Рыбаченко Олег Павлович
For The Great Russia Of Nicholas Ii

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  • Аннотация:
    A children's special forces unit led by Oleg Rybachenko and Margarita Korshunova helped Nicholas II win the Russo-Japanese War and the First World War. But Tsarist Russia was too powerful, and in 1939, a coalition of states, led by Nazi Germany, attacked it, along with Italy, Japan, Britain, France, Belgium, Holland, the mighty United States, and others. Of course, only a children's special forces unit could save Tsarist Russia.
  FOR THE GREAT RUSSIA OF NICHOLAS II
  ANNOTATION
  A children's special forces unit led by Oleg Rybachenko and Margarita Korshunova helped Nicholas II win the Russo-Japanese War and the First World War. But Tsarist Russia was too powerful, and in 1939, a coalition of states, led by Nazi Germany, attacked it, along with Italy, Japan, Britain, France, Belgium, Holland, the mighty United States, and others. Of course, only a children's special forces unit could save Tsarist Russia.
  CHAPTER No 1.
  After victory in World War I, Tsarist Russia experienced a major economic boom. The ruble was on the gold standard, and with zero inflation, the average wage across the country reached 100 rubles per month. At the same time, twenty-five kopecks could buy a half-liter bottle of good-quality vodka. A loaf of bread cost two kopecks, and three rubles could buy a cow. For 180 rubles, any worker or peasant could purchase a good car on an installment plan. Televisions, tape recorders, and helicopters also began to appear in Tsarist Russia, and tractor production developed. The first ammonia-powered refrigerators were also developed, and color films were being made.
  Tsar Nicholas II was in power. He remained an absolute monarch, but he established an elected body, the State Duma, with an advisory vote, which could recommend various laws and projects to the monarch. Primary education became free and compulsory. Later, the seven-year school system became free. A huge number of magazines, books, and newspapers were published. There was even religious freedom, albeit limited.
  The empire's population grew rapidly: the birth rate remained very high, while the death rate fell. Taking into account the conquests of World War I and the Russo-Japanese War, as well as the smaller wars in which Tsarist Russia and Britain carved up Iran, Afghanistan, and the Middle East, the empire's population by 1939 was five hundred million. It was vast.
  But then Hitler came to Germany, which had lost the First World War. He began to revive the army and the Aryan spirit. After annexing Austria and actively increasing the birth rate, the Third Reich became a powerful country. But it lacked the strength to fight against Tsarist Russia. First, an agreement was concluded with Italy and Japan-an anti-Russian pact.
  And then an alliance was formed with France and Britain, as well as Belgium and Holland. They wanted to unite as a coalition to attack Tsarist Russia and annex its lands. Plus, there was Franco in Spain and Salazar in Portugal. They also had an army and considerable power. And then there was the United States , with its colossal economic potential. And then there were US allies, particularly Brazil , Argentina, and others.
  And so, on September 1, 1939, Hitler invaded Tsarist Russia, starting World War II. Then came Japan, seeking revenge for its previous, embarrassing defeat. Mussolini, from Italy, entered the war. Fighting erupted and spread across Poland and Czechoslovakia, with Italian forces pressuring Yugoslavia. Then France, Belgium, Holland, and Britain entered the war. French medium and heavy tanks, along with the fearsome British Matilda II, entered the fray.
  And then the US unleashed its military might. And the situation became even more dire. To save the Tsarist empire, the legendary children's space special forces were sent into battle.
  Oleg and Margarita were positioned at the very forefront of the attack. The boy was wearing shorts and barefoot, and the girl was also barefoot and wearing a short dress. They held magic wands in their hands.
  Oleg noted with a grin:
  - We won't kill! We'll act intelligently!
  Margarita answered with a smile:
  - We'll have a great mood!
  They waved their magical artifacts, and the first transformations followed.
  The German tanks turned into sweet cream cakes, and the soldiers riding in them turned into children of six or seven years old, in shorts.
  Margarita also waved her wand. And the motorcyclists began to transform into poppy-seed-strewn bagels .
  And the armored personnel carriers also began to be covered with a layer of chocolate and vanilla.
  The children laughed and squealed:
  - Kukarjamba!
  The young warriors from the children's special forces also worked in other areas. In particular, Alisa and Arkasha began turning American aircraft carriers and battleships into giant cakes. The children flew on hovercraft and clicked their bare toes with their tiny, chiseled feet.
  And magical pulsars erupted, transforming the ships into mouth-watering delicacies. Then came fluffy cakes, strewn with roses and cream butterflies, shaped like sailboats. And these were transformed by young wizards. And the sailors turned into little boys no older than seven, bouncing and stamping their bare, childish feet.
  They took on the enemies of Tsarist Russia, some very tough warriors. And in Africa, Pashka and Natasha took on the colonial troops. The equipment was transformed into all sorts of very tasty confectionery.
  And what else isn't there? Here are other children in battle. And they're wielding magic wands and twirling their bare toes.
  So Oleg sent a pulsar from a bare, childish heel, and it swelled. And the German air force began to turn into pieces of cotton candy.
  Margarita also clicked her bare toes, and here is the transformation.
  from the sky . Sugar-dusted gummies also fell. The children laughed.
  Oleg noted with a smile:
  - Tsar Nicholas is the best tsar for Russia!
  And the boy snapped his bare toes, and more cool transformations began. Now the attack planes turned into large, chocolate-covered cakes. And they landed very smoothly and gracefully.
  Margarita noted with a sweet look and a sparkling smile:
  - We will boldly go into battle, for Holy Rus'! And for her we will shed - young blood!
  And the girl also snapped her bare toes. And the Wehrmacht's armored personnel carriers, as well as the formidable British Matilda IIs, began to transform into very appetizing wine glasses filled with chocolate-covered ice cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. And colorful confetti rained down. How captivating it was.
  The Terminator children jumped and spun around, singing:
  When we are one,
  We are invincible!
  When with Nikolai,
  We tear apart the enemies!
  That's how this young, magnificent team worked. Such warriors of devastating power. And then another hundred planes were transformed into mouth-watering, beautiful confections. Now that wasn't cool, it was hyper-cool.
  Another girl, Lara, exclaimed:
  "The bald Fuhrer is finished !"
  Oleg replied with a sweet grin:
  - It will be a blow to Vova-Cain"s brain!
  The child terminators dispersed. They used their bare feet, nimble as monkey paws, and wielded them like magical artifacts. This was their combat and magical effect.
  In short, the young warriors were in full swing and even sang:
  You know, I was born a nimble boy,
  And he loved to fight with swords...
  A cruel wave of enemies rolled in,
  I'll tell you about it in verse!
  
  Here the boy fell into evil slavery,
  And his evil lashes out, a hard whip...
  Where is all his hussarism going?
  What can I say, the enemy is very cool!
  
   I'm a boy in the quarries now ,
  It's very hard for me to be barefoot...
  There will be a new world order, I believe,
  What the Almighty has given to everyone will become true!
  
  The whips lash out vigorously across the back,
  I'm naked at any time...
  These are the kind of bastards and sadists they are,
  This is a real madhouse!
  
  But the boy is not afraid of work,
  She carries boulders for nothing...
  It was no wonder the boy was sweating,
  The boy needs to hit him in the snout!
  
  Why swing a sledgehammer for too long,
  Why carry granite boulders?
  It's not too late for us to gain strength,
  Repel the onslaught of any horde!
  
  Here the infidels are rushing wildly,
  They have a very foul smelling spirit...
  The strings on the guitar broke,
  And perhaps the torch has gone out!
  
  I fought desperately and boldly,
  And he ended up in prison for a long time...
  I was lucky, of course, to be honest,
  Rock apparently spared the boy!
  
  Now the traders have noticed me,
  They took the boy to the circus...
  Well, you can see such guys there,
  They will bring anyone to their senses!
  
  Well, in short, a boy goes into battle,
  In swimming trunks and, of course, barefoot...
  And the enemy is tall, even too tall,
  You can't knock it down that easily with your fist!
  
  I go on the attack without hesitation,
  And I am ready to die with honor...
  Living is, of course, the best idea,
  So that I simply don"t have to endure beatings!
  
  So the boy can fight too,
  He is ready to believe everything...
  Believe me, his soul is not that of a hare,
  You won't understand why!
  
  God will grant immortality to all the young,
  Those who fell in the terrible battle...
  We are still, essentially, just children,
  They gave me a good slap on the back of the head!
  
  And he knocked down the enemy with a blow,
  Confirmed the thrust with a steel sword...
  The training wasn't in vain,
  Blood is flowing in a stormy stream, as you can see!
  
  The boy won, he put his foot down,
  And left a bare, clear footprint...
  It's too early to draw conclusions,
  I only got meat for lunch!
  
  Again the battle, now the fights with the wolves,
  This predator is fast and cunning...
  But the boy swung his swords at once,
  And they are already weaving a carpet from the skin!
  
  And then we had to fight the lion,
  This is no joke, it's a formidable beast, believe me...
  And you don"t have to be ashamed of your victory,
  We have opened the door to success!
  
  God does not love the weak - know this,
  He needs powerful force...
  We will find ourselves an Eden on the map,
  The boy's destiny will be to take the throne!
  
  What did the boy gain freedom for?
  And in battles he became much more mature...
  He's a wolf cub now, not a bunny,
  And his eagle is the ideal!
  
  There are no barriers to the power of a boy,
  He already has a mustache...
  He is now powerful, even too powerful,
  And, of course, not a coward at all!
  
  He can do everything in a big battle,
  And overcome the horde with an avalanche...
  He's a guy who's stronger than steel,
  A real bull is considered a bear!
  
  He who was a slave will become a master,
  He who was weak will come out of it by force...
  We will see the sun in the sky,
  And we will open a resounding account of victories!
  
  And then we will put on the crown,
  And we will sit on the throne like a king...
  We will receive a generous share of happiness,
  And the enemies will receive retribution and defeat!
  In short, the children took on the coalition on a grand scale. And they carried out the transformations. Thousands of tanks and armored personnel carriers were transformed into cakes or ice cream glasses. How beautiful and appetizing everything was. And the infantry became boys of seven or six years old. The children were barefoot, in shorts, and wearing light beacons with bright pictures. The boy soldiers jumped and danced, twirled, and sang:
  Whoever takes up the sword in the darkness of slavery,
  And do not endure the humiliating shame...
  Your enemy will not build a foundation on blood,
  You will pass an unfortunate sentence on him!
  
  The boy is beaten with a vicious whip,
  The executioner torments with an evil rat...
  But to turn the evil tormentor into a corpse,
  We won't hear girls crying anymore!
  
  Don't be a slave, humiliated in the dust,
  And quickly raise your head...
  And there will be the light of Elfinism in the distance,
  I love Solntsus and Spartak!
  
  Let there be a bright world in the universe,
  In which happiness will be with people for centuries...
  And the children will celebrate a merry feast there,
  That kingdom is not of blood, but of the fist!
  
  We believe there will be paradise throughout the universe,
  We will master the cosmic space...
  About this, warrior boy, you dare,
  So that there is no nightmare and evil shame here!
  
  Yes, we are slaves in chains, groaning under oppression,
  And a burning whip lashes our ribs...
  But I believe we will kill all the orc-rats,
  Because the leader of the rebels is very cool!
  
  At this very hour all the boys have risen up,
  The girls are also on the same page with them...
  And I believe there will be distances of Soltsenism,
  We will throw off the hateful yoke!
  
  Then the horn of victory will sound,
  And the children will flourish in glory...
  Changes in happiness await us,
  Passing all exams with flying colors!
  
  We will achieve such a miracle, I believe,
  What will be a real paradise of light...
  At least somewhere there is a witch - a vile Judas,
  What drives boys into the barn!
  
  There is no place in hell for us slaves,
  We can drive the devils out of the cracks...
  In the name of paradise, that holy light of the Lord,
  For all free and joyful people!
  
  May there be peace throughout the sublunary world,
  Let there be happiness and sacred sunniness...
  We shoot at the enemies like in a shooting range ,
  Just up and not down for a second!
  
  Yes, our power, believe me, will not run out,
  She will be the universe's heavenly path...
  And the army of the rebels will roar loudly,
  So that the hostile rats drown!
  
  This is how joyful and happy it is,
  The grass grows like roses all around...
  Our boys' team,
  The look is definitely that of a mountain eagle!
  
  Victory will be in the undoubted light,
  We will build Eden, I believe honestly...
  All the happiness and joy on any planet,
  And you are not a redneck, but a respectable sir!
  These wondrous transformations and metamorphoses were taking place. How cool it looked.
  But then, at sea, the kids took on the American and British navies. How cool that was! The kids from the space special forces battalion snapped their bare toes and waved their chopsticks. And the battleships turned into enormous, very appetizing cakes. And imagine how huge and massive they were. It was something phasmogoric.
  And the aircraft carriers became colossal ice cream glasses. And this ice cream was strewn with candied fruit, fruits, berries, chocolate powder, and so on. How wonderful it all looked. Just imagine a glass the size of an aircraft carrier, with ice cream and mountains of chocolate and other incredibly delicious things swarming on it. And little children-usually boys, and very rarely girls-would stomp their bare feet and crawl all over the ice cream.
  Alice chirped:
  - For the ideas of cool communism!
  Arkasha remarked with a smile:
  - And the greatest tsarism!
  And the children took up and began to sing again with fury and full-sounding voices:
  I am a white-headed orphan boy,
  He jumped boldly through the puddles barefoot...
  And the world around is somehow very new,
  Why can't you drag the boy there by force!
  
  I am a homeless child, even though I have a beautiful face,
  I love to sparkle my barefoot feet...
  We are thieves, know as a single collective,
  Passing exams with only A's!
  
  The enemy does not know, believe in our strength,
  When the boys rush to storm in a crowd...
  I will pull the slingshot like a bowstring,
  And I will release the projectile with great soul!
  
  No, you know, the boy cannot be scared,
  Nothing will plunge him into cowardice, trembling...
  We are not afraid of the flame of the color of gloss,
  There is only one answer - don't touch what is common!
  
  We can crush any horde,
  The boy is a complete ideal...
  He loves a girl, also barefoot,
  To whom I wrote letters from prison!
  So the boy didn't think for long,
  And he began to steal very actively...
  They won't just put you in the corner for this,
  They might even shoot you brutally!
  
  In short, the cops caught the guy,
  They beat me hard, even until I bled...
  In his dreams he had the distant future of communism,
  In reality, there were only zeros!
  
  Well, why does this happen in our lives?
  The boy was shackled...
  After all, the Fatherland doesn"t need bandits,
  We kites are not exactly eagles!
  
  The cops beat me on my bare heels with a stick,
  And this is very painful for children...
  They hit you on the back with a skipping rope,
  As if you were a complete villain!
  
  But the boy didn"t answer them anything,
  She didn't give up her comrades to the cops...
  You know, our children are like that,
  Whose will is like a mighty titan!
  
  So, at the trial, he was threatened a lot,
  And they promised to shoot the guy...
  There's only one road for the boy here now,
  Where both thief and thief go!
  
  But the boy endured everything very well,
  And he didn"t even confess in court...
  These are the kind of children there are in the world,
  Consider this a turn of fate!
  
  Well, they shaved him with a machine,
  Let's go barefoot in the frost...
  The cop accompanies him with such a grin,
  I just want to punch!
  
  The boy trudges barefoot through the snowdrifts,
  He is being chased by a furious convoy...
  Her friend also had her braids shaved off,
  She now has her head down!
  
  Well, you still can't break us,
  And Petka is at least shivering from the cold...
  The time will come, there will be summer with May,
  Although there is still a snowdrift and frost!
  
  And the boy's legs are like paws,
  Such a blue goose...
  It's impossible to avoid the crush in the carriage,
  It just happened that way, no kidding!
  
  The boys walked a lot barefoot,
  Believe me, even the boy didn't sneeze...
  He will be able to throw evil off its pedestal,
  If the Lord fell asleep in unbelief!
  
  That's why people everywhere suffer,
  This is why we are threatened with destruction...
  There will be no place for the righteous in paradise,
  Because the parasite is coming!
  
  It's not easy to be in this world, you know,
  In which, believe me, everything is vanity...
  You can't say that two plus two makes four,
  And figuratively there will be beauty !
  
  I believe in the Lord, He will heal, He will cure,
  All our wounds - know this for sure...
  I know cruel enemies, they will cripple,
  Boy, be bold in your attack!
  
  We won't go around in circles now,
  Let the banner show us the way forward...
  We trample the snow with our broken feet,
  But Bolshevism cannot bend a thief!
  
  In everything we will make signs of light,
  Thieves will raise a cop on their horns...
  This is how our planet moves,
  And the endless blizzard rages!
  
  Of course, there are evil wizards,
  He roars like a lion without restraint...
  But we raise the banner higher,
  The glorious monolith is the solution to thieves!
  
  For your honor, for your intelligent courage,
  We will fight, I believe forever...
  Tear the red shirt, boy,
  Let the thieves have a different dream!
  
  We are not building communism, of course,
  Although we have our own common fund...
  For us, the most important thing is will,
  And consider the strong thief's fist!
  
  And we thieves also think fairly,
  So that all the spoils are according to the rules...
  And whoever is overly arrogant like a rat,
  He will not escape the sharp knife!
  
  There are a lot of bandits in our world,
  But the thief, believe me, is not a simple bandit...
  He can soak the enemy in the toilet,
  If the parasite has gotten too carried away!
  
  But he can also help a person,
  And provide support to the poor...
  And caress the unfortunate cripple,
  And make way for the fist of honor!
  
  That's why you shouldn't argue with thieves,
  These parks are the coolest of all...
  They will show achievements in running sports,
  Let's celebrate cosmic success!
  
  Therefore, contribute money to the common fund,
  And he will show generosity from the heart...
  Well, why do you need pennies for drinking?
  And collect pennies for cigarettes?
  
  In short, Thief is a great confession,
  A worthy and sacred man...
  And trials will become a lesson,
  May your luck be in order for a whole century!
  In short , Tsarist Russia, along with the miracle children, defeated everyone and conquered the entire world. And Nicholas II became Emperor of Planet Earth. But that's another story!
  
  
  THE RISE AND COLLAPSE OF EMPIRES-1
  BOOK ONE
  LUCIFER'S ARMAGEDDON!
  Introduction
  This work opens a new series, collectively titled "The Rise and Fall of Empires." This latest science fiction novel, written in the super-action genre, explores the theme of future human relations with representatives of other civilizations. What awaits from an encounter with aliens: peace, friendship, stellar brotherhood, or merciless space wars.
  ANNOTATION
  The near future...
  Planet Earth has been subjected to a terrible invasion. The monstrous Stelzan Empire has unleashed its overwhelming might upon the fragile blue sphere, and the heavy chains of slavery seem to have forever shackled all of humanity. But despite the total terror, the partisan movement refuses to lay down its arms. Lev Eraskander and a small group of individuals developing paranormal abilities have become the new hope of the resistance. The challenge to cosmic tyranny has been thrown down. The path to victory is difficult and long. The Stelzans share a common origin with humans, having advanced significantly beyond their scientific and technological development, having created an empire through conquest whose scale is difficult to imagine. They also have special forces of fighters possessing supernatural powers. There are numerous other, no less bloodthirsty empires of aliens, physiologically alien to humans. A large-scale space war is beginning, and a fifth column is raising its head within Stelzanate. The capricious Pallas offers humanity a chance, and Eraskander and his friends the opportunity to gain access to near-omnipotence. But to claim the prize, they must travel through thousands of galaxies, visit parallel universes, and solve hundreds of complex problems.
  PROLOGUE
  When such a vast armada approaches, it's terrifying. From a distance, it seemed like a multicolored, sparkling nebula was creeping. Each spark was a demon summoned by the magic of a necromancer. Over twelve and a half million military spaceships of the primary classes, plus an endless swarm of smaller "gnat-eaters," numbering close to two hundred million, given the constant influx of reinforcements. The front stretched for a couple of parsecs; at such a scale, even flagship ultra-battleships looked like a grain of sand in the Sahara Desert.
  A grand battle is approaching: Stelzanat against the multifaceted "Salvation Coalition," which has decided, instead of its usual tactic of eternally delayed defense, to strike a direct blow against the brutal aggressor's fleet. There are so many ships here, a stunning variety that, in most cases, only hinders effective combat. For example, there's a starship shaped like a harpsichord, or with long barrels like a harp instead of strings, or even a double bass with a WWII tank turret. This might impress the faint of heart, but it's more likely to evoke laughter than fear.
  Their opponents are an empire aspiring to be a universal power. The Great Stelzanate, where everything is devoted to war, the main motto being efficiency and effectiveness. Unlike the coalition, the Stelzan starships differ only in size. Their shape, however, is practically identical-deep-sea fish, very predatory in appearance. Perhaps with one exception: grapplers, resembling thick, distinctive steel daggers.
  The stars in this part of space aren't particularly densely scattered across the sky, but they are colorful, unique in their color palette. For some reason, looking at these luminaries creates a sad feeling, as if looking into the eyes of angels who condemn the living beings of the universe for their vile, truly savage behavior.
  The Stelzanat army was in no hurry to meet them; only isolated mobile units, taking advantage of their superior speed, swiftly attacked the enemy, inflicting damage, and retreating. They attempted to counter them with barrage fire, but the faster and more advanced Stelzans were far more effective. Small cruisers and destroyers, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, exploded like mines. But they finally managed to bring down even the big game. One of the coalition's massive battleships was hit, billowing thick smoke and warping, and panic raged aboard the colossal starship like a fire in a dry forest.
  The aliens, resembling jerboas with pincers instead of tails, scatter in terror, screeching and jumping hysterically. Smaller creatures, resembling hybrids of bears and ducks, move among them. Their beaks twist in wild terror, quacks ring out, feathers fly off, catching fire. One of the bear ducks flips upside down, its head stuck in a fire hose. Foam gushed down its throat, its belly instantly ruptured, and the bird's carcass burst, spraying blood and the remnants of its smoky flesh.
  The jerboas are settling in, reaching for the rescue modules, but it seems the system offering the faintest hope of survival is hopelessly damaged. Their general, Ta-ka-ta, lets out a hysterical squeal:
  - O gods of the squaring of the universal circle, by...
  They couldn't finish speaking; superflame engulfed his hapless excellency. The intelligent rodent's flesh disintegrated into elementary particles.
  The battleship burned out, emitting air bubbles into the vacuum, and then exploded, shattering into a multitude of fragments.
  Stelzanata's Hypermarshal Big Daddy ordered:
  "Deploy eight hundred and fifty thousand super-frigates, as well as some cool grappling vessels. We'll ride on the enemy's backs."
  The frigates tried to maintain formation, forming separate lines. The missile cruisers and grappling craft, along with the fighters, formed a fine-meshed net. Initially, they attempted to engage the enemy at long range, using a weapon that was not new to the universe but was extremely destructive: thermoquark missiles. Like a boxing tactic of a big puncher, throw a long left jab and keep your opponent at bay. The coalition ships retreated, while the rearguard of the starships surged forward, trying to break through to the battlefield in time. The Stelzans, using their superior organization and maneuverability, cut through the looser formations of the opposing forces like a dagger. Casualties among the aliens attempting to advance mounted.
   The two-star beauty General Lira Velimara on her high-speed grappler. This is a type of combat starship that, unlike conventional cruisers, has antenna emitters instead of cannons, which, when engaged in combat, corrode the armor of enemy ships. Here come gravioplasmic waves, moving through the vacuum. The black space is stained by their flooding movements, like water from spilled gasoline. The effect is quite destructive. They distort the weapons of aliens unsuccessfully attempting to counter them, interfere with computer guidance, or, at high intensity, even detonate the annihilation fuses of thermoquark missiles. Enemy starships are like fish covered in machine oil; some of them are not made of metal or ceramic, but biological in origin, and quite literally writhe in horrific convulsions.
  Here comes another battleship, blazing and crumbling, as if a huge ship, the width of the English Channel, were built from gasoline-soaked dominoes. The losses among the smaller starships are utterly irrelevant. The alien coalition is clearly giving up; apparently, the Stelzans' newest weapon-the emitted gravoplasm-has literally shocked the space forces of several hundred empires.
  Gengir Volk controls fire by moving his fingers in a specific pattern in front of the scanner. In appearance, the Stelzan General of a single star resembles a powerful, heroic figure with the face of a youth, more suited to a Nazi poster - "a true Aryan." An aggressively handsome man, but this is the evil beauty of Lucifer. Stelzan grins angrily as he strikes. He senses the confusion of the motley rabble gathered from several galaxies. Well, let them huddle even closer, increase the panic. When the main forces of the Purple Constellation enter the battle, there will be a victorious end, joyful for some and the saddest for others.
  The coalition is acting somewhat chaotically; instead of an organized response, they are making incomprehensible maneuvers; even two grand battleships, despite the cosmic distances, blinded, sailed towards each other, then collided with a roar, caused by gravitational waves that painfully echoed in the ears of nearby fighters.
  Inside, partitions were breaking down, and combat compartments, barracks cabins, training rooms, and entertainment halls were crushed. It all happened with the speed of a tidal wave, fast enough to eliminate any chance of rescue, yet agonizingly slow, giving millions of trapped creatures a chance to experience the nightmarish fear of inexorable death.
  Here is a Countess of the Fae race, resembling a bouquet of violets with pink frog legs adorned with golden curls, suffering a painful death while confessing... to her combat emitter. A computer hologram recites prayers and absolves sins at a rapid pace. Such is the religion of this glamorous nation, your high-tech weapon acting as a priest. Only cybernetic intelligence is considered to possess sufficient holiness and purity to serve as an intermediary between a living organism and the Almighty God. The priest-emitter's final words were:
  - The world is not without charm, but abomination is not sacrificed to God!
  Velimar's lira, slender and athletic, is the team's savior in a special mode, using a compressed speech code that serves a dual purpose: as a shield that encrypts the team from possible eavesdropping, and as a magical telepathic impulse that accelerates the transmission of orders.
  Cruisers, destroyers, brigantines, and even a single mothership-all of these are vessels damaged or completely destroyed by her starship. Lyra logically notes:
  - Courage can compensate for lack of training, but training will never compensate for courage!
  Their grappler has already drained the reactor's thermoquark energy (its use is still imperfect) to near its limit and is anxiously awaiting the command. Hundreds of thousands of enemy ships of the primary classes have already been destroyed, and the battle is taking place across a vast front.
  The order was given, they hurried, in an organized retreat, to recharge again at the cargo stations - special starship containers.
  And Hypermarshal Big Cudgel threw new forces into the battle:
   In particular, his personal flagship, the ultra-battleship Bulava
  Next, two other colossi, the Supreme Ace and the Red Right Hand, advanced. They deployed tens of thousands of large and small weapons and emitters. Several protective layers shimmered above them: a graviomatrix, magi-spatial fields (which only allow matter to pass through in one direction), and a force reflector. All cybernetic devices operated on sub-level hyperplasma, which provided immunity to interference. At the same time, enormous radars were deployed, creating their own unique challenges for enemy electronics.
  eruptions rained down ... The three colossi sought to spread out as widely as possible to destroy the enemy as effectively as possible. They were practically invulnerable, like ball lightning, passing through and burning poplar fluff fluttering through space. Such was their deadly effect on the alien starships, forcing them to retreat in panic. Countless rescue modules, resembling colorful children's pills, scattered across the vacuum. The Stelzans ignored them for now, but they could finish them off later. They, too, suffered losses, albeit negligible compared to the enemy.
  Yet, on the burning starships, there's no jostling or panic. The evacuation proceeds with perfect coordination, as if they weren't living organisms, but biorobots. What's more, it's accompanied by gallant songs, as if mocking death.
  And here's Lyra Velimara's grappler: a special carrier of gravitational plasma, surprisingly powerful in its annihilation. It recharged instantly, and we're back in action.
  The starship is gaining maximum acceleration, and Lyra even holds onto the stabilizer to keep from falling backwards. Her long, thick, and still very bright hair flutters in the oncoming air currents.
  It's hard to believe this powerful girl has already reached two hundred cycles. Her face is so fresh and pure, mobile, sometimes with a furious expression, sometimes angelic or playful. She has many battles under her belt, but it never seemed she would tire of them. Each new battle is something special, with its own indescribable beauty and richness.
  And now they have a weapon that is the latest in its operating principle, against which the enemy is unlikely to find an effective defense, at least until the final victory of Stelzanat.
  How helpless the Tizt dreadnought is. Blinded, losing its bearings. Spinning like a discus launched by an athlete, its component parts scattering across the galaxy a few moments later. Or another unfortunate victim, three destroyers simultaneously perishing in the embrace of gravoplasm, the fish-like ships trembling like little boys.
  General Vladimir Kramar, adjusting the emitters' aim (and not without success; only monoblock sticks remained from the newly incinerated cruiser), noted with regret:
  - It's easy to kill, difficult to resurrect, but it's impossible to live without violence!
  Lyra, controlling her star steed, discharging another stream of destruction, and watching as the ship, converted from a cargo transport, was also entangled in a plasma network, indicated:
  - Death, like a faithful friend, will definitely come, but if you want to have a longer walk with the capricious life, prove your devotion to intelligence and courage!
  Gengir Wolf growled hoarsely, continuing his witty verbal line:
  - Laws are not written for fools, but they receive sanctions for breaking them, even for those smart people who wrote these laws!
  The organized resistance of the diverse armada is broken. Flight through the vastness of space is like a mountain avalanche, a tornado suddenly sweeping over a school of midges, knocking them down and snatching them all at once... The pursuit has begun. Like a pack of wolves chasing a flock of sheep. Only the Stealths are far more vicious, far more merciless than wolves. For them, it's not even a matter of survival, but a demonstration of unbending will and merciless fury. Pursue, torment, don't let them escape. And although many children will never see their parents again (and creatures of all genders, from one to a dozen, are gathered here), and mothers, fathers, neutrals, their sons, daughters, and who knows who else... What valor is there in such a murder, when even shooting partridges requires more skill and effort. Debris floods space and falls onto stars, causing coronal disturbances, prominences, and plasma vortices on the surface. Individual stars even change color due to the multitude of foreign objects. It's especially eerie when a being with a personality is burned alive, and a personality is an entire world.
  Even a vacuum could cry from such a defeat...
  Everything stopped suddenly, as if it had never begun. The Purple Constellation fleet armada froze, and its opponents vanished in an instant. It was as if the wings and claws of the space vultures were glued to space, unable to move. And yet, no one felt the slightest tremor or jolt. Everything that was happening defied the bounds of ordinary physics.
  Lyra growled fiercely:
  - Who is this cool guy who managed to stop us?
  Gengir Wolf looked at him with undisguised hatred:
  "I have no idea... It's basically impossible, although..." General Stelzan lowered his voice to a whisper, clearly frightened, his icy eyes darting nervously from side to side. "But only the Zorgs could stop millions of spaceships at once like that."
  Lira answered calmly, even dismissively:
  - This is, of course, annoying, but no one can stop living creatures from fighting, and we, the Stelzans, from winning!
  Kramar Razorvirov, yawning demonstratively and throwing something resembling a heavily seasoned sandwich into his mouth, chewing vigorously, but still in a perfectly clear voice, summed it up:
  -An unfinished enemy is like an untreated disease - expect complications!
  
  Chapter 1
  Again, blood flows like a river here,
  Your opponent looks tough.
  But you won't give in to him -
  And you will return the monster to the darkness.
  Scattered across the black velvet of the bottomless celestial carpet are glittering fragments of stars. The luminaries, shimmering with every color of the rainbow, so densely dot the celestial sphere that it seems as if several enormous suns have collided, exploded, and scattered into a dazzling, sparkling dew.
  The planet, suspended between countless garlands of stars, appears as a small, inconspicuous dot. It resembles a grain of brown iron ore among diamond placers.
  The Galactic Coliseum stands on the site of a gigantic crater formed by the impact of an annihilation missile. High above, holographic projections of the fights sparkle so brightly that the proceedings can be observed with the naked eye from deep space.
  In the very center of the grand, richly decorated stadium, a merciless and exciting gladiator fight was taking place, captivating the attention of billions of individuals.
  The fallen, blood-spattered body of one of them shudders helplessly...
  A cannonade blares through your head, as if you've been engulfed by a blast wave that has shattered your flesh into molecules that continue to rip apart, burning you like miniature atomic bombs. An effort of will, a desperate attempt to pull yourself together-and then the crimson haze seems to slowly settle, but it continues to swirl before your eyes. The haze clings to the surrounding space like tentacles... Pain, anguish in every cell of your torn body.
  - Seven... Eight...
  The voice of a dispassionate computer can be heard, muffled, as if through a thick curtain.
  - Nine... Ten...
  I must rise quickly, rise sharply, or this will be the end. But my body is paralyzed. Through the thick, reddish-smoky haze, my opponent is dimly visible. It is a huge, three-legged monster-a diploroid. It has already raised its thick, long crest, preparing to bring down the blade of a living guillotine with colossal force. Two enormous claws on its sides opened rapaciously, while a third limb, long and barbed, like a scorpion's tail, clawed impatiently at the arena floor. From its disgusting, lumpy, green-warted muzzle, yellow, foul-smelling saliva dripped, hissing and steaming in the air. The repulsive monster loomed over the muscular, bloodied human body.
  - Eleven... Twelve...
  Now the words become excruciatingly deafening, like hammer blows on eardrums. The computer counts slightly slower than standard Earth time. Thirteen is already a knockout.
  The solution was born in a split second. Suddenly, sharply straightening his right leg and using his left as a spring, twisting like a leopard in a frenzied frenzy, the man delivered a powerful low kick directly to the nerve center of the alien monster-a flint-magnesium hybrid of a crab and a toad. The blow was powerful, sharp, and precise, and coincided with the beast's oncoming movement. The monster of sub-space (an intermediate habitat capable of traveling between stars by replenishing itself with electromagnetic energy, but a predator on habitable worlds; not averse to devouring organic matter of all kinds) sagged slightly but did not fall. This variety of diploroid has multiple nerve centers, which distinguishes them greatly from other creatures. The blow to the largest of them caused only partial paralysis.
  The monster's opponent, despite his broad shoulders and defined muscles, was very young, almost a boy. His ruddy features were delicate but expressive. When not distorted by pain and rage, they seemed naive and gentle. When he appeared in the arena, a murmur of disappointment rippled through the stands, at how peaceful and harmless the human gladiator seemed, like a teenager. Now, however, he was no longer a boy, but a frenzied little beast, his eyes blazing with such frenzied hatred that they seemed as incinerating as an ultralaser. The blow he inflicted nearly broke his leg, but he continued to move with the speed of a cat, albeit limping slightly.
  Pain cannot break a cheetah, it only mobilizes all the hidden reserves of the young organism, putting it into a trance-like state!
  The boy's head felt like a thousand drums were beating, and uncontrollable energy coursed through his veins and tendons. A series of powerful, pointed blows followed, striking the mastodon's body. In response, the monster swung its sharp, half-hundred-pound claws. These beasts usually have the reflexes of jugglers, but a precise blow to the nerve center slowed them. The young fighter somersaulted, dodging the terrifying crest and landing behind the monster. Bending his knee and letting the arm with the claw pass, the youth struck it with his elbow, putting all his weight behind it, and twisted his body sharply. The crunch of a broken limb was heard. At the wrong angle, the claw shattered, spurting a small fountain of foul, toad-colored blood. Although the contact with the liquid erupting from the creature lasted only a moment, the young gladiator felt a severe burn, and pale crimson blisters instantly appeared on his chest and right arm. He was forced to jump back and close the distance. The beast let out a pained cry-a mixture of a lion's roar, a frog's croak, and a viper's hiss. In a frenzied rage, the monster lunged forward-the young man, covered in a mixture of blood and sweat, somersaulted and flew toward the armored mesh. With a running start, putting all its weight behind it, the monster lashed out with its crest, aiming to pierce the young man's chest. The young man dodged the blow, and the thick crest pierced the metal mesh. Continuing to move by inertia, the creature from the cosmic underworld slammed its limb into the next mesh with a powerful electric charge. Sparks flew from the fence, discharges ripping through the mastodon's body, filling it with the smell of scorching metal and the unimaginably vile smell of burning organic matter. Any earthly beast would have been dead, but this specimen of fauna was immediately visibly of a completely different physical structure. The monster couldn't immediately pull its trunk free, and a series of swift blows followed, like the spinning blades of a propeller. However, the electrostatic charge, slightly belatedly overcoming the resistance of the alien flesh, struck the young fighter painfully. Jumping back, suppressing a scream from the pain that tore through every vein and bone, the gladiator froze and, crossing his arms over his scratched chest, began to meditate standing. His stillness, against the backdrop of the straining beast and the storm-like crowd, seemed unusual, like that of a small god caught in hell.
  The boy was as calm as the surface of a frozen ocean, he knew...Only one move could knock out such a monster. A very powerful blow.
  Tearing the crest into shreds of bloody flesh, the diploroid leaped with all its mass onto the insolent hairless ape. How could one allow a small primate to defeat him? Gathering his will, concentrating all his chakra and energy into a single beam, the young man delivered a powerful flying strike. This ancient technique of Haar-Marad, accessible to only a few, is capable of killing even the one who delivers it. The blow struck the giant fighter's already-defeated primary nerve center. His own weight and speed increased the force of the kinetic energy, and this time, the nerve center wasn't simply shattered-the concussion severed several primary nerve stems. The crystalline-metal giant was completely paralyzed.
  The carcass flew off in one direction, the young man in the other.
  The cybernetic judge counted in a low voice:
  - One... Two... Three...
  He counted in the Stelzan language.
  Both fighters lay motionless; the young man's final blow crushed the monster, but he broke his own leg. However, the gladiator's consciousness didn't fully wane, and the athletically built boy, overcoming the pain, rose, raising his clenched fists and crossing his arms (the victory sign in the sign language of the Stelzan Empire).
  "Twelve! Thirteen! The winner was a fighter from planet Earth, Lev Eraskander. He is 20 native years old, or 15 standard years. He is a debutant in the fighting arena. The loser was the champion of the galactic sector Ihend-16, according to the SSK version of fights without rules, a participant with a rating of 99:1:2, Askezam verd Asoneta, who is 77 standard years old.
  Somewhere above, a multi-colored play of light flared up, dissolving into incredible kaleidoscopic shades of the rainbow, which absorbed the entire infinite gamut of space.
  The hologram showing the fight grew seven thousand kilometers across the dome of the former ancient theater. The young man was a fascinating sight. His face was bloodied. His broken jaw was swollen, his nose flattened. His torso was bruised, burned, and scratched, with crimson blood dripping with sweat. His chest heaved with tension, and every breath brought the intense pain of broken ribs. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, one leg was broken, and the other had a dislocated big toe. He looked as if he'd been put through a meat grinder. His muscles, bulging beyond his years, flexed like beads of mercury. They lacked mass, but their magnificent definition and deep definition were striking. A handsome man-nothing to say. An Apollo after the Battle of the Titans!
  A deafening roar of hundreds of millions of throats echoes, mostly humanoid creatures with wings, trunks, and other features. They emit countless sounds, from low frequencies to ultrasonic ranges. The hellish cacophony is suddenly interrupted by measured, thunderous sounds. The anthem of the greatest Stelzan Empire plays. The music is deep, expressive, menacing. Although Lev disliked the occupation anthem, the music, simulated by a hyperplasmic computer and performed on thousands of musical instruments, was stunning.
  A pool of fetid, poisonous-green blood flowed from the fallen, limited-minded beast. Spider-like scavenger robots slid smoothly off the khaki-colored moving walkway, scraping up the shattered protoplasm. Apparently, the monster was now fit only for recycling.
  Four enormous soldiers in combat suits ran up to the exhausted youth. They resembled enormous hedgehogs with missiles and muzzles instead of needles (such was their impressive arsenal).
  Governor Cross cowered behind their broad backs. He was clearly distraught; he hadn't expected the "invincible" local champion to be beaten by a mere human. His thick hands shook with excitement as he presented the chain with a medal shaped like a monster reminiscent of a fairytale three-headed dragon. To avoid even touching the representative of the insignificant primate race, the governor used gloves with thin, retractable tentacles while presenting the award, never leaving the cover of the guards' enormous bulk. Then Cross quickly retreated, leaping into a winged tank and taking off with the speed of a shell fired from a long-range cannon.
  Pointing their laser guns, the fearsome Stealth warriors demanded they leave the arena of the starry Colosseum. Staggering, the young man left the battlefield. His crippled bare feet left bloody marks on the hyperplastic surface of the ring. Every step, as if on hot coals, exploded with pain; his ligaments were stretched, and every bone and tendon ached painfully. Lev whispered softly:
  - Life is the concentration of suffering, death is deliverance from it, but whoever finds pleasure in the torment of struggle will deserve immortality!
  Trying to stand upright, he walked down a long shell-lined corridor, while numerous females, resembling Earthlings, tossed colorful balls and multicolored luminescent flowers at his feet. Stelzan women were typically very beautiful, tall, and shapely, with fashionable hairstyles pinned with hairpins shaped like various alien creatures and studded with precious stones. Some of them offered playful compliments, made vulgar jokes, and even tore off their clothes, brazenly flirting and revealing seductive parts of their bodies. Without any inhibitions, they performed overtly suggestive gestures or released terrifying holograms from computer bracelets or electronically equipped earrings. Shameless tigresses, completely devoid of moral principles, children of an utterly depraved civilization. Eraskander frowned, as if he were in a menagerie, not a single human glance. He didn't even flinch when the virtual creatures pounced on him, their pseudo-real fangs closing in on his torso or neck. The holograms reeked of ozone and only gave off a faint electric shock. The males and females of Stelzanat were annoyed that the man was ignoring the terrifying projections, and they resorted to threats and insults. Only the strong barrier ensuring the safety of the audience kept them from attacking the proud young man. Only one blonde girl simply smiled and waved welcomingly. Lev was surprised to see something human in the alien child's gaze, and his heart warmed.
  Yes, there were days when parents brought joy to their children, and they laughed back, baring their teeth, until the Stelzans (as they call themselves, the Empire of the Purple Constellation-Stelzanat) brazenly and Jesuitically occupied Earth. However, the strong are free even in prison; the weak are a slave on the throne!
  At the exit, Lev was met by Jover Hermes, one of the assistants to the governor of the solar system known as Laker-iv-10001133 PS-3 (PS-3 denotes an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, the most common and suitable for both humans and Stelzans). He smiled; his slave had exceeded all expectations. But the other little man, Figu Urlik, was literally shaking with anger. He'd squandered a lot of money, like a complete idiot. Furious, he commanded:
  - Finish off this vacuum-headed rat immediately.
  His flabby face began to tremble, despite all the medical advances. After losing weight, Urlik had once again gained a terrifying amount of weight, due to his pathological craving for fatty and sweet foods. Although Jover Hermes didn't risk betting on his slave, he certainly wouldn't hand the young man over to this hog:
  - You forgot, Urlik, that now this is my property, and it is up to me to decide whether he lives or goes to annihilation!
  Urlik wheezed, his four fat chins trembling like jelly that had caught a lively fly:
  "He's as dangerous as a hyperlaser with thermopreon pumping. Where did this Earth bug learn to fight so well? He's probably part of the partisan underground." The stelzan hog spread his oil-slicked cheeks ( he'd been guzzling oil constantly during the battle) and raised his voice. "And you're going to transport him around the universe?"
  Hermes nodded decisively, his short-cropped hair changing color slightly:
  "Yes, that's my right. He has the makings of a great fighter; he could make a fortune. Martial arts is a business where the roosters lay the golden eggs!" Stelzan the Master winked slyly and immediately ordered the guards. "Now have him immobilized!"
  One of the giants, bulging with monstrously developed muscles, shot out a cloud of foam. The young man was instantly entangled, the biofoam pressing and suffocating him like a squid. The boy fell, gasping for breath, but was immediately grabbed roughly by the robots.
  "Take him to the medical center and get him back on his feet without lifting him from his knees!" Hermes chuckled nastily at his own joke.
  The boy was roughly thrown into the capsule, like a log in a stove. The cybernetic creatures squeaked:
  - An animal of a certain value has been loaded!
  Urlik, stamping his boots, growled hoarsely:
  - Get out of here, you stinking primate! Man is a creature upon whom it's a pity to even cast an annihilation impulse!
  The orderly robots, along with the medical box, silently left.
  Hermes grinned, a predatory smile frozen on his aquiline face:
  "I always thought humans were lousy fighters, but now I'm simply amazed. Even our boys, born naturally, without hormonal stimulation, aren't that strong at his age. Maybe he's not human at all?"
  Urlik bared his teeth, whistled softly, and grunted with satisfaction as he felt the weapon suddenly transform in his palm. The flabby boar instantly became a powerful wild boar, holding a five-barreled ray gun.
  "You know, there's a law about racial purity. Half-breeds must be killed so they don't defile our species. Blood is easy to spill, even easier to corrupt, but it's almost impossible to stop the bloodshed when the honor of a nation is at stake!"
  Hermes snapped his fingers, and a cigar resembling a spotted cobra appeared. When the shiny snake-cigar's mouth opened, rings or even figure eights of blue smoke flew out.
  "Fagiram Sham knows what he's doing. We could, of course, check his genetic code, but we don't need that. Let's split the profits. He's a simple man: a gladiator slave. We'll just keep announcing it, making big money. And not a single piece of information will be revealed to anyone."
  "Contact to contact!" Urlik hastened to agree, the steepness deflating like a ball under a wheel. He had already turned to play a retreat, but suddenly froze, involuntarily bending from the gust of wind.
  A colonial police flaneur, shaped like a hexagonal pyramid with a slightly elongated front, flashing its ray guns, flew directly overhead. Behind it came three more kinetic gravity cycles, shaped like piranhas, with four wheel-shaped emitters instead of fins. They raced so low they nearly clipped the merchants of the Purple Constellation Empire. Hermes, however, merely growled. "Pulsar flora." Then he leaned closer to Urlik's ear, which protruded like a radar.
  "Yeah, hang on, man, let's not get carried away! Of course, there's still information. A new shipment of cultural treasures is supposed to arrive from planet Earth, so it's time to look for clients."
  - We'll find it. Among the Hymenoptera, the art of hairless primates is in great demand. Only animals appreciate the art of animals!
  And the two scoundrels burst into idiotic laughter. Hermes kicked a lemon jellyfish (a hybrid organism of a lemon fruit and a land jellyfish!) hurrying about its business, and, watching it fly away with a satisfied look, howled:
  "There are plenty of inferior individuals, all they can do is drink wine! And who among them is capable of anything other than success? Such a scenario is simply laughable!"
  The partner threw and let the cake that had jumped out of the street synthesizer into his mouth - the automation responded to a telepathic request.
  Then the computer bracelet on Urlik's wrist displayed a three-dimensional hologram-a fanged, winged monster gestured expressively. The Stelzan's fat face suddenly lengthened, and, turning around, the richly dressed fat man silently walked away.
  Hermes gestured to a half-naked, muscular girl. Judging by her tattoo (a heart pierced by a sword with a long number on her bare shoulder), she served in the anti-troops-something akin to a penal battalion in Stelzanat's army. The girl rose before him, exposing her ample, bare breasts, with scarlet nipples glistening like polish. The soles of her bare feet were still blistered from the traditional pain of running along a white-hot metal treadmill, a custom in the anti-troops of the Purple Constellation. Submission had been thoroughly instilled, and the outwardly youthful girl (though her tired, poisonous green eyes bespoke a much older age) looked with the devotion of an old dog.
  "I will do everything you say, Master. Half an hour, ten kulamans." Her long, pink tongue licked invitingly over her full, satin lips.
  " If you want your sentence cut, do this." Hermes transmitted a brief pulse of a message from his computer bracelet (a plasma computer with numerous functions, including the ability to kill with a mini-laser and maintain communication between star systems). Formed as a clot of hyperplasm, it went into the wristwatch-like device worn by the athletically built warrior-whore.
  "Now, take this night of love to the Pentagon's Begder of the Hoffi race!" A cross between a bear and a rhinoceros with elephant ears flashed across the glittering hologram. "That's his face!"
  "It will be done!" The girl shook her massive hips and flew into the air, controlling her flight by pointing her toes and spreading her fingers.
  
