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 7
Kailis greeted Kay with a rainy, gloomy morning. He had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as autumn in the world, but not all planets were as wealthy as Tauri or Terra to afford total climatization. The passengers, nearly three dozen of them, were standing under the liner's hull awaiting transportation. The unloading of the containers from the cargo hold forty meters away was already in full swing.
"They might as well be spitting at us," the man standing next to Kay muttered. "Don't you agree?"
Kay merely shrugged.
"This happens every time I take a combi flight from Tauri…"
Dutch was looking at the rain. The gray concrete, stretching to the horizon, was covered in the broken mirrors of puddles. He could smell dampness; clearly the rain was falling in earnest and was going to last a while. The warmth streaming from the ship's hull was only underscoring the discomfort.
"An Imperial ship doesn't fly for another three days, plus the cost… Do you happen to know why they raised the tariffs?"
The liner had finally become soaked, and streams of water, black from the carbon deposits, started streaming from all sides. The world now seemed to be covered up by a dark curtain.
"I'm just passing through," Kay said.
"No, really, all the tariffs have gone up," the man livened. "All destinations, all modes of transportation. This—"
"War is coming," Kay replied dryly. His random companion fell silent, mulling his words over. Then he produced a forced laugh, "You're a pessimist! They say there was sabotage on a number of fuel plants, which is why—"
"That's what I'm saying, war is coming," Kay explained patiently. The spaceport's small orange bus rolled smoothly under the liner's hull.
"You're a pessimist," the man repeated ruefully.
"And you're a chatterbox." Kay grabbed his bag and started walking towards the bus. He had spent the five-day flight in his cabin. He felt awful. He had failed… utterly failed as a bodyguard.
At least he was still a decent killer.
The Taurian liner had not set down at the local spaceport, where Kay's hyperboat was waiting, but at the Imperial one, built using the same style as on any other world. On Tauri, its grim purple domes seemed lofty and old-fashioned. On the rainy Kailis, they were far more appropriate. The bus was dashing through the launch pads in elaborate arcs, passing the few present ships. Sitting by the window, Kay was watching a lighter take off; it was old and overloaded, based on the slow, difficult lift off. The local officials clearly didn't pay very close attention to the condition of the ships.
But at least no one got right under the nozzles here.
The customs control turned out to be a mere formality. A standard test on infections, a thin booklet of laws, the local additions to the Imperial Code, a declaration, permitting him to bring a two-week supply of drugs for personal use and asking sternly if Kay was carrying something called the Angar Memorandum in any form.
Kay had to pay a small tax for the Bumblebee and the Convoy, but neither weapon prompted any questions. He even had a suspicion that, had he brought the Chance with him, they would have permitted him to carry it.
Even the last time, Kay had thought that Kailis was a very liberal planet.
He had a cup of coffee at a restaurant on the second floor and barely managed to finish his synthetic-tasting chops. At the rental desk, he was offered several cars, and he chose Mizan Tornado, a local make, gaining the favor of the clerks. The Mizan wasn't a luxury car, but the plastic hood hid a powerful engine and a user-friendly control system of Meklar design. There were rental flyers on the next pad over, but Kay had no intention to going on a long trip. Everything he needed was in the Kailis capital city of Angobad.
Narasin Khan had been working at the Bad Weather Hotel for six years. A long enough time to be able to find a suitable room for a client at a single glance: the most expensive room they would accept.
However, the desk clerk saw neither money nor their lack from this client. Just big trouble.
"I need another desk clerk."
"Which one?" Narasin's desire to argue had seemingly vanished.
"Thick build, my height, short beard."
"Well…" Narasin met the man's gaze and broke off. The counter where he received clients was tall enough, and all he had to do to raise the armored glass was touch a button. However, Narasin didn't believe it would help. The holster on the man's belt was very large, and he himself made the impression of someone punching through armored glass during a morning workout. "You must mean Gyorgy Savannah?"
"You know better. Where is he?"
