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.
On occasion, the general public doesn't make a substantial distinction between the Bino Faata and the Kni'lina, two of the highly advanced humanoid races encountered by humanity. This phenomenon is likely connected to the fact that we have fought both of these races, defeated them in bloody wars, and still retain prejudices against them. But I would like to point out that the results of these wars and our victories are not the same: the Bino Faata disappeared in the Perseus Arm beyond the Void, and we have not heard from them for centuries, while the Kni'lina continue to maintain an ambassadorial mission on Luna and do not refuse interactions with the Earth Federation. In addition, there are circumstances of a more physiological nature. It has been known for nearly a thousand years that the sexual compatibility of humans with the Faata and the Kni'lina has different consequences: we can produce viable offspring with the former, but not with the latter.
Cesare Biano
Five Days in the Kni'lina Embassy Dome
Chapter 10
The Hunt
The ringed gallery on the lower tier seemed to be endless. It was an entire technical complex subdivided into units: some were meant for docking starships; others, which also exited out into space, held transport pods, the Kni'lina analog to the human "ducks"; and yet others held massive gurgling gravitators, which adjusted the station's movements over Saikat, while the units adjoining them contained power substations, connected to the Limbo generator by the thin slits of power conduits. The generator itself was located in the center of the tier and, surrounded by walls of ceramic armor, was tightly sealed and inaccessible. Between it and the outer circular gallery, there were at least a hundred compartments of various purposes: food warehouses, storage for equipment and backup gear, liquefied gases that were added to the breathing mix, hangars for cybers, and life support units. Some of these compartments could be entered quite easily, while others, like the tanks with liquid nitrogen and oxygen or the water cisterns, were never meant to be visited, as they were simply large containers built into the station and connected by pipes to the necessary machinery. But there was plenty of room besides them: passages, compartments, bulky structures, alcoves, technical tubes, dark corners, and Course could be hiding in any of these.
"Station!" Second Pilot, who was walking in front, said. "You still can't find him?"
"No, nyuri," the AI replied. "The target is currently outside the visual pickup."
"Cheapskates," Third Evening grunted. "Not enough cameras, not enough sensors! If all these spaces were being monitored, we wouldn't have to roam through this chaos."
"You're wrong," Trevelyan countered. "There's more than enough cameras. Even on warships not every compartment is under observation. There are areas where monitoring is forbidden."
"Such as?"
"Such as bathrooms, showers, and the head."
"The head? What's that?"
"A facility for relieving oneself of biological waste."
The botanist was silent for a minute, thinking about what he'd heard; like most people of his size, he was unhurried. Then he agreed with Trevelyan, "Yes, being on camera in such a place would be unpleasant. Yezdan sees that people sometimes need seclusion. As for the other spaces—"
"Quiet!" Pilot cut him off. "I think I heard a rustle… Station, what's there?"
"Water is being circulated, nyuri Second Pilot, pumps are working." There was a pause, then the Brain suggested, "Perhaps the target is in the food warehouse. While information about such creatures is absent from my memory, it is a living being, and everything living requires sustenance."
"He needs fluids more than he does food," Pilot grumbled, furrowing his brow and examining the low bulk of the gravitators. They were in the propulsion compartment, which was filled with silence; having adjusted the station's position, the Brain had disengaged the gravity drive.
"There are drinks at the warehouse too," Third Evening noted. "Juices and Tintakh wine… he was drinking a lot of wine, remember?"
"Naturally. We'll examine the warehouse. Gibbekh, how do we get there?"
"If it pleases the nyuri, past the next compartment with a substation is the third dock," the servant informed him, crouching respectfully. "From there one can get to the air regenerator… where Zotahi was killed…" Gibbekh's voice faltered.
"Go on, you fool!" Pilot hurried him along.
"Past the regenerator unit is a hallway that leads to the warehouse. The honorable ones can get there quickly. But…" Gibbekh hesitated, "the warehouse is very large. Containers with sublimated food, tanks with beverages, refrigeration chambers, pipelines to the dispensers on the upper tier… It's easy to get lost there."
"Still, we're going to inspect it," Pilot said, heading towards the substation compartment.
