Weapons Don’t Have Names
Book One
by Alex Gedd

Text copyright © 2019 Alex Gedd.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book can be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise without express written permission from the author.
Translated by Anna Dorsey
Art by Denis Kornev and Helga Wojik

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26

Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46

Chapter 1
Planet Hephaestus. Orbit

The ship was dying. Its systems failed one after another,
devoured by a virus sent by the pursuers. Lights flickered and
went out. Only blinking red emergency lights on ship’s
bulkheads broke up the darkness. Life support went next;
quiet whispering of the AC systems became a terrifying
silence. A moment later, a nerve-shredding howl of the
emergency alarm blared all over the ship.
The pilots managed a miracle - they sent the dying ship
into the planet’s atmosphere. Now all they had to do was keep
the ship from spinning uncontrollably, so people could leave
the doomed vessel somewhat safely.
The hull shook violently, as if it were riding pell-mell
over broken ground. Emergency partitions closed with loud
bangs, and ship’s compartments started filling with the most
horrifying smell one can experience in space - that of burning
plastic.
“Engine fire starboard!” second pilot reported.
Co-pilot just nodded silently, his attention on ship’s
controls.
“Eight-five!” he called out.
Replicant soldier RS-355085 snapped to attention, raising
his helmet-enclosed head.
“Ensure passenger safety.” the pilot ordered. “Put them in
a pod and eject. Meet you planetside.”
“What about you, sir?” The soldier fingered the clasps
uncertainly, hesitant to leave the commander behind.
“We’ll follow. Execute.”
“Sir!”

The replicant undid the safety harness and left the bridge,
holding onto the bulkhead for balance. Both pilots couldn’t
help but feel relieved. The artificial soldier, always calm and
completely devoid of fear, caused a strange subconscious
revulsion in humans.
The replicant himself, although struggling to maintain
balance on the heaving deck, managed to reach the hatch
leading to the living quarters.
“Blaze, get up.” he addressed his companion, who was
still strapped into a cradle. Considered property, replicants
were only assigned serial numbers, but they made up names
for themselves in secret, only used when alone or in secure
comm channels, unbeknownst to their handlers and owners.
“Sarge?” the second replicant lifted his head.
“We have orders to evacuate the passengers.”
The sergeant caught a momentary pause in the ship’s
lurching and covered the distance between himself and the
other soldier in one swift movement.
“My pleasure,” Blaze laughed. “I am, after all, the
favorite of all the ladies in this sector”
Sergeant grimaced, displeased; Blaze’s penchant for
running his mouth for no reason was annoying at times.
“These are the first ladies we ever met.” he reminded
cruelly. “Let’s go pack them into a pod.”
“What about the Major and the Captain?” Blaze
unbuckled the harness and got up, holding onto the headrest.
“They are following.” Sergeant slapped the door sensor
lock.
Blaze followed, trying to adjust to the rocking and
struggling not to slam into sergeant’s back.
As soon as the hatch opened, the passengers turned to
face the entrance; their faces were identical, as if they were
replicants themselves. They seemed to be doing fine; strapped
into cradles securely, the young women handled the turbulence
without any injuries.

“Ma’am.” Distorted by the helmet’s speaker system,
sergeant’s voice was absolutely calm.
The replicant could have been watching a sunset, not
standing on a deck of a crashing ship.
“Follow us, ma’am. We are leaving the ship.”
Sergeant began to undo the safety harness on the
passenger closest to him. A glance at her shoes made him
frown. Civilian style stilettos would only be good for
acquiring compound fractures at this point.
“My apologies, ma’am.” He yanked the shoes off the
girl’s feet, breaking the flimsy straps in a single pull.
After repeating the same with the other passenger, the
replicant returned to working on the harnesses. It was not an
easy process - he had to balance on the lurching deck, hold
onto the cradle railing with one hand and work with the other.
That done, he waited for a moment of stillness in the
turbulence, lifted the passenger from the cradle and held her
close.
Blaze stood by for support, holding onto the bulkhead,
and stared at the women curiously. He tried to find out what
their role in the mission was, just to be reminded by the
sergeant that they, simple grunts, don’t have access to
classified information.
“Blaze, take her.” sergeant’s voice said in his headset.
Chimbick shifted his hold to the passenger’s arm.
“Ma’am, RS-355090 will steady you.”
“Come to me, ma’am!” Blaze exclaimed clownishly,
offering his hand to the young woman.
“Shut up, Blaze.” Sergeant replied for her.
The girl grasped Blaze’s hand frantically and made a
wobbly step, trying to maintain her balance on the heaving
deck. Blaze carefully wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist
to keep her from falling and started walking towards the
escape pod hatch.

Sergeant freed the other passenger and held her the same
way.
“Don’t be afraid, ma’am. I won’t let you fall.”
“Captain was right, ” Blaze’s voice proclaimed in the
headset. “We should have taken a Consortium ship.”
Sergeant blocked the vocoder so that no sound escaped
the helmet and replied: “Then we would have been detected on
Tiamat.”
“And it’s so much better now?” Blaze chuckled.
The reply was the familiar “Shut up, Blaze.”
Sergeant cut the vocoder and concentrated on
transporting his charge to the pod. The hatch presented a bit
of a conundrum - a five foot tall round opening with a tall
coaming could endanger the passengers as they came through.
Sergeant had to stand with his back against the wall and hold
both women while Blaze dove into the hatch and extended a
helping hand. Loading completed, the replicants buckled both
passengers into cradles, sat down themselves and then Blaze
hit the launch button.
Pyrobolts fired with a sharp crack, a moment of
acceleration and the pod stabilized, heading for the planet.
Thrusters activated to slow down the descent. The second pod
streaked by and the replicants let out a sigh of relief - the
operatives were safe.
In confirmation, sergeant’s comm crackled to life.
“Eight-five, how are the passengers?” the major asked.
“Condition normal, sir.” the replicant answered after a
brief glance at the pale women. “Slightly nervous.”
“Alright. Meet you on the surface.”
Left with nothing else to do, sergeant studied the
mysterious passengers furtively.
The only time replicants saw women was in educational
films and on missions, so they were ignorant of common
standards of human beauty. But he thought the young women

were pretty - slender, fit, skin tanned to a golden hue. The
replicant was especially amazed by their long blond hair,
reaching below the waist. That and fingernails covered in
decorative patterns. They were so long it would be impossible
to clench a fist for a blow; sergeant failed to imagine a task
that would require such a modification. Bright and highly
impractical clothing was completely unlike the drab uniforms
he was used to. The passengers were dressed identically, just
like the replicants, and it made their similarity even more
obvious.
Sergeant began to think that they may be a part of some
secret detachment. Perhaps a custom replicant model for
special missions? But the fear in their eyes cast doubt on this
hypothesis. Maybe they were allowed to retain basic emotional
responses for better integration with the civilians…
Had the major felt the need to explain the status and
importance of the passengers they took onboard on Tiamat,
this guessing game would have been unnecessary. But the
major decided that no additional information was required to
complete the mission.
Blaze’s snickering interrupted this train of thought.
“Hey Sarge. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”
“Enjoy what?” Sergeant was genuinely confused.
“Hugging a girl” Blaze explained.
Sergeant opened his mouth to tell the squaddie off, but
then closed it and contemplated the question. Did he really
enjoy that? To his annoyance, he realized that he didn’t pay
any attention to the sensation, concentrating too hard on their
mission to evacuate the passengers from the doomed ship.
“Shut up, Blaze” he grunted in lieu of an answer.
Blaze snorted, but shut up. There was no need for the
sergeant to patch into Blaze’s helmet’s tac block to know that
his brother was staring at the women. But since the replicants
had no immediate orders at this point, he decided not to
interfere and instead stared out of the viewport.

Chapter 2
Planet Hephaestus. Badlands

Those who ever landed in an escape pod usually carried
this experience with them for the rest of their lives.
“I hate landings like this.” Blaze piped in once the roar of
landing thrusters subsided.
Immediately, he heard the all-too-familiar “Shut up,
Blaze.”
Sergeant untangled himself from the cradle and checked
on the passengers. Condition normal. The girls looked shaken,
but weren’t injured. The replicant grinned and tried to hail the
commander, but there was no answer. His smile faded.
Sergeant frowned and hailed again, to no avail.
“Weather is crap,” Blaze piped in again, watching large
raindrops bombarding the front viewport.
Noting that the passengers’ clothing was incompatible
with the weather conditions, sergeant walked to the hatch.
“Blaze, stay here.” he ordered over comm. “I’m going to
see the major, he’s not answering the comm. Probably
interference due to rain.”
“Strange,” Blaze replied as he called up a map on his
tacblock. “I’m reading his pod clearly.”
“So I’ll check.” Sergeant opened the hatch and jumped
out, just to sink ankle-deep into reddish brown mud.

Ignoring the rain drumming on his visor and armor, the
replicant looked around for the officers’ pod. It was less than a
hundred yards away and he walked over, struggling to lift his
feet from the muddy ground. Every step was an uphill fight:
the ground sucked at his feet like some unknown carnivore,

and clumps of dirt stuck to his boots seemed to weigh
hundreds of pounds each.
Finally reaching the pod, sergeant activated the comm
link again.
“Major, sir, this is RS-355-085. I’m by the pod, Sir.”
No answer. Sergeant waited five seconds or so, then
pressed the lock key and entered the pod.
The operatives were dead, one didn’t need a degree in
medicine to see that. Sometime during the landing, the pod
clipped a rock outcropping, and a piece of stone broke off,
decapitating both officers. Now it was stuck in a bulkhead.
Replicant stared at the bodies for a moment, then left the
pod and locked the hatch. Commanding officers’ death meant
that now the sergeant was in command. And the last order they
received must be completed. At any cost.
“Well?” Blaze asked curiously as soon as sergeant
returned.
“Dead, both of them.” Sergeant didn’t need more than a
couple of words to explain the situation. “Clipped a cliff on
landing and were decapitated.”
“What are we going do?”
Sergeant shrugged. “Deliver the passengers to Eldorado.”
It suddenly dawned on him that their conversation must
look like a pantomime to an outside observer. He turned to the
women and activated the vocoder again.
“Ma’am, both major and captain are deceased. I am now
in command of the operation. I am Sergeant RS-355085, and
this,” he pointed to Blaze, “Is RS-355090. Please remain calm
and do not panic.”
He fell silent, trying to find suitable words, but for some
reason, nothing came to mind. Talking to civilians was not one
of replicant’s skills, and the standard set of commands for
emergency measures in areas affected by natural and manmade disasters didn’t seem suitable for this particular
situation. Actions proscribed during mass riot suppression…

even less so. It seemed unlikely that the women would
appreciate something like the “On the ground, face down,
hands behind your head” command, especially accompanied
by liberal use of obscene expressions, as recommended by
instruction manual.
After some thinking, the sergeant decided to continue in a
different key.
“We are in hostile territory - planet Hephaestus.
Therefore, I request that you do not initiate contact with local
population and stay close to us, ma’am.”
Despite his misgivings, there was no panic among the
civilians. After the successful landing the passengers
composed themselves quickly and now looked bewildered
rather than scared. Upon hearing the news of the officers’
deaths, the twins exchanged a silent look and just listened to
the replicant’s speech quietly and attentively.
“What are you going to do next?” asked one of them.
The replicants couldn’t help but be stricken by the
melodiousness of her voice. Until now, the only female voice
they ever heard - not counting the terrified screams during riot
suppression - was the tactical block. And that was a pale
imitation of the real thing.
Sergeant realized that he was just standing there agape
and waiting for more. Closing his mouth, he glanced around,
embarrassed, as if anyone could see his face through the
helmet’s opaque visor. Finally convinced that nobody noticed
anything, he answered the question, trying to sound
emotionless like before.
“Complete the mission and deliver you to Eldorado,
ma’am.”
Both soldiers checked weapons and gear, their smooth
practiced motions akin to those of battle mechs - similarly
identical, faceless and determined. Inspection complete, the
sergeant opened the hatch to emergency equipment
compartment and produced a stack of bright yellow protective
coveralls.

“Make your selection, ma’am.” He held the packets out to
the girls.
“Don’t you think we’ll be too noticeable in this?” one of
the twins asked matter-of-factly. “Also, you are bound to make
the locals nervous with your armor.”
That didn’t stop them from studying the labels, though.
They chose and unpacked the coveralls, but now studied them
as if seeing such equipment for the first time.
“Ma’am.” Noticing their trouble, sergeant took one of the
outfits and showed how to unfasten it. “What do you mean by
noticeable?”
“You said it yourself that locals are hostile,” the other girl
joined the conversation. “And you don’t have your own ship
anymore. So the logical thing to do would be to change into
something less conspicuous, buy tickets to Eldorado and just
fly there.”
The sergeant nodded, showing that he considered her
argument, and continued with the explanation.
“Ma’am, Hephaestus is controlled by the Foundation
Union. There’s no communication with Eldorado, so we will
capture a transmitter, send a signal and wait for help.”
“What if there is no help?” one of the girls predicted
gloomily, as she fought the fastenings on her dress. “Who
cares about us enough to get us off a hostile world? It’s a
better bet to get out of here on our own. There must be
communication with some neutral planets, no?”
“Ma’am?” the sergeant was genuinely surprised.
He was in the exact situation he’s been prepared for all
his life: in the enemy territory, deep behind the lines, where
one should hide and sneak attack the enemy. The young
woman’s words contradicted the replicant’s entire world view.
He couldn’t comprehend the idea that one could simply go and
buy a ticket to Eldorado.
“If there is no help, ma’am” he continued, ” We will
capture a ship with a pilot.”

“Awesome.” the young woman summarized quite
mirthlessly.
The twins either forgot to introduce themselves, or didn’t
think it was necessary.
The other passenger suggested an alternative plan. “Let’s
split up. “We’ll fly like normal tourists, changing flights, and
you can wait for help, capture ships and do whatever you
want. “And once we get to Eldorado, we’ll see whose route
was fastest and easiest. Okay?”
“No ma’am.” The sarcasm was completely lost on the
sergeant. “Your plan is not acceptable. Please finish changing
your garments, we are leaving. We need to move as far as
possible before nightfall.”
“What about the officers?” Blaze inquired.
“I’ll take care of that.” The sergeant climbed out into the
rain again.
A couple of minutes later he was fitting a plasma grenade
onto the pod. That done, he was just about to set the timer and
tripwire mode, but had a sudden stroke of genius - to take the
officers’ dog tags and return them to the HQ back home. In
addition to being a corporate ID, each of these dog tags was
also the crowning achievement of nano science - a
multifunctional computer with enormous capabilities.
The replicant detached the dog tags from the bodies,
carefully packed them away into his backpack and turned to
leave, but then his eyes caught sight of a bag the commanding
officer carried on his belt. Deciding that in their situation it
would be unwise to waste resources, sergeant took the bag and
inspected its contents. It turned out to be full of coins - Union
marks they started minting just before the war. Sergeant tsked
and moved to put the useless item back, then decided that he
might get reprimanded for losing a large sum of government
issued money, so he added it to the backpack as well. With
that, he left the improvised tomb and set the grenade to
tripwire mode.
“Ready?” he asked as he entered “their” pod again.

“You could say that.” Replicants’ new wards sounded
gloomy.
Survival coveralls were made of thin microcapillary
fabric and protected the wearer from extreme temperatures,
moisture and pressure, which would ensure survival even in a
less hospitable environment than Hephaestus’ mud and rain.
Even though the coveralls were a bit big on the girls,
microclimate systems were working well, so one could call the
passengers’ new gear satisfactory. Certainly more so than their
civilian outfits, given the present conditions. However, they
didn’t seem to think so, judging by their muffled, but
expressive comments regarding the new clothes. The
replicants only understood about half of the words, but caught
the general feel of displeasure.
“Do you have a map?” one of the girls asked as she
inspected a light helmet doubtfully. “Are there towns or welltraveled highways around here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded.
The young woman’s reply surprised him again. “That’s
where we must go.”
He didn’t expect to hear a well thought out and
reasonable suggestion from the passenger; the replicants were
taught that once in a critical situation, all civilians turned into
helpless creatures prone to panic and requiring constant care
and control.
However, RS-355-085 observed no panic. Instead, the
passengers showed initiative and offered reasonable ideas. If
they were, indeed, with the Intelligence Service, then their
ideas should be at the very least heard. The replicants had no
idea what to do in a peaceful city and how to behave in order
to avoid too much attention. But the young women seemed
perfectly convinced that they could blend into a crowd of
civilians. The sergeant also began to think that such an
infiltration would be successful. Looking harmless and
attractive would confuse any civilian. The replicant himself,
however, was leaning towards an idea that he was
accompanying Consortium agents.

One argument for this theory was their complete
obliviousness to nudity. During classes the instructors
mentioned the multitudes of various taboos and voluntary
limitations civilians accepted; public nudity was one of them.
The young women, however, changed their clothing in front of
the replicants without hesitation. Besides, Consortium
wouldn’t put in all this effort to extricate them from hostile
territory for no reason.
RS-355085 picked up a notepad and downloaded a local
map from his helmet tac block.
“Here, ma’am.” he said, showing the notepad to the
young woman. “Eighty kilometers south of here there’s a
town, Stratos city”.
“I told you they were from Intelligence.” Blaze seemed to
have come to the same conclusion as the sergeant.
“And the road… ” Ignoring his brother, the sergeant
continued. “This is the closest one, leads to a mine.
Approximately fifteen kilometers from here, ma’am.”
The girls exchanged glances once again. If they had
opaque helmets on, the sergeant would have thought they were
communicating with each other, but he could see the women’s
faces and their lips didn’t move. Still, he could have sworn the
twins could understand each other. Some cutting edge
implants, similar to what the replicants themselves had?
“So how about we get transportation?” suggested the girl
holding the notepad.
“What for, ma’am?” the sergeant asked confusedly. “It’s
not difficult to capture a vehicle, but it will attract attention
and make it easier for the hostiles to detect us.”
He offered the young woman a small box.
“Comm links, ma’am. Tune them to our frequency. Time
to go.” He waved at his squad mate and went outside into the
torrential rain.
After a moment’s hesitation, the twins put helmets on and
followed. One of them made several uncertain steps over the
mud and stretched out her arm, catching the downpour with a

gloved hand. Then she took off the helmet and looked up at
the sky, happily despite the rain that made her squint. The
replicants watched her, dumbfounded, trying to guess if this
behavior was typical for humans.
For them, this was the first time under real rain. The
space station where their lives began ten and a half years ago
had no atmospheric events, for obvious reasons. And in the
stony wastelands of Hel, where the first battle of this war was
fought, no rain was expected in the next couple hundred years.
The sergeant felt an urge to take his helmet off as well and find
out what it was like to stand in the rain. But the training
ingrained into his entire being forbade such silliness. All the
dangers possible on an unfamiliar planet, from unbreathable
atmosphere to a number of viruses and bacteria capable of
ending those who disregard safety precautions in mere hours,
were instinctively expected by every replicant. Armor is your
second skin. Symbol of safety. Your own world, even with an
illusion of solitude.

∆∆∆

The other girl distracted the replicant from his thoughts.
She fumbled with the comm link for a moment, then walked
over to the soldiers and asked a bizarre question:
“How do you set these up?”
“Ma’am?” the sergeant was genuinely surprised again.
Deciding that she might have been inexperienced in
working with that particular model, he took the comm from
her hand and quickly tuned it to the required frequency.
“Now put the earbud in, ma’am, and the mic…” he
turned back her coveralls collar and carefully pasted the mic
strip onto her neck. “…goes here, ma’am.”
Having completed the process, he walked several steps
away and activated his own comm.
“Ma’am, this is RS-355-085. Can you hear me okay?”

“Perfectly well,” a woman’s voice sounded in the ear bud.
“Can you do the same for Rie?” she nodded towards her sister,
still motionless under the rain.
The young woman was so absorbed in watching the
deluge that she didn’t even notice the approaching replicant.
“Ma’am.” he called out to her. “Allow me to assist you
with your comm link.”
“Huh?” the girl called Rie looked at the replicant
distractedly. “Yes, of course.”
Resignedly, she allowed him to put the set on her, and
then, with a regretful sigh, put the helmet back on.
“What if I want to turn it off?” she asked over the comm
link.
“Just take off the mic or take out the earbud, ma’am.”
Sergeant approached his squad mate and the two engaged
in a quick conversation only they could hear.
“Let’s move,” the sergeant finally ordered.
“To the road, I hope?” A woman’s voice inquired in the
headphones.
The girls fell in behind the soldiers and followed
somewhat clumsily, slipping in the mud.
“We made quite an entrance, so they’ll be looking for us,”
the young woman continued, “But with a car we can get as far
away as possible from the pod much faster. Then we can
abandon the car, and there they are chasing the wind.”
The sergeant thought it over. Theoretically, if it were just
he and Blaze, they could cover quite a distance just running by
the time any search party appeared, but in the present
situation… He looked back at the girls slipping and sliding in
the muck, sighed and reluctantly agreed.
“Yes, I agree with you ma’am. Set for the highway.”

∆∆∆

The replicants set a fast pace, trying to get as far away as
possible from the landing site. Looking at how swiftly they
could move even loaded with backpacks, it was hard to believe
they were creatures of flesh and blood.
“We will arrive shortly, ma’am.” the sergeant informed
the young women during a short stop in a rocky crevice.
Despite all doubts, the new companions held their own
during the forced march. The sergeant made a mental note:
the young women’s physical fitness was in compliance with
the regulations adopted by several enforcement agencies
within the Consortium.
“Five more kilometers and we will reach our destination.”
he said aloud. “Are you hungry?”
“We’ll eat once we get a car.” One of the girls replied.
She was perched on a large rock.
The other, called Rie, silently waved them off and began
scraping the sticky mud off her shoes with a piece of stone.
“By the way, how do you plan to stop a ride?” she asked.
“A ride, ma’am?” Blaze sounded bewildered.
“Transportation.” Rie explained without interrupting her
task.
“We will destroy the crew, ma’am.” the sergeant replied;
Blaze nodded and patted his carbine lightly. “Civilian cars are
not armored, and therefore, this will not be problematic.”
Reactive ammo used by the Consortium could effectively
take out lightly armored targets as well, but the replicant
decided not to talk about that.
The girls exchanged a look again.
“Maybe we shouldn’t leave a trail of bodies?” Rie offered
a novel suggestion.
“We will hide the corpses.” The sergeant was slightly
offended by the idea that he could make such an error as
leaving witnesses behind or not hiding corpses. Replicants
were taught to cover their tracks from a very early age. Long

before they would begin practicing on “dummies” - criminals
whose personalities were erased.
“Alright, you’ll hide the bodies.” The girl agreed. “But
there will be a search for missing people, and it’s really not
that hard to track a missing citizen’s car route. Our route, that
is.”
“We cannot leave witnesses,” the replicant said
stubbornly.
“We can cover one crime with another,” The other girl,
assigned the name of “Not Rie” by the replicants for now,
joined the discussion. “Do you have a paralyzer?”
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant took a black rectangle out of
his pouch and opened it with a click, extending a pistol grip.
He didn’t consider paralyzers to be particularly useful; a
low powered energy weapon only capable of stunning an
unprotected live target for a short time. Even a car window
would be an impenetrable barrier for one of these.
“Then it’s simple.” Not Rie continued. “You hide, we
take our helmets off, walk to the road and stop a car. Then we
shoot the driver with a paralyzer, take everything valuable so it
looks like a robbery, and leave.”
The sergeant thought it over. It seemed like a reasonable
suggestion. To his embarrassment, his own knowledge of
criminal activities was very vague. The young woman’s
expertise was quite impressive. The replicant came to a
conclusion that the protected subjects were, after all,
Consortium Security agents.
“What’s the probability of success?” he inquired.
“A hundred percent,” Rie laughed. “What can possibly go
wrong?”
The sergeant gave her a doubtful look, but remained
silent. He wasn’t quite so sure - the tried and true method with
witness elimination was, in his opinion, much more reliable.
“Let’s do that.” He finally made a decision and handed
the paralyzer over to the young woman.

“Great,” she replied happily and took the weapon. “Just
one small thing left to do.”

Chapter 3
Planet Hephaestus. Badlands

The rain never stopped. The only thing that changed was
its intensity - from a slight drizzle to a solid wall of water. By
the time the group reached the road, the rain let up a bit, and
visibility improved enough to allow passing drivers to notice
the girls standing by the roadside.
“Time for you to hide,” Rie reminded the replicants and
headed for the wide strip of the highway that slashed across an
endless ocean of mud. Her sister followed behind. She took
the helmet off as she walked and hid the paralyzer inside it.
The replicants nodded in unison and activated phototropic
stealth mode, dissolving into rocks that crowded the highway.
Looking back, the girls could see no sign of two armed people.
The highway between Stratos city and the mines was
rather busy. Unfortunately, most of the traffic consisted of
robotic trucks carrying ore from the mines to smelters. About a
quarter of an hour passed before a red sports car stopped for
the sisters and the driver called out to them.
“Hey tourists! Are you going to the city? Get in, I’ll give
you a ride.”
Sergeant tensed.
“Get ready,” he ordered.
The twins got into the car - perhaps to make sure they
could shoot the driver point blank. The doors closed and…
And then the car sped away.
“Happy trails!” a very pleasant voice said over comm
link.
Next, there was a muffled rustling - it would seem the girl
was peeling the mic off her neck. Then, her sister’s cheerful

voice, followed by the same noise.
“Got talked into playing some war game with friends. It’s
fun for the first couple of hours, but then you’re just tired.
Who wants to slog through mud all day?..”
The rest of the conversation was cut off by two
characteristic clicks indicating that comms were turned off.
The link was dead.
“Did you understand this, sarge?” dumbfounded Blaze
asked as he watched two green dots on the tac block moving
towards the city.
“I think so, yeah…” the sergeant said slowly, feeling
every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “It appears
you were right, brother - they really are spies. Not ours
though, but enemy spies, do you understand now? And I,
defective moron, let them go. Ugh..”
He banged his helmet against a rock in despair, then
slammed a fist into the mud for good measure.
“What are we to do now?” Blaze started rising carefully.
“Find and capture,” sergeant declared gloomily. “We
were ordered to deliver them to Eldorado at any cost; it’s our
duty to complete this mission. Let’s go.”
He got up, hoisted the duffel bag onto his back and
adjusted the straps for the march.
“Chimbick, don’t blame yourself.” This was the first time
Blaze called his brother by name today. “It’s not your fault.
“The commanders didn’t see fit to inform us about their status.
“And now there’s nobody to brief us.”
“Brother,” Chimbick put his hand on Blaze’s shoulder.
“They didn’t know how to use our gear, did you notice that? I
should have realized!”
He sighed and pointed. “Let’s move. “The crash site will
be found soon.”
Silently, the replicants disappeared into deepening
twilight.

Half an hour later, a helicopter landed fifteen kilometers
away from the road, next to the abandoned pods. Landing
compartment hatch opened wide and several militiamen led by
a man dressed in customs officers’ uniform rushed down the
ramp.
“Check the pods,” the officer ordered.
Two three-man teams split from the main group and ran
to the escape pods. The rest spread out in a circle to create a
defense perimeter. The first group reached the pod and opened
the hatch.
Next, an explosion thundered.

Chapter 4
Planet Hephaestus. Stratos City

The

trip to Stratos City was almost luxurious; the
replicants settled comfortably in the back of a truck loaded
with empty CO2 scrubber boxes. They got into the truck bed
by jumping off a convenient cliff overhanging a sharp turn in
the road. All drivers - both living and robotic - would slow
down here to avoid flying into oncoming traffic.
When the truck started braking on a straight stretch of the
road, Chimbick peered out carefully. “Oh hell,” he whispered.
“Checkpoint.”
Blaze leapt up and readied his carbine. The sergeant
raised his hand in a calming gesture.
“Don’t. Only if they see us.”
There turned out to be no reason to worry though - the
soldiers didn’t even leave the sentry box. One of them waved
at the driver to pass and continued talking to his squad mate.
To add insult to injury, those sad excuses for warriors just
leaned their weapons against a wall causally.
“Idiots,” Blaze summarized the situation.
The sergeant snorted.
“No, brother, these aren’t idiots. These are our passes into
town. Follow me.” He vaulted over the side before the truck
had a chance to speed up.
Blaze jumped after him, stumbling forward a bit under
the weight of his duffel bag.
“Are we taking them?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The replicants moved off the road and began discussing
the plan of attack. First they decided to hide the backpacks
salvaged from the pod. Chimbick took only the agents’ dog

tags and the money bag, realizing that now these coins could
make the mission easier. The hardest part would be figuring
out the nuances of civilian life.
Backpacks hidden and stash booby trapped, the replicants
activated the phototropic camo that turned them into a barely
noticeable shimmer.

∆∆∆

Sentries Quigley and Novak were enjoying life as much
as it was possible while enlisted in Hephaesian Defense Force.
The two friends ended up at a remote two-man station, a true
gravy train as far as service went. All they had to do was
sometimes walk into the road and check semis coming from
the mines. Even if any inspectors decided to stick their noses
in their business, usually some buddy on duty at the HQ would
have time enough to warn them of the enemy approach, so
both soldiers were relaxing like there’s no tomorrow. The table
was graced with a bottle of imported rum, a rarity in wartime,
and a plate with some simple snacks. As an added pleasant
bonus, Novak’s collar was concealing a packet with “angel
dust”.
After a couple of shots, the buddies relaxed and moved
on to stimulating conversation.
“I ain’t slow, right?” Quigley was relaying a tale of his
latest conquest. “So she starts to complain about her husband,
like, he’s an asshole, doesn’t love me, doesn’t pay attention,
looks at me like I’m furniture… I’m like, thinking here, oh,
you’re gonna put out, honey. So I says, come to daddy, right,
get my hands under her shirt… She’s like…”
What she was like forever remained a mystery, since
Quigley’s speech was cut short by an abrupt opening of the
door, as if it were kicked with a boot. Sentries leapt up,
expecting to see a surprise inspection, but all they could detect
was a wall of rain. Then a faint shimmering entered the door.
The feckless warriors’ brains, clouded with booze, were
struggling to solve this phenomenon, and that moment of

hesitation cost both their lives. With a crack of broken
vertebrae, both militiamen fell to the floor.
“Just like “dummies”, one of the shimmers snorted
disdainfully and turned into an armor-clad replicant.
“Shut up, Blaze,” the other shimmer was grouchy.
The sergeant turned off the stealth mode and rolled one of
the corpses over.
“Move it,” he hurried Blaze along and began unfastening
a bullet proof vest on what used to be Quigley just a moment
ago.
Blaze looked around, found a light switch and the room
was plunged into darkness. That didn’t, however, affect the
replicants in their night vision helmets.
Uniforms were the reason why they decided to attack the
hostiles unarmed, since otherwise an eleven millimeter rocket
round would create a laundry problem for Blaze and
Chimbick.
“Too big,” Blaze noted with some consternation.
Local brick-red camo and light bullet proof vest looked
baggy on a wiry replicant. At least the helmet and goggles fit.
Boots were the only part of replicants’ own gear that they
kept. Armor and helmets were packed into an empty MRE
crate.
“It will do.” Chimbick waved Blaze off and continued
fiddling with the looted harness.
Blaze remained sulkily silent. The sergeant understood
and shared his mood - compared to the cutting edge
Consortium gear, Hephaestian equipment looked rather lame.
Replicant battle armor included a body suit made from
ballistic fiber, with muscle augmentation cables running along
the limbs. The body suit would protect from aggressive
environments, vacuum, shrapnel and some types of gun ammo.
Composite armor fit over the body suit.

A helmet, made from the same composite, was outfitted
with a multitude of sensors and a tactical computer for
automated battle command and control. It provided a 360
view, watched the tactical situation on the battlefield,
monitored the solder himself and controlled a built-in doctor
module.
The cherry on top was the phototropic camo feature that
literally turned the wearer invisible.
This crowning jewel of technology was perfect at what it
did and thus turned the replicants into deadliest and most
dangerous soldiers in this part of the universe. But now they
had to trade this thing of beauty for the pathetic Hephaestian
militia gear.
The replicants booby-trapped the corpses, grabbed the
MRE box and ran for the light patrol vehicle assigned to the
post in case some miscreants needed to be chased. Chimbick
jumped into the gunner’s seat and Blaze took the driver’s spot.
The LPV rolled on towards the city.

Chapter 5
Planet Hephaestus. Badlands

Lieutenant

Nave Graham of the recently formed
Hephaestus Counterintelligence Service was a bit anxious: this
was his first case as a lead and like every rookie ever, he was
afraid he would fail.
“A plasma grenade, was it?” He inquired of a sapper busy
with examining what was left of the escape pod.
“Uh-huh,” the man replied gruffly. “A primitive trap;
they just set it to tripwire mode and when the soldier opened
the hatch, it tripped.”
He nodded towards the other pod, hidden beyond a veil of
rain, where his colleague was puttering about.
“Crude, but effective,” the sapper said, tossing a melted
chunk of metal that used to be part of the pod’s hull. “The
explosion set off the remaining fuel in pod’s tanks. Enough to
blow the pod and everyone around it to smithereens.”
“The deceased was a moron.” Nave grimaced as he
watched the customs officer’s body packed into a bag.
“Shouldn’t have just barged in blind like that… Any ideas who
could have done that?”
“I can’t tell for sure,” the sapper replied, “But I suspect
whoever did it, had special training. Military likes traps like
this. Terrorists and other criminals aren’t above them, either,
historically.”
“Got it loud and clear,” Graham said, even though
nothing was clear at all.
Quite the contrary, the suspect list just expanded
significantly to include a wide spectrum of all kinds of
professions - from corporate armies, mercenaries and slave
traders to run of the mill smugglers trying to cover their tracks.

“Ready,” reported the other sapper. “Pod two is clear, you
can inspect it.”
Graham nodded, even though the other man couldn’t see
him. Struggling to pull his feet out of viscous sticky mud, the
detective trudged to the pod. Two militiamen stood by the
open hatch, holding their automatic rifles most menacingly.
They scanned the surroundings warily, as if suspecting that the
pod’s owners would come back for their property. Nave threw
back his raincoat’s hood, scraped the mud off his shoes, pulled
foot covers on and climbed into the pod, where the sapper was
still working on something. Lieutenant’s attention was
immediately drawn to two shapeless piles of clothing on the
floor.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” the sapper inquired phlegmatically.
“Uh-huh,” lieutenant agreed as he carefully unraveled the
closest pile, which turned out to be a woman’s dress. Nave
looked it over and, for whatever reason, sniffed. It smelled
faintly of perfume. The smell seemed like a man’s cologne to
Nave. Puzzled, he grunted, folded the dress and put it into an
evidence bag.
“So what happened here?” he asked the sapper.
As an answer, he was shown a Consortium-made plasma
grenade.
“Trip wire mode.” the sapper explained.
“Just like in the other pod.” Nave said thoughtfully.
He heard business like voices behind his back and then
his crime scene experts climbed inside. The pod became very
crowded. Nave got out to give his team a chance to search
every inch of the pod’s interior for clues. A smallest thing
could lead them to the mysterious survivors of the ship that
disintegrated in the atmosphere. Lieutenant headed for the
investigative team’s van where a couple of techs were messing
about with smashed electronics.
“I think you might find this interesting,” one of them said
as soon as the lieutenant climbed into the van, leaving puddles
everywhere.

Without waiting for an answer, the tech swiveled his
monitor around and started explaining:
“This from the customer officer’s tac block. He got the
footage just a fraction of a second before the explosion, from
the militiaman’s body cam. You know, the one that opened the
door. Curious, don’t you think?”
Nave nodded silently as he stared at the image. Two
male corpses with their heads caved in were strapped into
cradles. Somebody really didn’t want these bodies to end up
with Hephaestus law enforcement. Curious…
Noting all this, the lieutenant moved to the comms
officer’s compartment and called Counterintelligence HQ.
“Get me the boss,” he asked the officer on duty.
Three hours later Nave was sitting in his office and
carefully studying the collected materials. It was all very
curious… Two unknown persons changed into orange survival
suits and moved in an unknown direction. Discovered hair
samples showed that the unknown persons were in fact women
of childbearing age, chemically blond. Most notably, the
samples belonged to creatures practically identical genetically,
which suggested replicants. Nave didn’t know much about
those - artificially bred creatures with altered human DNA.
He’s never heard of female replicants, but that didn’t
necessarily mean the greedy corporations hadn’t mass
produced several product lines for their army.
This theory was supported by the fact that the genome
showed some unfamiliar mutations. It could mean either
artificially created beings or one of Union races, with the same
degree of probability.
Recon drones didn’t find any suspicious movement
within a fifty kilometer radius, which led Graham to a
conclusion that the unknown persons took the shortest route
to the highway and found transportation there. Junior officers
were checking reports of stolen vehicles or missing drivers in
the area.

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that am
accomplice with a car was waiting for these unknown persons
in a previously agreed upon spot. That particular theory was
not provable though: constant electrical interference in the
atmosphere, caused by rain and thunderstorms, and thick cloud
cover made orbital surveillance impossible.
Nave sent two junior officers to comb CCTV footage
from Stratos City municipal security systems for a pair fitting
the description. But were there just two unknowns? Judging by
the data from the surviving pod’s on board computer, life
support systems load was twice the norm for two women of
middle height. Even considering nervous stress and rapid
breathing, it would still mean these women had twice the lung
capacity of a normal human. So the only reasonable
explanation was that there were at least two more people in the
pod, but those left no trace other than the entry in a computer
log.
Graham reread the report from the expert team, then
studied data from space defense system and finally, for the
fifth time in the last three hours, checked his inbox. It finally
paid off. There was a message from Tiamat; a Bison class
freighter, tail number 1560/4510, was attacked in orbit by a
Union patrol. The ship managed to shake its pursuers despite
being infected by a virus, change its recognition codes and
jump through the Gate to Hephaestus system.
Graham poured more coffee, displayed the new data on
his monitor and busied himself with reading the case file from
Tiamat office. The more he read, the more he felt serious
trouble approaching.
Tiamat Counterintelligence picked up a relay chasing a
Consortium agent spying in Ferrum system. He managed to
evade the arrest team by blasting through the perimeter and
hid in the capital. Not for long though, since in about an hour
his body was found in a private room at one of the fancier
night clubs. The still warm trail led the agents to Bison
freighter, but again, it managed to slip away. And now pieces
of it, along with pilots’ bodies, surfaced on Hephaestus.

Once again, Nave pored over all the available data while
the computer searched for all known materials on Consortium
Security Service operations. A phone call interrupted him.
“Sir,” the duty officer reported, “A checkpoint was
destroyed on highway E-11”
Nave glanced at the map, grabbed his hat and sprinted
from the office.

∆∆∆
Planet Hehpaestus. Stratos City

Replicants decided to park the all-too-noticeable LPV in
a dark alley near the building where, according to the tac
block, both women were hiding. The runaways either forgot
about the beacons built into survival suit electronics, or didn’t
know how to use Consortium tech in general. Considering
how far behind the Union was technology-wise, the latter
theory seemed rather plausible.
“What are we going to do?” Blaze asked and fiddled with
the unfamiliar jacket he was wearing.
“Depending on the situation,” Chimbick shrugged.
The sergeant lowered visor-like goggles and put on a
breathing mask, so that his face was completely hidden. Blaze
did the same and both soldiers moved along the street,
dutifully trying to impersonate busy patrolmen.
To their surprise, the building turned out to be a clothing
store.
“Hell,” the sergeant grunted, looking over the facade.
“We’ll take whoever is in there and cut the information out of
them.”
“Stop!” Blaze grabbed him by the shoulder.
Chimbick froze, astonished by such an open violation of
the chain of command, and turned to face his brother in

terrifying slow motion. But before he could rip the fresh
soldier a well-deserved new one, Blaze rattled on.
“We’ve already left a trail, Sarge. If we start another one
here, there goes our stealth. We’ll have to make a fighting
retreat. And where would we go? We’re in enemy territory!
And there’s no guarantee we can get away at all. So we failed
the mission, then.”
Sergeant felt the rage retreat. For once, his knucklehead
brother was right, the risk of being caught was too great.
“Any ideas?” he grunted.
“Yeah.” Blaze nodded. “I read something in a book. It
might work.”
Sergeant’s face turned into a familiar frown. Fiction
books were forbidden to replicants as useless waste of time, as
well as unauthorized access to infonet. Blaze never let on how
he acquired contraband, and didn’t give a damn about
Chimbick’s silent disapproval, knowing he’d never snitch.
And he was right; the sergeant grumbled and fumed, sent his
brother on latrine duty, but never said a word to anyone.
“Alright, let’s try.” Chimbick sighed.
He was plagued by the gloomiest of suspicions. However
convincing Blaze might have sounded, a plan based on a book
of fiction was still, to put it mildly, a gamble.
Meanwhile, Blaze assumed a very stern look, kicked the
door and barged into the store.
“Two broads, survival suits!” He barked at the shop
assistant. “Where are they?”
Behind his back, Chimbick was brandishing the carbine
to create what he thought was appropriate ambiance.
The shop assistant blanched and
obediently.

threw his hands up

“Please, it’s not my fault, sir, please!” he wailed. “All I
did was exchange those suits for dresses! They had to pay the
difference, of course…”

“Exchanged?!” Blaze roared. “Do you realize this was
government property? Huh? You tell me right now, what they
took, what they talked about, everything. Now!”
Genetic engineers on distant Earth could be rightfully
proud of their creations. Not only could the replicants adapt to
any situation and learn from it, they could be creative. Now
Blaze was successfully proceeding with his attack, inspired
only by a scene in some murder mystery he had read.
“I… I don’t remember…” the shop assistant mumbled,
his eyes darting to Chimbick, standing there with a rifle at the
ready.
“Your memory should improve in a cell.” Blaze promised
menacingly.
This jump-started the merchant’s brain immediately.
“Footage! We have CCTV in the shop!” He exclaimed,
overjoyed at this bit of forward thinking.
“Show us.” Blaze ordered, gesturing to Chimbick to
come over.
The shopkeeper nodded hastily and turned on the
terminal as fast as he could, hoping to please the law
enforcement. Silently, he was cursing the bloody broads that
got him into this mess.
Five minutes later the replicants drove off to the
spaceport, carrying freshly printed pictures of the runaways.

Chapter 6
Planet Hephaestus. Spaceport.

The spaceport was crowded. With the start of a war the
stream of tourists pretty much dried up, not to mention the fact
that culturally, Hephaestus was only rich in endless rain.
However, various traders, mercenaries and other enterprising
people jumped to action, so there was no shortage of passengers.
Getting into the spaceport while posing as local militia
turned out to be easy, despite the replicants’ misgivings. All they
had to do was look busy and march past the police patrol
consisting of a human and an antropomorph robot.
“They don’t know about us yet,” Blaze whispered.
“Don’t relax.” Chimbick replied as he scanned the terminal
teeming with people.
Surrounded by crowds and without his armor to boot, he felt
naked. At least the massive Hephaestian helmets were concealing
their identical faces and sergeant’s “distinguishing marks”.

It didn’t take Chimbick long to find the face he was looking
for. One of the young women was casually chatting with a guard;
she handed him the paralyzer that the replicants gave up so
naively.

“Damn it,” Blaze muttered, his hand instinctively moving to
rest on the carbine. “Sarge, looks like she ratted us out.”
“Stay calm.” The sergeant rested his hand on Blaze’s
shoulder. “They haven’t noticed us yet.”
Contrary to all expectations, the guard didn’t reach for a
comm to raise an alarm, but kept smiling at the girl goofily. He
gave the weapon a very cursory inspection, took the battery out
of the grip and then returned both to the young woman. She
smiled, planted a kiss on the guard’s cheek, which made him melt
into a grinning mess, and headed for the counter where luggage
was being packed. A spaceport clerk took the paralyzer, placed it
into a container, sealed the lid and sent it down the conveyor belt.
Blaze let out a breath and released his grip on the weapon.
“Did you understand any of this?” he inquired curiously.
“Just that they’ve never seen an M-255.” Chimbick replied.
“Neither the spy, nor the local military.”
“What now? Are we taking them?” Blaze whispered.
Chimbick shook his head. “No, too many police and
military personnel. We can’t do this quietly. And we don’t know
where the other one is. So you watch this one, and I’ll go look
over there.” He nodded towards the line.
“Roger that,” Blaze nodded and followed the girl.
She stuffed the receipt into her purse and headed for the
departure terminal where a ship headed to New Plymouth was
boarding. The other runaway was waiting with two tickets in her
hand. Her other hand was resting on an elbow belonging to a
stocky male in civilian clothing. The newly arrived sister shined
a smile at the man and took his other arm. He seemed quite
pleased by such attentions.
Chimbick stopped by the ticket counter and scanned the
crowd. He was getting some looks, but nobody seemed overly
curious - by now the civilians were used to wartime reality, so a
military patrol in a crowded location wasn’t drawing as much
interest as it used to at the start of the war. The replicant’s own
attention was drawn to two boys of about seven, playing with toy
spaceships and oblivious to everything else while their mothers
talked nearby. They were so different from little replicants that

Chimbick couldn’t help wondering: what was it like to grow up
in a human family?
For the replicants, a growth tank and a service tech replaced
parents; kindergarten and school years were spent training, with
weapons and explosives instead of toys. Firing range instead of a
playground, bunks in a barrack instead of a nursery and battle of
Hel was their graduation test. Neither the sergeant himself, nor
his brothers had any idea how normal children were raised.
Except maybe Blaze, he might have read something in one of his
books.
Chimbick watched the children, completely engrossed in
their game, and in his mind’s eye saw identical boys standing in
formation, dressed in identical drab olive uniforms, motionless
and focused. They were all trying not to look at the control drone
armed with a shocker, ready to deal out punishment the moment
anyone dared to move. A voice blared from wall mounted
speakers: “Executing orders is soldier’s duty and primary
function. Nothing and no one can stand in the way of completing
the mission…”
“Sarge.” Blaze’s voice broke his reverie.
Chimbick started and turned to face his brother. “Yes?”
“They are flying to New Plymouth with some man.” Blaze
reported.
Frowning, the sergeant rubbed his chin.
“Perhaps it’s their commanding officer or convoy?” he
suggested, his mind racing.
They needed to get on the ship and, preferably, bring their
gear with them. But Chimbick had no idea how this could be
accomplished. Abandoning weapons and armor didn’t even occur
to him. Treating one’s kit with great care was literally beaten into
the replicants’ subconscious, so they simply didn’t consider an
option that would have made their lives a lot easier.
Strangely enough, they could follow the plan suggested by
one of the spies - buy tickets. But again, getting the gear on board
presented quite a snag. Chimbick sighed and arrived at a
conclusion that this problem was to be tackled one step at a time:
first they would buy a ticket and then figure out what to do with
the equipment.

“How long before departure?” he asked Blaze.
“An hour.” This made Chimbick sigh mournfully.
Not a lot of time to come up with a plan.
“Take some money…” He took out the dead officer’s bag
and counted five hundred marks. “Buy us some civilian clothes
and two backpacks, and I’ll get tickets.”
“Why am I the one buying clothes?” Blaze sounded
surprised.
“Because you’re the only one of us who knows anything
about civilian life.” Chimbick explained. “I, on the other hand,
have no idea. Execute. No, stop. About the tickets… what do I
buy and how?”
“Hah! And you told me I was wasting time for no good
reason!” Blaze preened and winked at his brother. “Get first
class. I read that they don’t even search the passengers.”
“Why?” the sergeant was dumbfounded.
“The mutts think that rich people can’t be criminals,” Blaze
explained. “So there won’t be any body searches. Just an
automatic scan, and that can be fooled by a dog tag, so nobody
will find the gear. “
“Rich people can’t be criminals? Strange logic… ”
Chimbick was still confused. “Okay, go. No, stop. Give me your
ID.”
Blaze fumbled through his pockets for the late private
Quigley’s documents, handed them over and disappeared into the
crowd. The sergeant moved off to the side of the room, took out
one of the agents’ dog tags and busied himself with forgery.
Primitive safety measures were no match for the cutting edge
device, so a couple minutes later Chimbick had IDs issued in the
names of George and Leon Stewgenbotthead, presumably
brothers. Smart programming generated this particular last name
specifically to make it impossible to remember.
Chimbick took a deep breath, like someone who is about to
dive off a cliff, and headed for the ticket counter.
“Ma’am.” He addressed the clerk politely. “I’d like two
tickets to New Plymouth.”

“Which class?” She asked, eying Chimbick’s uniform.
“First class, ma’am.” the replicant replied just as politely.
“How much is it?”
“Three hundred per ticket.” she smirked. “Do you have
enough?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Chimbick nodded, relieved and somewhat
bewildered by the woman’s demeanor. “Two tickets, please.
What kind of currency would you like?”
“Any kind,” now it was the young woman’s turn to be
bewildered as she saw this soldier in a completely new light.
Until now she pegged him for a grunt going off-world for
the first time; but now she was convinced he was a rich man who
somehow ended up in the militia.
“Must be a patriot or something,” she decided as she took
the money.
“Your ID, sir.” her smile was considerably more amiable.
Chimbick handed over the forged ID cards.
“There you go, Mr. Stewgenbotthead,” The smile was
positively radiant as the clerk returned the ID along with two
brightly colored first class tickets.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Chimbick thanked her and went
outside.
Blaze reappeared in about twenty minutes, well after
Chimbick started getting seriously worried.
“Well, here I am,” he declared, holding up shopping bags.
Hastily, the replicants walked back into the alley where they
left the vehicle.
“How’d it go?” Chimbick relaxed a bit and began packing
his armor and weapons into one of the new dark green
backpacks.
“Great,” Blaze was doing the same. “I told him I needed
clothes I could wear in the capital. Read this in a book. And the
shop assistants picked everything for me. But…” He sounded a
bit guilty. “I spent all the money.”