Narasin threw a helpless glance at the hotel's security guard. He was sitting at the distant corner of the lobby behind an internal monitoring screen, clearly engrossed in what was happening in one of the rooms.
"Don't make me kill the old man," the man said calmly. "What would you prefer, three dead bodies, including yours, or just one, which has nothing to do with you?"
Narasin Khan made a desperate attempt to gather his courage.
"What are you involving me in, sir? What dead bodies? Aiding and abetting is punished worse than murder on our planet."
Unexpectedly, this had an effect.
"The faster I find the other desk clerk, the higher chances he has of coming out of this alive," the man informed him calmly. "Right now, you're not involved in anything."
"He's in room 107, down the hall to the right," Narasin resolved. "He worked last night and is resting now…"
"Thank you." The man moved away from the counter, then turned back and said confidentially, "Keep in mind, I have aTan."
Narasin kept an old but trusty Style laser pistol in a desk drawer, and the intercom would have allowed him to contact room 107 in two seconds. But he kept sitting motionless, starting at the security guard, who was still busy peeping; aTan was too strong an argument for a poor employee of a modest hotel. Gyorgy had never been his friend and wouldn't be one now.
Kay had been knocking on the door for three minutes, quietly but monotonously. For a moment, he even had a thought that the desk clerk had lied to him.
Then the door opened.
"This is a service room," the swarthy bearded man, who was blocking the entrance, said. "What do you—"
"You're about to find out," Kay said, picking Gyorgy up by the lapels of his pajamas. The fabric started to rip, but he pushed the flabbergasted desk clerk into the room.
"You asshole…" Savannah broke away, ripping his pajamas. Then he froze, peering into Kay's face.
"It's me. Recognize the face?"
"Mister…" All possible emotions appeared on Gyorgy's face. "I'm extremely glad… your things are intact… I took the liberty…"
"Oh, so you like to steal too?"
Kay punched the desk clerk in the gut, only belatedly realizing that he was dealing him the Bulrathi's "delayed" strike. Gyorgy Savannah was writhing on the floor, although without making a sound. It hurt, but he had been expecting far worse.
"I'm not going to hit you again," Kay promised, "if you prove to be reasonable."
"Mr… Kay Altos?" Savannah gave a twisted smile from the floor. He was clearly not a fool to get up and knew the difference between an amateur and a professional. "It's not my fault, Mr. Altos. I'll give you back all your things, everything."
"Really? And what are you giving me?" Kay was ill at ease. He hadn't planned to kill the desk clerk, especially with a strike learned from an alien.
"Clothes, items, three hundred in cash, Bumblebee, cred card…" Savannah jabbered.
"Even clothes? What was I buried in then?"
Gyorgy rose carefully. He had no experience dealing with people who had gone through aTan, since rich folks didn't stay at the Bad Weather Hotel.
"I don't know, the police took the body, probably cremated it."
"Disgusting." Kay sat on the unmade bed, putting a pillow behind him. "Just my luck. Fine, you can keep everything."
Gyorgy adjusted the ripped jacket. His confidence was coming back.
"It was a tragedy for our entire hotel, Mr. Altos. Not one had been killed here in two years. It's very unpleasant, trust me—"
"Enough. Can you guess who I need?"
The desk clerk nodded vigorously, "The kid?"
"The kid," Kay agreed. "A nice kid with an algopistol."
"He escaped through the window… second floor, you see…"
Kay shook his head, "No, I don't. Someone on your shitty planet owes me. Either this kid or you."
Savannah was drenched in sweat.
"I know almost nothing, believe me! He told me he had reached an agreement with you on the phone. Yes, I took five creds, but how—"
"Even on this shithole of a planet, no one can just waltz into a hotel. What other identification did he show you, besides a five-cred note with the Emperor's picture?"
"A school ID, but I don't remember the name."
"And here I thought you were great with names."
Savannah gave up, "Yes, it's coming back to me. It's probably fake, but…"
"So you wanted to force the kid to bribe you? To buy your silence?" Kay Dutch shook his head. "Thank you, that's a big load off my shoulders. Now give me the name!"
