic smile. "Then you should think it over all the more, this ''coming back'' idea. You can''t catch her by the hand every time she decides to shoot herself in the forehead with a blaster. At least there''s me for that now."


    Alex didn''t object. First, because it was really worth considering. We''ll need to arrange for constant monitoring of Taer, at least for the first time, and second, we needed to figure out a way to bring out the Non-Taer emotion urgently. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Outwardly, she was completely unbreakable: calm, confident, relaxed.


    It''s all just a mask. He reminded himself. She had to take a break just a minute ago because her voice was coming off. But how to rock her now?


    "Well, I guess that''s enough food for thought." The Non-Taer summed it up and started pulling on her white uniform gloves. It was as insanely elegant as anything else. "I''ve got to go. I''m late enough as it is. Time flies when you''re in good company." She added with a smile.


    Time was clearly running out, and he still hadn''t figured out how to get her to emotion, how to sway her.


    Putting on her gloves, she tossed the little silver lump in her bag, which was lying in a nearby chair, and clasped it and picked it up from the table, evidently about to leave:


    "Do me the honor of taking your hand." She offered with a smile, holding out her hand first.


    Alex shrugged indifferently and rose to meet her, but instead of putting his elbow to her side, he took advantage of her bag with one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.


    "And what is that supposed to mean?" She raised an eyebrow with an ironic smile.


    "Well, you''re the one who said I could kiss you," Alex smirked. It was a crazy idea, but time was up, and he couldn''t think of anything better.


    She didn''t try to pull away or stop him in any way, but a few moments after their lips touched, he felt Ta?r literally stiffen in his arms. She tensed as if she were lifting a huge weight or waiting to strike.


    He pulled away a little to see what was going on with Taer.


    "So you''re a doll..." She said, looking into his eyes. Her face was so close that not a muscle twitched, but Alex could physically feel her emotions building up on him: anger, resentment. "The doll." She repeated, running her tongue slowly over her lips as if to make sure the kiss was real.


    Something went wrong. There was clearly a breach of some cultural norm, some protocol of politeness. Despite the slight smile and calm face, he felt that "not Taer" was very angry, just furious. So foolish or not, the plan succeeded. There they are -emotions.


    "Still, such an honor to function." Quickly she mouthed pulling away even more and turning away to the side. "I don''t know how to thank you."


    At that moment, there was a soft pop. Like a curtain in the wind, her left hand slammed into the right side of Alex''s ribcage, knocking the breath out of him with sharp pain. He didn''t even have time to bend before a second, equally blistering blow struck the left side as well.


    He drew in the air as a reflex, trying to catch his breath, but his chest was sliced open by a stabbing pain where the blows had struck. His breath turned into a wet, gurgling cough, and with each spasm, the pain girded his ribs and clawed at his lungs. There was a ferrous taste of blood in his mouth:


    The lung is punctured. Alex shuddered with a cough, unable even to straighten up from the pain. By the ribs.


    The bag fell to the floor with a glass clang, giving way to a blaster in her hand, which for some reason, was pointed at the ceiling.


    The blaster shrieked characteristically, and three orange balls burst into scorched spots with smoke edges where the wall and ceiling converged, showering the room with fine crumbs of stone.


    "Attack on the lord!" Shouted "not Taer" into the snatched communicator. "A mini-droid like a T-ten or similar. It''s moving in the vents. All jumpers to a full block."


    From the pain, he couldn''t straighten up. He tried to squat but almost fell if Taer hadn''t picked him up, and he paid for it with a streak of searing pain along the impact site as his back arched and Alex hung in her arms.


    In one hand Taer had a smoking blaster, and in the other, he was, just a picture: "The First Blade saves her Lord.


    It was nice done, isn''t it? He smiled involuntarily, coughing up blood, and with each cramp, his ribs tore his lung even harder.


    There was a rumble of people running down the corridor in armor, and his eyes went dark, either from pain or from the fact that he couldn''t breathe.


    "You know what''s interesting?" Asked "not Taer", leaning over him as he convulsed in her arms, spitting blood. "She knew what I was going to do, but she didn''t even try to stop me..."


    She shook her head disapprovingly, and after a pause added with a philosophical sigh:


    "And what did you find in her?"


    The door burst open with a crash, and a team of guards and medics on duty rushed into the room.


    Alex was jerked onto a stretcher and felt a prick somewhere in his arm.


    "Full blood replacement, poison could have been used." He heard Taer''s commanding voice above him. "Medical unit completely isolated. Put the Lord under a separate shield. Do not let anyone near him without my order. Do not raise the shield without my order. The duty team will be with the Lord at all times..."


    The ceiling swayed, moving somewhere beneath his feet, and Taer''s voice was distant - he was carried out of the room. The intensive care room was on the same floor as he remembered the layout, literally opposite his rooms and not far from Taer''s room.


    She stayed at the scene, giving commands, and Alex tried to warn the guards, but he couldn''t speak at all. All he ended up doing was wheezing, clutching at their hands, spitting out blood, shuddering from the pain tearing at his chest.


    Someone pointed a medical scanner in his face, and a blue beam of light dabbed across his eyes:


    "Everything will be all right, Your Lordship." It came from above, along with the hiss of the injectors and another shot to the neck. "We''ll get you out."


    She made me so nice, even elegant. Like everything with her... Through the pain and blurred consciousness, he smiled at his thoughts.


    The piercer clicked, and a large blue bag of blood substitute began hissing its contents down his throat. Everything fell into darkness.


    * * *

 Chapter 17

    Chapter 17


    * * *


    Waking up was strange. There was no distinction between oblivion and consciousness, neither darkness nor light. Just Alex realized at some point that he was looking at the ceiling. It was an ordinary ceiling, almost white with a faint golden sparkle, slightly curved with a hint that it might be a part of the dome.


    Or maybe just curved, like in the guest rooms at the palace. Alex contemplated, not feeling his own body at all.


    He felt like a disembodied observer - no pain, though he remembered the punctured lung and broken ribs, no hunger, no thirst, no throbbing in his head at least - nothing at all. It was as if he had no body at all.


    That would be very inconvenient. He grinned and tried to turn his head. It worked, but not right away; moving your muscles when you can''t feel any feedback at all is very uncomfortable. There were tubes in his nose, too. That could also have had an effect.


    Slowly, as he turned his head, the picture of the world turned: first, there was the edge of the tall windows touching the ceiling, and a bright streak of pale blue sky, then a wide bracket, a metal paw hanging over the edge of the bed, studded with sensors, buttons, and the lights of small screens. A bright yellow plastic curtain hung beneath the bracket, now pushed aside, with only the dazzling light of the bowed goddess behind it.


    A woman was sitting next to his bed, and the huge sunset sun shining through the windows was blazing around her head with a halo of blinding gold. Her face was almost indistinguishable in the glow, but there was so much majestic beauty and serenity in her silhouette illuminated by the fiery gold that Alex involuntarily admired, mesmerized by the sight:


    "You look like a goddess." He said, surprised at how easily the words came out. It was as if the tearing pain in his chest hadn''t been there recently.


    The goddess put the infoblock aside and turned to him. Even through the sheen of her halo, he could see that she was smiling:


    "What an immodest compliment Prince." He heard Artala''s voice, which only confirmed his guesses, caused by the white uniform peeking out from under the green medical coat slung over her shoulders and her short hair. "I have to wonder if you really think so or if you''re just drunk on anesthetic."


    "I think so." He nodded, squinting slightly. His body was slowly remembering how to behave if you were looking at bright light.


    "I don''t believe it." She laughed. "You should see your eyes - the pupils are huge. I''d ask you how you feel..." Artala leaned closer to him, and the mischievous glint in her blue eyes became visible. "But I know you don''t feel anything right now. So just welcome back, Prince."


    "Thank you." He smiled, looking at her with one eye. It was too bright for two. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such a pleasant greeting?"


    "Oh, Prince..." The princess sighed heavily, and her smile turned miserable. "Be thankful it''s just me here. Do you have any idea what started when Daim Diltar told me that you fell down the stairs, so much so that you needed an operation? Can you imagine the tragedy if you''d died during the onstum? Well, I mean, it would have been a tragedy either way." She corrected herself in a conciliatory tone. "But during an onstum, it''s also a political disaster, especially after Duke Assaro''s death, especially when you''re investigating it."


    "Indeed, that would be very unbecoming." He nodded with the look of a seasoned politician. "Please accept my apologies."


    "That''s enough." She laughed again. "You''d better tell me how it''s going there?" She asked sharply, becoming more serious.


    "There where?" Alex sincerely did not understand.


    "Well, there..." Artala raised her eyes meaningfully to the imaginary heavens. "You''ve been in a coma for four hours, and you''re of blessed lineage. Did you see the Bright Edge of the Flames?"


    She was so serious and, at the same time, looking with such interest that he was even kind of embarrassed to say he hadn''t seen anything at all:


    "To be honest, nothing at all." He admitted with a guilty look. "I just passed out and woke up here."


    "But what about it? You''re from a blessed family, aren''t you?" Artala seemed genuinely upset. "To you, and to the Flame Lords, Ryan should send you dreams and omens..."


    "I lost my memory." Alex reminded her. "I might have forgotten or not realized what I was dreaming about. What do you think a dream sent by Ryan should look like?"


    "An endless sea of fire, with rising waves of golden flame." The princess explained with complete conviction. "And some prophecies or warnings. Or just the presence of her divine essence," she added, much less confidently.


    Actually, that description fits pretty well with what he''d dreamed at the moment of transference:


    "There was something like that." Alex nodded.


    "When?" Artala''s eyes lit up.


    She was obviously very curious: Does religious upbringing have an effect? Although she was also very interested in fortune-telling. But maybe one doesn''t contradict the other?


    "When I was poisoned." He answered aloud, trying not to sound condescending.


    "I guess an induced coma doesn''t count." More like talking to herself, she muttered and then asked. "Was it scary?"


    He honestly tried to remember what he had experienced then:


    "I guess not."


    "You betcha." Artala sighed enviously. "It must be like coming home for you..."


    She clearly wanted to ask something else, but footsteps were heard from somewhere on the side of his feet, and Dudo''s voice:


    "Your Lordship, are you awake?"


    "I should have warned them when you woke up." The princess whispered, "It''s all your fault, Prince." She snorted defiantly. Her nose turned up. "You''ve distracted me with all this nonsense."


    At this point, Dudo was approaching, but not alone. Liora and one of the medics from the guards were with him:


    Tivo or Tilo? Alex couldn''t even remember his name to his shame - his ''Arm'' was expanding very rapidly, before flying to the capital.


    The medic asked Alex how he was feeling and warned him that the effect of the painkillers would soon wear off and started fiddling with the screens that were on the bracket hanging above the bed.


    "Well, there''s probably a lot of procedures coming up. So I''ll get out of your way." The princess apologized as she rose. "Oh, by the way." She paused, clearly remembering something. "Father told me to tell you not to even think about dying during Onstum. And you better keep an eye on him." She added, turning to Liora.


    "I will do my best." Liora bowed her head and added, "Your Highness."


    For which she got a parting poke from the princess.


    Liora looked completely impenetrable, but Dudo looked like a man who was torn by the need to say something. Alex had a lot of questions he wanted to ask without anyone else around.


    "Their Lordships, will they be able to eat soon?" Liora asked the medic, seeming to understand without words.


    "Yeah, anytime now." The man shrugged. "It''s just that while the feeling of hunger is blocked, it''ll pass soon enough."


    "Then, unless you''re busy with some vital procedure. I''d like a moment of your time, please. It will be necessary to coordinate with you, as a doctor, the menu for His Lordship."


    "I don''t know..." The confused medic looked to Dudo for support as a superior.


    "It''s worth consulting the esteemed Liora." With an important look, Dudo nodded. "I''ll keep an eye on His Lordship for now."


    "Were there any other casualties?" Alex asked as the medic and Liora left the room, at the same time trying to look around him. But without much success. He was wearing a kind of vest made of thick white plastic with some tubes and wires.


    "No," Dudo answered, not at all surprised by the question.


    Good. He exhaled mentally. The fact that she wasn''t going to kill him had become clear the moment she''d handed him over to the medics, though she could have easily killed him using the same cover she''d used on the droid, but there was no clarity about the others.


    "Where''s Daim Diltar?"


    "We don''t know exactly." Dudo sighed. "I''m trying to find out now, maybe at the palace."


    "In the palace?" Alex wondered involuntarily. "It doesn''t get easier by the hour, and what could she have forgotten there?"


    "She went to warn about what happened to you." He explained. "Never came back, said there were some bureaucratic complications and not to be disturbed."


    It was not pleasant. It was frightening to imagine what she might have done in the palace.....


    Although, so far, everything was very reasonable - falling down the stairs... Alex grinned mentally. In principle, why not - it removes a lot of questions.


    "I assume, Your Lordship, there was no mini-droid?" Dudo asked, and it was clear from the look on his face that he didn''t believe it at all. "We''re, uh, in an isolated area. The suppressors are working." He added.


    "And what makes you think that?" Alex squinted, not that he was going to mess around. He was just curious.


    "We''ve looked all over, like five or six times." He shrugged. "No droid, no sign of intrusion. And even if there was a droid, it''d be weird enough to break your ribs, and that''s it."


    "I could have broken them in a fall." Alex objected with a smile, playing devil''s advocate. "When Daim Diltar pushed me out of the line of fire, for example."


    "Perhaps." Dudo nodded curtly. "But the furniture is intact, and getting injuries like that from a fall to the floor is very unlikely. And the medics say there are two distinct signs of blunt force trauma. It doesn''t add up, Your Lordship."


    "So you don''t believe in the droid version..." "Your Lordship" sighed disappointedly.


    "Nope." Dudo grinned. "The princess didn''t believe it either, it seems. She threatened to storm the tower if we didn''t let her see that Lord Cassard was alive."


    "Really?" Alex asked in surprise.


    "Seriously." Dudo nodded. "And the Carpathians took Diltar''s "no one but medics" order very literally. It''s a whole story. Peleng Admiral Niazur is a medic, by the way, and qualified when she joined the Ranger Corps.


    "Interesting..." Alex stretched out, looking up at the ceiling. "Anything else as interesting?"


    "Even more interesting, Your Lordship." Dudo sighed unhappily. "Where the kidnappers kept Daim Diltar''s, we found a recording of her interrogation. And not only ..." He added, clearly at a loss for words. "You''d better see for yourself."


    Dudo pulled out his infoblock and quickly clicked on something, and held it out to Alex.


    * * *


    On the monitor was an operating room, or some other medical room, laconic perfectly smooth floor, pale green color, and the same walls. In the background could be seen mobile tables with equipment, now covered with gray covers and most likely turned off. Right in the center of the frame was the First Blade of his domain, the person to whom Alex owed his life at least three times - Taer Diltar. She was helpless, covered with some sensors, dressed in a thin tunic in the tone of the whole room, and pulled to a large dental chair by wide flat straps made of yellow plastic. She was clearly out of it-her eyes were wandering, and she was having a hard time keeping her head straight, looking like she was either about to fall asleep or very drunk.


    "One minute and forty-five seconds after administering the drug, all vitals are normal." A voiceover commented. "We''re good to go."


    A loud voice echoed through the room, clearly distorted by the orber and therefore more like the scraping of metal:


    "I''m your friend. I want to help you. Can you hear me? Answer me. Each answer will make you feel better."


    There was no response, though: Taer dropped her head to her chest like a broken doll, her mouth open, her gaze unfocused and staring off into infinity.


    "Can you hear me? Answer me." Repeated several times by the interrogator without any effect.


    "All vitals are within normal limits. She''s conscious and should be able to hear you." The first voice, which must have belonged to a medic, said. "Just give her some time."


    The attempts at interrogation had stopped, and the interrogated person was still lying in the chair like an abandoned puppet. Thirty seconds passed, and suddenly, as if someone had pulled a string, Taer''s head was upright, her face smooth and calm, even contented, and only her eyes were unnaturally still and looking through. It all produced a very eerie and, at the same time, familiar effect. Alex had seen such a look before:


    During the assassination attempt at the castle, when Taer lost her arm. The specialist "looked" creepy then, too, and as Taer explained later, she was under the control of "guider" - a complex of other people''s artificially imparted skills, or something like that. Alex couldn''t understand how it worked, and then he didn''t care about it.


    "Can you hear me?" came the metal-gnashing voice again.


    "I hear you," Taer replied calmly, absorbed in looking at her own hand. She was alternately flexing her fingers as if she were trying to play an invisible piano, and the process seemed to amuse her-she was smiling. "Even better than good. You can keep your voice down."


    "I''m your friend." Repeated the interrogator, really toning it down. "I want to help you. Answer my questions. Each answer will make you feel better. I''ll start with some simple questions. Is your name Taer Diltar?"


    "Taer Diltar?" Taer was clearly pensive, not stopping to look at her hand. She was silent for a moment as if remembering something. "Yes, that''s what they called me."


    "Why are you looking at your hand?" Suddenly the interrogator asked.


    Taer finally took her eyes off her hand and turned her still unnaturally fixed eyes directly to the camera:


    "It''s just an exercise." She smiled disarmingly. The smile looked very genuine and natural, but when combined with the fixed, staring eyes, it made it seem frightening. "Helps keep perception at the right level."


    "Stop performing it, and answer my questions." The voice commanded."What is your age?"


    "There is no correct answer to that question." Taer objected calmly. "It requires clarification. What kind of age do you want? Objective age? Subjective age? Cumulative age? Linear age? The active time of life of a given body? Total time since the birth of this body? And why?" she added, stopping looking directly into the camera and looking at the walls around her.


    The interrogator was silent for a moment, obviously not knowing how to react to Taer''s tirade, but he was soon up to his interrogation:


    "Answer my questions. I want to help you. Each answer will make you feel better."


    "Or?" Taer asked blankly, still looking around. "There always has to be an or. What if I scream?"


    "No one will hear you. No one can help you. I''m the only one who can help you. Answer my questions. I''m your friend."


    "Wonderful." Taer smiled.


    At that moment, the picture flickered. There was a sound like something bursting, the camera flew to the side, and everything on the screen spun at a wild speed - the floor and walls flickered.


    Dudo pushed a button and stopped the footage:


    "Further, it is better to watch from the second camera." He explained, fiddling with the infoblock.


    He started a new recording. The second camera was positioned near the ceiling, and there was a general view of the room. Directly across from the chair to which Taer was chained, about five meters away, was a low table where the man who''d been interrogating her was probably sitting. For it was near him, a small globe of orber flew, making him look like a shivering gray silhouette. Next to it was a smaller mobile table filled with equipment, with which a man in a pale green jumpsuit was fiddling. He looked like a medic. There was no orber near him, but the medic''s face was almost completely hidden by a breathing mask.


    Dudo quickly flicked a button and scrolled the footage forward.


    "Wonderful," Taer spoke again on the screen, and at that moment, everything exploded. Literally. The chair beneath Taer was blown apart by shrapnel, one of the large pieces of shrapnel piercing the equipment table and hitting the medic, knocking him to the ground. Taer herself was thrown forward at the interrogator.


    "One more time." Asked a slightly dumbfounded Alex. "What could have exploded in there? And it''s so quiet... Did the camera get damaged?"


    "You''re about to see for yourself, Your Lordship. I''m going to run it in extreme slow motion."


    Dudo zoomed in so Taer could be seen better and started the recording again.


    Everything swam slowly as if through a thick syrup, the yellow plastic straps that held Taer in place bursting at once, and she slowly raised her hand. Her palm rose to her face with the back of her hand, and she looked at the room through her spread fingers. It lasted for just a moment, even in slow motion, and then Taer made a motion with her palm like she was pushing something forward, just a little. And then Alex saw a dense wave of distortion coming from her palm, expanding rapidly, clearly visible on the recording as if she had pushed forward all the air in the room at once.


    Stolen story; please report.


    The wave appeared and then disappeared, but what it had touched was flying forward as if thrown by a giant hand. One of the armrests of the chair broke through the lid of the opened infoblock case and hit the medical technician exactly in the throat - blood spurted. Another piece of the chair, catching the orber on the way, hit a small plastic box on the wall, inside of which something sparked. Taer herself grouped in flight and collapsed on the interrogator.


    "I''m not an inquisitor." Pronounced Dudo in a half voice. "But I''ll be damned if that''s not the job of adept."


    Me neither, but it''s pretty damn alike. Alex agreed mentally. With a silent nod, he switched the recording to normal speed.


    As a result, Taer had knocked the interrogator to the floor and was now sitting on his chest with her left knee at his throat and her right knee pressing his left arm into the floor. The medical technician was lying face down on the floor next to him, and a large pool of blood was spreading rapidly near his head.


    Orber was shattered, so the recent interrogator was now clearly visible, a rather fit man of about forty, dressed deliberately discreetly - a gray jacket, gray pants, something like high black sneakers or loafers on his feet. He had blond, short-cropped hair, and his face was hard to see Taer was blocking the view. He wheezed furiously, trying to get up, but he couldn''t, and not surprisingly, Alex knew from experience that despite her slender build, his security specialist was unbearable. The interrogator''s right hand was in Taer''s grasp, and in one steady movement, she twisted it, causing a groan, but she didn''t stop there, continuing to twist it further.


    There was a quiet but still audible crunch, even on the recording, and then another. The man struggled and tried to scream, but the knee on his throat made it sound more like the gagging wheeze of a dying animal. When Taer released her grip on the man''s arm, it simply fell, left twisted at an unnatural angle, obviously broken.


    Ignoring the muffled wheezes of her defeated foe, Taer began her search.


    Acting with one hand, one by one, she laid out on the floor beside her: a small concealed-carry blaster, two infoblocks, a small communicator, a cigarette case, a lighter, a whole stack of danarii, and some more scattered about, two more stacks of creds, one of which was incomplete.


    Taer took the communicator and opened it, studying it with interest.


    "And have you quieted my man in uniform?" Suddenly she inquired affectionately, of the interrogator who had really quieted down during the search. "Have you had a blockade? Are you in pain? Do you see this as deliverance?"


    Taer put the communicator aside and reached out sharply, grabbing the head of the medic lying next to her with one hand and dragging it like a rag doll, pinning it forcefully against the interrogator''s face:


    "Look, Captain." She said ingratiatingly, smiling affectionately. "Here''s deliverance."


    The captain could hardly see anything, though, the blood from the medic''s torn throat pouring down his face and into his eyes. He was twitching, wheezing, shaking his head, but Taer kept pushing the medic''s face into his face.


    "He only felt his neck burn hot." Taer continued just as sweetly, clearly reveling in the ''interrogator''s'' reaction. "The world shook, and he fell into merciful darkness. His brain was still alive, but no longer feeling anything."


    She tossed the medic aside and grabbed the "captain" by the chin, turning his blood-soaked face toward her:


    "But there''s a difference between you two. I liked him."


    She leaned closer to him, and as she leaned her affectionate smile turned into a grin:


    "I didn''t like you, you scum." She growled in his face. "And you''ll regret not being able to feel pain."


    She recoiled and her fingers pressed forcefully into the captain''s cheekbones forcing his mouth open:


    "Eat it." She started shoving the captain''s broken arm into his mouth. "Eat. I''ll make you eat it."


    The captain wheezed, twitching, but there was nothing he could do. Taer was obviously much stronger.


    Judging by the recording time, this scene lasted for forty-two seconds, and with each second, Alex was glad that the angle of shooting did not allow him to see all the details and the most important thing - Taer''s eyes.


    Unfortunately, his imagination was painting a more than vivid picture of what saw the man his First Blade called Captain:


    A pale, pissed-off girl, with the cold, fixed eyes of a doll, looking through you, shoving your own hand down your throat. The image made him cringe.


    But he kidnapped her. He reminded himself. And drugged her with something. Something that affects the brain.


    That reminder made watching what was happening on the screen a little easier, but just a little bit.


    It ended as quickly as it had begun. Taer suddenly stopped shoving the captain''s hand into his mouth, and the animal grin disappeared from her face. She stopped torturing the wheezing captain and reached for his cigarette case, and with one hand, she took out a cigarette and tossed it up, catching it deftly with her mouth:


    "And there''s no one to stop us, my man in uniform." She concluded calmly, lighting a cigarette from a lighter picked up from the floor. "You are right. No one will hear me. No one will help you. Otherwise, they''d be here by now. And since they''re not, no one''s going to care unless the interrogation time exceeds reasonable limits. And interrogations take a long time. Especially interrogating a woman. You know how to do that, don''t you?" she asked, leaning in again and scrutinizing the "captain''s" face:


    "You know. A little, but you do." She concluded with a smile. "It''s spicy."


    For a little over a minute, Taer smoked quietly, still sitting on the chest of the defeated interrogator, resting her knee on his throat, while he wheezed quietly, trying to breathe and not even kicking anymore.


    "It''s crap, not cigarettes." Taer sighed, finishing one and pulling the second from her cigarette case.


    She lit the second cigarette and pulled out a pair of miniature flat scissors from the cigarette case, fixed to the inside of the lid, and played with them for a while, twirling them on her finger and looking thoughtfully at the captain. He kept his eyes on the scissors that were rotating on Taer''s finger, and though Alex couldn''t see his face, he could have sworn that the captain was scared to death.


    "I was thinking Captain." Taer finally broke the silence, bringing the scissors up so the captive could see better. "You wanted to draw a career for yourself with me. I should paint you, too."


    She released the Captain''s whole arm from under her knee, and grasping it firmly with one hand, drew the Captain''s palm to his very face:


    "You understand me, don''t you?" She asked with a sadistic smile, beginning to leisurely cut off the captain''s pinky finger. "Like an artist to an artist?"


    The captive wheezed, struggling to wrench his hand away, but Taer managed to hold it almost still, and she slowly, clearly savoring what was happening, sliced his finger into the rags of flesh.


    It took about half a minute before the captain''s pinky finger landed on his blood-drenched face:


    "Brush." Taer smiled, showing the captain his severed finger.


    With her knee securing her captive''s arm again, Taer began to draw right next to her on the floor, using his finger as a brush.


    It went on for quite a long time, more than two minutes. She was painting and smoking, and it looked very peaceful, and as far as Alex could see, she was really painting. Not just a doodle but something that could be considered the work of a real artist. It was a portrait, full-face. A man''s face contorted in a mute scream, except instead of a mouth, he had an open palm.


    It''s a piece of modern art ladies and gentlemen. Alex suddenly feels a kick of very dark humor. Look. It''s painted in blood, using the victim''s finger. A one-of-a-kind work. A conceptual breakthrough. Place your bets.


    And they will. And they''ll buy it for a lot of money.


    When Taer finished drawing, she turned to the captive again:


    "I guess the blockade has worked enough for you to become a more rational being?" She inquired quite calmly. "You agree that the priority goal for the mind is to increase the available lifespan? Variations are possible when there are heirs of the genetic line, but you don''t have children, Captain, do you?"


    "No." The captive wheezed as Taer eased the pressure on his throat.


    "And extending the ability to think is desirable to you?"


    "Yes."


    "A reasonable choice." Nodded Taer with a soft smile. "Then listen."


    "I plan to give a gift. To do this, I''m going to rip off your arm and shove it down your throat. The throat will be severed in the process, but the main arteries will not be affected. You''ll die of asphyxiation, and the blockage will keep you from passing out from the painful shock. It''ll take about two minutes, and I''ll be watching you the whole time."


    Taer paused and looked at her captive carefully:


    "Do you understand?" She asked, and after he nodded, she continued:


    "But I have a proposition. I want to ask you questions and get the truth in return. In exchange, I''ll offer you two options. One: After I get all the information I want, I''ll shoot you in the eye. It will happen so quickly that your mind will not have time to react, and your brain will die before it can feel the pain. And then I''ll rip your arm off and gag you. A very easy death."


    "Or."


    "I will give you a head start, eight seconds. After the interrogation, I will stand up and let you move, and I will not attack you or impede your movement for eight seconds. Chances are you''ll be able to run out into the hallway in time. Most likely, your allies are there. Most likely armed. Events may occur that will cause me to abandon my pursuit."


    She paused again: "Do you understand?"


    "Yes, yes." Feverishly the captive nodded. "I accept the deal, option two."


    "Wonderful." Taer smiled again. "If you lie the first time, I will shoot you in the knee, which will greatly reduce your chances. The second time I will deem you unhelpful as a source of information and kill you. Do we have a deal?"


    "Deal."


    "Then I''ll start with some simple questions. Each answer will make it easier for you."


    The interrogation lasted almost twenty minutes, and Taer was ice-cold calm. Her manic outbursts are gone. The interrogation itself was equally dry and formal: name, rank, position, objectives, number of people involved, supervisor of the operation, plans... that sort of thing.


    If you close your eyes to avoid seeing it all, you''d think you were watching a boring manual for investigators. Alex thought, listening to the monotonous flow of questions and answers.


    The results of the interrogation were hardly shocking either. The hapless interrogator was indeed a captain. To be more precise, he was formally a former stack captain of the Imperial Security Service. However, he was the only representative of the Security Service. All the other executors were mercenaries who had never dealt with the Security Service before and, of course, did not know who their employer really was. This was one of the requirements of the operation - the minimum number of possible evidence. Everything was organized quietly. The order to conduct it was given verbally by the deputy curator of the third department of the SS, but the prisoner believed that in the end, it was all done on the orders of the new head of the SS, aka the Head of the Inquisition.


    There was, of course, no evidence. The goals were not surprising, either - to obtain evidence, or at least information, that Lord Cassard had committed crimes serious enough to warrant the arrest or at least detention of the Prince.


    What''s more, they knew in advance what to ask. The interrogation plan included questions about connections with the Rebels and Lord Cassard''s activities on Tallana.


    How could they know? Alex thought, listening to the monotonous speech. Although Lord Velaske knew that I was taken to Tallana and was connected to the Security Service... But how did he know about the Rebels? I don''t understand why the Lord Inquisitor is so obsessed. Why such a violent reaction to an isekai? Too bad there''s no one to ask. But there is something that can be done...


    When Taer stopped her questioning, Alex signaled Dudo to stop the video:


    "There was one thing that confused me. Taer asked what was done with the back of her head, and it turned out that they found this..." Alex paused, remembering exactly how the captain put it. "Artificial cartilage of a special shape and composition, capable of receiving complexly modulated signals in the long-wave range, and with a charge of two-component explosives in it. They removed it. Am I right in thinking this was an organic bomb that was supposed to blow Taer''s head off when it received some kind of signal?"


    "Yes, Your Lordship. It''s not likely to blow her head off. It is more likely to cause fatal brain damage. And maybe not by getting a signal, but the explosion would''ve happened if the signal hadn''t come through for a while. That''s why they removed it. Daim Taer''s unharmed condition was one of their priorities."


    "Is this normal for intelligence? You''re a Navy sabotage team. Do you have that in your head?"


    "Not that I know of, Your Lordship," Dudo answered without much confidence. "But I have heard of such a thing in the case of highly classified assignments."


    "Thayer was involved in top-secret operations? I don''t remember that on her record... But I guess that''s not included in her record."


    "You''re probably right, Your Lordship. If this sort of thing ever gets out, it''s in the secret files."


    "It''s naive to expect Countess Durlurl to send me a secret dossier. Maybe Taer told me about something like that."


    "Daim Taer, not one to talk about herself much. But..." Dudo hesitated for a moment, obviously choosing his words. "Her career was very meteoric. Very."


    "I see. I can''t rule it out. Okay," Alex waved his hand. "Let''s get on with it."


    The picture on the screen came to life again, and Taer picked up her blaster from the floor and lifted herself off the defeated captain:


    "That''s all I wanted to ask." She informed coldly, defiantly putting her blaster on standby. "Time''s up. Eight..."


    The captain rolled over onto his stomach and scrabbling with his hands on the slippery, blood-soaked floor, sprinted toward the door. At the count of five, the prisoner unlocked the door and burst out into the corridor, disappearing from the camera''s view. Taer was not deterred by this, and she continued counting down the time in the same measured and calm manner. When the time expired, she took one lightning-fast leap and literally shot herself down the corridor, flying near the top edge of the open doors.


    All the actors disappeared, and only the technician remained on the screen, still lying on the floor in a huge pool of blood. There was heavy gunfire and shouting from the corridor, but not for long, about twenty seconds, after which there was silence.


    "Seven dead," Dudo commented, scrolling the tape forward. "Five of them, one shot to the left eye. Another one had six hits, two in the shoulder, one in the throat, and three in the back of the head. And the last one... with an arm to the throat. Most likely, there was at least one more since all the victims were wearing clothes. We''re in the process of ID''ing them now, but it''s unlikely there''ll be anything interesting. And what''s strange." He added in a halftone, "The arm was indeed torn off, not something you can usually do to a human body, even if you have very great strength. Maybe it''s a manifestation of the life adept''s abilities."


    These adepts and their abilities should be dealt with as soon as possible. Alex made a mental note of it. Now it''s an absolute necessity.


    It took more than six minutes of footage before Taer reappeared. Her face was still as blankly calm as ever, but she had changed from her pale green hospital gown to a tight gray high-collar jacket decorated with bright yellow graffiti-style symbols, tight black pants, and heavy boots on her feet. The clothes were clearly off-the-shoulder and not quite to her liking, and the jacket was a little small in the chest. On her shoulder, she carried a large gym bag.


    Carefully stepping around the pool of blood, Taer walked over to the table where the medical technician was working and set her bag on it. She opened several of the cases on the table and began moving things into her bag: an injector, a whole bunch of disposable syringes, and cylinders for the injector. She acted very confidently: she didn''t dig around, she didn''t read the inscriptions, it seemed like it was her stuff, and she knew exactly where it was.


    After that, Taer retrieved a pack of wet wipes from somewhere on the table and began to wipe herself very thoroughly and slowly: fingers, palms, hands, arms, neck, and face.


    When she was done with that, she tossed the used tissues into her own bag and took the infoblock, and walked practically to the center of the room.


    "Projection. Mirror mode, size, full-length." The girl said in a commanding tone, placing the infoblock on the floor in front of her, and the shining canvas of the holo screen flashed above it, almost instantly turning into a mirror surface.


    "Eyes..." Taer sighed unhappily, walking over to the mirror. She had the tone of a man who, after a long search, had just found his glasses on his forehead.


    Her eyes were still unnaturally dilated and unmoving.


    She brought her hand up to her face, and holding her index finger directly in front of her right eye, began to move her finger closer and farther away as if trying to catch a focus. Then she did the same with her left eye and clenched her eyes tightly shut. When Taer opened her eyes again, they looked perfectly natural: alive and moving.


    After that, she began to examine her own face very meticulously, turning her head slightly to one side or the other and sometimes covering one half of it with the palm of her hand. This went on for quite a long time, about two minutes until she finally took a couple of steps away from the mirror with a sad sigh.


    Standing a little farther away, she looked at herself from head to toe, turned one side, then the other. She gathered her hair into a ponytail, tossed it over her shoulder, then lifted it up as if she were wearing it up high. She spun around and looked over her shoulder at herself from behind, paying close attention to her own booty.


    Taer was twirling in front of the mirror in typical feminine fashion, but Alex had a feeling it was something completely different:


    I was exactly the same way I viewed myself in the mirror when I found myself in Lord Cassard''s body.


    She stopped twirling, and taking a couple more steps away from the mirror, walked in front of it, scrutinizing her reflection. Her gait, demeanor, facial expression, even her eyes - suddenly changed: she looked so sweet, direct, and literally radiated happiness. It seemed as if she was a freshman student who had just fallen in love.


    Taer reached the mirror and stopped in front of it, looking at herself, the happy smile gone from her face, replaced by an indifferent calm:


    "You so huge... sister." Taer sighed disapprovingly as she continued to look at herself in the mirror.


    She stepped away from the mirror again and walked again. But this time, in a completely different way: she seemed even a little older than she really was, looking more serious, more majestic, looking with a challenge and some intrigue, but most importantly, her gait. Confident, plastic, feminine, and at the same time powerful. And it wasn''t about sexuality per se. Alex caught himself that he was rather mesmerized by the way her hips and shoulders moved. It was impossible to take his eyes off Taer. If such a gait could be obtained by killing, they would kill for it without hesitation.


    She stopped in front of the mirror again, examining herself with a slight smile.


    It''s like trying on a dress," Alex thought, Except it''s Taer who''s trying on.


    Soon Taer stopped fiddling with the mirror and turned it off, picking up the infoblock from the floor. She picked up her bag and glanced around the room, her eyes focused on the camera, and she stared at it thoughtfully for a while as if deciding how best to proceed:


    "I''ll consider it a favor." Taer finally said, smiling directly into the lens. "So you''ll be owed. Just a little." She winked slyly and slung her bag on her shoulder and walked out into the hallway.


    The recording ended there.


    "Did anyone else see it?" Alex asked after a pause.


    "Twice Captain Dirav." Dudo replied. It was his group that found the records.


    Alex grimaced. Dirav was among the scouts, which meant he could leak everything to the intelligence in general and to Countess Durlurl in particular. But what can you do about it if you have half the guards snitching to Daim Este and the other half to Kayrin?


    There was nothing he could do about it right now:


    "Okay. This record must exist in a single copy. Copying or showing it to anyone is on my order. At least for now. There are no other copies?"


    "No, Your Lordship," Dudo replied, staring at the point in front of him, his gaze glazing over and making it seem to Alex that his "left arm" was only nominally present.


    "And by the way." He pointed his finger at the infoblock Dudo was holding. "Is there anything important on this infoblock? I''d like to borrow it. I''d review it again."


    "No, Your Lordship."