“That’s alright, we have plenty left,” the sergeant said
comfortingly. “Just tell me the exact sum, I’ll put it in my
report.”
“Yes, sir!” Blaze cheered up immediately.
Packing done, the replicants changed into the new clothes
and carefully folded the surplus over the armors in the bags.
“Let’s go,” the sergeant ordered.
They hid their faces behind massive mirrored visors and
headed for the terminal. Once the backpacks were loaded onto a
conveyor belt, the sergeant couldn’t help but feel nervous
watching it move towards a scanner. Something will go wrong,
the dog tags attached to the bags won’t work and alarms are
going to sound right about now… Nothing happened. The
scanner flashed friendly green lights and the luggage passed to a
uniformed carrier.
“Are you checking this or should we take it to the cabin?”
the man asked with a forced mandatory smile.
“We’ll carry it.” Blaze waved him off and hoisted the
backpack onto his shoulders.
“As you wish.” the worker replied indifferently and grabbed
a brightly floral suitcase from the belt.
“Good thing I took the dog tags.” Chimbick whispered to
his brother as he lifted up his own backpack.
“Exactly.” Blaze nodded. The replicants followed another
spaceport employee as he led them and other first class
passengers past all the checkpoints.
The dog tags fooled the fingerprint scanner as well, so the
fact that two people with different IDs had absolutely identical
fingerprints went unnoticed. The system just obediently
confirmed the registration. Then an impeccably polite steward
escorted the replicants to their seats in the shuttle’s first class
cabin.
“So that’s how mutts travel, huh.” Blaze commented as he
deposited his sinewy body into a white leather chair.
“Useless waste of space and resources,” Chimbick shared
his opinion as he looked around the cabin with a mix of curiosity

and disdain. “The entire compartment is stuffed with useless
junk, and here they are, all proud of it.”
“Mutts, what can you say.” Blaze buckled the safety belt and
stared out of the window.
Their journey has begun.

Chapter 7
Planet Hephaestus. Counterintelligence Service HQ

“Been a while since I got a reaming like that…” Old
Major Lo Prekh sighed as he walked out of the Haephestus
military commander’s office. Nave glanced at the veteran who
started his service when Hephaestian CI was still called
“Hephaestus Constitutional Protection Corps”, and nodded in
agreement.
“Yeah, they really did chew our heads off.”
Everyone - from Hephaestus Anti-aircraft Force
commander to the militia platoon leader who sent the soldiers
with a customs officer without a proper briefing - got the shaft
for the exploded pod, dead militiamen and the customs
officer. Counterintelligence got the shortest end of the stick
and all the blame.
The only one to get some praise was lieutenant Nave,
who made the connection between the events of the day, the
crashed ship, dead solders at a checkpoint and the events in
Tiamat system. Moreover, he was assigned to lead the
investigation. The more experienced older colleagues just
breathed a sigh of relief when the pain in the neck case was
handed to the eager greenhorn.
Much to their surprise, the greenhorn wasn’t upset by the
assignment and dove into work with boundless energy. He
even managed to get access to the holiest of holies in the
police headquarters - the data processing center for the citywide surveillance and safety system. The tireless lieutenant
set up shop in the operators’ room and made the cops run
recognition on all the cars entering the city by way of E-11, as
well as all the cars within three kilometers from the space port.
His efforts were richly rewarded. First, the LPV stolen
from the checkpoint showed up on one of the cameras; then an
operator spotted two militiamen entering a womens clothing
store about five blocks away from the space port. The part

that drew the cop’s attention was full battle gear and weapons
the militiamen carried. There was no information on any
military operations in that area, so either the military couldn’t
be bothered to let other linked services know, or the
militiamen were on some personal business.
These were the conclusions reported by a diligent law
enforcement officer in charge of watching the tapes. Graham
felt like he was just about to grasp the end of a thread leading
somewhere and asked to see the previous several hours of
footage from the same camera. He didn’t regret the time
spent.
A couple hours before the militiamen, the store got a visit
from two women looking very much alike and dressed in
bright yellow survival suits. Blondes. Nave grinned, thanked
the cop and asked the sergeant on duty to send a squad car for
the shop assistant. At the station, the man told about the
interrogation he endured from militiamen Novak and Quigley
- he read the names on their helmets - and how they were
interested in blonde twins. The same ones that just traded the
expensive Consortium survival gear for local threads. Then
the militiamen took the CCTV camera footage and left.
“They sure are spry for two dead guys.” Nave joked and
picked up his comm link.
He sent a photo of the girls to the space port and was
rewarded by new info - those same ladies, twin sisters Angela
and Svitari Loray, bought tickets to New Plymouth. On a
hunch, he asked if, by any chance, Novak and Quigley bought
any tickets as well, but received a negative reply.
“Interesting.” Nave drummed his fingers on the desk.
“So whoever killed the militiamen at the checkpoint was
also hunting these women. But who?
We should get to communications and call our people on New
Plymouth, warn them that there’s new work coming their
way.”

∆∆∆
Onboard the Space liner Sun Queen

“What’s

that?” Once again, Chimbick uttered the
question most often used in the last twenty four hours.
He was holding a mouthpiece, connected to a flexible
hose that, in turn, led to a tall metal vessel.
Blaze tried to look like an expert while he studied the
mysterious object for a while.
“I don’t know, Sarge. Maybe you’re supposed to blow
into it? Or drink through the tubing?”

“Intake is too high for that, though. ” Sergeant found the
hypothesis doubtful.
Blaze snapped a picture of the enigmatic device and
resorted to the infonet.
“They call this thing “a hookah”, Sarge.” he informed
Chimbick a minute later.
“It’s used for smoking.
Popular with mutts, since it’s considered a sign of exquisite
taste. That’s what the article says.”
“Idiocy.” Chimbick tossed the mouthpiece aside.
“Cigars, cigarettes, now this thing… It’s like the mutts are
trying to invent new ways to ruin their bodies.”
The sergeant looked around the cabin, which was
positively stuffed with similarly strange objects; the replicants
had to constantly consult the infonet to find out what their
purpose was. A towel, for example. All their lives the
replicants would dry themselves in a cubicle one entered after
the dispersion shower; using a piece of cloth to dry themselves
off confused them. Even more confusing was the fact that
there were several such pieces of cloth, and as it turned out,
each was supposed to be used on different body parts. Why
one couldn’t just use a single piece to dry off remained a
mystery.
Another strange, but very pleasant object was the “bath” a vessel for washing that allowed almost complete
submersion. Its necessity in the bathroom complete with a
functioning shower was questionable, but still, it was the only
mysterious object that earned replicants’ full approval. They
took turns spending time in this “bath” when they weren’t
busy watching the runaways or studying civilian ways of life.
There was a lot of studying.
Wooden furniture - a major fire hazard; all the different
metal and wooden containers called “decor elements”, a
wooden box full of alcohol - all these things made the
replicants’ heads spin. They constantly had to refer to the
infonet for explanations, and most of the time, the information
they found left them stunned by its absurdity.

However, there was another pleasant discovery - the
menu. Used to monotonous food, the replicants were
overwhelmed by the variety of dishes. They were probably
the first passengers in history who were completely thrilled by
every single thing made by the liner’s cooks. Not having any
restrictions on quantities of food, the new tastes, smells, the
way the food looked - all this charmed the soldiers, and they
used every opportunity to explore the new world of taste. First
course, entrees, dessert, appetizers - they studied these new
concepts with joyful eagerness. Anything that ended up on the
table was met with approval and eaten to the last crumb.
Once upon a time Chimbick heard someone talk about
heaven, which he considered to be a strange fantasy. But now
sergeant thought that if replicant heaven existed, it would be a
bathtub and a tray full of food next to it.
The only negative experience so far was going through
the Gates - the colossal hi-tech device in space that allowed
jumping into subspace and emerging either at another Gate, or
preset coordinates. In the latter case, jump precision left much
to be desired, and distance depended on the amount of energy
expended by the Gate. The Gate system brought human
colonies scattered around the Galaxy together and indirectly
caused the war between the pioneers and the second wave of
settlers.
This was not the first time the replicants passed through a
Gate; the feeling of nausea and dizziness at the precise
moment of the jump was already familiar to them. Sergeant
remembered one of the items from a manual on escorting
civilians: normal people were unprepared to the Gates and
jumps could cause vomiting and loss of consciousness. But
judging by the throngs flooding the decks after the jump,
humans were far more resilient than study materials suggested.
Having assessed the situation, Chimbick sent Blaze on a
recon mission; he himself stayed behind.
Because of
distinguishing marks, his face was ill suited for surveillance.
Blaze was quite happy with this arrangement. He nearly ran
out of the cabin, impatient to explore the new, bright and

curious world.
course.

Without any detriment to the mission, of

Finding the twins was easy: when boarding the shuttle,
replicants noted the seat numbers corresponding to the cabin
on the liner itself. Similarly, it took hardly any effort to find
out what their names were - Svitari and Angela Loray. Much
to Blaze’s surprise, civilians were quick to talk and didn’t
seem to think it was necessary to withhold information.
The fact that Loray bought coach tickets didn’t keep them
from spending most of their time on first class deck, which
made surveillance much easier. The sisters haven’t seen
replicants’ faces, so they didn’t recognize Blaze on the
observation deck. However, after that the replicant became
doubly careful, increasing the distance between himself and
the runaways to the max.
Unlike Blaze, the sisters appeared perfectly comfortable
surrounded by first class passengers. They found common
ground with strangers easily, especially men, whose company
they seemed to favor. They joked a lot themselves and were
always ready to laugh at other people’s jokes, which, in turn,
made the strangers even more talkative.
Soon, every
conversation would turn into more or less of a monologue by
some new acquaintance, and the twins would contribute a
word or two every now and then.
The replicant couldn’t help but be impressed by the skill
with which Loray milked people they just met for
information. His theory pegging the sisters as intelligence
officers seemed more and more believable. Several times the
women accepted an invitation to visit some new
acquaintance’s cabin, and Blaze was left wondering what they
talked about behind the closed doors.
Another thing the replicant couldn’t get used to was how
humans were constantly touching each other. Men shook
hands, and women even pressed their lips to people’s cheeks in
greeting! No matter how hard Blaze tried, he could not come
up with a logical explanation for this strange behavior. Were
they sniffing each other?

And Loray were touching others even more often. It
seemed really bizarre to the replicant; their own gestures were
always very practical. He spent a lot of time watching the
twins, trying to understand what was happening. Here’s
Svitari, touching another person’s hand in a gesture of
sympathy and support. Here’s Angela, walking arm in arm
with a well-dressed middle-aged man; as they talked, she
laughed and rubbed her cheek against the man’s shoulder.
Even during the rare quiet moments when Loray were just
sitting at the observation deck watching the stars and nebulae,
they snuggled like little animals seeking another’s warmth. It
seemed like touching was as natural and necessary to them as
breathing.
“They are strange.” Chimbick noted once Blaze came
back with a report.
Blaze nodded.
“They are afraid of something, Sarge.”
“How do you mean? ” Chimbick stared, befuddled.
Blaze stammared a bit, looking for a proper way to word
it; finally he spoke slowly, meticulously choosing every word:
“Remember when we were little we were afraid of shocker
drones and inspections?
Loray are like that. Maybe they are replicants after all?”
“They are hostiles!”
“Don’t you forget that.”

Chimbick cut him off sternly.

Blaze sighed and nodded.
“I remember, Sarge.”
He rose from his seat, rested his hand on the brother’s
shoulder and repeated quietly:
“I remember…” And left for the bedroom.
Chimbick watched him leave, scratched the bridge of his
nose thoughtfully and returned to analyzing the surveillance
report.
They didn’t talk about this until the end of the flight.

Chapter 8
Planet New Plymouth

It was not as respectable passengers that Chimbick and
Blaze left the liner, but rather like petty thieves. Fearing
changes to customs protocols at their destination, both
replicants stowed away on a cargo shuttle. After the landing,
they snuck into the service areas of the space port, where they
immediately ran into a group of technicians. Chimbick was
about to solve the problem the usual way - by killing the
unwanted witnesses - when Blaze saved the situation. He put
on quite a performance pretending to be a lost passenger, so
the techs just showed the scatterbrains the way and advised to
download a map next time. They never knew that death was
just a hair’s breadth away.
Now both soldiers were sitting on a bench in a small park
across the space port and watched the passenger terminal exits.
“A new handler?” Chimbick sounded puzzled as he
watched Loray exit the port with some first class passenger but not the stocky civilian they were with at Hephaestus.
The way these spies behaved left the replicants utterly
perplexed. They changed male companions at the same speed
replicants swapped magazines during high difficulty shooting
exercise back on Aegis. Once again, replicants were unable to
discern the meaning of this.
“I don’t know… Oh, look!” Loray sisters, their meager
possessions and the new companion were loading into a car.
The passengers settled into a back seat; the car windows
became opaque and blended with the rest of the hull.
“Now that’s interesting… Launch.”
Blaze looked around, pulled a standard recon drone out
of his bag and tossed it up into the air. The small, about
twelve centimeters in diameter, drone darted after the taxi
carrying the twins away. It was completely unnoticeable in a

swarm of civilian drones bustling every which way above the
street.
But if the replicants were expecting to see something
important, they were in for a disappointment. The trio reached
a hotel in the business district and occupied a four room suite.
About an hour later the sisters, wearing different clothes and
refreshed, left the building alone. Sitting comfortably in a
rented car (another useful thing Blaze learned about from a
book; now Chimbick was ready to hunt down more books
himself), replicants watched the sisters patiently as they
worked on a plan.
“If they go back to the hotel, we should take them there.”
Chimbick decided.
Blaze disagreed. “It’s too difficult. Listen, why do they
need so many clothes?”
Twins spent several hours walking around clothing stores,
and the number of bags they carried approached a scary level.
Chimbick hazarded a guess. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s
the specifics of their job, they need to change clothes
constantly?.. Okay, so maybe we wait until they leave with
their… what is he to them anyway?.. And then get them?”
“Yeah, that’s better,” Blaze agreed after a moment’s
contemplation. “Maybe we won’t be punished if we bring
three prisoners.”
“Maybe,” Chimbick said doubtfully. “Oh, they are getting
in a car. Follow them.”
Much to replicants’ surprise, Loray didn’t stop at buying
a heap of clothes. They spent over an hour in a strange place
called “Moon Shadow”, where they had their fingernails filed
and coated in colored enamel, hair brushed and arranged into
complicated up-dos. There was something else, but the
replicants could not see what from their vantage point. They
didn’t dare creep closer, since only women entered the
establishment, so trying to go inside seemed too risky.
By the time Loray finally exited the building, sergeant
was getting worried if this “Moon Shadow” place had a hidden

underground tunnel. And still they kept shopping, this time
for jewelry.
“I thought this would never end,” Chimbick muttered as
he watched the young women get into another taxi.
Blaze nodded.
“If they are going to buy more stuff, I’m due for
maintenance,” he joked. “My nerves can’t handle that.”
Luckily for them, the taxi headed to the hotel and Loray
went up to their room. When they left again, this time with
their companion, the replicants were stunned by the twins’
transformation. Giggly girls, always ready to smile, turned
into majestic dignified ladies. Replicants have seen something
like that in a study film about destroying the top of potential
enemies’ ruling class.
Elegant demure dresses, reserved smiles, chins raised
proudly - the twins looked exactly like the images from the
film. It was almost as if they studied the same material, but
for a different purpose.
Once again, both replicants pondered if the Union has
established its own replicant production program.
“So beautiful…” Blaze piped in as he put his helmet on.
“Say, Sarge, do you think that… if they weren’t the enemies,
maybe we could…”
“No, we couldn’t.” Chimbick cut him off. “We are
property of the Consortium. The only reality is your serial
number. Everything else is unacceptable fantasy. Are we
clear? Get to work.”
Sergeant put his own helmet on, ending the conversation.
“Yes, Sarge.” Blaze said tonelessly. He disabled the car’s
auto pilot and drove into the street, following the targets.
They drove about five blocks when the limo turned onto a
quiet street and braked to let some pedestrians cross the street.

∆∆∆

“Go!” Chimbick barked.
They closed the distance on their target; sergeant lowered
a window and threw “popcorn” - that’s what replicants called
an EMP grenade capable of shutting down all unshielded
electronics within a ten meter radius. Replicants’ car was
outside the blast, but the black limo bore the brunt of it and
stalled.
“Go!” Blaze turned the steering wheel and braked, so
that the car turned sideways, blocking the road behind the
limo.
Terrified pedestrians barely had time to scatter; Chimbick
tossed smoke grenades up and down the street and dashed
towards the limo. Blaze followed, looking around in case
someone decided to play hero. Nobody did. Already scared
pedestrians ran screaming about invasions, pirates, bandits and
so on as soon as they saw armored figures; this added to the
panic even more.
Replicants didn’t need to talk, the roles were assigned
beforehand. Shoot out the locks, toss a smoke grenade inside,
close the door. Wait two seconds, open the door again, grab a
coughing target by the hair, knee to the solar plexus, drop, add
a kick to the kidneys to prevent any resistance. Grab the man,
repeat the procedure.
Blaze was doing the same on the other side of the car.
Chimbick stowed the carbine behind his back, then yanked
one of the sisters and the man up on their feet. Adding another
slap or two for good measure, he dragged them to the car and
shoved both in unceremoniously. Blaze arrived with the other
sister and deposited her on top of the pile.
One last look around and the replicants climbed into the
car themselves. Blaze took the driver’s seat, and Chimbick
squeezed in the back, shoving the prisoners. The engine
roared and the car carried the replicants and their quarry away.
The prisoners didn’t even try to resist; both sisters curled
up around their bruises, grimacing at each bump and sudden

turn. Their companion uttered a muffled curse and tried to
raise his head.
“What the hell is this?” He didn’t seem to quite believe
this was real. “What do you want?”
The only answer he received was a backhand across the
face that nearly knocked his head off the shoulders. Not quite
satisfied with that, Chimbick added some quick punches
wherever they landed, then leaned back in his seat.
Blaze drove around the outskirts of the city, headed to a
forest just outside. He parked under a dense canopy so that the
car would be safely hidden from any aerial surveillance. Only
after that did the replicants turned to the prisoners again.
Chimbick tossed them out of the car one by one towards
Blaze, who, in turn, greeted each one with a slap, searched
them quickly and then hog tied. Once all three were lined up
on the ground, Chimbick jumped out of the car and stood in
front of the prisoners.
“Good day, miss Loray, ma’am. Glad to see you, ma’am.”
Sergeant’s voice sounded calm and even, just like that
day on Hephaestus when the twins escaped. Replicant helmets
had another hidden weapon - the sound of their vocoders,
already frightening, had a little added perk: infrasound. Set at
just the right level, it caused inexplicable fear in humans,
helping to break their will.
The twins, no longer even resembling the magnificent
ladies of just hours ago, managed a glance at sergeant’s boots
and tried to duck their heads. It wasn’t a problem for the
replicants to tell the sisters apart - they were used to the entire
production series having the same face, so after growing up
surrounded by hundreds of identical twins, they could spot
subtle differences in gestures and facial expression, invisible
to normal people.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Svitari croaked.
Next moment she got a hard kick into a pressure point on
her shoulder and howled in pain.

“I did not give you permission to speak.” Chimbick
shook his head in disapproval. He has completely forgotten
how just this morning he was admiring the sister’s grace and
beauty. Now he just saw an enemy. An enemy that had to be
broken for information extraction.
“Next time I will cut off your ear.” He continued. “By
the way, I gave you my paralyzer. Where is it? You have my
permission to answer.”
“Oh, so it’s those whores you need?” Loray’s companion
sounded both relieved and surprised.
A second later he was screaming on top of his lungs;
Chimbick leaned down and hacked off an earlobe before
anyone even noticed a knife materializing in his hand.
“I warned you.” The replicant sounded perfectly calm as
he tossed a bloody piece of flesh aside. “Shut up or I will cut
out your tongue.”
Sobbing, the man hid his face in the forest floor, muffling
the moans. Angela twitched as if in pain, but quickly froze
again. Her sister remained motionless.
“Weapon’s in the luggage, back at the hotel.” Rie
answered hurriedly as soon as she saw the replicants boots
pointing in her direction again. Uncomfortable position and
hair falling into her eyes kept her from seeing anything above
the boots
“What about the comm links?” Blaze joined the
conversation. “We know that you gave government issued
survival suits to a hostile. But where are the comms? Talk.”
“We threw them out of the car window.” Rie sounded
doomed.
It appeared that she just now realized those were the same
replicants they left on Hephaestus.
“Stop lying. Who did you give them to?
You have my permission to answer.”

Your boss?

“It’s true!” The replicants could clearly hear the panic in
Rie’s voice. “We didn’t know how to shut them down, so we

took them off and threw them out of the window. I don’t
know what you mean by “boss”, though…”
“Your boss.” Chimbick wasn’t going to believe her.
As a matter of fact, if they did give the comms to Union
counterintelligence, it would have happened on Hephaestus,
while the replicants were chasing them. There wouldn’t have
been time here on New Plymouth, unless they gave the comms
to the companion or an agent in one of the shops they went to.
But throwing comm links out of a window, knowing that they
could help break Consortium military encryption…
Clearly, they took him for an idiot.
“You’re lying.” He unsheathed the knife again and ran the
side of the blade along Angela’s cheek softly, as if caressing.
She could have been made of stone. It almost seemed she
stopped breathing, too, only her eyes following the charcoal
black metal next to her ashen face.
“Do you want to tell us anything? Permission to speak is
given.”
“We tossed the comm links.” Angela’s voice was barely
audible. “I don’t know how to prove it.”
“Tossed them, did you. Very well, let’s say you did.
Who’s he, then?” Chimbick removed the knife and pointed
the toe of his boot towards the still whimpering man.
“Permission to speak is given.”
“Larst Tweed.” Angela replied. “He’s a businessman
from Hephaestus, here on business. He hired us as escorts for
his entire stay here on the planet.”
“Escort? As in, bodyguard? Talk.”
“Not bodyguards.” For a brief moment, bewilderment
won over fear in Angela’s eyes. “Courtesans. We pose as his
girlfriends at parties and sleep with him for money.”
“Courtesans?” Chimbick sounded confused; he cut the
loudspeaker and turned to Blaze for explanation.
“You, civilian expert… what’s a courtesan?”

“I don’t know, Sarge.” Blaze was just as befuddled. “I’ve
never met this term before.”
“So why do they sleep with him for money? What’s the
point of that?”
“I don’t know, Sarge.” Blaze repeated; he thought for a
moment and offered a theory. “Maybe he gets cold at night?”
“Why doesn’t he activate climate control then?”
“How should I know?” Blaze was exasperated. “Who
knows why mutts do things. Maybe it’s fashionable, or
prestigious. Like that hookah thing. Would you want to sleep
next to them, Sarge?”
Replicants looked the women over. Sergeant squatted
down and pressed a gloved hand over Angela’s shoulder. He
read the sensor data, then repeated the process with the other
sister. They were warm, as is normal for mammals, and soft.
And strangely intriguing. That last part the replicant figured
out without the sensors.
“I don’t know…” Chimbick mumbled, unsure. “Maybe I
wouldn’t mind…”
“Well, he doesn’t mind either! And why don’t you ask
them, they are the courtesans after all.” Blaze ended the
discussion.
Deciding that this advice had merit, Chimbick reactivated
the loudspeaker and squatted down in front of Angela.
“What is a courtesan and why do you sleep with him?
Talk.”
Loray’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the question, but
she explained calmly and without a trace of mockery.
“Courtesan is a profession. Women are paid money to
please men. Have sex with them, entertain, accompany them
everywhere. Sleeping with men is part of that job.”
Chimbick got up to process the new information. His
world just turned upside down. Sex for money, entertainment,
courtesans… Orders to deliver at any cost… This made no
sense. Why would anyone give such an order for two

courtesans? What’s the point of that? Then why did the
Security Service officer forbid the replicants to ask questions
or otherwise interact with the women?
Chimbick had no answers. Maybe she’s lying? Quite
possibly. But that was easy to verify.
“Put the male in the car and close the door,” he ordered.
“I don’t want him to go insane looking at our conversation.
And then I’m going to ask him some questions.”
Blaze nodded, grabbed the businessman, ignoring the
yelps of pain, and threw him back into the car.
“Now you.” Chimbick sat down in front of the girls
again. “Which one of you wants to talk to me? Answer.”
“Me, I’ll talk.” Angela was quick to answer.
“Let’s go back to the matter of comm links.” Chimbick
cut the speakers again and opened a channel to Blaze.
“Scare tactics.”
“Roger that.”
Sergeant activated the vocoder again.
“To ensure cooperation… cut out her sister’s eye. Left
eye.”
Chimbick went quiet and watched carefully while Blaze
stepped closer to the sisters and pulled out a knife.

∆∆∆

What happened next defied explanation. Replicants felt
terror. Terror and despair, mixed together, freezing their
bodies and taking all the strength with an invisible icy touch.
Not physical strength, but that of the soul. There was also
desperate hope, and that combination was utterly

overwhelming, making them believe the world was about to
end.
The replicants were so stunned it took them a moment to
register Angela’s shrieking.
“No! No, please don’t! Stop!”
“What is that?” Chimbick rasped, his throat dried out
completely.
In his panicked attempts to understand what was
happening he didn’t even notice he said this aloud, with
vocoder speakers still on. These sensations were utterly new
to the replicants; even in battle they never felt such fear. A
talented geneticist coded their DNA so that instead of fearing
death, all replicants were afraid to die in vain. Sergeant knew
what fear was, but this terror was beyond comprehension.
“I don’t know.” Blaze croaked.
He struggled to continue with his movements, but did
manage to raise Svitari’s head by the hair. Waves of despair hit
the replicants, clouding their minds, making clear thought
impossible. Blaze, who was carrying out the last order purely
on reflex, brought the knife almost to Svitari’s eye and stopped
at sergeant’s gesture.
His victim was motionless, staring at the point of the
blade in horror.
“Please, I’m begging you, stop.” Angela wasn’t
screaming anymore; she was practically whispering, hoping to
pacify her tormentor. “Cut me instead.”
At that moment, despair and almost insane hope blocked
out the rest of the world; replicants’ souls were like taut
strings, ready to break.
Chimbick shook his head, trying to get rid of the
sensation. He could feel his heart pounding; his fingers were
shaking.
“What the?..” he wheezed and grimaced in pain.
Every sound stabbed the brain like a white hot needle,
similar to shellshock. Chimbick discovered that he was

kneeling and shaking his head, as if someone landed a
crushing blow on him in a fight. He pushed himself up and
struggled to stand. His skull was pounding, legs trembling,
mouth as dry as it would have been after a days march with no
water. And there seemed to be a wad of barbed wire in his
throat, too.
Sergeant waved at Blaze to move away, caught the
hydrator tube and drank greedily. Water helped, but he still
couldn’t talk. However, the horror receded and now he felt the
same hope he could see on Angela’s face.
“What are you?” Chimbick managed.
He was pretty sure Angela was the source of this strange
interference; not sure how, but he planned to find that out.
Blaze was still holding the knife, and Chimbick had no doubt
that he would use without hesitation it the moment an order
was given. Or without an order, for that matter, if he saw a
threat or an attempt to repeat this psionic attack.
“Where were you made?” Chimbick continued. “Serial
number, place of manufacture. Now!”
He bellowed out the last word - something that used to be
unacceptable behavior for the sergeant. Replicants were
trained to always remain calm and cool-headed; raising one’s
voice was only allowed when absolutely necessary. But now
all the training could go to hell, nothing like this was ever
mentioned in manuals or lessons.
Now the replicants felt hollow, as people do after a
particularly severe shock. And underneath that, somewhat
muffled feelings of hope and fear.
“I’m an empath.” Angela’s voice was quavering a bit. “I
wasn’t made anywhere. My mother was one. It’s normal on
our home planet. Side effects of naturalizing. Please, don’t
kill us. We’ll do anything you want.”
Replicants knew that “naturalizing” was a mutt name for
the changes inflicted on colonists to better adapt them to new
worlds. Done at genetic level, they often had unexpected side
effects.

“Naturalizing…” Chimbick mused as he approached the
empath.
The closer he got, the stronger was the uprush of fear that
made his heart go cold. It took enormous effort to separate his
own feelings from the outside influence. He pulled down
Angela’s lower eyelid and studied the eye carefully, visor
optics zoomed in all the way. In his product line, the
manufacturer’s mark was located on the eyeball, just under the
iris. However, Angela didn’t have one, neither on the eye nor
the eyelid.
Sergeant slashed the rope holding the girl.
“Get up. Strip, raise your arms.”
Painfully, Angela unfolded her limbs, stiff from being
bound, and got up awkwardly. She undressed quickly and
clumsily, still staring at the replicant with terrified eyes.
“Underwear too,” he ordered.
Once the girl was done, sergeant examined her body with
the scanner built into his glove.
No brand marks. Nothing visible, no chip, nothing.
However, he did discover a Consortium made chip implanted
at the base of her skull. Most interestingly, it was locked with
a code too classified for the replicant’s tactical block.
Puzzled, Chimbick freed the other girl and repeated the
examination. Results were the same - no marks and a locked
implant at the base of the skull.
Psionic attack did stop though; either Loray ran out of
some necessary inner resource or managed to calm herself
down.
Chimbick left the young women, shivering from the cold,
under Blaze’s supervision. Deep in thought, he completely
forgot to order them to get dressed. Still thoughtful, he
dragged the businessman out of the car.
“I don’t even know these whores!” The man yelled as
soon as he connected with the ground. “Hooked up with them
on the ship, they charged me an arm and a leg! If I knew…”

Without a word, the replicant cut the man’s restraints and
then kicked him in the gut. Once Tweed was able to breathe
again, Chimbick finally spoke.
“You speak only when given permission to speak. On the
ship, you say…”
He turned to the sisters.
“Why did you approach him? Talk.”
“Money,” Rie replied curtly, her teeth chattering. “We
spent time with several rich guys, they paid well. This one, we
contracted for a week.”
Chimbick turned his head to face Larst.
The
businessman, shivering and bloodstained, whimpered and tried
to press himself into the side of a car. To replicant’s surprise,
the man had less self control than the girls.
“What is it you do? Talk.” He wasn’t even trying to hide
his disdain for this trembling weakling.
“Underwear,” Tweed hurried to answer. “My company
sells underwear”
“To the army?” Sergeant grew suspicious. “Talk.”
“No.” Even the terror couldn’t hide the disappointment in
the businessman’s voice; lost profits must have been great.
“We lost the bidding, so it’s civilian only. But it’s good quality,
expensive stuff.”
“I see.” Now it was the sergeant’s turn to sound
disappointed.
With a single twist, he broke the businessman’s neck and
turned his attention to the sisters again. They watched him
warily. It didn’t seem like their companion’s death saddened
the sisters all that much.
Chimbick was contemplating the next move. Courtesans,
sex for money… how did this mesh with the orders to deliver
those two to Eldorado? The question was on the tip of
sergeant’s tongue, and only the military discipline and deeply
ingrained habit of minding his own business kept him from
asking it.

Besides, the fact that the young women were so much
more reserved than the late underwear merchant was deeply
unsettling. None of this made any sense to the replicant.
Chimbick felt anger rising. Anger at himself, unable to
solve this puzzle; at the dead Security officers, who couldn’t
be bothered to explain anything; at these “courtesans” who led
them on a merry chase nearly all the way across the Union…
He grabbed the corpse by the collar, lifted it easily and
tossed aside like a rag doll. Then he headed for the sisters,
making Svitari recoil, bump into Blaze and shudder. Angela
stayed motionless, her eyes fixed on the approaching replicant.
Sergeant grabbed her by the hand and led towards the car.
“Get in.” He said flatly and opened the back door.
Infrasound was off this time.
“You too, ma’am.” He beckoned Rie to approach and
Blaze gave her some extra speed with a friendly shove in the
back.
Silently, the twins climbed into the car and huddled
down, waiting for new orders.
Chimbick gathered their clothes and tossed the bundle
inside.
“Get dressed.”
He then turned to Blaze.
“Back to base.”
Then, struck by another thought, he went over to the
businessman’s corpse and rifled through the pockets; a thick
wallet made its way into his pouch.
“It can be useful.” He explained to his brother.
Sitting next to Blaze in the car, he turned to the prisoners
again. “I hope you won’t cause us any problems, ma’am.”
“No, we won’t.” Angela was quick to assure him.
Chimbick watched her for a moment, then turned away.
“Let’s go,” he ordered Blaze.

The car rolled onto the road and headed for the city.

Chapter 9
Planet New Plymouth. Counterintelligence Service
HQ

To Nave’s delight, he was not reassigned from the case
after it was transferred to New Plymouth. More than that, an
order arrived to have him join the team in the new Union
capital. The explanation was that Nave knew the case
materials best, but Graham knew that it was mostly a symbolic
gesture meant to show unity. He was still happy about the
trip. The older colleagues exchanged knowing looks. The
rookie’s delight might have reminded them of themselves back
in the day.
Graham booked a flight on a high speed courier ship and
spent the journey studying all the information they could find
on Loray. There wasn’t a lot; the twins surfaced on Tiamat
about a year ago, seemingly out of nowhere. They found work
dancing at one of the capital’s fanciest night clubs and
provided very expensive escort services. That was all.
Nothing on where they came from, or how they lived before.
The only lead was the nightclub where the twins worked.
That was where the wounded Consortium spy died - and both
Loray sisters were working that day. But that was the extent
of their findings; no trace of credit history, no bank accounts
outside Tiamat, no medical insurance, no school transcripts or
police records. Ghosts. This all pointed to either operative
identities without any extensive background work
or
fugitives from the law trying to clean the slate.
This all led Nave to believe that Loray sisters might very
well be enemy spies, hiding behind the harmless whore
masks. Might be, but… why would they be recalled from their
post, then? And why this strange point of infiltration, a night
club? Information gathering through pillow talk? Possibly.
Could it be just a meeting spot? Then why would they be
moved after the agent’s death? It would have been more
sensible and much safer to just leave them in place so they

wouldn’t attract attention. Just a pair of expensive hookers
who accidentally learned something Consortium was
interested in? Then why would they run from the corporate
soldiers? And what’s with the modified DNA? Were they just
First Wave descendants or a product of some genetic lab in
Earth Dominion?
Questions, questions… And not a single answer. The
only thing Nave could be sure about was that the dead spy,
dead pilots and dead soldiers are somehow connected to Loray
sisters. All he had to do was find out how. And that’s why he
was flying to New Plymouth.

∆∆∆

Unlike

most people from his home world, Graham
didn’t understand all the worship and awe bestowed upon the
Union capital. So it’s a large inhabited planet. So the
government is there. So what? What about it? Oh, the hub of
all life, center of civilization and culture? But has anyone ever
asked those trying to maintain law and order what life in the
capital was really like? For cops and security forces on any
large planet - whether it was Union, Consortium or halfmythical Earth Dominion - the glamour of metropolitan life
just meant an endless parade of ugliness. Killers, drug dealers,
slave traders, pimps, smugglers, terrorists of all kinds - that
was the capital for any law enforcement officer. As for culture
and civilization… they were up there somewhere, too far to
see.
“Welcome to the gutter,” a CI officer dressed in a light
blue uniform with captain’s pips greeted Graham cheerfully.
”I’m Captain Mont. Just Carl for colleagues.”
“Lieutenant Nave, Sir…” Graham started out of habit, but
caught himself, stammered and re-introduced himself without
the pomp.
“Graham. Nice to meet you.”

They walked to the car.
“Sadly, we were too late… the info didn’t get here until
after the liner has landed.” Carl said. “We questioned the crew
and found out something interesting: your Loray sisters
shagged all the richest specimens of male in first class.”
“What do you mean, shagged? ” Nave was confused by
the local jargon.
“I mean, screwed.” Mont explained happily. “They left
with one Mr. Sedrick Bullitt, an executive director at some
construction firm, and left with one Larst Tweed, an owner of
an underwear distribution company. While in flight, they had
affairs with a fruit merchant, a canned fish manufacturer and a
Hephaestian track and field champion.”
“This makes no sense.” Graham muttered as he studied a
data pad Mont gave him. “If they are agents, what would they
need a track and field athlete for?”
“No idea,” Carl shrugged. “But they made so much
money, it hurt me to look at the final tally. And the most
curious thing is that every single john swears up and down that
it was worth it. Maybe some secret Earth skills?”
He guffawed and slapped Graham’s shoulder.
“Our guys left to get Tweed, so they should bring him
and both girls soon.” Carl continued. “Then you can lean on
them to your heart’s content.” He smiled just as Graham
opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t argue, they are yours; you
earned it.”
Graham shut up, nodded and hastily pretended to study
the data pad to hide a happy grin spreading all over his face.
“Let’s get you checked in and then we can go talk to
these ladies. Don’t forget to ask what it is they do, for that
kind of money.
The department insists on a crime
reenactment!”
It took embarrassed Nave a moment to come up with an
answer.

“Let’s just go straight to interrogation,” He finally
managed. “I slept on the way here.”
“Oh, I get it.” Carl nodded, perfectly straight-faced. “It’s
better to study their arts sooner rather than later.”
Graham’s father, a mining engineer, would often say
“Don’t say things too early, you’ll jinx it.” The moment Nave
stepped over the threshold at New Plymouth HQ, he saw the
wisdom of that saying once again. The news of Tweed and
Loray twins kidnapped in the middle of the city felt like a bean
bag to the forehead. Who took them was unclear: witness
reports were very inconsistent, some said it were bandits,
others claimed they saw slavers from Eden, and - that one
made the least sense - Consortium replicants.
“Holy shit!” Carl summed up Graham’s thoughts most
eloquently.

Chapter 10
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

It was Blaze’s idea to rent a hotel room on the outskirts
of the city, in a pretty bad neighborhood. Needless to say, he
stole that one from one of the books he read back in the day,
ignoring Chimbick’s disapproval and grumbling about useless
waste of time. Now sergeant’s opinion on the subject changed
quite drastically.
They chose a hotel in a neighborhood shaded red on the
tourist map to indicate extreme danger. The guide’s author
cautioned the visitors against exploring such places, pointing
out that even the police preferred to avoid venturing into these
parts unless they absolutely had to. This was perfect for the
replicants, since they needed a secure base of operations.
“The Lair” hotel staff didn’t ask any questions. All that
the manager was asking was payment up front and no shooting
in the rooms. The replicants chose a room with a fire escape
just outside the windows, which gave them a way to leave and
come back unseen.
They reached the hotel on foot; the car was abandoned on
the outskirts of town, and its autopilot programmed with a
convoluted route to the other side of town. The sisters were
made to wear the cloaks replicants used earlier to hide the
armors and then led through dark stinking alleys, always
picking the dirtiest route. Replicants themselves seemingly
disappeared into thin air. Their armors’ stealth feature ensured
camouflage so good that the only way to spot them was by a
slight haze in the air that appeared when they moved.
Having reached a particularly nasty alleyway, choked
with garbage and filth, Blaze, who took the point, looked
around, jumped and pulled down a fire escape ladder.
“Follow me, ma’am.” He called out from the bottom
landing.
The twins looked up with the same expression of
desperation, then silently took off their ruined heels and

started climbing.
The suite consisted of two rooms, an unbelievably filthy
kitchen and a bathroom. The large room was proudly called “a
parlor” and had a fold out couch and a couple of threadbare
armchairs to prove it. The smaller one, the so called bedroom,
contained a similarly shabby king size bed with covers that
obviously haven’t been changed since the day this planet was
colonized.
“Please take a seat.” Chimbick gestured to the couch once
the group climbed through the window.
Replicants turned off the stealth mode, but had no
intention of getting out of armor or even helmets.
With the same grim obedience, the sisters complied.
Their former glamour was gone without a trace; dresses were
torn and dirty, hair tangled and full of sticks and leaves. The
couch stank of dust and something horrible. Svitari leaned
back and grimaced slightly when the threadbare upholstery
brushed against a fresh scrape on her arm. Pretty much every
move caused them to wince - adrenaline wore off and the after
effects of the beating they received became more and more
obvious.
Sergeant took a seat across the room from them and
started playing with a knife. His thoughts seemed to be
spinning just like the blade in his hand. Should he ask the
sisters why they are so valuable to the Security Service or just
stay out of it? Counterintelligence generally doesn’t like
strangers sticking their noses in their business. On the other
hand, the mission is at stake. And perhaps it’s possible to
complete it without having to drag these two bundles of
trouble all over creation. For example, if the implants are the
only important thing, they could chop the heads off and freeze
them. Or rip out the implant itself and dispose of the bodies.
Unfortunately, the scanner clearly showed that the
implants were Consortium made, which meant that any
attempt to interfere without a proper access code would lead
to a complete data wipe.

A pity. It would have been a lot easier and safer to carry
two heads instead of these two “courtesans”. Sleeping for
money, would you look at that… And he’s stuck racking his
brain trying to plot a route across the entire Foundation
Union. Does he need to drag them at all? Perhaps the
valuable part is not the implants, but some information the
mutts have? Then it could be easier to beat the information
out of them and then dispose of the carriers, just to make sure
they wouldn’t talk. That meant taking a risk and sticking his
nose in CI business.
Chimbick spun the knife one last time and pointed it at
the one called Angela.
“Why is Consortium Security Service so interested in
you, ma’am?” he asked.
“There’s some important information saved on our
implants.” Angela replied without hesitation or any hint of
resistance. “I don’t know what it is”.
Replicants made a mental note that this mutt was more
eager to try and interact; the other preferred to remain silent.
Chimbick took a moment to process this information. He
was no longer angry, thinking mainly about finding a way
home. It didn’t seem possible to separate the data from its
carriers, so the sisters’ status in his eyes changed. They
became not quite allies, but protected persons at the very least,
and had to be treated as such. Of course, trusting the twins
wasn’t even remotely possible.
Sergeant got up and put the knife away. Svitari flinched
away when he moved and immediately winced in pain.
Chimbick stared in confusion for a moment, but then
remembered that humans were far more fragile than replicants;
even though the force of his generously distributed blows was
carefully measured, he could have inflicted some injuries.
He removed the medical scanner pad from his belt.
“Please remain still, ma’am.” He warned and began
scanning.

The girls weren’t just still - they turned to stone, terrified
to make the slightest move. Chimbick ran the scanner over
them, confirmed that there were no injuries aside from scrapes
and bruises and opened his medical kit pouch.
“You have to undress, ma’am.” He opened a packet of bio
bandage. “We must treat your injuries. Are you allergic to any
medications?”
The girls shook their heads and began undressing meekly,
trying not to worry the multitude of fresh scrapes. They were
moving listlessly, like well made androids and not living
creatures.
“Sarge, you completely terrified them.”
admonished his brother quietly over the comm.

Blaze

The way twins were moving reminded the replicant of his
own childhood. Daily medical exams, doctor’s hands,
merciless and unfeeling. A chance to be deemed defective,
only fit for custodial jobs in the barracks… or sent to be
scrapped. His brothers, moving just as mechanically as the
Loray sisters were now.
“Shut up, Blaze.” Sergeant snarled back. “Give me the
injector. And take care of the other one.”
Chimbick was thinking of their childhood as well, Blaze
realized.
He handed over the injector and set to work helping
Svitari. Unlike his brother, Blaze took off the armored gloves
and wiped his hands down with a sanitizing towel, almost like
a real medic.
“Their skin is like silk!” He informed Chimbick as soon
as he touched the girl with an ungloved hand.
This part of the conversation was not audible to the
humans - the helmets let replicants communicate in their own
isolated world.
“How would you know what silk is like?” Sergeant
barked back. “Get to work, or I’ll just send you to fix the
toilet.”

Blaze shut up and set to work, but he couldn’t resist the
temptation to touch the girl’s skin again when his brother
wasn’t looking.
Chimbick was not interested in non-regulation thoughts;
all he cared about was the condition of their wards. Having
finished treating Svitari’s scrapes and bruises, sergeant
scanned her again for good measure; finally convinced that her
health was not in any great danger, he left the room and came
back with a backpack, just in time for Blaze to be done with
treating Angela.
“Ma’am.” He set the backpack on the floor and moved
away. “Select something to wear. Later we will procure
clothing in your size.”
The girls didn’t dare rifle through the improvised
wardrobe; they just grabbed the first couple of brightly
patterned shirts that looked completely out of place next to
both armored figures of the replicants and the dingy room.
Both moved with a kind of reserved haste as they were getting
dressed, and both tried to avoid looking at Chimbick’s
motionless form. Interestingly, they didn’t seem to fear Blaze
as much.
“You know, sometimes I think you just enjoy being
mean.” Blaze observed. “I read that mutts scare their children
with stories of monsters living in closets and under beds.
Now that would be a perfect job for you, Sarge.”
Sergeant’s head snapped up. Six sensor rings - three on
each side of the faceplate, roughly where human eyes would
be - shone like real monster’s eyes.
“Well I am a monster. A freak with a terrifying muzzle.”
“I didn’t…” Blaze stammered, but Chimbick stopped
listening and went to pack away the med kit pouch.
The girls tossed their old clothes into the disposal unit,
only keeping the underwear. Replicants’ pants and shoes were
obviously too big, so the twins only took the shirts that looked
like short bathrobes on them. Blaze decided that this was a
good choice, while Chimbick noticed that once dressed, the

girls seemed more confident. He could see the difference in
their movements, poses, even looks.
“Take care of this mess,” he ordered Blaze. “Can’t even
sit down without risking infection. And stop staring at the
mutts.”
Blaze sighed and went to retrieve the supplies - cleaning
products, bed linens and a small repair kit. Hygienic
requirements were instilled into replicants’ brains at a
subconscious level. And since the putrid hotel suite was
considered a place of habitation, even temporary, it had to be
brought to compliance.
First Blaze changed the bed sheets and without any
respect for priceless antiques tossed the old ones into the
disposal hutch. After that he shooed the sisters off the couch
and started disinfecting it. A while later Blaze looked over the
fruits of his labor and turned to the sergeant, waiting for new
orders.
“Miss Loray, ma’am.” Chimbick picked up a civilian
comm he bought at the space port. “Would you like some
supper?”
Both girls stared at him in disbelief.
“You decide whether we have supper or not.” Angela’s
voice was strangely lifeless.
Chimbick already was not in the best of moods. This
situation replicants were completely unprepared for, a vague
idea of a mission, those civilians hanging off his neck like a
dead weight - all this was a tangled mess he was supposed to
untangle, and fast. And the only help was Blaze with his
suddenly valuable knowledge gleaned from fiction books.
Some source of information, but that was all he had. Loray?
So far, they only caused trouble and it was highly unlikely
anything would change in that regard. All this combined made
him flare up in anger over a small thing he would have
brushed off any other day.
He pointed a finger at Angela as if it was a gun and
growled. “If I think it necessary to starve you to death - I will.

Without talking to you. Understood?”
Angela nodded.
“Yes.”
Sergeant made another mental note: unlike Angela,
whose eyes remained fixed on him every second, Svitari was
often looking at her sister, as if waiting for her to make a
decision. Replicant decided that Angela had the higher rank in
the group.
“And now I repeat; would you like some supper?” He
asked again, forcing his anger to subside.
“It would be nice.” Svitari smiled hesitantly, as if testing
the boundaries of what they were allowed to do.
Somewhat forced and very faint, this smile was quite
different from those she flashed so generously at various
strangers on board the Sun Queen.
“Get it done.”
Chimbick tossed the comm to Blaze, picked up the repair
kit and headed to the bathroom. A moment later, his moving
about and clanging of tools could be heard.
“Forgive the Sergeant.” Blaze said quietly. “He can be…
abrasive sometimes. This is the first time we’re interacting
with humans informally.”
The sisters looked at him, obviously surprised.
“You aren’t human?” Angela asked warily. “Who then?”
“Replicants, ma’am. Ares MK-5 model. Biorobots, if
that’s easier.”
“Biorobots?” Svitari echoed. She was looking at the
replicant more directly than she dared just a short while ago.
“Are you metal inside? Circuits for brains?”
“We are almost identical to humans, inside and outside.
There is a number of necessary implants we’re equipped with,
but other than that, we are genetically engineered. Biological
material is put into an incubator and then it develops like a
normal human fetus, over nine months. After that, our growth

is set to double speed until we reach chronological age of ten
Earth years, then it’s returned to normal human rate. At this
point, our biological age is equal to that of a twenty year old
human.”
He stopped and studied the women, waiting for their
reaction. Contrary to what he expected, he didn’t see any
signs of disgust or disdain. Just thoughtfulness and a bit of
bewilderment.
“Why do you call yourselves biorobots, then?” Angela
asked. “I mean, if you don’t really have robotic parts?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.” Blaze admitted honestly. “We
didn’t choose this term. That’s what humans call us, and that’s
what we’re called in official documents, or property
inventories.”
The sisters’ faces were worth a second look at that
moment. For a brief second, bewilderment in their eyes was
replaced by such burning rage that the replicant instinctively
moved his hand onto the pistol handle. But in just a second,
the rage was gone.
“Property?” Svitari repeated quietly. “Whose property
are you, then?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Blaze replied warily, still not sure what
caused such a reaction. He did, however, moved his hand
away from the weapon. “Property of Consortium Security
Service, physical protection department.”
“All hail the progressive Consortium.” Svitari said. He
tone seemed strange to Blaze, but to his disappointment, she
didn’t say anything else.
He suppressed a sigh. A pity. This was the first
somewhat normal conversation since the crash landing on
Hephaestus.
He activated the civilian comm and found a list of food
delivery services, just to become completely paralyzed by
seemingly endless choices. It was much simpler in books - the
characters just ordered food to be brought to their rooms. But
who knew there were so many different suppliers?

