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Pandora's Box

Chapter 1

The sound of shattering glass burst into the dream with an abrupt, jarring contrast and woke Tadek, who had dozed off unnoticed in his chair at the desk. The cool of night had at last begun mercifully to drive away the remnants of the day’s heat, breathing softly through the open windows. He ran to the window, catching on the fly a small vase that had been mercilessly swept from the sill by the wind-tossed canvas curtain flapping like a sail in the heart of a violent storm. Hastily gathering up the fragments, he tried not to cut himself, driving away the last traces of sleep that still seemed to pull him back into its realm, numbing his movements and making him stumble into corners and brush against furniture.

He still could not grow accustomed to his new and rather spacious apartment, so much larger than his former home. His beautiful wife, who had only recently completed the picture of his family happiness, had, with true feminine wisdom, insisted that they move into the long-vacant apartments of her great-grandmother. She had also inherited from her a love for the ‘more civilized and aesthetic times’, for classicism and the charm of the old.

The uneasy thought that he would now have to find some way to explain the loss of the glass object intertwined with reflections on the latest intergalactic news. Tadek, a professor of linguistics, had little difficulty mastering Galacton, one of the principal languages of the Galactic Union, and for some time he had been closely following the news channels broadcast by the Vriinians to Earth from the orbital Station.

Besides Galacton, he devoted much attention to the other languages of alien races, some of which even allowed him to draw astonishing parallels with the most ancient tongues of the planet, for instance, with the language of the Mayan Indians. Many facts suggested that long ago certain extraterrestrial civilizations had visited Earth and made their own contribution to its development.

Thanks to this new knowledge and the opportunities it opened before him, Tadek had managed to almost completely decipher the ancient Indian script. Now he spent days and nights over the oldest manuscripts, covered with hieroglyphs, logograms, and syllabograms, devouring one text after another, interrupting his work only for brief, almost symbolic meals and an occasional glance at the news.

His wife, who had gone away for a few days to visit her ailing mother, called from time to time, perfectly aware of what her absence could lead to: Tadek, a scholar «to the marrow of his bones», could easily go without food for days once seized by an idea.

She, on the other hand, a lady to the core, accustomed to doing everything by schedule, could never understand «how one could possibly skip an entire lunch and not feel the slightest pang of conscience toward one’s own body?!»

In the light of recent events, Earth had begun to change noticeably. Large spaceports were opening, and from time-to-time curious delegations arrived there from distant worlds. Alien visitors eagerly explored the beauty and landmarks of Earth, and in return brought with them specimens of flora and fauna from their faraway planets for the planet’s greenhouses and zoos.

In the largest educational and cultural institutions, new information and research centers were being established, where one could study alien cultures in detail, learn galactic languages, and explore a vast array of new subjects, sciences and crafts previously unknown to humankind. All this was taught by recently arrived scholars from various corners of the galaxy, who were gradually adapting to life under earthly conditions.

Tadek had made the acquaintance of one newly arrived scientist at the last conference, the first in Earth’s history to be attended by delegates from other worlds. The modest young researcher, a Karinian from the constellation of Karina named Tay, had left his home world for the first time, arriving on Earth at the invitation of the Vriinians who oversaw humanity’s integration into the Galactic community.

Originally, the Karinian was to be assigned to the advanced research center on Ilion, but after the well-known tragic events his posting was changed. And although Fraal lay on the very outskirts of the galaxy, it utterly fascinated him, as did humans themselves, perhaps the most inquisitive beings he had ever encountered.

Tadek, whose linguistic talents were highly valued in the scientific community, helped him settle in and gain a general understanding of Earth’s principal languages, culture, and way of life. Over time they became close friends and began visiting each other with their families. Their wives understood each other perfectly – they cooked together and often went shopping together as well. And this despite the fact that each spoke her own language!

Long ago, the Karinians had been an amphibious species, but over the course of a long evolution all the features essential for aquatic life had gradually atrophied. What remained was only their dense, pale, and smooth skin, marked with faint bluish pigment spots. Yet their subconscious longing for water endured, and the monotonous murmur of the sea’s surf stirred in every Karinian a strange mixture of joy and sadness, delight and wistful nostalgia – all those emotions without which the soul itself cannot always find its way to the beautiful.

Tay’s principal field of expertise was diplomacy and intercultural relations. He had clearance to the major interstellar centers for the exchange of experience among the races of the galaxy, and he was planning to establish such a center here on Earth in the near future. This promised local specialists unprecedented opportunities to work in the distant new worlds, while the visiting guests, in turn, could find ways to apply their talents on the Blue Planet, which, in light of recent events, stood in greater need than ever of innovation and new knowledge.

Like Tadek, Tay was deeply fascinated by new languages and listened with genuine interest to the Earthman’s accounts of deciphering local ancient hieroglyphs that seemed to have even older roots leading to other worlds. More than half of the translated manuscripts appeared to warn of something – to caution against a great danger. Though what exactly they referred to was still difficult to determine, despite the abundance of cryptic instructions.

In some places there were even fragments describing a mysterious path one was meant to follow, but these appeared only in scattered pieces, and the overall picture still refused to come together. Both of them intuitively felt that it might be something of great importance, and the inquisitive Tay requested special analytical equipment for a deeper linguistic decryption. Such a complex could greatly facilitate their work, but in the meantime the diligent and curious Tadek did not sit idle.

A little over a month ago, a ship of unknown origin attacked Ilion, exploding not far above its surface. Neither the planet itself nor any of its moons suffered major damage: besides the global force field, which the strange vessel had somehow managed to breach, the moons possessed their own independent shields that protected most of Ilion’s structures and inhabitants. Yet the shockwave from the explosion was so powerful that, although the defensive barriers held, the backlash caused serious technical failures, malfunctions, and destruction of everything lying close to the epicenter.

All of this was shown and replayed endlessly across the intergalactic news networks. Various versions and theories were voiced, but no final conclusions had yet been reached – no answers offered as to the causes or motives of the attackers, nor who exactly stood behind that monstrous event.

