The Children of Zegandaria, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov [first color ebook reader txt] 📗

he should have dicked around more seriously, maybe someone was still in Shore Tuk Prison and knew something about it. But Boss wanted them to at least walk around Enzok Ra some more before then and see about this kidnapping thing. He had his men round up the survivors of the Shame gang and took them to a safe place that was known only to him. There in general, at least for now, it was unlikely anyone would be looking for them.

The antispell hiding place was another quirk of some of the most advanced minds of Zegandaria. For a certain modest rent, a certain number of people could spend long periods of time there without anyone eavesdropping on their conversation - it was where-so-ever cheaper than various hyon nets, or for that matter, cyclotron synthesizer jammers. That was where Boss took them - where, frankly, he felt completely in his own waters and didn't care about anything. The hiding place in question was no different than a simple room with well-insulated hydron doors and solid walls of kevlarite, but it was practically the best solution for a situation like this. Boss knew that word of the attack had already spread far and wide and he had to hurry to buy time.

When they walked in, everyone breathed a sigh of relief - Boss had prepaid with a dozen Zegandarian credits and they could rest a bit without fear of trouble. Boss looked around at the haggard faces of the remnants of Shame's gang and clearly realized that they were doing this for no other reason than to get their own skins off - they needed to rely on someone or something. It was important before they took to the streets. Boss didn't act like the good cop or the bad cop, just someone who wanted to survive just like them. That knew what it meant to be on the verge of dying. He'd been down that road.

- "You know, children?," he began, touched. "Life is short. The average Zegandarian lives thirty-five to thirty-six years, which isn't much. Well, some get to forty-forty-five, but no more than fifty."

They looked at him, amazed-what did this renegadeEnforcer of order know, who followed his own rules of survival and had never been out in their place.

Boss seemed to read their minds.

- "You're wrong, I was there when they wounded Milo the first time." Starthorn shouted, "It really was."

- "Or when they took Averia Downs to the station the first time," he continued, his voice shaky.

- "But we're seeing you for the first time," they marvelled.

- "And I've known you since you were born," said Bos sadly.

Cowboy, Imaya and everyone else looked at him. These were not the words of some womanizer, but the calm and composed speech of an old veteran - hero of the two great wars of Cebur Nag, part of the last Great War against the Guarron.

- "But, why are you actually telling us all this?," they asked almost in unison. "You must have studied our electronic files."

- "Nothing of the sort," Boss added. "I will now give you a chance to atone for the injustice done against you. You will have the chance to die as heroes, not rot in this parvenu district of Enzok Ra, which I also hate to death."

- "Why should we kill ourselves?," shouted Averia Downs, clenching her fists in confusion. "Anyway, every day we die slowly - there is no food or water, and somewhere far up north in that same city others are living well. We are forced to live like rats to survive. We want nothing more than our place in the sun."

Starthorn, Big John and the others nodded dejectedly - they wanted that too.

Every last one of them were street kids - misunderstood and rejected, wanting to survive but knowing that any day could be their last.

Cowboy and Rento decided to intervene:

Our boss doesn't know who his parents are, and neither do we. We do what we do because we can't do anything else.

After statements like that, the trust between the parties seemed to get a little higher. Nevertheless, they continued to look at each other testily.

- "Well what do we gain by playing with you," Big John, a large and scowling nineteen-year-old tough who wore a battered spacesuit and was usually a bogeyman for the local petty hooligans, spat out at the end.

- "You'll get some of our own share," argued Boss.

- "There are four of you - Shame, Averia, Big John and Milo. Well, three now," he corrected his mistake. "Shame is already in overspend! Peace be upon him."

- It'll only drive up your own stock.

Said group members nodded approvingly, hoping to get larger portions of the total pie.

Boss didn't mention the others, as they had been left to their fate somewhere in the streets of Enzok Ra, tightly bound with zerethium ropes. They were definitely going to die like dogs.

- "How many exactly?," raised Averia's eyebrows. "In the sense of cash?"

- "About five million per man," Boss said calmly.

- "It's not that much," Big John called back, somewhat uncertainly, though the amount was not at all to be ignored.

Boss interrupted them:

- Look - we'll divide fifty-fifty, but I'll also ask you for more.

Big John grinned:

- "Say so, man, I'm with you," and patted him on the shoulder, but then pulled his hand away, a little embarrassed.