    "Listen." Alex exhaled tiredly, casting Dudo a pained look. "Stop with the ''No, Your Lordship'' thing. It''s sickening enough, and you''re like a dead man. Come back to life. What do you think?"


    "I think Daim Diltar was a hidden adept, probably a Seer or Life adept. Probably worked for House Intelligence. That would explain the bomb in her head, both secrecy and a safety net in case she lost her stability. That''s why she had such a meteoric career. It''s not clear why she was transferred to your hand, but maybe Countess Durlurl knew something about the assassination attempts beforehand."


    No, Alex shook his head mentally. It''s just that Countess Durlurl knew that Lord Cassard was actually a telepath. But he didn''t say anything aloud, just nodded in agreement.


    "The kidnappers, assuming that Daim Taer had an artificial allergy or some other defense against the Lima serum, used a different drug." Dudo continued his report. "Perhaps her behavior is a side effect of that substance. Although, I think that scene with the finger and all that... Maybe Daim Taer did it on purpose."


    "Well, definitely not an accident." Alex hummed. "I got the feeling she was enjoying the process."


    "I mean, your lordship, that her behavior was the result of cold calculation, not an emotional reaction." Cautiously Dudo explained. "We''ve had some training in interrogation techniques, including forced interrogation."


    "You mean torture?"


    "Yes..." he nodded uncertainly, "With every minute counting, there may be no other option."


    "I got it."


    The blockade is a common occurrence. Immediately after the war in the imperial forces, there was a practice to install it in all senior command staff. It relieves pain very well and really helps to cope with fear and panic. But the mechanism of its operation has specifics. "Blockade" is a small artificial gland unfolding under the cerebellum. It reacts to stress factors in the blood and secretes a strong anesthetic, which is why the effect of pain suppression is not instantaneous. The substance it secretes has a depressing effect on the parts of the cortex responsible for emotions, making emotional reactions slower and less vivid.


    "Then a person with a blockage is pretty pointless to torture, no?" Alex asked, not really understanding what Dudo was getting at.


    "It''s more complicated." He shrugged. "First of all, the gland can be simply exhausted, but it takes a long time, dozens of hours. Second, there are special drugs that suppress it, but you need to know the specific type of blockade. Third, you can try to overload it. That''s probably what Daim Taer was doing. Stress factors are present, and it releases suppressants. It can overdose to the point of over-rationality.


    "A sense of duty is not rational?" Alex guessed.


    "It depends on the person and the situation, but in general, yes, your lordship." Dudo nodded.


    "Sounds reasonable. So you think Taer was of sound mind."


    "You don''t believe that, Your Lordship?"


    "I talked to her. It was just another person. Maybe not completely. Taer tried to warn me she was being controlled by a guider, but another personality was acting."


    "I''ve heard that there''s a risk of insanity when a skill is induced," Dudo said cautiously. "The substance used in the interrogation of Daim Taer could have had some effect."


    "She seemed remarkably normal." Alex objected, taking the infoblock from Dudo and restarting the recording again. "Normal, but different."


    "Then why did she attack you?" He asked, clearly having long ago guessed what had really happened.


    "I tried to stop her." Alex shrugged, not wanting to go into details about how exactly he wanted to stop her. "By the way, did you check to see if any of her stuff was missing? She said she came by to pick something up."


    "Yes, your lordship. We''re missing one set of dress uniforms and one infoblock."


    "Isn''t that the little silver-cased one?"


    "Exactly."


    "Any luck finding out what might have been in there?" Alex asked without much hope.


    "Yes." To his surprise, Dudo nodded. "Master Operator Talariv said that Daim Diltar used to record her dreams and nightmares in it."


    Dreams? What could be important about them? Or more correctly, what was there that she wanted to hide?


    "Maybe we should warn someone," Dudo suggested without certainty.


    "What are we going to tell them? Has the First Blade of Cassard gone mad?" Alex sighed unhappily. "You can''t replay something like this anymore. I don''t want to expose Taer any more than she exposes herself. At least not yet. As long as there''s hope that it''s curable. Although..."


    He wondered for a bit what could be done because doing nothing was not an option either:


    "Alert the House Services that Daim Diltar is on medical leave." Alex finally said after a few minutes of thought. "I''ll announce it to the ''Arm'' myself so that they won''t take any orders from her until I order her out of leave. Something like that can be done without arousing too much suspicion, right?"


    "Could work." Dudo hummed thoughtfully, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "I''ll just have to think of a better way to phrase it."


    "All right, think about it. And I want an analysis of that stuff they pumped into Taer. Preferably not publicly. Find some lab. By the way, contact the Office. I''ve owned a lot of medical companies. Maybe there''s something in the capital. And you need the best specialist on these "guiders" which can be for money in the capital during the day."


    "I understand, your lordship, it will be done."


    "All right, Dudo, we''ll work something out and get her back alive and well."


    "And yes," Alex remembered when Dudo was already in the doorway. "I need an analytical droid with external communication, only one that can be reset. And you''re on your way to check it out. I don''t want your head to explode all of a sudden."


    Dudo left, and Alex watched the footage for quite some time until he caught himself rewatching Taer sauntering in front of the mirror over and over again.


    * * *

 Chapter 18

    Chapter 18


    * * *


    Taer didn''t quite know where she was or what her body was doing. She was in an endless Fenot delirium. Reality trembled, moving around her and scattering under her gaze, splitting into thousands of variations as if in a kaleidoscope. Was she talking to someone? At least she could hear her voice, calm and confident, without a shadow of the panic, terror, and hopelessness that had consumed her as she struggled inside her own body.


    Why? Why didn''t I trust my intuition then? she repeated for the umpteenth time.


    Then, on the beach, she felt the guider activation, everything suddenly threatening: the cocktail glass, the servant, the droid next to her, the sea. She even knew what the guider was going to do. Shove the cocktail glass in the servant''s face, and topple the chaise lounge table so she could get away from the sea and run. Run towards the villa, where the weapons were left.


    Of course, she decided this was another attack of aggression, a manifestation of the beginning of madness. Instead of acting, she forcibly held herself in the chair, sipping her cocktail with defiant calm. The realization that this servant was not among those presented to her on arrival came too late.


    Taer didn''t know what was in that shot, but now there was always "her" presence around her. A steady, powerful, chilling stream filled almost all of her consciousness. More powerful than anything she''d experienced under the Fenote, it squeezed Taer, helpless to resist, to the very back of her mind, occasionally overwhelming her with waves of strange images and fragments of other people''s memories, so similar to the nightmares that followed the activation of the guider.


    But Taer knew what to do. She waited, concentrating all her remaining willpower on not drowning in despair or disintegrating under the waves of the other''s memory. She waited for the icy flood to subside and for the ''other'' to fall asleep, making room for her. Taer didn''t know why, but when faced with monotony and boringness, the "other" weakened, the icy stream thinned, and she retreated, either falling asleep or tired. It had happened twice before. The first time, not for long, while she was still in the clinic where she was kept. The second time was while driving the flyer, which was enough for her to contact the lord and even get to the tower, but then... Then her emotions took over, just as they had the first time when she found herself over the agonizing body of the SS interrogator.


    The girl fell apart. The "other" commented, and to Taer''s surprise, she told the lord anyway. Well, that''s okay. she reassured herself mentally. I won''t fall apart this time. I know what to do.


    She didn''t know how long it took, but gradually reality stopped fracturing under her gaze, shrinking to its natural uniformity. The icy stream in her head subsided, and Taer finally regained control of her body, finding herself in an unfamiliar place.


    It was an apartment of some kind. Judging by the furnishings of the small room painted by the holo system, it was a bourgeois apartment, probably intended for rent. The only window at the end of the room was matte white and gave no clues as to its location.


    Taer sat on the couch. A large metal bowl stood on the long, low table in front of her. The kind meant for picking up salads. Empty, except for the towel she''d thrown in it. Beside the bowl was her activated infoblock, with a holo-screen with a summary of hyperspace conditions between Fyron and the §³apital.


    Calculating hyper transition time? Taer frowned, trying to focus her unruly eyes on the screen. Without an assistance droid? No wonder she fell asleep...


    On the screen, for some reason, there was information on the available low orbital locations in the capital, but Taer wasn''t interested in that, nor was she interested in where the two doors in the room she was in led to, why she was wearing a strict business dress and not a tunic. Nothing interested her at all. What mattered was that she saw the blaster on her belt with the weapon lying in an open pouch near the desk.


    I won''t fall apart this time. She said in her mind, pulling her blaster out of its holster, her arms felt like cotton as if she''d gotten used to her own body. It doesn''t matter anymore...


    The blaster''s grip felt heavy in her palm, and Taer sighed and pointed the black muzzle at her face. It was so close that she could make out the glinting of the focusing crystal at the bottom:


    This is so stupid... She felt the tears start to come and took another deep breath to calm the pent-up emotions. Don''t fall apart, she commanded herself.


    With a quiet click, the ready lever lowered, and with a barely audible clink, the drives went into "combat":


    It''s better like that than to be caged inside my own body, powerless. Than to be a monster.


    A lump came up in her throat. She clearly didn''t have much time left. Taer sighed as if she were taking a long dive and pressed the trigger.


    An icy torrent surged through her mind but immediately receded as if purposely leaving room for her as well :


    "No, no, no, my dear." She heard her voice. "That''s no good. It''s my body too."


    Her eyes opened and she saw the blaster still pointed at her face. Her finger was still on the trigger, and Taer tried hard to press it, but she couldn''t. The wall of another will she had been helplessly beating against once again became a prisoner in her own body.


    "You can''t be left alone even for a second..." the "other" sighed. "And of course, the tears..." she added reproachfully, and literally without noticing Taer''s resistance, she put the blaster away, removing the battle-ready lever.


    "Tears are not compatible with good eyeliner." She instructed calmly, waving her palm slowly over her eyes to dry the tears. "Except in certain cases, when you need to look particularly pathetic. But that''s not part of the plan, is it?"


    Her hands pulled a makeup kit out of her bag, and after quickly blotting the corners of her eyes with a tampon, she moved on to an eyeliner pencil.


    Taer mentally howled in frustration, trying to regain control of her own body. She was ready to claw at her face to break free of the cage but to no avail. She was sinking back into the nightmare. Becoming a blank stare.


    "By the way." In the meantime, the "other" continued, doing something with a pencil near her eye, not needing the help of a mirror at all. "The angle you chose for the shot is not a good idea. From that angle, you''d just rip your face open, getting a dozen minutes of agony in the darkness and maybe a few dozen days of disgrace if someone capable of first aid is around. For a truly instant kill with a blaster, you have to shoot it in the eye. The explosive vaporization of the fluid filling the eyeball will cause fatal brain trauma, even if it isn''t hit by the main discharge. Or to the temporal lobe, if the blaster is powerful enough." She added, setting the cosmetic bag aside and switching the holo-screen of the infoblock to mirror mode.


    A confident, stylishly dressed woman with impeccable makeup looked back at her from the mirror with a condescending smile, almost like a stranger. Taer didn''t recognize herself in her. Clearly not a noblewoman, but rather a very successful and high-ranking businesswoman from the corporate world.


    "Well, that''s different." She smiled contentedly, looking at her reflection. "And you were going to kill this nice woman? Just like that?" Her reflection shook its head disapprovingly. "Your bloodthirstiness is beginning to worry me."


    Lying, self-righteous creature. Taer thought angrily. She rarely discerned the thoughts of the other, but she could feel her presence, her emotions, her moods. And she remembered the hunger, the thirst, the thrill of killing. Even the memory of it made Taer feel sick. You''re the one who likes to kill.


    The ''other'', on the other hand, was clearly discerning her thoughts well:


    "That''s just your interpretation." The one in the reflection waved it away. "However, at your level of logic, you could say that I like to kill people. And you make it sound negative, but is that a bad thing? Loving your job? After a certain level, you can only improve if you really love what you do."


    Taer couldn''t tell if the ''other'' was serious or just mocking. The ice stream in her mind was calm and serene, as it was most of the time.


    Killing people is a job? It''s disgusting.


    "Why such rejection?" The other raised her eyebrows in surprise. "In all complex human societies, there is a stratum that specializes in killing people. And it''s usually a highly respected stratum, firstly because it''s a highly demanded task, and secondly..." She smiled meaningfully, "Because it''s prudent. And it''s all the more strange when the rejection comes from someone who, on the surface level of logic, was trying her best to be part of the hereditary military aristocracy. You''re a prude, Taer."


    It''s not the same. Knights are the first and foremost defenders of the House...


    "Is that so?" The "other" asked, pulling out a glass cylinder with a metal lid, like the ones used to store specimens, from a bag near the table. The cylinder was filled with a thick, transparent liquid, with a whitish lump of flesh floating inside. "A rather naive way of looking at things."


    She carefully placed the cylinder in the bottom of a metal bowl on the table and covered it with a towel.


    "But even so." She continued. "I fit your ideal quite well. I protected the lord, and I protected you. Killing when necessary."


    You didn''t just kill. You abused, you tortured, you purposely caused suffering, you dismembered... Taer listed, and every vestige of her shuddered at the memory, literally sick with revulsion.


    "You mean the interrogation?" The other one thought, absent-mindedly running her fingernail over her lips. Taer only now noticed that she had long, carefully manicured fingernails covered with pearlescent nail polish in a false pattern. "Well, it''s a military necessity. I did what I could to get the most information in the least amount of time. Or are you talking about what came afterward?" She suddenly perked up, and her smile became eerily predatory. "That was indeed somewhat extravagant." The one in the reflection laughed, gracefully covering her mouth with her palm like a socialite. "But it was your wish, and I just decided to pamper you. Have you forgotten?"


    Taer suddenly remembered lying there, unable to move, in absolute darkness:


    "Altered structures, symbiotes, artificial organs, and exotissue kits." Enumerated a gruff, irritated voice from above. "We must wait for a full calculation. It''s too dangerous otherwise. This isn''t human. It''s a veritable exhibition of advanced biotechnology. If it''s even human." The voice added uncertainly. "And not a chimera."


    "Yes?" The other voice inquired lazily, and Taer felt the stranger''s hand touch her skin in a masterly way, running up her stomach to her chest. "It looks very human..."


    He... He touched me. Taer remembered her impotent rage at someone touching her helpless body. How she had mentally wriggled, trying to move at least, and swore to herself, going mad with rage, that she would rip the bastard''s arm off and make him eat it...


    "What a creep." Smiled condescendingly at her reflection. "Well, he got what he deserved, then. Maybe you should be a little grateful to your protector."


    I...I didn''t want to. Taer objected hesitantly, realizing that it was nothing. She wanted to, very much so.


    "You mean there will be no thanks?" The "other" rolled her eyes. "Always the story," she sighed sadly, "services already rendered are worthless."


    I, uh, wanted this. Taer admitted with difficulty. But it was emotion, and it was wrong, nasty.


    "Who makes the rules?" The one in the mirror shrugged indifferently. "And why restrain your artistic impulses, even if they go beyond the ordinary? Everyone needs some kind of realization, and I like to pamper... Especially the relationship between you and me is much more intimate. I''m in you and you''re in me. And in relationships, it is very important to meet each other, to give some small joys, to make small gifts."


    I don''t want such a gift.


    "Oh, you''re so capricious." The "other" laughed. "Well, do you want me to buy you an ice cream?"


    What ice cream? Taer was stunned. Is she kidding me?


    "Whatever you want." She shrugged. "I don''t really know much about it. I just thought ice cream was a universal gift for little girls. But everyone has their own preferences."


    Let me just die. Taer asked tiredly.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "That I can guarantee you." Totally serious, the "other" assured her. "Everyone dies someday. Even the very fabric of the universe will disappear one day."


    Let me die now. She would have cried at that moment if she could still cry. I don''t want to live like this, I don''t want to see myself cease to be a human being under the control of an insane guider.


    "But I''ve got things to do..." The "other" made a sad face. "And besides, you don''t have to worry about something so stupid. You''ve never been human, and that''s fine. You''d think it was something good."


    Is she mocking me? Or is she just crazy? Or... Taer was very frightened for a moment, remembering those voices. Am I a chimera? But chimeras don''t have the abilities of adepts. Nor do clones. Not even those born in an incubator. She remembered with relief. I''m human... I''m still human.


    "Everyone chooses their own delusions." She commented on her thoughts. "But think about it. We can distinguish three levels of humanity: physical-biological, mental, and cultural. And on all three--" The "other" was suddenly silent, as if listening to something.


    "It seems one smart little girl has decided to chat with us after all." She said, at last, smiling with predatory anticipation. "Let''s pause for a moment. We have a curious conversation to have."


    Taer indeed felt a faint shadow of interest emanating from the icy stream in her head, and that interest was directed at the infoblock that lay on the table.


    The infoblock tinkled melodiously, and in the corner of the huge mirrored holo screen, a warning of an incoming call appeared. A call from Countess Durlurl.


    Is she in the capital? Taer wondered, a little nervous from old memory, she never liked calls from her superiors albeit former ones. Or is it a redirect from the instant communication?


    "No, she''s in the capital." The "other" replied, calmly watching the ringing infoblock. "At least a few hours since she arrived. I guess figuring out what happened took some time, plus the ships had to get into position. It''s not like she knows where we are. Time to deploy the antennas."


    The call was repeated over and over again, and the "other" wasn''t even going to answer:


    You can disconnect the call if you don''t want to answer. Taer suggested, somewhat hoping the ''other'' would do so. She felt some anxiety over the Countess'' call. What''s there to worry about now, though? If she''s going to shoot herself anyway.


    "Well, of course, I''ll answer it. But you have to give her time to worry a little bit, build theories....."


    Guider ended up waiting for maybe two minutes before answering the call.


    Countess Durlurl appeared on the screen, wearing a light summer dress that was more like a picnic dress. It matched her youthful appearance very well. But judging from the background, the Countess was not at a picnic but in the cabin of some ship and was very anxious:


    "Taer, I happened to be in the capital, and I found out..."


    "Estal!" With a wide smile, the other interrupted her. "It''s so good to see you..."


    The Countess had somehow become shrunken and shriveled up as if her true age were showing through the mask of her usual ostentatious frivolity. And the look... Most importantly, the look in her ice-cold eyes. It was like she was looking through a scope. Taer had only seen the Countess so angry a couple of times in her life, and it wasn''t because she didn''t like to be called by her full name - "Estal" instead of "Esta."


    On the screen, the Countess remained motionless, but at that moment, a pop with the sound of breaking glass was heard from the iron bowl on the table. The towel that covered it fluttered up, acquiring a large wet spot right in the center.


    "... You look great." The other one kept complimenting her, not reacting to what had happened. "And that dress? It goes well with your hair and earrings."


    The Countess, not reacting to the stream of compliments, was clearly assessing the situation, thinking about what to do next, and her icy gray eyes were boring into Taer. She would have disappeared under that gaze, but the one who controlled her body didn''t care.


    "Don''t be silent, my dear." By the tone, you''d think the guider was coaxing a cranky child. "Or are you sulking that I named you Estal? But I like that name so much. Estal." Again she repeated. "It plays so nicely on the tongue."


    The Countess exhaled heavily as if deciding on a heavy, unpleasant task:


    "I didn''t expect to be able to talk." She answered at last.


    "Surprise!" The other smiled, spreading her arms as if to embrace her. "Are you happy?"


    "I had hoped to catch Taer still," Durlurl said, and it was obvious that she was having a hard time with this conversation.


    "And she''s still here. We could even let you two talk. But..." "The ''other'' took a pause and added with a little wince. "She''s still at the stage where it''s hard to get anything other than "What''s going on?" and "What did you do to me?". You know."


    "I understand." The Countess nodded, her lips tightening.


    "Better tell me how you''re doing." Changed the subject guider. "How''s the husband? And you realize I just have to ask about family plans... On the other hand, you''re obviously not comfortable talking right now, in front of strangers." She added in a slightly concerned tone. "You''re probably right. But that''s okay. I''m a little busy right now, but I can promise you that in the next three or four decades, I''ll be sure to make time and find you wherever you are to have a proper chat with you."


    "The other" spoke in a very happy and friendly tone, as if they were two cronies, but even Taer realized that a threat had been voiced.


    "Don''t." Hastily replied the Countess, maybe even too hastily. "Give me three minutes." She asked and disconnected.


    The holo screen faded, and after a moment, it turned silver again, turning into a mirror.


    Is she afraid of me? Taer thought with surprise. Or rather her...


    "She has such a cute face when she''s scared." laughed the "other". She reached forward and lifted the towel off the iron bowl.


    In the bowl were shards of glass with pinkish traces of flesh and drips of liquid that filled the specimen cylinder.


    "Well, isn''t it sweet?" The guider commented on the mess and threw the towel back in. "No code phrases or attempts at damage control. Straight to the point."


    Is that what was in my head? Taer suddenly realized. So she tried to kill me?


    "Well, of course." The "other" shrugged as if it were something perfectly natural. "And you have a lot of resentment for someone who recently tried to burn your face off. At least you wouldn''t have had time to feel anything.


    She took out cigarettes and a lighter from a small but very stylish purse lying next to her on the couch. She opened the pack and lit one:


    "How else could she react if the weapons system lost stability?" Guider asked, exhaling a blue stream of smoke. "What an abomination." She wrinkled her nose and picked up the packet and turned it over. "They call this ''clergy''?" The "other" was clearly indignant, and still wrinkling her tongue as if trying to taste the flavor more accurately. "Horrible, disgusting. Just impossible. That will have to be dealt with first."


    She tossed the pack into the large black bag by the table with a disgruntled sigh and took another puff:


    "You could try to play isolation, damage control. Try to fix it... But on the foreign ground? With potentially huge political risks? That''s just stupid."


    The call signaled again on the infoblock screen, though it must have been less than three minutes.


    This time she didn''t wait, she answered the call right away:


    "You did call back," She smiled, flicking the ash from her cigarette into the bowl where the broken container remained. "So you had some idea of what to offer? Well, then, don''t bore me."


    Let''s make an arrangement." The Countess began in a businesslike tone. "Let''s make a personalized deal."


    "Why not?" Guider shrugged. "I love bargains of all kinds. What do you want?"


    "Kill them. All of them." Durlurl suggested with an unhealthy glint in her eyes.


    "Out of the question." The other one shook her head and sipped her cigarette. "I have plans for them."


    "So ka," Durlurl mumbled though she had clearly expected that answer as well. "Then I''d like to just buy personal safety for myself and my husband."


    "And for the husband, too? The guider counselor raised an eyebrow slightly. "The ability of some people to find happiness in married life never ceases to amaze me. What do you suggest?"


    "I could have passed along the information about the bookmarks. It wasn''t the only one."


    "I don''t know how interesting that is..." The "other" stretched out, leaning back and blowing a stream of smoke into the ceiling. "Yeah, well, I guess if you don''t get some signaling molecule in time, some organelle will degenerate into a virus and start building up a lethal dose of toxin right in your brain, so you don''t have to mess with the gene barrier. Horrible." She concluded lazily, still staring into the stream. "But Taer was planned for long missions with possible flights. That''s only three decades of pure logistics. Plus an execution time of three to four, if not more, plus a margin for error. I figure I''ve got at least half a year, plenty of time."


    "Do you have anything better?" She asked the Countess, bringing herself to an upright position again.


    The Countess shrugged and disappeared from the screen, changing to an image of a large isolation stasis container with biohazard signs:


    "This is what''s been cut out of the body to ensure compatibility." Commented the Countess''s voice from behind the frame. "Ovaries, lungs, fragments of the pituitary gland and hypothalamus, that sort of thing. I don''t know about you, but maybe it would be of interest to Taer? Since she''s still here?"


    What do you mean, cut out? Taer had thought all this time that she had no periods because of the implant like everyone else in the Fleet. She felt robbed. Her most precious possession had been stolen from her, literally a part of her. They silently cut out my organs without even telling me?! She was truly outraged. Mine!


    She didn''t know what gave her the strength, perhaps just a wild wave of genuine indignation, but for a moment, she regained some control over her body.


    "She has absolutely no bargaining skills," the guder rolled her eyes, her finger stroking a drooping eyelid and part of her cheek. "She''s curious." She added with a smile.


    "Very well." Durlurl nodded with a formal smile, reappearing on the screen. "Of course, it will take time to deliver. It''s all left on Fyron..."


    "She''s interested." Expressively repeated the "other," interrupting the Countess. "I''m still thinking."


    "How can I influence your decision?" The Countess asked politely.


    "In your case, it will be enough just properly ask." She smiled at her.


    "I don''t quite understand you," Durlurl replied to her, growing gloomy again.


    "You understand everything perfectly." Shook her head the ''other'' continued to smile. "Well? How should good smart little girls ask?"


    The Countess was silent, staring at the screen for about a minute, and the guider only smiled back at her. Finally, she gave up:


    "Please, Mom." Durlurl spat out angrily.


    Mom? Taer was stunned. Mom?!


    But a surging torrent of ice immediately squeezed her somewhere in the back of her mind.


    "How can you say no to those eyes?" Laughed the other one. "I''ll contact you when everything is delivered." She added in a more businesslike tone and clicked on the infoblock cutting the connection before Countess Durlurl could answer her.


    "Taer..." She sighed miserably and closed her eyes tiredly, plunging everything into darkness. "Do you realize how exhausting your emotional outbursts are?" Sounded her voice in the darkness. "How much crap do you secrete into your bloodstream?"


    The icy torrent inside her mind subsided a little, giving her some space to just be able to think:


    They cut out a part of me. Taer growled mentally, feeling the incipient anger give her strength. And she just tried to kill me! In cold blood. No attempt to find out what happened, no help at all. Disposed of like a used napkin...


    "And what do you intend to do?" The icy words sounded back at her.


    Me? she said, surprised and confused. We made a deal... And then, you''re stronger, Taer admitted reluctantly, And her mom...


    "Taer..." Her eyes opened, and Taer saw herself again in the reflection of the holoscreen.


    The other laughed softly, covering her forehead tiredly with her palm, but it seemed to be a laugh of helplessness. "You''re such a child... We made a deal." Teased the ''other''. "You really think that''s the end of it? That you''d get your guts, and that would be the end of it? That Estal''s just gonna back down because he''s afraid of me? Well, think again." Tiredly, the guider offered, looking into the holo-mirror of the screen. "You''ve known her for years."


    The Countess Durlurl that Taer knew was not the kind of person to back down from her decisions:


    So, soon, she''s going to try to kill me again? Or rather us, or you? Taer corrected herself, realizing that this was definitely not about her.


    "Not necessarily soon." The guider shrugged. "She''s not completely free to act. The situation has changed, many people have to be informed, and a new plan has to be devised, agreed upon, and only then executed. But the threat remains. I refused to be helpful. Of course, she''ll make at least one more attempt. But that''s what you want, isn''t it?"


    I don''t like it when they try to help me leave my life without me asking for it.


    "You''re so whimsical, after all." The other shook her head with obvious irony.


    So there''s really no deal?


    "Why, Estal might actually bring that container if she thinks it''s buying time."


    Then why did you agree to it?


    "Well, you''re so anxious to get back what you''ve been doing so well without."


    Just because of that? Taer felt the presence of some other reason, like a subtle aroma of spices. Can thoughts have an odor? Perhaps it was just a play of her imagination.


    "As long as Estal thinks she has time, she won''t pester." The guidance counselor condescended to explain.


    Are you really her mother? inquired Taer cautiously, who had no way of putting Countess Durlurl''s phrase into her head.


    "Depends on the meaning of the word. But, it''s true." The guider nodded.


    Then why is she afraid of you? The Countess Durlurl she knew was afraid of no one, no one at all. And why did she try to kill you in the first place?


    "Because I''m really scary." The guider smiled. "And because Estal genuinely believes that without me, the world will be a much safer and more predictable place. And, in fact, she''s quite right." She added with a playful wink at her reflection.


    "All right." The ''other'' got up from the couch in a hurry. "We should go. We have so much to do. Besides, we shouldn''t tempt Estal before the time. She already has a position of the infoblock and our coordinates."


    Do you think she might send someone?


    "That would be stupid of her." Quickly the other replied, stuffing her things, into a large black bag. "Risky, and there''s hardly any time to work it out. But it is possible, for example, to drop the ship. Preferably at a decent speed and loaded with fuel to compensate for possible inaccuracy and movement of the target. Also, of course, it is difficult to organize in time, but the chance of success is higher. That''s what I''d do."


    There''s no way to hide it.


    "Why hide it? A terrible tragedy, we bring our condolences, weep at the funeral, compensation to the families of the victims, pensions to the orphaned and disadvantaged from the House... That''s how it is." Added with a sigh "the other" and, throwing her bag on her shoulder along with a model handbag, headed for the exit, picking up a bowl with the remains of the container in her hand.


    Taer imagined a huge fireball on the surface of the capital, devouring the fragile boxes of buildings as it grew:


    So many deaths and only because of me or you?


    "What does he see in you?" Somewhere in the void, "the other" asked, stopping in front of the door. "Well, think about it. These are people. All they do is die. In the capital, on Talis alone, more than half a million people die every hour. What is an extra hundred, two hundred, or even three hundred thousand deaths of commoners? Nothing. But in doing so, an important problem could be solved."


    Humans are not statistics.


    "Unfortunately, it is statistics. The vast majority of people are a statistical mass with no influence on anything, noticeable only by their gross product and described by equations painfully similar to those describing friction. Worse still, they do everything to remain this statistical mass and use their brains as little as possible, creating an environment where their descendants are doomed to repeat this senseless circle. Although, humans as a species are quite intelligent and maybe even smart. That''s where the tragedy lies, and death is simply an inevitability for all who are born."


    Taer didn''t object to the obviously insane guider. She could see the twisted but still recognizable tenets of the Church of the Flame, or even the Sororitas, and their sermons had made her sick to her stomach since she was a child.


    Opening the door, the "other" casually tossed the bowl into the disposal and stepped out into the hallway.


    It''ll break, Taer said indifferently. You can''t throw large metal objects into the disposal unit.


    "Of course." The guider hummed to herself as she headed for the elevator platform. "But before it breaks down, it''s going to heat up properly with radiation.


    It was clearly an apartment building with apartments for quick rent. There were long yellow panels of payment terminals near the front doors, but the details were already slipping away from Taer. The reality was once again disintegrating like a kaleidoscope and floating around her.


    * * *

 Chapter 19

    Chapter 19


    * * *


    "The analysis of the flyer''s navigation unit allowed us to reconstruct Baron Assaro''s route on the day of his death." The well-pitched voice of the Captain of House Faron''s own Intelligence easily broke through the hiss of the cooling sleeves and insistently tried to capture Alex''s attention, trying his best to make his indifference not too conspicuous. Which required a noticeable amount of effort:


    It''s hard to feign interest in a conversation in his condition. He felt fine. He didn''t feel anything, thanks to the local painkillers, and that was a good thing. Otherwise, it would have been very painful and cold. He was wrapped up to his neck in gold thermo-insulating foil and looked more like a rocket being prepared for launch than a participant in a meeting. Here and there some gauges were blinking, medical technicians were fussing about, performing some procedures only they could understand, and hoses made of foil were pumping in refrigerant with a characteristic hissing sound.


    No amount of acting would be enough. Especially since he was genuinely not interested in the investigation. A lot had happened, and he didn''t care about Baron Assaro''s death now.


    "At 17.37 standard time, Baron Assaro left his home in the fourth metropolitan district, telling the servants that he had a private meeting and not to expect him before 25-27 hours. According to a survey of the servants, this did not surprise them, as the Baron often left without informing them. Analysis of the route he chose indicates it was deliberately chosen in such a way as to make it as difficult as possible for orbital reconnaissance to observe him. And the Baron piloted it himself without entering the route into the droid unit''s memory. Which, most likely, indicates that the route, despite its complexity, was familiar to him...."


    "The next injection in two hours, Your Lordship." The Chief of Medicine whispered, leaning over Alex as the others helped him out of the cooling sleeves. "So far, everything is well."


    "Thank you." Alex nodded quickly and turned to the stack-captain again:


    "So Baron Assaro had met with someone at least several times at the place of his future death?" He asked to maintain a semblance of participation.


    "The route could have been learned on some sort of virtual simulator." The captain hastily warned. "But you''re probably right Your Lordship, and Baron Assaro has been to this tower before."


    Regular contact? And most likely not from the House of Melato. Otherwise, why the secrecy? A meeting with another aristocrat could have been easier to hyphenate, perhaps. Some criminality? Alex thought lazily, kneading his hand, white from hypothermia.


    "Upon arrival, Baron Assaro''s flyer flew around the tower, possibly inspecting it." The captain continued his report. "Then, came to a stop, hovering in front of the technical site. On the starboard side, the cockpit window was lowered, and the passenger, partially out, made some actions outside the flyer. He had an unidentified object in his hands. Presumably, a handheld scanner or blaster..."


    "And this, how did you find out from the navigation data?" Alex was sincerely surprised.


    "This model has a volume sensor in the cabin. For privacy reasons, it''s pretty crude on purpose, but it''s enough for the droid unit to realize, for example, that the pilot has turned away and taken control at that moment. It''s not about any image recognition, but it gives a good idea of how Baron Assaro moved in the cockpit and what kind of manipulations he was doing. It also suggests that the Baron was alone in the cabin at the time of the flight to the tower."


    "Not bad, not bad." Alex nodded, encouraging the captain to continue onward.


    "All manipulations took about a minute, after which the window was closed, and the object, presumably a scanner or blaster, remained on the passenger seat near the pilot. Then the flyer descended to the level below, where the landing pad is located, and the Baron left the car. This happened at exactly 17.80 standard time. It should be noted that the key was left by the Baron on the dashboard, which may indicate that the stop was not expected to last long. Eleven minutes later, the door of the flyer was opened again, and someone, with the general geometry of the figure significantly different from the Baron, partially got inside, leaning with his hands on the seat. We assume that this was the murderer or his accomplice. Having examined the interior, the unknown person took with him the object with which the Baron had previously made manipulations, after which the door was closed and the flyer was left alone until it was examined by the arriving municipal police."


    "Anything, apart from the differences in geometry, have we found out about the potential killer?"


    "Not much." The captain shook his head and turned his infoblock toward Alex so that he could see it better. On the screen was a bright orange, a very angular figure made up of irregular polygons, which could only be said to be bent over doing something with one hand.


    "All we can say with certainty is that unidentified is of slender build and possibly female." The captain commented.


    "And it can be argued that this is not a suicide." Alex summarized, raising his eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. "Baron Assaro arrived for a meeting at a place he knew in advance, with persons he knew in advance. He specifically flew around the tower, but he didn''t see anything that would make him suspicious. That is, he trusted those he met. Then he got out of the flyer and most likely went up to the technical platform where they were waiting for him. There was a fight or a beating, after which the baron was thrown down. Probably accidentally, during the fight. Then the killer or his accomplice came down and took something from the flyer the deceased flew in on. No traces of tissue particles were found on the site, on the baron, or in the flyer. It turns out that the killer or killers knew perfectly well what they were doing and prepared accordingly, so the version of accidental murder is unlikely. Am I forgetting something?" He turned his gaze back to the captain.


    "Nothing, Your Lordship." The man smiled warningly. "It''s a very clear summation of what has been learned so far."


    "What about the search of the baron''s house? His notes?"


    "We keep working the servants, but it''s mostly nothing." With a sigh, the Captain admitted. "The Cluster and the droids are completely clean. House Melato''s security team was there before us-they were called in when the servants got worried that the Baron was gone too long."


    "That was to be expected." Alex wrinkled his nose. "Thanks anyway, Stack-Captain."


    "I wish I could just say thanks guys, but I just don''t have time for you right now." Alex turned to the ceiling as the captain wished him a speedy recovery and left.


    "It''s just their job, Your Lordship." Dudo shrugged, who had been silent the whole time, acting like a wall, which, thanks to his long navy training, he was doing just fine.


    "As if it''s my job too." Your Lordship sighed, raising his eyes sorrowfully to the sky.


    House Intelligence had so far done the lion''s share of the routine of the investigation and honestly tried to keep him in the loop, even trying, from time to time, to get valuable instructions - which resulted in a huge number of various reports and meetings.


    "I just can''t help feeling like it''s stealing time away from more important things," Alex admitted, staring at the ceiling. "Did those from the lab say anything concrete?" He asked hopefully, turning to Dudo again.


    "No." The man shook his head. "Only confirmed it''s some ''designer'' drug they''ve never met before."


    "Like the others." Alex drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.


    They hired two bio-labs to figure out what substance Taer had been injected with. One from among the Cassard companies and one simply because it was described as "the best in the capital". And the results of their work were not at all encouraging.


    "I don''t like where this is going." He shared his doubts. "They both think the stuff was specifically designed for the target. The problem is that they say it takes three or four decades to develop the structure, not just a lot of money. At least under commercial ordering conditions. And that''s their preliminary minimum estimate. Taer just wasn''t in the capital four decades ago! And even if the active agent just adapts to the target, that''s still a decade."


    "Perhaps the process can be sped up if one possesses considerably more resources," Dudo suggested cautiously.


    "That''s what I mean." Alex sighed. Half a million danarii just for a special drug. That''s a lot for mercenaries. So non-Taer was telling the truth. It was SS again.


    "A group of renegades, too?" Assumed Dudo. He was one of the few who had seen the files from the Tallan uprising. "Like last time?"


    "Why would a group of renegades need Taer?" Alex''s rhetorical question. "Or even me?"


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    "But for Lord Quezox, your lordship, you seem to be of no use either." There was a perfectly reasonable objection.


    "Yeah." Alex hummed, he had an idea why Lord Quezox needed him, but he didn''t want to talk about it. "Can''t they stab without hypothermia?" He hastened to change the subject, kneading his forearm.