Unlike most of his colleagues in the scientific community, Tadek had no burning desire to leave his home planet and set off for some distant, unknown corner of the cosmos in search of either meaning or something more tangible. He had enough meaning right here, and as for material comforts – he had long since grown accustomed to being content with what he had. He was not much of a traveler either, though he had visited many of the world’s largest cities, yet knew them only through their libraries.

Nevertheless, he had promised Tay, with his wife’s eager approval, and to the great delight of Tay’s own spouse that he would one day visit their home on Karina.

«I need some sleep», Tadek thought. «My head refuses to work, and morning, as they say, is wiser than the evening, and certainly far wiser than the dead of night.»

Chapter 2

The high-speed hydro-transport was racing through a vast, multilevel water tunnel, the main artery connecting all the moons of Ilion. At peak velocity it was nearly impossible to lift one’s hand from the armrest, and Kane, seated beside Maarv, amused himself by pulling faces, mimicking the expressions of his friends, and quoting their favorite lines and gestures.

The crew of the Armaon had arrived on one of the moons only the day before. Because of the heightened and unprecedented security measures, Iida had gone through considerable effort to obtain clearance even for such a renowned ship and its distinguished crew. The friends still had not lost hope of finding Tarion, who since the tragic events had remained out of contact and was listed among the missing.

The passenger cabin of the transport was almost empty – in recent times, the local inhabitants traveled only when absolutely necessary. Maarv, glancing at Kane, could not stop wondering how he managed to remain so carefree and composed in nearly any situation. Kane never missed a chance to have a bit of fun, especially in a place as extraordinary as this.

«Just imagine what John would say if he saw those blue flashes of the moons against the dark spherical structures», Kane went on. «Something like – ‘The ornament of beauty is suspect, a crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.’»

«You’re not bad at it», Maarv laughed. «Sounds just like him!»

Kane looked at his friend in surprise. It had been a long time since any of them had heard Maarv laugh, and the sound lightened his heart a little. The two of them were heading to the Rion representation office, hoping to learn at least something about Tarion’s fate.

The young Rionian clerk shook his head.

«I’m afraid we have no information about the councillor», he said. «We’ve searched for him everywhere, used every possible resource, and came to the conclusion that after the Council meeting he left the moon right at the moment when the enemy ship struck.»

«But there’s no record of his departure!» Kane objected carefully. «We checked everything ourselves. That may mean Tarion is still somewhere here!»

«True», the clerk said thoughtfully. «There is indeed no such record in the system. But the councillor always did things his own way.»

He paused for a moment, then added, «By the way, you’re not the first to inquire about him. About a week ago, two men came here claiming to be from the Security Service», the clerk lowered his voice a little. «They said they were conducting a classified investigation and started asking strange questions.»

The Rionian shifted uneasily in his chair, as if recalling something unpleasant. «Then they demanded access to his personal files in our database. Naturally, we refused – no one has clearance for the councillor’s records, not even us, and that’s well known.»

He drew a slow breath before continuing. «After that, they began to threaten us and promised to return. We filed an official inquiry with the local authorities, but they had never heard of them. They were declared wanted, surveillance footage was reviewed, and we’ve reinforced security here, just in case.»

The friends thanked the Rionian and left the office. A few seconds later, Iida came through on the comm.

«I’ve found out that none of the Council members were harmed», she said, «but at the moment, none of them are on Ilion! Most likely, in the chaos they all scattered to their home worlds, so we’re unlikely to speak with any of them anytime soon. I also learned that someone tried to dig up information about Tarion – I’m sure you’ve already been told that! Anyway, that’s not the main thing.»

«I’ll fill you in on the details when we meet», she hurriedly interrupted Maarv, who was about to ask something. «I suggest you make your way to the Vriinian embassy – let’s meet there! It’s not far from you.»

At the entrance they were met by an entire guard of Vriinian soldiers in full protective armor. After checking their documents, the soldiers saluted smartly.

«Welcome», the security officer said with formal gravity. «You’re expected inside the embassy.»

After receiving special entry tokens at the entrance, Maarv and Kane walked past several offices and descended to the floor below. Two armed guards suddenly stepped out from a narrow alcove, scanned their tokens, and let them through.

«Now this I call unprecedented security measures», Maarv muttered as they passed yet another checkpoint. «Even our supreme ruler isn’t guarded with such pomp. And here, an entire army!»

«It’s more of a psychological thing», Kane smirked. «You know, for reassurance. Everyone understands that if things ever come to a real firefight, no army of soldiers with office scanners is going to help.»

In a small, cozy room reached through a narrow, winding corridor, Iida sat curled in a chair before a huge curved holographic monitor. She was wrapped in a soft blanket, and on the table beside her stood a glass of something that only vaguely resembled coffee. Unlike the earthly kind, the drink was dark green and, though similar in taste, was thicker and more astringent.

At the sight of her friends, she jumped up joyfully and, without bothering to put on her shoes, tiptoed over to Maarv and embraced him warmly. Kane, meanwhile, strolled to the table and unceremoniously took a sip from the glass, grimacing slightly – the drink was bitter, without the slightest hint of sweetener.

«Sit down, my dear friends», Iida said hospitably. «Food will be served in a moment!»

And indeed, the door slid open, and a sleek metal cart rolled quietly into the room. Stopping by the table, it unfolded, revealing an array of delicacies – from freshly made spicy Vriinian galettes and appetizers to an assortment of colorful drinks.

Iida watched them with quiet pleasure as they ate, until at last Maarv protested, nearly choking under such silent scrutiny.

«Well, come on then! Tell us what you’ve managed to find out», he said. «At the Rion embassy they didn’t tell us anything new. Except that some suspicious types have been hanging around, but you get those everywhere, so that’s hardly news!»

