Fialkovskaya rented an apartment in a luxurious, well-guarded residential complex of three black-and-white towers overlooking the bay. Gemma was about to ask how they'd get in, but AlNilam, as they pulled up to the security post, simply lowered the window and stuck his right hand out. On it he wore a ring that covered almost the entire middle phalanx — an oval shield of green enamel with the golden heraldic inscription of the ruling Al-Jailim clan.
The guard who rushed over, upon seeing the hand, the ring, and the Wad-Prince inside the car, bowed deeply, touched his earpiece, and shouted a few garbled words. The force field in front of the taxi immediately deactivated, and the car glided into a large inner courtyard with fountains, clusters of trees, and statues.
"The Sultan's Toi," His Highness said with a smirk, "opens any door."
"And if someone uses a fake?"
"Be my guest. They'll just have to serve twenty-five years in a maximum-security prison."
Nightbird snorted. So that's why the case had been entrusted to a Wad-Prince — who from MT would have been let in here so easily...
They obtained a universal key-card just as easily — at His Highness's first request — and took the high-speed elevator to the twenty-fourth floor, to apartment 88a, where Maria Fialkovskaya lived. AlNilam entered the foyer and touched the top button on his musht. The others immediately unbuttoned, and he shed the robe onto a settee.
"If he didn't wear that sack, no one would ever call him ma'am," Nightbird thought indignantly. The prince's figure was slender, lean, but utterly unfeminine. And he was armed as if for a raid into a terrorist lair, not a simple search of a 'Bioronica' department head's apartment.
Gemma followed him, looking around with some envy. She and Eric earned a decent living and had rented a very nice, cozy little apartment — which was about the size of the main room in Fialkovskaya's place.
This main room contained the kitchen, dining area, living room, and a lounge zone. On the enormous balcony, an elegant garden with a small fountain had been laid out, and the view of the bay was breathtaking. But the prince didn't linger here; he headed straight for the corridor leading to the study and bedroom. To Gemma's surprise, AlNilam didn't enter the study (that's where the evidence would be, surely?), but the bedroom, and immediately opened the door to the bathroom.
The bathroom, which could have hosted a party for a dozen people, was finished with onyx panels and lavran mosaic. While Nightbird admired the patterns, the Wad-Prince began opening cabinets and drawers.
"Notice anything?" he asked.
"No, Effendi," Gemma admitted.
"There are no personal items anywhere. No toothbrush, no toothpaste, no shampoo, not even a sponge or shower gel. Creams, combs, manicure sets — nothing."
He opened the door to a spacious walk-in closet and pointed to empty spaces on the open shoe shelves:
"See? The terrorists, those kind souls, allowed Saida Fialkovskaya to pack her things before the kidnapping."
"But she couldn't have..." Gemma began indignantly: what was he implying?! Incompetence on the part of the SS that vetted Fialkovskaya every year?!
"They wouldn't have been able to break into your center and hack the surveillance system without an inside helper."
"But that was Dawud!"
"Dawud was small fry — probably Fialkovskaya's assistant. She couldn't have been in several places at once while the terrorists were cleaning out your center."
"With all due respect, I think you're jumping to conclusions, Effendi," Gemma grumbled.
"Is your professional pride wounded?" the Wad-Prince raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry. No one can know absolutely everything about another person."
"But... you could say the same about Shufrir and Anger!"
"We'll search their apartments too. But I already have reason to believe that they are the kidnapping victims. And Fialkovskaya is the organizer."
Nightbird fell silent, annoyed. They moved from the bedroom to the study — a rectangular patch in the thin layer of dust on the desk marked where a laptop had stood. The Wad-Prince rummaged through the drawers, knelt down, and pressed a few times on a parquet panel near the left desk leg.
"There was a hidden compartment here. It's empty now, I'm sure," His Highness drew a vibro-blade from its sheath, activated it, and without hesitation slit open the expensive parquet. Gemma just gasped. "Yes, a hiding place. But nothing there. Right, let's go to the main room."