    The effects of the anesthetic wore off, and there was a nagging pain at the injection sites and more unpleasantly, a strong tingling sensation that gradually turned to burning. It''s like frostbite. But essentially, it is.


    "That''s a trifle, more cramps later." Dudo cheered me up.


    "I''ve been told," he sighed, "Hopefully, by then, the blockade will have been deployed, and it will be tolerable."


    "You know best, Your Lordship. But I don''t think you''re doing it right, Your Lordship." Once again, Dudo grumbled, looking at Alex disapprovingly.


    "Yeah, you know, I get tired of being wiped off the floor." "Lordship" snapped at him habitually. "Decided to make a change in my life."


    "That''s it." Dudo nodded. "That''s what I''m worried about, Your Lordship. The altered muscle structure will indeed make you stronger, but only physically."


    "You''re one to talk," Alex snorted, glaring at Dudo defiantly. The fact that he was bursting with muscles, the envy of any bodybuilder, could not be hidden by any uniform.


    "It''s just a requirement of the service, dictated mostly by the weight me carry." Calmly he brushed off the claim. "You, with all due respect, have no skill or experience as a fighter. And it turns out this power is just a dangerous illusion that can make you do stupid things you wouldn''t otherwise do. For example, you might think you can take on Daim Diltar by yourself."


    Alex answered the head of his guard with a long look from the corner of his eye:


    "Look, I''m not gonna fight her. That''s really stupid. But I want to be able to at least hold her off, if only for a little while..."


    "She''s an adept." Dudo interrupted him with obvious irritation. "You can repeat the fate of that chair, or the shadows alone know what else she can do. Neither you nor anyone else should try to handle an adept in ..."


    Alex raised a finger urging Dudo to be quiet:


    "I''m working on that, too. Okay?" He asked, looking into his eyes testily. "I''m doing what I can. I want every chance I can get on my side. And if the extra muscle and the blockage will give me even the tiniest chance, I''m okay with that, too."


    "We should either leave her alone or go to the Inquisition," Dudo repeated again, and turned away unhappily.


    "Don''t you dare! Understand?" Alex growled, pointing a finger in his direction. "The Inquisition is to blame for the current state of Taer. Or its head." He added a little more calmly, leaning back in his chair again. The sudden movement made his already aching muscles ache even more. "With some murky political interests. We''ll prepare properly and do everything. I''ve heard these experts say the neurons forming the guider are always specially marked. So there is a possibility to remove them. So there''s a chance. We just have to use it."


    The same experts, however, said that the longer the "guider" was deployed, the more damage would be done in an attempt to remove it. And the time of "relatively safe" removal was measured in decades, but not years. But Alex preferred not to remind about it, neither to himself nor to others. Dudo knew it all as well as he did.


    "As Your Lordship wills," Dudo replied unenthusiastically and handed Alex the info stick. "Here, as you requested, are the power manifestation records of the various adepts that were found on the open networks and that at least look authentic."


    "Thank you. Dismissed." Alex gave Dudo a disgruntled look.


    "It''s repeating itself again." He exhaled into the ceiling as the door closed, leaving him to himself. Alex was already pissed off by the mixture of awe and fear that came with the word "adept," and if only Dudo had it, practically everyone did. They''d think they were gods on earth.


    What''s the point of not doing anything if she''s adept? He irritably stuck the stick he had received into the infoblock, opened it up, and turned on the playlist. They deal with them somehow, don''t they? I just have to figure out how...


    There were relatively few entries, about half an hour or so. It was an impressive and rather disappointing half-hour.


    And how can you fight it at all? Alex thought aloofly, looking at the screen where the flames were raging.


    It was not even a flame but some kind of constant, unceasing explosion, repeating itself over and over again, every moment. Moving with the swiftness one expects from an explosion. This clot of roaring fire tore everything in its path, leaving behind melted, mangled scraps of metal. The more ephemeral creatures, like humans, seemed completely obliterated.


    It could be mistaken for some kind of device, a "directed explosion weapon" or a man-made disaster. It was hard to see anything human in the pulsing blob of fire, but it was an Adept. An adept of the flame, to be more precise: "Devoted sororitas who lost stability during the flight to the First Temple," at least that was the name of the record.


    It was either a big ship or a space station, but the bulkheads were bursting like cardboard in the path of the fire. They tried to shoot at her - sometimes you could see the quick strokes of blaster discharges, but it looked like you might as well try to put out the fire by shooting.


    In any case, something like this is not to be feared. He reassured himself mentally. Taer is not a flame adept. Most likely.


    It was a small consolation, though. Adepts of the flame were considered one of the least problematic. In the "coping" sense. Telepaths were considered the most problematic. Records with them were understandably sparse, as many as one. It was just some line of people, apparently for inspection, quite long, and some discreetly dressed man just walking by: past the line, past the clerks, past the guards, and everyone just didn''t notice him. It''s a short footage, about fifteen seconds, and if you don''t know the context, you wouldn''t even realize that there''s something supernatural going on.


    But it''s unlikely she''s a telepath - then she wouldn''t need the interrogation.


    There were Life adepts and Knowledge adepts, or more simply, Seers. The strong Life adepts were distinguished by their polymorphism, a rather impressive ability to mold their own or others'' bodies like plasticine, but Taer did not seem to have that.


    So if she''s a Life adept, she''s a weak one. Alex tried to be enthusiastic, but it didn''t work so well. The recordings of the adepts'' abilities knocked out all the enthusiasm.


    If not a Life adept, then there were Seers, who were the least dangerous to others. If, of course, you believe the information received from public networks.


    It really couldn''t be trusted, not at all. That''s why I had to turn to Dudo, contrary to the original plan to send a couple of analytical droids to scour the net for information about the adepts. They did, but it was impossible to filter this stream to understand where it was reality and where it was fantasy. He lacked the banal life experience applicable to local realities. Droids didn''t help much either: "Poor understanding of context is an inherent flaw of droids," Dudo said.


    Alex set the infoblock aside and rubbed his face in his own palms:


    Shit, why is it so complicated... he groaned mentally. After all, the other one - "not Taer" also immediately realized that I am not the real Lord Cassard and something about the transfer of consciousness she knows. If she is not the same...


    He didn''t want to think about it at all. He felt hopeless. So he gave himself a moment to moan. Then he rubbed his face and went on to what he could do, such as contacting his secretary, whose request for communication had been pending for more than half an hour:


    "What''s wrong?" he asked as the droid''s angular face appeared on the screen.


    For all its specificity, this droid knew its business clearly, performed everything flawlessly, and did not bother about anything. Although, he often whined that he was "not worthy of the honor of being the secretary of the lordship of the prince". As I understood from his florid explanations, it was considered bad form among the nobility if a droid answered the call.


    But for now, it''s the most convenient option. Maybe we should get someone from the local secretariat. But they''re all ferrets...


    "Dear Lugas." The droid rattled. "He would very much like to speak with Your Lordship regarding your errand."


    "What else is there to talk about? I explained everything to him..." Alex started, then waved his hand tiredly. "Can you get him on the line?"


    "Of course, Your Lordship."


    The droid shut down, and in its place, a burly, middle-aged man appeared on the screen. He was wearing a local tunic with a collar, dark burgundy in color - the popular equivalent of a business suit, and just a luxurious office in the background.


    A stark contrast, of course. Alex was wearing a special vest of hard white plastic that restricted chest movement, and a thin thermoregulating jumpsuit underneath, a look that was not so much costly as overly utilitarian. Whatever.


    "Your Lordship, there has clearly been some sort of misunderstanding." The occupant of the luxurious cabinet began, choosing his words very carefully. "The fact is that the secrecy of the deposits does not permit me--"


    "Dear." Alex interrupted, realizing at once where his interlocutor was going, without waiting for the end of the lecture about privacy and bank secrecy. "I thought I was making myself pretty clear. The last thing I need is your deposit secrecy. All I ask is that you arrange a meeting. An acquaintance of some Inquisition official, not too high up. And since I want to bring him in as a consultant to my investigation. It would be more convenient if this man were in need of money. Simply because there''s a better chance he''d be interested in spending his off-duty time consulting. That''s it. I''m not asking you for his name or his account information, nothing that''s bank secrecy. All of that stays with you, Mr. Lugas. And you, as manager of the banking partnership, already have that information because, as you explained to me recently, the creditors exchange it among themselves."


    "But, Your Lordship," Lugas began, but his lordship would not listen to him:


    "And I really hope so." Alex continued, ignoring the sluggish attempts to object. "That someone as competent and experienced as you, Mr. Lugas, will continue to work in the partnership I own. I hope, at least now, we understand each other?" He asked with an expression. Judging by the look on his face, Lugas had understood everything the first time, but he was desperately chickening out. "Goodbye then. I expect to see you again soon."


    Why are they all so wooden? Alex wailed mentally, disconnected from the call of the esteemed Lugas. The head of the local secretariat is telling me about the integrity of the tower, and now this one doesn''t want to understand the hints. Is it a surplus of high-paying jobs or what?


    "Anything else?" He asked tiredly out loud, seeing that the droid hadn''t shut down.


    "Yes, your lordship, there''s still mail left." Despite the rattling, the droid seemed embarrassed, if droids can be embarrassed at all.


    "What about the mail? I kinda gave general guidelines..."


    "The fact is, Your Lordship, that my nature does not allow me to understand the subtleties of human feeling. I cannot separate the important from the unimportant in the impulses of the soul. Therefore, when I discovered in the letter a detail of the lady''s private toilette, I was unable to make a correct estimate of the importance of the priority and found it necessary to leave it to your consideration."


    "A garment detail?" Alex smiled, involuntarily intrigued. He looked at his watch. There was still time before the next visit of the medics and waved his hand. "Let''s have a look at it."


    He didn''t have to wait long, and soon he was holding a pink, heavily perfumed envelope containing a letter written in obviously female but somehow angular handwriting and a "garment detail":


    "Just what we need now." Alex growled, throwing the "detail" at the ceiling.


    Spinning in the air like an autumn leaf - a red neckerchief dropped to the floor.


    * * *

 Chapter 20

    Chapter 20


    * * *


    "Are you sure there aren''t any cameras in there?" Alex asked, staring nervously at the screen.


    The yellow light of the street lamps caught the statues on low pedestals and the black paved pedestrian zone of the alley, squeezed between the rows of giant trees of unknown species, with thick, several girths, smooth trunks. In the spots of light, couples strolling leisurely appeared sometimes, and somewhere in the distance behind the dark columns of trees, among the bright squares of shop windows, slid the flowing lights of night traffic.


    "The atmosphere is most peaceful, if not romantic." Alex was looking at the future meeting place, but he couldn''t get over his nervousness. He didn''t like the atmosphere. And he didn''t like the future meeting either.


    "At some store, for example?" He clarified, turning away from the screen. "There could be a camera pointed toward the square or something like that."


    "No, Your Lordship," Dudo answered from the semi-darkness of the saloon. He was in his civilian clothes, and because of his black vest, under which it was convenient to hide things, he seemed even larger than his already heroic proportions:


    "I checked everything out. Plus, it''s against the law to film in public places. You''d have to get consent from everyone who might be on the record, which is problematic. Sometimes they do it, but very rarely. And I checked the stores too." Just in case, he added.


    "And then there are the droids," Alex muttered, turning to the screen again. There''s one of them now, and it was broadcasting a picture of Victors'' Alley for them. "And there''s nothing you can do about them." He added, rather commenting on his own thoughts.


    "If it''s critical that you remain incognito, Your Lordship. Better take the orber."


    "It''s critical not to attract unnecessary attention." "Your Lordship" wrinkled his nose. "You said using the orber is like walking around with a sign that says ''nobles meet here''. What''s all this for, then?" He asked, kicking the side of the van in frustration.


    The landing bots had to be abandoned for obvious reasons. What kind of conspiracy is there with them if even the last dog will realize it was Prince §³assard who flew? We had to buy two air cargo cars, like flying vans. Secretly, for cash. With such transport, there was no question of any defense, and the load capacity suffered. The support team had only two men in armor, two snipers, and four men to support them, including Dudo. We could have bought more vans, but then the stealth of the operation would suffer again. But there was an advantage to having such a limited team:


    At least none of the scouts are in the group. That thought brought Alex some relief since the last thing he needed was for Countess Darrelarl or anyone else from his House to be aware of his contacts with the rebels.


    That''s why the support group was staffed only by Carpathians from Kayrin''s Arm. They, of course, could also snitch to their superiors, but Kayrin knew far worse secrets about him.


    And Dudo. Just because we couldn''t do without him. Besides, he''s Navy, not intelligence. Though, hell hath no fury like a devil.


    "Snipers report all clear." It came from behind.


    Alex pulled out his comm and looked at the time. It was time to go out.


    "Use weapons only when clearly threatened or on my signal," Alex repeated, fiddling with the settings of the personal shield on his belt, for which he had to unbutton his jacket and pull up his shirt with his chin. "This is just supposed to be a conversation, and I don''t want it to turn into a gunfight and proceedings with the Metropolitan Police just because someone thought something was wrong."


    "It will be done, Your Lordship."


    Having waited for the characteristic beep that announced that the shield was in working mode, Alex adjusted his clothes and waved to the driver:


    "Let''s go."


    The aerocar slowed down for a moment at the edge of the alley just to let him jump out and immediately picked up speed and disappeared into the flow of traffic, leaving him alone.


    It was damp and cool outside. It felt like twelve or fourteen degrees, so he was dressed for the weather: a light white jacket made of porous but very smooth, slippery material, simple black pants, and a collar, or a muff or a hard scarf. Alex sincerely didn''t remember the name of this thing, which was worn separately and lay on his shoulders in a ring, covering his face up to his eyes. It was not only "very fashionable among the bourgeoisie this season", according to his droid, but also gave hope that he could remain incognito.


    Alex hid his nose deeper into his scarf and walked leisurely to the meeting place, listening to the steady noise of the night city. There was a thin drizzle of water in the still air, and the huge gas giant, which usually filled the whole sky, shifted to the horizon line, hiding behind the capital''s high-rises and tree crowns, making the night darker than usual.


    I wish I could just walk around here. He sighed wistfully. He would have loved to go out in this weather, and he''d have been happy to stroll around the capital, but the situation was not favorable. Assassinations, investigations, Taer, and now these ''freedom fighters'' are here."


    The sudden appearance of the rebels is certainly not a disaster, but it is very unfortunate.


    Though, come to think of it, it''s even weird that they only showed up now. He grinned. The desire to meet was understandable. They couldn''t have been happier when they found out about my assignment.


    It would not be a good idea to refuse them, but he had given them plenty of leverage. The fact he was connected to them was worth it. And judging by the letter he''d received, the rebels were well aware of that:


    Well, I''ll give them credit for helping me. Alex felt he owed these guys, maybe not the rebels in general, but at least those who''d risked their lives to find him on Tallane, like Krain, for example.


    The pedestrian part of the alley gradually widened, becoming more spacious and diverging to the sides, and along its edges appeared the statues that gave it its name. The statues of the triumphants made of silver-gray metal, were full-length but stood on very low pedestals barely protruding from the black slabs of the pedestrian part.


    It''s a weird decision. It seemed to him that such placement somehow "stole the grandeur" from the figures of the triumphant, making them look simpler and more ordinary.


    Alex paused for a moment at one of the statues, automatically glancing at the dedication plaque:


    Flag Admiral the Lordship Prince Almit Beru. In the sixth year of the declaration of the Empirium defeated the azure fleet of the Union of Orders in pursuit battles near Bright.


    The lordship prince was a short, overweight man with a very cheerful, round-cheeked face that one would rather expect to see on some cooking show host than an admiral crushing enemy fleets in pursuit battles.


    Whatever they are, these pursuit fights. Alex smirked and walked on, taking his time.


    He wasn''t afraid of being late at all:


    Even better to be a little late. The guys have more time to reconnoiter, and maybe the people meeting them will have a surprise. Not that he was expecting surprises from the rebels, not that they''d benefit from it, but the third assassination attempt in a row made him paranoid, just in case: One who takes care of oneself is also taken care of by Ryan. Or as they say here? he smirked at his thoughts.


    Breath floated white smoke in the light of the lanterns, and the statues of triumphants, one by one, were left behind. In fact, the Cassard family was represented here somewhere:


    I''d be curious to see it. But it was no time to look for a statue of Galen Cassard "for the conquest of Cholana".


    Despite the "noon" standard time, passers-by were rare and passed by without paying attention to him, so this appearance must have been typical of the bourgeoisie at this season.


    A small oval square surrounded by statues appeared ahead. This was where the one-on-one meeting was to take place near the emperor''s monument.


    The small earpiece embedded in his left ear beeped softly:


    "We see you, Your Lordship." Dudo''s voice came through. "No one matching the description has been seen in the square yet."


    The connection was one-way, so Alex answered with a short nod and headed towards the Emperor''s monument, as he had time to study the square well during the droid reconnaissance.


    The square, as well as the rest of the alley, was not crowded, with a few casual strollers, a few people who were also obviously waiting for someone, and one cooing couple, on a bench at the very edge.


    Not far from the Emperor''s monument, a skinny teenager in a bright red jacket was hanging around, looking nothing like Krain or Liora, even from a distance.


    Alex was immediately prickled with a bad feeling of foreboding, and as he came closer, it grew more and more outgrown the unpleasant anticipation of imminent trouble, settling heavily in his chest.


    Of course they didn''t recognize him. he mused, trying to figure out how to proceed, I only gave them a description of Liora, Krain, and the lizard-like that was with Liora at the Voigrom.


    Lord Brenor Lister was standing by the statue of the Emperor. His head cocked curiously around. He was wearing a large, oversized, bright red sports jacket and baggy white pants and looked like some kind of local hooligan.


    And there''s no way he could have gotten here by accident. I had to figure out what he was doing here and how to deal with it.


    Brenor noticed him too. The surprised expression on his face quickly changed to one of joy, and Lord Lister hurried to meet him.


    Well, he can''t be a rebel contact, can he? Alex pleaded in his mind as he looked at the rapidly approaching trouble, Please...


    "He contacted you too, Lord Cassard?" Instead of a greeting, Brenor whispered, literally beaming with unhealthy enthusiasm.


    "Who?" queried Alex cautiously just in case


    "That pirate who helped us on Tallan. Krain."


    "You could say that." He avoided a direct answer just so he wouldn''t have to lie. "But is he a pirate?"


    "Looks like a pirate, acts like a pirate, must be a pirate." Brenor shrugged indifferently. "I''ll bet it''s not clean." He added, even more quietly, with an understanding look.


    "You think so?" Alex asked, looking around for the culprit of their conversation, unfortunately to no avail. "Then isn''t it dangerous to meet him?"


    "I carry a sword and a blaster." Lord Lister said meaningfully. "And then, he was very cryptic in his message. Said it might be important not only to me but to my whole House. You understand I couldn''t help coming."


    Judging by his radiant face, the real reason was more likely to be the young duelist''s rebellious soul, weary of palace ceremonial and hungry for adventure.


    Why he came is understandable. Alex thought, But why was he called?


    No, the desire to "contact" was understandable. Brenor held a court position, which meant he was constantly with the Emperor. He was young, and as Alex realized, among this age group, there was the main mass of sympathizers of the rebels, and he was a lord. It was quite natural for the rebels to want to get in touch with him:


    But why at the same time as me? That''s stupid. If we meet separately, you can tell each other different things, and there''s no risk of exposing two contacts at once in case of a misfire. And a lot of other reasons... It was very strange, and Alex didn''t like it at all.


    "But I''m awfully glad you''re here, too." Brenor went on, not noticing his companion''s thoughtfulness, clearly engrossed in his monologue. "Together, we can do anything. Like we did on Tallana..."


    "I see someone matching the description." Suddenly the voice of one of the snipers sounded in the earpiece, but Alex already saw him. A tall, dark-haired man in his thirties was walking toward them from the street, most likely coming out of the cafes that stretched along the alley. He was Krain, the man the rebels had sent to find Lord Cassard on Tallana:


    And what is characteristic is that he found them. Homebrew Cheguevara. Since their last meeting, the rebel had grown noticeably and acquired a thick stubble, finally becoming like a typical Cuban revolutionary. Light green eyes only did not quite fit into the type, but it was a trifle. Besides, the image of a revolutionary was additionally supported by a coat or rather an overcoat made of the same dark gray slippery porous material as Alex''s jacket.


    "Here comes our pirate," Alex warned in a half-voice, interrupting Lord Lister''s train of thought.


    Brenor stopped talking and looked up to find Krain with his eyes as well, clearly prepared for the meeting by taking on a serious and focused look.


    "I see everyone is already here." The rebel who had come up smiled, waving his hand in greeting.


    "And what was the point of gathering us together?" Alex asked, not hiding the displeasure in his voice.


    "I have no idea," Krain admitted honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "I''m just a messenger, an errand boy. Here." He pulled two envelopes out of his jacket pocket and handed them to them.


    Lord Lister was the first to reach for the envelope, but he didn''t have time to take it.


    Alex noticed a movement from the side. One of the people who passed by suddenly threw an object at their group.


    There was a dry crackle and a flash like an electric weld, muffled by the shield''s shattered mirrored glow but still blindingly bright. Brenor and Krain fell to the sidewalk like two marionettes with cut strings, a metal ball the size of a tangerine covered with large black dots laying beneath their feet, hissing and crackling as short bolts of lightning discharged in blue serpents, spreading sideways across the stone slabs.


    The thrower darted in their direction, clearly heading for the fallen Lord Lister, but from somewhere above came an orange blast of blaster fire with a shrill screech and knocked him to the ground, exploding against his back with a burst of smoky flame.


    The shock of the unexpected attack gradually wore off, and Alex realized that for several seconds he had been hearing a rhythmic alarm in his earpiece, warning of danger, the frightened screams of people nearby, and the sound of a man running somewhere behind him. He turned around and saw another "passerby" running towards them from the opposite side of the trees.


    Alex could only make out a silhouette in the darkness of the alley, but it seemed to Alex the man running toward them was holding a weapon. He snatched up his blaster from his jacket, immediately putting it into battle mode and pointing it at the man. He was just looking for the mark of the sight when the bright headlights of a car that had suddenly turned around blinded him. Turning off the roadway, an aircar drove into the alley. Alex reflexively covered his eyes with his free hand. He could no longer see either the runner or even whose car it was. Only two blindingly bright stripes on the sides of the car. Blaster discharges fired by the snipers flew over his head, but he couldn''t see if they hit anything:


    So aerocar, hostile. Alex concluded and sat down behind the statue of the emperor, quickly looking around, and catching his breath.


    No one else ran towards them, not yet. On the contrary, some people ran away from the shooting, some just fell to the ground, and frightened screams could still be heard - fortunately, there were few really random passers-by, and none of them seemed to be hurt.


    So far, not hurt.


    Krain and Brenor lay motionless beside him, also partially covered by the statue and looking more paralyzed than dead. At least, Alex hoped so. The metal ball lying nearby had stopped spitting snakes of lightning and was only silently smoking. It smelled of ozone, burnt cloth, and burnt meat from the nearby attacker, who was motionless, his back blackened with a blackened spot with a smoldering scarlet border.


    He was afraid to jinx it, but so far, it looked like they''d made it through. The attackers were pinned down by sniper fire and couldn''t get out into the square.


    "Okay." Alex exhaled. "We just have to wait for backup."


    Backup had to be just around the corner. He even thought he could hear the distinctive pulsing howl of an accelerating aerocar.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    They''re strange. He had time to think. They started with a stun grenade. It doesn''t look like an assassination attempt. They fired a rocket right away...


    But he was not allowed to think about the specifics of the attackers'' tactics. Aerocar entered the alley and stopped fifteen meters away. What exactly was going on there could not be distinguished because of the blinding light of headlights, but Alex heard the sound of opening doors and then a characteristic squeal of "shorty".


    A swarm of blaster discharges fired from a rapid-fire blaster struck him at his feet, shattering the sidewalk near Brenor and sending scarlet sparks from the statue that served as a makeshift shelter. Several discharges struck his shield, which for a moment appeared as a hemisphere of mirrored haze.


    They''re not shooting at me, are they? Alex suddenly realized with surprise. The line went too low as if they were shooting specifically at his feet. But they didn''t shoot at my legs. They shot at the lying Lord Lister, and I and the statue are just in the line of fire.


    Two blaster blasts buzzed overhead in the opposite direction, a response from the snipers on his guard. At that moment, he quickly bent over and grabbed Brenor by the scruff of his neck, pulling him toward him. The shield should be enough for another eight or ten hits, and that was better than relying on the Emperor''s statue. It was no different in size from any other statue, and the cover was very tentative.


    He pulled Lister toward him, and just in time, from the direction of the blinding headlights, the shortsword shrieked again, and frequent bursts slammed against the mirrored hemisphere of the shield.


    Three, five? He didn''t know how much longer the shield would last, but his idea was confirmed. The second line went higher. The unknowns were firing at Brenor.


    Alex tried to lift Brenor higher so that if the shield failed, the statue would cover him not only with its legs. But his jacket was pulled up, and he almost fell out of it hanging on the sleeves and on the black slabs of the sidewalk sprinkled all the change he had in his pockets, and with a plastic clatter fell a small milky white disk.


    He dragged it here with him, too. Alex wailed mentally and tried to drag the fallen droid messenger with his foot, but before he could do it, the white disk quietly purred and rose into the air.


    Another burst painted the Emperor''s statue with scarlet blotches. Not paying attention to the white disk of the droid-messenger circling, Alex, continuing to hold Lord Lister with one hand, fired two shots in the direction of the blinding headlights, if not to hit someone (he didn''t see anyone), then at least to break the headlight.


    Another swarm of buzzing wasps passed over his head, not even hitting his shield, only knocking fountains of scarlet spray from the top of the statue.


    A distinctive pulsing howl of engines was heard from the side, and the orange side of the security aircar flashed through the trees.


    The white disk of the droid orbited the head of the statue, and a white scanner beam stroked across the metal face of the Emperor''s statue.


    "Your Majesty!" Alex shuddered in surprise. Despite his age, Baron Assaro had a very clear and strong voice, or rather his hologram did. In front of the Emperor''s statue, the figure of the Baron in his court robes, translucent in the bright light of the headlights and more like a ghost, appeared in front of the Emperor''s statue.


    "I accuse!" The ghost exclaimed somewhat theatrically. "I accuse Lord Inaro, head of the great House of Peltar, his sister, Princess Nadina, and the First Lord Inquisitor Quezox of my murder and conspiracy..."


    The attackers, when the hologram appeared, go berserk, and the end of the Baron''s phrase was drowned in the screech of rapid-fire blasters. A string of discharges whirred over Alex''s head, periodically showering him with scarlet sparks of scale knocked out of the statue''s head. They were clearly trying to hit the droid, but the narrow white disk was a difficult target.


    "Perhaps too direct." The baron''s ghost grinned, apparently unaffected by the frenzy of gunfire around him. "But since you can see that, it means I underestimated the desperation or stupidity of my visions and have been dead for at least five days. I suppose a dead man can afford that luxury, to be blunt..." The hologram was silent for a brief pause as if assessing the effect of its own words. "And I testify ..." He continued in a more subdued voice. "I testify that when the prediction of your imminent demise was confirmed, I was compelled to act. Regardless of my relationship with you and your legacy, my position on the House Council gives me the responsibility to think about the future, and to neglect such information would not only betray the interests of my House but possibly jeopardize its very existence. Therefore, I have been carrying on secret communications with those mentioned and every one of them. Everyone!" With renewed drama, the Baron raised his voice, raising his finger into the dark sky of the capital. "Agreed to conspire, to seize power after your death in violation of the oaths taken...."


    I don''t need any more conspiracy, Alex exhaled disappointedly. He was already glad, deep down, that the assassination attempt wasn''t on him, so he didn''t need to deal with any new problems.


    But the attackers didn''t give him time to think. A new burst of blaster charges smashed against the statue with a dry electrical crackle, and he pressed himself tighter into the cold metal, writhing involuntarily each time another discharge spattered scarlet metal. Several molten droplets struck the messenger droid, melting several long black streaks into its plating. The little droid swayed but withstood the impact, only the hologram flickered, almost disappearing for a few seconds.


    They''ll get it. Alex glanced at the small white disk. It was flying not high enough. He can try to grab it. If I don''t get it first...


    "I won''t grovel for excuses. I''m as much of an oath-breaker as they are. It''s just I''ve become inconvenient and dangerous. But..." Shrugged the hologram as it continued its monologue. "The dead know no dishonor, and I''m not one to humble myself and quietly walk away for the sake of someone else''s interests. I hope you never see this record, Your Majesty." The Baron added, sighing heavily. "Otherwise, I hope at least one of my messages ..."


    Alex carefully placed Lord Brenor on the sidewalk at the foot of the statue, waited for the next burst of fire from the attackers to finish, and rushed to the droid, trying to grab it with his free hand.


    "Damn you!" The droid dodged the attempt to catch him with unexpected grace. // I wish it''d spin around like that when it shot.


    Alex was about to make one more attempt but at that moment, everything was covered by the mirrored haze of the activated shield, and he, almost deafened by the crackle of blaster discharges, reflexively covered his head with his hands and squeezed himself into a lump under the fire, trying to become as small a target as possible.


    As soon as the shield thinned enough for him to make out objects, he lunged at the droid, literally jumping on top of it. The shield withstood this time, but he didn''t want to test it again.


    He grabbed the slippery white disk at the second attempt and rushed to his only shelter, the statue of the Emperor, pressing his whole body into it.


    The next shots are definitely mine. Alex looked out from behind the statue with one eye to assess the situation, hiding the droid under his jacket at the same time it was rumbling its engines and twitching, trying to break free.


    But instead of another burst of fire, a guard aerocar hovered overhead, ten meters away, howling with thrust generators, covering the dark night sky with its flat orange belly. With a metallic rumble, its side door flew aside, and two heavy fighters jumped out of the opening, hovering in the air on the engines of their armor. With a pulsing howl, their blasters began to crush the attackers with fire, sending short, stingy bursts of fire in their direction one after another.


    "I think we made it through. An involuntary sigh of relief escaped. This time...


    At that moment, there was a loud glass pop from above, as if a huge light bulb had burst. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed the white balloon above the top of the statue as a thick whitish wave hit it.


    The shield that shuddered from the impact deprived him of his view for a moment, obscuring everything with a mirror-like ripple. The shield didn''t fully regain its transparency, but there was another clap of the same kind right next to it, and another.


    When the haze subsided, a thick white suspension stood solidly around him, playing pearlescent wherever the white spots of street lamps and headlights shone through it. The shield''s mirrored barrier, which had malfunctioned, had outlined an even black circle of untouched slabs around him, beyond which everything was covered with white dust glistening on the damp sidewalk.


    In the thick, pearly white clouds of man-made fog that smelled of old dust, there was absolutely nothing to see, literally at arm''s length. Shots were still coming from above but less frequently, and the sound of an approaching aerocar was growing rapidly from the side.


    Alex squatted down tiredly near the foot of the statue:


    All that''s left to do is wait to be rescued.


    After the first clap, he was naturally startled, but then he remembered Dudo''s briefing on what the guards should do in the event of a possible attack. One of the points was, To reduce the effectiveness of enemy fire and deploy an energy-absorbing veil. And he strongly suspected that was it.


    The veil. He reached forward and picked up the envelopes Krain had brought. They had been lying at their feet all this time, thickly covered with a whitish coating.


    "Looks like glass." He rubbed the dust between his fingers, which upon closer inspection, consisted of tiny translucent balls.


    Hiding the envelopes and putting his nose deeper into the scarf to breathe only through it, Alex began to wait for his saviors.


    The wait was not long. Ten seconds later, judging by the sounds, a second aircar landed very close by. The door slammed open, and the wearers of heavy boots hurried toward it, treading the sidewalk.


    "Your Lordship, are you hurt?" Two figures in billowing jumpsuits of anti-blaster foam, with scanners in their hands, emerged from the pearly mist. Medics from the support team,


    "No." Alex jerked his head. "Examine Lord Lister and this passerby." He pointed at Kryn. "After that, take care of the attacker who was shot in the back. Hopefully, he can still be saved. I could use a source of information."


    The medics must have taken his word for it, pointing the scanner''s nozzle at his face, and only then did they take care of the others.


    "Just paralyzed and post-shock syndrome." The report came in after a quick examination of Brenor and Krain.


    "Good." Nodded Alex rising. "Take care of that attacker, and see if any other random bystanders need help."


    The medics had yet to melt into a pearly veil when a massive dark figure loomed in the fog:


    "You took your time," Alex grumbled to the approaching man. "I thought something was wrong."


    "The vans have no acceleration or maneuverability." Dudo waved his hands with a disgruntled look. "It''ll take a minute to accelerate. I told you we should have brought bots."


    "Yeah, I did." Alex nodded, hiding his blaster back under his jacket and checking on the droid. It was quiet as if it had turned off or gone into standby mode. "Is it over in there?" He asked with a shake of his head toward the attackers'' aerocar.


    "I guess so." We burned their aerocar and shot two of them. Two more escaped, on their own, mixed in with passersby.


    "You didn''t pursue it?"


    "I forbade..." Dudo hesitantly admitted. "The guys wanted to, but... First of all, it would weaken the available forces. What if they have someone else around who hasn''t revealed himself yet? And second, in armor, with heavy weapons, in a decent part of the capital...."


    Alex vividly imagined this action movie and the problems it could cause:


    "You are quite right to forbid it." Hastily he nodded. "And what of those who were shot? Are they bad, or can they be questioned?"


    "I wouldn''t count on one." Dudo thought. "But the other one..." He hummed uncertainly, shrugging again. "I guess there''s a chance. What the medics say."


    They had already emerged from the fog to the aircars, which stood at an angle, facing each other, forming a makeshift shelter§ð The medical report came back. Two attackers had to be preserved and had a good chance of survival; the third was hopelessly dead.


    "You stay here then." Said Alex, watching the still-paralyzed Lord Lister being loaded into the aerocar. "Obviously, we''ll have to settle things with the police, and in general..."


    Dudo nodded and leaned toward him asking in a half voice:


    "What shall I tell them, Your Lordship?"


    "Pure truth." He smirked. "Two luminous princes decided to meet up and take an incognito stroll when some scumbags attacked them. And that was that. Of course, there were some casualties. Fortunately, nothing serious, so it''s not worth mentioning. In any case, the whole story is not their responsibility but mine."


    Dudo nodded again, clearly realizing he didn''t need to mention Krain, and stepped away from the aerocar. The door slammed shut, and the two cars, one with the wounded and Krain, the other with the bodyguards and the two lords, sped home toward the tower.


    The pilots did not rush, and the two aerocars, like industrious fireflies, dutifully joined the glowing river of signal lights of night traffic. The engines purred as if they were huge cats, and the cabin was quiet enough to hear the whispers.


    So when Lord Lister, who was lying on the stretcher, finally came to his senses, Alex quite heard him.


    "I assume you managed to activate the droid?" Brenor whispered after looking around to make sure the guards were away.


    "Yeah." He nodded, also trying his best to speak in a whisper. "It turned on by itself when it fell out of your jacket and reacted to the Emperor''s statue."


    "I supposed so." Sighed the brether. "The attack must have been about him, too?"


    "Most likely, yes. The attackers tried to grab you, and when they failed, they shot the droid."


    "Is it destroyed?" Lord Lister stirred with excitement.


    "I don''t know." Alex shrugged indifferently. "He was hit tangentially a few times. Maybe the damage was extensive. Maybe it was just the hull. It was a pretty serious fight, and the situation wasn''t conducive to figuring out the fate of this little guy."


    "Did he stay there? In the alley?" Brenor asked fearfully.


    "Yeah." Once again, Alex lied and added in a soothing tone. "Don''t worry. There are still some of my people there. In any case, it won''t be lost. And if it''s not destroyed, it''ll certainly come back to you as soon as circumstances permit."


    "What about that pirate? Krain?" After a moment''s pause, Lord Lister asked, clearly calmed by the news that the droid would be returned to him.


    "Was paralyzed like you." He shrugged again with an indifferent look. "My men will take him out so as not to cause trouble with the local police."


    "I don''t want to accuse anyone." In a careful whisper, Brenor began. "And I am eternally grateful to Krain for his help in circumstances known to you and me. But..." he stretched out meaningfully and added with a conspiratorial look. "The coincidence is very suspicious... If you know what I mean."


    Alex understood perfectly well but diligently chased the thought away:


    "The attackers could have been following one of us." He objected, more for complacency than anything else. He hated to think that Krain could have set them up like that.


    "They could have." Lord Lister agreed readily. "But I took certain steps to keep it from happening and to keep the meeting secret. I think you, Lord Cassard, did what was necessary."


    "Anything can be." He didn''t disagree. "In any case, two of the attackers have been captured alive, though wounded. As soon as they speak, we can dispel our doubts or confirm them."


    Brenor nodded in response and fell silent. Alex didn''t want to continue the conversation. He was tired after the attack. // Must be the withdrawal.


    But the silence turned out to be somehow nervous: Lord Lister was squinting strangely as if something important had not been said, from which Alex even began to wonder if he suspected who had actually taken the droid away.


    "I heard everything." Finally, with some challenge in his voice, Brenor broke the silence. "I was paralyzed and couldn''t move an eyelid, but I heard everything."


    "Oh well." With a smile, replied Alex, who wasn''t going to make a terrible secret from the Baron''s hologram speech anyway. "Then I have less to explain to you."


    Hearing this, Lord Lister was a little embarrassed. He clearly expected some other reaction:


    "What do you intend to do now, Lord Cassard?" He whispered at last, after a short pause.


