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.
The position of the servants in Kni'lina society has been studied in detail shortly after the war, and there is no reason to believe that anything has changed significantly since that time. Clan servants form the primary mass of planetary inhabitants and are subdivided into several social layers: workers, soldiers, actual servants, technical personnel, medical workers, etc. They have no families in the human sense of the word, which does not, however, preclude such concepts as motherhood, fatherhood, and kinship, which are present among at least a part of the population. For example, the Ni Clan has prides, or groups of men and women in a relationship that used to be called a group marriage. These prides are very stable, and its members are united not only by sex, but also by common professions or by service to the same honorable person.
Daxiumi, I. Dvorkin
Kni'lina: History, Customs, Beliefs.
Chapter 9
The Cryogenic Brain
"If he gets to an important node of the life support system, we will be in trouble," Second Pilot said.
"Indeed," Third Evening nodded in agreement.
As Trevelyan had assumed, their names were now different; First Depth, the senior of the Ni group, declared that Course was no longer a part of their community. His mind had clearly been damaged by the mental emitter; he was roaming the technical tier, occasionally going into a frenzy and trying to crush some important machine—a water recycling unit, a waster disposer, or one of the generator substations. Fortunately, all these devices had protective housing made of plastic-ceramic materials, which could only be cut open with a powerful laser beam. The AI controlling the SRS had shut the irises of the gravity lifts, isolating Course on the lower tier, and locked down the airlocks, preventing him from leaving the station and going down to Saikat. But the Brain couldn't lock him in one of the compartments, as the hatches between them had both automatic and manual controls. Despite Course's strength, he couldn't do any series damage, but the thought that an abomination from Tow was roaming among the vitally important machines and equipment unnerved the Kni'lina.
"Should we try to catch him?" Second Pilot suggested, his forehead creased with wrinkled.
"This idea is an evening one, like my name," the botanist replied. It was probably an attempt at dark humor. "Course snapped the servant's spine. The two of us won't be able to handle him on our own, and the repair bots and the cybercleaners are useless. He'll simply trample over them."
"He will," Pilot agreed, shifting on his pillow.
They were afraid. Perhaps their fears were an echo of another, far more serious and alarming situation: the dispatches had never arrived to either Earth or Yezdan. A day had passed since they were sent, and Naya Acra wasted a sizable amount of power by sending them two more times, aiming the antenna at Khaira, Tizana, and the closest human colonies, but the expedition received no reply and no confirmation. This fact seemed striking and inexplicable; the Brain's calculations were beyond reproach, and as for the technical side of the issue, communication through Limbo, despite the great distances, was as reliable as a ship's contour drive. Despite this, their attempts had been met with failure, which produced an oppressive feeling: here, at the edge of the inhabited galaxy, in the abyss of the Great Emptiness, they felt themselves cut off from their home planets, left to fend for themselves. To make matters worse, a crazed killer cyborg was roaming somewhere under their feet.
On Earth and its colonies, cyborgs only existed in ancient science fiction novels. Joining a human's colloid brain with some machine was seen as something unnatural, unethical, plus there was no need for such things. Humans had banks of cloned organs and even entire bodies, which could be used to transplant a brain from its former abode; as for animating creations of plastic, metal, or biomaterials, there were AIs for that. The only exception to this rule was the posthumous recording of a personality onto a memory crystal, an honor given to Olaf Peter Carlos Trevelyan-Krasnogortsev, commodore and marine, who had flown on the cruiser Pallas. But he wasn't a cyborg, more like a part of his descendant's individuality, which could be connected to the mind for educational conversation or recreation. Currently, while listening to the lamentations of the Kni'lina, the Commodore was indignant and kept trying to figure out how to blow the brains out of a cyborg.
"Maybe you will come with us?" Second Pilot said, turning to Trevelyan. "Iutin said that you managed to subdue him on Saikat, in the cave of the savages."
"Iutin exaggerated a little," Ivar replied. "But if you decide to do it, I'm ready. I won't let you go by yourselves."
And you'll be a fool, the Commodore commented. Course will crush you all: you, that bull of a botanist, and the thin Pilot. Let me do it! I'll show that Course how it's done!
You're my secret weapon in case of emergency, and that emergency hasn't happened yet, Trevelyan reigned him in. I'm prepared to listen to your advice. Advice, Grandpa, nothing more.
