Chapter 12 (Patreon)

Chapter 12

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"If you'll excuse me." A resounding voice cut into the monotonous speech about "average weekly operating costs". The speaker stuttered as if choking on his words, and fell silent, establishing a resounding silence in the hall. The eyes of the audience turned to the miniature girl in a dark scarlet uniform of ergo-captain of the Guard, sitting at the head of the table.

"An emergency." With a guilty smile, she explained, slipping out from behind the table. "It's necessary to go away. Carry on without me."

The finger under the ring with the big red stone tingled insistently, warning of an emergency call. And Countess Durlurl, the head of House Fyren's "own intelligence," had figured out long ago that only bad news couldn't wait.

The Countess quickly crossed the reception room and, with a gesture, stopped the secretary who had risen to meet her and entered the office, blocking the door behind her.

A scarlet call light flashed on the secure communications terminal.

She paused at the door for a few seconds, carefully examining her office, and then leisurely walked over to the desk and snapped her finger on the recognition unit, and sat down quietly in her chair.

On the terminal screen, the intelligence emblem was replaced by a stout-looking man with a slight baldness in his dark hair. He wore an official's uniform, which was somehow unkempt, without gloss.

"Daim Esta, I apologize for your..." He began, bowing his head, but was shooed away by the Countess's displeased exclamation.

"Report!"

"About an hour ago, another report was received on Daim Diltar's condition. After a meeting in the Admiralty Council, one of the guardsmen noticed small drops of blood on the collar of her tunic. She looked as if she was washing her face..."

He went on saying something else: about the actions, about the external observation, about how the samples were taken from her bathroom flush, about the radiation analysis... But the Countess was no longer listening to him. She already understood what had happened, and this knowledge pressed like an overload. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair:

Taer's nose was bleeding. Daim Esta knew all too well what that meant. Great shadows, why so early? Such bad timing. We'll have to think of something, something to explain...

She gave herself a few seconds of emotion to feel her heart begin to grind with despair, a drop at a time. A few seconds, but no more. Okay, that's all for later damage control first.

"These facts are confirmed by hardware control and indirect surveillance." The senior member of the escort team continued to report. "We analyzed the runoff from the latrine she used and indeed found traces of blood. The sample obtained is a match to ....."

"How many casualties, and what of Lord Cassard?" Daim Esta interrupted this outpouring, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her index finger.

Her interlocutor was somewhat confused by the question.

"Lord Tsorto seems to have been very dissatisfied with the actions of Daim Diltar..." He cautiously suggested, "And there was some conflict with the head of the House representation in the capital. Otherwise, no casualties, Your Ladyship."

"Yes?" The Countess lifted her head in interest. "What, nothing out of the ordinary?"

"No. But as I understood it, some important decision was derailed..."

"It doesn't matter." She brushed it off, clearly cheered up. The Countess straightened in her chair, giving herself a more formal appearance, and ordered:

"Give your assessment of the condition of the object of observation."

"Judging from the behavioral signs as well as the external control data, Daim Diltar was greatly annoyed and even angry about something, but she held herself well, looking calm and collected. I don't know what exactly was going on during the meeting, but from the information I have, we can assume that the reaction of Diltar had an external stimulus and fits into her emotional profile. I have prepared a brief report and have attached observation material if Your Lordship pleases..."

The Countess silently closed her eyes in agreement. Yes, it will please me.

"Thank you, Moal." She nodded as the line "data transfer completed" ran across the screen and was silent for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts and formulating her instructions:

"Increase surveillance as much as possible," she finally said in her usual unapologetic tone, "especially pay attention to her emotional state. Don't be squeamish about the means. If someone is discovered, don't deny it. Say you're observing by my orders for her safety. If anything starts to happen that you don't understand, immediately... I mean IMMEDIATELY, contact me through this channel. And contact Captain Asali in the capital city office. He'll help with people and equipment. Otherwise, proceed as instructed."

"Glad to serve Your Ladyship." Her interlocutor bowed once more and, without asking any more questions, disconnected.

Countess Durlurl sat for another minute, folding her palms against her lips and staring blankly through the disappearing screen, until finally, with a sigh, she shook off her stupor and summoned her secretary.

The screen wove before her again, with the image of a young man in a Guard uniform with an obsequious expression on his handsome face.

