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

Chapter 8

Kay never gave his ships names. His first yacht, a refitted Vague War-era bomber, simply hadn't deserved anything more than a serial number. Flying it was probably far more dangerous than Dutch's normal work, but he'd been lucky. The hyperboat he was able to afford later on had a powerful enough computer to create what Kay preferred to call a pseudo-intelligence. It would have selected a name for itself eventually… but its destruction in Grail's orbit ended the pseudo-intelligence's attempts to figure itself out.

The new ship was left unnamed and lacking in anything approaching intelligence; Dutch had realized all too well that metal was, at times, weaker than flesh, but that wouldn't dampen the pain of the loss.

Of all the types of shipboard weaponry, a black hole generator was the most merciless and foolproof. It had a fairly short range, but it wasn't impeded by shields or the size of the enemy ship. Highly illegal to own by private citizens, the generator was the reason why Kay had been able to buy the ship for the meager amount of money he had left after Grail. Such ships were built for a single operation, after which they were destroyed mercilessly. But this time, someone had decided to make some money on the side… and to resell an illegal ship.

Only three planets in the Human Empire risked turning a blind eye towards the laws. Only three planets allowed such ships to land: Jienakh, Rukh, and Taaran, the anarchy worlds. Gray was ignoring these worlds, for now. Later, when these planets gained a modicum of importance, the fleet would crush their defenses, filter through their inhabitants, and establish more acceptable governments. The anarchy worlds would disappear, only to be reborn on the new frontiers of the Empire. Every nice house needed a garbage can, so that trash wasn't scattered everywhere.

Normal people rarely climbed inside garbage cans.

Kay pulled the ship out of the jump a half hour of flight away from Jienakh.

"Should I answer?" Tommy asked, nodding at the blinking communication console.

"Go ahead."

"Sixty-seven thirty," Tommy said, leaning over the console. "Owned by Kay Altos."

"Christa Krim orbital guard. Your access code?" the unseen operator was copying the tone of a cheap answering machine with some success.

Jienakh didn't have a government and no unified planetary forces. Its six orbital bases had different owners. Each of them had its own codes, for which one had to pay on a monthly basis. Some pilots tried to save money by purchasing access codes to only two or three stations, slipping onto the planet within their control zones.

However, Kay had never liked playing Russian roulette.

Tommy pressed a button with a strip of paper labelled "Krim access code" taped to it. An encrypted packet of the code departed into space.

"Access granted," the operator's voice now had some emotion behind it. "Hey, Dutch, they're changing the codes the day after tomorrow. Shall I save up some plasma for you?"

"Use it to warm up your bottle of milk," Tommy winked at Kay, who nodded back.

There was brief laughter, and then the connection was cut. Christa Krim always selected operators with a peculiar sense of humor for their stations.

"Sixty-seven thirty," another base picked up the relay race. "This is Star Guard patrol. Awaiting the code."

A press of a button, then a pause.

"Accepted. Hey, kid, is Kay close by?"

Tommy and Dutch exchanged glances.

"Not really."

"Fine, tell him Cynthia said hi. She'd tell him herself, but her mouth is busy."

This was probably Tommy's first time hearing this joke. He faltered for a second. Dutch joined the channel, "Is that you, Paul?"

"Uh-huh," came the reply with an obvious surprise in its tone.

"Have you just started your month's shift?"

"Yeah… Damn, you're very good with voices!"

"And addresses too. I'll pay a visit to your wife to say hi for you. Kay out."

"Playing a joke?" Tommy inquired.

"Not sure. I'm very bad with faces."

Before their ship touched down on the landing field, two more bases had checked their passcodes.

"Why do they always have such morons on duty?" Tommy asked, getting out of his seat.

Placing the ship in standby mode, Dutch hesitated to answer, "Shifts last a month or two. Their masters save on such trivialities as shuttles."

"So?'

"A month behind a console, with living quarters no bigger than in our tub. They don't like reading, TV gets boring after the first week, and games are forbidden. Taunting pilots and frying losers are their only forms of entertainment."

"Why are games forbidden?" Tommy asked, clearly offended.

"Because you can always win in a game."

"So what?"

