This is a fan translation of Counterstrike (Ответныйудар) 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 six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Chapter 8

Ro'on, the central continent

Siebel stepped into a dark, empty alcove.

"Paul, listen to me." His voice quietly rustled under the room's ceiling. "This Keeper, your hypothetical parent… Tell me, what do you want from him?"

"Mutual understanding," Corcoran replied. "We are planning on exiling them from here, and we will do that. But we'd rather do it without plasma throwers or annihilators."

"And if a peaceful outcome turns out to be impossible?"

"Then we can, at least, get some information. Who lives here, on Ro'on, and on T'har and Aezat, who rules the Sheaves, and what do they wish. What if one of these rulers turns out to be more compliant?.. Commodore Vrba wants to avoid bloodshed."

"Are you sure about that? I've heard his father and brother were killed at the Battle of the Martian Orbit…"

"That doesn't mean anything, Klaus. I mean the thoughts of revenge… The Commodore has instructions from the Parliament and the USF headquarters, and he will carry them out from the first letter to the last period."

"Besides his relatives, millions of people died on Earth," Siebel reminded him.

"Yes," Corcoran agreed. "But is this worth the destruction of millions of t'ho? Here, on Ro'on, T'har, and Aezat?"

"Are you saying that because you're half-Faata?"

"No! Because I'm human."

After a minute of silence, Siebel grunted, "The world is changing, and so are you… For the best, I think. I will help you, Paul. I'll be here, next to you, but this Keeper will not see or sense me. It's a sort-of small psychic trick… If something goes wrong, I will intervene. Be ready."

"Do you have a weapon?" Corcoran inquired. "A gas canister in your bag?"

"No. It's a hypnoglyph [A hypnoglyph is an object capable of putting people into a light hypnotic trance or completely deprive them of their will. Examples of simple hypnoglyphs include an earworm that keeps playing over and over in the head; a small, specially made piece of wood or plastic for twirling, squeezing, or rubbing; rhythmic flashes of light that force a person to keep looking. Hypnoglyphs made by the Lo'ona Aeo resonate with the humanoid brain rhythms and have a much greater effect; in practical terms, they are psychotropic weapons.]. One of the hypnoglyphs supplied by the Lo'ona Aeo in limited numbers and only for the needs of certain government structures. Have you heard of such things?"

"I don't recall. How does it work?"

"It paralyzes the consciousness. You've already looked at it. A little bit."

That trinket in Siebel's cabin, Corcoran remembered. That object, covered by a cap, that looked like a small octopus with bunches of colored spots, gliding on its surface… The thing that he wanted to take in his hands, put it close to his face, and look, and look, and look…

"That's the one," Siebel confirmed, catching his thought. "It puts a person in trance and suppresses their ability to resist. It's guaranteed to work on all humanoids, especially telepaths."

"What about you?"

"I'm not a humanoid," Siebel said with a dry laugh. "My gift is of a different nature."

They fell silent. Corcoran stood in the middle of the dungeon, facing the gravity shaft, while Siebel was hiding in the twilight of one of the alcoves. His face was not visible, only a vague outline, almost merging with the walls. The stream of mental pulses, flowing from him to Corcoran, suddenly stopped, as if the lock gates cutting off the stream of water. Now, even in the mental space Siebel was an indiscernible ghost, a shadow among whispering shadows.

"He's here," Corcoran heard several minutes later. "Heading for the lift. He thinks you're from the crew of the ship that invaded us. He thinks that the ship has returned, and that Yata has sent you."

"He's in for a surprise," Corcoran muttered, looking at the shaft membrane.

Dim sparks played on the force veil, outlining a dark figure. An instant later, a man slipped out of the lift. He was short, slender, and moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. Silver eyes, narrow chin, small puffy mouth, long dark hair… His features were similar to Yo's, and this memory stung Corcoran's soul. As if his childhood had come back to him, and a quiet voice spoke, T'taia orr n'uk'uma sirend'agi patta…

But it was not dear Aunt Yo before him, it was Keeper of Communications Dyte, the fourth in the Sheaf, who was used to subordinate and dominate. Faata'liu, the Faata language, sounded curtly and harshly in his lips.

"You are my offspring." A mental probe touched Corcoran's mind. "You are my offspring, but not from a ksa… Does this mean that Yata's journey was successful? He found a race similar to us? More than the Kni'lina? Similar enough to…"

A mental pulse brought an image: a naked woman with a bloated belly and legs bent to her chest. Dark-haired, thin-faced, fragile, very different from Corcoran's mother, but, at the sight, he felt a sudden burst of fury. It was still her, Abby McNeil, prisoner aboard the Faata ship, raped, defiled… Maybe not by this man, but by his compatriots, unceremonious, cruel, who considered only themselves to be sentient.

He suppressed his rage and said, "Yata reached my homeworld, whose people really are similar to yours, and started a massacre. Many millions have died, many were maimed, and the ruins of our cities still hold the memory of this. But everything that has happened, happened… We are ready to forget."