While His Highness meticulously examined the main room, as if trying to see through the furniture veneer and cabinet doors, Gemma noticed the surveillance monitor and quietly exclaimed:
"Effendi, look!"
The prince turned. On the monitor was a figure, dressed head to toe in tight black clothing, hovering near the door to Fialkovskaya's apartment. The person's head was hidden by a hood, face obscured by dark glasses and a scarf, hands gloved.
AlNilam grabbed Gemma's arm, shoved her behind him with surprising force, and pressed her against the wall. Not taking his eyes off the monitor, he drew a pistol from the holster on his thigh.
"Who is it?" Nightbird whispered; her heart was pounding — from fear, or excitement?
"Another one," the Wad-Prince replied curtly. "Watching Fialkovskaya's apartment."
"But why did he come here?"
"Maybe he thinks we're unarmed."
Gemma froze. She immediately understood what that meant for them. AlNilam glanced at the window, and Nightbird realized he was looking for a spot where a sniper could be positioned.
"There," the Wad-Prince whispered, pushing Gemma towards the kitchen island. They crawled behind the cabinets, thankful that even from there they could see the monitor. The person bent over the door lock.
"But if he kills you," Gemma whispered in despair, "a whole army from Al-Shadiyar will swarm this place! He must know that!"
"Perhaps. But I wouldn't count on his common sense."
Nightbird swallowed and forced her knees to stop trembling.
"I am Chokon," an ancient ritual formula suddenly came to mind. "Omokan created us fearless."
Easy for the ancestors to say, when their only weapons were bows and a war cry, not a sniper rifle with a gamma-sight and a 6-kilometer range!
"Maybe they're more concerned with us not finding something in this apartment," AlNilam murmured. "But what's so valuable that they're willing to take the risk? Right, I'll catch him and ask. Into the closet," the prince ordered the girl. "That one there, it's a pantry."
"And you?"
"Don't worry about me."
Nightbird crawled to the pantry and squeezed inside. It smelled of spices, herbs, and sweets. Peeking through the slightly open door, she watched the prince. To her astonishment and indignation, he holstered the pistol and unclipped something like a short stick or handle from his belt. AlNilam fiddled with buttons on the handle for a few seconds, then crawled across the floor towards the hallway wall. Gemma craned her neck, trying to see the monitor, but it wasn't visible from the pantry.
The prince, however, kept watching the intruder's movements. At first, AlNilam was still, then he sprang up and rushed into the hallway. From the handle in his palm shot a flexible, crackling whip.
"A neuro-lash?! Why would he..."
Gemma heard the crack of the neuro-lash against the door, the splintering of the frame, and the hiss of melting plastic. Then a second strike, a third, and finally the crash of the door falling out of its frame onto the floor. Immediately after, a wild scream of pain rang out, and Nightbird, unable to bear it, burst from the pantry. All she had was a taser, but still! What if the prince...
She rushed into the hallway. Ahead, a white flash of the neuro-lash curled, there were clicks of a discharge and another scream, then AlNilam's cry:
"No, no, no! Damn it!"
Gemma ran into the corridor. There was the prince, having dropped the lash, grappling with the figure in black, from whose mouth foam was issuing. The glasses and scarf lay beside him, and Gemma watched the terrorist's face turn blue.
"Freedom above all!" he rasped, convulsed, and went limp.
"Damn it," the prince whispered and crawled away from the body. In AlNilam's hand was an injector, but the antidote had come too late — or the drug had been wrong.
Nightbird leaned against the wall by the melted doorframe. Her knees trembled and buckled. The Wad-Prince sat down beside the terrorist, rested his head on his clasped hands, and stared grimly at the corpse. Behind them, the elevator chimed, and a crowd of the residential complex's guards spilled out with a clatter.
"Effendi!" one wailed, with colored insignia on his sleeve.
"I'm fine," AlNilam said sharply, rising and retrieving the neuro-lash. "Call the security service from the MT perinatal center. They'll take the body."
"Uh... but... the police…"
The Wad-Prince fixed the guard with a long, piercing stare, and the man muttered:
"As you command, Effendi. We'll seal the floor and block all exits."
