by Alex Sapegin
“And that means people, Earthlings, haven’t lost theirs yet?”
“Strangely enough, no! They haven’t lost it yet. Look at the East for example.”
“Yoga, spiritual enlightenment...”
“You’re thinking in the right direction, young man.”
“So, Olga will become, in fact, a prophetess.”
“Don’t confuse prophets with what she’ll be. Prophets predict the future and see the past. The gift of prophecy has nothing to do with your sister. The oracles are also not that. Don’t build empty assumptions. Instead of the word ‘avatar,’ which we apply to Olga, the word ‘governor’ would be a better fit. You don’t have to be an emperor to bring his will into action.”
“Well said. Olga is by all counts still a baby. You want to unload onto her shoulders a gargantuan responsibility which not every adult could handle. Did you and your collective intelligence and divine essences miss anything? Hey, Manyfaces! Aren’t there enough of you that you could take it on yourself? Twins almighty, I didn’t expect such a low blow from you!”
“She’ll have good teachers.”
“Who, you?”
“What for? I’m a bad teacher. There are plenty of worthy candidates in the world, and the learning process for various wisdom isn’t so quick; you can’t cram it into just one century. Besides, she’ll have a vivid example before her eyes that can kick butt or cut off a tail with his eyes closed, without a prick of conscience.”
“With all due respect, I won’t let anyone treat my sister like that!”
“Of course, of course. Actually, I meant you. Who better than an older brother can straighten things out between the ears?”
“And who, if anything happens, will straighten things out between my ears?”
“It’s simple; count on your the dorsal ridges: Jagirra, Karegar, Ania, Lilliel, your human friends, Tyigu, Lanirra...”
“Oh! Not her!”
“Should I go on? I can name a lot more names.”
“I get it. The collective mind invented a public way to pressure my conscience, but I haven’t said ‘yes’ or ‘no’ yet. Answer me honestly, the mouthpiece of divine beings: why, what are all these rough patches there for? Are these tens and hundreds of thousands of deaths somehow justified? Did the higher mind decided to get rid of the refuse?”
“You don’t understand anything. All these wars and massacres there are the consequences of the fact that dragons, miur, humans, elves, and others were given complete freedom. No one has ever restricted intelligent races except themselves. We have consequences when there is no limit, a safeguard that could stop the chaos. Many millennia ago, dragons were this very limiting factor—a deterrent, but their society absorbed too many human traits, and not all of them turned out to be positive.
“The rough patch was necessary for everyone to understand the perniciousness of the situation, when due to the greed of just one dragon—it’s difficult to call Hazgar a dragon—the magic of the whole planet nearly died. Dragons should be dragons, not scaly humans with wings. They are primarily guardians of balance and judges. You came to understand this simple fact; otherwise, you would not have tried to seclude yourself and protect those whom you consider your family and clan.
“Your sister must return this understanding to the rest. Ilanta is sick, for a long time now, and seriously ill. Olga has been given the role of a medicine that can help cure the patient, give it a boost, otherwise history will finish making a circle and wind up where it started from. There will be new wars, more terrible and devastating battles like the ones that thundered three thousand years ago.
“Humans have made great strides in the knowledge of magic. Necromancy, their invention, is a great and at the same time terrible magical art. No one can doubt that the dragons will take possession of it, and then Hazgar will seem like a chick compared to some madman, a wave of whose wing raises thousands of dead to attack. You yourself stepped into the magic of death, and you know what I’m talking about. It’s impossible to forbid necromancy. Through it, it’s possible to treat incurable diseases. Magicians must be educated so that they have an understanding of what power is in their hands, and so that they can stop themselves in time. Death is part of the natural process of the cycle of life. We appear in our mothers’ wombs, we’re born, we live, we die, we go to higher spheres, and return to a new circle of rebirth.”