  ***
  At this point, the paralyzed youth was taken to the medical center. Despite all his injuries, he was fully conscious. The exhausted boy's thoughts were turned to his native Earth...
  ...His enslaved planet groaned under the heel of querlil (the primary metal used to construct the invaders' starships, hundreds of times stronger than titanium). Shortly before his departure into the vast reaches of space, he witnessed a barbaric purge that killed tens of thousands of people, including his friend Elena. Under the rule of Governor Fagiram Sham, Earthlings were persecuted with unprecedented brutality, like never before. Any native who attempted to approach the highways without a permit, even within five miles, was mercilessly killed. And luckily, it was done quickly: most were crucified on crosses shaped like swastikas, six-pointed stars, or impaled. Live slaves, regardless of age or gender, were flayed, hung by the hair, dissolved in acid, or fed to mutant ants. There were also more sophisticated tortures using nanotechnology and various virtual reality systems. People were housed in barracks, exploited like dumb animals. Almost all major cities and industrial centers were destroyed during the conquest of the planet. After being bombarded with "clean" annihilation charges, not a single military facility or factory remained on Earth. Under the pretext that all members of humanity should have jobs, they were completely deprived of mechanization, forced to do almost everything by hand. Some slaves were used to build enormous decorative structures. In the few educational institutions that existed, people were taught only elementary knowledge, at the elementary school level. After all, stupidity is closer to obedience, while a lively mind, like a free bird, yearns for freedom. It's no wonder the reaction has always been against providing education to the common people. The cultural treasures of Earthlings were shamelessly plundered, and masterpieces were scattered across other star systems. The talented artists themselves, however, remained like concentration camp prisoners, even worse off than those unskilled by nature. Why? Because working to exhaustion became a curse, and the less talented could sometimes shirk their duties because they were no longer needed. Therefore, humanity preferred to conceal their talents. But they were still discovered with the help of intelligent scanners and detectors. The planet was turning into one continuous barracks, a colony for a vast space empire. They did whatever they wanted with humanity. The most horrific were the death factories, where the flesh of the slain-or, even more terrifyingly, the living-was recycled.
  A nightmarish memory: a magpie-faced figure, clad in a black suit with blunt yellow spikes, slams a stelzanka into his then-little boy's face with all her might. The air whistles, his cheeks, sunken from malnutrition, burn with fire. He wants to fight back, but his body is bound by an invisible, crushing vice. He just can't cry, can't scream, can't show his fear... The most terrifying thing here isn't the pain, which you become accustomed to from infancy, or even the humiliation-for what pride can a slave have?-but the fact that the gloves are made of genuine human skin. The same skin that was flayed alive from your comrades!
  ...Lev came to and groaned, turning over with difficulty. The robots tried to calm him, holding him with their spiky, multi-jointed limbs. As if mocking the wounded gladiator, they sang a lullaby in thin, mechanical voices, as if he were a little boy. The boy felt hurt; he had already been through so much trouble in his short life that he felt like an elder. Eraskander whispered through swollen, broken lips:
  Trials are chains that prevent too-frivolous thoughts from escaping. The burden of responsibility is heavy, but frivolity leads to even more dire consequences!
  At that moment, the door opened of its own accord-a predatory plant with spiny tentacles crawled into the room. The medcyborgs, as if on cue, stepped aside. The monstrous creation of extragalactic flora loomed overhead like an ominous cloud, its half-meter-long needles dripping with a searing poison.
  Overcoming the pain, Eraskander jumped up just in time: the purple cactus's paw, with unexpected agility, attempted to pierce the crippled youth. Despite his wounds, Lev grew angry; it was obvious to him that the killer plant was carrying out its intended program. The surgical instrument spun like a sinister propeller in the robot's hand. The machine charged, hoping to finish off the hated man. Eraskander fell backward and, using his unbroken leg as leverage, wincing with unbearable pain, threw the medicoborg over himself. The agile cactus was caught in the spinning blades of the merciless machine. The scattered pieces of the carnivorous plant writhed, oozing yellowish liquid. The best way to neutralize a cyborg was to hurl another robot at it. Let the dumb machines destroy each other.
  The Guru's words came to mind: "Use the opponent's kinetic energy. Pain doesn't hinder you. Let suffering give you new strength!"
  There was a screeching sound of metal as the non-combat robots crashed into him, slightly denting his hull and freezing, trying to get their bearings. A blast from a ray gun nearly took his head off. Only his superhuman senses saved him, causing him to collapse onto the pavement.
  The medcyborg was much less fortunate - he was simply blown apart, the red-hot shrapnel adding scratches to the young man's face and chest, but it was insignificant. The beams burned through metal and plastic, creating a substantial hole. Tearing a cutting scalpel from a torn metal limb and snatching another surgical instrument from the table, Lev launched them at the gunman. Although the throw was intuitive and blind, it apparently hit, as a wild screech followed, followed by a flash of a thick carcass.
  It was Urlik. Eraskander, however , had expected something similar. The fat primate hadn't forgiven him. Grabbing a cybernetic, disk-shaped spray gun, Lev launched it after him with all his might. The blow landed squarely on the pig's butt, ripping the fatty meat open. Urlik roared and flew like a bullet through the open door of the armored plane.
  Resembling a cross between a Mercedes and a MiG, the car soared steeply into the pink-emerald sky, nearly ramming a diamond-shaped, four-legged, tricolor skyscraper with a dozen dragons on its domed roof. The roof spun, a colorful cavalcade of outlandish monsters spinning and shimmering in the magical light of the four celestial bodies.
  Eraskander turned around, his broken bones stung, blood dripped from fresh wounds, the remains of the cut predatory cactus continued to squirm, scratching the durable orange plastic with a blue pattern with its spines.
  "It's a shame I hit him in the ass and not the back of the head. Even a reconstruction wouldn't have helped the pig gibbon."
  Police patrolmen, combat cyborgs, and slimy native guards had already arrived at the scene. Without a second thought, they wrestled the man to the floor and vigorously battered him with shock batons. The gladiator's elastic skin smoked from the ultra-current shock, and the pain was simply unbearable-this type of electricity rushes along the nerve endings at hyperlight speed, damaging the brain and plunging the consciousness into a hellish nightmare.
  Eraskander endured it without uttering the slightest groan. Only a bead of sweat trickling down his high forehead and the inhuman tension blazing in his young eyes showed what it had cost him.
  They'll pay nothing, but screaming and cursing will only humiliate you. Better to kill once than curse a thousand times! While you're weak in body, strengthen your spirit, lest you fall to the depths of submission. The worst pain isn't the one that turns you inside out, but the one that reveals the coward beneath.
  Medicine in the Empire is highly advanced: broken bones will heal, scars will disappear without a trace after regeneration. But who can erase the invisible and therefore even more painful scars from the human soul?
  
  Chapter 2
  You, man, have always dreamed,
  Find a brother in the depths of space,
  You thought the alien was "perfect"...
  And he is a monster from hell!..
  The situation on planet Earth has become very tense...
  With the rise of the new regime, Russia experienced a rapid revival. The country quickly reclaimed its previously lost spheres of influence. To counter the SATO bloc, a powerful Eastern bloc was created, led by Great Russia, with Sitai, Andia, and other countries as its junior satellites. The danger of direct armed conflict between the two military entities grew. Only the threat of nuclear weapons restrained the steel-bristling armadas from taking this fatal step. A new Third World War could lead to the complete extinction of humanity as a species. It would be like a duel with rocket pistols so deadly that the firing would destroy both the shooter, the victim, and their seconds.
  The standoff culminated in the first large-scale nuclear weapons test on the Moon. The situation resembled a tightly coiled spring.
  ***
  Moscow, the capital of Great Russia, looked pompous and yet quite peaceful. The air was unusually fresh for a metropolis; electric cars had replaced internal combustion engines and were much quieter. There was abundant greenery, trees from all continents, even African palms grafted to the temperate climate. The capital had expanded, with numerous skyscrapers and magnificent buildings of diverse designs, flowerbeds with exotic flowers, fountains, and highways. A clean, well-kept city; throngs of smartly dressed, laughing children, unaware that the universal sword had already raised above them, the same one that had slain countless far more powerful civilizations.
  Russian astronomer Valery Krivenko was the first person to notice the movement of unusual flying objects. The usually reserved professor exclaimed several times:
  - It's done! It's done!
  Overwhelmed with joy, when all he could think about was his discovery, he rushed to announce a sensational discovery, but instead of heading out, he stumbled into a closet full of women's clothing. How many different dresses can females collect that the clumsy astronomer was nearly crushed by furs and fabric samples. Even a couple of large bottles of French perfume smashed on the scientist's balding head, nearly becoming a sophisticated modification of a binary weapon.
  Luckily for himself, Krivenko managed to upload the information from his cell phone to the internet before his wife hit him over the head with a plastic rolling pin (which knocked another painfully bright variety of stars out of his eyes). The information spread instantly, and soon the UFO was being detected by all the world's tracking stations.
  Several dolphin-shaped objects suddenly appeared from beyond the orbit of Pluto. Judging by their trajectory, they were moving from the center of the Galaxy. Their speed approached the speed of light, and, interestingly, they had geometrically regular shapes. They resembled deep-sea fish with symmetrical fins, clearly visible with modern observation instruments. This is extremely unusual for ordinary meteorites or asteroids. The most logical assumption was that these objects were artificial in origin.
  The sensational news soon spread across the planet. The reports of rapidly approaching unidentified flying vehicles were quickly confirmed by virtually every observatory on planet Earth.
  Gradually slowing, the objects reached Mars' orbit and continued their approach. This sparked a violent reaction worldwide...
  An emergency Security Council meeting was urgently convened in Moscow. Russia was already significantly ahead of the United States in space exploration . However, humanity as a whole was still digging around in a sandbox, not even having conquered the solar system. And the arrival of intelligent beings evoked mixed feelings.
  ***
  The Security Council meeting opened after midnight and was quite emotional. The hot coffee and chocolate served by the fair-haired maids seemed almost icy against the backdrop of the simmering passions. Vice President Marshal Gennady Polikanov was the first to speak.
  "Enemy warships have approached our territory. We must attack them immediately with nuclear weapons. If we hesitate, they will strike first-the consequences will be catastrophic. Modern warfare is a confrontation between two super-punchers; a second of hesitation means a profound knockout from which we will never recover! I vote: don't hesitate and strike with every available thermonuclear bomb and experimental annihilation charge."
  Several generals present applauded in approval. But Russian President Alexander Medvedev waved his hand gently, and everyone fell silent. The country's hulking, perhaps even intimidating, world-shaking leader spoke in his famous, unusually deep bass voice:
  "I respect the marshal's opinion, but why does he assume these are military starships? We haven't even tried to contact them, and now we're suddenly making such extreme assumptions. No, we must be as restrained and careful as a surgeon during an operation. I propose we enter into peaceful negotiations with them and find out who they are and what they want from us."
  "Mr. President, if we lose the element of surprise, it will be too late. We must strike with full force before the enemy is ready!" Marshal Polikanov practically shouted as he spoke, shaking his large, sharp-knuckled fists.
  Medvedev, whose broad face remained as impenetrable as the mask of an Egyptian pharaoh, without raising his tone, objected:
  "I know best where and when to strike. Under my leadership, Russia has become the most powerful nation on earth, surpassing the United States. And this happened partly because I'm not just a strong and competent leader, but also a patient one. Besides, we don't know the true strength of the aliens. If they were able to reach us, then their technological level is significantly higher than ours. After all, just four years ago, our Russian guy, Ivan Chernoslivov, set foot on the surface of Mars. Who knows, maybe compared to the aliens, we're still in the Stone Age and have a caveman's morality. Send them a radio signal that we're ready to make contact."
  The Minister of Communications, a frail man with headphones (he was listening to the head of state, while simultaneously receiving current messages from all over the planet), with small, cunning eyes covered by mirrored glasses, nodded:
  - Yes, Mr. President. You are the embodiment of wisdom!
  Only the aggressive Polikanov dared to argue with the leader. Although he softened his tone somewhat, a poorly concealed anger was still evident in it:
  "I don't think that's reasonable. These aliens didn't just fly here, after plowing thousands of light years. When you see them, I think you'll be terrified. It's time to declare martial law."
  "That's right. Martial law never hurts." Medvedev made a half-turn with his massive titanic frame and addressed the head of the administration. "I hope you wrote me a note with some pretty words."
  The fiery red-haired chief of staff, with small, very cunning eyes, confirmed:
  - Yes, Mr. President, we have templates ready. Do you want an aggressive, conciliatory, or neutral option?
  The leader of the nation, after a moment's pause, during which he slightly crushed the rim of his silver cup with his wide, shovel-like palm (a clear sign of nervousness), replied:
  - Neutral.
  "If you please, most wise one!" The red-haired dignitary turned it on, bowing once more to the head of state. Then, without sitting down in his chair, he bent over, extended his long arms, and tapped his nimble fingers on the keyboard. The message was transmitted through the enormous monitor, across which lines of large, block letters immediately began to run like a herd of horses at a gallop.
  And the two-meter-tall, weightlifter-like president began reading the text of his address to the nation. Medvedev paused several times to demand this or that change...
  - The leader of the nation should not be like honey, so that he cannot be licked, but to become wormwood, which makes people spit, is not becoming!
  ***
  Almost the entire galaxy had been cleared of enemy starships, and the strongholds of the fortress planets had been destroyed. However, isolated detachments of enemy starships continued to launch isolated sorties. The half-defeated Givoram Empire still fiercely resisted the space fleet of the mighty Stelzan Empire. Several thousand galaxies had already fallen, either fully or partially, under the magnetic boot of this greatest empire. Givoram was left to share the sad fate of conquered and humiliated races.
  Now, a group of five starships was pursuing a small ship that had just jumped into hyperspace. Due to its small size, it could simply hide on one of the distant planets or even land on one of the enemy's secret bases. This galaxy was one of the wildest and most unexplored, a black hole in this part of the infinite cosmos. Therefore, such a trivial place as planet Earth wasn't even marked on the star chart.
  However, ultra-sensitive search equipment detected intense radio waves, residual quanta from nuclear tests, and artificially generated neutron fluxes. Naturally, the starships began to approach. A bright flash on the lunar surface further attracted the battle group's attention, and the spaceships finally changed course. It soon became clear that they were confronted by a different, previously unknown civilization.
  The starship's commander, General Lira Velimara, gave the order to disable the anti-radar field and head for Earth. A tall, very beautiful woman gazed with interest at the scenes of life on the blue planet. A pair of her deputies, also generals, gazed attentively, even anxiously, at the new Celestial Empire, the newly discovered world. The computer generated a rainbow-colored 3D image, then a cybernetic device deciphered numerous human languages. Most striking to the seasoned generals was the extraordinary resemblance of the humans to the Stelzans. This left them at a loss as to what to do with them.
  The starships had already entered lunar orbit, and a radiogram had been received from the Earthlings, politely inviting them to negotiate. The star warriors were still hesitant. Of course, an encrypted gravity telegram had already been sent to the center, but by the time it reached...
  Lyra decided to break the wait, clenching the long fingers of her right hand into a fist, flashing a ring with a minicomputer inside. Her voice sounded melodious, like a burst from a Schmeister machine gun:
  "I will negotiate with our smaller brothers. Let the entire planet see us, on all channels. Gengir Wolf!"
  The huge general with the face of an evil angel flashed his eyes.
  "Disarm the human missile stations on the Moon!" the fury roared.
  "Commander, they could resist, provoking a conflict." Gengir showed a holographic image of the activated plasma computer. It seemed to capture the flight of every photon, so clear was the rendering. The general continued sarcastically. "Nuclear weapons are like a mouse ambushed by a tiger!"
  Velimara giggled softly, her youthful face so full of depravity and vice that even a saint would have lost his head just looking at her. The Star General spoke quickly:
  "Mouse, of course, can keep an eye on the cat-tank, but only so Murka can play with him longer. The mighty warrior is such a musician that everyone cries after he plays, even those who didn't want to applaud! Use the "Ampule Opening" plan, a standard operation."
  - Quasarno (Excellent)! - Gengir rose in the air and, like a hawk (only without the flapping of wings), rushed towards the belly, where the landing vehicles "slumbered" in full combat readiness.
  Several Neutrino-class fighters left the starship and, covered by a camouflage field, rushed towards the surface of the Moon.
  ***
  The Prime Minister appeared on Channel One Russia. A fat, hairy, warty man, he railed against the aliens from the stars. He was a controversial figure; even Russians themselves disliked the country's thieving chief financier and economist. In the US, by contrast, the aliens were widely praised, the underlying rationale being that a more developed mind should also be more humane. There were even theories that the aliens would finally put an end to totalitarian dictatorial regimes, especially in Russia.
  Prime Minister Lysomordov knew that Medvedev and Polikanov were afraid of their brothers in mind, and to please them he went to great lengths, panting loudly with every word:
  "These woodlice, these disgusting slugs, have come here to enslave Russia. We will destroy them, disintegrate them into atoms. Even their appearance makes them such vile, hairy mollusks that they're downright nauseating. Such freaks don't deserve to exist..."
  Suddenly, the speech of the truly real freak was interrupted...
  An image of a beautiful woman appeared on every television screen. Her perfectly formed face was illuminated by a pearly smile, her eyes glowing with kindness and dignity. She differed from earthly female models only in her tricolor irises and dazzlingly shining multicolored hairstyle. In a soft, silver voice, the star siren said:
  "I am pleased to welcome you, our kind brothers in mind, inhabitants of planet Earth. I hope that contact between us will be beneficial to both races. And now we request permission to land on your precious planet."
  Cybernetic devices automatically translated everything. The US President immediately agreed, bowing slightly and raising his top hat:
  - Yes, come land with us. We'll be very happy to see you. America is a free country, and you'll be greeted with genuine jubilation!
  Medvedev smiled affably and nodded his head. Softening his rich bass voice to the utmost, the country's leader said:
  "We're not opposed in principle, but you, star pioneers, have arrived from the distant depths of space. Perhaps our planet's environment is toxic to you, or is there a theoretical possibility that we could become infected with deadly viruses from your worthy race?"
  The imposing Lyra laughed loudly, the small hairpin of her wonderful hair, in the form of two lightning bolts with diverging tips, flashed scorchingly:
  "Don't be afraid, human. We've already checked everything; your land is perfectly suitable for us. We'll split up a group of combat starships and land on the territories of the two most powerful nations on the planet. Prepare for a ceremonial welcome!"
  ***
  There were two US and Russian battle stations on the Moon. Each had thirty thermonuclear missiles and fifty personnel. It doesn't seem like much , but the four hundred and fifty megaton warheads mounted on the latest-generation missiles resembled a cocked pistol hovering at your temple.
  Having blocked all communication with planetary command, Gengir made contact. In a steely voice, the powerful, broad-shouldered Stelzan said:
  - Soldiers of planet Earth, to avoid useless sacrifices on your part, lay down your arms and give up the codes, otherwise, for your own good, for the glory of our reason, we will use violence.
  "We will not submit to alien dictates!" the commanding generals, Labutin and Rockefeller, who just a few minutes ago had been looking at each other like Lenin at the bourgeoisie, responded in unison.
  The wolf's eyes flashed predatorily, and his voice became even more metallic:
  "Don't make me laugh, you monkeys! Your technology is primitive. Progress is like hailstones: the faster the speed, the greater the destruction, and only the wind of reason can drive away the clouds of hatred that bring annihilation!"
  The general activated quantum generators, destabilizing all cybernetic and electrical systems. Disguised in a coating invisible to the naked eye and even the most sophisticated radars, the fighters deployed virtually the entire "Laser Beam" team.
  The fighters flew like a swarm of wild mutant bees, almost invisible, but all the more terrifying for it. Upon reaching their target, they dug their protruding emitters into the thick armor. Growling menacingly (it felt as if demonic spirits had awakened in the lunar desert), the intergalactic special forces soldiers sliced through the hulls of the battle stations with their beam guns and swiftly penetrated. Several small, unmanned tanks, flattened and shark-like in shape, took part in the attack. They glided silently over the sandy surface, bristling with a dozen short barrels. Such machines could easily pass the epicenter of a nuclear explosion and fly short interstellar distances. An ultragravity wave emanated from the wide muzzle, warping space and causing panic in protein-based lifeforms. Gengir gave a stern order:
  - Vacuum sterilely ( without shedding blood)!
  The Stelzans managed to disable virtually all the defenders of both lunar bases without loss of life using wide-area stun guns. Only one Armetican general seemed to vanish, even though gamma scanners had scanned the entire station. The brute of a Stelzan grinned.
  - It looks like the irradiated chimp in uniform has gone into hyperspace. Scan the surface.
  Five miles from the base, they found an abandoned lunar rover, and another mile away, a desperately fleeing Armetican general. Gengir wanted to show off his prowess and, as easily as a hawk catches a chicken, caught Ian Rockefeller. To make the general aware of his true identity, the Star Wolf turned off his cybercamouflage-the menacing outline of an enraged giant appeared on the silvery lunar surface. In desperation, Rockefeller squeezed the trigger of his experimental ray gun to the limit, his hand cramping with the terrifying tension. However, his human laser machine gun was too weak and couldn't even scratch the alien's landing armor suit. The giant easily knocked the weapon away and, breaking his arms, incapacitated the desperately flailing Armetican. His large mouth grinned in a venomous grin, the varnished teeth of the Stelzan turning blue.
  "You're not a good runner, you animal. With such stats, you, weak-willed slave, won't earn enough for a tub of protein."
  Choking with a mixture of fear and rage, Hermes grinned, a predatory smile frozen on his aquiline face:
  &eva, the general muttered:
  "You're celebrating too soon, star demon. Your starship will shatter into photons right now, and when God Jesus comes, he will cast all of you space demons into the Gehenna of torment!"
  "The sick ravings of a retarded primate. Your missiles are paralyzed!" Gengir chuckled venomously.
  "I ordered the strike even before you, Satan, issued an ultimatum." Rockefeller tried unsuccessfully to loosen the giant's stranglehold.
  The Stelzan general made a circle with his fingers and whistled:
  - You? You're creating a vacuum! Without government approval? I don't believe it. You're black holes, like foam - very weak-willed.
  "The moment I saw the seven-headed dragon on the belly of your ship, I immediately realized you were servants of the devil, and I took full responsibility." The general's jaw clicked nervously, unable to contain his trembling.
  - Irradiated scum!
  With a powerful blow of his fist, Gengir shattered the armored glass of his helmet bearing the Stars and Stripes emblem. The general's face turned blue, his eyes bulging. The vacuum instantly sucked out his life force and soul. For the first time in Earth's history, a human being was killed by an alien monster. The giant furiously spewed a stream of curses:
  "He died too easily! A feeble-minded, tailless monkey, with a vacuum brain, with a collapsed heart! Let them blow him to pieces, then reassemble him, and scatter him across the universe again! Torture the rest with nanotechnology, let them die slowly, begging for death as a savior; no one will dare raise a limb against us!"
  ***
  The news of the failed Armetican attack from the lunar base only pleased Velimara. Her smile widened even more (the natives are underdeveloped weaklings). Her voice sounded confident, like that of a natural-born ruler:
  - Earthlings! Before we land, you must surrender all nuclear weapons and completely disarm. If you don't want to do so voluntarily, we'll demilitarize you by force, just like we did on the Moon. So give us your weapons, you fat, floppy-eared primates!
  Medvedev raised his thick fist somewhat heavily:
  - No, only through my fig.
  Lyra continued to smile, but her smile now resembled the grin of a panther:
  -Why are you, corpse, against our landing?
  Over his long years in power, the president had lost his sense of humor. He was too accustomed to the fawning and saccharine arias of the press, so he literally roared:
  - I'll show you a corpse! Have you forgotten about nuclear weapons!? This is our Earth. You, star fury, and your pimps, get out of here!
  One of the generals intervened sharply, a combat emitter (resembling Batman's weapon from a space comic) automatically appearing in his right hand, obeying a mental command. The Stelzan's voice rang with genuine resentment:
  "We weren't exploiting her sexually, we were simply giving each other pleasure, and sending us away would be fraught with far-reaching consequences. We've already split trillions of microorganisms like you into quarks!"
  The thin, aquiline-nosed Marshal Polikanov exploded, the words pouring out in a cascade:
  "I told you they're a criminal gang! Stellar parasites who must be immediately burned out with nuclear weapons. See, these brats are threatening to reduce us to quarks. They've already attacked us on the Moon. They're still wet behind the ears. I urge you to attack them with Hawk-70 missiles!"
  Tall and heavy as a bear, the president placed his hand on the shoulder strap of his overly enraged aide, and with great effort of will he managed to calm his voice:
  "I'm still president, and it's my prerogative to use nuclear weapons or not. As Supreme Commander-in-Chief, I promise to forgive the aliens who acted hastily because of their youth."
  "That's where you're wrong, human. Appearances are deceiving; we have much older life cycles than you, sucker!" Lyra winked coquettishly and, without changing her tone, continued, "Negotiating with you is useless. We'll launch a minimal-yield charge at Moscow so you'll understand who you're dealing with. And as for your firecrackers, you can try again."
  The female Stelzan swung her waist like a cobra to the fakir's music and laughed, icy as icicles, her hair turning red as her emotional indicator kicked in. The wonders of extragalactic cosmetics: the paint changes color depending on her mood. And the star tigress's mood demanded blood.
  If Medvedev had rushed to beg and plead for forgiveness, he might have succeeded in softening the icy heart of the cosmic Kali, but pride trumps reason. Still, Kali, the goddess of evil, knows no mercy. Perhaps it's better to die with your head held high than to fall prostrate and still be killed by a merciless enemy.
  Medvedev said out loud:
  - Let's talk like human beings. We're ready to compromise.
  "Pig-headed primate! I'm not reversing my decisions! The last seconds of your world are over, blue Winnie the Pooh!" Velimare's final curse was prompted by a computer in the form of a bracelet. It looked stylish on the strong, sinewy, yet graceful arm of the space Amazon.
  The President literally roared, giving the order for a nuclear attack. It was clearly visible on every monitor and screen: thermonuclear missiles were flying in a dense swarm toward the mighty intergalactic starships. Thousands of them. They left long fiery tails, the additional containers giving them acceleration up to the third cosmic velocity! Enough for any armada. It seemed they could sweep away all obstacles in their path. They flew up, a terrifying sight-it seemed even the erupting jet streams were blazing the vacuum. They rushed in a predatory flock toward the enemy warships. What a disappointment... Some of the missiles were shot down by gravity lasers, others were stuck in the force field.
  But the return shot is not even visible to radar - its speed is prohibitively faster than the flight of a photon emitted by a star!
  Medvedev never learned of the attack. Sometimes ignorance is the Almighty's final act of mercy.
  A hyperplasmic hell engulfed the Supreme Commander of the most powerful army on planet Earth. Millions of people were vaporized, transformed into plasma, before they could even comprehend the catastrophe that had unfolded.
  A giant brown mushroom cloud rose to a height of over 500 kilometers, and the shock wave, circling the globe several times, shattered windows even in the United States. The shock wave generated gigantic tsunami waves. A wave of water over a hundred meters high covered every continent, sinking tens of thousands of ships. Power lines were knocked out, and cities were plunged into darkness, broken only by the fiery patches of fires.
  A new era has dawned on planet Earth. The Hour of the Dragon has begun.
  Chapter 3
  The world is crushed by the embodiment of evil,
  And the sky plunged into darkness!
  The underworld of hell came to people to
  Armageddon triumphed.
  The monstrous blow had the exact opposite effect.
  Instead of capitulating, Earthlings rallied in a single, noble impulse to repel the stellar enslavers. Even the United States, initially basking in sweet illusions, declared all-out war on the alien invasion.
  In response, the flagship decided to crush and break the rebellious planet's resistance. Velimar's lyre gleamed predatorily, its luminescent, blinding grin.
  "These pathetic primates will once again be confined to the trees, in cages made of spiky plastic. We will crush and erase all the rat holes of the earth's bugs from this pathetic lump of stone."
  "So be it! Pity is weakness!" the officers confirmed in chorus.
  The goddess of death threw her palm up:
  - Quasar! Annihilation tornado!
  ***
  Meanwhile, telecommunications had been partially restored in the United States. Michael Currie, the president of what was still a great power (after Russia), was delivering an address to the nation. However, his distant gaze was directed at the sky, not the piece of paper. The Armenian's face was drawn, and an unhealthy flush glowed on his sunken cheeks. Nevertheless, there was a hint of inspiration in his voice:
  We, the people of planet Earth, have fought among ourselves for too long, killed, deceived, and harmed one another. But the hour has come when humanity must put aside its differences and unite as one in a sacred struggle against universal evil. The forces of hell have awakened; the time foretold in the Apocalypse of the fiery whirlwind cast down by Satan from heaven has arrived. And this difficult time, a time of severe judgment and cruel trial, has already arrived. The Almighty Lord will help us endure this difficult hour; he will support us in our quest to defeat the legions of death sent by the devil upon this sinful earth!
  The image was interrupted by a plasma flash...
  When the blinding glow faded, an enraged star fury emerged, hurling thunder and lightning. Her long hair stood on end, changing colors in a frantic kaleidoscope.
  "How dare you, pathetic aborigine, compare us, the great Stelzans, to the spirits and servants of your epic? We are the highest race in the entire Hyperuniverse. We are the species chosen by God to conquer and subjugate all universes!"
  The space harpy extended her hand forward, its long nails glowing with an otherworldly light, making a threatening gesture:
  "On your knees! Or in a minute, all that'll remain of your shell will be photons, and your soul will be tormented forever by our dragonists! Know this, monkey in a tuxedo, that even death will be endless slavery for you."
  The US President, unlike many of his predecessors, as a true Baptist, took the Christian faith seriously:
  - If the Almighty decides that I must die, then it is inevitable, but I will never kneel before demons.
  In a rage, Lyra slammed her fist into the general standing next to her. The tall man in uniform staggered. The hellish vixen, like a cobra with its tail pinned down, hissed:
  "Turn this native king's pitiful community into a nuclear ash heap. These two-legged reptiles must die in horrific agony. I order the implementation of Plan C-aggressive conquest."
  One of the generals objected, somewhat embarrassed:
  - Without an order from the center, it is impossible to completely exterminate living species of intelligent organisms.
  "We won't exterminate them," the embodiment of cosmic Kali roared ever louder. "Killing them all would be too humane; let them labor under our glucon grip for billions of years. We'll leave a couple, three billion for slave labor. And now I command-hyperplasm!"
  Velimara's high chest heaved, and the seven-headed dragon depicted on her jumpsuit seemed to come to life. Pink and green sparks poured from her open jaws: the cybernetic indicator had activated.
  The US President crossed his arms over his chest:
  "Here it is, the sign of the Antichrist. Lord, grant me the strength to die with dignity. Into your hands I commend my soul..."
  Tactical-grade missiles flew at speeds approaching that of light. The Armetica leader vanished before finishing his sentence.
  A bright, furious glow of light erupted in Hasington's place, then a colossal purple-brown flower emerged. Seven hyperplasmic petals separated from the dazzling bud, soaring into the cloud-like heights. They shone with every color of the rainbow for ten seconds, then instantly faded and fell away, leaving only colossal purple-red sparks floating in the stratosphere.
  In the blink of an eye, tens of millions of people were incinerated, disintegrating into elementary particles. Those further away were blinded and glowed like living torches. The fire painfully consumed human flesh. People's skin peeled, their hair turned to dust, their skulls charred. The blast wave, like an accordion, collapsed skyscrapers, burying alive many who had once been so vibrant and carefree in scorching concrete tombs. A team of blond, half-naked Texas schoolchildren kicked a ball around when a gravity wave passed over them, leaving only ashen silhouettes on the charred grass. Poor boys, what were they thinking in their last moments? Maybe they were calling for their mother, or some hero from a movie, or from countless computer games. A girl returning from the store with a basket passed away smiling, not even having time to scream. The child simply disintegrated into photons , and only the miraculously surviving ribbon of the bow swirled in the atmospheric vortex. People hiding in the subway, white and colored, were crushed like flies in a press; those flying on planes at the time were hurled beyond the stratosphere by tornadoes of hell, an even worse and slower death... When, in a chilling vacuum devouring the last of the air like a predatory piranha, people smash their heads against duralumin walls, their eyes popping out of their sockets... Death equalized the pauper and the billionaire, the senator and the prisoner, the movie star and the garbage man. It seemed as if millions of souls were howling, soaring into the sky, the world turned upside down, and perhaps for the first time, people felt how thin the thread of life is and how much they need each other. The mother and child suffocated under the rubble, pressed so tightly against each other that not even the powers of hell could tear them apart.
  Strikes followed in other places on planet Earth. The main goal was to destroy all major industrial centers and cities, deprive humanity of knowledge and dignity, cast it back into a primordial state, and turn people into a shivering herd. Human technology was powerless; the most advanced air defenses couldn't even respond to the charges that would bring death to all life. The battle turned into a merciless, all-out massacre, with annihilation and thermoquark gifts "generously" distributed to every continent.
  Using electronics, the Stelzans targeted the most populated areas of the earth's surface, implementing the long-tested tactic of nest bombing. Mercy in war is no more appropriate than a white coat in a mine! The greatest mercy to the enemy is mercilessness to oneself when learning the art of war!
  Meanwhile, thousands of light tactical planetary fighters were already scattered across the surface, finishing off the surviving troops and, if possible, trying to preserve the civilian population for subsequent exploitation.
  ***
  As soon as Alexander Medvedev gave the order to begin the war, his Vice President, Gennady Polikanov, left the Kremlin. According to Defense Ministry regulations, in the event of a nuclear war, the president and his deputy are not to be in the same building or within 100 kilometers of each other. The marshal managed to escape Moscow through an underground high-speed vacuum tunnel and survive the annihilation and thermoquark strikes. Now it was up to him to lead the resistance to cosmic aggression, becoming President and Supreme Commander-in-Chief. An honorable, but terrifyingly heavy burden. Deep down, Polikanov had always wanted to replace the too-soft and clumsy president, but at the moment he felt like the Titan Atlas, bearing the entire weight of the firmament. Even in military circles, the marshal was considered a hawk for his ruthlessness and uncompromising nature, but in this situation, all his will and determination were useless. The alien empire's utterly invulnerable starships mercilessly decimated the troops of the most powerful and valiant army on Earth, giving them no chance of worthy resistance. Their missiles, small, even minuscule in size, elusive in speed, and immense in destructive power, incinerated everything humanity had created over many centuries. Therefore, the news of the appearance of thousands of small but extremely fast aircraft delighted the "new" president.
  "I give the order. Counterattack the enemy, drive the iron clique out of Russian airspace!" He ordered, trying to hide the hoarseness in his broken voice.
  - Yes, comrade president!
  Air Marshal Vadim Valuev climbed into one of the experimental "Taran" strike vehicles, armed with six nuclear warheads. A beast of a machine, one that would make continents tremble. Finally, they would be able to inflict some damage on the enemy. The order followed:
  - Regardless of casualties, shoot down all alien fighters!
  The short but strong Valuev gazed at the enemy with boyish excitement. Of course, the enemy was terrifyingly powerful; even the highly resilient Taran-3 fighter was tossed like a feather by the deadly gusts of wind swirling in the atmosphere stirred by hypernuclear strikes. But the world must respect and fear us; the deeds of our soldiers are countless! Russians have always known how to fight-Satan will be destroyed!
  "We will knock down the enemy's arrogance!" the marshal shouts, remembering his youth.
  "No mercy for the executioners," replied the pilot sitting on the right. "We will sweep away the stellar scum!"
  The pilots were sincere in their hatred. Of course, the landscape beneath them was so horrific it was heartbreaking. No horror movie, no War of the Worlds-style blockbuster could have captured even a hundredth of the pain, tears, and suffering unfolding on the defeated earth's surface. Nowhere had it been so terrifying, not even in Mechna, when bullets whistled overhead and boots squelched with sticky crimson liquid. And even less so in the later battles at Arfik and the Gulf of Fersit, where he earned his general's and then marshal's epaulettes.
  Of course, it's stupid to fire megaton charges at such small targets, but you can't kill an elephant with pigeon shot.
  The seasoned Valuev was stunned by the monstrous speed of the enemy aircraft. They had barely appeared on the horizon, and a mere second later they were right on top, almost ramming him head-on. His fingers barely managed to press the buttons. The marshal fired all six nuclear warheads, fearing he would no longer have a chance to fire again. Without waiting for the command, the other pilots followed suit, unleashing thousands of conventional and nuclear death bombs. However, the graviolaser beams unleashed by the enemy tactical fighters easily shot down the few surviving missiles.
  Attempting to engage the enemy with their own beam guns was also doomed to failure. The intensity of laser fire was insufficient to penetrate the small force fields protecting the fighters, and aircraft cannons and computer-guided missiles were nothing compared to children's firecrackers. Only a direct hit from a strategic thermonuclear missile could destroy such a machine, but the computer-guided beams prevented objects larger than a nut from reaching the fighters.
  "Dogs, vicious dogs! I'll deal with you yet!" Valuev screamed in despair.
  The screaming made his own ears pop. But apparently the enemy pilot heard it. With the carelessness of a baby shaking a rattle, he shot down several Russian aircraft, and the Stelzans were clearly mocking him, sadistically prolonging the pleasure. Their lasers, as if in mockery, performed a medieval "quartering"-first severing the nose, then the tail and wings. Those who managed to eject were caught with a force-fed "net," apparently for further experimentation. And some pilots were tossed and thrown as if they were tennis balls. The Stelzans, like evil children, love to fool around, reveling in the torment. Gengir Volk released a hologram of his cute face and said with a venomous grin:
  - What are you barking about? Are you hoping for a quick death?!
  Vadim shook his sweat-stuck hair and slammed the jet fire control panel so hard that the plastic cracked and the titanium keyboard buckled. The marshal exhaled.
  -Jackal!
  "Excellent! The monkey is learning to play the piano. I, Gengir the Wolf, will show you how to play properly!" There was no malice in the stelzan's voice, more the joy of a schoolboy who had smashed the principal's office window with a well-aimed slingshot.
  The terrifying structure dove under the right wing and, with almost imperceptible speed, began to spin around the marshal's plane. Never before had Vadim seen such speed; he no longer wanted to fight-his hands couldn't hold back the tornado. All he could do was drop everything and run, become a molecule, and dissolve in the hot air. Activating top speed, fifteen times faster than sound, the renowned marshal, nicknamed the Fox of the Atmosphere, took off... Where? Away from these...
  Fighters bearing the seven-color emblem (the flag of the Stelzan Empire) furiously pounced on anything that moved or breathed. Even super-heavy atomic tanks and aircraft, like butterflies, were consumed by the cascading laser beams emitted by the relatively small one- or two-seaters. The terrifying form of these winged monsters was unparalleled among Earth's predators. They were the epitome of horror, nightmare, and schizoid hyperphobia. To heighten the effect, the Stelzans activated enormous three-dimensional holograms, magnifying the fighters' size a thousandfold, heightening the fear and psychically suppressing the defenders of planet Earth. It seemed as if creatures swarming across the sky were such abominations that no horror film director could have imagined. Some of the colored projections were quasi-material, literally scattering the clouds.
  The marshal was suffocating from the G-forces. The unparalleled wonder fighter was shaking with tension. The machine was smoking, reaching its maximum speed. Gengir wasn't just keeping up; he continued to circle, figure-eight, and polygon around the Russian aircraft, cutting through the atmosphere at sublight speeds and demonstrating a fantastic technological superiority. The intense friction caused a corona of light to form around the Purple Constellation fighter. Vadim closed his eyes: the ring of fire was eating away at his vision.
  - Kill me instead, you bastard. Stop teasing me!
  The wolf laughed. It was so clear it sounded like Stelzan was speaking through a megaphone right into your ear.
  "Death for you is an act of mercy. And mercy, as the greatest of the greatest says, should not exceed the limits of economic gain!"
  A flaming, iridescent bubble separated from the fighter. Despite the marshal's speed, his craft immediately plunged into the fiery center, hanging dead in its invisible web.
  Gengir Volk laughed again, his satisfied face a hellish projection spreading across the windshield. Valuev wanted to close his eyes, but they were paralyzed; he wanted to spit, but the saliva froze in his throat. Now, with frozen eyes, he saw simultaneously the blissful face of the seemingly youthful, happy Stelzan and the horrific scene of total destruction (it was visible in every detail: three-dimensional holograms showed it close-up in the smallest detail). The transparent cocoon tormented his soul, and electroshock and hellfire burned his insides. However, at that moment, Marshal Valuev no longer cared about his own pain, for there was no greater suffering than watching the horrific atrocities committed by the invaders on his home planet.
  Before his eyes, he saw his first baptism of fire, the nightmarish New Year's assault on the Mechen capital. A desperate attack, thanks to corrupt generals, turned into hell for the most powerful and valiant army in the world. An incomprehensible humiliation of a Great Nation that had vanquished countless hordes, defending the peoples of the entire planet with its breast. He, then a young lieutenant, hid under a disabled tank. Burning drops of diesel fuel dripped from above, his overalls were punctured in numerous places, his left leg, pierced by shrapnel, had turned to crimson jelly. His ears were deafened and no longer perceived the explosions of heavy mortar shells, blood was caked, the taste of lead froze on his lips, and the remnants of broken teeth filled his mouth with a dull, aching pain. You wanted to cry from the unbearable pain, but you had to crawl out from under this steel coffin. And out there, death reigns supreme, a satanic ball, but the dirty, burgundy snow refreshes my blistered face, and a gust of wind soothes my scorched lungs. Then, through the thick haze of suffering, the thought flashes that there, beneath the tank, lies your gravely wounded comrade, dying a painful death, roasted in a walking pan. And you dive again into this fiery hell, crawling for now endless meters, writhing under the furious leaden rain, clutching with mangled fingers at the pitiful semblance of a shattered bulletproof vest, and pull out the now hundred-ton body. What remains of Sergei has been retrieved, but his friend will never regain consciousness, forever remaining a silent cripple...
  The river of memory breaks, and only isolated fragments of a difficult military career are recalled. But all of this fades, like a candle in an atomic explosion...
  What a terrible war this is!..
  Monstrous machines raged uncontrollably, shredding and vaporizing life, great and small, in their destructive path. A small flock of killer aircraft attacked a secret Russian base in Antarctica, commanded by General of the Army Nikolai Valuev-Vadim's brother. Nikolai barely had time to give his final orders. A born sadist, Gengir Volk, deliberately projected an image of underground Russian communications. General Valuev suddenly saw on the screen an image of Vadim, burning alive in a seven-colored torch. Flaming chunks fell from his crumbling body, revealing blackened bones. A sight more terrifying than Dante's Inferno. The brothers' eyes met for a moment, the image hovering almost directly next to each other.
  "Don't give up..." the Russian marshal whispered barely audibly. "The Lord will save you..."
  A continuous sea of fire filled the image.
  ***
  Miniature thermoquark projectiles (based on the process of quark fusion-more than a million times more powerful than a hydrogen bomb for a given weight) caused a monstrous earthquake upon impacting the kilometers-thick ice crust, causing the entire continent to split into a dense web of deep fissures. Streams of molten lava poured from beneath the cracks in the crust, and the remnants of the shattered ice evaporated, triggering powerful hurricanes and tornadoes. Advancing from the southern belt, streams of superheated steam sank miraculously surviving ships like matchsticks, snapped trees, flattened and ground high mountains into sand, and people caught in the annihilation vortices vanished.
  ***
  In the northern regions, tactical galactic fighters continued their methodical sweep, making little distinction between military and civilian targets. Their powerful cyber-speakers spewed out streams of terrifying music, piercing eardrums. The man-made cacophony shattered even the most resilient mental construct. Gengir bared his tiger teeth, purring deafeningly.
  - It's a pity that earthlings are dying so quickly.
  His partner, Ten-Star Officer Efa Covaleta, added:
  "I don't even have time to lift a finger before mountains of disfigured corpses appear. I feel sorry for their children; they don't even have time to understand what death is. First, we need to cut off their fingers and toes with a laser!"
  The cannibal general ran a finger with a pointed nail across his throat:
  "We'll use the survivors for shoes and raincoats. Look how glossy their skin is, especially the young women."
  "We could set up a decent sanatorium here, complete with a hypersafari for hairless primates," Efa said loudly, her teeth flashing with emotion.
  "I'll buy myself a plot of land! I'll slit the bellies of the local females, put my children on them, and let them ride on their intestines!" The two cannibals with plasma computers and superweapons burst out laughing.
  "Iron" Marshal Gennady Polikanov literally collapsed into hysterics; impotent rage choked the "new" Russian president.
  "Damn it! Are we really that hopelessly weak? They're simply burning out our brains. Perhaps if I believed in God, I'd certainly start asking for help. But I don't believe in fairy tales like that overseas clown Michael, and I won't pray! You star monsters won't get any capitulation from me anyway!"
  Suddenly the light in the deep bunker went out for a moment, and then a disgustingly familiar voice was heard in the headphones;
  "Russians, surrender! We will spare the lives of all who voluntarily lay down your feeble excuse for a weapon! I guarantee the lives of the submissive individuals and three meals a day in a labor sanatorium!"
  The Russian marshal made an expressive gesture, sending him far away.
  "Russians never surrender! We will fight to the bitter end or die standing with our heads held high!"
  The marshal, already a little calmer, gave the order.
  "If we're going to die, die with music! Play the anthem to which our ancestors marched and died!"
  Meanwhile, the starry Amazon was overjoyed. The images of mass murder and destruction evoked wild delight and indescribable bliss. What was especially exciting and thrilling was the sight of people dying, who looked exactly like the Stelzans.
  - Who else in the Universe can boast of such happiness - to kill their own kind?!
  Clearly, she had mental issues. Because the sight of colossal destruction and archipelagos of charred corpses no longer pleased many sane invaders. After all, Earthlings resemble the Stelzans, like their younger brothers. It's as if this is the early youth of their own race. And it's scary to object: this crazy harpy could fire a blast from a plasma ray gun.
  Lyra, no longer feeling the brakes, knocked down the huge young officer, letting out a scream.
  "I order everyone to join us! And turn on massive holograms, covering the entire conquered planet. Let every surviving primate see how quasar-like we are! It'll be Hyperfuck!"
  However, one of the star generals, Kramar Razorvirov, abruptly cut off her words.
  - War is not a brothel. Get up, dust yourself off, and get dressed!
  Star Kali lunged for the laser rifle. But Kramar was faster: the seven-barreled weapon pressed against her forehead, and the two barrels, lengthening, pierced her ample chest.
  Lira hissed fiercely, no cobra could spew so much poison:
  - Your end will come anyway. You will be uselessly annihilated!
  Her bare chest heaved like icebergs in a storm. If Velimara had possessed such a power, she would have incinerated the impudent "moralist" with a single glance. The officers froze. Clashes between generals are very rare.
  Efa Kovaleta winked her right eye and whispered:
  -What a quasar fighter, he"s not afraid of anything!
  A duel was brewing, deadly, with no chance of leniency. A computer message saved the situation.
  An underground nuclear power plant, along with an entire network of underground utilities, has been discovered in the mountains that humans call the Ural Mountains. Scans indicate that an enemy command post is located here.
  ***
  A multidimensional holographic image flashed. The network of underground utilities, precisely rendered down to the smallest detail, was clearly visible, leaving no chance of escape.
  The generals and officers immediately perked up.
  - That's where we need to strike. Our missiles are ready.
  "No, there won't be a strike. The leader of the monkey pack is there - Polkan. He must be captured alive. We'll conduct experiments on him, testing pain isotopes, and then we'll send him stuffed to the museum. Hey, what are you staring at? Prepare to land on the surface. This planet is already beneath us!"
  Kramar pulled back his formidable weapon and, although the promise of imminent death clearly sparkled in the eyes of the enraged Lyra, he boldly said:
  - Don't even count on it! War isn't - Hyperfuck!
  "We'll figure things out after the battle!" Velimara's voice softened slightly. "Show us what you're capable of!"
  A titanic, terrifying starship, engulfing everything in hyperplasmic fire, rushed like a predatory hawk towards the planet's torn surface.
  The first contact between two interstellar civilizations took place.
  
