Almonzeia, the capital of the MT Corporation's colonies on Almonzis
"I wonder which of them pressed the button?" Ax mused aloud. From a safe distance at the edge of the industrial zone, they watched the explosion send a pillar of dust, debris, and wreckage into the dark sky. The vehicles shook slightly and were showered with dust, while the piles of garbage around them rippled like desert dunes, but none of the assault team received so much as a scratch.
"One of the young ones lost their nerve," Phan shrugged. "Did they really think we would walk right in?"
"Some people just never learn and think everyone else is just like them," Ax snorted. He had ordered the retreat even before the major started her second round of negotiations with the terrorists, so he was already conducting their conversation from the SUV as it drove towards the edge of the industrial zone.
"Once the dust settles, we'll go back and search every last stone," the major said, raising binoculars to her eyes.
"Do you think someone could have slipped away? Sergeant Ndiaye," Fontaine called out, "have the drones spotted any movement?"
"Not yet, sir," the sergeant replied. "A couple are acting up, but it's probably the dust. The others aren't picking up anything resembling a person or a being."
"I still have to check," Phan said stubbornly. "Until I find seven bodies..."
"What bodies? Judging by the blast, they set off F-48, and there was enough of it that you won't be able to separate the terrorists' ashes from the concrete dust."
"That's what bothers me."
Ax felt the major tap into his mind again and, with a resigned sigh, let her in.
"Why did he do it?!" she exclaimed, and Ax winced as a sharp pain shot through his temple. "Aviles is one of us; he should know that only complete idiots fall for a lure like that!"
"Who knows what happened in there. Maybe it wasn't even his idea, but the young ones who split off."
"All we know about any of this is from Aviles's own words. I have no reason to trust him."
"Neither do I, but what's the alternative? That he blew himself up along with the remnants of his cell for... what purpose?"
"I don't know," Phan hissed. "And I don't like it!"
What bothered Fontaine most was that they hadn't managed to capture a single terrorist alive, meaning there was no one to tell them where the damned container of DNA-stabilizing compound was hidden.
"I'm sorry," Phan said, much more softly, touching the pinprick of pain at his temple. "I sometimes forget you haven't been in contact for so long. I promise, the rest will be out loud."
She withdrew, and the pain in his temple vanished. Fontaine placed a hand on Phan's shoulder.
"You have nothing to reproach yourself for. You didn't bring in any terrorists for interrogation, but no one's ever been shot for eliminating a radical cell."
"Right. But we've already mentioned Gallan. His own people killed him, partly because he escaped from Campo-del-Pilar by faking his own death, and to do that, he blew up two dozen of his own comrades and all the hostages."
"Phan, that was never your fault," Ax patted her shoulder. "The intelligence was wrong. Besides, Gallan escaped through an underground river. Do you see a river here? Unless Aviles dug a secret tunnel several kilometers long in a matter of days."
"Oh, alright. I think we can move in. At least send in the scan-drones — have them check if there are any unexploded firecrackers left."
"I can call for reinforcements. With thirty of my people and ten of yours, we'll be digging around here for a month."
"Fine. Thank you," Phan smiled faintly. "I'll report to HQ and thank the head of the power department for pressing the button so promptly."
***
Fontaine entered Lavrova's reception area late at night. He was covered head to toe in dust (and suspected, also in someone's ashes), but the Express Chief demanded an immediate report, especially after the "gas explosion" in the industrial zone had been mentioned in the emergency news.
When Ax arrived, Anna Dmitrievna was pouring water from a kettle into a large vase that stood on Claude's desk. Axel recognized the white-and-blue bouquet he had bought for the anniversary.
"They lasted a long time," the Express Chief remarked. "Only seven out of fifty-five wilted."
She adjusted the ribbon around the bouquet. Claude's belongings were packed in a box next to the vase.
"I'm sorry," Fontaine murmured. "Despite..."
Lavrova tossed him a cheap phone.
"Found in Miss Reneal's compartment. She couldn't bring herself to throw it away. It contains correspondence with Aviles. It explains a lot, including why she couldn't."
Ax turned on the phone. An unpopular messenger was open. Skimming a few messages, Fontaine pocketed the device. Nothing surprising — Aviles was a very attractive man, especially to an impressionable twenty-four-year-old girl with a head full of Ideals with a capital I.
"What about him?" Lavrova asked.
"Most likely dead. He was blown up by F-48 — or his grateful comrades-in-arms did it," Fontaine gave a brief report of everything that had happened, not omitting Phan's suspicions.