"Send a letter to Diltar. If possible, arrange for encrypted transmission over the zero-link so as not to lose three days. Tell her I'll be in the capital soon and I just need to see her in..." The Countess was silent for a moment, remembering which of the Cassards' properties in the capital was as secluded and remote from people as possible. "Let it be Black Lake. Try to convey to her, as politely as possible, the importance and urgency of this meeting. Do not give her a specific time frame. If Taer contacts you to clarify terms or circumstances, tell her I was distracted by something of incredible importance, and as soon as I'm free..." She paused as she felt she was beginning to teach the secretary how to do her job. "I think you get the general idea. If there's going to be an attempt at direct communication, then only connect her with me in an extraordinary case. And arrange for me to meet with Captain Talaydo, Dr. Mhaet, and Professor Tyria as soon as possible. Very quickly, literally immediately."

"Will do, Your Ladyship." The secretary nodded, but instead of passing out, he continued. "Lord Tsorto insists on seeing you, he's extremely irritated, and he mentioned Daim Diltar."

She seems to have derailed some decisions for them... "Tell him I'll get in touch with him soon."

"He's here in person, Your Ladyship."

"Damn, it..." The Countess raised her eyes to the ceiling and waved her hand wearily. "Well, what to do? Ask for him in about three minutes. And warn the gathering that I won't be able to continue the meeting."

By the time Lord Tsorto appeared at the door of her office, Daim Esta had already managed to order an unspoken increase in security, to form a battle group to move to the villa "Black Lake" and to prepare the most toothy smile from her arsenal to meet "old friends".

"Geard!" She exclaimed, spreading her arms as if about to embrace. "Why such haste? What happened? But I'm glad to see you, anyway."

Lord Tsorto only nodded curtly in response to this greeting, tearing the gloves off his hands angrily and glancing disgruntled at the secretary who had brought him. The lord was flushed and breathing heavily as if he'd run across the square separating the headquarters and the old castle.

"You've got to keep your girl quiet." He threw as the door finally closed behind the secretary. "She derailed the decision to relocate the Aegis that's been in preparation for the last two decades!"

"Are you talking about Taer?"

"Yes! Great Shadows, I'm about Taer!" shouted Lord Tsorto, losing all patience. "About your creature! If you needed another seat on the Council so badly, why couldn't you at least find someone competent?!"

"Well, why is she mine, Geard?" Countess Durlurl raised her eyebrows in amazement. "She is yours. Your colleague and Lord Cassard's First Blade. And, really, don't look so worried. Sit down." She pointed to a high chair covered in blue velvet. "Would you like some wine? I just happened to have a bottle of Kenarian Dark, prewar, great for lowering blood pressure."

"No, Esta." Lord Torto angrily cut off. "She is yours." And looking unhappily at the offered chair. Instead of sitting down, he began slicing circles around it with quick, nervous steps. "You promoted her, coddled her. Who transferred her to Copeira? Who made the leap from Intelligence to Guard and back again? Who suggested her candidacy to the Consulate? Who thought of introducing her into Cassard's 'Arm'?"

The Countess shrugged indifferently:

"I still think it's hard to think of a better babysitter for Allesandro Cassard. You needed someone who wouldn't fawn over the title and would do his job. All of the things you listed were necessary to fulfill that function. But it's one thing to look after the lord and another to look after the domain, not my idea, but Lord Cassard's. He wanted to thank her for saving his life, and I must say he was quite right to do so. And many people support this decision. It's a very sentimental story, in the spirit of the old nobility."

"As a Lord, so is a Blade." Tsorto muttered, clearly in his thoughts, "If a zwiggolot had saved his life, he'd have made him a blade of the Domain, too. This is another one of his pranks. He threw it in our faces. Appointed his wench to the Council, a pretty, unborn upstart - that's who he equates us with!"

"Your position in the area of primogeniture is well known to me, Geard." The Countess commented dryly. "I do not share it."

Tsorto stopped circling around his chair and looked at the Countess in surprise:

"Esta..." He stretched out reproachfully. "How could you think such a thing? Despite our former misunderstandings, your services to the House are unquestionable... But there's no comparison. No merit other than the marksmanship. Nothing!" Lord Tsorto erupted again, continuing to circle his chair. "Twenty-five years old! Twenty-five years old! Not even in the war! Without any experience! She wasn't even in command of a Corvette, and now she's got two important Stations under her! And instead of keeping her mouth shut, she dares me-" Lord Tsorto literally choked with indignation and, unable to continue, clutched his gloves in his hands as if he were trying to squeeze the juice out of them.

"How about some wine after all?" The Countess suggested nonchalantly, taking advantage of the pause.

"I don't want your wine." Tsorto snarled, finally sinking into his chair.

"But I won't refuse." The Countess confessed and, pushing the call button she asked:

"Pour us a Kenarian Dark one."

