This is a fan translation of Agent of the Star Corps (Агент Звёздного корпуса) by the Russian science fiction author Leonid Kudryavtsev.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Chapter 3

But first he'd have to ensure his own safety.

Leaving the aircar in the clearing, Michael went deeper into the woods. Even from the air he'd managed to spot where the highway leading to the city was located and was now making his way to it.

He was walking through the woods and trying to figure out where he was going to hide.

He finally decided that the city was the best place. It made sense. What did a clever fox do when hunters were scouring the forest and digging up its burrows? Exactly, hiding in their home, maybe in the basement. Assuming it could get in there.

But it didn't really have much of choice, so it would.

Now he needed to decide where in the city exactly. The city was large. Obviously, over the year of living on the planet, he and Haka had prepared several apartments that could be used as safehouses. But the question was if he should make use of them.

The hunters pursuing him weren't stupid. Both the Ragnites and the centurions. Obviously, both groups had been watching him this past year. Which of the safehouses did they know about? Maybe one or two. Maybe all of them.

He couldn't afford to make a mistake. He wouldn't get a second chance. That meant that he had to accept that showing up to one of those apartments would be suicide.

Had it been worth preparing them? Strangely enough, yes. Now that he'd managed to slip away from the pursuers, they'd be waiting for him at those exact apartments. They'd do it properly: set ambushes, post hunters, ensure disguises. But he wouldn't show. Because he had a backup safehouse.

The one neither he nor Haka had visited once during their time on Abausa to avoid exposing it. By the way, the regular safehouses were needed too. Otherwise, the Ragnites might have run into the only "clean" one. They hadn't. So now they could sit there and wait where he wouldn't go.

It was unlikely that the centurions suspected that it was pointless to wait for him at the safehouses. But the Ragnites… They had to have anticipated such a possibility.

That meant that some of them were busy searching for the "clean" safehouse. They'd find it. In three or four days at the soonest. Those three-four days would be his lead. He had to take advantage of that lead to the fullest and leave the planet in time.

Michael sighed and, searching his pockets, pulled out a cigarette. Pausing to light it up, he continued walking.

All right, he had no more than three or four days to figure out what was happening and learn why Haka had been killed.

Not a lot, not a lot at all. But it could've been worse. He might not have had that time or the "clean" safehouse. They could've killed him right there in the hotel lobby or on his way back to Abausa.

He could've also drowned in a river as a child, or killed by a bomb planed by a Ragnite terrorist, or, after growing up and becoming a Star Corps agent, failed his first mission. Or second. Or third.

Michael snorted and stopped. Taking another drag, he looked around.

The highway was maybe fifty paces away, no more. He could already make it out through the gaps in the trees.

Now he had to get back to the city. The same city he'd just managed to escape with such difficulty.

Interesting.

But it was pointless to remain in the woods. The sooner he got back to the city, the better.

Thinking about his enemies' next movements, Michael knew that they were about to start combing the forest. Naturally, the roads would be blocked off, dozens of centurion aircars would be circling in the sky, and several armed squads would be sent on his trail.

He shivered.

In another half an hour he'd have to fight his way into the city. Maybe he ought to go deeper into the forest. The tree canopies would hide him from aerial observation, while a swamp would help him cover his tracks. Ten or twelve hours would pass, maybe a day, and then the centurions would call off the search. They wouldn't look for him forever, after all.

Then he'd get out of the city, quietly get to the "clean" safehouse, and get to work. Except he might run out of time. And then the year of living on this planet and Haka's death would be for naught.

No, Brado decided. I have at least half an hour. I'll try to get to the city now. I'll always have the option of going deep into the woods. If I fail to get into the city. But first I need to try.

He tossed the cigarette butt and headed for the bushes growing along the side of the road.

At least a dozen cars drove past Michael in five minutes. He had to not only choose the one that would take him to the city but also figure out how to stop it. And ideally it wouldn't be searched by the centurions.

That's going too far, Michael told himself. It would require some tremendous luck.

Also, if he really did intend to get into the city, it was time to act.

Noe a single car drove past him over the next three minutes. But a centurion aircar did fly by not far away. It seemed they hadn't noticed Michael. After all, he was well hidden by the tree canopies and the branches of the bushes. But he still had to hurry.

Am I really going to have to go back to the forest? Brad thought.

And then he saw the vehicle that was the embodiment of all his hopes.

In addition to growing crops, the people of Abausa raised animals called megaskunks. This planet was the only one in the galaxy where they were raised.