Since you won't let me do it, here's my advice: sit quietly and wait for a ship. One will come eventually; if not following your call, then with the human part of the expedition. You don't have the guts to catch a cyborg.
"Are you thinking about how to catch him?" Pilot interrupted his mental dialog.
"Not catch, destroy," Trevelyan pointed out. "Killing is far easier than catching. What weapons do we have, by the way? Any freezers, needlers, laser whips?"
"No. Nothing suitable for the situation. A few low-power paralyzers," Second Pilot started to list, "knockout capsule throwers, sleeping gas grenades, and prehistoric spears of the Terre and the Tazinto from Iutin's collection. Also eight strong servants, not particularly brave ones, but obedient…" He grinned suddenly, "Also your knife, nyuri Trevelyan, your bloodied knife! It's probably the best weapon aboard the station."
"I have no intention of dueling with Course," Ivar said dryly.
"Perhaps we may find something in Jeb Ro and Blade's personal quarters," Third Evening noted.
"Or Zend Una's," Trevelyan added, piercing his colleagues' faces with a stern gaze.
Pilot touched his nose. This Kni'lina gesture indicated extreme amazement.
"The palustar! How could I forget about the palustar! True, it only works at a short range, but it's very effective. First we'll knock Course out, and then—"
"Then we'll cut his head off with my knife," Trevelyan said, rising from his pillow. He paced, stretching his numb legs, and added, "I also have an axe. We can easily cave in his skull."
Now that's the talk of a man! the Advisor complimented him. But you still need to reach the skull.
Third Evening gaped in confusion.
"Is that a joke, nyuri Trevelyan?"
"No. Harsh reality," Ivar assured him, rounding the fountain with the Terre statues.
Their meeting was being conducted at the Kni'lina relaxation place. For reasons unclear to Trevelyan, Iutin and the women were not taking part in it. Maybe Pilot and Evening were annoyed at Naya Acra and First Depth's dictatorship and didn't feel that the Zinto geneticist was worthy enough to participate in the discussion. At the very least, he wasn't being mentioned in their plans to go after Course.
"The simplest thing would be to expose the entire lower tier to vacuum," Second Pilot said thoughtfully. "But this isn't technically possible. I checked with the Brain."
"Naturally," Trevelyan nodded. "The station isn't designed for combat or hunting cyborgs."
"Cyborgs?"
"Yes. We call the thing that Course has become with that term."
"Are there such abominations on Earth too?"
"Earth has everything, and what it doesn't, we don't need. Our case is the latter."
Trevelyan lowered himself onto the pillow, and all three of them fell silent. Five minutes later, Second Pilot glanced at Ivar and grunted, "I'm not asking, nyuri, if you have something that could be helpful in this task. But if you do, now is the time to tell us."
"An enhancer," Trevelyan said. "I have a physical activity enhancer, but even in it I won't be able to subdue Course. I've already tried."
"And your combat moves?"
After digging through his memory, Ivar fished out a piece of ancient wisdom, "It's hammer time." This came out fairly categorical even in the Ni dialect.
They fell silent once more, until Third Evening said, "It's too risky to go after him without the palustar."
"By Yezdan, you're right!" Pilot agreed. "I'll look for it in Zend Una's office and quarters."
"It's not in the lab," Trevelyan said. "Either someone got to it before we did, or it's hidden so well I haven't been able to find it."
"Those Poharas…" Pilot shook his head. "They dodge, scheme, hide the forbidden, threaten, and in the end someone gets a knife in his throat, and it was done so precisely as if it's the work of the Valls… I'll still take a look. Zend Una could have kept the palustar in his quarters."
"Who are the Valls?" Trevelyan asked.
Pilot's gray eyes darkened, the wrinkles around his mouth deepened.
"Masters of throwing blades and cutting throats. Assassins. But I don't think there are many of them left. I doubt they even exist anymore."
Third Evening glanced at him gloomily.
"You think so? Well, as Yezdan said, the duty of the old is to lie to the young…" He looked away and said, "If you find the weapon of the Eye of the Horada, we can go to the lower tier tonight."
"Should we inform Naya Acra and First Depth?"
"No, nyuri Trevelyan. There's no need. We," Pilot glanced at the botanist, "meaning Third Evening and I, don't consider them our leaders. Naya Acra is a Poharas, and her rank is low, while Depth…" The wrinkles on Pilot's forehead became like an accordion. "Evening has certain suspicions regarding Depth. But it's too soon to share them."
