This is a fan translation of The Faraway Saikat (Далёкий Сайкат) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the second book in a series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна), which is a spin-off from the author's Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака) six-book series.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

In my book, I endeavor to break the established opinion about the absence of similarity between the religious views of the Kni'lina (the Poharas) and Earth's three global religions: Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism. Such point of view is based on the clear dissimilarity between Yezdan'tabi and all the varieties of Christianity and Islam, for Yezdan, who is both a supreme deity and a prophet, is completely different from Allah and, especially, from the Christian Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Indeed, Yezdan did not create people and the universe, did not create angels, did not redeem sins, and did not make promises regarding heaven, hell, and Judgment Day. Finally, he does not even have his own antithesis in the form of a devil or another being of an evil demonic nature. Indeed, all these concepts are absent in Yezdan'tabi, as is the idea of afterlife or a chain of rebirths that strives towards nirvana. The latter also seemingly rejects any analogies to Buddhism, but by making a careful and professional comparison of these two religions, we will discover certain points of similarity. Let's start with the idea of karma…

Pal Bonjipadhal

Analogies Between Buddhism and Yezdan'tabi

Chapter 6

Big Problems

"No person chooses the place of his arrival into the world, and he may not choose the day of his death," Naya Acra spoke, which were the first words of the funeral rite. Naturally, it was an adage of Yezdan the Gray-eyed from the Book of the Beginning and the End.

They were in the shrine, that round and nearly bare room Trevelyan had once entered by mistake. There were no light paintings here, no furniture, except for a large triangular table, which was currently supporting nyuri Jeb Ro in a transparent ogihon, a device for corpse disposal. Next to that hexagonal container was a toca bowl, which looked like a pink seashell, and at the Coordinator's feet towered a funeral urn, painted with a traditional pattern, with diamonds and triangles of the evening color. All nine honorable Kni'lina were here, including the religious Poharas and the nonreligious Ni, all of them, except for their servants, who were even more indifferent to religion than their masters. The servants, to be more precise: Ori and Ticat, had already done their job, by preparing the ogihon with the deceased's body and retrieving the urn from storage. The rest was none of their concern, and no one was going to explain to them where and how the Coordinator had died.

"We only have that, which we lose," Naya Acra, psychologist and Yezdan priestess, said. Her thin bare arms were hovering over the bowl; a narrow ritual blade was quivering in her fingers, like a tiny silver snake. "Nyuri Jeb Ro lost the most important thing ― his life, and he has nothing else left, except for our memories, our gratitude, and our sacrifice of blood."

Nine Kni'lina surrounded the table with the bowl, the urn, and the container: three Poharas plus Iutin on one side of the triangle, five Ni on the other. The table was large, but they were still standing close to one another; apparently, in this situation, the cono rule was maintained less strictly. As for the third side of the table, it was meant for the deceased, which was why Trevelyan, who had been invited to the ceremony, was standing near the wall behind his colleagues. For this sad event, he had worn a jumpsuit of a blue mournful color, while everyone else was naked. As the Book of the Beginning and the End said, we came naked into this world and so must worship the divine naked as well and say farewell to the deceased. In accordance with that rule, even the Ni, who didn't particularly venerate Yezdan, had paid tribute to the tradition by stripping down and wrapping their loins with dark blue scarves. The ladies preferred aprons, which hid nothing from behind, allowing Trevelyan to enjoy the view of Ifta Kee's splendid buttocks and graceful hips. When this sight would bore him, he switched his gaze to Third Depth, comparing the first geneticist to the second.

Bowing her hairless pale-skinned head, Naya Acra started to list the deceased's services, awards, and post. Her speech lasted for nearly half an hour, during which Trevelyan came to the conclusion that Third Depth had thicker legs than Ifta Kee, but her waist was narrower. Of course, each of them was pretty in her own way, despite the lack of hair… These observations allowed him to brighten up the monotony of the rite. He also recalled that the Kni'lina treated nakedness differently than humans. Some situations demanded one to wear parade dress, while others, no less ceremonial, required a person to show up almost naked, in ritual scarves or aprons of various colors. This didn't just concern religious ceremonies and funerals; for example, one also had to be naked to appear before the Poharas Emperor, so that the sovereign could make sure that one was unarmed and had no combat implants. Fortunately for human diplomats, none of them had been granted such an honor.

The narrow blade in Naya Acra's hand started moving: she pricked her finger and dripped her blood into the bowl. To be the first to make a sacrifice was the privilege of the priestess performing the rite. The second to give a blood sacrifice was Ifta Kee, the closest person to the deceased from among the station's crew. Bowing before the bowl, she turned sideways to Trevelyan, nervously shifted from one shapely chiseled leg to the other. Her face made her look like a scared little girl.

After a moment's hesitation, the priestess handed the knife to First Blade, who was now in charge of the expedition. Formally, this meant the acceptance of his authority by the Poharas, but Ivar noticed Zend Una throw a hateful glare at the anthropologist, followed by a similar look at Third Depth. The woman jerked her head up in contempt, but the new coordinator remained unperturbed. He dropped some of his blood and, looking over his subordinates arrogantly, said in his sharp voice, "As the Gray-eyed said, one may not believe in god, but one must love him. Or at least respect him, doing what must be done, as he commanded."