Blaze clicked on a random name in the list and stared at
all the unfamiliar names.
“Uhh…” He glanced towards the bathroom furtively and
made his confession. “I need your help, ma’am.”
The girls studied Blaze thoughtfully when they thought
he wasn’t looking. Whoever they were, they didn’t know
about the replicants’ helmets providing a full 360 view
through a system of sensors.
“How can we help you?” Svitari asked in a suddenly
different, yet pleasant voice.
Blaze noted that the young women noticeably relaxed
once Chimbick was out of the room.
Which was
understandable, his brother was capable of terrifying even
other replicants, mutts didn’t really have a chance here. He
didn’t even have to threaten anyone; the sergeant himself was
a walking threat, especially after a wound that resulted in a
horrible scar on Chimbick face - and also in being called a
freak by the monitoring group at the base.
“Teach me how to order food,” Blaze asked.
clothing, too.”

“And

The sisters looked befuddled.
“You never used virtual stores?” Angela asked finally.
“Do you live on an uninhabited asteroid or something?”
“A planetoid, ma’am.” The joke went completely over
Blaze’s head.
“I’ll show you.” Svitari approached the replicant
carefully, as if he were a dangerous predator. “Food is simple,
just set the filter to waiting time and price range. Because you
don’t want to wait for food to get to you from across town,
right? Now… “
The replicant was soaking up new information like a
sponge. Food delivery system turned out to be pretty obvious,
Blaze would have been able to use it by age of two. Civilian
clothing proved a lot more difficult. All replicants’ gear was
identical, all had the same size and function. Now his head
was spinning from all the different markings that signified

size, manufacturers, materials and so on. Half the time Blaze
couldn’t tell women’s clothing from men’s. Finally, he gave
up and asked the sisters to pick something suitable.
They hesitated for a moment and then ordered several
pairs of identical dresses that covered them from neck to
ankles. Considering the multitude of scrapes and bruises
covering their bodies, that seemed like a reasonable choice
Blaze agreed with.
Overall, he liked ordering food much better. His stomach
was growling just from looking at picture menus, but the
choice was once again a problem. Svitari’s advice to order
something familiar was rather useless. Replicants’ diet was
not very sophisticated; back at the base on Aegis or when
traveling on transport ships, they would get a bowl of pureed
soup three times a day. The food contained all the necessary
nutrients and vitamins, but had no taste at all. When on
combat missions, replicants would eat the same soup from
thermos bottles mounted on the armor or individual ration
cubes, also completely tasteless.
Blaze noticed some of the dishes they tried on Sun
Queen, but didn’t say anything. He really wanted to try
something new. For the longest time Blaze fantasized about
ordering things he read about in books - something like a “hot
dog” or “burger”, but he wasn’t entirely sure Chimbick would
approve of this selection method.
“Have you tried any of these?..” He decided to enlist
Loray’s help, but was interrupted.
“Pick something that has the recommended calories and
vitamins.”
Chimbick entered the room and addressed the twins.
“Shower is functional, ma’am. You can use it if you
like. It has real water.”
The last part was said with unmistakable delight, audible
even with the vocoder. For the replicants, used to dispersion
showers - a mix of air and water delivered into a shower pod

under pressure - a regular water shower seemed like storybook
luxury. But of course, it was nothing compared to a bath…
“You go first, I’ll help them with the order.” Angela said
to her sister.
Svitari nodded and left the replicants to learn the fine arts
of ordering takeout.

Chapter 11
Planet New Plymouth. Hotel in the slums

Supper

was served for three - the twins and Blaze.
Chimbick took his food and went to the other room, not
wanting to be stared at. Blaze was disappointed, but saying
anything was useless. He didn’t quite understand why
Chimbick was so bothered by humans’ reaction to his looks,
but there was no point in asking - the sergeant would either
avoid the subject or just tell him to shut up.
Blaze unfastened the helmet and hesitated a moment
before removing it, wondering how the girls would react to
his own face. Would they remember that chance meeting
onboard the Sun Queen? Would the beast-like eyes scare
them?
The terrifying six-eyed faceplate parted, revealing a
young human face. Almost a human face. Nothing special - a
man of about twenty, dark hair cropped close in a military
buzz cut. The only distinguishing feature were the eyes green, with vertical pupil and a very large iris, so that the
whites would only show if he was looking upwards or
sideways. But that in itself wasn’t unique, all the inhabitants
of the Union planet Tiamat had a similar naturalization side
effect.
Replicant glanced at the sisters.
“What do people say here before they eat? The books
describe different things…” Suddenly embarrassed by the
girls’ looks, he stared at the plate.
Right now Blaze sincerely regretted giving in to his
curiosity and desire to interact with civilians instead of joining
Chimbick for the meal. They were staring at him openly, just
like he did not too long ago when they stood there undressed.
But now it was his turn to feel naked, without the familiar
defense a helmet offered.

“Your eyes are beautiful.” Svitari finally said and then,
much to Blaze’s relief, turned her attention to the food
containers. “You look like a Tiamatan. Do you have special
vision?”
The other sister was concentrating on the food as well;
Blaze was thankful for that.
“Night vision, ma’am.” He answered hesitantly. “Similar
to large felines from Earth. Hearing and sense of smell are
enhanced, too.”
He pulled the box with his share of food closer. The
replicant was holding the spoon in his fist, like a child, and
ignored all other utensils completely. His table manners
seemed to cause a lot more shock than the eyes. The sisters
stared at Blaze for a moment, but refrained from comments.
“What’s your name?” Angela asked.
“RS Three-Five-Five-Zero-Nine-Zero, ma’am.” Blaze
answered and immediately re-stuffed his mouth.
“Is this your ID number?” Svitari seemed surprised.
“Serial number.” Chimbick replied from the doorway.
Unlike Blaze, he had the helmet on again.
“We don’t have names.” Sergeant continued.
Even the vocoder couldn’t hide his anger. Blaze sniffed
guiltily; it was clear who caused sergeant’s bad mood this
time.
Chimbick picked up a bottle of water, studied the label
for a moment and then offered an explanation.
“We are not to pretend to be human, because we aren’t.”
The girls’ shock was so great that they forgot to be too
afraid to look at the sergeant.
“Even slaves and domestic animals have names.” Angela
sounded hoarse.
The six-eyed faceplate turned in her direction.
“Weapons just have serial numbers.”

The young woman looked away. Sergeant grunted and
left the room.
“Blaze.” His voice called out a moment later.
“Sarge?”
“Meal time is for eating, not talking.”
“Yes, Sarge.” Blaze sounded guilty again.
Trying not to look at the twins, he renewed his chewing
effort.
The rest of the meal was spent in silence. Once the last
morsel was done with, Blaze put the helmet back on and didn’t
utter another word all night.

∆∆∆

The sisters were assigned the bed to sleep on, while the
replicants scrubbed the historical strata of dirt from the rest of
the suite. They also took care of home protection by installing
plasma mines on the window sill. As a result, by the time the
twins got up in the morning, one could stand on the floor
without risking multiple infections, but the window became
very unsafe to be near.
Of course, the sisters weren’t left unsupervised even for a
moment; a miniature drone was hiding under the bed all night.
Cleaning finally done, Chimbick sent Blaze off to sleep on the
couch. He himself couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to;
sergeant’s head was hurting from trying to find the optimal
way out of this situation.
Taking a ship by force was out of the question.
Replicants of this model weren’t taught to pilot space ships or
navigate the galaxy. Besides, Chimbick had no idea how to
get a stolen ship through the Gate security. Loray would be no
help, they couldn’t even figure out an army comm. So the
only viable option was to find some communication
equipment, signal the base somehow and wait for extraction or

new orders. Therefore, they would need to lay low in this
town and blend in with the locals.
“So we’ll have to learn how to live like a civilian…”
Sergeant muttered thoughtfully.
To help with that, he planned to send Blaze shopping with
one of the sisters. It would have been easier to just order
clothes on the Net, but Chimbick wanted to kill two birds with
one stone here - give Blaze a chance to practice blending in
and perhaps gather more information about civilian life. As an
added bonus, this would give him a chance to study how the
twins behaved when separated from each other.
He
remembered Angela’s screams when she begged him to
cripple her instead of her sister. This self-sacrificing attitude
he could understand - he would be just as ready to die for his
brothers. At the same time, this affection gave him powerful
leverage that he was going to test. If they had to move among
the civilians, he would have to prevent any possible attempt at
escape or disobedience. Chimbick had a very vague idea of
civilian life, but it seemed clear by now that threatening
women with weapons or using physical force in public would
be frowned upon by the rest of the population. Therefore, all
pressure would have to be psychological.
Much to the replicants’ relief, the morning started quite
peacefully. The girls seemed to have recovered from
yesterday’s ordeal and looked pretty content. They even
smiled and said “Good morning” to the replicants. Of course,
it wasn’t clear why this morning was deemed to be good, but
Chimbick decided to agree with it for now.
The peaceful surroundings and cooperative behavior from
the sisters made them relax a little bit. Blaze was happily
chatting,
having
forgotten
all
about
yesterday’s
admonishment. A slightly sleepy Chimbick, half-listening to
Blaze’s blathering, ordered breakfast and stared out of the
window, mesmerized by a sight previously unseen - a sunrise
in atmosphere.
Replicants spent their lives either under domes or
underground on Aegis; Blaze and Chimbick have seen
atmosphere twice - on Hephaestus, where they spent less than

a day, and here, on New Plymouth. On Tiamat they never had
a chance to leave the ship. Now Chimbick was entranced by
the system’s star rising over the buildings. He even opened
the faceplate to remove all distractions and enjoy the sight
fully.
Behind his back, the others kept talking about nothing in
particular. Sergeant’s ears caught an unfamiliar term; without
turning away from the sunrise, he asked:
“What’s a lap dance, ma’am?”
Replicants were familiar with the concept of dance; their
physical training included gymnastic exercise done to music.
During their trip on the Sun Queen, he did discover the
civilian idea of dance, but wouldn’t understand the point of
crowds moving to music. He and Blaze came up with a theory
that this might have been a social activity of some kind.
However, the term “lap dance” didn’t fit with any familiar
concept or theory.
“It’s hard to explain,” Svitari purred.
you…”

“I better show

A second later something softly touched his neck, only
covered with a tight fitting collar made of ballistic fiber. The
world imploded. No more sun shining over the roofs, no more
gentle morning. He was back in the training hall; pain in a
cruelly locked arm and instructor’s growl:
“If you let someone get behind your back - you’re a
corpse.”
Angela’s muffled cry returned Chimbick to reality. He
looked at Svitari as she writhed in pain, moved the blade away
from her neck and snarled.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
The morning’s charm was ruined. Replicant closed the
faceplate and put the knife away.
“Download a dictionary, you psycho!” Svitari hissed
with sudden anger as she crawled away from him.

The adrenalin still flooding Chimbick’s veins demanded
that this act of disobedience must be squashed immediately
and brutally. He stepped back slowly, looming over Svitari,
who cowered and waited for a blow.
“What?” He asked quietly.
This time, his emotionless voice sounded especially
horrifying. So he was especially surprised when someone
dared to step between him and his target.
“Please forgive her.” Angela begged softly. “She was just
scared.”
Chimbick realized that even the faceplate he spent his
whole life hiding behind was not a barrier for the plea in
Angela’s eyes. He took a deep breath and was surprised to
discover that he had no desire to raise a hand and sweep her
away.
Next moment it dawned on him what he just did. For
him, Svitari’s touch meant a threat. But not for her, someone
who lived in a normal world. A normal world that existed in
parallel with the replicants’ world, but never intersected it.
Until now.
“I…” The third discovery Chimbick made in the last half
minute was that he couldn’t find words to express his
thoughts.
But no explanation was needed. “Thank you…” Angela
breathed out, barely above a whisper, and helped her sister up.
Chimbick wanted to apologize, explain that it was a
reflex, but… A soldier in command must never show
weakness, hesitation or doubt. This was beaten into him. A
commander is a role model and absolute authority to his
soldiers. For higher ranking officers he is a fighter, ready for
anything, fearless and steadfast. All the rest… just keep it to
yourself.
Sergeant turned sharply and left the room.
Once alone, he plopped down into a chair and rested his
chin on a fist to think. The thoughts were not cheerful at all;
even now he managed to make a mistake for no reason.

What’s going to happen when they are in a crowd? How are
they ever going to blend in if a simple touch makes him lose it
so completely?
Sergeant remembered the way people on the liner were
behaving and felt a lump of ice in his stomach. He was going
to fail the mission. The moment someone taps his shoulder,
all the “blending in with the civilians” is going to be over.
Neither he, nor his brother had any training in working
undercover. Therefore, they must fill the gaps in their
education best they can on their own.
Decision made, Chimbick called out to the other room:
“Miss Angela, ma’am? Come in.”
The young woman appeared with such haste that it was
apparent - she feared brutal punishment for the slightest delay.
This was so different from her normal behavior that Chimbick
became even more convinced in the merits of his decision. He
must learn how to mimic a civilian.
“Take a seat.” He gestured to the other chair. “Miss
Angela, you and your sister should teach us how to behave in
civilian society.”
Angela sat down and studied the replicant doubtfully.
“It… it won’t be easy.”
“It’s necessary.” Sergeant corrected her. “What will you
need?”
She thought for a moment.
“You must let us behave like normal people,” she said
finally.
“And what do you behave like right now?” Chimbick
couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Like slaves.” Angela replied softly.
Chimbick had to think for a moment again. He knew
about the idea of slavery - their classes included a short course
on Eden with its feudal slave owning society. But since that
course paid most attention to the planet’s defenses and military

potential, the sergeant didn’t know much about the slaves of
how they were supposed to behave.
“How do slaves behave?” He asked just in case.
Angela stared at him in disbelief, but didn’t dare answer
with a question.
“Slaves don’t have any choices.” She explained. “They
do what the master says. They can’t have their own opinions
or be in charge of their life. Their bodies and lives belong to
the master. “
Now it was Chimbick’s turn to stare in disbelief.
“But they are humans?” he asked.
“They are considered things.”
“But… a human can’t be a thing.” Sergeant said with
absolute conviction. “Biorobots are things.”
“Well, here’s your first lesson in civilian life,” Angela
joked mirthlessly. “Every planet has its own code.”
Utterly shocked, Chimbick was trying to process this
information. So this “slave owning society” implies owning
people like property. Like replicants. Unthinkable.
“Are they behind on robotics research?” He asked trying
to come up with a logical explanation for this.
“There was a certain regression in technology on many
First Wave worlds.” Angela began explaining. “Some
bounced back after Consortium showed up, some developed
other sciences… There are planets where part of the
population doesn’t even have electricity. So only several
Union planets have developed robotics.”
Chimbick realized that he’s been comparing these slaves
to himself and other replicants. The similarities were striking..
and for some reason very unpleasant.
“Why do you think you are in the same position as slaves
now?” He asked the next question.
Angela looked away.

“We are forbidden to speak freely and express our
opinions. Our movements and communications are limited.
You can beat, mutilate or kill us at any moment.”
“Your behavior was within parameters for enemy
operatives. That’s how we were taught to treat the enemy. You
forced us to take interrogation to stage three.”
“Normal people don’t behave like that. The law prohibits
people to torture, mutilate and kill each other. Or kidnap
people and imprison them. If you don’t like someone, that’s
your problem. If they broke the law, you go to the police. Use
of force is the state’s prerogative.”
“What do you mean when you say we should let you
behave like civilians?” Chimbick decided to return to the
original topic.
“Say and do what we want and how we want. Within
reason, that is.” Angela clarified. “If you want to blend in,
you shouldn’t react to jokes, rudeness or insults with physical
force. You need to learn how to understand jokes and other
common behavioral norms.”
“Why would people be rude to us? Is this a behavioral
norm?” Sergeant was once again befuddled.
“It is very common,” the girl nodded. “It’s considered
bad manners, but people do it all the time. Generally, it’s
typical for humans to smile in someone’s face and hate them at
the same time.”
“The way you hate me now?” Chimbick inquired.
“Am I smiling?” Angela replied with a question and a
suddenly open look straight into replicant’s face.
He grunted and went quiet, thinking.
“Okay.” He agreed finally. “Behave the way civilians do,
and RS-355090 and I will learn from you.”
“If you promise not to resort to violence the moment you
don’t like something.”
“I promise,” Chimbick agreed. Then he risked a joke.
“We’ll just kill you. Quickly and painlessly.”

Judging by the way Angela tensed up, she wasn’t
impressed with that.
“Was that a bad joke?” Sergeant asked, crestfallen. He
personally thought it was quite good.
“There’s an awful lot to learn…” Angela sighed.

Chapter 12
Planet New Plymouth. Counterintelligence Service
HQ

Businessman Lars Tweed was found three hours after
the kidnapping. Or rather, his corpse, tracked by the comm
signal. Also the crime scene experts discovered tire tracks and
signs of struggle. And no trace of the Loray sisters.
“So what do you think?” Carl asked on the way back to
the HQ.
“We need to find these Loray women. Let’s send out an
APB.”
Graham went silent and stared out of the window. His
head hurt from the questions that only Loray could answer. Or
their mysterious kidnappers, for that matter.
“Do we want the vultures on this?” Mont asked.
“Yeah.” Nave nodded. “Let them squawk on all channels,
an upstanding businessman brutally murdered, two innocent
maidens kidnapped, that sort of thing. The public likes a
damsel in distress.”

∆∆∆
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

Just as expected, the news of his new task - learning the
finer points of civilian life - thrilled Blaze. Chimbick found
his brother sitting on the couch with Svitari and cheerfully
telling her some story. His helmet was open and sergeant
could see the shining smile. Svitari, however, reacted to
Chimbick’s arrival with a wary glance, and even hearing his
news didn’t change the mistrust in her eyes.

The ordered clothing finally arrived, so the twins were
able to change. Demure dark blue dresses, almost floor length,
hid all the evidence of yesterday’s capture and interrogation.
Looking like this, they could walk around town without
risking undue attention from the police or overly observant
citizens.
Normal interaction, however, proved to be more difficult.
The girls kept quiet and just answered replicant’s questions.
Or rather, Blaze’s questions; Chimbick just listened and once
the next meal was delivered, he took his portion and
disappeared into the bedroom.
There he settled in a chair with a view of a window and
began eating - slowly, enjoying both the unfamiliar taste and a
chance to eat without hurrying anywhere.
However, his solitude was not to last. The door opened a
bit and a woman’s voice asked warily:
“May I come in?”
“Stop!” Sergeant snapped the faceplate closed and called
out again: “Enter.”
The girl nodded, but remained standing in the doorway,
as if not particularly eager to share a space with Chimbick.
“We want to know what happens next. Are we going to
live in this flophouse forever, until we grow old and all die on
the same day?”
“That’s unlikely.” Chimbick replied.
“We’ll be
decommissioned and scrapped long before you grow old. And
why are we supposed to all die on the same day? Is this a joke
or an idiom?”
“It’s an idiom of sorts,” the girl replied after a long
pause. “That’s how fairy tales typically end.”
“Fairy tales? What is that?” Sergeant asked curiously
Another pause.
“Doesn’t matter. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I was going to eat my lunch…” Chimbick cast a
longing look at the food. “But I see that’s not to be. Let’s go
join the others.”
The living room looked quite idyllic: Blaze and Svitari
were chatting and drinking coffee. But as soon as Chimbick
stepped into the room, she stopped talking and looked at him
warily.
“Miss Svitari,” Chimbick began. “You and RS…”
“That’s me.” Blaze interrupted and immediately shut up,
realizing that he clearly overstepped.
“Exactly.” Sergeant’s tone made the temperature in the
room drop below freezing. “As I was saying, you are going
shopping for the rest of the things we need. I will plan the
next stage. Miss Angela will help me. Will you, Miss
Angela?”
She nodded without much enthusiasm.
“Great. Then get ready and do me a favor: let me finish
my meal in peace. Alright?”
Chimbick turned and marched back to the bedroom.
“He’s not in a good mood for some reason…” Blaze
muttered.
“Is he ever any different?” Rie looked up at him in
surprise.
“Yeah. He even smiles sometimes.” Blaze got up and
started digging through his backpack for something to wear.
“Miss Angela, I do hope to find you in good health once I’m
back…”
“I can hear everything.” Sergeant chimed in immediately
through the comm link. “Blaze, take the mission seriously.
And don’t hesitate to remind Miss Svitari that if she
misbehaves, Miss Angela will be the one I punish for it. Note
her reaction to the threat, then report to me.”

∆∆∆

Freedom changed Svitari completely.

As soon as she
and Blaze got out of the slums and joined the strolling crowds,
she came back to life. Eyes shining, lips curling up in a smile
more and more often… she even moved more freely and
gracefully. Blaze caught himself thinking that he liked her
much better this way. Much better. With a pang of sadness,
he thought that coming back to the sergeant would turn her
back into a cornered animal.
“Say, what should I call you?” Svitari asked when all the
strangers were out of earshot. “I would like to see people’s
faces when I address you by a serial number… but I do want
to go back to my sister.”
“Blaze.” The replicant responded eagerly. “That’s what
my brothers call me.”
Svitari chuckled. “So you have names after all.”
“Yeah.” Blaze nodded. “But humans don’t know about it.
It’s against protocol. And don’t tell Sarge.”
“It will be our little secret.” The girl winked and headed
into a shopping center before Blaze could answer.
There was nothing for him to do but follow now.
“Shopping”, as Svitari called this new activity, went
fairly smoothly. As they went along, Rie explained the finer
points of civilian behavior norms. Blaze’s head was ringing
like a bell from all the new information, but he dutifully tried
to absorb the multitude of conventionalities, even though he
considered them completely pointless.
Distracted by battling his own brain, the replicant didn’t
even notice that he followed Svitari through a door decorated
with an unfamiliar pictogram - a small circle on top of a
triangle. Beyond the door he found a public restroom, not
much different from those he has seen before. Same rows of
stalls, same mirrors over the sinks… perhaps the cleaning
products smelled better than what he was used to.
Overloaded with new knowledge, he didn’t quite consider that

the civilian customs regarding public restrooms were
somewhat different from the barracks back home.
Svitari cast a mischievous glance at the replicant as he
took up a spot next to a wall to wait and disappeared into a
stall. Almost immediately, the door next to it opened and a
conservatively dressed voluptuous woman emerged,
smoothing out her skirt as she walked. As soon as she raised
her head and saw the replicant, her face turned beet red.
“How dare you! Get out of here, you pervert! Police!
Police!”
That last part didn’t sound very convincing - there were
no police officers around. She must have counted on fear this
word instilled in any miscreants.
A muffled giggle could be heard from the stall where
Svitari disappeared, and panicked women’s voices from
several others.
“Ma’am?” Blaze stammered. “I’m sorry…
This is a public restroom, isn’t it?”

Ma’am…

“Are you really asking me that?!” The mutt was clearly
appalled by his insolence. “What does it look like? A
museum? Get out of here right this second!”
Two young women emerged from the stalls. One of them
tsked in disapproval and went to the sink, but the other joined
the screamer.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” She admonished the
replicant. “Remove yourself right now! Out the door!”
“My apologies, ma’am.” Blaze was completely
embarrassed. “I thought… I just saw the stalls… I’m so
sorry, ma’am…” He hurried out, feeling his face burn in
shame for such a mistake. Now he’s sure to get a talking to
from the sergeant as well, for not paying attention.
The worst part was that Blaze couldn’t leave the site of
his disgrace - he had to wait for Svitari. And she wasn’t in any
hurry to leave. Blaze felt the disapproving looks from the
women leaving the restroom and heard them whispering
various condemnations behind his back. Finally, Svitari

decided to emerge, and she was beaming. Not only did she
fully enjoy this little show, she took the time to do her makeup
as well.
“Baby,” She purred into replicant’s ear as they were
leaving the place of his disgrace. “This was wonderful. I
haven’t laughed so hard in a long time. Oh, you should have
seen your face…”
“Why did you do this, ma’am?” Blaze summoned all the
self-control he had to sound calm.
“Well, you told me to teach you to behave like a normal
person, didn’t you?” She made an innocent face. “You know,
people prank each other sometimes. You didn’t like my joke?”
She flashed a smile at him.
“Yes. Sergeant loved it, too.” Blaze returned the smile
and showed her the comm. “Now all that’s left to know is
what your sister is going to think.”
Immediately, the mischievous smile was gone from
Svitari’s face. Her eyes darted from Blaze to the comm.
“Oh, you should see your face!” the replicant laughed,
but didn’t even get a smile in return.
Blaze started to suspect that his joke may not have been
appreciated. He stopped laughing and inquired, somewhat
warily.
“Uh… that wasn’t funny?”
“Oh yeah, hilarious, if you’re into threats of violence.”
Svitari replied darkly. “Just what do expect from you
psychos…. Especially your sadist brother.”
“Don’t you dare call him that.” Blaze hissed, eyes locked
with Svitari’s.
“What should I call him then?” She sounded suddenly
angry. “The kind master? Merciful sir?”
If looks could kill, Blaze’s ashes would have been
scattered by the wind by now.

“Don’t you dare insult Sarge.” He almost growled,
fighting the urge to throttle this insolent brat. “He saved my
life, more than once. Are we clear? If you’re that brave - say it
to his face.”
“If I were that brave, I would have given you to the
authorities back on Hephaestus.” Svitari spat out and turned
away, ending the conversation.
Blaze wasn’t in the mood to talk either. Back home,
surrounded by brothers, he thought he was pretty funny and
the life of a party kind of person - but now he was starting to
suspect that he may not be the best company for humans.
Perhaps the code of conduct had a point, prohibiting replicants
any contact with civilian population.
Not a pleasant discovery at all. The short time spent just
interacting with Svitari let Blaze forget that he was not a
human being, but a product of military industrial complex.
Looking like a human created an illusion of being akin to
one. But when Blaze almost believed this was true, the reality
scattered that misconception brutally and put the replicant
back in his place. Unexpectedly, this really hurt.
Without looking at the young woman, he mumbled:
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We are not taught how to make jokes.
Or talk to people. We were made for war, not human
interaction.”
He snuck a glance at Svitari, trying to gauge the result of
his clumsy attempt at reconciliation. She was looking at him
with a mix of surprise and sadness.
“Didn’t work, it looks like,” the replicant thought with a
twinge of sorrow.
“Promise me that you will express your displeasure with
words, not threats to me or my sister.” Much to his surprise,
Svitari sounded rather friendly. “Then you’re forgiven.”
“As long as you don’t insult Sarge.” Blaze counteracted
with his own condition.
“Done.” Svitari agreed easily.

Too easily. Suspecting a trap, the replicant looked at the
girl again. She, in turn, was studying him.
“I’m not very good at reconciliation.” Blaze finally
admitted. “Do I need to say or do something else?”
The young woman chuckled merrily and winked.
“The guilty party usually buys something sweet for the
lady. And remember, the man is always the guilty party.”
She uttered this illogical statement very seriously, but
Blaze recognized a joke and smiled hesitantly. This condition
seemed harmless and very appealing.
“Something sweet like what?” He decided to clarify.
“Have you ever tried ice cream?”

Chapter 13
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

Chimbick was killing time at the computer terminal.

He
needed to know how the local law enforcement reacted to the
extraction operation, so the sergeant was watching the news.
And he didn’t like it one bit. After checking several news sites
just to make sure, he looked at the official press release from
local police department and finally spoke.
“Miss Angela, ma’am. We have a problem.”
With that, he showed her the screen with a news site. The
front page news for the day was a story of Lars Tweed,
brutally murdered by unknown suspects, and his companions,
kidnapped by same. Photos of the sisters were on the front
pages of all news sites, accompanied by sob stories of two
Consortium refugees. Whoever came up with this story did a
great job. Even Angela was moved nearly to tears by reading
her own biography. Stories changed from one media site to
another, but pretty much every article ended in a message of
support to the sisters, asking them to keep their spirits up and
promising imminent liberation. Some enterprising individuals
even started a “Help Loray sisters Fund” and were collecting
donations for future medical expenses and therapy that the
hostages would undoubtedly need after their ordeal.
“I don’t understand how we have a problem.” Angela
commented once she was done reading. “My sister and I are
victims here, as you can see. So this problem you speak of is
exclusively yours. “
Sergeant pulled up the crime report. Murders, rape,
robberies - all the human ugliness condensed into a dry
itemized list.
“These are the things that happened in the last 24 hours,
ma’am. And out of this list, you are the only ones who got this
kind of attention.” he began explaining. “All the news outlets
are talking about your kidnapping and nothing else. So this is

a coordinated information campaign. And someone is giving
the press details of your biography, too. Which means it’s not
the city police, they would never have been able to gather that
much information in the time that had passed. How close this
information to the truth is for you to judge, but the fact is, all
the media is reporting the same details… so they come from
the same source. The Union Counterintelligence. That means
the data in your implants is really important. That, in turn,
means that you and your sister really are in mortal danger, and
it’s more real than the danger you see in me. “
Angela, relaxed up until now, tensed again; her eyes
locked on the replicant.
“Why?”
“Your implants are locked, ma’am. Even Consortium
operatives couldn’t extract the data from them,” Sergeant
explained. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to deliver you
to Eldorado. This means the only way to break the lock is to
use the equipment they have at the Security Service HQ on
Eldorado. The Union doesn’t have such equipment, and any
attempt to extract the data will either cause your death, or
brain damage so extensive that it would be more humane to
just kill you. I’m sorry, Miss Angela, but I’m telling you the
truth.” Chimbick was absolutely sincere saying that.
Angela frowned.
“How do they even know about the implants?”
“Even Union technology can detect them,” the replicant
explained. “They will order you to provide full access to the
stored data. But you can’t do that, can you?”
Chimbick waited for the answer literally with bated
breath. Perhaps he was wrong and Loray can unlock the data?
Then he had a chance to deliver it to Eldorado even if they lost
the civilians.
“I can’t.” The answer was a disappointment. “I don’t
have any access to it at all. It’s as if it’s not there.”
Replicant sighed.

“And if you refuse to give access to this data willingly, it
will be extracted by force.”
“Damn…” Angela whispered. She crumpled into a chair
and held her head in despair. “Damn…”
Chimbick watched her silently, waiting for a decision. If
she realizes the necessity of cooperation, it could make the
mission a lot easier.
“Okay,” Angels said after a while.
She straightened up and looked at Chimbick.
“So we all have a problem, then. And what are we going
to do?”
Sergeant breathed a silent sigh of relief and almost
wished replicants had a religion so he could say a prayer in
thanks.
“As we planned, ma’am.” He said aloud. “Find a safe
route to get out of here, if there is one. Or get a message to
Consortium and hide until extraction. But now it’s more
difficult, our holograms are all over the news. “
“We should get new documents and change our looks.”
Angela suggested immediately.
The speed with which she came up with that made
Chimbick wonder. He was pretty sure that being chased by
Counterintelligence was not something a civilian would be
accustomed to, but Angela didn’t even stop to think of a
solution.
“I must contact Svitari,” the girl said. “Her shopping list
just got bigger.”
Once Angela was done talking to her sister about the new
problem and the new plan, Chimbick spoke to her again.
“Miss Angela.” He sounded thoughtful. “Every time I
start to believe that you’re just normal civilians, victims of
circumstance - something comes up that makes me doubt it.
You thought of a solution for this problem very quickly, which
leads me to the conclusion that you’ve been through
something similar before. But who are you, really?”

“Nobody,” Angela answered. Chimbick thought he heard
an edge of bitterness in her voice. “Just a couple of unlucky
whores…”
“Don’t call yourself that.” Sergeant blurted out and was
surprised he actually said that. “I looked it up in a dictionary,
it’s an insult.”
The reply was a look of bewilderment. He turned to the
terminal and pulled up a list of flights from New Plymouth to
neutral planets.
“Do you think we can leave the planet when we have new
identities and new looks?” he asked.
Angela thought for a moment. “There is a chance.”
“Let’s find an optimal route, then.”
Chimbick moved over to make space for Loray. She sat
next to him and that felt… strange. It was a completely new
feeling, unfamiliar and not conforming to any definitions
sergeant knew… but still a pleasant one.
“No, that won’t work.” Angela declared after studying the
list. She deleted all search filters and pulled up all available
flights off the planet. “If I were the authorities, I would be
expecting us to try and get to a neutral planet.”
“So you’re suggesting we go to a Union planet?”
Chimbick was puzzled by that decision.
Still, it had merit; it was certainly not an obvious one.
Therefore, it did improve their chances a bit.
“No, not that.” The young woman shook her head.
“That’s where they are going to look for us next.”
“What then? Wait on this planet?”
“There are tourist and commercial routes within the
system.” Angela pointed to several items in the list. “They
start on Plymouth, make a couple of stops, and then go back to
Plymouth. So they can be overlooked, because the route is
Plymouth to Plymouth.”

“What’s the point, then?” the replicant asked confusedly.
“We need to get off the planet and not come back.
“So we won’t come back.” Angela smiled. “Look, this
cruise liner makes a stop on Vulcan. We’ll just get lost during
a tour and stay on the planet - and nobody is looking for us
there. Then, from Vulcan, we can get to two neutral planets,
just need to pick one.”
“That is acceptable.” sergeant decided.
changing the way we look?”

“What about

“Well, since it’s unlikely you have a plastic surgeon in
your kit, we’ll have to use old-fashioned methods…”
Angela looked the replicant over and then added:
“But it will be hard for you to blend in with that helmet
on.”
“I could use stealth mode…” Chimbick muttered,
realizing just how pathetic that argument was. Still, he kept
grasping at straws to avoid the inevitable - the moment when
he’d have to take the helmet off and show his face.
“Unless you have two heads under there, you better take
it off.” Angela advised.
“It’s better if I don’t. At least that’s what the people from
monitoring said. I’m a freak.”
This confession didn’t seem to impress Loray all that
much.
“So you won’t have any trouble blending in with the
crowd.” She shrugged. “Ugliness is a lot more common than
beauty. Life is ugly.”
That made Chimbick think. Until now, he thought of
ugliness as an insult, not a way to describe reality. And
certainly not as a common thing, something normal to be seen
as a given. He still didn’t like being ugly, but the thought that
even among humans that’s not uncommon somehow made him
feel better. He wondered how many people he met so far who
had qualities that could be considered ugliness, but wasn’t sure
how to answer that. He has seem people he found appalling -

morbidly obese, with limited mobility, obviously unhealthy…
but the rest of the population didn’t seem to react negatively to
them. So what he thought of as ugliness wasn’t necessarily
seen as such by the civilians. That meant his idea may not be
correct…
Then why would the monitoring team call him a freak?
Could it be their own subjective judgment and a desire to
insult him personally? He had no answers to that and the only
way to test his theories. Loray was right, he could never
blend in with a civilian crowd while wearing a battle armor.
Chimbick picked an icon from the menu, and with a blink
of his eyes, the faceplate parted, revealing his face.
Reflexively, the replicant started turning his head to the right,
but stopped at looked Angela in the eyes. She was studying
him calmly, just like she did with Blaze not long ago. It was
taking her a bit longer this time… but there was not even a
hint of disgust on her face.
Chimbick looked exactly the same as Blaze until the day
when a shell exploded near him and left a horrifying mark.
The entire right side of the replicant’s face looked like a crude
map of a river valley with an angry red scar for a river. One
branch started in the middle of the forehead and flowed to the
corner of the mouth in an arc. At temple level, it forked, the
other branch ended above the ear. A network of narrow
gouges over the cheekbone, temple and upper lip served as
tributaries.

“All this worrying because of a scar?..” Angela sounded
bewildered. “You don’t know anything about true ugliness.”
With that, she returned to studying information available
on Vulcan and seemed to have lost all interest in Chimbick’s
face. For the first time since they met, Chimbick felt
genuinely grateful. And for the first time in even longer than
that, he didn’t feel the need to turn away and hide the scar.

“We’ll need new documents,” Angela reminded him after
a while.
“Oh, that’s not a problem. Security Service dog tags are
capable of forging almost any…”
He faltered and stared at the object Angela was holding
out. A flat plastic rectangle with a photo and a name. That
was all. No chips, no security code - just plastic and ink.
“What is that?” He asked despite knowing the answer
already.
“A Tiamat passport. Can your wonder tag forge that?”
Chimbick looked over the “passport” again and admitted
with a sigh:
“No, ma’am. I have no idea what to do with a thing like
that. It’s a primitive technology…”
“There’s genius in simplicity.” Loray sounded a bit
defensive. “You can’t hack this. And it’s not as expensive to
forge as a chip would have been.”
Chimbick noted just how casually Angela talked about
forgery. Civilian life, which sergeant already considered very
complicated, was quickly turning into something completely
tangled and incomprehensible.
He sighed, studied the other side of the passport for good
measure and then returned it to Angela.
“Perhaps you’re right, ma’am. But we have one more
problem to solve - finding who can forge documents here on
New Plymouth.”
Angela sighed as well. “You eat an elephant one piece at
a time. It’s a saying. Means we have so many problems that
one more doesn’t really make a difference.”
“Yes, ma’am… Uh, what’s an elephant?”

Chapter 14
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

By

the time Blaze and Svitari came back, it started
raining. They ran into the suite, soaked and laughing. This
breach of discipline didn’t please Chimbick much, but he
decided to postpone the dressing down. Nobody had any
hopes that Svitari wasn’t recognized while in town, anyway.
Most likely, she had already been reported to the local security
service, and it was only a matter of time before they
discovered this hiding place. That meant they had to move.
A full makeover had to be put off till better time; for now
the merry band had to settle for some wigs and bright hooded
rain ponchos. Luckily, it was raining, so they jumped on a
chance to change the base of operations. Or rather, move from
one hellhole to another.
“We’ll get the room.” Svitari told the replicants when
they stopped outside a cheap flophouse that for some reason
proudly called itself a hotel.
Nobody argued.
“I need cash.” Rie held out her hand.
“Why?” Chimbick grew somewhat suspicious.
“So that you’d ask me about it.” Svitari snapped.
Chimbick frowned, but decided to let this impertinence
slide. After all, he did ask the twins to talk to them as if they
were normal people, so now he had to live with the
consequences of that. After her walk with Blaze, Svitari was
behaving a lot more freely, often walking the boundary of
acceptable.
“Everyone is looking for the poor kidnapped hostages,
not two whores renting a room to bring clients to.” She finally
explained.

The girl was right; she was practically unrecognizable
with a colorful wig and bright vulgar makeup. Her sister
changed quite a bit too; in replicants’ opinion, not for the best.
Angela had a bright red wig with long bangs and tousled curls;
it hid the face pretty well. She also painted her lips scarlet red
to draw attention away from the rest of her features.
“How much?” Chimbick gave up.
He glanced at Blaze and reached for the money bag.
“A single room with a bed is about one mark an hour…”
Svitari did the math. “Two room suite would be about two two and a half an hour. We won’t need more than three hours
for everything, so give me ten, and I’ll give the change back
later.”
Sergeant fished some money out of the bag and held it
out to Svitari. Suddenly Blaze made a surprising contribution
to the conversation.
“But you aren’t whores!”
“Aww…” Svitari looked at him in mock adoration.
“Sweetheart, you had the time to check a dictionary and find
out about whores?”
“Yes…” Blaze stammered.
“Blaze, shut up!” Chimbick snarled. The fact that he
himself said the same thing not so long ago didn’t mean this
was the time and the place for Blaze to discuss this. “Find a
better time to show off your knowledge of the world, would
you?”
For some reason, the twins laughed.
“Try to behave naturally…” Rie started saying, but
faltered; it occurred to her that “natural” would mean
something completely different to the replicants.
“Imagine you just got into town, haven’t found a place to
stay and leave your things.” She suggested. “Maybe your
next flight is in several hours so you decided to kill some time
in pleasant company. You don’t want to lose any of this time
and are in a hurry to get to the room. Got that?”

“Yeah.” Blaze nodded.
Chimbick, who wasn’t quite so sure he did, hesitated a
moment, but then nodded as well.
“We’ll do our best, ma’am.”
“You don’t have to talk at all,” Svitari added, then turned
to Blaze. “So, you being all well read and everything, do you
know what “fondling” means?”
“I do.” The replicant glared at his brother, who raised an
eyebrow, and confessed: “But only in theory.”
“You don’t need a Master’s degree for that.” Rie
chuckled. “Fondle Angie some, she’ll help.”
Angela walked
encouragement.

over

to

Blaze

and

smiled

for

“And you,” Svitari continued instructing Chimbick. “You
stand there looking like you’re displeased and in a hurry.
You’re pretty good at looking displeased already.” She
winked. “When I’m done, do what your brother is doing, and
we all go up to the room. Understood?”
Chimbick ignored the dig.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The sisters looked as if they had serious doubts regarding
replicants’ acting ability, but they decided this was enough
instruction. Resigned to their fate, they approached the
soldiers; Svitari, remembering yesterday’s incident, warned
Chimbick:
“I need to touch you. Please don’t cripple me when I
do.”
Sergeant nodded hesitantly. Blaze clumsily, but eagerly
wrapped his arm around Angela’s waist and grinned ear to ear
like an idiot. Svitari waited a moment for Chimbick, who
didn’t seem to know what to do, and finally arranged his hand
just below her own waist. Unlike his brother, the sergeant was
deadly serious.

“You need to relax your face a bit… try smiling or
something.”
She lowered the hood of his rain poncho to hide most of
the face. The replicant wasn’t particularly happy with reduced
field of view, but that was a necessary evil - hiding his
distinguishing marks seemed more important now.
“Walk so that you can hold me against you.” Svitari
issued the last bit of instructions and started walking towards
the hotel entrance.
Blaze glanced at his brother, who seemed to be doing
okay with the hugging part. It didn’t seem that difficult, after
all. Chimbick pulled the hood lower down and did his best to
relax and look natural. Much to his surprise, it worked. At
least the bored looking clerk behind the counter enclosed in a
metal cage didn’t look all that surprised or nervous when they
walked in. Instead, he leaned forward and asked in a grating
voice:
“Would you like a room?”
“Two beds,” Svitari showed him the coins. “And quick,
we ain’t got all day.”
She giggled and pressed her entire body against
Chimbick; he wanted to both hold her closer and push away.
This new sensation was very confusing, somewhat scary and
completely inappropriate on a mission.
“Three marks an hour,” the clerk grated and snatched the
coins from Svitari’s hand with a speed that was quite
surprising for such a sleepy looking creature.
“How many hours are you checking in for?” He asked
while hiding the coins under the counter.
“Three.” Svitari purred, looking at her companion and not
the clerk.
“Fine. Second floor, suite 205. Nine marks, and five for
deposit.”
Svitari elbowed Chimbick in the ribs and cast an
exaggerated look towards the clerk. Realizing what was

required of him, sergeant fumbled through his pocket hastily.
He found a ten mark coin and tossed it on the counter. It
disappeared immediately, and the clerk began counting out the
change, purposefully trying to pick the smallest denomination
coins.
Looking at a pile of greasy coppers, Chimbick grimaced
in disgust, but Blaze saved the day by using a phrase he found
in a book:
“Keep the change! And bring some wine up to the room,
too. Bubbly!” With that, he started moving towards the stairs,
Angela still pressed tightly against him.
There was nothing left for Chimbick to do but mirror
what his brother was doing. His performance was somewhat
less believable, since he was trying to keep at least a bit of a
distance between himself and Svitari.
“Could have been worse,” Svitari commented on the
replicants’ theatrical talents as soon as Blaze closed the door.
The suite was an absolute dream for archaeologists and
entomologists. The former would have been delighted by the
ancient strata of dirt, some probably containing priceless
artifacts from the first colonists. The latter would find
multitudes of various insects crawling on the walls and ceiling,
and probably building nests in the furniture.
“Which one of you does home repairs?” Angela asked,
now all business like. “We need a working shower or at least a
faucet.”
Chimibck silently dug a multitool out of his pack and
headed for the bathroom.
“Sarge is not very talkative.” Blaze said apologetically
and regretfully removed his arm from Angela’s waist.
Downstairs, the clerk waited for the group to get out of
earshot and grabbed the comm…

Chapter 15
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

The runaways didn’t waste any time and set about the
task of creating their new images. Well, to be more precise,
the twins were working and the replicants just endured
everything done to them, since their knowledge of camouflage
was utterly useless here.
Both sisters dyed their hair black, cut it much shorter and
with long bangs, which immediately made them look a lot less
like the photos plastered all over the news. Replicants got
wigs. Chimbick ended up with a mane of black hair which
Svitari braided into a lot of thin long braids gathered in a
ponytail - this was a hairstyle typical for people from Tiamat.
This particular style of braiding was a trademark of a big game
hunter making a living in the Selva on that deadly world.
Blaze received an artfully disheveled head of auburn
hair. Now he was turning the wig in his hands, wondering
who in their right mind would wear their hair in such an
unsanitary, impractical and useless way - and even grow it out
on purpose. All replicants only had hair on their heads; they
were designed that way to ensure psychological comfort for
the human personnel. The rest of the body was hairless for
hygiene.
Next part was getting Blaze a pair of contact lenses, the
height of fashion among the New Plymouth youngsters. They
concealed all the visible parts of the eye, turning it into a tiny
sun against the blackness of space. While out shopping, Blaze
saw at least three young guys and one girl with the same
lenses. When Blaze asked about it, Svitari just pointed to a
movie theatre poster where a muscular hero with eyes just like
that was vanquishing various foes.
“Savages,” Blaze grumbled.
primitive technology…”

“Can’t believe their

The lenses were uncomfortable to wear and completely
negated all his enhanced vision. But they were good for

camouflage, so the replicant had to sigh and bear it.
To complete the look, Blaze received a multifunctional
visor set in imitation bronze - highly popular among students,
apparently. This completed his transformation into an aloof
bookworm out for a walk wearing a silly bright shirt.
“Learn how to slouch,” Angela recommended. Blaze’s
perfect military posture completely ruined the image.
Svitari, who just completed donning a complicated wig
with a lot of braids, beadwork and other bling, nodded in
agreement. Chimbick wanted to ask why the sisters were
using wigs instead of just dyeing the hair, but couldn’t work
up the nerve. He has already shown how incompetent and
clueless he was too many times.
Meanwhile, Blaze was diligently trying to follow the
useful advice and attempting to slouch in a way that made him
look like he was suffering from degenerative disk disease.
“Like this?” he inquired.
Behind his back, Chimbick facepalmed silently.
Angela sighed, trying to figure out a way to explain what
she wanted from the replicants. Rie frowned for a moment,
then brightened, snapped her fingers and dashed to the
terminal.
“There!” she exclaimed and started streaming a popular
sitcom about a group of dorky friends. “Sit here and study.
This is the impression you need to make.”
Blaze nodded obediently and sat down to do his research.
The twins turned their undivided attention to Chimbick.
“How do you feel about tattoos?” Angela asked as she
rifled through her store of cosmetics.
She looked as if she did have a miniature tattoo salon
with a tiny tattoo artist hidden somewhere.
“Non-regulation decorations are prohibited.” sergeant
replied. “But if we need it to complete the mission…”

Replicant seemed to be torn, and Angela decided to
comfort him.
“Don’t you worry, this dye can be removed with a
neutralizer, we can buy that in every store that sells cosmetics.
It’s safe for skin and hair, too.”
“Temporary
relaxed.

camouflage

is

acceptable.”

Chimbick

“First we need some tan.” Angela said and produced a
spray can.
Replicant stared at the unfamiliar object warily.
“It’s spray-on tan.” The girl explained and showed him
the instruction. “A paint for the skin to imitate sun tan.”
Chimbick nodded, but read the instructions nonetheless.
Not having found anything suspicious, he returned the spray
can to Angela.
“Take your shirt off, close your eyes and hold your breath
for about twenty seconds.” She asked and fished something
small and soft out of the bag. “I’ll get some on your face and
neck.”
Sergeant gave her another suspicious stare. Blaze turned
to his brother and nodded, letting him know he’d keep an eye
out. Only after that Chimbick did as asked. He felt the wet
spray on his skin and quick, gentle touches of something damp
and soft.
“Step to the side and you can breathe.” Angela finally
informed him. “Don’t open your eyes yet, let the paint dry.
Now hold your arms out.”
Chimbick complied and felt something smooth and tight
wrap around his forearm. He opened his eyes just a bit to
sneak a curious look at Angela, who just fastened some film
on one arm and was wrapping the other.
“Ma’am? What are you doing?”
“Hunters from Tiamat usually have uneven tan,” Loray
explained. “Most often, their arms almost up to the elbow are

uncovered and get darker tan. Shoulders are covered more
often, so the tan is lighter there.”
“I understand,” the replicant said, noting Angela’s
attention to detail. “Is that why you are paining me in
sections?”
“Yes,” Angela confirmed his theory. “Face, neck to
where the collar ends, hands. The rest will remain pale beaches aren’t very popular on Tiamat.”
Chimbick watched the girl spray his arm; in spots where
the spray was uneven, she corrected the mistakes using that
small soft object.
“What is that?” Sergeant asked curiously “This object in
your hand.”
“It’s a sponge.” Angela replied.
Chimbick stopped asking questions and just watched her
work. He knew that any knowledge, even seemingly useless,
could prove valuable.
Once Angela was done with the fake tan, she found a thin
brush, took a bowl of hair dye Svitari made for her and
approached the sergeant again. She looked thoughtful, her
eyes roaming his face. For a moment, the replicant felt like he
was an object, a blank canvas for a demanding artist.
“Put this on, sit and don’t move until I’m done.”
Angela pointed to a folded blue shirt on top of a stack of
new clothes.
“Yes, ma’am.” Chimbick pulled the shirt on, sat down
and turned his face up to be painted.
“He’s good at waiting.” Blaze chuckled, momentarily
distracted from the screen where some utterly
incomprehensible events were unfolding. “Miss Svitari,
ma’am? Must I talk the way they do, too?”
He pointed at the terminal, his expression a mix of
disdain and bewilderment.