The search party followed. The botanist Evening was walking five paces behind Second Pilot, then Trevelyan, and Shiar and Gibbekh in the rearguard. Pilot, with the palustar taken from Iutin, was their primary strike force, the botanist had armed himself with a sleeping capsule launcher, Trevelyan was holding his camping axe, and the servants had coils of thin but strong rope. All that looked impressive, especially the throwers that looked like an ancient sniper rifle, but, in Ivar's opinion, did not guarantee success. The mental emitter was effective at about fifteen meters, the sleeping potion might not affect a cyborg, and Trevelyan's wasn't holding out hope on being able to hit him with the axe, remembering the speed with which Course had been moving. But the important part was that it wasn't a simple task locating him in the maze of the lower tier, even with the Brain's assistance. The hunters were hesitant to split up; even the five of them and taking into account the palustar and the skin worn by Ivar, their chances weren't particularly high in case of a direct confrontation.
The mental emitter Trevelyan had taken the previous night after paying Iutin a visit. The weapon had been surrendered without complaint or excuses; the geneticist merely noted he had kept it safe from the priestess's bony hands or, even worse, those of First Depth. The hypnoglyph he had destroyed and presented a pile of dark glassy shards and fine dust as proof. Trevelyan could relax about this at least, although he wasn't particularly pleased with the previous night, as he hadn't been able to get much done, suddenly finding himself in a time crunch. He hadn't been able to view the panoramic recording exposing Jeb Ro's killer or even properly question Ifta Kee — she was sobbing and well on her way to full-blown hysteria, even though such behavior was uncharacteristic for a Kni'lina. He ended up having to take her to his bedroom, lay her down, and turn on the Sleep Giver, a Kni'lina device Trevelyan had never had to use, as the concept of insomnia was unfamiliar to him. As soon as the beauty had fallen asleep, he was contacted by Pilot, who informed him that the palustar hadn't been found but that their nocturnal expedition was not being cancelled and that the servants would be taking part. He ended up having to convince him that the two servants who had volunteered would be more than enough, then went to Iutin to retrieve the weapon. At the exit into the hallway Trevelyan ran into Paiol, the home appliance technician, and sent him away, since there was no time to talk to him. After coming back from the geneticist's quarters, he put on the skin and removed the headband, ignoring the Commodore's vehement protests. The item wasn't particularly fragile, but it was worth keeping it safe, as anything could happen during a fight with Course. To keep the ghostly Advisor entertained, Ivar connected him to the cryogenic Brain, telling him to inspect the secret memory stores and also to keep an eye on their beautiful guest, just in case she talked in her sleep and might say something important.
Having completed these urgent tasks, he headed to elevator 17, which Pilot had set as the meeting location, and came down to the technical tier with the group. Without his commodore grandfather, whose mental presence he'd been able to sense almost constantly, he felt himself lonely and not quite complete, as if a part of his soul had been excised and placed it into a chest for storage.
Looking around, examining every dark corner, and trying to step silently, they passed the compartment with the power substation and made their way into the dock, where transport pods stood in front of enormous hatches and the clamps of a crane that looked like a multiarticular crab claw hung by the ceiling. Perhaps it was the same compartment where the Admiral Venturi had docked and where Iutin and the Ni servants had welcomed Trevelyan. Recalling the fair-haired valkyrie Christa Olsen, Ivar sighed quietly, then thought that one member of his welcoming party was already in a better world and sighed again. When accepting this assignment instead of a vacation on Gondwana, he couldn't have imagined the kind of trouble he was going to find himself in. Five people were dead, and he, a xenologist and a Foundation envoy, was tracking a killer in this maze, instead of conducting field research, observing the Terre and the Tazinto, and preparing a justifiable conclusion! Truthfully, he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be, but there was no other way. There were still no ships with superiors and investigators…
From the third dock, the squad moved to the repair compartment, where small six-legged robots were standing motionless along the walls, and a diagnostic unit was towering at the center. At the sight of all this cybernetics, Third Evening exclaimed, "Give me wisdom, Yezdan! There are hundreds of robots on the station! Why not send them to look for Course?"
"An idea worthy of a botanist," Pilot said. "These are cleaners, loaders, and fixers, they aren't designed to track and search and, from what I understand, can't be reprogrammed. Is that right, Shiar?"
"The nyuri is correct," the technician replied while crouching. "These are autonomous machines with a narrow specialization and strict programming. Remove trash, serve food, repair something… They are not capable of anything else."