“A safeguard... You know how to preach. Sounds great. You tell the Ariates about the safeguard. Maybe they’ll listen to the messenger from the higher powers and polish his astral muzzle. It sounds like it’s straight out of an advertising slogan. As soon as Olga takes the helm—world peace and harmony will come. We’ve been talking about Ilanta the whole time; it seems Nelita doesn’t interest you at all.”
“Why? It interests me, of course. But by your efforts, the balance on Nelita will soon be restored. The Great Mother and the miur, freed from the ancient vows, will quickly form the second pole, a counterweight to the Emperor. The cat people managed to preserve the ancient traditions and avoid temptations. The process follows its own course; no intervention required. The dragon society will figure out which side to take.”
“I understand your position. Let’s drop this topic for now. Please return to the lost dragon expeditions.”
“How quick you are,” Rosugar smiled. “I had to sweat to get to the truth about that...”
“What? Do dragons in the astral really sweat?” Andy teased.
“Figure of speech. I was saying that about two thousand years ago, according to the Earthly calendar, a group of dragons came into your native world. Descriptions of the fire-breathing winged creatures have remained in many legends and ballads.”
“Where are you getting that information? I mean the chronicles and ballads.” Andy was surprised.
“Not everyone in this world has blocks and shields on their minds. I had plenty of time to climb into their heads.”
“Uh-oh, there you are, a real parasite.”
“Now for something interesting. I personally knew several scientists from the missing group. Four out of the twelve were were-dragons. One of them was called Maleficirra, and another was Merlingar.”
“And? What do the names mean... Er, Targ! Maleficent and Merlin!”
“These are just my assumptions. Perhaps, the epic heroes have no connection with the were-dragons who lived in human hypostases, but surely both Maleficirra and Merlingar lived long lives. I don’t know if they lived happily; that’s not important for us now. What is important is that during their long lives they and a couple of their colleagues had many intimate relationships with earthly men and women, maybe they had permanent mates. There can be no children from dragons and people; they can’t help it, but a certain connection is formed on the emotional and energy levels.
“The Earth does not have magical converters; as such, the transfer of power to the partner during sex does not happen. It would seem the dragons give off a monstrous, by human understanding, amount of energy. But then again, that’s not entirely true. Information doesn’t disappear. It’s fixed on the molecular and genetic levels. Children of women and men who had sexual relations with were-dragons were always different in terms of special talents. They turned out to be beautiful scientists and researchers, singers, warriors, artists, theologians, musicians, psychics, and sorcerers. I seriously assume that the roots of your family’s genealogy go back to those times when the dragon expedition was cut off from its home world, and your parents are descendants of men or women who shared beds with were-dragons. The lightning awakened your hidden gifts and talents. In turn, your kinship to Olga and your magic initiated her.”
“A chain reaction. Then why didn’t anything awaken in my father and mother? And what about Irina? She’s a descendant of descendants too…?”
“Who said that they were deprived of talents? The auras of your family have recently undergone some changes and are different from the energy envelopes of mere mortals. Being in company with Olga
strongly influenced them. I’m sorry, with your sister’s consent, I examined her a couple of times. There’s also someone else on the base whom I can refer to as a ‘descendant.’”
Andy thought about it. He needed to rethink a lot of things. The Guardian had thrown out a mountain of information, which had to be carefully analyzed and put on the shelves of his understanding. Even the conversation itself was somewhat tiring. He needed to take a break, all the more so since his feelings and intuition were signaling that something abnormal was happening in the real world. The Guardian sensed his young colleague’s state and quietly called it a day, asking that he not be shielded by will shields, because he could not break into a protected mind, and he hinted that it would be useful to stop pretending to be a vegetable. Andy severed mental contact, got out of his trance, and gingerly examined his surroundings with magical vision, then sniffed.
How ‘bout that!
The stench of wiring and plastic filled the room. No filters or internal ventilation could cope with the stinky cloud. The people around him were somehow nervous and upset, and only his father’s aura glowed with tranquility, which hid worry for his son. How could he have forgotten about the physical shields? The joy of breaking the barrier clouded his mind, and then there was this stupid Guardian...