«Personally, I’ve learned little – about as much as you have», Iida replied. «But long before we arrived here, I asked one of our ever-resourceful mutual acquaintances to assist us if possible…» She paused, took a deep breath, and went on, «in finding Tarion.»

«So you don’t believe he’s alive?» Maarv said after a moment, half question, half statement. He rose nervously and began to pace the room. «Well… if he were alive, he would have shown up somewhere by now!»

Iida’s monitor flickered on, revealing the image of their ‘ever-resourceful acquaintance’ dressed in a fine, well-tailored uniform with a fur-trimmed cloak thrown over it, the very latest in Vriinian fashion.

«Vriin greets you, my dear friends!» declared Kvaon in his usual grand manner – ceremonious, yet laced with irony, raising his chin slightly. «How fares the valiant crew of the Armaon, dwelling now in the holy of holies of our galaxy?»

Kane leaned closer to the image of one of Vriin’s chief councillors and greeted him politely.

«Nice outfit!» Kane said. «Back home, that’s exactly how the great Merlin used to dress. Did John send you that book about the Knights of the Round Table?»

«Like it?» Kvaon smiled. «I’ll send you a cloak just like this one – you can make two out of it. One for yourself and one for John.»

«Hey, we’re almost the same height, for the record!» Kane protested indignantly.

Iida cleared her throat with a nervous cough. «If you two are done exchanging compliments», she said dryly, «perhaps we could get back to the matter at hand?»

«When else would I get the chance to chat with old friends?» Kvaon winked at them from the screen. «All right, all right, the matter is serious indeed. I’ve gathered reports from all our most secret services, who’ve been searching through every possible channel for details about the attack, but in vain! They found no mention of Tarion whatsoever.»

Kvaon paused for a brief, dramatic moment before continuing. «However, yesterday my scouts – some of them real slackers, I must admit, reported something rather interesting.»

The friends froze, leaning closer to the screen.

«One of my long-range transports happened to stop for resupply in the remote Mion system, at the market on the planet Bajjar», Kvaon went on, leaning a little closer to the screen and gesturing with one elegant hand as though tracing the route on an invisible star map. «The planet is famous for its spices from every corner of the galaxy and for its fistfights. The captain, a great admirer of both, decided to place a few bets at the local arena. After all, everyone there was raving about a new wonder-fighter who’d appeared recently – ‘knocks everyone down in a single round and hasn’t lost a single fight yet!’»

Kvaon smiled faintly, eyes glinting with the pleasure of a born storyteller. «Well then, something about the look of that undefeated gladiator reminded him of… guess who?»

He raised an eyebrow, letting the suspense hang for a heartbeat. «That’s right! Our mutual friend, councillor Tarion.»

He paused again to clear his throat, reaching for a glass somewhere out of view. The Vriinian community, like every allied world, had certainly lost a gifted historian and raconteur in him, one who could weave intrigue out of any scrap of information.

«And then?» the friends burst out almost in unison. «What happened next? Did your people get him out of there?»

Hearing the news that Tarion might, after all, still be alive, though for some strange reason somewhere at the far end of the galaxy, the friends nearly leapt for joy.

«Unfortunately, they didn’t succeed», Kvaon replied. «The captain made several attempts to speak with the tournament organizer to reach the presumed Tarion, but they wouldn’t let him anywhere near. Still, by his account, the spectacle was magnificent. Tarion, if it truly was him, is a fighter of the highest order.»

«Well, looks like such details may not interest you much», Kvaon chuckled, «anyway, I’ve sent the coordinates to the Armaon. It’s up to you now to figure out how to get him out of there.»

«Sadly, trying to negotiate with those Bajjar swindlers in advance is pointless», Kvaon continued after a brief pause. «They rarely honor agreements and always act in the interest of immediate profit. So keep your wits about you – it’s a dangerous world. But then», he added with a sly smile, «you’re hardly amateurs yourselves.»

«Thank you so much, our good old friend Kvaon!» Kane exclaimed warmly, giving voice to what all of them were thinking, for Iida and Maarv were still too deeply impressed by what they had just heard. «You’re, as always, on top of things – metaphorically speaking, of course!»

The screen had long since gone dark, yet the friends remained seated at the table, each lost in silent thought.

«Well then, back to the Armaon», Maarv said at last, shaking himself from his reverie. «At least now I might finally get a decent night’s sleep!»

«Isn’t it a bit too early to relax?» Iida asked. «We still don’t really know anything for certain. And we can’t even be sure it’s him!»

«First of all, I’m not relaxing», Maarv replied, squinting at her good-naturedly. «For your information, captains never relax! And second, did you see the kind of moves Tarion pulled off when we got you out of that pack of vicious Tiavrans on DL-254? It all fits! Who else but him could be that unbeatable fighter terrifying every arena on Bajjar?»

«I saw the ‘moves,’ all right», Iida answered dryly. «But there’s one thing I can’t understand. If that really is Tarion, then why would he, a member of the Galactic Council, suddenly vanish from Ilion and end up on Bajjar, of all places, and in the guise of a gladiator? That simple thought just won’t let me rest.»

«You think the people under Kvaon might have been mistaken?» Kane asked anxiously. «Knowing their boss, they wouldn’t risk their skins and report anything uncertain unless they were completely sure. On the other hand, your logic’s hard to argue with…»

«Anyone can be mistaken», Iida replied. «Despite how strange this all seems, at least we’ve got some hope now. But since we’re speaking of logic, until we see the councillor with our own eyes, there’ll be no real clarity.»

As she spoke, Iida was already booking three seats on a hydro-transport that would soon take them from the embassy to the Armaon’s docks.

Chapter 3

After Arma received the Bajjar coordinates through a one-way government channel from Vriin without a single comment or explanation, Draam, John, and Smorg could hardly contain their curiosity. When the rest of the crew returned to the Armaon, they were immediately bombarded with questions.