“Ideally, you shouldn’t talk at all.” Rie replied. “You are
playing the role of a morose, antisocial and maladjusted nerd,
completely isolated in his own book world. If you do talk,
speak a few incoherent words, mumble a lot. You can stutter if
you want, but for all that’s sacred in the world, I beg you, do
not call anyone “sir” or “ma’am”.
She has just completed her own bright makeup. Unlike
the previous look, which was just as bright, this one actually
suited her and seemed to make her younger; she looked like a
teenager now. The “ditzy teen” look was completed with a
multitude of beads in all kinds of shapes and colors. Svitari’s
body language changed, as well. No longer gracefully
smooth, her movements became sharper, sassier.
The sergeant noted the ease with which the sisters could
change their looks and filed that under “Strange things Loray
sisters do”. Strange things he would like to find an
explanation for at some point.
“What about “miss”?” Blaze was continuing his inquiry
in the meantime.
“Just stay quiet.” Rie advised him. “If that’s not possible,
say “babe”, or “sis”. Borderline rude, but typical for
students.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The replicant nodded and returned to the
sitcom.
Overcome by curiosity, Chimbick squinted to see the
screen and almost grimaced in disgust: none of the characters
would last a day on Aegis. Then he looked back at Angela
and felt strangely unsettled by her proximity.
He had to remind himself that the sisters would run away
at first chance, without any consideration for the interest of
Consortium or the replicants with their mission. That these
mutts already fooled him and Blaze and left them on
Hephaestus. That just recently they looked at the replicants
with hatred and fear. None of that worked. Chimbick’s hands
were burning at the memory of touching woman’s skin. He
could feel Angela’s scent, even through the chemical odor of
the paint. And if he closed his eyes…

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that it was not a
brush touching his face, but the tips of Angela’s fingers. In
any case, that was how the sergeant imagined a touch of
woman’s fingers would feel like. Of course, chances of him
ever testing how close he was to the truth on that were pretty
slim.
The “sparkling wine”, finally delivered to the suite by the
grumbling clerk, turned out to be a cheap local brew, bubbling
only because it wasn’t anywhere near done fermenting. Rie
sniffed this vintners’ masterpiece, grimaced and poured it
down the toilet; she made some quiet comments and now
Blaze was asking her what all the unfamiliar words meant.
Svitari laughed and began explaining. Soon, Blaze was
laughing as well.

∆∆∆

Chimbick

was half-listening to their conversation; he
felt strangely relaxed and peaceful. Like never before, in fact.
He didn’t even react when he heard Blaze say his name.
Sergeant just frowned a bit, trying to assess his state and find a
reason for such strange laid back behavior. Angela tsked at
the facial contortions and Chimbick relaxed his muscles again.
He came to the conclusion that he was experiencing after
effects of nervous exhaustion and a false sense of security.
The latter was unacceptable, so he tried to get himself
together…
But to no avail. Angela’s eyes were mesmerizing,
drawing his own gaze like a magnet. Chimbick tried to
convince himself that he’s looking into her eyes so that he
could see lies or some hidden agenda, but gave up fairly soon.
Even he wouldn’t fall for that lie. To make matters worse,
Angela suddenly smiled and winked at him conspiratorially.
Sergeant remembered that she was an empath and all his soul
searching was as obvious to her as body movements. This
realization embarrassed and angered the replicant at the same

time; he gathered all his strength to rein in the emotions and
go back to thinking about the actual problems they had. Much
to Chimbick’s relief, he succeeded at that. For how long - still
remained to be seen. Hoping to avoid an encore, he just
closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to solve the current
problems.
At this point Angela, either because she was tired of
standing, or out of mischief, sat in his lap. The replicant froze,
his eyes still closed, and felt his self-control unraveling. He
clenched his teeth and tried to banish non-regulation
dangerous thoughts. This was akin to doing pull ups on a bar,
when you don’t have any strength left, but must do several
more. Every muscle is aflame, ears ringing from effort, but
you grunt and make your body comply.
Chimbick caught himself actually growling.
started and froze, afraid to move.

Angela

“Please don’t bite.” She asked quietly; sergeant wasn’t
sure if this was a joke. “Just a little bit longer, can you do
that?”
“My apologies, ma’am.” Chimbick sounded suddenly
hoarse.
“Sarge, what’s with you?” Blaze turned to him. “Is
everything okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Chimbick rasped.
Blaze looked his brother over somewhat doubtfully, but
wisely decided to refrain from asking more questions.
Sergeant himself was trying to figure out why his self-control
failed to this dangerously low level. Chimbick felt both
relaxed and strangely excited.
A pleasant, but utterly
unacceptable state of mind.
He gathered what was left of his will and attempted to
once again concentrate on completing the mission.
“Timeout.” He declared. “Miss Angela, let me get up
please.”
Blaze opened his mouth to comment, but saw Chimbick’s
stern expression and quickly turned back to the monitor.

Chimbick had to think for a moment again. Was he imagining
things or did Svitari actually move closer to Blaze?
He looked away and met Angela’s eyes. Once again, he
couldn’t look away… and he was dying to feel her touch
again.
“What the hell is going on with me?” He almost howled
this out loud.
With some effort, the replicant looked away and managed
a strangled “I. Need. To. Get up. Ma’am.”
“Of course.” Angela replied, and just the sound of her
voice took Chimbick’s breath away, as if he was plunged into
icy water somewhere on the training grounds.
She got up and stepped back a bit, admiring her
handiwork. This was another first for Chimbick - being
admired. Well, she wasn’t exactly admiring him, but… right
now, details didn’t matter. Sergeant just wanted to enjoy the
moment.
“Can you stand still for another half a minute? I’ll be
done then.” Angela asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant agreed.
He straightened up and turned to face the mirror. A
deeply tanned stranger was looking back. Scars were no
longer visible, hidden under an elaborate ornament popular on
Tiamat; mainly it resembled the lines of camouflage face
paint. This imitation tattoo was better than a mask to hide the
replicant’s real face. Combined with the tan and the wig, it
created an image that was both intimidating and completely
unrecognizable. Chimbick himself was most pleased by the
fact that the paint hid his deformity at least temporarily. He
also enjoyed watching Angela in the mirror as she corrected
some errors invisible to others. And her being so close was
exciting him more and more.
“Okay, all done.” The girl declared, but lingered close to
Chimbick. “Don’t touch this for five minutes or so, the paint
still needs to dry.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sergeant repeated and finally managed the
strength of will to move away.
He grabbed the stack of folded clothes and hastily
retreated to the other room.
Blaze followed him with an utterly confused look. “Miss
Angie? Did you brief him on morals and behavioral norms in
civilian society?”
“What makes you think that?” Angela arched an eyebrow.
“Why did he go to the other room to change then?” Blaze
scratched his nose. “That’s purely human behavior. Replicants
don’t get embarrassed by nakedness.”
“I read books too!” Chimbick contributed from the other
room. “And now shut up, Blaze.”
“Yes, Sarge.” Blaze replied, but then added in a whisper:
“This is a dictatorship…”

∆∆∆

Several

minutes later sergeant emerged from the
bedroom, dressed in baggy “tactical” pants tucked into tall
boots, a blue shirt and a lace-up leather vest. A wide belt with
slips for various tools and an enormous buckle shaped like a
dragon’s head decorated his waist. Overall, a look typical for
a hunter from Tiamat.
Blaze couldn’t help himself. “If I didn’t know you, Sarge,
I would have thought you might have a bit of an inferiority
complex to compensate for.”
It wasn’t entirely clear to Chimbick what this “complex”
was, but the word “inferiority” he did know. He cast a stern
look at his brother and noticed how Blaze was looking at the
girls. A strange, almost hungry look. Also, Blaze was
standing unnecessarily close to Svitari.

“Shut up, Blaze.” Sergeant snarled. “And do something
useful!”
With an annoyed twitch of the mouth, Blaze moved away
from the girls and reluctantly returned to watching the sitcom.
The sisters didn’t seem to notice anything odd. They looked
Chimbick over meticulously, after which Svitari declared:
“We are geniuses!”
Angela nodded in agreement and slapped her sister’s
upraised hand. Blaze nodded in agreement as well without
even turning away from his monitor.
Sergeant ran his hand over the belt just to find empty tool
slots and was struck with a flash of inspiration. He dug
through the backpack.
“Something is missing,” He explained and held up an
energy whip he was issued on Tiamat.
This weapon, traditional for the planet, was also used for
training animals, which were the foundation of Tiamat’s
defense forces and one of the main exports. The replicant
twisted the handle and pressed the activation button; stepping
away from the others to avoid clipping anyone by accident, he
snuck a glance in the mirror and then spun the whip deftly, just
like he was taught on Aegis. The discharge illuminated the
room with a dry crack.
“You could be an instructional aid.” Blaze said
approvingly.
Then he turned his head and noticed a striking change in
both women. Their faces became ashen, as if drained of blood
completely; eyes were full of such abject terror that the recent
crash landing on Hephaestus seemed like a carnival ride.
“Ma’am?” Blaze called out to them, confused.
Chimbick turned around. He was still reflexively playing
with the whip; at the sight of the sisters’ horrified expressions,
he looked concerned.
“Is something wrong? You look ill.” He stepped towards
Svitari, whip still in hand.

She looked as if she wanted to bolt and run, but didn’t
dare move. It almost seemed she stopped breathing, too. And
not just her, both sisters turned to stone; only their eyes were
living, fixed on the glow of the whip.
Realizing what the girls were looking at, Chimbick
deactivated the whip and clipped it to his belt.
“I wasn’t going to cause you harm, ma’am.” He decided
to clarify just in case. “This weapon is popular on Tiamat and
will make the disguise more believable.”
“Put it away, please.” Svitari begged; her voice was
noticeably shaking.
Even in the forest, bound hand and foot, she didn’t look
that scared. The replicants couldn’t understand the reasons,
but it did become clear that the neuro whip was bothering
them.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Chimbick
said sincerely.
He unclipped the whip and held it out to Svitari.
“There, ma’am. Don’t be afraid, take it.”
The young woman’s eyes were still full of terror.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s just a piece of carbon plastic.”
Svitari’s hand moved towards the whip uncertainly, but
pulled back as if burned the moment she touched it.
“Don’t.” Svitari’s voice sounded almost normal, and she
was starting to look like she was back to the real world now.
She tried to push sergeant’s hand away. “Just hide it away
somewhere.”
Chimbick sighed, but didn’t move.
“Take it, ma’am.” He repeated a bit more forcefully.
“Take it and throw it in the incinerator. I’m not very good
with it anyway, you saw it yourself.”
Even though the replicants were unable to feel fear, they
were taught how to conquer it. Power over the source of fear,
a chance to control it could restore a person’s bravery.

Sergeant thought that once Loray destroyed the whip, they
wouldn’t necessarily be free of fear, but feel more confident and they needed confidence now.
Svitari’s hand moved towards the whip again and hovered
just over it. Her heart was pounding and hands trembled as if
she was about to pick up a venomous snake, not a deactivated
weapon. Angela watched her sister with wide eyes as she
clung to Blaze, who seemed to be quite happy with such a turn
of events, in a sudden display of trust. Chimbick wanted to
bark at Blaze just on general principle, but was afraid of
spooking Svitari.

∆∆∆

Finally, Rie’s fingers touched the whip and froze again,
as if she couldn’t believe her own bravery. Gently, the
sergeant placed his own hand over hers and helped her grip the
handle.
“Should I come with you, ma’am?” he asked.
Svitari looked up at him like a cornered animal and just
nodded. She was holding the whip as if it was the center of all
horror and evil in the world… but at the same time began to
realize she was only holding a piece of plastic. Chimbick led
her to the disposal unit and opened the hatch. Once Rie tossed
the whip in as if it was a dangerous reptile, Chimbick activated
the incinerator.
“This is your fear burning.”
Svitari grabbed his arm and watched the dingy hatch as if
it was the most important thing in the world. Her sister was
watching from behind Blaze’s back. One didn’t have to be an
empath to feel the tension in both girls subside as soon as the
whip disappeared in the incinerator’s maw.
“Thank you.” Svitari whispered.
She was still squeezing Chimbick’s arm and he suddenly
realized he was pleased by that. It was nice to feel like

someone people would want to touch, expect support and
protection from… Someone people didn’t fear.
“I’m glad I could help you with something,” he said
quietly.
With a grateful look, Svitari patted his arm lightly.
And then the door intercom chimed.

Chapter 16
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

The unfamiliar voice on the intercom sounded like the
speaker at the very least owned the place.
“Yo, gents, apologies for the interrupted tet-a-tete and all,
but we have some questions for your ladies about working in
this here fine neighborhood.”
Blaze darted to the backpack silently and was hiding a
pistol under his shirt in a second; Chimbick turned to the
sisters, hoping they’d give him a clue what to do next. Both
were blinking confusedly, clearly not quite ready to solve
matters of life and death at the moment, and just stared at the
door. They certainly weren’t their normal composed selves.
Chimbick realized that this was on him and Blaze. He
pointed to the bedroom and sat in a dirty chair next to the
backpack. As soon as the twins were gone, sergeant picked up
the remote and unlocked the door.
“Come in!” He yelled and set the remote down.
The door slid into the wall, and a picturesque crew of
three muscular young men swaggered into the suite. All three
were dressed in identical bright yellow jackets and black
pants; their heads were clad in purple bandanas inscribed with
a word “Nails”. Two stepped to the sides to cover the room;
the third looked around and inquired:
“Where are the broads?”
“What’s the matter?” Chimbick mimicked the man’s tone
as he was studying the trio.
The most dangerous one would seem to be a bearded
gorilla, but the rest didn’t look weak either; the scrawniest of
them wasn’t any smaller than the replicants themselves. Blaze
finally turned away from the monitor, slipped the visor down
to the end of his nose and looked the visitors over.

“Gotta talk to them.” The leader explained. “No worries
gents, we just need to clarify some things about their
employer, sort of thing, and then we’ll leave. We’ll reimburse
you for the lost time, of course.”
The replicants were trying to understand what was
happening and what these men wanted; before they could
speak, the bedroom door opened and Svitari appeared. She
was somewhat disheveled, as if she dressed in a hurry; hips
swaying vulgarly, she approached the leader with an
ingratiating smile. Her entire look changed; she was meek and
pathetic. For some reason, the contrast between that and the
normal Svitari - despite the fact that quite often they wanted to
gag her and carry to Eldorado in a suitcase - jarred the
replicants. Blaze squinted; Chimbick shifted in the chair
slightly, fighting an untimely urge to get up and stand between
Svitari and this mutt.
“Oh, you see… We’ve only been in town a couple hours,
met these johns right away… just didn’t have the time to
introduce ourselves to the boss man, you know?..” Svitari
sounded apologetic and obsequious as she addressed the
uninvited guests. “Just tell us where to go, as soon as we’re
done here, we’ll come by, hun. With payment, of course.”
She added with the same servile smile.
“Nice to be dealin’ with reasonable people.” The man
stepped forward and patted Svitari’s cheek. She endured the
humiliation meekly. “And to hear said voice of reason from a
whore…”
“She’s not a whore!” Blaze suddenly burst out. “Don’t
you dare call her that!”
If a half eaten sandwich suddenly spoke, the gangsters
would have been less surprised.
“Huh?” The leader forgot all about Svitari in his
amazement. “What do we have here, then? Are you some
kinda bleedin’ knight? Hutch, explain this youngster that
disrespectin’ grown men when they are havin’ a business
discussion is bad.”

The bearded gorilla nodded curtly, squared up and
lumbered towards Blaze. Fooled by Blaze’s disguise, the
mutts didn’t consider him a threat; the hunter from Tiamat
seemed a lot more dangerous. That’s why Hutch made the
fatal mistake of deciding that the nerd could be dealt with by a
simple show of force. He opened his jacket and displayed a
pistol tucked into his pants.
“You, dork…” The gorilla began, but was interrupted.
“Oh look, a gun!” Blaze exclaimed in delight.
Hutch, who seemed to hate being interrupted, growled in
rage, but Blaze moved smoothly and unnaturally fast as he
reached over and broke the giant’s neck. With a crack of
shattered vertebrae, the gangster’s body slammed into a
decrepit coffee table. While it was still falling, Blaze managed
to retrieve the dead man’s weapon and Chimbick, who was
just sprawled in the chair, shot the other gangster in the head.
Then the sergeant shot the leader, who didn’t have a chance to
come up with a plan, in both legs with medical precision.
It all happened so fast that Svitari didn’t even have time
to register, much less process it. Once the magnitude of the
impending catastrophe dawned on her, it was too late.
“Door.” Chimbick dashed towards the writhing gangster.
The mutt tried to pull a pistol from under his jacket, but a
well aimed boot sent him into temporary oblivion. Chimbick
searched the man’s pockets, tossed the dropped gun into a
chair and began tying the gangster’s hands with his own belt.
“Clear.” Blaze reported after looking down the corridor,
and began searching the corpses.
“Idiots…” Svitari finally regained her ability to speak.
Strangely enough, she looked angered by what just
happened rather than scared. The replicants liked the angry
Svitari much better than the scared one.
“Why did you have to get into this?” she asked. “They
would have left in a minute!”
Angela appeared behind Svitari’s back. She looked ill.

“Who do they think they are, insulting people?” Blaze
fumed.
Chimbick sighed sorrowfully and held up his hand,
fingers forming a “ram” gesture that in replicant vernacular
meant someone just committed an act of spectacular idiocy.
Blaze frowned and looked away. Chimbick rolled the
captive over and poked in the ribs with a boot.
“Who are they and what did they want?”
“What job were they talking about?”

he asked.

The prisoner groaned, regaining consciousness, and
Chimbick knocked him out again with a well aimed kick.
“Local kingpin’s lackeys.” Svitari replied, but was met
with puzzled looks from both replicants and had to explain.
“They work for a criminal boss who is in charge of this
neighborhood. If someone like us wants to work within his
territory, they must get permission first, and then pay
protection money.”
“Protection?” Chimbick was confused again.
whom, if they are criminals themselves?”

“From

“The police, if they interfere with work.” Angela’s voice
was quiet, but she seemed to be getting back to normal fast.
“The clients, if they get rough and spoil the girls’ looks. But
mainly from themselves. If you bring them less money than
agreed upon, you get problems. First they just scare you, a
slap or two maybe; then a real beating, and then it’s a matter of
luck.”
“So nothing good is to be expected from them.” The
sergeant interpreted her words the best he could.
Behind his back, Blaze was dragging the bodies to the
bathroom. Before setting to that gruesome task, he emptied
their pockets - not for any material gain, but because he was
taught to gather information from all available sources. Not
that the late gangsters had anything interesting; several coins,
gaudy rings, chains with heavy pendants and well-used pistols.
“Do we need this garbage?” Sergeant asked as he studied
the captive like some disgusting life form.

Angela’s explanation of the dark side of civilian world
cleared some of the mystery that was the sisters’ life. Bit by
bit, Chimbick was beginning to understand the twins’
motivation in trying to avoid any participation in a conflict
between the parties in this war. They could easily be hurt by
scavengers like these street thugs, much less the forces that
annihilated infantry divisions and space armadas in their
disagreements. For them the sisters were not even an obstacle
- more like an annoying inconvenience. A bug stuck to the
windshield.
Chimbick felt like he was dragging them to a firing
squad, not Eldorado. “What is wrong with me?” he thought,
puzzled. “What is happening? Since when do I question
orders?”
The replicant shook his head, tossed the pistol to Blaze,
then yanked the captive up by the collar and woke him up with
a slap. The gangster moaned and opened his eyes, trying to
understand where he was and what was happening. A moment
later, a look of realization appeared on his face and he stared at
Chimbick with pure hate.
With a satisfied grunt, sergeant leaned the captive against
the wall, moved back a step and asked:
“How did you find us? I really would not advise playing a
hero.” He held out a hand, and Blaze put a pistol in his palm.
“Guys,” the prisoner spoke, trying to hide the fear behind
a brazen grin. “You don’t even know how deep a grave you
just dug for yourselves. The boss… Aaaaargh!” His speech
ended in a scream.
Chimbick, who just stuck a finger into a bullet wound on
the man’s leg, calmly wiped his hand on the victim’s jacket.
“You speak when I give you permission to speak, and
only about things I ask you. Understood?”
“Wanker.” The gangster decided to share his opinion of
Chimbick. “Your mom… Aaargh!”
Each scream would cause Angela grimace in pain;
Chimbick belatedly remembered that she was an empath. He

felt ashamed of the pain he just caused her without even
thinking.
“I don’t have a mother.” He informed the gangster flatly.
“You will tell me what I need to know. The only choice you
have is whether you do it of your own free will or I have to
help you. “
“Yeah, go ahead, help.” The gangster was squirming in
pain, but kept acting tough.
Sergeant kicked the mutt on the floor, face down, and
took his boots and socks off. Now it was time to solve the
empathy problem.
“Blaze.” He moved to the table and picked up a stylus.
“Please take miss Loray as far away as she needs to be. And
I’ll entertain our guest.”
The guest, his face pressed against the filthy floor,
informed Chimbick of what his opinion was of the sergeant
and his family, using simple, but colorful imagery.

Chapter 17
Planet New Plymouth. Slums

“Yes, Sarge.” Blaze put a hand on Angela’s shoulder,
ready to lead her away.
Chimbick glared in disapproval, but decided not to
comment.
Angela shook her head. “I must stay. I should be able to
tell if he’s lying or telling the truth.”
“Empathy.” Svitari reminded when the replicants stared
back at the girls in confusion. “You don’t want him to lie and
lead us into a trap somehow, do you?”
“No ma’am.” Sergeant shook his head. “You shouldn’t
see this. He won’t lie to me.” He made an emphasis on “me”.
“Ma’am… Sarge is right.” Blaze joined in.
interrogation… it looks unpleasant.”

“An

“You should have thought of that before,” Angela’s voice
was icy. “Before you made me live through two deaths at
once, and before you treated me to torture.”
Chimbick glared at Blaze, then looked away. They really
didn’t think that an empath would feel everything they put
their unwelcome visitors through. But there was no taking that
back, so the sergeant just nodded, agreeing with Angela’s
argument. Potential benefits outweighed the possible harm.
“Just tell us if you feel unwell.”
He sat the prisoner up again, grabbed his pinky toe and
repeated an earlier question.
“How did you find us?”
“By smell.” The gangster sneered. “Your whores stink so
bad, the entire hood knows.”
Chimbick twisted his hand and the comedian shrieked.
Much to the replicants’ surprise, Angela looked unconcerned

by the scene; she just winced and squeezed Svitari’s hand.
“No new thoughts?” The replicant inquired once the
gangster could breathe again.
“Screw you…”
This time, Chimbick broke his big toe. Svitari watched
all this with surprising apathy; she seemed more concerned
about her sister, who grimaced a bit every time Chimbick
caused the prisoner pain.
“Hey.” The empath called out to the gangster. “We don’t
want to know your boss’ secrets, or your gang’s, or anyone
else’s. All we need to know is how you found us and if the
cops are going to follow the same track. Also, we could use
new IDs. So tell us how you found us, where we can get fake
IDs - and we’ll disappear like a bad dream.”
The replicants both noted that this time, Loray used the
word “we”. They liked that change.
“IDs?” The gangster regained his breath and scanned the
captors’ faces. “Who the hell are you?”
“People who want to get off this mud ball.” Svitari
replied. “You and your dumbass gorillas got in the way of
that.”
The thug seemed to be thinking. On one hand, he didn’t
have a lot of illusions regarding his future. Very few street
soldiers lived to be old, and most died in unpleasant ways. On
the other hand, he wanted to live a while longer. And if this
bitch wasn’t lying, why not use that chance? Not like he had
anything to lose.
“To hell with you. Two blocks away, 90 Pioneers street.
Go down to the basement, black metal door, knock three
times. Ask for Mozach, say Black Devil sent you. Mozach,
he’s a baker…”
“We don’t need any pastry,” Sergeant interrupted. “We
need documents.”
One of the twins sighed mournfully behind his back.

“It’s a slang word. Means someone who makes
counterfeit money or ID cards.” Svitari sounded tired and
exasperated by having to explain obvious things.
“Oh.” That was all Chimbick could manage.
The thug squinted at him.
“Now I can tell you ain’t from around here, no joke. And
that you ain’t pigs, those can patter. Anyways, Mozach, he’ll
sort you out proper. Cost you a pretty penny, but his fakes
don’t get burned.”
“So.. Mozach.” Chimbick glanced over his shoulder at
Angela.
She nodded to show that she believed the gangster, then
clenched her teeth and looked away, realizing what was
coming next.
“How did you find us?” Chimbick repeated the original
question.
“The clerk downstairs,” the thug grumbled. “We got a
deal: any whore shows up that’s not ours, he calls us.”
“I see.” Chimbick held his hand out to Blaze. “Give me
the painkiller.”
Utterly confused, the gangster watched the nerd get a vial
and an injector from the backpack. His eyes lit up with a glint
of hope. If these weirdos were going to inject him with a
painkiller, then they were planning to let them go instead of
putting a bullet in his head.
Chimbick injected the entire vial into the man’s arm and
stepped away, letting the prisoner move. The gangster
slumped down and closed his eyes, waiting for the painkiller
to kick in. Half a minute later he was smiling happily, and in
another minute his breathing stopped.

∆∆∆

Chimbick tossed the empty vial into the incinerator.

Just
as he thought, a full dose of the powerful medicine designed
for replicants was deadly for a more frail human body.
“Get the downstairs sorted.” He ordered Blaze once it
was clear the prisoner was dead.
Blaze nodded and left the room, happy for a chance to
redeem his earlier blunder at least a little bit.
Chimbick watched him leave and then turned to the
twins.
“Get your things. We’re leaving.”
They nodded in unison and began packing what few
belongings they had; quickly, but without rushing - clearly,
they had a lot of experience in swift escapes. All the packing
was done in silence. Just once Angela looked up at Chimbick
and thanked him; she must have guessed why the replicant
gave the gangster a quiet painless death.
“I caused you enough trouble already, ma’am.” He
answered.
At this point Blaze returned with the CCTV memory
block.
“All clear,” he reported. “No tails.”
“Roger that. Get the helmet and take pictures.” Chimbick
ordered. “I’ll go get the documents alone, you should wait
outside.”
“Why?” Blaze sounded puzzled.
“Because they are looking for twins, so two girls would
attract attention and probably be recognized.” Sergeant
explained. “But if I’m alone, I can say my friend is in
trouble.”
He turned to Loray.
“Is it okay if I say that, ma’am?”
Svitari raised a thumb.

“Perfect, handsome. While you’re at it, come up with
some names, can be useful for dealing with people.”
For the first time since he was wounded, Chimbick
ignored a joke about his looks. “You need new names as well,
ma’am.”
“I’m going to be Blaze!” Blaze declared. “And the last
name…”
“Blabbermouthson.” Chimbick suggested.
perfectly.”

“Suits you

“Yeah? What about you, then?” Blaze bristled. “Mr.
Brutal Professional?”
“Singh.” Chimbick replied calmly.
Tiamat. Asto Singh.”

“It’s common on

“Then I will be… Daryl.” Blaze announced after flipping
through a guidebook. “Daryl Summers. What about you,
ma’am?”
The twins thought for a moment. Svitari was the first to
decide.
“Laura Less.” She introduced her new alias. “I heard it
somewhere, just liked the way it sounds.”
Meanwhile, Angela braided her hair into a complicated
and a rather severe braid that made her look very serious. The
braid barely reached her shoulder blades now; in the morning
it would have reached the waist. Her entire look changed
subtly; somehow she seemed older.
“Teera Garm.” She declared. “I’ve seen both the first and
last name on Tiamat.”
“Teera is a water storing vine!” Blaze contributed. “I
read about it…”
“Now you’re a botanist.” Sergeant sighed, watching his
brother fiddle with the settings in helmet’s tac block. “Ma’am,
what else do we need for the documents?”
“Promise to pay extra for urgency.” Svitari said without
stopping her task of putting a myriad of colorful bangles on

her arms. “Haggle some, otherwise you’ll look suspicious.
People don’t haggle when they don’t intend to pay.”
Judging by the last phrase, Loray realized that the
replicants weren’t going to pay. Not that they cared about
money, but leaving someone who knew their new names alive
would have been… unwise.
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded calmly. “What other
details should I tell them?”
“Age, place of birth, place of residence. Tiamat for Angie
and you; I should be a local, with an electronic ID. And
Blaze…”
She studied the newly transformed “nerdy student”
critically.
“He should be from Hephaestus. You’ve been there, have
an idea what it’s like. As for the age… You, Mr.Stuffy,” She
pointed a finger at Chimbick. “Let’s add several years.”
Chimbick turned his head to look at her.
“Stuffy?”
“It means a person who’s always lecturing others, follows
rules and all that boring stuff.” She explained.
“I know what it means,” The replicant answered calmly.
“Just surprised you used that term in regard to me.”
“Oh yeah, tell me you aren’t stuffy.” Svitari squinted
slightly.
There was no fear in her eyes anymore.
“I am.” Chimbick wasn’t arguing the obvious. “But I’m
surprised that you noticed that facet of my personality.
Pleasantly surprised at that… I would have expected
something different.”
Svitari laughed.
“Now I also know you’re a softie underneath it all.” She
informed the replicant. “And you should probably clean up,
too.” The girl pushed the dead gangster’s arm out of the way
with her foot.

Suddenly embarrassed, the sergeant grabbed the corpse’s
ankles and began dragging him to the bathroom to join the
others.
“What did you do to him?” Blaze inquired warily. “He
didn’t even order anyone to shut up…”
“Shut up, Blaze.” Chimbick yelled from the bathroom.
“Oh, okay, he’s back to normal now.” Blaze was
reassured. “So, what about me?”
“In dire need of latrine duty.” Chimbick informed him as
he entered the room. “Please continue, Miss Loray. I
apologize for the interruption.”
“Blaze is a student.” Svitari continued, still smiling. “So
we should make him younger. Set mine at nineteen, and
Angie…”
Rie glanced at her sister, who shrugged indifferently.
“Twenty five or so, seems believable.”
“Roger that.” Chimbick nodded.
“Which age should we lower, ma’am?” Blaze asked for
clarification.
“How do you mean? ” Rie sounded surprised.
“We are twenty biologically,” Blaze reminded her. “And
ten chronologically.”
“Ten…” Angela echoed softly. The replicants weren’t
sure why she would repeat something like that.
“Make Blaze twenty years old, then.” Svitari finally
decided after a moment’s pause.
“And me?.. Thirty?” Chimbick asked, unsure.
The girls looked him over.
“Yes, that will work; can’t tell if you’re twenty or thirty
with the face paint.” Angela decided.
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded.
“The pictures, ma’am.” Blaze reminded.

He snapped several holo images and downloaded them to
Chimbick’s data pad.
“Perfect.” Chimbick concluded after studying the results.
He handed the pistol back to Blaze, picked up the
backpack and activated the city map on the comm.
“We’ll meet at the city park at the marked coordinates.
Blaze, you behave.” He warned and cast a meaningful glance
at the girls, then at Blaze who seemed to be edging closer to
them. With a look of hurt innocence, Blaze moved away to a
corner and busied himself with packing. Sergeant looked over
his “army” and sighed.
“I suggest we leave, and fast.” Svitari said with an
expressive look towards the bathroom they turned into an
improvised morgue.
Neither sister seemed nervous about the very recent
murders committed in this room; that brought Blaze back to
less than cheerful guess as to what their real profession was.
He read in several books that as a rule, civilians have violent
reactions to murders, especially women, who may even go into
hysterics. Loray seemed suspiciously calm, with the exception
of the empath’s reaction. Still, even she seemed amazingly
composed for someone who literally felt torture as her own.
“Yes, ma’am.” He said aloud and fetched an incendiary
explosive to plant in a corner.
“Three hours should be enough, I think…” The replicant
muttered thoughtfully as he set the timer.
Laden with their belongings, Blaze opened the door.
“Ladies first,” He showed off his knowledge of manners
by copying some book character.

Chapter 18
Planet New Plymouth

They got to the meeting spot without too much trouble,
except for an encounter with a police patrol. A cop walking
by in a company of a cyborg was eying them a bit too
attentively; so much so that Blaze was beginning to consider
plans for a takedown, should the cop decide to check their as
of yet nonexistent IDs. However, Angela interfered. She
beamed a smile and walked straight to the cop, making the
replicant’s heart pound with the feeling of impending doom.
Despite the improvement in their relationship, nothing could
stop Loray from ratting him out to the patrol and then,
perhaps, telling them where to find Chimbick. But much to
his relief, the young woman just told the policeman she was a
tourist from Tiamat and asked for direction to a museum. The
name of the museum? She forgot, but definitely remembered
that there’s an exhibition going on there now. As they talked,
Angela laughed at every joke the cop made and kept casually
touching him as she traced her finger along the streets and
routes on the holographic map. They were quite friendly by
the end of the conversation. Angela even planted a kiss on the
cop’s cheek before returning to her companions.
And the officer completely forgot to check the IDs.
Chimbick showed up two hours later. He handed the
sisters their new passports and ordered curtly:
“Let’s go. Fast.”
Blaze opened his mouth to ask a question, but noticed
how the sergeant was clutching the bag to his side and just
followed silently.
“Had to take care of two, it got dirty.” Chimbick
explained as they walked. “Turns out, criminals have their
own system of code words.”

“How bad did they get you?” Blaze glanced at the bag
Chimbick was pressing against his ribs.
To his surprise, sergeant looked embarrassed.
“If only… I slipped and fell. Caught myself on a table
corner. Tore the shirt and got filth all over… Let’s stop
somewhere, I’ll change.”
“A clothing store.” Svitari suggested. “Just go to a fitting
room, I’ll bring you some new threads.”
Half an hour later, the runaways were sitting at a
restaurant. The main criterion in choosing the place was that it
had private rooms with Infonet terminals.
Once everyone was seated around the table, sergeant
fished a heavy bag out of his backpack.
“A trophy from that… baker.” He explained. “He doesn’t
need it anymore, but we might.”
“Should we open a numbered account?”
suggested.

Svitari

“Not an option, ma’am.” Chimbick shook his head.
“Besides the risk of being recognized by bank security
systems, we’ll limit our options if we have to travel between
planets. Communications aren’t perfect, so there’s a waiting
period up to several days. I researched this. But cash is used
all over the Union, including the underdeveloped worlds, as
well as within Consortium.”
“Then get a normal purse instead of walking around with
a bag of money.” Rie advised.
“A purse?” the sergeant asked confusedly.
“It’s for carrying money.” The girl explained and then
opened a virtual store page on the terminal to just show the
sergeant what she was talking about.
“I’ll do that, ma’am.” Chimbick replied seriously.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Then he poured the contents of the bag onto the table.

“Miss Angela, I suggest we split up.” He said. “Blaze
and miss Svitari will take a separate flight.”
The twins exchanged a glance and nodded reluctantly.
“Yes, they are looking for two kidnapping victims…”
Angela sighed. “Fewer chances to get caught if we split up.”
“So what would be the best flight, then?” The sergeant
pulled the dead security operatives’ bag out and added its
contents to the late Mozach’s fortune.
“I think entertainment cruises within the system will be
the last thing they’ll check,” Angela mused. “I’m not even
sure they register tickets bought through travel agencies. In
any case, nobody would expect two thugs with hostages to go
on a cruise.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Blaze agreed.
The sisters busied themselves studying various offers
from travel agencies, and Chimbick began dividing the money
into four equal piles.
“If we want to leave today and on different flights, then
one group will get there faster.” Angela said after a couple of
minutes. “From what’s available, we have one cruise getting
to Vulcan in three days, and another one in six.”
“Blaze and Miss Svitari, you take the six day one.”
Chimbick ordered. “Miss Angela, we’ll take the other.”
“I’ll book the tickets.” The empath nodded and started
typing in the data. “We can pay cash, no later than two hours
before boarding stops. Rie, Blaze, you have less than three
hours before the booking is canceled.”
“Huh?” Blaze, completely lost, looked to Chimbick for
help.
But all he got was a shrug.
“I’ll explain on the way.” Rie promised.
Meanwhile, Chimbick finished counting and divvying up
the cash.

“Ma’am? Would these resourced be sufficient to fulfill
our plan?”
He gestured to the table heaping with money. The girls
just sighed.
“You need to learn how to handle money with more
care.” Angela said. “At least pretend it means something to
you. The way you just shove platinum in your pockets by
handful so it falls out as you walk… we’ll get caught in no
time like that.”
“Good idea, by the way.” Rie snapped her fingers and
snatched several small coins from the pile.
“What?” She bristled at Chimbick’s disapproving frown.
“I’m tired of asking every time I need pocket change for
something.”
“I haven’t counted it.” The replicant explained. “I must
have the exact sum in my report.”
Suddenly, he went quiet, obviously lost in thought.
“Damn…” He muttered finally. “What should I write
about all this? You know, the panty seller, those local
criminals… they aren’t enemy combatants.”
Sergeant looked at the sisters as if waiting for a clue, then
at Blaze, who could only shrug, just as lost.
“Why do you have to list them in anything?” Svitari
asked somewhat warily.
“Because it’s a mission report.” Chimbick explained,
amazed by the question. “I must mention everything, even the
most minute details. Besides, we are the first replicants in our
series to be in this situation. Our reports could be used to
develop new instruction manuals that might prevent others
from repeating our mistakes. That’s why every detail, even
the seemingly insignificant ones, are very important.”
By the end of this impassioned speech the sergeant
realized that the girls were watching him and hanging on every
word… and that it would appear they find it all very amusing.

“You are the emperor of Mr. Stuffies.” Svitari
summarized.
“It’s necessary.” Chimbick muttered, embarrassed. “If
we had instructions such as these, perhaps we could have
avoided the situation we’re in now.”
“I suggest we postpone reports and instruction manuals
until we reach Eldorado.” Angela piped in. “If things go
sideways, the problem will sort itself out.”
Realizing that he’d get no understanding or sympathy
from the sisters, Chimbick sighed.
“Okay, I’ll get it sorted somehow…”
He surveyed the results of his labor in the field of finance
distribution.
“Miss Loray, I think it would be better if you take charge
in financial matters. You have a better understanding of this.”
“I like the way you think, Mr. Stuffy.” Svitari beamed and
raked up the pile of money.
It took her a while - primitive world’s currency was quite
heavy.
“Do you seriously want us to lug this pile of metal
around?”
Angela’s look was very skeptical, even the
replicants could see that.
“I’m cool with that!” Rie interjected immediately.
Chimbick studied both sisters for a while, then the heaps
of metal on the table, looked at Blaze for a moment and finally
decided:
“Alright. We’ll carry it. Blaze…” He upnodded towards
the pile Svitari was holding with obvious fondness.
Blaze swept the money off the table and into his
backpack, ignoring a disappointed sigh from the girl.
“Don’t forget to buy a purse,” Chimbick said, dutifully
remembering Svitari’s advice. “Or better yet, two or three.
Give one to Miss Loray for operational expenses, and put the
exact sum in the report.”

“Roger that.” Blaze replied.
Sergeant scooped the remaining coins into the security
operatives’ bag.
“Alright, let’s scatter. Blaze, you and Miss Svitari go
first.”
Blaze nodded and got up.
“Sarge, where on Vulcan should we meet?” He asked
while adjusting the backpack straps.
Chimbick glanced at Angela.
“What would you recommend, ma’am?”
She shrugged. “They must have hotels there. Just pick
one from a travel agency catalog.”
Blaze and Rie busied themselves with research for a
moment.
“Here.” Blaze finally said, showing the others an entry
they chose.
“Gingerbread house.” Sergeant read the sign. “Very well,
let’s meet there. That would be all; execute.”
“See you later, Sarge.” Blaze winked at his brother.
“Don’t be glum, Angie.” Svitari said with a smile. “We’ll
see each other soon.”
“Please be careful.” Her sister asked.
“Always.” Rie laughed and left the room with Blaze.
Angela and Chimbick watched them with the same
somber expressions.

Chapter 19
Planet New Plymouth

It was still six hours before Haley’s Comet was supposed
to depart, so Chimbick and Angela decided not to tempt fate
and wait inside a restaurant. Also, the replicant was starving
by now, and the smells wafting into the terminal were teasing
both his appetite and imagination mercilessly.
While the sergeant, once again overwhelmed by the
variety of available food, tried to order, Angela busied herself
studying information on Tiamat and Vulcan.
“So, we were both born on Tiamat.” She began the back
story briefing.
Since Angela’s life experience far outstripped
Chimbick’s, she took the lead in this part of the operation; the
sergeant made no protest and hung on every word.
“We live in the capitol, Azimov. Did you have a chance
to see the city?”
“No ma’am.” Chimbick shook his head. “I read the
information booklet, and saw images. Spent some time in the
selva, but not on Tiamat itself. We had a jungle area on the
training grounds, so we could practice combat there. But I
didn’t see the real thing. You know we were on the ship when
you got there.”
“How would I know? You could have been living there a
month. But no matter. We live in this district, and rent an
office there as well.”
She opened a city map and pointed out the buildings.
“You rent an apartment here, but spend most of your time
out in the selva, at your estate. Study the area in the tourist
mode, so you know where you could have eaten, or walked, or
spent time. Memorize street names and businesses.”

Chimbick dutifully began studying; he couldn’t help but
notice how meticulously Angela was creating their legend.
“You’re a hunter. Founded a small, but successful
company selling delicacy meats and souvenirs made of leather
and other animal parts to rich fops on New Plymouth. You’re
considering branching out into breeding domesticated and
genetically modified local animals. Here’s a product catalog,
study that. There are links to videos of all the animals under
every product. Learn, memorize.”
A knock on the door announced the arrival of a waiter
with food. The room filled with tantalizing smells that made
Chimbick salivate a bit. With an effort of will, the replicant
suppressed the earthly desires of the flesh and continued
studying.
“You know, you can read and eat at the same time.”
Angela suggested as soon as the door closed behind the waiter.
She set an example by spearing a piece of meat with a
fork. Chimbick was much less refined in his table manners.
In all fairness, even if he did try, he didn’t know how to use
anything other than a spoon anyway. But since a spoon didn’t
quite work on some things, sergeant used his hands,
unconcerned with the aesthetic component of the meal. His
mouth stuffed enough to make him look like a gerbil getting
ready for winter, he put his jaws to work.
“Hunters have an interesting job.” Chewing done,
Chimbick made a sudden observation. “Must be nice,
spending all day in a forest… I like the selva. Much better
than just being under a dome, or some place with crap instead
of air.”
Sergeant licked his fingers and grabbed the next handful.
Angela watched him with sincere interest.
“May I give you some advice on how not to stand out
from the crowd during meals?”
“Mmmhm,” Chimbick grunted and attempted to nod,
which was somewhat impeded by the process of stuffing his
mouth.

“First of all,” The young woman began, “There are rules
for behaving at a table. For example, you shouldn’t mention
crap or other unpleasant things that can ruin people’s
appetites.”
She met an utterly befuddled look from the replicant and
realized that there may not be a subject capable of ruining his
appetite.
“Let me rephrase it… Avoid the subject of defecation
and any figures of speech related to it. Don’t mention illness
or symptoms of illness. That should be enough for now.”
The replicant was finally able to nod.
“Next…” Angela showed Chimbick a fork. “There are
different utensils. To pass for a savage from the Selva, all you
need to do is master the fork. Use the spoon only to eat liquid
food, and use the fork for the rest. We’ll fine tune the details
later.”
Chimbick spent the next half hour dutifully trying to
figure out the basics of table etiquette.
“You civilians! Why are you trying to make everything
more difficult?” He wailed when a piece of food slipped off
the fork for the tenth time. “The war will be over with before
you can finish a meal! Or I could reach my expiration date.
What’s all this for?” The replicant gestured to the array of
silverware. “What’s the practical purpose of it?”
“There’s none.” Angela shrugged. “But there are
conventions. It’s like a code you enter into a system to be
recognized as one that belongs, to get access. This set of skills
is a code signifying that you belong to a certain circle. Each
level of society has its own set of these codes. Of course,
when push comes to shove, everyone - even senators and
oligarchs - will be eating with their hands next to a toilet.”
The last words sounded suddenly harsh and cold.
“So the point of all this is to show one’s social status?”
Chimbick inquired.
“Generally, yes. And if you don’t want to seem
suspicious - work on that fork technique.”

The answer was a mournful sigh. The process of eating
lost a large part of its appeal for Chimbick; he began watching
Angela out of the corner of his eye. She was trying a bit from
every dish, savoring every piece; that reminded the replicant
of himself a little. The difference was that he devoured
everything he could reach, while the girl just sampled.
Chimbick didn’t quite understand why someone would
willingly limit themselves to just tiny amounts of delicious
food that was so readily available, but didn’t dare ask, fearful
that it would lead to a new set of restrictions.
“You are posing as a hunter from Tiamat.” Angela moved
the conversation back to the topic of their identities. “I’m
your assistant. You aren’t very talkative or sociable, so you
hired me to handle negotiations. You make decisions and
make adjustments to my work when needed.”
Seeing the miserable look on the replicant’s face, Angela
relented.
“I’ll talk to everyone, and you can interject at any
moment if you disagree with something. Understood?”
““Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded. “I will have the
time to read the necessary minimum and memorize it. We all
have eidetic memory and can improvise. All I need is
instruction and an example.”
With that, he picked up a piece of some vegetable with
quite a bit more skill. Still, Angela was looking at him
doubtfully.
“Our company setup is very simple: I handle talking to
clients and making deals, you provide security and control the
money, so you pay for everything yourself. We’ve been
working together for two or three months, so we only know
each other from the business side of things. Any questions?”
“No ma’am, I understand. Except in what way can
people working together know each other aside from work?”
He put down the fork and picked up a coffee cup just like
he was shown - fingertips gripping the little handle. After one
sip, he winced, stopped to generously pour more sugar into the

cup and began stirring with a spoon. The room filled with the
sound of a jazz band tuning up.
“Personal, of course. They can be friends, or relatives.
Old acquaintances. Lovers.”
Angela looked at the replicant thoughtfully, as if trying
each of these roles out for size.
“For example, when a man hires a beautiful woman as an
assistant, very often there’s an implication that sex would be
part of getting the job.”
“No, that’s not acceptable.” The sergeant refused the idea
immediately. “Go on.”
“Why?” Angela sounded surprised. “Pretty much
everyone will be sure we’re sleeping together.”
“I’m not human, ma’am.” Chimbick looked into her
eyes. “That’s one. And what you’re describing is coercion.
That’s two.”
The girl snorted; her face looked harsh and angry for a
moment.
“All our lives are coercion. And aren’t you posing for a
human? So learn to coerce and use others.”
“Within reason, Miss Angela.” Chimbick replied without
looking away. “What you’re offering is unnecessary. And I’m
perfectly capable of coercion when needed. You and your
sister had a chance to see that.”
Disdain flashed in Angela’s eyes and disappeared,
leaving just polite indifference.
“As you wish.” She agreed obligingly. “But it may cause
some bafflement - a young single man not screwing a good
looking employee. It’s normal for humans. “
Human world turned out to be full of surprises, most of
them unpleasant. The replicant imagined a situation Angela
described and cringed in disgust.
“Then I’m glad I’m not a human.”

It seemed to Chimbick that Angela was surprised by that.
He sipped his coffee as if to get rid of an unpleasant taste in
his mouth and remembered one of the instructors on Aegis, a
former policeman from Earth. The man would always speak
badly of humans, not even trying to hide his anger and
disdain. Back then, the replicants would wonder about his
attitude, but now, having seen the civilian life with his own
eyes, Chimbick was starting to understand the Earther.
“How should I behave around strangers, ma’am?” He
broke the silence.
“In an unfriendly manner.” Angela replied. “You’re a
savage from the Selva, all you know is how to kill and butcher
animals. You don’t need to be the life of the party. For that,
you hired me.”
“That would be simple, ma’am.” Sergeant’s smile would
probably make a great white shark squeal in horror. “I like
humans less and less. Is physical force acceptable?”
“No.” The answer was a disappointment. “Police or liner
security will have some pointed questions about that. But you
can threaten to bash someone’s face in. They will be expecting
you to.”
“What if they don’t believe me?” Sergeant decided to
clarify the new rule. “Or if someone threatens you?”
“What do you care?” Angela sounded surprised. “I can
get out of trouble on my own. Nobody is going to try and kill
me in the middle of a cruise.”
“I don’t want to test that theory, Miss Angela. Also, your
protection is a priority at the moment. I must protect you,
ma’am.”
“Oh wow.” Angela’s smile was positively venomous.
“How touching. Didn’t you order to cut my sister’s eye out the
other day?”
“I did.” Chimbick admitted calmly. “And I would have,
if it were really necessary. None of this is a question of my
personal feelings. All my actions are meant to complete the
mission in the most efficient manner. You are making a

mistake trying to assess my actions from a human morals point
of view, miss Angela. I’m not a human.”
The young woman glared at him.
“Good thing I have a lot of experience interacting with
monsters, then.”
With that, she smiled sweetly and began eating dessert as
if nothing happened.
In the light of what he learned about humans, Chimbick
considered “monster” to be a compliment, but decided not to
comment and run a risk of being misunderstood. However, the
ease with which both Angela and her sister switched between
hatred to perfectly business-like tone and mimicked a range of
emotion between complete indifference to adoration made the
sergeant more and more wary. These women lied too easily
and believably to trust their words or even actions.
One could only hope that the more gullible Blaze would
not fall for Svitari’s lies.
Chimbick picked up the comm and sent a message to his
brother.
“Don’t let your guard down and don’t even think about
trusting her!” the message proclaimed. Half a minute later a
terse answer arrived. “Yes, Sarge.
You can rely on me”. Chimbick sighed. All he could do was
trust this.