The magical field burned all the electronic devices, then the guys in white coats started walking about, wondering what surprises to expect next. Mmm yes, he had screwed up, giving himself away. After diving into settage[S52], Andy assessed the general state of his organism. He did not look at the internal repositories of mana. What was there to see? They were filled to the very brim. The ethereal body of his second hypostasis was giving out indomitable force. On the periphery, a thin channel of communication with the astral glowed. He was afraid to break the connection with the ocean of energy. What if cracking the thick barrier a second time wouldn’t work? That’s why the excess mana was dumped into Earth and... passed on to Olga. An extra machine gun in the household couldn’t hurt. He really wanted to be glad about the scarcely noticeable scars from the bullet wounds, but he couldn’t. They represented yet another blunder on his part. He shouldn’t have shown the scientists his ultra-fast regeneration.
Now he was stuck; it was a mistake to leave his own body unattended and give himself entirely to the conversation with the astral dragon. Having received an ocean of free mana, the subconscious acted on instincts and directed some energy towards healing him. It seemed like a good thing, but actually, not very—it was like showing a trump card hidden in his sleeve in a gambling game. Feeling a connection with his sister, Andy smiled inwardly. In return came the warmth and joy of a long-awaited meeting with her, albeit limited to the framework of incomplete mental contact.
Rosugar was right about one thing: it was time to finish this circus. Enough pretending to be a vegetable. The more intelligent people had already guessed that this is far from the case. He had to probe the situation, learn the goals and plans of the bunker owners and act based on that. He definitely had to consult with his father, under a double curtain of silence. No sense taking chances. It was extremely unlikely they would leave the Kerimovs alone.
Father... Andy rolled the word off his tongue. Now it didn’t come with the same emotions it called up three years ago on Ilanta, that first night on the mountain ledge. What did Rosugar say about the difference in time flows? Three years have passed at home, but here it was a little more than a year. At home... That’s it, darling. You’re thinking of home not here, THERE. THERE is your home and your family. Not a second home, the main one! Targ. He thought about his father and immediately rolled into such a tangle that he couldn’t sort it out. Who should be considered his father and mother now? All of you, Targ take it! I should be happy I have two families now.
He had strong anchors in both worlds, although Andy would have preferred to drag all the Kerimovs to his home THERE. There were plenty of places in the village and the guest house. If they didn’t want to live in the mountains, they could choose from any house in any of the cities or estates, and not just one, but another near the royal seaside resorts. Irina was always delirious with elves and dreamed about a prince. She changed boys more often than she changed her clothes. If she had an elf, maybe she wouldn’t care whether he was a prince or not. If only the royals knew about the human relations of the heir to the dragon’s throne! His sister would be beating princes on white hasses off with a stick. Andy couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
“He’s smiling,” a cracked male voice sounded above his ear.
“Leave the room this minute!” a second one barked.
Afraid, Andy moved his hands, which were tied to the bed with soft straps, and opened his eyes. He made eye contact with the black-haired male scientist. Behind the transparent glass of bio-defense hazmat suit was a clever face, framed by the neat little beard of a fatally tired man. The man’s brown eyes looked inquisitively.
“Hello,” Andy said in Russian with some difficulty. What can you do? He hadn’t spoken his native tongue in three years and had begun to forget the language. Lately, he’d spoken Alat most often, Common and High Edda, so his interesting accent was to be expected.
The scientist opened his mouth wide. “Hello,” the bearded man managed to answer, moving back a little. “How are you feeling?”
Well, yes, there are no other questions. Everyone’s concerned about my health. They can’t sleep, they’re so worried, the poor things. They couldn’t ask about something sublime, eternal. “Excellent! Just great! Aren’t we having wonderful weather today?” Andy asked innocently.
