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

for him personally, because the dark forces feared he wouldn't mentally resist and would break the agreement.

Kazuk Mon acted deftly, but the Archmistress' plans were a complete blur. Formally, the secret triumvirate was cautious enough, keeping the necessary distance. But sooner or later something was going to happen. And everyone knew it.

- "Let's agree on the fee first," Boss began without preamble.

- It must be something that grabs my attention. Soon I'll be kicked out and homeless. My daughter doesn't even want to see me. And I haven’t had a readable order myself in a long time.

- "I'm told you're the best, but I still want to check out your skills. They may have let me down," Gad ‘Di Enn countered without batting an eye. "This case is too delicate."

- Look, Doc, there's no such thing as a delicate case. There are solved ones and ones that remain unsolved for years because of someone's wishes. I've encountered all sorts of nerds and geeks in my long career. Not one got away in the end. Many just expected to go to "Shore Tuk", but professionals of my caliber just send them to "The Frying Pan".

- "This isn't Hell, is it?," the doctor ventured to ask.

- "I wouldn't call it that. But to the uninitiated, "The Frying Pan" almost sounds like a marketing ploy," he finished through a laugh.

- "And what's the logic of sending them there again when they can come back," the Doctor asked him bluntly.

- "This job isn't that elementary," the detective muttered. "The Dream Gate was closed for other reasons that ordinary people, outside our profession, should not know. That's just between me and them."

"And that means there are more!," the doctor ventured, remembering that many of Hans's notes were full of innuendo, especially about how to open the Gate again.

- I think I'll make you a decent offer - two million Zegandarian credits in cash the other five afterwards.

- "I don't work that way," Boss grinned, baring his canine teeth, "to prove my worth to you, let me give you a little teaser. Ecclestone's murder wasn't an accident either."

The Doctor felt himself sweat. Apparently the detective was doing his job quite well. But there were still big gaps. Why did they have to remove him so early if they needed him, or did they?

- Look, Doc, you make up your own mind. I'm at your disposal, but on my terms. I don't want to cast even the faintest stain on my professional reputation. I'll give you a second last hint - something smells fishy about the Tarashdukians. This sect has begun to grow too fast, and all sorts of religious savagery is coming my way.

After his last words, the Doctor was convinced that he had picked the right man. But again he was in no hurry to accept his offer - instead he decided to dribble the ball a bit. Why did it all have to End like this? No, he had bigger plans.

- "I'll give you the fee you ask for, but on one condition," he seemed to relent. "I don't want my name involved in the investigation in any way."

- "Be calm, I know how to observe professional ethics," the detective replied grimly. "But apart from the fee you asked for, you must provide me with other things."

The doctor was puzzled, but decided not to give in. He had picked this man to watch his back and investigate how they were going to clear him. Why shouldn't he live at least a little longer? What were all those diplomas and beautiful accolades for? Who cared after most of his colleagues graduated and got married? The Doctor was altogether too strange a bird, and even the subordinates in his department could not accept him. But he knew that with such dark powers he should not joke.

- "You see, for a task like this, I won't be able to do it alone," Boss admitted frankly. "I'll have to get a team together, and that will require a lot of money. Much more than the seven million credits mentioned. I know you're a wealthy man, the richest implant of memories, but I'd need a lot of money indeed."

- "How much?," groaned Gad ‘Di Enn, beginning to realize that something really big was afoot.

- "At least fifty million in down payment and that much more after we're done," the detective snapped indifferently.

- "But even I don't have that much," the medic almost squealed. - "Such a sum is within the power of only the Archmistress of Synthros and the High Om Gur Nal of Zegandaria. No one else can give them!," he finished on a frenetic note.

- "I know that well," the detective snapped confidentially. "But the price is hard. And I won't budge a cent!"

Gad ‘Di Enn sank into unhappy thoughts. Where-where was he going to ask the Archist for such a thing? He tried to remain impenetrable, but it wasn't easy to hide the sweat beating beneath.

- "I take it you accept?," the detective drawled again.

- "Yes," the doctor surrendered. "I'll find a way to pay you. The two shook hands."

The ultramodern skyscraper where the Emvor Na Hospital was located had at least a thousand floors. The only building that was nearly that tall was the Citadel of the Archmistress, the governor of Synthros.

The detective tried to take the quantum elevator that would take him to the base of the hulking structure. Then, suddenly, he turned and dared to ask the medic something that was clearly piquing his curiosity.

With the planet's population being so small, why had anyone erected such a structure in the first place after the Second Migration Wave? I don't see any sense or logic.

