After Harry’s death, Kier was taking ‘tranquilizers’ in shocking doses. Underman procured a case of cheap cognac for his ward, took away the pistol—just in case—and left him in the closed room. The video camera continued its dispassionate recording.
Never in his life did Kier get drunk to such a degree. Periodically, he lost consciousness, then woke up and, yet again, drank right from the bottles. Several times, Vorsmith-junior puked on the floor, as he had neither the strength nor the desire to go to the toilet. In the very beginning, Kier thought of suicide, but even being in a disordered state of mind, he rejected this option.
That will be too good a gift for everybody. You won’t live to see this, bitches! Vorsmith-junior recalled the behavior of his drunk father on that notable day in their mansion and, for the first time, he felt some spiritual connection with him. So that’s what he must have felt at that time. And I loathed him; I thought him an old sot.
Coming to his senses at one point, Kier saw Underman’s worried face above him. Two civil servants were fussing in the room. Kier did not immediately realize that they were cleaning up his waste.
“Get up from the bed and go to the toilet, my lord!” Underman ordered. Then he added, “Let me help you.”
“No!” Kier bellowed drunkenly as he tried to get up from the bed by himself. That was a mistake. The icy floor burned his bare feet and the youth hopped about and fell against one of the cleaners, who involuntarily stepped back. Kier fell face down on the floor. Blood gushed from his injured nose. Simultaneously, his bladder couldn’t stand the stress and started to disgorge, as he also felt sick yet again and began weakly puking up the cognac residues.
Underman winced. As his ward was obviously at risk of drowning in his own biologic wastes, the bodyguard was forced to lift Kier and carry him to the toilet.
The civil servants, whose efforts of room cleaning were utterly spoiled by the young vor, were watching him with sincere disgust.
Underman undressed Kier and put him under a cold shower. The youth gibbered for some time, but soon cried out, “Are you crazy? I’ll catch a cold!” Fortunately, the damage to the aristocratic nose was minimal and the bleeding quickly stopped because of the cold water. Underman stuffed cotton, sodden with some medication, into Kier’s nostrils, and then turned on the warm water.
When Kier stopped shivering, the bodyguard shut off the warming flood and vigorously rubbed him dry with a towel. At the end of this unpleasant resuscitation procedure, the young vor was dressed in clean clothes and returned to his bed. Right after that, Kier fell into an unconsciousness.
* * *
The next morning, after taking some pills brought by Underman and drinking hot tea with preserved lemons, Kier was again able to understand human speech.
“My lord, I’m not against your shaking the stress off and relaxing a little, but you can’t do it like that. I left you the cognac case, counting on your moderation. And what did you do? Three bottles in one day! That’s more than two liters of strong cognac. If you continue that way, you’ll bring all our efforts to naught. Your cold corpse will fall to the enemies’ feet as a surprise gift.”
“They won’t live to see it, bitches!” spat Kier, voicing his previous thought.
“Good,” said Underman, seeming pleased with his ward’s reaction. “By the look of things, you must never drink. Your father knows his limits, almost every time. And you have an affinity toward the spiral of alcoholic suicide. I’ve watched the camera recordings.”
“You’re right,” Kier said. “I don’t wanna die. And this swill”—the young vor nodded at the remaining bottles of cognac—“makes it even worse. Take it away and give me back my pistol.”
“I like the way you’re thinking, my lord,” Underman said supportively. “Promise me you’ll never drink again, or take any other drugs.”
Kier obediently promised and then asked, “Is there any news?”
“Yes, my lord. There is good news, bad news, and … other news. Where shall I start?”
“Start with the bad news. I’m already feeling bad, so it won’t get worse. And the good news might cheer me up.”
“As you say, my lord. The bad news is that they’ve had to release White.”
“What?”
“Because of a lack of evidence, unfortunately. He declared that it was me who had tried to assassinate you. According to him, I gave the device with the poison to Karlsen, but he failed, and then, in fear of me, he dragged White into the case. Allegedly, before that I tried to make a murderer out of Olga, but she also failed. It’s only natural that I also killed Olga and Karlsen to hide the evidence and my plotting.”
“Are you saying someone would believe this gibberish?” Kier, sitting on his bed, was so incensed that he nearly choked on his sandwich of conserved ham. To clear his throat, he hurriedly took several sips of tea.