"If you would be so kind. Saida?"
"Y-yes?" Gemma choked out. It had only just dawned on her that she had rushed to the prince's aid armed only with a weak neuro-paralytic taser. What if the terrorist hadn't been alone?! And what would have happened to Eric if...
The prince placed his hands on her shoulders. Nightbird barely suppressed a shiver. And she also felt inexplicably nauseous.
"Sit here in the foyer," AlNilam said softly. "I'll arrange for them to take you home."
"N-n-no..." Gemma steadied her stutter and replied quietly but firmly: "No, Effendi. My husband would be scared. Besides, he'd start asking questions and... I'd rather go back to the center with you."
"Alright, the SS will take you to the center. I'll come later — after I've examined Shufrir's and Anger's apartments."
"But that could be dangerous too!"
"It could," AlNilam glanced at the corpse. "But I would very much like to catch at least one of our terrorists alive."
Almonzeia, the capital of the MT Corporation's colonies on Almonzis
The opened floor panels resembled the grave of someone prematurely deceased, around which a small council of doctors had gathered, trying to determine what had led to such a lamentable outcome. Anna Dmitrievna stood at the very edge, peering intently into the tangle of cables; to her left and right stood the tall, slender, handsome as a god from the Min Shu pantheon, chief engineer Shen Wei, and the short, stocky, very red-haired technician Axel had tripped over yesterday. The three of them looked like a comedy trio from a late-night show; only Fontaine found absolutely nothing funny about it.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Mr. Makriiri discovered a suspicious malfunction, sir," Shen Wei replied. "I deemed it necessary to inform you of an attempted break-in and sabotage."
Fontaine slowly exhaled through his teeth.
"Where?"
"Do you have your glasses?"
Ax took the case from his pocket. He didn't like wearing them, though Lavrova and the chief engineer never parted with theirs. As soon as he put them on, Shen Wei touched a sensor on his own temple, and a blue-and-white diagram unfolded before Fontaine, superimposed over the cables. On one section, something pale orange pulsed faintly.
"There it is, sir," Makriiri's thick, short finger jabbed at the orange dot. "Found it right here, like. Someone was messing around, cut open the sheathing, bared a cable, and sliced through the core from the NP to the command post. Then patched it up. A clever bastard; I wouldn't have found it if I hadn't gotten underneath."
"And what does that mean?"
"One cable has been cut," Shen Wei translated for him. "Thus, the connection between the command car and the navigation panel has been severed."
"Damn it!"
"It's hardly pleasant," Anna Dmitrievna agreed. "Normally, epsilon-navigators operate autonomously — that's what they are, after all. But with this kind of malfunction, I wouldn't be able to verify the accuracy of the route they plot."
"So a navigator could send the train anywhere, and we wouldn't even know?"
"Absolutely correct."
"Damn," Ax hissed. "Damn! Damn!"
How could he have screwed up like this! He had personally vetted every single crew member! Everything was done by the book — total checks by the Security Service between voyages to weed out humans and beings who had switched allegiance to terrorists, the mentally unstable, and other threatening elements. Damn it!
"I missed someone," Ax said dully. "It's one of ours."
"Not necessarily," Lavrova turned to him; her activated glasses glinted blue like a cat's eyes. "It may not be your fault, as the train was also inspected and checked by depot personnel, for whose reliability you are not responsible."
"Yes," Ax replied bitterly. "But it could still be one of ours. I'll start re-verification today."
"Mr. Makriiri, have you fixed the malfunction?" asked Anna Dmitrievna.
"Ready to start, but I thought you might want to see it for yourselves first."
"Perhaps," the train's Chief decided after a short pause and turned to Shen Wei: "Will you join me?"
"Of course, Madame. Makriiri, lower the ladder."
Fontaine didn't try to squeeze in there — he couldn't understand how even the technician, who was half his size, had managed it. The slender Shen Wei descended first and helped Lavrova down the ladder.
