Chapter 27 (Patreon)

Chapter 27

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Down below were hills in broken labyrinths of ruins with gray bristles of germinated forest melting beneath the dark clouds of their crowns, with occasional bright reflections of metal wreckage breaking through them. At this speed, the atmosphere was pleasantly rough, sheltering her from the transparent void of space and the treacherous glow of the stars that filled the red abyss of the sky with restless black dots.

Taer had seen this memory probably a thousand times already.

Maybe not exactly a thousand, but certainly hundreds. When the other didn't want her presence, she'd squeeze her here, into this memory. Or rather, memories.

There were many such memories, changing landscapes, weather, and star patterns, and several times, she found herself gliding through the atmosphere of a gas giant. But the essence of the memory remained the same - flight, emptiness, and calm, peaceful anticipation.

And there must have been millions of hours of such memories. One day, Taer tried to "watch" the memory, just to see what would happen next, at the end. But there was no end to it. She flew on and on in her calm serenity. A local star swept across the sky in a dazzling black ball and disappeared again. The weather changed, and Taer wasn't sure, but perhaps even under the inexorable pressure of time, the landscape changed, and only her flight remained unchanged.

She stopped and didn't "watch" for fear of going mad:

I mean even more so.

This peacefulness and monotony put her in a stupor. Her mind shut down, and her "Self" sought to dissolve into contemplation.

And Taer had doubts that she would be able to pull herself back together after that:

Maybe there won't be anything there to start thinking about again?

So it was understandable why the "other" had thrown her here since it looked like there was no coming back from here.

What was happening was also quite understandable. She was controlling some kind of flying machine through a direct input interface. In fact, she felt the roughness of the atmosphere on her "own skin" and the intermittent intake of the working mass as one long breath.

This was abandoned after the war. The connection of the machine directly with the pilot's brain gave certain advantages, but there were more disadvantages:

But maybe it was during the war? Or even before? If the donor of the guider was indeed the Countess's mother. The Countess must have been in her thirties when the war began. It's quite possible...

The strangeness of the pictures that appeared before her was also easily explained. It was clearly a synthesized image from some sensors. Judging by the bright shine of metal and translucent organics something in the electromagnetic spectrum. Variable aperture wave stations were giving off something similar. Red skies and black stars? Also, some kind of electromagnetic filter, but obviously a different one.

It was understandable, except for two inconvenient details: first, what was the point of circling a devastated planet? Second, despite her service in Fleet Intelligence, Taer couldn't remember a vehicle capable of flying for years in the atmosphere at a decent speed. The longest-lasting was the Ghost Spark scout droid, which could stay in the upper layers of the standard atmosphere for a couple of decades at a speed of one and a half comers per second, maybe a couple of times longer if you put an auxiliary bubble reactor in place of the payload. But here we were clearly talking about years...

It's not it's beyond the realm of possibility... Just why? And what was she waiting for? These questions occupied Taer the first few times, but then she ignored what was happening and tried to get to the surface of her mind as quickly as possible, for fear of getting lost in these memories forever.

This time was different. This time, she came here on her own.

She didn't come. She ran away. The attempt at self-torture was sluggish, not sincere. It did not touch her. She would not be attracted to it, even with all the self-torture inherent in her.

Not run away, but exhausted. She contradicted herself tiredly. Overstretched...

It was pure truth. She now knew from experience that perception could be overstressed:

It's like pulling a leg. Except instead of a leg, it's a brain. And the brain does not like to be "pulled," it causes panic, it starts to do stupid things, it starts to go where it should not:

For example, here. In her memory, she was now flying over the sea. It looked to her like an immense blot of ink.

Maybe the guider kept me out on purpose. So I wouldn't tire myself out? It was a strange thought, but fresh in its own way:

Never had the control of the guider been as strong as it had been with the lord. Taer struggled just to see what was happening, to realize herself in the body, let alone to influence it.

So she was protecting me? She let that thought hang around for a moment to think it over from all sides.

Nah... She doesn't care... She doesn't care about me. Taer couldn't distinguish between the thoughts of the guider, who seemed to be thinking too fast. But she could already sense her mood, her emotions, her attitude. She treated her with condescension, even bewilderment, sincerely not understanding how such a ridiculous creature as Taer could exist.

It was noticeably better than her attitude towards other people, though.

