During his first official visit to Japan, the Tsar-Pakhan Nikolai IX had stumbled drunk into a Shinto temple dedicated to the honorable ancestors of a local clan and urinated into an urn containing the ashes of ancient heroes and wise men. A policeman who was praying nearby was so shocked by this disrespectful sacrilege that he attacked the Tsar with a decorative sword that he ripped off the wall. One of the Tsar’s companions, the great fencer Luigi de Porto, blocked the sword with his cane, saving the Tzar’s life. However, the policeman’s attack was so swift and powerful that it left a small wound on the Tzar’s neck, which another companion cleaned with said handkerchief. Later, the bloody cloth was donated to the temple in memory of the incident. Ironically, the spot for the temple was chosen because that was where an ancient warlord’s horse had urinated, which was considered a good omen by the Japanese members of the First Aristocracy.

Presently, this handkerchief was worth more than the temple it was taken from, though the Princess doubted it was its monetary value that had attracted the attention of the silent samurai.

The last to bring the group to a halt was Von Schmidt himself, who excused himself and went to the gentleman’s room, for some reason emerging from the facilities with a somewhat agitated demeanor.

After a good ten minutes’ walk, the group finally reached the gates to the control center, which opened upon Von Schmidt barking something in German and making a complex and graceful set of motions with both his hands. This reminded the Princess of Marat Kikabidze’s controversial post-neoclassical ballet, The Cro-Magnon Fertility Rite.

The procession passed through the gates one by one, but stopped with Ivanov and the Princess, who were stuck on a point of etiquette. The former claimed that the Princess should enter the room first on account of being a member of the fair sex. The Princess, on the other hand, argued that on account of her social station she should in fact enter last. The disagreeing parties began citing precedents from formal events in the Lunar Court of the Universal Prince, who was known for his fanatical devotion to etiquette and decorum, almost to the point of utter negligence of his duties which were, ironically, supervision of etiquette across the system. However, their doubtlessly enlightening argument was cut short by the Professor who, having never had the privilege of attending a banquet at the hall of humanity’s highest-ranking aristocrats, barked, “Would you bloody get on with it, you pompous, standoffish oafs!”

The two exchanged glares, which in itself was inappropriate since Ivanov, who was merely a count, was not allowed to look a royal princess directly in the eye unless he was riding an elephant and she was not, which was clearly not the case at the moment, as there were no elephants in the room, strictly speaking. The Princess pushed past the Russian count and stepped into the room, scoffing at him as she passed.

The control center was a small room with sleek metallic walls, two plain chairs, and a few dozen screens. While there was no dust in the room, the air smelled stale and it had a definite air of unuse about it. Von Schmidt reached into one of the screens and pulled out a miniature 3-D image of the faulty power plant. For the benefit of all present, he extended the holographic image to the size of about eight cubic meters.

Von Schmidt clenched his right hand to keep the image stationary, before pointing at one of the cores. “I am no physicist, so you will forgive my layman’s terminology, but what we’re having here is a power excursion resulting from an accidental increase of nuclear chain reactions in the plutonium powering this wing. This released a surge of deadly neutron radiation, which, while greatly reduced by the highly absorbent walls of the exhibition hall and other nearby facilities, is nevertheless sufficient to cause mild discomfort to the ferret and, should you choose to settle in my gallery and raise a family, could cause minor health complications in your hypothetical children.”

“Why, fixing this is no problem at all, Schmidt old bomb. Simply decrease the amount of plutonium in the reactor and the overheating and radiation will end immediately. Any child should know this!” Professor York said.

“This is true, but the exposure to hard radiation has destroyed all the electronics in the power plant. The adjustment must be done manually, and I do not at present have a space suit that can withstand the thermal and neutron radiation. My civilian anti-kinetic field generator would burn within seconds of entering the room, so this option is unfeasible as well.”

“Well then, old hat, observe how a superior being can fix your problem before you have time to say, ‘for queen and country.’ I will require nothing but a pair of graphite tongs, which I’m sure that, even in your present condition of extreme poverty, you would have no problem obtaining.”

“This will be sight to see,” the Russian concurred. “Von Schmidt, is increase in radiation from unlocking power plant can harm us?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“No. There is a small chance that it will cause minor damage to some of the more sensitive electronic devices and to our sentimentally-attached-to-her-ferret Princess over here, by proxy, but nothing else.”

“Well then, lay on Macduff!” The professor walked out of the exhibition hall and into one of the screens.

“For queen and country …” the Princess mumbled into her visor.