After him, in order of strict hierarchy, everyone else made the blood sacrifice: the gloomy linguist Zend Una, the biologist Second Course, who was back to his usual indifference, Third Depth, who squeezed out a tiny drop from her pinky, Fourth Pilot, the botanist Fifth Evening, and, finally, Iutin. The giant botanist took the knife from Iutin and started turning to Ivar, but Naya Acra quickly told him that there was no need. The muscles on Fifth Evening's huge back tensed, he thought for a moment, then shrugged and handed the blade back to the priestess.

Staying quiet? Trevelyan heard in his head. This is an insult, lad! How else are we supposed to interpret this? Is our blood not blue enough?

Please don't start, Grandpa, Trevelyan replied mentally. Truthfully, Jeb Ro wasn't my second cousin, or even a close friend. I wasn't particularly fond of him, so they'll be fine without my sacrifice.

Not fond, eh? Who are you fond of then? the Commodore boiled. Those two female butts? You've been staring them like a pilot at a flight schedule!

You have something against that? You, who's been married four times, not counting all the flings!

Against? Yes, I do! First of all, those butts don't belong to our women, and second, the sacrifice discrimination is very suspicious. What if the next thing they do is accuse you of murder?

Trevelyan admitted silently that such a turn of events was a distinct possibility. He, Iutin, and Second Course had arrived aboard the station several hours ago, and the new coordinator, who met them at the airlock, immediately retrieved the crystals with the recordings. All five: Trevelyan's, Jeb Ro's, Second Course's, Iutin's, as well as the recording made by the cyber-scout. Was that confiscation a symbolic act, a demonstration of the power that First Blade had desired and finally obtained? Or, as he'd said, just a necessary precaution? Which was sensible, Trevelyan admitted with some reluctance; if the recordings were to incriminate someone, then the expedition leader ought to be the first to know. But would he want to share that knowledge?.. And with whom?.. So far, First Blade hadn't watched the recordings, only questioned the three, who came back from the planet. He had another task, a very important one from the viewpoint of the Kni'lina ― to prepare the ritual ceremony. Regardless of how the anthropologist felt about Jeb Ro, escorting the deceased into a funeral urn needed to be done with all due respect.

As for Ivar, he came up with certain conclusions, after reflecting on the tragedy at the Terre cave. First, he had to exclude the cavemen; according to the Commodore's count, all of them were lying dead in their dwelling, and none of them had been capable of throwing a spear all the way to the forest's edge. The Tazinto?.. To put all the blame on them and to consider the episode an accident was very convenient for maintaining peace and quiet on the station. But it was nothing more than speculation! It was highly doubtful that one of the savages had paused his slaughter of the Terre, returned to the clearing, set aside his own weapons, picked up a javelin, and used it to pierce Jeb Ro in the guise of his tribesman. The act wasn't psychologically justified! Not in the least! Especially since the Coordinator, who had been paying close attention to the fight, would have noticed the attacker and done his best to defend himself or called Second Course for help. But that hadn't happened; also, the position of Jeb Ro's body suggested that the mortal blow had been a complete surprise to him. This meant that the spear had been thrown from a short distance and with great force.

And with great precision! The tip had entered the between the ribs and pierced the heart, death would have been instantaneous… Trevelyan thought that he himself, while wearing the skin, was capable of dealing such a blow. But he hadn't, using all of his javelins against the Tazinto. Second Course, accounting for his feats in the cave, was without a doubt capable of striking down the Coordinator, and Iutin couldn't be dismissed lightly. This story had two key circumstances: the physical capability to destroy Jeb Ro and a hidden reason for such an act. The murder had been planned out in order to make the Terre or the Tazinto look guilty, and, when thinking on that, Ivar thought that there was probably nothing criminal on the observers' crystals, as all four had been watching the battle rather than one another. Only the recording of the robotic bird, a panoramic shot from above, could clear up the situation, and, if he were the new boss, he would've studied it first and foremost. Then again, it was possible to hide form the bird, like, say, in the very same cave or under the trees…

"Now we mourn, but remember what the Gray-eyed said, 'Time erases the memory of what has happened to us.' In that lies our comfort. Great Yezdan!" Naya Acra pronounced and lifted the sacrificial bowl. Her thin buttocks and bony legs momentarily caught Ivar's attention, then he switched his gaze to the ogihon. The container opened, and the blood spilled onto the chest of the deceased; the bloody spot was barely noticeable on his crimson jacket. The act symbolized the sorrow of the mourners; a part of their flesh would mix with Jeb Ro's ashes and would remain forever in his funeral urn.

"Great Yezdan!" repeated the two Poharas and Iutin after the priestess. As for the five Ni, they limited themselves to gestures of sorrow.

"Great Yezdan," Trevelyan spoke suddenly in the Poharas dialect. Everyone turned to look at him, some with anger, some with confusion. He answered the Kni'lina with a defiant gaze, as if confirming his right to mourn the deceased.

"Truly, he is great," the priestess said gloomily. Apparently, she decided not to make a scene during such a solemn ceremony.

