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 10
Arthur Curtis conscientiously watched a popular film about Maretta. This had taken half an hour, but at least he now knew something about his temporary home planet. He didn't like the planet; there really wasn't anything there except for ice and water. As a rule, only those who had sold their former territory or had lost it as a result of an ecological disaster migrated to such worlds. The only piece of the film he liked was the one about the town of the Meklar, to whom the Trinary Alliance had given the right to live on human planets. The cyborgs, even after a thousand years of artificial evolution, retained the general shape of two-meter-long lizards. They looked silly in the snow, and their noticeable worry at the sight of the cold seas brought involuntary pity. After suffering a crushing defeat during the Vague War, the Meklar had become the most ardent admirers of the human race. By replacing their mechanical parts with Imperial-made devices, they thought to merge with humanity, a strange practice that was, nevertheless, being fully encouraged by the Emperor.
Shutting off the terminal, Arthur went to the window. The view from Kay's room showed not only the endless panorama of gardens, but also the shimmering barrier around the compensation zone. The boy shivered.
He vaguely remembered Kay picking him up and carrying him through the snowstorm. To him, frozen, it had been a brief moment, but to Kay, those had probably been endless hours. Then there was warmth, which hadn't seemed necessary anymore, only causing irritation. Kay's cursing, someone's confused faces, injections, a bath in a restorative gel… Then another shot, probably a sedative.
Kay had brought him out. Although he had borrowed his jacket without hesitation. For some reason, this annoyed him.
"Excuse me…"
Arthur turned around. An old woman stood in the door, tall, bony, wearing a pink skirt and a silver t-shirt. The warm climate dictated its own fashions for all ages. Her gray hair, too lush to be real, was decorated with a flirty flower.
"Good day," Arthur Ovald, the exemplary son of a merchant from Maretta, said.
"Well, you look much better," the old woman said with satisfaction. "You were brought here last night barely alive… I'm Henrietta Fiscalocci, my husband is a climatizer caretaker. But you can call me Auntie Fiscalocci."
"Thank you, Auntie Fiscalocci. I am Arthur."
The former midwife of the Imperial Marines was looking Arthur over with genuine elderly curiosity.
"It's my husband's fault, of course," Fiscalocci went on. "It's his job to monitor the zone's airspace, but who knew that you'd fall straight into the sump? They should have banned all those express pods a long time ago. I can't remember a worse technical solution. Except maybe for the Needles… but they ended up mothballing those six months later anyway. Anyway, all's well that ends well. Have you eaten, my boy?"
Arthur nodded. The old woman was causing a sense of uncertain anxiety in him mixed with curiosity.
"If you get hungry, I'll be on the third floor. I'll cook, bring it, and leave; I know your customs. Your planet is very strict, isn't it, Archie?"
"It's normal. But I'm not Archie, my name is Arthur."
The old woman threw her hands up, "This old head of mine… I'm almost a century and a half old, my boy. It's about time for me to go, but I keep grabbing on to something…" She turned around, preparing to leave.
"Excuse me, Auntie Fiscalocci, but may I go for a walk?" Arthur asked quickly.
"Go, go… Grab some fruit, you've probably never had any straight off a tree before, right? You're our guests, plus my old fool messed up. If you get lost, head for the sump, there's a path from it to the house…"
Continuing to mutter something, Henrietta Fiscalocci left. Arthur watched her go with a grim look. There was a lot he didn't like. First of all, it was that the old woman hadn't leapt on the new and defenseless listener with tales of Taurian gardens. Second, her mention of the Needles. Arthur had once enjoyed putting together models of old ships, before the start of his journeys to Grail. Needles, small scout ships, incredibly beautiful and even more fragile, had never been in the service of the Imperial Marines.
Arthur went to his room and put on a shirt. Then, almost as a sign of protest, he threw his jacket on. It still retained the shape of Kay's body and started to slowly compress in the shoulders to fit the boy's frame.