They very simply wanted to unite people into something common. Each floor housed different things. And many of the floors are completely empty, waiting for a new life or better times.

- "Your model of development seems doomed to me, Doctor. You'll forgive me, but we never step over the Embozan line. Other people live here," the detective lowered his voice.

The doctor silently turned and entered his office. He held his breath.

CYBERNETIC MIND

CHAPTER SIX: CYBERNETIC MIND

 

Deep down, some sensed the changing new reality. It's not just an illusion. Many couldn't fit into it and were perishing, but there was a methodology that was known as the cybernetic mind. By influencing certain details, probabilistic calculations could be altered for countless many new realities to micron accuracy. There was one problem, however - the mind was being weakened for psychic attacks by creatures from beyond. This had not yet been resolved by many of the scientists on the planet Zegandaria, Cebur Nag, or Ossonia. But something had to happen, and all of this had to stop sooner or later. Gad ‘Di Enn was also invited to participate in the project and that was basically his main occupation. He couldn't easily swallow the humiliation of not being first in everything. It would of course play him a bad joke.

The team had begun all developments in complete secrecy two Zegandarian years ago, trying to guess the channels of communication used by such consciousnesses. They scratched their heads for a long time only to realize that the deeper they dug, the more complicated it became. But one thing was certain. They were a little closer now than before. Time would tell.

The cybernetic consciousness, unlike the ordinary one we mentioned that had four different levels, had only two

- Life and God. God consciousness allowed cybernetic consciousness to basically do whatever it wanted and go wherever it wanted. But it always stood locked up and scientists didn't know how to get at it.

The peossian integrated circuits in question were literally implanted in the brain amidst the initial implantation of memories, and sometimes later in the reimplantation process, and connected to the narenzian chips.

There had to be an easier way. Simple solutions usually came out ingenious.

Gad ‘Di Enn wondered otherwise why Mark was so weirded out by it. They used to frequent the establishment in question together and raise a cheer to hits like "Eyes Eyes", but that was more of a professional gathering than anything. They had a fascination with this sort of science, but the wily doctor suspected that Mark was separately developing something very interesting and was reluctant to have him involved as well.

After the team of scientists disassembled the narenzianan chip of one of the children, who had miraculously survived, Gad ‘Di Enn e looked at it and realized that whatever had touched it knew exactly what it was doing.

- "The few scratches on the chip testified that it hadn't been touched by human hands," he muttered.

- "But it's obvious, Doctor," another member of the team tried to challenge him.

- "That's not exactly right," stammered Gad ‘Di Enn. "The depth of the cut is not accidental."

- That's what I'm trying to tell you, colleague.

The two were in one of the dungeons of the famous Emvor Na Tower, named for the twinning of Zegandaria and its distant neighbor. It was, as we said, a thousand stories high, the Doctor having failed to inform his private detective that some activity was nevertheless developing on some of the floors and strange paranormal phenomena were being observed. But that didn't interest the detective for the moment, who was totally absorbed in his occupation of assembling a team to tackle the task at hand.

- "I think we're just wasting our time," said Jack Di Mons, who was one of the most eminent specialists in narenzianan implantology, somewhat strangely, "and banging our heads we won't find out exactly what caused it, remember we've never had any similar case before."

He angrily threw back the apron. Well, he just had to go and take a shower. Honestly, he couldn't think of a better idea.

Transplantology was downstairs and that's where all the manipulations were done. But they had to abide by certain quarantine rules that applied to objects of unknown origin and go through a special scanner.

- "What a dump you've just made!," said Ursula indignantly. "Someone has to clean it up, and it won't be me!"

Somewhere, light seeped through the synth hatches of the magnificent and enormous building. It was a clear and eloquent sign of the approaching morning.

The city was asleep, and they were banging their heads over a seemingly unsolvable mystery.

- "See," Von Meilovich voiced his fears, "this seems to be it. Maybe those Things can just switch modes of consciousness like a button."

- "You may be right - it makes our job too much easier, but it's possible that your hypothesis is completely wrong," Gad ‘Di Enn spoke up, "But, whatever the case, we'll check that option as well. It's all worth a try."

- "The question is, will we make it in time?," interjected Ursula. "This is the thirteenth victim. I don't think it's an accident. I'm just convinced. But..."

She didn't get a chance to finish because there was a crash behind them. A particular scraping.

It turned out to just be a small plate rolling on the floor. They all laughed.

- "It's time to go home," said one of the colleagues, "we haven’t blinked for so long. And staying won't solve this problem. By tonight, I hope we'll have tested Meilovich's hypothesis."

Meilovichh was a health