    "Continue the investigation?" Alex shrugged. "It''s not certain that the Baron wrote down the truth in his suicide message or that he was killed by those he suspected."


    "No." Impatiently, Brenor waved it away. "I mean about the prediction. About the death of the emperor." He added quietly.


    "What do I intend to do about it?" Alex interjected in surprise. "Nothing? What''s it got to do with me? And I don''t plan to get involved in such matters."


    "But this concerns everyone!" Lord Lister was sincerely indignant, even raising his voice a little. "Everyone in general: you, me, your House, my House, our entire Sector. We are vassals of the Emperor. He is our only link to the Empire, the guarantor of our position in it, and the guarantor of the security that ensures that the Great Houses no longer fight openly. If he dies, everything disappears, everything."


    Brenor looked so scared and serious at the same time that Alex even felt a little uncomfortable:


    "You must have forgotten, Lord Lister, that I have lost my memory, and my judgment may be somewhat strange and naive, but I think you are being dramatic." He whispered in a conciliatory tone. "After all, it''s only a prediction, not a fact. Besides, we don''t even know what kind of prediction it is."


    "We know it''s about the Emperor''s imminent demise, and that prediction has already been confirmed." Brenor objected, with an emphasis on "confirmed." "There are rumors at court about a prediction the court seer made on his deathbed. Perhaps this is it. In any case, House Melato and House Peltar have begun to act, which means they have reason to believe in this prediction..."


    "And reasons to kill the imperial duke." Alex agreed involuntarily, sinking into his thoughts. "Whoever did it will be looking for them very carefully and obviously not only me but also more competent people."


    "There, there, Lord Cassard. Exactly!" Lord Lister nodded excitedly with a gambling gleam in his eyes. "Such risks are only taken in the most desperate of situations and when something great is at stake."


    "You''re probably quite right." With a sigh, he agreed. "But I don''t see what this has to do with us: you or me. I may hold an important position, but I''m not a political player. I don''t know what''s going on. I don''t think you''re one of the empire''s decision-makers, either."


    "It has everything to do with it!" Lord Lister exclaimed, clearly annoyed at being misunderstood. He jumped up impatiently from the stretcher on which he was lying. He sitting down beside Alex began to explain in a quick whisper:


    "Like your marriage to Valerie. She may not be needed at all. The situation will be completely different if the Houses are on their own, completely unconstrained by the Emperor."


    "Indeed." Alex agreed with some surprise. He had already forgotten about his potential marriage. "You''re right." He nodded. "It has everything to do with me. On the other hand, if the Houses are on their own, and as far as I remember, your House has certain difficulties with Melato, then maybe the alliance and our marriage as a formal way to cement it will be even more necessary than before."


    "Maybe so," Brenor whispered, an option he hadn''t considered. It upset him a little and even seemed to take him aback. "No." He finally brushed off his thoughts. "The main supporters of your wedding were exactly the pro-Melato party, simply because it was the most financially favorable option. No one was ever serious about forming a full-fledged alliance..."


    Alex looked with interest at the brether mumbling under his thoughts, who suddenly showed a great interest in high politics.


    A sudden change? Or has he always been like this? The second was more likely. People rarely "suddenly" have an interest in politics, especially at nineteen...


    Lord Lister was sitting next to him, wearing a light sleeveless jacket that had been removed by the medics from the escort team to give him an injection to ease the effects of the paralysis. His weapon belt was perfectly visible. Under his left arm was a holster with a miniature blaster, and under his right, closer to Alex, hung the hilt of a sword with an openwork grip.


    I''m about as good at these swords as I am at ballet, he thought as he examined the intricate weave on the hilt, but it''s painfully reminiscent of the one Brenor had on the day of the duel, and which was supposedly stolen from him by the rebels who showed up so fortunately....


    "I see you managed to get your sword back after all?" He commented aloud, as if unintentionally.


    "Uh... Yeah." Unsurely, Brenor replied, flinching slightly at the unexpected question. "The Retainer Service showed wonders of slyness, but they brought her back." He continued, adjusting the grip on his belt.


    "That''s just wonderful." Alex smiled at him, and looking straight into his eyes, he continued.


    "Not that it matters now, but... Tell me. You didn''t accidentally intervene in the duel back then in the Emerald Gardens, did you?"


    "Well, I thought it was strange..." Brenor began to lie uncertainly, and his eyes ran around to avoid Alex''s gaze. "So I decided to follow you... Just in case." He added hastily, but seeing that he wasn''t believed, not a word of it, finally broke down.


    "It''s dishonorable to attack during a duel, but I couldn''t let you die," he muttered, looking down at the floor, "Then they''d just kill her..."


    "Who?" Alex sincerely didn''t understand.


    "Valerie." With a wistful sigh, Brenor replied. "You have no idea what we have going on Allesandro, but... She''s only alive because she can be married off."


    "Am I to understand correctly that we''re talking about the Ruling Lady of House Bentar?" He clarified just in case.


    "It''s only a title." Lord Lister waved it away. "She''s practically a hostage. She has no real power, none at all. And so many of the clans would like to elect a ruling lord..."


    "Let''s say." Alex interrupted, feeling that the matter was getting into the intricacies of interbreeding politics of a foreign House that he didn''t understand at all. "But what does that have to do with you, Lord Lister? Are you an agent of the ruling lady? Her confidant?"


    "I... I love her."


    Alex looked at his friend doubtfully. He didn''t seem to be lying.


    Well, she''s a pretty girl, of course, and he''s at the age to fall hopelessly in love. But, uh.


    "You know." After a long pause, Alex finally said. "I can''t claim you saved my life, honestly or dishonestly. I don''t care. I''m glad. But it''s kind of unhealthy fegnya for a young guy to arrange a marriage for the one he loves with someone else instead of, somehow, making it so you''d be together.


    "Once again you do not notice that you speak another language, Lord Cassard." Brenor smiled weakly. "What is fegnya?"


    "That''s what you do." He explained seriously. "It''s best not to suffer at all with this and fall in love with someone more suitable, but in your case, I''m not even suggesting that."


    "What can I do, Lord Cassard?" Brenor sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Though I am a lord, I am not the head of the §³lan as you are. I don''t get to decide much. I don''t get to choose my bride, and it certainly won''t be Valerie Bellar. Worse, my §³lan will be glad she''s dead."


    "Anything." Alex shrugged. "Like running away with her somewhere far away since she''s like a hostage anyway."


    "That only happens in holo." Brenor shook his head, grinning wryly.


    Persuasion in such a situation is pointless and probably stupid, so the conversation stopped by itself, and soon the two orange aerocars flew under the shields of the tower, gently lowered on the lifting field.


    * * *

 Chapter 21

    Chapter 21


    * * *


    You get used to everything eventually, even the impossible and unacceptable. That winged expression came back to Taer''s mind again and again.


    Everything around her was shaky, reality shook and scattered in a kaleidoscope of options when she tried to focus on something, but she thought she was used to it and even saw sense in this phantasmagoria:


    These are all probabilities - variants - of what reality could be, Taer thought curiously as she watched the shifting figures floating around her as if caught between two mirrors, stretched out in an endless string of variants.


    It was hard to get her bearings. The world around her, shaky and indistinct as if immersed in an endless blue twilight, was moving around her, but Taher wasn''t there. She couldn''t feel her own body. But she could look anywhere as if she had no neck or, perhaps, no eyes. At some point, she caught that she could focus on two objects at once, but she was afraid to experiment further. One thing was clear - she was in a small robotaxi, and many of the images she saw were of possible breakdowns, collisions, and other catastrophes. But they were faint, indistinct, almost nonexistent, and the odds must have been slim. She was probably alone in the car, simply because there were no images of other people, the ones that did appear momentarily, only to disappear again if you didn''t focus on them - random hitchhikers in the flow of traffic. But where the robotaxi was going was impossible to understand. She was so absorbed in her ability to see events that hadn''t happened yet that she was even a little upset when reality suddenly curled back to its normal state, regaining its usual colors and sounds.


    "What would please the honored one?" The elderly merchant asked with his head bowed low.


    Taer was still disoriented by the sudden change in her perception and didn''t quite understand where she was: clearly not a taxi but already a street: the yellow light of street lamps, a corner of the dark sky, the movement of many people could be heard behind her: footsteps, fragments of phrases. She stood in front of a street stall with some souvenirs and, for some reason, a large collection of veils of all colors and styles and brightly painted masks.


    The owner of the tent, who made no effort to feign subservient interest, was dressed in a shapeless gray hood with traces of many hasty meals and came from a "close-to-human" background. His skin was the color and texture of old tree bark, but the latter was probably a trace of his years.


    I guess you can meet different people in the capital, but this is definitely a place for a simpler crowd. But why the veils? She thought, clinging to the thought. She remembered that veils had something to do with something.


    While she was realizing where she was, her hands removed money from her purse with careless grace:


    "Take it not as payment but as a blessing." Her voice came out in the bored shorthand of a regular, and her hand, with a clasped card of one hundred creds, jabbed toward the dark blue veil behind the clerk''s back.


    The merchant smiled happily and hurriedly took the money with a bow and handed her the veil:


    "Blessed is the Giver, for his hand, the hand of Twilight." He recited the formula without hiding his understandable joy. Taer didn''t know the capital''s prices, but she was sure that a dozen of these veils could be bought for a hundred.


    The vendor obligingly brought out a large mirror, but without waiting for him, she had already put on the veil, and she did it so quickly and confidently that it seemed as if she did it several times a day, every day of her life.


    Having put on her veil, the "other" turned around without saying goodbye and joined the crowd that filled the wide street and moved leisurely toward a common goal:


    The main temple of Twilight, Taer was almost unsurprised to see three huge black columns converging in the sky at one point, forming an empty pyramid or triangle, the symbol of Twilight. Taer had expected something like this after the blessings and the acquisition of the veil. She remembered it was customary to visit the temples of the Church of Twilight by covering one''s face. But what is she doing here? Why the main temple?


    She moved through the motley mass of people, tourists, pilgrims, and worshippers, with occasional black threads of monks walking behind each other in oversized black cloaks, their faces hidden behind solid masks. Aside from the obvious tourists, most of the monks were not wearing the trappings of monasticism but were wearing veils, just as Taer was, which made it seem to her that she had completely disappeared into the crowd, blending in with the faceless mass:


    Are you a member of the Church of Twilight? Taer tried to convey her mental question to the ''other'', not hiding her surprise.


    "No." She heard herself whisper back. "I don''t see the point of religion."


    Taer thought she caught a subtle flavor of irony in the usual icy stream of homing that filled much of her consciousness.


    Cleric or monk? Taer asked, realizing the answer was clearly a trick.


    "No." Guider shook her head, smiling slightly. "That would be vulgar."


    The flavor of irony became even stronger, but the "other" no longer responded to Taer''s further questions, silently walking forward...


    Not a Twilight Adept, but if she was a telepath, she wouldn''t need to interrogate. Perhaps some financial matters... Taer thought, languishing with powerlessness, but the "other" was walking fast enough, but it was still a long way to the temple, and at times like this, it felt especially strong that she was not the one in control of her body, and it was incredibly annoying.


    As they approached the temple, the stream of people divided into three unequal streams, each of which reached the foot of one of the columns. She was in the most numerous stream, where there were the most tourists.


    Despite her limited religious education, Taer knew that the main temple of Twilight had three gates. One for the congregation, the second for the priesthood, and the third was always closed and meant for Twilight himself or something like that.


    Maybe they''re not going to the temple at all. It was hard to believe that this idle crowd was members of a church that had always been known for its primness.


    She was right. The base of the temple''s columns had been "undercut" to form a giant canopy, and underneath it, along the entire circumference, were tents with good luck charms, statues for good luck alms, and rows of small cubic offices finished in dark polished wood with walls of milky white illuminated plastic. Behind these rows of vending machines rose a huge gateway. In a perfect circle of gray stone, a hundred mers high was inscribed with a golden triangle with its apex downward, within which glowed a dark red metal cross, the left and lower ends of which were connected by a graceful loop - the cross of the alta. The gate was closed.


    This must be the Gate of Twilight... Taer thought as she looked at one of the few symbols that had survived from the legendary times before Starfall. Against the grandeur and enormity of the temple and the gate, the tents with the merchants below seemed like small insects swarming around, completely out of place.


    "Like worms crawling in a dead giant, too blind and primitive to understand the greatness of the defeated or realize their irrelevance," she said aloud, and only after a few seconds did she realize, Did she say that? Or is it a guider? Or did she voice my thoughts? Were they even my thoughts or hers?


    "May I be of assistance in your search?" The unexpected phrase from outside stopped the panic that was beginning to set in Taer''s mind.


    A gray monk stood beside her, leaning slightly, a baggy, oversized, multi-layered asphalt-colored cloak that went down to his feet almost completely concealed his figure, his face was covered by a solid oval of a black mask, and his voice was clearly distorted by some device. It could have been anyone in front of her - a man, a woman, a member of another race, or maybe even a droid.


    "Perhaps." The guider replied casually, glancing around leisurely.


    The stream of visitors quickly dispersed among the stalls, offices, and statues, so it was no surprise that a woman in an obviously expensive business suit caught his eye.


    "My search is a long, Faceless one." With a sigh, the "other" continued in the voice of a man weary of formalities. And handed the monk a card of a hundred danarii. "Help me and bless me with good fortune."


    The money immediately disappeared somewhere deep in the folds of the cloak, and the monk outlined an imaginary triangle around her with his palm:


    "May the lost one grant you good luck and indulgence. What help is needed in your search?" He asked again, bowing slightly.


    "I''ve got a big deal coming up. I''d like to get my fortune told. But!" The guider raised a finger warningly. "No need to try to slip me these tourist attractions. I want to go to a very specific master who was recommended by my clergyman." She pointed her finger at one of the white-walled offices, away from the main mass.


    The monk turned around after following her gesture and spread his hands with a sigh:


    "I''m sorry, Seeker, but there are a lot of people out there looking for help. If you leave me your contacts, I will sign you up and notify you when an appointment is available."


    "I don''t have time for this." The ''other'' waved away capriciously and pulled out a new card, already five hundred danarii. "Maybe the Lord of Chance will smile, and I''ll get a chance to get in without an appointment and right now?" She asked, holding out the money.


    "All things are possible according to his will." The monk took the money and, bowing lower than before, went towards the office indicated.


    You gave him my wages for half a decade. Taer muttered to herself, somewhat shocked at the amount of the tip.


    "Any image needs confirmation." The "other" mumbled to herself, and added, with an obvious sneer, "I doubt you need the money that badly."


    I doubt you need the divination. Taer snarled a little hurt by another reminder of her own helplessness. Why are we here?


    "I see you''re getting worn out..." The ''other'' sighed and continued in a sissy tone. "Be patient a little longer little one, I''ll finish my business and then I''ll buy you something."


    It wasn''t a joke or even a quip. Taer clearly sensed the desire of the ''other'' to specifically tease her, to irritate her, to drive her to something.


    What the hell do you want from me? She growled mentally.


    "I keep waiting for you to do something," Guider admitted tiredly, watching the monk lazily. "But other than a suicide attempt literally drowned in self-pity, all you do is whine. I''d like to see some redeeming features of your existence... And not that I expect much from a child, but usually children are at least curious, and you''re not even that."


    The strongest thing was that it was said without a sneer, with tired bewilderment that such a thing was even possible, and even with a shadow of sincere pity.


    And that pity hurt worse than any bullying:


    What can I do?! Taer just wanted to disappear right now. You''re stronger...


    "Since when did the fact that someone is stronger become a reason to do nothing?" The "other" asked an obviously rhetorical question, but she didn''t pursue the topic, the monk had returned.


    "You will be admitted now." He bowed again and gestured for me to follow him into the office.


    The interior of the study was very modest. Along the left and right walls were two very wide low sofas, without backs and sides, just soft white rectangles, a table of polished arjat between them - wide but equally low. And that was it.


    On the couch to the left, the owner of the office sat cross-legged, no different from the monk who had brought them here.


    The charcoal black mask that covered his entire face turned toward the entrants, and a black-gloved hand pointed to the couch opposite:


    "Please make yourself comfortable." It was the same distorted voice.


    "Thank you." Guider sat down on the edge of the couch, placing her purse beside her. "I don''t have much time, so let''s hurry up and let all these offers of extras happen right away."


    "As it pleases the Seeker." The monk bowed his head, and despite the distortion in his voice, Taer could have sworn he was smiling.


    From the "extras," the guider ordered drinks and a few dishes from the room service menu, the names of which were completely unfamiliar to Taer:


    "A full eight plus one, for a good deal." The "other one" said in a low voice after the food and drink men had left.


    The monk simply nodded and pulled a deck of cards from the folds of his cloak. He shuffled them carefully and leaned forward to place the deck on the table:


    "Cut."


    At that moment, Taer heard as a curtain flap in the wind, felt the touch of cloth and a blow to her right palm. Her hand struck the monk in the temple with such speed that she didn''t immediately realize what had happened. He jerked from the blow, a few dark strands of hair escaping from his mask, and began to fall to his side, but he was not destined to fall; the guide deftly caught him by the scruff of the neck with her other hand and pulled him to the table, managing not to hit the tray of food.


    "I guess the question of whether this is a real seer can be left out." The other rose from her seat with a chuckle.


    Standing over the monk sprawled on the table, she regarded him for a few seconds as if admiring another outlandish dish, then pulled off his mask, tossing it on the couch.


    Under the mask was a woman, or rather a girl. About twenty years old. She had blue-black hair, for some reason cut into a short bob "like a sister" tinted neon-green on the inside, eyes immaculately lined with black mascara, and a very neat little mouth painted with black lipstick.


    She lay perfectly still, and thin bloody scarlet streams stretched from her left ear and nose.


    Did you just kill her? Taer was still reeling from the shock and surprise. Just like that?


    "Taer, Taer..." The other shook her head disapprovingly and began pulling off the nun''s layered cloak. Why is murder the first thing on your mind?


    Because that''s what you usually do, kill people. She answered with complete sincerity.


    "I''m creating the future." She mumbled softly to herself as she deftly handled the many clasps of the cape, which went just above the waist and attached the bottom to the top and the layers to each other. "Killing, on the other hand, is just one way of removing the superfluous from the pattern. Though, that''s probably too abstract for you..."


    The clasps were finished, and the cape flew to the couch next to the mask.


    "Well, at least she has taste." The "other" concluded, inspecting the result of her labor.


    Beneath the black cloak that completely concealed any details, the nun wore a black silk shirt and a narrow green skirt below the knee, the color of her hair contrasting with her hair, bracelets on her arms made of blown gold with large emeralds that Taer remembered from some catalog for noblewomen, and for some reason rather simple white sneakers on her feet, though immaculately clean.


    Not at all what you''d expect to see from a converted nun in the Church of Twilight, more like the golden girl of very rich parents.


    So she''s alive? Taer clarified, just in case.


    "Of course, just unconsciousness, a concussion, and a burst eardrum." Calmly the ''other'' listed, pulling off the nun''s shoes. "If I''d killed her, the clothes might have been damaged. A dead body doesn''t do well at holding various substances."


    Taer quickly went through the items of clothing the guider had taken off the nun: mask, cloak, shoes, and black gloves that were almost elbow-length, but they hadn''t been touched yet. Everything, except maybe the mask, was completely ordinary, the sort of thing any atelier would make. Moreover, she was sure the gray monk''s full gown could be bought like a carnival costume.


    Sometimes I forget you''re insane. She sighed mentally, a little shocked at the nonsense she was participating in.


    "You''re probably right." She shrugged, sitting down on the couch kicking off her shoes, and putting on her trophy sneakers. "I guess it depends on what one considers the norm."


    Whatever crazy plan you need these clothes for. You can buy absolutely all of it with a tenth of the bribe you paid just to get here.


    "You''re absolutely right again." She nodded and got up from the couch. She stomped around a bit in her new shoes, the size wasn''t right, and her foot stubbed a bit on the toe. "We''ll have to be patient." She sighed philosophically and began to put on the cape.


    Then why? Why this ridiculous attack for the sake of clothes?


    "Because you''re huge, and gray monks are very sensitive to gait patterns. And I could, of course, guess what the only biometrically similar initiate is wearing, buy those things in advance, and then guess my way around the fact that there are two of us. But I''m a stickler for simple solutions."


    Simultaneously reading this lecture, the "other" managed to take out of her purse a pair of gloves one in one like a nun''s, and put them on.


    "Her gloves are small on your hand. It would be too conspicuous." There was an answer to a question Taer never seemed to ''speak up'' but must have been thinking too loudly.


    You didn''t want to guess and are a proponent of simple solutions... Taer couldn''t help herself.


    "Only as long as they work." The "other" smiled and, wearing a black monk mask, walked out of the office.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    The mask was too tight against her forehead, and the metal tendrils of the voice distortion resonators, hidden on the back of the mask, occasionally rested on her face. The small screen at eye level, which transmitted images from the light-sensitive layer on the mask''s surface, was not the same as the optics of the armor Taer had grown accustomed to.


    How can that be worn all day? Taer wondered, but there was no comment.


    The "other" gestured to one of the monks who were standing near the offices to sort out those wishing to read the fortune:


    "The seeker wishes to make a blood sacrifice." In a businesslike shorthand, the guider responded with a bow to the monk''s bow. "Let her not be disturbed."


    And receiving a nod in return, she headed somewhere in the depths of the temple.


    Are you sure they won''t find it? It''s just lying there on the table. It''s enough to casually glance over. Taer was genuinely worried, and she didn''t want to get caught.


    "They will." Barely audibly whispered the other. "But we''ll be out of the temple by then, don''t worry. No one will catch Cassard''s First Blade on a petty looting spree. For now..."


    For now?!


    "Well, maybe you''ll need to be taught a little lesson." The ''other'' murmured. "And you''re so careful about your reputation..."


    Taer was terrified when she imagined what the sick fantasy of a guider could do:


    Insulting the honor of the uniform with petty robbery may be the most innocent option.


    "Taer." The other hissed unhappily. "You''re secreting all sorts of nasty stuff into your bloodstream again. It''s exhausting. Stop it."


    Taer stopped as far as her limited self-control allowed. They were deep in the interior of the temple. The monotonous gray granite corridors with the occasional person in the same monk''s robes with whom she silently bowed.


    I thought in this part of the temple the entrance was only for Twilight himself...


    "If you follow the dogma of the church, then anyone can be a Twilight without knowing it. And you''re talking about the temple of a religion that''s dedicated to artistic interpretation of the rules. The gates are still closed, so it''s okay."


    And that fortune teller, was she any special? Why was she dressed like that?


    "How do you think a person devoted to money should be dressed?" An answering whisper sounded. "A middle-class functionary with a load of ancient ceremonial that no one needs."


    Taer remembered that gray clerics were supposed to practice strict asceticism and not spend money on themselves unless it was to buy the next rank, but now she found it naive to believe that anyone adhered to such inconvenient rules.


    The other didn''t react to her thoughts, but it seemed to Taer that the icy stream of consciousness of the ''other'' changed as if it looked at her with condescending approval.


    The journey through the interior of the temple ended in the elevator cabin, which looked very prosaic. One would have thought they were in some office complex and not the most prestigious one. The usual: "Please name the floor" sounded from under the ceiling, but instead of answering, The other quickly typed the code on the dial panel in the elevator wall. The elevator tinkled melodiously and, from the feel of it, headed downward.


    The doors opened again, leading them out into a small, dusty hallway with no finishes. The walls shamelessly showed the redness of uncovered plastic, and the large double-leaf metal doors with a code lock were silvered, unpainted metal right in front of the elevator, with only one place that had lost its pristine appearance. Right in the middle of the doors was a yellow ionic danger sign, accompanied by the words "DANGER" for those who didn''t understand.


    Are you trying to sabotage something? Taer couldn''t resist, seeing that she was heading straight for the door and dialing the code on the lock.


    "You could say that." The "other" nodded, but Taer could taste the irony in her thoughts.


    When she entered the code, she took a few steps back and in time. A hissing sound came from the door, and it swung open, revealing a dark corridor.


    She simply walked forward, the ceiling lights coming on one by one in time with her footsteps. Taer had expected to see high-energy converters or some other relatively dangerous energy machinery, but it was practically empty, a long, dusty corridor with rusty walls of the same uncovered plastic. The far end of the corridor led into the darkness of a large unlit space, and there, on the border of darkness and light, something stood on the floor along the walls.


    As the "other" walked slowly, it became clear that along the walls there were small dust-covered saucers with pieces of something dark with notes attached to them. When she came closer, it became clear that the dark pieces were dried-up organs, mummified by dust and time...


    These are human hearts. Taer realized what she was seeing.


    "Just hearts." Calmly the homing woman clarified. "Not necessarily human ones. Why the racism?"


    Is this a Twilight Cult shrine? There weren''t many options as to why there were hearts on saucers, and Taer voiced the most probable one, at the same time trying to put out of her mind thoughts about "they are terrorists", "they are forbidden", or "the Church of Twilight has officially anathematized all those who participate in their rituals" - as obviously naive nonsense.


    "Yes."


    The other confidently into the darkness beyond the corridor. The lights were not turned on here, and the darkness remained as it was. The light from the corridor was enough to distinguish that they were in a large hall and that on the sides of the entrance and along the walls, gradually disappearing into the impenetrable darkness, were statues.


    They had reached the middle of the hall in total darkness when the face of the goddess appeared in the glow of the deadly pale light ahead: the piercing gaze of huge, light, almost whitish eyes, a triangular face with a sharp chin, and a narrow, stern mouth in a halo of platinum-white hair.


    Is that the Champion of the Twilight? Taer called out the most innocuous title of this person, recognized mostly from pictures on fortune-telling cards.


    "Yes." The other answered with indifference in her voice, but a shadow of slight irritation slipped into the icy stream of her thoughts. She wasn''t happy with this hologram for some reason.


    A hologram appeared, illuminating the hall: directly beneath it was a small square platform. It must be an altar. It was empty, but on the floor around it stood the familiar saucers with the same contents. The statues along the walls became discernible. They depicted kneeling monks whose faces were covered by black masks that covered only half of their faces. The masks were inlaid in gold symbols or seals. All different in style, it resembled noble monograms on the helmets of armor. From under the masks, ruby-red strips stretched down the cheeks of the statues as if they were crying blood. The statues stood tightly, literally shoulder to shoulder, but sometimes there were gaps between them, where there were tightly wrapped bodies in gray cloth pulled by ropes to repeat the pose of the statues. On their cloth-wrapped heads were the same masks as on the statues


    Despite the gruesome offerings near the altar and what Taer suspected were real mummies along the walls, there was no smell of decay in the air, and judging by the amount of dust around, the peace of this creepy place was rarely disturbed.


    Why are we here? It wasn''t that Taer was scared, but a feeling of repulsion lingered in her gut. She was disgusted to be here.


    "I want to take something personal." The ''other'' answered as she approached the altar, and for once Taer felt no irony or sneer.


    She bent down and picked up the note from the saucer near the altar, the heart on it not yet fully mummified.


    On a dusty sheet of white plastic were the handwritten words: "The heart of Larir Rodar, Chairman of the Executive Board of the Zonn-Mer Corporation, taken on the seventh day of the twenty-third decade, year 25168 from the beginning of the Search, by a Nameless...", and beyond the "Nameless" was a monogram similar to those on the masks.


    Two years ago? It took Taer a moment to translate the date from the church calendar to the regular calendar.


    "What do you think?" The guider asked instead of answering.


    What? Taer sincerely didn''t understand.


    "An offering." She explained.


    Taer genuinely didn''t know what kind of answer was assumed to such a question:


    I don''t know... Nasty?


    "I don''t know either." She muttered to herself and threw the note on the altar with a disappointed sigh. From above, there was a quiet clinking sound as the storage devices prepared to discharge, and the sheet of plastic exploded in a whirlwind of bright sparks, leaving not even ashes. The hologram of the goddess above the altar closed its eyes, and its light faded to a calmer glow.


    "Let''s consider it humble but dignified." She added, watching the sparks go out.


    Is that what we''re here for? Taer asked. It seemed to her that there was some ritual that she didn''t understand.


    "No."


    She walked around the altar, and now that the source of light was behind her back, she could see that there was a door or gate in the wall behind the altar, the same as in the main column of the temple: a circle of gray stone with a triangle inscribed in it, inside of which was a golden "cross of alta." Only small, not much bigger than a man''s height.


    She stopped a step in front of the gate, and the world spun again, scattering in an endless kaleidoscope.


    It happened so suddenly that Taer was completely lost in the whirlwind of probabilities swirling around her, but she noticed the other had done something to them, as if she''d switched places, making the impossible - possible.


    There were clicks and loud hisses, and her perception was split, one part still aware of the endless whirl of possible futures, and the other part regained sight and hearing, albeit distantly, as if she were peering over her shoulder.


    The gate behind the altar opened slowly in front of her. The circle came forward and moved aside, blinding her with a painfully bright light.


    Taer wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, but she couldn''t. The guider walked in without blinking an eye.


    The vortex of probabilities changed. Taer saw some of them move forward quickly. It was threats, and they would be fulfilled when she stepped into the center of the room: two on either side of the walls and one of some sort of "in general," still undetermined - constantly changing.


    In normal vision, it was a brightly lit, circular room, all completely white. Right in the center of it, sandwiched between two purple base plates, a column of amber light shone within it, the blurry outline of a small object. A stasis capsule, an ancient one. At least in the holo, the ancient stasis capsules were depicted in this way. Next to the active capsule was a round disk of another base, but it was empty.


    Without paying attention to all of this, she headed straight for the working stasis pod, right where two of the three threats were to be realized.


    It''s dangerous out there! Taer shouted mentally, but the guider didn''t respond.


    As she approached the capsule, her perception acceleration activated, which must have been from fear, and everything slowed down painfully, giving her much more time than she needed to feel the deadly threat ready to descend upon her.


    The guider was looking away, so Taer only glimpsed as the wall panels began to slowly fly apart under the pressure of angular metal carcasses. Something was tearing out of there, something large and armed. She knew she was about to be shot at.


    At that moment, the kaleidoscope of probabilities came into motion again, but this time thanks to the perception booster, Taer could make out exactly what was happening. She saw the "other" focus on the threats, two of them at once, as they stretched out in a string of copies in the corridor of possibility. They were combat robots. Real, pre-war ones, with the reaction speed only machines could achieve and the inhuman precision of servos not yet curtailed by Imperial edicts. Guider instantly found faults in the probability corridors of these robots. Failures that were very faint and almost impossible, but it didn''t confuse her. She pulled them to the surface somehow, and both machines froze as dead piles of metal before they could get out of their niches in the walls.


    She burned their brains out, literally one ion in the right place... The ability to manipulate the probable in such a way was awe-inspiring and gave Taer some new insight. You can do that with any matter that doesn''t have a will, it doesn''t care what state it''s in. There''s no resistance. She opened the gates like that...


    Two of the threats were over, but the third was still here. The room was empty, but Taer could see the kaleidoscope of possibilities distorting around her, as if a large predatory fish were circling the room, picking its moment to strike.


    But as time passed, the unknown threat did not manifest itself. The accelerator shut down, and the blockade went into effect, calming Taer. She tried to concentrate on the threat to see it within the corridor of probabilities but saw only a fuzzy and blurred humanoid silhouette as if covered by a thick fog.


    The unknown man knew how to hide himself even from her all-seeing gaze.


    "I get annoyed when I''m kept waiting." Loudly said the guider in a disgruntled voice, but Taer could sense that the ''other'' was actually enjoying everything. She was amused by the situation.


    But there was no reaction, something invisible and perhaps not existing, because Taer did not hear anything and did not feel the movement of the air, still circled around waiting for a chance to attack.


    Guider waited for a minute or so, scrutinizing the unadorned room, and turned to the stasis unit with a shrug of her shoulders.


    Taer saw the threat begin to grow at that moment, distorting the probabilities around her like a gravitational lens, about to materialize soon enough, but she didn''t panic this time, knowing full well the guider could see it too, or maybe it was just the blockade helping.


    The other stopped beside the unit and poked her toe carelessly into the base of the capsule, right into the silhouette of a palm. A well-pitched female voice came from the side of the capsule, saying a phrase in either the language of the Flame branch or the Old Church language - they were close, and Taer honestly didn''t know either one.


    Simultaneously with the phrase, a screen with a bright yellow outline of a palm appeared in front of her at chest level. The "other" put her hand on the outline. The screen felt like slippery glass.


    Above the hand appeared two columns of numbers that changed continuously.


    At that moment, the guider receded, but not just backward, but out of reality itself altogether, ceased to be "here," ceased to exist here and now.


    The reality was gray, muffled, and distant, but Taer could still see the figure in the gray monk''s robes materialize out of nothing, a fountain of stone crumbs exploding and twisting into a pyramid of debris on the floor where she stood. And everything was slow, or rather it didn''t move unless she wanted it to, as if time did not apply to this state.


    The retreat into oblivion lasted only a split second. The monk, who had appeared in midair, hadn''t had time to touch the floor when guider returned, her palm open and near her face. A slight jolt and a wave of distortion hit the attacker in the side, crumpling him like a paper bag and hurling him into the wall.


    Taer tried to bring herself back to reality. She was standing next to a pile of crushed stone, a large cloud of fine dust slowly spreading across the room. And the most surprising thing was that it irritated guider incredibly:


    She hates looking unkempt. Taer guessed.


    Some convulsive sobs could be heard against the wall. The attacker must still be alive. The screen with the silhouette of a palm and two columns of numbers that appeared in front of the stasis unit was still working, and the numbers lit up yellow very quickly. As soon as both columns of digits lit up in gold, the screen blinked, turned green for a moment, and dissolved simultaneously with a new phrase from the capsule. Also completely unintelligible to Taer.


    The yellow column of amber shimmered and disappeared, dropping a large box deftly caught by the guider who had set up her left hand beforehand.


    Despite its size, the box was surprisingly light, but there was something in it. Something paper or plastic.


    As she did so, holding the box, she turned at the sobs.


    The monk lay against the wall in a pile of gray rags, his left arm twisted at an unnatural angle, his face covered by the same half-mask as the statues in the shrine. He shuddered with his whole body through sobs, whispering: "A human being couldn''t have done it, a human being couldn''t have done it...". And most disturbing and repulsive of all was the fact that it was impossible to understand what those sobs were. Whether he was crying or laughing.


    "The Other" silently contemplated the monk''s convulsions, and Taer felt the Other was clearly assessing him.


    In about a minute of convulsions and sobs, ignoring his dangling arm and the wet bloodstain around his hip on his gray robe, the monk managed to bring himself into roughly the same pose as the statues in the sanctuary and, with his forehead on the floor, prostrated himself in front of the guider:


    "I, the Nameless One, have finished my Search." He spoke loudly and clearly, even with some enthusiasm, but the monk''s voice still trembled a little and sounded very young. "I have not found Twilight, but I have found His Will, and I accept it, whatever it may be."


    He rose and sat down on his knees again. He had a yellow monogram on his mask, but it wasn''t gold, like the statues. It was painted on with paint, rather sloppily as if it had been drawn with a finger, and he had a very sharp chin and thin, painfully sunken cheeks, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he looked like a complete lunatic:


    Well, I guess sane people wouldn''t worship bad death or whatever the title is.


    "Why are you alive?" She asked in a raised voice, clearly taking the monk''s performance for granted.


    The one pressed his forehead into the floor again:


    "If my service was acceptable to the Lost One, the Blessed One''s Will has condescended to speak to and question the Nameless One. But if my service was displeasing, the Blessed One has deemed me unworthy to die by her hand."


    "It''s nice to see someone with good judgment." Smiled the other one. "I did decide to ask you questions. Who dared to break the covenant? To come in here and even leave you here." She nodded toward the second stasis pod.


    "The Council of Shadows made this decision unanimously." The monk answered quickly, still not looking up from the floor. "I have done its will."


    "Why did you accept their will, knowing it violated the covenants?" The "other" said in a bored tone, looking down at the monk.


    "Anyone who violates the sanctity of these chambers must be killed, and there is no greater honor for me than to kill one who risks such sacrilege." The monk muttered quickly.


    "What if someone who has a right to be here comes to the chambers?" She grinned at him.


    The monk lifted his forehead off the floor:


    "So I have a chance to accept death by a blessed hand-" He whispered, smiling through the pain.


    "Ambitious." She hummed approvingly and walked over to the monk, literally looming over him. "But such an honor has yet to be earned."


    She reached out and pulled the mask off the monk''s face.


    He was a young man in his twenties, morbidly thin, with a type that is often used in love holo-dramas for "misunderstood geniuses." His dark, disheveled, curly hair only played up the image even more. But the eyes...


    The monk''s eyes glowed softly a dull blue, like rotted wood in the dark.


    Twilight Adept Manifestation. Taer realized. If the holo are to be believed, they have them starting just past the point of insanity.


    "I am greedy and intemperate with His Gifts. But I can serve His Will..." He added with conviction.


    "Greedy"? Greedy is good." Looking somewhere past the monk, the "other" sighed. "One of the few real human virtues... Here." She shoved her box at him.


    The man hurriedly picked it up, holding it with one hand like an experienced waiter holds a tray.


    "The name, in the world, of the one who made such an ingenious suggestion at the Council of Shadows?" She asked as she began to open the box.


    "Tilo Arsham, second deputy secretary of the banking union." The monk answered immediately, keeping one eye on the box. He, too, was obviously curious about what was inside.


    Inside were tightly packed rows of small sand-colored boxes.


