City-21 “Kyiv”, UNSA Protectorate, Avril Dominion
Polytechnic Institute
Daria Vasilevskaya, August 12, 2049, 5:30 PM
Dasha’s finger pressed the touch button; the freight elevator doors sealed with a hiss, and it began its deliberate descent. Left above were the chaotic scenes of Moira’s urgent loading, its wrapping in packaging film, and her frantic dash to collect everything of value and destroy anything sensitive that could fall into the wrong hands.
It was a nerve-wracking and terrifying countdown.
With only fifty-four minutes left until zero hour, the elevator seemed to inch downward agonizingly slowly. Daria had practically gnawed through her vape’s mouthpiece; Maksim had imposed a strict ban on any narcotic substances, and the poor girl wouldn’t dare defy him. She had held a faint hope of finding a “zero vape mix” in the club, or perhaps a vending machine on her route, but luck wasn’t on her side.
The club’s reserves had turned out to be surprisingly rich – alas, every fluid or ready mix she found was laced with narcotics: Synth 3, Synth 5, Alpha, Honey Badger 2.0, Black Velvet, even the illegal Aussie and Pink Vader. Dasha had always believed some “zero” for making a “quick mix” would be readily available; hence, she never bothered to stock up, and now she was paying the price.
“All I have is forbidden, and here I am, gnawing on this mouthpiece like a deranged woodpecker. Why is this slowpoke so sluggish?” Dashka even hopped on the spot in frustration, but the elevator remained indifferent to her urgency.
Then, the irritating reminder on her status bar blinked persistently: “Reservation time expiring! Please activate your vehicle or cancel the booking in the app.”
It had been flashing the same message for five solid minutes.
“Hey, Sleipnir, you just standing there, huh?” she addressed the platform out loud, half-jokingly. “If only you really had eight legs, we could just gallop there without any need for a truck! Am I right or am I right?”
The heavily burdened platform, laden with Moira, and a horde of valuable items hastily gathered from the workshops and the club, remained unresponsive. Of course, it would – it housed only basic operational software, nothing as advanced as an AI capable of conversation. But Dasha wasn’t really looking for an answer.
“Fine, keep your silence. Let’s see what’s happening outside!”
Stepping out of the elevator, Dasha led “Sleipnir” to the courtyard gates and stopped to survey the area. At first glance, everything appeared calm, but two essential cameras were offline – likely casualties of a recent skirmish. The courtyard bore the scars of battle: the asphalt was scarred with concrete debris, bricks, and assorted trash, and several twisted shaiszu bodies lay near a wall.
Thankfully, the truck had been spared. When Dasha had hacked into the cameras, the vehicle was already parked by the ramp, and the skirmish had ended. The problem was visibility was limited to just half of the Unimog; beyond that was a blind spot, nothing to survey with.
“Darn it! Could shaiszu be lurking there? Should I risk a peek myself – or send in a drone? Yet without software, it’s just a heap of metal. I’d need at least five minutes to get it airborne...”
Dasha swiftly reviewed the camera feeds, rewinding to before the battle began. Aha! Sure enough, creatures had scurried in, fleeing from military drones that cornered and mowed them down with heavy-caliber machine guns right at the wall. The crossfire took out both cameras mounted there. The drones departed, and since then, the courtyard had remained untouched.
“I can risk it. Good thing we brought the off-road Unimog – no regular truck would have made it through here!”
Cautiously, she cracked open the gates and crept forward, staying low. But upon seeing the entire vehicle, she froze.
[Max, there’s someone there!] Dasha thought-screamed without opening her mouth and making any sound.
[Where?] Maksim and Nikola instantly connected.
[Over there, by the cabin. Behind it, actually. From down here, you can see several pairs of legs.]
[WonderKid, if there are legs, they’re people, not the shaiszu,] Max noted.
[They’re neither military nor police,] Nika added. [Can you zoom in?]
[Sure.] Dashka zoomed in.
[Civilians,] Nikola observed succinctly.
[Most likely, students,] Maksim assumed. [Try to get closer, they’re probably harmless. Just trying to save themselves, just like us. We really need that truck, you know.]
Leaving the platform behind the gate, Dasha took a few steps along the wall to widen her viewing angle, keeping the zoom so as not to approach too closely. Sometimes, enhancing one’s hearing doesn’t require special implants, just processing the existing audio input is enough.
So, here were the ones tampering with her truck!
[That’s Kamil with his gang,] Dasha whispered in the chat, subconsciously lowering her voice as if they could hear her in reality.
