The clock read half past midnight—five minutes ago. The next jolt hit near five a.m. Una sat up, remembering she'd been woken by a shout. Someone had yelled—something raw, expressing horror, pain, a sudden tragedy that knocks the legs out from under you. That's what had pulled her from sleep.

  Una got up. A man stood by the inertial shield. Unremarkable, at first glance—short light-brown hair, hooded gray-blue eyes, hollow cheeks, sharp jaw. But when he smiled, the cold steel warmed. There was something about him—the stubble, the wear—that made you trust him instantly.

  Una shook her head. Lately, she'd been bombarded with such cascades of impressions. Five seconds of mutual gaze. One smile. And a whole world on the other side. A whole story.

  "Amazing," she whispered into the night's silence and smiled back.

  "What exactly, kid?" He laughed, zero fucks for the hour or guards.

  "You."

  He laughed playfully, unfazed by the location, the hour, or the possibility of disturbing anyone.

  "Mind sitting here another hour while I sort the formalities? Then you can call your mother and share the happy news of your rescue. Deal?"

  "So you're here for me? From Mom?"

  "I'm from Emilia Volzh-Tarovsky, but... I think you get it."

  "With all due respect to Aunt Em, DiCorps has little sway with the military. And you haven't even introduced yourself. What if you're here to kidnap me?"

  He laughed again—free, easy. Placed his palm against the shield:

  "Max Vazovsky. And that's exactly why I'm here. You're not against getting the hell out of this place, are you?"

  Una approached the transparent crimson wall and placed her palm against his.

  "Alright then. Get it done."

  When Vazovsky disappeared from view and his footsteps faded down the corridor, Una was still smiling.

  "Idemi, are you asleep?"

  "No."

  His cell was one closer to the exit. He likely wasn't in for such a quick release. Una already knew the guy was facing a tribunal—prison, psychocorrection, or straight to civilian life. That evening, it hadn't bothered him much. In fact, very little ever bothered him. Una had never encountered such calm in any situation, and it clashed strangely with his hobby. How could such a quiet, almost emotionally immobile person love the unequivocally aggressive, harsh, loud fury of MESMD battles? It seemed like someone else piloted that exoskeleton. Someone else had taken down two comrades with iron blows, then buckled under a relentless barrage from a massive model.

  And someone else had danced at the end—so incredibly stylishly and beautifully. Definitely not this guy in the cell one over to the right. How well did you need to understand every connection, every possibility, to move an exoskeleton like that? Such rapture and admiration, bringing one to tears, was something Una experienced extremely rarely.

  "Someone came for me, did you hear? Looks like in an hour the charges will be dropped and I'll be released. Honestly, I'd be outraged at how easily this was resolved for me, but on the other hand... I'm not guilty of anything anyway. Why they detained me at all is a mystery." She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled noisily. "Did you call your parents?"

  "I called."

  His voice was hollow—not its usual mockingly indifferent tone, but as if something had finally gotten to him.

  "Well? Any leverage? Can they... help somehow?"

  Idemi was silent.

  "Idemi?"

  "They crashed."

  "What?"

  "Three hours ago."

  Una felt the steel fingers of a MESMD clamp around her heart. Not daring to ask again, she pressed her cheek to the shield and squeezed her eyes shut.

  That's what woke her. That was the sound that left a painful residue of despair.

  "R-synchs? Any chance?" she finally shouted into the corridor, her voice breaking.

  "Three hours ago," Idemi repeated dully. Una heard quiet footsteps—he didn't want to talk. She returned to her cot, sat down, then lay completely still and curled into a ball. Someone's world had shrunk to a singularity of absolute pain. Una felt herself being enveloped by it, falling under its irresistible pull into despair.

  Una cried. For him. Instead of him. Maybe he would later—but what she'd managed to understand about this man suggested he'd sooner self-destruct than let anyone see him cry. Una knew Idemi could hear. She hoped he understood that someone was sharing his pain this way—that he was even capable of accepting empathy rather than turning it into self-blame.

  "While you're still here..."

  Una listened. It was Idemi. His voice rang clear.

  "We've held these fights so many times. It was always quiet. How did they find out this time? It was... all our own people there. You were the only new one. Find out how command found out. You've met everyone. They'll help. Will you do it?"