    "He must be very old or very young," she suggested, pulling out a box and opening it. "If he dared to voice such an initiative."


    It''s a pack of cigarettes... Taer realized. That psycho came here for cigarettes...


    "He''s young." The monk replied, looking at the cigarette with rounded eyes.


    Guider pulled a lighter out from under her cloak, pulled off her trophy mask, and threw it on top of the box. To the monk''s credit, he deftly used one hand to keep the mask and the box from falling.


    "Every face is a lie." The monk mumbled, lowering his eyes fearfully so as not to look at Taer''s face.


    "Now that''s the plain truth." With a philosophical sigh, the guider nodded, lighting a cigarette. "What should be done to the Shadow Council for such a blatant violation of the covenants?" She asked as she inhaled her cigarette with relish.


    "They deserve a low death." A smirk of sadistic anticipation appeared on the monk''s face. "If it pleases His Will, I will bring their hearts, if they are still alive. If they are dead, I will bring the hearts of their unworthy descendants or the descendants of their descendants..."


    "I have plans for them." '' Interrupted the guider, watching the play of tobacco smoke thoughtfully. "As for you... What was your gift before you came here?"


    "If it please His Will..." The monk began, but he was immediately interrupted:


    "It please."


    The monk, still avoiding looking at Taer''s face, carefully placed the box on the floor and reached out with his healthy hand into the darkness of the gateway beyond which the sanctuary remained. From there, the saucer flew out like a thrown ball and stopped suddenly with all its contents in the monk''s hand.


    Taer sensed the ''other''s'' slight displeasure at this demonstration of the adept''s capabilities, but she said nothing aloud.


    "A lesser gift of the Nameless, unworthy to bring a great gift." The monk held out a saucer. On it, under a thick layer of dust, were two black, long-mummified hearts and a note.


    The heart of Noara Bellar, Ruling Lady of the Great House of Bellar, and the heart of Iolene Bellar, Lord Consort of the Great House of Bellar, taken on the ninth day of the ninth decade of the year 25154 from the beginning of the Search, unnamed... Taer read not believing her eyes.


    The symbol of the nameless one on the note was the same as the one on the monk''s mask.


    "The ninth day of the ninth decade." Guider smiled approvingly. "I like that kind of attention to detail in a complicated gift. I''ll see how you did."


    She took two long puffs of her cigarette and with saucer in hand, walked to the gateway and placed the hearts on the altar in the semi-darkness of the sanctuary. The familiar low chime sounded, and the hearts disappeared, for a moment lighting up the sanctuary with a purple flash, leaving Taer''s face in a wave of heat.


    "There is no greater honor for the nameless than to turn the gaze of his will upon oneself." Whispered the monk with an utterly ecstatic expression on his face when she turned back. "Is one''s gift accepted, is one worthy of service and name?"


    "Your gift is accepted." Pronounced the guider standing over the monk. "But do you understand what you are asking?"


    "I ask His Will to give me a name and accept my service in life and death, as it will please her." The monk replied, again resting his forehead on the floor.


    "All right." Sighed the other pulling herself a new cigarette. "I take you to be a servant in life and an executor in death. I name you in life, Servant."


    Taer had never seen such a happy man in her life, and given his ragged appearance and the crazed look in his glowing eyes, it was rather a repulsive sight.


    "How can I serve in life, his will?" The monk whispered with a gasp of delight and bowed again.


    "First of all, assemble you back together." Ordered the ''other'' and smoked again.


    The monk bowed and began to pull off his robes, which took him some time with only one working hand. When he had undressed, he lay on the floor in the star pose, arms and legs spread wide.


    Other smoked leisurely, and Taer watched the monk when the turn of her head allowed:


    It''s like a droid with a self-repair protocol. She thought as she watched the monk''s limbs slowly twist back into their natural position with an unpleasant crunch. From the look on the guy''s face, the process was not painless but rather the opposite.


    But he endured, making almost no sound, only occasionally allowing himself barely audible sobs.


    After a few minutes, the "assembly" process was over. The monk dressed again and bowed at Taer''s feet:


    "How can I serve in life, to His Will?"


    "Look." Guider pulled a folded sheet from her pockets and unfolded it. It was a map of the main temple of the Church of Twilight, with many markings and signatures in impeccable calligraphic handwriting that pointed to the droid''s hand. "There are mines on the plans. We''ll need to set some kind of explosive charges. Powerful enough to take a knight''s armor. Like the imperial 2M43 "Needle" directed energy mine. But no more powerful than two nominal units each. I don''t plan on tearing down the temple. Do you understand?"


    Monk nodded.


    "Then, run." The "other" smiled, holding out a map to him. "Stay within the capital, not far from people. I''ll find you if I need you."


    "Servant, happy to accept the first service. " The monk bowed and, escorted by the gaze of the guider, rushed towards the exit, really running.


    Is this all for some act of terrorism? Taer was outraged and discouraged.


    "An act of terrorism?" Sincerely wondered the "other". "Why? I don''t want to intimidate anyone. It''s preparation for an important date."


    A date? With who?


    "You don''t know him." With a grin, the guider waved off, and Taer felt a ringing cheer emanating from the icy stream in her mind. "Lately, he likes to call himself Alex and pretend to be human."


    * * *

 Chapter 22

    Chapter 22


    * * *


    "I keep hoping it''s just such an invitation to visit." Krain grinned wryly. He was sitting in a chair. His arms were bound behind his back, and the high backrest forced him to bend forward.


    "It is." Alex nodded, closing the door tightly behind him, and after waiting for the characteristic quiet hiss and clicks of the locks closing, he continued:


    "You''re my personal guest. How do you like the atmosphere?"


    "I''m a simple man." Krain shrugged, still squinting at Alex. "I don''t know about nobility. The furnishings are the most luxurious I''ve ever seen. I''m embarrassed to be in one."


    The atmosphere was indeed more luxurious than ever. Alex ordered that the "guest" be placed in a room inside the "personal area," intended for the prince and the closest cronies. Of course, not to impress the rebel with the elegance of the decoration, but to minimize the number of witnesses who could see him. Inside the rooms of the "personal zone" there was no visual recording, there were far fewer servants than on the other floors, and all of them were brought in, not from the locals.


    And I don''t need witnesses at all. Alex sighed mentally, pulling out an injector from his jacket pocket.


    "Are you going to torture me?" Krain asked in no uncertain terms when he saw the injector.


    "Why torture?" Alex shrugged indifferently. "Just having a chat with my dear guest over a cup of Lima Serum."


    "By yourself? Without any helpers? That''s quite an honor. The princes haven''t tortured me yet."


    "Enough of the snark." Alex snapped at him, who didn''t like what was going on either. "What helpers? If you say something under the serum about the Anti-Imperial Alliance in front of witnesses, I''ll be in a lot of trouble."


    "So maybe we shouldn''t?" Krain asked without much hope.


    "It is necessary," Alex barely audibly exhaled and added in a full voice. "The attackers haven''t been interrogated yet, but the guys say they look a lot like ''broken'' Sociar slaves. I have no idea who they are." He admitted sincerely as he began to roll up the rebel''s sleeve. "But they say there are a lot of them in the Anti-Imperial Alliance. And anyway, there are only three possibilities as to why this attack was possible: they followed me, they followed Lord Lister, or they came with you. And if they came with you, I''d really like to know if you knew or if you were being used."


    "And what if I knew?" Squinting angrily, Krain asked. "Are they going to shoot me right here? Or would they take me to a place with cheaper carpets first?"


    "Logically, in that case, you should have been the accidental victim of that attack, catching the occasional blaster shot during the shootout in the alley," Alex answered honestly. "But I won''t do that, at least not this time. But our relationship will stop being buddy-buddy."


    Alex pulled a cylinder of "Lima serum" out of his pocket and charged the injector.


    "Actually, that thing is very harmful." The rebel said quickly, squinting at the metal snout of the injector hovering near his shoulder. "It affects the brain."


    "I know, so I''ll try to make it quick and inject the neutralizer right away."


    The injector hissed briefly, leaving a spreading red stain on his arm.


    "And I was burning my skin on Tallana while I was looking for you, you shit-eater..." Krain grimaced, writhing in pain.


    "I got you out of the Transit Station alive." Alex reminded me tiredly, sitting down in the chair opposite.


    The serum was working fast, and the rebel was in no shape to continue the pique, so Alex started the interrogation, trying, as he promised, to be as quick as possible, limiting to only the most necessary questions.


    Krain knew nothing of the assault. He had come to the capital to deliver a report to Plenipotentiary Representative Liora on the activities of their cell in the Tail Sector, and to be a liaison between the rebels and Alex if necessary.


    And they didn''t plan to contact me right away. Alex noted in his mind. Krain had a letter for me, but it was supposed to be delivered in three or four decades when I would have gotten used to the assignment. Makes sense.


    But four days ago, Krain had been approached by the local leadership to facilitate a meeting with Lord Lister, which didn''t surprise him at all. The lord, with a high court position and young, was a possible valuable ally. After the events on Tallana, they knew each other personally. He had contacted Liora and received the go-ahead to help the central sector and to send a letter to Lord Cassard as well. Liora felt two meetings in a row with a high nobleman might pose more of a problem than one meeting with two at once.


    My appearance at this meeting was not part of the organizers'' plans and is the result of Ms. Liora''s amateurishness. And if you take the guards I brought in out of the equation, the attackers would have succeeded.


    The picture appeared pretty clear, and Alex hurriedly injected the neutralizer.


    After receiving the injection, Krain was panting heavily as if after a grueling jog, and by the time Alex uncuffed him, the rebel was shivering:


    "You couldn''t just ask all that, could you?" Krain said with difficulty, his gaze slowly returning to normal.


    "When you get assassinated every ten days, you kind of stop taking the word for it." Alex shrugged, feeling guilty deep down. "After the serum, they recommend either stimulants or alcohol. Which do you prefer?" He asked, and rising from his chair, pulled closer a large tray of drinks levitating nearby at waist height.


    Instead of answering, Krain snatched a bottle of strong liqueur from the tray and quickly managed to get the lid off and, despite his trembling hands, tipped it into himself, taking a few greedy sips:


    "I wish a zwigolot fuck your lordship." Krain wheezed and pulled the neck away from his lips, looking at the label of the bottle. "Is that your way of apologizing?" He asked with a smirk, taking another sip. "A drink for the price of a flyer?"


    "Do I have anything to apologize for?" Alex raised an eyebrow as he poured himself a tincture of tarium. "Did I take advantage of you and set you up? Or maybe I brought some enforcers with me to the meeting, putting the others in mortal danger?"


    "Are you implying that I own you?" Krain asked with a squint, and after another sip from the bottle, he added with a sigh. "Well, maybe I am."


    "Not that it''s you personally." Alex clarified, thoughtfully chasing the emerald liquid through the glass, which exuded a fresh, slightly spicy flavor. "But for Liora, and the rebels in general, I''m sympathetic to you, and this is such a set-up in return. What''s it like for you? Is it okay to be a victim of revolutionary expediency? I mean, you''ve been set up. If that attack on Lister had been successful, you''d be the first one they''d be looking for."


    "I''m a small bug." With a philosophical look, Krain shrugged. "For breeding or bait. Mistress Liora is a larger fish, a girl with connections, but no one will cry for her either. While I was paralyzed, I heard something that sounded like big politics. A bigger figure might get shredded in a soup like this, not like me or Liora."


    "And what is the interest of the Resistance in this great policy, that it is worth breaking relations with two lords at once?"


    "The shadows know." Krain shrugged again. "Depends on who you ask. There''s no united Resistance. The gathering is this: I''m a maxi. Liora is a republican-legalist. Our gnarm, though he denies it, looks like a cartel fighter, or maybe he''s from the Union of the Free, or maybe both. The young students are for everything good against everything bad. And they all have their own interests and views on how to live after the empire is gone."


    "Maxi?" Alex asked, who guessed from the context that he was talking about a political group, but no more.


    "Well, there was a maxi." Rebel was a little embarrassed. "Probably more of a mini now..."


    "I have no idea what it means," Alex admitted hastily to prevent Krain from slipping into a lengthy self-exploration.


    "Well, maximum and minimum utopian programs." The rebel obviously expecting to see some recognition in his eyes, but not finding it, explained. "Maximum program means to withdraw and concentrate all production resources for the fastest creation of the technosphere, with the fastest exit to self-sustaining, and therefore to the level when the technosphere will begin to provide people. Well, the minimum program implies operating exclusively with tax money. The elements of the future technosphere will be ordered from existing manufacturers, which, of course, will be noticeably slower... But if you think about it, there will be much less resistance to this approach, which means..."


    "I got it." Alex interrupted again, though he was interested to hear about the differences between local communists and socialists, but now there were more pressing problems. "Are these ''broken slaves'' or what do you think they are, really from yours?"


    "Probably," Krain admitted reluctantly as if it were something embarrassing. "There are plenty of them in the Alliance."


    "I''m told slavery has been outlawed for twenty years."


    "It is." Nodded the rebel. "That''s why they don''t like the Empire."


    "For the abolition of slavery?" Alex clarified, who thought he had misunderstood.


    "Uh-huh, nasty business." Krain nodded again. "The Sociarians trained slaves: when the master is satisfied, a drug is injected into the bloodstream - pure bliss. If he''s not happy, the painful shock goes directly to the brain. A few years of such training and few people have any will of their own."


    "Sounds pretty nasty." Alex nodded, involuntarily wrinkling his nose as well.


    "That''s what I mean." Krain hummed. "Plus, there''s the religious moment... In general, when slaves were freed, almost a third of them killed themselves. From grief and horror that they were left without masters. And there were a lot more of them in the Resistance. Now, of course, they''re much less. It''s been more than 20 years since the liberation. There are no new ones, but the old ones are leaving."


    "Any idea why all the attackers were from the ''broken''? Do they have any special interests in imperial politics?"


    "The Shadows know. They must have some special interests. They''re usually zealous synths, and the head of their church, the Queen of Sociara, is kind of captured here in the capital, or whatever reason. I''ve always tried to stay away from them, to be honest." The rebel added trustingly and took a small sip from the bottle. "Or maybe someone else brought them in as fighters. They are crazy, with no fear of death. They''ve often been involved in forceful operations."


    "Yeah..." Stretched Alex, who couldn''t get rid of the feeling that the answers were confusing him even more. "It turns out: Republicans, Maxis, Minis, Gnarms, Ex-slaves, and just students. Any idea who exactly out of this political vinaigrette might have wanted to attack Lord Lister?"


    "Viineegeretaa?" Stretching out the syllables, Krain asked, looking at Alex in surprise.


    "Salad is like that." Tiredly he waved it away. "Especially gourmet."


    "I tell you, the demons know." Krain returned to the subject of the question. "I can, as an apology, tell you who asked for a meeting with Brenor..."


    "Nah." Alex hummed, setting his glass back on the tray. "It''ll be not enough."


    "Not enough?" the rebel wondered. "What do you want, your lordship?"


    "Droid hacking specialist needed." His Lordship said, stepping forward and lowering his voice a half-tone. "A lance or whatever they''re called. Right now, and preferably not a rebel, but someone from the side."


    Krain thought for a few seconds, digesting what he''d heard, his face showing that something in his head didn''t add up:


    "And the reasons you don''t want to use yours are none of my concern." He finally suggested. "Did I get that right?"


    "It''s complicated." With a sour smile, Alex answered evasively.


    The rest was full of nuances: Dudo thought it wouldn''t be too difficult to open the droid, but he needed specialized cryptographic equipment, the " lance". It wasn''t available. He could try to buy it, but that would conflict with his promise to give the droid to Lord Lister within twenty-four hours. It would be possible to "borrow" what was needed from the scouts of the House of Fyron... But they would definitely snitch it, at least to their superiors. This set of contradictory demands became a real headache for Alex, who really wanted to know what kind of revelations Baron Assaro had left in his posthumous note.


    "So? Can you help?" Alex asked again, making sure desperation didn''t creep into his voice. It''s easier to get results when the counterpart doesn''t know he''s the only option.


    Almost the only one. He corrected himself mentally. He could probably think of something else, but the other options would probably be worse.


    The rebel thought for a moment, pensively gazing at the ceiling with a groggy look:


    "I knew one lance about five years ago." Finally, with a sigh, he gave out. "He specialized in droids. I don''t know if he''s still working or not, but if he is, I''m telling you right away, he''s a weird guy."


    "I only care about the result."


    * * *


    The aerocar stopped at the ground, and Krain, who was sitting at the control panel, clicked the headlight switch, making a piece of gray metal wall with unreadable graffiti disappear into the darkness. The side door rattled with metal, and Dudo was the first to come out, followed by Alex.


    The walls of the buildings went infinitely high, melting into the darkness broken only at the very top by the sparse sparks of signal lights, making it seem as if they had stopped at the very bottom of a huge well. The air smelled of chemistry and piss, and garbage rustled and crunched beneath their feet.


    "Well, atmosphere," Alex muttered quietly, wrinkling his nose involuntarily.


    "You just don''t do anything stupid," Krain warned again in a half voice as he closed the aircar behind him. "And stay natural, or they''ll be all over you." He added, nodding toward the flickering lights that were clearly moving toward them.


    They were lanterns, five at least, bright cones of white light bouncing chaotically on the walls and sidewalk, sometimes flashing a bright white star when aimed directly at the eyes. Judging by the movement, the owners of the flashlights were literally running toward them.


    "Gentlemen, gentlemen, we''ll give you a light!" The voice of one of the lantern-wielders was a little disrupted by the rapid running, and its sonorousness suggested a child.


    "We will light! We''ll light!" They were surrounded by a group of grimy boys, about ten years old at most, with bright flashlights in their hands.


    "Back off," Krain growled, shoving them aside. "You better watch the car." He added conciliatorily, tossing a couple of coins that the kids had caught.


    "Shall we go?" He turned to Alex and Dudo, and without waiting for them to answer, he moved forward down the dark street, shining his lantern and unbuttoning his cloak with his free hand so that he could see the belt with the blaster hanging from it.


    "Let''s go." Alex nodded. He unbuttoned his jacket to make it easier to reach for his weapon and pulled from his pocket a pair of large, rounded, dragonfly-type goggles with a thick upper rim. The local equivalent of night vision goggles. Besides, Dudo said they protect against flashes, too.


    He put on his goggles and fumbled for the half-recessed power button on the edge of the rim. The darkness remained dark, but bright orange outlines flashed around all objects, including people, as if someone had traced them with a glowing marker.


    "A little different than I expected," Alex muttered, looking at the black spot where Dudo''s face had been, outlined in a glowing outline. "But it''s navigable."


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    He waved his hand to Dudo, and they moved to follow the rebel, having to pick up their pace.


    Above my head, pipes and wires were intertwined in a network of bizarre patterns, leaving only tiny gaps in the pale yellow sky in my night-vision goggles. Underfoot were black spots of puddles and piles of garbage because of the complexity and numerous contours in the illumination of the glasses, more like wide, faded Christmas trees nestled at the bases of pillars and on the corners of buildings whose massive gray hulks with long narrow windows overhung the street like ancient fortresses. Numerous side alleys were often blocked from the sides and top by improvised constructions of plastic, metal, and almost cardboard sheets and it seemed that someone lived in these partitions. At least the glasses caught the occasional movement of some lines.


    It was early evening by local time, and despite the darkness, they occasionally came across locals: loners who preferred to huddle in some niches, entrances, and groups of young people who gave them appraising glances. The appraisal ended with glances, laughs, and muffled phrases behind their backs. Alex strongly suspected if it weren''t for the fact there were three of them with Dudo, who could fit three ordinary people at shoulder width, and not the blasters dangling ostentatiously on his belt, the appraisal could have been a different kind of math, more "proactive."


    There was a third category of local inhabitants - "mannequins." Alex even lifted his glasses to look with his own eyes because it seemed strange that there was a mannequin standing in the middle of such a street. In the light of Krain''s lantern, it was visible that it was a man, frozen, staring into the void, with a wet trickle of saliva from the open mouth. Then another one came along, and another. Standing still and staring into the void, they often met in groups - different people: young and not so young, ragged and dirty, and more or less decently dressed, men and women. There were even a couple of girls, quite pretty in their outlines, sitting on the steps of one of the entrances, looking somewhere into infinity, together with a diverse group of similar "mannequins" surrounding them.


    All these guys were obviously under something very serious, and the strangest thing was that many of them were frozen in some very uncomfortable poses, standing bent almost to the ground.


    "What''s with the bent?" Alex whispered as he approached Krain.


    "The usual acrobats." Shrugging, the man replied.


    "Acrobats?"


    "You know, the ones hooked on the Feint. Do they call them something else in the Tail Sector?"


    "I have no idea what we call them. Is their posture part of the effect of the Feint?"


    "Kind of." Krain nodded. "At high doses, they say it feels like falling. That''s what bends them. Like they''re falling. The slowest fall of your life, after which there''s no getting back up." He finished, clearly a quote of some kind.


    "Yeah..." Alex looked back with a slight shiver. "The atmosphere makes me want to get out as soon as possible..."


    Not that he was scared. The landing bots could reach monstrous speeds in the atmosphere, and they could get here from the duty zone in a minute and a half. There was nothing to be afraid of. They would definitely last a minute and a half to two minutes with their shields. But they wanted to stay here less and less. The people frozen in the darkness, with saliva flowing from their mouths, created an unpleasant and creepy impression, as well as the whole neighborhood in general


    "The atmosphere is as usual." The rebel grinned and added in a whisper. "What, your lordship, are you afraid to be near the peasants?"


    Alex replied with a long, expressive look but then remembered he was wearing huge glasses:


    "That''s a funny joke." He finally replied. "I doubt there are many people here who would refuse to be anywhere else. Why should I be the exception?"


    "There''ll be plenty of people who''d be lucky to be here. Take my word for it. Even in the capital, there are worse places than this."


    "There''s always a worse place." Alex shrugged. "Do we have a long way to go?" He decided to change the subject.


    "Almost there. Over there with the big gate." The rebel pointed with a flashlight toward another gray hulk a hundred meters ahead, with a wide double gate of ribbed metal whose original color had long since disappeared under the layers of graffiti. "One moment..." Krain mewled a little. "As I said, don''t mention that you''re of Kassard lineage, secondarist, or from the Tail Sector at all. Lance is... He''s generally weird about that."


    "Okay." With an indifferent look, Alex shrugged. He planning to keep his incognito anyway.


    He, slowing his step slightly, turned to Dudo:


    "Your job is to oversee the technical process." He reminded him again in a whisper. "You''re the only one of us who understands it, so if this lance starts to do anything wrong, get involved right away."


    "How to intervene?" Dudo clarified. "Politely or effectively?"


    "Effective." Alex cut him off. "Don''t bother with it, as long as the droid stays in one piece."


    When he reached the gate Krain pressed the intercom button on the wall, whose panel was wrinkled and even a little melted at the edges:


    "It''s Rogue." He said, waiting for a loud beep. "I called today about a job."


    The intercom speaker beeped again and wheezed with static: "Come in." The gates moved with a metallic rumble and parted just enough to let the man in, but no more.


    "Let''s go," Krain repeated, nodding his head toward a gap in the gate, behind which his glasses made out the orange outline of some kind of machine and squeezed inside.


    Alex cautiously entered next. The gate led to a rather spacious garage, littered with all sorts of technical stuff, in the center of which a small open-top flyer, rather battered by life, hung near the floor. Literally battered. The bright contours displayed by the glasses only emphasized the numerous violations of geometry. At the far end of the garage, there were double sliding doors, the kind you''d expect to see in a supermarket.


    Hoping that at least there should be some lighting, Alex switched the mode of his goggles. The garage was indeed illuminated, a few stained panels under the ceiling casting a bright yellowish light. But he didn''t take off his goggles anyway, just in case - it''s a conspiracy, and it protects from flashes.


    Carefully going around the rubble of some spare parts, they came to the sliding doors, the glass part of which looked like a lollipop because of yellow light and frozen lightning cracks. Behind the doors was a stairwell, quite clean in contrast to everything else.


    "Open up!" Krain knocked forcefully on the doors. Unlike the ones in the store, these didn''t even think about opening themselves.


    It took about half a minute before the doors hissed apart:


    "Come downstairs." A man''s voice came from the floor below.


    The floor below was a real hacker''s lair. At least it was fully in line with Alex''s expectations.


    The very spacious room, a little smaller than the garage, was illuminated by the even cold light of the ceiling panels. The entire opposite wall from the entrance was occupied by a local supercomputer. A cluster, or maybe even several at once. Above the rows of coal-black racks of the cluster, there were a bunch of different monitors, but even this was not enough. Fragments of the wall to the left and right of the monitors were allocated for projection zones, on one of which there were some graphs, and on the second the image of the garage through which they passed, the view from above.


    Hovering beside all this cyber splendor was a large black chair that slowly turned toward them as all three entered the room.


    The first thing that caught his eye was the large arched keyboard under the armrest of his right hand. It was probably the first time Alex had ever seen a keyboard here. There were voice interfaces everywhere, and keyboards, as had been explained to him, were the domain of professionals. The potential professional, a very thin man of about forty with a goatee and distinct bald spots in his thin dark hair, met them sitting in his huge chair with a squeamishly bored expression.


    "What have you got there?" He stretched lazily, finding the strength to nod to the others. His swamp-colored eyes were not naturally dilated, and Alex suspected there were a lot of drugs in there, too.


    "The droid, as I said." Krain took the lead in full accordance with the prior arrangements. He gave Dudo an expressive look, and he pulled a small white disk out from under his jacket.


    Alex, taking advantage of the fact that his participation in what was going on was not required at all, looked around with interest.


    Right in the center of the room was an unimpressive glass table with a bowl of dry snacks and a scattering of cushions for sitting around it. But behind him, near the wall opposite the cluster, completely invisible from the stairs, was something more interesting. It is covered by a blanket of dense silver fabric. There stood something intermediate between a dentist''s chair and a surgical table. Beneath the cloth cover the outline of a woman''s body was unmistakable. It ended just above her breasts revealing snow-white shoulders and wide-spread arms held by special supports. A flawless face with a bright sensual mouth. The eyes of the beauty lying on the table were closed, and one could think that she was asleep, or even dead, if her skull were not divided into two halves, just above the line of red hair, shining with chrome of open panels and complex grips, on the place where a person''s brain should be.


    Android? Cyborg? It was the first time Alex, saw something like that. He didn''t know what he was looking at, but the authenticity was striking. Had it not been for the open head, so obviously demonstrating the artificial nature, he would never have thought that it was not a human being.


    "It''s a droid, isn''t it?" Just in case, Alex turned to the others.


    "Who?" the host, who was looking at the messenger droid with fascination, didn''t immediately realize what he was talking about. "§¡h... What did you like?" He grinned understandingly, realizing who Alex was asking about. "Yes, it''s a droid, but don''t drool. You''ll never have the money or the passion for one of these."


    "Just, first time I''ve seen something like that." He replied, ignoring the smirk of demonstrative superiority on Lancer''s face.


    "Of course you do." He clucked his tongue with a look of proud ownership. "Real pre-war stuff, gentle voice, no nasty buzzers in the drives, and it doesn''t shake like the newer Church of the Flame-designed stuff."


    "The Church of the Flame?" Alex frowned. Not that he was well versed in the local political process, but as far as he knew, the church certainly didn''t regulate droids.


    "What did you think the Inquisition decides things?" Lance snorted, starting to connect some wires to the small disk of the messenger droid. "They''re enforcers, they do as they''re told, and the Throne of Fire makes all the decisions."


    "Not the Emperor?"


    "And who''s the Emperor?" Re-questioned the Lance looking at Alex like an idiot. "A former fire monk! And there are no ex-monks."


    "So the Church of the Flame runs everything?" Hiding a smile, Alex teased. He was beginning to understand why Kryn had warned about the weirdness and asked him not to mention the Secondaries, the Kassard clan, or even the Tail Sector.


    "What did you think?" The man gesticulated excitedly, forgetting about the messenger droid. "The secondarist, they''re everywhere. If there are even two of them, that''s it. They''ll go out for a smoke, get acquainted instantly, then they''ll drag each other everywhere, and promote each other. They have taken over everything, their people and influence are everywhere..."


    "What''s up with the droid?" Krain intervened. He must have known this might take a while.


    "Nothing special." The host grew bored again and added with a shrug. "It can be opened, but it''s a real dynamic cipher, so you''ll need a lance, and that''s money."


    "And who are we here to see?" Alex asked without hiding his smile.


    "For the best, damn, Lance, you''ve ever seen in your life, lad." He snarled. "And I was talking about this lance." The chair turned again toward the cluster posts and shifted slightly to the side. The master bent down and pulled out a long black tube from behind the racks. "Here." He said proudly, placing it on his lap with difficulty. "This is a seven-component lance. Once connected, it will rearrange its structure to crack this particular cipher, and that''s it. Quantum states. and connections are determined only once, well, and other stuff..." He waved his hand. "The main thing is that after that, it goes to waste. So, money upfront."


    A closer look showed that the lance tube was not actually round, but rather square in cross-section, but with very rounded edges, and was made of separate sections of black plastic, each of which was clearly a separate device, and of which there were seven. Dudo had already told him about the one-time use, so there were no surprises.


    "How much is that in glitter?" Krain continued to negotiate.


    "Five hundred for the job and six hundred for the lance."


    "How much?" Krain squinted, genuinely offended by the quoted price. "Eleven hundred? For cracking a droid? Tell me you''re counting in creds."


    "Nah... It''s a danarii." The host grinned, stroking the tube in his lap like a large, dark cat. "Look, I don''t question where you got this." Reconciliatory, he continued. "But I''m not blind. The droid has the palace security seals on it. It always costs more to haul shit this big. Just for the risk.


    Krain cast a questioning glance at Alex, clearly wanting to know what he thought of such a robbery.


    I don''t care at all. He shrugged in response, I''m here for results.


    The rebel understood without words:


    "The shadows are with you." He sighed, turning to the lance again. "Eleven, so eleven."


    "Then get the money out." The owner smiled with anticipation.


    There was no problem with the payments because even before flying here, Alex had given Krain five thousand danarii just for this purpose.


    After counting the money and stashing it away, the owner became very active. Connecting the lance tube to the droid and the lance to the cluster, he began to give commands to the cluster, sometimes supporting them with quick keystrokes on the keyboard. Soon it was over, and he settled back in his chair, occasionally glancing at one of the monitors that displayed a report on the decryption process. There was something about the "preparation of group surface masks" and the percentage of the "augmentation core" solution. It was the kind of thing where the words seemed to make sense, but the meaning didn''t even begin to emerge, but Dudo, who was watching carefully, was calm, which meant that everything was being done correctly.


    The waiting time dragged on. Lance was just lounging in his chair, quietly tapping a rhythm on the armrest out of boredom, occasionally glancing attentively at the guests. Krain was sitting on one of the cushions near the table, lazily crunching snacks that looked like small tubes. Dudo, doing what he always did so well, was acting like a pillar, watching carefully what was going on. Alex wandered around the room with interest in everything.


    Of course, the droid girl under the blanket was the most interesting. Not only because of the seductive curves and the aesthetic pleasure of looking at the pretty face. But also simply because of how different it was from the familiar, shaking, chrome-plated drones with rattling voices. The technological pinnacle of droids looked completely different, far more impressive, in every sense. He could only guess what else of what he had come to think of as the norm, or even the maximum of local technology, was not really so.


    "And how much does one of these cost?" Finally, he couldn''t stand it after a few minutes.


    "You don''t have that much, and you never will."


    "Most likely." Alex nodded in agreement. "But a man must have a dream." He added with a smile. "So, for how much?"


    "This one''s mine. Not for sale." The owner said with dead seriousness.


    "For any money?" Alex raised an eyebrow. It wasn''t that he really needed this particular droid, he just wondered how much it was a matter of principle.


    "Any." He gave an emphatic answer. "You see, kid, this isn''t a doll from a cheap techno parlor. She''s got personality, character, and manners. And it''s so much better than any woman you''ve ever met. If you try it once, the biological analog won''t work."


    "Such a difference?" Alex hummed doubtfully, shifting his gaze back to the droid girl. She looked gorgeous, of course, but somehow doll-like, Kayrin was more gorgeous, and Isalaya was brighter and hotter.


    But I don''t think it''s fair to compare them to noblewomen. He corrected himself mentally. They have a very different ability to create looks. Taer said that Kayrin''s beauty was the result of a biosculptor''s work. Most ordinary women probably look a lot paler.


    "Women aren''t programmed to make you feel good." Sighed the host. "She is programmed to."


    "That''s true." Krain suddenly agreed, stopping his crunching for the moment. "Those guys who used to grind iron on ships aren''t very good with women. So it''s best not to start."


    "You compared." Lane snorted. "The ones on ships usually can''t even talk straight. So... Vibroblocks on legs."


    "How much does a similar one cost?" Alex was curious about the price difference between a regular droid and something like this. "Or is it the only one of its kind?"


    "No, if you look hard enough, you can find it. Six thousand danarii, maybe."


    "Not bad..." Alex stretched, ordinary droids cost about a thousand or even less.


    "That''s right." Lance grinned again. "Plus you''ll get in trouble with the law, but you''re used to that."


    All that was left to do was nod in response. For some reason, trouble with the law was involved in most of what he did.


    It took lance, the device, about half an hour to find the key to the cipher that locked the droid''s contents. When the device finally cracked, there was a new burst of activity of rapid-fire voice commands and keystrokes:


    "Here." Lance held out an info-stick to Krain. "Here''s everything on the droid."


    He was about to turn back to the cluster and press something on his keyboard again, but at that moment Dudo literally yanked him out of his chair, putting his blaster to his temple and locking his neck in an elbow grip.


    Almost at the same moment, one of the ceiling panels swung aside, and a red-haired arm manipulator with a weapon popped out from there, immediately taking Dudo in its sights.


    "That turret." Wheezed the gripped host dangling in mid-air, hopelessly trying to loosen the grip with his hands. "Programmed it myself... With the biomonitor. If anything happens to me or anyone tries to get out, it''ll put everyone down."


    The turret looked like an industrial arm with the local equivalent of a rifle attached to the end, a long-barreled blaster. His and Dudo''s shields could withstand a dozen or two hits from such a weapon.


    "What happened?" Alex asked calmly, having stopped looking at the turret.


    "Instead of deleting the data, he just hid it," Dudo explained without loosening his grip.


    "Does it do any damage to the droid?" That was really important. I''ll give it back to Lister and maybe use it as evidence.


    "No." Dudo shook his head,


    "§¡h..." Alex stretched out with a smile. "Someone decided to make money twice on the same case? Not nice..."


    "I think there''s been a misunderstanding that has led to a dangerous conflict," Krain spoke quickly, squinting warily at the turret. "And we will resolve it now, calmly, without firing."


    "Let him let me go." The host sobbed, thrashing in Dudo''s steel grip.


    "That would be premature." Alex objected. "We haven''t had our conversation yet."


    Ignoring the turret that immediately took aim at him, and Krain''s eyes widening in horror, he walked over to the chair, and standing up so that he could cover the rebel with his shield, leaned over to the wheezing Lance, bringing his hand up to his face and showing his pinky finger:


    "Look, it''s a pinky." He said in a husky voice, making sure the spear''s gaze was focused on his finger. "I won''t even move it to do anything to you. And it''s not that I''m reverent about the miracle of human life, it''s just that I don''t need to. See, the thing is, whoever buys this data, the first thing they''re gonna do is deal with you. Not just kill you, but do whatever it takes to erase the fact that you exist. Do I make myself clear?" He paused.


    The host tried to nod, but it failed:


    "Yes." He wheezed.


    "Great." Alex smiled at him, continuing. "Then, if you''re a smart guy. You yourself, without any pressure, will do everything in your power to destroy any trace that we were here, and more importantly, that this messenger droid was here. Simply for your own survival. But what if I don''t." Alex grinned. "Then no." He spread his hands. After all, it''s hard to stop a man who''s determined to die.


    "Let him go." He turned to Dudo.


    "And the data?" Re-questioned Dudo still not releasing his victim.


    "Let him decide for himself whether to live or die." Alex shrugged indifferently.


    Dudo loosened his grip, and Lance collapsed back into his chair, breathing heavily and holding both hands to his throat.


    "I need such services from time to time." Alex continued as if nothing had happened, addressing the still trying to catch his breath. "So I hope for further mutually beneficial cooperation. If you''ll be alive, of course." He added with concern.


    "Hr...okay." He wheezed and quickly typed a complex combination of keys on the keyboard, and the turret retracted back into the ceiling with a quiet whirring sound.


    "You know, you might be immortal in there. The Flame is keeping you safe or something." Krain said irritably as they stepped outside. "But think about the rest of us. I thought I was about to see The Bright Edge. The Shadows know how he programmed that turret. What if it had opened fire?"


    "I''m wearing a shield." Alex shrugged.


    "Oh, great! His lordship is wearing a shield." The rebel hissed indignantly, making an effort not to raise his voice. "I''m not wearing one!"


    "That''s why I came up here to cover you with my shield." He explained tiredly.


    "Ah...well..." Embarrassed Krain, clearly not even thinking of that option. "Thank you, of course... But at least give me some warning."


    "I''ll try." He nodded.


    The rebel moved forward again with the lantern, and he and Dudo followed a little behind.


    "Well, what''s your objection?" Alex asked in a whisper as they left, noticing that Dudo was not happy.


    "Your will, your lordship." Dudo''s huge shoulders rose up slightly and also lowered. "But there was no need to leave him the data. Especially now. Angry people can act even to their own detriment just to hurt the offender."