Everyone, without exception, voted in favor of organizing an expedition, though Maarv’s optimism once again ran headlong into Iida’s skepticism. They all understood perfectly well that, however much Iida might wish to believe the best, a woman’s logic and her life experience simply would not allow her to take dubious facts on faith. In other words, the general optimism of the crew urged them to hope for the best, while Iida’s logic quietly reminded them to prepare for the worst.

The ship was fully equipped with everything necessary – the friends who had remained aboard had hardly been idle. Draam, true to habit, had filled every storage bay with food supplies of the finest quality, making full use of his newfound fame and the generous discounts eagerly offered to him.

Smorg and John, for the first time in their lives, took a proper walk through Ilium visiting cozy little shops, strolling across sunlit squares, and even stopping for a few snacks along the way. Smorg, long accustomed to the wary looks that used to follow him wherever he went, was genuinely astonished to find passersby recognizing him, asking for autographs, trying to give him small gifts, or simply smiling and bowing with warm respect.

They returned to the ship in high spirits, followed by a large air carriage laden with valuable instruments, chemical compounds, and laboratory materials along with an assortment of local gifts and souvenirs for the entire crew.

The Armaon lifted off from Ilium’s spaceport and, after activating its access codes, passed through the planet’s energy barrier before setting a direct course for Bajjar, in the Mion system.

«Did you know», Arma’s voice chimed in, «that Bajjar means ‘receding water’ in the Miwot language? The remnants of the once-great Miwot race, extraordinary architects, were wiped out by the Krop plague several millennia ago. After the Great Galactic War, one of their expeditions discovered this long-abandoned planet. They settled there, establishing a colony and rebuilding several cities. The name Bajjar became fixed on the star maps ever since.

«It was there they unearthed the very Krop plague, a deadly, highly contagious disease that spread across their interstellar colonies within mere weeks and annihilated their entire people. Apparently, they had mastered long-distance teleportation technologies, which only accelerated the spread. Far worse consequences were avoided only because they tended to live apart from the larger galaxy and other races. Then again, some believe the disease affected different species in different ways – opinions differ widely on that.»

«Over time, the deserted Bajjar turned into a true Mecca for combat enthusiasts», Arma went on, speaking in John’s characteristic manner, «a place that never fails to attract a motley mix of adventurers, mercenaries, traders, and plain thrill-seekers from every neighboring world.»

«Besides its world-famous arena fights», Arma continued, «the planet is also known as the home of pink pearls, among the most precious gems in existence. They come from a rare species of so-called red mollusks that live deep beneath the surface and rise upward thanks to the planet’s unique properties. The name Bajjar – ‘receding water’ is no coincidence. The planet’s oceans appear and vanish in different places several times a year. When the water withdraws, it leaves behind the red mollusks, and that’s when the pearl hunters rush in.»

«Why did they call the planet ‘receding water’?» Kane asked, raising an eyebrow. «Why not, say, ‘approaching water’? Or maybe – »

«No idea», Arma interrupted calmly, cutting him off before he could finish and went on with her narration. «So, because of this constant cycle of retreating and returning waters, the planet has only one major city, built on its single flood-proof plateau. It consists of two distinct parts. One is an ordinary city open to everyone. The other, quite the opposite, is highly exclusive, and getting in isn’t easy.»

«I suppose that’s where the money flows», Maarv remarked.

«Precisely», Arma confirmed. «That section belongs to the wealthy Bajjar Trade Corporation, which controls the pearl industry and even maintains its own embassy on Ilion.»

«I wonder what kind of creatures lived on that planet before the Miwots arrived», John mused. «Not that I’m suggesting we start digging through the soil for treasure or ancient artifacts after what we’ve just heard… but still, it’s fascinating, isn’t it?»

«Unfortunately, no reliable data have survived in the existing archives», Arma replied. «But since we’re heading there anyway, I suggest we use the opportunity to broaden our universal horizons. Once we arrive, you can ask the local inhabitants whatever questions you wish. I’m sure some of them will turn out to be quite friendly individuals.»

Maarv was finishing the final check of their plotted course, as protocol required, while polishing off a box of sweet bars gifted to Smorg by the grateful citizens of Ilion. «Once we find Tarion, we won’t need to ask any ‘local inhabitants’ about anything – I’m sure he’s already sniffed everything out long ago! As for their supposed friendliness», he added dryly, «I wouldn’t count on it. Kvaon did warn us – it’s a dangerous place, and I’m inclined to believe he wasn’t exaggerating.»

Chapter 4

The Mion system had already appeared on the locators, and the Armaon began to reduce speed, gradually lowering the power of its hyperdrive engines and shifting to the main thrusters. The system was encircled by several rings of asteroids and drifting dust streams, all illuminated by a vast red star – the local sun. The sight was magnificent: everything moved in grand harmony, caught in an endless cosmic dance of motion and balance.

Upon entering the planet’s orbit, Maarv activated the scanning systems, which quickly pinpointed the city’s location and analyzed the atmosphere. The air was perfectly clean, entirely breathable and free of impurities.

«At the very edge of the smaller city there’s a large spaceport», Arma announced at last. «I’m also detecting a few landing pads within the Trade Corporation’s district, but they appear to be private and, from what I can tell, shielded by energy screens.»

«Well then, let’s not get too bold too soon», Draam grumbled. «We’ll land on the outskirts. No need to draw unnecessary attention.»

The Armaon had barely touched down when a whole group of rather suspicious-looking figures approached the landing pad. They wore worn mercenary jumpsuits, some of them with fully sealed helmets. They were all well-armed and didn’t look particularly friendly.

The moment Arma opened the hatch, two of them immediately tried to climb inside, but were swiftly seized and escorted back out by a pair of infantry droids. Draam and Kane followed them down the ramp, greeting the newcomers politely in Galacton.

«This is a paid spaceport», drawled the tallest of them instead of offering a greeting. He wasn’t wearing a helmet; his face was crisscrossed with scars, and his eyes held a cold, measuring look. «Twenty galactic credits, and we’ll make sure your ship’s protected from any riffraff. Trust me, this place crawls with scum.»