The scientist was frozen no worse than his father’s computer used to be back in the day when Andy would step too close. “Uh, yes, it’s really nice…” The man’s dark eyes were spinning madly behind the glass, seeking some sort of support for their owner, but in vain shot back and forth at the group of colleagues assembled behind the armored glass and conveyed to them the man’s nervous state. A strange stupor came on all the people present in the medical block. Apparently, they were searching for clouds on the ceiling but couldn’t find any. The scientists expected anything from the killer except courteous small talk, in the spirit of the British. The CPU’s in their brains couldn’t process this and unanimously refused to work.
“And what’s this smog in here?”
“What? Where?” the CPU made an attempt to process the information.
“Can you smell the sealed isolation? It stinks.” The scientist sniffed and shook his head. “Well, yes. Never mind. You’re in a spacesuit.”
“Let him go already!” Interrupting the disgusting hissing of the door, Kerimov Sr. burst into the room.
“Hi, Dad,” said Andy.
“Hiiiii.” Tearing off an oxygen mask from his face, Iliya Evgenevich[SJ(S53] answered hoarsely, breathing fast, his broad chest heaving. He obviously didn’t have enough air.
“Mr. Kerimov, put on the mask!” the bearded man attacked the physicist.
“Go to hell!” Kerimov pushed the now on-the-ball biologist away from him, pulled a chair on wheels over with his foot, and sat down by his son’s bed. The biologist in the suit retreated to the wall. Father and son, in complete silence, looked at each other for a long time. “You’ve changed, son,” Iliya broke the painful silence.
“I know,” Andy answered, looking at the many wrinkles on his father’s face and white temples. “You can’t even imagine how much I’ve changed. And you, father, don’t look like a blossoming rose.”
“What happened to you?” His broad, rough hand covered Andy’s right hand.
“It’s a long conversation, Dad. You noticed I’ve changed. Your colleagues in the spacesuits pumped so much blood out of me that I’m beginning to suspect them of secretly being vampires,” The bearded man at the wall gave a nervous snort. Iliya smiled at the corners of his lips. “No doubt they conducted DNA tests, so you can speak freely about my inhuman nature. I had to make a difficult decision to remain human and die or to
risk changing my essence and surviving. I took a chance. Your son isn’t human, dad.”
“You’re still my son. That’s all that matters to me. As for your nature, it doesn’t bother me. You don’t have a tail, after all!”
Andy could hardly restrain himself from laughing. How can I tell you... flashed through his head and he looked around the room and turned to his father. “I’m happy that you and Irina didn’t give up on me.” Kerimov Sr. raised his eyebrows. “I’ve sensed you here for a long time,” Andy explained and immediately guessed his father’s next question. “After falling into a trance, I was busy healing my wounds. But my inhuman nature allowed me to periodically interact with the surrounding world. Sounds, smells, images, energy fields. Tell me, Dad, who are you working for now? Your office doesn’t look like the bunker of a military unit.”
“The government,” Iliya said briefly.
“Okay. I understand. You searched for me, but the military or secret service pulled me out.” Andy felt a powerful current of air. The ceiling lights began to shine brighter. Behind the glass, several new faces appeared. Command had reduced the degree of possible threat from code-orange to code-yellow. The sector was connected to the base’s main power plant, and the main entrance and ventilation shafts were unblocked. “Am I right?”
Iliya closed his eyelids.
“What now? I’m a lab rat, a guinea pig for experiments?” Andy asked the question not to his father. The last minutes he’d been playing on the outside audience, showing that the existing realities were no secret to him. He wanted to pull the cow of the secret service by the udder, make them get nervous and make mistakes.
He specifically highlighted his magical abilities. The command of the secret service had a king; the bosses with shoulder straps and big stars on them most certainly appreciated the prospects and the murderous power of magic. Now he could expect either cautious but obtrusive promises, proposals to cooperate, or cruel pressure, or they would simply lock him in the minus twentieth floor of some dungeon with the most modern laboratories. There was no fourth option; no real military would voluntarily put down its weapon. Although, perhaps he was too hasty in denying the fourth option? Who was preventing him from playing games with the powerful of this world? He could make them doubt, hint at the nature of magic and various incomprehensible circumstances. If you approach the case wisely, you could use any circumstances to your advantage.