For three days they'd flown over the blind zones north of Torsad—forest, lake, swamp. The ocean was pointless; no one would drop cargo there. Perina's inhabited areas were a speck on the map.

  "Energy signatures registered," Alpha's voice chimed in.

  Max activated stealth mode and called his partner:

  "Fark, I've got something. Hunker down somewhere in the bushes, stay dark."

  "Roger."

  Max directed his bird towards the signatures. Nothing but forest, endless forest... dense, towering, and unwelcoming.

  "What is it, Alpha? I don't see anything."

  "Four armed individuals on the surface and nine signatures…"

  "That's MESMD units with operators," Vazovsky nodded, examining the thermal shadows on the screen through the web of branches.

  "…MESMD units. Thermal traces of both people and machinery are also detected below the surface."

  "And that is?"

  At that moment, the treetop two kilometers ahead shook, and soon the trunk tilted, crashing to the ground, breaking branches along the way. Instantly, the forest came alive. Max felt icy chills run down his spine.

  "What's happening? Fark, do you see that?"

  "Wind picking up?"

  "Correction. Seven MESMD, two MESID," Alpha reported meanwhile.

  "What fucking wind, look at the instruments!"

  Max scanned the sprawling space, and everything around was stirring as if a hurricane had indeed risen, but there was no wind.

  "Land us, baby," he whispered, not himself.

  "Access denied, Max."

  "Ah, right."

  Max had only granted access to the flier's sensors, which was already a significant risk. If anyone serious and official decided to ask Alpha what Max was flying and doing, she would already have an answer and a recording. Handing control to her would have been reckless. No one had cared about his affairs for years. He intended to keep it that way.

  Vazovsky pulled up a terrain map in front of his eyes and searched for any clearing. One was found about one and a half kilometers away. Farkhat had spotted it earlier, and on approach, Max realized two fliers wouldn't fit there.

  "Let's go on the zipline, we've already wasted a ton of time."

  "I'm a bit old for this…" Vazovsky grumbled, fixing the flier at its current altitude.

  Moving to the stern, Max checked the cable, donned his tactical rig and harness. He checked the holster on his belt and glanced at the locker behind him. Hesitating for a moment, he took out two short laser carbines, slung them over his back, hooked the carabiner, and lowered the ramp. With the words, "Oh, catch me, somebody…" he jumped down.

  "What's that for?" Farkhat nodded at the weapons on Vazovsky's back.

  "Just in case," Max shrugged briefly, handing one carbine to his friend.

  Crouching, they carefully ran towards the signatures Alpha had detected. The surface was flat: no hills, no ravines. The only hiding spots were behind trees, many of which were up to seven meters in diameter. A worthy barrier, but if someone was monitoring the situation and marking thermal traces—useless against MESMD visors. The last two hundred meters they crawled on their bellies. Max felt uneasy. The agitation that Farkhat had mistaken for wind, and Max hadn't recognized at all, had subsided, but once on the ground, he could feel the forest's hostility with his skin: a mix of astonishment, disappointment, and even pain. He didn't understand what it was, what was pressing on him so much.

  "Fark, don't you feel anything? This forest doesn't seem happy about our visit…"

  "Taking into account that it's our first time ever in a forest? How are we supposed to feel in such an unfamiliar environment?"

  "Well, probably. It really is strange."

  "And for you, as a former addict, anything might seem off."

  "Addicts are never 'former,' Fark," Max quietly reminded.

  "An alcoholic too…"

  "Well, stop listing my virtues, or I'll get embarrassed."

  They crawled on their bellies for a couple more minutes.

  "And how much are they paying us for this stroll?" Farkhat wheezed behind him. They were the same age: three weeks ago, Farkhat had turned forty-three, and Max would turn at the end of the year. But unlike his friend, Max kept himself in much better shape than Farkhat, who had grown soft in civilian life.

  "Ten mil, at least."

  "That'll do."

  "Shh…"

  Max raised a palm and held it back. He tapped his finger on the outside of his eye socket, hoping to jolt the malfunctioning eye implant that had been acting up lately when he needed magnification and focus. He shook his head.

  "Give me the binoculars," he whispered back. Then he turned at a rustling sound.

  Farkhat was rapidly digging in, building an earthen barrier in front of him. They were still slightly higher than the figures bustling in the distance among the trees, and this low barrier might at least save them from a casual glance.

  "Here."

  Instead of binoculars, Farkhat handed him a small shovel. Max sighed and followed his friend's example. Arguing with Farkhat would take significantly longer than just doing it.

  Through the binoculars, Max made out a couple of men and a MESMD with an open hatch. The operator was smoking, chatting with his "colleagues" and laughing about something.

  "An hour fifteen till sunset," Max whispered.