    "Then he''ll be killed," Alex smirked. "Barons are killed, and they won''t be so nice to such a small thing. Of course, there is a risk of leakage, but potential opponents already know better than we do what''s in that droid. And as for the others, we don''t know who else was involved or who else the old man told before he died. Anything else?"


    "There is nothing, your lordship," Dudo answered, but Alex thought there was some reticence.


    "Spill it out, come on." He suggested, poking Dudo lightly in the side. The side was soft because of the anti-blaster foam the jacket was stuffed with.


    "When you were talking to that Lance..." Dudo paused, obviously choosing his words. "Your manner was reminiscent of Daim Diltar. The new Daim Diltar." He clarified with some concern in his voice.


    "Really?" Alex was sincerely surprised, and receiving an affirmative nod, only shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I''ll take that as a compliment. She''s got a knack for effective communication. I guess multiple viewings of that interrogation had an impact..." He added thoughtfully. "I don''t know."


    * * *

 Chapter 23

    Chapter 23


    * * *


    The gas giant that filled two-thirds of the huge window slowly melted into a silver shadow as the sun rose. The thin needles of the distant towers already glittered gold at their tops, but just below, the predawn twilight still reigned, tinged with the lights of the central part of the capital. Down below, like a great lazy river, the haze of the cloud layer slowly flowed, above which, looping among the towers, ran the lights of flyers and aircars, stretching one after another like an endless string of luminous beads.


    His lordship Prince Cassard, naked to the waist, walked along the window, waving his arms, and sometimes he paused for a minute or two in thought, only to resume his occupation shortly afterward.


    "What would I do if I were in their shoes?" Alex muttered to himself under his nose, making another stop near the window and looking down at all this splendor. "There aren''t many options...."


    He''d been looking at the contents of the infostick as soon as they''d gotten into the aerocar. The contents were a huge scattering of videos, which he had begun to look at with interest after Dudo had helped him connect the headset to the infoblock. Not that - Krain and Dudo posed any particular risk of leakage - he just didn''t want to embarrass others with the murky political secrets that were pouring into his ears. And the secrets were very murky, and the fact that the records were not organized did nothing to dispel the murk.


    When he got back to the tower, he went up to his room and was only distracted for the first time an hour and a half later when, as always, the thoughtful Liora brought a huge tray of snacks that were convenient to eat with one hand. Thanks to that, the second break-in absorption of information came only after eight hours. At the end of the night, he simply began to cramp.


    He had been warned, but still, the sudden twisted fingers, the hands in a strange sort of fetal position, and the savage pain in every muscle in his arms took him by surprise. Involuntarily dropping the infoblock, he hissed in pain in his chair for about half a minute. It felt like a dozen thin, narrow blades had been shoved into his hands. It was also a little scary:


    How long will it last? He was almost helpless, his hands and fingers completely disobedient.


    He didn''t know what to do. When his leg cramped, it was obvious: prick or pinch the cramped muscle, try to straighten the cramped leg. What about the arm? His arm was cramped for the first time in his life. How do you pinch it if both of them are cramped? Bite it...?


    For lack of better ideas, he even tried to bite, but he just couldn''t reach it. The tight muscles pulled his arms up to his chest, and he couldn''t reach them with his teeth.


    He clumsily climbed out of the chair and tried to straighten one arm, resting it against the doorjamb. It must have been incredibly hilarious from the outside, but Alex was not amused, and he concentrated on the jamb, trying to get his right arm caught and straightened. To his surprise, it worked-it took him about a fifth attempt to straighten his right arm, the pain subsided, and more importantly, he regained some control over his arm. The left arm was much easier, and he was able to help with the other hand. He pulled off his shirt and kneaded the aching muscles in his naughty hands for a while:


    Actually, it''s a cause for celebration. he urged himself, looking for some positivity. The cramp means that the new muscles with the altered structure have taken root, finished growing, and are ready to work.


    It wasn''t that he had gained any enviable relief; his arms looked rather swollen and inflamed. But, after all, this wasn''t about appearance. It was about improving his chances:


    Damn, but it hurts so bad...


    Regular exercise was recommended for his cramp problems, and he''d just gotten the first wake-up call that it was time to get in on it. There was a full-fledged gym inside the tower''s "personal area." But the pain had receded and he was too lazy to go to the gym, so Alex did an impromptu workout in his room, using this change of activity to organize the jumble of new information in his head.


    Roughly speaking, there were two types of records on the infostick: one with Baron Assaro in the main role where he, usually sitting in a luxurious chair, emotionally denounced his former companions, not hiding his desire to cause them as much trouble as possible in case of his premature death. There were only three such recordings with the Baron, the rest of the array of information was formed by recordings of the second type. With a twitching picture and grinding sound, taken from under his jacket or from a great distance, these were "operational recordings" that were supposed to confirm the Baron''s accusations. There were a lot of them, but it was very difficult to deal with such information. The footage was devoid of any context, only the time and with whom the meeting was held. And it was impossible to verify even these crumbs of information - often the quality of the recordings was so terrible that it was unclear even with whom the conversation was held.


    It''s probably a case for forensics and analytical machines. Alex suggested, pacing along the window and making vigorous waving of his arms.


    It didn''t matter for now. It was not a court hearing, and there was no need to prove the authenticity of the material.


    The Baron, quite obviously, presented everything in the light he wanted, but if you believe him, it was an interesting picture:


    Some time ago, a prediction was made of the Emperor''s death. The Baron did not go into details, obviously implying that his majesty, to whom these accusatory notes were addressed, knew everything perfectly well. When the prediction was confirmed, as the Baron mentioned in the very first record, a piece of which Alex saw during the shootout at the "Alley of Heroes," the powers that be decided to act. A certain circle of power-seekers was formed - House Peltar, House Melato, and the Inquisition. The Inquisition wasn''t exactly a sure thing. Alex got the impression from the Baron''s notes that Lord Quezox was speaking on behalf of the capital''s bureaucracy rather than his department. With the other two participants, it was clearer: House Melato was to provide force support, using both its fleet and the position of many of its nobles at the top of the organizational pyramid of the Imperial fleet. House Peltar, on the other hand, to Alex''s surprise, was in charge of crime. It was responsible for the actions of rebels, pirates, and other antisocial elements that the Baron felt House Peltar had great influence over.


    And, interestingly enough, according to the Baron, the plans of the "conspirators", if they could be called so, were characterized by a noticeable piety toward the Emperor. Alex thought again, having stuck for a few seconds at the window.


    They did not imply any action against his majesty. Not at all. The plan was to wait for his death from causes beyond their control and only then to act. For now, their actions were reduced to "preparing the ground" so that they would be in a more favorable position to share power.


    The events on Tallana and the assassination attempts on him were part of that preparation.


    Nothing personal, buddy - just politics. Alex grinned involuntarily.


    There was no personal motive, of course. Lord Cassard''s death was meant to distract House Fyron and cause unrest that, with any luck, would bring that planet''s Cassard into the Imperial deployment zone. Same with Tallana. The riots were just an excuse to bring in the troops. The trick was that House Melato had every reason to expect their men to lead those troops.


    And then, when the power-sharing begins after the emperor dies, it''s much easier to get what you already control.


    Especially if Lord Quezox becomes the new emperor.


    Baron Assaro was tactfully silent about it, but Alex got the impression that it was part of the deal, Houses Pletar and Melato helping him become the new Emperor, and he helped to make the state of emergency regions officially theirs.


    I don''t know what House Peltar''s interest is. They have a lot of work to do, but what are they supposed to get for it? Alex wondered. The Melatians were supposed to be in charge of the emergency zones, and they would have gotten them, but the Peltarians would have gotten what? They didn''t get into this for the idea, did they?


    The latter was unlikely, but it was more likely another white spot carefully left by Baron Assaro. And there were plenty of such white spots. For example, he could not find a single word about how it was planned to sneak Lord Quezox into the Emperor''s office. There were at least two problems to be solved: that the Senate would think that the situation was critical enough for the introduction of an Emperium and that the Empire would be entrusted to Lord Quezox.


    Let''s assume that these guys have some experience in creating critical situations... Alex hummed, remembering what they had planned to do on Tallana and what they had managed to do there. On the other hand, last time, it took almost losing the war. Or to convince everyone that the war was almost lost..... A terrorist attack is a bit small, even if it is a nuclear bomb. But they must have had some options if they went for it.


    In any case, the conception was not without elegance.


    But something went wrong ... And this disruption of plans posed a simple question for him:


    "What would I do in their place?" Alex muttered again, pausing at the window. The sky was getting lighter and lighter, and the golden disk of the rising light almost completely drowned the running beads of air traffic in its light. "This place is pretty nerve-wracking for conspirators."


    They knew, or thought - it didn''t matter - that Baron was under suspicion and could compromise them.


    And they must have known the Baron''s character. He wasn''t the kind of man who would keep quiet. That''s why the Baron was killed. Alex started pacing along the window again, immersed in his thoughts. Who killed him is not important yet. Although, criminal actions are the area of expertise of the House of Peltar. And by the way, Baron was dating someone with a slender build, probably a woman.


    Alex paused for a moment, wondering if Lady Pell herself could have been the Baron''s murderer.


    "Don''t... .-" He mentally waved it away, remembering Nadina''s reaction at the sight of the corpse. - "She''s too much of an exalted person for something like that. And a princess of a great House probably has someone else to do this sort of thing besides herself. If the Peltarians did it...".


    That wasn''t certain, but bringing in rebels to attack Lord Lister was very Peltarians. In his suicide notes, Baron claimed they wielded enormous influence over the "Anti-Imperial Alliance."


    The conspirators knew about the Baron''s suicide note, too, Alex concluded. They made two attempts to destroy it. A break-in into Lord Lister''s palace rooms and an attempted kidnapping. It didn''t work...


    So what would I do if I were them? Getting the droid didn''t work. Moreover, there''s the risk of expanding the leak just by interrogating the attackers. They''ll easily find out who was helping Lord Lister. So what do we do?


    In fact, there were only three options: sprinkle their heads in ashes and go to repent to his majesty. After all, they hadn''t done anything against him personally. Obviously, it was a bad option, so bad that they preferred to kill one of their own. The second option was to try to negotiate a good deal.


    But what can they offer me? Alex wondered sincerely. He didn''t know what to offer him to get away from them. And he wasn''t going to get away from them at all. It''s nothing personal, but people who try to kill me should be punished in some way so others won''t repeat it.


    There remained a third option - forceful action.


    But where exactly the droid is, we don''t know. They''re not going to break through all the layers of security, are they? Not that he doubted the House of Melato could muster enough forces for something like this. But what would be the point of such an operation? It''s practically a war, and there''s no way to hide it.


    Direct attack wasn''t an option.


    What else can you do if you can''t kill or buy? It was a good question.


    In thought, he made several more passes along the window until he had a working hypothesis:


    If a person has nothing to offer, you can create a problem and then offer a solution. That sounded like common sense and in the spirit of bureaucrats. And if we assume that House Peltar tried to solve the problem first, with the help of the rebels, and that the power of House Melato is the last resort of kings when there is nothing left to lose. So now it''s Lord Quezox''s turn to try his hand. And he''s in charge of the bureaucracy...


    Alex didn''t even doubt that they would be able to create problems for him. Just because of his inexperience, he was doomed to make a mistake, and experienced bureaucrats would have no problem to spin it into a problem for him personally. Or they could charge him with a crime:


    Even a false accusation will cause problems, and even a real one... Alex involuntarily wrinkled his nose, imagining what kind of problems it could cause since he already had a lot of real sins behind him. Ties with the rebels, ordering the assassination of the lord of the empire - just to start the conversation.


    And he really wanted to be wrong, but it was hard to shake the feeling that the First Lord Inquisitor suspected him of something, like being a transmigrator.


    And Taer''s kidnapping was clearly intended to dig on me. He remembered where his current troubles began. And judging by the questions they wanted to ask her, they knew something about rebel contacts. So they''ve been at this for a long time...


    Alex froze for a moment, out of shock. He realized his own stupidity:


    Of course, they would know! He wanted to kick himself for overlooking such an obvious connection. If House Peltar connected with the leadership of the anti-Imperial alliance, then of course they knew....


    Finding out was half the trouble, but they had to prove it. Here, he could only hope his caution played to his advantage. He''d crossed paths with the rebels only twice, and both times at official functions. The money he was handing over was cash that had been laundered when Taer had been bribed.


    The only thing left was personal testimony, which Krain and Liora could provide. But Krain was in his tower now, and there was no problem hiding him so no one would find him.


    "Liora''s a different matter." Where she was, we could only guess. Worse, Liora is a noblewoman. Her testimony in court is far stronger than Krain''s. - "The Peltarians, using their influence, could easily summon her to the capital and have her arrested by the SS."


    It sucked, even hopelessness, but Alex took a couple of deep breaths and didn''t let himself get discouraged:


    Digging for me is Lord Quezox and the SS. Liora, on the other hand, is Nadina and House Peltar. It''s unlikely they trust each other that much, and it''s unlikely that House Pell, in general, or Nadina, in particular, is passing on what they know to Lord Quezox...


    It was self-persuasion, of course, but there was a grain of truth in it, as well as a little bit of hope:


    We have to get to Liora first. There''s a chance. It''s been less than a day since the attempted kidnapping of Lord Lister, and they''re probably still just digesting the information and formulating plans...


    The plan was simple enough. Krain most likely knew where to look for his boss, and, as Alex hoped, would not refuse to help, especially since it was in his and Liora''s interests not to be investigated.


    If not.  He didn''t want to think about the alternative, but he couldn''t give up on it either. Krain would have to be interrogated again under Lim''s serum, and Liora... Liora would have to be kidnapped. He wrinkled his nose. He refused to even think of more reliable ways to keep the information.


    Kidnapping... It appeared he was planning a new crime to cover the old one. A vicious cycle, but what else is there to do?


    Especially since there was no certainty of success, if he really had to organize a kidnapping, he was a complete ignoramus. How much Dudo could be relied on in such a delicate matter was a big question. The only bright spot is that "Not Taer" before her "departure" agreed to organize a group for illegal operations. So he had people, hypothetically...


    But man, I could use a competent organizer right now. Alex groaned, thinking about "Not Taer," realizing the irony. He thought about getting rid of it, but he was absolutely sure that the "Not Taer" could be much more useful than the original.


    "Well, it''s all for nothing." He muttered aloud. "What else can be done to improve the situation?"


    He finally stepped away from the window and walked back to the chair to put his shirt back on, switching the infoblock screen to mirror mode.


    I could consult with a lawyer on how to behave in court and in general. In case we couldn''t get to Liora first.


    It would be nice to stress these guys out, he thought, scrutinizing himself in the mirror. Maybe then they wouldn''t have time to plot against me or organize attacks.


    He liked the idea. Somehow he was getting tired of being the perpetually defensive party:


    The only question is, how do you stress them?


    He had the droid''s records, of course. Handing them over to the Emperor would strain them to the max... But he didn''t like the idea:


    First of all, they would have nothing to lose, and in that case, he could expect anything, including storming the tower. And second... Second, it deprived him of his own influence.


    The Baron''s records were only very tentative about his death. Yes, he suspected that one of the two men might want to kill him. But which one? Especially since both Nadina and Lord Quezox represented entire organizations and large interest groups, it was unlikely that either of them had personally killed the old man.


    They might not even have known about it. It could have been an excess of the perpetrator or someone else''s misplaced initiative. In the end, the murder could have been committed by some third force just to frame one of these two.


    No, the Baron''s notes are about the conspiracy, the events on Tallana.


    And it won''t be me who''ll be doing it. In that case, the Baron''s records would turn from a serious leverage into a problem that could provoke his opponents to do something stupid.


    He hadn''t been able to decide what to do with the droid and the recordings from it before. But now it was pretty obvious.


    The fewer people who see these records, the better off I am. That meant that the droid itself had obviously taken a few bad blaster hits in the firefight, and the " lance" that had cut it open was going to be visited by heavily armed men with Lim serum. The good news is that not much time has passed, plus some tests with an "illegal group". I just need to consult with Dudo on the best way to hit the droid so that nothing can be restored, even in theory.


    Bad or good, he was forming a plan of action, and yes, how to create stress for the conspirators was also an idea.


    He pulled out his infoblock and summoned the secretary droid:


    "Prepare the text of a request to the Emperor''s Chancellery that would be appropriate to use to request a private audience. If necessary, it may be noted that it is related to the investigation into the attacks on nobles of House Fyron."


    I am, after all, the suzerain of Daim Diltar, it would be foolish not to use it.


    "Already executed, Your Lordship." The secretary rattled off at the same time as the data transfer icon appeared on the infoblock screen. "Would you care to make any adjustments?"


    "I''ll look at it now." Alex nodded, authorizing the transmission.


    "I think it should be highlighted somehow that I am addressing as ergo seneschal of the capital if that is appropriate in terms of protocol and tradition."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Of course, Your Lordship, I will make the changes right now." The droid assured him immediately and added with incredible regret. "Please forgive my slowness. I should have foreseen this, and considered..."


    "In the case of such requests, a letter or comm call on my behalf is appropriate?" Alex decided to clarify, not paying attention to the droid''s self-abuse.


    "A letter is more formal, and a call in person from Your Lordship will indicate the urgency of the situation."


    "Better a letter, then." He decided. "Form it, and bring it in for signature." Sign as Lord Cassard, he practiced all the way to the capital.


    That''s how it came in handy.


    "Your Lordship." Suddenly the droid began to rant, seeing that Alex was about to pass out. "You''ve been busy, and I didn''t dare to disturb you, but the thing is that the esteemed Lugas left a message for you..."


    "Who is that, anyway?" Alex frowned.


    "Manager of a banking partnership." Explained the droid. "Your Lordship asked him to arrange a meeting..."


    "Ah... Right." Alex finally remembered. Because of this story with the attack on Lord Lister and the messenger droid, he had completely forgotten about his request to organize a meeting with someone from the Inquisition. Someone not too high up and in need of money. "And what of the esteemed Lugas? Another insurmountable ethical conflict and other excuses?"


    "No, Your Lordship. Respected Lugas asked me to tell you that he would be honored if Your Lordship would grace the charity hunt he plans to organize with your presence. And he also asked me to tell you that Your Lordship might find the society there interesting."


    "Even so." Alex hummed contentedly. "So he was able to organize a meeting after all... Well, contact him and tell him I''m grateful and very interested, but I''ll be able to respond when my schedule is more definite. In the next couple of days. Just be nice about it."


    "As your lordship''s pleasure." The droid on the infoblock screen bowed, and Alex disconnected.


    The plans were made the same day. The Emperor''s Chancellery replied that His Majesty would be able to receive Prince Cassard tomorrow. And as Alex understood it was very fast, but in any case he had time for hunting organized by respected Lugas.


    The hunt was to take place on the second inhabited satellite of Vaylar, the gas giant around which the capital, Talis, revolved. The landing bots, although they could go into space, were not designed for interplanetary travel, so it took several hours to organize the inevitable hustle and bustle of moving, complicated by the fact that all the attendants, mostly guards, could not fit into one yacht.


    The journey to the hunting ground was uneventful. In less than an hour, after a short jump, the viewports showed a huge gray-green sphere of the planet with sparse patches of inland seas, which, as they descended, turned into dark, crevice-cut rocks with rare specks of water bodies that glistened in the sun like splashed mercury. Soon, the hunting camp came into view. Three snow-white domes and the chrome spire of a shield generator between them, an addition from the advance guard group that had arrived a little earlier.


    The yacht swiftly descended to the ground, the onboard doors opened with a barely audible hiss, and the shining polished metal ribbon of the gangway stretched downward, stopping at the feet of the greeters.


    Alex lingered a little longer, giving himself time to look around:


    A place not lacking in severe beauty.


    Outside, it was cool, fifteen degrees at most, and a chilly wind blew, bringing an unfamiliar odor that reminded me of chlorine. The white domes of the camp grew on a rocky plateau among a scattering of sharp, jagged boulders covered with patches of red moss.


    "Thank you for the invitation." Alex smiled at the organizer of the "charity hunt" extending his hand.


    The esteemed Lugas met him at the gangway, as a master should. Just behind him stood a shapely blonde woman with a doll''s face, wearing a business suit. Must be an assistant or a secretary. But the manager of the banking partnership himself was wearing a hunting suit "a-la aristocrat," decorated with embroidery and precious stones.


    "Not at all, Your Lordship." The esteemed Lugas smiled a practiced smile, shaking his outstretched hand. "On the contrary, it is a great honor to me and to all assembled that you have found the opportunity to honor me with your presence."


    "Don''t..." Alex waved away, not stopping smiling back. "Better introduce me to the crowd. I don''t know anyone here."


    "Of course, Your Lordship. Come along." He suggested, pointing toward the domes.


    And the esteemed Lugas did not fail. He introduced him to the audience, more than a hundred of them, with such care and meticulousness that Alex had the impression that not only the chance to meet Lord Cassard was being sold but also his position in the queue.


    It''s to be expected, though. Everyone has their interests. Alex was thinking philosophically, bowing courteously to another very lonely girl. Most of the gathered hunting fans turned out to be exactly them. Of course, there were some managers, heads of corporations, and other business people, but they were completely lost in this flower garden.


    But he did not say anything to Mr. Lugas for such amateurishness, deciding inwardly that if he had done what was required of him, he had earned the right to such a trick.


    At last the stream of beauties who were practically finding out how revealing a hunting suit could be while remaining a hunting suit dried up. There were only three guests left, one of whom was even familiar to Alex:


    "We''ve already met Count Zeper." He preceded the esteemed Lugas by walking up to the Count and his companion, whose face seemed vaguely familiar. I''ve seen her somewhere before. But where? The green-eyed beauty with a mane of ashy hair was also wearing a hunting costume, which, by local standards, was very strictly cut, being a hunting costume rather than a variation of underwear.


    "Introduce me to your lovely companion." He turned to Count after shaking hands.


    "My good friend, Lady Laer." Count Zeper stepped aside and bowed slightly to his friend. "His Lordship Prince Cassard." A new slight bow already towards Alex. "Please, be acquainted."


    "Nice to meet you." Kissed Alex''s outstretched hand. "Are you a hunting enthusiast?"


    "Only if you count rumor hunting." She smiled. "But Count convinced me that sometimes you have to try something new."


    "It was a dastardly deception on my part." The Count exclaimed dramatically, wringing his hands. He froze for a few seconds for effect and then continued normally. "It''s just that hunting is always so dreary, and without good company, it''s just unbearable."


    "Why did you come here in the first place, Count?" Alex asked politely, not hiding his sincere curiosity.


    "I asked his lordship to help," Lugas answered in the Count''s place. "I lack experience in organizing receptions for such lordships as you, Your Lordship."


    "I couldn''t refuse." Count Zeper smiled. "We''ve been friends with the esteemed Lugas for a long time."


    After a few minutes of meaningless small talk with Lady Laer and the Count, Alex bade them farewell, promising to keep them company later, and it was time for the last participant of this hunt, for the sake of which everything was planned:


    "Dear Elay Ornu, the Senior Observer of the Third Department of the Inquisition." This was how they introduced a smooth-shaven, thin man in his fifties with a slightly gaunt face and tired gray eyes, who, judging by his expression, clearly didn''t understand what he was doing here.


    "It''s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Elay." Alex didn''t falter in the slightest. "I''ve always been fascinated by the stories of your service."


    "Yes?" The inquisitor was genuinely surprised. "Well, this is a bit strange, Your Lordship. Most of our service is perfect routine. Not the best material for stories."


    "And yet." His Lordship insisted, gesturing to the organizer of the hunt that he was no longer needed. "Fighting illegal adepts, even demons. It can''t be routine."


    "That''s a great rarity." The Watcher Ornu smiled tiredly. "Though the holo shows try to convince everyone otherwise."


    "But just because a threat is rare doesn''t stop it from being a threat. Doesn''t it?"


    "It is, you might say, the unofficial motto of our service." His smile became a little more sincere. "So you are quite right, Your Lordship."


    "I''ve experienced the truth of that motto myself." Alex continued as he looked at the manager Lugas. He took the hint and not only left but also began to take out the girls hanging around in an organized manner, saying that it was time to go to the spots.


    "I was shot by an HGM the other day." He continued, focusing his attention back on the Inquisitor. "Not a common threat, fortunately, but no less dangerous."


    "Oh." The inquisitor tried to feign polite interest. "I hope they caught the villains?"


    "You could say so." Alex brushed it off, not seeing the point in going into details, and changed the subject a little. "You have one of the late numbers too, don''t you? Why don''t we sit down and have a drink in the meantime?"


    The Senior Watcher, though he obviously did not understand why the prince was so interested, did not refuse, and soon they were comfortably seated in very comfortable armchairs covered with skins near one of the domes. There was a small metal column heater so despite the fresh weather, it was quite comfortable and, in some sense, secluded. The only people with them were Liora, who was supervising the serving of snacks and drinks, and a couple of his guards, who were checking the food for safe consumption with a small handheld scanner. A couple of persistent girls tried to break the seclusion but were politely rebuffed by the joint efforts of Liora and the manager Lugas.


    "So that''s about the rare threats." Alex continued the interrupted conversation. "To be honest, when our hospitable host introduced you, I thought it was the finger of fate. I''ve had a series of assassination attempts on me, and I admit I''m afraid next time the attackers might have an adept."


    "If you have any specific reasons for these concerns, it''s worth bringing them to our office. I''m sure they can help you." Elay advised automatically, trying to adjust the massive cylinder of the heavy paralyzer on his lap at the same time


    The trophy of the hunt, a small animal that looked like a furry ball on long legs with an upturned nose like a bat, was hunted with paralyzers. Blasters left such a small thing in shreds.


    "Uh, no." Alex laughed. "It''s nothing more than my doubts. I haven''t received any threats. But as we''ve already said: if a threat is rare, it doesn''t mean you don''t need to prepare for it. I was thinking: I need to prepare my guards for it somehow."


    "A very prudent idea, Your Lordship." The inquisitor nodded in agreement, still clearly not understanding Alex''s point.


    "And I''d like to find someone with actual experience in the field, not an empty theorist..." He paused and continued with more meaningful intonations. "I am told that you are among the few Inquisitors who have actually encountered adepts."


    "Me?" The senior watcher was sincerely surprised. "It happened." He confessed, somewhat confused. "But it was long ago. Now I''m more engaged in organizational issues."


    "What do you think about the idea of giving a series of lectures to my guards?" Hints apparently weren''t working, and Alex decided to change tactics.


    "I?" The inquisitor was even more surprised. "I don''t know... I''ve never done this before, and..."


    "I''m sure you''ll do a great job. You''re a great storyteller." Alex assured him, not letting the maelstrom of doubts and excuses grow. "But I''m not comfortable asking you for such a favor, depriving you of those little crumbs of free time that the service leaves you. Perhaps I can compensate you for your trouble in some way?"


    "I''m afraid that''s impossible, Your Lordship." With a sigh of regret, the senior watcher replied; he was clearly the sort of man who was very uncomfortable refusing straightforwardly. "In the Inquisition, while we are on active duty, it is forbidden to be employed elsewhere."


    "I''ve heard of that." Alex smiled disarmingly, who had read the question beforehand. "But I wasn''t talking about hiring. That''s kind of even a bit vulgar. It''s more about remuneration. A royalty for the course of lectures you created. In the form of recordings. As far as I know, it''s not illegal for inquisition employees to receive royalties. Am I right?"


    "I don''t think so." His interlocutor answered without any certainty. He obviously didn''t know whether he could or not.


    "I''m sure it''s not illegal," Alex assured him, and this confidence was backed up by consultation with a lawyer. The legality of this maneuver was verified even before the flight to the hunt. "What do you say to ten thousand danarii for a lecture? I think a full course of study would require at least fifteen or twenty lectures to begin with. If you can find the time, of course..."


    "I... I''m not sure it''s acceptable. It''s a very large sum." The inquisitor objected in confusion. It was obvious that he was in doubt, and the offer was very tempting.


    The strategy of looking for someone suffering from debts has been fully justified. Alex praised himself mentally, watching the inquisitor''s reaction and giving him time to hesitate a bit.


    "That''s too much for such a minor favor..." The inquisitor finally pronounced. "But if your lordship insists..."


    "I insist." Nodded Alex, helping to overcome his doubts. "It would be completely unacceptable for me to offer you less for such a hassle. And then, I''m really quite taken with the subject, and I probably won''t resist the temptation to call you occasionally with questions if you accept my offer, of course."


    "Good." The senior watcher finally gave up. "How can I help your lordship?"


    "You know, I''ve been doing a little investigating of my own." He went on to explain. "I''ve been studying the various records that are in the public domain. I realize that most of it is fiction, synthesized images, and other falsifications. But still, what''s the deal with it? I mean, adepts. Can it be fought? For example, on one record, there was a flame adept, a sororitas. It looked like an explosion that came to life. How do you deal with that?"


    "Usually, Your Lordship." The Inquisitor shrugged. "In the case of confrontations with adepts, there is a general rule, the more the better. The standard group against an adept is sixteen men. In the case of such a threat as a flame adept capable of transformation, a minimum of two groups. And of course the appropriate equipment and weapons. It''s no harder to deal with a flame adept than any other. In fact, it''s easier in some ways."


    "What kind of weaponry?" Alex frowned. "She was shot with blasters on the recording, and it did have absolutely no effect whatsoever."


    "An ordinary blaster won''t work here." The senior observer nodded. "You need a weapon that creates a significant blast wave. In fire form, they''re only vulnerable to dispersal. Grenade launchers and vortex blasters are good."


    "That sounds a little over the top." Alex shared, imagining the results of a massive rocket-propelled grenade attack.


    "The damage will be considerable in any case." Again, the inquisitor shrugged. "I think you may have seen on the footage how great the damage can be from an adept if he is not stopped."


    "That''s right..." He stretched, remembering how the metal bulkheads had shattered like wet cardboard under the pressure of the live fire. "That''s it? Just more men and heavier weapons? No secrets?"


    "There are always nuances." His interlocutor smiled meaningfully. "For example, in this particular case, portable shield projectors work well. If you catch an adept under the dome, he''ll be forced to turn back and become vulnerable to conventional means. Or they will simply burn out. The longer they stay in flame form, the less chance they have of successfully turning back..." The senior watcher paused and added in a more trusting tone, leaning slightly toward Alex. "But in general, in the case of flame adepts, frills are unnecessary. Good armor with shields to keep him from scattering the group and heavy weapons worked almost always. It''s also good to have a couple of protected aircars in case of pursuit, but Flame Adepts rarely run away."


    "What about the Seer?" Alex decided to go for the more likely option, the chances of Taer being a flame adept were not high.


    "The Seer?" The senior watcher was sincerely surprised. "I''m not quite sure what you mean, your lordship."


    "How do you fight a seer?" He repeated, not understanding what there was to understand.


    "You mean when the seer leads the attackers?" Clarified the inquisitor doubtfully. "If so, it is certainly unpleasant, but the attackers remain themselves, and the usual means of defense and offense retain their effectiveness."


    "I mean the case of being attacked by the seer," Alex explained again.


    "A seer attacks?" Elay raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That''s kind of strange. Seers aren''t strong in direct combat. And they are simply too valuable to participate in it. In ancient times, some sects of the Church of Twilight used to train assassins from seers, but that''s a long-dead practice. But in any case, they used the same means that are available to ordinary assassins. Their talent only allowed them to better choose the moment to strike... And, as I said, the practice is long dead. Seers are too valuable to be risked like that. And a wild adept has nowhere to go for training."


    "And if we imagine there is such a threat." With a strained smile, Alex continued to insist. "However unlikely it may be. What would you advise?"


    "The seer chooses from the available options. The less you give him chances, the less effective his gift is. And most importantly, in terms of offense. He is an ordinary man: armor, shields, bodyguards, just doors and walls. All this works against him."


    "So, no nuances again?" He asked with a meaningfully raised eyebrow.


    "Well, there''s a lot of subtlety in the case of seers. Often, weak seers need to see a target or a threat for their gift to work, so in direct combat, conventional smoke grenades combined with ultrasonic or wave sights can be very effective. It really doesn''t work at all against the strong."


    "Anything else?" Alex asked hopefully, suspecting in his case it was more about a strong adept.


    "Don''t rely on automatic security systems and locks." The Inquisitor advised. "Strong seers can simply turn off the automatics. It''s rare, but it happens. Same with locks. Mechanical ones are best. And speaking of very strong adepts on the edge of stability or even beyond it, some of them can sort of cease to exist, completely disappearing. It''s worth considering."


    "And how do you deal with it?"


    "We don''t." With an apologetic smile, Elay waved his hands. "Just wait. Even the strongest can disappear for no longer than a minute."


    "Can they move in this state?" Alex asked cautiously.


    "Strong yes." Nodded the inquisitor. "But slow, at the speed of a very leisurely step or even slower."


    "Not bad..." Alex exhaled lingeringly. "So the seer can suddenly appear behind us, bypassing any guards."


    "Yes." Again, the inquisitor nodded. "But there''s a reason the old estates are so huge. As I said they are time-limited and move rather slowly in this state. An adept will be forced to manifest somewhere inside, and the usual guards will be effective against him again."


    "What if the task is to capture a seer alive?" Alex finally asked the question that had been tormenting him. "What to do in this case? I''m sure there are some techniques. After all, as far as I know, the Inquisition tries to capture adepts alive. Don''t they?"


    "Yes, your lordship." The senior watcher covered his eyes in agreement. "When possible, we do try to capture them alive. But in the case of seers, the main difficulty is finding them. In the case of a strong seer, it''s almost impossible." He admitted with a pained grimace. "At least in the context of a densely populated planet. In the wilderness, it''s all about finding and analyzing signatures. It''s a purely technical task and quite doable given enough resources."


    "But there must be some methods, right?" Alex asked, trying not to sound so desperate.


    The inquisitor''s answer was not at all hopeful:


    "Unless it''s just normal agent work." The man sighed, and there wasn''t much confidence in his voice. "Adepts are still human. They have needs, and they may desire money, fame, or something else. Sometimes, we can trace their purchases or transfers and determine their location by technical interception. If, of course, we know of the adept''s existence in principle." Elay clarified with an apologetic smile. "Then they may have loved ones who are dear enough to them that they will seek out a meeting with them despite the premonition of danger. But, admittedly, these are all options that rely on error on the part of the adept. And they do happen, even to seers, but this one is not reliable."


    Alex exhaled disappointedly, raising his eyes to the pale purple sky:


    It''s not like the situation has gotten any easier. He guessed that catching adepts wasn''t easy, but he hoped that the Inquisition had an effective answer to the problem.


    "Is that it?" He asked aloud, looking at his interlocutor again. There was no solution to his problems in the sky, either.


    "Another seer might be able to help in the search. But that kind of help is pretty hard to get, even for our department..." The Senior Watcher admitted with a somewhat pained grimace and pondered, tweaking his chin, obviously going over something in his mind:


    "Gas, combined with massive use of search droids, can be very effective." He finally answered after a moment''s thought. "But only if the adept''s location is known at least roughly."


    "Gas?" Re-questioned Alex with a surprised raised eyebrow. "You mean tear gas or poison gas?"


    "Causing paralysis." The Inquisitor explained, somewhat surprised at the assumptions being made. "And I''m not talking about a few gas grenades, but a massive application where many dozens or maybe even hundreds of comers are poured around the location of the target. There are varieties of gases that are effective not only when inhaled, but also when splashed on the skin, they give the best results."


    "A seer can''t find protection or shelter even if he foresees a threat?" Alex thought. "And if you pour a lot and fast, he just won''t physically have time to escape?"


    "Quite right, Your Lordship," nodded the senior observer. You''ve got the idea exactly right. Few people carry a full spacesuit, and finding one on the ground is often impossible unless the adept is near a spaceport. After the gas is applied, search droids scour the area and, if they''re lucky, find what they''re looking for."


    "Sounds pretty effective." Alex hummed contentedly, thinking to himself. ?? "It''s only necessary to solve the issue of Taer''s localization somehow. They said that she was at least in the palace... I don''t think she''s there now, but it''s still worth asking the courtiers if anyone knows anything.


    "But this is an extreme method, your lordship." The senior observer warned anxiously as if he seriously feared that his advice would be immediately followed. "There are serious costs involved - in a densely populated area, large numbers of paralyzed people inevitably lead to injuries and deaths: someone falling off a balcony, someone in a flyer that''s out of control. You know."


    "I understand." Alex nodded thoughtfully. Not that he was going to flood half the capital with gas.  And I don''t have the ability to do that."In any case, it''s interesting food for thought." He replied to the inquisitor. "Thank you, it was a fascinating talk. I look forward to listening to your lectures." He added and immediately clarified. "Of course, when they''re ready, I''m not rushing you in any way. And if you don''t mind - take §ê§Ö." Alex stood up a little from his chair and handed the inquisitor a com he had brought with him beforehand. "This is a closed-circuit communicator. My guards are very sensitive about such matters." He spread his hands with an apologetic smile. "I told you I probably couldn''t resist the temptation to distract you with questions once in a while."


    "That won''t trouble me at all, Your Lordship." The senior observer replied, looking thoughtfully at the communicator he had received. From the look on his face, the inquisitor seemed to guess that their meeting was not accidental, but he said nothing.


    "Good hunting, then." Alex wished goodbye and, together with his small retinue, hurried to join Count Zeper, expecting to talk to him before the main events:


    He gives the impression of a man who''s up to date on the latest rumors. And he''s probably at court often, if not constantly. He''s a member of the Imperial Guard...