Megaskunks were large, extremely ill-tempered beasts. Their meat couldn't be eaten, their fur wasn't particularly attractive, and their fangs couldn't be turned into souvenirs. Despite all this, they were being raised, and for a good reason. Megaskunks possessed one extremely valuable quality — their smell…

Yes, they were definitely true to their name and could expel a vile, vomit-inducing odor. It was unbearable, but it was used for producing the finest and most expensive perfume in the galaxy. Tiny amounts of the musky fluid produced by the megaskunks were mixed in with other ingredients to produce perfume that any fashionista would kill to have.

Traditionally, megaskunks were raised by Lardoids, beings that lacked any olfactory senses. They lived on their skunks farms, almost never leaving them because that would be pointless. As soon as any megaskunk-raising Lardoid appeared in the city, every living thing immediately scattered from them like the plague. After all, all ordinary denizens of this planet did possess functional olfactory senses.

And yet someone had to do the work of delivering everything the Lardoids needed to survive, do business with them, and deliver the product—tanks with the musky fluid—to the processing factory.

Naturally, such individuals existed. For a decent wage. They were called skunk carriers, even though that name didn't really reflect their work. At least these intermediaries never got close to the megaskunks themselves. They only handled the tanks containing the musky fluid.

But that wasn't the point.

The megaskunk odor was so sticky and vile that only a few drops of the precious musky fluid spilled in the truck was enough for any person to run away from the vehicle after taking a single breath inside.

It was also important to note that Lardoids weren't known for being careful.

That was why, when working, the skunk carriers donned special outfits and masks with respirators. After being done with work, they removed all their gear, rubbed special odor-eliminating compounds all over their bodies, and only then appeared in public. Still, some Abausians who possessed a particularly keen sense of smell insisted that the odor persisted.

And so, Michael saw a vehicle moving towards the city that could never be mistaken for another thanks to the stylized skunk emblem painted on the cab.

It was a stroke of fortune.

After waiting for the right moment, Michael stepped onto the road in front of the vehicle and waved his hands. He needed for the skunk carrier to stop.

They did. It seemed the skunk carrier figured that only someone who was in truly dire straits would ask for his help.

Brado ran to the vehicle. An Abausian with his face covered by a thick rubberized half-mask with a respirator peered out from the cab.

"What happened?" he asked.

Michael wanted to recite the story he'd come up with… only to be bowled over.

The smell! His hypersensitive nose was burning as if on fire. He wanted to forget everything and just run away. Anything to get as far from that vehicle as possible.

And yet Brado remained. With a monstrous effort he forced himself to straighten, wiped off the tears in his eyes, and wheezed out, "Help! My friend stepped on the tail of a two-headed snake, and it bit him. Every second counts. He needs to be taken to the city right away. Help me carry him."

The trick was old but reliable.

The skunk carrier silently climbed out of the vehicle and followed Michael into the forest.

After walking for thirty paces, Brado turned to the skunk carrier walking on his heels and poked him in the neck with a finger. The owner of the vehicle the Star Corps agent so desperately needed dropped to the grass without a sound.

Feeling remorse for doing that to an Abausian who ran to help a stranger, Michael put on the skunk carrier's clothes, took his ID, and donned the half-mask.

Hiding the body in the bushes, Brado went to the vehicle.

He'll wake up in two hours with no ill effects, the Star Corps agent thought. Meanwhile, it's definitely going to be easier for me to get into the city.

The was right. Along the way, Michael passed several recently set up cordons, but the centurions, doing their best to keep away from the vehicle, simply checked his ID. They didn't even ask him to remove his mask.

It did indeed block the odor of the megaskunks. Mostly. At least Michael felt a lot better wearing it.

Finding himself in the city, he stopped on a street and thought about what to do next.

All right, he'd managed to evade pursuit and get back into the city. Now he just needed to get to the safehouse. Driving up to it in such a noticeable vehicle was suicide. That meant it was time to get rid of the skunk carrier's car and his clothes.

But how?

As soon as he removed the skunk carrier's mask, any passerby is going to recognize him as a Human. What had happened at the farming supplies store was likely already in the holonews. The risk of being recognized was too great.

The only thing he could do was find another mask.

After driving around the city, Michael found the suitable store. Based on the sign over the door, it sold all manner of small items. The sign also promised the best, the cheapest, and the most reliable goods.

He needed to hurry.

The skunk carrier could wait up earlier. And if he got lucky and quickly got to a centurion, then his vehicle would stop being a useful cover and turn into a trap. How difficult was it to find such a car, even in a big city?