  
  Chapter 4
  It is better to die with dignity with a sword,
  Fighting fiercely for valor and honor,
  Than to live like cattle driven by a whip into a stall...
  There are many glorious heroes in Russia!
  Every person is washed over by problems, large and small, some seemingly trivial, while others, on the contrary, their sheer weight, threaten to crush the mind and trample the soul. Teenagers, as we know, are much more likely to dramatize their personal experiences, forgetting about global problems. Even the smallest details, like a rapidly growing cancer, threaten to overwhelm all thoughts. So, fourteen-year-old Vladimir Tigrov, at the moment when the axe of the cosmic executioner hangs over the planet, is lost in thought, deeply upset by recent events at school. His father, a career military man, recently moved to the Urals in the Sverdlovsk region, taking his family with him. Newcomers, especially from Moscow, are not particularly welcome here. So, at school, they gave him a thorough beating, ripping his clothes, and trampling his schoolbag. No, Tigrov wasn't a weakling or a loser; he was a pretty good fighter for his age. But what can you do alone when you're up against a gang of twenty? Yekaterinburg was a traditionally criminal city, despite the harsh conditions of Medvedev's dictatorship. Even schools had their own gangs, which thrived. The entire region also lived a unique life, distinct from the rest of Russia. Vodka and smoking were almost openly drunk in schools, drugs were shot in basements and bathrooms, security cameras never worked, and the police... Everyone was afraid of them except the gangsters. Vladimir turned out to be too much of a proper young man for the criminal subculture-an activist, an athlete, an excellent student, and that was enough to fuel a frenzied, rabid hatred. When you're being beaten and bullied every day, you don't really want to live peacefully; on the contrary, you want to punish everyone. A terrible desire...
  Like any strong-willed boy, Vladimir dreamed of revenge against a superior and evil force. He hatched a plan to steal his father's machine gun (it was clear he had a line of military men in his veins), which he soon accomplished. He demonstrated his hacking prowess by cracking the cybernetic code to the home safe where the weapon was stored. The key here is to remember the nature of artificial intelligence, which is controlled by specific programs and completely devoid of critical perception of reality. Grabbing a Fox-3 folding machine gun and several magazines, Vladimir strode resolutely toward the school. Amidst a neglected park stood a large four-story building, designed to accommodate three thousand people. Several seniors were smoking a joint, and nearby, his main attacker, the informal class leader Sergei, nicknamed "Pontovy," was inhaling. Vladimir confidently advanced toward his enemy. As Tigrov had predicted, the leader, shouting, "Fire! They're hitting our guys!", took off running. Volodka's fist, thanks to his training, is incredibly strong, so Sergei is sure to get a couple of bruises. However, Tigrov's face is covered in fresh bruises and abrasions-a crowd could knock down a mammoth. The older students grinned and stepped aside, eager to enjoy the amusing spectacle.
  A whole gaggle of boys poured out of the school entrance. Vladimir didn't hesitate. Snatching a small automatic rifle hidden under his jacket, Tigrov opened fire on the attackers running toward him. They scattered in all directions. Perhaps the noise would have been limited to noise, but there were many cars nearby filled with grown-up, real-life gangsters. Apparently, the local mafiosi couldn't find a better place for a gang fight than the school. The gangsters returned fire. Automatic rifle bullets tore up the asphalt. Vladimir somersaulted and managed to hide behind a marble obelisk. Drunk on drugs, the gangsters roared and rushed forward, not taking the little fighter seriously, which, of course, was in vain. Frantically changing magazines, the young terminator killed half the gang and wounded about twenty more of the enraged fighters. The surviving bandits attempted to deploy a portable mortar-a single shot from it could have leveled half the building. Although Tigrov had previously only shot at shooting ranges and in computer games, the intense stress and rage gave his shots superhuman accuracy. The mortar exploded, shredding the nearest bandits. This crushed the resistance of the remaining bandits. In a frenzy, Vladimir emptied all the magazines he had carried in his backpack and only then stopped firing. Almost all the shots were fatal and effective, reducing thirty-nine people (mostly local mafiosi) to corpses. Several confused schoolchildren also fell victim to the brawl. They swarmed and cried, suffering varying degrees of injury. No one was killed among the kids; only the adult bandits met a deserved death. However, of the significant crime bosses, one major drug dealer nicknamed "Viper" was eliminated.
  Looking at the dead, wounded, and blood, Vladimir came to his senses. He vomited violently, so much so that red, sticky fluid poured from his nose. But the sight of his own blood triggered a massive adrenaline rush. He dropped his rifle and ran, so fast it seemed he wasn't a frightened boy, but a whirlwind kicking up spirals of dust. The shock of such a massacre was so great that no one tried to catch him right away. When they came to their senses, they passed on descriptions that greatly exaggerated his height and age.
  Vladimir Tigrov managed to escape into the woods. Due to global warming, the autumn was generous and mild, teeming with mushrooms and berries. Of course, sooner or later, the greenest of the bunch, or rather, the folk avengers, would undoubtedly have been caught by the police. But after the outbreak of the first interstellar war in human history, there was no time for such trifles.
  And so, a boy, bitten by mosquitoes, hungry, and frozen overnight, slowly trudged through the morning forest. He looked terrible. His school uniform was torn in several places, and one shoe was missing (he'd lost it while fleeing). Furthermore, his leg was painfully aching from scratches on tree branches, numerous roots, and pine cones. And then there were the mosquitoes. The bites itched unbearably. "Or maybe I should give up?" the thought flashed through his head. "They'll probably send me to a mental hospital in Moscow, and then to a special colony. They talk a lot about mental hospitals, they even tell unimaginable horrors, but at least I'll be alive. No, I'll become like a rotten plant. And how will I live then? I'll just exist... No... Maybe straight to a colony, surrounded by shaved-headed teenage criminals, where the punishing paw of the mafia will inevitably overtake him. They won't forgive him for the bloody showdown and the murder of the bandits. And in that case, he'll be lucky if they just cut him down, but they can sadistically bring him down, killing him every hour, slowly and painfully. There's no hope, because according to the new law introduced by the president, teenagers from the age of twelve bear the full weight of criminal responsibility, including life imprisonment and, in exceptional cases, the death penalty. The latter is not so scary (a bullet in the temple and you're on (in the afterlife). The boy's bare foot caught a sharp snag, and blood appeared between his childish toes. The distraught Tigrov, whose life was essentially over, paid no attention. What awaited him in the afterlife? His father disliked priests, considering them greedy and grabby, although he occasionally crossed himself and attended church, lighting candles. Vladimir respected his father, a warrior and soldier. He himself had experienced virtual warfare; computer technology in a special electronic helmet created an almost absolute illusion of battle-an unforgettable experience for the boy. But they can't kill you there; here in the forest, where the howling of wolves can be heard, death is all too real.
  "Courtiers are always worse than the Tsar!" the Pope said. Vladimir once carefully read the Bible and asked the priest: Why do Orthodox Christians, despite God's prohibition, venerate relics and icons? Why is God only a saint in the Bible, while the Patriarch is the most holy! That a common man, even one endowed with rank, is higher than the Almighty Creator of the Universe? In response, the priest barked: We must believe as our ancestors commanded, and not seek contradictions. Or do you want to be excommunicated!
  An unpleasant aftertaste remained, like a crack in the armor of faith. And the conclusion reached through logical reasoning is elementary: most likely, God doesn't exist at all; there's simply too much evil on Earth. For example, why would the Almighty create such abominations as mosquitoes, especially those large Siberian ones, twice the size of European ones? Why does He need to torment people like that? Especially disfiguring women-turning them into such old women that it's disgusting to look at. And what about illness, pain, the fatigue that even young and healthy people experience? Mankind deserves better: they created computers, and in almost any game, you, however small, are a god. School and life, games and movies teach that power rules the world. Perhaps the Buddhists are right with their idea of spiritual evolution. Moving up the steps of self-improvement through the transmigration of souls from lower to higher worlds? In any case, death is better than being forever among animals in human form. What if you find the entrance to a bunker and hide there? Dad told me something about these places... It seems like there should be secret entrances around here somewhere. I have to try!"
  Vladimir's soul felt a little warmer.
  Starfleet General Lira Velimara donned a reinforced command suit. She was eager to personally lead the operation to capture the enemy's command staff. Most importantly, the hellish warrior wanted to kill, kill like this, face to face, unabashed, looking her victim straight in the eye.
  Truly: victory is like a woman - it attracts with its brilliance, but repels with its price!
  Here is Yekaterinburg, a city of a million people, though by the standards of the monstrous Stelzan empire, it's a mere village. Not a single house remains intact... A 20-kilometer-wide crater gapes in the city center, within which molten rock still seethes and bubbles. Even underground utilities are no protection from the devastating blows of thermoquark bombs and nitrosharks (charges based on the process of breaking glucon interpreon bonds ( quarks are made of preons), a reaction millions of times more destructive than thermonuclear fusion, but unlike thermoquark fusion, not exceeding one megaton due to the instability of the process at high masses). The outskirts of the city and neighboring villages are also destroyed; only here and there are the remains of buildings visible. Among them, crippled, burned people writhe in unbearable agony. Those who remain alive look even sadder and more miserable than the dead, because their suffering cannot be described.
  Clad in their enormous battlesuits, the Stelzans are a terrifying sight. Each battlesuit is equipped with an antigravity system and a photon drive, enabling them to fly with a whole arsenal of beam and princeps-plasma weapons. The battlesuit's armor is capable of withstanding antitank shells, and powerful generators create force fields so powerful that, while protected, one need not fear anything, even a hundred-megaton thermonuclear strike. This powerful defense operates on the principle that destructive particles, upon striking the background of two-dimensional space at the speed of light, seem to stop moving, losing their rest mass. They are then easily repelled by oncoming reflective radiation, a thousand times faster than photon speed. However, the battlesuit itself does not generate a force field (the equipment is still too bulky), and becoming separated from the phalanx can lead to death.
  However, the Stelzans are very self-confident, and the beams fired from the starship disabled all of the enemy's primitive cybernetics, so now the helpless enemy can be taken with bare hands.
  Powerful anti-aircraft guns suddenly leap out of camouflaged niches onto the surface, attempting to fire 150-millimeter shells at the alien invaders. This isn't electronics anymore, but simple mechanics.
  The Stelzans react much faster: hyperplasma pulses destroy artillery and tracer rounds that barely manage to escape the barrels . Lira wagged her finger mockingly:
  - Silly monkeys! A dinner of hypernuclear-heated pork chops in their own juice awaits you!
  Gennady Polikanov prepared for the final battle. He himself already understood that the end was near. From the very beginning, it had been an unequal battle of disparate resources and technologies. Planet Earth was powerless, like an anthill under a tank's treads. What could the marshal do in such a situation? Only die, but die in such a way that posterity would remember with pride the death of Russia's last president. Although, perhaps, no one would remember them.
  The thick titanium door collapsed, cut by blaster beams. A pinkish ball flew into the vast strategic command hall. Bodyguards and generals hastily leaped behind armored shields. Only President Polikanov remained, standing proudly, ready to accept death. Death, which now seemed a cure for all problems, a way to quell the unbearable mental pain tormenting every fiber of his emaciated body. The evil old woman with the scythe took on the appearance of a fairy, and her icy breath resembled a gentle breeze. But the iridescent, shimmering ball continued to lie peacefully, and then a melody, vaguely reminiscent of a children's lullaby, was heard. To the melodic sounds of calm and pure music, the final act of the cosmic tragedy unfolded. Aliens, ugly, in bulky battlesuits, glided into the hall. Armed with a variety of weapons, the star invaders cast ominous shadows, like fierce demons illuminated by portable spotlights. The space terrorists' leader, clad in the brightest, fiery orange attire, was the one who carried them.
  A familiar mocking laugh broke the ominous silence:
  "Here they are, the brave but pathetic warriors of a backward planet of naked primates! And this paltry army still tries to argue with our invincible might! A cage in the monkey nursery has been prepared for you."
  Polikanov, who had turned pale, shook with anger.
  - You just...
  But he couldn't finish-the words weren't enough to express his feelings about these vile star monsters. The chief of security, Lieutenant General, reacted faster.
  - Kill them! Fire with all weapons!
  And desperate, hysterical fire opened up on the aliens. Each of the shooters was sincere in their hatred of the monsters that killed all living things. They fired from assault rifles, grenade launchers, heavy machine guns, and even experimental laser rifles. But it was all useless, like a child's firecracker against a Gladiator tank. The force field easily repelled the human projectiles. Return fire in a careless wave incinerated the fighters, leaving only burning skeletons. The president's beloved dog, Energia (a German Shepherd-Mastiff mix), leaped toward the armored silhouettes. A wide, greenish beam of light charred the dog, and the blackened, bony frame of the once-beautiful animal collapsed onto the plastic-covered reinforced concrete floor. Polikanov fired simultaneously with both hands, unloading 30-round electromagnetic pistols with uranium cores and plasma pumping. When he ran out of ammunition, he discarded the useless toys and crossed his arms over his chest.
  Lyra came closer, still laughing.
  "Well, Polkan, are you done barking? Now you, the last of the Russian generals, will come with us. A leash and a bowl of soup are waiting for you."
  The Marshal-President answered in a firm voice (although this firmness cost him titanic efforts):
  "Yes, you're strong with your hellish technology, so you can afford to mock someone who's served Russia his entire life, fighting through hot spots from Afghanistan to the Arabian desert. I wonder what you'd be worth in a fair fight, on equal terms, with equal weapons?"
  "Much more than you, primate, think! Our child will strangle your general with her bare hands!" Velimara made a sign with her fingers. "Sucker..."
  "If you were a man, I would make you answer for your words." The marshal clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned blue.
  "That doesn't matter. I'm a space general, commander of a star strike force. That means I'm a warrior. So, primate, aren't you afraid to fight me?"
  The female Stelzan slid out of her combat suit like lightning. She was completely naked. Tall (over two meters tall), broad-shouldered, and muscular, she towered over the Russian marshal. Thin and slightly shorter than the Stelzan female, Polikanov seemed almost a runt. Although Lira Velimara's bare, sculpted figure was bare, she weighed one hundred and twenty-seven kilograms and could easily rival many a large farm horse in strength. Disdainfully nodding her head and thrusting out her luxurious chest, Lira advanced on the marshal. Polikanov had received excellent martial arts training in the army special forces and at various specialized courses. He held a black belt-fourth dan-in karate, and hatred fueled his strength. The marshal, channeling all his fury, struck her in the solar plexus. Lira shifted slightly. The blow landed on the hard tiles of the space fury's unfeminine abs. Polikanov managed to avoid the right swing, but a lightning-fast, hammer-heavy knee sent him flying into the mottled armored tables. His arm only slightly cushioned the terrible impact of the bronze limb. The star lady leaped, shrieking wildly, and slammed her heavy foot into the warrior's chest. The marshal didn't have time to dodge, breaking a couple of his ribs and bending his blocking arm. A monstrous overhead strike crushed his collarbone. All of the space tigress's movements were so swift that the black belt had no time to react. Furthermore, the force of Velimara's blows was like that of a rabid mastodon. Easily, like a child, she lifted the 90-kilogram, immobilized Polikanov onto her outstretched arm and burst into uncontrollable laughter once again.
  "Well, valiant animal, how was your fight with the lady? If you want to survive, lick my tigress. Then I guarantee you good food at the zoo."
  Luxurious hips swayed in a lustful movement, a coral mouth opened, a pink tongue moved, as if licking ice cream.
  A boyish but firm voice interrupted the star hetaera.
  - Shut up, you beast, and let the marshal go!
  The rabid fury turned. A ragged, fair-haired youth pointed a heavy "Bear-9" assault rifle at her. This powerful weapon fired nine and a half thousand explosive rounds per minute, dispersing them in a checkerboard pattern. Lyra had studied all the major types of Earth weapons, and it was clear that if they opened fire, she, naked and exposed, would have no chance of escape, despite the durability of her genetically enhanced Stelzans. Assuming an angelic air, she turned to the boy, in turn, not releasing the President from her unfemininely muscular hand.
  "My dear boy, you're so smart. It's commendable that you want to save your president. But think about why you need him; his time is up anyway. It's better to join us."
  Lira's smile widened to its widest. Her teeth glittered like a row of tiny light bulbs. Even she, a lady of steel, found it difficult to support the president's nearly 100 kilograms of toned muscle and broken bones at arm's length, so she pressed him against her body. Her large, high breasts with scarlet nipples pressed against Polikanov's face. The marshal suddenly felt a surge of lust within him; such a magnificent warrior, her strong body breathing the passion of a rational predator. He had to suppress the treacherous call of the flesh with the willpower habitual to a career soldier.
  Vladimir Tigrov struggled to hold the assault rifle. Sweat trickled down his face. Only the fear of killing his marshal kept him from immediately opening fire.
  - Let the president go, you scum!
  Velimara laughed, but this time louder and more terrifyingly.
  "No, I'm not stupid enough to let go of my shield. And if you're so smart, you'll drop your weapon yourself. Brave boy, you weren't afraid to penetrate this underground bunker alone. We need warriors like you. You have no business among humans anyway, after all, you've killed several people, albeit insignificant, but nonetheless belonging to your kind. Why did your eyes widen? I saw it on the news." Velimara said, grinning even more disgustingly, noticing the boy's surprise. "You've become an enemy to your fellow earthlings on this planet. You are their enemy! And we value determined fighters like you. We will include you in the native police."
  "No, I will not betray my homeland, even if they shoot me later! He who does not lose his homeland will never lose his life!"
  Tigrov literally shouted this in a less tragic setting, a pathos that probably seemed ridiculous to some vulgarians. His hands hesitated; he felt like he was about to drop his weapon. Polikanov noticed this and decided to come to the rescue.
  "Don't be afraid, no one will shoot you. I, the President of Russia, will declare it self-defense. You did the right thing; it was long overdue to deal with the school bandits and the local mafia clans. And for eliminating the drug lord Viper-Chinese, I award you the Order of Courage."
  The boy began to breathe heavily, his arms and legs shaking with tension. Just a little more, and the monstrous engine of destruction would slip from his trembling, sweaty fingers.
  Lyra understood this and took a step towards meeting him.
  - Come on, kid, put the gun down carefully.
  The young man didn't wait for the "Bear" to slip from his grasp. He nearly fell over before pressing the fire button. Bursts of bullets erupted from the rotating barrel. Tracer bullets cut through the air, but were thrown back, hitting the transparent wall.
  - You're late! Well done, guys, you managed to cover me with the field.
  The boy was immediately seized.
  "Don't kill him. Deliver him to our starship!" the female general ordered. The star witch's pupils became as bottomless as a black hole.
  The boy, having been stripped of the remains of his clothing and having his ribs crushed with a blow so that a clot of blood flew out from behind his mouth, was shoved into an armored box, specially made for especially dangerous prisoners of war.
  Lyra's face lit up. She bared her teeth and stared piercingly at the Russian marshal's battered face.
  "I'd just eat you. You've lost, you have to admit it. You'll die a long, painful death in a cage at our zoo, watching as the remnants of your species become less than animals, more insignificant than cattle. I'll become the queen of your pathetic galaxy, and you'll all descend into the abyss of anti-space!"
  "No, that won't happen! You, space fury, are the one who lost and will die in a few seconds." Polikanov hiccupped on the last word, blood dripping from his broken bones.
  "You're bluffing, primate!" Lyra stretched her lips into an unnaturally wide, Pinocchio-like smile and shook the marshal slightly, causing the crushed bones to dig even deeper into the torn flesh. "I'll cure you, make you my personal slave, and you'll caress us." The fury's gaze grew even more languid. A male slave is a toy in their hands, forced to fulfill all their perverted sexual fantasies, how wonderful...
  - No! We have an annihilation charge! - The marshal almost lost consciousness from the pain.
  "All your cybernetics are dead, puppy!" Velimara cast a condescending, disdainful glance at Polikanov.
  - Yes, it"s dead, but it can be blown up by running the program manually!
  ***
  The Russian warrior is not afraid of death!
  Evil fate on the battlefield does not frighten!
  He will fight with the enemy for Holy Rus'.
  And even when dying, he will win!
  A brilliant flash interrupted Russian President Gennady Polikanov's words. The most powerful and destructive weapon ever created by humanity had detonated. Gigatons of demonic energy were unleashed, engulfing both humans and the invading aliens. A blast wave struck the belly of the landed enemy starship. This time, the starship was not protected by a powerful force field (due to energy conservation, only a minimal protective radiation field was activated). The escaping waves of antimatter easily pierced the weak shielding and scattered the starship into molten fragments. Some of the annihilation bombs inside managed to detonate, causing several more brilliant flashes. However, upon detonation, the charges act in a weakened form, somewhat reducing the already enormous number of casualties. Thermoquark weapons, by their operating principle, are extremely resistant to any external influences. Such a missile will not explode, even in the blazing thermonuclear hell of the sun's womb.
  General Gengir Volk witnessed the charge's effect during a purge of the Arfic continent. Lira ordered the Negroid race to be wiped from the face of the planet as the most inferior. ( Their flattened noses and black skin incited a savage fury.) The supergas "Dolerom-99" was used against the Arfic people. Spreading seven times faster than the speed of sound, this toxin quickly completed the purge, only to then vanish without a trace, decomposing into harmless elements.
  The news of Lyra Velimara's death evoked complex emotions. On the one hand, this capricious star harpy had become tiresome, tormenting everyone with her whims. On the other hand, the loss of an entire cruiser-flagship-class starship could be considered excessive during the conquest of a relatively underdeveloped planet, especially without orders from the center.
  Kramar Razorvirov, grinning maliciously, hissed.
  "Lyra probably won't be promoted in a parallel universe. The great emperor is unlikely to be pleased! Something must be done immediately. First and foremost, we must finish off the remnants of humanity and cover up the crime."
  Gengir Wolf hissed with annoyance, his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted:
  "I was so eager to test the new cybernetic torture program on them; they say it produces amazing results. It uses nine million points on the aliens' bodies."
  Suddenly, a message lit up on the monitor: "Due to the sharp escalation of the situation and the need to concentrate forces for a decisive battle with the Din state, the order is to cease all secondary operations and proceed to sector Amor-976, point Dol-45-32-87, as quickly as possible!"
  General Kramar said with inspiration:
  War is an eternal virgin - it cannot end without bloodshed! War with a greedy grip is a harlot - it never gives victory for free!
  Gengir growled hoarsely (his voice broke):
  - Well, let's get out of this cesspool!
  The Stelzans are natural-born soldiers: their creed should not be discussed, but rather upheld, especially since even these invaders feel extremely sick. Leaving the half-dead, ulcer-ridden planet behind, the starships entered hyperspace.
  Of the planet Earth's population of nearly twelve billion, less than one and a half billion remained, including the wounded and crippled. The human species was thrown back centuries.
  This is how the first acquaintance between "intelligent" worlds took place.
  Chapter 5
  The expanse of heaven sparkles above us,
  The alluring heights attract us like a magnet.
  We want to live and fly to the planets...
  But what can we do when we are broken?
  After the defeat of the Din Empire and a temporary lull, the Stelzans returned to Earth. Although the part of the galaxy where the human planet was located contained many habitable planets, all civilized worlds could be counted on the fingers of one hand. It was not for nothing that this galaxy was called the Primitive Zone, considered a secondary target for expansion and development, despite the fact that it contained no fewer habitable and exploitable planets than any other sector. Therefore, news of the existence of a relatively advanced civilization, especially one inhabited by creatures so similar to the Stelzans, attracted the serious attention of the empire's top leadership. The loss of one of the large starships during the fighting further increased interest in this planet. A decision was made to adopt a softer approach to human colonization, abandoning the strategy of total annihilation.
  When even more starships from the most powerful stellar empire in this part of the universe emerged from the depths of space, humanity no longer had the strength or the will to resist. The furious blows inflicted during the last attack paralyzed the will of Earthlings to resist. Many wanted only one thing: to stay alive.
  This time, the Stelzans behaved in a more civilized manner. Having a completely similar origin, yet being far more sophisticated and technologically advanced than humans, these superhumans could display flexibility and cunning.
  Soon, a unified puppet government was established on Earth, and the local separatist gangs effortlessly disintegrated the Stelzan troops into photons. This was done, supposedly, at the request of the indigenous "policemen." Trade agreements were concluded between the gigantic stellar empire and the tiny solar system. Billions upon billions of Kulamans were invested in the ruined Earth economy.
  The Stelzans conquered Venus, Mercury, Jupiter, and other planets in the Solar System. Roads and new factories were built almost instantly, new crops and fauna were introduced, and famine and disease were eradicated once and for all. Corrupt politicians and journalists praised the Stelzans and their concepts of kindness, duty, love, and justice. The catastrophic destruction of first contact was blamed on a crazed, sexually obsessed psychopath, Lira Velimara, who was posthumously demoted to the rank of private soldier. True, she retained her medals (which, according to the Purple Constellation Empire, left a good chance of continuing her career in another universe, where the dead go!). When it was finally revealed that, of all the peoples conquered by the Stelzans, it was the Earthlings who shared their origins with the invaders, a powerful wave of love erupted between representatives of the two worlds. Marriages began to form, children were born. It seemed that the old feuds would be forgotten and a new world would open up before the earthlings.
  The "honeymoon" of interstellar relations ended abruptly. The Supreme Council of Supreme Wisdom (as the central governing body of Stelzanat was called) changed the law. By imperial decree, military rule was instituted, and a governor-general was appointed to oversee development and conservation. The flow of tourists to Earth was reduced to a minimum, and then an extremely strict visa regime was introduced. All the benefits of cooperation with the great stellar empire proved one-sided.
  The solar system's resources enriched only the imperial treasury, and then the oligarchs who proliferated in Stelzanate. However, the same was true for all the other planets enslaved by the conquering nation, who considered themselves the Only True Children of the Most High God, destined to conquer an infinite number of different universes. The Stelzans conquered over three thousand galaxies in total, defeating and enslaving nearly five billion civilizations, large and small. The Stelzans controlled ... War is an eternal virgin-it cannot end without bloodshed! War with a greedy grip is a harlot-it never grants victory for free!
  Trillions of star systems and planets were destroyed-from the very beginning, Earthlings had no chance against such an armada. And after the war, which by the standards of the purple imperials was a minor tactical skirmish, all that was left was to hope for the mercy of the victor. The only force in this part of the universe that the proud Stelzans fear and are forced to reckon with is the Universal Council of Justice and Morality. It is something akin to a gigantic SuperUN, dominated and played by the Zorgs. Three-sexed beings, an ancient civilization with a billion-year history. These highly evolved brothers in mind do not wage wars, do not seek to conquer anyone, but maintain order in the universe, and only in cases of extreme necessity would they use force. Their weapons and supertechnology are so superior to those of the Stelzans that even they, brazen and decisive, do not risk starting a war against the Zorgs. For a long time, the Zorgs remained silent, perhaps too long without interfering. But when the Stelzans crossed the final threshold of lawlessness, these principled pacifists intervened in the conflict and separated the warring parties. The territory captured by the mighty Stelzanat by this time was so vast that they needed several generations to develop, assimilate, and completely subjugate the worlds. Therefore, after several unsuccessful skirmishes, they accepted new rules of interstellar communication without much resistance. The Zorgs did not interfere with the exploitation of other races and peoples, but they enforced the Declaration of the Rights of All Sentient Beings. They sought humane treatment for all sentient life forms, whether mollusk, lizard, arthropod, or even silicon, magnesium, and other intelligent matter. Not all creatures in the universe have a protein structure, including the Zorgs; the diversity of life is infinitely vast, so great that no one even knows the approximate number of all living species. They imposed a series of strict restrictions on the exploitation of conquered worlds, which even the proud Stelzans and other colonial empires feared to violate. Among the Zorgs were their heroes and missionaries, their priests, who strove to convey kindness, truth, and self-sacrifice to representatives of other civilizations. Among them, the most renowned was Des Imer Conoradson, the most noble of the Zorg elite. He was rich and honorable, like a knight in medieval romances, highly experienced, and extremely intelligent. The Stelzans feared him (during a recent inspection in the Sirmus system, he uncovered a whole host of abuses committed by the local government and secured the resignation of the previous governor and his accomplices). Therefore, there was a chance that he could improve the people's lot. Although, what would the removal of one governor accomplish? A thousand years had already passed since the planet's occupation, with 29 governors. This one was perhaps the most depraved and cruel, but the others were far from goody-goody either-there are no gentle Stelzans! Therefore, the secret council of the resistance movement decided to send a complaint to the senior senator about the excessive exploitation of the population of planet Earth. The young resistance fighter, Lev Eraskander, was to telegraph the transmission. This was practically impossible to do from the surface of planet Earth itself.
  ***
  A majestic panorama of space and a gigantic 3D hologram map of the galaxy adorned the throne room of a colossal palace. This enormous structure housed the Marshal-Governor of the solar system, Fagiram Sham. The governor's status on this planet had recently been significantly elevated. The governor's residence was in Tibet, and the palace was enclosed on all sides by enormous mountains. The galactic fortress-palace was built into a high plateau and could easily be camouflaged, becoming undetectable to visual observation from both the Earth's surface and from space. The Stelzan oligarchs loved luxury and splendor. The palace halls were decorated with statues of various Stelzanat heroes. There were numerous robotic paintings and images of various plants, mostly of extraterrestrial origin, as well as depictions of real and mythical creatures from other planets.
  Typically, the action was depicted vividly, with individual scenes composed of microchips and moving like a movie. Many of the halls resembled museums. They contained numerous artifacts from planet Earth and various weapons from other worlds. Alongside them were swords and laser rifles, stone axes and blasters, plasma tanks and slingshots, small starships, and savage pies. It had become a tradition to mix styles to emphasize the power and all-encompassing nature of the great Stelzan empire. The governor himself loved to change worlds and planets, leaping like an enraged viper; the fat gibbon traveled through fifty planets (on average, one every two years). This oaf had no complexes or prejudices. His very first decree banned Earthlings from working in any factories or plants not owned by the Stelzans. Disobedience was punishable by death, for both workers and their families. Those who approached within a few kilometers of highways or military bases without a pass were shot at, leaving a crater a hundred meters in diameter in their place. Slaves working on Venus were not paid at all, and those who objected were thrown into trash bins, disintegrating into individual atoms. Sometimes, for laughs, people with a small supply of oxygen were dropped into the sun in transparent bags. This death was very slow and painful, with the eyes leaking out first, followed by charring of the skin and hair. A week or even more could pass from the moment of ejection to death. As they approached the sun, the heat gradually increased, but not so rapidly that the person would lose consciousness without experiencing the full range of negative emotions. For variety, they sometimes did the opposite, gradually freezing the victims. More sophisticated tortures, inspired by a sick imagination, were also used. Most people were sold into slavery or forced labor to pay off debts. The system of exploitation is harsh and aggressive, man is humiliated to the level of a pack animal.
  ***
  The commander of the occupation ground forces, two-star General Gerlock, reported on the latest developments on the planet under his protection. There had been minor skirmishes with guerrillas, though on other planets, guerrilla warfare had never existed and could never have existed. The Stelzans' hold on power had been consolidated, and open warfare had been suppressed almost everywhere. The governor sat sulking, his massive figure almost completely blending into the enormous black chair. The chair, adorned with precious stones, towered over the room like a royal throne.
  Gerlok Shenu reported in a casual, even lazy, tone:
  "They attempted to fire on a security unit of logging robots. Their fire slightly damaged one robot. Five of the partisans were killed, two wounded, and two captured. We didn't pursue the rest, following your instructions. All the attackers were wearing camouflage suits that protected against infrared detection and were riding homemade aerial motorcycles. They fired blasters, apparently of smuggled design. Everything would have been fine, but one shot blew up a railcar carrying foam oil. It dispersed and incinerated an entire trainload of freshly cut trees, including highly valuable timber that doesn't grow quickly. Losses exceeded 30 million kulamans. This is throwing us off schedule. Meanwhile, all is calm in other sectors."
  Fagiram, hysterically shaking his massive jaw, growled:
  "Well, you're admitting significant damage again. It's a black hole vacuum! Generally speaking, if we're using technology to track the slightest steps of insignificant rebels, then it's stupid to suffer such losses. Who was responsible for Sector L-23?"
  "Heki Wayne!" Gerlock answered briefly.
  The Marshal-Governor added in a calmer, perhaps even lazy, tone:
  "Annihilate all the partisans who participated in the attack. And another thousand of those who didn't, and crucify thirty thousand civilians, aged five and older, on trees."
  "One for a thousand kulamans?" Gerlok asked, slightly timid.
  Fagiram Sham raised his voice again, one of his fangs even growing in size and flashing a shark-head-shaped crown:
  "One for a thousand isn't enough! Nail sixty thousand hostages alive to trees and leave them to die. Earthlings are like dogs; they love a stick and chain! It's best to execute the males; they're more aggressive than the local females."
  Gerlock began to babble in his most amiable tone, his index finger automatically pressing the buttons on the plasma computer:
  "That's a wonderful idea. Maybe we should test a new strain of meta-virus that will wipe out the male race on Earth, and then we'll impregnate the female slaves with robots and ration cards?"
  The governor's fang returned to its previous size, and his voice to a languid tone:
  - No need! We still need the males, too; they're not as fat and firm. Better yet, bring a few of the prettier native boys to my quarters! They won't survive anyway!
  "And what if one of the slaves takes a risk and takes down a crucified compatriot?" Gerlok blurted out such a banality, already clearly sensing what the answer would be.
  The gorilla-like Fagiram shook his fists, which were the size of watermelons and covered in horny, dark gray skin:
  "Then for every captured slave we'll crucify another thousand, no, ten thousand. And on top of that, we'll impale twenty thousand hairless primates. So that everyone can see our might and ruthlessness. Let the earthlings tremble in terror."
  "Your lips contain an ocean of wisdom, the size of a universe!" the sycophantic general said flatteringly.
  Fagiram glanced at the tall, carved window, framed in a gold frame and covered with a mixture of emeralds and rubies. Viewed from different angles, its glass panes magnified the royal courtyard. There, a flogging was taking place: a dozen boys between the ages of twelve and fourteen were being flogged. They were beaten with whips soaked in fluoric acid laced with cyamidine. This allowed the torn flesh to heal more quickly. The boys were required to count the blows themselves; if the one being flogged faltered, the flogging was restarted.
  "These are native police cadets. Apparently they've done something minor, so that's how they're treated, without any injuries," Gerlok explained, squinting.
  Fagiram was very pleased to see the brown, muscular bodies of the boys being whipped. Blood dripped from their naked bodies, and one of the boys couldn't bear it any longer and cried out: now they would whip him to death.
  "That's very good. I love it when they inflict pain, especially on human children. The fact that they resemble Stelzans makes the torture process much more enjoyable. How I would enjoy torturing my son, but he's a brat, he ran away from me to a remote garrison, on the outskirts of a vast empire." The sadist, endowed with absolute power over humanity, growled.
  "Children are so ungrateful! No respect for their parents," Gerlok readily confirmed, having had his own negative experience. Staring blankly, the general added, "It's good that the barracks have taken over the responsibilities of raising offspring, and archaic family values have remained in the Stone Age!"
  A huge butterfly flew up to the injured, unconscious boy, landed on his back, and began to bite. The governor liked his round face and muscular figure.
  Fagiram gave the order to the Stelzan executioners, and holograms on their computer bracelets lit up:
  - Lock it, and turn on the radar!
  The masked thugs, with shoulders big enough to hang out a large family's laundry, barked:
  - Ears on top of your head, sir!
  "How many native police cadets do we have?" the Marshal-Governor asked in a hoarse tone.
  "In the capital alone, five hundred thousand," the executioners answered in chorus.
  "Then listen to my order: run them all through the gauntlet. Let boys beat boys! And I will watch." Fagiram pointed his fingers at the young, wounded body. "And as for this boy, bring him to his senses. He will be subjected to a special cybernetic torture. The computer and micro-robots will fill every cell with suffering. I will personally regulate the pain threshold."
  The boy was lifted up, injected with a stimulant, and he opened his eyes, shaking his short, blond hair. He screamed with childish desperation:
  - Have mercy! I won't do it again!
  "Shut up, or we'll add more. The governor himself will deal with you now," the executioners threatened, grinning like beasts and flashing their red cockades.
  Fagiram was pleased and stroked his huge belly:
  "I have some ideas about the pain impact, especially if micro-robots are going to tear apart aortas and directly affect the nerve endings. Although, on the other hand, there's nothing better than beating a worthless human with your own hand."
  "I agree with that!" Gerlok puffed out his cheeks and assumed an air of cartoonish grandeur. "If you like, we can organize a big hunt, with a herd of people."
  Fagiram's snout stretched out in the strongest expression of bliss:
  "We'll definitely do it. Give the other boys an extra two hundred lashes with a barbed chain on their bare heels and hint that I want to hear their screams. For me, moans and cries are the best music."
  "It will be done, but what about Heki?" Gerlok extended his hand and a half-naked, sun-blackened, but fair-haired maid handed him a glass of freshly brewed local beer.
  "Heki Wayne will be demoted and deprived of his bonus for the year. I'm not against playing at war, but I don't intend to overpay for the pleasure." The Marshal-Governor paused, then said without any expression. "I hope this is the only bad news?"
  "For now, yes. But big..." Gerlok hesitated and choked on his beer, brown splashes hitting his nose, causing an unpleasant tickling sensation.
  - Again, but? - Fagimar immediately became wary, even taking a few steps on the multi-colored marble floor tiles.
  "Rumor has it that the Ministry of Love and Truth is preparing an inspection. And that agency has a tenuous relationship with your relative, the head of the Department of Throne Protection, Geller Velimar. They'll dig up dirt on you." Gerlok was clearly nervous, more concerned for his own safety. "The laws of Stelzanat are harsh, and the anti-troops are essentially a militarized underworld."
  "It's a small thing. When it comes to Earthlings, they put in a worse governor, especially lately. The more violations and abuses of power, the less likely he'll be removed. We'll steal even more! If you give more than planned, it's a kickback!"
  Fagiram stopped, rested his fists on his fat sides, paused dramatically, and then thundered:
  - That's an order!!! Super orgasm!
  The planet's governor laughed like crazy. The general winced, his ears pierced by the unpleasant laughter that only the most raving lunatics hear on Earth. Having laughed until he squealed like a pig, the governor calmed down and spoke more seriously.
  "Technically, eliminating the rebels is a matter of seconds. We, warriors of the invincible Purple Constellation, could easily crush all the 'mosquitoes,' but we won't. Firstly, this planet is a real hole, and fighting the guerrillas is the only entertainment. Secondly, it's an opportunity to blame everything on the rebels, both losses and shortages. The main thing is the process itself. The fear of death torments the rats for a long time, arousing the excitement and attention of those who play with them. And people are like us, which enhances the thrill." The thug-stelzan spread his arms wide and began moving his fingers as if dealing a deck of cards. "We begin the game, so we lead with three aces. Spades are the Negroes, diamonds are the Russians, hearts are the Chinese. Who's the clubs? Someone of mixed race. Time to knock out the trumps!" Two aces are marked, and it takes just a few minutes to take them out of the game.
  Fagiram paused - a hawk-like flying robot, with the help of its elongating paws and sticky claws, handed him a glass of poisonous green datura tincture, beeping:
  - Your beloved Sekeke! He who drinks a lot lives a happy life!
  The Marshal Governor, holding a glass in his hands, barked again, so loudly that he sprayed his asymmetrical snout with dope:
  - Where are the Russians and the leader Gornostaev holed up?
  Gerlock babbled in confusion:
  "Computer calculations... So finding it is a piece of cake! It's a shame there are still planets unknown and untracked. That's why the rebel agents were able to hack into a bank and take the cash last time. With our technological superiority, that's impossible . That means someone is betraying us..."
  Fagiram interrupted with a roar:
  - Therefore, the order is to find him as quickly as possible! Step forward, march! One, two left! With white fever!
  The general, a reddish-haired hunk resembling a massive, muscular inhabitant of planet Earth, turned around, raising his hand in farewell. "This Marshal-Governor is definitely a bit off, just like his grandmother, Lira Velimara ( though she was much prettier)! Maybe that's why he was promoted here?"
  A deafening cry, like the roar of a bison, interrupted my thoughts:
  - Halt! I'm ordering a test of the new vacuum dengresion weapon. Vacuum the rebels, proceed with caution, of course. I'm placing a reward of one million kulamans on Ivan Gornostayev's head. If they hand him over, we'll look after him. And also, General, Cubism is trendy right now, especially among Stelzans. Look for Cubist paintings from this space hole. They're worth hundreds of millions. Paintings from this planet have always been highly prized. There are plenty of customers in the central galaxy.
  Gerlock let out a confused breath:
  - Yes, your Excellency! But too much was stolen before us.
  Fagiram, in response, shook his fist right next to his subordinate"s nose:
  "Let the slaves paint new canvases. Those who can't, we'll laser-cut off their toes, first, then scalp them. And after some more sophisticated torture, we'll crush their hands too! Go!"
  The general left.
  The sliding doors closed silently. A seven-headed, long-toothed dragon-like emblem shone upon them. The superdragon was a real and terribly dangerous creature, living in asteroid swarms. According to legend, this rare hyperplasmic beast was killed in a decisive battle for power by the first minister of the united Stelzanat, who founded the current ruling dynasty. A computer system was hidden within the door, with a small plasma laser barrel protruding from each mouth, ready to strike down any attempt on the governor's life. Two combat robots, resembling rearing griffins bristling with missiles, monitored all movements near the governor's throne.
  Fagiram poured himself a mixture of alcohol and local hashish and, leaning back with relish, listened to the brutal mutilation of the boys. He began laughing hysterically again, then pressed a button, and several tall slave girls entered the room. The unfortunate girls were forced to satisfy the maniac's filthy lust!
  