"But under the Brain's direction they can—" Evening began.
"They can't," Trevelyan said from behind him. "A laser whip can be used to chop wood, but you can't boil water with it, you need a pot for that. It's the same with these cybers, nyuri. Most of them don't even have eyes, they navigate using the station's electromagnetic fields."
Third Evening seemed to be surprised.
"Are there enough of these fields for them to find their way?"
"Of course. They're generated by every power conduit and every cable, every sensor and piece of equipment, as well as our communication bracelets. Without them we don't exist to the cybers."
They rounded the housing of the air regenerator with its hatches sealed tightly. Trevelyan noted a lack of blood; either the robots had cleaned up the place or there hadn't been any open wounds on Zotahi's corpse. Probably the latter, as Course had broken his neck and caved in his skull. He heard a heavy sigh coming from Shiar from behind him.
A massive hatch was visible up ahead. At their approach, the Brain slid it aside, letting the squad into the hallway. Then came its loud voice, "Nyuri, you are moving to the food warehouse. There are no cameras inside. Only audio communication is possible."
"Understood," Pilot replied.
They entered the hallway, which was more like a technical tunnel, narrow and low, barely wide enough for two people. If Course sneaks up behind me, I'm done for, Trevelyan thought. By the time Pilot turns around, he'll kill the servants and probably me too… And if not, then my brains will be cooked by the emitter's pulse. Ivar had no doubt that Pilot would shoot no matter how many people were between him and Course, and here there were only two: Ivar and Evening. Actually, more like one and a quarter, since a hairy human wasn't worth any more than a quarter to a Kni'lina.
Fortunately, they passed through the tunnel quickly and without incident. The warehouse beyond it was indeed enormous, tubular structures were stretching from the floor to the ceiling ten meters high and were disappearing in the distance. On these firm racks hung layers upon layers of containers of various shapes and sizes, tons and tons of food, dried, compressed, and frozen, which could be stored here for millennia. Hundreds of varieties of mushrooms, nuts, fruits, vegetables, and berries, edible flowers, leaves, and grass, honey, seaweed, dairy, cereals, and grains — sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, and that which melted in one's mouth. This place had everything! Except for meat, of course.
Some of the containers, which were connected to the delivery pipelines, were rustling quietly and quivering, while others were motionless and silent. Narrow dark passage slits were gaping between the racks, dim light could be seen here and there, and all this made it clear that this was not a place for people. At the very least, no one expected this place to be inventoried over the next century or so.
"In case the nyuri wish to know, there is another space beyond this one, except it is empty," Gibbekh said timidly. "It is meant for human foodstuffs. In front of us is the zenagri'loca section."
Zenagri'loca were similar to beans, but larger and with a spicy taste, Trevelyan remembered. There were something like a hundred and six varieties. They were used to make locayat, a traditional Poharas dish, as was stated in Jacques Girodoux's monumental cookbook Kni'lina Cuisine.
Pilot's wrinkly face grew darker than a thundercloud. Looking around at the rows of racks and piles of containers, he scratched his temple with the tip of the palustar and said, "We'll be looking for him here until Second Moon falls on Yezdan. Or until the Tazinto exterminate the last of the Terre."
"We don't have a choice," the botanist noted. "According to the Brain, he is beyond the pickup of any camera, which means he's hiding in a place like this."
"Hiding is not the right word, nyuri," Trevelyan said. "If Course has already figured out that we're here, then he isn't hiding, he's tracking us."
Shiar and Gibbekh shuddered, Third Evening frowned, and Pilot grew even gloomier. Throwing a glance at Gibbekh, he asked, "How do we get to the section with beverages? Juices and Tintakh wine?"
"If the nyuri allow, through this passage." Gibbekh indicated one of the slits between the racks."
"Let's go!"
"Hold on." Trevelyan folded his hands on his chest, remaining where he was. "We're far from one another. If Course attacks me or the servants and you use the palustar, we'll be hit. A mental emitter is not a precision weapon. Back in the meeting room, , when Zend Una fired it, I nearly lost consciousness."
"I've set the emitter to low power," Second Pilot informed him. "We'll reduce the distance. Walk immediately behind me."
Third Evening's mighty shoulders twitched.
"It's improper. The cono—"
"Forget about the cono and propriety, botanist! We're all in mortal danger!"