Well now! Trevelyan thought, while aloud he asked, "Shall we bring Iutin with us?"
"There's no need for that either."
"Why not?"
"It's not a good idea to get a Zinto involved in our business."
After a pause, Ivar spoke with an indifferent tone, "I know as much about the Zinto as I do about the Valls."
Second Pilot and Third Evening exchanged glances. Then the botanist looked down and said, "We don't like talking about it, nyuri Trevelyan, especially with aliens. You see, a Kni'lina is a Poharas, a Ni, or a member of a minor clan allied with one of the large ones. As for this alliance, it's not like the ones you're used to on Earth, it's dictated by physiology rather than politics, religion, or economic interests. Procreation is only possible—"
"None of that is a secret to me," Ivar said. "I'm asking about the Zinto."
"Zinto are those without a clan."
"Criminals? Antisocial individuals, exiled from society?"
"No, they're people, just people — the ones that lived on Yezdan before the Second Moon. Ta'zinto… It means 'ancient people' in our most ancient language. It's also what we have called one of the races living on Saikat."
Of course, Trevelyan thought, of course: the Tazinto! But what did that have to do with Iutin? Sure, his eyes were dark, he was stocky, and his face was a little broad, but he wasn't a caveman! He was a geneticist from Khaira, a first-rate scientist, recruited by Jeb Ro into a prestigious expedition! But he had to end this line of inquiry, as the subject seemed to be unpleasant to both Kni'lina, and it wasn't in Ivar's nature to squeeze information by force.
He rose again.
"Good luck in your search, nyuri Second Pilot. Contact me when I'm needed. I'll be in my quarters."
While leaving the relaxation place, Trevelyan hard Evening say quietly, "No communications. Maybe Course damaged the antenna or the aiming mechanism."
"The Brain would have known about it. It didn't report any such malfunction."
"There could be different malfunctions, Pilot, and any small thing has an effect at such great distances. For example…"
Trevelyan couldn't make out the rest. On his way out of the park, he was thinking that Pilot wouldn't find Zend Una's weapon. He could guess who had taken the palustar and, very likely, the hypnoglyph as well. To solve this problem he'd had to start with Kni'lina customs, which determined their behavior in all situations, even the most critical ones. For example, for official events they dressed in luxurious clothing, they prayed to Yezdan almost in nude, wore loose robes and cloaks at home, and their work clothing was a saigor jumpsuit or, in extreme cases, a saiteni. When awakened by the Brain, they had congregated at the linguist's body in saitenis — all except Iutin. Actually, the third geneticist, the contemptible Zinto, flaunted many traditions and could even approach a human and bring him to his quarters. At that moment it meant that Iutin hadn't wasted time getting dressed and arrived to the scene first, the early bird. And as the saying went about early birds…
"Will the nyuri hear me?" came from behind Trevelyan. "Will he see his servant?"
He turned around.
Shiar was standing at the entrance to the control center, across from the arch leading to the park. All the Ni Clan's servants seemed to look the same to Trevelyan, and he had trouble telling them apart; all were pale, gray-eyed, thin-lipped, and of a similar build. Their age was about the same too, but Shiar looked to be clearly older than the others: fewer wrinkles than Second Pilot, but his skin wasn't as smooth as it had once been. For that reason, or maybe for some other, he seemed to be in charge of the servants.
"I hear and see you, Shiar," Trevelyan said. "What do you want?"
"I am addressing the nyuri with a request for protection. Funeral urns are filling up quickly, and there has been no reply to our call for help. This is frightening."
"The head of your clan, First Depth, is here. Have you spoken with her about your fears?"
"May Yezdan save us from her! The nyuri knows that she is merciless and deceitful."
"Then Second Pilot and Third Evening…"
"They cannot handle her. Either her or the one roaming below." Shiar stared directly at the floor. "The two of them will drown us in blood. And my tensu and gairim are too young to die."
"Tensu? Gairim?" Trevelyan had never heard of these words before and assumed that the servants' jargon had its own intricacies.
"Tensu are those with whom I share a father, and gairim are those given birth by my mother," Shiar explained. "Ori and Zotahi were my gairim."
They were all relatives, brothers, Trevelyan realized suddenly. A group of people joined by blood ties and because of that cohesive and conflict-free, which was crucial on remote expeditions. They were clearly responsible for one another to their liege, and there was no doubt that First Blade had been that person. A baron and a family of vassals, which was how this appeared to be in terms familiar to Trevelyan.