While the secretary poured the wine, Lord Tsorto forced himself into silence and slowly calmed down.

"You shouldn't refuse..." With perfectly sincere regret, the Countess took the heavy glass in her hands and took her first, very long sip. "Terrific stuff."

"I don't have time for this, Esta." Torto sighed, stopped tugging at his gloves, and tossed them on the armrest. "We've got to do something. She could paralyze all work. Great Shadows, she's already done that. And I am sure, even to you, a Council in such a state is not beneficial, much less beneficial to the Ruling Lord. So please, take her in restraint.

"Well, she's not a horse, Geard, and she hasn't been my subordinate for a long time. It's completely out of my hands. Go to Lord Cassard."

"Then..." Lord Tsorto stated with a grudging jerk of his chin. "I will be forced to bring this before the Privy Council."

"Your right," the Countess threw up her hands, "but what will you achieve? Three votes against you at once. Maybe more..." Daim Esta pondered a little, trying to figure out the balance of power in the Council of Privies. The votes on Lord Cassard's side were unexpectedly numerous. In addition to the expected two voices, Cassard himself and Baron Kouifi, most likely added the voice of the Rionale, who had begun to very actively woo Allesandro. And assuming that the Marquise of Turang is really spinning her grandfather as she wishes, two or three more votes of the "old opposition". She had already grown weary of seeing Cassard as a political center, and the new point of view was quite... refreshing.

I'll have to think about it later. The Countess made a mental note. Six votes is a lot, too many, almost half. And she continued aloud:

"Anyway, if you take my advice. I wouldn't recommend making a fuss about the situation. It will not add your points, Geard, especially if she has made no mistake. And I'm sure the Ruling Lord and the Privy Council would prefer to see the Council of Sixteen working for the good of the House rather than being torn apart by internal contradictions."

Lord Tsorto was about to object, but Countess Durlurl did not let him open his mouth warningly raising her hand:

"In turn," she added, "I'm willing to promise that I'll talk to her. In any case, I was going to meet her soon. But, of course, I make no promises, for you know how often former protégés are deaf to the words of former mentors? And I hope you, Geard, have the experience and wisdom to come out of this situation with dignity."

"I can't just watch, Esta." Lord Tsorto chided, rising. "She, stomping on a fine-tuned mechanism, doesn't even realize what she's doing."

"I'm sure it's not that bad." The Countess objected, rising as well and approaching Lord Tsorto to see him off.

"Too bad you didn't want to help me." He muttered indifferently, pulling on his gloves and not looking at the countess. "Well, that's all right. I think the Ruling Lord will find a way to deal with this girl."

Great Shadows, what an idiot! In her mind, the Countess sobbed, raising her eyes to the ceiling in agony. She sighed heavily and, with a weary wave of her hand, said:

Do whatever you want. But, I want to warn you, Geard. Please don't call her a wench, at least in public. She'll challenge you to a duel, and it might end in death. Most likely yours. And the last thing we all need right now is your death.

Lord Tsorto responded with only an unkind glance and, with a brief nod of goodbye, departed in a stamping step.

What to do with a convenient idiot who is no longer convenient?

Daim Esta tiredly slumped in her chair, and after emptying the glass of wine she had picked up on the way, which Lord Tsorto had never touched, she summoned her secretary again:

"Will Dr. Mhaet and the others be arriving soon?"

"In fifteen minutes, Your Ladyship."

"Very well..." She stretched, raising her eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. The strangeness of Lord Cassard's political discourse, against the backdrop of even current problems, looked at most like an object of idle curiosity. All the more so, all these "discourses" were not the result of analysis, but speculation, even if it was her own. On the other hand, her gut was telling her that the "discourse" was too good to be made up by itself, so someone was making it up, and she, for some reason, was not aware of it, and it was equal death.

"Here's another thing." She added, having made up her mind. "Have them make me an analytical memo on the known contacts of the Marquise of Turang, for the past three years."

Let's start eating the Thornhide from this side...

* * *

The men who were summoned, though they had to be brought from the other side of the planet, arrived on time. They sat around a low table, with snacks and tea, like mischievous boys, avoiding meeting their eyes with the Countess, which was helped greatly by the infoblocks with copies of external surveillance data. Dr. Mhaet, the donor material expert, the older, grouchy man with rolling eyes, was the most nervous. He was clearly not at ease. He was constantly shifting the infoblock from one hand to another, shaking his leg and nervously tapping his finger on the edge of the table. He knew better than anyone else that the Countess was not one of the enthusiastic supporters of the project.

The project supervisor Stack-Captain Talaydo appeared calm and businesslike, but his watery gray eyes moved faster than usual, and Dгrlurl could sense his nervousness.