  "Let's have a smoke," Farkhat nodded, rolling onto his back.

  "Let's have a smoke," Max agreed.

  As dusk approached, they carefully scouted the surroundings, possible approach routes, and any previously unnoticed camps. The forest sloped down to a river about eight hundred meters from the intruders guarding the underground entrance. While one MESID finished sawing the previously felled tree, Max reached the river. Or rather, the cliff, descending from which to the river without breaking one's neck was problematic. The foray wasn't fruitless. Guards were also posted under the cliff, and traces on the ground, barely discernible in the twilight, indicated that their new acquaintances were hauling something out from underground and floating it right down the river. No other camps were found.

  "Alpha, share access to my ocular matrix with Emilia Volzh-Tarovsky," Max whispered, selecting the contact. "Em, look."

  "Coordinates?"

  "Alpha, send coordinates."

  "What am I looking at, Max?"

  "This is an exit for something big and heavy. I'm guessing cargo containers."

  Max strained to see the guards under the cliff, and the magnification finally kicked in. He smirked:

  "Look at that, rails. See?" he pointed with his finger at the glint of MESMD lanterns on the ground.

  "Yes."

  "There's a base underground, with equipment, MESMD and MESID units, and at least another ten guards. Wait a bit, I'll show you the entrance."

  "Max, get over to me, very quietly and unseen," Farkhat's tense whisper came through meanwhile.

  "On my way."

  Adjusting the carbine on his back, Max crouched and ran back. Farkhat, spotting the brisk movement out of the corner of his eye, rose slightly and held out his palms. Vazovsky dropped flat and soon noticed movement ahead. About fifty meters from their observation point, heading towards the clearing with the flier, three armed men in military uniforms were walking. They were talking and smoking. Both Farkhat and Vazovsky remained unseen.

  "There's the entrance. Alpha, send coordinates."

  His whisper was unlikely to be heard by the MESMD operator two hundred meters to the right, but the unit turned precisely towards Max. People and two more three-meter-tall machines emerged from the depression forming a gentle slope underground. The guard stationed at the entrance moved forward.

  "I think it's time for you to get out of there, Max," Emilia whispered, as if she were in Vazovsky's place and someone could hear her voice in his audio channel.

  "They're heading for the flier, Max," Farkhat stated the obvious.

  "Go-go-go!" Vazovsky hissed—up and moving, cutting parallel to the trio his friend had spotted. Farkhat turned towards a light and ducked as a flashlight beam slashed a line across the trees above him, immediately followed by a thin orange beam. A quiet, hissing whistle was heard.

  "Max, get out of there!" Emilia shouted.

  "Bye, darling… hope that's all you needed to know."

  "That's it, that's it! Sending the data to Perina. Get out of there!"

  They got up and ran for all they were worth. From behind came the sound of branches breaking under massive MESMD bodies, the hissing whistle of laser carbines, and shouts. Max felt a painful blow to his shoulder blades, growled in pain, and glanced at his friend. Farkhat was too hot in his jacket with a Kevlar layer: service in an engineering battalion hadn't instilled the habit of constantly wearing such gear. Good thing it hit him and not his friend.

  "Cavalry wouldn't hurt… Em, you still there?" Max ducked as a branch fell on his head from above. It became clear the guards had increased their power to maximum. At this rate, they'd start taking down trees…

  "One request will take an hour, Max. And no one at the Eastern Garrison has any desire to assist DiCorps after we snatched Rumos from them, leaving them shamed and empty-handed."

  "Got it, Em. Talk later." He had no time or attention to disconnect the call or the feed. He turned to Farkhat, also crouching, running a few meters to his right. The surrounding space was literally moving. Massive tree trunks swayed as if under hurricane gusts. Branches moved slowly but distinctly: Max could swear that when they arrived, they stretched towards the sky, but now they reached for the ground. Thankfully, the two running little men were too small for these giants to reach them from their heights, but it was still deeply unsettling. "Are we far from the Eastern Garrison?"

  "A couple of hours with prep," Farkhat exhaled and raised his right hand, pointing: "Let's head for the flier. Only three from that side."

  "There's the flier!" a shout came from the direction of the trio, making both of them curse. At the same moment, the crack of an automatic rifle rang out, and the tree trunks beside them exploded into splinters, forcing both to hit the ground.

  "Get up, soldier," Farkhat barked, yanking Max by his tactical rig.

  As he got up, Max noticed lights above the trees. A couple of MESMD units had taken to the air. He nodded in that direction:

  "We won't outrun them like this."

  "Options?"

  They started running again, constantly ducking, weaving, and shielding themselves from flying splinters and earth. It seemed the very ground was hindering their run, heaving with roots and forcing them to weave and jump. The MESMD targeting systems would bury them as soon as the trees stopped obstructing the view. Which meant the clearing with the flier to their right was now out of reach. Even if they could reach it, they'd be finished instantly in the open space.