[Yep. And Gleb with Julia too. Can’t see the others though,] Max confirmed. [Are they trying to break into the Unimog?]
It turned out that the “thieves” were well-known to Maksim from the uni, part of a myriad of student business startups. There was no rivalry among the clubs; Kamil’s team specialized in aerial drones, particularly racing models.
Currently, Gleb was bent over the vehicle’s open diagnostic port, Kamil offering pointed advice, while a blonde peered intently at a tablet. Another figure, Vratislav – Julia’s boyfriend and the team’s chief engineer – came into view.
“What are you discussing there?” Dasha cranked up the sound amplification and activated a voice-recognition filter to aid her.
“Kamil, Gleb, Julia, and Slavek...” She edged a few steps further and spotted another figure standing with her back to her. A long-legged, tall and dusky with familiar denim shorts, a backpack with a black bat figurine on a chain, and jet-black curly hair tied up in a high ponytail.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Is that… How?! Why?! Shit!”
“What's wrong, Kamil? Having trouble? Guess hijacking a commercial truck is trickier than a public gyroscooter in student housing when your subscription’s expired, huh?”
“Hold on, just a couple more minutes and it’ll let us in!”
“C’mon, folks, stop wasting time. Better run on your own – you’ll have a better chance of making it on time. Enough already!”
And then the brunette whipped around sharply, as if sensing someone’s gaze locked onto her. Daria literally froze on the spot in surprise, and their eyes met.
“Dasha?”
“Alba?”
The Spanish girl started walking toward her, her smile wide but strained, tinged with a mix of delight and apprehension, as if she were both glad and wary of something.
“Dasha, come to life already! You’re standing there like a statue. What are you doing here?”
“I was just... you know, like everyone else...,” Daria mumbled in confuse, pointing awkwardly at the Unimog. “Called a car to pick up some stuff… And what about you?”
“Didn’t Max tell you? We’ve got a competition too,” Alba nodded towards Kamil and the others. “The first round is on Saturday. I flew in early to see how Max would do in the qualifiers, but ended up stuck setting up the ‘Dragon,’ didn’t even have time to catch the live feed. Then all this shit with the portals started!”
“Uhh… he, well, I dunno…” Dasha murmured something indecipherable.
“So, he didn’t mention it? Or are you two not in touch? Oh, did something happen to him, huh?” the brunette asked in a complicated tone, in which you could hear anticipation, concern, and hope all at once.
[Dasha, I can see everything. Act natural, like we’re not in a call right now. We’re renouncers after all, shouldn’t give ourselves away…] the guy hastily interjected. [I knew she was planning to come, but I didn’t see the point in telling you. Didn’t think we’d cross paths.]
In the few seconds that Daria was contemplating her next move, fleeting images of Max’s unexpectedly encountered ex-girlfriend flashed through her mind.
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Technopolis Valencia, Polytechnic University of Valencia
Maksim Chernykh, December 2045
Maksim Chernykh had learned about Dr. Manuel Jimenez, a professor of information technology, while preparing for admission to the Kyiv Polytechnic Institute in 2045. Jimenez, a distinguished pupil and follower of Sergey Chernykh, taught at the “Computer Science” faculty of the Polytechnic University of Valencia and occasionally delivered public lectures on artificial intelligence and intelligent agents.
Despite the fundamental nature of his work – given the strict controls over AI development – this did not deter Maksim. He met Jimenez at his first available public lecture, where the Manuel immediately recognized the son of his mentor. A friendship developed between the young student and the professor, making the guy a regular guest at the Spanish scholar’s home. During the winter of 2045, Max met Jimenez’s niece and first-year student, Alba Maria Rodriguez-Marquez.
In June 2048, as Maksim finished his third year with excellent grades and Daria advanced to her second, the young man made another trip to Valencia for business. His young partner knew about his “long-distance relationship” in Spain, but diligently avoided thinking or talking about it. Unexpectedly yet insistently, he invited her to join him.
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Polis Kyiv, Daria Vasilevskaya, June 2048
“Maybe not, huh?... I’d rather stay in the apartments and get some work done. So many... useful thoughts. Why should I interfere with you both?”
“Come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud! Alba means a lot to me; I think you should meet. You’ll become friends for sure!”
“As if! Becoming friends would definitely be overkill,” thought Daria, though her face betrayed no emotion.
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Technopolis Valencia, Daria Vasilevskaya, July 2048
They met on a warm evening by the glowing fountains near the Science Museum.
Initial scrutinizing glances from both sides and overly polite greetings…
Daria was disoriented, and unsure how to react: Alba was painfully beautiful. A true daughter of Valencia, she possessed luxurious dark hair, a proud posture, and unfathomably mysterious black eyes that enveloped Max with warmth and affection.