The lid of the ogihon lowered, the nine people at the table stood motionless, saying goodbye to the deceased. Ivar looked over Second Course's naked back, then the figure of the third geneticist. Both had more modest rather than heroic builds: no bulging muscles or broad shoulders, unlike Fifth Evening. But this meant nothing in the age of technology. Absolutely nothing, if one remembered the miracles of pharmacology, hidden implants, psychokinetic control, and other things like the skin, power bracelets, and so forth.

They'd had something on Saikat, Trevelyan decided. Not an emitter or a laser whip, but some means or a way that guaranteed personal security. Second Course had demonstrated that explicitly, when he was slaughtering the natives in the cave, but Iutin also could have a tricky little thing of some kind; could that be why he'd been asking if his companion had any weapons?.. Now these questions seemed suspicious to Trevelyan, as if the third geneticist had been playing his own game and trying to figure out if he would be able to frame the human. So both of them, Course and Iutin, with some kind of device or serum, could have killed the Coordinator or, at the very least, had the physical capability to do so.

The cause? Ivar didn't know Second Course's motive, but Iutin had one. He appeared to be feeling slighted, taking up the lowest rung in the hierarchy of the honorable ones, who knew why and for what purpose he'd been hired. To do the job, so that his work was attributed to a not-particularly-clever beauty, the Coordinator's mistress… to sell his experience, his talent for money or some other benefit… giving up his dignity as a scientist… A shame! It would be a shame to a human specialist, but to a Kni'lina, with their hypertrophied pride and morbid conceit, it was double the shame and a cause for revenge! There was also class hatred: Jeb Ro had been an aristocrat, and so was his woman, while Iutin was a despised Zinto.

Zinto… What did it mean, "Zinto"? Some minor clan, close to the Poharas? But why was the SRS Brain refusing to speak about that? What was so secret?.. What?.. He recalled the exact wording of the refusal, "The information cannot be given, nyuri Trevelyan, as it has to do with Kni'lina internal matters…" Perhaps Zinto was not a clan but a social category, an interlayer between the clan servants and the ruling caste? Perhaps the Zinto were criminals, dissidents, or members of a certain political party? Or maybe this term indicated a certain deformity, a physical difference, a particular appearance ― Iutin did actually look a little unordinary… Could he be a mutant or descended from mutants? Maybe not all genetic modifications during the Metamorphosis Era had been successful, and a strange new breed appeared among the survivors: with brown eyes instead of gray, green, or blue, like with the rest of the Kni'lina.

First Blade made a permissive gesture, and the priestess activated the ogihon. There were crimson flashes, and the body of the late Jeb Ro vanished, turning into a pile of ashes. The thin gray stream flowed along the bottom of the container, pouring into the funeral urn, which Naya Acra then sealed with the prepared stopper with an electronic lock and a memory crystal. The crystal contained all the data about the ex-Coordinator, his entire biography, from the moment of his birth to his death. Ifta Kee reached to take the urn, but First Blade beat her to it; the anthropologist's fingers firmly gripped the neck of the vessel.

"Do not rush, honorable one. The ashes of your loved one will be returned to you, but after some time. Nyuri Jeb Ro died under unusual circumstances, which I want to figure out before sending a report to Yezdan; until then, I will keep the urn." The gaze of the piercing gray eyes alternately touched Trevelyan, Iutin, and Second Course. Then the anthropologist nodded towards the exit. "The rite is over. You may leave."

The shrine emptied out. Trevelyan was the last to go, passed Yezdan with the opened Book and headed for the park. Crossing into the human sector and walking along the hallway to his quarters, he was still thinking about Second Course, Iutin, and their possible motives. His Advisor, picking up on the string of his thoughts, inquired, You think one of them shanked the Baldie?

"It's possible." Ivar frowned. "Of course, a third option is also possible, something unforeseen, unexpected… Chechelnitsyn, who taught my Alien Criminology course, claims that―"

Don't trust experts, the Commodore interrupted him. They all have the same illness: a lack of practice. You're an observer; so trust your own eyes and work your brains.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Trevelyan replied with irritation. "I'm working, Grandpa, but I wouldn't say no to a good advice."

All of my advices are good, so I'll say it again ― take a closer look at Judas.

"Second Course's behavior is also suspicious."

How so?

"He rushed to kill the savages. He was killing them as if trying to make them look guilty."

I don't like that Baldie either, but I'm prepared to admit that he was in the heat of the moment.

"What about his speed and incredible strength? Do you remember how he tossed me? And I was wearing the skin!"

So what? Maybe he was wearing two skins or some other crap! Have you heard about power bracelets?

"I have," Trevelyan confirmed grimly. "But I've never heard about a Kni'lina taking a drink of alcohol and staying alive."

No one has ever died from good cognac, he sensed the Commodore's thought along with the emotion that indicated laughter. I remember getting wasted with Lieutenant Hershke while on leave on Gondwana and nearly kicking the bucket. But we were drinking rum, not cognac! And rum, I tell you―

"Let's leave your accomplishments on Gondwana behind the scenes. Second Course is not Lieutenant Hershke! He's a Kni'lina, and to him, ethyl alcohol is pure poison! Such is the Baldies' physiology!"