"We?" Bewilderment flashed in the Keeper's thoughts. "We… Are you not a Faata? Not my offspring?"

"Probably yours," Corcoran admitted with a sigh. "But that's not important. I am the offspring of the victors."

"Naturally. Of Yata."

His certainty was iron-clad, and Corcoran spoke with a vindictive feeling, "You're mistaken, Keeper. We have destroyed Yata. The entire crew of his ship and the quasi-sentient beast controlling it. Nothing remained, except the debris at one of our planet's poles."

He transmitted a visual image: the giant tower of the starship in the Antarctic ice, the holes and cracks gaping in the hull, gloomy hallways with the mangled floor, the extinguished Observation Sphere on the central bridge, and bodies, bodies, bodies… This was a fragment from the video recorded by the experts of the Research Corps, one of the first groups to get inside the ship. A historical recording! Ten-twelve years ago, they had started to take the ship apart, and it was now half-disassembled.

"But you yourself–" the Keeper started.

"I am a victim of an experiment, a forced and, fortunately, singular one," Corcoran spoke with a grim smile. "I hold no warm feelings for either Yata, Iveh, or any of other dead Faata, and not even you, Keeper. Did you hear what I said? Yata exterminated a great number of sentient beings on my home planet, no less than there are in the New Worlds, and, perhaps, even more. We don't have t'ho, and the life of every person is…"

He wanted to say "sacred", which would be a great deviation from the truth, but that was not what stopped him: the Faata language lacked any religious terms. Perhaps, they also had once invented the Almighty Power, God and the Devil, Heaven and Hell, but all that had been left in the past: the two Eclipses, the two disasters of their civilization, had proven that God cares not for people and that they could create their own troubles and misfortunes without the Devil's help.

Keeper Dyte suddenly leaned towards Corcoran, peering into his face.

"Yata's Ship died… But you are here, in the New Worlds! For what purpose? And how did you get here?" The Keeper's pupils gleamed. "You were not born of a ksa, but you have the mind of a Faata, not a Bino Tegari… You are a dark-spawn! Do you understand what this means? I can penetrate your mind and find the answers to any question!"

Corcoran staggered. Burning clamps gripped his brain. Perhaps, it was not clamps but a drill: spinning with a maddening speed, it dug deeper and deeper into the brain tissue, pulling it into the constant rotation of the steel tip. The barriers Corcoran attempted to put up were crushed, broken, and left in ruins; his defenses fell, unable to hold back the pressure of the powerful alien will that was rummaging through his mind, pulling out various memories, examining the discoveries unceremoniously, and tossing them away indifferently. Following the spinning of the drill, the memories were unreeling like an anchor chain that was falling into a sea chasm; it slipped by, link after link, against Corcoran's will, and each of them echoed by a flashback.

He was again submerging into his childhood years, saw his home in the Holmy, the familiar faces of Mother, Yo, and Litvin, hearing their voices; other recollections slipped past: the school building in Smolensk, the azure waters of Alcúdia Bay, the ancient fortress over the Dnieper, pulling the half-forgotten friends of those days with them, his buddy Seryoga, Jose Gutiérrez, his classmates, girls and boys; then the housings of the Baikonur Academy rose, Brian Cox's fierce mug, the concrete slabs of the astrodrome, and the Kites, soaring into the sky on bright flaming pillars. He was once again racing over the Dead Man's Plateau in the gloomy Venusian sky and listened to the grumbling of the instructor, again, staggering and stumbling, trudged through the Indian jungle, the heavy burden of Sergeant Cox on his back, again looking into Vanya Sazhin's dead face, who was being dragged by Barré and Larsen, again, like fourteen years ago, he was kissing Vera in the birch grove and tasting her sweet lips. Then the cozy wardroom of the Genghis Khan opened up before him, the glasses held by his comrades-in-arms clinked, their smiles blossoming: they were celebrating Lyuba's birth… The shipyard flashed past, the bulging hull of the Europe appeared, lit up by floodlights, and, immediately, Karel Vrba's stern face. "What will I have to do?" "Whatever the situation demands…"

The cruisers… Six enormous cruisers, like six silver arrows, floated through the darkness and the cold of his mind. Special Task Force 37, Operation Counterstrike… Leaving the Oort cloud, the ships were moving in battle formation. Death and destruction were hiding in the maws of their annihilators, their goal was Obscurus, and, in a few hours, the fiery rain would fall upon the asteroid, crushing the force fields… Corcoran wanted to keep this secret knowledge, but the drill gnawing at him was merciless. Maybe not a drill but clamps: they were squeezing the memories out of him along with his life.

He groaned helplessly, trying to overcome the alien will gripping him, and suddenly felt free. Flashes of color flickered in front of him, disappearing immediately, along with the excruciating pain; the chain clanged, stopped, and disappeared. With his shaking hands, Corcoran felt for the med-kit, touched the necessary buttons, and pressed the device to the back of his hand. The world of visions, sounds, and whispers, that were flowing to him from his past life, suddenly dissolved, replaced by the reality: the gloomy room with alcoves in the walls, the strips of light on the ceiling, the flickering of the crystals, and the figure of the Keeper, frozen next to one of the alcoves.