The only one who remained calm was Professor Tyree, the chief specialist in personality construction, young mirlisti, by the standards of his race, with large emerald eyes and the green vestment of the intercessor's servant. He sat directly opposite the Countess, having long since finished reading, and twitched his ears impatiently.

No one touched the tea.

"Familiar?" Abruptly the Countess asked. Communicating with Lord Tsorto had left her not in the mood.

"Uh... yes, Your Ladyship." Dr. Mhaet pronounced, putting aside the infoblock and interlocking his fingers. "Sad news."

Countess Durlurl leaned forward, and a predatory expression appeared on her face:

"You promised me at least eight years. Where?"

"Your Ladyship!" The doctor and the professor protested in chorus. They exchanged irritated glances, and Dr. Mhaet continued. "Your Ladyship, when we discussed this experiment, you promised that there would be no forced activations for the duration of the service.

"I didn't promise, I assumed." Esta protested with a strained smile. She had honestly hoped Taer would not need her skills for the next eight years, and if they did, they would only be needed once.

"When we called it eight years, we made the same assumptions." In the doctor's voice, one could hear a poorly concealed nervous tremor. "And it's not our fault she's had at least four activations in less than a decade. And I have to say, perfectly justified activations."

She threw a displeased look at the doctor and snorted, and took a cup of tea from the table with her palms around it as if trying to keep warm:

"Couldn't she just be bleeding?" Proclaimed Countess Durlurl, slowly sipping her tea. "After all, normal people bleed through their noses without any psychosomatic reactions.

The question was almost rhetorical.

"The chances of that happening are extremely slim." The professor coughed, voicing what she already knew. "As Your Ladyship knows, Taer has a quite perfect body. Without exaggeration, the best we could do while staying within limits."

"Suppose, then, what do you think is going on?" She asked, turning sideways and examining the pattern on the silk wallpaper thoughtfully.

"Absolutely nothing wrong." Dr. Mhaet stated unequivocally. "Yes, certain psychosomatic manifestations have begun. However, I would like to emphasize that these manifestations do not mean a loss of control. Taer is an extremely stable, even inert, person.

"On previous occasions, they have been blown away in literally twenty-four hours." As if in between, he muttered, staring up at the ceiling.

"You can't transfer that experience to Taer," the doctor objected, glancing unhappily at the Myrlyssti, "it's, at minimum incorrect, to say the least. Completely different carriers, different induction methods, none of them had that kind of susceptibility, after all."

"And what do you think, Professor?" inquired the Countess Durlurl of Myrlisti.

"Ah, Your Ladyship, it's hard to say," murmured Tyree, bowing his head slightly. "There is too little data. I can assume that despite the successful suppression of the outer layers of logic, due to the frequent activations and strong stressful background ...." Professor hesitated a little choosing the wording more streamlined, "the induced part continued to unfold, so to speak, beyond the limits set by us. The needs of the "donor" begin to influence the recipient's behavior more and more. And while the recipient is not yet aware of this, the psychosomatic manifestations have already begun. In particular, nosebleeds."

These words provoked an exchange of meaningful looks, but the nature of the donor's needs known to the audience was not optimistic.

"I would like to emphasize again," Dr. Mhaet interjected, "psychosomatic manifestations do not yet mean loss of control."

Professor Tyree glared at his opponent and shrugged his shoulders with a faint snort:

"I wouldn't vouch for it."

"Well, speak for yourself. I am ready to vouch for it, even with my head."

"And what's your head to me?" The Countess snickered, glancing sideways at the doctor. "If there's a whole collection of heads to go with it, some of which may belong to the highest nobility as well. I need to make sure the Taer is predictable and stable because if it fails, it will be a disaster. And your head will not undo that disaster."

"Taer is stable and predictable as it is." The doctor didn't back down. "If, however, you want guarantees, you could, for example, introduce, tacitly of course, an adept or several into Lord Cassard's guard. I think two can handle it."

"Handle what?" Durlurl's voice had a mocking tone to it. "Weren't you, when you promoted this idea to the Ruling Lord, alluding to the special effectiveness against adepts?"

"What on earth do you want?" Suddenly the doctor shrieked, unaware of himself in horror. "Take this opportunity to destroy her while the Ruling Lord is absent? To undo years of research? You cannot. That is for you to decide alone! You must notify His Grace

The Countess's heavy gaze, which did not bode well, pinned the doctor to his chair.

The doctor shuddered, his eyes flickered treacherously, and he hurriedly grabbed the infoblock again like a shield, losing his courage as swiftly as he had gained it.