  Chapter 6
  It's not just cruelty that reigns in the sky,
  There is kindness and justice!
  It means that the path for love is open,
  Nobility lives in him, not mercy!
  The Zorgs are one of the greatest civilizations in the Universe. A vast, powerful nation, forming a universal council and community of independent galaxies, they arose long ago, even before the existence of planet Earth. Back then, the Sun was a protostar, shining in the ultraviolet range, and today's black holes were bright stars generously shedding light. Even then, the Zorgs were exploring space, trading, waging war with their neighbors, gradually expanding their reach. However, along with scientific and technological progress, morality and ethics developed. War propaganda and war itself came to be considered a dirty, immoral act, murder a sin, and harming sentient beings a vile crime against reason.
  Gradually, a new galactic community was formed, joining which was voluntary. Other civilizations were allowed to remain independent. They still occasionally waged star wars among themselves. Even within their own species, there 's ruthless competition, let alone between races that don't even share a common cellular structure. But now, as a rule, conflicts were localized, and serious space warfare was rare, although individual space empires continued to gradually expand.
  The sudden emergence of a new civilization, the Stelzans, into universal orbit changed the established order. Using the latest weapons, gathering allies into coalitions, and then betraying them. Acting through cunning and deceit, the Stelzans rapidly expanded their influence, swelling like a snowball. Subjugating more and more worlds, the empire grew ever larger and more greedy. During stellar battles, humanoids perished first by the billions, and as their scale and conquests grew, by the trillions, then by the quadrillions. Millions upon millions of space rockets, starships, and intergalactic starships waged war against one another. Entire planets exploded and scattered into space, galaxies were literally devastated by the unstoppable flow of annihilative expansion. Through intrigue, spies, and traitors, the Stelzans sowed conflicts and wars in other regions of the universe. They hired mercenaries, formed coalitions, and continued to expand, absorbing new worlds. The Stelzans were especially cruel and vicious toward the Din, a star republic. The Din, like the Zorgs, were tri-gendered creatures and did not utilize oxygen in their metabolism. However, oxygen-nitrogen and oxygen-gel atmospheres were the most common in the universe. Such atmospheres were too active for the Zorgs and Din, and without spacesuits, they simply oxidized, dying painfully in a toxic environment. The Stelzans waged a total war of extermination, sparing not even children and fetuses. The Din were almost completely exterminated as a species. And then the Zorgs intervened. Overwhelming technological superiority and a few powerful lessons from the war brought the Stelzans back to reality, halting the destruction of civilization. The Zorgs awoke from their slumber and began to intervene more actively in wars, in bloody photon skirmishes between civilizations. Around eighty-five quadrillion Din were exterminated (a staggering number, hard to imagine), not counting the multi-trillion populations of the worlds they controlled. Undoubtedly, the conquest of the Purple Constellation was the most brutal of all intergalactic star wars in the history of the Universe. The fighting gradually died down, although expansion continued afterward. The Stelzans occupied over three and a half thousand galaxies, becoming the most powerful of the star empires, subjugating some twenty million enormous star states, nearly five billion civilizations, capturing over fourteen trillion habitable worlds, and an even greater number of uninhabitable but exploitable planets. The number of sentient beings who perished in the process is incalculable. The Stelzan Empire-the Great Stelzanate-became the most extensive of all intergalactic empires. Due to the active intervention of the Universal Justice Council, wars virtually ceased, leaving only minor border strikes. The primary focus of intergalactic struggle shifted to the economic sphere, intense competition, and aggressive industrial-commercial espionage. New star systems were conquered not by hyperlasers, but by the kulaman (monetary currency). Newly conquered colonies were ruthlessly exploited, the primary goal being to squeeze out as much money and resources as possible. However, the Universal Justice Council, like a lump in the throat, established strict rules for the exploitation of conquered planets, limitations on the use of force, and proportionality in the rights of humanoids. Due to their colossal technological superiority, the Stelzans and other star empires were hesitant to engage in war with the community of independent galaxies and, gritting their teeth, were forced to play by the rules. This is why they feared an audit by the Universal Council far more than inspections by their own authorities. Relations between the Universal Justice Council and other worlds were regulated by various treaties, which ensured relative stability in this part of the universe. Des Ymer Conoradson, a senior senator and supreme inspector of the General Congress, was renowned for his analytical mind, phenomenal intuition and tenacity, incomprehensible integrity, and prodigious erudition. Des Ymer Conoradson was nearly a million Earth years old. The experience of many millennia in a single mind. Over such a long period, one can learn to recognize traps, see through cunning lies, and expose sophisticated deceptions. Naturally, this created a powerful aura of trust around Conoradson. People believed in him as a messiah and worshiped him as a god.
  ***
  After a brutal battle and an assassination attempt, Lev Eraskander recovered remarkably quickly. Of course, the latest regeneration technologies had their effect, but even experienced doctors were still surprised. The boy stood up and walked around the spacious room with surprising ease. The floor beneath his bare feet was warm and springy, allowing him to bounce like a trampoline. The walls of the room itself were painted like a lawn, where Liffey cubs frolicked, featuring the amusing heads of deer, the bodies of leopards, and the paws and tails of jerboas, only with a more luxuriant tassel at the end.
  This wasn't a prison ward. A gravovisor with a 3D hologram sat in the corner, fresh air smelling of herbs, a hydrobed, and a robotic nanny shaped like an orange with spider legs. His first thought was, "What if I escape?" Leaving the ward wasn't a Herculean feat, nor was disabling the cybernetic nurse. But how could he escape from a slave collar, and even more difficult, from a tracking device permanently implanted in his spine? If he tried to escape, he'd be caught immediately and likely eliminated. The assassination attempt had been dealt with, he wasn't charged, but Urlik hadn't been touched either; a slave's testimony, in this case, was null and void. And he hadn't yet completed his partisan group's mission, failing to send the graviogram to the Great Zorg. In doing so, he was letting his comrades down, undermining their already fragile trust. But how could he do that if all the transmitters were under control, and his every move was tracked by a tireless computer? The boy jumped up in frustration, touching the ceiling with his hand, where a sea monster had been painted - more amusing than menacing, actually . Then he said:
  "There are no hopeless situations; for those whose thoughts are stuck, they all come out the backseat!" The joke briefly amused Leo, but then his spirits plummeted again. There was reason to despair, but Fortune is a capricious goddess and isn't always kind. However, this beautiful goddess favors the young and strong, those who don't lose heart!
  The armored door of the room slid open, and a woman of exquisite beauty entered the cozy room, suddenly dazzlingly white from the streams of disinfectant radiation. To the young man, she seemed like a fairy. Tall, athletic (two meters-the standard height for female Stelzans), and dazzlingly beautiful, she had a surprisingly sweet and gentle face. This was quite unusual, as Stelzans always exude aggression and insolence. She placed her soft, gentle hand on the young man's shoulder, gently scratching his skin with her luminescent nails.
  - My dear friend, you're already back on your feet! And I was afraid that this monster would leave you crippled forever.
  Her seven-colored, iridescent hair brushed against the youth's muscular, armor-like chest, and the scent of her finest perfume was intoxicating, arousing passion. Leo was no fool and immediately understood what this gentle Circe wanted from him, but he nevertheless asked:
  - Excuse me, who are you?
  She moved closer, licked the boy's smooth forehead with her pink tongue, and said softly in a ringing voice:
  "I'm Vener Allamara, daughter of the local governor, a 9-star officer in the Commercial Intelligence Department. Don't be afraid, I mean you no harm. I suggest you simply take a break and visit my personal palace. Believe me, it's luxurious and beautiful. I'll show you many things you've never seen on your forgotten Earth. I call it the Planet of Sorrows."
  "Why?" Lev asked mechanically, involuntarily blushing from the feeling of passion from the delightful diva from the titular race of the Great Star Empire.
  "The Lord sheds tears, seeing how man has fallen, how a blaster has scorched his flesh-a century full of suffering!" Vener said breathlessly and rhymingly, carefully holding the retreating youth back with her hand. "And yet you are so much like us. I just wanted to test you with brute force or something!"
  Lev was torn between teenage embarrassment and a natural wariness of all the Stealth-like creatures hated by humanity, and the natural urge of a young, healthy body. The boy's voice betrayed confusion and extreme bewilderment:
  - This is very interesting, but I am wearing a slave collar and a "Dead Grip" tracking device.
  Vener said in a contemptuous tone, as if it were a mere trifle:
  "That's no problem. The collar is easy to disable and remove once you know how it works. And as for your tracking device, your nominal master, Jover Hermes, won't interfere with me." Stelzanka drew the edge of her palm through the air for emphasis. "My magnate father could cause him a lot of trouble."
  With a commanding gesture, she invited him to follow her. Well, to miss such a chance would be a sin... And not only for herself, which eased her conscience...
  ***
  The armored autoglider lifted smoothly off the basalt surface and soared upward. On Earth, where old houses were, at best, ruins, and the only new buildings were barracks, military bases, and the governor's residence. Lev had never seen such cities. Gigantic skyscrapers, soaring kilometers into the air. Their tops seemed to tear the purple and pink clouds of this world. Flying machines soared high above, from disc-shaped aircraft and the teardrop-shaped forms of Stelzans and humanoid races, to the extremely ornate designs of life forms that could not be found even remotely comparable on Earth. Kilometer-long advertising billboards, colossal temples to various gods and individuals. Hanging and moving gardens around the buildings, filled with the most incredible and wildly shaped plants, flowers, and living minerals. Almost every building was unique in color and composition. The Stelzans were very fond of bright colors, complex rainbow combinations, and the play of multifaceted, variegated light. Even the numerous buildings erected by the local population before the conquest of this planet were painted and embellished to suit the invaders' tastes. Eraskander also loved the rich tones and complex, wondrous play of light; this city seemed fabulously beautiful to him. Especially considering the mutilated and humiliated Earth. Meanwhile, Vener Allamara pressed herself ever closer to him, massaging his naked body with her hands. The boy was almost naked, and despite himself, he became increasingly aroused, literally wanting to pounce on the hetaera sitting next to him. Vener also grew increasingly aroused, radiating desire.
  Although Leo wasn't even 19 cycles old (the commentator slightly exaggerated his age), he was tall and strong for his age. He stood almost six feet tall and weighed nearly two hundred pounds, without the slightest hint of fat. His dark bronze tan accentuated his very defined and deep muscles, making his figure even more attractive. He was terribly strong for his age, which gave him a uniquely masculine beauty. This was hardly surprising; back on Earth, girls would go crazy for this powerful man with the build of Apollo, but still with a youthful face that retained a teenage roundness and smooth, hairless skin. His hair was thick, golden-blond , slightly wavy, though the short, fashionable Stelzan haircut made it less noticeable. And what do women love? Beauty, strength, youth, and, if they're lucky, intelligence. Considering that among the Stelzans, a woman actively pursuing a man is commonplace, there's nothing unusual about this. Equality in warfare has also brought their sexual mentality into sharper focus, with both males and females of this aggressor race shamelessly boasting of their romantic conquests. Lev smiled wryly, seeing a skyscraper, shaped like a woman's massive, athletic figure, its dozen enormous windows resembling full breasts, their nipples shining like stars in the sky. The aggressor nation has some curious structures. A vast empire with some matriarchal elements. It's rather surprising that a whole line of lustful females hadn't formed.
  Ahead loomed the tallest building in the province-the Emperor's Temple. It was a towering, multi-domed structure. The domes came in a variety of shapes and colors, glittering with blinding brightness. Inside the sanctuary was a hyperplasma reactor, so when darkness fell, a colossal hologram of the temple or a protruding cosmic "supercaesar" would appear. Passing the central Temple of the Great Emperor, they emerged onto Vadkorosa Street. There was her palace-lavish, enormous, simply stunning, nearly a kilometer high. The style of construction was very reminiscent of ancient Eastern style, only the paintwork was overly vibrant, multicolored, with garlands of light and fountains gushing from the domes. And above, a hologram in the form of a sparkling glow, in which the outline of a splintering starship could be discerned. At the entrance stood several security robots and a dozen native policemen (a cross between upright cats and lush burrows). The palace's chief security officer, a Stelzan officer, smiled welcomingly, extending a broad palm.
  "And you, my son, are a fine fellow! A true warrior of the Great Stelzanate. Ask our mistress, she'll see to it, and you'll become a soldier. And if you distinguish yourself, you'll receive citizenship and rule the universe with us..."
  Vener suddenly interrupted the officer with a stern voice.
  "Mind your own business! You army men, frankly, are consuming protein for free in these halcyon days, while we, the environmental intelligence, are always working for the motherland. Peaceful coexistence is possible between worlds, but never between economies."
  And smiling again, she stroked Lev's muscular, tanned back, kneading his firm chest with her strong, sharp-nailed fingers. His muscles were firm, his heart was beating steadily.
  - Your skin is so smooth, like Samador's shell.
  When they entered the luxurious, jewel-studded hall, Vener could no longer control herself. Shedding her clothes, she pounced on the man. Her breasts, luxurious as red rosebuds, swelled and seductively beckoned. Her slender, golden-bronze legs crossed in a tempting movement. She was thinner and sleeker than most women in the great empire, yet she was sultry in bed. Eraskander, too, was strong beyond his years. He, too, admittedly, was desperately eager to copulate...
  Leo felt like a sailing yacht racing full speed ahead, caught in a storm. The wind grew stronger, turning into a raging hurricane, and waves of frantic passion swept through his powerful young body like a tsunami. Each new jolt generated an even more powerful earthquake, the wave grew stronger, and every cell of his body seemed to be bathed in precious sprays of happiness, a surf of fabulous bliss. For several hours, the young man and woman made love, experiencing a cascade of emotions. As they lay, sated and exhausted, on the lush carpet, they felt wonderfully comfortable. Numerous multicolored mirrors illuminated the spacious hall, as spacious as a fine stadium, from various angles. As the lovers ecstatically rapt, intertwining their bodies, gleaming like polished bronze, the mirrors reflected their wave-like movements from every angle and range. The starry Aphrodite turned with a voluptuous moan, her face radiating happiness. The calloused hands of the boy gladiator massaged her chiseled leg, caressing it between her long, graceful toes, tickling her pink heel, then moving up to her voluptuous thighs. Venus, fluttering in clouds of pleasure, said enthusiastically:
  - Incomparable! You're simply a magician! I've never felt so good with anyone. You're so strong and gentle, and our men aren't like humans...
  Lev also responded quite sincerely. After another passionate kiss on Venus's chest, which made her young, strong heart beat faster, the passion in her hardened flesh awakening with renewed vigor. In response, the boy pulled her shoulders toward him, licking the ruby bud of her nipple with his tongue, and quietly said in a voice breaking with emotion:
  "You know, you're not like the women of the Great Stelzanat. You're so tender and kind, you remind me of a fairytale princess, and I want to save you. Forgive me for asking, but I'd like to transmit a graviogram to Earth so my parents won't worry. After all, we're in another galaxy, hundreds of thousands of light cycles away."
  The commercial intelligence warrior really wanted to thank the wonderful boy from an unfairly oppressed race, so she joyfully exclaimed:
  - Excellent! I have a powerful radio station with a private code, a privilege reserved for governors. Say whatever you want, and I'll help you. Just in exchange, we'll make love again tomorrow...
  Leo literally blossomed into a smile.
  - If so, I agree. You are simply the goddess Venus.
  - Who? - Stelzana feigned surprise on her face, although she was pleased with the comparison with a deity.
  "She is the goddess of love and happiness on our planet," Eraskander answered simply and straightforwardly, involuntarily lowering his eyes.
  "A quasar expression! I'll fly to your planet someday. And you hurry, too long an absence is dangerous for you." Vener suddenly cooled down, and rather roughly lifted the young man by the shoulder, even lifting him slightly off the floor.
  "Quasar? Does that come from the word 'quasar'? It's probably the biggest star in the Universe, and I'm still so little," Eraskander said playfully, as if oblivious to the rudeness.
  "No need, Lev! I'm happy with all your sizes!" Stelzanka smiled even more, greedily kissed her honeyed lips on her lover's velvety ones once more, and with a sigh of regret, let go of the boy.
  Eraskander felt a little awkward; he didn't know who his real parents were, and lying to the woman he supposedly already loved seemed a bit cowardly. Even if she was a warrior of the Purple Constellation, whose empire, in its cruelty and unscrupulousness, eclipsed all its predecessors in the universe. Without wasting time on further idle arguments, the young man confidently and quickly sent the gravigram. It was quite simple, a simple keystroke. Then, accompanied by his new companion, he returned to the aircraft. On the return journey, everything seemed majestic and ethereal. The numerous assemblages of strange buildings shimmered with a joyful light; lovemaking added a vibrant color and freshness to the impressions.
  ***
  A huge bush of luxurious flowers, intoxicatingly scented and with vibrant, fluttering petals, awaited him in the ward. A marvelously luxurious table, laden with delicacies exotic even by the standards of the star empire, also awaited him. The native orderly now bowed so low that his long, shiny ears brushed the plastic floor. And the stern doctor winked ominously:
  - You're lucky, man! You have a great girlfriend. You'll be free soon!
  "God willing!" thought Leo sadly. "But somehow I don't believe in such easy and pleasant happiness!"
  Then he suddenly felt some bad waves of thoughts: "For them, I"m just a slave, an exotic animal."
  The young man felt humiliated. Damned Stealthlings! When he breaks free, he'll show them, disintegrate this entire nation of sadistic ghouls, no matter how many quintillions there are, into photons! Sensei's words came to mind: "When you're strong, appear weak. When you're weak, appear strong. When you hate, smile. When you're filled with anger, tone it down! Let the blow be like lightning! Let it be seen when it's already struck dead!"
  Once again, the cybernetic transmitters played the Stelzanata anthem. Admittedly, it was slightly altered. But still, it was a familiar, pompous, belligerent version. Somehow, this time, the tired music of the merciless occupiers wasn't so repulsive.
  Chapter 7
  If you want to achieve victory,
  Don't bet on the good uncle!
  You can overcome your own troubles!
  And make everyone respect you!
  Here it is - the Zorg home planet. A colossal sphere, over half a million kilometers in diameter. Due to the extremely low density of the core, gravity is only 1.2 units of Earth's. The planet's interior is metallic hydrogen. The surface is rich in lithium, magnesium, potassium, aluminum, and other metals. In addition to those known on Earth, there is the mysterious element essentum-4, essentum-8, and a number of other light metallic components unknown on Earth's surface, or even in neighboring galaxies. The Zorg themselves have a complex metallic structure, not a protein one. They are composed of a variety of light and highly reactive metals, some liquid, some solid. Their density is approximately that of H2O. The panorama of buildings is perfect in its splendor and unique. They resemble neither Earth's nor Stelzan structures. Spheres, domes, cylinders, and ovals are colorfully connected into enormous, colorful garlands. Spherical and cylindrical skyscrapers soar tens and hundreds of kilometers into the air. Some buildings are shaped like exotic animals with multiple limbs, claws, tentacles, and who knows what else. For example, a house shaped like a hybrid of four turtles and pineapples with jaguar heads, stacked one on top of the other in decreasing order. The structures built by the Zorg-allied aliens are particularly diverse; they are sometimes so ornate that modern avant-garde artists have gone crazy trying to create such incredible compositions. Here's a building whose shape combines the tentacles of squid excavators, rows of mermaid eyes with long eyelashes, drills ending in flower buds, bracket parts, and the heads of five-horned rhinoceroses with fish scales. It's hard to even imagine such a thing, and yet there are even more ornate, lush, and, to other aliens, insane structures. Flying vehicles, mostly round in shape, though some resemble flower buds, swiftly cut through the hydrocarbon-rich, methane-hydrogen sulfide-chloride-hydride atmosphere. Some of the most advanced machines instantly zip through space, remaining invisible. Others neutralize friction with special radiation that disintegrates atoms into romons for a fraction of a nanosecond (approximately the seventh degree of hyper-miniaturization after quarks!), after which the matter automatically reassembles.
  Typically, such advanced structures are ridden by the Zorgs themselves, who have mastered the secret of null-transition and the nature of kinesispace (the stuff that is composed of that which is not essentially matter!) and its variations. The atmosphere itself would seem slightly murky to an earthling, as if through a kilometer of thick fog, while colorful clusters of lightning flash in the sky-a harmless discharge of energy. This strange world is simultaneously bright and dim, but the Zorgs' eyes see in the gamma, radio, ultraviolet, and infrared spectrums. Special tiny cyber lenses provide similar capabilities to inhabitants of other worlds.
  ***
  In a large, domed hall with a transparent roof, Senior Senator Dez Imer Konoradson reviewed the gravigram sent by Lev Eraskander. From above, a majestic view of the space structures, various stations, and satellites of the mighty empire of the Diamond Constellation opened up. For example, there was a gigantic, richly ornamented comb. Starships flew around its icicle-like teeth, their shapes instantly changing upon approach. For example, there was a spaceship hybrid of a samovar and a gladiolus bud, a cross between a hedgehog and a daisy, or a transformation of a saucer with a parrot's head and three crocodile tails, and a dump truck with swan wings and a giraffe's head. Various entertainment centers, restaurants, casinos, houses of happiness, amusement rides, and much more, for which there is no comparable analogy, were also located here. There was a kind of syncretism of the cultures of millions of civilizations, which made the picture of the starry sky extremely colorful, filled with exotic wonders, when the desire to make an aesthetic impression surpassed rational calculation.
  This is why many starships were not of the standard streamlined shape, and their designers tried to express the spirit of their type rather than achieve maximum performance.
  For the Zorgs , however , this is already commonplace. Next to the Senior Parliamentarian stood his aide, Senator Bernard Pangon. This Zorg towered menacingly with its three-meter-tall bulk, its almost square body and six limbs. The Senator spoke in a low, metallic voice, like a double bass.
  "I think that, despite its apparent plausibility, the possibility of a setup can't be completely ruled out. This governor has been to 56 planets and has a poor reputation. However, the suspicious anonymous person didn't identify himself, which is always questionable. And the fact that the message was sent from another galaxy seems very strange, devoid of logic. It could be a clash of commercial interests, personal vendetta, or some long-standing grudge. It would be better to send a commission of professional experts there than to go there yourself and then become a byword on all the radio bands of the Metagalaxy. You, a senior senator, shouldn't rush across almost the entire empire on a false alarm. Professionals will do everything better and more reliably than we can."
  Des Ymer Conoradson, who also bore the title of Duke, responded in a quiet, rich voice. His face, practically receding into his shoulders, was as motionless as a mask:
  "Basically, I agree with you. But... Firstly, the telegram was addressed to me personally, not to the Space Patrol. Secondly, I've long wanted to see this mysterious planet Earth."
  Bernard Pangone's voice was tinged with boredom and disdain. Yet it also held a compelling force. Even the fish flying through the air, studded with pebbles sparkling a hundred times brighter than diamonds, seemed to be energetically waving their long, star-studded fins in approval.
  "It's a typical planet with oxygen that's toxic to us. There are millions and billions of such worlds. Sirius is inhabited by almost identical, though more backward, hermaphroditic creatures. Similar vegetation, just like Earth. Perhaps the natives of this system were more technologically backward, but more morally advanced. They are all the same species of hairless primates, both humans and Stealzans."
  The senior senator spoke in a gentle tone, gradually becoming heated in his oratorical fervor:
  "Exactly, my friend, like the Stelzans. The same origin, the same unit, a largely similar history, including wars within the planet. And the inhabitants of Sirius are not at all aggressive; they evolved from a herbivorous species of chimpanzee. Isn't it interesting to look at a rare analogue-the Stelzans of the past? We lived too secluded, happy in our physical, mental, and intellectual perfection. We forgot about what was happening around us, thinking that reason and intellect go quantum to quantum with high morality. That the psychology of a savage with a stone axe is incompatible with stellar empires, intergalactic travel, and predatory instincts are merely an atavism, inspired by memories of primordial hunger. Oh, no, not for nothing did our ancient philosophers say that there is nothing more terrible than perfect logic put to the service of base passions and high intellect driven by the instinct for total destruction. When the Stelzans exterminated, crushing our Din brothers and other intelligent beings like insects, and processing their corpses in death factories. These were no longer animal instincts; they were a logically justified extermination of species unnecessary and potentially dangerous to these bloody conquerors. The paranoia of eternal fear and psychosis, combined with cold sadism and moral insanity. And all this was perpetrated by beings with a high level of intelligence, a nation that had become a supercivilization. This is a double lesson for us for the future. Perhaps one day, Earthlings too will achieve independence, throwing off the handcuffs of their elder brothers. And I would not want them to follow this vile and ultimately disastrous path. They, the immature, spiritually weak, absorbing the poison of the Stelzans' vile worldview, are the ones who need this journey first and foremost. The essence of their ideology is: "You are nothing, and your nation is everything; before other nations, you are everything, because they are nothing." Every Stelzan is an elementary particle before the Emperor, every representative of another race is an even smaller particle before a Stelzan. No, Earthlings must understand what's what. I've firmly decided. I'm going! Even though it's tantamount to a descent into hell! But is the messenger of Supreme Justice afraid to set foot on land ruled by Satan?
  The great zorg's final words thundered with a terrifying, menacing, heavy metal. It seemed like a hundred enormous copper pipes. The enormous, almost spherical zorg extended its six limbs, each with nine soft, flexible toes. Three massive legs supported a seemingly awkward, yet highly resilient and shape-shifting body. Konoradson continued much more calmly. The pet flying fish, already swaying under the liquid-metal speaker's energy, began to dart about like molecules in boiling water, slowing their motion and settling into a smooth dance. Another familiar creature, shaped like ten strung-up strawberry balls with a hamster head, nuzzled the noble zorg's leg and began to caress him cat-like. One could even make out the words: "I am an obedient Sylph." And the senior senator's voice continued:
  "Much has been revealed and given to us. And it is our duty to share with those who are blind and deprived by an evil fate. Although we do not kill intelligent beings unless absolutely necessary, even such ferocious and cruel species as the Stelzans. But we must morally condemn the ideology of the Pithecanthropus, who wields a thermo-quark bomb, and a preon bomb is on the way. The Stelzans themselves must understand that there are other concepts than the desire for universal domination, the conquest of ever new territories, even if not through direct, but more covert economic warfare. The essence is the same, and they would not wage constant wars if not for our control. I will take eight intelligent individuals with me, but how many friends will fly with you?"
  Bernard Pangon picked up a hamster with a body of ten strawberries. The strawberries changed colors when stroked, producing a quiet but very gentle melody. One of the flying fish landed on the senior senator's palm, and a candy appeared between Conoradson's fingers. The creature with the precious scales chirped and began licking the sweetness.
  Pangon said with confident relaxation:
  "I'm one step below you in rank and a hundred times younger. Two will be enough for me. And I'll also take Tsemekel from the Dins. He's a great expert on Stelzans. However, after his defeat by the thermoquark bomb, we had to transplant his brain into a cyborg body. Outwardly, he's no different from a robot, even his brain is electronic (quantum level), only his memory and personality are preserved. He could be very useful to us."
  The senior senator raised his palm, and the precious fish soared up the chandelier in the shape of a planetary system. The spheres of the planets changed shape, as if inviting the flyer to land. With poorly concealed regret in his voice, Konoradson thundered:
  "The Stelzanovs, in accordance with the agreement, will have to be notified. It's clear they'll try to delay the starship's progress under any pretext, which will give them time to prepare for the visit and cover their tracks. So, a heavy exchange of beam fire is in order. I hope that the winner will be not the strongest, but the most honest. He who rules the cause is just!"
  ***
  A relatively small spaceship, less than a day in human time, lifted off from orbit around the central planet of the great Zorg. A simple starship, unadorned in form, teardrop-shaped and silvery, it seemed inconspicuous against the backdrop of the colossi displaying exquisite engineering and artistic flourishes. The enormous crimson-ruby star of the Zorgs, Daramarahadar, sent forth a farewell beam. Next to this luminary burned another, artificial one, a cornflower-emerald star that maintained the proper balance on the planets inhabited by the Zorgs. Seven densely populated planets orbited the luminaries smoothly. Around them glided dense clusters of stars, forming incredibly colorful spirals of a stellar world with millions of highly organized planets. Several million stars were artificially arranged into whimsical and beautiful figures. And at the entrance to the great Zorg galaxy, on the black velvet canvas of boundless space, large stars radiantly illuminated "Welcome to Paradise!" The letters of the Zorg alphabet resembled the silhouettes of kindly fairytale animals and were visible to the naked eye from hundreds of light years away. It was truly astounding. In different spheres of the universe, depending on radiation and atmospheric composition, billions of colors and quintillions of shades were produced. It's impossible to describe the splendor in meager human language, but once you've seen it, you'll never forget this wondrous picture of a world of goodness and light.
  In the community of free and independent galaxies, concepts such as pain, grief, disease, death, hunger, and injustice have disappeared. This is a natural stage of civilized development.
  ***
  The space battle was in full swing.
  One hundred and twenty-seven Stelzan starfleet aircraft against one hundred and thirty enemy starships, roughly equally armed. The sleek, predatory forms of the Stelzanat ships looked more deadly than the enormous, fuzzy submarines of the Sinkh, inhabitants of the Golden Constellation. First, they had to choose a location in space for the best start to the battle. Nearby lay the star Kishting, enormous in luminosity and mass, with twenty-five suns. The best way to win the battle was to pin the enemy starships against it.
  Both fleets maneuver like cautious boxers in the ring, not rushing to exchange blows, but trying to probe their defenses. The enemy ships, heavy and massive, are trying to pin them against the bright star with their force fields. The reflections of the giant star reflect the shadows of space submarines, occasionally dropping annihilation clots, on several levels. It's clear that the Sinhi want to exploit their massive advantage, like Tiger tanks slicing through their agile opponents. The warriors of the Purple Constellation understand this perfectly. Therefore, the Stelzan starships are ascending, if that's the right word for it in space. Commander Vil Desumer calmly directs the battle. He nods to his deputy, Selene Belka:
  - The shortest path to victory, a tortuous maneuver that confuses the enemy's calculations!
  The beautiful Selena, with her five-colored, wavy hairdo and the shoulder straps of a four-star general, answered in the ringing voice of a typical Amazon:
  - Only a ball of chaotic threads, wound with precise calculations, can confuse the enemy!
  Sinha's enemies, too, are accelerating, even with a touch of hysteria; their starships seem to dance with tension. Like fat women dancing in the light of a gigantic bonfire, the movement of the Golden Constellation's spaceships appears to be the same. Here, the 5-star general of the space fleet gives the order to interrupt acceleration and coast upward. Selena, her long eyelashes writhing like thin snakes, whispers:
  - Speed is good everywhere, except haste and aging!
  The enemy accelerates even further and gains the advantage, looming menacingly above. The advantage grows. The enemy is ready to pounce, like a hawk on a hare. A most disgusting squeal echoes through the gravoether:
  -Primates caught!
  Belka and Desumer both raise their middle fingers... Suddenly, a sharp turn-and the Stelzan starships, almost devoid of inertia (compensated by geomagnetic radiation), rush in the opposite direction, downward, running in a circular orbit, approaching the star. The enemy turns, beginning to pursue. The Stelzan starships barely touch the star's prominence, then fly above the star's photosphere. Despite their protective fields, the inside of the starships becomes hot, beads of sweat trickling down their tense, bronze-brown faces. The enemy ships also began to close in on the brightly blazing star, so in the excitement of the pursuit, they failed to notice that the pilots of the purple constellation had managed to get behind them. Some of the fastest starships arrived ahead of the rest, harnessing the gravity of the enormous Kishting, which turned out to be much faster than the enemy expected. Concentrated laser strikes followed against the rearguard, exploding damaged starships caught in the concentrated fire. The enemy attempted to turn, but gravity was working against them. While they were doing so, the remaining starships of the constellation arrived, unleashing their full destructive power in unison. Now the enemy starships were forced to engage in combat at a disadvantage, pinned down by the gravity of the large star, losing both speed and maneuverability. Furthermore, the enemy's force fields, linked to gravity wells, also pinned the adversary, forcing them to devote significant shield energy to protecting themselves from the radiation of the gigantic, deadly star. With their force fields fully activated, the starships of the Purple Constellation's space fleet pressed the enemy, attempting to push them onto the plasma surface. A furious exchange of gravitic and megalaser beams ensued. Due to the close range and field adhesion, missiles and bombs were unusable, so a variety of laser-pulse weapons were deployed. Under these conditions, the battle was directed by computers on the flagship starships. Ecolasers, vibrobeams, blasters, masers, and other types of beam guns took center stage in the funeral symphony. They emitted energy and streams of light, creating unimaginably complex, multicolored fireworks. The weapons literally ejected beams in the shape of fireballs, scissors, triangles, and polygons, slashing through space and destroying matter. Only a photon-plasma computer could make sense of such a cacophony of destructive light. Radiation and hyperplasma flocked together, trying to strangle each other like frenzied boas dancing in a vacuum . But unlike this reptile species, the impacts of the blazing, quintillion-degree-hot substance shattered structures thousands of times stronger than Titan! Suddenly, the Stelzan formation shifted direction, and they unleashed the full force of their plasma vortex on the enemy command ship. Two Stelzan starships exploded, but the enemy's colossal flagship also detonated into a radiant ball, like a mini-supernova, and erupted in a blazing flame before instantly extinguishing itself. The enemy arthropods' starships, deprived of their commander-in-chief, turned into a cowardly flock of sheep without a shepherd. The ensuing battle degenerated into a banal massacre. The remnants of the Synch space fleet were simply thrown by force fields onto the blue-violet star, where, like shreds of blotting paper, they burned in the plasma radiation, disintegrating into photons and quarks.
  The television broadcast was interrupted by thunderous applause from the Stelzan fighters watching the latest news from the star border.
  There were shouts of triumph.
  - Long live, great warriors! None can resist the will of the most magnificent of the magnificent God-Emperor!
  The image, created by a colossal, glittering 3D projection, clearly shows the joyful faces of the warship crews. The Starfleet Anthem is played, and cries of jubilation are heard. Solemn congratulations are voiced from various members of the command, and from the Emperor himself.
  ***
  Lev Eraskander, who had been sitting limply on a leash in a slave collar, also rose to his feet, applauding the victors of this rather large border battle. The hulking six-star officer didn't miss the opportunity to rib him.
  - Look, Jover, your dog is barking at us!
  The boy was seriously offended. For a moment, he'd truly forgotten that the Stelzans, the fierce occupiers of Earth, had won the battle. But how human-like they were, those cheerful fellows in their battlesuits! And genetically, the Stelzans were much closer to humans than the nasty, ant-mosquito-like, quasi-humanoid Synkhs.
  "I applauded not like a dog, but like a man! And that sounds proud! Your guys fought bravely and with dignity, and didn't sit in the rear like some." Eraskander shook his sinewy, tightly knit fist.
  - Who was sitting there, a monkey? - Stelzan bared his teeth.
  - You! - The young man exclaimed fearlessly.
  The officer roared, clutching his combat blaster with his thick hands.
  - Let me kill him!
  Jover Hermes saw fit to intervene.
  - This is not your slave, you have no right to touch him.
  "And what are you doing, letting a Virkunian maradoga bark at me? He deserves to be flogged with a neutron whip for his insolence, the flesh torn from his ribs!" The enormous Stelzan screamed like a scalded hippopotamus.
  "It's my business how to punish him." Hermes's voice was uncertain.
  Leo felt anger boiling up, and so he decided to take a desperate step.
  - If you are a man and not a coward, then fight me fairly, with your bare hands!
  All the officers clapped their hands and whistled. They liked the idea. Many had seen the previous fight with the monster and were curious to see if it would hold its own against a well-trained Stelzan officer. The officer himself wanted to say that fighting a domestic animal was beneath him, but the looks on his colleagues' faces told him that if he refused, he would lose all respect. Of course, a terrestrial macaque was no match for him.
  - I will fight this animal, but if I kill it, you, Hermes, will not receive compensation.
  "And if he evaporates you?" the arrogant Stelzan owner chuckled.
  "Then I'll give you a thousand kulamans!" the thug growled , punching the air with his fist.
  "You're driving a vacuum, unless your spirit sends them to me from a parallel world!" Hermes grinned, and the other soldiers burst into laughter. There were claps and shouts of:
  - We will vouch for him!
   The two-star general with the nose of a hawk and the angular face of an SS man barked:
  - Place your bets, dragons!
  The officers immediately began making bets. Some even took off their uniforms, flexing their massive biceps.
  Ktar Samaza, the six-star officer in the space special forces, assumed a fighting stance. Most Stelzanat soldiers were bred to a uniform standard. Males stood 210 centimeters tall and weighed 150 kilograms, give or take two units, while females stood 200 centimeters tall and weighed 120 kilograms, give or take two units. However, among the senior command staff, the variation could be even greater. This fighter was both taller and heavier than the average standard. Removing his uniform, he revealed monstrous muscles. They rippled beneath his skin like enormous balls.
  - You're already dead! I'll rip you apart like a laser through paper!
  The young man standing in front of him was both lighter and shorter, although not very small for his age, about 185 centimeters and 80 kilograms.
  Samaza attacked furiously, using a complex combination of punches and kicks. For his size, he was surprisingly fast. Lev barely dodged, managed to get away, and, somersaulting, hit his opponent in the ear. The blow only enraged the giant, who managed to counterattack the boy in the chest. A bruise appeared on his dark-bronze chest. Pumped to the limit with hormones, the Stelzanat army officer was a veritable killing machine. But the human fighter was no less powerful. His lighter weight allowed for greater maneuverability. Eraskander relied on dodges and sudden counterstrikes. No matter how hard his opponent swung to swat the "mosquito" with all his might, but instead struck short and sharply, always remembering to block, he was unable to land a precise blow. Lev recalled Sensei's words again: "Train your opponent in a single sequence of movements, pretend you're incapable of more. When he relaxes and begins to neglect his defense, deliver a series of unorthodox strikes, hitting his pressure points." The advice was wise, and the young man tried to follow it. Ktar was growing furious before his eyes; he truly did neglect his defense, yet he managed to graze the earthbound fighter a couple of times. With a practiced effort of will, Lev suppressed the pain, and when the enemy opened up again, he delivered a sudden, sharp counterstrike. Then followed a whole series of accentuated strikes, swift as the blades of a lawnmower. The enemy was shaken and literally shattered into organic rubble.
  One of the officers fired a stun gun at the young man, otherwise it would have destroyed his opponent's living tissue to such an extent that even advanced regeneration technology would have been useless. The young man was paralyzed, and the half-dead officer was immediately taken away by a robot medic. Everyone was terrified, because if Ktar died, they would all be punished for such a violation of military regulations. After all, they had unanimously given the go-ahead for a de facto duel between an officer and a lowly gladiator slave. Having hastily paid their bets, the elite humanoids left the hall and hastily disappeared into the vast amusement palace.
  Jover Hermes took his fighter, hoisting the unconscious body onto his shoulders, and also left the room. Of course, the matter would be hushed up, but how much "money" they'd shake out for bribes. Seeing that Eraskander had already regained consciousness, the boss, with a sharp movement, threw him to the floor.
  - Are you crazy? You don't dare hit an imperial officer like that!
  The lion answered fearlessly:
  - If he is a real man, then he should receive real, manly blows.
  The bold answer pleased the self-confessed cool stealth fighter.
  "You certainly did well, bringing down such a mighty warrior. If you were my son, or at least one of our race, a bright future awaited you. But you are a slave from birth. Understand that! And don't try to gain the upper hand. If you are obedient, your status will be elevated."
  "What difference does it make! It'll just change the length of the leash!" The young man scowled, portraying the utmost contempt.
  "No, there is a difference! If you want to live, you'll understand. We'll soon be flying into the black sector. Please, behave like an obedient slave. It's too dangerous there!" Hermes shook his finger at Leo, as if he were a little boy rather than a fearsome warrior.
  
  Chapter 8
  We don"t know our purpose,
  Fight the enemy, or live in captivity!
  So is it really our generation?
  Will not be able to break the yoke of slavery?
  Settling into a huge, luxurious car resembling a barracuda shark, Hermes and his slave raced down the wide avenue, flying with the speed of a good jet fighter. Tall buildings flashed by like a kaleidoscope.
  Lev gazed at the imperial city again with interest. The billboards, a mile square, convex, dazzlingly glittering with a complex gamut of unimaginable colors, seemed to be slamming the brain with the information they transmitted. Many of the advertising structures also emitted other frequencies, far beyond the range of human visibility, thanks to the special cyberscreen of the airmobile, capable of transmitting even gamma and hera waves, and so on. The impression was staggering and far beyond the limits of adequate perception. Those beasts with magic blasters sure love to advertise themselves!
  The style of the buildings and enormous skyscrapers is typical of the Stelzans: varied, sometimes bizarre, yet geometrically correct shapes, a multitude of colors and angles. The multi-kilometer palaces and skyscrapers offer a surprising variety, yet at the same time, a harmonious whole. Every member of the Stelzan species, even the poorest, had slaves and robot servants.
  In recent times, colossal clans of industrialists and oligarchs have proliferated. The former barracks system was infected with the rich, cloying spirit of capitalism and private property. Brothels, prostitutes, casinos, stock exchanges, and much more sprang up. Despite brutal repression, virtually all officials and those close to the purse strings accepted bribes and practiced kickbacks; those who were exceptions became pariahs. This was a sign that the great empire was about to fall into a deep crisis. The galaxy's capital, Grazinar, was certainly larger and more luxurious, but this metropolis still captured the imagination of the people.
  Lev admired the wondrous view, oblivious to his injuries. He suddenly lurched, and his broken toe hit him painfully. In his last fight, he'd misjudged a blow and broken a toe on his right foot. Gritting his teeth, he fought back the pain.
  Suddenly, the landscape changed. The hovercar parked, seemingly flattened against the wall, and they instantly found themselves in a spacious hotel room. Moderately luxurious, with an excellent view. The young man, genuinely surprised, threw up his hands and exclaimed:
  - Wow! What a rapid change of scenery, like a movie montage!
  Jover couldn't help but smile wryly:
  "Yes, fighter, you've only just begun to truly grasp the technical achievements of the Greatest Empire. And you weren't a black hole in a fight, but now you'll have to work much harder than before."
  Despite the playful tone of the owner, there was something ominous and clearly unpleasant in his tone.
  - Why is that? - Eraskander automatically pulled his head into his shoulders.
  Hermes spoke in a relaxed tone, fingering a keychain with a miniature computer with his right hand:
  "Our ladies have caught wind of what a sex giant you are, and they want to have some fun with you. And this is serious! Our women are incredibly fond of sex. I think you want to have some fun too."
  - With everyone at once!? - Lev's voice did not express enthusiasm from the bed work.
  "One at a time. Several females at a time, and only at their request. You loved Venus well, didn't you?" Jover rubbed his keychain with his finger, and a large holographic image flashed. It was an octagonal fortress, stormed by barefoot warriors in short skirts and wielding hooked swords. The defenders looked like soap bubbles with a dozen thin legs.
  "I wasn't a male prostitute, but I wanted her myself!" Leo said angrily and added wittily, "Love is a game where they don't invite a third party!"
  "And you have to want them too." Hermes frowned menacingly, his wizard blaster aiming a dozen of its barrels at the young slave. The master added harshly but logically, "Woman is the most desirable of all prey, and the most hateful when the prey devours the hunter!"
  "And will they pay you as the master of a slave?" the young man chuckled ironically.
  "Well, imagine it's just a pastime for personal enjoyment." Hermes narrowed his eyes, and the hologram-cinema changed, revealing a large hotel room filled with emerald ocean waves lapping with pearly foam, as three sailing ships engaged in a boarding battle. Slavemaster Stelzan added, "You don't understand your luck-human boys, especially ones as young as you, can only dream of such a stunning adventure."
  "For money? That's not entertainment, that's prostitution. Without shameful financing, I might want a whole harem, but for money, you'll have to do it yourself!" Lev felt both hurt and ashamed; he knew such an offer was more humiliating than flattering.
  Jover roared, and thick showers of sparks poured from the muzzle of the wizard blaster. Stelzan strained his words:
  "Well, human scum, I'll hand you over to the Ministry of Love and Life, and then you'll understand the punishment for insubordination! Yes, for one Urlik, you should be dismantled for spare parts! Mercy for slaves is as inappropriate as a white coat in a mine! The tree of imperial prosperity requires watering with sweat, fertilizing with corpses, and pesticides made from blood and tears!"
  Lev Eraskander twirled his finger at his temple, but seeing Hermes's satisfied smile, he realized the Stelzan took the gesture as a boast about his wit and intellect. The young man calmly remarked:
  "Pain isn't so terrible; it's the natural companion of all living things." The boy tried unsuccessfully to grab one of the boarding boats departing from the pirate brigantine. The hologram projection produced a transparent image, so Hermes and his surroundings were perfectly visible, but at the same time, thanks to spectral overlay, it was realistic, revealing every detail of the battle. Particularly attractive were the delightful naked female freebooters (probably Stelzans) and the Erdifics fighting them: creatures with crocodile heads, paws, lion tails, and the figures of gorillas with golden curly fur. But of course, it was the Stelzan girls who captured his attention. During the fight, their muscular bodies glistened with sweat, and their charms in motion were so enticing that the physically strong young man felt desire, the natural call of the flesh. Lev quickly added. "I firmly said I wouldn't be a gigolo, but if you want, I'll talk to your ladies. It's actually quite interesting, especially since there are rumors on Earth that Stelzans never age." Eraskander glanced at the cockroach in a turtle shell with a goose head lapping up honey in the corner. He swallowed hungrily. "Not bad, or whatever you call it, but right now I have to go to the local governor's daughter."
  "Yes, I know, she's already paid me, so I'll take you to her now." Hermes sniffed disgustingly and winked like a seasoned huckster. "And you're a cute toy!"
  Leo looked at Jover with hatred.
  - We love each other!
  The Stelzan master gestured, and a cybernetic servant flew into the room. Hermes growled:
  - Feed the slave well! He'll need a lot of strength!
  Designed in the form of a dolphin with flexible, flying fins (apparently functioning in this case as arms), the robot released a wide, greenish stream of light at Eraskander and said in surprise:
  "The young Stelzan will receive a full set of nutrition for his vital forces..." The food machine was confused. "Is this some kind of slavery game you play?"
  Hermes barked angrily:
  - Yes, why can't you see it? Plug the pulsars into the princeps plasma and carry out the orders of the one-star general of the trade and commercial forces!
  A girl's protector emerged from the robot's womb, resting on tank treads in place of its lower body. The hologram, addressing Lev in a sweet voice, said:
  - What would you like, glorious warrior of the Invincible Empire? What food!
  Jover shook his hefty fist at the hologram:
  "He's a convict and has no right to choose. Give him maximum active protein, vitamins, and everything else that will help him get through the hour with dignity. [The sentence is incomplete and likely a mistranslation.] Feed him faster!
  "I obey, sir!" Columns of lilac light erupted from the robot's fins, forcibly pushing its jaw apart. Something with a pleasant condensed milk-like scent poured down its throat along with the stream of radiation.
  But Lev didn't taste it, as his tongue and mouth were pinned by an elastic force field, forcing the young slave to swallow convulsively, like jelly. His throat tickled, but a pleasant warmth spread through his stomach, and the hunger pangs gave way to a blissful feeling of satiety. The only downside was that this wasn't a meal, but essentially refueling an ancient car with primitive internal combustion engines.
  An inappropriate thought flashed through the young man's mind: why does the human body still replenish energy through such a trivial and ineffective process as hydrocarbon oxidation?
  The "refueling" was quick, but an unpleasant metallic taste remained in the mouth, the stomach felt slightly heavy, but energy flowed throughout the body... The thin strip of fabric on the hips could not hide the excitement and power that overwhelmed the young man Eraskander.
  Hermes also noticed this and a neutron whip appeared in his hands as if from thin air:
  - You're a stallion boy, I see you're ready! Let's go!
  The floor in the living room floated on its own, and they were pushed back into the Airmobile. Hermes commanded the autopilot:
  - To palace number 39-12-4!
  The car tore through the streets of the colossal city of Imperia. One of the buildings, shaped like an old self-propelled gun with three thick barrels, suddenly shrank and almost instantly sank underground. Eraskander suddenly blurted out:
  - Is Venus waiting for me?
  "We'll check right now!" Hermes made an automatic request, pressing the confirmation button. A robotic, indifferent voice squeaked in response:
  - Mistress Allamara was summoned for a secret purpose, don't expect her in the next 24 hours!
  Stelzan the owner roughly slapped the boy on the hard muscle of his shoulder:
  - So much the better! Head straight to the Planetary House of Joy and Bliss!
  The flying car instantly changed direction, images of the wondrous city continuing to flicker behind the transparent plastic. Ahead, a two-kilometer-long, bright orange spider with twenty-four tentacles decorated with a floral pattern loomed, its top a sparkling seven-colored tulip-like structure with a darting pistil. The mechanical arthropod's gigantic dragon-like mouth smoothly opened, admitting the airship.
  - Here we are!
  Jover Hermes grinned idiotically again and found himself in a luxurious spacesuit. Inside the building, three-dimensional holograms flickered, depicting various species, from Stelzans to mind-bogglingly diverse creatures, performing sexual rituals in all manner of ways, sometimes the wildest and most perverse to human eyes. The three-dimensional projections moved, seeming alive and vibrant. There were images of female centaurs and radioactive jellyfish. Their internal organs erupted like miniature nuclear explosions during mating. Some creatures, resembling the drug-induced hallucinations of an avant-garde artist, depicted coitus in the form of enormous holograms, accompanied by the eruptions of cascading lightning or splashes of hyperplasmic lava, shape-shifting on the fly and emitting a limitless spectrum of radiation. There are splashes of hyperplasm in the form of three-headed eagles, then instantly, like plasticine figures, they transform into butterflies with many wings, then it is a mixture of fish and flower buds waving petals... And this is completely incredible, indescribable creatures in the act of reproduction, devouring energy from the surrounding environment, forcing the atmosphere to condense and it merges downwards in streams of rain, which, upon falling on the surface, immediately began to hiss and smoke.
  Lev stared, dumbfounded, and blinked in confusion... This was beyond his comprehension, something that no sane person could even imagine. A sentence escaped his lips:
  - A person can mentally imagine everything - except the line beyond which the boundless human stupidity ends!
  Hermes didn't react to this, he peered greedily at the projections, the stelzan's breathing quickened and became heavier.
  A tall, naked diva with a seven-colored hairstyle and a twelve-tailed neutron whip emerged from behind the hologram. At first, the stelzanka seemed enormous, but with each step, she shrank until she was almost standard size, just over two meters. She strode, energetically rotating her luxurious hips, with a thin, dazzling thread of radio stones hanging from them. Her high, gilded, bejeweled heels clanked loudly against the semi-precious surface.
  Following her was a creature composed of seven faceted spheres with frog-shaped legs, but on soft pads. The spheres shimmered like precious stones under the rays of several luminaries, and its face... Just like Mickey Mouse, the iconic children's cartoon of old. The Stelzanka stopped, baring its large, tricolored teeth like a predatory panther. Its gorgeous eyes, adorned with a seven-pointed star on the iris, fixed their gaze on the handsome Lev Eraskander.
  - What a quasar juling! From which quark did you extract it?
  Hermes squinted slyly, winking (what a bad habit of a huckster!) with his right, poisonous purple eye:
  - Trade secret! I'll tell you for a fee!
  The enormous woman pulled the tall, muscle-bound man toward her with her muscular arm. Her long nails sparkled with a mixture of atomized sapphires, emeralds, and ultra-plutonium.
  "I'll pay you a percentage, as agreed. I think it's perfectly logical to raise the price for the young man. Over thirteen hundred females have already scanned this lion cub's image. They'll simply tear him to pieces!"
  Hermes licked his full lips with his tongue carnivorously:
  - He's stronger than you think! He'll hold up! Is there anything for me to do so I don't get bored here?
  The brothel owner knocked out a sheaf of orange flame from her fingers and asked, inhaling the tongues of dope-like flame with her graceful, slightly humped nose:
  "Do you want female privates, officers, or aliens? But sex with non-protein representatives of other worlds is illegal (and can be dangerous!); it's only possible for an additional fee. The choice ranges from hermaphrodites to forty-sexed..."
  Hermes waved it off casually:
  - It's better with females from other galaxies and body structures; I'm already tired of my eternal sparring partners.
  The cartoonish muzzle of a creature, resembling a torn bead from a queen's dress, rested against the boy's shin. Its nose lengthened into a spatula and rubbed the delicate veins protruding beneath the boy's dark chocolate skin. Eraskander purred from the pleasant tickling, and the rough spatula moved to his pink heels, coated with a fragrant ointment that repelled dust and dirt. The color of the sparkling balls of this wondrous creature began to shift toward the emerald-blue end of the spectrum.
  "The client's desire is law," the head of the House of Passion snapped at her amusing pet. "Get back, Alavaleta! You're wrong to think this boy is the kindest soul. Before you, in fact, is a monstrous little beast, capable of becoming one of the Boundless Empire's finest warriors." Then the diva's tone, while pompously sublime, shifted to something casual and even bored. "And you, Lion Cub, follow me!"
  "If everything goes well, I will show you the imperial palace in the galactic capital of Graizinar," Hermes whispered barely audibly.
  Hand in hand, Eraskander and the brothel owner stepped behind the mosaic wall. A woman's laughter and the rustling of discarded clothing echoed from within. The youth's appearance elicited a roar. Several naked maidens rushed at him, clinging to him with the greed of hungry leeches. Their bodies-the bronze-brown of a human and the lighter skin of the Stelzans-were intertwined. He felt his shoulder being bitten hard in a fit of passion, while three piquantly fragrant maidens' lips simultaneously tried to capture the slave's. Hands clutched the boy's blond hair, straddling him, causing pain, long nails digging into his shoulder blades. Lev worked furiously, like a living machine, but his mind was far away...
  The young man recalled a glimpse he'd glimpsed in the House of the Veners of Allamara-a projection of the imperial residence located in the galactic capital. The colossal building of the imperial palace was awash with multicolored lights of intricate shapes and colors, standing out like a huge rock against the backdrop. The structure vaguely resembled a greatly enlarged Cologne Cathedral, except the spires were spherical, and the glittering domes were reminiscent of the palaces of the Chinese emperors, only much more majestic. The luminescent coating, precious stones, and numerous statues and forms were striking. Since earthlings were not allowed onto other planets, it was difficult for them to imagine the incredibly enormous buildings of the imperial palaces, incomparably taller than the Himalayan Mountains, and with their fabulous coloring, composed of multicolored plants and fantastical animals.
  The galactic capital is so vast that the vast metropolis occupies almost the entire landmass of the vast planet. An incomprehensible multitude of diverse starships hovers in the atmosphere around it. Millions of colorful, glittering figures swirl incessantly. It seems difficult to find a slutty spot in the galactic capital of Graizinar. However, the galaxy's center is cramped. Another planet, Barado, is only fifty million kilometers away, but even there, there's a sordid gangster hangout. Brothels and drug-dealing outlets are present in the capital, but security has clamped down hard, keeping them within reasonable limits. And here, it's a virtually crime-free zone. Why Hermes was in such a hurry to get there remains a mystery. But Leo, the king of beasts, knew his task was to unravel the plans of the anti-humanoid enemy. I wonder if they remember him on Earth, if they remember the man with such a resounding name-Leo?
  ***
  The governor paced nervously across his office, which, incidentally, resembled a stroll, as the room was the size of a good Olympic complex. General Gerlock followed him like a docile little dog. As he walked, he read his report, which contained nothing new. The sector commanders, of which there were ten, were on high alert. Many sectors specialized in one thing: the Mercury sector, in the extraction of precious metals (the planet was rich in these resources, and its proximity to the Sun facilitated the processing of these raw materials); the Venus sector, in the supply of timber (it was covered in dense forests and jungles) and hydrocarbons; the Jupiter sector, in the supply of hydrocarbon elements. Other planets were less profitable.
  The Moon has a garrison and a spaceport. Mars, a poorer planet, is part of the Lunar Sector. The Outer Rim (Pluto and Trans-Pluto) is the sector with the largest combat strength. It reports directly to the Department of Honor and Homeland. There is also an additional detachment subordinate to the Ministry of War and Victory. The Outer Sector has redundant defenses comparable to those of a galactic capital, due to the special status of this planet, unprecedented in the entire vast empire. Ultramarshal Eroros commands the defenses. True, he also oversees the protection of nearby planets, but the empire's largest forces are concentrated here. The Emperor himself approved the plan for redundant defense of this planet.
  ***
  Fagiram stopped and spoke quickly, alternating words and grunts:
  "Inspector General Des Imer Konoradson is flying to us from the Zorgs. Everyone knows him. He's a million years old. The three-sexed 'metalhead ' obviously got a tip. The situation is critical, though, he's practically crossing the entire empire to get to us. So, we should be able to delay him as long as possible. But if he does arrive, it could cost us dearly, and the problem is very simple: will he find us committing genocide against these primates? He has the right to accuse us of violating operating regulations.
  The Marshal-Governor paused, crossing his arms haughtily over his chest. The three-headed hawk released a spark from its beak and crowed... He followed with a "gorilla" gesture and General Gerlok scurried off, frantically running through his words:
  "But they're asking for a lot. They say you can't keep more than a thousand soldiers on Earth, while on other planets they allow up to ten thousand. We haven't exterminated the Earthlings completely, otherwise everything would be much simpler, like in other places where we've completely dematerialized humanoids and intelligent beings in quadrillion quantities. How pleasant the air is on vacuum-sterile planets. However, alas, the most insignificant and black-hole Zorgs could punish us. It looks like we'll have to transfer troops to Trans-Pluto. And transform the planet into a sham paradise. We'll find better partisans and show the Earthlings as beasts, unworthy of pity, a source of disgust. I'm counting on you; the hardest part is staying here on Earth."
  Ultramarshal Eroros, who had arrived for this extraordinary occasion, took the floor. He was a higher rank than Fagiram Sham. Eroros was a powerful man, with a proudly upturned nose, seemingly almost a youth, an athletically built hulk, like almost all other representatives of this warlike race:
  "The main problem is our mines on Mercury. Although the planet hasn't been developed by humans, it's in their star system. If the limit for free exports is exceeded tenfold and exceeds fifty percent, there will be a problem. The main thing is to minimize contact with the natives. This is a red-level planet; no one should know the history of humans. Both Mars and the Moon need to be cleaned up; there are traces of human presence there, and erasing them is prohibited without the approval of the Supreme Council of Higher Wisdom. This system is protected by a special decree of the Holy Emperor. And the Infinite Ruler doesn't like being disturbed by such trivial matters. On the scale of the universe, such developments are trivial. So the traces will have to be hidden within the outer ring of protection. A total purge is required. Be aware that, although the Zorgs are a highly developed civilization, they are prone to stereotypical thinking and can be deceived by behaving contrary to formal logic." For example, if a flanking maneuver is the most logical, the enemy will be preparing for it, while a direct attack can be unexpected and effective. Irrational moves can shock the enemy. It's necessary to minimize the traces of genocide and provoke a rebellion among the Earthlings. This will confuse them.
  The governor interrupted rudely and yelled, nervously rubbing his heels against the velvety, mega-plastic flooring. He truly sounded like a madman:
  "I understand the Zorgs' logic, but to cover my tracks, I need real money and resources. The Zorgs' main weakness is their integrity. Let the Council of Love and Truth help me circumvent the law without violating the agreement on control over the planet's development. The outer rim starships are to participate in Operation Regeneration, and the expenses are to be covered by the Department of Honor and Homeland. And he gave..."
  "No, the costs will be borne by the Ministry of War and Victory, as well as the Department of Mercy and Justice," Eroros interrupted Fagiram. After saying this, the ultramarshal activated a special field through his signet ring, which reduced the audibility of the wildly harassing governor's cries.
  "We'll proceed with the backup plan. All material traces will be covered, skillfully concealed. The main thing is to minimize the Zorgs' contact with the natives. It's quite possible that this is for reconnaissance purposes. By learning the weaknesses of the Earthlings, they'll better understand our own strengths and weaknesses. Therefore, authority over the overall coordination and supervision of the resident Zorg is temporarily transferred to Ultramarshal Urlik-that is, to me. The best camouflage specialists will arrive from the galactic center. Des Imer Konoradson will fly out, degassed, having caught a vacuum collapse in his jaws!"
  The Ultramarshal released a hologram of two barefoot warriors chasing a banana goat, racing across the hall. Upon catching it, they began chopping the fruit into appetizingly shaped pieces. The Stelzans giggled coarsely, especially loudly from the menacingly athletic executioners in red bikinis standing guard. Their olive breasts were as large as watermelons, their waists relatively narrow, but their hips voluptuous, their muscles rippling beneath their skin. Their faces were classically perfect, very smooth yet wicked, their hair braided. Amazons from outer space! Eroros added bluntly:
  - I will start by processing the natives, primarily those working in the central city.
  Fagiram finally regained his composure, stopped, and turned around. His bullish voice suddenly dropped to a thin whisper. The black brute even bent over and put his hand to his mouth.
  - Let's discuss the details of the counter-operation.
  ***
  After an hour and a half, the transdimensional communicator began feverishly emitting quanta, giving orders.
  ***
  The last thing Vladimir Tigrov remembered was a bright flash of frantic, all-piercing light. Wild swirls of annihilating plasma seared through the young man's body. It felt as if every cell was ablaze in a multi-million-strong hell. It couldn't even be called blinding. A fiery whirlwind filled everything, drowning his thoughts and consciousness. His entire body was consumed by flames. A thought flashed through his mind: Why was he feeling pain for so long? After all, plasma burns and vaporizes body particles faster than the pain signal reaches the brain. "Have I really ended up in hell?" His body twitched wildly from indescribable fear. It seemed to ease, the burning was no longer so intense. His eyes opened, and he felt a stabbing pain from the bright flashes of blinding light. Vladimir closed his eyes again. It seemed to him that he lay down, his entire body relaxing. The pain from the burns actually subsided, soon turning into an unpleasant itch.
  When Tigrov opened his eyes again, the fiery glow faded, and a barely familiar landscape began to emerge through the haze. His vision quickly returned to normal, and his eyes became increasingly aware of the details of his surroundings. What met his gaze was calming. Enormous trees, vaguely reminiscent of thick, lushly topped palms, growing alongside smaller, more colorful species bearing flowers and exotic fruits. The plants were of the most bizarre shapes, completely unlike any terrestrial flora.
  Surprised, the boy stepped forward, toward the trees. His bare feet touched the short, soft grass. The soft grass was mostly bright green, but there were also clumps of purple, red, yellow, and bright orange. Wondrous flowers grew here, small but multicolored. Some resembled earthly bouquets, others were striking in their uniqueness. The world seemed calm and magically colorful. Multicolored butterflies and silver dragonflies, golden bugs with ruby spots, and not a single pesky bloodsucker.
  "This must be what heaven looks like!" the boy let out a cry of surprise.
  The air was filled with an ocean of enchanting scents emanating from the flowers. The aroma made him feel cheerful and made him want to laugh. Tigrov stood up cheerfully and wandered through the grass. This was paradise, then, and if so, he would soon be able to find other people.
  It was very warm, the sun in the sky seemed enormous, flooding the space with its rays. However, as the external impressions became increasingly familiar, and the wondrous landscape no longer so preoccupied his thoughts, physical sensations became increasingly apparent. First, his jaw, dislocated by the powerful blow from the brave Stelzan officer, began to ache intensely. Second, he felt hungry. His last meal had been dry rations at the Ural base; before that, he hadn't had a bite in three days, save for the nuts from pine cones.
  More than once, the boy's bare soles were harshly bitten by grass that looked beautiful and colorful, but in reality stinged like nettles. It made his feet itch like wasp stings.
  It was a strange paradise, if he still felt pain. True, he was no theologian, but there was no pain in paradise. And, as he'd heard, all bodily injuries sustained during life disappeared. But here, bruises were visible on his body, mosquito bites itched, and his hungry stomach growled. The boy walked to the stream, stuck his scratched feet in, and looked at his image .
  In the surprisingly clear water, the silhouette of a fair-haired boy was visible, handsome despite the bruises on his face. The only odd thing was that he seemed to have grown slightly smaller, and his face had rounded out, becoming more naive and childish. The sternness of his maturing features had noticeably softened. He seemed to have become two or three years younger.
  "Miracles!" he said, slapping the water, which smelled slightly of iodine and sea, Tigris. Crystal droplets of water trickled onto his face. "I didn't think it was possible to return to childhood."
  Vladimir was a young man smart beyond his years and understood that it was impossible to survive such an explosion. But if this was another life, then this wasn't hell or Eden, but another world or another planet.
  This is good, frankly speaking; even paradise didn't suit him. It's boring and too peaceful there, in that abode without sin, and since he's in another world, new adventures and heroic deeds await him. He could become a hero and save this planet, from whom it's still unclear, but in space there are also evil dragons spewing streams of plasma, bloody goblins with laser beam guns instead of nostrils and propellers instead of ears. Fairytale elves with blasters, evil defs with hyperquark bombs, terminators with vacuum animators, and, of course, the embodiment of universal evil-Koschei the Skeleton with a hundred arms, each holding a lightsaber, a ten-barrel blaster, and a computer-guided annihilation missile. Therefore, the task is to find a new superweapon in response. Like a quest, move forward, looking for clues and clues. The most important thing was to find people, elves, or kind dwarves capable of forging a magical photon sword and conjuring a belt of interspatial travel with antigravity protection. It was decided: they needed to find intelligent humanoids. The luminary overhead was very similar to the familiar Sun, but it was larger and shone much brighter. Although its rays were softer than those of a familiar Earthly sun, the fresh sunbath was excessive, and his lightly tanned skin quickly turned red. Besides, it was inappropriate for him to wander around naked. He could try to fashion some semblance of clothing from the large leaves, but it was best to hold off on food for now; after all, this was another world. Climbing the large palm tree was no easy task; Tigrov fell a couple of times, scratching himself on the rough surface of the trunk. Then, using his fingers and his bare, nimble feet, he finally managed to climb to the top. Sweat literally poured down his eyes, and his throat was already painfully sore from thirst. The palm leaves were unusually strong, and tearing them off was no easy task. While Tigrov was no weakling for his age, he was no superman either, especially since his muscles had become smaller after the "rejuvenation. " He tore off a few leaves with great difficulty and was about to begin his descent when a strange hum caught his attention.
  Several figures on jet-powered motorcycles, their grinning snouts predatory, flashed through the trees with lightning speed. Vladimir caught a glimpse of their menacing battlesuits. He didn't like them; he'd seen something like them somewhere. Exactly! He'd seen them just recently, before the explosion in the underground bunker. So these star parasites ruled this world. And he felt fear, excruciating, obsessive, chilling from his punctured heels to his hairline. The propeller-driven goblins weren't frightening; they were a fairytale abstraction, while the Stealth creatures-humans on the outside and demons within-evoked a subconscious, primal terror. Tigrov was rooted to the top of a palm tree, somehow unable to bring himself to descend onto the lush grass. He resembled a cat, badly mauled by dogs, who had just seen a tiger. Fear is very difficult to overcome.
  Chapter 9
  There is betrayal all around,
  What a shame and disgrace!
  This circumstance,
  That deception has become the norm!
  Every planet in a stellar superempire has its own system of governance, with common traits of exploitation, regardless of whether it's a colony or a metropolis. Every space system has its own category of traitors, thugs who obediently serve the occupiers. Of course, there are such people on Earth, too: native collaborator-policemen who actively collaborate with the occupation regime. What remained of states was liquidated at the very beginning of the reign of the greatest empire. Armies were completely disarmed, nuclear weapons and all weapons of mass destruction were confiscated. The system of government was purged and brought under total control. Despite this, state administration, albeit in a severely crippled form, partially survived. Local officials, ministers, generals, buffoonish presidents, and municipal police still ruled over the earthlings. Due to intergalactic colonial restrictions, as well as the special status of planet Earth, self-government played a significant role, and control was partially exercised through traitorous generals.
  The biggest name among them, the head of the planetary municipal police and president of Atlantica, Ronald Ducklinton. This half-Black, half-Indian (or Sambo!) enjoyed Fagiram Sham's special favor and was expected to play a key role in Operation Deza-3.
  A plump general in a ceremonial, operetta-style uniform stood at attention, trembling before General Gerlok of the Purple Eye (as the occupation forces were called). His Excellency from Stelzanat's stern gaze took on the expression of a cobra ready to spring. The collaborator general cowered under his heavy, piercing gaze.
  Gerlok growled like a tiger and even waved his fists in front of the subordinate native's nose:
  "You are tasked with urgently assembling the municipal police and mobilizing all those loyal to us. We must present the planet as a cheerful and happy idyll. Our main enemies are the rebels, vile murderers hated by the entire thinking population of planet Earth. They are deadly bacilli, infecting and harming the happy life on your planet." General Stelzan theatrically lowered his voice, covering his mouth with his hand. It was purely for show, although the special anti-sound field surrounding the satrap's office made it completely unnecessary.
  