Siebel leapt out of it like a bat out of hell. "Well, Paul, now you know what deep mental probing is like. Not the most pleasant experience, is it? He would've sucked everything out of you, and then given you a heart attack with a stroke… or shut off your respiratory center, or thought of something else… that's your daddy… Well, no matter! You're young, strong, and need to lean… how else will you learn if not through mental combat?" Rounding the motionless Faata, Klaus lowered himself to the floor behind his back and noted happily. "Our Keeper is a strong one! Can't take control of him without an amplifier… But we're managed to deal with him. One way or another, we did it!"

"Hrr…" Corcoran forced out. "What's with him, Klaus? What did you do? I don't see anything."

"And you won't; I've blocked your perception. It's like a selective block of the visual centers… But he can see! So can I, by the way. The play of colors is just amazing… marvelous flows… I'm talking about the Lo'ona Aeo hypnoglyph; it's there, in the alcove, on the floor… He sees it and will continue to look at this thing until the end of time, unless I deactivate it. And while he's looking, he's yours, my friend. Ask him whatever you want!"

Corcoran stared at the Keeper. His pale skin had gone even paler with shades of blue, sweat appeared on his forehead, his lips drooped, and the eyes seemed to be the shards of a silver mirror. His biological father, whose seed had been brought by the Faata ship… the man who had nearly killed him… It was strange, but he did not feel hate towards Dyte. Then again, he didn't feel any sense of kinship towards him either.

The drug in the med-kit was working. His hands stopped shaking, and his head cleared.

"Do you hear me, Keeper?" Corcoran spoke. "Can you answer?"

"Yes." Just one word, no mental images. It would appear that his psychic communication ability was being paralyzed by the hypnoglyph.

"Tell me, what do you want? What is your goal? Why did you send a ship to us? What do you want with Earth?"

Dyte's lips moved. His speech was clipped but understandable; the sharp, clicking language of the Faata sounded like cracks of a whip.

"Ships must fly… fly farther and farther… from star to star… fly, expanding the borders… new worlds… many new worlds… settle them, grow a generation of t'ho and quasi-sentients, build a Ship… one of Those Who Stand by the Sphere will take it… the strongest, the wises, the oldest… one who will be the Pillar of Order… who will fly to search for his own world… farther and farther… to never again have an Eclipse…"

The Faata went silent.

"Farther and farther," Siebel repeated thoughtfully. "You know, Paul, they basically want the same thing you do. I think the drive towards expansion is in the very nature of humanoids. Let's just take those same Kni'lina…"

Corcoran knew nothing of the Kni'lina, as humanity had yet to encounter this race, but he was prepared to agree with Siebel. The history of any people on Earth: whether ancient, like the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, or modern, like the English and the Russians, the Spanish, the Scandinavians, and the others, came down to, essentially, expansion of their territory, enslavement of those weaker than them, capture of their wealth, annexation of their lands, and, if the defeated resisted, mass genocide. The drive towards expansion was inherent in both the nations of the West and the countries of the East, without any regard for cultural, lifestyle, or religious differences; Alexander the Great had sought to take India, the Romans had wanted Parthia, the Crusaders had conquered Palestine, the Russians had done the same with Siberia, while hordes of Persians, Huns, Arabs, and Mongols had rolled into Europe from the Asian mountains and steppes. Expansion had become the race's instinct, and the more civilized times had not changed anything: Earth was divided, and now was the time to divvy up the galaxy.

Ships needed to fly farther and farther, Corcoran thought. They needed to fly, and humanity's star empire needed to expand… That was inevitable, otherwise, it would stagnate and come to an end. A population of twelve billion, all of them needing air, food, and water, living space, raw materials for factories, and other conditions for reproduction… So the Third Phase would have to make room. Revenge for the fallen was only an excuse, but the real reason was because T'har, Ro'on, and Aezat were as suitable for humans as they were for the Faata.

"Name your leaders," Corcoran ordered. "Those who rule here, on Ro'on. How many of them are there?"

"Three Pillars of Order," came the reply. "Waira on this continent… Yass beyond the southern M'ar'nehadi Sea… and Foyn."

The Keeper went silent.

"Continue!"

"In this condition, he can only answer to specific questions," Siebel explained. "Formulate them more clearly."

"Yes," Corcoran nodded, "of course. Listen to me, Keeper… You already know about the warships on the edge of your system. If they are not enough, more will come, just as powerful and in greater numbers. But we don't wish to kill you, even though the Pillar of Order who had come to Earth did not shy away from killing. We only wish for you to leave. Go back to your own worlds, to your galactic arm! Leave beyond the Void!" Pausing to allow the thought to reach Dyte's consciousness, he asked. "Is that technically feasible?"

"It is," Dyte confirmed, staring at the dark alcove.

"Are you prepared to comply?"

"No. Never!"

"What do you intend to do in case of attack?"

