This is a fan translation of Line of Dreams (Линия грёз) by the Russian science fiction and fantasy author Sergei Lukyanenko. The novel can be considered a fan fiction of the original Master of Orion game.

Chapter 9

The master of immortality greeted morning in his office. Not in the showily modest one, where he'd talked Kay into working with Arthur, and not in the demonstratively open one on top of the tower.

This office, hidden deep underground, looked like the bridge of a cruiser. Curtis had indeed copied the style of warships, where his youth had passed. At one time, he had dreamt of commanding such a ship. Long ago, two hundred years in the past…

His current task might seem to be a little odd to an observer. Leaning back in his chair, tilting his head to the side, Curtis van Curtis was painting. His stylus was sliding along on the screen, leaving thin colorful strokes in its wake. Something was beginning to take shape, something vaguely familiar, almost like a human face from a strange angle. As if an ant was trying to look at a person through a colorful prism…

"There," Curtis said, lowering the stylus. He shifted his gaze to the side screen, where Kay and the Bulrathi were standing on yellow sand. A minute ago, they had been sparring. Now Kay was taking of his armor and, carefully, segment after segment, putting it onto the sand. A red dot glowed next to his image – the mental sensor was detecting high-intensity emotions.

"Zoom in, unmute!" Curtis slid his chair to the image. The cameras had already expanded Kay's face to fit the screen, having managed to decipher their owner's freeform command. "What are you planning, kid?" Curtis asked himself.

"Why did you play us and the Sakkra against one another?" Kay asked, dropping the last piece of the armor. The Bulrathi was watching his movements carefully. His strange diamond-shaped pupils squeezed into thin slits.

"Tactics. We were adopting your method – divide and conquer."

"You didn't have time to adopt it."

"No."

Kay threw off his white shirt as slowly as the armor. He stretched, his muscles rolling under the skin.

"Bulrathi, you told me that you consulted the Sakkra during their war for the Three Planets. Could it be that you also participated in the invasion itself?"

"Could be." The Bulrathi spread his palm slightly. The left one was missing an index finger, which made it similar in size to a human hand.

"I'm from the Three Planets, Bulrathi. The Three Sisters, as they were once called. These were quarrelsome sisters, but they didn't covet alien worlds. We were at the edge of the sector, and the Sakkra attack fell upon us."

"Interesting," the Bulrathi said.

"There were too many of them, they overran our defenses. The cruisers sent from Terra didn't have time to arrive. Children and some of the women were loaded into cargo ships, we had a good merchant navy back then. Most of them made it to Altos. Two hundred million freeloaders, Bulrathi! We were hated on Altos, other worlds rejected us. Our fathers died fighting the frogs, not a very pleasant death. The Three Sisters were then scorched with meson bombs, there was no other choice. Nobody wants them now."

"A buffer zone."

Kay fell silent. He slid his hand along his chin, as if estimating his shave.

"You know, I cried when the last Sakkra world was engulfed in flames. I cried, because I hadn't been able to take revenge. It took me too long to grow up…"

"I'm forbidden from killing you," the Bulrathi said. "Curtis van Curtis needs you."

"I know. Bulrathi, your mother ate grass and bathed in hot water. Your father brought up the rear. Your children dig ditches in fields."

Claws slid out of the Bulrathi's fingers. His voice grew high-pitched, like the singing of a flute.

"You're taking a risk, human. Even duty does not set aside honor–"

"Kuzuar buul-rathi, k, haa! K, haa, buul!"

"Hazr, khomo!" the Bulrathi almost sang.

Curtis van Curtis jumped out of his chair. In two strides, he reached the center of his office, where an iridescent haze was shimmering in mid-air.

"Arabia, training grounds," he shouted, taking out a tiny, almost toy-like, pistol out of his pant pocket. Curtis knew he wouldn't make it in time. He didn't.

Kay was sitting next to the Bulrathi's corpse. The alien had lost both his strength and majesty in death; it was easy to mistake him for a dead northern cow from five paces away. His body had doubled up, taking on the stance of a four-legged creature. His mouth with bared teeth was pressed into the sand. Only the two deep furrows under the motionless legs failed to blend with the peaceful image.

"What happened, kid?" Curtis asked, hiding the weapon. Kay turned slightly in his direction. Until that moment, he seemed totally unscathed, but Curtis could now see a long but shallow wound in his abdomen.

"I think his heart just gave out," Kay said softly. "Luckily, he had been able to teach me what he knew and felt I should know."

Curtis bent down and lifted the Bulrathi's head, peering into his dead face. It seemed a little surprised.

"Just gave out, huh? Poor Aggash honestly believed that there was only one way an unarmed human could kill a Bulrathi. I couldn't bring myself to show him the error of his assumptions. Here, Kay."

He tossed him a light gray jacket. Kay silently pressed the fabric against his abdomen.

"How did you know about the reflex points?"

"I had a friend who'd fought in the Vague War."

"I see. Aggash was a valuable employee."

"Then he deserves a ceremonial burial."

"A Bulrathi killed by the hand of a human? You must be joking, Kay."

"Has anyone said anything about a hand? Or killing?"

"I guess not… Do you even know what you've told him?"

Kay shook his head.

"You gave him permission to lick your excrement."

"Is that all?" Kay said, rising from the sand. He threw Curtis's jacket onto the corpse, which accidentally fell onto Aggash's face. Without knowing it, Kay had managed to humiliate the Bulrathi even in death.