  "Hey, what are you doing?" Farkhat turned.

  "Cover me…"

  Farkhat dropped to the ground and fired several bursts in both directions of their pursuers. Max called up the map and ownership interface in front of his eyes. Ahead to the left, the river curved, and its bend had plenty of space to land the flier. The hum of turbines was heard overhead. Max rose from his knee and commanded: "Forward!"

  "Far?"

  "About five klicks."

  "We'll be exhausted! If we don't get shot first."

  "Run, run!"

  The signal and the contact card for Idemi that popped up in his peripheral vision were utterly ill-timed, but instead of dismissing the call, Max accidentally accepted it.

  "Calling to thank you, Vazovsky," Rumos's calm, smiling voice sharply contrasted with Max's surroundings.

  "You're always welcome, buddy! Out."

  "Are you on a run?"

  "Yes!" Max tripped and fell face-first into the prickly ground; a crack was heard.

  "A familiar sound… Alpha, Vazovsky's coordinates. Requesting authorization."

  "Authorized…" Max grunted automatically.

  "What are you doing there? Was that kinetic fire?"

  "Kid, really not the time."

  "Can I help?"

  "If you can fly fast and have a couple of guns stashed away for covering fire."

  "Understood. See you soon."

  "Stop yapping!" Farkhat roared, firing blindly behind him.

  A second later, Max stopped dead in his tracks, followed by his friend. The next moment, without waiting for shots, they darted to the left. Ahead, breaking branches, two MESMD units dropped onto their path and immediately fired a burst. A piercing scream was heard from behind.

  Morons, Max thought and sprawled on the ground, tripping over a root again.

  "Get up!"

  He grabbed Farkhat's hand and, trying to ignore the pain in his knee and chin, started running again.

  "Aaaaah!" The emptiness under Vazovsky's feet made him scream.

  He remembered the cliff was somewhere to the left, but he didn't expect to run right off it so suddenly. Feeling a hot, firm hand grip his, Max opened his eyes.

  "We can't go down, Max," a voice came from above. "Open space."

  "Then pull me up," Vazovsky exhaled, clinging with his other hand and feet to roots and feeling particularly like a station rat, ill-suited for planetary ops, especially in a forest.

  "Wait…"

  A crackle warned that their pursuers were already close.

  "Let's wait it out," Farkhat whispered, carefully releasing his friend's hand and lying down on the ground beside him.

  "They could just fly over the cliff in their MESMD," Max whispered.

  "Did you look down?" Farkhat asked just as quietly. "They probably won't think we jumped. Stay quiet."

  He carefully moved over the edge and, clinging to thick roots, descended to Max's level.

  Agonizing seconds of waiting stretched out. First came the heavy footsteps of MESMD units, then voices. They ran to the cliff edge about ten meters behind, and the MESMD operator had to prevent the guards from an unplanned flight as well. They quickly moved along the edge and about four meters to the right met the two units that had dropped in front of the fugitives.

  "They shot Voles," a guard announced angrily.

  Max and Farkhat exchanged a glance. The MESMD operator was unlikely to admit it was him.

  "Well, where are the tracks?"

  "The tracks are cold. Don't see anyone," a voice distorted by a speaker was heard.

  "So? Where are they?" More crackling and ragged breathing. Three more arrived.

  "The second flier was stealth."

  "It's just dark! Didn't see it doesn't mean it's military!"

  "I'm telling you: stealth!" one of the operators roared. "I was in the air! I didn't see it, only heard it!"

  "Damn. We gotta bail."

  "Just don't tell the Skipper you're planning to bail, or you'll become the next donkey bait," one of the guards laughed nervously.

  "Alright, you four, head to the flier. You, to the camp, warn the Skipper. Ahead is the river bend; it's possible they moved the stealth there. We'll wait on site."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Okay, boss."

  The crack of branches and the whistle of engines announced the guards dispersing and flying off in the intended directions. Max pulled himself up with his right hand and licked a bleeding scrape. When, about a hundred meters ahead and above the cliff, the blue flashes of MESMD engines appeared, both pressed themselves into the cliff face.

  "Fark, it's like I'm holding onto a rough snake…"

  "Tell me about your snake-holding experience later," his partner hissed. "Just don't shit your pants… although, mine's wriggling under my fingers too. Is that normal for roots?"

  "I don't know. Never socialized with them."

  "Me neither. Let's assume it's normal. Going down?"

  "Break our necks?" Max looked down, but his glitching matrix and the night that had fallen, illuminated only by distant stars, didn't allow him to see the ground below.

  Farkhat also looked down and clicked his tongue.