"We will destroy you."

Siebel, still sitting on the floor, sighed.

"He's convinced they can do it. A very, very aggressive race… and so full of self-confidence…"

"We don't have to deal with all the Pillars of Order, only one" Corcoran said. "Who is more cautious and reasonable? Waira, perhaps? Or Yass? Or Foyn?"

A hoarse gurgle came out of the captive's throat. Corcoran did not know how to interpret these sounds; it was similar to a laugh, but the Faata did not know how to laugh or smile.

"The Pillars of Order will not talk to Bino Tegari! None of them! Only destroy!"

"I'm afraid it's their instinctive reaction," Siebel commented.

"But Yata and Iveh negotiated with Timokhin. If I recall, the transcript recording is over thirty hours long. They were trying to agree on the terms–"

"I didn't forget, Paul. But don't flatter yourself. What negotiations? It was nothing but a ruse! And the Keeper isn't trying to trick us. We're not in the Solar System, we're in the New Worlds, and this is a completely different situation."

"All right," Corcoran said with a long face. "Then let's talk of other things. The most vulnerable place in your defense network… Do you hear me, Keeper? Answer!"

Another long hoarse gurgle… Then, exhaling, as if overcoming himself, "Ships… unfinished ships…"

"More! Here, on the planet!"

"Waira's Sheaf… center… with the Sphere… and other centers… Foyn's and Yass's…"

"Where are they? I want precise directions!"

"Waira's Sheaf… near the M'ar'nehadi Sea… beyond the water falling from the mountains… Yass's Sheaf… on the southern seashore… in the canyon under force domes… Foyn's Sheaf… another landmass… beyond the ocean… on the plateau with the htaa trees…"

He seemed to be pushing out the words, intermixing them with gurgling wheezes; it was as if invisible hands were squeezing the Keeper's neck, pressing on his throat, not letting him breathe. Siebel worriedly shifted and started to get up, muttering.

"What the hell… What's happening to him?.. Paul, go easy on him… don't press… I think he's resisting… He really is a tough one…"

Whatever was happening, they needed to hurry, Corcoran decided. This thought had entrenched itself in his mind, even though its source was unclear; maybe a thin stream of thoughts was coming to him from the Keeper, causing unease. Peering into the captive's face, which looked deathly blue, he spoke, "Where are the quasi-sentients you're programming? The pair meant for the ships? Where are they?"

Screaming and wheezing were his only replies. Dyte reeled, raised his hands to his throat, as if trying to rip a rope choking him, and collapsed on the floor. His body arched in convulsion, his legs jerking, his tongue came out of his open mouth; he seemed to be trying to inhale, but something was stopping him, not letting in a single breath of air. Corcoran and Siebel bent over him; Klaus's face, usually focused and calm, was now a mask of confusion.

"Damn! He managed to reach his respiratory center… Incredible! A complete block, and nothing can be done about that!"

"No need to do anything," Corcoran said. "It's the best option for him. I wouldn't have let him go anyway."

Siebel's eyebrows shot up.

"Because of your mother? Because of her rape at their hands?"

"Not only. For many reasons."

Dyte jerked one last time and stopped. The blue shade left his cheeks, and now the Keeper's face seemed carved from a snow-white piece of marble, on which someone threw a red rag of the tongue. A terrible way to go, Corcoran thought, but you chose it yourself. You would not have spared me. Neither me nor Klaus.

He straightened up, feeling weariness come over him. Strange, but the sensation was pleasant, confirming that he was a man from Earth, not a Faata, and, therefore, required rest. Whatever he had inherited from Dyte, that did not affect his physiology: his need for sleep was normal, and he had never experienced the cyclical arousal connected with tuahha. His brain was another matter… It was, of course, different from others; had he been like everyone else, Dyte would have been unable to take control over his mind, as psychic links did not work between humans and Faata. But, as it turned out, Corcoran could hear both, which gave him the right to call himself a lucky mutation.

His brain really was special… Would he pass on his gifts to Nadya and Lyuba?.. His heart ached and the Keeper's dead face blurred before his eyes at the thought of his daughters. You're their grandfather! He thought and immediately added. May the Creator protect them from such a grandfather…

He nodded to Siebel, "Let's grab him, Klaus. You get his legs, and I'll take his shoulders."

They dragged Dyte into the t'hami chamber and put him on the antigravity disk. Then Siebel visited the alcove, put away his hypnoglyph, and started to examine the crystals, shimmering against the dark walls. He chose one, stuck his hand right into the pale glow, froze for a moment, squinted, and spoke.

"It appears to be a contact substance, a bio-device like a stationary kaff… For a more intimate interaction with the local brain, and, through it, with any local addressee… Well, we don't need this now." He pulled out his hand, brushed off his fingers in disgust, and looked at Corcoran. "You don't look well, Paul. Tired?"

"Yeah. I need sleep," he said with a frown. "It was a tough landing, and I got my brains wrung out… plus two doses of formerite… [Formerite is a tranquilizer and an antidepressant; used to quickly remove pain symptoms and restore normal condition.] you know the reaction after that… Exhausted. I'm not a Faata or a Metamorph, after all."

