According to the calendar, summer had come; however, the weather at the Aurora Borealis Base worsened. General Morosev hadn’t lied to Kier. On the day of his arrival, it had been sunny and relatively warm, but the temperature dropped drastically several days later. Once, there was even wet snow.
The delicate health of Vorsmith-junior was not ready for such contrasts. Kier had a running nose, cough, and sore throat. Sergeant Underman had to call the personal doctor of the base commander, who kindly agreed to examine the noble patient for fifty yellows. The doctor, who looked a bit like memorable Finishoff, didn’t find anything other than a simple flu and prescribed warmth, rest, and lots of expensive drugs.
The young vor tried to refuse the treatment, citing the dangers of poisoning, but Underman turned out to be no less insistent in his caretaking as Brutari. As a result, Kier spent a whole week in his depressing apartment, taking vitamins and other medications procured by his faithful henchman. The successful treatment affected Kier’s financial state in a most unfortunate way. However, Underman assured him that the count wouldn’t abandon his youngest son and would soon grant him another thousand dariks.
Private Harry Karlsen went into Kier’s service, again becoming the cleaner of the meteorological office. The local branch of the ImpSec approved his contract with the young officer of the Special Corps without any objections. Harry cost Kier only one hundred yellows, which went to the ImpSec budget. Underman checked Karlsen’s profile and didn’t find anything to contradict the known facts. Harry regularly visited Kier to report the news of the base, which Vorsmith-junior then retold to Underman. The formidable henchman hinted in predatory fashion to the weather employees that they shouldn’t fool around with their new boss. The frightened technicians were behaving quite well and gave adequate, although wretched, weather forecasts that Kier signed each day.
When the young vor was at last completely recovered, and beginning to get bored of being trapped within the four walls, an unpleasant surprise arrived.
One evening there was an incoming signal at the stationary comm-terminal. Kier automatically responded, “Accept.” An instant later, the pale face of an ImpSec officer was displayed on the screen.
“My Lord Vorsmith,” intoned the pale face, his tone more affirmative than interrogative. “I’m Captain Vladimir White, the head of the local ImpSec branch. Don’t bother to stand.”
Kier froze in fright.
“As I understand, your health has now returned.” White’s voice tried to be gentle. “I’d like to talk to you in the open air. Tomorrow morning, at the base, an oath and distribution of the fresh replenishment of civil servants will take place. Per tradition, all the officers must be present. We could talk after the end of the ceremony.”
With that, the screen went blank and the call terminated, without even a goodbye spoken. For several seconds Kier stared at the screen stupidly, and then pushed the special alert button that called Underman.
* * *
The next morning turned out to be a serious test for Vorsmith-junior. Until recently, he had woken no earlier than noon, but the civil servant oath ceremony was to be held at 9.00. As luck would have it, the weather completely conformed to the most disgusting forecast, confirmed by Kier himself. There was a wet snow, a strong north wind from the pole (almost wow-wow, according to Harry), and the temperature no more than plus-three. And this in mid-June!
Yawning desperately, the young vor ate without much appetite, shaved his sparse beard, and hurriedly got ready to go.
At Underman’s insistence, Kier wore a light body armor under his uniform. On top of the uniform, he put on a long, down-padded parka. He was also wearing warm boots, a wool cap, and a scarf. All he wore had been bought at triple-the-price at the local Morosev’s boutique. After seeing his reflection in a small mirror, the youth thought he looked like an exhausted bum or a poor outsider from the backwater province that he’d seen often in New Roma. The cap was a stupid violet rake-comb, the regular green pants were comically sticking out from under the dirty-yellow parka, and a red scarf finished the picture. The assortment of the local store didn’t pamper one’s desires. On top of it all, the body armor restricted his movements.
I can just go to the mages temple for a free soup, Kier thought with bitter self-irony. At least there is a chance I won’t catch a cold again.
He put his loaded gun and his gloves into different pockets of the parka. Then the senior weatherman clumsily lumbered into the scuffed elevator.
“Just don’t worry, my lord!” Armed-to-the-teeth, Underman was giving him final instructions. “Nobody will do you any harm. At least, for now. You just hear this White out and tell him you need to think about anything broached. You should in no case give him any promises or categorical answers. As well as no liberties, on the account of your father, brothers, or moreover, the Empire. I turned on the special anti-spy mobile comm, but there won’t be such protection as we have in the apartments. So it’s better for you to talk less, my lord. I will be with you all the time.”
Kier nodded blindly, shaking from the lack of sleep. The badly-lit elevator, with its plastic walls covered with obnoxious letterings, was periodically twitching for some reason, as it seemed to be going down for an eternity.
