Maximilian Vazovsky limped, favoring his left leg. Yesterday's bar brawl on the law enforcement station—or "law-instilling," as they'd joked in his youth—had left its mark.

  No one had asked the residents whether to separate the military and police the way they did back in the EF. Brawls were common—usually over what was faster, a stun gun or a fist—but Max figured it was better to blow off steam here than outside.

  He'd lived here for thirteen years, ever since arriving from the Youth Foundation at sixteen. At twenty-nine, he'd transferred to ADB after joining the Cyber-Block Ministry of Defense. Now he kept his head down—hardly anyone would remember him.

  It wasn't Max who started it. When he saw the older guy—scrawny, sad, throwing money around—getting cornered, his instincts kicked in. The man was deep in a depressive spiral, blowing cash on expensive whiskey while a group of patrons watched, their cheap drinks tasting bitter. Some people struggle just to get by. Their only joy is watching Anachron Battles on a bar screen. So when someone unremarkable flaunts half a year's salary, it stings. You could understand them. That didn't mean you had to take a punch. But Max did.

  Irritation simmered beneath his skin, surfacing in every sharp movement. He knew exactly what triggered it—but tried not to think about it.

  Max left his small apartment in one of the few decent areas he still had after moving. He stepped onto the main street of the station and walked toward the docks. Ahead lay a multi-hour flight from Sunma—the planet where he was born and raised, where his mother was buried (his father's grave was empty). Yesterday had been her birthday. Each year Max came back. He flew a few circles over the ruins of Z-City's dome, still unrepaired after the earthquake. Then he landed near the memorial plaques. In the past, flights in this zone were unthinkable. Now, in the current state of neglect of the seismically hazardous area, there was no point in banning them. He knew this stretch of space down to the last outpost—he'd worked here nearly twenty years.

  As he walked, a bitter smirk crossed his face. He missed it. Missed the time when these borders were his to patrol. The contrast between then and now—income, status, purpose—sat in his chest like a stone. He knew this feeling well. It was the ten-year scar between "before" and "after." Knowing it didn't make it sting less.

  Vazovsky moved through the commercial zone—offices, cafes, shops—with the gait of a man who didn't care to be noticed. He blended in: fair-haired, average height, wearing a worn-out jacket with the collar raised. His info-feed was off. No ads, no alerts. Just the steady thrum of irritation. Then his communicator buzzed. He pulled it out. "Yeah?"

  "Max! You're on station?" The voice crackled through on an encrypted army channel—Petra Galazis, intel liaison. How long had it been? Twelve years? Fifteen?"

  "Petra. Hardly recognized you. What, did I cross your personal space?"

  "Oh yeah, you did!" she laughed. "But it's perfect. Meet up? I've got a job right up your alley."

  "Haven't worked for the armed forces or government in years."

  "I know, Max. But how do you make a living? A couple mil UCN wouldn't hurt, right?"

  "Maybe," Max said, thinking of Dandy. "I'm on the main drag. Heading to a cafe—'Elite Doggies.' Elite hot dogs? Sounds like an oxymoron."

  "Pastries, actually. Great éclairs. I'll be there in twenty."

  "Deal."

  Vazovsky wasn't a fan of sweets. Still, the meeting was on, and hunger gnawed at him. After trying a meat pie with tea, he tasted neither the meat nor satisfaction. A bottomless pit seemed to grow inside him; irritation sharpened with each passing moment. He took a couple of éclairs, swallowed them without tasting, and grew bored.

  The seller at the counter—likely the owner—looked skeptically at the vintage device. The only customer nervously fiddled with it, lost in thought. Max noticed but didn't let on. Anyone who knew this item saw it was a multifunctional gadget disguised as a communicator—portable anywhere. In today's world, Vazovsky used it as a fidget, keeping fingers busy that might otherwise reach for a cigarette. But the "doggies" owner likely thought the visitor couldn't afford to fix or replace his eyes. That's exactly how Vazovsky looked: not just unemployed, but worn-down, dusty—a stubborn loser clinging to relics.

  Petra was right on time. Twenty minutes, exactly. Max remembered how her punctuality used to piss him off. The memory hit harder than he expected. When she sat down, he almost got up and left. Almost. But he'd once respected her—one of the few in her agency who was not only natural-born but actually lived a real life.

  "Still can't believe you're here," Petra blurted, breathing heavily. "How many years has it been?"

  "I don't have much time, Petra."

  "You look good, Max—if you disregard how you want to look. Just a bit irritable. Though you were always like that."

  "You've kept well too. What's the assignment?"

  Max watched as the agent almost imperceptibly glanced around before lowering her voice.

  "Elimination job. Hackers on the moon. EF freelancers, not spies. Leaking data. A million up front, a million after."