"We have a saying suitable for the occasion," Trevelyan backed Pilot up. "Such is war."
They entered the dark passage. The servants, to whom personal space didn't matter particularly, were breathing into Ivar's back, but Third Evening, who had trouble overcoming his instincts, kept lagging behind Pilot. Getting angry, Trevelyan shoved him from behind, forgetting about the skin's amplification. The giant botanist flew five or six meters, struck a container, and turned around in horror.
"What?! Course…"
"It wasn't Course, it was me. Forgive me, nyuri, it was an accident." Ivar crouched and stretched out his arms. "My muscular amplifier activated."
Third Evening sighed with relief.
"Yezdan protect us! I thought that Course tossed me aside and was about to attack Pilot."
"I'm ready for that." Second Pilot was standing with the emitter, pointing it into the passage. Lowering the palustar, he noted, "It's a powerful device. Did you have it with you when were gathered around Zend Una's body and that bony Poharas priestess tried to play us off against one another?"
"I did."
Pilot and Evening exchanged glances, then looked at Trevelyan. He could read male solidarity in their eyes.
"I doubt we'd have been able to overcome this hairy one," Pilot said with a chuckle.
"Definitely not," the botanist confirmed. "Even though I can crush a tocar in my hand."
"Naya Acra had a paralyzer," Trevelyan reminded them.
"I'm sure you'd have been able to dodge it," Pilot said, still smiling. "It would have been a great disappointment to the priestess!"
"It's good we didn't fight. We've fought plenty in the past," Third Evening added. "Iutin helped us out, even if he is a Zinto. Although, when thinking about it, his story stinks of rotten mushrooms."
"You're right," Second Pilot agreed. "Naya Acra, that sack of rotten bones, thinks that we're children or fools. It's obvious that Course could have killed Zend Una with one hand, could have thrown any object and crushed his skull. Why would he need the human's blade? But Depth is a different matter, even though I have trouble believing that the Valls have survived. The Horada declared their clan extinct long ago."
Trevelyan froze, his mouth gaping in confusion.
"So you know what happened? You know that I spoke the truth? That Depth had been in my quarters, stole the knife, and—"
"We're of the opinion that your version is more logical," Pilot interrupted him. "Killing and then casting suspicion on you fits into the style of the Valls Clan. Especially since everyone knows that the Poharas priestess hates humans. That's why she went after you!"
"Everyone knows…" Ivar muttered. "Maybe you do, but I know nothing about it. No more than about the Zinto or the Valls."
"Naya Acra is frostbitten from Tago," the botanist explained.
"And what does that mean?"
"It's a long story, and there's no need to awaken it. Yezdan said, 'The beast is always with you.' If it is, then let is sleep… Let's keep going."
Moving in a tight group, they went deeper into the passage. Containers shaped like cylinders, cubes, and hexagonal prisms were looming over them, racks stretched up and to the sides, casting shadows near occasional lamps. Shiar and Gibbekh were staying close to Trevelyan, as if trusting in his protection, while the botanist had also managed to overcome his instincts and was walking almost next to Pilot. They had crossed nearly two hundred meters, when Pilot paused at one of the containers. A hole was gaping in it, with jagged plastic sticking out at the edges, while small objects that looked like gray sea pebbles were scattered on the floor.
"Coucro fruit," the botanist determined. "It's hard to believe, but he was eating them. Those are some jaws he's got!"
The sublimated food with its moisture completely removed was as hard as stone, but this hadn't seemed to have bothered Course. It seemed that he needed not only fluids but also other sources of energy, although Trevelyan couldn't imagine the kind of stomach capable of handling this overdried compost. He thought that Course possessed a more perfect metabolism than an ordinary person; clearly, the scientists on Tow had done good work on the cyborg's physiology.
"The container has been broken into with a fist," Second Pilot noted. "Very recently, as the opening hasn't had time to close yet."
"After eating, he'll want to drink," the botanist said.
"Then we're moving in the right direction. Follow me! We'll find and end him!"
"Hold on, nyuri," Trevelyan stopped them. "If you're as certain as I am that Course didn't kill Zend Una, then why not avoid bloodshed? Can we not talk to him?"
Pilot's forehead was creased with a vertical wrinkle.
"You yourself said that it is easier to destroy than to capture. Or am I not remembering correctly?"
"I thought that you considered him to be a killer and weren't going to change your minds."
