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 6
The Seraph turned out to be the best armor model Kay had ever worked with. He'd been training for five hours straight, not because it was necessary, but because he enjoyed the process. Tommy had been training in another room with the Family's instructors; Kay wasn't arrogant enough to think of himself as a great teacher.
Seiker appeared as he was starting to remove the armor. She swept the room with a critical eye: crushed wall panels, rocky powder covering the metal floor, bent tubes of the training machines, an armored sheet held at the center of the room. There was a human-shaped melted hole gaping through the five-centimeter-thick titanium armor plate.
"Let me help you," she told Kay.
The gray ceramic plates were heavy and hot. She skillfully detached one section after another, and Dutch started appearing from his strange shell. He was sweaty, tired, but his eyes were unusually gentle.
"Used to it now?" Lyka placed her hands on Kay's shoulders. He remained sitting on the floor, among the scattered armor segments, throwing his head back and surrendering to her movements.
"Like I was born in it. My legs are aching, though."
"I'll have them recalibrate the enhancers." Seiker finished rubbing his shoulders and started massaging his neck.
"Don't, I have to be able to feel my mass. Just tell me, don't drag it out."
"Kal is at Lemak's. Her Meklar and mechanist woman are there too. The boy is in the base's interrogation center."
Kay rose to his feet. He carefully took Lyka by the shoulders and said simply, "Thank you. I'll never forget it. Have your people prepare my ship."
Seiker was silent for a moment, looking at Kay. She asked, "Did Curtis promise you so much, Shedaran?"
Not a single muscle twitched on Kay's face.
"This isn't about Curtis anymore, sister."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"My ship!"
"It's being prepared, Kay. Is there anything you can tell me?"
Dutch shook his head.
"Kay, an Imperial military base is not a provincial prison. They'll have weapons to counter your armor, armor to counter your weapons, and several hundred professionals."
"I know. How much time do I have?"
"Five hours. Don't grimace, your tub is being equipped with stealth systems and an auxiliary drive. You'll be able to reach Dogar in twelve hours, there's no way to make it any faster. Plus I need time to work up a plan; logic has never been your strong suit."
They left the training room together: Lyka Seiker in a long dark gown and a half-naked Kay Dutch. The technicians were already busy with the armor, as the Seraph required a thorough inspection and recharging.
"Kas/s/is and Andrey will go with you. I trust them."
"Metal against metal?"
"Is there another option? I'll give you a pair of flunkies too. Their self-preservation instincts have been suppressed, so use them to their fullest."
"All right. Lyka, who's your butcher?"
The woman grimaced, "What do you want?"
"Whatever you can give me."
The doctor was young, with a short beard, a sluggish gaze from behind his glasses, and completely leisurely movements. He examined Kay, then, leaving him on the diagnostic couch, spent a long time studying the lines of text creeping across the monitor.
"You're more than healthy."
"I know. But that's not enough."
"How much time do we have?"
"None."
The doctor leaned back in his chair, examining Kay with a calm curiosity.
"No mercy for your body, guy?"
"No. Tell me what you can do."
Seiker, who was standing in a corner, nodded imperceptibly. The doctor sighed, adjusting his glasses. He warned, "I won't be able to put you back the way you were afterwards."
"I understand."
"Is it a one-time action?"
"Yes. Two-three hours."
"All right. Polymer cytostims into your muscles, ceroplastic under your skin, a cardio driver and a hormone modulator. Plus the usual combat cocktail."
"Do it," Kay said, closing it eyes.
While he was getting injections into his muscles, Seiker was silently watching the procedure. The cloudy yellow liquid was moving reluctantly even through the thickest needles they had. Then an autosurgeon of clearly Meklar manufacture, looking like a big metal spider, pierced Kay's chest between the third and fourth ribs with a hollow tentacle. The tiny ampule of the cardio driver slid down the tentacle and attached itself to his myocardium.
Seiker left the room.
"How much longer?" Kay asked. The doctor, programming the pharma-synthesizer, shook his head, "Half an hour."
The autosurgeon wiped a drop of blood from Kay's skin, sprinkled some fixating spray and crawled away. The doctor opened a glass cabinet and took out a small device, which looked like a shiny brush of thin needles and a transparent bubble full of some opalescent solution.
"This is going to hurt," he informed him, pressing the brush against Kay's body.
The device made a clicking noise, and the needles momentarily pierced his skin.
"I could have guessed myself," Kay said.
He hadn't even made a peep during the entire procedure, earning him some respect from the doctor. But it hadn't been easy.