  "No."

  Petra's mask slipped. For a second, she looked at him with cold appraisal—not hearing his refusal, calculating something else. Max watched her eyes. An operative like Petra should have looked away after a rejection. She didn't.

  "Two now, two after. Plus a personal bonus."

  Max's lips curled. Civilians were off-limits. Professionals wouldn't base near Sunma. Journalists? Their own rats? Whoever it was, Petra's agency couldn't touch them. And Max was the loose end who could. He met her gaze. Ice on ice.

  She stood. "Thanks for your help, Citizen Vazovsky."

  He leaned back in his chair and watched Petra leave through the mosaic doors. She didn't look back as she passed the clear display window. He wanted to ask about his old friend Dandy—Dandy hadn't contacted him yesterday. But irritation held him back, and he let her go. Glancing at his device, Vazovsky selected one of the contacts.

  "Tommy, it's Max."

  "Max?! You in the well or up at the station?"

  "Station. Any word on Dandy? Was supposed to link up yesterday."

  "Ten days gone, man! We've got a job waiting, and—"

  "What do you mean 'gone'? Synchs don't vanish."

  "That's what the cops say. Tell me to go to my own kind."

  "Got it. Give him hell when he shows up."

  "I'll shake his soul loose, I swear."

  A few minutes later, he left. The limp was still there. The irritation had faded, though, replaced by a dull concern for Dandy. Tommy and Dandy—the last of his old squad. They'd survived the earthquake together as boys. The Youth Foundation, the academy, the Wass unit. They were all the family he had left.

  Max walked at a leisurely pace, stroking the smooth edge of the "communicator" with his fingers in his pocket. When it signaled, he hesitated slightly before opening the message. Emilia Volzh-Tarovsky requested a link via the ElexGate terminal. Yeah—not the kind of person to tolerate the delays of regular communication. Vazovsky shook his head as if trying to remember where the nearest terminal was on this station level and quickened his pace.

  "Yeah?"

  "Max, we need to talk."

  "We're talking, Em." Vazovsky smirked at the screen.

  "Where are you? That lag… Far out. Oh, right—your annual graveside thing. Spare a couple of hours?"

  "Em, I'm beat. Not in the mood for corp or state gigs. Though with you, it's the same difference."

  "Hear me out first?"

  "You know what might hook me. And what I wouldn't touch for any money."

  "Exactly why I'm calling."

  Max pondered a few moments. "Alright. Where and when will you be?" A couple million UCN really wouldn't be superfluous. Three days ago, Max had flown away from Perina feeling like a misbehaving schoolboy, trying to avoid his longtime friend and resort manager, Meg. Returning to the planet with money would be handy—and a call from Emilia always implied a job.

  Max checked his chip for docking fees, confirmed the airlock, and signaled his crew.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Vazovsky flew a decommissioned Cyber-Block frigate, the GiL-11 model, scrapped ten years ago. Trevor kept this bird in decent condition; Cho piloted it. That was the entire crew. Boarding, Max walked to the cabin—or "bridge" on a bigger ship. He nodded at the pilot's messy black hair and asked, "Is Trev here?"

  "Trev's here!" came from the ship's bowels.

  Max suppressed a chuckle.

  "Slowboat to station 'Sonytook.Alliance' near Perina."

  "How slow?" Cho clarified.

  "Should be there by nine, universal time."

  "Got it." Cho didn't even turn around.

  They heard the rumble of the first reaction engine. Cho requested undocking clearance. Max took one last look at the station receding to the right. No one could see the sadness in his gaze—covering the ugly scarred wound like ash.

  Sighing, Vazovsky went to look for his mechanic.

  "Trev, remember Dandy? He was on board a year ago when we flew here."

  "That big and ugly one or the... scrawny redhead?"

  "Ahem... the first one."

  "Well, I remember."

  "Look for his signal. Tommy says he hasn't shown up for ten days now. Last time he disappeared for seventy days, so the police won't budge until the allotted ninety days are up."

  "And where did he disappear to?"

  "Beyond the ElexGate signal range, where else?"

  "'Likes to wander off the grid'—noted. I'll look, Cap." Trevor said, a sour smile on his face. He raised his palms as if to let Vazovsky go. This short talk had used up his social energy for the day.

  The Guillermo docked early. Emilia was waiting in her apartment—a place Max could find blindfolded. She looked younger than he remembered. Not a synch, so... rejuvenation, maybe. He was just starting to forget her. Two years since they'd last met in person.

  Emilia was second special advisor to the Sonytook.Alliance board—a corporation that was also a church. Employees worked for half-pay, asking only for God's favor. Max tried not to think about it.

  She stood in the second tier of Alliance decision-making. Real power—the kind that made drugs look weak. And she had been his. For almost a year.