  "The slightest leak of information will be punished by death through extreme torture. Your police have become arrogant; they will all report to the colonial administration computer. Although not all humans are ringed and under the colonial computer's control, it's time to immediately collar every single human, at least in the main areas. You will be under total surveillance."
  General Ronald bowed slightly, his disproportionately large belly getting in the way, and he was also afraid that he would be hit with a hefty jab.
  "It will be done, Grand Marshal," the flatterer deliberately exaggerated the general's title. And trembling with fear, the puppet added.
  - We will try to do everything as you and your glorious empire need, but people are people, they must be paid in colonial dollars, because earthlings are forbidden to have your sacred kulamans.
  "You will receive everything we deem necessary. And for failure, you will answer to the fullest extent. No one will hide behind anyone's back; the instructions given to you must be studied immediately. Proceed to this task. Everyone else will receive general instructions!" General Stelzanata snapped with a deafening roar.
  When the sliding door opened, the "policeman" timidly shuffled toward the exit. His black, typically Papuan face trembled involuntarily. His thick triple chin wobbled like a tar-oil wave. Unable to resist, General Gerlock slammed his foot into the fat backside of the head of the planetary police. The blow was so powerful that the black boar flew out into the corridor with a wild squeal, a good twenty meters away. On its way, the massive bulk slammed into a golden statue of a warrior from the Purple Constellation. The statue was cast in a traditional style: medieval knightly armor and a state-of-the-art plasma gun slung over its shoulder. It was simply bursting with laughter! The doors slid automatically, leaving a defeated and whimpering Ducklinton in the brightly lit corridor, where he was grabbed by security.
  The Purple Constellation warrior suppressed a laugh and smiled contentedly. Like most Stelzans, he disliked black people and slant-eyed individuals. Of course, this lackey would complain to Fagiram, but the governor, on the contrary, trusted these creatures most. At first glance, this seemed illogical, since it was precisely black and yellow-skinned people who suffered the greatest damage from the Stelzans' aggression. Driven by animal hatred, Lira Velimara managed to unleash the ZILKUL gene viruses on Earth, particularly dangerous for southern peoples. Unlike bombs and gases, these viruses infected the planet for centuries. As a result of their use, the two most prolific human races were reduced to the size of an average European country. The Stelzans didn't fight the viruses. Firstly, the racial theory of white superiority was dominant among them, although, overall, due to bioengineering technologies, all the bloodlines had become completely mixed. Genetic studies have also demonstrated the absurdity and delusion of any theories of racial genetic superiority. Another idea was that European peoples have poor reproductive capacity, and Earthlings would be unable to replenish their numbers. But this was a miscalculation: the collapse of the economy and the decline in cultural standards led to an increase in the birth rate. The most rebellious Slavic peoples proved particularly fertile. Blacks, on the other hand, were much more obedient and behaved more predictably. On the other hand, excessive obedience makes exploitation of the planet excessively boring and routine. And small-scale guerrilla raids provide entertainment for the fighters, breaking up the monotony of occupation duty.
  "Fagiram would only laugh at this Earth primate-it's so much fun to beat him!" squealed the uniformed gibbon, brandishing a meta-blaster, a weapon capable of scorching half of Europe. "Especially when he gets kicked in the ass. He's so greasy! If you boil him down properly, you could make a considerable amount of excellent soap from the fat, and the skin could make excellent gloves or bags. Natural human skin is highly prized on the black market of the Purple Constellation Empire. Women especially adore it. If this Pithecanthropus does something stupid, he'll be very happy to stretch his skin over a lampshade..."
  The general ran out onto the platform. A pair of nearly naked female servants received a neutron whip across their slender, bare legs. A stream of microparticles ripped through the girls' tanned skin, scarlet blood dripped, and the smell of burning filled the air. The unfortunate natives screamed , but instead of running away, they fell to their knees and cried out:
  - We are at your service, lord!
  There was a whole waterfall of poison in Gerlok"s laughter, followed by a mocking:
  - And you just go and hang yourself... - And then the roar of a wounded boar - I'm not kidding! More pulsar than a whore, more pulsar!
  Another form of torture: you put a wire noose around your neck, but one controlled by cybernetic elements. And the wire in this case isn't just any wire, it's one capable of "creative" thinking.
  He pulls the poor native girls by the neck, forcing them to sag, their bare legs kicking. This lasso works intricately: it chokes them a bit, and then, just as their eyes pop out of their sockets and their tongues hang out, it releases them slightly. And all the while, the noose sings:
  - Moon, moon, the flowers are blooming! A noose around my neck is missing to make my dreams come true!
  General Gerlok claps his hands vigorously, his antigravity boots allowing the off-world satrap to rise high above the ground with each step. Stelzan delivers a stinging blow to the girls' heels with a common elastic baton. A memory flashes through his mind of selling a large quantity of freshly flayed human skin to a Synkh merchant.
  Typically, such deals were brokered through the space crime cartel Perigee. But in this case, the synch wanted to make a tidy profit by buying a large amount of hair, bones, and skin at once. Of course, it's more profitable for Gerlock, who doesn't share with the star mafia.
  Covered by a powerful camouflage field, the transport destroyer left the Earth's atmosphere and moved towards the broken shadow field of asteroids drifting near the constellation Alpha Centauri.
  The bandits didn't like this... And so four brigantines, led by a frigate, are pushing out from behind the black stream.
  A criminal gang wants to settle scores. The starships are like predatory fish living in the deep sea; starlight is barely visible in this part of space, heightening the resemblance to an underwater battle. Short emitter muzzles, positioned on virtually all sides, are the notorious "Hedgehog" system.
  Ten-star officer Vira Scolopendra, fluttering like a wingless butterfly at Gerlok's right hand, said:
  "We disbanded the alien mafia with our kindness! When the heart is filled with mercy, somehow the wallet empties!"
  The general was calm; the hyperplasma launcher, obeying its master's telepathic command, displayed a rosy picture of a combat quest on a hologram. In general, the general had anticipated this kind of space mafia ploy.
  The five ships are getting closer and closer... They are confident in their strength and are no longer hiding; the frigate even fires a missile that spreads out into ultra-plasma blots, then another.
  Vira, turning in the air, her liquid metal boots sparkling, asks Gerlok sarcastically, but without a sign of fear:
  - Should we surrender right away or let them shoot us down first?
  The general ordered sternly and very confidently:
  - Follow a predetermined course, ignore the enemy like a zeroed vacuum!
  Stelzanka giggled nervously and gently stroked her hyperplasma launcher, hovering in the air like a beloved dog. The weapon twitched its antennae and chirped:
  "My combat power is 30 megatons, fully charged!" And the tech monster, resembling a ten-barreled hybrid of a high-tech pistol and a Grad launcher, sang:
  "There are a lot of enemies, but our chance is to finish them off! The main road, mow down what's pathetic - with our super-powerful hand!"
  Gerlock moved his finger, and the hyperplasma launcher popped into his hand. The general fired a beam of harmless light in non-combat mode. An image of naked females of several races performing an erotic dance appeared. He fired again, causing the various girls to fight each other, and declared with a victorious air:
  - And what do they think, that I really do have an antiphoton head?
  Stelzan waved his hand over the scanner, and a beeping sound was heard-the black vacuum within a few million miles suddenly turned purple, like a black eye. The enemy starships froze, stretched out, and a moment later, all five ships vanished at once. As if a frame had been erased from a film reel. And the violet of the vacuum faded, then dissolved, like ink absorbed by damp soil. The centipede whistled shrilly and blinked in confusion.
  - How did you manage to do this? - How masterfully cleanly annihilated!
  Gerlock, with the smile of an American businessman selling worthless goods to suckers, replied:
  - A zone of a collapsed ravine in space. They, the black hole mafiosi, are now in another point of the universe.
  The ten-star officer still didn't understand, twisting her head and squinting, as if that would widen her view. The muscular girl's voice trembled:
  - How so? Why isn't it on the star map?
  Gerlok lowered his voice to a whisper and said:
  "It can be closed and opened. When it's closed, it's invisible. " Catching his subordinate's glance, the general quickly added. "No, it can only be used as a weapon in this specific location. Otherwise, we'd have a way to neutralize even the Zorgs..."
  The memories were interrupted. Gerlok was again summoned by the hated Governor Fagiram.
  ***
  The mighty Stelzan Empire possesses billions of spaceships of every conceivable type. From miniature, swallow-sized unmanned short-range reconnaissance craft capable of flying between the stars, to gigantic super-battleship flagships the size of a large asteroid. Their weaponry is also incredibly diverse. These include beam guns of all types and missiles of various designs, vacuum analyzers, stunners, vortex fields, plasma emitters, magic blasters, and much more. The sheer destructiveness of the alien imagination is astonishing, astounding at the number of deadly discoveries. Countless weapons are borrowed from conquered worlds, but many are also their own inventions. The army, having conquered billions of planets, is astonishing in the diversity of its arsenal, yet it is utterly powerless against a single starship from the Commonwealth of Free Galaxies.
  However, the logic of Stelzanat's soldiers: If there is a reason to kill, the gun will always be there!
  The countless star fleet of the Purple Constellation, more ships than grains of sand in the Sahara Desert, must come to terms with this dismal fact. To traverse the vast expanses of boundless space, to fly from one end of the colossal empire to the other, the ships of the Stelzan fleet required considerable time. For the Zorg, this period was relatively short-a single hyperspace jump, less than a day, and then hello to you, lesser Earth-brothers in intelligence. However, this wasn't hard to predict, as the Stelzans were wasting time as much as possible. Numerous checks and inquiries, dense bureaucracy, obviously contrived red tape, and constant delays in virtually every sector of the mega-empire. All with the clear intention of humiliating the Zorg empire.
  Des Imer Konoradson endured all provocations and attempts at humiliation, stoically displaying the calm of a Spartan (in ancient Sparta, it was customary to smile during a spanking!). When strangers, still quite wild, were misbehaving, it was not fitting for an aksakal to lose his temper. Bernard Pangor was extremely nervous and openly expressed dissatisfaction with the imperial bureaucracy. In a thunderous voice, like the rattle of a metal cutter, the young Zorg lectured, trying to relieve his emotions.
  "This is a brazen mockery of thinking individuals and common sense. What kind of show are they trying to make? A nation that ten thousand cycles ago was still tilling the earth with hoes now thinks itself the masters of the universe!"
  The senior senator always maintained a deliberately calm demeanor. His deep voice was like the ocean's surf:
  "That's perfectly understandable, my young friend. Some seek to elevate themselves by humiliating others, and also by showing off their capture of the Inspector General. A cur barking at a dinosaur feels like a tiger. The goal of others, I believe, is to detain us as long as possible, to hide all traces of their vile crimes against reason. Logic quite typical of hermaphroditic beings."
  The already familiar strawberry hamster squeaked thinly: "Sylph doesn't love, Sylph wants peace."
  Having extended his limb and carefully stroked the limitedly intelligent pet, Bernard asked a little more calmly:
  "It's strange why insanity and the cult of brute force are so widespread among them? After all, not only the Stelzans, but also other bipolar beings, are characterized by a drive for aggression, conquest, and war. The arthropod Sinhi, for example, are little better than their chordate counterparts. We, the trisexuals, don't have such cruelty."
  Konoradson looked at the hypervisor's thirty-two-dimensional projection. It was broadcasting news from two and a half thousand locations simultaneously. Despite the overlapping information streams, the use of fractional dimensions kept the images separate and could be perceived individually or all at once. The senior senator, tossing a beautiful candy resembling a Christmas tree ornament to the animal, replied:
  They have a different structure and a completely different evolutionary course, more different from our own development than a vacuum from princeps plasma. Their bisexuality has left its mark on behavior and natural selection. Take, for example, the relationship between males and females. Initially, a male could easily rape a female, and the stronger and more aggressive the animal, the greater the chances of reproducing. This led to the most aggressive and violent genes prevailing in the offspring, meaning evolution followed a militaristic path. Strength, insolence, and aggression increased from generation to generation. The Stelzans, with the help of the Council, and then the Super Ministry of Eugenics, put this process on a scientific and industrial basis. And bisexual primates reproduce too quickly, given their relatively short lifespan. This also reduces the value of each individual life.
  While the fairytale life form was struggling with the swelling, porous, cloying candy, Bernard flicked the hypervisor program, apparently busy searching.
  "But haven't the Stelzans succeeded in prolonging life? They're not so green anymore." Zorg boomed in a double bass.
  Konoradson fired a shot from a luxurious fountain pen at a six-winged butterfly with a small crocodile head, sparkling with colorful crystals. A droplet flew out of the hexagonal, golden, gem-covered tip, changing shape as it flew, shimmering with iridescent hues. Like Kapitoshka from a children's cartoon, the figurine sang, "Eat me, I'm a dish for you!" The crocodile butterfly purred in response, "Smak, hello." The elder Zorg's voice grew sharper:
  "It seems the primates have achieved their dream: they've deciphered the aging mechanism and reprogrammed the genetic structure. But at the same time, they've dramatically accelerated the growth of their combat soldiers, raised in incubators. Population inflation is accelerating, resulting in the emergence of a vast number of living death machines. These soldiers, thanks to the accelerators, grow so rapidly that they have no childhood. They are effectively no longer rational individuals. The Stelzans have chosen the path of anti-evolution, directed by a mad mind. Progress makes them even worse; strength increases their malice, generating further suffering."
  Bernard peered at the display of military equipment from the Golden Constellation-the Sinh Empire. A scorpion-shaped tank with three stingers and a triangular attack aircraft were demonstrating their maneuverability... Nope! Some caterpillars, swinging their clubs, storm the fortress. Robots greet them with dense volleys from their emitters. The furry creatures explode, bursting like ripe tomatoes. A well-aimed hit destroys a dinosaur. Bernard growls loudly in indignation, switches the radio again, and says angrily:
  - Why did we manage to avoid such chaos?
  The crocodile nibbles at the butterfly's multicolored "Kapitoshka." After each bite, it takes on a different shape and squeaks: "Even if our teeth fall out, even if our appetite disappears, no one will stop us from eating a jar of honey and chocolate." Senior Zorg replies:
  "For us, everything was different. Firstly, all three sexes were roughly equal in strength. And one individual could not force the others into sexual intercourse, even by brute force. Yes, even if two people agreed to rape a third, it was still impossible to conceive a child without deliberate harmony. We cannot have children against our wishes, or the wishes of at least one of the three. We had to negotiate logically, think, and reason. Prove the advantages of this union at the genetic level, for the benefit of future generations." While Konoradson was speaking, another creature, a lizard with the body of a banana and adorned with three rows of scarlet tulip petals, nudged the zorg's luxurious boot . Three liquid metal limbs emerged from the boot and tenderly stroked the animal, its face and petals. The senior senator continued to pronounce. "We have always lived very long lives, but our children were born and grew extremely slowly." Longer lifespans allowed for the accumulation of greater knowledge, experience, and logic. Low birth rates provided fewer incentives for wars or unnatural cannibalism. We learned to respect and understand life, recognizing its infinite value for every thinking individual. Our morality rested on this solid foundation of kindness and justice, and will forever rest on it. Might without kindness hangs civilization like a hangman by the noose!
  Chapter 10
  The space is shaking and burning -
  There is no respite in the battles of the wild!
  A host of monsters attacks and shoots,
  You fire back at your enemies madly!
  Two hypermarshals, Gengir Volk and Kramar Razorvirov, slashed furiously, using seven-sided, ultra-stable hyperplasmic staves-training weapons that could be converted into combat weapons in a split second. The movements of both one-thousand-two-hundred-year-old "grandfathers" were swift, sparks flying like a cascade. The mirrored walls of the sparring room repeatedly reflected the hypermarshals' movements. The half-naked giants flexed their massive muscles, rolling like tsunamis beneath their light-chocolate skin. They were titans, radiating waves of aggression and lightning bolts, like the tridents of an enraged Poseidon, the God of the Seas.
  "You lost, Genghir, you missed nine blows, but you only landed six!" Kramar exclaimed with boyish excitement and a ringing voice.
  The huge, fair-haired Genghir answered with a laugh:
  "No, I disintegrated you. My laser hit you first. In a real fight, you'd already be dead."
  Kramar grinned condescendingly:
  "It would have been just a burn." Stelzan jumped, doing several backward somersaults, sing-songs as he flew. "The best way to stop aging is constant physical movement and mental activity! Maybe we should warm up some more; I suggest sparring with holograms."
  "No!" Gengir shook his head decisively. And kicked a chunk of ice. Crystal shards shattered into crystal. "I prefer living targets!"
  "Me too!" exclaimed Hypermarshal (several million combat starships with billions of soldiers under his command!) Razorvirov.
  Gengir, with a voice roaring like a pack of tigers, read an impromptu verse:
  There is nothing more boring in the world;
  Where peace and grace reign!
  How hateful is the calm,
  It is better to give your life in battle!
  Kramar Razorvirov took out an eight-barreled magic blaster, tossed it with his left hand, and added:
  - Tear the bastards to pieces!
  "Until the war starts, we'll only be able to get our best impressions in the dirty sector," Gengir Volk remarked, slowing his dancing slightly.
  Weapon: a special chip is built into the blaster, which allows it to talk, sang in confirmation of his words.
  "Only fear gives us friends! Only pain motivates us to work. That's why I want to become even stronger, to discharge hyperplasm into the crowd!"
  Kramar stroked the blaster:
  - You have wonderful ideas. Without beating someone else's face, you can't eat your own!
  Gengir Wolf, baring his fangs, confirmed:
  "If it were up to me, I'd destroy all the aliens. I'd done the universe a favor!"
  "And he left us without slaves and entertainment!" Kramar shook his head. "They always beat a donkey, but they only kill it when it ceases to be useful! The brave kill the enemy, the coward - the slave!"
  "The universe is vast, and the process of annihilating the inferior is eternal! A great war is about to begin." Gengir rolled his chilling eyes dreamily.
  "Let's have some fun now!" Kramar flashed his natural, but metallic-looking teeth.
  The two bosom friends ran out of the hall and boarded a reinforced airplane. Designed like a cyclical tank, the craft was capable of intragalactic travel. The colossal starship was left behind. From a distance, the multi-million-strong Purple Constellation squadron resembled a scattering of a complex, geometrically perfect mosaic. Individual starships stood out with their utterly terrifying appearance and asteroidal size.
  And here is the dirty sector itself, between the two planets of Gurz and Fortka. Numerous drinking establishments hung everywhere like bizarre garlands. They hovered in the vacuum, one of them, resembling a giant squid, spewed out holograms from time to time-in them, representatives of extragalactic races and life forms performed obscene gestures.
  "A brothel, a casino, a discotheque-everything two old veterans need!" Gengir Volk said with youthful enthusiasm.
  "Let's have some fun, we'll twist space into a cone!" added Kramar Razorvirov, waving his ray gun.
  The Stelzans parked their plane in a secure military parking lot and, activating their antigravs, raced down the air corridor. Their newly-introduced battlesuits could reach sublight speeds and easily withstand atomic bombs, annihilation bullets, and most types of lasers. In flight, Gengir the Wolf executed complex pirouettes. He was overcome with excitement, as unauthorized assassinations often occurred in this area. A hippopotamus with eight ears and a crocodile tail was flying straight toward him. Gengir rammed it, brazenly knocking it down with a force field. The powerful impact sent the alien flying head over heels, smashing through a giant advertising billboard. The impact caused a bright flash, and cracks appeared where it had fallen. Part of the advertising screen went dark. Small, centipede-like robots ran to the surface, hastily repairing the screen and sweeping away the scattered remains of the hapless hippopotamus.
  Gengir burst out laughing. Taking up the baton, Kramar Razorvirov performed a loop-the-loop and crashed full force into a large bear-like creature with four serpentine heads. The impact sent the sentient creature flying a hundred meters, knocking down two more representatives of the extragalactic fauna. One of them, composed of radioactive elements, triggered a chain reaction. A few seconds later, there was a small explosion, a super-bright flash, and then a wave, scattering several hundred flying motorcycles and extragalactic creatures hovering on antigravity.
  "You're a real sniper!" Gengir Wolf winked at Kramar.
  Razorvirov harshly deflected the debris flying towards him and replied:
  "It's time to get out of here, the police are about to descend upon us. And worst of all, the Love and Life unit might show up."
  While the two hypermarshals will certainly get away with the barbaric murder of aliens, why waste time explaining things to the Department of Love, the Purple Constellation's monstrous secret service?
  Turning, the Stelzans rushed into a bizarre labyrinth with numerous passages and corridors. Along the way, Gengir Volk couldn't resist the pleasure of shooting a couple of the humanoid morons in midair. He enjoyed watching the flying chunks of flesh and the streams of blood that rolled like beads and floated in the vacuum. After passing an assembly of ornate structures, the Stelzans reached the squid-shaped building. The structure was a good twenty miles wide. At each entrance stood mighty guards, armed with weapons. However, Gengir and Kramar merely sneered contemptuously. The alien "scarecrows" were only terrifying in appearance; in reality, their weaponry was outdated. These models were powerless against modern battlesuits. Holding their weapons out, the elephant-like guards squeaked in mousy voices:
  - The entrance fee is one hundred kulamans.
  The hypermarshals exchanged glances.
  - In my opinion, we should pay - it"s dim in a vacuum... - Gengir yawned.
  Kramar nodded condescendingly:
  - Much honor - bad news! The weak pay with gold, the strong pay with damask steel!
  nbsp; ***
  Such high-ranking Stelzans have a powerful arsenal at their fingertips. They don't even need to draw their weapons; they just hold their wrists in a firing position, and they spring out almost at the speed of light. In the blink of an eye, the guards are paralyzed. Then, using cyberware, the Stelzans easily breach the door protected by a force field and illegally enter the underground establishment. The run through the wide, winding corridors was exhilarating.
  The two bosom friends continued further and further. Soon they found themselves in a colossal hall, a good mile wide. Here, people ate, drank, and played simultaneously. What can you say? A variety of life forms, some with the mouths of sperm whales and ears like the sails of a mainmast. There were also quite a few Stelzans. The representatives of the core race were the most brazen, unceremoniously flouting all propriety. Kramar Razorvirov eyed the gaming tables with a predatory gaze.
  - It would be nice to find a rich battery and squeeze all the charge out of it.
  Gengir winked:
  - I think I know who I can squeeze some kulamans out of...
  The croupier, lithe as a snake, leaped silently toward the hypermarshals. Two of his five eyes changed from green to red. The casino attendant fawned in a spruce voice:
  "Valiant warriors of the Great Stelzanat, if you want to gamble, I recommend the billionaire Vichikhini Kala. He's a real gambler, but I warn you, he doesn't like scammers. He controls the quasar portion of the planet..."
  Gengir interrupted heatedly:
  - Totally! I love strong opponents!
  Somewhere nearby, another striptease marathon had begun on stage. Males and females shed their camouflage, performed exotic dances, and twirled like wind-up dolls. Another action movie was playing on the ceiling, featuring constant fighting and shooting, decimating entire planets and torturing races of all kinds.
  "When we were at war. We had something even more stellar! Much cooler." Kramar pointed a finger at the ceiling contemptuously.
  "We'll fight some more. We're receiving some very encouraging information," Gengir Volk said. "A mega-pulsar conflict!"
  Billionaire gangster Vichihini Kala sat with a gigantic decapod sperm whale . The brute was also a member of the galactic mafia. A missile launcher (big enough to fire at a star cruiser) towered over his massive shoulder.
  "Why are you so downhearted, freshwater reptiles? Let's play for high stakes!" Gengir the Wolf suggested, grinning playfully as if he'd spotted some fat foxes.
  Vichikhini raised his paw.
  - Do you have any reagents?
  - Of course!
  Kramar showed a seven-color card. A wad of shimmering banknotes glittered in Gengir's hand.
  The sperm whale rasped:
  - Then, Stelzans, into battle! We can place bets!
  - You can take off your pants in advance!
  Genghir's dirty joke caused the sperm whale to burst into hysterical laughter.
  "Idiot, what can you do?" thought Kramar.
  A game of holographic, ultra-radioactive cards began. This hundred-card variant was called "Empire," and it required not only luck but also a strong memory and intellect. The seasoned Hypermarshals successfully confronted the seasoned space bandits. Gradually, Vichikhini Kala, high on drugs, became addicted to the game and, by constantly raising the stakes, brought his losses to several billion kulamans. The Stelzans secretly chuckled at the inferior aliens. These underdeveloped creatures were doomed to be cash cows. However, the star mafia had other ideas. Vichikhini made a secret sign , and the sperm whale screamed:
  - He cheated! I saw it!
  The roar of such a monster sent a wave of sound throughout the hall. Hundreds of bandits immediately drew their beam guns and laser swords, surrounding the massive gaming table from all sides.
  Gengir chuckled:
  - I knew you wouldn't be able to stand it. You dikeles are all like that.
  Kramar barked:
  - Pay what you lost, or die!
  The gangsters growled, amused. Only two Stelzans remained in the room; the rest, having had their fill, had moved to other rooms. Nevertheless, the hypermarshals were unfazed. Their state-of-the-art weapons were significantly superior in quality to anything this rabble had in their possession.
  - Well, Kramar, our dream has come true. There will be a showdown!
  The Stelzans fired a combined volley, mowing down fifty bandits in one fell swoop. However, at that moment, a shimmering, translucent dome covered the hypermarshals. Gengir twitched desperately and froze in the force field like a dead beetle. Kramar couldn't move either. The gangsters erupted in a disgusting grunt. A twenty-barrel tank slowly flew into the hall. The terrifying structure hovered before the Stelzans. Then the turret opened, and a dozen seemingly frail Synkhs emerged. They formed a semicircle, staring at the chained fighters of the Purple Constellation.
  - The ugly stelzans are rolled up into a cocoon!
  The sinkhs' long proboscises tensed. Vichikhini extended a gnarled limb.
  "Ultramarchal Vizira, your mission is complete! Two hypermarshals have been captured. Now you can eviscerate all their hidden plans and secrets."
  The Ultramarshal was very pleased, her proboscis reddened and swollen. A mosquito-like voice tormented her ears.
  - You've done well, Vichi! When the Purple Empire is defeated, your race will receive privileges.
  The king of gangsters hissed:
  - And the right to sell drugs?
  - If you pay taxes, you will get this opportunity too... - The arthropod nervously flapped its ears.
  The leader clapped his broad paws joyfully. The sperm whale, with ten limbs like King Kong, stabbed a fountain from his nostrils, gurgling, "Beautiful." The Ultramarshal gestured.
  - Now we will freeze them, and then send them to the nano-chamber, where we will subject them to cyber-torture.
  The female synch raised her long-barreled ray gun, a thin phalanx reaching for the blue button...
  At that very moment, something happened that was least expected. Two small monsters with orange-purple faces opened fire with laser pistols. The Ultramarshal's head was severed by a fiery razor. It flew off and landed in a wide wine glass filled with alcoholic liquor. The massive beast tipped the glass into its mouth without chewing, swallowing the hapless arthropod's "boiler." The remaining gangsters howled horribly, and the monsters unleashed annihilation blasts on them as well. Chaos ensued. Someone hurled an annihilation grenade, vaporizing metal. Melted tables and chairs rained down. Suddenly, Kramar felt the force cocoon blocking them disappear.
  - We're free! Total unlocking!
  The Stelzans drew their ten-barreled ray guns and unleashed a veritable hyperplasmic barrage on their motley foes. The Synchs' twenty-barreled tank, caught in the beams, shuddered and disintegrated into molecules-apparently the arthropods hadn't thought to activate their protective field. The return fire was partially dampened by the force shield, but its intensity was still too intense, and the hypermarshals became overwhelmed. So Gengir and Kramar began actively moving, jumping and breaking trajectories, using massive ultraplastic tables for cover. The heralds of death cut through the atmosphere, killing bandits by the hundreds. Thousands of guns thundered in unison, and many gangsters, in the confusion, took down their own accomplices. With well-aimed shots, Gengir destroyed Vichikhini. The sperm whale held out a little longer, until Kramar Razorvirov circled a kelvir column glittering with radioactive pebbles and fired a charge that ripped open the massive carcass. Streams of bubbling blood flowed across the hall. Kramar glanced at the soldiers who had rescued them from their nightmarish captivity. They moved like model soldiers, clearly familiar with the tactics of the warriors of the Purple Constellation.
  "The 'monsters' fight brilliantly, like mini-soldiers," said Gengir, firing a charge from his plasma gun.
  "They must have undergone special training. Maybe they're a special unit of the native police. What kind of creatures are they, do you know?" Razorvirov asked, puzzled.
  "I've never seen anything like this before." Gengir Wolf tried unsuccessfully to extract information from the files of his aggressive computer-like brain.
  At that moment, the beam caught one of the little monsters. Its bizarre face suddenly melted. The head was exposed, and the astonished hypermarshals were confronted by the flushed face of a fair-haired boy. Kramar immediately recognized the rascal and blurted out a quick reply, continuing to send deadly gifts. And then the sperm whale's head, so large that an entire opera orchestra could have been accommodated on it, was torn off.
  "This is my seventh-generation great-grandson, Likho Razorvirov. He turned exactly seven cycles today. A sacred anniversary for our empire! I sent him a gift-a robot with a dimension-crushing cannon."
  "Then who's second?" Genghir Wolf yelled.
  The Purple Constellation's Hypermarshal didn't bother, simply firing the vaporizer at the mysterious creature's exotic face. The mask disintegrated into atoms. The girl with the seven-colored hairdo covered her face, but Gengir's keen gaze caught her.
  "How dare you, Laska Marsom! Mini-soldiers, especially girls, are not allowed to frequent such establishments! You will be punished."
  Laska replied with an offended expression:
  - If we hadn"t broken the ban, the sinhi would have eaten you!
  "We still need to learn," Likho interjected, firing hard enough to smash a pair of aliens into the flammable liquid bottles, causing the creatures to burst into flames. "Live monsters are more interesting and practical than holograms."
  Kramar, intensifying the fire with a hyperplasmic flow, from which their opponents screamed terribly (as it turned out, the Sinkh soldiers were disguised as Stelzans, and their compatriots were only a few units multiplied by zero !) , supported his son:
  - The mini-soldier is right!
  Gengir smiled as he used a blob-like grenade. It didn't explode, but instead sliced through any alien enemies it encountered.
  - I think our children would benefit from a short military outing.
  The hypermarshals continued to sweep away numerous space gangsters. Sometimes, the target was a variety of prostitutes, strippers, and even service personnel.
  Kramar sliced through the serpentine dealer with a laser, thus taking revenge on the Sinkh gunner. The bandits gradually consolidated their fire, their shots hitting their target with increasing frequency; the deaths of several thousand comrades fueled their rage and anger. But while Gengir and Kramar were protected by force fields, the mini-soldiers, Likho and Laska, wore only camouflage and lightweight children's combat suits without individual force fields. Although these guys demonstrated remarkable ingenuity and courage, their shots were accurate, their movements swift, but every luck comes to an end.
  One well-aimed shot shattered Likho's arm. The boy nearly dropped his ray gun from the pain and shock, but only a superhuman effort of willpower allowed him to pull himself together and continue the battle. Drops of blood began to trickle from the severed limb. Laska was also hit, but in the leg. The girl fell and screamed in pain. She was in excruciating pain, but with some force of will, she suppressed the pain and continued firing desperately.
  - Our great-grandchildren are in danger!
  Kramar Razorvirov ran up and covered the boy Likho with a force field.
  - We will save our offspring!
  Gengir turned, firing back with both hands. He expanded the force field, shielding the injured Laska. The girl, despite the terrible pain, screamed desperately.
  - Grandpa, don't! I can handle them myself!
  Likho, in turn, emerged from under the force field, firing a charge at another monster.
  "My glorious ancestor, I don't need your protection! I can scatter the monsters into interstellar dust myself."
  Kramar said with pathos:
  - Here they are, our children! They are not afraid of space debris!
  Gengir swung, sending out rays of death.
  "We need to relocate immediately. I have a powerful thermoquark charge. We'll cover them all!"
  - Logical!
  The two hypermarshals, scooping up their great-grandchildren, headed for the gaping entrance. The alien gangsters intensified their fire, the force field vibrated, and sweat trickled down the faces of the Stelzans. Slipping free with difficulty, Kramar blocked the entrance, while Gengir Volk pulled a translucent missile from his backpack. He activated the homing program and launched it into the monster-filled hall.
  - Now it's time for us to leave.
  Gengir hid Laska in a power cocoon, and Kramar also hid Likho. The children resisted and tried to engage in combat.
  - We are soldiers of a great empire, we want to fight.
  Likho managed to slip out of the force grip and cut through six guards, representatives of the horned race Babush, with a cascade beam.
  - Well, he's quite a daredevil!
  Gengir Wolf's voice was tinged with envy. In response, Laska twitched, clearly trying to break the force field, though that would require the strength of a billion elephants.
  - And my girl is no worse!
  The hypermarshal lifted the security cover, allowing his great-granddaughter to fire on the native police miniboat. Killing a member of another race, especially one who has sold out to the mafia, is a valiant and heroic achievement for a Stealth fighter.
  - Gengir, just don"t get too carried away!
  Kramar picked up Likho and securely wrapped him in invisible chain mail.
  - It's about to explode, watch out that it doesn't hit us!
  With their force fields at maximum strength, the hypermarshals glided through the corridors at incredible speed. Even a small mini-quark charge could cause enormous destruction.
  ***
  A monstrous explosion shattered the super-strong metal structure. Hyperplasma swirls raced through the twisting corridors at superluminal speeds, leveling corners and pulverizing unprotected individuals into elementary particles. The all-consuming wave reached the Stelzans as well, striking the force field, spurring their already insane speed. The hypermarshals, like champagne corks, were ejected from the half-destroyed "squid" along with their children. The colossal building cracked and slowly began to splinter, a small fire erupting in the crack. Gray-violet-yellow lights glowed insidiously in the vacuum, seeming to smolder as the metal.
  Thousands of police cars, even several dozen piranha-shaped military assault vehicles with a battery of cannons, rushed to the dilapidated structure. Scorpion-like fire trucks frantically tried to douse the cold flames with foam.
  "We had a lot of fun!" Gengir Wolf smacked his lips with pleasure, his eyes widening as if a princess had just undressed before him.
  "You could end up in court for such entertainment. And then in the ultra-pain chamber. There, they'll quickly cleanse your brain with nanotechnology."
  Kramar pointedly twirled his finger at his temple.
  Gengir chuckled.
  - I hope a mega-universal war will start soon and all the losses will be written off!
  - By the time it starts, we will be annihilated a million times!
  Kramar ran his hand across his throat and smiled slyly.
  - How will they find out?
  "You're still a stupid mini-soldier!" Gengir Wolf barked. "There are tracking devices, cyber-recordings, plasma computers everywhere!"
  The girl Laska winked slyly.
  - And we launched a combat cyber-virus, it disabled all the tracking devices in this building.
  "And, besides, it ate up all the memory of the local computers!" Likho added.
  "Quasarno! When did you manage to do that?" Kramar's voice was filled with surprise.
  "How else would we have gotten into this building? They don't let mini-soldiers into buildings like this. But we can shoot just as well as adults, and yet they've chained us up and won't let us have any fun!"
  There was annoyance in the boy's voice.
  "Everything will happen in due time! Your bodies haven't matured yet; it's too early for you to see such things. Besides, kulamans, or money, need to be saved and multiplied, and there are plenty of cunning swindlers here. Over twelve hundred years, we've learned to recognize many traps, while you only have seven cycles and one heartbeat."
  Gengir flicked Laska's upturned nose. The girl flinched, then giggled, sticking out her tongue.
  - Grandpa, when we're over a thousand, we, that is, I will become a Superhyperultramarshal!
  "It doesn't hurt to dream! But if you crawl around like a bug, you'll die in a parallel universe and serve in the anti-troops!" the veteran bully growled.
  The weasel howled capriciously.
  "I don't want to join the anti-troops! It's incredibly painful there, they torture you with electric shocks and gamma rays every minute."
  - So, listen to your elders! And where did you get the combat virus?
  Instead of Laska, Likho answered:
  - At the training ground! We were trained in specialized programs for virtual warfare and infiltration of combat robots.
  The High Marshal flicked his finger through the air, and several nasty little insects vanished. The low voice continued:
  "It's good that we put what we learned during the training into practice. The downside is that you're breaking the rules. I don't want any problems with the Super Department of Love and Life. So, either you promise now that you won't wander around anywhere, or you'll be dumped on the star immediately."
  Likho initially tried to turn it all into a joke, but his great-grandfather's laser-like gaze told him he wasn't joking. Gengir also gave the girl a stern look.
  - And you too, take an oath that you will never again violate military regulations.
  Laska looked away.
  The children whispered barely audibly.
  - I swear...
  Kramar's expression suddenly changed. A sharp crease appeared on his youthfully smooth forehead.
  "But if it weren't for this violation of the charter, we would have already been disintegrated! I'm lifting the oath, but I have one condition. If you want to go somewhere or pick up some quarks, let me know."
  - Me too! - my partner thundered.
  Genghir also changed his mind:
  "Initiative is precious in war, especially against an enemy accustomed to cheap cliches! Just warn us in advance if you're up for mischief!"
  Gunfire flashed again; several gangster vultures had apparently decided to prey on a stray pair of Stelzans with their children. Return fire was mercilessly accurate. Only one bandit was paralyzed; the rest were simply dispersed into quarks. The head of the largest, with five rows of backward-curved "dinosaur" teeth, flew off, catching its fangs on the antenna. It seemed as if, even in death, it was trying to gnaw through the graviotitanium rod.
  Likho exclaimed:
  - Shock is n't our thing! Hypershock - that's our thing!
  "So, these monster children..." Gengir pointed at the prisoner. "Maybe he's a simple robber. Or maybe a spy. We'll take him with us. Then I'll show you how to interrogate such scum."
  "We've already tortured an electronic cyborg!" Laska boasted with a smile.
  "But you can intimidate a living person!" Hypermarshal Kramar said authoritatively.
  - Practice above all!
  Gengir gently patted Laska's cheeks. Her pink face turned crimson.
  The children laughed merrily.
  The two bosom friends shook hands and, masterfully performing a mind-boggling somersault, disappeared behind the enormous, apple-green luminary.
  In the vastness of the dirty sector, shooting continued from time to time.
  Chapter 11
  How many different creatures are there,
  So many opinions!
  I want to solve it for everyone
  The mystery of the endless skies!
  This is a dream and a task
  All generations...
  The demon rushes about in search of the essence.
  He wants to impose his plan.
  But in the search for truth of all branches
  Only the Almighty can give the answer!
  The two valiant men continued their philosophical conversation. The calm speech of the sedate zorgs flowed like a silver stream, seeming to gently envelop the stars. Konoradson's boot (which, thanks to its cybernetic princeps-plasma chip, performed multiple functions) extended a couple more matchstick-thin limbs and began preparing a cocktail of fish and fruit hybrids for the little creatures. Along the way, he added a mixture of vegetables and shellfish, with various types of honey, mushrooms, and creams. A wondrous fragrance wafted throughout the hall.
  Bernard activated the telepathic switching mode, and the thirty-two-dimensional hologram transformed into a sparkling haze. Meanwhile, the multi-level brain continued to think in various frequencies. He was apparently interested in conversing with the cosmic elder:
  "I wonder if there are races older than us, more advanced? After all, we're only thirty billion years old. And compared to the age of the universe, that's a paltry amount of time. On the other hand, we're already so many billions of years old, and yet it's still hard to understand why we know so little about the universe. Like savage children in a cosmic sandbox! And why is there still so much that's unclear and unclear about the theory of the universe?"
  Conoradson responded calmly, while his other boot also helped prepare the meal for the missionary nation's lesser brothers. Hands with many toes, emerging from the shoe, were simply crumbled and kneaded. The amusing image of boots preparing a veritable feast without removing from feet was juxtaposed with a rather serious, if somewhat abstract, conversation:
  "Oh, this topic has long intrigued us, and not just us. Since the dawn of civilization. Even in those distant times, many researchers were puzzled by the impossibility of detecting many stellar objects, which led to the division of the Universe into visible and invisible parts. As you know, visible and invisible light have rest mass and weight. The same is true for other elementary particles that form the basis of the macrocosm. According to a widely known theory of the universe, photons and electromagnetic waves are emitted from stars not in a perfectly straight line, but along a slightly deviated trajectory. Gravity acts on photons, each of which has mass, and the trajectory, as a result, becomes hyperbolic. A photon, having traveled an enormous distance, having made a gigantic circle several billion light years long, will return back to the same point from which it emanated. Therefore, we see only a small part of the universe; the rest is simply invisible." In turn, photons and electromagnetic waves transfer their energy to numerous fields that permeate the vacuum and kinematic space. As a result, the energy accumulates into multidimensional collapses.
  Bernard looked up from his switch. The robot teacher, in addition to Sylph and the banana lizard, had bred several other diverse creatures, resembling those from various galaxies. They were all cute and affectionate, though. The younger Zorg said,
  - Yes, every schoolchild knows this, but the universe has been functioning for an infinitely long time, and over long megaquintillions of years, more perfect forms of highly developed civilizations than ours should have arisen.
  Konoradson raised one of his limbs, and a flying fish with blue, very long and lush fins sat on it.
  - Oh! You know, one of the reasons for this is that stars are eternal, but planets are not! In a parallel universe, the laws are slightly different, there are other dimensions, significantly more than the three standard ones. Energy enters collapses along curved spirals, where it accumulates, ready to burst out again. All the energy that has been radiating into infinite space for billions of years returns through the parallel universe and other dimensions. For example, a star suddenly cools, turning, depending on its size, into a neutron star or something like a black hole, or maybe even a white dwarf. The neutrons of the superdense star fall to a lower energy level. Then energy from the parallel megauniverse changes the energy level of the elementary particles that make up these seemingly forever extinct stars. And the small, dense dwarf explodes as a supernova, and the old planets burn up. Newly formed worlds are formed in a new form. They cool down, the cycle continues, repeating ad infinitum.
  A squabble arose between the three Great Zorg boots. They were fighting over the right to bake a multi-layered, multi-sponge cake. Their thin limbs jostled each other and even tangled into a ball. The third liquid metal boot insisted, "It's my turn to bake the cake now, that's fair." The others were stubborn: "This is a combined production." More and more of the crawling limbs appeared, and as they intertwined, they emitted waves that distorted the air. The robot teacher, pointing out this to the other pets, squeaked, "In this case, we see an example of how not to solve such problems."
  The semi-intelligent animals squeaked approvingly:
  - Disputes are resolved by compromise; only a savage pushes ahead!
  Bernard didn't interfere with this yet (for beings of a lower order, their own negative experience is sometimes more useful than any positive instruction!), he led the conversation:
  "But if we can know in advance when a star will go dark, or when it will explode in a super-bright flare, then it won't be fatal. And where is a civilization with a history spanning quintillions of years? They must exist, since space is eternal!"
  Zorg confirmed this in a very confident, but without any hint of self-admiration tone:
  "Collapses, as we know. They move in a spiral or a spiral-like path through hyperspace and the princeps vacuum. They can intersect and intensify, or, conversely, separate. Even collapse distortions are not eternal, just like the stars themselves. No single star can exist indefinitely in a confined space. Only an infinite number of them is eternal. And the life of civilizations is far more complex. It is a more fragile formation than natural phenomena. There can be an infinite number of versions, and we do not claim absolute knowledge. You understand a lot of this yourself. I would like to point out that we are not seeking wars or the conquest of the entire universe. Civilizations are distributed very unevenly, and many are simply not destined to rise above a certain level. Beyond our worlds lies a sparsely populated territory, as if framing a megagalaxy. And various attempts to penetrate this zone lead to total death, exterminating all life. Some talk about an absolute superweapon created by a self-destructive supercivilization. I don't believe it! There are eternal laws of the Universe and reason. Every individual desires to become GOD. But reaching the level of gods, absolutely happy and enlightened, is beyond their power. Life and the universe are a struggle for infinite perfection. Therefore, any supercivilization encounters an undefined barrier and disintegrates. It grows like a snowball on the surface of a star, only to reform again. Like the cycle of nature: a crystalline sediment falls, melts, evaporates, falls again. Apparently, even the Zorgs have a limit. For some reason, the growth of supercivilized power is blocked. And this is a great mystery even for us. But one thing I am certain of: scientific and technological progress must be accompanied by moral growth, otherwise it will lead to catastrophe.
  As if to confirm his words, the struggle between the boots for the right to prepare the food ended and the limbs began to move in unison. The trays on which salads, goulashes, and other culinary preparations were taking place changed colors and shapes, asking the domestic animals:
  - Which of our appearances do you like the most?
  They squeaked something inaudible in response. Sylph, being the clever one, asked:
  - Let's make it in the form of the crown of the state of Nauf.
  The tray has been transformed into something truly magical. A kind of overlay of several different types of decorations, in a colorful combination.
  Bernard expressed his annoyance:
  "I'm a vacuum head!" Continue the topic without further ado. "And yet, in the gene industry, we have achieved virtual perfection. All celestial movements are already known, calculated in advance, and catastrophes cannot occur suddenly."
  Konoradson agreed, but his expression became somewhat embarrassed, like that of a mountain elder who was unable to answer a simple question:
  "No, they can't. But the fact remains. We don't know of any more ancient civilizations. Perhaps genetic glitches, perhaps uncontrolled, incomprehensible mutations, or external influences. Perhaps this is precisely the greatest mystery of the universe. Perhaps the Supreme Creator exists, and even we are not given the power to comprehend His thoughts."
  The pets behaved sedately, and the robot teacher, changing its form to a brighter one, began asking them:
  - Blessed are the peacemakers, for they... - The machine paused.
  Sylph blurted out first:
  - They will inherit the universe!
  The robot answered in a loud voice:
  - Close and yet not exact! Go on.
  The melon-shaped animal with the head of a jerboa and petal-shaped paws replied:
  - Because they are always right!
  The robot changed its dominant yellow color to red and objected:
  - Essentially true, but not quite right!
  Ignoring the pet lessons, Bernard declared:
  "This is pointless talk, an incomprehensible mystery of the universe. Moreover, belief in the Creator of the Universe already implies His imperfections, since creation suffers. We should better think about how to fulfill our mission on the planet and in the Laker-IV-10001133PS-3 system, or, as the natives say, on planet Earth and in the Solar System. After all, they'll put dark glasses on us, covering us with a smokescreen."
  Konoradson made a gesture, his right boot, abandoning its preparations, released a glowing net, winged fish sat on it and freshly prepared donuts decorated with flowers ran through the cells.
  "I have vast experience and colossal telepathic abilities, so they won't be able to fool us, no matter what they try to tell me. Besides, there are always plenty of independent sources." The senior Zorg paused, the color structure of the donuts changing, and added, "The Stelzans don't even suspect some of our abilities."
  - Which move is more likely, feigning well-being or your physical elimination?
  Konoradson answered logically:
  "The latter is out of the question! The Stelzans are smart enough to understand that the death of the Senior Senator will trigger such an investigation that the governor and his accomplices will not only be removed, but also criminally punished, making it a last resort. They won't take such a blunt risk..."
  An unexpected alarm interrupted the wise Zorg's sentence. Two very large starships of unknown design appeared on the thirty-dimensional hologram. They were at the limit (it was even surprising that nbsp; Kramar picked up Likho and securely wrapped him in invisible chainmail.
  The Stelzans had already learned to accelerate outside hyperspace, so the speeds approached those of a very small Zorg expeditionary starship. The Diamond Constellation ship, however, was incomparably more spacious inside than it appeared from the outside; it contained a whole palace, large enough to comfortably house the population of a substantial settlement. Even delayed by a thorough inspection, it would still have time, had its owner so desired, to jump into hyperspace. In hyperdrive, a starship pierces other dimensions, its multitude rendering almost any substance quasi-material, because combat is impossible in hyperspace. All space battles take place after exiting hyperspace. A swarm of smaller Orlyata and Photon-class fighters circled around the massive, traditionally predatory starships. Suddenly, all the small vultures disappeared into the hulls of enormous space submarines, and the space battleships bristled with force fields. Of course, the Senior Senator's small starship only appeared defenseless. The Zorgs could easily shoot down enemy ships or perform a forced hyperspace jump. The little animals, sensing danger, began to squeal, and the winged fish, abandoning their meal, rushed toward the opulent, purely decorative chandelier, clinging to the gem-studded hieroglyphs of the bulbs.
  "Don't react! Let the enemy strike first!" Dez Imer Konoradson commanded.
  The starships entered point-blank range and unleashed a furious cascade of hyperplasmic energy bolts. The bombs, carrying the explosive energy of billions of atomic bombs, flared and then immediately extinguished, caught in the transtemporal (capable of altering the course of time) force field. The multi-megaton charges seemed like harmless firecrackers, looking less threatening than beautiful. A dozen fighters leaped out of the womb like jack-in-the-boxes and joined the senseless barrage. This even slightly surprised the Senior Senator.
  - Are our opponents really that stupid? Is there a vacuum in their heads?
  Suddenly, the enemy starships banked, and two-hundred-meter-long, shark-like flying machines emerged from their predatory wombs. Accelerating so rapidly that even the vacuum behind them glowed orange, the mega-rockets exploded in unison, narrowly missing the impenetrable force field. The explosion was so powerful that the Zorg starship experienced a powerful concussion. Numerous little creatures were knocked off their feet, some crashing into the wall, which, fortunately for them, automatically became as elastic and soft as a trampoline. But how these animals squealed in fear, and a pair of pineapple jellyfish even burst into tears. The cries of the harmless creatures could be heard:
  - This is super destruction, the hellish dragonists have arrived!
  Cascades of elementary particles, shattered preons, and quarks, reflected off the field, generated a supernova-like explosion. The missile's explosive power was capable of disintegrating a stellar body the size of Neptune into photons and scattering it across the galaxy. The reflected stream of elementary particles struck the enemy, striking the attacking starships. One of them lost control and began spinning wildly around its axis, hurtling like a soccer ball hit by a powerful blow. Had it been any closer, it would have been reduced to nothing but quarks. The fighters were far less well-protected, and their pilots were lucky enough to die before they even had time to react to fear-hyperplasm moves millions of times faster than a pain impulse, leaving only the soul of the body. The other ship managed to move to safety, avoiding the incinerating impact of the cumulative wave.
  Ir Imer Midel, captain of the Zorg starship, made a request to the Inspector General.
  - Take countermeasures?
  "It"s not worth it, they"ll get what they deserve anyway..." The senior senator said this without enthusiasm, like a kind parent punishing a naughty child.
  - Great!
  The Great Zorg was right. The starship, having lost control, was unlucky. Caught in a vacuum spin, it was unable to regain control and was swallowed by a colossal star. In the violet glow of the colossal star, an emerald point flared and then faded, and the grand battleship plunged into the blazing depths.
  The surviving starship closed into combat range again and opened up with a barrage of beam cannons and lethal launchers, as if testing the patience of the inspector's crew. The round turrets, densely packed with cannons and emitters, were visible rotating. A lopsided hyperplasmic figure-eight erupted from the largest muzzle, moving along a jagged line. Reaching the invisible barrier, the energy ball burst, disintegrating into tiny sparks. Satisfied that the Zorgs weren't reacting to its fire, the ship adjusted its range and, accelerating, jumped into hyperspace, disappearing behind the blindingly bright clusters of stars.
  "This doesn't look like the actions of galactic filibusters. Monstrously powerful weapons and large combat submarines of the flagship-battleship class. This is serious! Looks like a provocation on the part of the Purple Constellation fleet," the captain remarked with barely concealed excitement. "And they jumped somehow quickly, like the latest android developments."
  "Correct, Ir Imer Midel. While the Stelzans do have fighters with letters of marque for eco-warfare, they're usually smaller, more maneuverable starships. There are no wild pirates in these sectors. Uncontrolled, free piracy is something you have to be careful about. The most important thing is the weapon, because they used something completely new. It's a thermopreon charge with a shaped charge. This is a new step in combat technology. A weapon not yet used in modern warfare was tested here. The enemy also wanted to test the strength of our starship's force field. We could have given them what they deserved, but I won't touch life forms that, while immature, are still sentient." The Senior Senator concluded his pompous speech in a firm tone.
  The captain answered calmly, but if you listened closely, there were notes of suppressed irritation in the hardened Zorg's metallic voice:
  "Of course, it's better to avoid harm and the suffering of other thinking beings! But how long can we tolerate the evil, cruelty, and treachery of hermaphroditic beings? We have the strength to knock the aggressive arrogance out of these protein parasites with a stern response. Evil must..."
  Konoradson interrupted the captain's belligerent tirade:
  - Leave it! Evil cannot be destroyed with evil. They will become even more embittered if we use their own methods against them.
  "What about new weapons? If they continue to progress in creating new means of destruction, it's extremely dangerous. Someday their technology will reach a hyper-level, and even we will be helpless, unable to stop them or even protect ourselves! I didn't even think our ships could experience the shock of their firecrackers!" Midel almost shouted, his voice rising.
  "That worries me too. I hope wisdom will show us a way out," the senior senator added softly. "And now, my pets wouldn't hurt for a little entertainment."
  The starship entered hyperspace again. The space beyond the hull instantly darkened. The dense blackness flared with colors indescribable in human words and dissipated into a strange radiance.
  ***
  And in other parts of the vast cosmos, life flowed on in its own unique way, as always.
  ***
  "Yes, you, Lion Cub, certainly did well. You beautifully dispatched one of the finest officers in the Galactic Corps. But you must understand that by doing so, you've signed your own death warrant. In the Ministry of Truth and Love or Love and Life, such matters are resolved simply and without delay."
  Jover Hermes smiled mirthlessly. He didn't want to lose such a valuable slave. Lev Eraskander sat quietly, his light-blond head bowed. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks sunken, and his legs, arms, sides, and muscular chest covered in scratches, burns, and bruises. He'd spent a whole week in a lustful hell, satisfying the hated tribe, never able to rest for a moment. Hundreds of muscular, passionate women with wild sexual fantasies had passed through him. One tough general's wife even cauterized the boy's bare heels with the hot end of a laser. The other shrews liked it, and they tried cold beams and other forms of combat radiation on him. Now the blisters on his soles itched unbearably, and to relieve the itch, the young man pressed them harder against the cold metal. Sex was a natural need for a young, powerful body, but here it became akin to torture, and his groin felt like it had been doused with molten metal. At that moment, the boy wanted only one thing: to collapse onto any lounger, even one studded with nails, and drown in sleep.
  Hermes was very pleased with both the impressive profit for the sold body of the rapidly gaining popularity gladiator and the humiliation of the slave who had become too tough.
  "I'm also aware of your feelings. Our ladies from the orange brothel scratched you like female tigers. Okay, so you've annoyed us. It's bad enough that the man beats our officers, but if he's even superior to us sexually, that's downright maddening."
  Stelzan winked roguishly.
  "Okay, now let's get down to business. We can't stay on this planet anymore. Especially you, it's become too well-known. We'll fly to the center of the Galaxy, to the so-called dirty star sector."
  The lion came to life and immediately raised his head:
  - I wonder what we'll do there?
  Hermes avoided a direct answer:
  "This area contains a complete concentration of non-Stelzanoid species, living beings. Many of them are semi-wild and have not yet been fully assimilated by the space empire."
  "It won't be safe!" Eraskander's voice sounded more hopeful than alarmed.
  "We'll have weapons. Although you're not entitled to them, since you're not only a slave but also a state criminal. You can fight with just your bare hands, right?" Hermes extended his hand, and a glass of the fragrant, foamy brew flew into his palm, quietly squealing: Datura index 107.
  Lev just shook his head, glanced at a couple of the combat robots accompanying him, and, putting on a most humble appearance, said:
  - Can I say goodbye to Vener Allamara?
   Hermes, having taken a good half of the drink, pushed aside the glass, which was floating on a gravity cushion. It hung in the air, murmuring, "May you be healthy for all eternity, sir." Then he rubbed his hands greedily and gurgled,
  - Of course! She's been waiting for you for a long time. You have exactly one hour, no more. Then we'll take off! This time, we'll fly on a military starship, if she's satisfied. I'll allow you to inspect the ship within legal access. If not, you'll spend the entire flight chained up.
  - Thank you for your trust.
  Stelzan caught the irony in the slave's words:
  - Don't give up, you'll still have a chance to show your fangs!
  And Hermes gave Eraskander a friendly pat on his muscular, scraped, bitten shoulder.
  Chapter 12
  The ray of death shines in the darkness,
  A crowd of space monsters has gathered!
  A merciless enemy attacks you,
  But I believe the hero's hand will not tremble!
  Jover didn't keep his word. The suspicious young slave was locked in a force chamber and chained.
  It was quite chilly in the ship's cell itself. A standard twelve degrees Celsius by Earth time, not enough for an Earthling accustomed to perpetual summer. However, the Stelzans used a nearly identical decimal system of measurement, which made it much easier to navigate the interactions between the two races. Lev was still naked, wearing only a loincloth, but he had become so accustomed to his nakedness that he didn't even notice. But the Stelzans, many of whom had never even seen a human, stared at him with their predatory, insolent eyes.
  The cell was dark, and Lev was freezing as he lay on the bare metal bunk. The sharp spikes of the ship's punishment cell stabbed his muscular back. Jumping was impossible, as his arms and legs were shackled with tight clamps and force fields. The young man tossed and turned , and to distract himself, he tried to focus on the memories of his childhood.
  No one knew where he was born or who his parents were. According to his adoptive parents, he was unexpectedly discovered in a previously empty oak cradle. There, the future warrior lay, or rather, twirled like a creeper, a very nimble infant. Ironically, he ended up in the hut of Ivan Eraskander, the only partisan in the village. At the moment of his birth, a glittering drawing of a beautiful predatory beast, resembling a human lion with wings and saber-toothed fangs, gleamed on the baby's chest. Then the glowing sketch disappeared without a trace, but rumors spread through the village that he was the chosen one, the messiah born of the Holy Spirit, destined to save the planet. For a time, no one took this seriously. The boy, named Lev, lived peacefully, grew up, played, and secretly studied the ancient, forbidden arts of hand-to-hand combat. It must be said that the Stelzans significantly transformed the planet's climate. Using the Trekotor gravity-vacuum device-one of the newest models of space warpers-they shifted Earth's orbit, bringing it significantly closer to the Sun. This changed the climate, causing significant warming. All the glaciers melted. To avoid flooding vast territories, scientists and engineers from the Purple Constellation used micro-annihilation explosions to widen and deepen depressions and trenches in the world's oceans. This was done and calculated with such precision and accuracy using powerful computers that they not only avoided flooding of vast territories but even altered water circulation. The water cycle was so altered that all deserts disappeared, turning into jungle. Furthermore, the hydrosphere circulated in such a way that hot water from the equator flowed toward the poles, while cool water from the poles moved toward the equator. A climate similar to the African equatorial zone settled across the planet, and timber extraction became the most profitable business. Due to selective breeding, several plant species produced valuable and nutritious fruits almost year-round, seemingly solving the problem of hunger forever. Under these conditions, there was plenty of free time and very little entertainment. There were no computers or televisions, nor the internet, which became ubiquitous in the early twenty-first century. Only the occupation-era radio, broadcasting exclusively propaganda and silly songs, and some musical instruments. And simple physical games. In short, people were reduced to the level of native barbarism. His early, barefoot childhood was happy, without problems or headaches. Active, extremely strong and resourceful from an early age, Lev, who took the surname of his adoptive father, Eraskander, was the leader and instigator of the local children. It's easy to be happy when you don't know any better. But soon, events occurred that interrupted this idyll...
  Lev didn't have time to recall what those events were. A powerful sleeping gas was released into the cell, and the boy fell into the abyss of deep sleep.
  ***
  When the starship arrived, he awoke. His head was a bit fuzzy. The world around him seemed gray and ominous. It was chilly, the artificial surface of the spaceport was frosted, and wet snow was falling. After his nap in the metal box, he was shivering, and his back, bruised by the punishment bed, ached unpleasantly. True, the scratches, bruises, and burns inflicted on the gigolo slave by the females had healed, and the batyr's body was recovering quickly, leaving not even the slightest trace. To warm up, Lev quickened his pace. He had seen snowfall for the first time and was amazed at how vile natural precipitation could be. On planet Earth, warm showers, running in streams over tanned skin, are always a joy, especially since they never cause floods and are never protracted. Splashing quickly with his bare feet through the icy puddles covered with a thin crust of ice, the boy almost ran, dancing a hopak-like dance. Oddly enough, the feeling of the ice breaking under his rough soles was pleasantly stimulating, and Lev tried to kick the crystal crust as hard as he could. The spray drenched a rather unpleasant individual with a pig-like snout, elephant ears, and greenish crocodile skin. The filthy water stained the awkwardly fitting uniform of a space airport worker. The beast, spreading its webbed paws, began whistling something-some kind of curse in the heavily broken language of the Purple Constellation.
  Jover growled menacingly, pointing to the shoulder straps of an economic general.
  - You, vile reptile, don"t dare insult Stelzan and his faithful servant!
  A hefty fist crashed down on the hideous green muzzle. The blow was a good one, the creature staggered, but didn't have time to fall. A swift, spinning low kick from the extremely agitated Eraskander crushed the pig-elephant-crocodile's face. The carcass plopped into a puddle, and the guards standing in the distance laughed cheerfully, pointing at the fallen monster with its flattened face. Brown-violet blood flowed into the puddle, spreading the pungent smell of turpentine. Without hesitation, Hermes and Leo mounted the prepared flaneur. Then they took off swiftly, startling the spotted insects.
  The sector felt especially restless. Fish-like lizards with feathered fins flew through the atmosphere. There were also creatures resembling wolves with bat wings. Large, three-headed eagles, the size of starfighters, soared. Giant dragonflies with the spines of large hedgehogs fluttered. The dominant creatures were mostly semi-wild, non-humanoid creatures. The sounds they made resembled something between a wolf howl and the clicking of cicadas. Some of them flew too close to the flaneur, threatening a collision.
  Jover turned the lever, and a wave of ultrasound dispersed the enraged creatures. Some, squealing hysterically, while the more intelligent ones let out rich curses, scattered in all directions. Hermes growled in response:
  - We will pulsate you, inferior aliens!
  Curious, Lev asked in partisan slang:
  - And where are we going to take a nap here?
  Jover pointed his finger, and a hologram with a pointer and the inscription: "In a brothel" flew out of the ring.
  Eraskander looked into the distance without much enthusiasm and calmed down - this didn't look like a brothel. A colossal, multi-kilometer-long building with austere basalt-marble walls stood out sharply against the inhospitable backdrop. Its shape resembled a medieval castle with thick battlements. Not far away, a huge, rectangular building, like a cliff, was also visible. A barracks for non-humanoid slaves. This colossal skyscraper reached into the stratosphere. On the roof was a launch pad for combat starships. Even the dingy sector was crammed with Purple Constellation troops, like a raisin bun. Lev said in surprise:
  - It looks so archaic!
  Built into the ring of Hermes, which has access to the intergalactic Princeps-Internet (functioning in hyperspace and kinesis space vectors), it provided information through a hologram.
  This structure is the legendary Black Castle. A renowned location that has inspired dozens of local films and hundreds of crime thrillers and detective stories. It has witnessed battles between alien knights on horseback and in armor, and these walls have also endured pirate raids and invasions of poisonous insects that feed on the atmosphere. Modern times are less romantic; the ancient Black Castle houses a network of drinking establishments and the lair of the galaxy's largest gangster, Luchera, nicknamed the Quasar Dragon. This symbol of the criminal underworld stretched over twenty-five miles into the ground and stood over six miles high and twelve miles wide. It was built many millennia, perhaps millions of years, before the Stelzans "blessed" this galaxy with their occupation. The walls were built using secret recipes from extinct species and were as strong as the latest alloys found in combat and space starships.
  Hermes shouted to the hologram:
  - Turn off! We don't need this!
  The flâneur landed on a vast platform literally crammed with flying machines of the most varied, sometimes wild and insanely bizarre designs. Creatures, mostly non-humanoid, swarmed around these twisted, multicolored configurations. The creatures were multicolored, motley, covered in scales, feathers, spikes, armor with needles and razor-like blades, with suction cups, plants, living minerals, and unimaginable other creatures, all unique to Earth. Lev had never seen such a diversity of space fauna. It aroused both curiosity and a subconscious anxiety. There were representatives of all types, structures, and forms. Some were transparent, some shaped like the thinnest worms, some tiny, some enormous, some larger than elephants. There were even amorphous creatures. Hybrids of every kind. Billions of unique planets... Trillions of years of evolutionary waves have given rise to an innumerable diversity of species.
  The Black Castle was specially adapted for many intergalactic types.
  Although the craft landed softly on the dark purple pavement of the park, it shook slightly, as if a Titan, imprisoned by Zeus, was trying to escape from below. Jover and Eraskander, oblivious, exited ( or rather, the young man leaped out like a cheetah, while the Stelzan descended with the solemnity of an ancient prince) and headed for one of the side entrances of this intergalactic "hotel."
  The road was suddenly blocked by two elephantine doormen with a dozen horns; they literally blocked the passage with their five-ton bodies.
  - What race? Species? Personalities? Do you have an invitation? What is the purpose of your visit?
  The thugs creaked with one voice, like overloaded chests of drawers. The "elephants"' bodies were clad in black camouflage with white flakes. In their claws, they held ten-barreled, cannon-type ray guns.
  "I'm Urlik, slang for Chermet. This is my personal slave, Lev Eraskander, slang for Lev. Here's the invitation disk."
  The guard clumsily picked up the diskette. Such a small diskette was difficult to hold in a powerful paw with half-meter-long fingers, but the guard was skilled and deftly inserted it into the cybernetic monitor. It read all the personal information. The purple light indicating free access flashed. The guards nodded, their necks creaking, motioning for the Stelzan and the slave to enter. The door, made of a super-strong alloy, slid silently open. Lev took a few steps inside; the coating inside was warm and soft, like a woman's body. Suddenly moved by a mischievous thought, the boy turned and winked at the guards:
  - Guarding your own property is expensive, and guarding someone else's is a hassle. If you don't need guards, then you're completely broke!
  The horned mastodons just blinked their shell-like eyes. Hermes grabbed the muscular boy by the wrist and pulled.
  - Quicker legs!
  The corridors of the ancient den wafted with hydrogen sulfide and something even more foul. The surface of the flooring had become harder and colder, and the walls were covered with the painted faces of various ghouls. It felt as if avant-garde artists were competing to see whose drawing would make you stutter the fastest. And to top it all off, the paint was backlit.
  Suddenly, powerful explosions erupted, and indiscriminate gunfire erupted. Complex life forms rained down volleys of diverse systems and species upon each other . The booming roar of death-dealing megawatt shells could be heard. Starships burst into flames and shattered, the corpses of motley sentient beings instantly charred, caught in the deadly beams of blasters, ecolasers, and other weapons. Lev saw the space battle thanks to five holographic projections that simultaneously lit up the castle corridor. Despite the surprise attack, Stelzanat's warships automatically formed a "flexible chain" system. Enormous cannons spewed clots of annihilation payloads, which, racing along jagged trajectories, slammed into the nearest space submarines of the menagerie. For example , one of the larger alien starships began to crumble like burnt cardboard. Lev imagined he saw bipedal chickens with monkey feet, panicking and scurrying through the corridors of the stricken space cruiser, trying unsuccessfully to escape the painful "kiss," the inexorable flame. Rescue modules, like colorful children's pills, leaped out of the damaged, out-of-control, chaotically spinning ships. Such was the speed of the plasma rifle for all combat models. Looking at this, Jover-Urlik was stunned with fear, for he was no fearless career soldier. After another jolt, raising prickly dust from the floor, the economic general finally scurried into the depths of a narrow, black corridor, illuminated by a dim red light.
  Several explosions thundered from the landing itself, sending chunks of flesh and shards of metal flying all the way to the entrance to the corridor. Eraskander managed to lie down, but one of the fragments still sliced through his bronze skin, passing tangentially, and another sheared off a short lock of snow-white hair. At the same moment, a dozen imposing figures appeared at the entrance. The elephantine doormen jumped aside.
  Gorilla-like, six-armed Khaligars squeezed through the entrance. Brutes armed with powerful ray guns, these star monsters in armored suits bearing the insignia of the municipal native police were thickly splattered with multicolored, bubbling blood.
  Hermes didn't get far. The floor was too slippery, and he fell, a hundred-and-a-half-pound bulk. Here, in the narrow corridor, there was no chance of dodging the deadly beams. Jover turned pale and raised his hands. It seemed entirely human. However, the Khaligars looked most merciless and disgustingly aggressive.
  Only Lev didn't panic. One detail intrigued him. The "gorillas" wielded powerful heavy-caliber military-grade gravio-laser weapons. Meanwhile, municipal police soldiers were issued stun guns or gamma pistols and, extremely rarely, a low-power medium-caliber blaster. Carrying Byrd-class gravio-laser beam guns and other heavy military weapons was prohibited under penalty of death. The Khaligars, as a conquered race, were entrusted only with weaker weapons, despite being the empire's most massive auxiliary force. Consequently, their uniforms were counterfeit. They were either space gangsters or spies.
  Hermes backed down the corridor, trembling with fear.
  - Stop, you arthropod bastards, otherwise you face total destruction!
  The commander's voice was unexpectedly thin and squeaky. This encouraged Lev. The young man tried to make his voice sound ingratiating.
  - My master is about to faint. I must bring him back to his senses!
  Grabbing Jover by the waist, Eraskander quietly pulled a plasma thrower from his belt. Without turning his head, he fired at the ominous silhouettes of his opponents. The six-armed "gorillas" thought the savage-looking boy was merely supporting his master, and they giggled. With superhuman strength, Lev managed to hurl his master into a narrow gap, almost invisible in the dim light of the corridor. He managed to do this in perfect synchronicity with the shot.
  The plasma launcher was loaded with a miniature annihilation missile, and although they managed to take cover in a crevice, the fiery plasma hurricane also caught the shooters. Since Lev jumped in a little later and was completely naked, he suffered significantly more. The flames scorched his face, shoulders, and a significant portion of his skin, partially damaging his hair. The intense flash also blinded those engaged in a furious skirmish on the spaceport platform. Some were killed, others were knocked down by the shockwave. Many simply lost their sight. The shooting ceased.
  Hermes lost consciousness from the powerful blow. Leo, on the other hand, landed like a cat. The hellish weapon they'd used was forbidden to civilians of the Purple Constellation. Only official armed forces could use it, and even then, with certain restrictions. Carrying such a weapon could lead to arrest. Eraskander became incredibly nervous, realizing he'd crossed all legal boundaries. Soon, the Purple Constellation patrols would become unbearably crowded here. Desperation suggested a way out. Hefting his master (may he be boiled in hyperplasm for a billion centuries) onto his shoulders, the young man dashed down the winding corridor, which sometimes narrowed, sometimes widened. He ran about 60-70 meters. To escape, he needed to find an elevator. Running with such a bulk was extremely difficult for someone scorched by the all-consuming substance. Leo was drenched in sweat, which corroded his already painful burns, and his legs trembled. He held on only by a supreme effort of will. Almost losing consciousness, Eraskander ran to the open elevator door, where a fox-like figure had just emerged. He stood aside, indifferently letting the fugitives enter the cabin. Perhaps such a sight was commonplace.
  Lev began frantically pressing the obscure labels on the buttons. A monitor screen gleamed on the wall of the mobile elevator car the tortured boy had climbed into, allowing him to choose any direction in the endless elevator labyrinth. An old joke flashed through his mind. The criminals boarded the elevator and disappeared in an unknown direction.
  But in this case, it's no longer a joke, but the reality of technologies on worlds with histories stretching back millions of years. This elevator could travel tens, even hundreds of miles deep within the soil of this unusual planet. Cities and even continents were crossed through underground labyrinths. Most of them were built long before the Stelzan occupation. The oldest passages were millions of years old. An entire underground network extended from the Black Castle. The planet itself had long been renowned as a haven for star bandits of all stripes and races. This planet was a haven for scoundrels, where all laws were arbitrary. This underground world, with thousands upon thousands of passages more tangled than hare trails, housed one of the largest lairs of the space mafia in this part of the universe. The planet Korolora is older than Earth and far larger in size. It has cooled much more deeply than Earth. Many sectors and passages are not even marked on the maps of the empire's secret services.
  The elevator picked up speed. Confused, Lev flicked the settings too often. Soon they entered an unfamiliar sector. This area seemed empty and ominous. But could a wounded boy be blamed for that? The elevator zigzagged constantly, moving horizontally, vertically, and diagonally, confusing all directions. He had to stop, otherwise he could end up in hell. But how could he lock this thing? Maybe press the red button? The elevator wasn't some old rarity, and Stelzans also have scarlet blood, so it certainly couldn't make things worse.
  Lev Eraskander, having calmed the trembling in his blistered fingers, quickly pressed the red button...
  Chapter 13
  How could it happen that progress
  Gave the Earth a different direction,
  And the cave-stone regression
  Struck the earthlings in an instant?
  The answer to this is very simple!
  It's not hard to rob a stupid person,
  After all, the savage has not yet matured to the point of rebellion -
  It's easier to control fools!
  Huddled in the treetop, Vladimir Tigrov resembled a monkey frightened by lions. The lions, of course, were soldiers of the Purple Constellation. They circled around and settled down right under the tree where the frightened boy hid. Somewhere in the distance, majestic music began to play, and at the same time, several tracked robots appeared. Atop each robot's head was a flagpole bearing the large flag of the great empire. It was a vibrant seven-colored canvas: red, orange, yellow, green, emerald, blue, and violet. Each stripe contained forty-nine sparkling stars. After all, the Stelzans believed that three powers of seven symbolized infinity. And according to the Purple Constellation religion, there existed seven parallel mega-universes, of which this one was the smallest and most disorganized. The transition to other universes occurs after death, heralding a new, even more glorious life, and a boundless, brutal war. Moreover, in this case, seven was also not considered a definitive mathematical number, but rather a symbol of great multiplicity.
  The anthem calmed Vladimir; he suddenly remembered he hadn't been afraid of the witch, the cosmic Kali, or Lira Velimara, and that it was shameful for a human to fear non-humans with blasters. Especially since President Polikanov had proven that the Stelzans were mortal, and therefore could be defeated. There's no harm in hoping, but losing hope is the most destructive thing of all! When the anthem faded, the discordant strains of song could be heard.
  In the bright light, the marching column was clearly visible. Judging by their height and round, smiling faces, they were children. Deeply tanned, almost black, like African blacks, practically naked, with only a thin gray cloth around their hips. They looked like savages from the Tuba-Yuba tribe. However, they were not backward children. The native children, as Vladimir Tigrov suddenly realized with some kind of seventh sense, had a good grasp of geography and loved studying the history of ancient countries and continents lost to total war. Even if they literally walked the razor's edge in secret (denunciations from local police and forbidden knowledge would sell you for buttons and bags!), drawing maps with a nail on peeled bark. Most of them had straight blond hair, some natural, some bleached by the sun. Their hair was thick, but admittedly a bit too unkempt, shaggy like that of peasant boys in medieval frescoes. And their faces were quite European, without any Negroid features, pleasant and cheerful. But most importantly, they sang in Russian.
  