  "Let's hang here a couple more minutes, then go over the top," Vazovsky suggested.

  "Uh-huh…"

  They walked almost along the cliff edge. The lights of the MESMD units that had flown to the river bend had long disappeared. Max tried to blink his interfaces into working order.

  "You were going to fix that a year ago," Farkhat noted his friend's hissing and cursing.

  "No money… there, it's working." They walked in silence for a minute. Then Max raised his hand: "We can descend along a gully bottom in twenty meters. Carefully."

  Once on the shore, they set a course north.

  "Why did they go berserk? Were you singing songs over there?" Farkhat decided to find out.

  "Don't know."

  "You never were good at being quiet…"

  Max grunted, then, not without nervousness, burst out laughing. Farkhat shot him a displeased but kind look. They had never crossed paths during their service days, and Max understood perfectly well that Farkhat meant their bedroom, not service, affairs. Remembering such things in their current situation was amusing and somewhat relaxing.

  "By the way, you really haven't sung in a long time. We were reminiscing recently…" Farkhat continued.

  "Not in the mood for singing."

  "Is it because of Lisa? You understand why Meg doesn't leave you any money… or a chance."

  "Because she was bought out a long time ago."

  "So you know?"

  "Figured it out—not a fool."

  They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. From behind the high canopies on the opposite bank, the edge of the planet's huge flank peeked out: pink-beige, wavy, bright, and illuminating.

  "We really do miss it," Farkhat continued incongruously, looking at the rising gas giant. "Remember when we met?"

  "Not really," Vazovsky shook his head, not wanting to recall those times. Farkhat was clearly not remembering their childhood at the Youth Foundation, but the meeting when Max was at rock bottom.

  "You were sitting in a corridor on the lower, production level. Machines were working behind the wall—rhythmically, in time. You were sitting on the floor… unwashed for a long time, drunk, in dirty clothes, that same jacket. A wreck, in short. We hardly remembered you anyway, and in that state, even your own mother wouldn't have recognized you. But you had Lisa in your hands. And anyone focusing could see you were holding several dozen million. We stopped and listened, standing not far away. Then decided to keep an eye on you. Your appearance didn't suggest you could protect what you held in your hands."

  Max laughed, vaguely recalling that evening.

  "How wrong we were," Farkhat was also laughing quietly. "I think Meg fell in love with you right then. When you got up, carefully placed the guitar against the wall, and beat the crap out of those punks. Then sat back down and continued singing under their hateful stares and groans. And Lisa sang in your hands…" Farkhat paused, "…as did Meg later."

  Max didn't answer. They walked in silence for a minute. Then Farkhat asked in a completely different tone:

  "How much longer?"

  "We've only gone a couple of kilometers," Max smirked.

  "I'm too old for such walks…"

  "And me?"

  "You're a synch. How old is this body? Eight years? Now compare."

  "You're just a lazy ass. Should do morning exercises."

  "Then it'll be a pity to die. Who wants to die healthy and strong? Better weak and sick."

  "Look, Meg and I will take you in hand."

  "Oh, Maxie, experience suggests it's more likely I'll be taking care of you two…"

  Max laughed again. True enough.

  "And it wasn't me stumbling over every root while we were running, by the way. What are we going to do about the MESMD?" Farkhat asked after a while.

  "If the popguns on the flier haven't rusted, I'll shoot them down."

  "Are there even popguns? Maybe you should share control with me then?"

  "Come on, I'm not that useless, buddy. Drop it."

  "Suit yourself."

  Half an hour later, Max received an unexpected second call from Idemi.

  "Vazovsky, I'm on approach. I'll be at the coordinates in about ten minutes."

  "What do you mean? Are you on a jetpack or something?"

  "Of course! I built it for myself!"

  "Mother of God!" Max thought. Then sent new coordinates. "Our flier is in the river bend, and a couple of unfriendly MESMD units are there. Hide nearby, we'll be there soon."

  "Who are they?"

  "Your alibi, kid."

  When Max disconnected, Farkhat shot him a look.

  "Kid? Your new…"

  "No-o," Vazovsky drawled. "Not that kind at all. But this whole chase is because of him."

  "Right… what's he flying?"

  "Who the hell knows. I assume he was just released from the Eastern Garrison brig, which means…" Max froze for a moment, then rubbed his face with his palm. "…which means he's in a homemade MESMD with no weapons."

  "Now that's handy, Max! Now I get it! A defenseless kid in a homemade tin can! That's our style!"

  Farkhat spat, cutting off the stream of commentary.

  "Turn him the hell around. Don't take that sin upon yourself."

  Max glanced at his friend and selected Idemi's contact.

  "Kid, are you in that tin can of yours? Unarmed?"