Michael headed for the store.

A salesgirl in a black robe with glitter was standing in the middle of the sales area and moving her jaws evenly. She had a detached look, as if she was busy deciding problems on a galactic scale at the moment.

Doubt it, Brado thought. Probably thinking what to wear to the club tonight.

At that moment, the girl looked at him and nearly choked on her gum.

Michael chuckled.

Yeah, that had to be quite a look. A skunk carrier shopping in his work outfit.

He wondered if the holonews reporters would be able to learn how he'd gotten back into the city. Unlikely. Centurions had no intention of allowing such knowledge to spread. That meant that the girl would be surprised for a short while before going to her club and forgetting all about his visit.

Unless someone among the centurions or Ragnites was blessed with an overabundance of brains. Someone who tried to mentally put themselves in his shoes and ask a very simple question. How would a Human keep everyone in the city from noticing his far too small eyes?

Naturally, a brainy person like that would sooner or later find this store, question the gum lover, and figure out what trick Michael had thought up… and follow a false trail.

Why? Because by that point he would have a new appearance.

The girl finally recovered and took a hesitant sniff. Then she shook her head doubtfully.

"Would you like to make a purchase?" she inquired.

"I would," Michael said. "These sunglasses."

He pointed at a display.

"Oh, sunglasses… Of course. One second."

The girl giggled.

It seemed a skunk carrier buying huge sunglasses that concealed nearly half of his face was funny to her. It was also possible that she was one of those girls that giggled at any time and for any reason.

She grabbed the sunglasses from the shelf, handed them to Michael and, unable to restrain herself, giggled again.

Michael produced a small stack of cash from his pocket. Fortunately, when changing into the skunk carrier's outfit, he'd remembered to grab it. Pulling a bill from the stack, he handed it to the girl. She quickly counted off the change.

"Keep it," Brado said. "Get some… ice cream."

The girl giggled a third time and asked, "Anything else?"

"Of course," Michael said importantly. "I'd like…"

He swept the display with a thoughtful look.

"Maybe you're like this nice travel kit. Or that folding knife. Or this…"

The girl trailed off. She was holding a bottle of cologne. Belatedly realizing that offering it to a skunk carrier was somewhat awkward, the girl quickly put it away and was about to offer him something else, but then Michael, trying to sound as offended as possible, said, "I think the sunglasses will be enough."

He was short on time and needed to hurry. Let the girl think that he'd come in to buy a lot of things and only didn't because of her blunder. At least after his departure she would start kicking herself for it instead of wondering why a skunk carrier needed sunglasses.

He left the store and, getting into the vehicle, drove another block. Stopping not far from a gloomy building with narrow embrasure-like windows, Brado pressed one of the buttons on the control panel.

The windows of the vehicle became opaque. Removing the skunk carrier's clothes and mask, Michael put on the sunglasses. Moving the cash once more, he searched through the cab of the vehicle. The search was successful, and he produced a bottle marked Superon.

He'd been counting on it. A skunk carrier had to have something with him to destroy smells. It was an occupational hazard.

Spraying his clothes with Superon, Michael climbed out of the vehicle, shut the door, and, not looking back, crossed the street.

He'd gotten lucky.

As soon as he raised his hand, a taxi stopped in front of him.

Fives minutes later, he told the taxi driver to stop next to the large honeycomb-like building of the Intergalactic Agricultural Bank. He paid and got out of the taxi. After it drove away, he started looking for another one.

The second taxi brought him to a large store called Suren. This time Michael spent ten minutes walking the store.

Some of the customers were glancing at him. After all, sunglasses had been out of fashion for a year. But it didn't look like any of them suspected him of being Human.

Finally, snorting in satisfaction, Michael went outside. Stopping another taxi, he told the driver where to go. After a short bout of haggling, they settled on a fare, and fifteen minutes later Brado was already on the outskirts.

The taxi drove off.

The Star Corps agent looked around.

He was exactly where he'd needed to go. The Alien Quarter was like a city inside a city. It lived by its own unwritten laws, which was foreign and likely incomprehensible to the natives of the planet. But not to Michael. After all, he wasn't native to this planet and had lived in such quarters before.

In general, any planet that was involved in interstellar trade developed such quarters sooner or later. Not overnight, though.

The first aliens arriving to a planet were typically ambassadors or representatives of large trading companies. These sort of people prefer to buy expensive, luxurious mansions for their embassies and offices. The reasoning behind that is simple. The larger and more luxurious a mansion is, the more respect it invites for the planet being represented.