"And what do you think?" Anna Dmitrievna perched on the edge of the desk.
"I think the threat has been eliminated. It's a pity we couldn't interrogate anyone. All that's left is to find the container, return it to the factory, and that will be the end of it."
"And find a new dispatcher, since the voyage has been postponed."
"And a new pastry chef, Madame," Ax added, remembering with shame that he still hadn't visited Ferenc in the hospital.
"Pastry chef?" Lavrova raised an eyebrow. "I've already hired him. Señor Aguilar will start his duties as soon as..."
"Who?!!" Fontaine howled.
"As soon as we receive official confirmation of the terrorists' elimination and the need to protect Mr. Ross is no longer necessary."
"You can't hire him!"
"Why? Your investigation didn't uncover anything suspicious."
"Because Aviles's dossier is exactly the same as Aguilar's!"
"You mean they knew each other or served together?" Anna Dmitrievna frowned slightly.
"No!" Fontaine choked, a whole battalion of goosebumps marching down his spine at the mere suggestion. He tried to explain the nature of his suspicions to Lavrova in a few words, noting that Phan agreed with him, but from his boss's face, he immediately knew he hadn't convinced her.
"I quite understand why Señor Aguilar's dossier raised your suspicions," Anna Dmitrievna said. "But we had a conversation, and he explained everything to me."
"Is that so?" Ax hissed. "And what, exactly, did he explain?"
"I can't tell you," Lavrova replied impassively; Fontaine's jaw nearly dropped. "Nevertheless, his explanation was completely satisfactory to me."
"But I..."
"Good night, Fontaine. Tomorrow, look over the first candidates for the dispatcher position." With that, the Express Chief disappeared into her office, and the Security Chief, seething with rage, stormed out of the reception area.
An explanation, damn it! What kind of creature had wormed its way onto his express if even Lavrova couldn't say what they had talked about?! The thought that the pastry chef had somehow intimidated her, Ax immediately dismissed. But mind control, which many epsilon-beings were capable of — that was another matter!
Phan could have found out, but she was still at the factory ruins, and Ax decided not to disturb her for now. He burst into the elevator, breathing heavily with rage, and punched the button for car 56. Aguilar should still be there, stuck with the journalist. Since all the terrorists were dead, he could throw the pup out and have a heart-to-heart with the master of whipped cream!
The one thing Axel still didn't understand was how Aguilar was connected to the train's sabotage. Was he supposed to ensure the container's delivery? Find it on the train and disappear at a station? Infiltrating the train as a bodyguard was a great idea, but he'd had to stay locked up with the journalist blunderer.
"Or maybe not," Ax gritted his teeth. His soldiers' equipment included delta-screens to protect against epsilon-being influence, but the developers themselves admitted they weren't perfect. In his five years in the position, Fontaine had already overseen two upgrades of the delta-screens. But would they help if Aguilar really was a special class of being? If so, putting the journalist to sleep, slipping out of the compartment, and implanting any suggestion in the guards would be a matter of minutes.
By the time the elevator reached car 56 and rose to the third deck, Fontaine had calmed down somewhat. He was still boiling inside, but he approached the security post outside Ross's compartment looking sufficiently composed. Exchanging a few words with the guards and confirming that, in their opinion, no one had left the compartment, Ax entered without knocking.
The journalist was not in the living room – Aguilar sat alone on the sofa, reading something on his phone, and didn't even look up when Fontaine crossed the threshold.
"Where is Mr. Ross?"
"Asleep. I persuaded him to take a sleeping pill."
"Excellent," Ax hissed. "Aviles's cell has been eliminated."
"That's good. Were any of your soldiers hurt?"
"No."
"That's also good," the pastry chef coughed. "Madame Lavrova probably hasn't told you yet..."
"Hand it over," said Fontaine. Aguilar stared at him in surprise. His eyes were strange – Ax noticed for the first time that they were different from other people's and beings' eyes. It wasn't just the lenses; it was something else...
"Hand over what?"
"The container. You have it – why else would you be hanging around here for so long? Or didn't she have time to tell you where it is?"
"The con-tain-er?" the pastry chef repeated syllable by syllable and suddenly burst out laughing. Fontaine turned purple and unfastened his holster. The pistol grip slid into his palm.
"What a magnificent imagination!" Aguilar exclaimed admiringly. "Tell me something else!"
"I know your dossier is fake from the first word to the last."
"Well, don't exaggerate – the part about the Barber Culinary School is completely true."
"The container, now!"