Chapter 20
Planet New Plymouth. Counterintelligence Service
HQ

Lieutenant

Nave and his colleagues were in a dark
mood: the kidnapped Loray sisters disappeared into thin air.
Extra patrols and raids all over various shady businesses
yielded nothing. Well, except for a considerable haul of petty
criminals, so the local police were happy about their highly
improved percentage of solved crimes.
The first clue appeared in the morning - Nave received a
message from Hephaestus about tracking the “militiamen”
seen asking after Loray. They bought first class tickets to New
Plymouth. Needless to say, on the same flight the sisters took.
Neither the store owner nor the cashier could give a
description - both men were in full combat gear, including
breathing masks. However, the spaceport database had the
IDs and photos of those suddenly wealthy grunts.
“Some
surname
that
is,”
“Stewgenbotthead… what a mouthful.”

Nave

grumbled.

“Both of them?” Karl called out from his seat at another
desk.
“You’re going to laugh - yeah.” Graham nodded. “And
here’s the kicker, they are twins too.”
“The wonder brothers, huh…” Carl snorted as he walked
up to look. He took one glance at a photo and gasped. “Oh
screw that!”
“What?” Graham stared in bewilderment.
Instead of an answer, Carl went back to his terminal.
“Here,” He said a moment later.
Nave looked at the image on Carl’s screen and froze. The
same face as the Stewgen… what’s-their-face brothers. But

dead and contorted in a grimace of rage.
“Who is that?”
“Replicants, brother.” Mont chuckled grimly. “It seems
the crap we’re in just got a lot deeper.”
Graham could only nod as he processed the news.
Replicants. Consortium’s artificial soldiers, grown for one
purpose - to kill. They were the ones that put Union forces
deployed to Consortium-controlled planetoid Hel through a
meat grinder. But what were they doing here?
“What do we know about them?” Nave asked as he
opened the database.
“Not a thing, really.” Carl replied. “Showed up on Hel
like a jack in a box, annihilated our consolidated army group.
No live prisoners taken, just a couple of bodies. All we know
that they are a result of genetic engineering program, stuffed
full of implants. That’s all. Bloody corporates, all their tech is
designed so that if it doesn’t get a correct signal to a “friendor-foe” query, all the electronics self-destruct. So we couldn’t
even study the implants these things had.”
“Crap.” Nave summarized the situation with feeling.
“Let’s put an APB on them too. With the “extremely
dangerous” label. Oh, and have them question the crew on Sun
Queen- maybe someone noticed something unusual.
The day was spent in anxious waiting, but by the evening,
the search brought an unexpected result - a call from a police
station.
“Excuse me, may I speak to Lieutenant Nave?”
“Speaking. How can I help you, Mr.?..”
“Lieutenant Falc.” The cop introduced himself. “We got
an order to report all strange crimes.”
“And?” Graham tensed. “Did you get something?”
“Yes, Sir. I think you should look at these reports. I’ll
send them to your terminal.”

Nave clicked the icon for the first report and started
skimming over the text. His first impulse was to thank the cop
politely and hang up, but after a couple of paragraphs his
attention was captured completely.
The interesting part was a report on a fire at a cheap
motel; by all indications, it was meant to cover up the
evidence of a disagreement between rival gangs. Three
corpses belonging to a street gang known as “Nails” were
found in a suite, and a dead front desk clerk downstairs. It
would seem fairly normal for the slums. What caught the
veteran cops’ attention was that one of the thugs was killed
with a very precise headshot, another one died of a broken
neck and the third one also had been shot, but in the legs.
Also, judging by lack of shoes and a broken toe, the latter was
tortured. And finally, his death was caused by a massive
overdose on military grade painkiller, a gift to the world from
Consortium pharma industry.
The fire itself started from an incendiary grenade - and it
wouldn’t be too hard to guess who manufactured it; yes, the
Consortium. The way the charge was set up showed that it
was the handiwork of a specialist who knew exactly what he
was doing. The clerk was killed with a headshot; the killer
then broke into the computer connected to the CCTV system
and took the memory cell.
The cop who wrote the report was diligent enough to note
that a normal shootout between gangs usually has a lot more
misses. As a rule, street thugs were notoriously bad
marksmen, just spraying bullets in the general direction of a
target. Here, however, one could see the work of a
professional. The weapons used on all the victims were also
Consortium made - very few in the criminal underworld could
afford something like that.
Intrigued, Nave grunted and opened the second file.
Another fire, this time in a tenement basement several blocks
away from the motel. More corpses - a counterfeiter and his
guards. Zvie Mozach, specialized in forgeries, mainly IDs;
died from a broken neck. Cause of death for the guards: one
broken neck, another shot with his colleague’s pistol.

“So they got new IDs.” Graham concluded. “Thank you
Lieutenant, this was very helpful. If you find anything
connected to this case, or similar - let us know immediately,
please.”
“I will, sir, definitely.” Judging by the newfound cheer in
the cop’s voice, he wasn’t completely sure he was right to
waste Counterintelligence Service’s time with this. Now,
however, there could even be commendation in his file.
Once the cop hung up, Graham went to the city map and
marked the district where the crimes happened.
“Slums.” He stated the obvious thoughtfully. “And
replicants… Maybe these Loray twins are helping them?”
Carl laughed.
“Oh come on! How would expensive whores from Tiamat
know local hoodlums? They are more likely to rob fancy night
clubs.”
The Captain walked over to the coffee machine and
kicked the housing expertly to get it to work. The device
howled indignantly, but dispensed a cup of hot liquid.
“Even if they work together with the replicants,” Carl
continued thinking aloud, “It’s all too easy and neat. They
know where to go for the documents… No, there has to be a
bigger fish somewhere. I bet the corporates had a resident
waiting for them. But…”
Carl poured three spoons of sugar into the cup, stirred and
took the first sip with visible delight.
“But then we’re back to the same question, who are these
Loray sisters to warrant a mess of this magnitude?”
Nave just sighed and returned to the terminal to read new
reports from the groups installed to watch the ports and other
points of exit. Among the others, he noticed a call from a
concerned citizen. As always happens in a case like this one,
the police departments were inundated with calls from all the
local crazies, reward seekers (even though no reward was
offered) and just bored citizens, convinced that their neighbors
were enemy spies. But the job is the job, every lead needed to

be checked, so Graham sighed again and played the
recording. This was more in the “Random silliness” category some housewife reported seeing a replicant in a woman’s
bathroom at the Silver City Mall. According to the report,
“this pervert” was looking for the next victim to kidnap, no
doubt about that.
Once he was done laughing, Nave played the recording
for the others to enjoy; but then, just out of curiosity, checked
the mall address - and froze, staring at the screen. Silver City
was smack in the middle of the neighborhood where the two
suspicious fires happened. Nearly forgetting to breathe, the
lieutenant requested access to the mall CCTV footage and
began watching the feeds from the main entrance. His efforts
were richly rewarded: one of the sisters was seen leaving the
mall with the replicant. The young woman didn’t look scared
or intimidated at all - quite the contrary, she was laughing at
her companion, who was frowning about something.
“So they split up?” Carl seemed surprised to see the
footage.
“And we’re looking for a group of four…” Nave grabbed
the comm link.
“The others could have been waiting outside.” Carl
interjected.
“All the same, we should look for couples - not
necessarily these two, but anyone who looks even remotely
like them.” Graham insisted. “Officer? I need a line to all
group leads.”

Chapter 21
Planet New Plymouth. Spaceport

This was not the first time Chimbick moved in the open
without his armor, but he couldn’t get used to the feeling. The
replicant felt naked and defenseless under strangers’ eyes. But
gradually, the discomfort started fading and disappeared
completely once the sergeant realized that the reason for
curious looks from passers by were not his scars, but the new
look. And the girl walking by his side.
This aspect was particularly fascinating to the replicant;
he decided to ask Angela about this when they had time for an
in depth conversation. For example, why were men’s looks
full of envy? And women’s looks, on the contrary, were
downright hostile - but directed at Angela and not him? Mutts
were definitely very strange…
Despite its status as a capital city, New Plymouth
spaceport wasn’t crowded; the war certainly had an effect,
communication lines to Consortium controlled planets and
stations were broken now. Also, some of the landing pads
were commandeered for the newly created Union War Fleet,
so many intrasystem flights were moved to other ports on the
planet.
Sergeant’s attention was drawn to a group of garishly
dressed young men in the first class waiting lounge. The
youngsters were sipping out of various bottles and drunkenly
belting out a song, completely out of tune. One of them was
standing on a table pretending to conduct this cacophony,
while risking death from falling - he could barely keep himself
upright. A couple of revelers saw Angela and moved to
intercept, but reconsidered as soon as Chimbick turned his
head to look at them. He gave them a harsh stare, but it
seemed that whatever threat they might have presented was no
longer there, so he sat down next to Angela.

“And these are the civilized people?”
muttered.

the replicant

With that, he picked up a brightly colored magazine
printed on honest to god real paper and tried to read.
However, much as he tried, he couldn’t make heads or tails of
it. Seemingly familiar words were combined into sentences in
such a way that they became complete nonsense. “The world
of high fashion”, “haute couture costumes”… those just about
melted the replicant’s brain. Chimbick could ask Angela, but
he wanted to decipher these bizarre articles himself, based on
the experience he was able to acquire so far.
A colorful procession distracted him from reading. It was
led by two somber gorillas dressed in black and red leather
uniforms, decorated with a ridiculous amount of fastenings,
zippers and buckles. Next walked something Chimbick first
mistook for an android. A more attentive look made the
replicant realize that this was a human being, but outfitted with
decorative platinum implants. Chimbick just saw something
similar in the fashion magazine and thought it was purely
designer’s vivid imagination. But now, staring at a real life
example of this, he was wondering why someone would do
this to their own body.
Platinum plates mounted on brow ridges mimicked the
natural shape of an eyebrow. Ears were devoid of lobes, but
embellished with platinum lace that made the ears look long
and pointy. More platinum gleamed on the man’s temples and
framed the lower jaw. It looked almost as if he was wearing
some fantastical armor that could hide the face behind a force
field at any moment. Of course, if such technology existed,
replicants would have been the first to know about it.
Chimbick assessed the abundance of other jewelry and
came to a conclusion that the facial implants were purely
decorative. In his opinion, this didn’t do much for the mutt’s
looks. Then again, the replicant was rather ignorant when it
came to human beauty standards. A pragmatic through and
through, he couldn’t understand the point of these body
modifications. The only thing that could have been useful
were platinum implants replacing natural fingernails - if not

for their shape and size. Long and made to look like animal
claws, these made any work impossible. Generally, the man’s
outlandish look screamed “I don’t do menial work at all”.
The replicant tried to guess the weight of all the bracelets,
rings, chains and other bling. By his estimate, it came up to at
least ten kilos; quite a load for a mutt.
The carrier of a small fortune in platinum was followed
by a group of similarly looking people.
The men were
obviously copying their leader - the same ear shape and
implant style, the same colors and cut of clothing; the only
difference was the amount of jewelry they wore. Each
underling had barely a kilo of bling each.
All the women in the group wore richly decorated
shoulder pads with a crest and a monogram underneath it;
much like the men, they were covered in bracelets, rings and
implanted embellishments - some more than others.
Angela, who has been carefully maintaining an
indifferent look, suddenly moved closer to the replicant.
Sergeant glanced at her, surprised, but decided not to ask
questions about such a sudden change in behavior.
“What’s with the strategic reserves of precious metals?”
He asked instead, nodding in the direction of the traveling
roadside show.
“Knife ears,” Angela spat out.
She was not looking at the group, as if their very
existence made her sick.
“I can see their ears are pointy.” Befuddled by the girl’s
reaction, Chimbick was studying the bizarre creatures more
attentively. “Who are they? Where do they come from?”
“Inbreds from Eden. Weird that they don’t have slaves
with them.”
“Oh, so that’s what they are like…” Chimbick
murmured. “We studied their society in general, but mainly
paid attention to the military forces and such. Why are they
so… decorated?”

“They worship prosperity.” Angela hissed.
Her face lost all its beauty from being contorted in a
grimace of hatred and disdain.
“Or rather, they pretend to worship a god, but that god’s
love manifests as prosperity. If you’re poor - it means god
doesn’t love you. And if god doesn’t love you - you were
meant to be a slave.”
Chimbick noted the definite rage in Angela’s voice. It
seemed strange - she barely looked at the two drunks who
clearly meant to harass her earlier.
“What is wrong with you, Miss Angela?” he inquired.
“I’m just not fond of them.” She spat out the answer.
“Like any normal person.”
The replicant looked around the lounge. Most civilians
weren’t paying much attention to the Edenite procession;
several people pursed their lips in disapproval and moved to
the opposite side of the room.
“Nobody is reacting the same way you are.” Chimbick
pointed out.
“Because we’re flying first class.” Angela sounded cold
now.
She seemed to have calmed down as fast as she flared up
earlier. By now, her expression was rather that of reserved
displeasure, nothing more. But she didn’t move away from
the replicant, which, Chimbick suddenly realized, pleased him.
“Rich people seldom feel compassion for those less
fortunate.”
“And you?” The replicant couldn’t help but ask the
question.
From what he gleaned so far, the twins weren’t hurting
for money.
“I’m an empath.” Angela reminded him. “I feel even for
those I hate.”

“Do you feel other people’s emotions constantly?”
Sergeant asked curiously. “Or it can be controlled? Do you
have something like an “off” function?”
He realized that until now, he was too preoccupied with
all the other problems to really consider this trait Angela had.
It didn’t help, but didn’t hinder them either, and therefore
wasn’t particularly important. He thought of it as a personality
trait, something like feeling faint at the sight of blood. But
now Chimbick started to realize that empathy could be the key
to understanding Angela, so he decided to gather all available
information, with the long term goal of possibly using the
young woman’s gift to aid in their mission.
“It’s one of my senses. You can’t turn off your hearing,
can you? Or sense of touch?”
The replicant tried to imagine what it must be like constantly feeling other people’s emotions. And what she
might be feeling next to him… Nothing good, most likely.
And adding in the surrounding crowd… that must be a
complete emotional chaos.
Chimbick concluded that an empath would be under
extreme emotional stress all the time. She must have nerves of
steel to endure something like that.
“I can’t even imagine how hard this must be.” He said
quietly. “Tell me… Back in the woods… Did we share your
feelings? When I told Blaze to cut Svitari’s eye out? Why
haven’t you done that again?”
The empath gave Chimbick a long silent look that he had
trouble interpreting.
“Would you like a repeat performance of that?”
young woman replied finally.
“No.” Sergeant admitted honestly.
And then, surprising himself, added:
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Angela raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“For what?”

the

“For not knowing how to behave like a human. I wish we
could have come up with a different way of doing things back
then.”
Chimbick’s somewhat limited vocabulary didn’t have the
words to describe what he was feeling at the moment. Neither
did he have any idea what to do with those, and that made him
angry with himself. The replicant realized that the decision to
capture and intimidate potential enemy operatives was the
correct and reasonable one, but felt shame for it all the same.
This was abnormal and unnatural. The desire to apologize for
one’s actions - correct actions at that - wasn’t normal either.
But as soon as Chimbick saw how Angela’s expression
softened, all his doubts disappeared.
“To admit a mistake and apologize for it…” She said
after a long pause. “Truly, you aren’t a human.”
Chimbick blinked, unsure how to interpret that. Did he
do something wrong again or it’s one of these jokes humans
make?
“Humans don’t do that?” He asked warily.
“I don’t know,” Angela squinted playfully and shrugged.
“Haven’t seen it myself, but there are legends…”
Now Chimbick did smile.

Chapter 22
Space liner Haley’s Comet

“Can you just throw that blasted armor away already?”
Angela suggested for the umpteenth time. “It is certainly
distinct, you know, and people are looking for us. They could
have easily changed the rules, so even first class passengers
might be searched.”
The sergeant just shook his head silently. The armor was
his second skin, an integral part of life for any replicant. They
lived in their armor and died in it. The concept of throwing it
away was not even blasphemous, it was inconceivable, like
throwing away a hand or a leg.
“It’s going to be alright, ma’am.” He comforted Angela.
“First class luggage is searched with an automatic scanner. I
have a device capable of misleading it. We won’t have any
problems.”
“I’m pretending I’m not with you for the customs.”
Angela threatened gloomily.
She had to stop talking about the armor because of an
approaching security patrol - an officer accompanied by three
cyborgs; a perfectly normal sight for colonial worlds.
Some time ago, cyborgs had to be created as a solution to
the problem common for the colonies - Earth-made robots
wearing out. Very few colonies managed to maintain the level
of technology required to develop complex robotics, so
cyborgs, which were comparatively easy to make, became
their saving grace. Faced with extinction, the colonists
quickly redefined the ideas of humane treatment and chose not
to apply those to criminals. Someone doesn’t want to work for
the happy new world? They would end up doing it
involuntarily.
This procedure was dubbed “mandatory socialization”.
Individuals deemed dangerous or harmful to the society were

transformed into cyborgs, and in that new incarnation they
would make their contribution to the nascent civilizations.
At first, these newly socialized delinquents worked in
every sphere of life: street cleaning, hazardous industries too
dangerous for humans, made up the bulk of infantry corps and,
in some cases, law enforcement - heavily armored cyborgs
were used by SWAT teams for storming buildings.
Life expectancy of a cyborg depended on the original
criminal’s age and physical shape.
Once the organic
component wore out, it was discarded and the chassis would
get a new occupant.
With time, this changed. Cyborg production petered out,
either because of degrading technology or some other reasons.
Only Hephaestus and New Plymouth, the most developed
planets in the Union, were still capable of mass producing
them. A contract with the Consortium provided the colonies
with access to cheap modern robotics and therefore raised the
question of retiring the entire idea of mandatory socialization
and use of cyborgs in general. However, the war changed that.
Chimbick knew that the Union, anticipating future
battles, made a decision to create new cyborg regiments, since
infantry cyborgs were just what the military needed - they had
serious firepower and were extremely difficult to kill in
combat. And, most importantly, this was all relatively cheap
and didn’t depend on Consortium for supplies.
Fairly advanced - by the Union standards anyway programming allowed the cyborgs to continue trying to
accomplish the mission even if “Operational Control
Modules”, or cyborg sergeants in charge of combat tactics,
were destroyed. In case of combat, those OCMs would be
replicants’ first targets.
OCMs had more advanced
programming, better armor, communication equipment and
sensors, but that came at the expense of fire power and ammo
supply. The main selection criterion in OCM production was
the physical shape of the organic component, the condemned
criminal would have to be young and fit.

Unlike replicants, cyborgs didn’t have to be raised and
trained. They didn’t require a salary, or insurance, or medical
care, or vacations and days off - unlike human soldiers.
Cyborgs didn’t have relatives entitled to compensation in the
event of an injury or death. It wasn’t seen as much of a
problem that a cyborg’s intellect was lower than that of a
human. What they did have was enough for an infantry
soldier meant for combined arms warfare. So now the cyborgs
formed the core of all Union infantry.
Replicants have heard that prison supply lines were not
enough to satisfy the Union army demand, and to remedy that,
Hephaestus and New Plymouth made an attempt to build a
production line based on vat-grown clones. However, based
on the biological material Chimbick has seen so far, even
capital city cyborgs were mutt-sourced.
He winced at the sight of cyborgs empty stare.
“Some relatives I have.” He muttered.
“What do you mean, relatives?” Angela asked, confused.
“They are, essentially, biorobots - like me.” Sergeant
explained. “An organic base component and cybernetic
implants. But while in our series the implants are meant to
improve combat efficiency in conjunction with gear and
weaponry, these are very heavily modified, from brain to
extremities. Modular manipulators instead of arms. Brains
heavily excised and full of electronics. Minimal autonomous
thinking. They can’t even eat on their own. This is primitive
and barbaric.”
He couldn’t help but shudder; cyborgs unsettled him.
“What’s the expression? Every family has a black sheep,
right?” The replicant attempted to joke.
“You have as much in common with this thing as I do
with the cyber mannequin over there in the store window.”
Angela pointed to a robotic figure dancing in a clothing store
display. “It has no emotions. No soul.”
“Soul?” Chimbick asked.

He was familiar with the term. Even replicants used
phrases like “scared the soul out of me”, but it never occurred
to Chimbick to wonder about the true meaning of the word.
“Can a product have a soul?” he asked finally. “If I
understand the definition of the term correctly, a soul is a
human attribute, specific to religious people.
Because
according to a variety of religious beliefs, a man is created by
god and god gives his creation a soul. We are, however,
created by humans.”
Angela smiled mirthlessly.
“I know a lot of humans who are definitely soulless. So
why couldn’t an artificially created person develop a soul? To
balance out the soulless humans, you know.”
Chimbick made a helpless gesture.
“I don’t know, ma’am. You would know more about that.
“
But it did warm his possibly nonexistent soul.
replicant wondered if he really might have one, after all.

The

That provided food for thought until it was time to board
the shuttle.
Once their flight to Vulcan was announced, Loray
breathed in deeply to calm her nerves. Despite her earlier
threat, she went through customs with Chimbick. A gaunt
sallow-faced man spent so long studying their IDs that
Angela’s face was at serious risk of getting forever stuck in a
charming smile. But nothing happened. The IDs were
accepted, and luggage went through the scanners without a
hitch.
By the time the shuttle launched to take them to the liner
waiting in orbit, Angela’s nerves were completely frayed. As
soon as the crew announced that they left the planet’s
atmosphere, which meant the passengers could move around
the cabin, she informed Chimbick that she was going to mix a
couple of drinks for medicinal purposes. She declined an
attendant’s offer of help and headed for the bar.

Chimbick watched her warily, until he was absolutely
sure there were neither threats to her safety nor any chance to
escape. Having spent some time analyzing Angela’s behavior,
the replicant drew a not so cheerful conclusion - she just
wanted to be away from him. Not that the sergeant blamed
her, he didn’t consider himself to be pleasant company either.
To distract himself from all this unpleasant thinking, he
decided to read for a while. As Blaze has shown, this
seemingly pointless activity could give useful insight into the
civilian world the replicants were trapped in. Chimbick even
picked a book and was looking forward to new discoveries
when he was rudely interrupted. A brightly dressed young
man in the next chair addressed Chimbick rather informally:
“Hey bro, where’d you get a babe like that?” The fop
pointed his finger at Angela.
Chimbick stared at the unwelcome company for a second,
trying to figure out what the man might want. Finally, a light
bulb went off in the replicant’s brain.
“She’s my sales representative, sir.” He answered curtly
and returned to his data pad to end the conversation. Sadly,
the neighbor was not very good at taking a hint.
“Just a sales rep, huh?” He asked with a look of
disbelief. “Are you saying she’s free?”
Chimbick nodded without looking up from the page.
“Yes, sir. Miss Garm is a free woman.”
The point of this interrogation eluded the replicant.
Perhaps the mutt was upset by the Edenites at the space port
and wanted to talk about the problem of slavery? But the
stranger looked in the direction of the bar again, scanning
Angela with his eyes, and asked the next question casually.
“So are you tired of her already?”
“Sir?” the replicant stared, bewildered. “Tired of her in
what way?”
“Well, if she’s still your sales rep, bro.” The man winked
in an attempt to be chummy. “Then I guess her professional

qualities are okay.”
Chimbick was starting to suspect the man was talking
about these strange complicated relationships between humans
Angela mentioned earlier. But vague and seemingly unrelated
phrases gave him little chance to clarify what the conversation
was about.
“Sir, her profession is sales representatives.” He tried to
explain. “And no, I’m not tired of her. We’ve been working
together three months already, sir.” He added, remembering
the legend.
Unfortunately, that’s where useful memories ended - the
replicant continued to use “sir” in every sentence, despite
Angela’s advice.
“Oh, I see…” The fop gave Chimbick an understanding
look and lowered his voice. “So you just check her
professional qualifications every now and then during business
trips, huh?”
“I don’t understand you, sir.” The man’s use of confusing
euphemisms was rapidly turning Chimbick’s befuddlement
into annoyance. “Please explain what you mean by “checking
professional qualifications”?”
The mutt stared at Chimbick as if seeing him for the first
time. He studied the barbaric outfit and, evidently, concluded
that it would be best to choose simple words and speak in
short sentences.
“Are you sleeping with her?” he asked plainly.
Sergeant realized he was being suspected of this
disgusting coercion Angela told him about.
“No, sir.” The armrest creaked under replicant’s hand.
Chimbick imagined that he was squeezing this gadfly’s
neck and felt a bit better.
“Miss Garm is my business representative, sir.” He said
calmly. “Just a business representative. That’s all.”
If until this moment the mutt simply doubted his
intellectual capacity, now the was clearly convinced he was

talking to an idiot.
“Are you serious? Hire a chick like that and not even get
some in exchange? Are you saying you’re not even going to
lay her in these three days in space?”
Unbeknownst to the civilian, Chimbick was imagining
laying him out. On a slab, cold and bloody.
“No, Sir. Now let me read. Sir.” The sergeant used up his
last reserve of politeness on nodding curtly and continued
staring at the data pad.
“Not a problem,” the mutt grinned. “I got better plans
now.”
He gave Angela, who was just coming back with two
cocktails, another slimy look. She settled back into her seat
and offered Chimbick a glass. Layers of liquid were floating
on top of each other in it without mixing, so the drink looked
like a little rainbow.
“Want to try some?”
Chimbick liked the way it looked, but he smelled alcohol
and shook his head no.
“No, m… Teera. Thank you.” He glanced at the fop in
the next seat and added:
“A hunter needs a clear head.”
Angela didn’t insist; she probably agreed that an
intoxicated replicant could behave in undesirable ways. The
neighbor, however, pounced at the opportunity and beamed a
smile at the young woman.
“Well, I’m not a hunter and would like to try something
that enchanting.”
“Please.” Angela smiled and handed the mutt a glass,
leaning a bit towards the replicant seated between them.
“From your hands, my lady, I would take poison gladly.”
The annoying bastard replied in a changed voice. His fingers
brushed Angela’s as he took the glass - right under Chimbick’s
nose, too. “I’m Lance, by the way. Lance Tallon. And what
is your name, beautiful?”

Angela smiled at the compliment.
“Teera. Teera Garm.”
If looks could burn, Chimbick’s glare would have
incinerated Lance, but the man didn’t even notice, completely
engrossed in his conversation with Angela. Sergeant glanced
at the young woman and decided not to interfere for now. No
matter how annoyed Chimbick was by all this, he decided that
miss Loray knew how to act in a situation like that much better
than he did. In the end, the replicant thought, the liner is big
enough to be full of nooks and crannies where one could
disappear a person if needed.
“Teera,” Meanwhile Lance, who seemed to have given
himself permission to move to first name basis, was charging
ahead. “A beautiful name, just like you. Tell me, what does it
mean?”
Angela sipped her drink with visible delight. Her answer
was a sudden tribute to Blaze’s interest in botany.
“It’s a water storing vine on Tiamat. Does your name
mean anything?”
She asked with a smile, obviously
interested.
Chimbick, who was trying to suppress a desire to strangle
this foppish mutt, suddenly felt something else. Something
new and very unpleasant. It felt like razor wire cutting into a
hapless moron caught in it.
Surprised, the sergeant forgot his anger for a moment and
concentrated on this new sensation. He was even more
surprised to realize that the cause of this was Angela, or rather,
the pleasure she seemed to draw from interacting with this
mutt who was saying disgusting things about her just a
moment ago.
The rage flared again. Chimbick didn’t know that
humans called this feeling “jealousy”; but he had no intention
of succumbing to it anyway. He tried to shut out the
surroundings by concentrating on the data pad. Not very
successfully, though. To be perfectly honest, he failed
completely. Every smile Angela beamed at the mutt caused

Chimbick almost physical pain. Letters blurred in front of his
eyes, refusing to form into words. The only thing he could
think of was how cold Angela sounded when talking to him
and how cheerful and affectionate she seemed with this
bastard she just met.
Meanwhile, Tallon was pontificating. “Yes, my fair lady.
Translated from the native language of my world, it means “to
attack”. Also, this word is used as a name for a long spear that
aristocrats on Earth used in duels.”
Chimbick imagined what he could do to Mr. Attack Spear
if he only had a bit of time alone with him. Even armed whether with the ancient spear of his ancestors or a modern
automatic rifle - the mutt would have no chance. Sergeant
could almost see it… a feint to get out of the line of fire, lunge
to close the distance, disarm the enemy - and then bash
Tallon’s temple in with his own weapon. Or, better yet, grab
him by the throat. See the horror in the mutt’s eyes. Watch
the grimace of despair replace this infuriating smug grin on his
face…
Chimbick was brought back to reality by a soft touch. He
froze for a second and then saw that Angela’s fingers were
touching his forearm. The touch was so sweet that his rage
subsided. For a brief moment, Chimbick allowed himself to
just enjoy the sensation; then, with a superhuman effort of
will, he returned to the real world.
Angela’s touch woke him up and reminded him of their
true purpose. Sergeant was himself again: composed, calm
and determined. Sensing the change in the replicant, Angela
returned her own hand to the arm rest with an almost
imperceptible nod. Much to Chimbick’s disappointment.
“You know Teera… I think we might be distracting your
boss with our chatter.” Tallon suddenly developed tactfulness
he so completely lacked just minutes ago. “Perhaps you could
keep me company for a walk around the liner when we get on
board? We must learn what sort of entertainment is available
during the trip.”

The look on his face left no doubt - he already had a very
specific entertainment plan in mind.
“Miss Garm, we have work to do.” The replicant said
dryly, not looking up from the data pad.
He tried to convince himself that his sole concern was
safety, but the truth was, he could still feel the jealousy
gnawing at him like a worm, making him want to take it out
on the world.
The part that stung the worst was that when Angela
talked to Mr. Attack Spear, she did it in a voice that made
Chimbick’s heart race - but when talking to him, she sounded
very different.
“So another time, sir.” He added and looked up from the
data pad for a moment. He glared at Lance as if trying to
figure out how to dispose of the body.
“Perhaps my boss will relent later and we can get away
for that walk.” Angela said and winked at Tallon, who was
immediately cheered up.
This answer certainly hinted at further acquaintance, but
left the possibilities vague. Angela’s gestures, looks, tone of
voice and smiles showed sincere affection and interest. She
and Svitari looked just like that on the previous flight, when
they were mingling with first class passengers.
“I shall be waiting with bated breath.” Tallon proclaimed,
quite pleased. He leaned back in his chair and sipped the
cocktail.
Chimbick returned his attention to the data pad, but still
had no luck with reading. He tried to analyze the scene he just
witnessed, but the nuances of human interaction were beyond
him.

Chapter 23
Space liner Haley’s Comet

An hour later the shuttle docked at the liner - a three
kilometer behemoth that resembled a city district with engines
more than it did a ship. The passengers were greeted by
impeccably polite stewards and robotic bellhops; the latter
picked up the luggage and the former led the customers to
their suites.
“It’s bigger than our barracks…” Chimbick whispered as
he followed Angela into the “cabin”.
These were the first words he uttered after the encounter
with Mr. Attack Spear. The steward followed them in to make
sure the robot placed the luggage in a perfect spot and then
stood by the door waiting, making Chimbick feel slightly
paranoid.
“Just give him a couple of marks.” Angela whispered.
“I’ll explain later.”
Chimbick nodded and dug in his vest pocket where he
kept petty cash; without looking, he handed the steward a gold
coin. Without changing his perfectly polite expression, the
steward bowed, expressed his sincere hope that the gentleman
and the lady would enjoy their trip and left the cabin.
“Did I do okay?” Sergeant asked as soon as the door
closed, eager to find out how Angela would grade his
blending efforts.
“Yes, but you should have used a smaller denomination
coin… ten times smaller. You must be a very generous and
lucky hunter.” Angela winked at him.
She kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch,
feet up on a coffee table. The replicant looked around once
again and went to check on his precious gear. His next
question sounded rather hopeful.

“Should we order something to eat, ma’am?”
Replicants ate a lot more than normal humans of a similar
size, because their augmented bodies needed more energy to
function.
“You’re the boss.” Angela leaned back blissfully, hands
behind her head. “We can do anything you want.”
Chimbick sighed.
“That again, ma’am.” He chided. “Or this is a joke I
didn’t get again?”
“It’s stating facts.” The young woman replied. “Or you
want to say I’m free to go wherever I want?”
“No, ma’am.” Chimbick had to admit. “You can’t do
that.”
“Life is made of disappointments.” Angela informed him
with a hint of mockery in her voice.
After that, she seemed to have lost all interest in the
replicant, concentrating on the contents of a mini bar instead.
This time she mixed something less complicated than the
multilayer rainbow; the sharp smell told Chimbick that this
new drink was stronger by another order of magnitude.
“Ma’am, are you sure you should get intoxicated?” He
attempted an appeal to Angela’s common sense. “You need a
clear head in a situation such as ours.”
“I’m self-medicating.” Angela replied as she settled on
the couch again, glass in hand. “Disinfecting mental wounds,
sweetie.”
She raised the glass in a mock salute, took several good
swigs, grimaced and leaned back languidly.
“Sweetie?” the sergeant was genuinely surprised again.
“What does this mean?”
“Look it up in a dictionary.” Angela advised with another
glug.
Chimbick frowned, but complied nonetheless. The
definitions he found clashed with the tone Angela used to say

the word though. The replicant remembered how she was
nearly purring when talking to Mr. Attack Spear and his mood
soured even more.
“Mental wounds, ma’am?” Chimbick decided to leave no
room for misunderstanding. “Are you talking about our
situation or something else?”
“None of your business.” Loray responded with an
obviously fake smile, so unlike the ones she shone so
generously at Lance.
Chimbick twitched as if slapped and returned to the data
pad.
“As you wish, ma’am.”
For a while, the room was silent; Angela was
methodically downing her mental wound medicine, and the
replicant perused the restaurant menus, once again unsure
what to order. He was paralyzed by the variety of dishes and
flowery descriptions of how they were supposed to taste. In
addition, Angela’s snappy replies really cut to the quick, and
he didn’t want to bring any more of that by asking another
wrong question.
Finally, he worked up the nerve to break the silence.
“Should I order anything for you, ma’am?”
“I’m not hungry.” She replied, noticeably more relaxed
now.
Whether it was because of the drinks or something else,
Chimbick couldn’t tell, but Angela’s expression wasn’t quite
as stony now. With a hint of curiosity in her eyes, Angela
spoke.
“Listen sweetie… did they make you with man parts or
what?” She asked defiantly. “Or Consortium slavers prefer
doll like anatomy?”
She was obviously mocking him. Chimbick’s eyes
narrowed in anger, making him look like a cat about to hiss.
He spat Angela’s own words back at her.

“None of your business, ma’am. Continue your medical
treatment.”
For a brief moment it seemed like Angela liked the
answer, but sergeant couldn’t tell for sure. All his replicant
skills and abilities were meant for completely different
situations and surroundings. Any attempt to guess what was
hiding behind this languid mask Angela was wearing now
seemed like playing lottery, another purely human activity.
Not to mention, the Loray sisters changed those masks with
skill and unpredictability worthy of Security Service veterans,
making the guessing game impossible.
“What do I need to do to make you answer that, then?”
Angela’s voice changed to a strange, mesmerizing tone as she
looked into replicant’s eyes.
Sergeant was beginning to recognize this tone. The twins
used it to speak to men on Sun Queen, and not so long ago
Angela sounded just like that talking to Tallon. Something
told Chimbick that if he wanted her to, Miss Loray would be
just as affectionate with him as she was with the mutts.
For a moment, the thought seemed tempting. Why not?
She did this sort of thing for money, how was he any
different? Not a person? But she seemed to be offering her
professional talents in a rather direct way. And he had money,
too. For a moment, Chimbick imagined the woman touching
him. Her eyes, full of adoration. The soft, warm body pressed
against his own…
Rage came next. If he were to do something like that, he
would be just like those others Angela spoke about with such
unabashed hatred and disdain. Yes, Chimbick wasn’t human.
But even replicants weren’t complete strangers to the idea of
pride and honor.
Sergeant snarled.
His pupils dilated from rage
adrenaline; the replicant leaned forward, ready to lunge.
Taken completely off guard, Angela recoiled, pressing herself
into the back of the couch and spilling the drink.
This sobered Chimbick up.

“My apologies.” He straightened up. “I didn’t mean to
scare you.”
The anger receded, and with that, came realization - he
had a good chance to learn a bit more about Loray.
Chimbick took a deep breath to calm down, then leaned
back in his chair.
“You want an honest conversation, Miss Angela?
Alright. But on one condition. An honest answer for an honest
answer. Is that okay with you?”
Angela’s expression changed from fear to surprise. For a
while, she studied the replicant thoughtfully, then finally
replied.
“You have curious desires, sunshine. How about this:
you answer my question, I answer yours. If either of us
decides it’s not worth it, the game is over. Deal?”
“Just none of this “sunshine” or “sweetie” terminology.
You go first, ma’am.”

Chapter 24
New Plymouth system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Angela took her time with the question.

She went to the
bar, mixed another drink and came back to the couch;
inspected the wet spot critically, covered it with some cushions
and then settled on top of the pile.
Chimbick was expecting a repeat of the question
regarding replicant anatomy, but Angela asked something else
instead.
“What do you do for fun?”
“Fun?” Sergeant echoed, feeling like an idiot. “We don’t
have fun, ma’am. All our time, from the moment we get up to
lights out, is spent studying or working. Except for when
we’re on guard duty or patrol. We don’t have free time. If our
presence is not needed for extended periods of time, we are
put in stasis to avoid wasting resources.”
This matter of fact sentence hid the only real fear sergeant
had. All his other feelings were genetically programmed
hormonal bursts - at least that’s what the developers of Ares
model series claimed. Chimbick wasn’t afraid of fire, or
emptiness of space, or death. But the cold darkness of
artificial sleep brought a feeling close to absolute terror.
His suppressed fear reflected in Angela’s eyes for a
moment, and she took another long swig of her drink.
“Kiddies put the toy soldiers in a box when they are done
playing…” She whispered, shocked.
Chimbick pretended not to hear. It was simpler that way;
he understood the words, but not the context. Besides, he
didn’t want to waste an opportunity to ask important questions
by trying to clarify this.

“My turn. How do you and Miss Svitari know so much
about criminal organizations, ma’am?” he asked.
Angela answered curtly and a bit distantly, as if she was
still preoccupied by what Chimbick said.
“Had to deal with it for work.”
For a moment, sergeant was lost in thought, compiling
the information he just received, his own observations and
things he heard the twins mention before.
“Meaning this “protection” those thugs at the hotel were
talking about?” He decided to clarify. “Is it always like that?”
Before answering, Angela finished her cocktail in one
pull and rose from the couch, not quite as gracefully as
before. She mixed another drink and took the first sip right at
the bar.
“Details are always different, but the principle is roughly
the same. Mercenaries, criminals and other riffraff are the
majority of clients in cheap neighborhoods and lower levels in
the cities. It’s the same in the middle, but they look more
respectable and call themselves entrepreneurs, security
experts, conflict resolution consultants and the like.”
Chimbick couldn’t see her face, but she sounded…
resigned.
People sound like that when talking about
unavoidable evils, like stifling heat outside.
“What happens at the top, I only know from rumors.”
Angela said and sipped the drink again.
Now it was the replicant’s turn to be quiet. It would
appear that despite their beauty, intelligence and skill in
manipulating men, the sisters knew first hand about threats,
violence and the ugly underbelly of the civilian world. And
Chimbick himself contributed to that as well.
But now he was looking at the twins in a new light. Their
ever changing behavior with abrupt mood shifts. How they
acted during the kidnapping, staying silent during a beating…
Then he had to ask himself: what if the sisters’ skill at
charming people and gaining their trust was a defense against
a hostile environment? No, professionals like the replicants or

Security Service operatives would not fall for such an obvious
ruse… Then he remembered Blaze and his own recent
behavior and felt rather doubtful. In any case, this would work
reliably on simple men like those street thugs. And not only
them… Mr. Attack Spear came to mind as well, and he
certainly wasn’t some hoodlum knucklehead.
“Ma’am, why don’t you report it to the police?”
For some reason, this reasonable suggestion drew a
chuckle and a crooked grin from Angela. She returned to the
couch with a refilled glass and sat down, crossing her legs.
“For many reasons. First of all, cops are often paid to
cover up things like that. There’s always a risk that you are
reporting to someone who will rat you out. Second… who
gives a damn about us? Got beat up? Must have asked for it,
get the hell out of here, we’re busy already. And if you do
happen to find a cop with principles, you still have to testify and for that, the friends of the person you’re testifying against
will kill you.”
For a while, the replicant sat quietly, processing what he
just heard.
“Your turn, ma’am.” He said quietly after a while.
“You were going to order some food.” Angela reminded;
she sounded as if nothing happened and they were just talking
about something like the weather.
Chimbick nodded and almost randomly clicked on
several menu items. The young woman waited for him to
finish, then asked her next question.
“You said you were ten years old and you grew up faster
than normal people. Tell me, what’s this childhood like?
What happens?”
Chimbick rested his chin on a closed fist and began the
story, thinking over every word carefully.
“Well, they were preparing us to be soldiers, ma’am.
Basic skills starting at two years of age, weapons training at
three, and at six years - training under simulated combat
conditions. By seven, we would be involved in police

operations - unrest suppression, protest leader removal,
enforcing peace and order…”
The seemingly innocent phrasing concealed corporate
policies in regards to those migrant workers unfortunate
enough to sign contracts. Any disobedience was punished
brutally. “Unrest suppression” meant shooting mine workers
who went on strike. Leader removal meant acts of terror
involving not just the activists themselves, but their families as
well.
The Dominion closed its eyes on a lot of unlawful acts.
Earth was interested in the goods produced by the
corporations, and as long as supplies flowed without
interruptions, nobody cared what happened in privately owned
systems. After all, it was the Dominion that gave Consortium
a battalion of replicants created specifically for Dominion
Special Operations Force, along with a group of maintenance
personnel to take care of the living weapons.
Replicants became the bogeyman. Workers told their
children stories about invisible monsters in the dark; the adults
themselves lived in fear of silent, cruel creatures in gray and
black armor. Fear bred tall tales where replicants were either
serial killers with sentences suspended or feral descendants of
some lost colony. Some hinted at a deal between Consoritum
CEOs and the devil, involving demons from hell hunting down
innocent souls.
For the replicants, other people’s nightmares were just
routine missions. Things they were created to do. Nobody
concerned themselves with a question whether replicants liked
it or not. Both Consortium and Dominion cared only about
profits, and the artificial soldiers were very efficient tools in
increasing them.
“Two months ago our aging cycle has ended; the bodies
switched from accelerated growth to normal life cycle mode.
That’s when the war with the Union broke out.” Chimbick
ended the story and caught himself thinking that his life was
really very short.

Angela listened, captivated enough to forget her drink for
a time.
“Do you like it?” She asked once the replicant was done
talking. “What they teach you and how they teach you?”
“Ma’am?” Sergeant’s head snapped up. “Like it?”
The question caught him completely off guard. Like it…
to understand that, one would have to have a frame of
reference. The replicants knew nothing else. From the day
they were born, they were prepared only for war. Chimbick
and his brothers spent eleven years, from dusk to dawn, doing
this one thing - preparing for combat.
“Nobody asked us, ma’am. Never. We always knew this
was the right way. If someone was off spec - too slow, or had
other defects - they’d be decommissioned and scrapped.”
“Defects?” Angela echoed hollowly, and Chimbick
noticed that the glass in her hand was shaking a bit, as if she
shivered from cold. “It sounds like you were just things one
can throw away, not people.”
“Ma’am, we’re replicants.” Chimbick explained
patiently. “We were manufactured for combat operations. We
are modified and trained to be the most efficient on the
battlefield. Defects are not acceptable. A low quality
replicant may not only die himself, but put his entire unit at
risk, ma’am.”
“So you want to say….” Angela spoke slowly, as if every
word took major effort. “You want to say that they treat you
like property, you have weapons and you still haven’t shot
those bastards?”
“Who would we shoot?” Sergeant was once again
befuddled. “The instructors taught us how to survive; people
from logistics gave us food and gear; medical monitoring
group made sure our bodies were in good shape and removed
defective specimens. They are not the enemy, ma’am.”
The last part was a lie; Chimbick hated the humans who
wore white medic’s smocks. However, hatred towards
Consortium personnel was considered a defect, so he never

showed his true feelings. The replicant couldn’t even imagine
raising a weapon against them, though.
He felt uneasy under Angela’s gaze for some reason, as if
he said or did something wrong, but he didn’t understand
what. And Angela remained silent.
“We are soldiers, ma’am. Do you understand that?”
Chimbick tried to explain. “Our purpose is to follow
commanders’ orders, protect the Consortium territory and its
subjects. We must shoot at the enemy; turning a weapon
against one of your own is a defect.”
“Well, I would shoot the moment I got a chance.” Angela
snapped with sudden anger. “Guess I’m defective, by your
standards.”
She raised the glass to her lips again. Her movements
were becoming less and less coordinated. She spilled the
drink all over herself, cursed through gritted teeth and
attempted to blot the stain out with a napkin she grabbed from
the table.
“Your question.” She reminded, tossing the stained
napkin aside.
While the replicant was thinking, a steward appeared with
the order. He set the table and froze in place, politely waiting
for the customary tip. Angela had to elbow Chimbick,
completely lost in thought. Rewarded with another coin, the
steward bowed and disappeared.
Sergeant tossed the purse onto the couch and glanced
disinterestedly at the arrangement of silver domes covering
platters and bowls. For the first time in his short life, the
replicant had no interest in food.
He rose, picked up the discarded napkin and tossed it into
the disposal unit, then went to the table and started loading a
plate with a bit from every dish.
“When our sergeant Simms was drinking, he always ate
something.” Chimbick said as he offered the plate to Angela.
“He said, otherwise you’ll feel horrible in the morning.”
Angela shook her head.

“If you eat, you need more time and booze to get
plastered. And that, honey, is my purpose tonight.”
Chimbick frowned, but decided not to push. He set the
plate down onto the coffee table and returned to his chair.
“I asked you not to use words like that.” He reminded.
Angela threw her hands up in an exaggerated gesture of
apology.
Sergeant sighed and asked the next question.
“Miss Angela, how did it happen that this important
information ended up in your implants?”
Judging by the fact that the girl took another pull from the
glass, she didn’t like this subject much. Chimbick was
beginning to think she wasn’t going to answer, but she did
speak.
“My sister and I were working at a club.” She began
slowly, forming each word with visible effort. “Someone
called us up to a VIP room. They paid up front. We went up,
got into the room and the door locked behind us. Some freak
was standing there pointing a paralyzer at us.”
The word “freak” made Chimbick cringe and turn away
to hide the scar. Then he realized that for the first time in his
life, he heard another person refer to someone other than him
as a freak. This seemed… strange.
“Before he shot, I saw bloodstains on his stomach.”
Angela continued with her story. “When we came to, he was
on the floor dead, hole through his gut… and the implants
were off. Then your commanding officers showed up,
checked the implants and dragged us to the ship where we all
met.”
Chimbick sighed. For the first time ever, he began to
doubt that things were happening as they should. Until now,
he never questioned that. Not when he shot the striking
workers, and not when he cut off their leaders’ heads. Not
even when the young replicants followed Security Service
operative’s orders and threw incendiary grenades into a
basement where families of the rioters were hiding - even then

he believed this was the right thing to do. Because those who
give the orders don’t make mistakes.
But now, thrown headfirst into civilian life, he was
discovering new facets of it every day. And each of these
discoveries put a tiny crack in seemingly unbreakable pillars
of his world view. He assessed the situation using the new
information he had - and realized that it could have been
possible to take a different course of action. For example, pay
the twins - and they could have gone with the operatives
willingly.
Or not?
After a moment’s hesitation, Chimbick asked his
question.
“Miss Angela, can you tell me… the money we have at
our disposal - is it a significant amount, by your standards?”
“A couple of months’ worth of work.” Angela replied
after a pause.
These pauses were growing longer, and she was slurring
her words more and more, so the replicant realized he didn’t
have much time left for questions.
“If you were offered this sum, would you agree to go to
Eldorado to get the information extracted?”
Chimbick tilted his head waiting for an answer.
“No.” Angela said firmly, making a good effort to
articulate.
She looked both languid and stupefied. Unhealthy. The
replicant didn’t like seeing her like this.
“Why?”
“Corporations…” she replied with clear disdain in her
voice. “They give with one hand and take with the other.
They’d rip the implants out… And there would we be,
drooling, brains all scrambled. No need to pay us either.
Nobody cares what happens to us…”
The last words sounded particularly bitter.

“I care.” Chimbick almost said that aloud for whatever
reason. He gritted his teeth and waited out the sudden impulse.
“Your question.”
“Hmm…” Loray looked thoughtful.
choose, what would you do with your life?”

“If you could

As early as this morning the sergeant would not have
understood the question, much less answer it. Now, however,
he didn’t hesitate.
“I would be a hunter on Tiamat, ma’am.”
“Why?” Angela looked surprised; she stretched out on
the couch, blinking owlishly at the replicant.
“Because it’s great!” Chimbick began enthusiastically.
“You can leave the dome whenever you want, no space suit,
no recycled air… Go wherever you please, breathe all you
want, nobody tells you what to do. Forests, sky, lots of
water… you can kill something and eat it - it’s paradise. What
more could you want?”
He didn’t get an answer - the girl has fallen asleep. An
empty glass sat next to her plate, still untouched; Angela
herself was hugging a pillow, still wet from the spilled drink.
Chimbick sighed. An alcohol-soaked couch was not a
suitable place to sleep, in his opinion. For Angela, anyway…
the replicant himself could sleep anywhere, in any position,
regardless of insignificant things like dampness or smell.
He lifted the girl carefully and stopped for a moment to
analyze what he felt. Holding her was… nice. Not even the
sharp odor of alcohol could spoil it. Something to brag to
Blaze about, Chimbick thought. Or perhaps not. It would be
better to just cherish this memory, without sharing it with
anyone.
He carried Angela to the bed, covered her with a blanket
and stopped for a moment, just looking at the sleeping girl.
Her face softened, the usual grimace of distrust and disdain
gone. Sergeant looked around furtively as if afraid someone
was watching. Of course, there wasn’t anyone else in the
cabin, just him and slumbering Angela. Careful not to wake

her, Chimbick touched Angela’s cheek. Blaze was right, her
skin was amazingly soft to the touch. Too bad he didn’t have
any silk to compare it to.
Soundlessly, he backed out of the bedroom, closed the
door and sat down to think and sort through the new life
experiences.