While Shen Wei and the train's Chief examined the cables, accompanied by the technician's brief comments, Fontaine took off his glasses, pulled out his phone, and dialed Phan. She took a long time to answer (probably reviewing footage), but after a dozen rings, Ax finally heard her voice:
"Good afternoon again. What's up? I'm a bit busy, so if it's not urgent..."
"You still want to search all the expresses in the depot?"
"Uh... well, yes, why?" the major asked cautiously.
"Don't bother. It's 'Briareus'."
"It's what?"
"Our technician found signs of tampering. Someone cut the cable linking the navigation panel to the command car. It's my express, Phan. Your damned thieves got into my express."
"Oh, Ax," she drew a ragged breath. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Me too."
"I'll gather my team and be there in two hours. Don't touch anything there. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. If it were up to me, I'd cancel the voyage. But I'm afraid that's exactly what we can't do."
"We'll make it in time, Ax," the major said after a pause. "We'll find them, I give you my word."
"Yeah," Fontaine replied grimly. He'd like to believe that, before they blow up the express right at the station...
***
"Here," Anna Lavrova touched the display on her desk, and a three-dimensional, light-blue diagram of "Briareus's" communication systems rose above the surface. "Your thieves couldn't have cut a single cable in my express without first disabling the alarm system. At least in the section where they intended to carry out the sabotage."
"Quite, um, extensive," Phan murmured, studying the diagram with something like reverence. "It seems to me that if you didn't know where the right section was, you could search for weeks."
"Correct," Anna Dmitrievna said coldly. "So someone provided your thieves with the schematics of my express's communication and security systems and explained where and what to look for. Schematics which, if you don't know or don't remember, are classified as top secret. I am doing your superiors a great favor by allowing you to view them."
Fontaine coughed awkwardly. Lavrova had radiated arctic chill ever since Ax introduced Major Phan. Anna Dmitrievna undoubtedly understood how much they needed the help of an epsilon-being and the MT Inquiry Service, but the thought of strangers traipsing through her express, even with good intentions, was unbearable to her.
"I would like to know when my technicians can begin repairing the damage, Major," said Shen Wei. Makriiri grunted in agreement from somewhere below.
"As soon as my people finish examining and documenting the evidence. Who else knows about this?"
"No one else yet, besides those present," Anna Lavrova replied. "But I am obligated to report everything to the directorate."
"We have to cancel the voyage," said Ax. Everyone except Lavrova stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief and astonishment. The train's Chief merely bowed her head thoughtfully, tapping her fingers on the oak frame of her desk.
"I know how it sounds, but consider the situation — we have only thirteen days left to re-check every single crew member and all the cargo from scratch. Just thirteen days for Phan's people to find these thieving bastards. Sending the express out before we've sorted this out is extremely dangerous."
"The only time, as I recall, that Transgalactica-2 express voyages were cancelled," the chief engineer said softly, "was after the terrorist attack by a navigator that destroyed the 'Dorothea' with all its passengers, crew, and people on the station and in the city."
Fontaine remained grimly silent. The destruction of the express "Dorothea" was the worst terrorist act in the entire Nova Prima Era, after which even their ideological comrades disavowed the anti-corporatist group responsible. Ax had been too young to participate in the investigation, but he remembered the footage of the burning city as if it were yesterday.
"If you can prove that 'Briareus' faces the same threat, I will get the voyage cancelled," said Anna Dmitrievna. "I will start pushing for it now, but with evidence in hand, it will be easier," she turned a somewhat softened gaze on Phan.
"I will do everything in my power, Ana... Ana Timitrieva," Phan replied with effort. "But if their goal is to smuggle what they stole from our plant off Almonzis, they won't destroy the express."
"But we don't know WHAT they stole," Shen Wei continued, just as softly. "Perhaps they intend to make a bomb out of it."
"Or oxidize the cables," Makriiri interjected. "Not a bomb, sure, but the train would lose control. The effect would be like with 'Dorothea', and if it went off course in a stream-tunnel — whoa!"
Phan sighed quietly and murmured:
"This substance isn't for bombs, and it can't oxidize wires either. It's... it's a compound for stabilizing DNA after recombination. It ensures the procedure's reliability."