“Of course, nobody believed that. But theoretically, it’s possible. The problem is we don’t have anything except Karlsen’s testimony, and to condemn an ImpSec officer based on a civil servant’s testimony means creating some bad precedent. You never know what the civilians will start to think up.”
“But there must be something else!” Kier was trying to grasp the last straw. “What about the cameras? They must have recorded White contacting Harry and Olga.”
“There were never any cameras in Karlsen’s storeroom. There is only a recording from the corridor showing White entering the place, which doesn’t prove anything. He asserts that he only contacted the cleaner regarding the dirt in the corridor. By the way, it really is dirty in there. Karlsen didn’t trouble himself much with his work. Moreover, White asserts that this record testifies in his favor. If he had been planning to assault you, he wouldn’t have left such evidence. I think he calculated it all beforehand. A real professional must foresee all variants. There is no data on Olga; her movements about the base were more diverse than those of Karlsen. Therefore, there were more possibilities for contacts.”
“I’ll shoot down this ImpSec scum!” said Kier, managing to spill his tea in helpless hatred. “Right now!”
“Easy, my lord!” Underman, sitting next to Kier on a chair, gripped his thin wrist with force. “Your exploits are canceled for today. Also, may I remind you that the murder of an ImpSec officer may end with a life sentence, even for a vor.”
After the life sentence was mentioned, Kier got gloomy. In the Empire, the death sentence had been struck down by Kier the Great and officially replaced by life sentences for felony offenses by the Emperor Kambyses I. However, most people condemned to life sentences mysteriously died soon after being sent to prison. On the other hand, a significant portion of those sentenced to life were released after several months due to “newly discovered circumstances.”
“If White was a vor, I would challenge him to a duel and shoot him down on a legal basis!” the young aristocrat remarked with regret.
“But White is not a vor and you can’t challenge him, my lord.” The henchman was patiently bringing Kier to reason. “And he shoots better than you do. Forget the thoughts of revenge for now and listen to the good news.”
“What, White was choked by some of his sex slaves?”
“Unfortunately, no. The higher authorities gave orders to release White, but he was seriously reprimanded for an ‘excess of power.’ He’s been fined twenty-five thousand yellows. This equals two years’ salary of an ImpSec captain. I hope this will put him off participating in plots against you, my lord. In any way, he won’t be the one to own the Vorsmiths’ county.”
“But this ghoul must have had some reasons,” remarked Kier, dejectedly leaning on the pillows. “Money or something else. I promise, I will get him sooner or later!”
“Speaking of your brothers, my lord … no direct evidence of their implication in this attempt was found. However, Petr and Mark were called to New Roma yesterday. In the out-satrap’s residence, his chancellor officially warned them of the impermissibility of any illegal actions toward the Count Vorsmith or his heir. Now, since the out-satrap’s attention was brought to this case, your position became stronger. But, there’s another detail you need to know about.”
“What? Another family skeleton from the wardrobe?” Kier joked darkly. “Did it turn out that my brothers were bisexuals inclined to incest, and they had each other right at the out-satrap’s residence?”
“You have a pretty vivid imagination, my lord,” replied Underman, hiding his smile. “It is simpler. Do you remember that Petr mentioned some urgent liabilities of Mark that made him hasten the business with the legacy? Yesterday, from a conversation with the senior henchman of the count, I’ve learned that there was an attempt on Mark’s life. Right near the entrance of the out-satrap residence in New Roma. Baron Mark wasn’t hurt, but one of his men was shot. By the look of things, it was a warning.”
Kier understood nothing. “Whose warning? Was it the count?”
“As far as I know, the count was not involved. To be more precise, he was not involved directly. At one time, your father generously sponsored the Mark Vorsmith PriSec Agency. But in the beginning of the year, Mark ceased his old feud with Petr and reached a definite agreement with him. They told you its details themselves. Petr gets the county and Mark enjoys one hundred million dariks. It’s approximately the tenth part of the legacy.”
“Is the county worth that amount?” Kier exclaimed, and sprang from his bed out of sheer surprise. “I thought Petr and Mark exaggerated its value. Can I really get one billion yellows? Yah!”
“Considering current oil prices—approximately two hundred dariks per standard barrel—and the subsequently higher tax payments of Heartland Oil … Though I’m not an accountant, my lord. If you’d like, Tsapis will explain your question in detail.”