  Great light of the empire,
  Gives happiness to all people!
  In the immeasurable universe,
  You won't find anyone more beautiful!
  
  With precious tassels,
  From edge to edge!
  The empire spread out,
  Mighty Saint!
  
  A radiant star,
  Lights the way for people!
  Possesses the main force,
  Protects the planet!
  
  The children sang and marched like Young Pioneers on a parade route, trying to keep a precise step with their bare feet, covered in small scrapes and bruises, without breaking the marching tempo. Buglers and drummers added to the Young Pioneer feel. The drums beat out a military roll, and the buglers blew trumpets from time to time. There were no ties, but red collars made a good substitute. The children carried axes, ropes, saws, and other tools for felling trees. Of course, they had come here not just to sing, but also to work.
  Trees were chopped and hauled by hand; the only machinery available was carts and horse-drawn vehicles. These were also genetically engineered, like shaggy, multi-legged horses, but much faster and with natural solar cells instead of fur. From the Stelzans' perspective, mechanization is not only unnecessary but even harmful. Humans have multiplied enormously, even more than before the aggression began, and there's not enough work for everyone. So most of them are busy chopping wood, and singing while they do it. However, so much wood has already been cut down that warehouses in the immediate vicinity are full. Therefore, many lumberjacks are forced to travel tens of kilometers further. The children work calmly, even with a certain enthusiasm. The boys also look quite healthy, their muscles are developed, and their athletic figures are a rarity among the modern generation at their age. It's as if they are the best cadres from an Olympic reserve school, hauling large logs in pairs and deftly delivering crushing blows with axes to thick trunks. A balanced diet, fresh air, and physical exercise produced such amazing results. Apparently, some of Tigrov's contemporaries would have envied such a life. It was enough to be able to read, know the multiplication tables, and sign one's own name. Anything beyond that was strictly forbidden, with exceptions made only for a few of the most notorious collaborators of the occupation regime. Vladimir, however, grew increasingly angry. How could he work so calmly for the occupiers, singing hymns glorifying these beasts? He felt ashamed and bitter for his own people, but he lacked the courage to descend. It was sultry, the young workers were sweating, and their black bodies glistened as if oiled. Four soldiers wearing the purple eye emblem (the occupation forces) were clearly bored. They usually didn't patrol the loggers in peaceful areas, entrusting that task to the police or security robots. It really wasn't hot, but the special uniform, in addition to the protective functions of light armor, also regulated the temperature of the environment directly surrounding the occupiers' flesh. They needed to have some fun. But how? Sure, they had computer games in their bracelets or in the ray guns themselves, but that's not the same as chic! Taunting the kids was much more fun!
  The senior security guard commanded in Russian:
  - Okay, break! Let's play football!
  The boys, of course, were delighted. Carefully (try being careless with such cruel masters!), they sorted the tools, then, their bare feet, greenish-purple from the grass, flickered as they rushed to gather twigs. The young workers had already begun constructing numerous gates from branches and lush, large leaves. Since there were so many boys, there had to be at least a dozen teams. The senior, thuggish occupier stopped the boys:
  "We're going to play a different kind of football, the football of our great empire. There are four of us against all of you. And we only have one ball. Here's your goal, here's ours. The goal is to score at any cost. Let's get started!"
  Anyone means anyone. And the Stealthlings began beating up the children. Under the guise of play, it's satisfying to beat up someone weaker. It's especially satisfying if you're beating up someone like yourself. The one-and-a-half-hundred-pound brutes mauled the children, breaking arms, legs, ribs, and even heads. And when the kids, united in a pack, like savages over a mammoth, felled one of the occupying guards, the scoundrels unleashed their weapons. The children's bodies were shredded by slightly curved blaster beams, sometimes brighter, sometimes dimmer as they traveled. The air smelled of scorched meat, smoke swirled, and the anguished groans of dying boys echoed...
  "Fascists! Barbarians! Sadists!" a hysterical voice cried out from the top.
  Forgetting his own safety, losing his instinct for self-preservation, Tigrov hurriedly descended from the tree. He wanted to disintegrate the merciless executioners and the entire super-fascist Stelzanate into quarks, scattering them across the universe. Ahead of him, the space beasts struck with a laser, cutting down the dense canopy. Vladimir fell from the severed trunk. Falling twenty meters, he was badly bruised. When Vladimir came to, he was already tied to a palm tree with wire and being examined with curiosity. The senior overseer was already quite a seasoned soldier, so he looked with particular interest at the prisoner who had suddenly fallen on his head. In a calm tone, hinting only at mild curiosity, the Stelzan spoke, running his fingernail across the boy's punctured sole.
  "Look at him. His skin is fair, noticeably darkened and even slightly singed by the local sun. He wore shoes recently, and his nails were neatly trimmed. His hair wasn't shaved too short either; the barber's work is visible. I'm telling you, this isn't a local. He shouldn't be killed or tortured; it would be better to hand him over to the 'Love and Truth' department. It's not our job to solve these riddles."
  The brute in the battle suit stained with children's blood still risked an objection:
  - Shouldn't we torture him and deprive ourselves of such pleasure?
  "If he's a big shot, we'll get into trouble for unauthorized torture. Better yet, we'll catch him and torture one of the locals..."
  The leader clicked the control panel, and the Stelzan grav-cycles flew up to their masters, tilting their handlebars as if inviting the Stelzans to mount. The senior overseer was about to leap onto the mechanical steed, but couldn't resist drawing his whip.
  - Let's revive the prisoner's consciousness and give him a little shock.
  The blow quickly brought back the full range of sensations to Vladimir"s consciousness, which was still clouded and had difficulty perceiving other people"s words.
  The thug Stelzan struck hard, the boy shaking and even screaming from some of the blows that cut his skin. On the thirtieth blow, Vladimir lost consciousness. Cold water was splashed in his face from a sort of siphon...
  When the young captive struggled to open his eyes, a dark-skinned boy with blond hair and blue eyes was already hanging tied up across from him. He had been tortured in a rather primitive manner, savagely, with fire from a makeshift torch. The local boy twitched, screaming at the top of his lungs, his already rather good muscles straining in a frantic effort that even the rope cracked. When he lost consciousness from the pain, the monsters rejoiced. The sons of the nightmarish empire reveled in their monstrously vile, joyful excitement.
  "Sadists, scum!" Tigrov whispered barely audibly.
  Finally, the executioners turned their attention to him.
  - Pray, white macaque! Let's see if you can keep quiet when your heels are fried!
  The sadist thrust the burning log toward the young man's bare foot. The flames licked the unfortunate teenager's heel with rapacious venom, causing blisters to appear instantly.
  The pain was horrific, and only an even stronger feeling of hatred allowed him to hold back his scream this time.
  However, this had already exceeded all limits of human endurance, and this time Tigrov lost the ability to sense the surrounding nightmarish reality for a long time.
  ***
  Every journey, no matter how brief, eventually comes to an end. Through hyperspace jumps brief by the scale of the Universe and colossal by human standards, the starship "Liberty and Justice" was inexorably approaching Earth. The Empire's bureaucracy had lost its last vestiges of decency, erecting ever more barriers to the stellar inspection mission.
  ***
  Mass preparations were in full swing on planet Earth. Indigenous municipal forces played a vital role. The largest cities and towns were being brought into order. The population was being given decent clothing free of charge, so that at least in the larger settlements, people wouldn't resemble backward savages. This was indeed a problem. There were too few clothing factories, and warehouse stocks were pitifully low. One could, of course, claim that people had gone wild, but then they could blame the imperial authorities. Food had never been a problem. Thanks to climate change and the installation of focusers and mirrors, night was virtually nonexistent on Earth, and genetically enhanced plants yielded crops six to eight times a year, with fruit falling from the trees year-round. Because of this, the Earth's population had grown excessively large, but its cultural level had plummeted. They've gotten used to going without clothes, food leaps into their mouths like in a folk tale, the Internet has been forgotten (its intergalactic, space-faring version is so contaminated with various annihilation programs and viruses that traveling through kinesis is akin to running through a minefield), and only the regime's henchmen and the indigenous oligarchy watch television. And only recently have they been allowed to wear proper clothes. The rest have been conditioned to think of themselves as mere workhorses.
  ***
  Colonel Igor Rodionov, commander of the elite collaborationist special forces unit "Alpha Stealth," walked with a quick, springy stride across Anzh-Katuna Square. Moscow's Red Square once stood on this site. The capital of the most powerful, vast, mighty, and wealthy Russian Empire on earth had been wiped off the face of the Earth by the first strike of annihilation missiles. In its place now stood a vast, half-destroyed village. Once upon a time, the entire world trembled, gazing at the menacing Kremlin walls. The mightiest of the mighty-the Great Empire-dominated the planet, crushing the United States of America and China with its might, pushing them from their positions as world leaders. But now... Where is this former might, this half-forgotten history? In the place of the capital now stand only shacks and no more than a dozen dilapidated, multi-story buildings. Humanity was not yet united, but Russia's role as a world leader and superpower was becoming increasingly clear, like a sine wave. The Russian Empire, which had experienced numerous ups and downs, had regained control over all of the USSR's territory. The severe energy crisis gripping planet Earth allowed it to accumulate funds and resources for further expansion. Taking advantage of the fact that the US Army was mired in a protracted war with the Islamic world, the troops of the newly strengthened Russian Empire first helped the Arabs expel the Armeticans from the Tersid Gulf, then, under the pretext of fighting terrorism, the Russian army took control of all the oil fields in the region. As a result, all countries-from Iljiri to Andia-were bound under the strict patronage of the new great empire. Sitai was forced to accept the role of Russia's junior military partner. The US economy collapsed. In the confusion, they managed to regain control of Alaska and subjugate the decrepit and largely unneeded Veropa. True, in recent years, before the stellar aggression, the Armeticans partially restored their power, relying on new technologies. War was heading toward them, but the latest military developments offered every chance of victory for Russia and the Eastern Bloc. World domination was within reach. But now it's been trampled under an armored boot with a magnetic sole.
  The colonel was Russian by nationality and knew his planet's history well. The Stelzans controlled trillions of worlds, and their technological superiority made any uprising pointless and suicidal. If there had been even the slightest chance of victory, Rodionov would have fought for the independence and freedom of his planet without a second thought. But a mosquito can't penetrate a tank's armor, and he gritted his teeth and submitted to the hated occupiers. At least he could do something for his people.
  The Stelzans decided to rebuild the Kremlin. Unaware of what this citadel looked like before the space invasion, the governor set completely absurd parameters for the structure being erected. Since Moscow was the number one city, it was better to rebuild this legendary symbol. After the space strike, not a single building remained intact in Moscow, and the underground structures were crushed by a shock wave equivalent to a magnitude 12 earthquake. Based on greatly exaggerated legends, the Kremlin was built almost tenfold in size.
  Initially, Fagiram Sham wanted to build towers the size of the Himalayas, and his advisors barely managed to dissuade him, arguing that they simply wouldn't be able to complete the construction in time for the dangerous guest's arrival. The construction involved both laborers and numerous vehicles. Millions of people were herded together. There weren't enough barracks for everyone. Most slept outdoors. Fortunately, the climate allowed them to sleep on the grass, and the surrounding area was surrounded by fences made of stable hyperplasma beams.
  Airborne flaneurs flew toward them. They were packed with new recruits. Due to the shifting sun and climate change, the skin of the Veropeans had darkened. The humans had become much darker than the Stelzans, turning black or, more rarely, dark brown. Some of the hastily recruited conscripts marched in formation (they had been able to do this since childhood), but many of them limped on both legs. Newly minted warriors, putting on boots and uniforms for the first time in their lives. And here these former teenagers were grinning, trying to act tough, arrogantly hurling obscene curses at the common workers. Of course, they were now the soles of the master race, and everyone else was just insignificant trash, too lame to touch. They shook their machine guns, making offensive gestures. "I need to give them a good talking to!" thought the head of the special forces.
  - Mr. Non-Commissioned Officer, may I address you?
  Igor turned his head towards the familiar voice.
  - Ah, it's you, my brother! I haven't seen you in a long time... You, like a fox, covered all your tracks, escaping from us!..
  "And you, pathetic police dog, still haven't tracked down the wolf's den!" came the cheerful reply.
  The brothers embraced tightly. Then, both leisurely, since they were wearing police uniforms, walked along the basalt road, smooth as a polished mirror. A quartet of guard animals-armored rhinoceroses with cheetah-like paws and a network of furry tentacles for mouths-ran to the right of the marching column, this time an all-female native unit. The girls wore short skirts, their ample busts barely covered by a tunic-like garment. Their bare feet marched almost in sync, their toes pointed. The girls themselves were quite attractive, mostly blondes with lush hair, regular features, and almost perfectly proportioned figures (the result of the genetic purges carried out by the occupation authorities!). Their bare feet were graceful and not the least bit deformed by barefoot walking, and a special ointment repelled dust, leaving the girls' heels pink and chiseled, smoothing and making the rough surface of women's soles sparkle like coral. Only their skin, over several decades of exposure to the incessant rays of the sun, had acquired an ebony hue, which, on natural blondes with Aryan or Slavic features, looked unnatural, even a little frightening. Igor, without taking his eyes off the girls' slender legs, said, barely audibly, so that only their trained ears could detect:
  "I have no time for tenderness, my brother! The rumor is true: the Inspector General of the Justice Council is coming to visit us. The legendary Des Ymer Conoradson. Have you heard of him?"
  Ivan "Krushilo", that was his brother's name - "Krushilo" was his nickname, also answered quietly;
  - Ah, so that's it! So that's why there's so much noise and hubbub here. What can you say about all this?
  "Fag is pretending to be kind now, but he's a terrible beast, a goring plasma louse that has exterminated hundreds of millions of our compatriots. As soon as the inspection is over, he'll start killing with redoubled force. He must be stopped, and you must help us!"
  The head of the Alpha Stealth special forces shook his head somberly. Igor's voice was filled with pain:
  "We have a good saying. You've broken through the wall, but what will you do in the next cell? They're all the same; to them, we're just hairless monkeys and nothing more. In this fight, you can only rely on yourself!"
  "Then throw off that hateful uniform and come with us into the woods!" Ivan whispered loudly, momentarily forgetting caution.
  "And why wage a theatrical war with them? Do your machine guns even work... Against blasters, lasers, beam guns, masers, combat robots? That's like a pellet to a hyper-mastodon! Even hydrogen bombs, which you don't have, are harmless firecrackers against their force fields." The elite colonel spread his hands.
  "The greatest strength is the spirit and people! Matter may be powerful, but only the spirit possesses true omnipotence!" Ivan said pompously, puffing out his broad chest.
  An animal with a fan-like tail adorned with the most beautiful gems, but with the body of a tiger, grazed peacefully, devouring the orange grass. Its mouth was toothless, yet it devoured the genetically modified flora with great efficiency. Simultaneously, the animal ejected small round balls from its belly. The child slaves picked them up, carefully placing them in transparent bags.
  Igor Rodionov delivered a whole speech with sadness:
  - Beautifully put, but these are just words that shake the air! And what about the people? There was Kerchi Kerr, the king of the special forces, and Ivan Kozlovsky, the head of the mercenaries. They tried to wage guerrilla warfare using trained troops. Green Berets... Crimson Berets... Stelzans knocked them down like partridges, even in hand-to-hand combat. The soldiers of the Purple Constellation were superior to the special forces. Reaction, speed, technique, strength, size... Each of them took out a hundred local "Rambo" soldiers. General Mokili Velr killed them with his bare hands, both leaders of the guerrilla war at once. How he told them: "I'm giving you a chance! Defend yourself!" and, as if in mockery, handed them steel axes! Your every move is known in advance; even the camouflage robes were sold to you with his direct knowledge, to make the war interesting. For them, it's simple entertainment.
  In response, Ivan Rodionov clenched his fists tightly, even his knuckles turned white. The Russian partisan"s voice was filled with barely contained rage:
  "There's no point in reminding us of our impotence. You'd better help us take down at least Fagiram Sham. Then we'll see what the situation is and gather supporters. You have to help us, after all, Alpha Stealth is Ronald Ducklinton's best special forces unit."
  Igor felt profoundly embarrassed. He was even ashamed to look his brother in the eye. Somehow, Rodionov reminded himself of that herbivorous tiger with the tail of a glamorous peacock. Here he was, throwing away the honey-milk cakes that the monstrous occupiers were picking up. But on the other hand, he had to justify himself somehow:
  "What can we really do? Ron is a scoundrel and a bastard. He'll turn in anyone who even offers the slightest bit of worthy resistance to the Stelzans. The entire collaborationist elite is under surveillance. We're afraid to even think badly of them. I mean, literally. They can read our thoughts with their devices, and do it covertly. When they turn them on, all that's left is a metallic taste in our mouths. We're taking too much of a risk already. If I come under suspicion, the investigation will ruin us, and all the information will be squeezed out like juice from a lemon."
  Ivan nodded understandingly, a shadow crossing the large young man's face. It seemed, however, that even though he was younger, he hadn't yet lost faith in humanity's ability to resist the occupiers. After all, gentle water can wear away a diamond, and a person...
  "We need to take advantage of every chance we get. Oh, and about the corpses. They flay people and turn the bones into figurines, souvenirs, plates, and other junk... it's a whole underground business. Is it really possible to make gloves, jackets, bags, and so on from intelligent beings? They make soap from human fat, process fresh meat into protein, can it, add it to multi-layered pies, and sell it to other races. It's monstrous, even hair and nails are processed. They dismantle a person into elementary particles, extracting profit from every organ. Didn't you know that these bastards have created an entire factory where they conduct secret experiments on people? What they do is a secret. But the Third Reich, compared to their deeds and the scale of the process, is just a small prankster compared to an experienced executioner. And this business is set up on a large scale. Even the treasury and the central authorities of the empire profit from it... - Vladimir paused, pulled a strongly mint-scented candy from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. Then he continued. - I believe the Zorgs will give them such a thorough and severe punishment for this that they won't get away with just one governor. Des Imer Kono... Damn his name... He needs to get proof, and when he talks to the natives, there should be angry revelations, and not just brave cries of prosperity under the empire's noose. Billions of people are with us. All the informers work out of fear or occupation dollars. The Stelzans aren't that tough! They've gotten too arrogant, they underestimate us, they think we're worse than dumb animals. But we are people! And we can hit them back; they can't foresee every situation. We can destroy them with sudden moves and blows.
  Igor shook his head vigorously in response:
  - True, they're not gods either! But I won't climb under the rays! I'll try to do everything I can. You're formally part of the municipal police squad. And we've been chatting for ages. What will you tell them? How will you explain our conversation?
  Ivan, understandably, was at a loss:
  - What do you mean? We've only just begun!
  Igor calmly and with an ironic smile explained:
  "I used a trick to cut off all the loose ends. The thing is, with total surveillance, only the head of the special forces can find a way to slip through the cracks. Let Gornostayev contact me. I'll help him deliver incriminating evidence on Fag. But I warn him not to trust his inner circle; there are at least two moles there who report everything to the occupiers. Even his location has long been known; they don't kill him because he's the perfect scapegoat. All the excesses and unplanned expenses are blamed on him."
  Ivan, with a sharp kick of his boot, which was glistening in the sun, knocked off the prickly word cactus snail and answered with not quite appropriate cheerfulness:
  "It's not that simple! I myself don't know where Gornostaev is hiding. No one knows, and no one has seen his exact location, but he's constantly in touch, and some even wonder if a spirit is guiding them. You will provide local security, guards, and translators, right?" the underground worker said hopefully.
  Igor wasn't entirely sure in this case; a damp wind blew into his face, making it seem like the giant special forces soldier's blue eyes were watering:
  "The translators are under 24/7 surveillance, isolated from all earthlings without exception. But there's always a hole in any system. I hope such an experienced inspector will be able to rip apart this artificially woven web. Do you agree, Vanyusha?"
  The fighter of the invisible front, with the firm voice of a true revolutionary, answered:
  "I trust your aunt, brother. Therefore, for the sake of our mother Earth, let us strive to defeat the enemy with our combined efforts. If we perish, our children will continue the fight. Hope dies last; a man without hope is dead from the start!"
  Both brothers shook hands and, saluting, left.
  Another column of newly recruited teenagers marched toward Ivan the Crusher. The young men, saluting mechanically, understandably, stared fixedly at the strong, slender legs of the girls, the Amazons striding alongside them. A flaneur carrying an officer of the Purple Constellation flew alongside the column. The flaneur was shaped like an eagle, with its wings turned backwards and three barrels in place of a beak. From its transparent cockpit, the Stelzan threatened with a ten-barreled ray gun. And above the vehicle, a hologram hovered-a dragon-like creature, but so repulsive and terrifying that when it turned its hideous heads, the girls and boys involuntarily screamed. Ivan, the fake local police officer, was forced to join the others in saluting him with a gesture resembling a Nazi salute. The workers saluted a little differently, crossing their arms in front of them and clenching their fists tightly (this was a sign of readiness to work until the last quantum of energy).
  