"He is a killer. He killed Jeb Ro, First Blade, and the servants… what are their names?.. right, Ori and Zotahi."
"He did kill Zotahi, but Course could have been under stress after the mental emitter. As for Jeb Ro, First Blade, and Ori, the facts of the murder haven't yet been proven, and I would like to continue the investigation. Course will be useful as a witness. Let's have the station activate the public announcement system and inform him that we—"
Second Pilot motioned for Ivar to shut up.
"Listen, human, we don't need a witness, we need the murderer, and it would be best if Course were him. Better for us and for the ones who will arrive on a ship. Ships will arrive someday, delivering important individuals from our world and yours… We will show them the corpse of the abomination from Tow and the testimony from that Zinto, but slightly modified ones, and they will be satisfied. When a noble Poharas and an important Ni Clan member, a recipient of the Star of Erzgamma, are killed, the punishment must be quick and inescapable. It's more convenient to everyone if it has already been carried out, since no one likes complications."
"What about Zend Una's death? What about Depth?"
"That's none of our business. The Eyes of the Horada will deal with her."
Turning sharply, Second Pilot resumed walking along the passage. Third Evening followed him.
They didn't want to take out the trash, Ivar thought. It was easier for them to blame everything on Course; if not everything, then at least the important parts: the deaths of the Poharas coordinator and his deputy, the leader of the Ni group. No one was counting the dead servants, and the Horada's investigators would be dealing with Depth and would, of course, find her guilty; not thanks to Trevelyan's testimony, but because she was from the Valls Clan, which shouldn't be in existence anymore. He wondered if Depth was aware of that. Did she have an idea what was going to happen to her once the ship arrived?
She did, he realized with a start. Depth had to know! That was why the ship wouldn't come for a while, long enough for unwanted witnesses to relocate to the afterlife. She'd done something to long-range communications…
The passage ended. Before them lay a small square, from which new slits radiated, separating the warehouse into sections. There was a storage for juices, no liquid, of course, but in the form of a powdered extract, packed into large cylindrical tubes. Each container was marked with the name of a fruit or a cocktail: the Three Sisters, the Five Sisters, the Pale Moon, the Children of Astral, the Refreshing Khairian, and nearly a hundred others.
"Gibbekh, where is Tintakh wine located?" Pilot asked.
"The nyuri will find it in the central section."
The botanist sniffed the air.
"Right, in the central section! I can smell it!"
Trevelyan couldn't smell anything, but Kni'lina olfactory senses were sharper and more delicate than those of the humans. Indeed, after walking twenty paces along a new passage, they discovered a broken container, from which one could smell a spicy aroma, almost like that of cognac.
"He drank here," Second Pilot said.
"And not a small amount either, by Yezdan!" Third Evening added. "One, two, three empty vessels… and more empty spots in the container… he took two packages with him."
In the entire galaxy, the nonalcoholic Tintakh wine, as well as a special kind of honey, were produced only on Tintakh, a planet in the Lo'ona Aeo sector, which had been settled a millennium ago by immigrants from Earth, specifically from China, India, and South America. The Lo'ona Aeo had abandoned their planets long ago, moving from their surface to live in astroids, artificial space cities; in fact, they were no longer capable of surviving on the planetary surface, as their bodies were now used to the lower gravity of their orbital settlements. They recruited humans to protect them from Dromi raids, paying the merchants with the right to relocate to their empty but hospitable worlds: Danwait, Tintakh, and others. Naturally, neither the Lo'ona Aeo nor their Serv biorobots grew or collected the honey; this was being done by humans, who supplied the wine in its traditional packaging, bottles made of strong glass-like plastic. Three such bottles, emptied by Course, were now lying by the container.
Second Pilot stared into the depth of the passage.
"So he was here, and only recently… What's beyond this section, Gibbekh?"
"A wide sliding gate into the empty warehouse for human foodstuffs," the servant reported. "Fittings for building racks, which have not yet been assembled, are piled by the walls. Past them are life support units and a monolithic bulkhead, beyond which is the Limbo generator. Next to that are several grav-lifts. One of the lifts leads directly to the Central."
The wrinkles around Pilot's lips became sharper, he was grinning.
"You, Gibbekh, are an outer airlock technician, yet you seem to know the entire lower tier perfectly. Have you been coming here, to the warehouse? Been bringing Tintakh wine and narcotic herbs to the others?"