  "Are you serious? Is that important to you right now?" Una, wiping her cheeks, approached the shield.

  "If everything had gone as usual, if I hadn't been arrested, my parents wouldn't have flown here..."

  "My condolences, man."

  Una pressed her cheek to the transparent crimson wall but didn't see Vazovsky.

  "Anyone to send a message to? Other relatives? Anything I can do?"

  "Get me out of here? Preferably without a tribunal."

  "Don't like answering to the law?"

  "What law forbids making crafts from scrap metal and throwing parties with brawls and dancing?"

  "Can you prove it? About the scrap metal and that your crafts aren't MESMDs."

  "To whom?"

  "I can try to arrange a preliminary hearing. Before the official tribunal. Can't promise anything, but I can try."

  "Who are you, mister?"

  "Max. Vazovsky. I have a resort nearby. 'Polyanka' by Lake Renova."

  Una could hear the smile in Vazovsky's pauses. In Idemi's situation, this irony was abnormal, cruel, dangerous. Then she mentally smacked herself: You idiot! You're the one who needs to cry on someone's shoulder. Idemi needs a light at the end of the tunnel. That's the only way he'll get out. Only by moving forward. Step by step.

  A soft beep sounded. Una peeled herself off the inertial wall as the shield dissolved. Between Vazovsky, standing by Idemi's cell, and Una, emerging from hers, loomed a sleepy duty officer.

  "Amatin, Una. Free to go," he mumbled. "Exit."

  "Idemi," Una ran to his cell and placed her palm on the shield. "I'm so sorry."

  Idemi's left cheek twitched. He nodded.

  "Find out who to thank for this 'coincidence.' Pity won't help me. But..."

  "Revenge?"

  "Understanding. No gaps. Then we'll see."

  "Okay. See you."

  "Definitely."

  Una looked up at Vazovsky. He was studying her thoughtfully, a bit sleepily, and only came to when the pause dragged on.

  "Well, kiddo. Let's get out of here."

  After several doors with guards, they stepped outside. No escort was needed—the doors opened and closed automatically for identified personnel exiting. Dawn was breaking, but the base remained quiet, deserted. Fresh. Gray. A bit grimy.

  "Oh, look," Vazovsky raised a hand toward a hover-taxi and quickened his pace.

  Una raised her eyebrows. Hitching a ride on a military base? Just who the hell are you, Max Vazovsky?

  A couple of phrases, a couple of jokes, and ten minutes later they jumped onto a concrete slab by the base gates. Una was in a daze—not just from the sleepless night, but from the surrealism of it all. Finding her mother's contact, she reassured her:

  "Mom, they released me. I'm already outside the gates."

  "Ask Vazovsky to take you home, if he doesn't think of it himself. We'll talk more tomorrow."

  "Good... night, I mean."

  "You didn't come here on foot, Citizen Vazovsky?"

  "My carriage only appears if you know the magic word, baby," Max smirked.

  Una blushed.

  "Sorry, Citizen Vazovsky. Thank you for getting me out. I don't understand what happened, why I was detained, and how you managed to resolve this so quickly—but thank you. And I also want clarity. No gaps, as Idemi put it. Who are you, that you can show up here, chum around with everyone, and spring someone from lockup?"

  "Nah—the base just has a 'suspicion' on record. No charges were filed," he answered, ignoring the inconvenient questions. "Look, our carriage." He turned her by the shoulders toward the right wall of the base: high, blank, bleached by the sun. Una made out the outlines—then the hull of an orbital flier materialized.

  "Holy hell! A stealth, 'parked' by a military base?"

  "Diplomatic carriage," Max smiled, approaching the flier's rounded hull with a descending ramp. "Say what you will, but being friends with the Second Special Advisor..."

  "Don't tell me it's a gift from Aunt Em."

  "Wasn't even going to. Are you getting in?"

  Una followed him through the cargo and passenger compartments and plopped into the co-pilot's seat. Max powered up and started the engines.

  "You're not from around here, Citizen Vazovsky?"

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Your accent! And you're too bold with your words and touches..."

  "Hm... you're right! Have a cookie for your observation skills, kiddo."

  "What cookie?!" Una didn't understand.

  "It's an old Earth expression of praise."

  "You're from Earth?" Una turned her whole body.