Chapter 25
New Plymouth. Counterintelligence Service
HQ

“Yes!

Contact made!” A junior investigator yelled as
he burst into the room.
Graham, who nodded off at his desk, jumped up,
overturned a cup of cold coffee and cursed.
“What do you have?” He asked while trying to blot at
least some of the coffee stains off his uniform.
“Here.” The investigator put several printouts on the
desk.
Nave picked one up and stared at an image what looked
like a hunter from Tiamat. A typical jungle cutthroat, with a
wild mane of hair, beast-like eyes and traditional face tattoos.
“And?” Lieutenant waited for the explanation.
“It’s one of the replicants!” The operative announced.
“And here…”
He held up a photo of a brunette wearing a business suit.
“One of the Loray sisters.”
“Are you sure?” Graham squinted. He was not quite
ready to believe they caught up with the runaways.
“Absolutely. We figured, how can you hide a face
without a lot of effort? So we were looking at all the guys
with beards, tattoos and bandages on their heads. Especially
those flying with women. And sure enough, they got tickets
last night.”
“Why are we only hearing about this today, then?”
The investigator stammered, embarrassed.
“The orders were to check the passengers trying to leave
the system, nobody was even looking at intrasystem flights.

And then Frank… sorry, second Lieutenant Garibaldi, that
is… he saw an ad for tourist cruises and thought, hardly
anybody checks those, except for police and ship’s security,
right? So we used the same search algorithms, and here we
are.”
“When did they leave?” Nave demanded. “And which
flight?”
“Last night.” The investigator offered Nave a data pad.
“Flight 224-05, liner Haley’s Comet, belongs to Plymouth Star
Line company. Two first class tickets, a suite for two.”
“Wow.” Lieutenant couldn’t hold back his surprise.
“How do they have money like that?”
“Told you they had someone on the planet.” Carl entered
the room carrying two mugs of coffee. “What about the other
pair?”
“Haven’t found them yet.” Junior sounded guilty.
“Do we have communications with the liner?” Graham
grabbed the comm link.
“Of course. But before the signal gets there…” Carl
replied with a sigh. “Here’s a better idea. We’ll brief the crew,
and you grab a Special Forces team and get on a courier ship.
Intercept them… ” Mont set the mugs down and began tapping
on his data pad. “Okay, here. Right here, near Vulcan. You
have just enough time, they overnight there, taking tourists
down to the planet to see the volcanoes and all that.”
“Deal.”
Nave dashed to the locker where his backpack was
stored. The thrill of the chase was all he could feel; he could
almost see himself capturing his quarry.

Chapter 26
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Chimbick

stayed up thinking almost until morning.
Only when the ship’s clock chimed four, he decided to get
some sleep.
He was awoken by muffled moans, as if someone was
trying to speak through a gag, and some thumps and scraping
from the next room. Sergeant jumped out of bed and darted
into the living room in his underwear, ready to fight a band of
kidnappers. The explanation was a lot less glamorous. There
were no intruders. Greenish pale Angela was trying to make
her way to the bathroom, grabbing onto walls as she walked
unsteadily. When she finally reached her destination, the
moaning gave way to rather unseemly sounds of a body trying
to rid itself of alcohol the old fashioned way.
“And that is exactly what Sergeant Simms meant when he
stressed the importance of eating.” Chimbick said in a didactic
tone.
He put on a pair of pants, then dumped a packet of
detoxin into a glass of water and carried it over to Angela, who
continued with “scaring off tigers”, as Simms used to call it.
“Drink this, ma’am. You’ll feel better.” He stopped in the
doorway and looked at Angela in all her hangover splendor.
She bore no resemblance to yesterday’s polished business
lady. Her skin was pale and greenish, with dark circles under
the eyes; tousled hair hung in untidy strands. She also smelled
rather unpleasantly. Just like Sergeant Simms after a binge.
The replicant wasn’t fond of the idea that a beautiful, fragrant
creature like Angela could stink like an old drill sergeant.
Meanwhile, the girl propped herself up on the toilet with
one hand, took the offered glass and deposited it on the floor

within easy reach. Then she used the newly freed hand to
point at the door.
“And good morning to you, too.” Chimbick muttered, but
complied with the request and left Angela alone with her
hangover.
He settled in a chair and turned on the news. While
watching, he was wondering about human penchant for selfdestruction. It was hard to comprehend why people would
willingly poison themselves with alcohol or drugs. What sort
of pleasure could it bring, losing all control over one’s
faculties and harming the body in the process?
He snuck a furtive glance at the bathroom door and
opened one of the bottles Angela used the night before for her
cocktails. One whiff and the replicant winced and put the
bottle back; he wouldn’t risk trying a liquid with such a
revolting smell.
An hour or so passed before the bathroom door opened
again and Angela emerged, clean and somewhat refreshed.
Judging by her nearly healthy complexion, she did drink the
detoxin after all.
“Has your Sergeant Simms mentioned that there are
moments when lecturing is inappropriate?” She asked, pulling
a bathrobe tighter around herself.
“No ma’am.” The replicant paused the news. “He was
always lecturing, regardless of weather conditions or anyone’s
physical shape. What would you like for breakfast?”
Angela walked across the carpeted floor barefoot, took a
seat on the couch again, but turned green at the hint of alcohol
smell and moved to a chair.
“Fruit juice, I think.” She decided. “At least it goes back
up easily.”
“Then beet salad would be good.”
Chimbick
remembered one of Simms’ jokes. “Goes up easy and looks
pretty on the ground. But I don’t know what that is…” He
confessed.
“You’re in a good mood.”

Angela’s voice lacked the former vitriol, but of course,
she could still be weak from the poisoning.
“Did you carry me to the bed or I got there myself?” She
asked.
Based on that, the replicant came to a conclusion that
Angela’s memories of the previous night were only partially
intact. But he couldn’t decide if he was pleased or
disappointed by that.
“I carried you, ma’am.” He decided to own up. “The
couch was wet and stank of alcohol.”
“Thank you.” Angela said suddenly and then gave the
replicant a curious look. “Why didn’t you undress me then?”
“I thought that might anger you, ma’am.” Chimbick
admitted.
“And you care if I’m angry or not?” Angela sounded
intrigued and continued studying the replicant curiously.
““Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded.
And, for the first time in his life, told a lie.
“It has a negative effect on a psychological climate in our
group, which, in turn, can lead to conflict and possibly failure
to complete the mission.”
Angela snorted by way of a reply to that, and judging by
her expression, didn’t believe a word. Much to Sergeant’s
relief, she didn’t push the subject any further.
“What are our plans for the day?” She asked instead.
Now it was Chimbick’s turn to stare in confusion.
“Plans, ma’am?” He echoed. “What plans? What for?”
“Well, you aren’t going to spend these two days sitting in
the cabin, are you?” Angela was incredulous.
Of course, that was exactly what Chimbick was going to
do.
“What is the problem with that, Miss Angela?” He
looked around the room to see if there was anything wrong

with it. “Is something wrong? Or the smell from the couch is
bothering you?”
“It really is, makes me want to hurl…” Angela
confessed. “But this problem is easily solved by calling a
maid. I’m talking about leisure time.”
“A maid, ma’am?” Chimbick couldn’t quite catch up.
“Leisure? What for?”
Angela massaged her face for a moment.
“Sometimes I forget just how feral you are…” She said
tiredly. “A maid is a service person who cleans the room
while the customers are out having fun. Leisure means free
time, usually spent on fun and entertainment.”
“I’m not feral, ma’am.” Sergeant was quite offended.
“And I have engaged in leisure activities. Just didn’t know the
term then.”
He pointed to a paused image on the screen.
“And I can clean up myself. Why would we call for
someone else to do it?”
Angela raised her eyes to the ceiling and took a couple of
deep breaths.
“Do you want people to talk about you all over the liner?
You’ll be a local legend.”
“Why is that?” Sergeant tensed up. “Who’s going to
know if we’re here alone?”
“Because you are going to send the maid away and leave
the room clean at the same time.” Angela explained patiently.
“I don’t need unauthorized personnel at our base!”
Sergeant was indignant. “There’s nothing for her to do here!
No! No maids!”
And turned the TV back on decisively, letting Loray
know that this conversation was over.
Which, in hind sight, was rather naive of him.

“We are flying first class.” Clearly, Angela didn’t think
the conversation was over yet. “If we stay in the cabin for two
days, we are going to attract attention.”
She got up and stood between the replicant and the
screen.
“Unless you’re okay with believably acting in front of the
crew, to convince them that we are spending all this time in
bed.” She almost purred cheerfully and kept staring at the
replicant with that same odd curiosity.
He paused the news once again and thought for a
moment.
“If it conforms to behavioral norms… ” He scratched his
chin. “Maybe it is better. Yes, explain that we’re having sex
and therefore don’t want to leave the room. Please, move you’re obstructing my view of the screen.”
Angela squinted playfully, leaned down to the replicant
and informed him in a conspiratorial tone.
“Do you know it’s not customary to explain to the crew
that you’re having sex? We must create a believable show to
make them think that.”
“I don’t see any problem with that.” Chimbick said,
stretching his neck out to get a glimpse of the screen.
“I’ll have to touch you in public,” Angela winked. The
grin on her face didn’t quite go with what she was saying.
“I’m going to have to cling to you, half-naked. And you
should be passionately fondling me in return. All this in front
of the steward when he brings breakfast. Can you do this? Or
going to do a show with dropping me on the floor again?”
“I can do that.” Chimbick nodded, leaning in the opposite
direction. “All we need is to rehearse it a couple of times,
work out the moves, practice the lines - and we’ll be fine.
Now please, stop interfering with my leisure time! Move!”
Pursing her lips, Angela glared at the replicant and
sauntered over to the bar.

“Guess I’ll have to find my own entertainment. Hurry
them with the juices, will you?” She called out to Chimbick.
“If this is my leisure activity until evening, I should start with
something mild. Then again…”
She held a bottle of whiskey thoughtfully.
“There’s a chance to not regain consciousness until we
get there.”
“Are you going to consume alcohol again?” Sergeant
tensed and paused the news program.
He was astonished by the fact that the girl, who was
turning green at a slight whiff of booze a moment ago, was
ready to drink again.
“Oh yeah baby, I sure am.” Angela muttered as she rifled
through the battery of bottles.
“I forbid you!” There was a clang of metal in Chimbick’s
voice. “Get away from…”
At this point he realized that he didn’t know what to call
the piece of furniture next to Angela. The awkward pause
ruined the dramatic effect and gave the girl a chance to get
over her fear.
“You forbid me?” She asked with a mix of anger and
surprise. “And what are you going to do? Give me another
beating?”
She continued before he could answer.
“Brilliant idea, that! Because you know, when I’m here
half naked, displaying my burning passion for you in front of
the steward, he can wonder about all these bruises I have. We
can make it look like you’re one of these guys turned on by
violence. You do get turned on by it, right?”
She stared into replicant’s eyes defiantly.
“No!” He almost yelled back and realized that he didn’t
even understand why this hit a nerve.
“Get away from the bottles.” He said, much softer this
time, and tried to understand why he gave a damn anyway.

Since when did the young woman’s words affect him so
much, and why? Why did he begin worrying about her well
being? Sergeant realized that it was not about preserving the
data on her implant. It was the girl herself.
“What is wrong with me?” The replicant turned away. A
tattooed stranger stared at him from the depths of a lacquered
wooden panel.
“Maybe I’m defective?” The stranger rested his chin on a
hand thoughtfully. “Or perhaps my implant was affected by
that same virus that killed our ship, so now I’m
malfunctioning?”
Questions, questions… and no answers at all. Even the
hated medical group that conducted weekly exams at home
and could do a full diagnostic was out of reach.
“Why do you think I enjoy inflicting pain?” he asked.
To his surprise, Angela left the bottles alone, walked over
to him and gingerly perched herself on the armrest of his
chair.
“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I know you don’t enjoy
it. I remember you were completely indifferent when… It’s
just…”
She bit her lip, drew in a breath and then forced a smile.
“I hate being locked up in a room.”
“Does alcohol help endure that?” The replicant asked
without looking at her.
“It helps with killing a couple of days.” She shrugged.
“And I don’t feel like I’m in a cage quite so badly.”
“Let’s go have some leisure time then.” Chimbick
sighed. “And we’ll call the maid. Just please, no more
alcohol, ma’am.”
He was rewarded by a happy smile that lit up Angela’s
face.
“Really?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” The replicant finally looked her in the
eyes. “Whatever you want. Just don’t poison yourself
anymore.”
“Thank you.” The girl’s fingers touched sergeant’s hand
for a moment, making his heart skip a beat.
Angela jumped up from the chair, talking excitedly. “You
wanted to learn how to behave naturally around people - this
is a great opportunity! No patrols, no cops… I’ll teach you to
blend in with a crowd.”
Chimbick nodded, unable to look away from the young
woman. Her was like a light warming his soul. Or whatever it
was replicants had in place of one.
Angela ran off to “gussy up”, whatever that meant.
While she was gone, a steward showed up with breakfast; this
time the replicant didn’t need a reminder to give the man a tip
once the table was set.
Left alone with the multitude of dishes, Chimbick soon
became paralyzed by the fact that there were four different
forks. Why were they different and what their respective
purposes were… that remained a mystery. As well as three
different spoons, for that matter. During their first cruise, he
and Blaze decided that this might be due to anthropometric
characteristics of humans and their age. It seemed reasonable
that the smaller utensils were meant for children, teenagers,
women and the elderly due to their modest physical prowess.
But now, having learned about the concept of social status,
sergeant was beginning to suspect their original conclusion
was incorrect.
Angela’s arrival distracted him from the futile attempts to
solve this puzzle. He couldn’t help but notice how much
better the girl looked now. What she did was similar to the
paint she used to mask his scar, but natural looking. The last
traces of recent poisoning were gone from her face; color on
her eyelids and lips accentuated her beauty. The long dress
covered up bruises and scrapes, as well as gave Angela a very
serious look, which she immediately shattered by beaming a
happy smile.

“I don’t know what magical potion you gave me,” She
said, “But I feel like I have the strength to eat something
without hurling.”
She sat across from Chimbick and raised her finger in a
mentor like fashion.
“By the way, hurling is a topic that’s absolutely
unsuitable for table conversation.”
“Detoxin, ma’am.” Chimbick informed her. “A common
remedy for alcohol intoxication. It’s included in a standard
medical kit.”
“Ooh,” the girl giggled. “Consortium pharmaceuticals…
Highly sought after in certain circles.”
Sergeant wasn’t sure what the joke was. Apparently,
pharmaceuticals from Consortium, which far outpaced the
Foundation Union in its technological development, was a
valuable commodity for the denizens of less developed worlds.
He pulled a plate closer and, after a moment’s hesitation,
asked Angela:
“Would you show me how to use all these correctly?” He
pointed at the arsenal of silverware. “Are there supposed to be
so many?”
Angela’s answer was terrifying.
“There can be more than this. Are you sure you need
this? For your “savage hunter” legend it’s much better if you
pick up the wrong fork.”
“I do.” Sergeant said stubbornly. “It’s for me, ma’am.”
“Well, in that case…”
She picked up a short fork with three tines.
“This is a fish fork, also called pastry fork…”
The following lesson was probably the most difficult of
all. By the end of the meal, Chimbick was absolutely
convinced that if not for the eidetic memory, he would never
have been able to memorize all the proper ways of holding
and using all the different spoons, forks and knives. When the

lesson was finally over, sergeant felt as if he didn’t just have
breakfast, but did a 15-kilometer forced march in full gear
instead.
“Oof,” he breathed after the most painful meal in his life
was over. “I think I memorized it all. Ma’am? Where did you
learn all this?”
“At home.” Angela answered without thinking,
stammered and looked at the replicant. “When we were kids,
our mother taught us.”
“Is this a mandatory practice in civilian upbringing?”
Chimbick asked curiously; he didn’t notice he was crossing
onto thin ice.
Angela hesitated a bit, then shook her head.
“No, most people do just fine with one spoon, one fork
and one knife. No wait, some eat dessert with a teaspoon. All
this,” she nodded at the elaborate table settings, “Is how rich
snobs and show offs amuse themselves. They are usually the
ones to travel in first class.”
Sergeant added another brush stroke to his description of
the sisters’ lives. Judging by the girl’s reaction, he decided
that this topic wasn’t particularly pleasant for her. He wanted
to change the subject, but couldn’t think of a way.
Angela found one instead.
“On cruises like this one people usually talk a lot, about
anything. People brag about things they’ve seen or learned,
answer questions from those they barely know. And there are
bound to be lots of top brass on a cruise ship from the capital.
I’m sure, if we mingle with them, we’ll hear a lot of
interesting stuff about the Union. Would this be useful to
you?”
“But you wanted to have leisure time.” Sergeant
reminded her.
If Blaze were here, he’d drop his jaw in amazement.
Chimbick, the benchmark for diligence, making the good of
Consortium a secondary concern! And for a mutt at that, just

like the ones he’d permanently removed by the dozen in
rioting miner towns!
Angela was surprised by his answer as well. For a while,
she looked at him as if for the first time, then smiled
uncertainly.
“Okay then, I can teach you about R&R… it means rest
and relaxation.”
“I’m not tired, ma’am.” Sergeant blurted out reflexively.
Fatigue was not acceptable. No matter how tired a
replicant was, he was supposed to show readiness to go on.
No hint of weakness. Weakness is a defect. Defective
specimens are scrapped.
In ten years, these rules etched themselves into
Chimbick’s brain - so deep that his body reacted even before
he understood what Angela really said. Only after giving the
answer did he realize it wasn’t quite appropriate in this
situation.
“I mean, I just woke up…” He added, embarrassed.
“Yeah… all you need is a beaming smile…” Angela
muttered under her breath.
The replicant didn’t understand that one at all. A smile?
Why would he smile? He didn’t have time to clarify; Angela
got up and held out her hand.
“Come on. I’ll show you how humans do leisure.”
Sergeant thought there might have been some hidden
message in this simple phrase, but he couldn’t understand
what it was. For a moment, he stared at Angela’s hand, trying
to figure out what she wanted him to do. Finally, he carefully
placed his hand in Angela’s.
“What about the dress code?”
“Yesterday’s.”
The girl’s hand lingered for a moment and then slipped
away, leaving his own hand burning.

“You’re a hunter from Tiamat,” Angela explained
cheerfully. “You can ignore etiquette and fashion altogether.
So dress comfortably, everyone will think you’re a savage
anyway. Just hide everything that could get us caught in the
safe. They clean the rooms while people are out usually.”
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded.
He glanced at his hand while Angela wasn’t looking and
went to find a shirt.

Chapter 27
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

The crowds on entertainment decks overwhelmed the
replicant completely. Until now, he was constantly focused on
a particular goal, and that let him ignore everything outside the
mission. He saw people as targets or parts of the environment,
but never participated in what they were doing. Now,
however, the mission was “Rest and Relaxation” - and
Chimbick was deeply unsettled. He felt as if everyone was
staring at him, and every laugh or comment he couldn’t quite
hear were aimed at his looks and manners.
He was also suffering from lack of armor. The replicant
was so used to its weight and all the functions it had that now
he felt half blind and defenseless. The world became hostile
and dangerous. Nobody was watching his back or sharing
information. Chimbick was alone. An apex predator was
rapidly turning into a cornered prey animal. Sergeant kept
swiveling his neck nervously, trying to stick to less populated
areas.
Angela had to come to his rescue. She took the replicant
to a cafe on the second level of a gallery. It had a decent view
of the promenade, while offering the protection of a sturdy
bulkhead decorated with cheerful floral patterns. Once again,
Chimbick was in his own little harbor in the sea of people, but
not alone.
Angela took a seat right next to him. Strangely enough,
her proximity calmed the sergeant down. When the young
woman was leaning close to comment on something they were
looking at, Chimbick froze, afraid to startle her and ruin this
odd moment of closeness.
Angela was mercilessly
condemning everything in sight. As it turned out, almost
every simple event in civilian life could have at least one
hidden meaning.

Angela’s explanations were both candid and full of
cynical vitriol; but at least it wasn’t Chimbick on the receiving
end of it for a change. When looking at the smiling young
woman whispering something into her companions ear, other
passengers wouldn’t think she was cruelly dissecting their way
of life in general and every little custom in particular.
Chimbick, however, kept realizing that his attention was
occupied by Angela’s touches and whispering right next to his
ear. He had to put a lot of effort into following the meaning of
her comments instead of just listening to the sound of the
woman’s voice.
And despite all the flaws Angela was pointing out quite
venomously, the sergeant couldn’t get rid of a thought that he
wouldn’t mind living like that. And it wasn’t just comfort and
good food, even though he enjoyed that at any chance he had,
but endless possibilities. He and his brothers were better,
smarter and stronger than most people Chimbick saw so far.
So he couldn’t help but think that the replicants would have
managed all this much better. Without any unnecessary
hidden agendas, showing off or lies. They would… What
they could or wanted to achieve, Chimbick wasn’t sure. But
he did know that they would have spent their time and
resources with more sense.
If only they had a chance…
Chimbick studied a fat man accompanied by two
stunning beauties and turned to Angela.
“Forgive me, ma’am, but what is the point of your
profession? I mean… “
He paused, trying to word it better.
“I see all these men - wealthy, as I understand - with all
this money and power, there’s no lack of women around
them… Why have courtesans at all? Why don’t they just get
married?”
Angela was unfazed by the question. She just shrugged a
bit and leaned closer to the replicant again.

“It depends.
Some don’t have time for serious
relationships. Stressful jobs, constant business trips and lots of
money are a bad combination. No time to get to know each
other, and lots of gold-diggers trying to marry a man for his
money.”
Chimbick was honestly trying to understand this, but his
lack of experience was certainly a hindrance. His knowledge
of the institution of marriage were limited to a chapter in the
instructions manual.
It mentioned a strong emotional
connection between human family members. When dealing
with riots, the replicants used that to achieve maximum
efficiency in psychological warfare.
“Courtesans are simple,” Angela continued softly, her
shoulder touching Chimbick’s lightly. “You pay them, they
come and go when it’s convenient. No drama, no demands, no
complications. Just pleasure.”
This sounded simple and fairly clear. As any replicant,
the sergeant was familiar with the concept of market
transactions and understood the principle of paying for
services. But then there was another question: if such services
were normal, why was there an insulting term “whore” that
signified the same profession?
Chimbick didn’t even notice that his eyes wandered away
from the crowd and to Angela’s face; at some point he just
realized he was sitting there staring at her.
“My apologies, ma’am.” He muttered and looked away.
“I got lost in thought there…”
As means of distraction, he grabbed a cup from the table
and attempted to take a sip. Turned out that it was empty, and
he couldn’t even remember finishing the drink. The fabled
eidetic memory was glitching. With a grunt, the replicant
returned the cup to the table and used a recently learned
gesture to flag down a waiter. While waiting, he turned to
Angela again.
“Miss Angela, can you tell me, if your profession
providing services is a societal norm, then why do people keep
using the term “whore”?”

“Oh, darling…” Angela’s smile seemed a bit strange.
“We would need a history lesson for this. Did you know that
prostitution is called the oldest profession?”
“No, ma’am.” Sergeant admitted, filled with respect for
such an ancient and respected craft. “History wasn’t part of
our training. So then the reason for insults is envy of this high
status?”
In response to this hypothesis Angela bursts out laughing,
which drew some stares from fellow patrons.
“Oh, you are unique…” She breathed, wiping away
tears. “Envy of high status… No dear, “whore” is an insult, it
means “someone who sells themselves for money”. Also, in
addition to the obvious meaning, there’s another. Anyone who
would go against their principles, pride or honor for money is
a whore.”
“I don’t understand this.” The replicant admitted defeat.
“If it is a societal norm to use these services, then why insult
the person providing them? And if it’s immoral - why use
them at all? And insult people after using their service? I’m
sorry, Miss Angela, I’m confused… Did I miss something here
or people are just… untruthful? But why?”
“People like to think that it’s not their desires that are
immoral, but the person who fulfills them.” Angela shrugged
and stirred what was left of her cocktail with a straw. “It’s
easier that way.”
Sergeant tried to arrange this new information in a logical
manner, but failed spectacularly. He gave up.
“I don’t understand this. I don’t understand any of this…
This is absurd. It changes nothing. Any action must have a
purpose… But this doesn’t. Or I misunderstood something
again?”
“You’re not alone.” Angela sounded comforting,
unexpectedly. “The world is a strange, contradictory, insane
and unfair place. You only need to understand it enough to
survive.”

The cynicism was unsettling from a young beautiful
woman who should have been enjoying life.
“You know, Miss Angela…” Sergeant said after a long
pause, “The more you tell me about this world, the less I like
it. It’s senseless and full of lies.”
He was startled away from his gloomy thoughts by a
cheerful exclamation next to his ear.
“Miss Garm! Fancy meeting you here!”
Chimbick started and attempted to shield Angela with his
arm, cursing himself with the worst words he could remember
from the instructors’ vocabulary. Defective moron, lost all
control over the situation… he’ll be scrapped after the first
diagnostic once they get home. If they get home, considering
how many mistakes he made lately.
The thoughts of being scrapped vanished as soon as he
realized who was talking to Angela. Mr. Attack Spear stood in
front of them in all his garish splendor, shining a smile.
Despite the mutt’s friendly behavior, sergeant was dying to
punch that smug face and scatter all his perfect teeth around
the floor.
“Mr. Tallon.” Chimbick nodded. “Good day, sir.”
He grabbed the cup again to do something with his hands
and not use them to kill this human. The reason for this hatred
was beyond Chimbick’s understanding. If he really thought
about it, what was it Lance has done? Nothing. He started a
human mating ritual, or whatever mutts called it. And judging
by the way Angela spoke to the man, she was interested…
perhaps she thought he was good looking. Unlike an artificial
freak with a scarred face.
His recently improved mood descended to the pits of hell
once again. Replicant glanced at Angela and once again saw
the smile lighting up her face.
“Lance!” She chirped, causing Chimbick to grind his
teeth. “Glad to see you’re well. Are you here for business or
pleasure?”

“Decided to have some fun,” Lance nodded to Chimbick
with icy politeness and took a free chair without asking
permission. “I see you decided not to stay locked in the cabin,
too.”
The last phrase was meant for Chimbick, but Tallon’s
eyes were fixed on Angela.
“Yes, Miss Garm was kind enough to take me out to see
the society.” He said grudgingly. At least he remembered a
suitable phrase he heard from Blaze once. “I’m more used to
the woods.” He added truthfully.
“What are your plans for the day?” Lance was asking
both of them, but kept looking only at Angela to make the
scope of his interest obvious.
Nobody could blame him, especially considering
yesterday’s claim from the “hunter”, denouncing any plans to
get personal with the assistant.
Angela cast a quick glance at her companion and
shrugged slightly.
“Vague.” She admitted. “I would like to meet other
passengers, perhaps find new business partners. Sometimes I
think that if I just fly across the Union in first class, it should
be enough to get the business going.”
She sounded so sincere and natural that for a moment,
Chimbick forgot that her work was just a role, a legend she
came up with the day before. He couldn’t decide if he was
happy or disappointed about Angela’s virtuoso skill at lying.
Once again, dark suspicions about her true profession started
gnawing at him.
“May I keep you company? I know a few important
people - both here and on Vulcan.” Lance saw and opening
and charged ahead. “I dare hope that my presence won’t be a
burden to you and perhaps even prove useful.”
Angela looked as if seriously considering the offer.
“If you promise to tell me what you do and introduce me
to your circle of friends,” She finally told the suffering Tallon,
“Then perhaps my boss won’t think I’m just wasting time on a

good looking man… and perhaps gives his blessing for a
business meeting.”
“The good looking man” beamed so brightly that
Chimbick wished he still had the helmet with light filters on.
He remained still as he listened to the conversation, but it felt
like something broke inside him. Sergeant realized perfectly
well that he had nothing in common with Angela. That they
were thrown together by circumstance and this “together” just
meant traveling to a common destination in each other’s
presence. Miss Loray was a normal human who just wanted to
live her life. She enjoyed mingling with crowds, drinking
cocktails, flirting with this… Attack Spear.
And he,
Chimbick, was just robbing her of all this.
“Go have fun, Miss Garm.” He heard his own voice from
somewhere far away. “We still have two days before we get to
Vulcan. Mr. Tallon, please excuse us, I need to give Miss
Garm some instructions regarding business, in case a good
opportunity presents itself.”
“Of course.” Delighted, Lance rose from the table and
moved several steps away to study a pastry display.
“You will need money for your leisure time, Miss
Angela.” Under the table, Chimbick handed her the purse with
the money assigned for “rest and recreation”.
“Are you alright?” Angela sounded flabbergasted, but
kept the charming smile. “What is happening?”
Sergeant thought about making up a believable lie, but
realized it would be pointless, since Angela was an empath.
And most importantly, the lie would set them on the same
level as those Angela so openly despised. Sure, she pretty
much considered him an enemy already… but at least he
could remain clean here.
“I want to make you happy, ma’am.” He confessed,
looking into the girl’s eyes. “You wanted rest and relaxation.”
For a moment, Angela looked at him searchingly, then
took the purse.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “Let me borrow the
comm. It’s customary to exchange numbers on walks like
this… it will seem strange if I don’t have one.”
Silently, Chimbick put the comm in her hand.
“May I send a message to Rie?”
“Of course.” Sergeant was surprised by that question.
“She’s your sister. You must miss her, ma’am.”
The young woman nodded with a grateful smile, then
rose and went over to the waiting civilian. Replicant gritted
his teeth and followed them with his eyes. A chilling void
opened up inside him. It felt as if he was stuffed into a cryo
chamber again, but left awake and forced to watch life passing
him by. He saw Tallon kiss Angela’s hand, and then the two
disappeared into the bright cheerful crowd.

Chapter 28
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Sergeant

looked around gloomily, trying to come up
with something to do. The world around him, which wasn’t
great to begin with, seemed particularly disgusting. He felt
like howling, snarling and killing someone just because.
Not wanting to tempt fate, Chimbick returned to the
suite. He turned on the news, ordered lunch and settled down
to wait for Angela, while trying to combat this new and very
unpleasant feeling - jealousy.
In an attempt to dispel this madness, sergeant imagined
that he was a malfunctioning pistol; eyes closed, he began
disassembling every part, checking and analyzing every tiny
spring to find the failed one. That didn’t seem to work at all;
clearly, Chimbick’s problems were far beyond anything that
could be detected with a hand held diagnostic tool and a
screwdriver.
Every time he thought the problem was solved, the
memory of Angela’s smile meant for Mr. Attack Spear would
surface and he was back where he started yet again. It was
especially painful to think of what would happen once Angela
and her admirer were alone.
He got up, pulled off his shirt and began practicing handto-hand combat moves, all the while imagining Tallon as his
opponent. Strike after strike, the replicant put everything he
had in it, as if it was a real battle. He collapsed from
exhaustion, rested for a moment, then got up and started all
over again.
Still, the thoughts kept gnawing at him. Sergeant moved
over to a bulkhead and began punching it, oblivious to the
blood from his scraped knuckles.

He was brought back to reality by a door chime. The
replicant turned around, hoping - for the first time in his life that he has been found by the enemy. This would have solved
all his problems, and mission be damned.
But no such luck, there were no enemies. Instead, Angela
was standing in the doorway with a small packet in her hands.
She stared at Chimbick in bewilderment, taking in his grimace
of rage and bloody hands. It seemed like she was listening to
something.
“Ma’am?” Sergeant managed, in complete disbelief. “I
didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”
“Did I interrupt something?”
“Should I leave?”

She asked cautiously.

“No!” Chimbick nearly yelled.
He was full of a new, even more strange feeling. But
there was no time to analyze it, Chimbick was afraid that
Angela would turn around and leave again. To be with
someone else.
“I… I was training, ma’am.” He stood at ease. “My
apologies. I didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am.”
Angela crossed the threshold and locked the door behind
her; she was still sneaking wary glances at the replicant. She
opened her parcel to reveal a brightly colored box and turned
to Chimbick with an unsure smile.
“I thought you liked sweets… Found these pastries, so I
bought them for you.”
Chimbick almost sat down on the floor in surprise. This
was the first time anyone gave him a… gift? Yes, this was
most certainly a gift. He knew he should say thank you, but
all the replicant could do was stand there and stare at the box.
“For me?”
Slowly, Chimbick approached the table and crouched
down so that the box was at eye level. He was entranced by
the gift; the bright packaging didn’t seem to have any practical
purpose, but was nice to look at for some reason. And judging

by the smell his enhanced senses detected, Angela made a
perfect choice. The aroma was tantalizing.
He reached for the box, just to see a drop of blood fall
from his hand onto the polished surface of the table.
Chimbick grunted in disappointment, grabbed a napkin and
began cleaning. Scraped knuckles didn’t bother him replicants were taught not to pay attention to such minor
details. Pain was a constant companion for the artificial
soldiers.
“Let me help,” Angela offered. “You have a first aid kit,
I remember that.”
“Help?” Sergeant echoed.
He followed the girl’s gaze, spent a moment staring at the
scrapes and burst out laughing.
“Don’t bother, ma’am. It’s nothing.”
“In that case, it won’t take long to treat it.” Angela’s
smile was disarming. “And while we’re at it, you can teach
me how to do it.”
“Why waste medicine on that?” Chimbick was confused.
“They didn’t treat scrapes like that even when we were little.”
“Well, let’s say, I don’t want you to drip blood all over
the pastries.” Angela suggested. “Or that I want to learn how
to use the medical kit.”
The last argument was the most reasonable, so Chimbick
got up and hurried to the backpack to fetch the kit.
“There, ma’am.”
He handed over a charcoal colored box with a red cross
on it. It was no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. In the other
hand the replicant was holding a pouch, also marked with a
medical emblem.
“This is the autodoctor, ma’am.” He explained. “It
diagnoses an injury or an illness and injects the necessary
medications. If the cartridge doesn’t have what it needs, or if
the injury is beyond its capabilities, it will instruct the user.
For example, here’s a scrape. Take the autodoctor and press

the scanning surface to the wound. That’s the black strip on
the bottom, ma’am.”
Angela picked up the device, examined it curiously for a
couple of seconds and then placed on the wound as instructed.
“A minor skin injury to a hand.” The device informed
them in a pleasant woman’s voice. “Retrieve a tub of
disinfectant and a tub of synth flesh from your medical
pouch.”
A holographic image of the required objects appeared
over the box.
“Use the disinfectant to clean the wound. Apply synth
flesh to the wound.” The voice continued.
“Impressive.” Angela said and reached for the pouch
uncertainly.
Chimbick nodded in encouragement and the girl began
searching for the medicine.
“Can it do the same thing for a gunshot wound?”
She finally found the disinfectant and the two moved to
the bathroom.
“Depends on how serious it is, ma’am.” Sergeant
explained.
“If the wound is on an extremity, or a graze - then yes.”
Obeying Angela’s gesture, he held his hand out and watched
the girl treat the scrape diligently, but without any skill at all.
“A major injury - no. At best, it can diagnose and then
dispense several medications. Or inject Berserker.”
“Judging by the name, it’s a stimulant.”
“Yes, ma’am.” the sergeant nodded. “It’s only used in
emergency, because in most cases, it’s lethal. Even for
replicants. But with it, even a dying man can get up and
continue the mission.”
At that, Angela’s eyes filled with pity. She picked up a
tube of synth flesh, squeezed a bit of skin colored mass onto

the scrape, spread it around and watched, entranced, as the
compound merged with skin, sealing the wound.
Chimbick just stood there, unable to move. The touch of
Angela’s fingers was both burning and blissful at the same
time. There didn’t seem to be an explanation for this
phenomenon, but the replicant wasn’t even trying to find one
anyway. He was just enjoying the moment.
“Ma’am,” He asked once Angela started on his other
hand, “Why did you come back so early? I thought you
would enjoy rest and relaxation with Mr. Lance.”
“With that self-centered turkey tom?” Angela snorted.
She saw confusion on Chimbick’s face and offered an
explanation. “It’s a bird. It fluffs its feathers and struts about,
but the only thing it’s good for is food.”
“But…” Chimbick stammered, trying to find the right
words. “But ma’am, I saw you enjoy his company. In the
shuttle, when you gave him… that stuff you mixed.”
“A cocktail.” To sergeant’s disappointment, Angela let go
of his hand.
The most pleasant medical treatment in his life was over
and the first aid kit returned to the pouch.
Once the two were back in the living room, the girl
picked up the dessert box and offered it to Chimbick.
“Have some.”
Under Angela’s smiling gaze, sergeant felt a strange
excitement as he opened the box and stared at the tempting
pastries. After a moment’s hesitation, he took one and bit into
it as Angela watched merrily.
This was the most delicious thing Chimbick has ever
tasted, and not just because of the baker’s skill.
“Thank you.” He finished the pastry and licked the cream
off his fingers. “It’s very tasty. Would you like some?”
Angela’s smile widened.
“A little bit.”

She picked a cream-filled cone, bit off the end and
handed the rest to the replicant.
“Try this one.”
He took the treat carefully and stuffed it into his mouth.
This one seemed even better than the first.
“But you didn’t answer my question.” Sergeant reminded
Angela as he took the last pastry out of the box. “Why did you
agree to spend time with Mr. Lance if you think he’s a… a
turkey tom?”
Hesitantly, he offered the pastry to the young woman, and
to his amazement and delight, she bit off a piece, her lips
briefly touching the replicant’s fingers. He felt a burning wave
rush over him and tried to hide the embarrassment by eating
the rest of the dessert.
“I was just playing the role of Teera Garm,” Angela
explained. “A young girl from a provincial planet would have
been flattered by attention from such a man. And we must
look authentic.”
Chimbick was both happy and disappointed by her
answer.
“I was hoping to do something nice for you, ma’am…”
He sighed.
“You did.” Angela smiled warmly. “You let me go.
Nobody’s done anything like that for me before.”
“If I could… I would let you and Miss Svitari go.”
Chimbick confessed suddenly. “For good.”
The way Angela was looking at him now made the
replicant want to… he wasn’t sure what. Everything, all at
once. To jump around, run, fight the entire world, yell on top
of his lungs, jump off a cliff into a raging sea…
“You can.” Angela said softly. She reached out to lightly
touch the replicant’s arm. “Nobody in the Consortium knows
we survived on Hephaestus. Nobody will be looking for us.
Not us, not you and your brother. We can just go away and
disappear on some planet.”

“No, ma’am.” Chimbick replied before he could even
think about what Angela just said.
There was nothing to think about anyway. Completing
the mission was the replicants’ purpose in life; thinking was
extra. Sergeant knew this from the moment he was created.
“Mission must be completed. At any cost. It’s my duty,
Miss Angela. I know you hate me. But I can’t abandon that.”
He stared at the floor, hating the dead security operatives
for plunging him into this, his creators, and most of all,
himself.
“It’s not your fault,” Angela put her hand on Chimbick’s
shoulder. “I don’t blame you.”
Somehow, these words just melted the icy lump in the
replicant’s chest and set his mind at ease.
The girl nodded for some reason and removed her hand.
Then she took off her heels with visible delight.
“Thank you for letting me send Rie a message.” she said
and handed Chimbick the communicator. “When the answer
gets here, even in the middle of the night, please tell me,
okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand what you feel.” Sergeant
stuffed the comm back in his pocket.
The problem of signal travel speed persisted since the
very first space flights. And while the problem of transmitting
the signal between the stars was partially solved by the Gate
technology, within planetary systems messages still traveled at
speeds of just over a billion kilometers an hour.
“You must
sympathetically.

miss

your

brother.”

Angela

said

She curled up on the couch, chin resting on the drawn up
knees.
“Yes, ma’am. Blaze is… the last of the group I grew up
with.”

“The last one?” Angela repeated quietly. “I thought there
were many of you. Hundreds.”
“No ma’am.” Chimbick shook his head. “The closest
ones are a group of six replicants, two battle units of three.
The rest are our brothers as well. But the relationship within
that group… pardon the inappropriate comparison, but it’s like
you have with Miss Svitari.”
Angela didn’t seem offended.
“It’s called family. What happened to them?”
“They were decommissioned, ma’am.
damage.”

Due to fatal

“Don’t put it like that.” Angela said after a moment.
“Decommissioned… As if we’re talking about a broken
comm. It’s your family…”
“It’s forbidden, ma’am. And the report form only has
regulation terminology.”
He faltered for a moment, feeling the already familiar
effect - someone else’s emotions, but this time, it was quiet
and sad. A mix of bitterness and grief - a reflection of his own
feelings. It was like touching someone’s soul.
But did that mean he might have a soul to touch?
“I don’t care if it’s forbidden.” Angela’s voice wavered.
“What were their names?”
Chimbick froze. Replicants’ names were the only thing
that was truly theirs; revealing it to someone outside the
family turned out to be very difficult. Names were only for
one of your own. Humans couldn’t be that, but the things
Chimbick felt… Things Angela showed him just now… She
understood. She wasn’t one of their own, but she understood.
Sergeant looked at her, sighed and made the decision.
“Gepard, Sky, Volt and Drone. And I’m Chimbick,
ma’am.”
For a brief moment, Chimbick felt a warm wave of
tenderness, but then the empathic link broke before he could

enjoy the moment.
Angela spoke softly. “On the planet where I was born, it’s
believed that after one’s body dies, the soul is reborn on one of
the planets in the galaxy. It lives again, learns things,
progresses and then dies again. This happens over and over,
until the soul is ready to move on.”
Sergeant wanted to say that replicants don’t have souls,
but changed his mind. Why would he? Why not just believe
that his dead brothers would come back?
This thought made Chimbick feel better.
“Thank you ma’am.” He said sincerely.
Angela responded with a sad smile.
Then she glanced at the door. “Someone’s here.” She said
with absolute surety.

Chapter 29
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Instantly, like a big cat,

the replicant shifted from his
relaxed posture to being ready to pounce. Door intercom
beeped and showed an image of a steward with a cart.
“Mr. Singh, Ms. Garm.” A polite voice intoned. “Your
order.”
The steward was speaking with a bizarre accent sergeant
never heard before, pronouncing “e” as “ai”, and “s” as “z”.
Replicant relaxed and reached for the remote to open the
door.
“Maister Zaingh!” He giggled suddenly. “I’ll have to tell
Blaze.”
Once the door closed behind the steward, Chimbick
looked at the table and felt genuinely glad that his psyche was
far more resilient to stress than that of a human. Otherwise
he’d probably have a nervous tick just from looking at the
endless assortment of silverware, impeccably arranged on the
table.
“You know Miss Angela,” He said, sadly staring at all
this shining splendor, “Sometimes I think all these foodrelated complications exist because humans have too much
free time.”
“That tells me you’ve never tried to fill a bank form or a
declaration.” Angela “comforted” him. “One thing that’s good
about your life situation - no tax forms.”
“I don’t even want to try that!” The replicant exclaimed
in mock horror.
Then he frowned and went silent, concentrating on a
thought. This type of behavior was new to him, so Chimbick
was seriously suspecting he was starting to malfunction.

“Ma’am….” He asked cautiously, “Does my behavior
seem strange to you?”
“Right now or in general?”
“Starting this morning, ma’am.”
“But what should I consider the norm?” Angela squinted
at him merrily. “Normal behavior is, you know, subjective.
What are we comparing it to? You as of yesterday or other
people?”
“Me as of yesterday.” Sergeant was not sharing her
merriment at all.
“Well…” The young woman thoughtfully touched her
lips with a brightly painted fingernail, “You aren’t threatening
me and you haven’t killed a single person today…”
She shot a laughing look at Chimbick and added,
deadpan:
“Everyone has a bad day every now and then. Eat.”
He looked at her doubtfully, but decided to postpone the
situation analysis until later; he would need to gather more
information on civilian society norms and then compare it to
his own behavior.
As Chimbick was battling the silverware, he remembered
something he wanted to ask Angela about.
“Ma’am? Your empathy, what is its effective radius?
And what sort of an obstacle would be impenetrable for it?”
“On average - about ten meters,” the girl replied matterof-factly as she put a small portion of pot roast on her plate.
“And if you find a material impenetrable to it, do tell me. I’ll
build a house out of this magical substance.”
“Is it that bad?” Sergeant asked sympathetically. “I can’t
imagine what it’s like, feeling others emotions and not being
able to shut them out.”
“Kind of like trying to get a good night’s sleep in the
middle of a screaming crowd.” Angela shrugged and began

eating; obviously, she didn’t want to explore this topic any
further.
“Ma’am?” Chimbick remembered another thing Angela
said that’s been nagging at him for a while now. “You said
nobody ever let you go free before. What does that mean,
ma’am?”
Angela seemed to be taking her sweet time with chewing
a bite of food before she answered.
“It’s a long explanation… Just a human idiom. Eat your
dinner before it’s cold.”
Sergeant realized that once again, he wandered into one
of these mine fields civilians liked to surround themselves
with.
“I’m sorry.” He sighed and went back to battling the
utensils.
For a while, Angela watched him; she pointed out
improper use of a knife once, but then took pity on the
replicant.
“You’re doing even better than would be expected from a
Tiamatan hunter. Don’t torture yourself, eat like you would
normally.”
And, to replicant’s astonishment, she put down the fork
and grabbed a piece of meat with her fingers.
“But…” sergeant was befuddled. “What about the rules,
ma’am?”
He did, however, put down the fork quite happily.
“To hell with rules.” Angela declared and raised her glass
in a mock salute.
For the first time in his life, sergeant felt joy and
complete agreement at the idea of rules going to hell.

Chapter 30
New Plymouth planetary system. Capital City, The
Pioneer restaurant

The

Pioneer restaurant was famed throughout New
Plymouth. Not so much because of its cuisine, even though it
was beyond reproach, but rather because of the crowd that
gathered under its roof.
A visit to The Pioneer was a calling card of sorts, the first
step on one’s journey to the top tier of Union society of rich
and famous. Tables were booked months in advance, for
astronomical sums of money. But money means nothing when
far greater objectives are at stake. To enter the club, to
become one of the movers and shakers! That was worth any
expense.
However, there were the lucky ones who considered a
dinner at The Pioneer an everyday occurrence. For them,
stopping by for a meal in a private room seemed as ordinary as
going out for fast food would seem to an office clerk.
Three of these privileged people were sitting in such a
private room now. Despite the plates of exquisite delicacies
and a decanter of mythically expensive wine on the table, they
all looked very concerned.
“I invited you here to discuss a certain problem we
share.” A man in a business suit began.
“Yeah, I figured it wasn’t to treat us to a bottle of wine.”
Another man, looking more like a well to do farmer or
lumberjack rather than a millionaire, snorted in response.
“What problem?” The third, wearing a general’s uniform,
inquired.
Instead of an answer, the businessman produced a tiny
holo projector from his pocket and placed it on the table. An
image of two young women, each a mirror image of the other,
appeared above it.

“Hey, these are the broads from the news everyone’s
blabbing about!” The “lumberjack” exclaimed.
The general leaned forward
concentration, studying the image.

and

wheezed

in

“Never seen them before,” He finally said and leaned
back. “So why exactly is this our…” he emphasized the last
word, “…problem, and not your personal one?”
“Because we are all in the same boat.” The host replied
coldly. “That’s one. And more importantly, these broads know
too much. That’s two.”
“Oh, I see.” The “lumberjack” muttered. “How much is
too much?”
“Enough to get us all convicted of a capital crime.” This
made the general shudder.
The host looked around the room to make sure the
desired effect has been achieved, and then continued.
“I was sure they were dead. Stupid as it was, I took
someone’s word for it and got complacent… My bad, I admit
it. So I’m going to pay for it all. There’s just one small thing
I need from you - certain connections you have.”
“Are you sure it’s them?” The general seemed unsure.
“It’s been a long time, you could be mistaken.”
“No,” The host replied curtly. “It’s them. Have you
forgotten I have absolute memory for names and faces?”
The officer nodded. The “lumberjack” grunted in assent
and continued lighting his pipe as if nothing important was
going on.
“It’s them, no two ways about it.”
‘What do we know?” The general cut to the chase.
“It’s been picked up by counterintelligence.”
The “lumberjack” choked on pipe smoke, and the general
just stared at their host silently.

“Now you see I’m not being dramatic?” The host crossed
his arms and squinted at the others.
“Well damn…” Lumberjack rasped after a fit of
coughing.
“Contact you know who.” The general, apparently, was
not a wordy type. “He deals with things like that.”
“He’s on a very long business trip.” The host grimaced.
“No idea where, and there’s no way to contact him. And
before leaving, he expressed his hope that we wouldn’t get
into any crap while he’s gone.”
“Right…” The general mused. “He’s not going to be
pleased.”
“We can sort this out ourselves.” The host disagreed. “I
talked to the chief editor and The Week….”
The general snorted in disgust and muttered something
about reporters who would sell their own mother for a penny.
“Yes.” Their host agreed with the obvious. “That’s their
most useful quality. When it’s used properly, of course.
Anyway, the head vulture said he got the information from one
Lieutenant Graham Nave. And my… close acquaintance from
the Navy base said that the same lieutenant suddenly got a
corvette class ship, a special ops team and headed towards
Vulcan.”
“That’s good.” The general looked relieved. “I have a
reliable man there, he can solve this problem permanently. Or
you need them alive?”
“No,” The host replied quickly. “Just the heads. Not
taking anyone’s word for it this time.”