There will be an accident now, and we’ll get right down to hell! Kier thought.
The large asphalt parade ground was located at the foot of the gigantic dam and when Underman and his ward arrived, a lot of people had already gathered, the majority being the civil servants.
The new draft had been delivered by special barges on the river the previous night. Now, five hundred recruits in fresh gray uniforms were standing in an irregular formation on a large part of the parade ground. All the young men were shaved clean and the girls’ hair was cut short. The mega-dam blocked the north wind a little; however, the newcomers were lightly-dressed and freezing down to the core.
Also on hand were the elders of the Civil Service, who had “humbly accomplished their duty to the Empire.” After the ceremony, they would go to freedom on the same barges. The elders were also wearing official gray uniforms, but warmer clothes were well-hidden under them. It became obvious that there were fewer elders than novices, although the number of civil servants coming into the base for Service was always the same. Also, the number of elder men was much less than that of women.
“Natural decrease,” Underman answered flatly to Keir’s bewildered question. “The Civil Service is full of hardships and privations.”
That’s at least thirty percent, Kier thought, figuring by glance. During their two years here, dozens of young people die. I didn’t know that.
Kier scanned the many buildings near the parade ground. He noticed the pitiful barracks of the civil servants and the more solid barracks of the Special Corps.
The base officers were standing under the protective cap of the enclosed grandstand. They sat in their amphitheater on comfy warmed chairs and were dressed much more for the weather than the mob of servants standing before them. Kier noticed General Morosev wore an imposing cashmere coat and a sheepskin hat. There was also a stout, red-faced bloke in a long fur coat and puff hat. He was escorted by several people, all wearing bright red down coats. Kier read the inscription, Heartland Oil, on their uniforms, visible even from far away. The few ImpSec officers stood apart as a separate group on this grandstand. They were all wearing blue uniforms and peak caps, with cold-proof, brown buff coats casually hooked on their shoulders. Here and there, one could catch a glimpse of the horrendous Fiery Eye.
Kier clumsily sat down on the warmed plastic seat that Underman had pointed at, which was in the outer, lower row of the amphitheater. The bodyguard took his habitual post behind his young ward.
The security of the ceremony was maintained by the five dozen Special Corps soldiers lined up in front of the V.I.P. grandstand. The militaries were a bright contrast with the civil servants; and there were only men. Warm green uniforms failed to conceal their well-developed musculature. Their faces were rosy and content. The Special Corps soldiers were armed with light machine guns, known as itty-puti. Some of the soldiers wore portable grenade launchers on their shoulders. Almost all of them were simples, but, as Kier knew well, many young vors who didn’t have the possibility to become officers went to the Special Corps as privates. This option still offered good career perspectives and, of course, most of the Special Corps officers were the vors.
Kier noticed two slim lieutenants not much older than he, standing in front of their subordinates.
They are even wearing the swords, those fops, Vorsmith-junior thought with envy. He could hardly pick up this classic weapon of aristocrats.
The Empire anthem boomed out of the hidden stereo loudspeakers and everybody, including Kier, sprang from their places. The Special Corps soldiers and the civil servants diligently sang along.
Suddenly, the anthem was cut short. There was a loud squealing crackle, and then a severe male voice announced: “Heartland Oil. For the good of the Empire!” Some rustling then came across, followed by the anthem booming again: “It was, it is, it will always be!”
At last, the amplified voice of Morosev broke out above the parade ground: “Attention and obedience! Eyes to the flag! Shu-un! I am Commander General Morosev. Welcome to the Aurora Borealis Base!”
The mob of the civil servants began jerkily moving into a formation closely resembling to a military line.
Everywhere—the same thing, thought Kier, sitting down on his warm seat again. Meanwhile, the ceremony continued. The novices of the Civil Service were loudly repeating the oath after General Morosev.
“In front of the gods and my comrades, I solemnly swear to faithfully serve the emperor, obey all the commanders, and persevere all the hardships and privations of the Civil Service! Hail to the Unity, Imperialism, Stability! Glory to the gods!”
At that, an enormous balefire shot up into the skies from a stone pedestal in front of the V.I.P. grandstand. The loudspeakers accompanied the light show with a sound akin to a mournful mew.
And what’s that supposed to be? thought Kier, surprised. But then he quickly realized what it was, as the balefire on the pedestal disappeared just as mysteriously as it had appeared. In its place were three figures wearing bright crimson cloaks, seeming to appear out of nowhere.
Mages … Kier winced fastidiously. Ghoulish hypocrites! Do the simples really believe them?
The figures on the pedestal began performing a religious ritual. The elder mage raised a round, violet timbrel above his head; some obscure image could be seen on it. Kier knew that the color of the timbrel revealed the rank of the mage.