  "I'm from the Cyber-Block, kid. Can you buckle up yourself? The safety fuse is blown—haven't gotten around to replacing it."

  Una turned to look for the straps.

  "Where did you get a stealth, Citizen Vazovsky?"

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  "It got 'lost' after a mission. About four years ago. Sank, I think. Can't remember anymore."

  "So it is a gift?"

  "You asked me not to say!"

  "Alpha, home, please," Una sighed, already tired of Vazovsky's teasing.

  "Ahem..."

  "This vehicle is not under my control, Una," a voice sounded in her ear.

  "She only flies on my orders, kid. And there's a minimum of Alpha in her."

  "So, it really did 'get lost'."

  "A flier got lost, a carriage was found. Horse-drawn and a little bit magical."

  "I don't understand you at all. Please take me home."

  Vazovsky smoothly lifted the flier, making Una exhale. In a week, she had an exam and would theoretically be licensed to operate A-B-C class aerial vehicles. For now, it was just a dream.

  "Do you know why we were detained?"

  "In broad strokes."

  "Idemi asked me to find out how command learned about their MESMD fun."

  "I heard."

  "And how do I do that? I met most of the people who were there. But not the command."

  "Forget about it."

  "Why?"

  He sighed. Una turned, studying his profile. She wanted to repeat the question—but then understanding hit her like a hurricane. She covered her eyes with her palm, trying to stifle a cry that would betray horror, guilt, and regret.

  "It was me?!"

  "You, kid."

  "Markus..."

  "I don't know who Markus is, but the recording surfaced online and got popular very fast. Just don't you dare blame yourself for his parents' death. Don't even think about it. No one is to blame, you hear? No one."

  "How do I tell him that?"

  "You won't. You'll never, ever tell him anything."

  "But that's dishonest! Unfair! He'll see and figure it out himself sooner or later!"

  "Later is better than sooner."

  Una hung her head dejectedly.

  Ahead was her last exam: historical forecasting. She was ready. After that—New Hope. The Toshida Empire. A thesis. Finally, off Perina.

  Una hadn't expected to see Vazovsky again. Her imminent departure meant goodbyes—and the main one, apart from her grandma, was Ron. For Una, the relationship was purely casual; for Ron, it was serious. Gradually understanding where his girlfriend was heading with her disjointed talk of leaving, Ron grew gloomy. He came to happily announce he'd also chosen a topic on the Toshida Empire—that they could fly together, not be apart. The harsh "no" that flew from Una's lips first puzzled him, then brought understanding. And then Vazovsky appeared.

  "Hi, sweetheart," he smiled so familiarly it seemed they'd known each other forever.

  "Good day?" Una greeted questioningly, not understanding why he'd appear on the Amatins' doorstep.

  "Who's this?" Ron asked bluntly.

  "Um... Citizen Vazovsky," Una introduced him. She hadn't told Ron about Idemi, the Friday MESMD battle, or the arrest. Revealing that Vazovsky had sprung her from the military brig would be superfluous. Una raised a hand toward Ron in the hall's depth: "Ron is my... friend."

  "Una..." the guy exhaled.

  "Oh," Vazovsky feigned embarrassment. "Kid, I'll have a smoke on the porch. When you're done, we need to talk."

  The Amatins lived in a Sonytook.Alliance settlement—he'd been here before with Emilia. Dropping Una off yesterday, he hadn't connected the dots. Now he did. Grandparents? Maybe. But Ramon came from Earth, and Kirin never joined an Sonytook.Alliance. Odd.

  Who could have been part of Sonytook.Alliance? Una's grandfather or grandmother? Or both? Vazovsky already knew Una's father, Ramon, had left Earth as a very young man—and her mother, Kirin, had never joined an engcorp.

  Stepping onto the porch, Max lit a cigarette. Una turned to Ron.

  "'Sweetheart'? 'Kid'? That geezer replacing me?"

  Una raised her eyebrows. Ron was speaking from anger and disappointment—but he wasn't usually like this.

  "No, Ron. He just talks that way. It's a long story—one I won't be telling you. Sorry."

  "What's wrong, Un? Why cut it off..."

  "Ron, stop. We were friends and, I hope, will remain friends. I always said I'd leave Perina. I said I don't need a relationship right now. And now I don't need the complications."