"If I become interested in your opinion about the limits of my authority, I will let you know." The Countess spoke slowly. "Have I made myself clear enough?"

"Yes, Your Ladyship." The doctor muttered, staring at the floor.

An oppressive silence hung for a while in the semi-darkness of the office. The Countess was slowly sipping her tea, staring at the wall, while those gathered exchanged nervous glances.

"Your Grace, shouldn't we just give her what she wants?" Captain Talaydo ventured to break the silence and, making sure he had the Countess's attention, continued. "As I understand the Professor, the nosebleed is not so much a sign of loss of stability as we used to think, but a psychosomatic reaction to the bloodlust of the another."

"More like a desire to see blood." Corrected Professor Tyree.

"Well, yes." Without looking, the captain brushed it off. "Maybe we should satisfy that need? We'll organize some kind of attack under controlled conditions or at least an excursion to the slaughterhouse. I think the doctor can tell us the most effective form. I think it's better than waiting for her to snap at some social gathering and kill everyone she can get her hands on."

Daim Esta silently turned her gaze to the doctor.

"I wouldn't recommend it." The latter hastily replied. "It would stimulate the 'donor part', and it could continue to unfold right up to the point of completely displacing Taer's personality. And that, again, is - known complications."

"At least these complications will come in some secluded place," objected the captain, "not at the Emperor's party."

The Countess still remained silent, turning her heavy gaze back and forth between the professor and the doctor.

"How much will you give her?" she finally asked.

The scientists exchanged glances again, and Professor Tyree was the first to speak:

"It's hard to say, Your Ladyship. We're in completely uncharted territory. No other specimen has remained stable for so long. The Taer's personality shows no sign of splitting, and if it weren't for this unfortunate bleed, I'd give it at least four more years. But now..." He twitched his ears grimly. "In previous cases, they were gone within twenty-four hours, and I can't guarantee anything. That's why I vote for isolation."

"I agree with my colleague. To suggest any timeline would be guesswork. But I would make a more optimistic assessment." The doctor shook the infoblock plate weightily. "She's very stable, and I think she'll remain stable. Unless, of course, there are further activations and emotional crises. The only negative aspect, in my opinion, is that Taer shows signs of a developing romantic connection. I fear that an emotional background so alien to the donor might provoke rejection."

"In any case, if Your Ladyship needs assurances, I also recommend isolation. At least it gives a chance to develop the results obtained. Ideally, I would advise removing our recipient to some safe and comfortable place, where a possible breakdown would not cause much trouble, and to observe."

"I didn't hear the answer to my question." There was metal in the Countess's voice. "So, how much will you give her?"

"We can't give you any specific numbers, Your Ladyship." Confusedly, the professor spread his thin hands. "The case is unique."

The Countess glanced angrily at the downcast scientists, and with a disappointed sigh, she shook her head disapprovingly:

"The older I get," she said philosophically, "the more often I notice that as soon as an issue becomes really important, it immediately turns out that the case is unique, and no one guarantees anything. It makes me think all these experts," she looked around at Dr. Mhaet and the professor, "are a complete waste of money."

"If given the time and the opportunity to observe Taer in more detail, we could somehow extrapolate the data and give a more accurate timeline."

"The problem is, Doctor," Esta smiled wryly, "that Taer is no longer my subordinate. Worse, she is now a Knight, a Blade of the Domain, and therefore a member of the Council of Sixteen. She's more likely to tell me what to do than I am to tell her. And not to mention the fact that she's even in the capital now, we have no way to hold her anywhere, let alone isolate her completely. The disappearance of an entire Blade of the Domain, it's kind of conspicuous, don't you think?

"Could it be a disease?!" The doctor didn't give up. "I mean, certainly not a real disease, but I'm sure if we give it a couple of days, we can pick up some kind of allergen that can cause the symptoms..."

The Countess silently waved her hand and turned away again, not even wanting to comment on the proposal.

"Capture and fake death?" The captain suggested without confidence in his voice. "Either way, something has to be done."

"She might perceive it as an attack," the doctor hastened to insert. "And this is a possible activation."

"Amazing talent of making trouble out of nothing." Proclaimed Esta into space. She set the cup down on the table and tiredly gripped her forehead with her hand:

"Prepare everything necessary for isolation by force, Captain. And just in case, a ship with special equipment, all of which should be ready to leave for the capital within twenty-four hours." The Countess paused, pondering whether she should fly personally and go incognito with the task force or officially on her yacht. "I will notify the Ruling Lord and join you. Either way, it's time to end it all, one way or the other."

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