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Starfall (Sci-Fi/No Harem/Isekai/No OP/)

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.

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.
* * *​
Suddenly, the hero had a plot armor the whole time.​
 
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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'.​
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 Сassard 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."​
"Never mind..." he brushed me 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.​
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 Valérie 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.

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.

* * *
And so, Hero departed into the sunset on Onstum to the Capital. A lot can happen in a year. Is it worth putting an end to it? And pretend he lived happily ever after? Or not?
 
Book 2. Bastions of Pride Chapter 1
Who was I tricking? Who was I trying to bait into commenting and rating? Of course, I'll finish the second book as well. Regardless of the likes, comments, or reviews Why do I need it for?

I want as many people as possible to suffer with me. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!1111ONEONEONE

The second book is not finished and no one knows when it will end.
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Chapter 1


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"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.

"О... " 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...

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.
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Chapter 2
Chapter 2

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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."

"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."

* * *
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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 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 canapé 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 canapé 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 canapé 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.

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 Quézox 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.
* * *
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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."

"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.

"Аh..." 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.

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?"

"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 cliché. 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.

* * *
And so, we have a very interesting foretelling. Is it a simple filler or something bigger???
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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 fiancée 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..."

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.

"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. Taër 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..."

"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.

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:

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.

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 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 sneaky.

"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.

"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 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 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."

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 protégés 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 Dгrlurl 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 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 disс 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 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.

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 Taër 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?"

"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 Taër 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.

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 Сapital.

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.

"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?"

"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 Сassard 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.

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 shelterю 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 Сlan 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 Сlan 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.

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."

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. "Аh... 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,

"Аh..." 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."

"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 ше." 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?

"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 NeTaer 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 NeTaer 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..."

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.

* * *
The original froze at that point. Translation will continue as soon as the original is unfrozen.
 
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