Chapter 19

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"The analysis of the flyer's navigation unit allowed us to reconstruct Baron Assaro's route on the day of his death." The well-pitched voice of the Captain of House Faron's own Intelligence easily broke through the hiss of the cooling sleeves and insistently tried to capture Alex's attention, trying his best to make his indifference not too conspicuous. Which required a noticeable amount of effort:

It's hard to feign interest in a conversation in his condition. He felt fine. He didn't feel anything, thanks to the local painkillers, and that was a good thing. Otherwise, it would have been very painful and cold. He was wrapped up to his neck in gold thermo-insulating foil and looked more like a rocket being prepared for launch than a participant in a meeting. Here and there some gauges were blinking, medical technicians were fussing about, performing some procedures only they could understand, and hoses made of foil were pumping in refrigerant with a characteristic hissing sound.

No amount of acting would be enough. Especially since he was genuinely not interested in the investigation. A lot had happened, and he didn't care about Baron Assaro's death now.

"At 17.37 standard time, Baron Assaro left his home in the fourth metropolitan district, telling the servants that he had a private meeting and not to expect him before 25-27 hours. According to a survey of the servants, this did not surprise them, as the Baron often left without informing them. Analysis of the route he chose indicates it was deliberately chosen in such a way as to make it as difficult as possible for orbital reconnaissance to observe him. And the Baron piloted it himself without entering the route into the droid unit's memory. Which, most likely, indicates that the route, despite its complexity, was familiar to him...."

"The next injection in two hours, Your Lordship." The Chief of Medicine whispered, leaning over Alex as the others helped him out of the cooling sleeves. "So far, everything is well."

"Thank you." Alex nodded quickly and turned to the stack-captain again:

"So Baron Assaro had met with someone at least several times at the place of his future death?" He asked to maintain a semblance of participation.

"The route could have been learned on some sort of virtual simulator." The captain hastily warned. "But you're probably right Your Lordship, and Baron Assaro has been to this tower before."

Regular contact? And most likely not from the House of Melato. Otherwise, why the secrecy? A meeting with another aristocrat could have been easier to hyphenate, perhaps. Some criminality? Alex thought lazily, kneading his hand, white from hypothermia.

"Upon arrival, Baron Assaro's flyer flew around the tower, possibly inspecting it." The captain continued his report. "Then, came to a stop, hovering in front of the technical site. On the starboard side, the cockpit window was lowered, and the passenger, partially out, made some actions outside the flyer. He had an unidentified object in his hands. Presumably, a handheld scanner or blaster..."

"And this, how did you find out from the navigation data?" Alex was sincerely surprised.

"This model has a volume sensor in the cabin. For privacy reasons, it's pretty crude on purpose, but it's enough for the droid unit to realize, for example, that the pilot has turned away and taken control at that moment. It's not about any image recognition, but it gives a good idea of how Baron Assaro moved in the cockpit and what kind of manipulations he was doing. It also suggests that the Baron was alone in the cabin at the time of the flight to the tower."

"Not bad, not bad." Alex nodded, encouraging the captain to continue onward.

"All manipulations took about a minute, after which the window was closed, and the object, presumably a scanner or blaster, remained on the passenger seat near the pilot. Then the flyer descended to the level below, where the landing pad is located, and the Baron left the car. This happened at exactly 17.80 standard time. It should be noted that the key was left by the Baron on the dashboard, which may indicate that the stop was not expected to last long. Eleven minutes later, the door of the flyer was opened again, and someone, with the general geometry of the figure significantly different from the Baron, partially got inside, leaning with his hands on the seat. We assume that this was the murderer or his accomplice. Having examined the interior, the unknown person took with him the object with which the Baron had previously made manipulations, after which the door was closed and the flyer was left alone until it was examined by the arriving municipal police."

"Anything, apart from the differences in geometry, have we found out about the potential killer?"

"Not much." The captain shook his head and turned his infoblock toward Alex so that he could see it better. On the screen was a bright orange, a very angular figure made up of irregular polygons, which could only be said to be bent over doing something with one hand.

"All we can say with certainty is that unidentified is of slender build and possibly female." The captain commented.