Other people bored her with their predictability and annoyed her with the desire to maintain that predictability. The need to interact with people bored her to death. And the more bored she became, the more easily she gave up control, sometimes even shutting down completely. It was almost always like that. The more she had to interact with people, the easier it was for Taer to gain control of her body and keep it as long as her actions didn't interfere with the guider's plans. She always sensed this beforehand and immediately took control of Taer. But if she didn't try to call for help or kill herself, she could keep control of her body for hours, if not longer.

But Lord Cassard was different. He was the exception for some reason. There was another, someone in the imperial palace, a woman, it seems. She, too, was treated differently, patronizingly protective, like a child.

The Lord, on the other hand, guider feared...

Well, maybe she wasn't feared. Taer corrected herself, remembering her own dream under the Fenot and the phrase, I can't be feared.

But at least she was on guard with the lord. Focused, concentrated, as if on an exam. It was almost impossible to take control of her body in such a condition.

Maybe it's because of what I saw?

Taer didn't know what she'd seen, but she'd already learned how to "see possibilities for the future," and if she wanted to, objects or events would be drawn out and scattered in a kaleidoscope of possible versions of themselves. She couldn't manipulate these versions yet, of course, unlike the guider, and it wasn't even clear how to approach it. But watch? Watching she could...

So much for looking... Her head ached at the mere memory of what she'd seen, not physically. Physically, she didn't really have a head right now, but mentally. It was like she'd failed to exercise an already pulled muscle from practice again. Saw, some kind of ...

Taer didn't know what to call what she saw. Some kind of environment...Turbulent...

In fact, at first, she didn't see anything at all. She was very surprised, and she stared at it despite the guider's insistence on pushing her away. And her attempts to see the lord's "future options" succeeded, albeit not immediately. But instead of the usual kaleidoscope of options that stretched out in copies from the most likely to the least, she saw a bubbling fractal environment, like those shown in hypernavigation lessons about multidimensional objects, in which the more you look, the more details appear, and so on endlessly.

The mind is not very friendly with infinity. She'd learned that the hard way. Her attempt to realize the chaos she had seen, which was seething with an infinity of equally probable options for the future, had ended in a complete loss of the crumbs of awareness she had followed by panic and an instinctive "flight" into the depths of the strange memories of the guider.

At least it's peaceful here. The ocean in this memory had already been left somewhere behind, and now she, or rather "guider," was flying over the gray ridges of mountains under black caps of snow in absolutely serene tranquility.

Taer watched the flight for a while longer, hoping at least some of the serenity the guider felt would be transmitted to her, but no:

It's not transmitted... It wasn't that she was still panicking, but rather a restless curiosity. She wanted to know what she'd seen and what it meant.

Taer had an idea, and concentrating, she reached back to the surface of consciousness:

If you're treated with leniency, why not take advantage of it?

After climbing back out and getting used to the fact that she now had a body and senses of perception, Taer found herself sitting in a shabby robotaxi with the orange throat of the tunnel winding through the windshield.

It was a marked change of scenery. Lately, if Taer had found herself in a vehicle, it had been a very fancy executive aircar with a live driver in an Imperial Intelligence uniform. The lights of the illumination panels whizzed by, flashing orange, then plunged the cabin into darkness. In those moments, her reflection appeared in the dark windshield, slim, austere, with the faint glint of gold earrings at her neck and a sleepy, relaxed smile on her tinted lips to match the pale purple pantsuit. The rounded metal case of a folded medical droid, a compact model of the kind used by the emergency services, was heavy in his lap, and a turquoise iso-container with white "sterile" lettering on the sides sat on the seat beside her.

It's really possible to fall asleep. Taer thought as she watched the tunnel's lights pulsate and began to get more comfortable in her mind so as not to catch the guider. It hadn't disappeared yet; the cold flow of its presence was still there, but it was fading fast. The Other seemed to be falling asleep, retreating somewhere deeper.

Normally, Taer would only be happy about this, but now she had other plans:

Are you going to kill someone again? Taer thought as loudly as possible.

The icy flow in her head quivered slightly, and she heard her bored voice in response.

"There's that fixation of yours on killing again... Some kind of fetishization of death. Where did you get that from? You're not a priest, are you? They're the ones whose whole existence revolves around death and selling salvation from that inevitability."

You're one to talk to. Taer snorted mentally, trying to hide her joy at the successful provocation. The calculation had paid off. The other easily accepted the role of mentor and was no longer fading. The flow had leveled out and felt clear and precise.

You're the one who's a religious figure and almost a saint.

"Only nominally." Waved the other away. "The big religions are too static. I've always been more interested in sects."