Adorned in a romantic summer dress that bared her shoulders for the evening, Alba presented an image of feminine proportionality.
image [https://i.imgur.com/Duq2lOK.jpg]
“I lost this round,” thought disheartened Vasilevskaya, whose wardrobe lacked dresses completely. In comparison, the Spanish beauty looked like a princess from another world.
Of course, Dasha would later see Alba in torn jeans and shapeless robes, but that first encounter and the stunning dress lingered long in her memory.
During their walk through the park, Max most diligently searched for topics of conversation that would be interesting and resonating with both girls.
“Oh, Great Cthulhu, he’s like introducing a bride to his mother or sister, genuinely believing they’ll like each other! I definitely should have stayed home!”
Alba suggested ending the evening at one of the cozy family restaurants in old Valencia. Among the narrow cobbled streets, under the soft glow of ancient lamps, they found a place filled with the scent of the sea and aromatic herbs. From the menu, the Spanish beauty recommended the traditional Valencian paella – generously seasoned with spices and adorned with seafood, sizzling right before their eyes in a large, wide pan. For dinner, they ordered a pitcher of sangria with ice and fresh lemon slices.
Meanwhile, a holographic show began in the old city square...
“Your city is fascinating, after all,” Dasha remarked for the first time voluntarily joining the conversation. “Ancient buildings all around, yet side by side with a center of cutting-edge technology.”
“Yes,” Alba quickly engaged. “Here in Valencia the old and the high-tech have coexisted for half a century. The center we were walking through is nearly fifty years old!”
“Oh, but all those museums look like they were built yesterday. Quite… modern-looking.”
“Exactly! Fifty years ago, this is how we imagined the future!”
“Yeah, wasn’t the ‘Three Steps Above Heaven’ filmed here?” Max perked up.
“No, that was in Barcelona. But my grandfather has the exact same motorcycle.” Alba smiled. “And by the way, the girls are definitely prettier here than in Catalonia!”
“Sure thing, Kitten, that goes without saying!” Max hugged and kissed Alba.
“Damn! I don’t want to… see him like that. Laughing at her… silly jokes. Making the same ones himself… Remembering some silly old film they probably made a hundred years ago! He’s a thousand times better than this… Alba’s league! Why is he doing this?! Wish this night would end already! He’s kissing her! It’s infuriating!!!”
Unfortunately, that night wouldn’t be the last. During the four days they spent in Valencia, Max persistently brought them together, and Daria felt tremendous relief when they departed at last. As for Maksim… he was completely absorbed in his romance, seemingly quite happy.
Good thing, once back, the topic of Alba rarely came up and, thus, didn’t irritate Dasha. One outcome of the trip was her buying a “same” dress, though she never found the courage to wear it in front of Max.
That autumn, when Dasha was back in Spain, in Barcelona this time, invited to the youth section of the World Technical Congress, she unwittingly witnessed the end of that romance.
Max had booked a two-bedroom apartment in a decent hotel Villa Olimpica near the university. Dasha gladly took the smaller room at the far end, deciding it would allow her to avoid Alba as much as possible. And to get better sleep too!
On the first evening, returning from the day’s events, she sneakily tried to tiptoe to her room, noticing a familiar backpack by the entrance.
Yet, they still bumped into each other in the hallway and exchanged greetings – flat, emotionless. Dasha noticed Alba’s expression wasn’t as carefree and playful as in the summer; she seemed introspective and detached.
Later that night, angry with herself, Daria couldn’t sleep and cracked open her door to eavesdrop. But Instead of the rustling, whispers, and moans that indicated everything was wonderful in the relationship of the couple next door, this time she heard muted conversations with nervous intonations and even slightly raised voices. Gradually, the talks died down, and predictably, a phase of rustlings and moans began. However, it was brief and unusually abrupt. With an inexplicable feeling, the girl returned to her bed, tossed and turned for a long time, but eventually fell asleep.
In the morning, Alba’s backpack was gone. Max was making coffee, uncommunicative, somber, and serious.
Dasha tried to question him, but he gently hugged her, stroked her hair, and said, “It’s over, Dashka. Now I’m all yours again.”
“Is that… bad? Are you sad?”
“No, that’s neither bad nor good. That’s just life. As they say, it turned out as it did. Let’s not dwell on it. How about we hit the beach later, since we’re in Spain?”
And despite the somber morning, Dasha found herself quietly smiling throughout the day, feeling a serene warmth inside.
“Max… is back.”