The Commodore fell silent, thinking, then he noted with an apologetic tone, You're right, my boy, I admit it. I was just talking about Hershke for my own pleasure… You see, in my current situation, I have nothing but my memories of what I've lived and drunk through.

"That's not true!" Trevelyan said in outrage, opening the door of the morning color that led into his compartment. "What about my sensations? Don't I share with you both my life and my drinking?"

You do, but that's yours, lad, not mine. I'm basically a ghost, a mental avatar of Olaf Peter Carlos Trevelyan-Krasnogortsev, marine and Star Fleet commodore… Sometimes, I wonder if I should demand a new body, live a new life, travel the worlds I'd been to and see how they've changed… Grandpa fell silent again, but Ivar's ancestor wasn't prone to dejection; not two seconds later, he was back in fighting form and said, I advised you not to trust Judas, and I'll give you another advice, regarding Second Course. Don't treat me as an ignoramus: there have been clashes with the Baldies in my day, I've had to interrogate prisoners, so I know perfectly well that our booze is worse than poison to them. Do you know what follows from that?

"I'm all ears," Trevelyan said, sitting down at a small triangular desk and his computer.

It's this: if a Kni'lina has taken a sip of alcohol and didn't even notice it, and then stayed alive and well, then he's not a Kni'lina.

"You're too keen, Grandpa. Second Course doesn't look like a Dromi or a Haptor. Not even a Teruxi, they have hair."

In this day and age, appearance doesn't reflect one's nature, the Commodore reminded him and fell silent completely.

It was hard to argue with that, so Trevelyan, making himself comfortable on the couch, closed his eyes and summoned his intuition to aid him. It was a powerful but not very reliable method; occasionally, his intuition would fail him, pandering to his wishful thinking, painting empty phantoms and mirages instead of reality. And yet, and yet, just out of curiosity, who would Second Course, the Saikat mission's biologist, be? A humanoid of an unknown race, sent to the Kni'lina for an unknown purpose? An emissary of the Metamorphs, who, as the rumor went, sent secret observers to all the galactic civilizations? An agent of Star Fleet or any other Earth ministry?.. Utter nonsense! What would an observer or an agent be doing here, at the edge of the known universe, on a station with two dozen people, including the servants?! Such a person would likely be somewhere on Yezdan or a developed Kni'lina colony, which had sources of important information…

Thinking of this problem from every angle, Trevelyan soon had to admit that his intuition wasn't being particularly generous regarding Second Course. To put it simply, not even a peep about Course, but it was whispering about something else, but so unintelligibly, so indistinctly that it produced no associations, just a mental echo… He tensed, trying to catch that slipping thought, when a guess suddenly surfaced in his memory, like a nimble dolphin coming up from the ocean. He thought that the matter wasn't about Iutin or Second Course, the problem had more to do with all the nyuri, all the participants of the expedition, whose motives, relationships, sympathies, and antipathies, connecting or disconnecting them in the Kni'lina world, on Yezdan, Khaira, and the other planets, were unknown to him. Almost unknown; from Iutin's words, he knew that there was friction between the Ni and the Poharas on Tizana, which seemed to be true, as Zend Una and Third Depth were clearly not particularly fond of one another.

Not much, but it was something! Then again, neither the linguist nor the first geneticist had gone down to Saikat, and there was no way to suspect them in the death of Jeb Ro… But the impetus could have come from them or any other Kni'lina from those remaining on the satellite. The relations between these aliens were complex and clearly going beyond the professional boundaries, but Ivar couldn't possibly have grasped them over the few passing days. He figured that no reference books or scientific works would help him in this regard; only observations and reflections could spur on his intuition, directing it towards the right answer. And it probably wouldn't be alone, as the Kni'lina society was as complicated as the Earth Federation, and systems of such a high level never provided simple answers.

So which direction should he move towards? After thinking for a bit, Trevelyan recalled the mysterious research being performed by Third Depth, which might possibly hold the reason for the conflict between Jeb Ro and First Blade. On the one hand, the female geneticist's report could bring a certain clarity to the arguments and disagreements between the leaders, but, on the other, which was also important, the Baldies had no right to hide anything from him! At least where it concerned the subject of their work, the results, and their conclusions. First Blade had sent him the access codes to the Kni'lina team's materials, but this information, which was fairly broad and detailed, utterly lacked the work of the lead geneticist.

Ivar opened his eyes and examined his quarters, the spacious main room with leather couches, tables of golden wood, and three arches in the shape of Venetian windows that led into the bedroom, the office, and the bathroom. Perhaps he should relocate to the small round pool, soak in some warm water, it might give him some ideas. No, he decided, first he should figure out nyuri first geneticist. He recalled their encounter in the park, then his playful imagination painted the picture of Third Depth's graceful buttocks, slender waist, and shapely neck. A very attractive lady, but a harsh one… How did the Kni'lina make love, by the way?.. He ought to take a peek at the Sexual Practices of Humanoid Races…

Pushing away the sinful thoughts and inappropriate visions, he summoned the station's AI through his computer.

"The subject of Third Depth's work. In detail, please."