But then small fries showed up on the planet in large numbers. Representatives of small, very small, and even microscopic companies, speculators, scammers, researchers, journalists, advertising agents, traveling salesmen, criminals fleeing the law, missionaries of various and sometimes incredible religions, and many others.

Naturally, this second wave of aliens couldn't afford to purchase mansions and luxurious gardens. Sometimes they bought small houses, sometimes they rented them. If native housing was unsuitable for them, they quickly built something temporary. It all depended on the finances of the aliens and how long they expected to stay on the planet.

But despite the finances and length of stay, aliens always tried to live close to one another. For safety reasons, for ease of communication, simply because they distrust the planet and its inhabitants, still strange and possibly dangerous. They'd get used to them, then start teaching the natives, scam them, set them on the righteous path, make deals with them… But that took time.

Until then, it was better to settle near other aliens, ones that were strange and possibly no less dangerous than the natives, but also ones that were in the same boat as living on an alien planet.

It was the distrust and the fear that gave birth to alien quarters.

Later arrivals to the planet settled almost exclusively there. It was easier to find housing, one could run into a familiar face, law enforcement didn't bother them much, and help could be found if trouble hit. No matter how varied and unusual a planet was, the alien quarter of its capital contained pieces of at least a dozen others. And they were, of course, far more interesting.

The size of the alien quarter was almost directly dependent on the amount of trade with other worlds. The wealthiest planets had alien quarters the size of a small city. The poorest ones barely had a few dozen houses in theirs.

Abausa's Alien Quarter consisted of over two hundred houses. Then again, over the five years of the bloodbath, nearly half of its inhabitants had gone back home. Now the empty houses of the Alien Quarter were being settled again, but it was a slow process.

Perhaps the reason for that was the fact that the great interstellar bloodbath had ended without a victory. Officially, the Ragnites and the Commonwealth of Free Planet under the leadership of the Supers had signed a peace treaty. In reality, it was just a ceasefire, a time for the two sides of the conflict to replenish their stocks of weapons and warships and to save up enough forces for the next round.

Maybe it would start in half a century, maybe tomorrow. It all depended on which of the opponents first decided they had enough resources to win. Or which of them obtained a new superweapon. Or which of them was able to sabotage the enemy's ability to wage war. As soon as the balance was upset, the second great interstellar bloodbath would inevitably start.

But for now there was time, and one had to make use of it. That was why the alien quarters on Abausa and many other planets were being once again filled with inhabitants. But very slowly. After all, the five years of war had done their work. Interstellar travel was now seen as dangerous. A few more years would have to pass before that changed.

Michael saw at least a few homes that were empty.

There was one that looked like a puffball mushroom, and this one shaped like a cylinder, and that one with transparent walls and filled to the top with a cloudy greenish water like a giant fish tank. The striped poles that usually held a sign with the name of the owner and their home planet were empty in front of these houses.

Over the year of living on Abausa, Brado hadn't set foot to the Alien Quarter once. By he had studied its map in detail and memorized it. Based on it, the house he needed was located not far from the puffball mushroom.

That was actually good. The fewer witnesses, the better.

Michael was walking quickly and confidently, the way someone who knew the Alien Quarter and visited it at least once a week would. It was well known that it was newbies that attracted the most attention, wandering around the streets with confused looks and asking passersby how to get to the house they needed.

That was the last thing Michael wanted! Even if he ended up having to meander a little, he wouldn't slow his gait, wouldn't lose his confident appearance, and would definitely not ask anyone for directions. Fortunately, meandering wasn't necessary. The Star Corps agent rounded the puffball mushroom, walked past a lawn fenced in by short poles with a tiny house built out of logs and branches. A pair of strange furry creatures the size of a cat was playing around in front of it. The next house was perfectly ordinary, made of stone, with a tiled roof, and iron drainpipes that were rusted all the way through.

A sign was hanging on the striped pole in front of it, "Professor Zumar Bal. Exobiologist. Planet Travalon."

This was the house he needed. The "clean" safehouse. There was no time to look around or hesitate. Michael found the black button under the sign and pressed it.

"Who is it?" came a voice from the speaker located below the button a few seconds later.

"I'm here to see Professor Zumar Bal," Michael said.

"It's me. What do you want?"

"I'm here on an urgent and important matter."

"Then come in."

The door to the exobiologist's home entered. As he entered, Michael was barely able to restrain a sigh of relief. He'd made it.