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 9
The intercom was chirping long enough for not just Lemak to wake up, but Kal as well.
"What?" Isabella couldn't see the Admiral's movements in the darkness, but the rustling told her that he had involuntarily sat up on the bed. It seemed that the very tone of the signal promised problems to Lemak.
"Red square."
Lemak jumped to his feet. Kal heard a muffled expletive and asked, "Problem?"
"Armed penetration onto the base," Lemak replied after a moment's pause.
Isabella turned on the night light. Lemak was already dressed and was quickly attaching the intercom disk to his collar. The informer's voice could barely be heard.
"They're here for the boy," Kal said.
"Nonsense. Curtis would never take the chance."
"It's Kay Altos."
Lemak was silently taking weapons out of his personal safe. He strapped a blaster to his belt and then took out a beam rifle of a design unfamiliar to Kal, with a strange thick barrel.
The rejuvenated admiral was clearly itching for a fight.
"I'm heading to the brig," Kal said, putting on her skirt. "And so are my people."
"Humans only, Isabella. There's a Meklar among the attackers; all aliens on the base have been quarantined. You can use the hypertunnel."
"I need T/san!"
"Sorry."
"Lemak!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Kal!" Lemak ran out of the bedroom.
"Xenophobe…" Isabella hissed, gathering the hair on the back of her head and wrapping it with a magnetic barrette. "Old fool…"
As had to be expected, they met their first serious resistance at the threshold of the technical and habitation decks of the base. After rounding a corner, Kas/s/is rolled back as a flaming ball. Molten metal was dripping off the transparent bubble of a force field covering his head. His left middle limb was pressed against his body.
"Many," the Meklar informed them.
Without a word, the twins jumped up to the corner of the hallway. The one using an intelligent rifle tried to stick the barrel around the corner. The weapon squeaked and jerked back, and Kay felt an incredible feeling — compassion for a soulless piece of metal. The exposed portion of the hallway looked like the engines of a cruiser during lift-off; colorful flashes of energy and the pressing heat, imperceptible through the armor but physically real. The glass covers of the ceiling lights were popping with barely a sound.
"The wall behind you, Kay," the Meklar said. "Get to work, while I'm recovering."
Just in case, Kay glanced at Andrey, since the cyborg, like the Meklar, held the precise base layout in his semi-electronic memory. Andrey nodded, not looking away from Kas/s/is. The Meklar's damaged limb had retracted somewhere into his body, under the scales. It seemed as if the cyborg was envying the alien.
The Excalibur fired. In the purple flash, a part of the wall melted, turning into a crimson puddle. Nothing special, Kay had worked with tachyon blasters before. A narrow cable- and pipe-filled passage opened in the darkness of the scorched opening.
"No dangerous lines," the Meklar informed them helpfully.
Kay stepped over the smoking and solidifying puddle. He ripped a cable with his hand, tried to bend a thin ringed conduit, which turned out to be surprisingly resilient, and switched his armor to combat mode with his chin.
The Seraph glowed. Tiny white flames danced along the plates of the armor, wrapping Kay in a glaring light, unpleasant to the eye. The stubborn conduit melted in his hands, and a stream of compressed air came out of the snippets.
"I'm sensing an approach," Andrey said dully. "Three people in armor."
Kay went straight ahead. Pipes were popping and melting, liquids were flowing out and hissing, gushing in the streams of gas. Electrical discharges were providing their own forced contribution to the light show.
The Meklar, having stretched himself out so much that he now looked like a five-legged steel caterpillar, was pattering behind him. The others were following them. A trickle of water reached a molten puddle and exploded in a cloud of steam, causing the cyborg, who was bringing up the rear, to leap into the air in a funny way.
"How's the paw?" Kay inquired about five minutes later. The technical passage, through which they were walking, was a little winding, but, for now, it was taking them in the right direction.
"Better now. Don't touch that pipe."
Kay ducked under a conduit wrapped in fibrous insulation and asked, "Why not?"
"Liquid nitrogen. I don't want to catch a cold."
The passage ended in a round shaft. Plastic brackets were glowing dimly on the wall; unfortunately, the builders hadn't anticipated repair crews wearing powered armor.
"Up," the Meklar decided. "It should be cleaner and fresher there."
Kay deactivated his armor's combat mode and carefully grabbed a bracket. It held.
"Your kind didn't used to have much of a sense of humor," he told the Meklar. He pulled himself up carefully, bending a pipe that was stretching vertically from the top.
"Our idea of what is funny simply doesn't match that of the humans. However, since your humor was one of the factors of your military victories, we are trying to adopt it."
"Give it two or three generations, and you'll get it."
"That's what we think as well."
One of the brackets snapped, and Kay nearly fell onto the Meklar's head. After that, he was silent, turning obediently wherever Kas/s/is indicated, breaking or melting through some obstacles and carefully bypassing others.
They had been moving for fourteen minutes, when Andrey, who was bringing up the rear, informed them that their pursuers were getting close.