The pastry chef looked down the barrel of the gun, stood up, and placed his own weapons on the coffee table. Next to the "Swenson," a couple of vibro-blades, a paralytic taser, and a neuro-lash joined the pile.
"What are you doing?" Ax asked suspiciously.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Just try it. In case you try to implant a suggestion, I've already given the guards their orders. Any strange or uncharacteristic behavior from me..."
"I can't implant anything. I'm not an epsilon-class. If I were, Major Phan would have known immediately. Why," the pastry chef sighed, "won't you trust even her?"
"Where is the container?" Fontaine asked through gritted teeth; he was starting to feel foolish.
"I don't know. I have nothing to do with any of this."
"Then why the hell are you trailing around after the journalist like a shadow?"
The pastry chef looked at him for a long time, then muttered:
"You wouldn't believe me anyway."
"Try me," Axel carefully shifted his position, moving towards the pastry chef so that he stood between him and the bedroom door. The civilian pup shouldn't get hurt. Aguilar watched his movements with an indifferent expression. Fontaine closed the distance between them.
"I won't hurt him," the pastry chef said.
"Hurt who?"
"The young man. Mr. Ross isn't a hostage; you can go in, wake him up, and take him to another compartment."
Ax lunged at him – without firing, so the damned terrorist wouldn't duck under the laser and deploy his shield. Fontaine managed to grab his shoulder, and then steel vises clamped down on his gun hand and twisted so hard that the weapon fell from his numb fingers. At the same moment, Ax realized he was flying – but his brief flight was cut short by a crash into the armchair by the porthole. The chair shattered under the direct impact of one hundred and sixty kilograms of stream-trooper, and the Security Chief sprawled on the carpet among the wreckage.
He propped himself up on his elbow, clutching a torn piece of his t-shirt. Aguilar stood frozen in the middle of the living room, neither attacking nor fleeing, his head bowed as if ashamed.
"Why," Ax rasped, "is it white?"
The pastry chef covered the brand on his right shoulder with his palm and grunted:
"Because they ran out of other colors."
At that same moment, four of Fontaine's soldiers burst into the living room from one side, and the journalist pup from the other. To Ax's astonishment, seeing the armed men, Ross let out an indignant cry of "Hey!" rushed to block their path and planted himself between them and the pastry chef.
"Teddy, step aside," said Aguilar.
"Like hell I will! Have they all gone crazy? Why the hell are you attacking him?!" the journalist barked at Fontaine.
"Mr. Ross," Axel rose, trying to maintain his dignity, "you have no idea who you're dealing with..."
"Me?!" Ross flared up. "You have no idea what's going on! Don't you dare touch him!"
"Teddy, don't interfere," Aguilar touched Ross's shoulder.
"Then why won't you tell him?!"
"I can't discuss it with anyone who doesn't have Z-clearance."
"But you told me..." the journalist faltered.
"I didn't tell you anything. What more do you want?" the pastry chef asked Fontaine wearily. "You can arrest me if it makes you feel better, but I'll be released after the first interrogation with Major Phan."
"Sir!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, almost pleading.
"Get out," Fontaine ordered. The four fighters left the compartment with obvious reluctance, after which he turned to the pastry chef, who had somehow unobtrusively pulled Ross towards him – or rather, behind him. The pup couldn't take his eyes off the white brand on Aguilar's right shoulder. Fontaine had never seen one like it.
"Z-clearance?" Ax hissed. He hadn't felt like such an idiot in a long time.
"On the express, only the Express Chief has it. For situations, apparently, when someone like me joins the crew."
The name, which many in the stream-troopers whispered, surfaced in Fontaine's memory along with the stories about some who, during missions, had seen others, special beings, appearing from nowhere and disappearing into nowhere – beings endowed with abilities the rest could only dream of.
"Someone like you – what kind of someone is that? I need to know you're safe for the passengers and crew. Why the hell didn't you tell me right away?!"
"I can choose who with Z-clearance I discuss it with and who I don't," Aguilar replied rather sharply. "I now have the right to my own life; I'm no longer MT's property."
"I'm sorry," Ax said after a long silence. He felt a little ashamed.
"You could have asked nicely, instead of attacking like a madman," Ross added venomously.
"How stupid, with those dossiers," Aguilar murmured suddenly. "Any good SS specialist would guess they're fake."
"Aviles had the same kind," Ax blurted out, surprising himself. The pastry chef shot him an interested look. "Have you heard anything about deserters among people like you?"
"It happens. Rarely. We're special, custom-made; they keep a much closer eye on us than on others. Besides, I haven't had any connection to Sai Asheron for nine years, and I have no idea what's going on there."