"And it can be argued that this is not a suicide." Alex summarized, raising his eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. "Baron Assaro arrived for a meeting at a place he knew in advance, with persons he knew in advance. He specifically flew around the tower, but he didn't see anything that would make him suspicious. That is, he trusted those he met. Then he got out of the flyer and most likely went up to the technical platform where they were waiting for him. There was a fight or a beating, after which the baron was thrown down. Probably accidentally, during the fight. Then the killer or his accomplice came down and took something from the flyer the deceased flew in on. No traces of tissue particles were found on the site, on the baron, or in the flyer. It turns out that the killer or killers knew perfectly well what they were doing and prepared accordingly, so the version of accidental murder is unlikely. Am I forgetting something?" He turned his gaze back to the captain.

"Nothing, Your Lordship." The man smiled warningly. "It's a very clear summation of what has been learned so far."

"What about the search of the baron's house? His notes?"

"We keep working the servants, but it's mostly nothing." With a sigh, the Captain admitted. "The Cluster and the droids are completely clean. House Melato's security team was there before us-they were called in when the servants got worried that the Baron was gone too long."

"That was to be expected." Alex wrinkled his nose. "Thanks anyway, Stack-Captain."

"I wish I could just say thanks guys, but I just don't have time for you right now." Alex turned to the ceiling as the captain wished him a speedy recovery and left.

"It's just their job, Your Lordship." Dudo shrugged, who had been silent the whole time, acting like a wall, which, thanks to his long navy training, he was doing just fine.

"As if it's my job too." Your Lordship sighed, raising his eyes sorrowfully to the sky.

House Intelligence had so far done the lion's share of the routine of the investigation and honestly tried to keep him in the loop, even trying, from time to time, to get valuable instructions - which resulted in a huge number of various reports and meetings.

"I just can't help feeling like it's stealing time away from more important things," Alex admitted, staring at the ceiling. "Did those from the lab say anything concrete?" He asked hopefully, turning to Dudo again.

"No." The man shook his head. "Only confirmed it's some 'designer' drug they've never met before."

"Like the others." Alex drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

They hired two bio-labs to figure out what substance Taer had been injected with. One from among the Cassard companies and one simply because it was described as "the best in the capital". And the results of their work were not at all encouraging.

"I don't like where this is going." He shared his doubts. "They both think the stuff was specifically designed for the target. The problem is that they say it takes three or four decades to develop the structure, not just a lot of money. At least under commercial ordering conditions. And that's their preliminary minimum estimate. Taer just wasn't in the capital four decades ago! And even if the active agent just adapts to the target, that's still a decade."

"Perhaps the process can be sped up if one possesses considerably more resources," Dudo suggested cautiously.

"That's what I mean." Alex sighed. Half a million danarii just for a special drug. That's a lot for mercenaries. So non-Taer was telling the truth. It was SS again.

"A group of renegades, too?" Assumed Dudo. He was one of the few who had seen the files from the Tallan uprising. "Like last time?"

"Why would a group of renegades need Taer?" Alex's rhetorical question. "Or even me?"

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"But for Lord Quezox, your lordship, you seem to be of no use either." There was a perfectly reasonable objection.

"Yeah." Alex hummed, he had an idea why Lord Quezox needed him, but he didn't want to talk about it. "Can't they stab without hypothermia?" He hastened to change the subject, kneading his forearm.

The effects of the anesthetic wore off, and there was a nagging pain at the injection sites and more unpleasantly, a strong tingling sensation that gradually turned to burning. It's like frostbite. But essentially, it is.

"That's a trifle, more cramps later." Dudo cheered me up.

"I've been told," he sighed, "Hopefully, by then, the blockade will have been deployed, and it will be tolerable."

"You know best, Your Lordship. But I don't think you're doing it right, Your Lordship." Once again, Dudo grumbled, looking at Alex disapprovingly.

"Yeah, you know, I get tired of being wiped off the floor." "Lordship" snapped at him habitually. "Decided to make a change in my life."

"That's it." Dudo nodded. "That's what I'm worried about, Your Lordship. The altered muscle structure will indeed make you stronger, but only physically."

"You're one to talk," Alex snorted, glaring at Dudo defiantly. The fact that he was bursting with muscles, the envy of any bodybuilder, could not be hidden by any uniform.

"It's just a requirement of the service, dictated mostly by the weight me carry." Calmly he brushed off the claim. "You, with all due respect, have no skill or experience as a fighter. And it turns out this power is just a dangerous illusion that can make you do stupid things you wouldn't otherwise do. For example, you might think you can take on Daim Diltar by yourself."