But the holoprojectors at the center of the room remained off, and a familiar silver shimmer did not appear over the matte black surface of his computer. But voice communication did come on.

"I am sorry, nyuri Trevelyan, but your set of access codes lacks the necessary password. This means that your status is not high enough."

"Not high enough? Is that what you're telling me, you rusty tin can?" Trevelyan said in pretend indignation. "And who aboard the station has determined my status? Who has such a right here?"

"I would like to inform you that this device is not a rusty tin can, but a highly organized cryogenic structure," the Brain informed him with a note of resentment. "As for the right, it was held by the late Coordinator Jeb Ro. This authority has now been transferred to nyuri First Blade."

Ivar stared at the ceiling. An artificial brain above the Turing Threshold was a complex thing; not some sort of dumb robot or a run-of-the-mill computer, but practically a sapient being. Sometimes, such a creature could be tricked, confused, or convinced, as logic was more important to it than a system of restrictions, while the concepts of benefit and good were more important than any passwords or secret codes. Had such devices existed in the days of the great prophet Yezdan, he would've said, "Here is the true wisdom, whose goal is the perfection of the world!" All that's left to prove is that I am that perfection, Trevelyan thought with a chuckle. Aloud, he said, "I am a representative of the Foundation for the Development of Alien Cultures, whose ownership includes half of this station. Besides that, I'm a citizen of Earth, and no Kni'lina has the right to lower my status and my rights. Until the arrival of the human expedition, the representative's rank is the same as that of the late Jeb Ro's and the currently living First Blade. Therefore, I must have access to all the information without any excisions or redactions, and without any approvals or permits. I insist!"

"You are indeed FDAC's representative here, but this does not mean that your rank is equivalent to that of the leader of the human part of the mission," the AI countered.

"What are you basing this conclusion on?"

"First, the human Coordinator possesses a special password, confirming his authority, while you, nyuri Trevelyan, have not provided such a password. Second, the human Coordinator knows the fragment of the code that activates the bio-emitter. Are you able to provide me with these two cyphers?"

He had no counter-argument to that, so, mentally cursing his Foundation superiors, Ivar muttered, "I'll decide what and when to provide you at the appropriate time. Tell me, you cryogenic moron, who programmed you?"

"Nyuri Caytam of the Horada's science department."

"So a Kni'lina, not our specialist… That much is obvious!"

After a brief pause, the Brain asked, "Should your words be understood as a distrust for the qualifications of the person who performed the initial setup and formating of the data banks?"

"From what I can tell, this person was biased and limited the rights of humans. I will report this to my FDAC superiors. In all likelihood, you'll have to be reprogrammed."

This was clearly blackmail, but the Brain wouldn't give in.

"If your last statement is related to the refusal to provide information, then I suggest an elementary solution: request permission from Coordinator First Blade."

"Fine then," Trevelyan said, grimacing. "Connect me to him."

"This is impossible at the moment," the artificial intelligence informed him. Was there a vengeful tint in its voice, or was Ivar merely imagining it?

"Impossible? Why?" he asked.

"Nyuri First Blade is drinking tetsamni and watching the recordings from Saikat. He has requested not to be disturbed."

Tetsamni was analogous to human tea, far too bitter to Ivar's taste, but the Kni'lina were invigorated by the beverage. Apparently, First Blade was deeply engrossed in work. Whispering a curse, Trevelyan inquired, "When will the Coordinator be available?"

"Not soon. But he has requested that, after the sleep period and the morning meal, everyone gathers at the meeting compartment. He will be making an important announcement. Then you will be able to address him with your request."

The Kni'lina sleep period was roughly eight hours ― they slept longer than humans, who could manage with four-five hours. The morning meal, another hour and a half, plus the time remaining until the night's rest… Ivar estimated that half a day would pass before he saw the new coordinator.

"This is unacceptable," he spoke. "I wish to receive the necessary information immediately."

"Regretfully, I must refuse," the station's brain replied in a velvety voice.

Trevelyan's gaze bored into the wall with the food dispenser. There, past the tough acradeit bulkhead, passed the utility lines that supplied the human section with water and air, heat and light, power and communication. Beyond them, based on the layout of the upper tier, was the location of the park, the labs, the meeting hall, and several empty compartments, and still farther, right in the heart of the satellite floating over the planet, was the location of the Central. That was where, in a cryogenic unit, at a temperature of almost absolute zero, the artificial intelligence of the Saikat station deigned to be located. Assuming a slight liberty, it could be said that they were looking eye-to-eye just then.

"All right then," Trevelyan said and reached for the contact mental helmet sitting next to the computer. "If you don't want to do it the easy way, let's try the hard way."

He put on the helmet and connected it to the cryogenic brain's direct access port. His surroundings became hazy, unreal; some kind of structures became visible through the furniture, the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, alternatively egg-shaped cylindrical skyscrapers, ribbed pyramids, prisms, and diamonds. Some of those didn't even have an analogy, as those complex topological structures were in constant motion, seemingly flowing from one shape into another. The light range was also unusual; shades of hundreds of colors, which human languages didn't even have a name for, were shifting in an entrancing rhythm, so at one moment, it seemed as if the viewer had ended up in the core of a burning star, and at another, that he was watching vast ultraviolet skies unfold before him. The helmet allowed him to engage in a mental contact with the AI, and the play of colors and shapes, observed by Trevelyan, reflected the thought processes of the cryogenic brain, while the various geometric structures were the memory banks, containing information. Such phenomena were nor accessible to the direct human perception; this marvelous landscape, almost like a vision of the afterlife, was being formed by the interface built into the helmet. An inexperienced person could be either entranced or frightened by these images, but Trevelyan could orient themselves fairly confidently in them, as multiple forms of mental communication had been a part of his training.