"They exist!" Ax's heart skipped a beat, as if he were still a cadet listening to barracks stories.
"Could he have survived an F-48 explosion?"
"If he was holding it – no," Aguilar smirked. "Or at the epicenter. We're not made of titanium, and we don't have superpowers. We've just been... slightly enhanced."
Chapter 9
June 22, Year 214 NPrE
Al-Haiyan, the capital of the Sultanate of Er-Rummal's colonies on Tar-Mariat
AlNilam sprawled on the sofa in their penthouse. A chantra lay on his stomach, and he plucked at the strings, producing a chaotic melody that reflected the turmoil in his thoughts. Murad scrolled through the logs of the terrorists' phone conversations, which the phone company had finally (better late than never) sent over.
"Someone in MT's leadership ordered the immediate removal of all the SS management from the center," the Wad-Prince said. Al-Fayyaz shot him a questioning look. "So that Lee Min-ho wouldn't start the protocol investigation and dig up something about the embryo farms, the embryo legalization, and Shufrir's other activities. What I couldn't understand was why MT refused to cooperate with us afterward. Now it's clear," AlNilam turned his head, looked at the Yakzan, and drew a long, sharp sound from the chantra. "They're up to their own ears in shit because some terrorists are running around Almonzeis."
"Fialkovskaya bought a ticket for the Briareus Express," said Murad. "She risked it with forged documents. Do you think they have a meeting planned in Taulan?"
"Probably. We never found the hostages' bodies. Either we didn't search well enough, or that valuable cargo has already been smuggled out. Along with the archive, most likely," the Wad-Prince sighed, running his fingers over the strings again, making the chantra weep softly. "Father will be displeased."
The Yakzan looked at him anxiously, and then a video call signal sounded from the laptop. Irfan flinched so hard he nearly dropped the chantra.
Murad answered the call. On the screen appeared a large, broad-shouldered woman with short-cropped hair, a heavy jaw, and an unpleasant, piercing stare. She fixed her gaze on the Yakzan and asked suspiciously:
"Your Highness?"
"No. I am Murad Al-Fayyaz, the Yakzan to Effendi."
"Elena Pavlidis," the woman said, without mentioning her position or rank. She was known to everyone associated with MT, Al-Shadiyar, and other intelligence services. "May I speak with His Highness?"
"One moment, Saida."
Murad rose. The prince had already thrown on his robe and was wrapping himself in his tagellan.
"Remarkable," AlNilam mouthed silently. "The moment she read in the report you sent her about Almonzeis, we get to see Pavlidis herself!"
The Yakzan snorted softly. Effendi settled into his chair as if it were a throne and regarded the woman haughtily.
"You kept me waiting," he said coldly.
"I apologize, Your Highness. But the reason for the delay in my response is more than serious."
The prince raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
"We have reason to believe we are dealing with a major attack on the Corporation, and that the two terrorist gangs that struck the perinatal center and another location were working together."
AlNilam lowered his lashes, dampening the predatory excitement that flared in his eyes.
"What location?"
Pavlidis was silent for a long time – she was torn between the desire to conceal everything she could and the necessity of sharing at least something with a potential ally.
"We practically prevented an attempted robbery at one of our factories on Almonzeis."
"Practically?" AlNilam drawled languidly.
"The terrorists managed to escape."
"Lucky bastards," Murad thought. Though perhaps Pavlidis was lying – maybe they had captured the terrorists, and now she needed to extract more valuable information from the prince.
"How did that happen?" the Wad-Prince inquired. "Did a factory employee turn out to be their own Fialkovskaya?"
"In a manner of speaking," the head of the Inquiry Service hissed. She was clearly not accustomed to being questioned. "You requested information from us about Fialkovskaya. Weren't you sent her dossier?"
"I was. But it didn't contain answers to the most pressing questions. For example, why Fialkovskaya was allowed a position in 'Bioronica' when over half of her genome matches a person on the Corporation's SS stop list."
Pavlidis clenched her teeth.
"I assume," Effendi continued in the same languid tone, "that this is precisely the reason for the Madame's sudden defection to the terrorists' side."
"Is that all you wanted to know?" Pavlidis asked after a pause.
"That is all you are willing to share. As you can see, I am not asking for the impossible."
"The reasons for Fialkovskaya's hiring are already being investigated," the head of the Inquiry Service said. "As for your question... hmm. I would like to know how you discovered this?"
"We found her geno-cube. And with it, a second one, whose recording is sixty-seven percent identical to Fialkovskaya's."