Silence fell.
"Phan," Ax asked solicitously, "were you allowed to disclose that?" — and from her sorrowful look, he understood she wasn't. He placed a hand on Phan's narrow shoulder and felt how tense it was. Fontaine swept the room with a heavy glare.
"No one will say a single word about this to anyone. Forget everything you just heard, understand?"
"Why did you tell us?" Anna Dmitrievna asked after a pause. "Surely not just so we wouldn't be nervous while giving you every possible assistance?"
"No," said Phan. "So you would understand why this is so important. Why it can't be talked about. If outside companies learn that a component of MT's patented process has been stolen, there will be a massive hunt for that container."
"Tough being a monopolist, that's for sure," Makriiri snorted. Fontaine eyed him suspiciously. The DNA recombination process belonged to MT, and only its specialists possessed the corrective technologies, as well as the methods for ultra-early genetic diagnosis of fetal pathologies. Any scrap of information about this was incredibly valuable — and here was a whole container of stabilizing compound!
"Excellent," Anna Dmitrievna summarized dryly. "Now, not only your thieves will be trying to break into my train, but also everyone eager to get their hands on the most valuable prize in history, after stream-tunnel technology."
"We will do everything to find them!"
"See that you do," the train's Chief said coolly. "That is, after all, what you were created for."
Al-Haiyan, the capital of the Sultanate of Er-Rummal's colonies on Tar-Mariat
By evening, Murad had grown tired of butting heads with the MT Inquiry Service over the classified portion of Fialkovskaya's dossier and went to the break room — to be alone and gather his thoughts after two dozen staff interrogations. Though work was a decent distraction from worrying about where Irfan was.
Usually, Murad could keep his anxiety under control, but the incident on Alviont was too recent, and the visit to Kamal's parents hadn't been easy either. Frowning at the strip of cherry-gold sunset, the Yakzan recalled once more how he had sat outside the operating room, afraid to leave: in superstitious terror, he had felt that if he moved, Irfan would die.
But that was only fear, albeit agonizing, maddening fear. For Kamal's family, the loss of a son was not a nightmare, but reality.
The door opened slightly, and his prince slipped silently into the room. He tossed his musht and tagellan onto the sofa, walked over to Murad, wrapped his arms tightly around him, and pressed his cheek to his chest. The Yakzan embraced him, burying his fingers in the springy, soft curls.
"How are you?" asked Irfan.
"Fine."
"Sorry, my dear. I should have done it myself..."
"It's nothing," Murad held him closer. His prince was finally back in relative safety, and his anxiety subsided a little. "It's not the first time I've done this."
"How did they take it?"
"Hard. How else can you take the death of your only child?"
"I hate terrorists," Irfan murmured. "If only one of them would die for their own ideas, instead of killing others."
Murad stroked his shoulders.
"I promised to return their son's body in two days."
"Good."
"Are you alright?"
Irfan lifted his head, smiled wearily, and ran his palm over Murad's cheek, lingering on his beard. His prince was very fond of his beard.
"I'm fine, my dear, just a bit tired and hungry enough to eat a whole elephant. By the way, they've installed a food dispenser in the reception area, so I got us dinner."
The Yakzan couldn't help but smile, picturing His Highness, the son of one of the wealthiest men in the Metropolis and the colonies, eagerly raiding a dispenser of ready meals made from synthesized products.
"We'll eat here," the Wad-Prince surveyed the break room. "Perinatal center directors live well, don't they? Oh, and where's Gemma?"
"I sent her home, Effendi."
AlNilam bit his lip.
"I think I made a big mistake taking her with me. The terrorists have seen her now."
"I contacted Al-Shadiyar. They've placed round-the-clock surveillance on her house."
"Thank you."
They ate dinner, sitting on the sofa before the panoramic window, watching the slow Tar-Mariat sunset. In summer, the sun set late, at nine, and the sky gradually dimmed, changing from blue to cherry and then deep violet, with a melting gold band at the horizon.