The professor walked resolutely from screen to screen; from the exhibition hall, to the janitors’ hall, to a room where crystal spiders wove a giant tapestry, to a library where expensive books were encased in closets made from cheaper books, and, finally, to the insulation corridor, which was covered by the sort of moss that could, under the right circumstances, eat a careless maintenance worker. He finally stopped by the massive gate to the power plant. “Well, I’m here, safe and sound as you can see. I am about to manually open the portal. Make sure your protection is on.” Due to the hard radiation in the corridor, his voice was nearly drowned by shrieking and crackling static noise.

The professor disappeared from the last screen and appeared in the large 3-D image in the middle of the room. He picked up a pair of tongs and started fiddling with the plutonium core. Everyone watched with amazement as the tongs shimmered pale crimson while the professor didn’t show even the slightest mark of discomfort, even as his clothing started to ignite.

“Our good professor has chosen the wrong pursuit in life,” Jean said. “He could have been a most remarkable chimney sweep.”

“I would hide family jewels if this one clean my home,” Ivanov said seriously.

“Oh, van’ka, it is phrases like this that make me cherish our amity,” Jean laughed.

“I do not see joke,” Ivanov said seriously.

Jean clapped him on the shoulder. “And this is part of your charm!”

The professor’s painfully loud and twisted voice filled the room. “All right chaps, the deed is done. Right ho!” The professor disappeared from the 3-D image and reappeared in the insulation corridor screen, heading back to the assembled party giving the viewers a short victorious glance.

The Princess waited for the professor to reach the center of the corridor, where he was equally distant from both entrance and exit doors. When he reached her intended spot, she leapt towards the dashboard, pushing aside men and chairs, and punched the emergency lockdown button with such strength her palm burned with the sensation of the touch as if stabbed, making what was supposed to be a victorious “huh!” into a rather girly “ay!”

A loud thud shook the room as the distant hefty gates smashed into the floor with immense speed. Everyone stared at her disapprovingly. She glared back like a cornered cat, daring anyone to criticize her. Not that she felt the need to, but she had a perfect answer to any accusation, an answer that neither relied on her title, nor made use of any untoward anatomical references.

“Madam, I would expect such behavior from a girl of nine, not a woman of nineteen,” Von Schmidt said, more exasperated than angry. “I cannot possibly imagine what led you to commit this childish prank. You do realize you have locked the entire wing and that we are stuck here for the following hour?”

“It is my gift to you. Hopefully, it will surpass the others,” the Princess replied.

“I do believe that further explanation is in order, my dear lady,” Von Schmidt said.

“The professor offered to perform some service for you. I offer you the professor and his service. Von Schmidt, you’re a collector of remarkable artifacts and creatures, are you not? And what is more remarkable than this evil genius? Surely, he would make an excellent addition to your collection. And, should you ever tire of his presence, or require some service in the genetics field, all you’d have to do would be to offer him his freedom in return.”

“I say!” shouted the professor, having tried to unsuccessfully unlock the exit portal. “What is this rot? It’s bloody well not amusing, not in the slightest!”

“Der Mohr hat seine Schuldigkeit getan, der Mohr kann gehen,” Von Schmidt said to himself. Ivanov nodded appreciatively, while the rest looked confused.

“Now, look here! No amount of radiation can harm me, and this palace will be dust long before I even get mildly peckish. Open the bleeding door, you fatheaded blighter or I shall have a devil of a time ripping the blasted place atom from atom!” The Professor punched the portal, which caused the entire mansion to shake again, but left no impression on the surface.

“He will calm down after a few days, stiff upper lip and so forth,” the Princess went on, “and you will have a remarkable exhibit to show guests of taste and refinement and potentially possess the key to physical perfection. I trust that unlike our arrogant friend, you will not squander this gift so foolishly.”

“This is absurd! This is downright uncivil!”

“We are not as perfect as you are, so I am sure you’ll find within you the spiritual fortitude to forgive our transgressions,” the Princess grinned evilly, hoping she really did look evil rather than pouting.

“What! You cannot keep me here forever!” the Professor shouted, sounding more terrified than angry at this point.

Von Schmidt considered for a few seconds. “No, of course not.” He made a circular motion with his index finger and said, “Martin, please add the following statement to my last will and testament. ‘Release Professor York.’ Much obliged, my dear boy.”

“No prison can contain me! With enough hard work—”

“By all means, professor,” Von Schmidt interrupted the hysterical dinosaur. “Hard work is the last bastion of people who have nothing else to offer the universe.”

He abruptly clenched his hand into a fist, killing all images, depriving the Englishman of the chance of having the last word which, the Princess strongly suspected, was an untoward expression involving copious anatomical detail.

Von Schmidt turned to the Princess and smiled graciously. “Well played. Shall we continue the tour?”