  Chapter 14
  How lonely in the darkness -
  Let the cold stars twinkle!
  And why on Earth
  The truth cannot be found?
  It seems that our world has perished,
  It's as if the road has ended...
  But don't worry, brother horseman!
  You can't drown in the sky...
  After Lev pressed the red button, the elevator slowed to a stop, slid to the right, and came to a halt. A nasty voice, speaking Stelzan, began to squeal, "Self-destruct system activated." And Lev heard the countdown begin:
  - Ten... Nine... Eight...
  Eraskander understood perfectly well what this meant, so he grabbed the body of his partner, or rather, his hated owner, like a sack of potatoes and tried to get out of the elevator. The door, as luck would have it, jammed, but the stress gave the young man additional strength. With all his boyish fury, he pushed the stubborn doors apart, deforming the durable material and nearly tearing it from its metal fastenings.
  The terrible effort caused his muscles to spasm, and his broad chest heaved with the strain. The young man, fighting off the treacherous exhaustion, leaped forward, dragging the useless appendage over his shoulder.
  It was still not possible to escape the blast wave...
  A hot blast of explosive energy overtook Lev. After flying fifteen meters, Eraskander crashed into a column and lost consciousness. True, he wasn't enveloped in darkness. Outwardly, the boy had completely passed out, but in his mind, he was lost in a kind of sleep...
  ...As always, on a typical sunny morning, he and his friends were running through the forest. They loved to play war. The most popular was the war between humans and Stelzans. The weapons were mostly made of wood, sometimes plywood. They were still considered too small for physical labor, but there was plenty of manpower available back then.
  The future gladiator, Lev, had only recently turned eight years old, and a year on Earth had become 50 days shorter due to his orbit's proximity to the Sun. Still essentially a child, whom no one took seriously, he was strong and intelligent beyond his years. Among the boys, Lev was undoubtedly the recognized leader, and in a fight he could beat a fighter much older and larger than himself. Eraskander also developed an unchildlike love and fanaticism for the art of hand-to-hand combat. He wanted to be stronger than everyone, smarter than everyone, better than everyone. He wasn't afraid to say outright that when he grew up, he would drive all the Stelzans from planet Earth, and then build a starship, or rather an entire flotilla, and liberate other enslaved worlds. All this reinforced the myth of him as a heavenly messenger and messiah. Although there were servants of the Purple Constellation in the village, even they were in no hurry to report to higher authorities. Even as a small child, Leo had firmly believed in his own exceptionalism. Therefore, the unexpected appearance of several high-ranking officials in the village didn't greatly impress him. They arrived with their offspring. The children of powerful regime officials attracted keen attention. They held plastic guns, toy-like yet intriguing. When fired, sparks flew out, electrocuting the skin upon impact and glowing for a long time. Dressed in shorts, bright T-shirts, and elegant sandals, they stood out sharply from the almost naked village rabble. This gave them an air of insolence, especially since there were only two small factories on planet Earth producing children's clothing and toys, and even many of the children of high-ranking collaborators of the occupiers were forced to go naked and barefoot. Lev was irritated by this; he didn't like impudent people, and these guys were behaving like little lords. One of them started yelling, imitating his father, the general of the native police.
  - Hey, you! Pathetic village thugs, get on your knees, goats! Look at my boots, let your leader lick them clean with his own tongue.
  The bright red boots glinted in the sun; on this planet, they were worth a fortune. Eraskander wouldn't tolerate them any longer, though he'd warned them that if they so much as touched one of the child elite, they would be sent to the recycling factory. Horrific legends circulated about this factory; no one had ever returned from there. They said that people were used to make combs, clothing, canned goods, and so on. Human skin was indeed in high demand; it, along with hair and bone products, was profitably sold on intergalactic black markets. But Lev couldn't restrain himself:
  "You little jackal. Your father licks the asses of Stelzan primates, and you'll lick my heels." The boy pointed to his calloused feet, green from grass and pricked by thorns. His arms and legs, knees, elbows, shins, and fists were covered in scrapes and bruises. Every day from early morning, if such a thing as a morning in eternal light exists, he trained in the trees, chipping bark and breaking branches. From this, his limbs were bruised, resembling steel rods. In fact, the scratched Eraskander looked like a juvenile delinquent; his blue-green eyes glowed like those of a hungry panther.
  A shot rang out in response. Lev managed to dodge and, deftly ducking to avoid more shots, struck his opponent in mid-air. Then, doing a somersault, he continued the movement, like Michael Tyson in his irresistible rush. It was a simple but effective headbutt to the chin. The blow knocked out the much older, heavier, and perhaps even slightly overweight boy, his bulging belly. The general's son fell, and immediately the other children, his friends, pounced on the young noblemen. They, stunned by this incomprehensible fury, fired their "scarecrows" and almost immediately came under brutal blows. They were beaten with all the innocence and fury of children. Once the little gentlemen were unconscious, their clothes were stripped, their watches, small cell phones, and, most importantly, their weapons were confiscated. Everyone was having a good time, the children laughed loudly and clapped their hands. There were girls with wreaths of wondrous flowers, mostly imported from other planets, and even very young children. The only thing missing were the adults, whose presence would only have spoiled the idyll of freedom and permissiveness. The children turned on the vast holograms of their tiny phones.
  One of the boys scratched by the thorns said:
  -It's simple, you can even give them commands by voice.
  The girl, who was black but had white hair on her head and wore only a torn tunic, was surprised:
  - How interesting! I want to see the blue fairy!
  In response, the hologram sparkled, and an image of a beautiful girl with silver dragonfly wings appeared.
  - I am ready to fulfill your three wishes.
  "Cool!" the girl said, shaking her head, crowned with a wreath that sparkled in the sun like gems. "I want a cake with ice cream and chocolate in the shape of a knight's castle."
  "Like the ancient King Arthur," suggested a boy with a bare belly and a purple wolf tattoo on his chest.
  "Right now!" The fairy flashed, blinking her image, and then reappeared, holding a glamorous yet majestic castle in her hands.
  "Pass it to me," the girl asked. The hologram thrust a colorful, flag-covered structure at her. The girl grabbed it with her hands, and they passed by. The girl tried again. It didn't work. She burst into tears, rubbing away the bitter tears with her fists.
  - Another deception. Lying Stealth! All they have is real cruelty, and everything good is a complete fake!
  Gently stroking her head, Lev reassured her:
  - They're illusions! They're called holograms. They can show you anything, like in a fairy tale. No need to cry over them. Maybe we should watch a movie instead, guys?
  - Show it to the cinema! - the children shouted in chorus.
  The fairy-like hologram became even larger and more colorful, and her voice thundered like the ringing of silver bells:
  - Which ones do you need? After all, I have one million two hundred and fifty thousand colonial films, for various races.
  "Some cooler and funnier ones!" the boys asked, energetically stamping their bare feet.
  Eraskander said, adopting a stern, fully grown-up look. " I want to have at least a little fun and show you how attractive progress can be!"
  "What game?" asked another hologram, taking the form of a rose-adorned frog with a golden arrow.
  "One for fighting and shooting!" Lev exclaimed loudly, and the other kids applauded energetically in support!
  "Then I propose a star patrol." Both holograms stretched their faces unnaturally wide into smiles.
  A multifaceted image flashed. Lev Eraskander, with the acumen of a born warrior, quickly asked questions about how to use this or that weapon, how to advance from level to level. The game robots responded via holograms.
  Soon the boy was immersed in a wave of games. The other kids were watching colorful sci-fi action films or joining their leader . It was fun, especially for Lev, who easily passed the first level and was a blast on the second. The other kids had a harder time; they lacked the experience and acumen of a true Terminator, characteristic of Eraskander.
  One of the slain enemies, holding a severed head in his hands, sang:
  - Your joy is in vain, my hero - because soon it will be oh-oh-oh!
  Eraskander was the first to recover from his euphoria, perhaps under the influence of these ambiguous words: what would happen when their hooliganism was discovered? It seemed he had forgotten the harsh reality altogether... The answer came faster than he could think.
  "Human macaques, you're tired of living! Now I'm going to play vapor roulette with you!"
  The voice that spoke was childish, but unnaturally loud. The boys immediately stopped chattering. The one who spoke these words wasn't a terrifying monster. Before them stood a boy who looked to be ten or eleven years old. Noticeably fairer and incomparably more muscular than the other native boys. Even his clothes didn't stand out much; he also wore only shorts, barefoot, though he wore a seven-color cap and gold-studded bracelets on his arms. In his hand, the boy held a small ray gun, very much like a toy, and his piercing, poisonous-green eyes were stern and unchildlike. A wild desire to shoot, to kill, blazed with hatred. "This is their child! The children of our occupiers," Lev guessed. He had never seen a living Stelzan up close, and their children were a rarity, especially on an occupied, closed-to-contact planet. The boy from the master race was not scary, he even seemed comical when angry, but for the first time, the young leader of the underage rebels felt such an unpleasant sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
  "Which of you should I tear to pieces first? Choose, worthless humans!" Stelzanyonok cast a look so full of contempt that it felt like an invisible fist had slammed into your face.
  One of the girls screamed in fear:
  -This is him! Occupier mini-essay.
  A laser blast cut the idyllically barefoot little girl, her hair as white as sheep's wool, in half. The girl's face contorted in pain and then smoothed out, her innocent soul leaving her mangled body, soaring to heaven to Jesus. The children screamed, some of them firing toy pistols, others rushing to the attack, trying to knock the Stelzan down. The little warrior cut the children with his beam; it was easy, easier than burning a thin layer of oil with a hot needle. The grav-laser mowed down dozens of children, and the return shots only sparked slightly, increasing the punisher's rage. Lev landed flat on the ground, avoiding the deadly streaks of fire from the pocket ray gun. He rolled away and, finding a hefty stone, hurled it at his opponent. Or rather, the young fighter hurled two destructive objects at once: one at his hand, the other at his head. His intuition told him that one stone might not be enough. Sure enough, the little gunslinger managed to shoot down the "gift" aimed at his head with a laser beam , but the second, flying along a jagged trajectory, struck his hand directly, knocking the ray gun off his arm. The little punisher lunged for the pocket laser and was about to grab it when a powerful kick knocked the weapon aside. Eraskander assumed a fighting stance, his small but very defined muscles rippling like sea ripples beneath his chocolate-colored skin, only slightly lighter than that of his comrades. Lev's lithe body ached for the fight, the child's tendons protruding like wire. His opponent laughed, his ringing laughter mockingly loud.
  "You, a mere human, want to fight me barehanded? I am a Stelzan, a great warrior, of the mightiest empire in the infinite universe. I will tear you apart with my empty hands, kick out all your organs, shatter your body into billions of pieces, scattering them across the galaxy. I could knock out hundreds, no, thousands, of chickens like you! And that's without any superweapons, the hellish power of which you primates have no idea!" the boy roared, also flexing his muscles, which were larger and equally defined than the earthling's.
  "Tell me your name, so I know your grave," Eraskander said bravely, and with a cool, childish, but strong foot stepped onto the glowing embers that had appeared where the stump had been scorched by a sporadic hit from a gravolaser.
  "You won't have a grave. You see these bracelets, they only glitter like gold on the outside, but inside they're made of your bones. They'll carve a croquet ball out of your skull, and the bones will be used for bats!" the scion of the enslaving nation strained, infuriated by the icy calm of some primate.
  Lev, losing his temper (or perhaps deciding it was better to strike once than to curse a hundred times!), abruptly kicked his target in the solar plexus. His opponent blocked the blow and attempted to drive the killing blow into the earthling's neck, which was quite broad and muscular for such a tender age. Stelzan was taller, heavier, and perhaps older. One could sense the excellent training he'd received in hand-to-hand combat, his combat training dating back to his birth in the cyberwomb. His opponent was lightning fast, strong as a tiger, and skilled. Had he been a mere child, he would have killed him like a fly, but Lev, too, was clearly no fool. Both fighters exchanged a series of furious blows, punching, blocking, hacking, kicking, and headbutting. Elbows, knees, and all manner of feints were used. Lev grappled with Tiger; in short, the fight was just two children, but it felt like two elements were clashing. Ice and fire, angel and demon, Brahma and Kali, Lucifer and Michael. Both opponents moved so fast that the surviving boys couldn't follow their movements, so intense was the battle. Then the speed of the little fighters slowed slightly, fatigue began to take its toll. Although the Stelzans' fighting technique was unusual, given their experience of millennia of warfare with billions of civilizations, Lev perceived it intuitively, as if the combat techniques were ingrained in his very blood. His opponent was also astonished by such steadfast resistance. After all, Lyser Varnos was the name of the boy from the Purple Constellation, a galactic prizewinner among boys under ten. And here was a new enemy star, a slave, a human, an inferior race, fighting on equal terms with a heavier and more experienced opponent.
  -Who taught you to fight like that? - Liser exclaimed, barely catching his breath.
  "A man taught me. What's so shocking? You thought people weren't fully-fledged animals, incapable of fighting back." Lev was also having a hard time, but the boy tried to keep up the pace.
  - I'll kill you, macaque. It's a matter of principle and the honor of my race!
  Liser suddenly increased his speed, his already bruised face turning crimson with the effort. He unleashed all his fury. Eraskander maintained his composure. "Anger is your enemy, let rage burn your enemy." The little Stelzan also hit him in the face a dozen times, breaking several ribs. Bruises spread across the boy's dark body, blood dripping.
  "What are you swimming for, primate!" the young son of the underworld laughed. He increased his attack, now striving to find the decisive blow by slightly weakening his defense. Pretending to be completely exhausted, Leo revealed himself.
  Varnos struck with incredible force, throwing his entire body weight and muscle group. Eraskander dove and landed a precise elbow on the base of his neck. The blow was powerful, and it also struck the carotid artery. The "great warrior" collapsed, dead, his heart stopping from the shock of pain. The guys standing nearby applauded heartily. Our Russian had brought down the hated occupier. The defeated enemy's shorts bore the hated seven-colored flag of the occupiers. Lev, having pulled the shorts off, tore them into tiny pieces, scattering them everywhere. All fatigue vanished, joy literally seething in every cell of his body:
  "This is the vile glory of the empire! Trample its fragments, soon all the stelzans will become the same rotten corpses as this one!" And he jabbed his foot at the bloody body of his opponent, ignoring the pain in his broken fingers (the opponent was worthy of a stelzan!). Lev vaguely remembered what happened next; his head suddenly went dark, his muscles spasmed, he was twisted, thrown onto the crushed grass. The paralyzer beam covered him along with the boys. In the subsequent memories there was pain, a very strong pain, much worse than this. Professional executioners brutally tormented the child's body, they asked nothing, asked no questions, they did not need information; they tortured him solely out of revenge. They were taking revenge on him, first and foremost, for the fact that he, a man, dared to raise a hand, and most importantly, to raise it successfully against his master. So the executioners tried their best. The sensation of pain was so real and vivid that Lev woke up in fear, shaking violently. Then he calmed down; yes, he was wounded, but the pain from his wounds wasn't very intense. Having taken on an overwhelming burden, he was immersed in a sense of suffering, both physical and mental. A life filled with torment was making itself felt. This memory of his first baptism of fire made Lev come to, shaking violently. Yes, he was wounded, but the pain was bearable. The boy calmed down and grabbed the first-aid kit, as his master always carried it on his belt. Eraskander treated his wounds, which had already begun to heal, and also took a couple of muscle-boosting nutritional pills. His body regained its strength, and the young man felt a surge of energy. Instinct told him that it was entirely possible to get lost in the underground labyrinth. Shouldering Hermes, Lev walked through the tunnel, striving to reach the station. The mesh underfoot was cold and prickly. Fortunately, the skin on his feet was so rough that such trifles were unnoticeable, but the weight of an enemy on his shoulders was a serious burden. But for some reason, Eraskander couldn't bring himself to hurl his hated master far away, or, even better, leave him in the elevator, doomed to self-destruction.
  The station the young man emerged into wasn't entirely deserted. Several multicolored spotlights illuminated the gray-violet platform. There was life here, too. A fetid pile of garbage with various deformed and crushed containers lay scattered about. Insects with bodies the size of an ordinary accordion and two dozen cockroach legs crawled across it. There were also more disgusting beetles, the size of cats, with a dung-like sheen and very thick, hairy, ulcerated limbs.
  Eraskander, in the style of a Renaissance philosopher, expressed himself:
  - The vile is always near, but the perfect is eternally unattainable! He who commits atrocities is a scoundrel, he who creates the vile is a criminal... So who then is the Creator God?
  One of the beetles suddenly squeaked in response:
  - The world is created by creation!
  Lev smiled and waved back at the semi-intelligent creature. After a few steps, the net beneath his feet became even more prickly, with very sharp needles protruding from it, and the boy's bare, calloused soles began to ache. This was a good incentive to quicken his pace, especially since the pressure on the needles was increased by Hermes's added weight. Several corridors led off the platform. Muffled music could even be heard from one-a mixture of hard rock and the clanking of tank treads. Jackhammers and barking dogs also echoed. Perhaps this was some kind of discotheque for non-Stelzanoid creatures. The prospect of encountering a crowd of not entirely intelligent youths, of varying colors and types, and likely drugged, was not a pleasant one. Especially since the Stelzans were viewed as the source of all misery and suffering. Other races feared and hated the star parasites, ruthless invaders. But this planet was a gathering place for scoundrels from all corners of the mega-galaxy. It wasn't that Lev was afraid, but if there was a showdown, he'd have to kill again, which he didn't want. Here in the dungeon, the imperial authorities turned a blind eye to everything, a sewer whose very purpose I also exploited. Still, the young man decided to check everything out and explore... He even scolded himself for being overly sentimental, since killing, especially of wild species, evoked no remorse. To avoid embarrassment, it was best to hide his formal owner. He was still unconscious, so he'd better sleep. Stealth creatures regenerate faster in sleep, and his wounds weren't fatal. The ideal spot was a hollow pyramid with a truncated top, next to which stood a statue of an unimaginably monstrous monster, perhaps even a local god. Leo unceremoniously threw Hermes, this arrogant general, like a bag of garbage into a trash can.
  Immediately, the net beneath the boy's defenseless feet almost stopped pricking. Trying to step silently, Lev moved toward the sound with a springy gait...
  The plan was simple. Find transport and get out of here. Maybe they could cover their tracks. The flâneur had been rented under a false name, and the cabin had already been cleaned by mini-robots. It was likely not the first time the Ministry of Criminal Security had observed such showdowns, so all the records could "miraculously" disappear. But what was interesting was something else. He'd heard something about secret missiles. Why would his owner need them? Perhaps the appearance of the "Gorillas" was no coincidence?
  The boy, of course, had brought a weapon, a first aid kit, and synthetic food. Unfortunately, his master's cybernetic invisibility cloak had malfunctioned, becoming a useless rag. Lev moved cautiously, like a fox. And the corridor branched off every now and then. The lighting was very dim, sometimes disappearing entirely, so he had to rely largely on his hearing. And the young warrior's sense of hearing was naturally heightened and enhanced by training. Barely audible footsteps and calm breathing caught his attention. Eraskander froze...
  He didn't have to wait long. A blurry, barely distinguishable figure flashed past like a ghost. Lev strained his eyes, trying to discern the unknown creature, not only in the spectrum visible to the human eye, but in other ranges as well. That's better... It was a humanoid. It walked like a fox, stealthily, as if hiding from someone. If it was a Stelzan, he wondered what it was doing here. Usually, this cruel and brazen species walks upright and fears no one. He needed to find out: in this case, it was a mixture of curiosity and pragmatism... At a depth of tens of kilometers, when millions of alien and hostile species were all around, even a Stelzan seemed almost human. The object of his observation turned into a very narrow corridor, even having to turn sideways. Lev followed relentlessly, his intuition telling him it would be very hot...
  ***
  Power over the planet effectively passed to Ultramarshal Eroros. Fagiram Sham was effectively removed from planetary governance. Furthermore, the head of the outer sector specifically reprimanded him for the Kremlin's reconstruction.
  "Your brain is worse than a monkey's!" he yelled at the top of his lungs (not so much because he was genuinely angry, but so that as many living beings as possible could witness the humiliation of the most disgusting governor!). "Eroros. Where did you get information about such a large scale? Even during the first strikes, practically the entire planet was scanned. We have cybernetic records of what practically the entire planet looked like before the war with our invincible empire!"
  The gorilla-like Fagiram hunched over and grunted:
  "This is information from the Starfleet Superdepartment of War and Victory. It is inaccessible to us."
  Eroros roughly poked the governor in the chest with a long finger with a retractable nail and, maintaining a thunderous tone of instruction, said:
  "But it's in the computer archive. Besides, your drives contain all the information copied from the human computer network. So, you have all the data on this structure. You're a real moron! How hard could you have thought of accessing the drive? It's not for nothing that they say a flattened nose and black skin are a sign of cretinism! An imbecile, a black-hole head, just like your grandmother Velimara!"
  Fagiram straightened up and, swinging his fists, almost rushed into a fight. He squealed in response like a slaughtered pig:
  - Maybe you should also include my uncle, the head of the Department of Throne Protection, in the creatines?
  Eroros barked back, like a cannon shot:
  "Because of him, you haven't been kicked out of your position as a boy-lover yet. As if I don't know how much you've pocketed selling human skin and bone!"
  Both Stelzans were ready to tear each other to shreds. Fagiram Sham's eyes glared, but Eroros was superior in rank, so he resigned himself for now.
  It seems the authorities need to do some light cleaning. The collaborationist system of governance was a decimal system, simplified to the point of being corrupt and bureaucratic to the extreme, which meant it needed a bit of a cleanup, like, for example , a good shake-up of the local collaborators...
  Ronald Ducklinton was forced to salute and bow cravenly even to a rank-and-file soldier in the Great Stelzanate army. He was terrified of the Stelzans, like a rabbit fears a hungry wolf. But he had the opportunity to take out his anger on the lesser collaborators of the Purple Constellation. In the eyes of these small fry, he was something like the President of Earth and the highest-ranking police officer. Although he feared the occupiers, the very thought of them leaving sent a shudder of fear through him and a number of other collaborators. The rebels hated the native policemen even more than they hated the extragalactic aliens. A jackal picking up the scraps left by a tiger is pitiful, lacking the allure of strength and deadly respect bestowed upon a large predator. The policemen were loyal to the Empire, though they loved to steal. Several were arrested as an example and, after torture, executed. They didn't even bother dropping it on the stars, deciding that was too much of an honor. They preferred a roughly hewn stake, which was an additional insult.
  This execution seemed to have brought down the thieves who had helped them. Others were given a stern warning, reinforced by shocks of static electricity. Everything changed; the dull fear of the puppets was replaced by feverish excitement. Since the city, which had become the occupation capital of the empire, was disproportionately large, it was decided to combine it with a grand tourist complex. This complex was designed to accommodate numerous tourists from practically the entire empire, many eager to see the only planet inhabited by biologically similar humans. After the planet's closure, the complex of magnificent buildings and dazzling palaces had fallen into disrepair. Now it was being renovated at an accelerated pace. The structures acquired a resplendent, brand-new appearance. Colossal hotels were adorned with numerous architectural ensembles, easily set in motion by mechanical means.
  Some of the native service personnel were housed in the bizarrely curved buildings of the space tourism center. They were now paid regularly. Previously, they had been paid nothing at all, forced to work like slaves under the watchful eye of merciless overseers: robots or, even worse, local policemen. All the native laborers were dressed in bright holiday costumes. Gardeners and robot gardeners hastily, like yeast dough, grew flowers and trees of outlandish sizes and colors. There were over five thousand colorful and varied fountain complexes alone, and not a single design was the same. The art of different planets and worlds was strangely combined here. Other fountains depicted battle scenes, various types of combat starships, and a fabulous variety of flora and fauna from across the universe. Among them, there was even a place for the local gods - Zeus, Neptune, Thor, Perun, and Hercules. Everything literally sparkled and glittered, literally. The illuminated and tinted jets created a unique effect. The lights of the buildings shone like polished gemstones. It was truly so: the synthetic gems were illuminated from within, creating an indescribable impression. To enhance the effect, reflective mirrors were installed, and in the darkness it was so beautiful (technical capabilities allowed the reflectors to be positioned to create an artificial night!) that even the seasoned Ultramarshal Eroros was amazed:
  - This may even be wrong. Any vacuum-head will understand that this is just a show.
  "You gave that order yourself, black-hole head!" Fagiram retorted, grinning sarcastically.
  The Ultramarshal replied in a cold tone:
  "An order came from the center to renovate everything. To make the planet a model, a showcase of sorts." Eroros suddenly raised his voice. "The reasons for the order are none of your concern! And since they started building the Kremlin as a mastodon, they'll have to finish it just like that. The Zorgs know we destroyed it long ago, along with the native president, anyway!"
  " Unfortunately, these three-sexed 'metalheads' know too much. If it were up to me, I'd crush them!" Fagiram reflexively clenched his fist, crushing the strawberry frog. Thin streams of blood (orange and green) flowed between the governor's thick, hairy fingers.
  ***
  Loud, forceful orders echoed across the planet. Agile construction robots were deployed. Cyberworkers moved like ants. The living creatures were given powerful stimulants to keep them from tiring. Reconstruction work was in full swing in all major cities. The planet was given a healthy appearance. A hunt began for the partisans, who were delving ever deeper into the forests. Lush, multicolored foliage covered almost the entire planet, many of the trees many times taller than baobabs, reaching hundreds of meters in height. The partisans loved to hide in trees with hollows like mountain caves. However, when the Stelzans tried to find them, they always found them, because even special suits were powerless against gamma radiators or search magoradars. Many partisans were forced to end the war. They melted into the civilian population, which was heavily filtered using the latest police technology. The colonial system, which had become quite unstable, was being brought into order.
  ***
  CHAPTER 15
  A cell will remain a cell,
  Even in luxurious colors!
  The puppet's share is
  Only humiliation and fear!
  