"What did our terrorist poison himself with?" the Wad-Prince asked lazily. "Subitramine in a tooth?"
"Yes, Effendi. Nothing new."
AlNilam lay down, resting his head on the Yakzan's knee, and tore open a packet labeled "Diet Sweets."
"Al-Shadiyar identified him," said Murad, eyeing the brownish cube the prince popped into his mouth sternly. "Konrad Silverberg, officially unemployed, native of Iltana on Mirna-2. He has a dozen car thefts on his record and political activity: pickets and protests against the Corporation. Not a very bright young man, judging by his attempt to break into Fialkovskaya's apartment."
"Well, what can you do, terrorists can't afford to be picky. Their level of ideological commitment is off the charts, though. This group, apparently, selects for the ability to kill oneself without hesitation, not for intellectual capacity."
"I managed to talk a bit with Kamal's father. The roommate claimed Dawud's recommendation came from a relative of his father's friend. But Kamal's father denies it. I checked Dawud's personnel file. There are no recommendations at all, but there is a note that Maria Fialkovskaya mentioned him among the college students who could be offered part-time work at the center."
"How did she know Kamal?"
"She gave Saturday lectures at his college."
"Lectures?"
"Fialkovskaya worked as a lecturer and research fellow at the bioengineering lab at Bogorad University until she was thirty."
"Pretended she missed teaching, I suppose," His Highness snorted. "And what about the classified part of the dossier?"
Murad huffed.
"The MT Inquiry Service is stalling; they won't give me an answer."
"Are they giving you a hard time?" His Highness asked menacingly. "I'll write to father, have him put pressure on their management. After all, MT itself demanded we clean up this mess, so they could at least not get in the way."
Murad snorted quietly into his mustache. MT was the only entity that could demand anything from the Sultan of Er-Rummal — which wasn't surprising, given what the Sultan did for the Corporation.
"A wonderful relationship of mutual blackmail," thought the Yakzan. The Sultan oversees illegal embryo farms, Shufrir is one of those who legitimizes the embryos obtained there, and the Corporation gets excellent material for creating new beings. Everyone is happy and satisfied... until something leaks outside the bounds of secrecy.
"Don't you think, Effendi, that the terrorists targeted this specific center because they knew what Shufrir was involved in?"
"That was the first thing both father and I thought of. It was nice seeing him scared," the prince popped another "diet sweet" cube into his mouth and squinted with pleasure. "You understand what will happen if information surfaces that the Al-Jailim clan has been growing healthy embryos on underground farms for decades. But it won't just be my family that gets hit; the Corporation will too."
"How could the terrorists have found out about this?"
"There's a leak somewhere — either with us or in the Corporation. Whether Fialkovskaya knew — that's the question. So far, everything looks like she wasn't coerced, but was an active participant herself."
"Maybe she even recruited Dawud herself," Murad suggested.
"This whole thing is strange," AlNilam said thoughtfully. "There must be at least someone with brains in this group, someone who understands that all these connections can be figured out in a couple of days. Especially if you draw attention like young Dawud did."
"I think you were right, Effendi, that Fialkovskaya planned to disappear immediately after the robbery. All the experienced group members left Tar-Mariat with her. As a result, the ones left watching the place, and without senior control, were the youngsters."
"But where did the experienced ones go? They have the document archive, a case with a dozen embryos, and two hostages. The Corporation will be looking for all of that with all its might."
"I found something in Dawud's room. He hid a mini-disk in a hiding place containing a hundred banned books and one ticket for a stream-train to Azrat. But there were three payment receipts."
"Three?" the prince raised himself on his elbow.
"Yes. One — for Dawud's ticket, the second — for a ticket on the same stream-train in the name of Nadezhda Yanevich, and the third — also for her, for the express 'Briareus' . A transfer was planned in Taulan, the capital of Azrat."
"The express 'Briareus' !" the Wad-Prince jumped up excitedly. "Where did they get such a generous sponsor?"
"I don't know yet, Effendi. But there's only one receipt for the express ticket. Either they planned to transport the hostages another way, or we need to look for two bodies."