The elder mage struck his timbrel and started a shamanistic ritual with the chant, “Let us pray to our Lord Zaher-Mazde!” Both his assistants, holding regular crimson timbrels, caught up his chanson in mournful voices. The elder mage was shaking like an epileptic, while the other two circled around him, squirming heartily as well. The bells attached to the timbrels jingled in the air. The sacral shouts of the mages and the sounds of the timbrels were amplified by the loudspeakers and heard all over the place.
After five minutes or so, the performance went into a new phase. The ritual chanson was over and the elder mage solemnly announced, “My beloved children! Let the power of the gods be upon you!” Then, all the three mages lifted their hands to the sky and simultaneously hit their timbrels.
At that moment, Kier felt tingles down his spine and his hair rising under his cap. There was a light ringing in his ears, as unreasonable fear crawled out of his guts. It was as though something supernatural truly had come down from heavens and touched Kier.
Similar revelations seemed to come to the other people. After feeling “the manifestation of the power”, the impressed simples, including the elders, fell on their knees. Many of them grasped their heads and swung from side to side. Even the Special Corps troops were a bit excited.
“Glory to the gods!” the loudspeakers boomed.
The ghostly fire flared up again, and the mages disappeared from the pedestal without a trace. The feeling of the ‘power’ went away just as suddenly.
Well, this is something new. I underestimated them, thought Kier, abashed by his own inexplicable reaction at the magical performance.
“What was that?” he asked aloud.
“Infra-sound,” Underman commented calmly. “Recently, the mages have begun to use it often.”
Ahriman’s curse! I could have guessed myself! Kier mentally swore at himself. He recollected some of the texts that he’d read on the comm-net. Interesting. How has Underman found out about that? I considered such data available only to vors and few functional specialists.
“And now, let’s get right to it!” The loudspeakers roared, coming back to life after a small pause. “I’m Captain White, the chief of the Imperial Security at the Aurora Borealis Base. Now you will be distributed to the Civil Service. First of all, I’ll remind you of some fundamental rules. It is forbidden to leave the base’s area without my authorization. You can access the comm-net only with my authorization. Wielding any weapon, including a cold weapon, is forbidden. The mobile comms and other personal things are to be put in storage. You will be provided with all the necessary stuff. The slightest violation of discipline will be punished immediately!”
After finishing this welcome speech, Captain White turned off the mic and started deliberately descending from the V.I.P. grandstand. Many ImpSec and Special Corps officers, as well as a group of Heartland Oil people, joined him.
“Where are they going?” Kier inquired. “This White wanted to talk to me.”
“Later, my lord,” Underman replied. “The civil servants now need to be distributed. This is a serious business.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kier, surprised, but Underman didn’t have time to explain. Captain White passed them and waved a welcoming hand.
“Good morning, my lord! Follow me, please. You are going to see a peculiar sight, and then we will talk.”
Slightly bewildered, Kier turned to look at his bodyguard, who simply nodded. The young vor had to join the crowd of officers surrounding White. When the bright company went to the column of novices, Kier noticed that several elders and a dozen Special Corps soldiers had joined them. The latter were led by a young officer with a sword.
“Attention and obedience!” White croaked, and his amplified voice thundered over the parade ground. “There will now be a test of your physical data. Depending on the results, we will determine your specialization during the Service. Everyone is to remove their clothes and get ready for the tests. Begin!”
Bewilderment spread about the novices’ rows. Nobody wanted to undress in public, and in such cold. However, the elders quickly shuffled to a young man who was standing first in the row and started taking off his clothes.
“Don’t make us wait!” White roared once again. “Those who have passed the test can dress up and go to a hot shower. When you are next, specify your personal data immediately. Move on!”
There were several gasps as the civil servants started getting rid of their clothes. The three elders under the soldiers’ supervision quickly undressed the first victim and were now crudely grasping his hands.
“Well, Mr. Bishop,” White cunningly narrowed his eyes, addressing the red-faced man from Heartland Oil. “You have the right of first refusal. Let us say, seven hundred yellows for this sturdy fellow.”
“I can hire a professional pipe maintenance wageworker for such a sum,” grumped red-face.
“But not for two whole years!” White parried.
“These civil pigs will die soon in this climate!” The oil company representative held his ground.
Bishop palpated the strong muscles of the young man, checked his genitals and teeth, and tossed out a casual response. “Six hundred for him.”