  "You're not so different from your sister."

  Una, who had guiltily turned away, spun around sharply.

  "Go to hell, Ron."

  He was one of the few current friends who had known Athra before the psychocorrection capsule. That low blow gave Una strength. She asked him to leave—politely, as politely as she could.

  "Why are you here?" Una asked Vazovsky's back, making him flinch.

  "Nice guy," he smirked, watching Ron walk away. "A bit heavy-handed." Vazovsky demonstratively rubbed his chin. "But I'm sure he'd take care of you."

  Max turned to the girl. Her upset face made him extinguish his smile. Una asked for a cigarette, and Max raised his eyebrows mockingly.

  "And your parents won't have my head for..."

  "Don't be afraid of my parents, Citizen Vazovsky—be afraid of my sister," Una interrupted with a joyless smile, taking a cigarette from the pack.

  "Why?"

  "Because she was my parent until she ended up in the psychocorrection capsule. The others never gave a damn about me."

  Vazovsky studied the girl and asked nothing more. Her face, her trembling voice, exposed a wound that would never heal.

  Max was silent for a couple of minutes. Una didn't know if he was thinking about her words or something of his own. Her memory of her sister betrayed admiration and love. Una once again mentally sent herself to the station—to her parents. The impending farewell to Perina echoed with a painful, sweet ache.

  "Emilia can facilitate a preliminary hearing for Idemi—but not for free. The communications apparatus needs to know who supplied the MESMD parts to Perina."

  "Why are you coming to me with this? I've known Idemi for a week. I'm a coincidence in this story."

  "A coincidence that got his parents killed and him sitting in a cell, awaiting a tribunal and the end of his military career—possibly his freedom."

  Una took a deep breath. Accusing and guilty at the same time.

  "And you're a manipulator, Vazovsky," she remarked, not very politely. "You yourself said not to blame myself for..."

  "And yet you're indirectly involved."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "For starters, stop calling me that. Just Max. I want you to be present. He doesn't know me and likely won't trust me. You—even if it's only been a week—seem to have become friends."

  "Okay. How do we do this?"

  "The carriage is behind the settlement by the well."

  "We're flying back to the base? How will they let us in? That's..."

  "They'll let us, kid. They'll let us."

  "Can you call me by my name? It's not that..."

  "Sorry, sweetheart. I'm not good with names. Even names of lovely things like you. Don't be offended. Sooner or later you'll understand that hurting you is the last thing I want."

  A quarter of an hour later, they were let onto the base without questions, driven to the administrative building, and escorted into a concrete box two by two meters—with a heavy metal table and three chairs. Apart from a carafe of water with a few glasses and an ashtray on the tabletop, there was nothing. A couple of minutes later, Idemi was brought in. Vazovsky lit a cigarette, leaning back relaxed in his chair.

  "Hello, friend," he said amicably and slid the pack over when Idemi reached for it. "My condolences again on the death of your parents, man. I'm sorry we have to have this conversation now. Perhaps if you provide thorough and truthful information, you'll make it to their funeral."

  "Who do you represent and what do you want to know, Vazovsky?" Idemi was calm. Having lit up, he relaxed in his chair as well. Una couldn't follow the men's example. The atmosphere was too oppressive—and she was surprised why these two felt so at home.

  "I represent DiCorps. A few days ago, a ship entered Perina's atmosphere with a cargo of decommissioned MESMDs and parts. The cargo came from a base near Earth. Perhaps you didn't know you were buying stolen rigs—but that's the case, and I need to find out who you source from."

  Idemi exhaled a cloud of smoke and jerked his chin.

  "And why is Una here?"

  "Una has known the advisor who tasked me with this since childhood. One way or another, she was arrested with you—and only thanks to her parents' long-standing acquaintance with the advisor were we able to get her out quickly and quietly. But no one is left to stand up for you. I thought you'd be more comfortable with her present. Your only chance to get out of this mess with some military honor left—meaning without a tribunal—is to share your supplier's contacts."

  "You served too, Vazovsky," Idemi noted after a short pause.

  "Once upon a time."