  "Yes, I am the weapon, Vazovsky! I see you. Need help crossing the river?"

  "And you don't see anyone else besides us?"

  "No."

  "Well, help us then…"

  A couple of minutes later, an indistinguishable dot with bluish glints appeared in the sky. Another two minutes, and the MESMD landed heavily in the sand and offered its hands. The flier was around the bend of a vertical earthen wall, six hundred meters away. That Idemi hadn't noticed anyone was suspicious.

  For about three minutes, the black expanse of the river flowed beneath their feet. Then they flew over a shoal, and soon a sandy strip began.

  "I see targets!"

  Idemi's exclamation made Vazovsky grip tighter. The next moment, an orange beam flashed from under the invisible belly of the flier. A precise hit made the guy jerk, and Farkhat let out a muffled cry and toppled onto the sand. They were flying half a meter above the ground—not a high fall, but Farkhat, knocked down by the unexpected fire, growled, clutching his shoulder and getting up.

  "Help Fark!" Vazovsky shouted, jumping into the sand and returning continuous fire towards two pale dots on the sand in the distance, more out of habit than hope of damaging the units.

  Retreating behind the curve of the cliff, Max found his friend with his eyes, looked at the MESMD moving towards him, and pressed himself against the cliff, letting it pass.

  "Share control," Farkhat's voice betrayed barely tolerable pain.

  Running up, Max looked at the hole in the light jacket and nodded at the intact armor underneath. Blood was flowing abundantly down his friend's arm.

  "Control over weapons, idiot!"

  Focusing on the interface, Max complied with the order, request, or suggestion (who knows what it was) and returned to the cliff bend. Orange beams of shots flashed before him, rising steeper and steeper. He couldn't see kinetic fire, but he heard it clearly. The operators certainly knew that a MESMD's laser couldn't penetrate at that range. Peeking out, he saw Idemi already about three hundred meters away, right in the middle between the flier and them. He was rapidly moving away, maneuvering both in altitude and direction. The guards who had emerged from under the flier's belly, distracted by Idemi, became perfect targets. First, Max saw flashes, then heard the rattle.

  "I hope those are armor-piercing…" he whispered into the void.

  The answer was the scene that unfolded before his eyes. In less than a minute, both enemy MESMD units toppled face down onto the ground.

  "Max, another five or so are flying from the south," Idemi notified him meanwhile. His calm voice didn't immediately allow the meaning of what was heard to sink in.

  "Go-go-go!" Vazovsky returned to Farkhat and grabbed his good shoulder.

  "Get off, my legs aren't broken!"

  "Buddies coming from behind. Move it."

  Idemi descended to the downed MESMD units and kicked one, rolling it onto its back. Whether he wanted to check if the operators were alive or just look into the stamped, formless "face" of the units that had shot at him, Max didn't know. When a burst thundered from that direction, followed by a cry of pain in his ear, Vazovsky groaned:

  "Dimwit!"

  Idemi's MESMD staggered, flew up, and with full force jumped on the weapon arm, then again and again, crushing with steel soles, breaking, driving it into the ground. After that, it took a few steps to intercept those running towards the flier and offered its hands. Ahead, the armored hull of Vazovsky's salvific, formerly diplomatic "carriage" was becoming visible.

  "Help Fark," Max shouted, running up the ramp into the hold and turning to gauge the MESMD's dimensions against the available space inside the flier.

  "You won't fit, get out of that tin can!"

  "Can't do that, sir! Go on, I'll make my own way."

  Max measured Idemi with a look and hit the ramp control panel.

  "You okay?" he asked Farkhat, who was grimacing in pain, clutching his shoulder.

  "Just get us the hell out of here!"

  Tearing a first-aid kit from the wall and tossing it to his friend, Vazovsky disappeared into the pilot's cabin. The thought of turning back towards the MESMD units flying after them arose, but the blood streaming down Farkhat's hand made him, rapidly gaining speed, fly towards Torsad.

  "Idemi, do you know Lake Renova?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Fly there. Resort on the northwest shore."

  "Roger."

  "Alpha, return my cargo flier to base."

  "To which base, Max?" Alpha clarified.

  Max closed his eyes.

  "To the hangar of the Polyanka resort complex."

  "I'll do it, Max."

  Farkhat was angry, and Max didn't fully understand the reason for this anger. Only after surrendering to the skilled hands of their doctor—a short-haired woman not much older than them—did he start hissed more from pain than indignation. An enormous purple bruise was darkened under his right collarbone. Here, the Kevlar had stopped the bullet. But his shoulder below the short sleeve was pierced through. When Idemi entered the office, Farkhat clenched his jaw. The doctor turned to the newcomer.

  "Young man, please, let your blood drip into the sink."