White nodded and his secretary made a note in his portative comm. The procedure of distribution was clearly honed over the years and was well-known to all the actors. The red-faced boss, representing the Heartland Oil Company, who White referred to as Mr. Bishop, was quickly advancing through the row of naked and shivering novices. With a trained eye, he chose the strongest men, setting the prices at five-to-six hundred dariks. He gave three-to-four hundred for the weaker ones. Out of the remaining novices, the officers also chose people essential to them, usually at a price of one-to-two hundred yellows. White’s secretary hastily recorded the transactions in his comm.
This ceremony was shocking for Kier. He had known that the Civil Service was not a recreation resort, but he didn’t expect an open slave trade. For several moments, he imagined standing bare-naked on the cold ground, while some sleek crud checked his teeth and genitals.
That’s nonsense. I’m a vor, Kier started convincing himself. In any case, I’m protected from that. On the other side, why should I wonder? I was the one who paid one hundred dariks for Harry. But still, why are they doing it in such a humiliating and violent form for the simples? Is this the upbringing of obedience or just ordinary sadism?
Meanwhile, the procedure of the civil servants check continued. Boss Bishop stopped in front of a handsome man, took in his slim figure, extremely large buttocks and off-handedly remarked, “One thousand dariks for him! He isn’t good for the repair and building battalion, but he will be a star of our corporative brothel!”
However, Captain White was not enthusiastic. He smirked and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Bishop, but this young man will serve the Empire directly. As an ImpSec officer, I have the right to one toll-free servant; as the local boss, I can take another two. And, as it happens, I have a shortage.”
Bishop waved his hand disappointedly and continued down the line.
Captain White slapped the ass of his victim and added, “Run to the hot shower, sonny! I need you healthy and full of energy.”
The young man, shivering from cold and fear, stumbled, and then went away without even dressing.
“He can’t believe his luck!” White joked, and several ImpSec officers servilely laughed.
Kier, who was standing not far from White, flinched in disgust. He had been witnessing this “test of physical data” of the poor recruits for the third hour.
Underman touched his shoulder and spoke softly. “Easy, my lord. Most of these people do not deserve your pity. I suppose Captain White specially wants to shock you. You are too sensitive for a vor and don’t know real life. He may use it as your weakness.”
“What the hell does this asshole want with me?” Kier had nearly shouted, but constrained himself at the last moment.
Meanwhile, the distribution procedure for the Civil Service went up to a new stage. After finishing with the male recruits, the evaluation commission passed on to the females.
The girls were not hasty to undress while it wasn’t their turn, but it was no longer possible to stall the time. A few of them were beautiful, but all of them were shivering, turning blue from cold. No one dared resist. Bishop and other buyers touched the human commodity with evident pleasure, and the prices went above one thousand dariks.
Eventually, the corporation selected approximately one hundred and fifty of the most attractive recruits for its brothel. From conversations Kier understood, that Heartland Oil planned to recoup a big part of the salary paid to the oiler wageworkers with their help.
However, not all the human commodity went to Heartland Oil. In several cases, Bishop had to give way to the ImpSec officers who were using their free quota. Several girls were bought off by the Special Corps officers. The most unattractive women and the weakest men were bought by Morosev’s bursar in bulk, at a trade price of seventy dariks per individual. They were all going to do accessory and dirty work at the base.
“Have you found anybody, my lord?” Sergeant Underman inquired his ward. Kier shook his head, indicating a negative response.
“You should have! A young and healthy man needs a pretty female. There’s nothing bad in that. I’ll take one myself.”
Without hesitation, Underman bravely began bargaining with the oil boss and purchased a contract for a tall brunette at fifteen hundred yellows.
The improvised slave trade was coming to an end when Bishop, who was pawing a slim, long-legged blonde, exclaimed, “She’s a virgin! The only one out of all! Two-thousand, five-hundred yellows for her!”
Kier looked at the shivering girl and pitied her. Bishop’s exclamation resulted in excitement and loud shouts from the crowd of buyers. The ImpSec officers were wailing, as they had spent the quotas earlier on, and one of the Special Corps officers suddenly offered three thousand dariks for the blonde girl.
Bishop winced, waved his hand and said, “Well, off you take her! I have already exceeded the given funds.”
And this would have been it, but another Special Corps officer interfered. It was the young lieutenant-vor with a sword, who was commanding the soldiers.
“I give three thousand and one!” he shouted, hungrily staring at the half-frozen girl.
But the first officer was a captain, ranking higher, and didn’t want to cede.
“Buzz off, brat! This is my woman!”
“An offense to a vor’s honor!” The young lieutenant flared up. “I demand satisfaction immediately! Swords or pistols?”
“I accept!” the captain smirked. He was clearly taller and sturdier than his opponent. “I choose swords. Gentlemen, if you would witness!”