  "Once a soldier, always a soldier," Idemi smirked. "You should understand that if I were knowingly buying even decommissioned tech from the EF, then there could be no talk of military honor for me. If I did it unknowingly, giving up the contact of a supplier who also risked exposure would be a blow to my personal honor as a man. Hardly worth banking on that, since you've recognized me as someone for whom honor isn't an empty word. What's left for you?"

  "To end this conversation?" Vazovsky suggested.

  "Or to suggest another option," Una interjected quietly.

  Idemi pointed at Una with his cigarette-holding fingers and stubbed it out.

  "Okay, I'm listening," Vazovsky nodded, casting an interested glance at his companion.

  "I'm an MESMD engineer by trade—a mechanic and operator by job description, and a tinkerer by nature. I've never had contact with anyone from the EF, let alone bought anything there. That's easily verified via my contact history and Alpha. Yes, my family could afford such indulgences financially—but where's the fun in that? Everything I've assembled, literally every model, was recreated from scratch using parts from junkyards or the electronics flea market north of Torsad. I make and assemble the hulls and electrical systems myself, albeit using base equipment. That's also easy to verify. Any MESMD engineer can distinguish a standard Alliance or EF model from one cobbled together in a shed. They plan to charge me with non-regulation use of military tech—but no one even bothered to look at my rigs to verify they are indeed military-grade builds. Otherwise it would already be known they aren't and never were equipped with weaponry."

  Una stole glances at the frowning Vazovsky.

  "I assume the old analyzers in the ocular implant from your 'once upon a time' days must have gone into a coma analyzing all that honesty," Idemi suggested.

  "That they did," Vazovsky nodded and sighed.

  "Analysis of my contacts by Alpha and an MESMD engineer's report on my rigs will close this matter definitively."

  "I suppose so."

  "You'll get me out of the tribunal?"

  "Yes, Idemi. What surprises me now is that it has to be me—not your command—doing this."

  "My command will never look my way or offer a handshake again. To restore justice in this matter for them would mean admitting a mistake. And those who feel disgraced find it very hard to admit mistakes."

  "You might be useful to me when you get out. One way or another, MESMDs were supplied to Perina—and we need to find out who needed them and for what. It's more serious than brawls and dancing."

  "And, of course, I can refuse?"

  "You could—if I weren't doing you a favor and providing help you couldn't count on."

  "That's true too," Idemi's lips twitched in a faint smile.

  "See you on the outside, friend."

  "See you on the outside, Citizen Vazovsky."

  Una walked to the garrison gates alone and had to wait another half hour before Vazovsky drove up. Climbing into the flier, Max was silent for a long time. Una didn't disturb him. Their conversation had left a strange impression—and Idemi had revealed a new, unexpected, though fitting, side of his nature.

  "Max?" Una called after several minutes of silence. "Shall we fly home?"

  "Yeah, kid. We'll fly now. I... I just..." He fell silent again. "You know, kid—don't let that guy slip away."

  "In what sense?"

  "Just what it sounds like!" he turned to her, his tone turning rough. "He's got honor. In this universe, that's rarer than synch compatibility. Don't waste it."

  After dropping Una home, Max set course for Lake Renova. On seven hectares of land laid out in a neat triangle stood two graceful three-story buildings and the main six-story block with a pool and sports areas in the center. Along the shoreline stretched a tidy row of bungalows. This place had once been a resort—but the owner went bust about ten years back. Vazovsky's business wasn't doing much better. More often than not, Polyanka was kept afloat by his earnings from DiCorps jobs. Over the years, he, Meg, and Farkhat had figured out both their mistakes and the steps needed to attract steady clientele. But they had no money for those steps. The resort was barely staying above water.

  The flier's approach was noticed. Exiting the hangar, set apart from the living quarters, Max spotted Meg's tall, slender figure—her short white haircut visible from a distance. She waved from the balcony, pointed to the left, and disappeared. His hope of a quick rinse and change of clothes was dashed. They walked into his office almost simultaneously.

  "The Chemical Fem tender is ours, Max. Now we just have to not screw it up."

  "Oh, don't tell me it's good news," Vazovsky chuckled skeptically, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch before sprawling on it himself.

  "First payment and the clients arrive in three weeks—but right now we have to pay the live-in staff or they'll start walking."

  "Three weeks isn't that long to wait."

  "They've already been getting a third of their pay for the third month running. Want to go talk to them yourself? I'm tired."