  He'd moved to the Alliance because of her. Gotten citizenship. When he dove into something—a relationship, a job—he went all in. The problem was, he always surfaced just as fast.

  Their relationship brought neither of them much happiness. More pain than joy. Emilia wanted him recklessly, but never called it love. And Max... Max wanted anyone he could reach. Still, in the quiet moments, lying on her chest, he thought maybe this could be different. For the first time in years, he fell asleep and woke with the same woman. For months. For the first time, he let himself be called hers.

  Then it fell apart. They didn't even argue that last morning. It was just... obvious. But for a year after, neighbors still saw him leaving her apartment at dawn.

  Emilia wore the traditional tunic of Sonytook's elite—black with gold embroidery. Max knew the body beneath it like his own. He let his gaze travel, and she caught it, smiling briefly before leaning in for a light kiss.

  The embrace was a mistake.

  His hands found her sides, her back, her hips—and the years between them dissolved. The kiss deepened. They didn't speak again until he lay beside her, sweat-slicked in the dim light. The irritation of the past days was gone, vanished like it had never existed. Emilia looked at him and knew: she would always want him. Always.

  "I'll always miss you," she whispered.

  It had been a long time since the second special advisor showed weakness, even to herself. But right now, she felt safe. Maximilian Vazovsky wouldn't exploit the weaknesses of a woman he once cared for—even if he had the chance.

  "Em, I was never against seeing you. But you ended it. Our meetings hurt you much more than they hurt me. It was your decision to stop personal contact."

  "I had to move on. Think about family someday."

  "Have you made much progress?"

  "Low blow."

  "Sorry." He rolled onto his side, studying her. "Is it a good upgrade, right?"

  "Nice work. Hopefully not specifically for a meeting with an old lover? Did you want to get a rise out of me?"

  "You, old, Max?" she laughed quietly. "You're six years younger! And you were more to me than just a lover. Listen—why are you all beaten up?"

  "Ah, Em. Well... sometimes guys get beaten up."

  Emilia turned on her side, mirroring him. She smiled slyly. "You know, when you're near, I feel like a reactor. Let's talk in the morning? I want my fill of you for the next couple of years. Even if..."

  A familiar, predatory smile touched his lips. Her "even if..." hung in the air—an invitation he had no intention of refusing.

  They woke practically simultaneously and quite late, when all station workers had long been at their posts. While Emilia dressed in her tunic and pulled on her trousers, Vazovsky watched her lazily.

  "We don't have much time, Max." Em cast a brief glance around the room. "Get up. We need to discuss this seriously."

  "Em, you weren't serious about the 'fill for a couple of years,' were you?" His smile showed a young man she hadn't seen before—one he didn't remember either.

  "Don't start, Max." The second special advisor answered seriously. "Get up."

  He obeyed, though not happily. Soon they were devouring breakfast ordered to the apartment. The topic precluded conversation in any public place.

  "There's a local family corporation called Perina-IS-2. Main areas—ore mining and trade. They recently leased a block at the local shipyard for their own production. But that's not the main point. The corporation isn't new—they already have about a hundred ships working for them: mining vessels, couriers, gunships. Two years ago, they were roughed up pretty badly by the Gausvars. Didn't ruin them, but practically cut off their mining capability for a couple of months."

  "Well, I got dealt like all the other miners—I remember."

  "Generally, a quiet, calm outfit—not shooting for the stars. Though many older corporations would envy their pace of development."

  Vazovsky nodded, confirming his attention.

  "The corporation was founded by the Amatin couple and their longtime associate, Karlos Riviera. The men are miners; Kirin is the businesswoman. Seems nothing special—but Kirin regulates the market in the system quite well. They are either very, very lucky, Max, or damn smart."

  "Em, let me put it this way. If the leaders of your damn church are planning to absorb these successful and intelligent workers, we should stop here. I don't want to think about it either."

  "No, no!" Emilia even waved her hands. "No, Max—it's not about that at all." Then she fell silent.

  From her pressed lips and trembling fingers, Max caught it. It *was* about that—even if Emilia didn't realize it yet. He said nothing.

  "Right." She pushed her plate away, planted her elbow on the tabletop, and covered her eyes with her palm. "I need to think."

  "Meet again?" Max smiled with a significant expression.

  "Anyway, let's set that possibility aside. Maybe you're right—the plan isn't mine, and such a turn isn't excluded. Initially, it's about geopolitical stability—and then about..." Her chin thrust forward, inviting him to finish the thought.

  "What forces are we talking about? Let's be clear. I got the corporation part."

