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

[RiP]

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.

* * *

 

[RiP]

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.

* * *

 

[RiP]

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."

* * *

 

[RiP]

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."

* * *

 

[RiP]

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.

* * *

 

[RiP]

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.

* * *

 

[RiP]

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.