Isn't that the same thing? The conversation started up, and Taer tried her best to keep it going so she could change the subject at the appropriate moment. And a major religion is just a successful sect?

"If you consider them as organizations?" She had time to see for a moment her reflection in the glass shrugged.

"I guess so. But that's not what's interesting. Every religion is an attempt to answer a phenomenon that cannot be rationalized or whose rationalization provides an unsatisfactory answer. That's why most old, established religions revolve around death and the mystery of creation. Sects, especially small ones, are fleeting creatures, and you can tell from them what questions people can't rationalize right now."

Taer tried to think of some sect with 'original problematics,' but the topic wasn't hers.

If you look at it that way, I think most sects are about death and love.

"It's a consequence of human nature." Guider sighed. "Most will always be about death and love, but all the more interesting are those who offer something else."

And what sects now offer anything different? Taer was in no way on a level playing field, but at least she could play the role of an interested listener.

"The new ones? The Black Path sect and, for example, the Chosen Ones or the Chosen Seekers."

The Chosen Ones didn't say anything to Taer at all, but she seemed to have heard something about the first ones.

The Black Path, is that the ones that want to circle a black hole to get to the future? Taer remembered now that she'd seen the holo report. She'd been struck by the cultists' transport, a horrible trough that had little chance of surviving just approaching the accretion disk, let alone making a few dozen turns there.

It's some kind of suicide cult, unable to even buy and look in a navigation textbook. Turns out they're just like everyone else: also about death.

"You're confusing the idea with the execution." The other shook her head. "The execution, at least in some bands, is really about death. But the idea itself is pretty fresh. They're answering the question, "Why live now when you can live in the future?" And for most of human history, that choice was just out of reach."

There were stasis pods. Taer found something to object to after a moment's thought. They've only recently learned to make them, of course, but even in ancient times, they found working ones left over from the Starfall.

"Technically, you're right, but even a small sect needs some kind of mass appeal, and if the mainstream doesn't have money for a decent ship even now, let's not talk about stasis capsules, which had no price not so long ago, due to their incredible rarity. And their very concept of believing in a better future is quite fresh. Most religions imply some inevitable catastrophe or punishment in the future, which can be avoided only by following the dogmas."

And the second ones, these Chosen Ones, who are they? Taer asked, sensing that there was no way to change the subject without exhausting it.

"They are, as you put it, about death and love." The guider smiled. "But in the original version. They believe the universe is infinite. So may exist in it some infinitely powerful entities, some of which may well collect the souls or at least posthumous mindprints of lesser creatures like humans. It sounds logical in its own way. And then all their teachings are attempts to figure out how to attract the attention of such an entity, not just any entity, but the one that spoils the collected minds and indulges them in every possible way. After all, if we start from the idea of an infinity of options, then some of these omnipotent creatures will subject the received mortals to unimaginable torment. So these cultists often go to quite amusing lengths in their attempts to be chosen by whomever they please."

Taer could feel a quiet buzz of joy coming from the stream. The other was really enjoying this conversation and now was probably a good time to ask about the lord. She had to think of a way to change the subject because the moment was passing, but nothing came to mind:

And what did I see there? While talking to the lord? Taer was just desperate to think of a more graceful transition and, feeling the moment slipping away, irretrievably went straight ahead.

"Quite a clumsy approach." There was a distinct note of irony in the cold flow of the guider.

Yes. She agreed obediently. There was no point in denying it. All hope was in the leniency with which the guider treated her.

"Are you sure you want to know?" It was obviously a trick question, Taer could feel it.

Yes. she confirmed stubbornly once more.

"Okay." Guider shrugged with an indifferent look. "This is what the probability spectrum of variables capable of redefining themselves retroactively in the past looks like."

Redefine retroactively, in the past? Taer tried to realize the answer she had received. It wasn't working out so well. You mean change in the past depending on what happens in the future?

"You could say that." The guider nodded.

But... Taer didn't understand how such a thing could even be possible. The long hours of lecture on the nature of space-time in her navigator training had rebelled against the very idea that such a thing was possible.

But the past doesn't exist! Well, in the physical sense, it doesn't exist, in the material sense. She corrected herself.

"It depends on the time model." Again, the guider shrugged. "An intuitively appealing analogy is to think of time as a kind of well into which reality falls at the rate of a second per second. High concentrations of energy, in this model, parachute in and fall a little slower, but they still fall. If someone manages to travel into the past, they won't find anything there simply because all reality has already fallen into the future."