"We're no strangers to some human things either," Siebel noted and stretched out on the floor. "Lie down, sleep, and I'll have a talk with the local quasi-mind. You could say we're fast friends… A tiny and stupid beastie, but funny. Lie down, rest!"

Corcoran followed his advice and fell asleep almost immediately. This time, he saw the same vision as the last Dream: the dark boulder of Obscurus with the bubble of the force field, cruisers in battle formation, his frigate, and half-a-dozen warm living flames under the ceramic armor. He also saw that caravan heading from Ro'on to T'har or, perhaps, to the outer planet, a hundred angular modules, looking like ancient jerricans. They split into several groups and altered course; it seemed they were not going to T'har, after all, but patrolling space near Ro'on. Battle modules, not transport ships: smaller, with annihilator barrels sticking out below the pilot's cabin.

That's a bad sign! Corcoran thought, and the Keeper's words immediately came back to him, "The Pillars of Order will not talk to Bino Tegari! None of them! Only destroy!"

He woke up five and a half hours later, alarmed but rested. Klaus Siebel was sitting cross-legged near him, and shadows moved on the elderly Faata's face. The transparent substance in the deep alcove in front of him kept flaring and dimming, and two long, thin tentacles stretched from it to Siebel's temples. He faintly rocked in synch with the flashes of light.

"Were you able to find anything out?" Corcoran asked, rubbing his stiff neck.

"Yes. Many interesting things, but nothing of substance. No strategic information, more about the t'ho, their upbringing and life. You see, this is a regional brain: it controls the factory, the local incubator, and the automated systems in the Faata dwellings. It's barely even sentient."

Corcoran squatted several times.

"We should eat, Klaus, and go."

"If you wish, we can try some local dishes. I can order the quasi-sentient."

"Let's not experiment. I'm perfectly fine with food pills."

The outgrowths, connecting Siebel with the device in the alcove, twitched and disappeared in the transparent substance, the light stopped blinking. Corcoran took out a cylindrical container from his backpack, clicked a lever: four pills dropped into his palm, two for each of them. They were supposed to flush them down with a gulp of water. The whole feast took no more than five seconds.

"Bad news," Corcoran spoke. "If the Dreams are true, then the Faata are combing through the nearby space. I've seen the battle modules… let's hope they don't run into the frigate… Praagh can't leave quickly from here; it's too risky to jump into Limbo with the planet nearby."

"They won't leave without us," Siebel answered with a worried look.

"Even more reasons to finish up our business here quickly. We already know the most important thing." Corcoran glanced at the t'hami chamber, where the Keeper's body was lying. "Well, the Commodore has figured out without our help that the shipyard is the most important target here. He'll be attacking Obscurus within a few hours."

"Is that from the Dreams too?"

"Of course. I can't reach that far while awake. Strange, right?"

"Nothing strange here. When you're asleep, your mind is calm, nothing is distracting you. Relaxation and, at the same time, the moment of maximum concentration… You'll learn this. It worked near Obscurus!"

"I'll learn," Corcoran repeated. "When?"

"In time, my friend, in time." Putting a hand on his shoulder, Siebel asked. "Are we going to the coast now? I saw large domes on the seashore, a stone structure, and impassable jungles, but didn't have time to pick out the details, we were flying too fast. But I think that the quasi-sentients are there, near the straight. By the M'ar'nehadi Sea, as the Keeper called it."

M'ar'nehadi… "Narrow Water" in Faata'liu… They could've come up with a more poetic name, Corcoran thought. But poetry, like music, painting, and other forms of art, were unknown to the civilization of the Third Phase, too rational and rejecting of the little things dear to the heart. It's okay, though, he thought, settlers from Earth will call everything differently, with the names of ancient gods and demons, heroes and prophets. Especially if the Indians and the Brazilians end up here… Ro'on is a hot planet, just right for them…

Keeper Dyte's gloomy abode disappeared, light flared into his eyes, his lungs filling with a warm, humid air. They were standing in the jungle, seemingly supporting the thought about a world suitable for the Indians and the Brazilians. This was where thick trees with a grey, brown, and white canopies stretched upwards, a carpet of decaying leaves under their feet, man-sized moss with whisks of tiny flowers, some spherical plants threatening with their thorns, overgrown cacti, but of a poisonous blue hue rather than green. They didn't see any birds, but each of the giant trees buzzed and rang: swarms of winged insects circled the meaty leaves and fruits, hanging in large bunches or lying on the ground. The trees did not grow densely, and the violet sky with the clouds floating north and the dimming stars could be seen in the breaks between the crowns. The sun was not visible; it was early morning, and the luminary's enormous disk had only just lifted over the southern sea.

"Three-four kilometers to the shore," Siebel said, looking around. "I guess I didn't quite reach the target. Well, let me fix that. We'll jump closer to those domes."