"The honorable one is mistaken. Airlocks are located along the circumference of the station's disk, and it is faster to go through the internal compartments and corridors to reach the ones on the opposite side than to walk along the ringed gallery. This servant of the honorable one makes his rounds three times a day, as ordered."
"Fine!" Pilot waved it off. "I don't mind if you grab something along the way. But have Shiar make sure you don't get into the Tintakh wine too much."
"Shiar has heard the nyuri," came from behind Trevelyan.
They came out to the gate in the far bulkhead, which was slid open to its full width of about seven meters. The squad changed its formation: Pilot with the emitter moved to the center, Trevelyan and Evening were flanking him, while both servants were behind them. Ivar couldn't accuse these two Kni'lina of cowardice; they were moving in front instead of sending the servants to the slaughter. He could clearly feel that his likes and dislikes had been determined; the deceased Jeb Ro, First Blade, and Zend Una caused him to feel no more warm feelings than the frostbitten witch Naya Acra or the murderer Depth, but he did like Pilot and Evening. Iutin, who had been trying to befriend him, was still unclear, and the beautiful Ifta Kee was terra incognita, unknown and incomprehensible territory. A Poharas aristocrat, who had come to a human asking for protection! Who had violated the cono and wept in his arms! There was something strange about that, something utterly uncharacteristic for the restrained Kni'lina. He glanced at the timer, noted that it was three twenty-seven at night, and imagined Ifta Kee sleeping in his bed. The view was pleasant but distracting.
It was pitch black beyond the gate. The darkness seemed to be as impermeable and thick as in the Void that separated two branches of the galaxy: the Orion Arm with the human sector and the Perseus Arm, where the territories of the Bino Faata, the ancient enemies of humankind, lay. Trevelyan had been to the Void many years ago, when as a young Foundation trainee he was sent to one of the worlds being progressed at the edge of this galactic abyss. He had no pleasant memories of that assignment and the planet known as Inferno.
"Station," Pilot called quietly, "we're in front of the empty food warehouse. Turn on the lights."
"I obey, nyuri."
Dim lighting came on beyond the gate. They stepped inside, and Trevelyan's gaze swept through the spacious oval chamber, where pipes and grav-suspension units were lying along the walls, hoses, segmented arms of the loaders, and power cables were coming down from the ceiling, and a dozen balls of light were floating in mid-air. Course was sitting under the central ball with his legs crossed and his hands on his lap, and there were two empty bottles lying in front of him. His face was as pale as chalk, his hairless scalp was glistening in the light, his gray eyes seemed to be frozen, as if he was examining something deep inside himself, in his own heart or memories, having forgotten about reality.
"There he is!" Second Pilot said, raising the emitter. "We found him, thank Yezdan! Well now—"
What happened was so quick that Trevelyan barely had time to take a breath. Upon seeing the palustar being aimed at him, Course suddenly awakened, or maybe he'd already been at full combat readiness, since his jump couldn't be repeated by any human acrobat. Pushing away from the floor and picking up both bottles, he soared three meters into the air, after which one of the plastic containers was flung at Pilot's head, while the other one flew at Trevelyan's forehead. Pilot hadn't had time to either scream or fire, dropping to the ground covered in blood. Ivar was saved by the skin that sped up his reaction time; he dodged, the bottle whistled past his shoulder, and he heard Gibbekh's groan behind him. Then the thrower in the botanist's hands started clicking, sleeping capsules rang out, hitting the walls, Shiar screamed in horror and ran to Gibbekh's side, but the cyborg was no longer taking part in these events. Trevelyan only managed to see a shadow darting to the opposite wall and melting away in the darkness like a demon returning to hell.
Tossing the useless axe aside, he bent over Pilot, took out the first aid kit and pressed the small device to his temple next to the wound. Alarming green lights lit up immediately, the injector buzzed, thin manipulators started moving, extracting plastic shards. Then there was a spray fountain, and the bleeding halted. But Pilot continued to lie with his eyes closed.
The botanist's enormous hand landed on Trevelyan's shoulder.
"How is he?"
"I'm afraid, he suffered a serious blow to his head. The bottle shattered, and if pieces of it made their way into his brain, it's not good. As you can see, he hasn't regained consciousness."