So it turns out that time travel is impossible, Taer clarified uncertainly, sensing the irony in the flow of guider. She waited for her objections, which were obvious to her.

"Directly, no." Nodded the homing device in response. "But even this model does not forbid bringing the state of the universe back to what it was in the past. Reality, as such, has no will. It doesn't care what state it exists in. Resistance will be minimal, and before you think about the amount of energy required for such a transformation, think about the fact that it's really pointless. Even if you have to use up all the available energy of the combined reality, you'll have the entire energy of the universe again when the transformation is complete."

It was some kind of nonsense, a big nonsense. It was rambling, trying to settle in her mind, but her mind, already torn by the encounter with infinity, rebelled and refused to participate.

I keep forgetting she's insane. Taer felt a flood of overpowering absurdity for the umpteenth time as she interacted with the guider

In other words, Lord Cassard is destroying the universe to create it again, but as it was in the past? That's nonsense.

"No." Her reflection shook her head. "That would be too much trouble."

"The analogy of the well is just one model. Time can be approached in another way: if we look at it as a resource necessary for the projection of energy, and therefore mass and matter, into what we perceive as reality. Then, it turns out that time is a consumable material of energy transformation. There is time - energy evolves, changes, slows down, and cools down. But the capacity of space-time is limited, and if energy is more than the available resolution of metrics in the zone of local causality, there is not enough time, and evolution slows down proportionally to the lack of time and, up to the maximum after which there is a puncture of space metrics or simply speaking - collapse into a black hole."

I did graduate from the navigator course after all. Taer muttered to herself. And I don't need to explain that gravity is generated by time - they teach that in orbital mechanics.

To the notes of irony in the flow of the guider, distinct elements of mocking condescension were added:

"How nice to see such an educated child. Then, it will not be difficult for you to imagine that if there are processes that consume time in the model, then there must also be those that create time, so to speak exotemporal. And as a navigator, it won't be difficult for you to find an example of such processes."

Expansion of the universe? Taer guessed.

"As one example." The guider nodded to her.

And how does that help with time travel?

"Well, at least by the fact that in this model moving into the past, you'll catch reality there." The Other smiled. "Here, reality seems to repel from its former self by bubbling and expanding, and it is quite possible to get deep into such a bubble, i.e. into the past. Especially since there's no need to move the entire macro body, it's often enough just to transmit the difference of states and, with the proper resources, this can be done quite often, ensuring that the mind is synchronized in several phases of reality at once."

It took Taer a few minutes of mindless contemplation of the pulsing lights of the aerocars to get her head around what she had heard:

But that's not what humans can do, is it? Not even the Adepts. The conclusion was self-evident.

"I'd say that if humans are able to do that." The Other's smile in the reflection turned into a predatory grin. "They stop being human pretty quickly."

"Being determines consciousness."

So Lord Cassard, Alex, is not human? Taer remembered the strange fragments of conversations between the lord and the other, much was clear now.

"No, so what? I'm not a human, he's not a human, you're not a human. You're making it sound like it's a bad thing."

I'm human. Taer objected with sullen determination. Just crazy.

"Well, how human are you? Biologically, you've got so much stuff crammed into your body that the average Mirlisty is closer to human than you are. Psycho-intellectually, you have me in your head. Take my word for it. That's not normal for humans. That leaves only the cultural criteria of belonging. Okay, culturally, you're human, but so is an average protocol droid. If your humanity is so stretched, you can certainly continue to engage in self-deception."

"She could be lying," Taer clung to the thought like the last breathing mask on the ship. She was obviously trying to convince her that she or Alex weren't human. She had some interest in it, so it was foolish to argue with her and change her mind. Better to take the chance and gather more information.

What kind of creatures are you then? You and the lord?

"First of all, we're rather different beings with only our pasts in common, and secondly, it's more interesting if you find out for yourself. We need to stimulate your curiosity somehow."

Taer assessed the "mood" of the flow and realized there was no point in begging and persuading the guider.

She stuck.

The aerocar jumped out of the tunnel, and the cabin was flooded with daylight. The terraces of equatorial estates grew on the left, wrapped in green gardens, and the emerald strip of the sea appeared on the right. The cold flow in her mind became denser and clearer.

Have we arrived? Taer guessed by the other's reaction.

"Almost."

You're really not going to kill anyone? Taer clarified without much hope. There was little she could do to influence it anyway.

"I have no such plans." With an indifferent look, the guider replied. "This is a ceremonial visit."