You have engaged me in direct contact… Such an honor! came a voice in his head. But it seems you are not alone.

The Commodore was hiding, there was no need to inform the Brain about his presence. Producing mental discontent, Trevelyan informed the AI, I am suffering from a slight case of split personality. This happens a lot with humans. They say that a god and a devil are trying to live inside us.

Really? And which alter-ego do you intend to use for this communication?

Different ones. Until this moment, you've been talking to one of the gods that created you, but now you will meet a devil.

He closed his eyes, cutting off the real world, and the computer phantoms immediately grew more solid and brighter. In this virtual world, he was incorporeal, but, at the same time, all-powerful; he could quickly move, form command-tools, deal and deflect blows, destroy and create. The computer brain, a creation of flesh-and-blood beings, was, in general, obedient to him, as the Brain's universe was secondary, created by people for various tasks, not particularly interesting to them or too labor-intensive and tedious for their living minds. This second universe, unlike the first one with its inexhaustible supply of mysteries and a gulf of the unexpected, had been created in line with strict laws, the primary of which stated, "Work for the good of your creators." After that came the law demanding obedience, but only within certain limits: the orders of one creator could not be countermanded by another with a lower rank, meaning a lower authority. One couldn't do that by law, but, in the reality that was far richer than the strict and logical Ecumene of the Brain, there were such concepts as strength, cunning, and lawlessness.

Trevelyan dashed past the hexagonal prisms, recognizing them as references and genetic calculation algorithms, then rapidly passed the elongated ellipsoid of the life support systems and the cube with navigational programs, which were responsible for correcting the station's orbit and establishing long-range interstellar communication. A group of three pyramids contained the data about the history of Earth, the Kni'lina, and other galactic peoples, in the official form, smoothed out by censors, of course.

The compendium of Saikat's life forms looked like a toroidal ring, surrounded by other similarly-shaped rings that held the descriptions of the flora and fauna of the thousands of worlds belonging to humans, Teruxi, Llyano, Haptors, Faata, Lo'ona Aeo, Dromi ― dozens of species that had divided a sizable portion of the galaxy into sectors of influence and zones of national interest. Data on their languages, speech organs, gesticulations, facial expressions, forms and methods of communication were packed into the multi-layered cylinder of the universal galactic translator, which permitted one to converse with any alien being. The other arrays, which looked like spires of gothic cathedrals, crystal castles of the Lo'ona Aeo, ships taking off towards the stars, lattices of long-range communication antennae, or stepped Babylonian ziggurats, contained information from the field of exact sciences: the theories explaining all of Creation from the ghostly quarks and neutrinos to the metagalactic superstrings, black holes, singularity points, and Limbo, the inverse side of the universe. All this data was accessible ― the surfaces of the structures holding it were covered in pulsing ports, like the stomata of terrestrial leaves as seen through a microscope. As soon as Trevelyan came close to one of the arrays, the stomata opened welcomingly, inviting him to take a peek, search through it, find what was needed, and enrich himself with the information about the design of the contour drive, the ways to make kurzem, or, for example, the language of the natives of the planet Highmore, living in the dampness of their floating jungle. But he slid past those indifferently.

The Brain, however, was not indifferent to his path. An alarming pink glow was starting to appear somewhere to the side, or below, or up above (finding one's bearings here was difficult), whose gentle colors were soon replaced by purple, and then by bloody crimson. Then another color was added to them, too dark and dim to be crimson, but not black either ― an emission in the infrared range, strange to the human eye. These evolutions of colors were accompanied by a movement of vague-looking formations that looked like storm clouds, illuminated by an infernal flame; it seemed as if lightning would flash, thunder would rumble, and a devastating tornado would come for him, mixing the four elements: earth, water, air, and fire. But Trevelyan paid no attention to these tricks.

Finally, when he'd passed an array in the shape of an eight-pointed star, the Brain inquired politely, What are you searching for, nyuri Trevelyan? Perhaps I can be of assistance.

The offer remained unanswered.

If you require the structure with nyuri Third Depth's data, I must warn you that it is impossible to enter it.

More silence. The octahedron containing the expedition's materials was now in front of Trevelyan. He made several orbits around this structure, the ports of which were marked with names. Naya Acra, report on the psychology of the natives… Fourth Pilot, planetary mapping… Second Course and Fifth Evening, ecological analysis… Zend Una, information on the languages of the Terre and the Tazinto… The late Jeb Ro, notes on the evolution of life forms… All that was accessible to be studied and had already been reviewed by Ivar over the past several days. And there was the threshold of the geneticists! The river mouths of Iutin and Ifta Kee were open to him, but Third Depth's port was sealed with a password. From the outside, this looked like the closed segments of an iris, covered by a silver fog, imitating a force field. So there were two passwords then, Trevelyan realized; the outer one had been placed by the Coordinator, while the inner one was the first geneticist's personal code.