Alex answered the head of his guard with a long look from the corner of his eye:

"Look, I'm not gonna fight her. That's really stupid. But I want to be able to at least hold her off, if only for a little while..."

"She's an adept." Dudo interrupted him with obvious irritation. "You can repeat the fate of that chair, or the shadows alone know what else she can do. Neither you nor anyone else should try to handle an adept in ..."

Alex raised a finger urging Dudo to be quiet:

"I'm working on that, too. Okay?" He asked, looking into his eyes testily. "I'm doing what I can. I want every chance I can get on my side. And if the extra muscle and the blockage will give me even the tiniest chance, I'm okay with that, too."

"We should either leave her alone or go to the Inquisition," Dudo repeated again, and turned away unhappily.

"Don't you dare! Understand?" Alex growled, pointing a finger in his direction. "The Inquisition is to blame for the current state of Taer. Or its head." He added a little more calmly, leaning back in his chair again. The sudden movement made his already aching muscles ache even more. "With some murky political interests. We'll prepare properly and do everything. I've heard these experts say the neurons forming the guider are always specially marked. So there is a possibility to remove them. So there's a chance. We just have to use it."

The same experts, however, said that the longer the "guider" was deployed, the more damage would be done in an attempt to remove it. And the time of "relatively safe" removal was measured in decades, but not years. But Alex preferred not to remind about it, neither to himself nor to others. Dudo knew it all as well as he did.

"As Your Lordship wills," Dudo replied unenthusiastically and handed Alex the info stick. "Here, as you requested, are the power manifestation records of the various adepts that were found on the open networks and that at least look authentic."

"Thank you. Dismissed." Alex gave Dudo a disgruntled look.

"It's repeating itself again." He exhaled into the ceiling as the door closed, leaving him to himself. Alex was already pissed off by the mixture of awe and fear that came with the word "adept," and if only Dudo had it, practically everyone did. They'd think they were gods on earth.

What's the point of not doing anything if she's adept? He irritably stuck the stick he had received into the infoblock, opened it up, and turned on the playlist. They deal with them somehow, don't they? I just have to figure out how...

There were relatively few entries, about half an hour or so. It was an impressive and rather disappointing half-hour.

And how can you fight it at all? Alex thought aloofly, looking at the screen where the flames were raging.

It was not even a flame but some kind of constant, unceasing explosion, repeating itself over and over again, every moment. Moving with the swiftness one expects from an explosion. This clot of roaring fire tore everything in its path, leaving behind melted, mangled scraps of metal. The more ephemeral creatures, like humans, seemed completely obliterated.

It could be mistaken for some kind of device, a "directed explosion weapon" or a man-made disaster. It was hard to see anything human in the pulsing blob of fire, but it was an Adept. An adept of the flame, to be more precise: "Devoted sororitas who lost stability during the flight to the First Temple," at least that was the name of the record.

It was either a big ship or a space station, but the bulkheads were bursting like cardboard in the path of the fire. They tried to shoot at her - sometimes you could see the quick strokes of blaster discharges, but it looked like you might as well try to put out the fire by shooting.

In any case, something like this is not to be feared. He reassured himself mentally. Taer is not a flame adept. Most likely.

It was a small consolation, though. Adepts of the flame were considered one of the least problematic. In the "coping" sense. Telepaths were considered the most problematic. Records with them were understandably sparse, as many as one. It was just some line of people, apparently for inspection, quite long, and some discreetly dressed man just walking by: past the line, past the clerks, past the guards, and everyone just didn't notice him. It's a short footage, about fifteen seconds, and if you don't know the context, you wouldn't even realize that there's something supernatural going on.

But it's unlikely she's a telepath - then she wouldn't need the interrogation.

There were Life adepts and Knowledge adepts, or more simply, Seers. The strong Life adepts were distinguished by their polymorphism, a rather impressive ability to mold their own or others' bodies like plasticine, but Taer did not seem to have that.

So if she's a Life adept, she's a weak one. Alex tried to be enthusiastic, but it didn't work so well. The recordings of the adepts' abilities knocked out all the enthusiasm.

If not a Life adept, then there were Seers, who were the least dangerous to others. If, of course, you believe the information received from public networks.