    "You know, I have a question for you, a personal one, you might say." Alex began in a half voice, stepping back a few steps with Count Zeper. "What do they say about Daim Diltar at the palace? I realize it''s a strange question, but as her suzerain and friend, I''m worried about her.... If you understand me."


    "Of course." The earl smiled understandingly in response. "Well, I don''t recall any particular rumors, which is even a little strange given the circumstances..." He was silent for a few seconds, obviously thinking about something of his own. "All in all, a fairly expected set. The first night, the court entertained the idea that they were lovers, but by the next day, everyone agreed that it was just one sororitas visiting another. Maybe it''s the name Daim Dilthar, or maybe it''s the way she holds herself in the light. Sometimes she can be colder than a sociar queen. Well, I don''t need to tell you. You already know her better than anyone else in the capital."


    "I know..." Alex nodded, continuing to smile back at the Count. He didn''t understand at all what the conversation was about, who was the lover of whom, and what the sororitas had to do with it, but he didn''t want to show it yet.


    "And then, of course, there are those who like to look for secrets and conspiracies in everything." Count Zeper continued. "It is fashionable among them to believe that this is a manifestation of the alliance between you and Peleng-admiral Niazur, with Daim Diltar acting as confidant and liaison."


    "What was the reason for such a theory?" Alex asked, trying to give his face a concerned expression. And it almost didn''t require any effort because the thought was already beating in his head. What does the princess have to do with it? Creating a fair amount of genuine concern. "Maybe I should suggest something to Daim Diltar so she doesn''t feed the rumor mill?"


    "Oh, Prince..." Count sighed heavily and his thin eyebrows drew down slightly, giving his face a pleading expression. "If I could control the thoughts of the court coteries..... Face it, as long as Daim Diltar is a guest in Lady Niazur''s palace apartment, there will still be rumors. And any attempts to deny them will only fuel curiosity and foster new theories."


    It took Alex a few seconds to reproduce any reaction to what he had heard:


    "You''re probably right." He finally squeezed out. "Any denials will only feed the rumors. Thank you for your kind advice, and... I think we should go back to Lady Laer. She looks bored." He added with a nod toward the ash-haired beauty who was sipping her cocktail with the look of a desperate man resigned to his fate.


    They returned, and while Count Zeper gracefully and casually kept up small talk for all of them at once. Alex answered with one-word answers and nods and tried to digest what he had heard. It was not working so well:


    Taer is a guest of the princess?! It just didn''t make sense: How? Why?


    Taer was definitely not a sororitas. She didn''t cut her hair short, wasn''t noted for her religiosity, and never mentioned the convet.


    She did say she came from a very religious family... Alex remembered a long-ago conversation. But she definitely didn''t study in a sister convent! I read her file...


    So it''s not about the old Taer, it''s about the new Taer. Not-Taer. It was the only and very unpleasant conclusion that could be drawn, and it begged the inevitable question:


    Why? Why the princess specifically? Why is she sheltering her?


    Of course, the palace was quite a favorable place to hide there: Alex wouldn''t risk taking forceful steps there. But that didn''t explain why it was the princess'' place.


    And according to the Inquisitor, a strong seer is almost impossible to find. So it''s not a matter of safety. So, either Not-Taer is a weak seer or... It''s about the princess. Alex involuntarily wrinkled his nose, so much he didn''t like his own conclusion. What could Not-Taer need from the princess? the question was rhetorical - he didn''t know and couldn''t even imagine. There were too many options.


    But things were coming to a point where the upcoming visit to the palace might be even more eventful than he had anticipated.


    * * *

 Chapter 24

    Chapter 24


    * * *


    It was the same again. The glittering enfilades of the palace halls, the Emperor''s aide-de-camp with a perpetually tired face, the luxurious and empty waiting room, the only difference - this time, he was alone. The princess must have learned about his forthcoming visit to the palace and contacted him by comm, and literally drowning him in her holoscreen charm, asked: "Wouldn''t the Luminous Prince be offended if a certain Niazur could not accompany him to the palace, as she was very busy taking command of the Imperial Intelligence.


    Of course, he assured her he wouldn''t take offense, but only if he was compensated for the missed opportunity to spend time with such an enchanting creature as "a certain Niazur."


    The usual nonsense, anyway.


    In fact, during their conversation, he had been trying to think of a way to warn Artala that Non-Taer could be monstrously dangerous but hadn''t come up with anything:


    No matter what I say, that would require an explanation, and I can''t give one. Alex sighed mirthfully, settling into the waiting room. At least not in a way that wouldn''t screw me or Taer in the process.


    He was still berating himself for his lack of foresight.


    I should have thought of something to let her know. But in the end, all he could manage was a clumsy, "Be careful." Which didn''t help at all.


    About twenty minutes later, after a polite knock, the Emperor''s aide-de-camp peeked into the room:


    "Your Lordship, the Emperor is ready to see you. Please follow me." He waited at Alex''s door and led him along the familiar route.


    As in the first time, the audience took place in the same strange office with low ceilings and a green sphere occupying a noticeable part of the room. After waiting at the door until he was announced, Alex entered next.


    His Majesty sat at the head of a large oval table and did not rise to meet him this time. Next to him, on his left hand, a thin, middle-aged man sat at the table. On the table in front of him were several infoblocks and a glowing wall of holo screens that almost completely obscured him, preventing him from seeing his facial features.


    Must be a secretary. Alex decided, taking a glance around the office. Like the Emperor''s adjutant, the stranger wore a black uniform with no insignia.


    "I assume something is wrong, Lord Cassard?" The Emperor met him with a serious, even anxious look. "Something with the investigation? Do you need help?"


    "Not help, but your approval, Your Majesty." Alex began his repeatedly rehearsed speech. "I know how a Prince Cassard should act in honor and justice, but I do not know how an Ergo-Seneschal of the Empire should act. Therefore, Your Majesty, I seek your advice and approval."


    "I don''t understand you, Lord Cassard." The Emperor frowned. "Explain yourself."


    "A few days ago, the First Blade of my domain, Daim Diltar, was completely attacked. She was attempted to be kidnapped for unknown purposes. And I believe this was no random attack, Your Majesty. I think the attack on Diltar, the assassination of Baron Assaro, and the assassination attempt on me before the Onstum may all be connected events. Moreover, one of the attackers of Diltar, and possibly one of the organizers of the attack, was recently serving in a high-ranking position in the Imperial Security Service."


    He paused, taking a breath and giving the emperor a chance to interject a word, but his majesty was silent, listening attentively to this speech, and Alex continued trying to sound as lofty and naive as possible:


    "In such a situation, I, as the suzerain and patron of the Daim Diltar, cannot ignore the attack on my knight and the blade of my domain. Not only is it a crime, but the honor of the entire Cassard family is at stake. Using the power you have given me, I am going to begin searches of the Imperial Security Office in the capital city and, at the very least, interrogate the attacker''s former superiors and subordinates."


    Alex paused once more and continued in a calmer, even conciliatory tone.


    "But I''m not sure that''s a step the Ergo Seneschal of the Empire should take. So I''ve come to you for advice."


    "That attacker, a former SS employee. What about him?" The Emperor asked with interest, completely unfazed by the speech. "Has he been arrested?"


    "Unfortunately, no, Your Majesty," Alex admitted with annoyance. "He blew himself up with a plasma grenade. His identity and former duty station have been established from the tissue file."


    "Is that so?" His majesty raised an eyebrow expressively. "And that''s why you want to arrange searches and interrogations of the SS?"


    "Yes, Your Majesty." Alex nodded, and froze, inwardly shrinking, waiting for the emperor''s reaction.


    What he was proposing was obviously insolence, stupid and disproportionate. But he didn''t expect to be allowed to do it, and most of the preparation for the visit had been devoted to finding something to say for himself without looking like a complete idiot who could even think of such nonsense.


    No, that''s not what he was counting on. He had counted on signaling, on signaling a threat, on tensing the conspirators, on depriving them of the luxury of quietly planning their next move. After all, the investigation into Taer''s kidnapping was real, initiated by all the rules, on behalf of Prince Cassard as suzerain of Daim Diltar.


    And I may be denied search and interrogation. But information about this request will inevitably leak out... Alex, who took care of the leaks himself, thought contentedly. The same Pell as my ''mentor'' can''t unknow about it. They''ll realize that they''ve made a mess, and they''ll have to scramble. Clean up the mess at the SS...


    "Good." Suddenly, the Emperor nodded. "Go ahead. You need not doubt yourself so much. You are in your right. The case you are describing is the prerogative of the Ergo-Seneschal. It''s up to you to decide what to do, even if it''s about the SS. The head of any service can only be interested in clearing or confirming the good name of his department. I''m sure Lord Quezox will understand and cooperate fully when the circumstances become known to him."


    "I..." Alex almost started to make a prepared excuse, but despite the shock, he stopped in time. "I''m very grateful for your support, Your Majesty."


    The Emperor only waved it away in response:


    "How is it going with Lady Pell, by the way?" Involved, he asked, casually changing the subject, and you could tell by the look on the Emperor''s face that this was far more interesting than possible searches and interrogations by the Imperial Security Service. "I hope you''re not quarreling?"


    "No, Your Majesty." Without hesitation, Alex lied. "We have a very predictable relationship. Lady Pell helps me quite a lot with matters of protocol."


    "Very good." The Emperor blossomed into a smile. "I never cease to be delighted by your friendship. Eh..." He dreamily raised his eyes to the ceiling. "If only all the clans could forget old quarrels like this... But I will not detain you with my sentiments, Lord Cassard. I am sure you have much to do now."


    "Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you." He thanked her awkwardly and said goodbye, heading for the exit.


    * * *


    When the door closed behind him and the adjutant, the holo-screen covering the "secretary" immediately disappeared, and his majesty reached for his cigarette case:


    "I haven''t seen a man so desperate to be rejected in a long time." The "secretary" broke the silence after they had both lit a cigarette. "And actually, you''re being a little hard on him, your majesty." He added with an ironic reproach in his voice. "Just like that, siccing on Quezox... Morir is a mean man."


    The Emperor shrugged his shoulders with an indifferent look.


    "That Lord Cassard, or whoever he is, seems to care nothing... Maybe he can handle Quezox. What do you think, Aith?"


    Aith only grimaced in response, making it clear that he was not at all thrilled with what was happening:


    "It''s up to you, but I wouldn''t risk it like that." He shook his head. "One of them could do something really stupid before their time."


    "Or maybe that''s even better?" With a sly squint, the Emperor asked. "Nonsense will look more natural..."


    The interlocutor did not answer, waving his hand at the emperor. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a gray jet of cigarette smoke into the ceiling.


    * * *


    Alex was walking backward on full automatic, trying to digest what had happened:


    Do I really have to search the SS now? But how? By whom? He was increasingly floored by the realization that he had just, himself, created a huge pile of problems for free. What was I even thinking?


    Finally, the door of his waiting room closed behind him. He could catch his breath.


    "How''d it go?" There was a familiar voice.


    The first blade of his domain, in a snow-white and immaculate uniform, was sitting at the snack table, putting her foot on her leg and scribbling something with a black marker stylus in a small notebook. "I hope all is well?" She asked, putting the notepad aside and looking at Alex with concern. "You look confused."


    "Much better than I expected." He answered cautiously, not taking his eyes off her hands. Because of the grace with which they moved, Alex realized that he was facing Not-Taer.


    It wasn''t that this meeting had taken him by surprise. It was just that he hadn''t expected to see her right here and right now, So it did catch him a little bit, and at a very unfortunate moment.


    "It''s always nice when reality exceeds expectations." She smiled at him. "Adds a slight sweetness to the routine."


    Not-Taer''s smile blew his breath out. It could probably wring the necks. Literally.


    I wonder how it is the same person, in the physiological sense, smiles so differently?


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "To what do I owe this surprise?" He asked aloud, heading towards her table but stopping at a respectful distance. Not that it makes any difference, though... He had seen the footage of Taer leaping ten times the distance in one leap.


    "Well..." Not-Taer frowned unhappily. "Such a tone, like we were complete strangers. Have a seat." She pointed her hand hospitably to the seat across from her. "Take a breath. I promise I won''t take up too much of your time."


    "It''s just that the end of our last meeting didn''t leave the most pleasant aftertaste." Alex hummed, pushing back the chair across from him.


    "You''d think." Lightly, Not-Taer brushed it off, watching him with an innocent smile. "It''s just physical pain. Hard to believe it could touch you in any way."


    "It didn''t seem that way to me." He sat back down sincerely and shut up, signaling that he was giving up the initiative in the conversation and waiting for Not-Taer to explain herself.


    But time passed, and she was still smiling silently, watching him with her hand on her chin, and it seemed like she could sit like that for an eternity.


    "Interesting choice of model." After a few minutes, Alex couldn''t stand it any longer, nodding at Not-Taer''s notebook lying next to him. There were sketches of Lady Pell from different angles, which showed that: first, Not-Taer was a very gifted graphic artist, and second, that Nadina in her life was not so peaceful and happy as in these drawings.


    "I''m impressed with active personalities." Not-Taer shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and her innocent smile began to melt away.


    "The drawing is very expressive." Alex complimented her, making it clear that he was waiting for her to get to the point.


    "A purely mechanical skill." Her smile finally dissolved into the sullen mask of a professional. "But creating something that doesn''t exist yet allows me to take my mind away from the unbearable monotony of existence."


    She sighed heavily and picked up the small briefcase at her feet, placing it on her lap:


    "Here." She held out to him a sheet pulled from her briefcase with the scarlet monograms of the Cassard family. "Just sign it. I told you it wouldn''t take long."


    Taking the paper, which turned out to be a sheet of plastic, Alex quickly ran his eyes over the text.


    It was an order in which "of the Great House Fyron, First Blade Cassard''s own guard Daim Taer Diltar" was placed on indefinite leave until: "circumstances will not allow her to perform her duties to the fullest extent again".


    It was a completely unexpected turn:


    "What''s that supposed to mean?" He raised an eyebrow, putting the order aside.


    "Whatever you want." Not-Taer shrugged again, but despite her mask of seriousness, a laughing sparkle flickered in her eyes. "Like a civilized divorce?" She suggested with a sly look. "I have to move forward somehow, to redefine myself..."


    "What if I say no?" Alex asked in the same half-joking tone.


    "Why?" Not-Taer wrinkled her nose. "Besides, I can act through the Consulate Court. With your unpopularity there, it won''t be difficult. Or worse..." She gave him a meaningful look. "I could indeed keep the title and position of the first blade of the domain and start using them..."


    "I''m sure you''ll be monstrously effective in that role." Without a shadow of irony, Alex replied.


    "I will." With relentless seriousness, Not-Taer nodded. "But do you need to? And anyway..." She paused tiredly covering her eyes, massaging them slightly with her fingers. "Understand..." She finally continued with a heavy sigh. "I could stay on, continue to play the role of your head of security and first blade of the domain, and be literally perfect in both roles. But that''s not what you want, is it? You''ve planned princess assassinations, monster rescues, and other games. And I don''t mind games." She smiled tiredly and pressed her hand to her chest. "But let''s at least not pretend it''s serious then. Sign it." She offered, placing the black marker stylus in front of him with a look as dead tired as if they''d been haggling all day. "And play whatever you want."


    Not that it''s a problem... He''d already unofficially put her ''out of service'' on ''health'' grounds. And this was just a formalization of his own decision. If Taer gets back to normal, there won''t be any problem getting her back on duty.


    Unless, of course, she stages some sort of mass public murder with dismemberment before actually returning to normal. Alex corrected himself mentally.


    But there was one question: Why would she do that?


    Another long exchange of glances followed. Taer''s face was completely blank. Alex strongly suspected that the new owner of this body could freely decide what emotions to show and what not. And that''s why all these games of staring at her were of no use. The true intentions in her eyes could not be seen. But a long exchange of glances made it possible to notice a detail that had eluded him earlier: the right sleeve of her uniform did not bear the "Scarlet Branch of the Cassards" insignia.


    "I see you''ve changed your uniform?" He asked, pointing to her right sleeve with his eyes.


    "New role, new uniform." She smiled, turning so he could see her better.


    There was no scarlet branch on her sleeve, but there was an emblem at her shoulder: three stylized intersecting vectors connected by a circle. Peleng, the emblem of Imperial Intelligence.


    Wow. Alex thought, looking at the emblem.


    He had felt completely dumbfounded three times today, and he didn''t know how to deal with it. He knew that Not-Taer was staying at the princess''s palace apartment, but he hadn''t thought it might have something to do with the fact that Artala had recently been appointed head of Imperial Intelligence. As it turns out, I should have thought better of it. But why? Why?


    Just questions, and absolutely no answers. In their conversation, Artala made no mention of the fact that she had "employed" Taer....


    Although, we don''t know what Not-Taer told her, Alex realized. Artala might think I know everything. Or that it was my request in the first place...


    Lord Cassard and Princess were allies in some murky business:


    And Artala clearly felt obligated. Even helped me with my check with the Inquisition. Could Not-Taer have taken advantage of that? Easily.


    Though there were other options, worse. Like, for some reason, Artala didn''t want me to find out about it from her...


    "That was fast." That''s all Alex could say.


    "Reorganization." Not-Taer turned again, taking a more comfortable position at the desk, and the shiny emblem disappeared from view. "Many positions available."


    "And which one was released to you if it''s no secret?"


    "Second Deputy Lady Director and Head of Department Four." She answered, bowing her head slightly as if introducing herself. "So there." She poked a finger under the epaulet on her right shoulder. "There should also be a pendant with two swords on it, but I''m still only a ''temp,'' so I didn''t get into that nonsense."


    Second deputy, is that Artala''s number two deputy or deputy deputy?


    He didn''t know what the fourth department did. But it would probably be easy to find out. At least the guys who served in House Fyron''s intelligence department should know.


    And he had plenty of those in his Arm.


    "Is this a promotion or a demotion relative to your previous position?" Alex asked straightforwardly, not seeing the point in beating around the bush. "I want to know if I should congratulate you or encourage you."


    "A slight demotion, technically," Not-Taer replied after a moment''s thought and added meaningfully. "But, more work and more opportunities."


    "And that''s why you needed this?" He asked tapping his finger on the order lying on the table.


    "Technically, I can combine." Not-Taer replied, and something in her tone and eyes added unspoken: If you change your mind, of course. "But it will be easier this way. No need to travel to the Tail sector, less reason to cross paths with you and risk you doing something stupid."


    "I have to organize searches in the Security Service, and now Taer is suddenly working in the Imperial Intelligence Service. Alex felt that the situation was completely out of control, and he had a feeling that this was only the beginning. It was going to get worse.


    Okay, okay... Mentally he pulled himself together, it was pointless to panic or worry here. Yes, Not-Taer was acting completely different from what he expected. So what? We need to focus on our own line of action. What was the original plan?


    The plan was simple: find Taer, immobilize her with gas, as the informant from the Inquisition advised, perform a full biomedical examination, and show the results to the experts in induced reactions so they could tell what to do with it.


    Because the induced reactions could, in theory at least, be reversed, and it was hoped that this would bring back the old Taer.


    It was asked, Does he have a better plan?


    I don''t have a better plan. Alex admitted honestly to himself after a moment''s thought. What changes in the plan from Taer somehow influence the princess to go into intelligence?


    It was getting more complicated, at least the hypothetical complications with Artala. He was planning to kidnap not only the first blade of his domain and a beautiful girl but also her deputy.


    And worst of all, I''m getting less time. One way or another she''ll get rid of her First Blade duties, and that''s it. She''ll be mostly in the palace or at the Imperial Intelligence headquarters. There''s absolutely no way to get her there anymore, so we need to act fast. With each passing day, the chances of success are getting slimmer and slimmer.


    "I don''t mind. In principle." He said with a raspy voice, and with a stark look at Taer, he pushed the order sheet away from him. "But only after we get some explanations and answers to some questions."


    He needed to somehow lure Not-Taer out to a place where she could be ''taken''. The easiest way to do that was if she offered to meet somewhere else.


    "Explanation?" Not-Taer defiantly circled her hand around the luxurious chambers. "Here? Well, be realistic."


    That''s it! It was exactly the reaction he''d been waiting for.


    "This really isn''t a good place to be." Alex agreed sincerely, remembering from the story with Nadine that his majesty was not shy about eavesdropping on guests. "But we could meet in a more private setting."


    Not-Taer''s eyebrow crept upward, and an ironic smile touched her lips:


    "Is that an invitation to a date?"


    "You could say that." Alex shrugged. "Or are you scared?"


    "It''s been too long since I''ve been able to be afraid." She shook her head and added with a predatory smile. "So I''m okay with it. On principle."


    "Wonderful." Alex was sincerely happy, but Not-Taer immediately interrupted him:


    "But you do realize I''ll only agree to meet in a public place, right?"


    "I see." Calmly, he nodded. It was quite expected. "What kind of public place do you prefer?"


    She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her chin with her fingernail. Her fingernails were clearly longer than usual and painted a deep blue. Taer had never had that before:


    I don''t think Taer used any makeup or the bare minimum.


    "You know I have an idea." She turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "A restaurant at the main temple of Twilight in the capital. I hope at least there you won''t do anything stupid?"


    "The restaurant at the temple?" Slowly repeated Alex not hiding his surprise. "Are you serious or are you joking now?"


    "Here we go..." Not-Taer defiantly pouted her lips and made a resentful face. It came out very nicely. "I have a bad sense of humor, but not to that extent. I''m serious."


    "And the temple has a restaurant?" Alex thought to himself incredulously: Damn, why is she so charming from time to time? No comparison with usual Taer, it''s not even fair ... Or is she somehow affecting my brain?


    He didn''t feel as out of control as he had when he''d first met Liora. But Not-Taer had a way about her, the kind of person you just wanted to talk to without noticing the time: Why? Because I know she''s a cruel, ruthless person with a very sadistic streak...


    "All the major temples in Twilight have restaurants. It''s part of the tradition." Not-Taer calmly explained, not at all surprised by his question. "They keep hoping that Twilight will stop by one of them sometime, or maybe even go there regularly. And conveniently, like temples, they''re usually visited with a veil or mask, so there shouldn''t be any problems with securing incognito. Quite a fashionable place, by the way."


    He didn''t like the temple option, but he couldn''t say that directly:


    "Fancy place? Isn''t there gonna be a problem getting in? And I know you want a public place, but wouldn''t it be too crowded to socialize privately?"


    "I think I can get us a table." Not-Taer grinned at some of her thoughts and added seriously. "Don''t worry about privacy. As long as we keep it quiet, it won''t be a problem."


    "All right, at the temple, so at the temple." Alex spread his hands. "I''m not going to argue with your choice. If you feel safe there, then so be it. We just need to decide on a date."


    "Tomorrow?" With a kind of childlike directness, she asked.


    "I''m to organize searches of the Imperial SS." Alex wrinkled his nose painfully. "I don''t know how long that will take..."


    And I certainly won''t have time to organize the flooding of the main temple of Twilight with soporific gas! He thought with carefully concealed fury.


    Not-Taer was expected to choose an inconvenient location. But the main, bloody, temple, the second most populous religion... She was absolutely not going to make it easy for him.


    "Serious business." She nodded back understandingly. "The day after tomorrow, then?"


    "I''d really appreciate it if you''d go to the meeting." Crushingly he shook his head. "The day after tomorrow will be much easier for me. What time?"


    "Well, since it''s a date..." Not-Taer laughed a little, a wide smile shining on her face. "Then, of course, it''s in the evening. We''ll get in touch and confirm the exact time on the day of the date."


    "As you wish." Alex bowed his head respectfully, and after a short pause he added:


    "But remember, it''s my signature and your answers."


    "I have nothing to hide." With a carefree smile, Not-Taer shrugged.


    "So I''ll see you then?"


    "See you."


    She folded the order neatly back into her briefcase and, with a two-finger salute from her temple, turned on her heels heading for the waiting room exit:


    The tasks have been concretized. Alex thought, seeing off Not-Taer with a glance. To organize a search in the Security Service and to figure out how to gas the main temple of Twilight so that nothing would happen to me... That''s all.


    Her gait, just like on that record, was so eye-catching.


    The door closed, and a wistful thought crept into my head:


    Why don''t just screw it? Who am I proving what to?


    But he shook his head and rose resolutely from his seat to organize something he had never organized: Twice.


    * * *

 Chapter 25

    Chapter 25


    * * *


    Rustling the folds of his shapeless asphalt-colored robe that completely covered his body, the monk bowed low, stopping at the ordered seat.


    "Your visit is a blessing to us. Every guest, a chance to be in his presence." The gray monk''s lifeless and monotonous voice had clearly been altered by some device, and his face was completely covered by a solid black oval mask.


    "Accept it, not as payment, but as a blessing." Alex handed the monk a small square of dark gold, a card of five danarii. During the "preparatory work," he also found out how to behave here,


    "Blessed is the giver, for his hand is the hand of Twilight himself." The money disappeared into the asphalt folds of the monk''s robes, and he bowed low once more and went away, leaving a thin plate of menus on the table.


    "Yeah..." Alex quietly stretched out, looking around the place of the date. "The atmosphere isn''t very romantic."


    The huge hall was shaped like a bagel in the sense that it was round, with a hole in the center. A huge hole, to be precise, fenced in no more than symbolically. Along the entire perimeter of the metal thread was a thin railing, behind which, many hundreds of meters below, lay the emerald surface of the sea illuminated by the golden ripples of the setting sun. Today was one of those rare occasions in the capital when the calendar and astronomical evening coincided.


    It must have been in order not to distract from such an original view of the sea. All other decoration was simply absent. Literally. A long, narrow table of reddish polished wood, standing not far from the dip, a smooth black mirror of the floor, from which the granite blocks of columns soared to the dome of the ceiling, twisting slightly around their axis like the blades of a giant propeller. Columns of rough, unpolished gray granite were arranged like stones in a Japanese garden, overlapping each other so that sitting at one of the few tables could not see the other tables and their guests. The only semblance of jewelry - golden ribbons that smooth metal snakes braided the columns, only emphasizing the roughness of the texture of raw stone.


    The ribbons, of course, were three for each column, and Alex didn''t remember how many columns there were, but he could be sure that it was a multiple of three. The local beliefs were tightly tied to numerology, and if the sacred number of the Flame was two and accordingly even. The sacred number of Twilight was three and odd. And here, in the temple of Twilight, they tried to remind him about it at every step. Everything was a multiple of three or triangular in shape. The temple itself was made of three triangles forming a hollow triangular pyramid, under the top of which the "restaurant" was suspended. The triangular theme did not end there, of course. The seats for the guests, if you look at the plan, were actually the tops of three triangles inscribed in each other, adding up to the number nine, the "superlative" form of the three and the sacred number of the Gray Lady, a rather specific local saint or demigoddess responsible for death and mercy. In the sense that death is mercy, in some situations.


    Doesn''t look like much of a restaurant, Alex summarized mentally, shrugging uncomfortably.


    He had the feeling that someone was watching him closely. He wanted to look around, but he didn''t, for two reasons: first, because during the preparations for the "date," he had found out how serious the gray monks were about ensuring the privacy of their guests, and second, if he was really being watched, it was pointless to look around - you wouldn''t notice anything anyway. Instead, to pass the time, he began to study the menu, which was very peculiar, like everything in this place.


    The menu was "numbered": the number of the dish, a reference to the source of the recipe variant, and the name of the "interpreter." It was something like: "No. 7 Acclaimed Codex 243:5661 from Iolaus Tasid". No prices, no names. It was assumed that if you came to such a place, you would know the names by number - the menu had not changed for thousands of years. And thousands of theological works have been devoted to its study, in which, without any irony, they tried to find the hidden meaning in each of the known recipes. The only thing that matters is where the recipe comes from and who interprets it, i.e. the name of the "chef."


    As Alex realized, the latter was paid a lot of attention to because the recipes had been preserved despite the millennia separating the present time and the legendary era. Even the external presentation of many dishes was known, but nobody knew what they were supposed to taste like, which opened wide possibilities for "interpretation." There were even some culinary competitions on this topic and recognized stars among the "interpreters."


    "Have you decided what you''re going to order yet?"


    Taer''s appearance was heralded by the click of her heels, which echoed through the hall long before she arrived, so the question didn''t take him by surprise.


    "Not yet. Maybe you can help me with that?" He asked, setting the menu aside and turning his gaze to Taer.


    All in gold and silver: her face was hidden by an oval mask like the local monks'', but not black, but gold, shining with mirror-polished metal. A fitted jacket with a high collar and puffy shoulders made of a material similar to dark golden foil. Her hair, contrary to custom, was not gathered at the nape of her neck but thrown over her right shoulder in a platinum wave flowing over the dark gold of the jacket and down over her chest. Silver pants and pale purple stiletto shoes to match the manicure. It was probably the first time Taer had ever worn high heels. She towered majestically over the dark gray figure of the monk accompanying her, like a golden statue of a goddess and looked so natural in a temple where money was essentially worshipped that Alex wondered if it was some kind of ceremonial garb.


    In any case, he noted with a faint shadow of regret that there was no hint of the frivolity or playfulness that had set the tone for the meeting. Not that he''d expected anything, but he''d always liked tall girls.


    "Are you hungry?" Taer inquired casually, sitting down across from him.


    There were no chairs, only dark burgundy squares of cushions lying directly on the floor near a low, narrow table, so she sat cross-legged in Turkish.


    It''s the way she moves betrays her. Alex thought, watching Not-Taer - despite the stiletto shoes, she managed to sit cross-legged, even with some elegance. - "It seems like every move has been rehearsed thousands of times. Taer is not choreographed like that." He wondered for a moment if he''d seen it in anyone else. -It''s not typical of humans, either."


    The golden mask turned to him again, continuing to discuss the order:


    "You can have something substantial, or you can have light appetizers."


    "I''d eat something." Alex shrugged. "So, substantial."


    "He''ll be number three full, and I''ll have a glass of Magran and an ashtray. Bring them at once." She threw to the monk who had accompanied her and, with a wave of her hand, dismissed him.


    "You can take off your veil, by the way. The order will be delivered by a droid." Taer offered, taking off her mask. As always, she had the relaxed and contented face of someone who knew no worries, with a slight smile on her lips tinted with pale purple and silver lipstick.


    "Yes? Thank you." Alex answered as naturally as possible, having spent dozens of hours studying the process of food delivery, especially how the droids overcame the two force shields covering the gap.


    "You look great." He continued, too, removing the veil from his face.


    The compliment was quite sincere but was made to change the subject sooner rather than later.


    "I can''t help but wonder, is there some religious meaning or symbolism in this garment? You look very natural in this outfit."


    "No." Not-Taer shook her head with a smirk and added with a slight shrug. "Those colors are in vogue among the burghers, and I like to be fashionably dressed. You could consider it one of my many weaknesses."


    "I was under the impression that if anyone has no weaknesses, it''s you." Alex sighed bitterly. He''d spent every available opportunity to search for her weaknesses, and still, he couldn''t boast of finding any.


    "Everyone has them." She waved it off. "It''s just that you can fight them, or you can indulge in them. I decided to indulge. Because if I lose them, what''s left? Tactical schemes and analytical circuits? It''s just another combat unit that''s already in abundance. Speaking of weaknesses." She added in a more cheerful tone. "I''ll allow myself a smoke in your presence in honor of the holiday."


    "As you wish." Alex agreed with a smile and didn''t ask her what she meant by "another combat unit," though he was very curious. After all, the real purpose of this meeting is not to answer questions.


    "I''ll wish." She returned the smile, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it from a long gold lighter.


    Not-Taer must have known with split-second accuracy how long it would take to fulfill her order, or if his theory was correct, simply foreseen it, being an adept seer. A black disk with a tray clutched in its thin paws silently floated out of the hole and placed an ashtray just as she lowered her hand with a cigarette after the first puff. In addition to the ashtray, the droid''s thin mechanical paw placed a tall, clear glass filled with a dark liquid in front of her.


    The glass steamed visibly, spreading a familiar aroma.


    "Coffee?" The question burst out on its own as Alex was surprised to realize exactly what he was smelling.


    "Coffee." Nodded Not-Taer, looking at him with interest. "Would you like some? Of course it''s not the same. Certain genetic differences are inevitable over several millennia of growing up on another planet. But the result is quite acceptable."


    "I want to." Alex nodded immediately. He wasn''t a special coffee drinker, but rather, the opportunity to taste something familiar again was pure nostalgia. The fact that Not-Taer understood the word "coffee" perfectly did not even cause a surprise. He already had suspicions that she was another "transported person," and now, they were just confirmed.


    "One Magran-rah, but warm." She ordered the droid, and when it collapsed back into the dip as silently as it had come, she added in an apologetic tone. "Didn''t work out with the milk, though. The locals have convinced themselves that consuming the liquid coming out of another animal''s tits is a wild perversion that one would only go for in the most desperate of situations. One wonders why this squeamishness does not extend to honey, but people have never been very consistent. So, instead of milk, it''s the milk of a specific plant. The consistency is more like a cream but for lack of a stamp..." She wrung her hands.


    "I''m more interested in why warm coffee?" Alex asked casually, making sure his voice sounded as natural as possible.


    "Something wrong?" Not-Taer raised an eyebrow slightly. "Have your tastes changed?"


    "No." Alex shook his head, really preferring warm coffee. "Just wondering how you found out. Visionary talent?


    "A visionary talent." Not-Taer nodded with a look of connoisseurship. "That''s the one. Well, or I''ve just known you for a million years." She added, not hiding her sarcasm.


    "Literally a million?" With icy seriousness, he interrogated inwardly, ready even for the answer, yes.


    "How to count." She shrugged with a smile.


    She had such a sweet yet meaningful smile at that moment that Alex couldn''t get rid of the thought. She seems to just like teasing me...


    Time is a complex thing. You can easily count orders of magnitude more than a million or even less than a year. Depends on what to count, how, and from where.


    "Well, yes." He nodded. "I remember: Objective, subjective, linear, total." He listed the variations of time calculation she''d given during the interrogation.


    "Also: convergent, non-convergent, and a thousand other ways to determine the coordinates of a place." She rolled her eyes. "But I don''t think we need to discuss the nature of space-time. That''s not what you''re interested in."


    "Have you really known me for a long time?" Alex rephrased his question.


    "I''ve really known you a long time." She nodded softly.


    The droid surfaced again from the gap, placing the ordered drink in front of Alex.


    Sweet coffee with milk, similar to coffee raff, warm. Just the way he liked it.


    Alex took small sips more to give himself time to think than to stretch the pleasure.


    Basically, the seer could probably just guess what kind of coffee I would order... He was tempted to agree with that thought. And thus pretend that she''s known me and my tastes for a long time. Why not? But why? Just to tease?


    He cast a quick glance at Not-Taer. She was enjoying his reaction without hiding it.


    It''s a little petty. Alex had a hard time believing such motivation. It didn''t fit with the cold and calculating person he thought Not Taer was. But maybe it''s a joke? She often says she doesn''t have much of a sense of humor.


    "Why don''t I know you, then?" He voiced the obvious question, setting his glass aside. "Well, I do, but only recently."


    "Pretending?" She assumed an innocent look and continued with a slight shadow of indignation in her voice. "Why are you asking me anyway? I, despite all my problems with thinking, remember everything. And if the originator decided to take away the doll''s memory for some reason, that''s your choice. Or pretends to." She added coldly.


    "I''m not pretending," Alex said calmly. He could swear that he didn''t remember anything and had only encountered this person for the first time after Taer had been kidnapped. But what''s the point?


    "You''d better tell me what you mean by a doll. It''s been on my mind since the first time we met."


    "A doll is a doll. Literally." Not-Taer replied, a little surprised. "I try to be as direct and unambiguous as possible when I use words."


    "I still don''t know what that means," Alex admitted sincerely. "Could you explain it in a way that would make sense even to me?"


    "Alright then." She rolled her eyes and reached for her briefcase. "You certainly could have done it yourself. But, after all, I promised..."


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Taer pulled out a small infoblock and placed it on the table in front of her:


    "Find the definition of the word Doll." She ordered, tapping her finger on the screen.


    The infoblock squeaked quietly and, after a few seconds, read out in an "electronic" female voice: "A doll is an object made in the physical or symbolic semblance of another object, intended for play or ritual."


    "I think that''s exhaustive." Concluded Not-Taer with an expressive look at Alex. She flicked her finger on the screen again and pushed the infoblock aside. "Now, do you understand the meaning of the term?"


    "So you''re implying that I''m an artificially created something?" Alex clarified, looking at her skeptically.


    "I don''t imply. I know." With calm indifference, she objected. "Well, except that the difference between artificial and natural is very blurred, and I wouldn''t dwell on it."


    "Yeah?" Alex grinned with a surprised raised eyebrow. "I''m really curious about that."


    "It all depends on what one considers natural." She explained with a tired sigh, gesturing lazily with her cigarette hand. "For example, if a child is born of a mom and dad and raised by them to the best of their ability, is the resulting person natural or artificial?"


    "Natural obviously." Alex shrugged.


    "What if the same child was the result of someone who first determined what result is needed, then put in the past what genetic traits are necessary and what events should happen and simply adjusted the events to the result? And all events, from the meeting of Mom and Dad to the curly-haired girl you like in the yard or the bee that stings you on your birthday, are just fitting to the target model. So, in this case, what is it? Artificial or natural?"


    "I..." Alex thought, for a moment, that the whole world was spinning before his eyes, rewinding his life. He did crush on a curly-haired girl from his yard when he was ten, and when he was eight, he did get stung by a bee right in the eye on his birthday - completely ruining the party. But these were all minor details of his past, details he wouldn''t even remember, but she knew:


    "Do you mean I''m the result of tinkering with a predetermined answer?" He asked, dumbfounded but still disbelieving.