"You served First Blade?" he asked just to confirm.
"The human nyuri is correct. We were trained to accompany the honorable one on his journeys, and we've been to many places with him, until we ended up here. Now our nyuri is dead, and the Poharas nyuri are also ashes in an urn. There is no one to protect us except for the human nyuri."
"You're men, and there are eight of you. What protection do you need? Do you fear Depth? Make her disappear. Grab and hide her in your section or on the human half. I give you my permission!"
The idea seemed to be unexpected to Shiar. He spent a minute thinking it over, then, crouching respectfully and stretching out his hands towards Trevelyan, said, "None of us will raise a hand on a nyuri, no matter who he or she is. Only an honorable one can judge another honorable one, imprison them, or turn them into dead ashes. We… We obey our nyuri, we carry out their will, but sometimes their orders are so absurd and frightening… Now that First Blade is gone, for some of us they will be deadly, but we have no right to object."
Unbreakable loyalty! Like sheep, the Commodore noted, but Trevelyan ignored the comment, having realized suddenly what he was being asked to do.
"You need protection from foolish or cruel orders," he said in affirmation. "Which of them is next? What do you expect, what do you fear, Shiar?"
"Paiol, my tensu, a home appliance technician…"
"Yes?"
"He occasionally gets summoned to nyuri quarters. Some want him to move projectors, others think that the gravity of their bed changes too abruptly or a dispenser takes too long to produce beverages… This morning Paiol was in nyuri Second Pilot's quarters and heard him speak with nyuri Third Evening. They want to go down to catch the monster… the monster from Tow, who killed Zotahi… and they plan to bring servants with them…"
Shiar fell silent. In the light streaming from the park, his features seemed sharper, clearer, his thin lips were pressed firmly together.
"I see," Trevelyan said. "You're afraid that your tensu and gairim won't come back from this hunt. That is very likely." He placed a hand on Shiar's shoulder and peered into his gray pupils. "I promise that none of you will be put in any danger. I will go with Second Pilot and Third Evening myself. That's the deal."
Shiar's lips quivered.
"If the human nyuri goes, then I'm prepared to go with him. And not just me."
"Who else?"
"Gibbekh," Shiar said after a brief pause. "He services the docking ports and knows the lower tier well. He has a keen eye and quick legs."
"Deal." Trevelyan made a farewell gesture, stepped under the arch, but then turned back around, "This Paiol, home appliance technician… Has he been to all the nyuri quarters? Jeb Ro's, First Blade's, Zend Una's, Second Depth's?"
"He has."
"Have him stop by my quarters tonight. I want to talk to him."
"The honorable one's command will be carried out."
Ivar exited into the park. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he ought to go to Iutin's quarters, grab the geneticist, and beat the palustar out of him. Then he decided that it would be better to wait for the results of Pilot's search and headed for the human section. Reaching his quarters, he spent some time in reflection, pacing through the spacious room, then adjusted his headband and summoned the ghostly Advisor.
Grandpa, I need your help. He said that mentally, so that no one would be able to listen in.
Riiight! the Commodore drawled with a slight sneer. So you need my help after all! Have you decided to send this old man to chase down Course?
No, we have another task. I'm going to enter into a mental link with the Brain and talk to it, while you check the lines of communication, including the emergency channel. According to that thinking tin can, it's an audio-only channel, but who knows? Such a high-level intelligence isn't capable of murder, but under certain circumstances can bend the truth.
The Advisor's soundless laughter was like a distant thunderclap.
So you'll be keeping it busy, and I'll be doing all the work! But it'll figure out that there's two of us.
Let it. I'm sure we can make a deal. A secret in exchange for another secret.
Ivar sat on the couch, put on the contact helmet, plugged it into the connector, and closed his eyes, finding himself among virtual skyscrapers, spheres, toroids, and pyramids. Imperceptible and invisible, he was floating between the cube with navigation programs and the ellipsoid of the life support system. The ports/mouths leading into these structures were open, and there were glowing twisters and flashing lightning in the navigation cube. It seemed that Naya Acra was making another attempt at long-range communication, Trevelyan decided, watching these bright flashes.
His invisibility was imaginary in this computer realm, as the Brain had already sensed his presence.
We are in direct contact, nyuri Trevelyan. How may I be of assistance?
Remove your toys and show me the plan of the station with the switching network. All the channels, visual, audio, thermal sensors — everything you got.