"I'll explain later. Let's go."

At first glance, Jienakh didn't appear different from any other undeveloped colony. Streets that grew sideways instead of upwards, homes made of concrete and stone, and roads covered in pavement that was soft from the sun.

But then the eye caught frequent shimmering of climatizer fields that covered the lattices of personal hyperantennae. Latest Sabboros and Tuvayses sped down the narrow roads. Store windows were showcasing polychrome Dior toilets kitchen appliances with lifetime warranty instead of cheap factory-made clothing and plastic pots for microwaves that melted after one week.

Money, money, the imperceptible scent of billions, floated over the squalid landscape. No one here built luxurious mansions, as the planet lived only for the moment. To get rich, have some fun… and leave, before the Imperial Forces got the order to clean the place up. Oh sure, the planet paid its taxes into the Imperial treasury and supported Gray, all to delay this event.

But garbage was already filling up the can, and someone would soon decide to throw it out. Officially, there was no slavery in the Empire, but there were too many people with lifetime contracts here. In the local police, only the local-born cops seemed to survive, instead of the professionals sent by Imperial Security. Jienakh's "resorts" were being advertised on the walls of every travel agency in the Empire. "Traditional children's massages", "Bulrathi dancers performing spring arrival rituals", "Meditation and self-knowledge sessions".

Jienakh offered any form of sex, any drugs, and any neural stimulation. Everything even the Family rejected was the norm on this planet. Even porno films and erotic magazines were shot live here, instead of the computer simulations permitted by the Ministry of Culture. Many were attracted to that, even though machines produced far more beautifully staged and "filmed" sights. Organized tourists were perfectly safe on Jienakh. They were under the protection of the most influential clans. Loners had more problems.

Dutch decided not to get a cab; the day was only starting to wear down, the heat was falling away, and it was still hours until dark. They reached the city from the spaceport via monorail, and then started walking from the station down a narrow strip of sidewalk. They presented a not very well dressed but clearly dangerous pair: there was a Hornet openly strapped to Kay's belt and the badge of a personal bodyguard gleamed on his chest. Tommy's calm gaze was more unnerving to the passersby than his equally openly showing Bumblebee.

A group of street kids walking towards them got a little quieter and picked up their pace. A girl with the armband of a lifetime contractor lowered her gaze. Her owner's clan wasn't powerful enough to protect all of its slaves, especially those who were no longer as young and attractive.

"What a mess," Dutch said quietly, passing by yet another advertisement. The holographic panel was inviting people to visit a club of "sadomasochism for all ages". Such clubs were present throughout the Empire, but those masochists went there of their own free will. Here, they typically turned out to be lifetime contractors, frequently underage ones.

"Uh-huh," Tommy agreed almost indifferently. His sixteen years of age were already a short enough lifetime, but he could only recall the last five years. Four of them had been spent with Kay on Jienakh.

Dutch glanced at the kid but said nothing. He'd known what he was doing, bringing a boy to an anarchy planet. Either his psyche would harden, becoming impregnable to any sort of trash, or Tommy would turn into a cynical bastard.

Kay still couldn't figure out which had taken place, or if there was a third option: cold indifference.

"I'll run inside for some beer," Tommy nodded towards the open doors of a shop. Kay threw a glance at the sign and saw that the shop was under the protection of the Krim Clan. A fairly reliable establishment. He would have even risked letting Tommy in there at the very beginning, when he'd been only twelve.

"Get me a few bottles of dark," Kay told him, stopping. He didn't want any sugary refreshments, which would be followed by another heat wave.

Tommy ran towards the door, a slim dark-haired young man, whose face still had that childlike softness, wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt with the words "Death is the big game!", which helped him blend in with the Jienakh youth. Kay's eyes, as he watched him go, held no love, only habitual caring.

After all, one had to be responsible for those one tamed, although God, that very same God, knew that he had no intention of taming his young murderer.

Dutch was standing on the sidewalk, staring into the darkening sky. Rain was coming, a brief but pleasant one. An edge of his consciousness was registering every passerby, who happened to be too close, the motionless reflections in the windows, and the spinning of the weapons detector at the intersection.

A professional of his line of work and class always had to stay on guard.