«I can see that», Draam replied slowly, his gaze sweeping over the motley crowd. «No shortage of scum around here, that’s for sure.»

«Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!» another thug yelled. «You’d better watch it! We’re not the kind to joke with! And your walking tin cans won’t help you here! Look over there!» He jabbed his finger toward two small towers nearby, where a pair of old battle turrets creaked out of their housings and took aim at the ship.

The gang had clearly mistaken the Armaon for a research or cargo vessel – its design was unfamiliar, and its relatively small size for a battle cruiser had misled them.

The ship’s two hidden stern guns released a deep, vibrating roar that made everyone’s ears ring; the shockwave knocked all but Draam and Kane off their feet. In the same instant, the towers with their ancient turrets blew apart, scattering white-hot fragments in every direction. The display was both spectacular and unforgettable.

«Oh, I beg your pardon – I interrupted you in the most uncivilized manner», Draam said politely, with a hint of guilt in his tone. «Would you be so kind as to remind me where we left off?»

The thugs stared at him in stunned silence.

«You’ll regret this», the tall, scarred mercenary finally managed to blurt out. «We’ll report this to His Excellency, the Governor!»

«Dear friends, there’s clearly been a misunderstanding», Kane interjected smoothly, giving Draam a quick wink. «Twenty credits is a perfectly reasonable price for the fine protection of such respectable gentlemen! The moment I saw your open and honest faces, I thought – these are exactly the ones we need! How wonderful that you’ve done us the honor of being the first to propose a mutually beneficial arrangement!»

After these words, the thugs exchanged bewildered glances and lowered their weapons, now completely thrown off balance. They cast uneasy looks at Draam, then at Kane, then at the Armaon, clearly unsure what to do next.

Kane reached into his pocket and produced several folded notes of galactic credits, at the sight of which the mercenaries’ eyes gleamed with greedy anticipation.

«Oh, and one more thing», Kane went on, as if suddenly remembering something, just before handing the money to their leader. «We’ve heard that, in addition to your admirable morals and fine business sense, the local populace also has a certain fondness for… games of chance at the Arena! And as it happens, we were hoping to attend the fights of that famous Rionian wonder-warrior and place wagers of rather… let’s say, indecent proportions.»

«You’ve come to the right place! We’ll take you to the Governor and you can discuss any bets with him! Follow that piece of junk over there!» He pointed toward a rusty contraption that vaguely resembled a transport vehicle standing nearby.

Draam rolled out an open aerobot, in which Smorg was already sitting. Inspired by his recent public appearance on Ilion, he had decided to go out more often now. The enormous Vriinian took the front seat, occupying two places at once, while Kane sat behind him together with one infantry droid. The rest stayed aboard, watching through the droid’s eyes, or rather, its lenses, everything that was happening on several large holographic screens in the mess hall.

They left the spaceport and after some time reached a cluster of small buildings that grew more numerous as they went. It was clear that the lower levels of the houses and structures had been built long ago and by a far more civilized beings – of white stone adorned with intricate runic carvings and traces of colorful mosaics. The multilevel extensions added by later inhabitants, however, possessed neither beauty nor grace.

To Kane, the city resembled a small provincial Chinese town of the past century, only here the contrasts were far greater. Drones of every shape and size buzzed through the air, delivering containers and parcels to the residential tiers above.

The crowds bustling back and forth consisted mostly of humanoid races. The rulers and authorities of Bajjar were known for their conservatism in matters of appearance and were far from welcoming toward visitors from non-humanoid worlds or other exotic alien species.

Before long they arrived at a mansion standing apart from all the other buildings – the residence of the so-called ‘governor’, as the local official responsible for several districts of the town was called. Around the mansion stretched a small garden with a pond, where several furry, oddly colored creatures – something between a hippopotamus and a cat, lay half-submerged in the water, dozing lazily.

The interior of the mansion symbolically mirrored the world outside: shabby, timeworn walls clashed grotesquely with a haphazard collection of so-called works of art – mock paintings, crude frescoes, and other decorations. Everything around them assaulted the eye with a garishness so extreme it bordered on the absurd.

Climbing the wide, creaking staircase, the friends escorted by the scarred thug found themselves in an oval hall lined with drinks and snacks, a place that had clearly, though unsuccessfully, been remodeled into a bar. In the far corner, two towering dancers from Siriana VII, a planet famous for supplying models to every major fashion venue in the known universe, moved slowly and sensually to the music on a small platform.

On a long couch covered with the hides of the same creatures they had seen lounging by the pond sat the local governor – a gaunt, one-eyed figure in a ridiculous, brightly colored jumpsuit, his head clean-shaven. Judging by his golden eye, he clearly had Vriinian blood in him.

«That’s right», he said with a nod, noticing how the newcomers were studying him with curiosity. «My mother was of Vriinian blood. And as for my father, I never met the old man!»

«Oh, what a tragedy», Draam replied, matching the governor’s tone with a touch of sarcasm. «Hearing such things truly breaks the heart.»

«Well, well! I can’t tell you how deeply moved I am by such sympathy!» the governor sneered. «But enough pleasantries for today. Scar tells me you’re here for the Arena, ready to place some serious bets. Is that true?»

«That’s correct», Kane replied with a smile and gave an important-looking nod at the same time, «but first we’d like to look around and fully enjoy the company of such refined and dazzling society. You understand, luck like this doesn’t come our way every day.»

«I like you!» the governor roared with laughter. «Blast me to bits, I really do! And you’re in luck – tonight’s the final bout for the new title, between the legendary Oth and the Rionian wonder-warrior. That means the stakes will be sky-high! Hold out your hands I’ll stamp you with access codes!»

When it came Smorg’s turn, the governor put away the marker and blew his nose loudly.

«Forgot to mention – you’ll have to leave your beast at home!» he sneered, spitting on the floor with open contempt. «The Arena’s a show for the noble and creatures like that don’t belong there!»