"I'm going to summon grav-platforms. We'll take him to the infirmary." Third Evening inhaled loudly. "Not a very glorious battle!"
"That's for sure," Ivar greed, turning to the servants. Gibbekh was sitting on the floor with a grimace of pain on his face. Shiar was pressing a first aid kit against his neck, and it was illuminated up by green lights. There were no traces of blood on the bottle lying nearby.
"Where was he hit, Shiar?"
"Left shoulder. His collarbone is broken. I am about to administer a painkiller. We are grateful to the nyuri for remembering his servant…"
The device on Second Pilot's temple continued showing green. Things weren't going well, Trevelyan thought; the cyborg had escaped, Gibbekh was wounded, and Pilot was probably dead. A complete failure! The last thing he needed now was new accusations of the bony priestess; she might say that the hairy one had pushed the two Ni cretins into this foolish hunt! On the other hand, he couldn't have changed Pilot and Evening's minds and couldn't have refused. Refusal would have been seen as cowardice and would have guaranteed the deaths of his colleagues. Analyzing the battle, or their rapid defeat, Trevelyan decided that if Course's mind had been damaged, it hadn't affected his tactical capabilities. Course had thrown his projectiles at the two most dangerous opponents: Pilot, who was threatening him with the emitter, and the human, whom he'd fought twice before. Could it have been accidental? Unlikely… But one thing was clear: had Trevelyan not been present among the hunters, the second vessel would have smashed Evening's head.
The botanist seemed to understand that; making a grateful gesture, he raised the palustar and handed it to Ivar.
"Here. We shouldn't have given it to Pilot; he may have experience but not youth, and his reaction isn't like it used to be. You, at least, would have had a chance."
"If he dies," Trevelyan glanced at Pilot's pale face, "I swear that Course will die by my hand. I'll find him and kill him!"
"The price of the morning house is high," Evening said, bending his legs.
"It is," Shiar echoed.
Two grav-platforms slid up. After loading the wounded onto them, the three others followed them to the nearest lift and hurried to the infirmary. It was a quarter to four when Second Pilot was placed in the cybersurgeon's sarcophagus and thin tentacles started working by cutting open his clothes. The second surgery unit got to working on Gibbekh after first sedating him. Trevelyan and Evening wordlessly sat down on pillows in the middle of the operating room, and the distance between them was a lot smaller than prescribed by cono. Shiar went to the dispenser, brought food, tocars with juice, then stood behind Trevelyan.
Now we're sitting like people, two actual humanoid brothers, sitting so close we could reach out to one another, Ivar thought. How much trouble did we have to go through together to reduce the distance between us? How many of each other's cities did we have to destroy, how many ships did we have to blow up, how many planets did we have to burn to cinders, and how many settlers to wipe out?.. Well, it's all in the past now. We're at peace. A bad peace, but still better than a good fight.
In point of fact, there were plenty of "humanoid brothers" throughout the galaxy, but the majority of them were under the purview of the FDAC, meaning they were non-technological races at the stage of complete or partial savagery. For example, on the planet Osier, the savagery was relative, the atrocities were moderate, as a strong central power ad been formed there long ago, and, in addition to humans, other progressors were also watching over them. But on Inferno the savagery was complete, and the Foundation had put in great effort in correcting the situation over the past sixty years. Such aid was a noble mission, a duty to their lesser brethren, who were rotting in ignorance and, for that reason, tended to kill men, rape women, and sell children into slavery. All that was an unavoidable part of the evolutionary process, the path from the cavemen, like the ones on Saikat, to the heights of culture, starships, robots, computers, and, more importantly, to the comprehension of one's true nature. But with those who had reached all that, with the older humanoid brethren, with the humans rightly including themselves among them, something had turned out to be wrong. Two of the galactic races, the Bino Faata and the Kni'lina, were so similar to the people of Earth, so perfect and beautiful in appearance, so wise! But they had ended up having to fight both of them, as if the similarities did not merely annoy them but were the cause for their hatred and furious aggression. The historians and psychologists of Earth hadn't yet managed to figure out this phenomenon, as outside of hazy and unverified hypotheses, there did not yet exist a theory of interactions of humanoid races on a galactic scale.