"Like the Temple of Twilight? Is there something to take away again? Taer asked with a lingering hope. The place had left an unpleasant impression on her, but there had been no corpses.

"Yes." She nodded in response. "We should pick up the gift."

I don't need any gifts. Taer hastily clarified.

The first time the guider decided to give a gift she had to watch in detail the process of tearing off the hand and shoving it down the victim's throat.

Gross. She mentally shuddered at the memory. The second time, however, Taer had found ice cream in front of her as a gift after she'd returned to the surface of consciousness. Pretty tasty. But it was best not to take any chances with the guider gifts. She's completely insane.

"It's a gift for me." Tiredly she closed her eyes and plung everything into darkness for a moment. The Other explained. "Just a formality." It didn't come out in any way in her voice, but Taer could feel the irritation emanating from the flow. Formalities were clearly not to her liking.

What's the point of wasting time on mere formalities? Not that she expected the guider to abandon her plans. But... Suddenly?

"Formalities, like other rituals, calm people down." The guider opened her eyes again, and, at the same moment, the taxi started to swerve and descend. The destination of their trip appeared ahead, an impersonal estate that showed its owner had money but no title.

"When they think things are going their way, you can get a lot more out of them with a lot less effort. And I'm very lazy." She added, and Taer felt a chuckle curve her lips.

The muttering of the thrust generator turned into a loud, iridescent purr, slowing the vehicle to an almost complete stop. The long lattice canopy of the red bronze front entrance flashed in the side window, the aircar scraped its supports against the sand of the landing pad with the lone figure of the greeter and froze.

"Destined arrival point." The pilot droid rattled from a speaker in the ceiling. "Leave the cabin or pay for a new ride."

"Wait." The guider commanded and threw a few creds into the receiving slot in the arm of the chair.

Why pay when you can just change the state of the droid's memory cells or whatever you do? Taer asked, trying not to show her disappointment. She'd only witnessed a few times how the other manipulated the state of individual ions to control electronic systems, and she wouldn't mind seeing more. She hoped to understand how it was done.

"Because that's enough?" She received instead a reply with a distinct trace of disdain in the flow mixed with irritation. Strangely, it wasn't directed at Taer but at the Adept's abilities. As if there was something inappropriate, even vulgar, about them.

"Paid waiting time: twenty minutes." She heard from above, and with a small ball of orb, she swung the door open and stepped onto the sand of the landing pad.

The only other person to greet her was the monk from the temple, whom she had decided to call "Servant." Without his mask and in his normal clothes, he looked frighteningly normal, which made the fact that he immediately knelt in front of her all the more bizarre.

"The Will of the Great Shadow has been done. The Nameless One who broke the covenant remains alive and untouched." He murmured obsequiously as he pressed his face into the sand.

"And have there been many attempts to change this state of affairs?" The guider inquired in a favorable tone, but Taer sensed a slight irritation in the flow. She didn't really like something.

"One nameless one tried to approach the manor in the twilight but fled when I made my presence known. A droid with a plasma bomb and four Gnarms mercenaries whose lives had to be taken. Nothing worthy of the Great Shadow's attention." He added, still staring at the ground, which caused a distinct increase in irritation in the targeting stream.

You don't like the way he addresses you? Taer guessed. By the change in the flow, she immediately realized she'd hit the mark. Then why let it?

"You're right." With a sigh, the guider nodded. "This could take a while. So..." She turned to the servant spread out before her. "I get a little annoyed when people use terms they don't understand. Call me Mistress, that will suffice. On special occasions - His Will."

"As you wish, Mistress."

Get the droid and the container from the vehicle, and if I call you, bring them to me, but until then, wait here.

"It will be done, Mistress."

The servant darted toward the taxi behind him, immediately disappearing from sight as Taer headed toward the manor, guided by the guider.

"And why does he serve you? Taer was curious for nothing.

"There are only two origins of any ministry, either superior power or profit."

And what's the benefit since he literally cried tears of happiness at the mere possibility of being your servant?

"From being able to get a name." The other corrected her.

Is it valuable? Taer asked, not even trying to hide her doubt. She'd never understood cultists. They're crazy, though, and this one's already with manifestation, so he's guaranteed to be crazy.

"I suppose it depends on priorities." The guider counselor shrugged. "For some people, obviously, yes."

Why?

"Presumably, since I gave him a name, I know him."

And what good is that?

"Read something from the basics of the Twilight Cult, like A Step in the Dark." The Other suggested tiredly. "I'm not a fan of lengthy lectures."