  "The EF. A week ago, a cargo hauler took off from an EF military base carrying MESMDs—whole units and parts. Mixed load valued at a couple hundred million. Need I remind you this cargo belongs to the EFAF? It's all considered stolen. They kept quiet while the destination was unclear. Now it's obvious the final stop is Perina. Working theory: someone on Perina paid for this cargo and delivery. Task from the DiCorps: find out who and why. Task from the EF: find out who's trafficking in armed forces property. We need to find this out quietly and quickly."

  "What does this have to do with the miners?"

  Emilia nodded and raised her palms. A projection lit above the tabletop. The room filled with dense, saturated sound. Max saw a vast, brightly lit clearing under a slightly shimmering dome—clearly military design. Night filming obscured location clues; spotlight beams hit the inertial shield, washing out orbital scans. The music was upbeat, lively, slightly old-fashioned. The main—and practically only active—figure was an MESMD operator... dancing. Incredibly organically, stylishly, beautifully—dancing in the middle of the clearing under spotlight beams. Someone off-camera cheered, shouted, laughed. For a minute, only one MESMD stood in the clearing—but soon others appeared. Two, three, now a dozen. Perfectly familiar-looking, but long-range weaponry had been dismantled.

  "What the hell is that?" Vazovsky exhaled in bewilderment.

  "This is a clip from Perina, posted on the Amatins' home station network. Alpha tracked it back to the Amatins' younger daughter—Una. She likely didn't expect it to go public, but youth aren't too cautious. The MESMD operator appears to be Idemi Rumos. At least, he's the one they arrested after the clip went public. And this—" Emilia nodded at the frozen projection—"coupled with the purchase of stolen EFAF parts—means a tribunal. The guy can't be helped now. In a month, he'll be a civilian. Best case—if they don't imprison him or put him in a glass tank."

  "Go on..."

  "Kirin is my childhood friend. If Una gets arrested for her involvement in... this—and that's inevitable—someone will need to solve the problem. That will be you. Tomorrow we have a reception for the opening of the Anachron Battles. I'll suggest Kirin solve the problem with your help. That's how you'll meet Una. Through her—with Idemi. Task: get to the seller—or rather, provide our EF colleagues with the seller's name. For the DiCorps, it's important to understand if these are the buyers and if the MESMD purchase is limited to... this..."

  "Mother of God..." Vazovsky buried his palm in his forehead. "When did I manage to..."

  "Max, it just needs to be done. I understand the task isn't your level and remember you prefer not to get involved with kids—but your location on Perina and experience fit the cover story perfectly. Una is very sociable. I can't imagine anyone having trouble finding common ground with her. And Rumos—besides everything else—is the son of the Amatins' very long-time partners. Don't know if they met because of that or somehow else, but the fact remains: if two not-so-small outfits in the Alliance start a row on Perina over their offspring, it will fuel unnecessary rumors and ridicule."

  Max lit a cigarette. "All for your pleasure, Em."

  "Pleasure comes from elsewhere. The DiCorps pays."

  He smiled crookedly.

  "I'll call tomorrow with details."

  "You'll call yourself?"

  She met his eyes. "Not because of you. Because of Kirin."

  They parted near the dock. Max watched her walk away, then turned to the huge steel shutters. Somewhere behind him, he caught the glint of discreet surveillance. Emilia's security. He let them watch.

  UCN – Universal Cosmos Nominal (international decentralized monetary analogue).

  Synch – Consciousness transfer to clone upon death (R-synch – "Roulette synch": risky transfer, no guarantees, N-synch – Confirmed non-synchronizable mind).

  ElexCorp – a mega-corporation classified as an engine-corporation ("humanity's engine"), comprising technological and media divisions:

  ElexGate – handles interstellar communication by developing and improving communication protocols and building routers for transmitting elexwaves – the medium for information transfer. The report by ElexCorp's founder, Alexander Firsanov, also known as Elex Firs, entered history as the "Elex Report" and is studied in higher education institutions. All technical and technological aspects remain patented and protected as trade secrets to this day.

  ElexNet – a global space network for communication and information transfer over interstellar distances.

  ElexSense – the corporation's scientific department.

  ElexMedia – the media division, publishing news on politics, science, and public life. Since ElexCorp is an inter-state and, in some senses, supra-state organization (essentially apolitical), political news is usually presented as reliable, accompanied by objective analysis.

  ElexTech – the subdivision engaged in developing and improving communication means and manufacturing its own equipment.

  Sonytook.Alliance is a state-owned corporation and the driving force behind the Alliance of Corporations. It unites the founding families of Sony and Took.

  EFAF - Earth Federation Armed Forces.

  DiCorps - diplomatic corps of the Alliance of Corporations.

  Glass tank – a fluid-filled tank for containing people in artificial virtual sleep, with nutrients supplied to maintain health. A form of long-term confinement.