The geometric shapes of the programs and arrays melted away to be replaced by an enormous disk hanging in the light-filled emptiness. Along its bulkheads, decks, and elevator shafts snaked, intersected, and wove into spirals the colorful strands of communication channels, most of which were yellow, which indicated that they transmitted sounds and images. The emergency communication line was marked green, as the Kni'lina symbology did not match that of the humans: green, the second moon color, was the color of alarm, not red. That was understandable, since the age of the Second Moon had been a time of disasters and sorrow for Yezdan.
You can get started, Advisor, Trevelyan commanded.
So there are two of you, the Brain reacted instantly. You claimed that you were suffering from a case of split personality, nyuri.
I was kidding. The second mind is my mental assistant, who lives in a memory crystal. A man of great intelligence!
The cryogenic Brain spent a fraction of a second digesting this information. Then it noted, In accordance with the station's rules, the coordinator needs to be informed of this fact.
Who exactly? Trevelyan inquired. Do you recognize Naya Acra as the coordinator?
No. Her status is too low.
First Depth then?
That is also impossible. For the same reason.
What about me?
There was another tiny delay, followed by, This thinking device admits that you, as an independent human observer, currently possess the highest rank. But it is not high enough to consider you a coordinator.
Whatever, I'm no careerist, Trevelyan replied. Now listen up, smartass: I want to examine a number of compartments with your assistance. First, the quarters of Jeb Ro, Blade, and Zend Una; second, their labs; third… Well, we'll have to see.
Such an examination requires the permission of the coordinator.
But we've already determined that we don't have one, and I, as the representative of the Foundation, have the highest status. What's the problem?
Someday a ship will come with a new coordinator, the AI declared stubbornly.
Someday doesn't work for us, including me, the Kni'lina, and their servants. There's a killer cyborg roaming the station, and one of the compartments holds a deadly weapon, the palustar of the Eye of the Horada, a hypnoglyph, and maybe something else too. We're risking our lives, and you must protect us.
Once, during one of his many retraining cycles, Trevelyan attended a seminar of Dr. Wei Mingzhi with a very elusive subject: "How to Negotiate with an Artificial Intelligence". In other words, how to trick, obfuscate, push it around, and get his way. A standard trick came down to putting a dilemma before the Brain and push it towards the necessary choice. An artificial mind, in many ways similar to a person, was guided by a system of priorities, with the topmost being the benefit of the race that had created it rather than its own self-preservation. Protecting the lives that race's members was a very powerful impetus, so Trevelyan knew which buttons to push.
Five have already died, four of them aboard the station, he reminded it. On your watch, you brainless cretin! You did nothing to save them! You're losing important data and can't see what you're supposed to! You can't even establish communications! May your robots rust, your sensors break down, and your cameras crack!
But nyuri Trevelyan, the cameras aren't present everywhere, and their line of sight is limited. As for communications—
Silence! Tell me again who programmed you.
As was stated earlier, nyuri Caytam of the Horada's science department…
He could sense sorrow, regret, and guilt in the Brain's mental whisper. It seemed that it was extremely demoralized.
That Caytam is an evening person, Trevelyan noted. I think he's going to get twenty years of hard labor in Kagira Zenta's asteroid belt. And you're going to rot there too, tin can! For refusing to cooperate in looking for the objects threatening people's lives. What am I really asking of you? I don't need you to activate the emitters and wipe out Saikat's savages… I'm not even asking you what the Zinto are… I only want to inspect certain compartments, and you have to tell me where their owners might hide an item the size of an apple and a small cylinder. If you don't help me—
Don't worry, it will, the Commodore butted in. I've done what you asked, lad, and checked that bloody channel's cross-section… He paused, then barked, You cryogenic spawn! Do you hear me? What kind of emergency communication line is this? For audio signals, you say? It's throughput is a tad high for that… about three orders of magnitude higher than a vocoder cable's!
"Well!" Trevelyan said aloud and removed the helmet. "Three orders of magnitude higher, Grandpa? That's impressive! So it seems, pal, that you weren't just listening in, you were peeking too! Would you mind sharing the results?"
Deathly silence fell. By human reckoning it didn't last long, but entire hours had passed for an AI. It was probably looking for a sensible solution, weighting its priorities: Trevelyan's rank as a Foundation envoy, the threat to the expedition, and the status of the secret instructions given to it by Caytam. There was no doubt that such instructions existed; this Caytam, unknown to Ivar, had entered them either of his own initiative or on the orders of the Horada.