Fine. Taer muttered and began to silently watch the ascent to the manor.

The mansion was located on the top level of a terrace, where yellow sandstone steps led up to a series of steps interrupted by numerous platforms. Above them was an incredibly long lattice canopy that began at the front door of the mansion. Despite the distance, two unexpectedly graceful droids stood on either side of the polished stone doors, looking like golden mannequins.

Taer recognized the model. They had been considered an option in preparation for the Lord's visit. Dazzlingly fast and accurate, these security droids were as fast and accurate as the pre-war models, without causing their owner any legal problems with the Inquisition. The trick was that the bodies of these droids were essentially empty dummies with speakers and sensors. They had no brains of their own, not even actuators. The cluster controlling them was stationary and mounted inside the protected object, as well as a complex system of power grabs and resonant magnets, which served these droids as analogs of servos and which had to be built into the walls of every room where these droids were supposed to be used. So, from the point of view of the law, they were a stationary security system.

Due to the timing and scope of the remodeling, their use had been abandoned, but now the guider was aimed directly at them, and Taer concentrated on making sure she didn't miss the moment of 'intervention':

I mean, she's not going to fight them, is she?

A few minutes later, the climb was over, and her hand rested on the polished metal of the door handle. Taer mentally froze in anticipation, but the door clicked quietly open, and the droids remained standing as golden statues on either side of it.

Are they, like, off? She asked resentfully and immediately guessed it herself. Right, there was a servant here...

"Or it's even simpler than that." Answered the other, swinging the door open.

The inside was luxurious and empty. A manor of this size was bound to have servants or at least droids, but no one was there to greet her. The doors to the back of the room were open wide, the curtains in the open windows were flapping in the wind, and a dark blue bird, startled by her appearance, was flitting about. It seemed as if all the people had fled in a panic, leaving everything behind. The farther they went, seeing the same picture again and again - the open doors and the abandoned rooms with their windows open, the more the strange, eerie feeling grew that everyone had disappeared and there was no one left in the world.

It's like the proverbial! Taer suddenly realized, trying to somehow distract herself from the strange sensations that had rolled in.

The congregation of the Church of Twilight has one. Something like, "No matter how many windows you close, she'll see you. No matter how many doors, she'll come to you. No matter how many clothes you wear, you'll be naked in front of her. No matter how many friends you have, you'll meet her alone."

Now, there was logic in what was happening. The man they were heading to was definitely from the Church of Twilight, and it turns out he was waiting for death, according to the views of his religion. A bit too literal, perhaps, but understandable considering who was on his way to him.

You said you weren't going to kill anyone. Taer reminded.

"Yes." Taer could tell from the state of the stream that it was the truth. She sometimes thought that the Other never lied, at least not to her. // "It's kind of beneath her dignity to lie to insects like me.

Then why is it like this here?

"Humans..." Snorted at the homing. "Like to follow rituals."

That's a strange proverb, Taer shared thoughtfully as she watched another empty hall float by. The first part makes sense: whatever you do, you die. Naked is also understandable. But why alone? A lot of people die when someone else is around.

"It's about experience. You're the only one who dies anyway."

Taer didn't feel the usual pressure of the stream squeezing her out of consciousness, but still, she plunged like a stone suddenly into the dark water of memory:

The loud beeping of the equipment overhead, the dark green figures of the taciturn staff whose appearance jerked her out of her constant half-sleep-half-dream, the jumble of tubes running through her, preventing her from moving and hindering her from breathing. Pain, strong enough and long enough that consciousness had already learned to be, as it were, parallel to it: "After all, the amount of pain to be experienced does not change, no matter how much you suffer from it." Awareness of the inevitability under the crunch of plastic bags in which the neighbors are dressed, the complete absence of fear because nothing depended on it, and only the sorrow that consumed the whole of nature, from how much was wasted, how much was missed and was replaced by a liberating flash of insight:

"I have not existed for billions of years and will not exist for trillions more. Why do I grieve for these crumbs?"

Taer popped out of her memories. In a panic, just as abruptly as she had fallen through, not realizing whether it was she who had said it or the guider.

"Nasty." The memory was sticky, disgusting, and vivid. Like the nightmares that followed the activation of the guider. Taer would have been trembling right now, but her body wouldn't obey her, walking unhurriedly toward her goal.

Why did you do that? Taer growled mentally.

In response, the flow in her mind sparked with silver laughter:

"We have everything in common - body and memory. Watch where you step. There's a lot of things not for children."