It really couldn't be trusted, not at all. That's why I had to turn to Dudo, contrary to the original plan to send a couple of analytical droids to scour the net for information about the adepts. They did, but it was impossible to filter this stream to understand where it was reality and where it was fantasy. He lacked the banal life experience applicable to local realities. Droids didn't help much either: "Poor understanding of context is an inherent flaw of droids," Dudo said.

Alex set the infoblock aside and rubbed his face in his own palms:

Shit, why is it so complicated... he groaned mentally. After all, the other one - "not Taer" also immediately realized that I am not the real Lord Cassard and something about the transfer of consciousness she knows. If she is not the same...

He didn't want to think about it at all. He felt hopeless. So he gave himself a moment to moan. Then he rubbed his face and went on to what he could do, such as contacting his secretary, whose request for communication had been pending for more than half an hour:

"What's wrong?" he asked as the droid's angular face appeared on the screen.

For all its specificity, this droid knew its business clearly, performed everything flawlessly, and did not bother about anything. Although, he often whined that he was "not worthy of the honor of being the secretary of the lordship of the prince". As I understood from his florid explanations, it was considered bad form among the nobility if a droid answered the call.

But for now, it's the most convenient option. Maybe we should get someone from the local secretariat. But they're all ferrets...

"Dear Lugas." The droid rattled. "He would very much like to speak with Your Lordship regarding your errand."

"What else is there to talk about? I explained everything to him..." Alex started, then waved his hand tiredly. "Can you get him on the line?"

"Of course, Your Lordship."

The droid shut down, and in its place, a burly, middle-aged man appeared on the screen. He was wearing a local tunic with a collar, dark burgundy in color - the popular equivalent of a business suit, and just a luxurious office in the background.

A stark contrast, of course. Alex was wearing a special vest of hard white plastic that restricted chest movement, and a thin thermoregulating jumpsuit underneath, a look that was not so much costly as overly utilitarian. Whatever.

"Your Lordship, there has clearly been some sort of misunderstanding." The occupant of the luxurious cabinet began, choosing his words very carefully. "The fact is that the secrecy of the deposits does not permit me--"

"Dear." Alex interrupted, realizing at once where his interlocutor was going, without waiting for the end of the lecture about privacy and bank secrecy. "I thought I was making myself pretty clear. The last thing I need is your deposit secrecy. All I ask is that you arrange a meeting. An acquaintance of some Inquisition official, not too high up. And since I want to bring him in as a consultant to my investigation. It would be more convenient if this man were in need of money. Simply because there's a better chance he'd be interested in spending his off-duty time consulting. That's it. I'm not asking you for his name or his account information, nothing that's bank secrecy. All of that stays with you, Mr. Lugas. And you, as manager of the banking partnership, already have that information because, as you explained to me recently, the creditors exchange it among themselves."

"But, Your Lordship," Lugas began, but his lordship would not listen to him:

"And I really hope so." Alex continued, ignoring the sluggish attempts to object. "That someone as competent and experienced as you, Mr. Lugas, will continue to work in the partnership I own. I hope, at least now, we understand each other?" He asked with an expression. Judging by the look on his face, Lugas had understood everything the first time, but he was desperately chickening out. "Goodbye then. I expect to see you again soon."

Why are they all so wooden? Alex wailed mentally, disconnected from the call of the esteemed Lugas. The head of the local secretariat is telling me about the integrity of the tower, and now this one doesn't want to understand the hints. Is it a surplus of high-paying jobs or what?

"Anything else?" He asked tiredly out loud, seeing that the droid hadn't shut down.

"Yes, your lordship, there's still mail left." Despite the rattling, the droid seemed embarrassed, if droids can be embarrassed at all.

"What about the mail? I kinda gave general guidelines..."

"The fact is, Your Lordship, that my nature does not allow me to understand the subtleties of human feeling. I cannot separate the important from the unimportant in the impulses of the soul. Therefore, when I discovered in the letter a detail of the lady's private toilette, I was unable to make a correct estimate of the importance of the priority and found it necessary to leave it to your consideration."

"A garment detail?" Alex smiled, involuntarily intrigued. He looked at his watch. There was still time before the next visit of the medics and waved his hand. "Let's have a look at it."

He didn't have to wait long, and soon he was holding a pink, heavily perfumed envelope containing a letter written in obviously female but somehow angular handwriting and a "garment detail":

"Just what we need now." Alex growled, throwing the "detail" at the ceiling.

Spinning in the air like an autumn leaf - a red neckerchief dropped to the floor.

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