- "Now I want you to get a good night's sleep," Imaya, who was second in importance only to Boss, chided, "Because then we're unlikely to have an opportunity like this for the next three or four days."

Everyone rolled over and switched their spacesuits into hibernation mode.

DOCTOR GAD ‘DI ENN

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: DOCTOR GAD ‘DI ENN

 

The Doctor knew Boss had concerns for those he'd sent on their heels. And he also probably guessed that he was never going to pay them the hundred million in question. Well, if the detective had asked for five or six, he might have hesitated, but as it was, he was no fool. Anything could happen, so he decided to reinsure himself and take all necessary measures in any way possible. He hired a second team to execute the members of the first in case of need. This would of course take some time. He wasn't going to waste the capacity of an old wolf like Emjeraya Boss and sacrifice him for nothing and nothing at all - he wasn't the one who had to find the trail first, and then things would be finished on the fly.

The second team was Jail Hunter's, a young commando full of ambition to shine and make history, if not on the galaxy, at least on his own planet. His team was equipped with better equipment than Boss's, and they'd even been given their approximate coordinates - they'd meet soon to discuss the details, but Gad ‘Di Enn  didn't want to fall victim to such frivolities - he had to keep these headhunters at bay for the sake of his own safety, and also lest he blurt out some important piece of information to them that might lead them to play along later and deceive him.

The Doctor used a special android mediator, which he had mind-chipped by transplanting the memories of a human child. He was a truly brutal and sadistic piece of shit, but, as the jargon went, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then he relaxed and took a swig of malt everest, something like whiskey but not as strong. He could just uncork. He had a good job and a hell of a lot of money, but he'd never get to the level of the Archist or Om Gur Nal. He'd sweated for the damned success, and now from the top of the mountain things looked very different. But he wasn't about to give up - hell, he was going to show them who Gad ‘Di Enn  was and what kind of Perspex Oath[37] he'd taken.

At one time they were sued, but now no one could lay a finger on them - him and those of his caste.

- "I know that when the hour of judgment comes, you will all pay me dearly," the medic rubbed his hands together. "Those of you who have despised, isolated and ignored me. But still I must be careful."

He relaxed wearily in his armchair-he cared for no one and nothing. He'd clawed his way up the ladder for so many years, he deserved to savor this moment. His huge study was lavishly decorated with carpets of Seburnagian tyrfan, beautiful paintings of emeryridium blossoms and all sorts of other things.

He looked around the vast futuristic megalopolis through the impossibly thick Endosian glass and simply couldn't believe his eyes. The lights of the city played in an interesting and unique way, forming pictures that no impressionist painter could have recreated. Out there somewhere far away were the symbols of fame, power, and wealth - and Gad ‘Di Enn had all three. What, then, was he missing? Perhaps only he knew!

He'd grown up in one of the poorest districts of Imgradon, Kibur Zon, which wasn't too far from Enzok Ra, trying to make his way to true fame and fortune, but somehow still failing. Those memories were swirling more and more frequently in his mind - there was no other way.

He remembered how as a little boy they fought like sacks and he could never put enough in his mouth.

Gad ‘Di Enn was one of the very few doctors who weren’t of the guarron race, it was strange how he had even fit into such a god-chosen caste - it hadn't even been easy to finish his education.

He remembered the ironic snubs at university and many other highly unpleasant incidents. He had even been the victim of abuse from some of his colleagues, but somehow he had survived. Difficult, but he had coped. He'd harbored his hatred deep down, a hatred that would have destroyed them all in one. These well-fed, well-groomed, and well-cared-for "princes" and "princesses" who had never, ever struggled to achieve anything in their lives, completely protected by their parents' money and power.

The truth was that he had always lived a parallel life - that is, he would never be able to fit into their reality. That fact remained a fact!

Then, the unknown benefactor, Equius Mon, who was actually the father of Kazuk Mon, the now-dead Arch Archivist of the Tarashdukian sect, suddenly appeared. He had plenty of money and inexhaustible attraction - whatever he said was taken for granted. He learned enough about the young man and wished to help him.

One already went to him in the dormitory and asked him, quite rebelliously, "What do you plan to do with your life?"

Gad ‘Di Enn  had a hard time answering - he felt he was talented, but exactly how much, he didn't know. Maybe he couldn't give it yet either.