She wanted to punch the homing woman as hard as she could, so hard that, for a moment, she regained some of her control: her right fist clenched tightly, and her hand moved upward as if she were about to strike.

"Stay out of the way." The flow in her mind intensified to the point of being unbearable, forcing her to the back of her mind, where she could only exist, deprived of the ability to even think.

This time, Taer didn't just wait it out. She pushed on with her entire existence, clinging to the crumbs of perception with the blind fury of an animal tormented by an indifferent element.

She couldn't tell how long the confrontation had lasted. She had no way to perceive time. She couldn't even tell if it had been a victory or if the guider had simply allowed her to stay. But at some point, the flow raging in her mind subsided, giving her room to think and perceive again.

She was in a luxurious hall worthy of a lord's castle or even an imperial palace. The dark blue cobalt walls were covered with an exquisite golden pattern of interlocking triangles. A medical droid stood in the center of the room, looking like a deep-sea beetle raised on its hind legs and spreading its numerous front legs. It was a rather expensive model, and right in front of it, at its feet, a completely naked old man lay prostrate on the floor in all his grotesque nakedness.

"I, nameless one, have finished my search." Judging by his voice, he was not an infirm old man but just an elderly man of seventy to eighty years. "I have not found Twilight, but I have found His Will, and I accept it, whatever it may be."

"What's your fault?" Her voice exuded such ice Taer felt creepy.

"I have not corrected the sacrilege I have committed." The old man spoke quickly, earnestly, with the heat of fanaticism in his words. "In pride, I have considered my judgment above the covenants. In cowardice, I did not punish those who transgressed. In greed, I indulged myself in the thought of attracting by this sacrilege the return of His Will."

"Greed?" The Other grinned familiarly. "Greed is a good thing." She nodded thoughtfully.

"How shall the one who breaks the covenant be punished?"

There was not an ounce of doubt in the answer:

"Nameless deserves a low death." He looked as if he were about to say something else but stopped at the last moment, his forehead resting on the floor.

"What was it you wanted to ask?" This momentary hesitation didn't escape the other either.

This time old man didn't answer immediately, a moment as if he was gathering his strength before he spoke:

"Nameless, in his pride, begs His Will to allow the offering to be made."

"Granted." The other voice was that of an indifferent judge, but Taer sensed some new tones in her flow, some strange mixture of disappointment and, at the same time... Respect? Taer was surprised. It was the first time she noticed something like that in her flow.

The old man rose to his full height, his face covered by a familiar half-mask with a golden monogram. Unlike the one the servant wore, the monogram was exquisitely beautiful and gold. He gestured to the med-droid and turned back to Taer, freezing in front of her. The droid buzzed loudly with its clumsy little tracks and came up behind the old man, a pair of paws on his shoulders and a pair on the sides of his ribs. Two long arms with tools moved forward and froze against his chest.

The point of these manipulations was unclear, and even though Taer remembered the med-droid wasn't capable of specifically causing harm, it was still a little frightening.

Even they wouldn't hack into a droid to... Blood splattered on her face at the same time as the squeal of the ultrasonic cutter interrupted Taer's musings. She tried to cover herself reflexively with her hand but ran into an insurmountable wall of someone else's will. She remained motionless, unable to even close her eyes.

The droid's lateral paws dug into the edges of the wound opened it sharply with a nasty crunch, and the old man ran his hand into his chest with a horrible wail.

"Acc..." He wheezed, trying to hold out his cut-out heart, but consciousness left him.

The guider intercepted his hand, preventing it from falling. Forcibly unclasped his curled fingers and took the offering.

Throw it away! It wasn't a pretty heart from an anatomy holo, no. It was a slimy, blue lump, smeared with bright blood, covered in yellowish plaques, and Taer could feel it still shuddering in her hand, every jolt of it causing a wave of disgust. Throw that abomination away! She would have squealed if she could.

"Show some respect." In a tired, empty voice, the guider replied. "The man gave everything he had."

Sick psychos. Taer was feverishly aware of what was happening, the body of the old masked man hanging limply in front of her, blood still gushing from a cut in his chest, and the other woman, ignoring it, pulled a communicator out of her pocket with her free hand and dialed the spectral call number with one finger:

"Come here." She said into the com, and without waiting for a response, she disconnected.

The world shifted around, stretching and splitting, a kaleidoscope of images of the future focused on the old man. Taer, along with the guider, began to gaze at the variants surrounding him. They were fading fast. The old man was still technically alive, but he didn't have long to live - not many events could save him, and none of them were the result of his actions.