"Hold on. There's something shimmering… Do you see?" Corcoran stretched out his hand. "We should take a look. The shining is definitely artificial."

Trampling the leaves and the overripe fruit into the soil, they headed towards the glow shining between the trees. The forest appeared to be wild: there were no trails, no one was foraging, and the tree trunks had no notches or any other marks. The thickets of moss, or something like moss, stood like a wall here and there, the sturdy stalks bent under their feet and immediately straightened out, trying to whip them in the face, and Corcoran let loose with his laser discharger. The flaming beam disturbed the creatures nesting in the moss; snake-like bodies, covered in fur or feathers, slithered away in panic, there was an unpleasant gnashing sound, and the animals disappeared.

There was a bare strip of earth beyond the trees and the moss, stretching in both directions, as far as the eye could see. Then the jungle started again, and, to get there, all they had to do was take thirty or thirty-five steps, if not for something transparent but visible in the sunlight shimmering in the middle of the strip; it was a curtain, seemingly woven from jets of water and flashes of lightning.

They froze between two white-barked trees and stared at this obstacle.

"A force barrier," Siebel said finally.

"That's the one," Corcoran confirmed.

"About ten meters in height, and I can see something blue to the south. Looks like the sea."

"Probably. Can you feel the salty wind? Could they have fenced off the territory with the quasi-sentients?"

"I doubt it, Paul. Then the barrier would have been going along the shore or curved, and we don't see a curve."

"We don't," Corcoran agreed. "But they did cordon off something! A large section of the jungle, if we judge by this fence. Why?"

"Why, why," Siebel grumbled. "It's a humanoid tradition! You like surrounding everything with walls: your home, your garden, your city, even the places where you sleep and eat. That's your social instinct: what's fenced off is mine."

"When we get home, I'll do something nice for you: I'll take down the fence around our garden," Corcoran promised.

They chuckled at one another, spent some time in silence, then Siebel spoke.

"You know what I think when I see such a cordon? Am I on the right side? After all, the function of a fence is to separate one thing from another, yours from someone else's, dangerous from safe. What do you think, Paul, have we invaded–"

The stalks behind them rustled and clicked, Corcoran spun around, threw up the arm with the discharger, and cut down an enormous black monstrosity in mid-leap. The monster's two bleeding halves dropped at Siebel's feet, and he was dumbfounded for a second. That could have cost them their lives: another creature jumped out of the thicket right at Corcoran, followed by two more, three others dashed towards Siebel from behind the tree trunks, and five or six suddenly appeared on the bare strip, as if materializing out of thin air. It was a pack of fierce hunters, moving fast and nearly-silently and, apparently, not lacking in common sense. At the very least, they knew how to surround their prey and attack suddenly, from all sides.

The fiery beam shredded the nearest beast, but there was no doubt that they would be unable to kill the whole pack. They didn't act like terrestrial predators, did not bare their teeth threateningly, did not growl and, probably, had no fear of weapons or people, and the bodies of their fellow pack members did not deter them either. They did not hesitate, all of them leapt together, and Corcoran realized that only his plasma thrower could stop them. But he did not have time to reach for it.

For a moment, as imperceptible as a flight through the Limbo, an image appeared in his mind: two people in a forest clearing and a dozen black creatures, frozen in mid-leap. Powerful, flexible bodies, long dragon-like necks, clawed feet, and alligator jaws… A heartbeat, a push of blood in the temples, the cold feeling in the chest, and their view changed; they were standing on the other side of the barrier and were looking at the predators through the force curtain. The pack fell apart; some rushed towards their dead and started to gnaw at them, others were pacing by the barrier, not getting closer though, and looked at the people with a carnivorous expectation. Large animals, bigger than lions and tigers, Corcoran decided and wiped cold sweat from his forehead.

"I couldn't hear them!" Siebel spoke with a guilty expression. "It's never easy with animals… different mental frequencies, different psyche, different everything… Besides, it's harder to work with an undeveloped brain. I don't think I could've stopped them."

"They're p'hots," Corcoran explained. "Litvin killed one such beast on the Faata ship. He told me."

"P'hots…" Siebel's head swayed, once, twice, three times; he seemed to be thinking about something. "P'hots… Vicious predatory creatures, and their hatchery is behind the barrier… That means we're on the right side now."

"So, have you changed your mind about fences and walls?"

"Doubt it, Paul. I'm not a human, after all, even if only in the matter of personal transportation. For me, a free child of the ether, fences and walls are the height of absurdity."

Corcoran smiled, removing the tension. Then he said, "A child of the ether could have been lunch just now."

"Well, maybe a little bit, a chunk of flesh here, a chunk there… Then again, perhaps I'm missing a useful chance of saying goodbye to Klaus Siebel. Imagine what you'd write in your report: USF Secret Service officer Siebel was ripped apart and eaten by wild p'hots. No body parts were found; see the attached blood-stained boots and jumpsuit clasp."

"I can write a report like that right now," Corcoran noted. "And then what?"