  "Sorry," Rumos flustered and, spotting the sink, walked over to it.

  Max approached Idemi and helped him take off his jacket. He couldn't know for sure the guy was wounded, though he had heard the cry. The thick blood flowing from under his sleeve sobered him and made his heart clench.

  "You're free," the nurse released Farkhat.

  He immediately jumped up and, approaching Idemi with threatening speed, grabbed a fistful of his black hair and yanked his head back, forcing the shorter guy to look him in the face.

  "Are you a complete idiot, kid? What are you thinking with? Getting in that tin can under fire!"

  "Farkhat, cool it," Vazovsky asked.

  "Cool it?!" he switched to his friend. "Cool it?! It's pure luck he got off with," Farkhat quickly looked the guy over, "just one arm! He's lucky as hell."

  Vazovsky lowered his face and took a deep breath. He searched his pockets for cigarettes.

  "Darling, no smoking here," the doctor turned. She hovered behind Farkhat, trying to extract the next patient from his death grip. Deciding the argument might drag on, she lightly chopped the edge of her palm against Farkhat's wounded shoulder and pushed him aside.

  "Oh, you…" he took offense, making Max smirk.

  Seating Idemi in Farkhat's spot, the medic threw a glance at the now-smoking Vazovsky. She tilted her head, expressing confusion about why these men weren't obeying on her territory, then walked over to the boss:

  "No smoking, I said," she repeated calmly and, taking the cigarette from his fingers, stubbed it out among the bloodied gauze.

  "Why did you even approach him?" Max asked, upset.

  "I hadn't seen an EF model up close before. Sorry."

  "Sorry…" Farkhat hissed. "Sorry! You hear that, Max?!"

  "Fark, calm down. Everyone's alive, everyone's fine."

  "And if they weren't?"

  "Idemi helped a lot. Thanks, kid. I didn't expect you…"

  "To be such an idiot!" Farkhat finished.

  "You should have started crossing the river much earlier. If I hadn't flown in and made them hide, the river would have carried you right under their fire."

  Max could have moved the flier to their side: not even landing, just lowering the ramp—the river width was enough to turn the bird sideways. He didn't voice it—no point.

  "He's right," Max spread his hands, looking at Farkhat.

  "He's right!" Farkhat repeated like a broken record.

  Approaching the guy, he again grabbed his black hair and ruffled it, now affectionately, not angrily, accepting and thanking. After that, he headed for the door.

  "Farkhat…" Max called.

  "Tomorrow, Max," he waved without turning and left.

  Vazovsky turned to the window. Familiar irritation churned his insides, making him reach for cigarettes again. The adrenaline of the last hours had left behind an unbearable, irritating excitement demanding satisfaction.

  "Stay here," he turned, putting a new cigarette in his mouth and catching the doctor's gaze.

  "Yes, sir," Idemi agreed quietly, not daring to object.

  Max left. While walking, he found Emilia's contact.

  "Em, I've got two guys banged up," he started without preamble.

  "I know you think DiCorps is endless well of money, but let's not get greedy. Ten million will be transferred in the morning. Be grateful for even that much."

  "Thanks," Vazovsky growled and disconnected.

  His second call, to Rosalie—the Polyanka tour guide, was ignored.

  After removing his sweat- and dirt-soaked clothes and protective gear in his room, Vazovsky examined his aching knee, the scrapes on his chin and palms, and the bruise forming on his shoulder blade, and headed for the shower.

  Having washed off and doused the scrapes with antiseptic, he went to the bar. The Inlun manufactories producing his favorite whiskey were literally thirty kilometers south of Torsad. This thought pleased him but didn't distract him. Pouring himself a drink, Max went out onto the balcony. It was after one a.m. Two hundred meters below on the shore, barbecue grills glowed, lighting up trails of light on the lake. Distant laughter was heard. At least his little resort wasn't empty. But it couldn't have the same influx as a station at the intersection of the main League and Cyber-Block transport routes.

  Fatigue wasn't knocking him off his feet as much as hunger was irritating him, so Max decided to look for something to snack on. And maybe find some company for the night, or…

  "Alpha, where did we put Idemi Rumos?"

  "Room fifty-one, Max."

  "Thanks, sweetheart," Vazovsky muttered, going down a floor. He slid his gaze over the numbers on the doors. Knocked a couple of times and leaned his elbow wearily against the doorframe.

  "Vazovsky?"

  Idemi was also fresh from the shower, with a standard-issue towel around his hips. His wet hair was tousled. A sling held his injured arm against his smooth chest. Vazovsky sighed, wondering if he'd come here for nothing. He took a step into the room, forcing the guy to move aside.

  "Thought I'd look for something to eat. We've been flying for three days looking for those MESMD units on rations."

  "Wrong door?" Idemi suggested, slightly tense.