Finally he heard a rustling, then came the Brain's voice — quiet and seemingly guilty, not loud and reverberating, "Nyuri Trevelyan—"
"You want to make a sincere confession? I'm listening, liar!"
"This sentient device is incapable of lying. It merely obeys orders in accordance with their importance."
"What else?"
"The Saikat expedition is an extremely important project. A first attempt at progressing wild beings and to resolve the conflict between the Terre and the Tazinto using humane means. The success or failure will affect the opinion of the civilized races of the humans and the Kni'lina. Perhaps the humans will win something and the Kni'lina will lose, or vice versa. This will upset the balance between the two races, which is undesirable."
"I've heard this song before," Trevelyan said.
"Then you must understand that there has to be oversight over the actions of the expedition. Zend Una, a representative of the Horada, was conducting the lowest level of oversight, while the highest has been assigned to this device. The oversight is purely passive, only recording and storing of all the accessible information. A channel exists to that end, which you know as the emergency communication line, as well as other means. In particular, duplication of data being erased from memory."
"Then you must have preserved Depth's report…" Ivar said thoughtfully. "And the panoramic recording that disappeared from Blade's possession as well?"
"Yes, nyuri Trevelyan. There is a special storage for such materials. A secret information unit."
"Will you let me in there? Keep in mind, if I put on the helmet, then I won't need your help. I'll get there myself."
"I understand. In this situation, I must obey. Although the unit is inaccessible even to a coordinator."
"Really? Aren't you accountable to the expedition's leadership?"
"This is an important mission, and the rank of its coordinators is high, but there are higher authorities: the Ni council, the Poharas Areopagus, and the Horada. As well as their human analogs: your Foundation and the authorities of the Earth Federation. It is assumed that nyuri Caytam will reveal the unit and give all the information to the higher authorities. In the event of a crisis or any other unforeseen circumstances, of course."
"I think they're here," Trevelyan grumbled. "That cunning Caytam isn't here, but I am, so you're going to have to deal with me." He stretched out his legs and leaned back onto the back of the couch. "First things first, who deleted the panoramic recording? First Blade himself?"
"Yes."
"The simplest explanations are usually the right ones!" Ivar nodded with a pleased look. "Well then, what can you tell me about the hypnoglyph? Who slipped it to Blade? Course? Depth? Or one of the Poharas?"
"That information is not available. The event took place outside the zone of observation. Just like the throwing of your weapon."
"But you saw Zend Una's body! Even if there's no proof that Depth threw the knife, someone was there first, who grabbed the hypnoglyph and the emitter! Who?"
"Nyuri Iutin," the cryogenic mind informed him obediently. "Do you wish to contact him?"
"Later. Right now, I want to take a look at the panoramic recording. You've analyzed it, didn't you? Is there a Kni'lina there disguised as a Tazinto? The one who was tracking Jeb Ro?"
"Yes, nyuri Trevelyan."
"Course! It was Course after all!" Getting up, Ivar started to circle the room in excitement. "But why? What were his reasons and motives? Even if he is a cyborg, his brain is organic! What was his beef with the Coordinator?"
"This device does not understand the reasons for people's extreme behavior," the AI informed him. "Shall I play the recording?"
"Do it."
Trevelyan returned to the couch and was preparing to enjoy the fruits of his victory, when a voice came from the door, "Requesting permission to enter."
Paiol, he thought. The domestic appliance technician, who knew all the quarters of the honorable ones like the back of his hand. Bad timing, plus he was no longer needed as urgently, given that the hypnoglyph and the palustar had been located, but keeping him on the other side of the door would be awkward. Should he send him away? Or question him anyway?
Shifting the headband to the back of his head, Ivar went to the door and made a gesture that gave it permission to open. But it wasn't the servant Paiol standing on the other side, it was the green-eyed beauty Ifta Kee. Stepping over the threshold, she fell onto Trevelyan's chest and whispered, "Save me, save me! They're going to kill me… if not one, then the other… both hate me… I don't want to die! I… I…"
She burst into tears.
You've got a busy day, the Commodore noted. Everyone wants your help: Shiar, Pilot and Evening, and now this lady. I guess you'll have to comfort her.
I guess so, Trevelyan agreed and wanted to start by stroking the beauty's curls. But she had no curls, no locks, not even a thin strand of hair.