    "No, it''s just an example." She waved it off carelessly, which gave Alex an incredible sigh of relief. "It''s more complicated with you."


    "But then, how do you know I was bitten by a bee on my birthday?" He asked the obvious question, thinking, Well, seers can''t be that omniscient.


    "An excess of free time and opportunity." She admitted and waved her hands with a slightly embarrassed smile. "Female curiosity. You can''t get rid of it that easily."


    "And how exactly does curiosity allow you to learn such insignificant details from the past?"


    "Pretty simple." She shrugged. "I was curious and did some modeling on your target model. Basic, of course." She added hastily as if she could be suspected of anything objectionable. "But it was more than sufficient for my purposes."


    "What do you mean modeling?" Alex sincerely didn''t understand. "Creating a copy of me?"


    "Well, not you. Your target model, in a modeling environment..." She paused when she saw the pained look Alex sent her. "An electronic copy of you in an electronic copy of reality." With a wince, she explained.


    For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, Taer smoking black coffee with pleasure, obviously enjoying the process and the chaos in her interlocutor''s head. And Alex was staring at her, trying to understand why she decided to blow his mind with some nonsense. Of course, he was new here and didn''t know much, but he already had some idea about the limits of possible local technology.


    And creating an electronic replica of reality somehow doesn''t really fit within the local limits of what''s possible.


    There was a tiny but very unpleasant thought that it was not a delusion but the truth. However, he didn''t want to take it any further. The conclusions were very creepy.


    "Why?" He finally gave up, not trying to find out if it was possible. Because of the obvious pointlessness of such questions. There was no way to verify what she said, and Not Taer could be lying just for fun, no matter how strange her idea of funny was.


    "I told you, female curiosity. I wanted to see what your perfect companion would look like. To gauge the depths of hopelessness, so to speak."


    This statement was just as absurd as the previous one, so he didn''t even try to challenge it but just kept the thread of the conversation going:


    "And how is that supposed to work?" He wondered.


    "You take a few million variants and run them in parallel at the calculated depth of the simulation. For example, a thousand years in linear non-converging time. Look at the results, further selection of the best, and all over again among the best and their descendants. And so on until the solutions converge to an optimum. Pseudogenetic optimization algorithm with recombination."


    "Indeed." Without hiding his sarcasm Alex agreed. "That explains it all, so simple."


    "Well, it''s not that simple." In the tone of an aggrieved creator, Not-Taer objected. "If you go blunt, the results will instantly converge on something that chemically or psionically blows your mind and puts you in a happy coma. And such a fatal beauty, which most likely will not even be a beauty, is a solution, but only formally. It is possible, of course, to exclude such a thing, limiting it to what is possible within the framework of human physiology.... But is it right? Maybe to be perfectly happy you just need her to have three tits, four tentacles, and horns? Until you try it, you''ll never know."


    "The horns?"


    "It''s more comfortable to hold on to." Not Taer explained as she took another sip.


    At that moment, Alex noticed that she was literally choking on her laughter while covering her with a coffee glass.


    "You know..." He finally said after a heavy sigh. "You do have a very specific sense of humor."


    "I can''t help it." Laughing, she waved her hands, her amusement undisguised. "As it is, I can''t help it."


    "Whatever you say." He nodded, trying to collect his thoughts. He''d expected the conversation with Not-Taer to be difficult, but now he felt like he was part of a Carroll-inspired tea party. Everything was turning upside down into something surreal. That''s not why I came here at all.


    "Let''s get back to talking about dolls." He decided to change the topic. After all, she obviously knows something about the transfer mechanism, so why not find out while there''s still time?


    "In whose semblance am I made?"


    "Obviously in your semblance," Taer replied with impenetrable seriousness, but there were mischievous devils in her eyes.


    "Funny." Alex nodded understandingly, smiling strainedly. She obviously wasn''t going to make it easy for him.


    "And most importantly, factually correct," Not-Taer added with a satisfied smile.


    "And for what game or ritual?" He asked already just for pro forma.


    "I have no idea." She shrugged her shoulders with what seemed to Alex to be mild irritation. She continued, taking another puff from her cigarette. "I haven''t been informed. So I''m just guessing, which is no better than anyone else''s."


    "I think your guess is still better than mine." Quite sincerely, he assured her. "I''d love to hear them."


    "I do not consider such a discussion appropriate." Calmly, she refused.


    "Is it because I''m a doll?" Alex didn''t hesitate to ask. "Is there some subtle etiquette in dealing with such low creatures?"


    "What? No!" She laughed in surprise. "A doll is a low creature..." She shook her head. "In your case, a doll is not: ''just a doll''. It''s a "Whole Doll" with a capital letter. Not the original, of course, but an imprint of it."


    "You mean I''m still socially condescending?" He asked in a half-joking tone. "Then what''s the reason for your refusal? Unpleasant topic? Or are you afraid of something? Or do you want to hide it from me?"


    "No." She shook her head and added with a slight wince. "Gossip, or worse, speculation about other people''s relationships, especially those of higher rank, is petty and demeaning. First and foremost for the gossiper. Thus showing that other people''s lives, for the utter worthlessness of his own, occupy him much more."


    "It''s quite feminine, though." Alex tried to tease her. "You said that you can''t get rid of it so easily, so why not indulge it?"


    "You can''t get rid of it that easily." She nodded with a smile. "And maybe in other circumstances, I would have, but right now, it''s just not in my plans."


    "What are your plans then?" Alex asked, but the appearance of the droid with his order naturally interrupted the conversation.


    In front of him on a not deep but wide white plate was a scattering of colorful balls the size of a pinky fingernail, yellow and white under the artistic ligature of thin lines of shiny black sauce.


    The service is surprisingly affordable. Alex was involuntarily surprised, expecting, in such a place, some absolutely incomprehensible delicacies for mere mortals. The plate smelled deliciously of fried meat, as he suspected from the yellow balls.


    A tall, clear glass with a dark liquid was placed next to it. The liquid fizzed and bubbled quietly, and the walls of the glass fogged up a bit. Something cold and carbonated.


    Well, it would be a shame not to try it. Alex excitedly reached for the special utensils, something like a spoon with short tines on the edge and a short, wide knife more like a spatula.


    He wasn''t afraid of anything being put in his food. If Taer wanted to do something to him, she had a thousand possibilities. Even now, she could easily reach him with her hand, and her strength and speed would be more than enough to kill or incapacitate him. And everyone else had too little time to organize something like that. I''m the one who started getting ready before everyone else, and I don''t have time.


    "Very tasty." He let out after the first spoonful of marbles. "One hundred percent hit with the choice of dish."


    As I expected, the yellow balls turned out to be meat, and under the smooth but fried and crispy crust, created with the evident participation of some spicy herbs, there was a pleasantly contrasting texture of a very soft and juicy core. The white ones, on the other hand, were firm, even a little rubbery in flavor, remotely reminiscent of orzo pasta. But it''s definitely not pasta. When bitten into, the white balls burst, releasing either juice or sauce with a pleasant sourness. The black sauce that bound the dish was rather sweet and clearly vegetable-based. It was clear in idea, not even intricate in some respects, but the result was a surprisingly tasty dish:


    A clear candidate for a favorite... Alex thought but stopped himself. Oh yeah... This is supposed to be my favorite dish. It''s just that I don''t remember it, but she does.


    Taer watched him with interest, smoking her second cigarette.


    "Really delicious, thank you," Alex repeated. His thanks were accepted with a simple nod. She seemed to be waiting for something. "I take it my original, and you were once regulars at this place?" He asked, carefully wiping his mouth with a napkin and pushing the dish aside. It was delicious, but he didn''t feel like eating it.


    "No." She shook her head. "Formalities aside, this is our first time here."


    "Formalities?" Alex asked with interest.


    "The multiplicity and uncertainty of reality, and all that other nonsense." Taer waved it away with a grudging grin.


    "I see." Alex nodded understandingly, though, of course, he understood nothing. "I just thought this place had some sentimental value."


    "No, just quiet, no one in the way and a nice view. What didn''t you like about it?"


    "No." Alex hastily assured her. He thought he heard in her voice the notes of a resentful hostess who decided that the feast she had organized was not being praised intensively enough.


    "Everything is great and the view is... Unusual." Found him after a moment''s hesitation.


    "The view is much more interesting when the tide comes in," Taer assured him with the pride of a creator showing off her work. "The temple is just above the tidal zone. The wave is almost half a kilometer high. A mountain of emerald glass in the gold of the setting sun slowly but inevitably crept onto the shore. Unfortunately, we won''t see it today." She added with a sigh.


    "A pity indeed." He nodded. "Sounds impressive. Rare astronomical conditions are required?" Alex clarified with a look of connoisseurship.


    "No." She smiled sadly. "When you''re on a gas giant satellite, every tide is doomed to be spectacular. It''s just that no matter how hard I try to time it, by my estimation, you always do something stupid long before the tide passes beneath us. We could make an appointment to meet at exactly the time of the tide, but I think that would kill all the anticipation and development of the spectacle and take away half the charm."


    "I get the feeling that you''re more sure of my plans than I am," Alex said with a dissatisfied look, though Not Taer was quite right. He was really planning a "stupid thing."


    "In your condition, stupidity is inevitable." Sluggishly, she objected. "I just hope it''s at least unexpected and original stupidity."


    "I see," he hummed. "Well, if my plans are set, what about yours?"


    "Seems pretty obvious to me." She shrugged. "Getting an indefinite leave of absence from you, getting settled in a new place. The usual hassles of life."


    "And in a broader sense?"


    Hearing that question, Taer wrinkled her nose with obvious annoyance:


    "I could answer... But in your current state, you just wouldn''t be able to grasp the meaning." She added with regret in her voice.


    "And you test me," Alex suggested with a smirk.


    "You really can''t." She shook her head. "And I''m not putting a price on it. Anyone can''t."


    "Can''t you find simpler words? Which even I can understand? I think you''re doing just fine."


    "It''s not the words." She sighed again. "You''ll understand the words. You just won''t get it right. I''ll give you an example, but please don''t take it as a direct analogy. It''s just an example."


    "Imagine a neglected garden." She began in a well-practiced voice like a voice-over narrator at the beginning of a fairy tale.


    "The lawn is overgrown with grass and already looks more like a meadow. Millions of different cockroaches and bugs live there. For many generations, cockroaches were born and died here. From their point of view, the tall grass stands practically forever. And suddenly, the gardening droids arrive... You''ve seen gardening droids before, haven''t you?"


    "Yeah, I can imagine what that''s like." Alex nodded, watching Taer as the narrator with interest.


    "Now imagine what they look like from the bug''s point of view. Metal giants, moving mountains, descend from the sky onto their meadow world. And these mountains begin to cut the grass, destroying everything, literally tearing apart the familiar world of the bugs in which they have been living forever. There is wild chaos everywhere, chopped grass falls down, and some opportunists take advantage of this as usual eating someone or stealing something. Most of them are just trying to escape, but there''s nowhere to go. Metal giants inexorably and methodically clean everything, leaving not a single island of tall grass. In desperation, the bugs try to fight back. They pounce on the droids wave after wave in the blind hope to do something, somehow to stop this destruction. But they can''t do anything to these giants, and they literally don''t notice their senseless attacks, in which countless cockroaches die and fall under the vibrating mowers. And only one question beats in the bug''s mind flooded with despair: Why?"


    "Why did the gods inflict this punishment? It''s obvious no bugs could create something like this. So why? They didn''t honor the covenants? For their sins? Or maybe the gods have decided the last hour of this world has come? No, of course, it must be sin," Not-Taer sighed bitterly like a man who had long ago accepted the inevitable. "It is always about sins. After all, an unknowable omnipotent force must want something from the bugs and make rules for them..." She shook her head disapprovingly, pausing for a few seconds, clearly immersed in her thoughts.


    "So there." She continued, shaking off her stupor of thought. "Imagine that somehow the bugs were able to pierce space and time with thought and find out the answer to why the gods decided to destroy the world they were used to:"


    "They just like it when the grass is flat..." She announced in a half voice and added in a loud whisper. "The gods are insane!" She laughed theatrically like a mad prophet of the apocalypse.


    "But are those who sent droids to mow an overgrown lawn crazy?" Taer asked in a normal tone of voice. "No. It''s just that the bugs will never be able to accept their logic because the range of solutions available to bugs is completely different. Do you understand now? Humans, or those who limit themselves to the limits of human logic it just won''t work. The perceptions and the range of solutions available are too narrow and too different."


    "Impressive parable," Alex said, who was really impressed by the described image. "And what are you then? One of those relentless giants? Or the one who sends droids? Or an expert on bugs since you are communicating with me?"


    "Night watchman at a construction equipment warehouse." Grudgingly, she tossed. "I told you not to take that as a direct analogy. It was just an example to show why my explanation would be meaningless in your current state and why you would draw the wrong conclusions even if I found the right words."


    "But your words imply that you are beyond the limits of human logic..." Alex began but was interrupted by a low, powerful hum.


    A heavy bass wave that started from somewhere down from the very base of the temple swept through the entire building, all the way up to the top, making the instruments on their table tinkle and shake.


    "What''s that? Is that the tide coming in?" Asked Alex nervously, looking around. It didn''t look like the tide at all. But who knows?


    "No." Taer shook her head with a peaceful smile. "It''s a Needle-type directed energy mine explosion."


    She hadn''t finished her phrase yet as the rumbling sound penetrating the whole building was repeated, and Alex heard muffled frightened screams from somewhere from the side of the entrance to the hall.


    "Mine?" He asked in surprise, as he hadn''t planned anything like that. "Why?"


    "Well, if you decided to do something stupid not alone, but with your Arm," Not-Taer explained, watching his reaction with interest. "The explosions occurred on the most favorable sites for initial deployment and routes of approach to the building. The set of optimal solutions is so narrow that I didn''t even bother with the activation system. I just set the time. The estimated casualties are four Guardsmen, three of whom are Carpathians on loan from Keyrin. Considering the stakes, more than acceptable losses."


    "Why?" Alex repeated, even though he knew where this was going. Exactly what I was afraid of. She won''t hurt me, but she''ll take it out on those around me.


    "I knew you''d do something silly," Not Taer said with a smile. "And you knew that I knew, and what''s more, I warned you that there would be a reaction. Which means, given my capabilities, there could be casualties. So I was curious as to your decision, whether your personal business, almost a small whim, was worth risking the lives of the people entrusted to you. Or have you decided it''s unacceptable?"


    The building shook again with a distant rumble, navigation holograms flashed yellow lines at chest height in their hall, and a muffled voice sounded from the ceiling:


    "Attention, this is not a drill, follow the signs to the nearest exit. Attention, this is not a drill ... "


    "Just out of curiosity?" Alex questioned angrily, drilling a glance at the mask of serenity on Taer''s face.


    "Well, it''s also a penalty for violating the terms of the meeting. But if they aren''t there, they aren''t hurt." With a smile, she added. "So, were they or weren''t they there?" She asked with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.


    "Don''t you know?" He grinned unhappily. "With your talent as a visionary."


    "I don''t know." She shook her head and added with a kind of euphoria. "And you have no idea how good it feels. So?"


    "What difference does it make?" Alex asked, leaning back so his right hand would naturally ease closer to his belt buckle. It wouldn''t hurt to put some distance between him and Taer.


    "After all, whatever decision I made before, there''s no changing it....."


    His finger touched the buckle, and with a springy clinking sound, it flew aside, throwing a tiny needle made of glass and special plastic into the palm of his hand.


    * * *

 Chapter 26

    Chapter 26


    * * *


    The weapon clattered softly in his hand, discharging a broad fan of needles into Taer''s side, and at the same time, Alex pushed backward, falling with his back on the floor to maximize the distance between them. But, contrary to the justified fears, all these acrobatics were useless - Taer didn''t even move. There wasn''t a muscle in her face, despite several needles in her forearm and chest, which were now squeezing their white tails into her bloodstream with a barely audible hiss.


    "You know." She sighed bitterly. "It was completely predictable."


    Did she foresee and use some blocking antidote? Was her body so altered that her biochemistry was completely inappropriate? It doesn''t matter anymore.


    It didn''t work. Alex realized with horror. The paralytic agent didn''t work.


    The whole plan was already going to hell, and now backup B had completely failed:


    What do we do now? It would be pointless to fight her. He froze on the floor, still pointing the now useless needle at Taer. He could still shoot, but there was no point.


    She carelessly pulled one of the needles stuck into her and examined it with a kind of squeamish interest.


    "Disappointing," Taer admitted, setting the needle aside on the table and shifting her gaze back to Alex.


    One couldn''t help but notice that she didn''t look angry or furious, but rather upset:


    "I had hoped that with your return, I would have the opportunity to surprise again. Please allow me that hope."


    He didn''t know what to say to that, and in the few moments while Alex pondered what to say, Taer suddenly stiffened, her mouth hanging open, and she slumped to the floor.


    It worked after all! He wanted to scream with joy after the panic he''d experienced, but he restrained himself and continued with Plan B.


    He quickly looked at Taer, pulling out the remaining needles and hiding her face behind the golden mask. He put his veil back on. It was worth keeping incognito as much as possible.


    Those landmines of hers rather helped. Alex hoisted Taer onto his shoulder, intending to follow to the exit. There''ll be fewer questions.


    Under the current conditions, with holograms of emergency evacuation lines pulsing around and repeated calls to leave the building immediately, it was much easier to explain where he was dragging an emotionless girl than, for example, to pretend that she''d had too much to drink, as originally planned in plan B:


    All we have to do is get to the square, and from there, we''ll take an aerocar...


    Shit, an aerocar! Suddenly, he realized with horror. They''re going to rush in here!


    There would be no way to move quickly with an emotionless Taer, despite all his newfound strength, so after a few moments of hesitation, he threw her back onto the cushions around the table and rushed out to get the comm.


    The guys from his cover group, seeing the explosions that were not supposed to happen according to the plan, would, of course, rush to save him. That was the problem:


    She foresaw all this. Worse. She organized it. Alex ran as fast as he could, hoping for the slowness of the civilian aircars. He had to be on time, otherwise, they would land right on the minefield.


    He ran in the opposite direction to the evacuation lines. He needed not an exit but the nearest room where the comms would work, and thanks to the whole day spent in vigil over the map of the temple. He knew where it was - at the opposite end of the hall, near the staff restrooms.


    Even though he was moving in the opposite direction to the recommended evacuation, there were too few restaurant guests to create difficulties, and most of them were still in their seats, looking at each other confusedly, not understanding what was going on.


    As he ran toward the corridor exit, where there should have been communication, he saw the red inscription on the lock panel: "Locked" - the door was locked. He didn''t know the code, so without slowing down, he slammed his shoulder against the door.


    The door creaked pitifully, even bent a little in the doorframe, and Alex, not caring that the noise might draw attention to him, repeated his attack.


    The door could not withstand the second blow - obviously not designed for such an attitude, it flew off its hinges, and Alex inertially flew after it, almost hitting the figure in a dark robe who was on the other side of the door:


    "Honored one, the exit is in the other..." A distorted voice came from under the monk''s mask, but Alex was already shouting into his comm:


    "Cancel the landing! That''s an order! Do not approach the temple!" He shouted, not even knowing if they could hear him. "Abort landing! I forbid you to land near the temple! The landing pads are booby-trapped. Abort landing!"


    "Copy that." Dudo''s businesslike dry phrase echoed back from the comm speaker, bringing incredible relief.


    "Is everyone okay?"


    "Okay."


    "Don''t come near me without my command. When you can, I''ll let you know." Alex quickly instructed, and without waiting for an answer, he moved on to his next problem, the witness.


    "Esteemed..." Despite all the distortion in his voice, it was noticeable how the monk''s tone changed, betraying tension and fear. "Everyone needs to leave the temple..." He added, starting to pivot towards the exit.


    When the monk heard about the mines and explosions, he obviously thought that he was not just a random visitor.


    Alex nodded silently back at him and made an inviting gesture with his hand, clearing the passage.


    You could explain yourself, of course. Alex thought, watching the monk''s hasty retreat. He could hardly restrain himself from picking up the hem of his cloak and running away. I didn''t do anything wrong, in principle, but I was yelling about mines... They can report to the Police or, worse, the Security Service...


    And explaining himself to any officials was absolutely not in his plans. Taer''s paralyzing could well be interpreted as one nobleman attacking another and costing him a great deal of trouble, so as soon as the monk tired of pacing and turned his back, the clatter of the needle was heard again.


    This time the shot did not have to be made in a fall, and the needles were much more concentrated. The white tails of the four needles, one after another, stood out against the dark cloak. The monk cried out a little and managed to make two quick steps, running out into the main hall, but almost immediately fell to the floor, unconscious.


    Jumping out into the hall after the monk, Alex quickly looked around to make sure the shooting at the local staff was without witnesses, and soon pulled out the needles and ran to the table where Taer remained.


    It would be funny if she wasn''t here. There was a risk, for example, that she might be discovered and evacuated by the local staff. Fortunately, the staff was not visible, and there were not many visitors in the hall. While Alex was running, he saw five, maybe six. There could have been more. The columns were specially made to block the view, but certainly not many.


    God, you''re heavy. He knew from experience that Taer''s slender physique was unbearable, but he was still unprepared for how uncomfortable it was. How is this even possible? She must be over a hundred pounds.


    The situation was made worse by the fact Alex was trying to carry Taer, holding her with one arm just above her waist so it looked like he was supporting her and just helping her rather than dragging an emotionless body. The new muscles that cost him regular cramps made it possible, albeit with great difficulty, but how convincing the performance looked was anyone''s guess.


    Probably not good.


    Except for the aching muscles in his right arm, he managed to leave the restaurant without any problems. No one tried to interfere, no one asked questions, and certainly no one tried to stop him. On the contrary, they even offered to help. When Alex finally carried Taer to the elevators, where at least a couple of dozen visitors and five monks had already gathered, he was approached by a heavy man, quite richly dressed and also wearing a mask. Clearly, a visitor asked sympathetically if he needed help.


    "No, thank you." Alex automatically forced out a polite smile, forgetting that his face was now covered with a veil. "She just got sick when all this commotion started."


    "No wonder it''s so horrible." His casual interlocutor nodded in agreement, obviously trying to pick up the conversation, but Alex strategically moved away, interrupting the incipient conversation.


    I don''t want small talk. He already had a feeling he wasn''t attracting attention only because of the light show with holograms all around and the mask on Taer''s face that helped hide the fact that she was unconscious.


    The elevator that arrived was spacious enough to take all those gathered on the "zero level" to the huge representative hall at the base of one of the "legs" of the temple pyramid.


    The huge hall connected with the exit to the street, which had recently been majestically deserted, was now absolutely packed with people in a hurry to leave the building.


    It''s a rare case when the local architectural gigantomania played in favor. Alex thought, clutching Taer tighter to him, not because it was hard for him to carry her. On the contrary, the crowd pushing them from all sides made his task much easier.


    He was just afraid that his burden might be swept away by the sea of people slowly rippling around him. Mostly a sea of humans. There were other races, too, but they were much rarer.


    If the room had been smaller, there would have been a crush of thousands of dead. The crowd was already dangerously crowded, tens of thousands of people, illuminated by the rhythmic flashes of the evacuation lines, slowly moving forward in a viscous, unified mass, swaying and rippling as the back rows piled on top of the front rows that slowed at the three huge exits to the street.


    The pandemonium cost him at least ten minutes before he managed to get to the street, where they were greeted by thick columns of smoke, impenetrably black in the sunset sunlight, stretching skyward to the howling of sirens.


    The crowd was thinner, thickening only near the site of the explosions, forming a wall of curious people.


    What was there at the site of the explosions was not visible. Only the rumble of fire could be heard, and scarlet reflections illuminated the gathered hedge of people, but even so, the scale of the destruction seemed very great.


    I don''t think it was without casualties. A nasty thought prickled, but there was no need to find out the extent of the collateral damage, much less worry about it.


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    Alex picked up his pace, making his route so that he could get away from the arriving emergency vehicles. The cops, in blue uniforms, looked chubby because of their anti-blaster vests and some other guys in bright orange jumpsuits were trying to filter the crowd, but there were too few of them, and too many people were pouring out of the temple in waves.


    The main building of the temple overhung the sea and was connected to the mainland by three bridges. Very long bridges. Alex gave up on any attempts at disguise and carried Taer in his arms.


    The bridge led out to a wide square littered with a lot of small stores and stores, where there were quite a lot of idle people and other tourists, who were now staring with interest at the rising clouds of smoke from the temple, and Alex with Taer in his arms attracted quite a lot of attention.


    He can arise all sorts of stupid questions and other unnecessary attention. Alex decided and only coming off the bridge immediately turned into a narrow passage between two trading stalls, and there, having found a secluded place among the piles of empty containers, he carefully unloaded his burden and took out a comm.


    "Did you see me?" He asked without much hope. The crowd was large and which of the three bridges he would use the guys didn''t know, and he didn''t say.


    "No, your lordship," Dudo answered instantly. The droids probably can''t select your face because of the veil.


    "I went out on the rightmost bridge if you look from the shore. Now, among the tents and..." He was silent for a moment, scrolling his way in his mind''s eye, looking for possible landmarks. "There''s a round three-story building not far away, probably a diner of some sort."


    "We can see the building."


    "Where can you pick me up? Just so I don''t get any unwanted attention. I''ll need a regular parking lot with an approved landing."


    "650 comers away, there''s a parking lot." The comm spoke after about a minute of uncomfortable silence. "If you go from the bridge, you''ll go to the left of that round building."


    "Got it." Alex nodded and was about to put the com away when he realized at the last moment:


    "Just don''t land until I get there." He added quickly, suddenly realizing that Taer was a seer and could have planted a bomb there, too.


    At least there''s hope she''s not planning to blow herself up. That thought didn''t give me much confidence, though. Can a seer foresee an explosion that would hurt everyone but him? I guess he could. It wasn''t the most reassuring realization:


    There''s no point in being paranoid, either. Alex tried to convince himself, carrying Taer through the maze of tents to the indicated landmark. After all, what''s to stop her from booby-trapping the tower where we''re housed? If the Inquisitor is to be believed, strong seers can naturally pass through the walls. There''s certainly no defense against such a thing.


    The meeting place was found without much trouble, and as soon as he stepped out into the parking lot with Taer in his arms, their aircar pulled up almost immediately, engines purring loudly like a huge orange cat.


    "Go." Instead of a greeting, Alex commanded as soon as the side door slammed shut behind him. "The sooner we''re in the tower, the"


    It was a lot of time wasted, at least half an hour, and the paralyzing compound guaranteed no more than forty minutes of blackout. It was scary to imagine what would happen if Taer woke up now, and the medic who had taken care of her should have ruled that out, but it was still worth hurrying.


    As soon as the aerocar finished accelerating, Dudo squeezed into the passenger compartment:


    "How did it go, your lordship?" He asked in a low voice, watching the medical staff''s manipulations.


    "Better than I expected," Alex admitted with a weak smile. "I had to go straight to the backup plan, but as you can see, it worked."


    "What''s the story with the explosions?" Dudo asked even more quietly, trying to keep a nonchalant look, but it was noticeable that he was actually nervous.


    "Greetings for uninvited guests or something." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don''t know."


    "As we were turning around, I saw a plasma torch hit where we were planning to land. It melted waist-deep. There wouldn''t have been any snot left of the aircar." Dudo was silent for a moment and then added: "Thank you."


    "You''re welcome." Alex grinned.


    "I take it the needler was enough?" Dudo hastened to change the subject, "So that bribing of the monks was for nothing?"


    "Sort of..." He stretched out. The amount spent on bribing the staff of this temple kitchen was crazy. It was enough to buy several yachts.


    But without it, the plan to sneak gas into the food wouldn''t have worked. Alex sighed mentally, wondering if it would have worked at all.


    He was to order a dish in which microscopic bubbles of organic film were to be mixed into the souffl¨¦. After heating for about five minutes, the bubbles would burst, releasing a soporific gas and knocking Taer out, while he would remain conscious thanks to the neutralizer he had taken beforehand.


    At least that was the plan. But something inside told him that too many things could go wrong with that plan. For example, the monks could take the money and do nothing.


    "But it''s still no pity." He added aloud. "It''s the result that counts."


    Upon arrival at the tower, Taer was instantly transported to a lab set up just for this occasion. It was necessary to conduct a full brain scan and even take samples of neural tissue, even with local technology not the easiest and fastest procedure, but critical. Everyone Alex consulted about "induced reactions" said that these very "induced" cells were marked in a special way when they were planted, especially in case the deployment failed and they had to turn back.


    We''re really out of time. The safe time frame for rolling back "guider" was dozens of days at most, not years.  But it''s a necessary first step anyway. At least to assess the scale of the problem.


    All the more so because there was hope for all sorts of experimental techniques that were not widely used due to their exorbitant price but which could help Taer.


    The nasty beep of a call on his tablet snapped him out of his musings:


    "What happened?" Alex asked the droid secretary who appeared on the screen. There was no doubt that something was wrong. He''d said he''d be busy and asked not to be disturbed. Not that he was really busy. He was just pacing back and forth in front of the lab doors, but his nervousness didn''t allow him to think about anything else.


    "Your Lordship..."


    "To business." Alex habitually interrupted the colorful greetings. It is a peculiarity of the model. It cannot be reprogrammed.


    "A certain Pavon Lirzu, who he claims to be the legal representative and attorney for Daim Diltar, is insistent on speaking to you. I have informed the honorable Dudo, and he has agreed that this requires your lordship''s attention."


    "Switch to him," Alex ordered reluctantly, sensing impending trouble. This call was not going to be good.


    The screen of the tablet went dark for a moment, and instead of the droid, there appeared a man in his fifties, wearing the local equivalent of a dark purple franken coat with gold embroidery. Judging by the background, he was somewhere on the street:


    "It is a great honor to welcome Your Lordship." His new interlocutor began.


    Honorable Pavon was heavyset, sharp-nosed, round-cheeked, and smoothly coiffed, and his rather squinting gray eyes were favorably shaded by dark bags.


    "Let''s get down to business." Alex sighed tiredly. "Now''s not a good time. I''m pretty busy."


    "Of course, of course." Pavon nodded. "I am not worthy to take up the Lordship''s time." Saying that the honorable Pavon smiled obsequiously, but the impression he got was a bit vile. As far as Alex knew about people, now he could say with a hundred percent certainty that in front of him, there was a real, patented filth with nowhere to put a sample.


    You really know how to pick your attorneys, don''t you? he mentally complained to Taer, waiting for Pavon to finish his manipulations. He must have been switching something on his tablet, at least that''s what he could tell from his hand movements.


    "In this case, I am acting on behalf of, and as a trustee for, Daim Taer Diltar." Finishing his manipulations at last, the honorable Pavon continued. "Is this personage familiar to Your Lordship, or is an introduction necessary?" He asked, folding his palms in a huddle.


    "Yes." Nodded Alex. "This is the first blade of my domain, and the other Taer Diltar are not familiar to me."


    "Very good. Very good," Pavon continued, smiling, showing a straight row of unnaturally white teeth. "The fact is, Your Lordship, that our firm, Amak, Lirzu & Associates, has been hired by the aforementioned Daim Diltar to represent her legitimate interests all the way up to the Court of Equals. If Your Lordship is interested, I can show you a copy of the power of attorney."


    "I can only congratulate you, but what does that have to do with me?"


    "The fact is, Your Lordship." Pavon smiled even wider. "That we have direct written instructions from our client to file a ''court of equals'' and a complaint to His Imperial Majesty that our client is being kidnapped and forcibly held by Your Lordship. This will be done if our client does not come forward within half an hour. I am now at the foot of your tower." The last phrases of the "legal representative" oozed with undisguised gloating.


    "These are pretty serious allegations..." Alex stretched out thoughtfully, looking expressively at his interlocutor. "If they turn out to be false, it will cause serious damage to your office''s business reputation and must be a problem for your personal career...."


    "I dare not suspect you of anything, Prince." The esteemed Pavon clearly understood the disguised threat but was completely untouched by it. "I dare not even claim that Daim Diltar is indeed in your possession. I am merely carrying out my employer''s instructions. They''re very clear: notify Your Lordship, then, if Daim Diltar doesn''t come out to me in the next half hour, take the appropriate legal action."


    "I hear you." Alex nodded calmly, inwardly boiling with anger: he wanted to crush the smirking face of the lawyer together with the tablet. "Daim Taer is indeed in my place, and of course, no one is keeping her here by force. I''ll ask her what prompted her to take this step. Good day."


    "Damn it!!!" He shouted, kicking the wall with all his might as soon as the connection went down. He wanted to throw the tablet at the wall, but there was too much value there, including Taer''s interrogation tape, so he held back. "Did she even think of everything?! Anything at all?"


    It was terribly frustrating, a sense of some fundamental injustice:


    "How do you even deal with someone who knows everything in advance? Is it even theoretically possible?"


    But the universe and the walls remained indifferent to his wailing. Alex took a couple of deep breaths to calm down:


    It''s not the end of the world after all. Developing a therapy for Taer will still take time.


    Of course, he would have preferred it if she had been supervised and preferably asleep, which would have saved him from having to come up with some elaborate alibi: she was just "sick."


    But we have to work with what we have. he sighed once more and called a senior from the medical service:


    "How much longer will it take to scan Daim Diltar?"


    "About half an hour, Your Lordship."


    "We have to get it done in twenty minutes. Is that possible?"


    "If it''s absolutely necessary..." Stretched out the medic. "I suppose so." He answered without any certainty.


    "It''s absolutely necessary," Alex assured him. "Do whatever it takes to make it possible. As soon as the scanning is finished, all personnel except droids must leave the lab and go up to the floor where the guards are stationed. Do you understand?"


    "Ah... Yes, Your Lordship. Will do."


    He then contacted Dudo and ordered that no one be left between the lab and the exit, just in case. There was a risk that Not Taer would want to take it out on someone when she woke up.


    And then all we had to do was wait.


    "Everything is ready, Your Lordship." The droid''s rattling voice came from the metal hulk hovering over Taer''s capsule, its long arms hanging downward, making it look like a giant techno-spider was hovering over her.


    "Bring her out of her sleep," Alex commanded, stepping back half a step for some reason.


    Taer''s transparent cocoon opened, and the monitor beside the bed began to beep more rhythmically: she was waking up. Her eyes fluttered open, but she remained perfectly still.


    Alex scrutinized her eyes, trying to see who was waking up. He had a faint hope that the "normal" Taer would wake up, but no luck.


    "What did the study show, Doctor?" Taer asked him sweetly, stretching as if from a long sleep, and it was obvious from her movements alone that this was a "guider."


    "Why do I find her so... Pretty? Alex asked himself once again, watching Taer''s transformation. She was just lying there with her eyes open, and suddenly, it was as if some source of charm lit up. The person was the same, but you couldn''t take your eyes off.


    "No results yet." Aloud, he answered, seeing no point in lying. "At first glance, no major problems have been identified."


    "Great." She smiled, sat down on her seat, and looked around. There was no one else in the lab except Alex and the droid:


    "What I''m not even entitled to a glass of orange juice in honor of my return to reality?" She pouted defiantly as she finished looking around.


    It''s strange, but I really thought about getting her something, and the first idea I had was orange juice. Alex thought anxiously. It bothered him that sometimes Not-Taer obviously knew more about him than he did.


    "There''s a certain difficulty with oranges around here," Alex muttered, averting his gaze. Taer was just starting to change, pulling off her hospital tunic. It wasn''t that he didn''t want to embarrass her. She clearly wasn''t shy. Rather, he feared the effect of her grace. "But I''ve thought about it."


    "That''s nice..." She nodded and changed the subject. "My purse you left behind, of course?" The question was clearly rhetorical.


    "Sorry, didn''t have enough hands."


    "Whatever."


    She finished dressing, once again assuming the majestic look of a "golden goddess" as she had back then at the restaurant:


    "Are you walking me out?" She asked, twirling her mask in her hands.


    "Of course."


    The two of them remained silent for the rest of the way out of the tower, Taer looking so satisfied that one would have thought she hadn''t been stunned and scanned, but quite the opposite.


    They were met outside by Taer''s commissioner, accompanied by a very official-looking Mirlisti and a droid.


    "The papers I asked you to take and the marker." Taer held out her hand demandingly instead of greeting me.


    "Here, allow me." Pavon smiled obligingly, quickly extracting a white sheet of plastic from a folder.


    "You got what you wanted. Now it''s my turn." Taer smiled, holding out the received sheet and pen to Alex. "Sign it."


    It was the one ordering Taer''s indefinite leave of absence.


    "This isn''t what I wanted." Alex sighed as he signed the order. "I wish this order wasn''t needed at all." He added, handing the paper back.


    "No." With a sad smile, she shook her head. It seemed like she wanted to say something else but changed her mind:


    "See you later." Her lips lightly touched his cheek, and she headed for the waiting car.


    "I assume the restaurant was recording?" He asked at her back.


    "§¡h?" Taer turned around, looking at him with slight surprise, and shrugged confusedly. "Of course, isn''t it obvious?"


    "Just clarifying." Alex smiled at her, trying to look as relaxed as possible, though inside, he was quietly seething with rage. "See you later."


    "Good day, Your Lordship." Mr. Pavon bowed respectfully. "Our acquaintance is a great honor to me."


    Alex only nodded silently in response.


    The doors slammed quietly, and the aerocar soared off the platform, instantly disappearing into the evening traffic:


    The main thing is that it should be worth it. Alex thought idly, watching the aerocar rapidly moving away, shrinking to a small red light in the stream of a thousand of them. But she looked so happy...


    * * *