“Recently, the price of oil was only one hundred greens,” said Kier, his interest growing. “When the current emperor had just ascended the throne, they were still questioning whether oil should be traded in xerxes or dariks—”
“My lord …” Underman interrupted the youth’s reasoning. “That’s not what I wanted to tell you. When your brothers reached their accord, the count stopped financing Mark, who then contacted some Baron Hell or Vorhell from New Roma for help. By the way, this Hell is not a vor by birth—he bought the title for ten million yellows. Thanks to Hell’s money, Mark maintained control over the PriSec agency and became even more dangerous. But at the moment your brother owes more than five hundred thousand yellows. Baron Hell gave him the money on the assurance of the prompt acquisition of legacy, which is now under question. We can assume that there was a conflict between Barons Mark and Hell, which resulted in yesterday’s assassination attempt.”
“And isn’t this Hell afraid to mess with Mark? My brother gave the impression of being a pretty dangerous guy …”
“My lord, Baron Hell is a very powerful, and much more dangerous than Mark.” Underman allowed himself an ironic smile. “He is the main weapons trader in all Northern Heartland. He buys allowed weapons from the administration and sells them to vors, hounds, and other who have a right to own a weapon. Actually, Hell buys weapons from various sources and sells to everybody. Some sources report he even sells weapons to Gomorrian terrorists. But this doesn’t concern us. Believe me, Hell can swat Mark like a fly, that’s why your brother is so nervous. It is essential for him to immediately get the money Petr promised. Baron Hell doesn’t want to kill Mark just yet, as he still hopes to get his money back. However, if this weapons baron realizes that Count Vorsmith and you continue to stay sound and safe while Mark is left holding the bag, then …”
“So I can expect another attempt on my life,” Kier concluded. “Now from that Hell. Thanks for letting me in on the details, Sarge.”
“There’s yet another piece of news,” Underman continued. “General Morosev told me of an allegedly scientific expedition headed by the academician, Genius, arrives tomorrow at the Aurora Borealis Base.”
“And why should that concern me?” Kier asked. “Or is this a cover to carry me away from the base as a scientific showpiece?”
“I’m glad that you still keep some sense of humor, my lord.” This time Underman openly smirked. “If I got it right, the expedition will investigate the problem of global warming and the rise of the ocean level. This happening is organized by the Imperial University of New Babylon and some stock society called Free Dendraria. This base seems to be a suitable location, and the general authorized the research. I wouldn’t draw your attention to this if it weren’t for a few facts. Firstly, unknown people are coming to the base. There could be hidden killers amongst them. Secondly, the theme of the expedition is related to your formal duties.”
“In what way?”
“Have you already forgotten, my lord? You are the senior weatherman of the Aurora Borealis Base. The academician has already asked Morosev to authorize a meeting with you. He needs access to the archives of the local Hydro-Meteo Center and all its technical premises. The dam we are now living in was built during the Founder’s reign in order to prevent the flood. Now these science worms are interested in how the ocean’s level has been changing over the ages and other scientific rubbish. They are waiting for your assistance, as a local specialist.”
“They’ve gone mad!” Kier was terrified. “I don’t understand a thing about this. Why did Morosev even remember me? Let the scientists work by themselves; I don’t wish to have any business with them. And it would be better from a security point of view.”
“I’ve already told that to the commander.” Underman’s voice was full of annoyance. “But it seems this expedition is of great importance to him. Morosev requires you to meet the academician and his people. His opinion is that you’ll be safe. And, of course, I’ll be there for you.”
“But what will I tell them?”
“I leave that to you, my lord. The general ordered you to cooperate with the scientists. I’m afraid we will have to give them access. Of course, it doesn’t concern our apartments. Let the technicians do the rest. For my part, I advise that you rarely leave this room. Perhaps they will try to put a bomb in the Hydro-Meteo Center. There will be too many outsiders. I’ve ordered the technicians to set up a special communication channel with your comm, so you’ll be able to sign the forecasts right here. It will be done tomorrow.”
“I thought somebody told me I had freedom to move around the base,” Kier reminded him. “It appears I’m under house arrest.”
“I’m afraid so, my lord. As you understand, the situation became complicated over the last days. Moreover, there’s this expedition. Of course, if you want to, you can leave your room, but only in my company.”
Kier heaved a sigh and changed the subject. “What’s happened to Harry’s body—was he buried? I wanted to take his personal stuff. I doubt anybody needs it.”