Nearly four hours had passed. Gibbekh was sleeping peacefully in his sarcophagus, with calming red lights glowing on its lid. But the other cybersurgeon continued trying to heal Second Pilot; its manipulators were moving quickly in the dim green glow, the heart-lung machine was humming, laser scalpels were flashing and fading, numbers and lines were dashing across the screens: pulse, blood pressure and composition, hormone metabolism, brain rhythms, temperature in various body cavities and areas. The machine—possibly the most complex of all the ones invented by the humans or the Kni'lina—was fighting with death, and its cold mind was not yet willing to admit defeat.
At the top of hour five, the flashing of the scalpels stopped, the humming fell silent, and spiderlike manipulators rose and ceased moving, the screens faded. Then the lid of the sarcophagus slid open, and a dispassionate voice said, "Irreversible brain damage. Brain tissues were torn by multiple small fragments. Unable to extract them all. Life function restoration is not possible. Deep hibernation will have no effect."
"Looks like I'm Second Evening now," the botanist said gloomily and touched his comm-bracelet. "I'll call the priestess. We need to perform the funeral rite."
Trevelyan rose, "I'm going to come to the shrine. I'll be there, no matter what Naya Acra hisses."
Evening nodded, continuing to poke the bracelet with his finger. His eyebrows rose in confusion.
"Strange… It's the time of the morning meal, but the priestess isn't answering… Station! Is Naya Acra in her quarters?"
"Negative, nyuri."
"Then where is she?"
"Outside of zones of observation. She has been out of contact for…" the Brain stated the time equal to approximately nine hours.
"That's weird!" Trevelyan paused at the threshold. "Where could she have gone?"
"Let's find out." Evening nodded to Shiar. "Send all the available servants to look for her. Have them maintain contact with the Brain and examine the park, as well as all the hallways and compartments with no cameras. I hope that Course didn't come up to this tier and broke the priestess's spine while we were sitting here."
"I doubt Course has anything to do with it, since the priestess vanished about the same time we went down. And all the lifts were locked down," Trevelyan reminded him.
Making a farewell gesture, he left the infirmary and ran to his quarters. He had a bad feeling: Pilot was dead, Naya Acra had vanished, what if Ifta Kee was also no longer among the living? Then again, Ivar thought, it was unlikely; the door wouldn't open without his permission, and there was nothing aboard the station to get through the tough plastic. No explosives, no beam weapons… Then again, who knew? Someone had managed to smuggle in the hypnoglyph, after all…
He burst into his quarters, grabbed the headband lying at the computer port, and placed it onto his head. The mental reply from the Commodore was immediate, Well, what's new in our snake pit? You're well, I trust?
I am, and so is Evening, but Pilot was killed, and Naya Acra is missing. How's the woman?
The woman? She's fine. She woke up and is now splashing in the pool. After a brief pause, the Advisor inquired, Pilot… Who killed him? Course?
Yes, Trevelyan replied, heading to the arch that led to the facilities.
He heard a mental sigh.
Too bad! That Pilot was a decent lad… the most decent of all the Baldies… I told you, you little punk, to let me go after Course!
You were right, as usual, Trevelyan admitted and entered the bathroom.
Ifta Kee was lying in the pool in all her seductive nakedness, in the warm water, the air bubbles coming out of the openings on the bottom were stroking her tender skin. She seemed to be not only alive and well, but also as fresh as May rose: her green eyes were gleaming, there was a dreamy smile on her scarlet lips, her graceful little nose was upturned. Upon seeing Ivar, she stretched out her long slender legs, twisted her figure, and slapped the water with her hand.
"Morning joy to you, nyuri! Come here, there's plenty of room for two!"
"Forgive me, but I am very tired, so you'll have to enjoy the water by yourself," Trevelyan said and added after thinking for a second, "There isn't much joy, my beauty. Last night we were on the technical tier: I, Second Pilot, Third Evening, and two of the servants. We were looking for Course, but when we found him, he killed Pilot and wounded a servant. But that's not all the bad news: Naya Acra is missing. They're looking for her now."
Ifta Kee's emerald pupils glowed even brighter.
"Looking? Great Yezdan! Maybe they won't find her or will find her dead! Is that really bad news? I haven't heard better news since Jeb Ro brought me to this hole!"
Trevelyan sighed and headed for the bedroom. He'd been awake for more than a day; his eyes were barely staying open, his eyelids were heavy, and the bed was fortunately empty.