  "Got it, Meg. Give me a couple of hours. I'm working on it right now."

  "With Emilia again?"

  "You got any other candidates ready to throw us a crust of bread? I'm all ears."

  Meg waved both hands at him in exasperation and left.

  "Alpha, check Idemi Rumos's claims about contacts with the EF. Through cut-outs too. His whole division—Second Infantry—needs checking."

  "No contacts found, Max."

  "What about his rigs? Backyard assembly?"

  "The garrison database has security footage of the assembly process. Shall I play it?"

  "Go ahead."

  Vazovsky flicked the first video frame onto the wall and shifted his focus from his boots to the smooth surface beyond. Idemi certainly didn't shy away from using mini-foundries and printers—but it was obvious he was doing it himself.

  "Call Emilia Volzh-Tarovsky," Vazovsky asked, reluctantly getting up and walking to the window.

  "You've got two minutes, Max," Emilia warned. Judging by her ragged breathing, she was walking somewhere fast.

  "Idemi Rumos is clean, Em. All his rigs are slapped together by him or his buddies from parts they cast themselves or scavenged from dumps. No contacts with the EF."

  "Then where the hell did the EF's MESMD units go?"

  "That's your puzzle to solve, darling."

  "Figure it out, Max! You've got the access, and I don't have the time."

  "Neither do I, Em. No time, no money. Besides, we had a different deal."

  Silence.

  "Em, I'm serious."

  "I'll toss in a couple of mil on top. You started it—you finish it."

  "Make it ten," Vazovsky shot back instantly. "And get the guy out of the brig. He's no saint, but he doesn't deserve a tribunal."

  "I'll think about it. Get to work. This is your planet now too..."

  Emilia cut the line. Vazovsky leaned his palms on the windowsill. He felt like walking down to the lake and diving in. Far to the right, on a narrow strip of beach, vague figures were playing volleyball. In the water, under the watch of a Polyanka employee, kids were splashing about. The resort was built for two thousand people. Right now, at best, twenty percent of the rooms were occupied—and that was already an improvement. He turned back to his contacts.

  "Fark, come see me, please."

  "I'm busy, Max."

  "Get un-busy."

  "O-okay," his old friend rumbled after a pause.

  Farkhat clearly wasn't in a hurry, appearing in the doorway about twenty minutes later. His thick hair, bleached by the sun to a coppery hue, was tied in a short ponytail; half his face was covered by an equally thick beard. Max knew perfectly well that the same dense growth covered the chest, arms, and legs of the tall, solidly built man.

  Meg and Farkhat had known each other practically from the cradle and had never been apart. Vazovsky had met the pair around age nine at the Youth Foundation. After leaving, most kids were assigned to military academies: Vazovsky to Airborne Infantry, Farkhat to Engineers. They hadn't seen each other for years after graduation. Then Jane happened—and with her came Vazovsky's rapid fall. It was Meg and Farkhat who had dragged him back to life. If anyone meant even half as much to Max as these two did now, it was probably the "brothers" Tommy and Dandy... but Max didn't want to think about them right now.

  "Hey. What's up?"

  "Hey," Max turned from the window, where he'd been buried in case files. Swiping the documents from his field of view, he jerked his chin toward his desk.

  "About a week ago, a shipment of decommissioned MESMD units with parts was delivered to Perina. We need to find it."

  "What's the problem? Either the Eastern Garrison here, or the distribution depot over there." Farkhat jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then spread his hands, not seeing the catch.

  "The truck came straight from an EF base—and the cargo wasn't meant for the garrison 'here' or the depot 'there,'" Vazovsky grinned crookedly, echoing his friend's slang.

  "And how exactly was this cargo 'delivered'?" Farkhat finally sat down. "It couldn't have gotten landing clearance, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. So it must have docked at the station to transfer to a planetary shuttle. But if you didn't trace a shuttle, then..."

  "Yeah," Vazovsky sighed. "Meaning the drop was made before landing. And the handoff probably didn't happen at the station either."

  "And the sats...?"

  "And the sats didn't pick up a thing."

  "So the drop was into blind zones. Date? Time?" Farkhat placed his palms on the desk, and a moment later a projection of Perina with its orbital infrastructure lit up above the surface. Max smirked and walked over. Together, they'd figure it out. They always did.