  "Watch your mouth."

  These rooms didn't have bars. To avoid looking at the half-naked guy, Max walked to the refrigerator and, after scanning the standard assortment, took out a bottle of the same Inlun whiskey he'd taken a sip of in his room minutes before.

  "You hungry?"

  "I guess," Idemi shrugged with his good shoulder.

  Max placed two glasses on the round table in the middle of the room and poured.

  "Where'd you leave the rig?" he raised his glass, nodding for the guy to follow suit.

  "By the hangar near the gate."

  "Kids won't play with it?"

  "Well, if they can authenticate, anything's possible…"

  "So… finally getting acquainted?" Vazovsky nudged Idemi's untouched glass with his own. "Don't you want to celebrate your lucky escape from a tribunal and your invaluable help to DiCorps?"

  "Alright, let's."

  Max had already noticed the guy's tone had changed. No respectful "sir," just sass. Obviously, Idemi had understood sooner than Max himself that masking his intentions for Vazovsky's visit with a dinner invitation was pointless. Finishing his glass, Max let his gaze linger on the bandaged shoulder. Idemi turned away, wincing at the whiskey's strength.

  "Not the most refined drink, that's for sure," Vazovsky smirked, reaching his palm to the guy's neck, sliding his fingers over the vertebrae embedded in the muscle.

  "Don't," Idemi straightened, tilting his head back and bringing his shoulder blades together. "I'm not…"

  "I know," Vazovsky placed his palms on the tense shoulders. "Relax. Like that."

  The towel slipped to the floor. Idemi's gaze was both accusing and contemptuous—no fear, no plea, just smoldering anger incapable of generating aggression.

  "Nothing in the way?" Rumos tried to sneer.

  "Nothing," Vazovsky smirked. "I've got enough for both of us. Want it like this?" he asked, moving closer.

  "Leave, sir."

  Vazovsky looked into the black eyes. The guy's face was serious. With an almost imperceptible nod, Max stepped back. With a glance, he demanded confirmation and, receiving neither "yes" nor "no," headed for the door. Something didn't add up. His gut, which rarely lied, twisted in disagreement. The body said one thing, the mouth another—and he always trusted the body. It threw him off, making him freeze before the door.

  "Vazovsky…" Idemi called.

  Max turned. He smiled, putting the puzzle together. Swiftly returned to the guy and pressed his lips to lips already parted to meet him. Idemi let out a sharp exhale when Vazovsky brushed his injured arm. Apologizing for the clumsiness, Max turned the guy with his back to him. Idemi again felt a confident hand on his shoulder, bending him toward the table. The other, equally confident hand, squeezed his buttock and moved deeper. Vazovsky chuckled:

  "This isn't even a wicket—it's wide-open gates."

  Max impatiently undid his pants. Idemi cursed sharply when Vazovsky entered without preparation and, with a quiet laugh, began moving—unhurriedly, as if getting acquainted.

  "What's so funny?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  "Sorry, kid, but I feel these things in my gut. Just surprised I was right, as usual."

  "Don't," Idemi whispered, feeling a hand descending to his groin.

  "As you wish…" Max's voice was breaking. The pace quickened.

  Idemi rested his forehead on the forearm of his good arm. Vazovsky enjoyed the sight of the guy's trained back, hot thighs in his hands. Idemi wanted to say "no" and tried to, but habit—or whatever had once made him take pleasure, accept this pleasure, and desire it—took over. There was a fatalistic streak in the guy: endure and move on. And this "endure and move on" had many facets. That the guy had been passed around half the garrison was already obvious, as was the fact that Rumos had used it. Those homemade MESMD units on a military base alone were proof. There were certainly things Max would never know. A lot got swept under the rug for Rumos. Again, his calm and confidence. It all intertwined into a tricky pattern, not beautiful from any angle, but interesting—definitely.

  "Kid…"

  Both were drenched in sweat. The hand braced against the glass tabletop slid, producing a squeak and undoubtedly causing pain. Idemi tried to slide lower or crawl away, groaning and moaning in time with the strong thrusts. Finally, Rumos's moans turned into cries. He leaned on his injured arm to help himself lie down.

  "Max! I can't…"

  At that moment, Vazovsky could only interpret "I can't" one way. Releasing the guy for a moment, he turned him onto his back, pulled him close, lifted his legs, and continued, looking into a face as contorted as his own.

  Idemi reached for his own member, finally awake. Max moved his hand away and began stroking it, slowing the pace a little. He noted with pleasure that the guy had opened up and was truly enjoying it. A pity, a bit late. He himself was already at the edge.

  "Max… Max!"