"I see," Pavlidis's eyes narrowed.
"I submitted both cubes for standard verification by the perinatal center's SS, and that's when this shocking truth came to light. But they couldn't give me any details. I hope you are more knowledgeable in this matter."
Murad tensed. It was unwise to poke a tiger – Elena Pavlidis was the only epsilon-being, indeed the only being of any kind, who had risen so high in MT's hierarchy. She was unlikely to appreciate being reminded that she was still a second-class creature.
"If you guarantee me complete confidentiality, I will answer your question," Pavlidis said.
"Will the word of a Wad-Prince suffice?"
Pavlidis's expression clearly said "No!", but she didn't argue and finally managed to squeeze out some useful information:
"The cube you found together with Fialkovskaya's geno-cube belongs to one of her direct ancestors. That man is on MT's stop list because he is Enrique Sandoval."
Murad stared at the screen in shock. AlNilam's fingers tightened on the armrests; the prince stared at Pavlidis, not bothering to hide his astonishment:
"The head of Ars Mechana?!"
"Yes."
"That explains everything," the Wad-Prince whispered.
"How did they even manage that?!" Murad nearly shouted, but barely restrained himself. There was nothing strange about MT not wanting to let the descendants of a man it had killed and robbed anywhere near it. What was astonishing was how one such descendant had managed to slip through all the filters of the Corporation, which was paranoid about security and secrecy.
"Yes, it explains a great deal," Pavlidis smirked, then immediately darkened. "But not everything. That's why I greatly appreciate you sharing such a detailed report with me. We will pay attention to Enrique Salvador and his associate, Luther Magrinha."
"Fialkovskaya could have been an implanted agent from the very beginning," the Wad-Prince said. Pavlidis's face grew even darker. She was evidently imagining how much information Fialkovskaya, in her fervor to avenge her ancestor, could have leaked to competitors.
"What did they steal from you?" AlNilam suddenly perked up. "There, on Almonzeis?"
"I am not authorized to reveal all the details of our investigation," Pavlidis said dryly. "However, it has been successfully concluded. The terrorist cell has been completely liquidated."
"Successfully? You didn't even take a single prisoner. Or did you?" The prince narrowed his eyes slyly. "We still have several interrogations to conduct with our prisoners, so I could arrange for a copy of the report, personally for you."
The head of the Inquiry Service pondered, piercing AlNilam with a heavy epsilon stare. Unfortunately, even the best of her class couldn't conduct an interrogation from such a distance, so she overcame her reluctance once more:
"There was an attempted theft at a factory producing components for DNA recombination procedures."
The Wad-Prince frowned:
"What could they possibly want there that they couldn't take from a lab?"
"The terrorists were trying to steal data on the production of certain products. Fortunately, the factory's SS prevented them from doing so."
"However," Effendi murmured. "Well, I will send you copies of our prisoners' interrogation recordings shortly. By the way, I noted in my report the special role of Saida Nightbird in the operation we conducted."
"We will certainly reward Miss Nightbird for her courage and resourcefulness," Pavlidis assured him. "Good day, Your Highness."
She ended the call. AlNilam pulled off his tagellan and turned to Murad.
"Can you believe it?" Effendi exclaimed, jumping up and pacing the room. "A descendant of Enrique Sandoval! They should be grateful she didn't smuggle twenty kilos of explosives in there and blow their whole center to kingdom come!"
Murad silently ran through the list of everyone MT had managed to offend over the past two hundred years, but no one had as big a score to settle with the Corporation as Sandoval's descendants. Not only had MT head Niccolia Tadić personally testified against him after the Catastrophe of '36, not only had Sandoval been executed through Niccolia's efforts, but the Corporation had also robbed all his descendants. All of Ars Mechana's developments had passed into the hands of the victors – including the most valuable prize, terraforming technology. Not to mention the pleasant little extras like the unprohibited remnants of mechanoids and cybernetic devices that had ended up in the possession of 'Bioronica' – a specially created MT division.
"What must it have been like for Fialkovskaya to work there," Murad thought, "knowing that everything had been stolen from her family."
"Now that's a hole," AlNilam whispered enthusiastically. "A gaping void in the security system the size of a supernova!"
"Pavlidis will find the hole and plug it."
"That's not the point! The point is the possibility! The possibility that... well, it could be a low-level technician who'd been feeding false data into the system for twelve years, but whoever is above them... Fine," AlNilam stopped. His eyes were burning, as if he had just realized something Murad hadn't yet grasped. "Add the latest data to the report and send it to my father. Then we'll make one last trip to the perinatal center."