«Can you really judge nobility by appearance?» Smorg asked, hurt, already weighed down by the gloomy atmosphere of the place.

«He can talk too?!» the governor exclaimed, his single eye bulging in astonishment. «Now that’s something we haven’t seen around here before!»

Kane burst into a loud, exaggerated cough, as if he’d just heard the most outrageous thing in his life, his eyes theatrically bulging.

«This», he declared, «is the chief creditor of your Trade Corporation, Baron von Smorg, owner of the largest banking network on this side of the galaxy! Naturally, he’s here incognito and expects no formal honors, but I trust a simple gesture of respect toward the chief secret sponsor of your entire system will suffice!»

At these words, the governor’s face went pale and long. Clearly, trouble with the Corporation was the last thing he wanted. He leapt up from his makeshift throne, hastily bowing as he handed Kane a small card while bowing low before Smorg.

«My deepest apologies, Your Grace, most esteemed Baron!» he babbled, racking his memory for every respectful form of address he knew. «Had I been informed in advance of the arrival of such illustrious guests, we would have prepared a proper reception! This is the key to my personal box at the Arena! I hope you’ll find what you came here for!»

«So do we», Kane replied meaningfully, putting on an air of arrogance and giving Smorg a discreet nudge to do the same. «We very much hope that’s exactly what we’ll find here.»

With suitably dignified expressions, they made their way back out, once again marveling at the chaotic tastelessness surrounding them on every side. The drab palette of dull colors, combined with the peeling walls and shabby décor, only deepened the sense of gloom and made them eager to get out into the open air.

They had barely stepped outside when shouts erupted behind them followed by hurried footsteps and the crash of breaking glass. From the sounds growing louder by the second, it was clear that people inside were becoming violently nauseous, and their number was growing by the moment.

«What’s going on in there?!» Draam asked in surprise, stopping short and exchanging a quick glance with Kane while listening to the commotion inside the mansion.

«Reflexive assault gas», Smorg replied readily. «One of the capsules must’ve slipped out of my pocket. Mm… by accident.»

«By accident?!» Draam laughed approvingly. «Got any more? I think I’ll make my own little contribution to this garden of paradise!» he said and with that, hurled a whole handful of capsules through the open upper window with a powerful swing.

Chapter 5

Soon they reached a vast, bowl-shaped natural crater – the site of the main Arena. The entire space was roofed over and resembled a gigantic stadium. Typically, arenas for combat and spectators were built in multiple tiers descending deep underground: the higher the arena stood, the more prestigious the fight, the more titled the warriors, and the more privileged the audience.

The friends walked past the enormous gates thrown wide open toward an armored oval door marked by a glowing arrow. Crude inscriptions in various languages scrawled across it read: Entrance. Kane pressed to the scanner the card so reverently handed to him by the governor; green lights blinked to life. Finally, the lock clicked, and the door slid open at once.

A small service droid greeted them warmly in Galacton and instructed them to follow – it would show them to their seats.

The box looked surprisingly decent. It stood a little apart, raised slightly above the main tiers, with several rows of seats that, by local standards, were almost new, barely worn and not yet much faded with time. Apparently, no more than ten years had passed since they’d been torn out of some visiting ship.

Low wooden partitions with smooth handrails divided the rows, giving them something comfortable to lean on. The seating encircled the fenced central ring like a Roman amphitheater.

Kane fell silent, lost in thought as he tried to make sense of his feelings – there was something indescribable about this place, something peculiar to it alone, that made him feel almost… comfortable.

On the brightly lit ring clearly visible from where the friends sat the first gladiator appeared: a massive brute named Oth. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and thunderous applause. Oth looked truly menacing and was even larger than Draam – a mountain of muscle with no real neck to speak of, his massive head with its small, vicious eyes seeming to flow directly into his torso.

A few seconds later, movement stirred in the passageway. Swiftly, with a running start, the second fighter leapt over the high protective fence with effortless precision. The roar of the crowd grew even louder. There was no doubt – the fighter was a Rionian. He was nearly half Oth’s size, yet no one here seemed to care about the difference in weight classes.

«Tarion!» Kane shouted, startled and unable to believe his eyes as he caught sight of the Rionian. He climbed over the railing of the box and ran up to the ring. «Tarion, my friend, what are you doing there?!»

The Rionian, like many others, turned toward him, studying him with puzzled curiosity. It was unmistakably Tarion, yet the reaction Kane had expected – the joy of reunion, the warm clasp of hands between old friends long separated, never came. Instead, Tarion calmly approached the edge of the ring and looked straight at him.

«Do we know each other?» Tarion asked politely, watching Kane with measured curiosity.

«Tarion, my friend, have you hit your head or something?» Kane said anxiously, realizing from the Rionian’s eyes that he truly didn’t recognize him. «We’ve been looking for you for a damn long time, and here you are, lounging around in the ring!»

«So, my name is Tarion», the Rionian murmured quietly. «All right then. I suggest we meet after the fight, at my place. Since you’re seated in the grand box, the little robot should be able to show you the way.»

«After the fight?» Kane repeated, glancing uneasily at the arena. «Are you sure you’ll survive a brawl with that giant? We didn’t spend all this time searching for you just to scrape you off the ring!»

Tarion smiled in his familiar way. «That’s unlikely. It won’t take long.»

Kane had barely returned to the box when the fight began.

«It looks like he’s suffering from amnesia – he didn’t recognize me! And I don’t think he remembers much of anything at all!» Kane said to Draam and Smorg. «But it’s him, no question about it – that’s Tarion!»

«That would explain a lot», Draam replied. «Otherwise, why would he be hanging around this place?»

Despite Oth’s enormous size, the fight was brief, just like all of the Rionian’s previous bouts. Tarion was far faster, and the ancient combat techniques of the Rionian warriors were beyond comparison. Within a minute, after a flurry of blinding strikes, Oth was down, motionless on the floor, while Tarion, to the roaring ovation of the crowd, vanished from the Arena as swiftly as he had appeared.