"Then I'd find a way to get back to Earth. Change my face and come to Selina as a handsome young man. And we'd live together to ripe old age…"

"You're naïve, Klaus, even though you're long-lived. If she loves you, then it must be the way you are now; she won't accept another."

"Here, my friend, is where you're dead wrong. A creature like me knows how ephemeral appearances are and, at the same time, how important they are for you humanoids. Especially for a woman. Especially in a man she loves. Especially if his essence hasn't changed, but his appearance now matches it. It's so beautiful, Paul, the harmony between essence and appearance!"

One of the p'hots, enraged at the sight of its prey, did jump at the force screen and was immediately thrown back, rolling on the ground, clawing at it. The claws were frightening, at least finger-length.

"What about me?" Corcoran inquired. "Does my appearance harmonize with my essence?"

"Absolutely, if a beautiful woman like Vera loves you. You're lucky, Paul, for you've been surrounded by love since you were little. There was so much of it that, I think, there would be enough left for me…"

Poor, poor man, Corcoran thought. A miserable exile, who had come to Earth during the Dark Ages and lived through them in grief and loneliness… But times are different now. Now, you can say who you are and where you're from, and you won't be taken as a devil-worshiper, or a sorcerer, or a madman. Maybe someone would want to use you for self-interest, but they won't be surprised by your talents, for we already know that the galaxy is full of wonders, the primary of them being life. Not like on Earth, but life nonetheless!

He glanced at the p'hots, raging beyond the ghostly wall, and said, "We'll speak of love another time. Let's go, Klaus!"

The world trembled and then stabilized once again. They found themselves on a long, high terrace made of processed and fitted slabs of granite. The terrace ran along the shore, and green trees were visible on one side and the shining blue sea on the other. The forest reached the coastal range and looked like ancient Chinese drawings: smoothed outlines of the mountains, soft pastel colors, a certain mystery of the landscape, giving freedom to the observer's imagination. The sea, the magnificent cloud masses, and the rising sun seemed just as mysterious, but an industrial detail ruined the effect: two bluish domes, sticking out above the terrace like two halves of an enormous egg. They connected at the base, and there, like a pale round moon, was a shimmering entrance membrane.

"They're here," Siebel spoke. "Just a pair of quasi-minds and no one else. It doesn't seem like our late friend Dyte needed any assistants. Can you hear them?"

The sensation was completely different from that brief moment when Corcoran had touched the brain on Obscurus. That creature, or the Daskin beastie, as Siebel had called it, seemed not only enormous, but mature, powerful, imbued with many individualities, obviously connected to the t'ho and the Faata, who were working at the shipyard. The quasi-sentients under the domes seemed more like sleeping giant animals, like dormant pythons digesting their food in peace and quiet; they didn't seem to possess an intelligence, and their memories were transparent and almost empty. They appeared to be at the stage closest to the original purpose they were used for by the Daskins: living devices for amplifying emotions and transmitting them telepathically. No one in the galaxy knew why the Ancients had needed them; it was possible that they had lost their ability to feel and were trying to compensate.

Corcoran left the mental space, returning to the world of roaring waves and violet skies.

"They need to be destroyed, Klaus. We won't touch the other, smaller brains, until the evacuation is complete, but these need to be destroyed. They're too large and unpredictable… like monstrous snakes, not yet aware of their own strength."

"Like the Midgard Serpent… [The Midgard Serpent, or Jörmungandr, was a monstrous serpent that is, according to Scandinavian mythology, squeezing the entire inhabited world, Midgard, in its coil.]" Siebel muttered. "Well then, I agree with you, we need to destroy them. These Daskin toys are too dangerous. Until the Faata had found them, there was another option for their development, other methods for preventing a disaster. Perhaps t'ho would have been people, not mere appendages to thinking machines."

Nodding silently, Corcoran looked at the sea, seething at the foot of the domes, then at the jungle approaching the terrace as a string of frozen dark green waves. If one didn't look at the domes, then the view was completely primeval.

"No motorways, not even trails… no roads for ground transportation… Strange, Klaus."

"I don't think so. They don't have wheeled or tracked vehicles. As for machines with gravity drives, they don't need roads. They can take off and land anywhere, even on this terrace."

"That's probably what it's for," Corcoran agreed. "Can you transport us inside, Klaus? Or will we have to deactivate the membrane?"

"I will try. It's more reliable when I can picture the target location. In this case, a domed ceiling, a smooth floor, canals with flowing water, and a pair of brown beasties… That's enough information."

"Why do they need water?" Corcoran asked.

"It carries nutrients. Various small organic matter, salts, metals, silicon, oxygen, hydrogen… Everything they need to grow."

The world blinked once again, opening invisible doors into an enormous space that seemed empty at first glance. Everything was exactly as expected: a blue ceiling a hundred meters high, a floor with stone tiles, two wide openings in the walls, through which the noisy and rumbling seawater flowed in. From where they were standing, Corcoran could see the edges of circular pools, each under a separate dome, and the elevation between them, a transparent platform on a gravlift column. Pulling out his weapon and nodding to Siebel, he moved towards it.