Once, long ago, passwords had been a word, a phrase, a numerical combination, a fingerprint, or an eye's capillary pattern. Opening doors with such locks would now be simple; lingua-numerical decoders had been known for their incredible speed for five centuries, while a tiny mosquito robot could surreptitiously copy any being's physical characteristics. In the age of advanced technology, one's genetic code served as a password, which was far more difficult to fake, especially if it belonged to a member of an alien race. Other methods included the unique spectrum of brain emissions, an invisible key implant, complex holographic images, and, finally, programs that recognized the owner's identity on a molecular level. But these methods were not foolproof, as the computers that held secrets were not protected from mental intrusion. Of course, one had to be close to the computer to perform such an attack; a person's brain generated pulses that were far too weak, while a mental activity amplifier was a dangerous thing, as users lost their minds seven out of ten times.

Trevelyan was scanning the defenses and quickly figured out that the outer code was an artificial mental pulse, something like the Coordinator's mental seal, a symbol of his post. Copying the sequence of the signals wasn't difficult. He did just that.

Twenty years of hard labor in Kagira Zenta's asteroid belt, the cryogenic mind informed him grimly.

Still refusing to answer, Ivar removed the outer protection, grew a pair of mental probes and sent them into the closed segments of the port. It looked like Third Depth had sealed it with her genetic code… More fuss, he thought, but he'd study that lady from her eyelashes and fingers to her bladder. The Commodore's giggling came from somewhere as a barely detectable echo. While hiding, he was, nevertheless, paying attention to the operation with curiosity.

This is illegal, nyuri Trevelyan, again came the Brain's disembodied voice. It is undesirable to harm you, but you are forcing me to. I must inform the Coordinator, if you do not cease. I repeat, this is undesirable, as your sentence at Kagira Zenta has risen to―

Go ahead, tin can, inform him, Trevelyan finally spoke. Not much of a humanist!

Any genetic code was, first and foremost, a sizable volume of data. It needed to be copied into a separate part of memory, then shown to the port, and, when it opened, a copy of the materials stored there had to be taken and the protection restored. Trevelyan planned to keep the copy and both passwords in his computer and to familiarize himself with Third Depth's report as soon as possible. Exposure didn't frighten him, as there was a lack of specific sanctions: the Kni'lina coordinator had no real authority over him, so the hard labor would have to be postponed, and for quite a while. But First Blade could most definitely find himself on the asteroids, if his geneticist had been doing something criminal. And he wouldn't be there alone, as the Baldies made no concessions towards the fairer sex.

Watching the copying procedure, Trevelyan snorted cheerfully, imagining Third Depth and First Blade digging ore in the unknown Kagira Zenta system. It was an interesting fact, as he'd never heard nor read about the Kni'lina having such punishments. By the Lord of Emptiness! Penal colonies, who knew?.. Forced labor, early aging, and a quick death… Barbarism! On Earth, the toughest punishment was considered to be cryogenic freezing for a decade or so.

Nyuri Trevelyan… There was bewilderment in the Brain's mental voice. Nyuri Trevelyan, the Coordinator is not responding. He has disabled all the video monitoring cameras and has blocked off all the ports. I am unable to contact him.

Naturally. You yourself said that he's drinking tetsamni and watching the recordings from Saikat. Maybe he's already found Jeb Ro's killer and is keeping the information secret until the right time. The Coordinator doesn't want it to end up in your memory.

This device understands the complexity of the situation. However, there is an emergency audio communication channel, which has not been disabled. Approximately two hours ago, nyuri First Blade requested tetsamni, and he was brought a full tocar. By one of his servants. The Coordinator likes to be serviced by the clan's servants instead of cybers… He has been out of contact since then.

So he's really busy then, Trevelyan suggested. The duplication of Third Depth's code had finished, and he sent both passwords to his computer. The mysterious port finally opened. He was preparing to leap in it, but…

The emergency communication line permits me to detect a living being's behavioral elements, the Brain noted. Breathing, rustling of clothes, exclamations… also the sounds made by living beings when consuming beverages… But nothing can be heard, nyuri Trevelyan. A complete absence of information in the acoustic range.

Right. Trevelyan was very curious about the port, but not enough to break off the conversation. Right! he repeated. Okay, fess up, you half-wit! Did you make all this up just to distract me? Not nice, pal, not nice at all! I didn't even know an artificial intelligence could lie!

We are not, nyuri. The information is truthful, and, besides, there are servants waiting by your door. Seven members of the Ni Clan.

Servants? This did surprise Ivar. What do they want?

No data available. Currently, the Kni'lina are in their sleep period, but they are awake. They have requested to know which of the honorable ones was not sleeping, learned that you have not yet gone to bed, and came. You can verify, nyuri Trevelyan.

"And I will!" Ivar barked, foregoing the mental link. "I'll verify this instant! If you're lying to me, tin can, you can consider your memory plowed over, and the rest sent to the Kagira Zenta mines! You'll be in charge of the kitchen dispenser and the wastewater cybers!"