Before long, the small robot led them into the residential section of the Arena, where the gladiators and service staff lived. The place was quiet and orderly – a pleasant and striking contrast to the chaotic quarters they had passed through on their way.

At last, the robot stopped and knocked on one of the doors. There was a soft click from a magnetic relay; the door slid inward, and the robot politely gestured for them to enter.

The friends stepped into a modest yet cozy dwelling with a small corridor branching into several rooms. Long shelves were crammed with books and buried under piles of manuscripts. More books lay scattered across the floor and the table as well.

«At least he’s true to form», said Draam. «Unless, of course, he’s started eating them now.»

«I’ve already devoured more than one book lately», came a voice from the dark corner. The Rionian stepped forward, dressed in a black fighter’s robe with a hood. «Well then, since you’re finally here, I suppose you have something to tell me, and I have something to hear.»

«Logic has always been your strong side», Kane said with a happy smile. «But for some reason, you don’t remember a thing! The last time we saw you, you were heading to the Galactic Council on Ilion – right when it was attacked, and that terrible explosion took countless lives! Since then, we’ve been searching for you, refusing to believe you were gone, and, as you see, we were right!»

«And may I ask», Tarion said with a puzzled frown, scratching his head, «why I went to the Galactic Council in the first place? Who are you, and what exactly connects us?»

«Yeah…» Kane muttered, scratching his own head in turn. «We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. And who do you think you are – some back-alley thug? You’re one of Ilion’s councillors, and our greatest friend! The real problem now», he went on, «is that you’re the smartest of us all, and no one can tell you enough to make up for what you’ve lost.»

«In short, we’d better get back to the Armaon», said Draam. «Maybe Maarv and Smorg can help restore your memory… Because otherwise… damn it, Kane’s right – this really is a problem.»

Chapter 6

Stepping out of the regeneration capsule, Tarion looked around the Armaon’s interior with astonishment, a perfectly natural reaction for anyone seeing it for the first time, or for the first time in a very long while. Yet in his case, things were far more complicated. Maarv and Smorg, assisted by Arma, had run a full scan and found no trace of physical damage.

«His memory will return», Smorg stated matter-of-factly. «Sooner or later. It depends on the circumstances… and on us. Each of us should, in turn, tell him something that might draw his mind out of the cage it’s trapped in.»

«Before we leave this planet, there’s someone I need to see and a few of my belongings I must retrieve», Tarion said, unsettled by the lingering tension around him and the unusual attention he seemed to attract. «A respectable Bajjaran who brought me here some time ago.»

«Your belongings?» Maarv asked. «And how many did you have?»

Tarion shrugged, pulled from his robe a small piece of thick fabric folded several times, and carefully unfolded it.

«This is all I had», he said, showing it to his friends.

On the fabric, drawn with a remarkably skilled hand, was the image of the Ticket rendered with extraordinary precision, down to the tiniest details, as if copied from its holographic projection.

«I’ve been trying to remember what it is», he continued. «Perhaps it was my only link to the past… something I needed to understand and restore.»

«My dear Tarion», Maarv smiled, «by irony of fate, that very object is one of the least studied and least understood in our universe known only to a small circle of the chosen. And you happen to be one of the leading experts in that field!»

«So, I’ve been wasting my winnings on local books and manuals, trying to dig up at least some information», Tarion said with a grin. «Still, there wasn’t much else to do around here anyway.»

«Still, it’s not that easy to get rid of brains and curiosity», Kane remarked. «Imagine, spending all your free time reading books… when you could be lying on the grass, knocking around the locals between rounds!»

Tarion laughed and for a moment, he was more like his old self than ever before.

«When I first arrived on Bajjar, I had no idea what I would do», Tarion began. «I left the ship that very day, and no one tried to stop me. Half the passengers had come hoping to strike it rich at the pearl fields, so I joined them. I wanted to see what it was all about – ever since I’d regained consciousness, everyone around me kept talking about the pink pearls. And, I must admit, I never once regretted it!»

«The sight itself is simply breathtaking», he exclaimed, gesturing animatedly, just like in the old days. «An enormous ocean suddenly begins to retreat before your very eyes! The prospectors jump into their massive rovers and race across the newly exposed seabed in search of precious shells.»

He smiled a little sheepishly, noticing the wide-eyed looks of his listeners, and went on:

«As it turned out, the job, though profitable, is extremely dangerous. The exposed seabed is riddled with treacherous sinkholes filled with silt and gravel where, from time to time, the rovers vanish without a trace. And as for the atmosphere among those adventurers… Let’s just say it’s far from friendly. Knife fights and brawls are an everyday part of life there. Once, our team gathered quite a haul, and some enterprising souls decided they wanted it for themselves…»

Tarion fell silent for a moment, as though recalling something, then continued, «Anyway, I had to defend my team. They were the ones who suggested I take part in the Arena fights and that’s where I stayed. The work was light, the pay was good, and best of all – there was plenty of free time to spend as I pleased.»

«Not many could have survived in such conditions», John remarked, looking up from his notebook. «But you didn’t just survive, you seem to be thriving.»

«That's for sure!» Draam joined in. «You look great! So, let’s go pay a visit to your ‘respectable Bajjaran’. Maybe he’ll explain what in the void possessed him to drag you to this planet in the first place!»

Without the slightest pang of conscience, Arma hacked through all local security codes and steered the Armaon toward the central district of the great city, where the endless buildings of the Bajjar Trade Corporation rose in gleaming tiers.

«I don’t know about you», she declared petulantly, imitating Iida’s tone to perfection, «but I have neither the time nor the desire to waste my precious reactor energy on negotiations and waiting. The outcome is obvious anyway!»

«Give a ship a mind», Maarv sighed, «and it immediately develops criminal tendencies. All right then, go ahead, land already.»

«At your service, my dear captain», Arma replied. «I knew you wouldn’t object and would support the element of surprise!»

The compliment was rather dubious, and Maarv decided to keep silent.