The platform was, probably, the Keeper's work area; both pools were visible from the top, with enormous brown carcasses on the bottom. Two motionless disk-shaped bodies forty meters in diameter, having yet to grow any tentacles; the seething and bubbling water washed them, and the beasties seemed even larger through its transparent lens. The air under the domes was stuffy and humid.

Corcoran raised his plasma thrower.

"They are not aware of our presence," Siebel said.

"Did you put up a barrier?"

"Yes. But I won't be able to hold it when you kill the first one. The second one will feel it… The reaction will be strong, Paul."

"How strong?" Corcoran wondered, shifting the power regulator to maximum. The PT-44 emitter he was holding was a deadly weapon, capable of blowing up a mountain or boiling a small lake.

"I don't know. Very strong… maybe even monstrous… I'll try to weaken it, but prepare yourself for the worst."

"I'm ready."

He raised the thrower and fired. Clouds of steam rose over the right pool, its edge melted and flowed to the bottom as a liquid mass, the water-supplying canal became shallow, and a flaming ball rolled down its length, melting new flows of water. He felt the heat on his face, wet haze covered the dome, not letting him see what was happening in the pool. Then again, there was no need: he could see a glowing plasma cloud at the point of impact with the temperature of a solar corona. Small but hot, like a camp fire in hell.

Wiping his watery eyes and covering his face with his hand, Corcoran turned to the left pool. One of the beasties had been vaporized along with the water and the plastic covering, but the other one remained, who now knew what awaited it. He was prepared for a psychic attack, an attempt to penetrate his mind, stop his heart, destroy his blood vessels, something similar to what the Keeper had been planning on doing to him, but, to his surprise, he felt nothing. For now.

"Quickly…" Siebel muttered behind him, "quickly… I can't hold it anymore…"

Something cracked silently, or, perhaps, the invisible line connecting Klaus and Corcoran broke. He didn't have time to touch the trigger; fear flooded his mind, universal dread before the darkness of nothingness, the disappearing forever. The emotion was inhuman, belonging to a creature aware of itself no more than a wild animal, but even an animal that didn't understand death could fear it. The desire to live, an unconscious instinct, amplified a thousandfold, forced Corcoran to bend over and go numb; he was barely able to hold on to the plasma thrower. The fear fell upon him, but there was something else in this vague feeling, something beyond an animal's dread: a plea?.. a plea for mercy?.. a temptation?.. a promise of everything he would get, if he became a symbiote of this strange creature?..

"Shoot!" Siebel croaked hoarsely. "Destroy it, or we're done for! This damned thing will drive us insane!"

Overcoming the mortal anguish and dread coming from the pool. Corcoran raised the emitter. It seemed to him as if he was aiming at Mother or Vera, maybe even both of them, and, if he pulled the trigger, then the most dear thing to him would die, turning into a cloud of plasma. Not only Mother and Vera, but also Nadya and Lyuba, and their home in Smolensk, and the whole city, and the entire planet along with the Solar System…

Drivel, he told himself, a daze, a mirage! You went overboard, pal!

Scorching lightning burst out of the barrel, new clouds of steam clouded the dome, and the fear left him. This happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Corcoran barely managed to stay on his feet; his knees gave way, and he lowered himself to the platform. Siebel gave a sigh of relief.

"It's too bad I don't have a sigga… But you, Paul, have done just as well."

"It wanted to offer something," Corcoran muttered, gripping the thrower with both hands. "Maybe promote me to admiral, or give me a Swiss bank account, or make me ruler of the world… And threatened! The bastard threatened me! It threatened to destroy Earth or, at least, my family! No, that's not it… That I would destroy them myself…"

"I did say it was a dangerous toy, not for humanoids." Siebel's eyes clouded, as if he was listening to something again. "You can be tricked so easily, or bribed, or pushed into confrontation… I think it's because you feel your individuality with a particular acuteness. That's both your strength and your weakness. Yes, you're capable of great acts… But each of you is a closed world, where almost no other person can go, and that's why–"

"Even a loved one?" Corcoran interrupted him, getting up.

"That's why I said 'almost'. But how many loved ones are there? Three-four, if someone gets lucky, like you. As for the rest… the rest, like me, are doomed to solitude."

"You were talking about something else not long ago." Corcoran steadied himself on his feet, stuck the emitter in his belt, and examined both pools, or, rather, what was left of them, in satisfaction. Water had already filled in the blackened holes with charred edges and flowed on the floor; the drains were probably clogged. "You said that I was lucky, for I've been surrounded by love since I was little. But who gives it, Klaus? Who gives that love if not one's loved ones?"

"That's true, but…" Siebel started, but his face suddenly changed, the features of an elderly Faata flowed like melted wax, he threw his head back to look at the dome covered by the fog. He clenched his fists, held them to his chest, and went silent.

"What?" Corcoran asked. "What happened, Klaus?"

"The battle modules… the ones you saw in your Dream… they've found the frigate… our people are defending, but there are many attackers, too many… Selina… Selina!"