Chapter 31
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Much to Chimbick’s delight, Angela decided not to drag
him out of the suite again and offered another method of
entertainment instead - watching a movie. The one she picked
was something called “criminal comedy” and, according to
Angela, was supposed to “give an idea of life on the wrong
side of the law in an easy to understand way”. Sergeant
complied quite happily.
The next quarter of an hour he was on cloud nine: having
dinner next to Angela and trying to make sense of what was
happening on the screen. Luckily for him, she was happy to
offer and explanation every time a character in the movie did
something incomprehensible.
“What’s so bad about foot massage?” Chimbick asked
the umpteenth question. “Why did this criminal boss throw an
employee out of a window? Did he do something bad by
massaging his boss’ wife’s feet?”
“Well, every culture has its understanding of propriety.
As a rule, touching a woman when it’s not dictated by
reasonable necessity is considered a sign of flirtation. It
expresses a desire to get closer. And also causes jealousy. But
at the same time there are worlds where having sex with
several partners at the same time is perfectly normal. So in
this mafioso’s culture, touch is seen as a sign of interest in his
woman. In addition to jealousy, this behavior is also seen as
disrespect towards the mafioso personally. An assault on his
authority.”
“This is complicated.” Chimbick admitted. “What about
your culture, Miss Angela?”
“In my culture, foot massage leads to an acute feeling of
gratitude.” She waved her bare feet in the air. “Since because
of you, I only have new shoes.”

Her feet hovered over the replicant’s lap, as if she was
asking permission for this new level of familiarity.
Very carefully, sergeant cradled the small foot in his
hands, then asked just in case:
“But would it be inappropriate, ma’am?”
“Oh get over it!” Angela laughed and stretched her legs,
both feet in sergeant’s lap. “You kidnapped me, kicked the
hell out of me, made me strip - and now you’re concerned with
propriety?”
“My actions…” The replicant began, but was interrupted
immediately.
“Are in the past. My feet, however, are sore here and
now.”
She wiggled her feet to emphasize the point.
Chimbick smiled awkwardly. Then took Angela’s foot in
his hands and began massaging it gingerly. He forgot all about
the movie.
Unlike most humans Chimbick encountered so far,
Angela didn’t seem to mind his touch. More than that, she
was obviously enjoying it quite a bit, and didn’t seem to care
that some people thought it was an error to even compare
replicants, a defense industry product, to humans. She just
luxuriated in Chimbick’s touch and smiled at him from time to
time.
Thus occupied, sergeant didn’t even notice the movie was
over. Only when the music played and credits rolled on the
screen, he finally realized it.
“It seems I missed it all…” He confessed, embarrassed.
“Can’t say I’m terribly disappointed.” The young woman
stretched languidly, and the replicant looked away to avoid
staring. “Speaking of entertainment…”
She freed her feet, got up and walked back and forth
along the carpet.

“Lance was asking me out to see a holo play.” Replicant’s
heart skipped a beat and then fell into a cold pit that suddenly
materialized in his stomach. “Can you imagine, they have a
holo theater! I haven’t seen one since I was a kid… Tiamat
doesn’t really have any Consortium tech.”
Now Chimbick understood what “castle built on sand”
means. It was a structure he was buried under at this moment.
“Well… go ahead then, ma’am.”
vocoder - dry, emotionless and lifeless.

He sounded like a

Chimbick wanted to say something spiteful, remind how
Angela was comparing Tallon to a turkey bird, but realized
how pathetic that would have been. Worse than pathetic. So
in order to save at least some dignity and self-respect, the
replicant assumed a mask of stone cold calmness - but
completely forgot he was dealing with an empath.
Angela turned around, crossed her arms and asked in a
pretend grumpy tone:
“So, are you escorting me or what? I told that turkey tom
no already, said I was taking my boss to see some culture.
Introduce him to civilization, so to speak. So don’t you make
a liar out of me, I’m a respectable woman!”
She stomped her bare foot for emphasis.
Chimbick stared in disbelief, expecting yet another
pitfall.
“What are you trying to say, ma’am?” He asked, not
daring to believe he heard her right.
“That I would like you to keep me company.” Angela
replied.
The way Lance Tallon’s face shone several hours later
was like a red dwarf next to a supernova when compared to
Chimbick’s smile. It must have been a miracle that Angela
didn’t end up with sunburn.
“I’ll put a shirt on!” The replicant jumped up. “No! Take
a shower first.”

He nearly ran to the bathroom under Angela’s laughing
gaze.

Chapter 32
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard
Space liner Haley’s Comet

“I

don’t understand these aristocrats.” Chimbick said
four hours later as they were leaving the theater. “Their feud
is senseless. One ancestor said an offensive thing about
another ancestor. This led to animosity. But why would the
descendants continue with that? What for? Juliet drank this
substance that made her fall asleep. It’s easy to distinguish
between sleep and death. But even if her parents were too
emotional, there must have been a doctor present. How
couldn’t he determine her state? And this Romeo? Another forgive me, Miss Angela - moron. Didn’t even examine her,
babbled a bunch of useless words instead of taking reasonable
action. And as a result - two dead for no good reason. The
only one I liked was Mercutio. Reminds me of Blaze.”
He cast a sideways glance at Angela, wondering if she
was offended by this comparison between a character in “the
greatest tragedy ever”, as posters claimed, and a replicant.
“Yes, I certainly see the resemblance with Blaze…”
Angela laughed, and Chimbick smiled a bit.
“You see, dear… ” Angela leaned closer to replicant’s ear
and began explaining. He was enjoying it enough to consider
asking for explanations about everything. “If logic decided
everything, then most art would just not exist. Art is meant to
touch your soul. Rational mind can’t appreciate it. Tell me,
do you always behave in a logical and reasonable way?”
“Yes,” the sergeant nodded. “One can’t give in to
emotions. One must think logically and find an optimal
solution to any problem presented by any given situation.”
He glanced at his companion and thought, with a certain
amount of sadness, that this approach is not always the most

enjoyable.
“Now you’re lying.” Angela clicked her tongue
cheerfully. “In the present situation, you have no reason to
remain loyal to…” She paused, not daring to mention
Consortium in the middle of a crowd. “You know what I
mean. The logical thing to do would be to wave goodbye and
build your life as you see fit for yourself. But you remain
loyal to them, and that is patent idiocy, from my point of
view.”
She squinted mischievously and added:
“But such patent idiocy is exactly what people write
songs and tell legends about.”
“What do you mean, how is this stupidity?” the sergeant
was dumbfounded. “What am I doing wrong?”
“I didn’t say wrong.” Angela corrected him with a smile.
“I said illogical. Logical and right are often very different
things.”
“Alright, ma’am. How are my actions illogical?”
Angela gently pulled him towards the corridor leading to
the observation deck. Chimbick, having grown up at an
asteroid-based military facility, saw space views as something
common. But once he has seen the beauty of a sunrise, he
began to understand people who were so awed and overjoyed
by the colors of the Universe.
Unlike most of the crowd, Angela didn’t seem so
entranced by the marvelous view. She led the replicant to one
of the empty holo pods.
“Would you like to enjoy the view or prefer privacy?” A
pleasant male voice inquired.
Haley’s Comet, launched less than a year ago, was the
pride and joy of its owner company. The liner was equipped
with cutting edge technology bought from Consortium. All
this tech, fantastical by the Union standards, was the reason
for exorbitant ticked prices.
“Privacy.” Angela replied.

“Holo projection mode activated.” The system informed
them.
The liner disappeared. The two seemed to be falling into
open space - the ship was projecting the view outside the ship
into the pod.
Sergeant looked around, nonplussed. He was bored stiff
by views like this one. For ten years, with breaks for planet
based exercise and combat operations, Chimbick’s world
consisted of “psychologically comforting” pastel colors of the
base, battleship gray bulkheads on shuttles and this view
overhead. But now he had a chance to admire the most
beautiful thing in his personal universe - Angela, and he
wasn’t going to waste his time with something as trivial as
open space.
Replicant waited for the girl to sit down and settled on the
other side of the couch, batting the urge to move closer, where
he could feel the warmth of her body.
“So, how are my actions illogical?” He repeated the
question.
“First of all, tell me what you get from… ” Angela was
still avoiding mentioning Consortium directly and came up
with an euphemism. “…your employer for loyal service?”
“Everything I need, ma’am.” He replied without a pause.
“I’m provided with everything necessary for uninterrupted and
efficient service.”
Angela’s analogy was brutal “So are robots. And they
aren’t free to live their lives the way they want. How are you
different from a slave, Chimbick?”
“I’m not human, Miss Angela. I was created by the
Consortium.”
“How are you different from a human, then?”
Angela’s eyes were searching for something. A soul,
perhaps?
“Besides what I already mentioned? In a lot of ways.
Morals, feelings, emotions.”

“I can find you a dozen people whose morals, feelings
and emotions are vastly different from one another.” Angela
parried, her gaze shifting to the majestic view of the galaxy.
“And they are all considered human.”
“It’s not the point, ma’am.” Chimbick shook his head.
“What you feel is real. I just have genetically programmed
hormonal spikes. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that
I’m not malfunctioning right now.”
“To me, your emotions are exactly the same as human.”
Chimbick grinned mirthlessly.
“The more I learn about humans, the less I want to be like
them,” he confessed.
“People can be different.” Angela shrugged and looked
into his eyes again. “I’m a human, too. Do I disgust you?”
“No, ma’am.” Sergeant admitted honestly. “You… I can’t
word it properly.”
He stared at the holographic stars and tried to gather his
thoughts.
“I never regretted what I do.” He sounded cautious, like
someone walking across a mine field. “But now… I’m sorry it
all turned out like this. It’s unpleasant to think about the day
before yesterday, even though all my actions seem to be
proper. I’m sorry, I can’t say it in a way you’d understand,
ma’am.”
It did seem like Angela understood, though. At least, she
smiled sadly, looked away again and said quietly:
“We all do things we don’t want to.”
“Ma’am?” Sergeant started. “Did I upset you again?”
“It’s not you.” She put a hand on the replicant’s shoulder
in a gesture of comfort.
Chimbick glanced at the small hand and suppressed a
sigh. This is not going to last. Angela will give the data to
Security Service, and Chimbick… who knows? Probably go
back to Aegis, or perhaps to the front lines. Or, perhaps, he’ll

be scrapped after diagnostics. Right now, that seemed like the
best possible outcome.
“The world is just that way.” Angela continued.
“Everyone has their own slave collar.”
“We don’t have collars, ma’am.” Sergeant was trying not
to move. “Just implants.”
“Do they make you obey?
rebel? Hurt you?”

Will they explode if you

“No, ma’am.” Chimbick was astonished by the
suggestion. “I just said we don’t have collars in our kit.”
“So you’re free to leave a be a hunter on Tiamat, like you
wanted.”
“No, ma’am. I must deliver you and Miss Svitari to
Eldorado.”
“See?” Angela sounded sad. “That’s the degree of your
un-freedom. You have weapons. You have money. You can
pilot the fastest ship in the galaxy, and yet here you are, on
your master’s leash. You don’t have any chains, but you aren’t
free. Your collar is right here.” The young woman lightly
touched the replicant’s temple. “And it’s so strong that even
with weapons and a ship you can’t run away. A slave has a
collar that he hates, a cage he dreams to break free from one
day. You don’t even have that. You don’t have the ability to
see your lack of freedom and comprehend that you are a
slave.”
Her smile was both sad and guilty, as if to say that she
didn’t want a fate like that for the replicant.
The sergeant thought it over.
“No, ma’am.” He said finally. “You may be partially
right. But it’s my world, I don’t know anything else. And the
life I see now… I don’t like it, ma’am. It’s all lies and
pretense. But my brothers don’t lie. And no matter what, I
won’t leave them.
We grew up together, lived together,
trained… we’ll die together, too. Or survive, if luck would
have it.”

He thought he saw a spark of warmth in Angela’s eyes.
“And that is one of these illogical things people write
songs about… or plays like the one we saw today.”
“Not leaving your own behind, that is?”
decided to clarify.

Sergeant

“That’s one of them.” Angela nodded in agreement. “The
list of such human idiocies is pretty long, so art has plenty of
subject matter. But if you think about it, the core of it all is
roughly the same. Plays, ballads, novels, legends, fairy tales
and songs by majority of people from all kinds of planets just
retell the same stories differently. “
“I don’t know any.” Chimbick admitted. “Only marching
songs.”
For a brief moment, Angela looked surprised, but then
her expression changed to anticipation.
“I think I know how we are going to spend the rest of this
evening…”
“How?” Chimbick was excited, curious and cautious at
the same time.
Angela just winked at him mysteriously, activated the
terminal and busied herself with studying the liner’s store
catalog. After several searches, she grinned triumphantly and
turned to the sergeant.
“Would you make a small gift for me?”
“Of course!”
The replicant was both sincerely happy to have an
opportunity to do something nice for her and regretful for not
thinking of presents on his own.
“Come with me then, so we can pick a perfect one.” The
young woman smiled and linked her arm with Chimbick’s.
He frowned and freed himself carefully.
“Don’t do this, ma’am.”
“You find this unpleasant?”

“You held Mr. Tallon’s arm like that, ma’am. And then it
turned out he was a turkey. Or did I misunderstand something
again?”
Angela’s burst of laughter confirmed that theory - once
again, the replicant misunderstood.
“It’s a gesture traditional for most cultures.” Angela
explained once she was done laughing. “It comes from a time
when women were wearing long uncomfortable dresses that
weighed as much as some suits of armor. So they would need
to hold onto a man in order to move around and not fall.
Clothes did get more comfortable since then, but the tradition
to hold a lady’s hand during a walk remained.”
Replicant looked into her eyes.
“You are not joking with me, are you, ma’am?”
He did, however, offer his arm.
“Find an article in an encyclopedia if you don’t believe
me,” The young woman suggested. “Or remember how other
people walk around the decks.”
“I remember, ma’am. As well as your comments about
them.”
The hologram flickered out and they were in the middle
of a crowd once again. Out of habit, sergeant scanned the
surroundings for possible threats and then, to his own
amazement, discovered that his hand was covering Angela’s.
It was a strange, practically instinctive gesture. But Chimbick
couldn’t think of anything in his set of instincts and reflexes
that would explain this. If his emotions were only a surrogate,
genetically programmed hormonal spikes - then who
programmed this and why? Or was this a malfunction?
No answer.
Instead, he felt inexplicable joy and warmth from her
touch. Warmth akin to that of a campfire on a cold night; he
remembered those from survival training. Replicant walked
along, led by Angela, sneaking furtive glances at her. He
thought how great it would be if the command decided to keep

Angela and Svitari on Aegis and then he and Blaze would be
assigned to guard them.
Despite not knowing what a dream was, Chimbick now
had one.

Chapter 33
New
Plymouth
planetary
system.
Stormbringer, Foundation Union Navy

Corvette

Nave was sitting in a nook pretentiously called “a cabin”
and, for the hundredth time, studying the scarce data the Union
had on replicants.
The rumors of these new merciless soldiers, appearing
from nowhere and vanishing into thin air, reached the Union
counterintelligence about three years ago. At first everyone
thought it was just a new hit squad, much better equipped
compared to regular regiments.
Then they received footage from places where
Consortium used these new special forces. The difference
between that and the usual “policing” Consortium hit squads
was astounding. This special force acted like a crew of robots
- with impeccably calculated surgical precision. They didn’t
get distracted by civilians, never made a mistake when
choosing a place to strike and never left anyone capable of
resistance still alive. And not a single Union agent could get a
glimpse of even one of these soldiers. Like ghosts, they
materialized for the carnage and then disappeared.
Their actions fit perfectly with the Consortium’s idea of
war - cold, logical and absolutely merciless. War unknown to
the Union. A war where civilian casualties were not a
consideration.
For a long time, it remained a mystery for the Union High
Command who those people were, where they were trained,
what sort of equipment and weapons they had. All attempts to
film at least one of these special forces soldiers on deployment
or when leaving failed miserably. Even a short recording of a
special forces attack on a riot barricade that an agent risked his
life to make yielded nothing. Not a single soldier was in the
frame, only the workers, running in panic or dying.
All attempts to find these soldiers among Consortium
military during their time off base failed as well. Not a single

one could be found in bars, brothels or any other places
frequented by military personnel. The only thing agents were
able to find was a myth of some half-men, half-animals
created at some secret base and trained to kill. Of course,
nobody took that nonsense seriously.
And then Union Expeditionary Force made an attempt to
land on Consortium-owned planet Hel. This was the first and
only time the Union military encountered replicants. The few
survivors of the massacre had horror stories to tell.
Phototropic camo these artificial soldiers had turned them into
invisible nightmares, striking out of nowhere.
Replicants seemed practically immune to weapons; the
Union troops managed to pick up only a handful of corpses,
some in better shape than others. Research done on those
proved that the mysterious corporate warriors were not exactly
human, a product of extensive genetic engineering far beyond
Union scientific achievements. The only hope was that the
Consortium didn’t have too many of those.
Graham turned off the data pad, noticed what time the
clock on the bulkhead was showing and hurried to the mess
hall that was temporarily turned into a briefing room.
His strike team of Special forces soldiers was waiting for
him, fully armed and outfitted for battle. Nave stepped to the
center of the room.
“In half an hour, we will reach the rendezvous point with
Haley’s Comet. Our objective is to capture two persons.
First…”
He pressed a button on the remote. A hologram of one of
the Loray sisters appeared next to him.
“This is Miss Loray.” Graham explained. “She must be
taken alive and unharmed. Should she resist - use nonlethal
force, or aim for extremities. However, any resistance from
her is unlikely; it appears that miss Loray is… she works as an
escort.”
This brought the inevitable jokes on the subject of miss
Loray, her work and possible reasons for arrest.

“The second target…” A hologram of a Tiamatan hunter
appeared. “Consortium replicant.”
All merriment drained from the room. Rumors about
these Consortium-bred monsters began circulating in every
branch of Union military and police forces shortly after the
battle of Hel. Of course, nobody could tell how close to the
truth they were. Everything is scarier in the dark, so the few
survivors who were able to escape the carnage often described
the enemy as nearly magical creatures. And now the team was
about to test how true all those stories, told and retold in
barracks, really were.
“It’s preferable to take it alive.” Graham looked around
the room. “But… if it resists, don’t take unnecessary risks.
Remember: it’s not human.”

Chapter 34
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Contrary to Chimbick’s assumptions, their destination
was not a clothing store or a jewelry boutique. Angela
brought him to a shop that was full of rather mysterious
objects. Metal and wooden pipes, strange boxes with wires
strung along one side, animal horns…
Sergeant was staring in bewilderment, trying to guess the
purpose of all these things, until he finally noticed a familiar
object. “Mandolin,” he remembered the name. A musical
instrument; he saw one of the minor characters in “Romeo and
Juliet” play it. Chimbick came to the conclusion that the other
objects in the store might also have to do with music. One
thing was left to learn - what this had to with Angela.
Unlike him, Angela was navigating the variety of options
very confidently. She was mainly paying attention to string
instrument and finally, picked something that seemed to have a
bit of a resemblance with the mandolin. This one, however,
had two necks and twenty eight strings. It also was decorated
with a pattern similar to that adorning Chimbick’s own face
now. The instrument drew his eyes, even though he hasn’t
heard it make a single sound yet.
Angela’s fingers touched the lower tier of strings. Soft,
sad notes filled the wooden body, making it resonate and give
the sound new, deeper tone.
“This one.” The girl looked up at Chimbick, waiting for
his decision on the purchase.
He nodded and reluctantly took his eyes off the
instrument to call the shop assitant.
“Are you going to play it, ma’am?”
This was probably the stupidest question Chimbick ever
asked him his life, but he couldn’t help himself.

“No, I’m going to break it and build a campfire in the
middle of the cabin.” Angela snorted. “Of course I’m going to
play it.”
Chimbick nodded, his face expressionless, but inside, he
was dying of curiosity; there was also an unfamiliar feeling, as
if he was waiting for something good to happen. He was
almost sure civilians called this “anticipation”.
“Where did you learn to play this, ma’am?” he asked.
The young woman ran her hand over the wooden side.
“In some families it’s customary to teach children all
kinds of useless skills in addition to proper table manners. But
I learned how to play zavelle on Tiamat.”
Angela took sergeant’s arm again, and this time, he didn’t
protest.
“It will be a long evening,” She warned. “With your
appetite, you might want to order supper right away.”
Back in the suite, sergeant became completely entranced
by watching Angela tune the zavelle. She kicked off her shoes
and settled on the couch, the lower neck of the instrument
nestled on her bent leg. Slender fingers ran swiftly over the
strings, touched the frets and moved over to the tuning pegs.
This was so different from anything Chimbick has seen before,
it could have been a scene from another world.
To his annoyance, the steward arrived with the supper
and took ages to arrange all the platters on the table, since he
kept getting distracted with sneaking curious glances at
Angela. Replicant moved the remaining platters to a side table
quickly, shoved a coin into the befuddled steward’s hand and
nearly kicked the man out of the room.
Only after locking the door he looked at the young
woman, afraid to see disapproval on her face. But no, to his
relief, there was nothing like that. Angela smiled approvingly,
set the zavelle aside and began tuning a miniature holo
projector. Ubiquitous on Consortium planets, they were
considered luxury items in the Union and therefore were
always present in expensive hotels or on cruise liners.

“Turn the lights off.” Angela asked suddenly, confusing
Chimbick a bit.
Seeing no purpose to that, he run his hand over the sensor
nonetheless, and the suite plunged into darkness. Not
complete darkness, however. The gloom was dispelled by a
hologram of a wax candle, something out of a very distant
past. Chimbick’s pupils dilated to adjust to new light.
“What’s this for, ma’am?”
“Just trust me,” Angela replied and picked up the zavelle.
Trust her… Chimbick repeated the word to himself,
learning its meaning anew. Until now, he only trusted his
brothers. Even the commanding officers were unquestioningly
obeyed, but not trusted. Trust was for humans. A product, a
piece of property can’t trust or not trust a person. Replicants
were only equal to each other, and therefore, could only trust
one another.
Sergeant couldn’t see any danger in what was happening
now, so he silently took a seat near Angela. Trust her? He
was ready to. For the first time ever. Trust her.

∆∆∆

“There’s a legend on Tiamat,” Angela began speaking
softly, “That souls of people who are too full of sorrow can’t
find peace and instead, inhabit zinda trees. A good craftsman
can find such a tree and turn it into a zavelle so that the
grieving soul can tell its story. You just need to know how to
listen…”
Her voice became deeper, drawing the listener in, leading
him into an illusionary world. This was a lie, but not an
unwelcome one. A lie of the kind they call magical fairy tales.
Chimbick listened to Angela’s voice and felt something
strange, something he didn’t know the name for. This
information could not possibly be true. A lie or, at best,

uncivilized belief. But the way she said it…
something more to it.

There was

The music started. Angela’s fingers began an intricate
journey over the numerous strings, striking them, pinching or
barely touching. Chimbick immediately took a note of the
difference between her movements and those of the actor he
saw in the holoplay: while the actor was just running his hand
over the strings, Angela was showing excellent fine motor
skills and precision.
But then she began to sing and all thoughts perished from
the replicant’s brain.
This was so unlike the rousing marches and upbeat
marching songs that sergeant was positively stunned at first.
He just listened, motionless and silent. He almost seemed to
have stopped breathing, too. The sound reached his very core,
bypassing the conscious thought. It is said that music can
charm a wild beast that way. Sergeant was absorbing the
magical mix of soft, gentle music and the most beautiful voice
he’s ever heard.
When the first shock wore off, he began to realize that the
lyrics seemed to be telling a story. At first, the meaning
eluded the replicant: too many unfamiliar concepts and
idioms. But a mere thought of interrupting the song with a
question, logical as it was, seemed unbearable. Stubbornly,
Chimbick tried to extract the meaning from the song, using all
the limited life experiences he had.
He did succeed. Not right away, but the breathtaking
world of legends was opening before the replicant in all its
beauty.
That night, Chimbick caught up somewhat on what
normal human children learned in abundance at a much earlier
age. Angela knew an unlimited number of songs, long ballads
and all kinds of stories. When her fingers got tired, she would
set the zavelle aside, take a sip of wine and tell an entrancing
fairy tale. Chimbick listened, having completely forgotten the
food that was growing cold by now. His entire being was
captivated by the new experience.

As he was beginning to understand, all the heroes in
stories were going through roughly the same tests, but in
different settings. All the stories would tell a tale of love,
friendship, loyalty, devotion, duty, bravery, mercy and selfsacrifice, but each in its own way. Each hero was faced with a
difficult choice that would enable them to become someone
greater than the person they were before. To take a step
outside themselves, past the edge of possible. And somehow,
these stories warmed the soul.
“This… I’ll never forget this…” Chimbick said quietly
when Angela got tired and set the zavelle aside once again.
“Thank you.”
Gingerly, he squeezed her small hand in his. Instead of
an answer, Angela moved closer and snuggled against the
replicant’s side, her hand still in his. At this moment, sergeant
didn’t believe that he was looking at a cunning spy, so sincere
and open was Angela’s smile.
He wrapped an arm around her awkwardly.
“Now I understand the lack of logic in the characters’
actions in that play, ma’am.”
“Yes?” Angela rested her head on Chimbick’s shoulder,
making his heart race at triple speed. “What helped you
understand?”
“You.” Chimbick replied simply.
“Did I help you understand that you are a hero in a fairy
tale, too?” She asked, looking up into his eyes.
Chimbick opened his mouth to say no, but stopped to
think. Why not? Every fairy tale began with some sort of a
disaster or need. That he had in spades. Then the characters
would go through some ordeals, meet other creatures and
change in the process. Did he change? Replicant glanced at
the girl next to him and smiled. He certainly did. And then, in
the end, the hero would do something extraordinary and reach
his goal as a completely different person. A better version of
himself.
“No, ma’am.” He said finally.

Words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out,
suppressing the cowardly urge to present wishes as reality.
“A hero would have let you and your sister go, ma’am.”
He managed to say.
Surprisingly, Angela didn’t leave and didn’t take her hand
away. She just watched him with those bottomless gray eyes.
“You’re still in the middle of your journey, that’s all.” She
said softly and snuggled even closer to Chimbick.
He felt as if a sun just rose in his soul. Carefully, he
rested his chin on Angela’s head and went quiet. The cabin
fell silent. More than enough has been said there today; it was
time to savor the comfortable silence. At some point
Chimbick noticed that Angela fell asleep, still holding his
hand. He didn’t notice the moment when he went to sleep
himself. Replicant dreamed of heroes from ancient legends
and a soft warm hand holding his.

Chapter 35
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

Lieutenant Graham Nave walked along the corridor,
flanked by his Special Forces team, looking rather majestically
intimidating in their battle gear. The steward trotted ahead of
them; he stopped by one of the doors and looked back at the
officer uncertainly.
“Here?” Nave mouthed the word.
The steward nodded and with a shaking hand offered
his master key card. Lieutenant gestured to the team leader
and the operation commenced.
The men moved soundlessly to take positions at each
side of the door. Their CO swiped the card and as soon as the
door slid aside, tossed a flashbang grenade into the room. A
deafening explosion filled the corridor with bluish white light,
blinding even Graham despite the protective visor. The next
moment the squad swarmed the suite, yelling.
“On the floor!
behind your head!”

On the floor, you bastard!

Hands

Nave and the commanding officer remained in the
corridor to wait for reports.
“Targets neutralized.” An emotionless voice in his
headset intoned a second later.
Lieutenant flashed a pleased smile and entered the
suite. His helmet’s tac block switched to night vision,
presenting a clear, yet monochrome picture.
The first thing Nave saw was the replicant, held down
to the floor by five soldiers at once. It was growling like an
animal, straining every muscle to try and break free from the
hold. Nave noted the creature’s unusual eyes - with a vertical

pupil, now contracted into a thin line, and a large iris taking up
the entire visible portion of the eye.
Replicant froze, breathing heavily through the nose.
Graham realized that the creature was sniffing, like an honest
to god predatory animal, evidently assessing the situation and
number of enemies based on the smells. The flashbang didn’t
disable it completely. A human affected by one of those
would be absolutely incapable of resistance, deafened, blinded
and stunned. Usually they would void their bladders and
bowels, as well. The replicant, however, retained conscious
thought and some combat ability.
Angela Loray was also on the carpet, watched by two
men. Unlike the replicant, she was shivering in terror and
offering no resistance at all. This was both surprising an
alarming; by Graham’s estimations, she should have been
unconscious in a puddle of her own waste, yet here she was,
blinking blindly and whimpering in fear. Was it real fear or
was she acting?
In any case, Lieutenant Nave became convinced that
the Loray sisters were also replicants. Just a different model.
Graham squatted down next to the young woman,
opened her eyelid and examined the eye. Perfectly normal,
quite human from the looks of it, just unfocused because of the
flashbang.
“What state were they in when you got them?”
Lieutenant asked.
“They were sleeping.” The squad leader replied. “The
replicant managed to react - pushed the broad to the floor and
covered her with its own body. Didn’t have time for anything
else.”
He sounded obviously relieved and grateful. After all,
they were preparing to capture a legendary monster.
“Right.” Nave said with a hint of disappointment and
got up.
So it was possible that the replicant lessened the effects
of the flashbang by covering the girl with his body, which

would explain her miraculous resilience to the explosion.
After another look at the captives, Nave went over to a
closet and opened the doors, ignoring the exclamation from
the explosives expert. He pulled out a backpack, lifted a flap
and held up a Consortium made helmet.
“Traditional gear for hunters on Tiamat, huh?” He
asked the soldiers sarcastically.
They laughed readily, glad to release the pent up
tension.
“What should we do with them?” The squad leader
asked once he was done laughing.
“Just leave them for now.” Nave waved him off. “And
turn on the lights, would you.”
Someone slapped a sensor and a crystal chandelier
shone brightly under the ceiling. The scene it illuminated was
positively idyllic: a holo projection of a burning candle on the
table, unfinished supper… A Tiamatan zavelle in a chair,
unlikely survivor of the earlier fight. Nave picked it up
carefully, touched the strings for some reason and listened to
the haunting sound, then set it down next to the backpack.
“Close the door.” He ordered. “No need to scare other
passengers.”
The team had no objections. The captives, secured
with magnetic shackles, were taken to the bedrooms and
deposited on the floor, with guards watching their every
move. The rest of the group began methodically searching the
suite under Nave’s supervision.
Something crunched under his foot. Nave looked
down and realized that it was a smashed civilian comm.
“Replicant,” lieutenant thought, annoyed. “Managed
to break it somehow, the bastard.”
He decided not to voice his displeasure, though,
figuring it could have been much worse. For example, the
replicant could have started shooting and then there would be
no way to take him alive. Or he could break Angela Loray’s

neck, depriving Graham of a chance to question the woman.
In the grand scheme of things, a comm was not that big a deal.
“How come they are dressed?” One of the soldiers
wondered aloud.
“Didn’t quite get to it, I guess.” Graham replied grimly.
Staring at the shards that used to be the comm,
lieutenant felt an overwhelming desire to go and slap the damn
replicant. Now they have to bust their humps looking for the
other two, when they could have taken them unawares…
There was still a chance that the eggheads could get some
information from the shards, but Nave wasn’t delusional
enough to really hope for that.
“Safe is locked, LT.” One of the special ops’ voice
pulled Graham out of his thoughtful reverie.
The man was standing by a standard hotel safe, hidden
in a little niche.
“Go ask the steward for the key.” Nave ordered.
While the soldier was getting that done, lieutenant
decided to check on Ms. Loray. She came to already and was
trying to look at her guard, but all she could see were the
boots. Her dress pulled up all the way to the waist, uncovering
shapely legs and buttocks, but Nave’s attention was drawn to
something else. The young woman’s ankles had clear ligature
marks left by a thin rope, and her thigh was badly bruised.
Small scrapes dotted her calves, knees and arms.
It would seem she was tied up and possibly
interrogated using enhanced techniques. But who did that?
Replicants? Then why did the creature try to shield the girl
from the explosion? Was it trying to protect an important
person, or had some other motives?
There was one way to find out.

Chapter 36
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Haley’s Comet

“Miss Loray,” Lieutenant entered the room and sat
on the bed. “Can you hear me?”
“Y-yes…” Her teeth chattered, and voice quavered
pathetically.
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Graham Nave,
and I’m a Lieutenant in the Foundation Union military,
Counterintelligence branch. Which of the two sisters are
you?”
The guard stomped his foot, landing it a hair’s breadth
away from the woman’s face. She cried out in terror. But the
not so subtle hint at the way this conversation could go if she
decided to play the silent game obviously was understood.
“An…” The young woman’s voice faltered again; she
cleared her throat and managed to continue.
“Angela Loray. And you just killed my sister,
lieutenant.”
“Did I now?” Graham raised an eyebrow. “And how,
pray tell, did I do that?”
To his surprise, she started crying - silently,
suppressing the sobs racking her entire body.
“These… these insane creatures…” She managed
finally, with obvious effort. “These things…”
Nave watched her curiously. Her shoulders were
shuddering as she wept silently. Lieutenant was starting to
suspect he was about to see a fit of hysterics.
“Get her up.”
Without a word, the soldier grabbed the girl’s
handcuffs and yanked her up, ignoring a cry of pain.

“Continue, Miss Loray.” Graham said encouragingly.
The young woman looked at him in fear, then lowered
her eyes.
“They told me to do what they ordered, or Rie dies.”
Angela said. “If we are caught - Rie dies. If this one… ” She
nodded towards the door, “If it doesn’t call the other one - Rie
dies…. “
She bit her lip and shuddered again, sobbing. Her
makeup was running, giving her raccoon eyes; she looked
broken and sad.
“And of course, you don’t know where that other one
and your sister are.” Graham already knew the answer to that.
Angela Loray just shook her head and shivered.
“Uh-huh,” Lieutenant replied thoughtfully.
Was she putting up a star level performance or telling
the truth? Both scenarios had merit.
“Why then were you sleeping all snuggled up with
this… creature, Miss Loray?” He asked the next question.
“Doesn’t quite fit with what you just told me.”
“Does it look like I had a choice?”

She sounded

hollow.
“We’ll find out.” Graham drummed his fingers on his
knee and studied the captive for a moment. “A question for
you. Why is Consortium so interested in you, Miss Loray? If
you’re the victim here and all.”
“Some bastard used me and my sister as bloody info
chips,” she replied with unveiled hatred. “He recorded some
data on the implant, something that Consortium needed. And
then died.”
There was a hint of glee in the way she said the last
phrase, almost as if this was a small victory for her.
“Then some guys showed up, tried to remove the locks
from the implants. But they couldn’t. Then they spent a while

trying to decide if the data would be compromised if they just
cut the implants out…”
She began shivering again, but continued in a wavering
voice.
“They decided it could destroy the data. So instead of
killing us on the spot, they dragged us with them.”
Nave rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It did sound like a
true story. But to check if it was, they would have to get to a
place equipped with scanning gear capable of dealing with the
implants.
“So you managed to escape from them on Hephaesuts,
then.” Pieces of the puzzled clicked into place.
“Yes. These things… they aren’t that smart. Don’t
really understand humans, either. We were so sure we would
never see them again, but they found us on Plymouth.”
“So not that dumb, after all.” Nave stated the obvious.
“Tell me, Miss Loray, where did you get those implants? They
aren’t cheap.”
“For work.” Change of topic seemed to calm the young
woman considerably. “To prepare a good show, we need to
synchronize holo projections, sound and a million other
things.”
“A show? What kind of a show?”
Angela’s face betrayed surprise for a second.
“Depends on the club and what clients want, really.
Mostly dancing. Sometimes it’s a full private show in a holo
cube. Producing a show that’s supposed to embody someone’s
fantasy is complicated and requires Consortium equipment.”
The soldier behind her back made a comment
regarding whores and cutting edge technology. He wasn’t
mincing words either, peppering the sentence with
obscenities. The girl just shrugged, almost imperceptibly, but
didn’t react to the insult otherwise. She must have been used
to it after years of work.

Nave shot an annoyed look at the man and asked the
next question.
“I’m guessing, only wealthy clients could afford to
order such a show? Is that right?”
“For a private one, yes.” She nodded. “But any
customer at the club could see it on the big stage.”
“Then you had plenty of chances to make
acquaintances among some powerful people.” Nave wasn’t so
much asking as stating the fact.
Angela snorted bitterly and cast a wary glance at the
operative.
“Your colleague here just described the way a typical
person feels about someone in my line of work. So you can
say that a waitress at an expensive restaurant has connections
among the powerful. We’re just help to them, nothing more.”
Graham appreciated the candor of her answer. Cynical
as it sounded, she was telling the truth. Otherwise she would
have been dropping names of influential boyfriends and
threatening the lieutenant with their wrath.
He himself wasn’t prejudiced against sex workers.
Due to his young age, he hasn’t become completely jaded yet,
and thought of them as unfortunate people, victims of
circumstance forced to earn a living in such a humiliating way.
He entered Angela’s testimony into his report carefully
and then looked at her again, with a hint of sympathy this
time. It did seem the sisters were just innocent bystanders,
pulled into this mess against their will. But there was one little
burr ruining the perfectly smooth surface of the story Angela
told.
“Who helped you on New Plymouth, miss? How did
you find the forger for counterfeit IDs?”
“It was an accident.”
That surprised Nave quite a bit.
believe in accidents.

He didn’t really

“Some idiots from a local gang decided that we were
turning tricks on their turf without paying. So they came by to
have a conversation… And the replicants killed them.
Tortured one, found out about the counterfeiter.”
“That easy, huh?” Nave asked with exaggerated
surprise. “That’s some amazing luck. So did they give you
money for all the shopping you did at the local stores? I mean,
the gangsters you just mentioned.”
“No.” Realizing she was walking on thin ice, Angela
lowered her head and was trying not to look at the
interrogator. “The creatures had money. Lots of it. I don’t
know where they got it from, though.”
“Creatures… that’s funny. Why is it, then, in all the
footage of you or your sister shopping at the mall you look
perfectly happy with your lot in life? Huh, Miss Loray? Is
there anything you would like to add to your testimony?”
“We were ordered to behave that way so that we
wouldn’t attract attention.” She shrugged slightly. “After all,
pretending to enjoy everything that’s happening is the very
definition of what we do for a living.”
Lieutenant chewed on his lip, thinking it over. It all
seemed believable - especially considering the scrapes and
bruises all over the girl’s body. But Nave wasn’t in
Counterintelligence to just take people’s word for it.
Especially when safety of the Union was at stake.

∆∆∆

Graham heard voices from the main room - the guy
he sent for the key card finally returned. A moment later the
soldier walked into the bedroom, carrying stuffed purses.
“Here, sir.” He handed them over.
Graham took the purses and undid the drawstring on
one of them; it contained platinum coins.

“So… nobody helped you, you said, Miss Loray?” He
mused. “Where’s this fortune from, then?”
He sighed and waved his hand. Following the signal,
the soldier shoved the girl to the floor, then yanked her head
up by the hair.
“Who helped you?” He snarled. “Answer me, you
whore! I’ll cut you, bitch, I swear to god!”
He brandished a vicious looking blade.
“I don’t know!” Angela screamed, her eyes locked on
the knife. “Don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything!”
“Bullshit.” The man touched the point of the blade to
her ear. “Last chance. Then you’ll be spending half the
money on earrings.”
The girl thrashed in her restraints, trying to either break
free or crawl away, but a heavy boot pinned her to the floor
cruelly.
Nave watched this with a mix of pity and professional
curiosity. As a human being, he sincerely felt sorry for this
young woman. As a Counterintelligence officer, he wanted to
get the truth out of her.
“I told you everything…” He could barely make it out
through her sobs.
The rest was utterly unintelligible, lost in hysterical
weeping and wailing.
“Quite realistic.” Nave offered an opinion and gestured
to the soldier to stop the torture.
The man stepped away immediately, sheathing his
knife.
“Miss Loray, perhaps there is something else you
might remember?” Graham asked in the most polite tone. “Or
I could leave you alone with your new friend. Would you like
that?”
“I would!”
conversation.

The “new friend” contributed to the

Nave continued. He sincerely hoped that he sounded
like he meant it. “And then, Miss Loray… Then I will put you
in a holding cell with some gangsters. They’ve been there for
a month and a half with no female company, so your arrival
will be much appreciated.”
That made her shudder so violently that for a moment
Nave suspected a seizure. But the girl raised her red, puffy
eyes, still full of tears, and began pleading with him. Her
erratic speech promised him every pleasure known to man,
lifelong servitude, or anything he wanted, anything at all…
And with all this, there was so much insane, desperate hope in
her voice that for a moment, Nave felt ashamed.
But only for a moment.
“Shut the waterworks.” He ordered.
The soldier bent down and slapped the girl across the
face.
“Shut up.”
Angela cried out in pain. And in the next second, the
other bedroom erupted in a cacophony of noise. Yells of
anger, alarm and surprise, obviously coming from the soldiers,
were accompanied by the sound of utterly non-human growl.
Forgetting Angela, Nave dashed towards the noise,
pulling a sidearm out of its holster. What he saw shocked
every fiber of his being.
One of the special forces soldiers was crawling
backwards towards the wall, clutching his throat. His squad
mates stood in a semi-circle blasting the replicant with
shockers. The creature’s growl was what scared the CI officer
so much.
The replicant, like some legendary monster, was trying
to get up despite the electrical discharges raining all over him,
and growled. But with every second, it got quieter, its
movements slowed. Finally, the creature collapsed on the
carpet.
“Put leg restraints on it,” The squad leader ordered
hoarsely.

Two soldiers approached the motionless body gingerly
and shackled the replicant at the ankles.
“Bloody beast… ” Rasped the soldier sitting on the
floor. “It just went rabid. Swept my legs from under me and
then kicked my throat. If not for the collar, I’d be dead…
Bastard…”
His mates helped him up and moved him to the other
room.
“Going to be a fun day.” The squad leader
commented. “Alright, so we guard it in teams of threes.”
Nobody protested that - even experienced special
forces soldiers were impressed by the replicant’s performance.
“Why did it go rabid, then?” Graham inquired.
“Well, when the broad started yelping… it just
knocked Miguel down and went all wild.” One of the soldiers
explained.
Nave raised an eyebrow. Clearly, the replicant was
trying to rescue Loray. But why? Was it protecting the carrier
of this important data Angela was talking about? Or was it
personal?
Nave returned to the bedroom and addressed the
captive again. “Miss Loray, are you still maintaining your
story that you’re a victim of kidnapping?”
The girl cowered in an attempt to make herself as small
as possible, shivering.
“It… it won’t come for me, will it?” She whispered.
“It really wants to.” Nave didn’t even have to lie. “So
much so that it doesn’t seem to care about its own survival.
You know, I’ve never seen such zeal to protect a prisoner.
Especially considering the fact that he should be seeing us as
your allies.”
“They aren’t like us…” Angela sounded genuinely
terrified.
“They keep saying they must complete the
mission… Take us to Eldorado… Like robots…”

She managed the courage to look at Nave again.
“Sometimes they are almost human… But the moment
they think their orders will be disobeyed, they just turn into
animals. When Svitari and I ran away and they found us…”
She bit her lip, but couldn’t hold back tears.
“We thought they would kill us. But they just beat us
up and kept saying they have orders to get us to Eldorado.
And if we try to sabotage it, they’ll take us there anyway, but
leave our arms and legs behind.”
“So you think that the creature wasn’t trying to protect
you, but rather do something else?”
Nave sounded
incredulous. “Like what, pray tell?”
“Complete the mission.” Angela said bitterly. “They
don’t care about us. Nobody does…”
Graham realized that he was being overwhelmed by
utterly illogical, irrational and frankly inappropriate feeling of
guilt.
“So these bruises and ligature marks on you - was that
replicants’ handiwork, too?”
“Yes. After that, they killed our client and promised to
cut off our limbs if we try to escape again. We’d be easier to
transport like that, they said….”
She tried to move to look Nave in the eyes, but it
wasn’t easy to do from the floor.
“I’m begging you, please, find my sister… It will tear
her to pieces…”
“We are doing just that.” Graham really wanted to look
away, but he wasn’t about to let pity overcome his sense of
duty. “Tell me, Miss Loray… These things, do they have
names?”
“They have numbers. Long numbers. One ended in
zero, and the one you caught, that one ended in five. Oh, and
the other one was calling it “sergeant”.”

She was talking hastily, turgidly, as if happy to have an
opportunity to tell Nave something he wanted to hear.
“Sergeant, huh.” Graham couldn’t help but glance
towards the other bedroom. “And it was in charge of the
whole operation?”
“Not right away,” Angela answered. “The men who
came to the club were just normal people. Humans. They took
us to a ship. And these things were there. And when the other
escape pod crashed, this sergeant took command.”
“You said they were dumb. In what way?”
“They are like wild animals that wandered into a city.”
Angela’s analogy was a bit unexpected.
“They don’t
understand a lot, get confused… first reaction to anything
unfamiliar is aggression. We guessed it was their first time
among people without their masters. They would calm down
if Svitari and I helped them with everything. We thought,
maybe they are trained to obey humans. So if we could
convince them that a certain action would help with their
mission - they would obey us, too. We’d do that in public - tell
them what to do to not attract too much attention.”
“Why didn’t you call for help?
Graham inquired.

Call the police?”

The young woman snorted and looked away.
“We thought this would go kind of like this… We’d be
the ones to go to jail. Besides… the creatures told us they’d
kill us first, if anything happened.”
Having seen what replicants could do just a couple of
minutes ago, Graham couldn’t disagree. The creatures would
have been perfectly able to kill both sisters and all the
unfortunate cops trying to help them. And the rest of it… If
the sisters were indeed victims - which would be verified
pretty quickly - there was still the mysterious data hidden in
their implants. Graham wasn’t so sure that the Union had
equipment capable of extracting it without turning both Loray
into brainless vegetables. They must have understood that,
and weren’t eager to contact the authorities.

Lieutenant looked at the girl with genuine sympathy.
In all likelihood, the situation would unfold without any
consideration for humanism. The sisters would be forced to
undergo data extraction procedure, and then either sent to be
turned into cyborgs, or just simply euthanized. And even if
data extraction went well, without any harm to the carrier,
someone could always decide against keeping potential
witnesses around. Nave decided to fight that with all he had,
though. The law is supposed to protect the innocent!
“Take the handcuffs off.” He said without looking up,
as he pretended to enter the girl’s testimony into his data pad.
Silently, the soldier unfastened the restraints and
stepped away. Not too far, though, so that the prisoners would
have a reminder of the impending punishment for any
infraction and therefore wouldn’t get any ideas.
“We’ll try to find your sister as soon as possible, Miss
Loray.” Graham said, still not looking up from the data pad.
“Please try to remember - are there any other details you can
think of? Did these creatures contact anyone in your presence?
In person or over comm links?”
Angela got up carefully, casting wary glances at the
soldier, and began massaging her wrists.
“No. They said something about capturing a ship or
whatever to set up communications with the Consortium. But
we convinced them that just buying tickets and flying to a
neutral world would be simpler.”
With that last part, she lowered her head and looked
away.
“Who gave them the idea to get counterfeit
documents?” Graham asked the next question.
The girl visibly cowered, so it wasn’t difficult to guess
what the answer was going to be.
“We did. We told them that since we’ve been on the
news, the old ones would be flagged.”
“Was it your idea to remove the counterfeiter and his
lackeys, as well?”

Angela looked up, startled; she looked genuinely
shocked.
“They said they just paid… But then… I shouldn’t be
surprised, I guess…”
“Which one of them said they just paid, miss?” Nave
asked.
He felt no sorrow for the late “baker” and his goons. If
it was peace time, Mozach would have gotten ten years of hard
labor on Vulcan somewhere, but now, with the harsh wartime
laws in place, it would have been date with a firing squad if
police caught him. However, the state was supposed to have a
monopoly on violence. And that’s the way it should be.
Therefore, it didn’t matter if they were career criminals or not;
replicants killed several citizens of the Union. They must be
punished for that.
Gingerly, as if afraid the replicant could see her
through the bulkheads, the young woman nodded towards the
other bedroom.
“This one. With the scar.”
“So you’re telling me that the replicant went to get the
documents on its own and then thought to remove the
witnesses?” Graham tried to scratch the bridge of his nose, as
was his habit when thinking, but hit the helmet visor instead.
“Didn’t you say they weren’t that smart?”
“If left to its own devices, a replicant will remove
everyone.” Angela snorted. “It’s their default reaction to
everything.”
Remembering the footage from riot suppression,
Graham had to agree with that assessment. He moved on to
the next question:
“Miss Angela, how would you explain this rather
intimate scene at the moment of your capture? Zavelle, candle
hologram, sleeping next to the replicant?”
The young woman looked at him.

“I was trying to find a way to get to it,” she admitted.
“To appease it, so that it would let me talk to Svitari. I’m
afraid something horrible might have happened to her…”
Lieutenant was touched by how much Angela seemed
to care about her sister.
“Did it work?” He asked with genuine curiosity.
Angela shrugged, unsure.
“I don’t really know. I think music calms it down
somewhat… It even let me sit next to it. Usually they get all
nervous when someone comes too close or tries to touch
them.”
Nave was surprised. “They don’t like physical contact?
Does it make them angry, or scared, or what?”
“It’s more likely to cause aggression than anything.”
Angela replied.
She was trying to wipe her face with the dress sleeve;
so far, all she achieved was transforming raccoon eyes into
fairly even gray tone.
“They endure it if it helps with their precious mission.
But very reluctantly.”
“I see…” Nave muttered thoughtfully; he was trying to
think of a way to use this unexpected bit of knowledge.
He asked the next important question. “Miss Angela,
what did the second replicant and your sister look like when
you saw them last? What were they wearing? Perhaps you
heard the replicants discuss the location for the meet up?”
Angela shook her head regretfully.
“They wore armor most of the time, so we didn’t hear
their conversations. Perhaps there are recordings in the
helmets somewhere?”
She sounded tentatively hopeful, but Graham didn’t
share that sentiment. The Consortium technology outpaced
the Union to such a degree that quick data extraction was not a
scenario to hope for. If it were possible at all.