The Corporation’s main city was a striking contrast to the district they had just left. For a moment, they even thought they’d landed on another planet. Everything here looked so different: sleek, advanced, and spotlessly clean, like the cultural heart of a modern civilized world.

They hadn’t even landed when the local security forces surrounded them from all sides. The suddenly appearing ship showed no signs of aggression, and the soldiers, in turn, were in no hurry to draw their weapons.

«Should I come with you?» asked Kane, noticing that Tarion was getting ready to leave, then glanced at Maarv. «I can’t sit still on board anyway.»

«I’ll come with you as well», Maarv agreed thoughtfully. «We’ll have to explain somehow how we ended up here.»

As they stepped out of the ship, the friends approached the bewildered security officers, who stared at the unusual vessel in amazement – clearly, 'they hadn’t seen anything like this before'.

«Good day to you, honorable keepers of order», Tarion greeted the officers, who were collectively wondering what to do next. «We’re looking for Markan Din. I trust you know him and can take us to him.»

The officers exchanged glances. «Oh, we know him all right», one of them said, «but we seriously doubt he’s expecting you. At the very least, your ship isn’t on the guest list.»

«That’s all right», Tarion replied with a calm smile. «Just tell him that the Rionian he so kindly gave a lift to Bajjar not long ago would like to thank him in person.»

«That may be all right for you», the officer grumbled, «but for us – not so much.»

Nevertheless, he spoke briefly into his communicator. After receiving a response, the frown and tension on his face gave way to clear surprise and a hint of curiosity.

«Please follow me», he said respectfully, gesturing toward a large security aerobot. «You are expected in the Hall of Dawn.»

After some time, the aerobot broke away from the general flow of traffic and gently descended onto the roof of a massive building. Its upper section resembled a vast transparent saucer designed for landing, while at the same time allowing sunlight to pass through layers of filters and prisms, scattering it into intricate patterns of color. The sight was magnificent, though walking across such a roof could make even the bravest uneasy at first.

Seeing the friends’ awed reaction, the officer smiled with quiet satisfaction.

«Just wait till you see where we’re going next!»

And indeed, when the high-speed lift brought them to the Hall of Dawn, everyone gasped aloud. The vast domed chamber, situated at the very heart of the building and serving as the core of the entire complex, was covered from floor to ceiling in fine pink mother-of-pearl. Light poured in from all four sides through grand oval windows, dancing across the walls and ceiling, filling the air with a solemn radiance of dawn.

Several wall fountains added a gentle murmur, bringing to the interior a sense of spring meltwater and morning freshness. Beside each oval window stood several broad, comfortable chairs. In one of them sat an elderly, yet still vigorous-looking Bajjaran, watching the newcomers with keen interest. Draped lightly over his armor was a thin cloak.

The officer approached him and bowed respectfully.

«This is Markan Din, one of the high stewards of our Trade Corporation», the officer introduced the Bajjaran to the guests, then politely stepped aside.

Markan Din gave a slight nod of thanks and gestured toward the chairs.

«Please, make yourselves comfortable», he said at last in in a deep, resonant voice. «It’s a pleasure to see that the Rionian who lost his memory, the one we recently brought to our planet, has recovered, found friends, and looks remarkably well! I can see a hint of impatience on your faces. I take it you have questions for me?»

«When we arrived on Bajjar, I left your ship before we had a chance to say goodbye», Tarion began. «My memory still hasn’t returned, though I’ve gained a bit of common sense since then. I would very much like to know – how did I end up aboard your ship?»

«Nothing surprising about that, in one sense», Markan Din said with a faint smile. «And yet, it is remarkable that you don’t remember it. We were returning to Bajjar after a long voyage to our major clients and, by mere chance, stopped at Ilion – we have a Trade Mission there that required urgent deliveries.

While we were unloading containers at the spaceport, a Rionian – that is, you – approached me and began asking questions about our planet, and about some ancient library of ours that you were eager to visit. I couldn’t satisfy your curiosity on that matter, as I know little about it myself. I only recall that something of the kind was mentioned some time ago in the reports of our archaeologists who were excavating the old Miwot settlements.»

The Bajjaran coughed, his hand trembling as he pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth several times. A spasm crossed his face, and his gaze fixed on a single point – the memories of those events clearly came at a cost.

«Then you headed for your ship, and I went aboard mine. And that’s when all hell broke loose! The blast wave hit with such force that it threw me clear across the cargo bay, first into one bulkhead, then another…»

He shook his head, drew a strained breath, and went on with effort.

«We were lucky – on Ilion, heavy freighters are anchored to the docks with powerful magnetic clamps. Those clamps kept our vessel balanced; smaller ships weren’t so fortunate – they were hurled high into the air and then slammed back down with terrible force… Many lives were lost. I lost more than half my crew working at the docks. That’s when we found you lying nearby – unconscious, but, to everyone’s amazement, alive and unharmed.»

He paused, lowering his eyes for a moment.

«To say no one wanted to linger in that slaughterhouse would be an understatement. At the first opportunity, we took off for Bajjar, bringing you along. Anyway, it was far better than leaving you behind in that nightmare.»

«We’re deeply grateful to you for saving our friend», said Kane with genuine feeling. «Ever since that day, we’ve been searching for him, holding on to hope until, at last, our path led us here, to Bajjar.»

Draam shifted in his chair. Kane, as usual, was masterfully laying the groundwork for awkward questions.

«Tell me, how did it happen that you simply let him wander off on his own across your, shall we say, not entirely hospitable planet?» he asked politely. «He didn’t have much of a chance to survive under those conditions.»

«I think you underestimate your friend», Markan Din replied with a wry smile. «I’ve never met a being as strong-willed and exceptional as your Rionian. Besides, I never really let him out of my sight. I watched him closely, even visited the Arena from time to time, hoping to witness the moment when his memory would finally return. And I must say, I’m glad you’ve found him. In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing for this meeting.»

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