He put his life in her hands, Taer realized what the guider was looking for, to see if he'd backed up. The old man hadn't. On the contrary, as soon as the droid had cut out his heart, the program burned out his brain, so it couldn't be used for quick resuscitation.

"As stupid as it is, people's ability to sacrifice everything for abstract ideas never ceases to amaze me." The guider shook her head. "Sometimes I think it's the product of some evolutionary error, and sometimes I think it's one of the few virtues of humans as a species."

What's it all for? Taer was sickened by this bloody spectacle. Why these rituals?

"I suppose to increase their self-importance." The Other shrugged, pulling a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from her pocket with her free hand. "A way to prove one's purity, and therefore superiority. Some people are capable of enjoying it."

Putting a cigarette in her mouth, the guider lit up thoughtfully, looking at the body hanging opposite.

Can you at least turn away? Taer asked. I was asking why you need it, not them.

"Absolutely not necessary." The other assured her, blowing a stream of smoke to the side. "I told you, it's just a ceremonial visit. A formality they made up for themselves."

There were quick footsteps behind him, even running. It was a guy, a servant, with a container and a droid.

"What are your orders, Mistress?" He asked, placing the droid case and container right in front of her on the blood-soaked floor. The look on his face was rather pleased with what was happening. He was literally holding back a satisfied smile.

Guider carelessly poked the toe of her shoe into the locking key of the container, and the lid lifted with a quiet hiss, revealing a suit like hers in a clear plastic bag.

"I have accepted this offering. Take it to the shrine." The other handed the heart to the servant and, with a bloodstained hand, pulled a garment bag from the container. Underneath the bag, the artificial heart glistened with plastic. "But first, watch the process."

She turned on the droid, it let out its legs to resemble a metallic millipede or spiky-legged creature and immediately gave a nasty siren wail when it detected a dying man nearby. "And make sure he doesn't get killed anytime soon. When he regains consciousness, give him instructions. The infostick is in the container."

"It shall be done, Mistress." The servant bowed.

The reanimation droid had already encircled the old man, beginning the emergency preservation procedure, making him appear to be being devoured by two strange metallic bugs.

She took another puff, watching the process thoughtfully. Taer couldn't help herself and quickly looked at the probabilities: the brightest one promised salvation, though not without consequences.

Guider didn't bother to look at the droid's work. Nodding to the servant, she headed off into the depths of the building, leaving a string of bloody footprints behind her.

Where are we going?

"To wash and change, of course. I can't be paying visits like this." The other grinned.

"Visits? Taer had had enough of this visit and was even considering trying to go deeper into the depths of memory herself, just so she wouldn't have to see it all.

"Of course." She nodded. "It's only one of nine."

That is, I have yet to see eight more of these offerings.

"No, don't worry." The guider shook her head. "That was an exception. The others I'll just kill with extreme cruelty."

Why?

"Fanatics are rare in organizations with power, in fact, it was the only one."

What does that have to do with it? Taer sincerely didn't understand.

"Think about it. That's the way it is in any power system. The people who need it the most end up at the top. Who would be at the head of a structure with religious overtones that deals mostly with murder? Pretty nasty creatures who enjoy the thrill of secret power, the feeling that others are beneath you, that you can take their lives at any moment. People with healthier passions simply won't rise to the top. They just won't need it. They'll get the money and position much sooner with much less cost."

You enjoy the process of killing. Taer remembered the rapture, the lust with which the guider had killed her captors.

"Have I ceased to be an abominable entity in your eyes?" With a smile, she inquired.

No. Sometimes she forgot who she shared her body with, sometimes she even thought it might become normal, but the guider always reminded her what she was.

So why kill your own kind?

"What good are they?" The Other sighed. "Power-hungry, fused with power, used to lording it over and commanding. They're poor executors."

Preserve management and expertise? Suggested Taer, just within the confines of military logic.

"In a large structure, all the real management is done by the deputies." Guider shook her head, sipping her cigarette. "Even the deputy deputies. At the top, they are rather consumers of the power resources produced by the structure. Besides, they have convinced themselves that with my arrival, there will be atrocities and incredible, even grotesque bloodshed, in which case it is foolish to show mercy."

Why?

"They'll think it's fake." She smiled again, and there was a note of irony in the flow. "And I'll have to kill a lot more people. And I am, as you know, remarkably lazy."

* * *

T.N. At this chapter, the story froze. A new chapter will be translated as soon as the original continues.