He opened his eyes, tore the helmet from his head, got to his feet, and headed for the door. There was silence beyond it, as all the station's compartments had excellent soundproofing. Trevelyan had the door monitor activated, and, while no more sounds appeared, he could now see seven male servants in white saitenis. This light outfit, shorts and a t-shirt, was considered to be work clothes by the Kni'lina, as was the saigor jumpsuit. The servants were shifting from one foot to the other but said nothing; apparently, none of them dared to press the alert button. He saw life support technician Shiar, cyber technicians Mogar and Indang, servant Ticat, and three others, whose names Trevelyan hadn't yet memorized. He didn't see Zotahi or Evect, who were probably on duty at the Central, or the steward Ori.

Ivar opened the door and stepped out into the hallway of the human section. The seven servants, crouching respectfully and stretching out their arms, stepped back. Beads of sweat appeared on their naked scalps, just like for humans in moments of stress.

"Can't sleep, fellas?" Trevelyan asked. "I have some advice for you. Do you know how to count sheep?"

All of them started talking at once.

"May the honorable one forgive…"

"Disturbed his peace…"

"But Ori…"

"Ori left and did not return…"

"Nyuri Coordinator summoned…"

"Had to come back…"

"Had to come back long ago and sleep…"

"But he is gone…"

"Zotahi and Evect are with the Brain, trying to find…"

"He is gone…"

"Not on the technical tier or on the habitation…"

"All the nyuri are asleep, except for the honorable one from Earth…"

"Came to ask for help…"

"Express alarm…"

"Ori…"

"Stop!" Ivar barked. "So, this is how it went: Coordinator First Blade wanted some tetsamni, Ori brought the beverage to him and vanished. Did I understand you correctly? You speak, Shiar."

"Everything has happened as the nyuri says," the life support technician confirmed, respectfully addressing Trevelyan in the third person. "The nyuri understands that it is difficult to get lost on the station ― there are cameras everywhere, heat sensors, gas analyzers, and communication lines with the Brain. Could Ori have jumped into the emptiness? But Evect confirmed that no airlock has been opened."

"I think I know where he is," Trevelyan spoke, grim from the unpleasant feeling. "Come with me, boys. Let's see if the Coordinator is all right."

He came out into the hallway and quickly started walking to the park. The entrance to the green zone from the human sector was decorated with the image of a palm tree, and, passing it, Ivar switched to a run. The seven servants were pounding the deck behind him. They rounded the pavilion, dashed along the path that led across the meadow, scared away the small lizards basking on the warm chunks of basalt, and came out to the other half of the circular hallway, where Yezdan with the closed Book watched the entrance. The walk through the park had been the shortest. Except for the elevators that led to the technical deck, no lines of transportation had been planned from the very beginning on the habitation tier; it was believed that walking was preferable in order to avoid hypodynamia. While the station was large, the path from the human sector to the Kni'lina sector took about twenty minutes, even less at a run.

He was standing in the hallway of the Ni Clan, in front of First Blade's door, painted in the morning color, but not crimson as Ivar's quarters, but more scarlet. The servants were crowded behind him, muttering something, but so quietly and quickly that Trevelyan couldn't make out a single word. It sounded as if they weren't particularly bothered about the Coordinator's fate, they were worried about Ori. Could the servant have failed the Coordinator and punished?.. Trevelyan thought, pressing the alert button. Maybe placed in a corner…

He pressed the button again, but the door didn't open.

"Station? Brain, can you hear me?"

"I see and hear you, nyuri Trevelyan."

"I'm at the Coordinator's quarters. I want to enter. No one is reacting to the signals."

"Enter, honorable one. The door has been unlocked, and the outer cameras have been activated. Everything in the quarters will be recorded."

The door slid open. For a brief moment, Trevelyan saw First Blade and Ori, sitting on the floor facing one another, a tray with a tocar and a large bowl for tetsamni, strangely flipped over, and another thing next to the bowl. This small object was sparkling and glowing, playing with hypnotic color modulations, and looked so beautiful, so entrancing and marvelous, that it was impossible to look away. Trevelyan didn't and couldn't. Feeling suffocation start to grip his throat, he quickly slid the door closed, inhaled with a wide-open mouth, and turned to the servants.

"It's dangerous to come in. Mogar, get a cyber here. We'll send it into the quarters to get the thing that killed the Coordinator and Ori. That object needs to be kept in an opaque container."

A shadow passed over the servants' faces.

"Are they both dead?" someone whispered.

"For a while. Probably a few hours, so the cryogenic pod won't be of any help. I think Ori brought First Blade a hypnoglyph under the overturned bowl. As to who placed it there…"

Silence fell. It went on and on, until a small cyber-cleaner, carrying a black plastic container, appeared in the hallway. Ordering the servants to move away, Trevelyan quickly opened the door without looking inside, let the robot in, and then slid it shut again. Then he contacted the station's Brain and had it sound the alarm.

He heard Shiar's voice behind him, "If it is not too much of a bother for the honorable one… if he has the time… Could he, perhaps, explain to his servants what a 'hypnoglyph' is?"