“As for their looks… When the other one took Rie,
she looked like me. Hair dyed black. The replicant was
wearing normal clothes - shorts, a bright floral shirt. Eyes
covered with a visor.”
“How do they maintain contact with each other? Or do
they work without communications since you parted ways?”
“Communicator!” Angela perked up, hope shining in
her eyes again. “You can trace the communicator! It would
have saved the number!”
“Unfortunately, your favorite frenemy managed to turn
it into trash.” Nave informed her.
“But…” The girl looked bewildered. “But you could
get the data about the calls from somewhere, couldn’t you?
Who he called and when?..”
“We can, miss. But it would take a lot of time.”
Lieutenant sighed.
It would have been a serious pain in the neck disposable comms weren’t registered and didn’t have a call
log. Service providers didn’t think it was reasonable to waste
money on storing all the extra data for a dozen or so calls the
cheap battery would provide.
Angela’s face darkened.
“No chances, then?” She said quietly and looked at
Nave. The way she looked unsettled him for some reason.
“No, not necessarily.” Graham tried to comfort her,
unexpectedly even for himself. “Don’t fret, Miss Angela. We
have photos of your sister and the other replicant, their
biometric data… There’s no way they can avoid the
checkpoints at the space port. Especially now that - thanks to
the information you provided - we know a lot more about
these Consortium creatures.”
“If I think of anything else, how would I let you
know? I want to help with finding my sister…”
She was looking at him imploringly, with a sense of
hope that anyone who ever worried about a loved one could

relate to.
“There’s still a full day before we get to Vulcan, miss
Angela.” Nave got up and put the data pad away. “You will be
in the brig on our warship. If you remember anything - tell the
guard, he’ll take you to me. Roughly the same arrangement
once we are on Vulcan: you will be… under guard… ”
Graham tried not to use the word “arrest” to avoid
traumatizing the young woman even more. “…Until this case
is resolved. If you want to tell me something - just call the
guard and ask them.”
“And that… thing? Will it be nearby?”
whispered with genuine terror in her voice.

Angela

“No, miss.” Lieutenant said comfortingly. “It will be
far away, securely guarded. If it were up to me, though, I
would prefer to just shoot it and study the corpse.”
Angela’s eyes shone wetly again. “Please don’t kill it
until you find Svitari. Nobody else knows where to look for
the other one and my sister….”

Chapter 37
New Plymouth Planetary System. Onboard Space
liner Haley’s Comet

Sergeant opened his eyes to realize that he was being
carried somewhere. Six figures clad in black armor dragged
him into the living room, and Chimbick couldn’t help himself
but to glance at the couch. Zavelle and candle hologram were
gone, as if last night was only a dream. Next he remembered
Angela’s desperate cry of pain and fear.
Chimbick twitched and growled, choking on helpless
rage. He failed. Couldn’t help. Let her down. Didn’t protect
the one who trusted him. He was weak. Useless, defective…
“Shut up, you freak.” One of the people carrying him
hissed and kneed Chimbick in the ribs to make the message
clearer.
Replicant snarled and turned his head to face the man,
giving him a chance to admire the wild grimace of rage and
dilated pupils.
The man cringed.
Satisfied with this petty revenge, sergeant quieted
down and set to thinking over a plan how to get out of this
mess and find out what happened to Blaze and Svitari. And to
get Angela out. Leaving without her was not even a
consideration. He would not leave her here as long as he
lived.
And then he saw her. All thoughts in the replicant’s
head immediately stood in formation and marched away,
direction unknown, without even a goodbye note. He watched
Angela intently. She was standing there, hiding behind some
mutt’s armored back, and looked at Chimbick with a mix of
disgust and fear. As if it wasn’t Chimbick, but some… nonhuman creature.

“You won’t leave me in the room with… that thing?”
Angela whispered plaintively into the mutt’s ear.
Everything clicked into place. Fairy tales, songs,
candle light, walks, conversations - everything was a lie. A
talented manipulation by a professional liar. Confusing the
enemy, this was called. Confusing him, Chimbick. The idiot
dumb enough to believe the person who fooled him and his
brother once already.
Sergeant’s first impulse was to break free and smash
his stupid head against a wall. Besides the fact that he
passionately wanted to do that after the last look at Angela,
this was also required by the instructions. A replicant must
take all measures necessary to avoid being taken alive by the
enemy. In battle, armor’s tac block was supposed to inject the
replicant with a lethal dose of poison to avoid capture. And
outside battle… Nobody thought a replicant might encounter
an enemy in any situation other than battle. So now the
enemy had a pristine suit of armor with a tac block and the
security operatives’ dog tags.
Which contained
communication codes and a plethora of other classified
information.
The still reasonable part of replicant’s brain managed
to rein in the overwhelming urge to die. No self destruction
just yet. All immaterial factors must be ignored. He must find
a way to retrieve his gear before the enemy has a chance to use
it. After that, he will return to the original mission - delivery
this… mutt to Eldorado.
Now all sergeant could feel was absolute cold - the
stasis chamber cold that terrified him so much. But now there
was no fear or pain. Just icy resolve. Sergeant RS-355085
turned into a block of ice. Dangerous, deadly ice.

∆∆∆
New Plymouth
Stormbringer

Planetary

System.

Corvette

Nave had to spend most of the remaining flight to
Vulcan with the prisoner. She was terrified to the point of
hysterics by being in the brig, next to the replicant. The small
ship didn’t have much space to hold prisoners, so Angela and
the creature were placed in side by side cells. Every time the
replicant made a sound, Angela would begin shaking in terror.
Even bringing in more guards wouldn’t comfort her.
No wonder she used any excuse to leave the brig. At
first she would talk at length about everything she saw; once
that stream of barely useful information dried up, she would
just go silent and watched Nave gloomily, waiting for him to
send her back to the cell.
Unable to withstand this haunted look, Nave
disregarded the rules and let the prisoner sleep in the cabin he
was assigned. He spent the night in the mess hall with the
special ops team, playing cards and telling jokes.
Once in orbit, Nave escorted Angela to the shuttle. The
next half hour wasn’t the most pleasant in Angela’s life: right
in the middle of the landing compartment was the gurney
carrying the bound replicant. The creature didn’t say a single
word during the trip. It just laid there staring at the girl with
its unsettling eyes, and didn’t react to orders or threats.
It remained silent when the shuttle touched down on
the landing pad in the underground city. While the hangar gate
was being closed and planetary atmosphere pumped out to be
replaced with a breathable mix, the replicant didn’t make a
single sound either. Only when the soldiers carried the gurney
out and shoved into an armored vehicle sent to fetch this
valuable cargo, Angela relaxed and let go of Graham’s hand
she’s been holding the entire way from orbit.
“Are you going to put this creature next to me again?”
She asked quietly, with a look of anguish in her eyes.
“No.” Graham patted her hand comfortingly. “Please,
don’t worry. You won’t ever see it again. It’s been taken to
the garrison prison, and then, most likely, they’ll take him to a
lab at the local military base. And you will be at the garrison

headquarters, in the officer’s detention facilities. I’m sorry,
Angela, but that’s the only place for you to be safe.”

∆∆∆

Lieutenant realized that he just called a suspect by her
first name. But there was no taking that back, and apologizing
would surely sound idiotic. To his relief, the young woman
was so excited by the news of never seeing the replicant again
that he didn’t seem to notice his misstep.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She thanked him sincerely,
looking up into his eyes. “Tell me honestly… do we have a
chance to find Svitari?”
The “we” slipped out unguarded, the same way Nave
just addressed her as simply “Angela” seconds ago.
“Of course.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, miss. Your
sister is going to be okay.”
He hesitated for a moment and then added:
“If you like, I can come visit you, give you updates on
how the search is going.”
Angela smiled, hesitantly and gratefully.
“Do you promise?”
“Word of honor.” Lieutenant replied solemnly.
And looking into Angela’s eyes, so full of gratitude, he
realized that he would never be able to break that promise.

Chapter 38
Vulcan. Counterintelligence Service HQ. Prison level

Sergeant RS-355085 was laying on his back, staring at
the ceiling grimly and contemplating his own defective
nature. He had plenty of time for this worthy pursuit: after the
first interrogation, having seen that any attempts to get a single
word out of him were futile, the humans left him alone. To
the replicant’s surprise, they didn’t even hit him. The only
interrogation was conducted by that snot-nosed Lieutenant
Nave, the same mutt behind whose back Angela was hiding on
the liner. Just that was reason enough for RS-355085 to want
to wring the lieutenant’s neck.
Nave asked Chimbick what his name, rank, ID number
and regiment were. Sergeant stayed silent, imagining how he
would tear the mutt limb from limb and pile the bleeding
pieces at Angela’s feet. What for? He didn’t know that
himself. Just wanted to see her face at that moment.
Once it became clear that the prisoner was not in the
mood to cooperate, Nave ordered to take him back to the cell,
and after that, nobody else tried to interrogate him anymore.
Instead, he was passed on to the ones he hated the most scientists.
Ever since childhood, Chimbick and his brothers were
terrified of those almighty creatures. Humans in white coats
were the judge and jury, deciding who deserved to live and
follow orders, and who would be decommissioned. Little
replicants had nightmares about the figures in white.
Now they came for him in the waking world. Silent
researchers in white coveralls, their faces hidden under
protective masks. They touched him with cold rubber-clad
hands, making him think of androids. Just as faceless,
completely uninterested in anything other than their research.
First they tried to ask questions, but RS-355085
remained silent. He knew what they needed. To study him.

To learn his pain threshold and what else replicants were
capable of, to find a way to capture and torture his brothers.
That’s why he wasn’t tortured during interrogations, or
pumped full of truth serums - they were afraid to cause an
allergic reaction. They didn’t want to lose the only live
specimen.
The specimen was struggling hard to keep himself
from self-destructing. First he needed to destroy the captured
armor and dog tags, then the lab and all the info they were able
to glean so far, along with the torturers in white coats. And
then he would destroy himself. That’s why sergeant remained
quiet and docile, to lure the guards into complacency.
He lived like that for two days now. Got up at the
alarm, made up the bed and washed his face. Then a duty
guard would appear and slide a tray of food through a slot in
the door. Sergeant would eat whatever they gave him, set the
tray back onto the little shelf by the slot and sit down to wait
for six cyborgs to bring a gurney equipped with restraints and
transport him to the lab. They were too afraid to let him walk
on his own feet. Reasonably so.
In the lab, sergeant would strip silently and lay down
on the cold table under the cyborgs’ and scientists’ blank
stares. As soon as the replicant’s body was gripped by the
restraints, white figures would surround him, and RS-355085
would retreat into himself, isolating his mind from what was
happening.
He was trying to analyze the past events.
Why did he trust Angela? And why was he so hurt by
her betrayal? Was it really a betrayal, anyway? From what he
had time to understand, the world Loray sisters lived in was
not much gentler than his own. The only difference was that
the sisters weren’t shot at quite as often and were better fed.
He should have known that Angela would easily sell him out
to save herself and her sister. In a way, sergeant could
understand that. After all, what was he to her? A creature. A
resource to be used to achieve something. Should he blame
her? RS-355085 was a resource to be used. Same as his
brother.

With thoughts of his brother, anxiety returned. It’s
been two days since Angela ratted Blaze out, but there were no
news of him. Not a live replicant for research, not a dead body
in the lab. Did he get away? Or perhaps the strike team hasn’t
reached the liner yet? Blaze was their last chance to complete
the mission.
The mission…
A possibility of failing the mission terrified the
sergeant, but then, his thoughts would stubbornly go back to
Angela again. He analyzed his behavior, trying to find the
malfunction. Betrayal from Loray was probable, but at some
point, he stopped relying on facts and lost control over what
was happening. Why?
He recalled the time he spent with Angela, hour by
hour, minute by minute, trying to find that point of origin, the
moment of first malfunction. Every time, he failed. Too many
things outside of his scope of comprehension happened since
the commanding officers’ death.
Then Chimbick tried a different approach to analysis.
He tried to understand why it hurt him so much to see the fear
and loathing in Angela’s eyes when she looked at him from
behind the lieutenant’s back. Why did her words cause him an
almost physical pain? His eidetic memory helpfully replayed
Miss Loray’s voice saying “…in the same room with this…
thing?”
Icy fingers gripped his heart again. Why? He was a
thing. From the moment he was manufactured. Why would
he, RS-355085, expect anything else?
Then the replicant remembered the warmth of a
woman’s hand in his and understood. Because Angela
convinced him otherwise. She addressed him like he was
human, asked about his personal opinion, touched him more
often than was necessary. Every day she reinforced his
delusion of being equal to a human. And that lie was so
welcome that he began imitating human behavior himself.
Did irrational things to make Angela like him.

Gave her the only thing that was his own - his name.
Being property themselves, the replicant didn’t have anything
other than their names. And he gave that away. His own
name, and those of his fallen brothers… For the first time in
his life, RS-355085 felt a strange emotion. He felt like he was
robbed. Robbed of something important - just to have that
precious thing thrown in the mud like it was nothing.
The replicant growled, making the scientist scatter,
startled by this sudden outburst. The cyborgs, waiting by the
door, raised their weapon modules, but the replicant was not
making any attempts to break free, so they returned to stand by
mode.
The lead researcher decided the threat
ordered the others to continue. Faceless white
back obediently and resumed their studies of
body. RS-355085 returned to dissecting his
actions.

was gone and
figures moved
the replicant’s
emotions and

Angela was very convincing. Her empathy had a
particularly strong impact on the replicant. To feel what
another person was feeling… But why did he decide that this
influence can’t be a lie? Was it because he so desperately
wanted it to be real?
He must be defective.
Damn! He handed Angela the comm link with his own
hands and then left her unsupervised! A perfect chance to
contact the enemy and give away their position… What a
dumb, defective product he was. And everything else that
followed - theater, songs, legends… All this served one
purpose, and one purpose only - to make him let his guard
down and wait for the strike team.
The voice of his rational mind cut through the fog of
bitterness and rage, reminding him of the interrogation that
followed. Agents aren’t rewarded in that way. Did this mean
Loray weren’t working for the Union? Then who?
Insufficient information. However, the only way he
could collect more was escape.

One thing left to do was to figure out how to escape.

Chapter 39
Vulcan. Officers Detention Facility

In the last several days, Angela Loray’s life revolved
around Lieutenant Nave’s visits. The time between them was
spent thinking about the next meeting and constructing
suitable scenarios. Any observer who might have been
watching the prisoner using a hidden camera would see
depression changing to periods of anxiety, baseless fear and
quiet hysterics of a person who just went through serious
emotional trauma. Angela has seen enough of that to be able
to reenact every detail flawlessly.
After all, for the last years of her life all she did was
hone the art of deception and swap one mask for another.
Finally, there would be a delicate, quaint knock on the
door. Graham tried not to startle her again and preferred
knocking to using the blaring beeper on the local intercom. In
all fairness, he could just walk in, but felt it was necessary to
alert her to his arrival. A good man. A kind man. Too bad
everything turned out the way it did.
“Come in!”
This was another tradition they created in these last
days. Nave diligently maintained the illusion that the cell was
her private territory, a retreat where she had the power to not
let an unwelcome guest in.
She always did though.
The door opened, revealing Lieutenant Nave, putting a
lot of effort into creating a “strictly business” demeanor. His
coat’s pocket bulged slightly; another packet of sweets or
some other minor contraband he brought for her.
“Any news of Svitari?”
Another ritual - starting the conversation with a
question, not a greeting. This allowed them to maintain the

illusion of this meeting being necessary and ease the
awkwardness Graham felt trying to come up with another
excuse to visit.
“No, miss.” The usual answer; now the lieutenant
could fish a chocolate bar out of his pocket.
He hesitated for a moment, plopped down onto the
only chair in the room and produced a data pad. Behind his
back, the guard’s face disappeared from the little observation
window in the door, then the gasket hissed, indicating that the
door was closed, and the room got quiet.
“Mind if I take my jacket off?”
making Angela smile again.

Lieutenant asked,

Despite the stifling heat the climate control systems
were able to alleviate only partially, Nave never even unbutton
his collar without asking for permission first. Heat was the
main source of pain for the underground city. Vulcan was a
young world, still forming a nitrogen-rich atmosphere and
very seismically active. Average temperature on the surface
was about 50-60 degrees Celsius. Thanks to life support
systems, the city and mining villages maintained bearable
living conditions, but temperatures never were below 25C.
“Of course.”
Angela smiled at the investigator tentatively; she was
tracking every minute change in his emotions. All these past
days she meticulously cultivated his affection for her, carefully
leading him down the age old road from pity to attraction.
Judging by the emotions she was reading from him now, this
was time to move on to stage two.
“Would you like some juice?”
Angela knew he wouldn’t say no, whether he wanted
any or not. A familiar thing, a way to find something to do
with his hands and full pauses in the conversation. This
helped calm the lieutenant as he uselessly tried to convince
himself that he came here three-four times a day just to find
out if Miss Loray remembered anything new about her
kidnappers and their plans. She always tried to come up with

some insignificant detail that would give him a reason to come
back.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
He would always answer as if she really was busy
here.
“You are my only guest.”
Angela never hurried. She would walk to a box full of
freeze-dried juice, make a careful selection, open the packet
and pour the powder into a plastic cup. Then on to the water
faucet, moving with calculated grace - demure, yet tantalizing.
Another little ritual - brush her fingertips against
Nave’s hand when giving him the cup. This time the touch
lingered a bit longer than customary, and the lieutenant cleared
his throat awkwardly before asking the same tired question:
“Did you happen to remember anything else?”
No, today she wasn’t going to make up stories about
replicants or mention meaningless details. They would talk
about something else.
“What’s going to happen to me?”
Nave flinched a bit, not expecting a question. Angela
felt regret, doubt and guilt. So you don’t know, Graham. Or
it’s not up to you to decide.
“When the investigation is over and your version of the
events is confirmed - you will be free.” Nave said without
much conviction.
Not “if”, but “when’.
“You believe me, even if you’re trying to maintain the
“impartial investigator” face. There’s just one little bit left to
do. The main thing is not to rush it now.” she thought.
“What if it doesn’t end? What if you never find the
other replicant? If there’s no way to corroborate my story?
If…” She allowed her voice to waver, “…If I never see my
sister again?”

For a moment, Angela imagined that she really would
never see Rie again and let tears roll down her cheeks. Nave’s
helpless confusion was emanating from him loud and clear.
He rose from the chair, unsure how to comfort Angela, and she
suddenly threw her arms around him, sobbing, wet cheek
pressed against his shoulder.
“Miss…” Graham patted her shoulder clumsily.
“Angela… Please calm down, it will all be alright.”
He was overflowing with such tenderness and sincere
desire to help that the empath felt a pang of guilt for what she
was doing to this innocent man. But she had no choice Graham was the only thread she had to hold on to if she
wanted to get out. Angela would not waste that chance.
“Don’t leave me alone again.” She whispered and
looked into his bewildered eyes.
Holding eye contact was an art she mastered quite
well.
“Bind me, put me in shackles, anything - just don’t
leave me all alone…”
A wave of conflicting emotions overwhelmed Nave,
destroying the walls he so diligently tried to construct every
time they met. It was time.
Angela’s lips touched his. Tentatively at first, as if she
didn’t know whether she should… then desperately, as though
this kiss was her only salvation. It was true, after all. Graham
froze for a moment, then pulled her against him and returned
the kiss. His emotions shone bright and strong; Angela
realized that the lieutenant wasn’t spoiled by women’s
attention. Perhaps for that reason he couldn’t compose
himself for a while.
“I’m sorry, miss… Angela… We shouldn’t. You must
calm yourself.”
His voice certainly lacked conviction, and heart was
beating out of his chest, so that Angela could feel it. Finally it
occurred to the lieutenant that his speech would probably be

more effective if he wasn’t embracing the suspect, and he
dropped his arms, embarrassed.
“I can’t do this anymore…” Angela let a hint of
hysteria creep into her voice. “When I’m alone, I… I see
things… I keep hearing steps outside the door, and every time
I think it’s replicants, they are going to burst into the cell… I
have nightmares, and wake up at every sound….”
She shivered and tried to press against Nave again, but
he mustered the force of will to keep her at a bit of a distance.
“You’re in shock, miss. I’ll get you a sedative. Please,
wash your face, have some water… It will all be alright.”
Lieutenant’s feelings betrayed completely opposite
desires. Angela couldn’t help but admire his self-control, even
though she did count on it.
Graham helped the still sobbing young woman to the
bed and left the room in search of a sedative. Angela wiped
her tears, walked to the bathroom and turned on the water.
Then she reached into her pocket and got out Nave’s
communicator, which she swiped out of his pouch during the
kiss.
Without missing a beat, she dialed Blaze’s number she memorized it during her walk with Lance when Chimbick
gave her the comm. A risky thing to do; Angela was gambling
not only with her own fate, but also Blaze’s and Svitari’s
freedom. She didn’t see another way though.
“Blaze, this is Angela.” She talked as fast as she
could. “We were caught on board the liner. Now we’re on
Vlucan. As far as I know, Chimbick is kept in a lab at the
military base, and I’m at the garrison headquarters, officers’
detention. I stole a comm from Graham Nave, an investigator,
and will have to return it now, so don’t even think of calling
me back. Change your number. Don’t go to the rendezvous
point. Get your brother out. I can wait. Nave believes I’m
just a victim. Don’t hurt him.”
The door lock buzzed and Angela stopped recording.
She pressed “send” and erased the entry for the sent message

from the comm’s log. Then she put the comm back in her
pocket, splashed her face with water, toweled off a bit and
opened the door.
She was met with Nave’s worried eyes.
“I’m scared.” Angela made a confession in a small
wavering voice. The stolen comm burned against her side like
a hot coal. “Can you stay with me for a little while?”

Chapter 40
New Plymouth planetary system. Space liner Nebula.
Departure day

Blaze was trying to remain calm, but it wasn’t easy.
For the first time in his life he was in this situation: alone, and
completely in the dark. Of course, replicants were trained for
the eventuality of being separated from their unit, but it was
assumed that it would happen in combat. A possibility of
establishing contact or returning to the unit was also assumed.
Life turned out completely different. The only thing
this situation had in common with the training was that Blaze
was deep in the enemy territory. That was all. No enemy
soldiers, no hostile environment, not even a bit of a firefight.
He didn’t even have to plot a route for stealthy retreat. And he
didn’t have a line of communication to Chimbick.
This weighed on Blaze the heaviest. Sergeant meant
more to him than to others in the group. Chimbick wasn’t just
the commander; for Blaze, he was the embodiment of safety
and calmness.
He would cover up Blaze’s small
transgressions and rush to his side when replicants from other
groups made fun of the talkative airhead they considered Blaze
to be.
He only survived Hel because of Chimbick. When
their unit was hit with heavy bombardment, Chimbick carried
Blaze, heavily wounded in the abdomen, out of the grinder.
The only one he could save. Four of their group brothers
forever remained on the icy plain, torn by bombs and artillery
shells.
And now Blaze didn’t even know what became of his
brother. Did he manage to board the ship? Did he slip
through the checkpoints or was caught along with Angela? If
they were caught, did he get away or die trying?
Uncertainty depressed him.
Yet another new
experience Blaze could have done without.

And because of the ever growing distance between
them, there was no way to communicate with the sergeant in
real time.
So Blaze sat and fumed. For replicants in his model
line, any negative emotion immediately became a fuel of sorts,
boosting the soldier’s aggression and thought processes.
Blaze’s brain was calculating various scenarios, while the
natural born killer part of his being demanded action. He was
like a caged tiger - enraged, deadly and unable to channel the
rage in the only way he knew how.
Even Rie’s company wasn’t comforting. Quite the
contrary, being the only living creature within sight, she was in
danger of being the lightning rod for replicant’s fury. And as if
to spite him, the young woman settled down right next to
Blaze, so her scent unsettled him even more.
From the moment replicants hit puberty, the armor’s
autodoctor suppressed their sexual drive; hormonal spikes
were good for aggression, but non-regulation thinking could
lead to undesirable effects. However, since Blaze hasn’t put
his armor on for two days now, he felt a strange uneasiness
when Rie was close. He wanted to touch her, feel the soft skin
under his hand and a warm body next to his - but at the same
time, realized that such desires were absolutely inappropriate.
She was human, and he was a product. A properly functioning
product should not feel any urges to touch a human when it’s
not necessary.
And that angered him even more.
Blaze got up and began pacing around the cabin, trying
to channel his tension into movement, but that didn’t do much
at all. The replicant wanted to run or fight, but neither was
possible in the enclosed space this cruise liner was. Unless he
wanted to attract a lot of attention, anyway. So Blaze was
forced to pace like a caged animal while trying not to look at
Svitari.
Svitari, meanwhile, was watching him with curiously,
with a widening smile.
“What’s so funny?” Blaze barked, losing his patience.

“Am I laughing?” Svitari arched an eyebrow and gave
the replicant a defiant look.
“Yes!” Blaze stepped closer to her to try and use the
tried and true intimidation tactic: loom over the victim and
stare into their eyes.
Until now, this worked perfectly every time.
Especially for Chimbick, simply turning his head was all he
had to do for the sisters to lose the attitude. This time,
however, things went wrong. Closing the distance only
exacerbated the problem: Blaze’s nostrils filled with the
intoxicating scent, while Svitari’s eyes turned into magnets.
He froze, as if hypnotized, unable to even breathe deeply.
“What are you doing?” the replicant rasped.
He felt as if his throat was cinched with a rope, so that
he had to struggle for every breath; his temples throbbed as if
a regiment in full gear was marching inside the skull. To make
matters worse, his mobility was now compromised by the rush
of blood to nether regions and the resulting uncomfortable
tightness of pants.
“Nothing.” Svitari smiled innocently and got up, so
now she was face to face with Blaze. “Maybe I just enjoy
looking at you?”
Blaze gulped.
His nostrils flared, inhaling the
unbelievably pleasant, tantalizing scent of the girl. He wanted
to touch her, but discipline and self-control demanded that he
should isolate himself and conduct a self-diagnostic with an
autodoctor.
“Ma’am.” It took a lot of effort to get words out, as if
Blaze was in open space, wearing a suit with barely
functioning air regeneration systems. “Move away. I’m
malfunctioning.”
Svitari didn’t budge.
“Shut up, Blaze.” She whispered and pressed her entire
body against his. “Shut up and kiss me.”
And Blaze shut up.

∆∆∆

He remembered seeing people kiss, but didn’t quite
understand the mechanics of that process; all he could do was
awkwardly touch his lips to Svitari’s. Luckily, she obviously
knew what to do. Replicants were designed to be highly
trainable, so it didn’t take Blaze a lot of time to familiarize
himself with a new and pleasant skill.
His rage and aggression rapidly transformed into
something else he didn’t have a definition for. He held the
slender woman’s body against his and kissed her, burning with
anticipation. From an instructional course in anatomy he
knew about the mechanics of sexual contact between humans,
but what happened before that part was a mystery to him.
Svitari, however, seemed to be an expert. Her hands
slipped under the replicant’s clothes. For the first time ever,
someone else’s touch didn’t make Blaze uncomfortable. He
growled and tried to copy what she was doing; it seemed
logical to adopt that tactic. However, he was met with a
sudden obstacle between his hands and Svitari’s body. Her
long modest dress didn’t provide much of an opportunity to
reach inside it, and Blaze didn’t have the patience to look for
any sort of fastenings at the moment.
Without thinking, he tore the front of the dress. The
sound of ripping fabric made him wonder if he was doing
something wrong. But Svitari just shrugged out of the dress
carelessly, without even stopping the kiss, and all thoughts
evaporated from Blaze’s brain.

Chapter 41
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Nebula

Blaze’s ability for conscious thought returned several
hours and a number of pleasant discoveries later. Now he
realized how much the anatomy course omitted in its
descriptions of conception. And even though replicants were
created sterile, Blaze did appreciate the process.
Then came the realization of what he’s done.
He sat bolt upright in bed.
“I committed an unacceptable act, ma’am.”
Svitari stretched languidly and moved into Blaze’s lap.
“More than once, too.” She purred into his ear. “And I
enjoyed every single one.”
“A product must not initiate contact with a human
being unless strictly necessary in the course of a mission.”
Svitari shrugged her naked shoulders. “So let products
not initiate contact, what’s it got to do with you?”
“I’m a product. “Ares” model replicant, generation
five.” Blaze sighed. “Biorobot, a quazi-living organism.”
“Can you guarantee that I’m not a replicant though?”
Svitari grinned suddenly. “Or that every passenger on this
liner was born naturally?”
“It’s still a human even if a uterine replicator was used,
though.” Blaze persisted in his argument. “With normal Homo
Sapiens DNA.”
“Pfft.” Svitari snorted. “Most of the Union has
mutations because of naturalizing. Who cares?”
“So what? They are born, and live and die on their
own. Nobody creates them in labs. I’m a product,
manufactured by military industry. Created for a specific

purpose, in accordance with approved technical
specifications. Nothing more. What’s happening now is a
mistake at best…
Or, in the worst case scenario, a
malfunction.”
Svitari’s gentle fingers caressed his cheek, traced down
the neck and stopped at the shoulder.
“I think in the last several days you’ve deviated from
specific purposes, darling.” She smiled at him warmly. “I
don’t know much about replicants, but quite a lot about
people… Believe me, you’re the best person I’ve ever met in
my life.”
“A shitty life you must have had.” Blaze quoted a joke
he found in some book.
Svitari laughed and toppled him over onto the bed.
Blaze didn’t resist. He made a number of discoveries that
night, including a very pleasant one - soaking in a bathtub was
a thousand times better in Rie’s company. He also was
surprised to realize that while he was tired physically,
somehow he also felt better rested than ever before.
They slept until about noon, and for the first time in his
life Blaze didn’t wake up to a reveille or a kick from a brother,
but to Svitari’s warm breath on his neck. It was strange,
waking up next to someone. Ever since childhood, Blaze was
used to single occupancy sleeping pods that very closely
resembled stasis chambers, so touching someone else in his
sleep seemed strange… but no less pleasant. He wished
Chimbick would get a chance to experience what it’s like,
sleeping next to a woman. When the warmth of someone
else’s body keeps the nightmare cold away.
He remembered Chimbick’s question: “So why do they
sleep with people for money?” Now Blaze could definitely
see the point of that. Very carefully, he tried to reach for the
comm. His movement woke Rie; she opened her eyes, looked
at Blaze sleepily for a moment and then smiled. That smile
warmed him like the sun.
“Good
languidly.

morning.”

Svitari

purred

and

stretched

This seemed strange to the replicant as well - he was
used to getting up right after waking.
“It’s afternoon already.” He informed the girl.
“A morning is good when it’s in the afternoon.”
The logic of this confused Blaze for a while. Realizing
that he might have encountered another idiom, joke or
proverb, he decided to postpone the analysis until later and
deal with more urgent matters. He sat up and grabbed the
comm.
“They are on the ship.” With a sigh of relief, Blaze
showed Svitari the message from Chimbick.
She snatched the comm away and read the text herself,
as if Blaze’s reading was not to be trusted. Then she laughed
happily and pulled Blaze back down on the bed. None of the
replicant’s instincts rebelled against this treatment. He
embraced the girl and stayed still, savoring the moment.
“We must celebrate!” Svitari declared and kissed
Blaze gently. “I’m sure even your nitpicking brother is
celebrating their escape from the planet.”
“Oh no.” He smiled. “Sarge is sitting in the cabin and
planning the next stage of the operation. And the bathtub use
schedule while he’s at it.”
“Bathtubs are better when shared,” Svitari reminded
him. “Without silly schedules, either.”
Blaze went silent for a moment, then said very
seriously:
“You know… I’m afraid for your sister now.”
Svitari, snuggled against him, tensed.
“Why?”
“Because if Angela tries to do to Chimbick what you
did to me, he could break her. He’s a sergeant. They were
trained separately from us. So they are angrier, more resilient,
and harder. Merciless. Mannequins, hunting… they would
always be the first to go so they could show us how to do

things later. You saw him work.
annoying him.”

And you weren’t even

“What happened to those who did?” Svitari asked; she
was clinging to him tighter now, as if wanting to hide.
“Depended on how important they were. If they
weren’t - he’d just dispose of them. If the command needed
them, he’d leave them able to talk. But just talk.”
After a long pause, Svitari finally replied. “Then I’m
glad we didn’t annoy him by running away.”
“He was angry at himself.” Blaze had to explain. “He
thought you were enemy agents and he didn’t spot it in time.
And because the COs brought you onboard unhurt and told us
to protect you, it meant we were ordered not to harm you. If
he didn’t get that order…:”
Blaze imagined that and hugged Svitari so tight that
she gasped.
“I’m sorry…” He loosened his grip. “Just realized
what could have happened to you.”
Rie rested her head on his shoulder.
“Will you protect me?”
“Yes.” Blaze didn’t hesitate for a second. “Even from
the Sarge.”
He didn’t see Svitari’s satisfied grin.

Chapter 42
Planet New Plymouth. Counterintelligence Service
HQ

“We

got the other pair!” A lieutenant from the
group of unfortunates assigned to sort through images of
passengers selected by the system as possible matches burst
into the room.
Blanket document checks produced zero results everybody had an ID, insurance number, tax returns and had
an entry in the passport database. Sadly, once the Union
government stopped using Consortium software, forgery
became a lot easier. However, the government wisely decided
that it would deal with the criminals like they used to in the
olden days, since leaving the entire bureaucracy vulnerable to
hacking by the enemy was a patently bad idea.
For that same reason most scanning and facial
recognition systems were rolled back to more primitive
versions. The roll back was slow going, though. Nobody
really thought this war was that serious. A single battle on
some godforsaken planetoid… big deal. A month or two
from now the big honchos would kiss and make up - but the
little guys would have to rebuild everything all over again.
Governors and mayors seriously doubted that some city
sewage system would be a target for Consortium hackers. So
in some places the cutting edge technologies were replaced
with domestic antiques, and in others the authorities were
desperately struggling to delay having to do so.
In the capital, security was taken seriously, so the
police and Security Service were left without surveillance
drones and facial recognition systems. Outdated technology
had to be compensated with hard work: officers were studying
pictures of all passengers resembling the fugitives even
remotely.

It was on day two of the search when some genius
from the fresh shift thought of narrowing the search by ticket
sale date. It was unlikely, he reasoned, that the replicants
would plan their departure before Loray arrived to New
Plymouth. This simple thought allowed them to weed out over
eighty percent of passengers; the remaining ones were
investigated around the clock.
Finally, it seemed to have paid off. The lieutenant,
certainly pleased with himself, set the data pad in front of
Captain Mont. Two faces looking from the screen; typical
new generation. A young guy with disheveled auburn hair and
fashionable contact lenses, and a girl with a whimsical
hairstyle. Facial recognition program showed a seventy six
percent match.
“Are you sure?” Mont sounded doubtful.
“Positive!” The lieutenant was nearly hopping in
place. “No social media accounts. Not one. No gaming
accounts. No arrest records. No college admission records.
No work records, even though they have tax statements in the
database.”
“Where are they?” Mont handed the data pad back.
“Liner Nebula, intrasystem cruise. First class, just like
the other two.”
“Go to communications, double time.” Nave ordered.
“Request a line to Navy HQ. Why are you still here?”
“Yes sir, request a line to Navy HQ!” The man yelled
cheerfully and ran out of the room.
“Greenhorns.” Mont shook his head watching the
young man.
He couldn’t help but feel like an old man next to these
young lieutenants, full of vim and vigor. Mont poured himself
a cup of coffee, even though his mouth tasted sour from
drinking too much already. His workday wasn’t anywhere
near over yet.

Chapter 43
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Nebula

The

next several days brought Blaze a number of
wonderful discoveries. He spent every moment with Svitari.
“Take everything you can from life while you have the
chance” was her simple motto, and Blaze shared in that
enthusiastically. During the day, she taught him how to have
fun by trying every single thing the liner’s entertainment decks
could offer, and during the night… During the night Blaze
couldn’t help but feel amazed at just how diverse love really
was. Svitari told him about all the different kinds of it - the
casual, no commitment fun; different types of families; swanlike fidelity. He especially liked the story about a planet
where it was considered perfectly normal to have as many
partners as one liked, and where nobody cared if someone was
born naturally or grown in a uterine replicator.
To his surprise and delight, Svitari didn’t stop at
stories. She was perfectly willing to teach him how to meet
and interact with other women - and didn’t seem to think it
deprived her of attention. When he did well, she was
genuinely pleased - and when he wasn’t, explained where his
errors might have been.
By day four of the flight, the replicant was so confident
in talking to other passengers that he could probably dare to
invite a strange woman to the cabin. However, he had no
desire to do that. Nobody could compare to Svitari. The
replicant realized that he was no longer thinking of her as a
captive. She was his lover. That’s what humans called it.
And he, Blaze, no longer thought of himself as property. He
was a man, albeit not born to real parents.
Blaze really wanted to share his joy with Chimbick,
but suspected that Sarge would not share it at all. And that
would be the best case scenario… At worst, Blaze feared, the
sergeant would order him to stop the self-delusion and proceed

with the mission, that is, delivering the prisoners to Eldorado.
To leave Rie behind. To forget real life and go back to
functioning as per regulations.
The thought of this made Blaze shudder.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Svitari raised herself on
an elbow and looked into Blaze’s eyes.
He hugged her and stayed quiet for a while, not sure
what words could express his worry.
“I was thinking about the future.” He said finally.
“Oh…” Worry in Svitari’s eyes gave way to curiosity.
“The future? I thought future was completing specific
missions at commanding officers’ orders?”
She mimicked Blaze’s own tone so well that he
couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a very cheerful laugh
though.
“I’m afraid I won’t be allowed to finish my time in
commission guarding you.” The replicant sighed.
Svitari smiled. “This is the most romantic thing anyone
has ever said to me. But do you really need anyone’s
permission to be with me? There are lots of planets where
nobody knows either of us.”
Somehow, the idea of desertion didn’t outrage the
replicant. It didn’t even seem impossible… He just saw a
number of obstacles.
“Sarge will never agree to that.” Blaze said gloomily.
“Do you need his permission that badly?”
“Not his permission. I won’t leave him.”
“Would he leave you?” Svitari asked an unexpected
question.
Blaze turned to look in her eyes.
“He carried me out of a firefight. Didn’t leave me
there. And never snitched on me when we were growing up.
They’d punish him, could have scrapped him even, for

inability to manage his duties as a leader… But he never gave
me up. And I won’t give him up either.”
Rie nodded; she seemed to understand what he was
talking about.
“So we’ll have to convince him to leave with us.”
Blaze turned away and stared at the bulkhead, as if it
could provide an answer to the question haunting him.
“It will be a miracle if he agrees. No joke.” He said
finally. “But I’ll try. Maybe there’s something in this life that
he liked.”
“He will.” Rie whispered in Blaze’s ear and wrapped
her arms around him. “You saw the message from Angela. It
was from the promenade deck, not the cabin. Maybe his
outlook has changed?”
Blaze couldn’t argue with that. To see Angela walking
around the ship unaccompanied and with a communication
device was shocking enough to render Blaze speechless for a
while. In his view, this was akin to an unprecedented natural
disaster; for Chimbick to act contrary to regulations was
impossible. Angela was supposed to be in her room, leaving it
only for meals, bathroom visits and maintaining personal
hygiene. That was all.
“Maybe…” Blaze smiled uncertainly. “That would be
great…”
“It will be.” Svitari whispered in his ear. Her lips
touched his neck and the replicant closed his eyes blissfully.
“You’ll see…”
A hope for the better future grew and strengthened in
Blaze’s heart ever since. Until the second message from
Angela, that is.

Chapter 44
New Plymouth planetary system. Onboard Space liner
Nebula

“We were caught on board the liner.” The words
spun around in the replicant’s head as he was methodically
retrieving pieces of armor and weapons from his bag. Only
now did he realized how unforgivably complacent he had
become. The newly discovered joys of life fogged his mind so
badly that Blaze completely forgot about any possibility of
being caught. He certainly did get a reminder, Blaze thought
as he was cursing himself with all the new words he learned
from Svitari lately.
Having inspected the weapons, he put on the glove
outfitted with a scanner and began examining the suit. This
familiar task helped the replicant clear his head and start
thinking logically.
“If you tell me what your plan is, I can help.” Svitari
reminded him of her presence.
Much like the replicant, she grew focused and serious
as soon as she heard the bad news.
“We have to get out.” Blaze put down the breastplate
and reached into the bag again.
He found the dead operative’s dog tag and handed it
over to Svitari.
“Put it next to the terminal, please.” He said and began
pulling on the under armor suit.
Rie complied. “Do you think they’ll come for us too?”
“Yes.” Blaze replied curtly.
He used his implant to establish contact with the dog
tag. Now the built in microcomputer could set to work. It
hacked the Consortium coded security system effortlessly, then

transmitted the floor plans for every deck, checkpoint
locations and shift schedules to the replicant’s retinal screen.
It must have looked as if Blaze lost his mind; with a
distant expression, the replicant continued to don his armor,
while his head swiveled left and right.
Finally, he picked the optimal route and with a blink,
projected the hologram so Rie could see it.
“We’re going this way,” He said tracing a convoluted
green line snaking from the top deck to the cargo shuttle bay.
“We’ll have to walk, and sometimes crawl through the life
support system conduits.”
“Are we stealing a shuttle?” Rie sounded surprised,
but fished a pair of comfortable pants and a T-shirt out of her
bag anyway. “Where would we go with it?”
“Not steal, hide in one.” Blaze explained. “In a cargo
compartment. It’s easy to fool the ship’s computer; it will just
keep getting information from life support, placing us here in
the cabin. Shuttle’s restroom is fully autonomous, so we don’t
have to hack anything at all.”
“What does the shuttle restroom have to do with
anything?” Rie inquired.
She has taken her dress off and was now hopping on
one foot trying to get the other into a pant leg.
“Our every breath, every move is logged by the life
support system and transmitted to the main computer. So as
long as we’re on the ship, we’re easy to find. All they have to
do is check the ship’s log against life support system log.
That’s why it’s crucial that we have access to the main
computer.”
“How would we do that?”
“We have it already. Security agent’s dog tags have a
lot of capabilities…” The replicant continued his complicated
task of getting into armor.
“Can’t you just wave it around while we walk to the
shuttle?” Svitari asked.

She was done changing and was tying her hair into a
ponytail, the now useless colorful wig discarded on the floor.
“No.” Blaze sighed. “Guards on duty can’t let anyone
through without a duty officer or his deputies. It’s in their
regulations. Besides, we don’t need extra witnesses.”
“Al right then… lead on, general.” Rie raised her hand
in a mock salute, but her eyes were uncommonly serious.

Chapter 45
New Plymouth planetary system. Space liner Nebula Vulcan

Getting

into maintenance and engineering tunnels
turned out to be fairly easy - Blaze led the girl into a secluded
corner on the promenade deck and opened a hatch using
hacked pass codes.
From there it was even easier. Narrow corridors
allowed them to move about freely - within decks and between
them. There was room enough even for Blaze in full armor
and carrying a backpack. The replicant deactivated the camo
mode to save batteries. Svitari, not carrying anything, could
easily squeeze into passages a third of the size of the one they
were walking now.
Suddenly, Blaze stopped and cursed under his breath.
“We have problems.” He informed Svitari. “A shuttle
full of local military just docked.”
She turned around nervously, as if expecting to see the
unwelcome arrivals right behind them.
“You said you were going to doctor the life support
data, so they can’t find us. Did something change?”
“Yeah.” Blaze nodded. “They are going to search the
ship compartment by compartment, until they find us. We need
a new plan.”
Rie looked grim.
“What are the options? You aren’t going to kill them
all, are you? How many of them are there, by the way?”
“A squad. Thirty men. Okay… we’re in Vulcan’s
orbit…”
He mused thoughtfully, his mind going over possible
escape plans. Fighting special ops? Could be doable if he was

alone. But with Svitari, unarmed and unprotected… no. The
replicant decided that force would be the absolute last resort,
for when there’s no other way out.
“Let’s get to the boat deck,” He decided. “Escape pods
are a tried and true method.”

∆∆∆

On

the bridge, the duty officer discovered that
someone just opened a maintenance corridor hatch on the boat
deck. No work was scheduled, so the officer called up the
CCTV feed on his monitor. He didn’t like what he saw even
one bit. A figure in a gray and black armor was doing
something to an escape pod hatch; it was accompanied by a
woman in civilian clothing.
One didn’t have to be a genius to realize those were the
fugitives Special Forces just arrived for.
“They are on the boat deck, sir.” The man addressed
the captain. “By the starboard pods. I mean, those people the
military is looking for.”
“Get me the group leader.” Captain didn’t hesitate.
“Lock all hatches on the boat deck.”
“Aye, sir.” The officer went back to work.

“Oh,

hell…”
“What is it?” The captain asked, annoyed.
“A pod just launched, sir.”
“Oh for crying out loud… Tell the Special Forces guys,
and get me a line to the surface… let them catch it. Hope they
don’t break the pod.”

Chapter 46
Vulcan. Orbit - Surface

The shuttle pilot was determined to set a new record
for high speed landings. Or at least that was the impression
Nave got as he clung to the cradle. There was a good chance
the damn replicant would get away and take the second Loray
sister with it.
When Graham got the message from Mont saying that
the other pair was found and on the way to the planet, he was
ecstatic. This had the potential to run as smoothly as it did the
first time, a clean operation with zero casualties.
Of course, it turned out to be more complicated than
that. Somehow, the replicant managed to learn about the strike
team’s arrival and left the cabin, taking the prisoner along.
Nave was prepared to comb through the enormous ship inch
by inch and almost requested an infantry regiment stationed on
Vulcan to help with that, but the damn artificial soldier saved
him that trouble. Naturally, just to offer other troubles
instead… the replicant managed to sneak onto the boat deck,
steal an escape pod and leave the ship.
Now Nave was trying to get to the planet at the same
time with the pod and prevent the fugitives from disappearing
into the underground city.
That’s why the pilot was pushing the shuttle to its
limits. G-forces were crushing down on everyone; Nave’s
vision blacked out a couple of times, he could taste blood in
his mouth, but didn’t complain. He was intoxicated with the
thrill of the chase. Hunt them down! Hurry, before the quarry
can run away!
Landing kicked the breath out of him. When Graham
came to, he saw the strike team leaving their cradles.
“We must take Loray alive!” Lieutenant reminded
them as he struggled out of the harness himself.

The group leader nodded silently. This was their
operation from now on; from a commanding officer, Nave
turned into ballast, an extra participant who didn’t quite fit
with the finely tuned machine of the unit. Nave understood
that, so he took his place in formation without any arguments.
The airlock hatch opened, letting in the sweltering heat
of Vulcan. Armor sensors showed the temperature - over 50
degrees Centigrade - and atmospheric composition, utterly
unsuitable for breathing because of high nitrogen content.
“A cool day today, huh?” One of the soldiers joked.
“Yeah, and nitrogen is pretty low.” Someone replied.
“A million years or two - and mom will let us play outside
with no respirators on.”
Despite the tension, Nave smiled. Nobody was even
thinking about terraforming Vulcan, so its evolution continued
naturally. Then all idle thoughts evaporated from Nave’s head
- he saw their quarry.
The pilot managed to land the shuttle less than fifty
yards away from the escape pod. Pod’s autopilot picked the
best landing site - a perfectly flat plain a couple of kilometers
away from the city. Nave’s group landed right after, and if the
fugitives got out of the pod, they would have been very easy to
spot. Or at least Loray - she would have to put on an orange
emergency suit that came standard with all escape pods.
However, the barren rocky plain was empty.
The soldiers formed a chain and moved towards the
pod warily, weapons at the ready. They knew enough about
replicants to take the task ahead very seriously.
The unit moved carefully, covering each other and
ready to fire at a moment’s notice. But still, there was no sign
of enemy. The land was as still and lifeless as millions of
years before.
Finally, the group reached the pod and surrounded it,
forming a defensive perimeter.
Two soldiers quickly
assembled a small robot and sent it ahead; nobody wanted to

repeat the mistake that caused two Hephaestian militiamen
their lives in a very similar situation.
The robot approached the pod and stood still,
scanning. After a while, it deemed the pod safe enough and
extended a probe to deal with the lock. A moment later, the
hatch slid off to the side. Immediately, the small launcher on
the robot’s back lobbed a flashbang grenade into the pod.
Next, three soldiers rushed in, hiding behind a bulletproof
assault shield.
Nave bit his lip and gripped the submachine gun
tighter. A flashbang grenade could not disable the replicant in
its perfect armor. At best, it would blind the creature for a
second or two. Still. these two pathetic seconds could save
someone’s life…
But there were no shots. The soldiers crossed the open
area and disappeared into the hatch.
“Empty.” A voice said in Nave’s ear piece.
Lieutenant realized that they’ve been duped.
“Back to the shuttle!” he ordered.
Then, trying his damnedest to sound calm, opened a
link to the second squad still up in orbit.
“Don’t let your guard down. They are still on board.
The pod is empty.”
The reply made him think of every single profane word
he has ever heard.
“We have a problem.” The squad leader informed him.
“Every single pod the liner had just launched.”
Graham looked up and saw a cloud of fireflies
descending from the sky. They seemed to be falling right on
top of him. Two hundred and fifty of them.
Nave realized that it was about to get a lot hotter on
this plain.
“All aboard!” He roared.

End of Book One.

And here are some book recommendations:

Valery Starsky: Transformation

RealRPG in the new transformed world with the dark
elves as the conquerors.

Rick Scar: Player reached the Top

The world of 100 stages and terrible dangerous
creatures waits for you

Dan Sugralinov Class-A Threat (Disgardium)

Young adult litRPG.