  Vazovsky opened his eyes and, breathing heavily, braced his palms on the tabletop. He noticed with surprise that Idemi had come too. He ran his hand over Idemi's soiled stomach, then picked up the towel from the floor and wiped his hands. Offered a hand, helping him up. Idemi wanted to jump down, but Max didn't move, holding his hand and waiting for the guy to look up. He smirked.

  "Pleased with yourself?" Rumos grumbled.

  "Go take a shower," Max smiled wider, tilting his chin.

  Pulling up his pants, Max poured himself more whiskey, went out onto the balcony, settled into a chair, and lit a cigarette. Rumos took about five minutes. Still naked, he came out into the fresh air and turned toward the second chair. Max noticed the red marks on his back, gave his firm ass an appreciative glance, and silently took a drag. He offered the open pack to Idemi, who reached for it.

  "You're a fucking machine," Rumos said, lighting up. "Who the hell can even take you?"

  Max looked at him in surprised incomprehension. Then he finally caught on and remarked with complete seriousness:

  "You've started talking to me rather disrespectfully, Idemi."

  Rumos frowned:

  "Sorry. I'll correct that."

  "Please do. Now let's go find something edible."

  They went down to the shore and headed straight for one of the two dying orange-glowing barbecue grills. The vacationers were already dispersing to their rooms. Only one couple remained at the small tables under the awning.

  "Anything left?" Max asked, approaching.

  "For two, boss?" a blond guy, who looked about Idemi's age but was actually four years younger, asked, glancing at Vazovsky's companion. Receiving an affirmative nod, he pointed to the tables. "Have a seat, I'll bring it."

  Sitting at the table, Idemi asked:

  "Him too?"

  Max's surprised look was replaced by an ironic, not at all kind, look from under his brows.

  "At what point did you decide my personal life was any of your business?"

  "Hell," Rumos realized.

  "Let's not lose our bearings, kid. I won't repeat it a third time. Otherwise…"

  "Sorry."

  "Otherwise, I'll feel entitled to ask equally tactless questions. For example, how does a heterosexual man eventually change his orientation? Or what kept a divisional mechanic from getting kicked out of the garrison the moment they found out about the non-standard use of military assets and resources. Does that sound fair?"

  "No," Idemi agreed.

  "Good. Then no further explanations will be needed."

  They were served fish grilled over the barbecue and vegetables. The fish was bred right there in the lake, so freshness wasn't a concern. Before moving to Perina, Max had only seen real fish in an aquarium on a station in the Cyber-Block. The vegetables were also Earthly, grown in greenhouses or enclosed zones with artificial, initially sterile soil. Nothing from Perina's local flora was fit for consumption.

  Finally full, Max grew sluggish. He was ready to collapse. Raising his hand in a farewell gesture, Vazovsky left Idemi at room 51 and went to his own place.

  Just after eleven the next morning, a notification from the "special" category woke him up. Ten million beautiful, tasty UCN had been added to the remnants of his funds. This greatly improved his mood. Leaving the apartment, he headed for the stairs.

  "Alpha, is Rumos still on Polyanka grounds?"

  "Correct, Max."

  "Where's his signal?"

  "Point of maximum intensity—'Rescue Tower 2'."

  "Who'd you lose, cowboy?"

  Max nearly jumped. It was Meg.

  "That kid we were running around for. Fark okay?"

  "Aside from getting shot?" she approached with a threatening look.

  "Meg, I shouldn't have…"

  "Exactly! You shouldn't drag him into jobs like that!"

  "The money came through," Vazovsky exhaled, trying to defuse the approaching storm.

  "How much?"

  "Ten."

  "And where is it?" she turned her palm up.

  "I'll transfer it now. I'll leave some to…"

  From the clenched jaws of the woman opposite, Max realized Farkhat hadn't mentioned their conversation about Lisa the day before.

  "Not possible now?"

  Meg's pursed lips twitched.

  "Fine. I'll transfer it soon."

  Max found Farkhat in the cafe. He was finishing breakfast.

  "Why so down?"

  "Ran into Meg in the hallway."

  Farkhat guffawed.

  "Max, by letting a woman take care of you, you automatically give her the right to set you straight. Endure it, buddy, if you want to keep…"

  Vazovsky looked up.

  "Seems she's only straightening out my brain of the two of us."

  Farkhat raised his hands above the tabletop and wiggled his fingers, wincing slightly.

  "Did your right hand ever argue with your left? Like—I'll pull the trigger, and you cock it! No! I'm holding the fork, so I'll pull the trigger too!"

  Max couldn't hold back a laugh, shaking his head.

  "That's me and Meg—like two hands."

  "And what am I then?"

  "Apparently, the dick caught between them," Farkhat snorted with laughter and leaned back from the gaze that shot all too materially at his friend.

  MESID - Mechanical Exoskeleton Industrial Design.