“My lord,” started Underman, confused, “I’ve already told you that it was decided to declare Karlsen a missing deserter, to avoid excess public attention to this case. Yesterday, his body was buried in the oil swamp near the base. His personal things were buried with him.”
“Beasts!” swore Kier. “They have just deleted a man, as though he’s never even existed! Everything is gone.”
“Karlsen’s profile is still available on the comm-net, my lord,” said Underman, trying to comfort his ward.
“Post-mortem profile! This is the only thing left of us. Aren’t you afraid, Sergeant, that your life will be deleted just as well and forgotten forever? There will be only a virtual profile with a single, poor image and sparse official data.”
“It’s not that bad, my lord,” Underman objected. “Compared to you, I’m not that important in history; most people in the past didn’t even have this kind of memory. And there is still Karlsen’s testimony against White. I can make a copy for you. I’m afraid I have deleted all the rest of his records.”
“Don’t,” the youth said, and shook his head. “I’d like to remember him in some other way.”
When Kier was left alone in his cage, anguish flooded through him again. He had never suffered from claustrophobia, but now the gray walls of the small room strongly oppressed him. After putting on his boots, he started pacing the room from one corner to the other. The accumulated nervous and physical energy required an outlet, and there was none.
Kier’s thoughts returned to recent events. Why had Harry’s death shocked him more than the death of Brutari? The latter sincerely loved him and was practically his foster father. Kier knew Brutari all his conscious life and Harry only a few weeks. The answer was evident, but Kier didn’t like it at all. No matter what he was making up, he wasn’t guilty of the old henchman’s death. This was the complicated long-ago matters of his biological father and Brutari ending in a tragic way. Kier had already accepted that he’d never know all the details of his parents’ and Brutari’s relationship.
Everything was different with Harry. Kier saved him from the elders, took him into service, and made friends with him. And having done so, he put him in the line of fire. Harry saved his life and wasn’t afraid to stand against the ImpSec! And Kier hadn’t even worried about his protection … not really. Can lack of action be a betrayal? It certainly can.
I overslept everything, both literally and metaphorically, and now I’m torturing myself, Kier reflected. The thing is, I’m more an observer of life than its full-fledged participant. Active actions in our world are a dangerous thing. On the one hand, the death of the soul, on the other, the death of the body. Harry tried to go against the System and paid for that with his life. Will I ever dare to act so decisively?
The young aristocrat realized he knew little about real life.
Kier despised the Empire, didn’t trust the official propaganda, but found his refuge in history. He read genuine Strabon, studied the rebellions in Gomorrah, and was concerned about the legends of the deeds of the ancient rulers. But now he was forced to recognize that his interest was nothing more than an effort to escape from unpleasant reality. True history consisted not of romantic fairy tales, but of lies and violence, foolish and cruel games. Strabon wrote nothing of buggering in barracks or of mutilated corpses thrown in dirt. The ancient legends and chronicles, telling of sophisticated intrigues of the noble vors of the past, had little common with the disgusting story Kier found himself in. After all, he understood why so many historians were stubbornly searching for some “golden age” of humanity in the far past.
Now everything seems a complete lie. I failed to hide from the present reality, though I tried hard. The world is much worse than I thought. It would be good to change it, to change the course of history—which can be done only here and now. Kier bitterly smirked at the direction his thoughts had gone. You are a puny, pathetic little human who can soon be killed, he thought violently. Flying in the skies, dreaming about the reformation of the world, while you can’t even reform your own life. And still …
Kier took the ancient book of Strabon from the table; he had been constantly reading it over during his time at the base. After thumbing the Chronicles’ darkened pages, protected with a special composition, the youth found the extract he was looking for:
“Many of us see the history of mankind as a set of incidents, spiced with insane human passions, while others declare that the course of history is strictly determined by some Higher Powers, mysterious puppet masters, or the allegedly existing ‘objective’ principles of development. At all times, the deterministic approach in its various forms was favored by the rulers, and the intellectuals who served them. But this is no more than the effort of political elites to break the will of their potential competitors and to hide their own errors and crimes. In reality, the course of history was always determined by persons of independent mind and action, as well as by active social minorities. Both are capable of destroying the most sophisticated control system, violating the most ‘objective’ principles. The majority always used to join the winners.
The main history lesson is that nothing is predetermined. There is always room for accidents, repeating patterns, insane passions, and the acts of outstanding personalities. If there’s a hidden Design of some God behind the history process, or if the history has some higher purpose and meaning, we do not know.”