  Vladimir Tigrov-formerly an ordinary Russian schoolboy, then a rebel killer, then a hero , pardoned and decorated by the Russian president, and currently a prisoner of the Superstar Empire. His cell wasn't solitary confinement; he shared it with a dozen other boys. It was fairly spacious, though, made of an unknown material, something like plastic, with fold-down beds like those on a train, with a thin, soft covering on top. As his cellmates explained, there was a very modern fecal annihilator. That is, a toilet where, at the press of a button, a special radiation beam breaks up atoms and then sucks out all the waste from the intestines.
  A thoroughly modern prison, with 24/7 video surveillance and even a 3D projection displaying various images. The evolution of television. It's enough to blow your mind. Especially if you've first been soundly beaten, then roasted with a primitive flame, and before that, in the now seemingly infinitely distant past, vaporized in annihilation plasma. Then, when he came to, they burned the boy again, using a quasi-blaster torture device, but again they misjudged the intensity, and his tiny heart stopped almost instantly. Luckily, the executioners took an interest in him, and they expertly brought him back from the dead, calling a medical capsule. After severe pain shock, they treated him (after all, the Stelzans have excellent medicine), so he quickly revived, and his second-degree burns were gone. It seems (during the few hours that Vladimir was unconscious) he was thoroughly examined and they came to the conclusion that it was too early to kill the strange boy, who was unlike the other natives.
  Meanwhile, Vladimir was placed in the isolation ward of the central, planetary prison. This, of course, was better than being locked up somewhere in the provinces. The usual procedures for new arrivals-searches and the like-were avoided, as Tigrov had already been examined and scanned, down to literally every molecule and atom, at the medical center. A file had also been compiled. So the boy woke up in his cell. Around his neck was a light, soft collar, like a scarf.
  Vladimir sat up from his bunk and looked around... The cell had a formal, austere appearance: the walls, ceiling, and floor were as white as snow, and there were no windows at all. This glossy whiteness was almost oppressive, not a single spot, not the slightest crack, it was too lifeless. No lightbulbs were visible, but it was as bright as day, though not so bright as to be jarring. The bunks themselves were almost lily-colored, with a slight lemon tint, and the black bodies of the local male prisoners stood out against this backdrop in a striking and frightening contrast.
  The boys were apparently all roughly the same age and were selected for each cell. Seeing Tigrov awake, they cautiously tiptoed toward him. The boy, a time traveler, felt an unpleasant sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was new to the cell with juvenile delinquents. And the boys looked rather scary: muscular, dark-skinned, with only their heads shaved, a few a bit lighter, and some with burns and scars on their bodies. The only clothing they wore was purple swimming trunks with a yellow number-the observant boy noticed the same on both front and back, and... There was also a similar one on their right forearms.
  The largest of the boys suddenly smiled and extended his hand:
  - My nickname is Rocky. You might as well know that. And what's your newbie's nickname?
  Vladimir answered honestly, not without pride:
  - The school one is a tiger, but the criminal one is not there yet, he hasn"t had time to steam the bunk.
  Rocky and the other boys grinned wider; their faces weren't scary, Slavic or Teutonic, with regular features. Not degenerate, as is often the case among juvenile prisoners; on the contrary, their childish faces would have been quite attractive, if not for their dark skin and shaved heads.
  Vladimir immediately noted to himself that he'd never encountered any boys with any physical defects, or unattractive, irregular figures or facial features. This, of course, was interesting... Perhaps the Stelzans had purged the Earthling gene pool, accomplished what the Nazis dreamed of-eliminating physically handicapped individuals?
  Rocky broke the silence and asked in an exaggeratedly gentle voice:
  - Are you a human by blood?
  Tigrov was surprised by the question, but answered honestly:
  - Of course, a person!
  The boys exchanged glances... Rocky rubbed his foot against the snow-white surface, tapped his finger on the leg of a chair attached to the floor... He shrugged his shoulders, which were unbelievably broad for his age (the boy is a real hero!) and answered in a ringing voice:
  "Well, well... You're not whistling, are you? Your skin is so fair... And somehow you haven't gone bald, despite the strict rules. They shave us every other day, as if every hair were hiding an SS-50 missile..." The young boss narrowed his right eye and frowned, his large fists reflexively clenching. "The brand on his right hand is also missing..."
  Then the boy standing next to him, a little drier, but a couple of centimeters taller (the tallest in the cell), covered his mouth with his hand and remarked:
  "You think it's Stelzan?" The boy giggled. "But it's unlikely, putting him in a cell with people..."
  Rocky interrupted his partner with an impatient gesture. He almost stuck his fist in his nose:
  - Enough! They can see us perfectly well and record every gesture and every word. Maybe they just bleached his hair and made his hair more fashionable... It's none of our business.
  The tall guy nodded and, trying not to look at the newcomer, barely audibly whispered:
  - Fag's toy...
  The last words seemed very ominous to Tigrov, and he asked:
  - What does Faga's toy mean?
  Rocky glanced back, his rather large head, with its rather high forehead, slowly turning on its almost bull-like neck. He was a massive, stocky boy for his age, though no taller than Tigrov, who had shrunk after teleportation. He looked like a thug, with a shaved head and black skin bearing numerous scars and burns, both from torture and combat, but the boy's clear blue eyes were kind and compassionate. He leaned his head toward Tigrov's ear and whispered almost inaudibly:
  - He uses boys like women...
  Vladimir shuddered and fell on the bed like he'd been mown down... Well, well... Something like that is possible here, something terribly vile... Brrr... How can I get out of this situation? Escape from prison?
  But there was no time to develop his thoughts; a mechanical voice was heard, judging by the separate pronunciation of the syllables, belonging to a not very modern robot:
  - Earthlings, get out of the cell and out...
  A wide passage opened in the wall, and the boys moved through it, reflexively stamping their feet, forming a line by height without prompting. Tigrov remained seated. The imprisoned boys didn't make any noise; they looked like disciplined soldiers. Strange...
  And then Vladimir saw the reason for his obedience. The boy, who had accidentally pushed his comrade in the back, suddenly glanced sideways, and the collar sparked, causing intense pain. The young prisoner fell to his knees...
  "Enough!" came the cold command. "Forward march!"
  Suddenly, a tall woman with a seven-colored hairstyle and a short stick appeared at the entrance. She shouted, pointing her fingers at Tigrov.
  - Why are you sitting there, monkey? Go work in the mines, you're a perfectly healthy boy. And keep your head down, slave. Why don't you have a haircut?
  Vladimir bowed reflexively. The woman seemed enormous, indeed over two meters tall, with the shoulders of a weightlifter. And the look in her eyes was that of a natural-born killer. He had to work, work, work... He'd never been lazy, after all; his muscles were strong, he'd competed in his past life, so he could handle it...
  Although it was hard to expect, the robot unexpectedly objected:
  - He hasn't been interrogated yet, his fate is in question... Let him wait in the cell.
  Stelzanka barked:
  "We don't have enough slave labor... Otherwise, these young prisoners would have been painfully disposed of for aiding the partisans. As it is, we're still keeping them alive." The warden lashed out with a hyperplasmic whip, and a multitude of broken lightning bolts erupted from the tube, slashing across the backs of all the young prisoners at once. "Run, march!"
  With a gasp, the boys suddenly took off, their heels bright against the black of their bodies. They ran quickly, but still tried to keep pace along the front steps. A faint smell of burning ozone filled the air, tickling their nostrils. The warden smiled predatorily.
  - Good boys... They seem harmless, but they are all from partisan gangs, messengers, scouts, saboteurs, fighters... They are lucky to fall into our clutches right now...
  Stelzanka struck again with her whip, and even though the young prisoners had already managed to turn into a side corridor, the glowing tentacles still caught up with them all at once, causing the squad to cry out in pain again. The astonished Tigrov blurted out:
  - Here's the technique...
  The overseer smiled and, taking a couple of steps toward him, grabbed him by the hair. Though not too harshly, she cooed like a raven:
  - You're a handsome man... So fair-haired, but your eyebrows are actually black... Not just any primate boy...
  Tigrov tried to push her hand away again, but only hurt himself more. Stelzanka swiped the end of her whip across the child's cheek. It tickled and was unpleasant. Vladimir felt fear; the aggressively beautiful woman was looking at him like a hungry cannibal. It was terrifying... Especially when you're defenseless, in a world where people are mere pack animals. Nevertheless, the boy suddenly blurted out:
  - What is Rocky in jail for?
  The Stelzanka, who was enjoying the fear and was already mentally imagining the various types of torture she wanted to subject the cute boy to, was taken aback by the unexpected question and blurted out mechanically:
  - He killed Stelzan!
  Vladimir's eyes lit up with joy:
  - So, you can be killed! And I...
  A hard slap interrupted his words. The overseer corrected herself:
  "No, of course he didn't kill him personally, otherwise he wouldn't have survived. But he led a squad of young partisans who managed to carry out an attack and kill one of ours. The wounded don't count; they recovered quickly. For every Stelzan, we kill at least a million people... Rocky is still alive, but Zorg will leave and be tortured so much that he'll forget his own name from the pain..."
  The robot's voice (and why would a machine have such authority in prison) interrupted the stelzanka:
  - It's time to feed the primate...
  The warden roughly pushed Tigrov onto the bunk and turned around. She raised her fist:
  "I'll get you, tin can..." She cast a contemptuous glance at the boy. "Feed him electronic idiots like the other prisoners."
  A creaking sound was heard. A hose-like structure emerged from the floor like a viper, and a different, thin voice spoke:
  - Sit up straight and take in the calories.
  Tigrov sat down obediently and reached out his hands to the corrugated trunk. It suddenly leaped, the end expanding like a cobra's hood and completely covering the boy's face. His nostrils constricted, making it hard to breathe. Vladimir coughed convulsively, and the rigid tube sank into his mouth, pressing against the roof of his mouth. He tried in vain to pull it off; the man-made snake's material was stronger than titanium. Something like jelly poured into his mouth, but terribly tasteless, almost disgusting... He had to swallow to avoid choking. His throat tickled unpleasantly, but his empty stomach felt full. The feeding, however , was brief; the mask disappeared, and the tube itself quickly retracted under the floor.
  Tigrov fell exhausted onto his bunk. They'd filled him up like a machine, filling his stomach, but completely emptied his soul. He was a prisoner now... The planet was occupied... And all he could do was lie there helplessly, his legs stretched out. Maybe he could fall asleep and forget the nightmare in a dream?
  But even that wasn't given to him. Two women had already appeared: an old acquaintance and another, less massive and younger in appearance, with a plump, girlish face. The young woman winked at Tigrov:
  - You're lucky... Maybe we can do without torture.
  Vladimir nearly felt sick after these words. The boy turned pale, but still found the strength to stand and follow the jailers on trembling, fearful legs. But where would he have gone, since the senior guard had slung a real lasso around his neck. But the Stelzan women behaved quite politely, simply saying:
  - Follow us, and it will be quasar!
  They led the way, the two-meter-tall guards striding along. Vladimir practically had to run to keep up with them. But no matter, his body obeyed, there was no weakness. The floor was smooth, slightly warm, and barefoot was no problem at all. Even so , when he had to climb the steep steps, Tigrov stubbed his toes twice. The boy was even surprised that such a technologically advanced civilization didn't use elevators in this building. Running like that up hundreds of steep, sharp-edged steps, even his light and strong body began to tire. His calves were especially painful. The climb is long, the stelzans run faster and faster, and the boy falls behind, the noose around his neck tightens... You catch your toe again, and the scarlet drops of blood scatter, leaving cranberries on a dark steel field... The younger jailer pauses for a moment, picks Vladimir up, and throws him over her shoulder. Her uniform is soft as velvet, but it's still uncomfortable to press against his stomach. Tigrov feels a palm and long, sharp nails on his back. Fortunately, the girl is apparently not a sadist; she holds him gently, even caresses him...
  Vladimir was already a teenager before the shift; of course, he thought about girls, even tried casual romances. Handsome, athletic, an excellent student, and an activist, he wasn't immune to the attention of the fairer sex. But now his biological clock had been rewound, and his body hadn't yet experienced the physical urge, while his purely emotional side was far removed. The prospect of being interrogated by the Stelzans of a nation of super-sadists probably terrified even Malchish-Kibalchish. Especially since in the famous film, after the torture, he didn't even have a bruise on his face... But why do they really ascend in such an archaic manner? Are they training, or something? Or maybe a partisan sabotage had ruined all the elevators? This thought made Tigrov feel better. The Stelzan woman, apparently tired from running, began to tickle Vladimir's still-soft heel with her nails, not yet roughened by barefoot walking.
  At first, it was laughable, but then it turned into something akin to torture; even the boy's eyes began to water. But finally, they found themselves in the upper section, where the ordinary white walls of the prison sector were replaced by Bonishchen luxury. Everything was beautiful, like the Hermitage, and there were also plenty of mirrors. The young Stelzan woman threw off Tigrov and began fixing her hair, making funny faces in the mirror. Vladimir had slightly bruised his knee in the fall, and his left foot, scratched by a sharp nail, was itching terribly. Nevertheless, he suddenly felt the strength to stand up straight and hold his head high. "He must, and he will show the fortitude of a Young Guard during a fascist interrogation. He will also prove that a twenty-first-century boy is no less capable than his twentieth-century peers!" The senior overseer angrily shoved him in the back and immediately held him back, preventing the young prisoner from flying forward. Her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood. Vladimir, unsteadily on his feet, tried to laugh it off:
  - A rope around the neck is also a reliable support, and without any conditions!
  The overseer grabbed Tigrov by the chin and lifted him with an outstretched arm, easily lifting him off the floor. His jaw was clamped like a pincer, his neck twisted, his head ready to fall off, and his legs dangled helplessly. Vladimir clutched the wrist of the stelzanka convulsively, trying to pry his fingers loose. She laughed:
  - Human baby... Silly little frog...
  The young partner whispered:
  - Enough, the investigator is tired of waiting.
  The senior jailer carefully put the boy on his feet and ordered:
  - Don't make a sound after me! Nothing shortens life like a long tongue!
  Soon he was ushered into the office. The lair's doors were thick, gilded metal, decorated with running shoots. Instead of flower buds, streamlined tank turrets jutted out, their muzzles protruding predatorily. Vladimir crossed himself automatically: "What a taste they have."
  The office itself didn't resemble a medieval torture chamber at all. Several richly painted vases of flowers, a couple of paintings in rich Renaissance colors, rather soothing, depicting the delicacies of a royal feast and barely veiled servant girls. Clearly handcrafted, though the brushstrokes were barely visible-the work of a master. And then there was the enormous armchair, decorated like the throne of a Persian shah. A very polite, intelligent man in a snow-white robe with gold stars sat on it. He was handsome, tall, and broad-shouldered, as were all the Stelzans. He spoke, perhaps even too correctly, in Russian, placing stresses and smoothing out endings exactly as in a dictionary, which best marked him as a foreigner, or rather, an alien.
  The standard questions were followed by more detailed interrogations. Sensors were attached to his head, arms, and legs. The recent events had shaken Tigrov so much that he didn't hide anything. Especially when the man in the robe politely warned him that for every lie, the cyborg would administer a life-threatening but very painful electric shock.
  After several honest answers, the investigator seemed seriously surprised. His eyes widened.
  "Well, you're really pushing the vacuum, little bug. No one can travel a thousand years into the future and survive the waves of annihilation radiation!"
  Vladimir lowered his foot and rubbed the still-itchy, ticklish sole across the downy carpet. He replied, confused:
  - Probably yes... But it turned out that maybe there are some special, previously undiscovered dimensions in space that, under certain conditions, allow one to jump through time barriers.
  The investigator didn't argue, or that it would have been far more natural for a Stelzan to curse or attack a defenseless boy. Instead, he made a graceful gesture, and the vase on the left suddenly sprouted arms and legs, while a beautiful bush bristled with crooked needles and lights. A squeak was heard:
  - Do you order the prisoner to be tortured, Grand Executioner?
  Instead of answering, the investigator stood up and walked towards Tigrov, lifting the boy by the chin:
  - Tell the truth, where are you from or you will experience pain you have never seen before...
  Vladimir, sweating profusely and stumbling with fear, muttered:
  - I swear to you, I've already told you everything...
  The investigator laughed silently and let the boy go. He gave a curt order:
  - Put him in a single-room suite! Be polite!
  The interrogation ended unexpectedly quickly and without physical torture, and the boy was led away by the two same guards. This time, they weren't so rough, placing the young prisoner in a special capsule and sitting on either side. They sped him along the corridors like a car on a roller coaster... Only so much faster, you can barely see anything, everything flashes by, and your body is pressed hard into the soft chair...
  Vladimir didn't have time to be properly frightened; they stopped at a door with a number shining like a digital dial. It suddenly changed when the overseer turned her pretty, ferocious face toward him, and a wide entrance instantly opened. Tigrov, however , was surprised not because of this, but because he felt no jolt from such an abrupt stop.
  The female guards pulled the boy out and, holding the prisoner by the elbows, led him into the cell...
  The single suite truly was like a decent guest room: a couple of large rooms and a bathroom, with a pond like a wading pool. There were rugs, paintings, and even an aquarium with those fabulous fish behind the transparent armor... beautiful. It really was a hotel, except the beds were bare; apparently the Stelzans considered them unnecessary. The senior overseer said sternly:
  "Don't ruin anything, little convict... This isn't a resort, just a reward for your loyalty. We won't let you turn on the gravity visor. In that cell where you're kept, they only show educational lessons and our propaganda. So just relax here; we'll find something to do soon."
  The Stelzans departed, and Tigrov carefully sat down on the edge of the wide, inflatable bed mattress, which looked like it was hanging on nothing, with a picture of sailing ships on it. He fell into thought...
  In science fiction, the protagonist in his situation usually either escapes or is rescued by powerful allies. As the saying goes, a grand piano jumps out of the bushes... Saving oneself with one's wits would be cooler, of course, but one would have to be a few orders of magnitude smarter and stronger than the jailers. And here we have a space empire, which makes Star Wars look like a child's playset...
  However, even if Tigroff had ended up in a medieval prison, it's still not certain he'd have escaped, despite all the electronic knowledge of the twentieth century. The boy lay back; the bed was soft and warm, and he could have slept for an hour...
  The boy was awakened by the arrival of a maid with a tray of "prison" food. The slave was a lush blonde with dark chocolate-colored skin and a bikini adorned with sparkling glass beads. She was very shapely and polite, as if she were looking not at a prisoner but at a sultan. The maid herself was accompanied by two robots. They were small, like cranes, but winged and each had a dozen barrels.
  Vladimir expressed himself:
  - Technology compensates for the lack of intelligence only in the presence of reason , which directs the funeral of the ignorant!
  The slave raised his thick, henna-stained eyebrows in surprise. Tigrov, pleased with the effect, gave credit to the food. He was fed quite well here . Aside from the pineapples and bananas, the rest of the fruits, their odd shapes, were completely unfamiliar to him, yet delicious nonetheless. Even the meat, a luxury for a man during the occupation, was unfamiliar and quite unique in taste.
  Meanwhile, the slave girl knelt down, smeared the boy's feet with fragrant cream, and kissed them three times each. Vladimir became deeply embarrassed and blushed. Another girl entered the cell and began washing the young prisoner's feet up to the knees with rose water. Then the robot gave the order:
  "Take him to the pool. Wash him until he shines, make him look beautiful. The governor himself will have a talk with him."
  The slave girls' faces trembled and they had a hard time keeping from smiling.
  And here's the news, the governor himself wants to personally talk to him, the prisoner Tigrov.
  Washing in several multicolored liquids was brief; the girls and boys didn't even touch them, using boxes resembling school pencil cases. Vladimir himself felt a sense of dread at the impending conversation with the monster who ruled the entire planet with absolute sovereignty.
  Then came the treatment with visceral cleansing radiation, and the boy again felt the emptiness and dull hunger in his stomach. Then he was given formal attire and led to the "little king" of planetary proportions.
  Vladimir had never seen such magnificent and enormous palaces in his entire life, not even in science fiction blockbusters. The tourist complex was stunning in its luxury and size. Everything was beautiful, varied, and impressive. The Stelzans loved luxury. They enjoyed building, creating (especially with the hands of conquered peoples!), as well as destroying. They wanted to surpass all races in the universe not only in military might, but also in culture.
  Although sometimes they expressed it in a very wild and extremely disgusting way!
  "When the conquered peoples of the universe behold our cities, they must be stunned by the grandeur and beauty of these monuments. Against the backdrop of our might, the insignificance of others will be more apparent." This is roughly what one of the first emperors of Stelzanata said.
  The central palace had been reconstructed and shone with a wondrous, multicolored halo. Enormous flowers stirred their petals and leaves, exuding a powerful fragrance. Some of the petals of the genetically modified flora had strict geometric shapes or jagged lines, while others shimmered with designs that, like decals, changed depending on the angle from which they were viewed. Enormous tame butterflies hovered, moving in a precise pattern, creating a unique pattern, like a dazzling, multicolored river flowing. The Marshal-Governor himself sat in the throne room. In appearance, he was a typical gorilla, his face black as a Negro's. A quintessential cannibalistic mug with a flattened nose. Frankly, he was a freak, especially compared to the classically perfect figures and physiognomies of the other Stelzans. The fire in his eyes boded ill.
  - Don't be afraid, little chick! I don't bite. Bring him closer!
  Fagiram spoke with exaggerated affection, but his eyes glowed with unhealthy interest.
  Vladimir was let down. Fagiram slid off the throne; he was even taller than normal and weighed at least two hundred kilograms:
  - A visitor from the past. My, what an interesting specimen! The boy must be hot; why did you bundle him up like that?
  The guards tried to rip off the official suit he'd worn specifically for the meeting with the governor. Vladimir dodged it:
  - No need! I'll do it myself!
  The Marshal-Governor became languid and even drooled on his six chins, which were shaking like those of a flabby bulldog:
  - What a cute little monkey, she does everything voluntarily. Pour him some vilicura. Let's drink to pure male love.
  The guard politely presented a decanter of blue liquid and two elegant glasses carved from natural diamond. Four barefoot native servants began performing a complex dance to the music. Flames flared beneath their strong, coffee-colored legs like a stovetop, barely touching their rosy heels. They looked just like golden-haired Indian women from the Kama Sutra temple. The blue liquid reeked of acetone and something even more repulsive.
  Tigrov's head suddenly began to blare war trumpets, and a hot lava of hatred coursed through his veins. How much longer could he endure this? As soon as the tray was nearby, Vladimir grabbed the decanter and hurled it at the pervert's head. Fagiram managed to parry the sudden blow, but, distracted, he took a powerful kick to the groin. The blow was accurate; besides, before his visit to Governor Tigrov, they couldn't find suitable children's boots, so they dressed him in a soldier's metal camouflage suit for Stelzanate mini-soldiers, which added hardness and power to the blow. The toe of the combat boots of the mini-soldiers ( Stelzan children, who are considered active duty from conception in incubators , but who undergo comprehensive training as schoolchildren and kindergarteners before joining regular combat units) is designed so that a rapid contact greatly increases the destructive effect. It was as if a striking surface was being fired, capable of piercing reinforced concrete. The governor fell, unconscious from the pain. The guards opened fire with blasters. How Tigrov managed to avoid the deadly beam of light, he himself doesn't remember. As if in a trance, he dodged, rolling across the mirrored floor. But the servant who brought the vilicura was cut to pieces. Of course, the boy who attempted to kill him would undoubtedly have been killed (perhaps Vladimir was saved from immediate annihilation only by the Stelzan's inherent desire not to make his opponent's death too easy), but the unlikely happened...
  Several partisans managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded palace. First, they hid among the numerous workers, then entered the occupiers' main lair as their henchmen. Fagiram himself made the saboteurs' task easier by disabling the palace's internal surveillance. Why should unnecessary witnesses witness the governor's perversions? The partisans dispatched the bodyguards with well-aimed shots, then attempted to assassinate the chief torturer of planet Earth. However, this time, luck ran out. Even unconscious, Fagiram managed to press the emergency evacuation button, and a rescue robot, grabbing the limp body with a forceful grip, rolled the carcass through an underground corridor. The partisans were doomed. So, when the hiss of gas was heard, the three avengers simultaneously, without a word, raised the thermal detonator.
  Vladimir jumped up to them.
  - Do you want to die?
  "It is better to die with dignity with a sword than to live like cattle driven into a stall with a whip," came the unanimous answer of the fighters.
  - Yes, that's exactly what our President said.
  "We're not Russians, after all, but Chinese and Zulus. Although we're united with the Russians on this matter. See you in a new, better world!"
  A hyperplasma flare cut short the patriots' words. The palace was defenseless from the inside. Force fields protected it only from external influences, and the thief Fagiram had sold some of the security equipment and cybernetics on the black market. Half of the grand structure collapsed, killing many Stelzans and even more of those who worked for them. These were the most significant Stelzan losses in the entire history of the planet's occupation. Perhaps only a similar act by Acting President Marshal Polikanov could have caused greater losses.
  Chapter 16
  With its mighty star fleet -
  You conquer the worlds of the Universe with menace!
  And everything that was free in space,
  You only trample with brute force!
  The corridor narrowed and widened, the air increasingly heavy with ozone. The humanoid figure suddenly vanished, dissolving into thin air. Ahead lay a dead end, and into it leaped the translucent figure in the camouflage suit. Eraskander whispered:
  There are two things that start with "C" that you can't hide from: conscience and death! True, the latter, unlike the former, can be led by the nose for a long time!
  The young man didn't hesitate long. The mystery was likely that the dead end blocked the entrance to some secret hiding place or refuge. Perhaps the key to opening the doors was targeted at the brain's biocurrents or at least at the individual's physical parameters, in which case there was no point in attempting to penetrate the underground citadel. Sneaking in there would mean exposing oneself, which was extremely dangerous and fraught with extreme risk to one's life. Lev understood this, but he couldn't and wouldn't stop halfway. Besides, wasn't his life an eternal dance over the abyss?
  Don't be afraid of strength - you can become stronger than the strong, don't be afraid of intelligence - you can outsmart even the smartest, but be afraid of cowardice - because it prevents you from using your greatest strength and intelligence!
  The surface was slippery, without any cracks or buttons, made of ultra-strong metal, protected by a force field. Eraskander wanted to retreat, but who knows? His boss had a small, powerful, ultra-sensitive device. Lev had brought it with him, too. It was a cutting-edge spy device, capable of eavesdropping even through protective screens. The young man tried to connect, pressing harder, trying to feel the thinner wall, but to no avail. The eavesdropping protection was incredibly powerful, and the room it protected was located about a hundred meters away. The very fact that such a powerful shield had been installed indicated the utmost importance of what was being done in that underground chamber. When you're so young, it arouses an irresistible curiosity. A perfectly logical thought flashed through his mind. It was unlikely that only one individual would enter through this entrance. He had to wait for the others. The lion froze to the side, resting his bare, muscular back, like a stingray's, against the smooth, slightly polished wall and listened carefully...
  Soon, indeed, he heard the faint, soft footsteps. Someone was carefully squeezing through the narrow corridor. Eraskander realized he might just collide with this individual. He could, of course, simply fire a blaster bolt, but right now it was better to let the enemy pass. Let him open the passage first. It was possible that a beam shot would set off the alarm. With a leap, the boy, as nimble as a professional acrobat, hung suspended, bracing himself with his hands and feet against the wall of the narrow corridor. The black figure looked human, wearing a bizarre mask with four horns. It must be a Stelzanite, Lev thought. The black individual began making complex movements with his right hand, then added passes with his left. The wall slid open like an elevator door. Another moment, and the enemy would have dived through the opening, but Lev managed to get there first. He leaped from above and delivered a precise elbow strike to the enemy's helmet. The shock caused the helmet to fly off, revealing the enemy's head. The boy expected to see something repulsive, yet still human-the face of a warrior of the Purple Constellation. Instead, the phosphorescent eyes of a reptile flashed. Three eyes glittered ominously in the dim hallway. A predatory maw opened, revealing massive fangs. The long neck suddenly lengthened, and the beast itself leaped like a carnivorous gorilla. Eraskander dodged and countered with a kick to the jaw. The hardened shin struck hard-several teeth flew from the enormous mouth of the quasi-sentient reptile. Nevertheless, the cross between a snake and a primate continued its attack. Leo easily parried the creature's sweeping attacks with its hands and feet, but missed a searing slap from its tail, covered in metal needles. Beads of blood appeared on its muscular chest, like folded shields. In response, Eraskander slammed his fists into the creature's face several times, performing a rapid boxing sequence. Although the flexible neck managed to soften the blows, the beast nevertheless staggered. The young man remembered Sensei's advice: "When fighting a cobra, do this: feint with one hand to distract the snake, and with the other, deliver a lightning-fast strike to the eyes." And so he did, feeling the air around him grow thicker and the ringing in his ears grow louder. His fingers felt as if they were touching burning coals. The eyes of the vile reptile, as if it had escaped from Tartarus , were red-hot. Then they literally burst like firecrackers, and the merciless tail lashed out again at the ribs. The reptile squealed like a herd of pigs. Fountains of inky blue blood gushed from the punctured sockets. Another precise thrust of his hand finished off the last eye of the strange monster. The scorched fingers ached, but they did not lose their mobility. The young man had once learned to pull glowing chunks of coal from a fire; this was a hotter substance, but he had experience. A furious roundhouse kick, followed by a flying slash, and the enemy's head went limp. Eraskander, simply clutching the neck, began twisting the head of the extragalactic reptile. The vertebrae cracked. With superhuman effort, straining every muscle in his arms, back, and abs, the boy tore the terrifying head from his body. Veins bulged from the strain, sweat poured down his body, and his hands trembled. This fight with this unseen monster had left the boy exhausted. It took considerable effort to catch his breath and search the monster. Since the tail could be poisonous, he had to inject himself with an antidote. A stream of blood continued to spurt from the monster's severed artery, spreading the smell of kerosene. His hands and part of his face were stained with the sticky substance. Despite the disgust, it was necessary to examine the fallen bastard. The enemy had weapons slung from his belt (a beam gun with an enhanced cascade and something modified on the principle of a magic blaster) and a whole arsenal of little-known gadgets. A bright seven-color card stood out from all of this. Its colors constantly changed, and stars moved across its cybernetic surface. Perhaps this card served as a kind of pass. Lev was a smart guy and understood that in this form, no one would let him in where this vile fellow was heading. Despite the incredibly nasty act, he was forced to pull his scaly body out of the armored suit and put on a repulsive black mask. The armored suit was too big, and the mask hung on his head like an empty saucepan. Eraskander understood that he had the most idiotic appearance, but he still counted on the fact that everyone here was accustomed to various types of intelligent life and to the oddities in their clothing and behavior.
  As Lev entered the corridor, it automatically closed. Despite the suit's ill-fitting nature and his previous wounds, the young man tried to stand upright and walk confidently. A strong guard stood at the entrance. They were burly soldiers in black, camouflaged cybernetic suits. They held on leashes eight-legged creatures resembling dragons with poisonous spines and long, ramrod-like needles. One of the masked guards gestured, and Lev handed over a shimmering card. The guard slid it into the scanner. The pause suddenly lengthened. Either the combination of light signals was too complex, requiring time to decipher, or they were attempting to create the appearance of psychological pressure. The young man silently noted, "A guard who is loyal only to a golden calf is as wasteful as a goat in a garden full of greenery!" The pass was thrown back with a careless toss, and a silent sign was given to proceed further.
  "Right here, please!" squeaked a shiny figure of vague, ever-changing shape. Judging by the tone of his voice, he was a robot employee.
  "Security is assured, you may sit down," the multi-droid (a cybernetic organism with a constantly changing structure) pointed to a large cherry-colored chair.
  There was a veritable gathering of various species of space fauna. The room itself wasn't particularly pompous, though the pre-prepared couches, each one different in size, had... "Perhaps this is a conspiracy or some kind of intergalactic thieves' gathering," Lev thought. There was a slight sense of nervousness, but not so much that the young gladiator behaved unnaturally. On the contrary, Lev Eraskander barked at the attendant robot:
  - A glass of honey-caterpillar beer with viper syrup!
  The winged squid almost instantly tossed back a glass of emerald, foaming liquid. The young man hadn't really wanted to down the swill, blurting it out, expecting a machine that understood orders literally wouldn't be able to fulfill such an absurd order. But damn! Excellent service was evident here, catering to all manner of otherworldly creatures, including viper syrup... Lev glanced warily at the glass, but fortunately for the young man, another performance had begun, and he could pretend to listen attentively and place the poisonous brew on the counter attached to the chair. However, why pretend? There really was something worth listening to. The boy's eyes widened in surprise: "Well, that could happen, I opened the door and found myself in a place that would make Pinocchio with the golden key hang himself in envy!"
  The masked speaker was most likely the chairman of a secret intergalactic council. His low voice boomed like the Trumpet of Jericho.
  - The floor is given to the representative of the great republican empire of the Sinkhs, the Great Golden Constellation!
  Suddenly, like the devil out of a battery, an insect appeared on the podium, wearing a uniform heavily adorned with trinkets, which seemed too spacious and baggy for such a frail body.
  The young man noted in his memory: the Sinhi arthropods had built a vast space-faring, colonial empire through conquest and bribery. In this part of the galactic supercluster, they were the Stelzans' main competitors in the struggle for universal dominance.
  "Brothers! My gentle winged and wingless brothers! I've long wanted to tell you..." the synch, reminiscent of a cross between a mosquito and an ant (and yet more of an annoying bloodsucker), began to squeak in a thin voice and wave his legs. "We have long been in hostile relations with our brothers in intelligence. This is a mistake. It's high time we recognized our integrity as a single community of intelligent races and nations. It's time to unite and work together to solve our common problems. We are all hindered by our common enemies - the insidious Zorgs. The synch empire is almost as powerful and large as the Stelzan empire. Therefore, we must unite and defeat our common enemies - these three-gendered metalheads who have shrouded the entire universe in a sticky web of total surveillance. "We need to promptly resolve the problems that have arisen..." The dignified sinkh paused in his energetic gesticulation, drawing a chorus of applause, clicking his tongue, whistling, smacking his lips, and even the release of flames and fountains (each race has its own ways of expressing approval). "The problems negatively impacting the conclusion of an alliance between us lie in the totalitarian-authoritarian governance of the neighboring empire. No parliament, no senate. An absolute, hereditary monarchy with a hypercomputer-based advisory and oversight body, grandiosely named the Council of Wisdom. And the rest of the great and important people of the empire are effectively removed from power and global decision-making. A kind of screw, from the driving mechanism in the person of the Over-Emperor. We don't have a despotism; since ancient times, at least since the invention of gunpowder, there has always been a republic, and elections of the best of the best sinkhs. And is it really a matter of fact that all the issues can be resolved by one Stelzan and a huge pile of metal - a set of super-microcircuits and photon emitters.
  This time, the Stelzans applauded especially enthusiastically. Their spirited females even jumped up and down with delight:
  Long live the republic! A republic is the most effective form of government!
  "It's time to throw off the shackles of slavery and begin governing by the methods of a civilized state!" shouted the most unrestrained representatives of the Purple Constellation. One of the women, in a sign of complete freedom, shed her clothes, and the other space feminists joined in. It was spectacular; Leo felt a powerful arousal at the sight of the naked, athletic, and very sexy bodies of the Purple Constellation females.
  Today we stand on the threshold of a new era of friendship, hope, and prosperity. We will reach the farthest star in space!
  The squeak ended, and the seemingly frail figure fluttered away.
  The next massive black figure apparently belonged to a stelzan. Although perhaps not his, his face was impossible to see. Incidentally, the women, in the ecstasy of freedom, had their breasts exposed, except for their nipples, bound with a thin, precious thread, and their thighs, too, adorned with beads of small, illuminated stones. And their bare legs, with their glossy nails, even danced on the prickly, applicator-like floor. Almost everyone was on display; except for their faces, which were covered by moving, liquid crystal masks that changed expressions every thirty seconds. The next speaker's voice was deep, like the lead singer of an ancient church choir:
  "Yes, it's time to change the power structure. We have plenty of allies within the empire and beyond. Despite all the repressions and provocations, total surveillance and denunciations, we've managed to assemble a powerful opposition to the ruling regime. The Emperor must fulfill our will, the will of the wealthiest members and most worthy oligarchs of the great empire. Otherwise, he's not an emperor, but a usurper! We have supporters in the Ministry of Love and Truth, as well as in the competing intelligence agencies, so we can destroy the Emperor. This time, the conspiracy will succeed because we control the central repressive and investigative apparatus. We also have support in other military and security agencies. The enemy will be besieged like a savage Vimur." "Wild expressions of delight from living beings of all kinds, one blazing so fiercely, threatening to incinerate the others, that the security robot immediately activated its flame-suppressing radiation, which blew a chill, and even instantly settled frost within the diameter of a tennis court." The speaker hastened to reassure the overly optimistic, his tone becoming quieter and much more ingratiating. "But the Department of Throne Protection and the Emperor's personal guard are too well staffed. The head of the throne guard is an enemy of Avericius. We don't know his position, but he is very cunning (it's not for nothing that he's called Set Velimara) and is from the imperial family. If we want to destroy the enemy, we will need the help of the unrivaled fighters of the Sinkh and other empires and races."
  A snake-like movement followed, and a lizard-like creature with a pig-rat snout and five seven-fingered pincers slithered out. It was a representative of the Sekira-the most reclusive and distinctive of the peoples of the megagalactic cluster. As he spoke, a small electrical discharge emanated from his nose, the miniature lightning changing colors depending on the subject's emotional state:
  "We've carefully studied the plans of your metropolis and the Imperial control center. The system can be disabled and destroyed-that's a possibility. A new weapon developed by the Space League is capable of targeting enemy starships from within. I need a complete, all-out plan of the enemy's defenses to defeat the fleet and destroy the transplanetary targets." The color emitted by the lightning axe shifted from orange to yellow, and then to green. And the voice of the mixture of reptile, mammal, and mollusk became much hoarse. "Do you have the exact coordinates for an attack on the Imperial center? Are there soldiers capable of attacking the Princeps-Peron system? We also need new total-destruction missiles! We need the technological parameters of all your combat starships. Then we can overthrow the dictatorship hated by the entire universe !"
  The non-humanoids expressed enthusiastic approval. Despite the prompt intervention of the security robots, the air smelled increasingly of scorched matter and air decaying from various radiations. The Stelzans' reaction was more than restrained. That's what this inferior swine wanted. Give him all the military secrets, so that he and the other creatures could then take over the empire, turning the Stelzans into pathetic slaves. Oh no! The Stelzans hadn't held this meeting to just spill all the secrets, thereby exposing themselves to gamma rays. Someone else's mind may be better than your own, someone else's lands more attractive than your own, someone else's money more desirable than your own income, but someone else's power never seems more tempting than your own! Although someone else's power is only better than your own when your own aren't really your own, but only your own kin!
  The speaker was a stately warrior in a golden mask, a warrior of the Purple Constellation. He spoke, gesturing expressively but smoothly, like an ancient Greek orator:
  "Our primary goal today is to overthrow the total dictatorship of the three-sexed races, who have entangled the entire universe in a hypergravity web. And to do this, we must be united, not waste our energy and resources on clashes with one another. We are united..." His booming voice suddenly broke off.
  A wild siren's wail drowned out the words. Plastic and gemstone upholstery rained down from the armored ceiling. Something thundered, and the greenish-orange light went out, plunging the gathering into bottomless darkness...
  ***
  After an unprecedented terrorist attack carried out in the heart of Earth's occupation capital, Fagiram gave the order to exterminate all partisans, including their leader, Ivan Gornostayev. Only the proximity of an intergalactic inspection kept the Stelzans from the usual massacre of the planet's civilian population. Typically, for every Stelzan killed, a hundred thousand or more people were killed, reaching millions. Moreover, an effort was made to inflict maximum suffering on those executed. Some methods of mass torture were simple and inexpensive (for example, biological weapons, in which people died from a leprosy-like illness, spreading to strictly defined areas, lasting for a predetermined period determined by a technically equipped executioner). This is partly why the rebels preferred to eliminate local traitors, combat robots, and raw material warehouses. Now the mechanism of guerrilla warfare was in full swing. The explosion killed 97 Stelzans and over two thousand native support personnel.
  "As soon as the inspection is complete, I will order the extermination of a billion hairless primates. The Almighty will receive a generous sacrifice!" the animal in the position of Marshal-Governor screamed.
  However, it appears Igor Rodionov was only partially correct when he claimed that Gornostaev's every move was known to the secret services. At this point, none of his numerous informants knew anything about the location of Insurgent No. 1. Neither did his comrades. While troops, using state-of-the-art gamma-neutrino scanners, scanned the forests and mountains, filtering the local population, the rebel leader rested calmly, even comfortably, in a place within the empire where no one would expect to find him. He lived openly in the luxurious, state-of-the-art tourist center of the occupation capital. In this grand complex, one could hide like an ant in a haystack, and in case of a scan, he had forged documents for the intergalactic war veteran Gerua Ulster ready. As luck would have it for the rebels, the celebrated veteran, struck by a stream of gyroscopic particles, went insane. Out of respect for his past services, he wasn't sent to a parallel universe early. For some reason, the madman didn't want to regain his sanity in a better, afterlife. Instead, as a general of the Six Stars, he chose this provincial planet. Since he was insane, he avoided contact with his fellows, but he was very fond of human females, so it wasn't difficult to replace him. Especially since Gerua, even in a crazed state, knew how to disable surveillance cameras, and a strong poison or blaster beam could take down even the most resilient Stelzan. The partisan leader had changed his face with a simple operation, and his heroic height and powerful build allowed him to resemble a Stelzan. So the elusive Gornostayev found reliable protection. There was a risk that he, too, might be subjected to a full body scan, just in case, or a flesh-ray, but there was no other choice. After all, even the dead can use their cyborg encephalogram to read information from their brains for a short time. However, the bad news is that he's now completely trapped in the city, which has been placed under siege, preventing him from contacting his comrades. He's become bored and anxious, especially since the 3D projector and cyborg storage have been disabled. A powerful force field now hangs over the city.
  The appearance of a familiar silhouette in a gray cloak made everyone shudder. Of medium height, dressed in a simple tunic and with a shaved head, the man resembled a modest Buddhist monk. But his expressive, piercing eyes and muscular, sinewy arms spoke of the extraordinary intelligence and strength of this seemingly modest individual. The tall Gornostaev was more than a head taller than the guru who had entered, so he hurried to his feet, so as not to feel inferior in this respect compared to the almost fairytale-like Sensei. The rebel leader, glancing around nervously, asked the guru in a near-whisper:
  - I'm glad to see you, comrade, but you never cease to amaze me... How could you penetrate the total barriers of the Purple Eye police, stuffed with force fields and gamma neutrino scanning.
  Sensei answered calmly with a smile and without lowering his voice:
  "There are things that cannot be comprehended by a person living by the criteria of the purely physical world. There are things that are not subject to simple material laws, things that are more powerful than thermopreon or even thermocreon bombs."
  Gornostaev nodded wearily:
  - Do you mean magical power?
  The guru released an egg from his index finger, which instantly transformed into a chick. The fluffy little yellow lump fluttered its wings, and a proud gyrfalcon soared toward the high, frescoed ceiling . The powerful bird, like an interceptor, circled and suddenly dove sharply downwards, transforming into its original egg, caught in midair.
  Sensei blew on it, and suddenly a lush bouquet from a rich floral arrangement flew off, hanging in the air. Gornostaev stared at this miracle, speechless. The guru, without raising his tone, replied a little more quickly:
  "Not magical, but spiritual. For the spiritual, rational principle is the basis, the core of the universe. Matter is merely a secondary manifestation of this world. The spirit is truly immortal and life-giving, matter is mortal and deadly!"
  The rebel leader approached the bouquet and carefully touched a delicate white rose petal. Inhaling the pleasant aroma, he asked:
  - Why then does the spiritual not dominate the material?
  A dagger flew out of the guru's palm, the weapon fell and shattered into small balls that almost immediately disintegrated:
  "Because the sinful physical shell drags us down. The flesh is stupid; it craves gluttony, fornication, pleasure, and enjoyment, often at the expense of others, and this breeds war and rivalry. Concepts are subverted, and a person becomes a parasite, living at the expense of others."
  Gornostaev snorted contemptuously and reflexively squeezed the bud:
  "Well, we're not parasites yet. The Stealths are parasites, and our goal is to overthrow the alien dictatorship. Where is your strength? Use it against the enemy!"
  The bouquet suddenly vanished, and a few transparent droplets fell from the rebel leader's fist. Sensei replied pompously:
  "To become free, you must cleanse your soul. You must elevate your spirit to be worthy of enjoying the freedom you've been given. Give you the opportunity, and you will set out on the path of the empire that has conquered you." Intercepting Gornostaev's open yawn, the orator in the chiton changed his tone to a more businesslike one. "But enough! You're still too young to fully understand all this. You're apparently interested in news about Konoradson's starship. So they're detaining it in the most shameless manner. As for our little friend, Lev stands on the threshold of significant changes in his destiny."
  The rebel leader took a few quick steps around the room, his army boots were switched to silent mode, and it seemed as if a disembodied sign was wandering:
  "For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that this guy is our enemy. Do you even believe the legend that this star boy will save the Earth?"
  The guru looked at the floor; black and white mice were scurrying across the ultra-plastic carpet. The wizard's voice was confident:
  "I sense and see people. This child contains great power, he has potential, but he also harbors some unknown danger. His karma is entangled in a struggle between two principles-good and evil. Furthermore, there's a sense of something unknown within him. That's why I didn't teach him the highest school of spiritual art and influence. He harbors much anger, but no patience. Furthermore, he seems to harbor a thirst for revenge. Only those who have attained a high level of spiritual development should receive the keys to power."
  Gornostaev snapped, his gaze becoming angrier:
  "As I understand it, this guy is strong. Perhaps if you opened the way to his power, it would set us free? What is the limit of your strength?"
  Sensei answered a little more quietly than usual:
  "No one living on this planet knows this. Our great teacher, Buddha, said that every person contains a particle of God, and every person is capable of developing this particle to the point of omnipotence. But if at the same time they are morally destitute, this force creates a demon. The demonic element leads to destruction and countless disasters."
  Gornostaev, on the contrary, raised the tone of his speech:
  "I still don't understand you. You know how to teleport. So teach our soldiers, and then the Earth will burn beneath the invaders' feet."
  The guru waved his hand and the mice disappeared, leaving in their place, as if in mockery, a large piece of holey cheese:
  "I don"t want our planet to burn. Yes, I have reasons to hate, just like any of you. More than a thousand years ago, I was just a teenager and I witnessed that terrible invasion. When a flash millions of times brighter than the sun blazed, my face was scorched, and my eyes seemed to burst. I was blind, but over time my sight returned. And I regretted that I had not remained blind. A picture of hell unleashed... The sight that appeared before my eyes was incomprehensibly terrible. People with scorched skin. Half-dead skeletons. I saw piles of ash from children, men and women, screaming so loudly that my ears were blocked. I saw burning houses. Everything around was covered in chitinous dust. A storm arose over the earth. Clouds of suffocating haze blocked out the sun. I witnessed what I had never seen before, even in my worst nightmares. Nuclear winter had begun. The weather was insane, and I nearly froze to death. I couldn't even relieve myself; the trickle of water froze like an icicle. But then the dust cleared. It became hotter than at the equator. The corpses were rotting and stank terribly. It's a good thing I managed to find a respirator. Then came another snowstorm. Instinctively, I strove to move closer to the south. Fortunately for humanity, enemy missiles don't cause long-term radioactive contamination, and the nuclear winter didn't last too long. I managed, through deadly, excruciatingly bitter trials, to survive and reach Tibet. Over more than a thousand years, I've had many opportunities to kill one Stelzan or another, and I found it very difficult to cope. I wanted to crush, vaporize, cut, and only the school of love and humility helped me control my emotions. You can't kill just out of revenge, even just revenge. Murder can only be justified if it saves others from death.
  Gornostayev leaped up to the table and slammed his fist into it in anger. A glass of fruit ice cream bounced up and squeaked, "Excuse your dominance" (there were electronics in the cutlery, and technological excesses were a thing of the past). The rebel leader, throwing caution to the wind, roared:
  "This is a high-flown excuse for cowardice! You've lived too long to give up the life you've become accustomed to! You're pandering to Satan!"
  The guru extended his hand to him and placed a piece of cheese in it:
  "No, I'm not afraid of death! Death will make me even stronger. And power, if used too often for destruction, becomes the opposite of good. You are mature by human standards, but too young to understand when force can be used and when it cannot." Sensei placed a small donut into the rebel leader's hand, into which a magical cheese had miraculously turned. "Don't worry about your safety! I see that in the coming days and weeks, the shadows of evil demons will not touch you. This donut will help you in a critical moment. May a reasonable, good force be with us!"
  And the one who was called the great Sensei disappeared, instantly dissolving into thin air.
  "If I had such powers, I'd have a stern reckoning with Fagiram and Eros. I'd kidnap them, then slowly roast them over a low heat, slicing off bits of flesh from the still-living Stelzans. Perhaps at this very moment, Fagiram Sham is eating from plates made from the bones of his parents, and the whores of the Purple Constellation are fanning themselves with fans woven from human hair. They thrust a sugar donut of spells at me, as if mockingly..."
  Freaks, how he hates them! Both Stelzans and the pompous pacifist moralists...
  Ivan Gornostayev slammed his fist into the sandalwood wall with all his might. The thick, resilient wall withstood the ferocious swing. Enraged, the rebel leader continued to deliver powerful blows. It felt like his fist was smashing into the black, ugly face of Fagiram-the hated, fiendish governor of planet Earth.
  Then Gornostayev asked to step on the snow-white donut the guru had given him. But the usually culinary creation seemed to slip past the impenetrable army boot. This strangely calmed the rebel leader, and, holding out his hand and trying to keep his voice soft, he said:
  "Don't be afraid, but... Seeing entire villages dying at once from a super-leprosy unleashed by hyper-fascists is... No! This Guru even gave me the example of Jesus Christ, the Creator of the Universe , enduring the cross and beatings. I replied to him: a man who pulled a sharp, piercing nail out of a chair deserves far more respect than one who displays the dull patience of a closet!"
  Chapter 17
  It's like they're burning in space
  Wild monster eyes,
  It's as if we're all being told,
  What a storm raging over the world!
  Strange and disturbing reports were coming from various corners of the great empire. Large concentrations of stellar armadas of combat starships from states aggressively hostile to the purple constellation began to be observed on the outskirts. Internally, things were not going smoothly either. Vague reports of mutinous conspiracies appeared, and corruption grew and gained momentum. Cases of capital transfer to offshore accounts and tax evasion by economic generals and oligarchic marshals became more frequent. Prolonged peaceful existence led to the gradual disintegration of the hyper-totalitarian state, to the eternal antagonism between a bourgeoisie thirsting for freedom and parliamentarism, liberalization and the market, and an absolute autocratic monarchy with a repressive police apparatus. Theoretically, only war communism could exist harmoniously within a totalitarian despotism, a pure command-and-control system. However, the era of eco-warfare inevitably gave rise to market relations and a new class of fat-cat capitalists eager to influence the empire's state policy. A despot emperor capable of disintegrating any of them into photons is no longer needed. Not to mention that the oligarchs weren't owners, but considered mere tenants, with no right to pass on anything by inheritance. And there's no such thing as a family in Stelzan. The entire nation is a single family, headed by the father emperor. A strict army pyramid... The dream of Karl Marx and Trotsky has been realized on a mega-galactic scale. Moreover, Marxism in its most radical form is mixed with Nazism. Economic and combat armies, equal rights for women and men, common husbands and wives, fetuses are nurtured in incubators, and the Department of Eugenetics decides which ones will be born. From infancy, they are trained to fight, or rather, to kill! The goal of the nation is power over all universes within its reach. All other nations are nothing more than fuel and labor for the war machine. A normal animal treats its fellow beasts with far more kindness.
  But the Zorgis, with their intervention, have brought about a certain liberalization, which is already negatively impacting the stability of the political system as a whole. And the enemies are not asleep!
  The head of the Throne Guard Department reviewed the latest data from the outskirts of the empire. Strange movements and even daring attacks by the enemy.
  The Minister of the Department of Love and Justice also received alarming reports, but a mysterious smile played on the Amazonian devil's lips. Such strange movements worried her, but the space tigress with hair the color of hyperplasmic fire felt more delight than alarm. Starships from the largest enemy empires were behaving aggressively, trying to get as close as possible to the center of the mega-galactic power. This was incomprehensible impudence, especially considering that Stelzanat had become even more powerful militarily in recent years. Rumors persisted that the Emperor was preparing a new war. Who doesn't want to go down in history as the greatest of the great?
  The multi-armed robot servant interrupted his thoughts.
  - Oh, great Superminister Gelara Biter! You are being called on a special line.
  With gentle taps of her long, clawed fingers, the Minister of Love and Justice launched a six-dimensional image, where a cybernetic mechanism composed a message from chaotically arranged preons and dispersed gravowaves. Such ciphertexts were virtually impossible to read without a highly complex encryption key. Before listening to the gravociphertext, Gelara, with a barely perceptible keystroke, created a silent zone, particularly impenetrable to any eavesdropping. Now even her rival intelligence agencies couldn't detect the she-devil, for almost any modern technology was powerless against the absolutely silent zone. A tiny voice transmitted the message.
  "Our starship fleet is unable to penetrate the heart of the empire. Our speed is insufficient to reach key positions within the predetermined timeframe. This could lead to premature clashes with the empire's battle fleet. We request that the main highways be cleared of enemy forces!"
  Gelara Biter threw back her large, shaggy head, as hot as a hundred torches, adopting a sullen expression, her large teeth flashing. The arthropod continued to squeak.
  "We request that you transmit to us all codes and ciphers for your starships and battle stations. The entire cybernetic command, warning, and control system."
  The head of the General Department, the superminister, clenched her fists so hard they cracked and sparks flew from her fingernails. The demon maiden muttered:
  "The Sinhi and the League want us to completely disarm. Fine! We'll still throw them in and crush them. But don't they understand that it's impossible to do without the head of the Department of War and Peace? It's tradition. The security forces are at each other's throats, and all the reins are in the Emperor's hands. There's the Department of Honor and Law, the Ministry of Peace and Security, the Department of Throne Protection. And then there's the Department of Love and Tenderness, also headed by a kind bitch. And no one trusts anyone. Everyone's watching each other. Destroying the Emperor, overthrowing the dynasty, is a good thing, but the empire could crumble and fall under occupation. It's not like we're asking the Zorgs for help! A difficult decision lies ahead! However, the main thing is to destroy the Emperor, and then we can deal with the external enemy. What will she do? Only the most limited measures. But after eliminating him, it would be very nice to pit the Sinhi and the Space League against the Zorgs. How to achieve this? This fiery beast has her own plan. For now, she must persuade the Emperor to invite the vast Zorg starfleet to the heart of the empire, ostensibly to jointly repel an attack by the Intergalactic Coalition. After all, a hypergalactic war is a very serious matter. And the united border empires, republics, the gigantic Sinh empire, and many thousands of civilizations possess numerical superiority. Add in internal enemies and conquered worlds, and the war's ultimate outcome becomes even more precarious. The Department of Honor and Law must also be brought into play.
  Gelara Biter began dictating the answer in a low, yet hysterical tone... Having finished, she removed the zone and pressed the pink button. She was utterly disgusted and afraid to betray the Emperor, who could read minds remotely and, in general, a figure so enigmatic that even she had never seen his face... The superminister lay naked on the bed, her large scarlet nipples sparkling like strawberries crowning scoops of golden-chocolate ice cream. While very rare male specimens of this race could afford to look unattractive, all the women were distinguished by their impeccable build and sculpted muscles. Women in Stelzanate outnumber men by twenty-five percent (an artificial, electronically generated ratio in the incubator), which forces the females to be more active in their search for mates. Gelara suddenly felt shame-to betray the dynasty, to betray the autocrat, to commit regicide... And four handsome young aides-de-camp were already massaging her feet, starting with her seductive, pearl-like heels and toes, moving up, to soothe the shrew, for behind the girl's superficial, satanic beauty lurked one of the most important executioners of the hyper-totalitarian empire. Now one of these Stelzan boys, his angelic face buried in her, was selflessly caressing the womb of Venus, the charming tormentor, amazed by the unexpected coldness of such a normally temperamental and insatiable girl. The scent of fragrant honey, tropical herbs, and the aromas of truly royal perfumes emanating from Gelara's divinely beautiful flesh turned the young men's heads; passion overwhelmed them, threatening to tear them apart, as if thousands of hot stallions were galloping through their veins and trembling tendons...
  ***
  A powerful explosion plunged the chamber into impenetrable darkness. The fact that the chamber was located deep beneath the planet's surface heightened the fear. The darkness seemed to weigh down with a hundred thousand pounds of weight. Numerous voices, ranging from the deep, bass roar of a bull to the shrill, thin squeak of a mosquito, filled the chamber, creating a cacophony of sound. Only individual voices could be discerned.
  - Our shelter has been discovered!
  - Collapse is threatening!
  - Total kildak!
  - Save yourself, whoever can!
  More pops and explosions followed from above. One of the webbed creatures nudged Eraskander's elbow, then slammed its wing hard into his hull. The lion staggered but remained on his feet. The enemy attempted to press the attack, a curse escaping its toothy beak.
  - Brainless, black hole pulsar!
  The angry young man grabbed a membranous wing covered in skin as slippery as a frog's, spun around, and slung the beast over himself. The otherworlder's limb cracked from the shock, releasing a fountain of murky yellow blood. The creature passed out from the pain. One of the bat-pterodactyl's companions opened fire, defending his companion. The young man also grabbed the weapon he'd seized and, spinning around, spraying a jet of destructive hyperplasm onto his right shoulder, returned fire with a well-aimed shot, cutting down the crazed, crocodile-headed flyer.
  In the darkness, it was difficult to aim accurately, and the multi-laser beam killed several more creatures of various types, fueling the panic. The remains of the aliens flew in all directions, some exploding like grenades on impact, splintering chitinous shells, various carapaces, and even various combat armor, with ever-increasing damage and mutilation. Return fire from beam guns of all types rained down, predominantly violet and green beams piercing the vast, gloomy chamber. A moment longer, and the "friends" and "brothers" who had just been present at the meeting would have turned on each other.
  Lev also unleashed bolt after bolt. He was overcome with excitement, a desire to kill these reptiles, mollusks, sponges, arthropods, and other types unknown to terrestrial zoology. Including creatures made of radioactive elements. They were all enemies of the human race. They had to be killed, like persistent bedbugs, stinging insects, or rabid dogs. All tension vanished, and a sense of exhilaration was felt in the battle, a desire to cut, burn, and vaporize. He watched with peace as the remains of these hideous monsters swarmed in the semi-darkness, illuminated by the beams of blasters and other similar weapons of destruction. But in such chaos, Lev himself could easily run into a stray beam of light of deadly intensity. Although this was the last thing the boy thought about, he felt immortal, capable of inflicting pain on this cruel, truly merciless, survival-of-the-strongest, vile and evil world created by the Almighty Sadist!
  A thunderous voice, threatening to rupture eardrums, brought the enraged fighters back to reality.
  - Cease fire! This is our common death! Everyone, immediately proceed to the starship Kuverotez!
   Strange as it may seem, the voice had the effect of a being born to command. The various creatures scattered in all directions. There were about three hundred of them. About the same number, or even slightly more, remained, cut up and melted.
  Lev followed them. He felt a slight burn from the laser beam. The pain wasn't particularly severe, but it still dampened his boyish ardor. The young gladiator instinctively clung to the group of humanoids. He managed to squeeze into a large, modified elevator with them. With colossal speed, as this was a vacuum line with a geomagnetic track, the group of humanoids rushed through the endless corridors of the underground labyrinth. The gathering wasn't particularly large-twenty individuals-but it was tiresomely noisy. Lev even bristled, noting:
  - Although the barking of a dog may only make elephants laugh, one should not make a mockery of army training!
  The underground carriage's speed was many times faster than the speed of sound. In a normal elevator, this would have been fatal, but here the fighters were saved by a gravity transformer. This labyrinth contained a whole web of vacuum corridors so dense that one could travel through them across the entire planet to the other side. Eraskander's companions wore black camouflage and bizarre horned masks. They whispered something, their tongues barking like jackals and hissing like a cobra's nest. Then the underground transport rushed upward, clearly through a hyper-skyscraper located elsewhere on the planet, but Lev didn't know that. The young man's hands itched to fire his ray guns at this gathering of creatures-otherworlders, at best, and even better if Stealth-slingers-the entire human race hated these fiendish invaders. And they were already rushing upwards along the gigantic structure, from a time when the grandfather of the first ruler of Egypt had not yet been born on earth.
  Such a gigantic skyscraper could reach into the stratosphere, and from there, starships could almost immediately launch into hyperspace. This is advantageous if you want to evade pursuit, and from a practical standpoint as well. A building like this housed shops, medical centers, and an entire entertainment industry. The cabin, as if possessed, slid madly onto the surface of the gigantic, thirty-square-kilometer roof, which also served as a spaceport. With lightning speed, the horned men leaped into the ready-to-fly starship, vaguely resembling a symbiosis of a carrot and a lamp.
  As they jogged, the cold of the vacuum hit them, and their breathing suddenly became strained. Luckily, Lev was no stranger to extreme sports and high-altitude environments. Although it was torture without a respirator, he still managed to leap into the belly of the spaceliner and, what's more, not fall in such a bulky suit. The bipedal viper fell silent. Without further ado, everyone settled into their aerodynamic seats. The words rang out in the spaceliner and in the Stelzan translation:
  Before departure, please put on your special spacesuits and undergo identification. Your hosts are waiting for you!
  The creature speaking these words bore little resemblance to a Stelzan. It was most likely a bubble or a thin-legged, spherical spider. It wore a transparent, slightly tinted spacesuit. Its voice was rather nasty, like the creak of a rusty door. The figures of the other creatures, far from handsome, were also far from human. They were humanoid creatures, identifiable only in the hustle and bustle of the surrounding area. The only similarities were their horned helmets and inky cloaks.
  Lev overheard that these were the clothes of so-called hunter-bandits, a type of space mafia. One strange fellow stood out among them, rapidly moving his paws and spinning like a top. The starship shook slightly, and a howling jet roar was heard.
  "Everyone, get down on the ground! We're making an emergency hyperspace jump!" the little animal squealed.
  The acceleration increased rapidly, and although the antigravity neutralized almost everything, the sensation was far from pleasant. Overcoming the resistance of the increased gravity, Lev rushed toward the hatch. His movements resembled the fluttering of a fly in glue. Meanwhile, a shielded image flashed on the outer wall.
  Dozens of starships of various designs fired indiscriminately at each other. Numerous garlands of stars erupted in multicolored fireworks, and a cascade of laser beams created a unique impression. A veritable space battle was underway. Powerful missiles flared. Several starships had already been blown to pieces by the deadly charges. Apparently, the warships attacking in a single formation and acting in concert were the starships of the Purple Constellation.
  At that moment, the ship's hull shook from a nearby explosion. The starship was clearly attempting to escape the firing arc, to break free from the ring of warring units. The G-forces increased sharply. The ship maneuvered, accelerating to the maximum it could reach.
  Both groups engaged in combat represented entire armies. Fighting raged along virtually the entire perimeter of this star system. The chaotic nature of the coalition forces opposing the Stelzans was striking. The opponents were disorganized, clearly lacking a unified command. Apparently, unaware of the seriousness of the battle with the Stelzanat army, squadrons of various types had flocked here. These disparate civilizations appeared to be concentrated for purely tactical purposes. They were impressive in numbers rather than in combat prowess.
  Here, for example , were two obsolete cruisers and a transport converted into a battleship, colliding head-on, swirling in a plasma tornado. The Stelzan starship-battleships, resembling barracudas but far more terrifying, were undercutting them. They skillfully distributed their roles, grinding up the extragalactic mince. The loss ratio was simply catastrophic for the non-humanoids (thirty to one in favor of the Stelzans). True, the aliens had a significant numerical advantage. The numerous, motley squadrons were simply staggering. One might have thought a universal war had begun. The emerald necklaces of the constellations were illuminated by the ruby flashes of annihilation and thermoquark missiles. Divided into three groups, the starships of the Purple Constellation skillfully crushed the mixed armada of enemy submarines. The young gladiator suddenly saw the battle in its entirety and vividly, while for everyone else, the bouncing holograms from the overview scanners provided an extremely vague picture. The boy felt as if he were discovering new dimensions, and his brain transformed into a gigantic information receiver.
  The ship carrying Eraskander had no desire to engage in battle. All that was left was to observe the breathtakingly beautiful spectacle. Some of the non-humanoid starships were of unusual design and used unconventional weapons. Individual ray gun volleys formed triangles, sinusoids, spirals, figure-eights, and so on, grazing their own starships. The ships' acrobatic maneuvers seemed unimaginable. Upon impact, fragments of the ship's beams flew for millions of kilometers.
  "What a destructive technique. I've never seen anything like it!" Lev observed the cannonade through both three-dimensional holograms and a panoramic view of the newly opened spatial perception windows. He could see the seemingly tiny mines disintegrating, and anti-destroyers joining the battle, using networks of stable hyperplasma capable of burning through both armor and force fields. A new Stelzan technique, in which hyperplasma (the sixth and seventh states of matter, encompassing more than three dimensions, with particles traveling many times faster than the speed of light) is mixed with still- tiny ( they haven't yet learned to generate larger quantities) princeps-plasma.
  This supermatter (princeps - translated as first, leading) has a limited intelligence and is able to distinguish between its own and other ships.
  However, the outcome of the battle was still unclear, as more and more Synch starships emerged from the belt of gravity ravines and plasma pits. The pirate ship, despite the desperate efforts of its pilots, was unable to gain speed and reach a safe sector of space. There was a significant risk of being struck by a monstrous force that would disintegrate matter into quarks.
  The mercenaries scattered across the lower floor, clinging to the rough surface. They were jerked from side to side, the antigravity only partially dampening their inertia.
  "We're dying! Ultrapulsar annihilation!" they cried, their dignity forgotten, the brazen vagabonds of space who had so recently been such mercenary creatures.
  A whole armada of Sinkhs had gathered, and it seemed the scales were about to tip in their favor. Lev even whispered ironically:
  "I've never been bitten by an insect, but I've been painfully wounded by people with the hearts of crocodiles and the instincts of piranhas! You can easily shed crocodile tears, howl like a wolf, and chatter like a magpie, but the courage of a lion can only be cultivated through painstaking work!"
  From the right flank, two blue-violet, angular pyramids of starships from the Purple Heart fleet, the name given to the elite guard units of the Purple Constellation, appeared. They literally tore apart the shapeless mass of non-humanoid enemy spacecraft. One of the guard flagships fired a charge that struck in the hyperatomic range. The impact and flash incinerated and scattered tens of thousands of starships from other worlds, dispersing them into various points of space. Even the colossal Synch flagships, close to the size of a moon, with billions of soldiers, mostly combat robots, were swept away like trash by a hyperplasma broom, instantly incinerated. How everything changed in an instant, death danced a hopak among the stars. Apparently, either a particularly powerful thermoquark charge or even the latest thermopreon charge had detonated. Light waves and the ultra-fast motion of superluminal particles slashed at the starship's hull. The weak protective field only saved him from immediate vaporization. The lights instantly went out, and the starship spun in a furious singularity vortex. Space compressed like a tight spring and struck Lev in the brain. Then came a pitting image, as if in a monstrous hypergravity collapse...
  For a moment, a vision flashed through my head, splitting from the monstrous strain... A bone-chilling cold, snow reddish with soot, a metallic taste in my mouth, and blood trickling from my ear. My hands were tightly bound behind my back, and a wire was draped around my emaciated neck.
  He and several other huddled young pioneers march under escort to the top of the hill. On either side are tall Nazis in greenish-gray overcoats, and in the distance is a gallows, fluttering like a torch: a blood-red Nazi flag with a white circle and a spiderweb in the center. Among the teenagers being led to execution are two girls. They've been beaten no less than the boys, their tender faces swollen from beatings, their dresses ripped open and soaked with blood from harsh lashes. Lev himself feels the excruciating ache of his battered back and the intense burning of his bare soles from the frozen snowdrifts. Despite the bitter cold (even the Nazis are wrapped in woolen shawls and have blankets wrapped around their feet), all the pioneers , completely barefoot, leave beautiful footprints in the silvery powder coating the frozen, crystal-icy crust. They've been marching for several kilometers now, their toes blue from the cold, their teeth chattering like drums. The gallows are getting closer and closer, and the man-eating dogs are hysterically impaling themselves. The people herded toward the gallows, wrinkled, deformed, and pitiful, scream hysterically and cross themselves.
  Now they were climbing the steps of the scaffold, their bare feet numb from the ice. Lev suddenly felt a blissful warmth on his rough soles. Then, a barbed wire tie was placed around his neck, thinned by the last few days of hunger. The sharp ends dug into his skin, and the two-meter-tall executioner pulled the noose upward. A sharp pain and suffocation...
  The vision doesn't stop until the end, you can see how the Nazis slowly strangle their comrades, barely covered in rags, but with bright red ties... And at the same time, you perceive the parts and the reality around you.
  A piercing screech was heard. A monstrous force lifted the bodies from the floor and slammed them into the ceiling with all its force. Despite his clouded consciousness, Eraskander instinctively managed to brace himself and absorb the impact. The others in the squad fell to the floor like peas on iron. A shriek filled the air. Then came more jerking, from side to side, from ceiling to floor and back again. The bodies of disparate individuals, like pebbles in a rattle being shaken by an angry toddler, bounced back and forth. The starship was thrown from side to side, and a bulkhead inside the submarine broke. The suffocating smell of sulfur dioxide and chlorine brought Lev back to his senses. The vision of the executions from the Great Patriotic War finally vanished. It was so terrifying! I'll never forget the girls, pinned in the noose, kicking their tiny, chiseled legs, blue and swollen from the cold. The sight of them in the red-orange emergency lighting also resembled a nightmare. The entire room was splattered with the multicolored blood of numerous mercenaries recruited from across the intergalactic cluster.
  "Everyone, put on your combat suits!" rang out the slightly weakened voice of the autopilot computer.
  Perhaps the emergency circuit worked. Interesting idea, but how are they planning on getting into their battlesuits in such a mess? With the ceiling and floor constantly swapping places... Dim light, then darkness, punctuated by sparks from collisions... And the floor slippery and stinking of sticky blood...
  Twisting, Eraskander managed to squeeze through the emergency exit hatch, losing his mask in the process. The air suddenly thickened, then became as thick as water. Lev couldn't breathe; every movement required titanic effort. Already on autopilot, he managed to "straddle" the buttons. He had never donned a heavy army combat suit before, but his fingers worked autonomously, sensing the space with his mind. The next moment, his body was clad in a combat suit with a full arsenal of cutting-edge weaponry. The young man froze in place. New, previously unseen sensations filled every fiber of his body. It was an incomparable feeling of power, great and incomprehensible.
  Meanwhile, another blow followed...
  The black space was shattered by a bright corona discharge of blinding lightning. The powerful explosion drowned out all senses and emotions, extinguishing consciousness...
  Chapter 18
  The scoundrels threaten war again,
  Apparently, the bullies can't stop!
  The enemy wants to test your strength,
  But it will not achieve its goal!
  The starship with the unofficial name "Star of Life" (this is the simple name given to it by the oppressed beings of the Universe) was detained again, and then, under the pretext of secrecy, turned away into some other secondary star sector.
  Meanwhile, the senior senator carefully examined a three-dimensional map of the globe, with the ability to automatically zoom in on sections of the planet. The continental layout had changed significantly due to "civilization" by Purple Constellation officials planning assimilation, acquiring a spiral pattern that facilitated the circulation of ocean currents with purely practical uses.
  When these beings were independent and free, they created a unique cultural landscape. For quite a long time, they developed independently, apart from other planets and civilizations, giving birth to a distinctive, unusual, and unique culture.
  The great zorg's deep voice was as calm as a sea wave on a clear day. Winged fish with golden fins circled slowly above him, striving to imitate the hexagonal shape of a water lily in flight.
  Julinus Imer Sid, Assistant Inspector General, threw a nutritional tile to the pets taken on the flight and boomed:
  "What's so unusual about it? I know many other unique and far stranger civilizations. A hundred thousand cycles ago, I remember, there was a fuss about the Covalins, fluorine-breathing creatures, saying they were breaking records for scientific and technological development, and would soon enslave and overtake everyone. "A huge liquid-metal creature made a "sun" with its three upper limbs. So what? They exterminated themselves, wiped out life on their planet."
  The tossed slab suddenly split into dozens of pieces, shaped like hybrids of bagels and bunnies, chimpanzees and lemons, squirrels and bananas-all those colorful edible toys. The sylph gave a thin squeak and sang, and the other animals joined in:
  How wonderful it is to lie down on the grass and tuck into something delicious! Have a steam bath in the bathhouse and invite the young females! Eat some delicious cheesecakes and play the accordion! Oh, the chocolate and honey of toys! You got an A+!
  Thin arms extended from the Elder Zorg's boots, and a nine-stringed balalaika in the shape of a seven-sided star miraculously appeared, and the senator himself said:
  "You're not quite right. They may not be the most aggressive in the universe, and their oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere is fairly ordinary, although oxygen-helium is more common. It's just their diversity of cultures and religions that is unique. For one planet and one species, this is quite an extraordinary phenomenon. Although specific information about the planet is classified, what we know is already sufficient. It's extremely rare to find such a unique diversity of races and cultures within a single species confined to a small sphere floating in an ellipse in a vacuum. Many different countries, nations, and peoples with strong national and religious sensibilities. And a history of wars with the most varied causes! Religious conflicts! The interspecies, racial competition is astounding! Where on another planet can you find so many nations and religions, and even those so fanatically convinced of their own righteousness?"
  Yulinius winked at his hat. The hat, divided into sections based on the number of pets, began showing them colorful, hand-drawn cartoons via hologram, each animal watching a different movie. This way, the alien fauna could both eat and have fun. But Yulinius, despite the dozen smiles on his belly, replied in a rather stern tone:
  "The Plutonian Heriphors are also bisexual creatures, only they breathe gaseous plutonium. They nearly exterminated themselves in wars. They also believed in their own exceptionalism until they were disintegrated into atoms by the even more exceptional Stealzans."
  Konoradson shook his head, which kept changing shape, albeit slowly:
  "That's not quite it. They had two or three states. Even in the space age, Earthlings were fragmented, a characteristic of pre-industrial planets. They didn't have a single religion, and they still don't. The diversity of their cults is astonishing, and some of their beliefs are uniquely their own."
  Yulinius lifted slightly off the ground, and his glove began projecting multidimensional projections, attempting to entertain not only the winged fish but also the flying tomatoes with the heads of cartoon Mouses. They giggled and squealed with delight, and the speech flowed naturally:
  The Stelzans' single, central religion was introduced by their first emperor, Roaring Fire the Great, founder of the modern dynasty. He was, of course, an extraordinary figure, a highly effective, ahead-of-his-time commander, possessing universal ingenuity in his dealings with his comrades. The height of demagoguery and seduction. They, the "flock of star dragons," seized total power and fashioned a new monotheism, enslaving not only the flesh but also the soul.
  The senior senator seemed to agree, but not entirely. Sylpha, being the smartest one, squeaked: "Bodily slavery leads to the loss of life, spiritual slavery to immortality." The long zorg replied:
  "That's true, but they had a very similar and, for the most part, dominant religion before that. Their previous views remained essentially unchanged, merely evolving slightly and shaping themselves to suit the demands of the times. Everything else was declared satanic heresy. Specifically, evolution is the destiny of inferior races, while the Stelzans themselves are made in the image and likeness of the Most High God, therefore they are given the infinite seven heavens, including an innumerable number of hyperuniverses. Not so with earthlings. They interpret the same revelation differently. Many earthlings believed, and still believe, that salvation and eternal life depend on a single comma. A single syllable decides whether you are destined for an eternity of endless torment or bliss in paradise. Three main religions, divided into sects, and a multitude of smaller faiths, waged war on this tiny sphere." For humans, "three" is a magic number, just like for us tri-sexuals, although this doesn't seem entirely logical.
  Julinius objected without much enthusiasm:
  In many worlds, this number is also a cult one. Three dimensions, three faces, three fundamental states in the ordinary life conditions of primitive planets. There are also three main segments of the universe: time, matter, and space. Androgyny is an unnatural mutation and deformity. What did you find more appealing in the religion of earthlings?
  The senior senator also rose in the air to the height of his chair, his winged cartoon tomatoes flowing like the caterpillars of a garden tractor, their multicolored wings glittering like fairy-tale butterflies. The metallic elder's voice deepened even further:
  "I know a thing or two about this planet. They have, in my opinion, the best early branch-Buddhism, despite the fact that this faith arose in the Dark Ages and is full of rational principles. Of these, the most progressive is that of Confucius. He rightly said: "If we have not learned to recognize life, how can we learn to understand death?" Buddha's wisdom is hidden here: "Don't make me a god, but cultivate yourself! Live in goodness and peace, cultivate your will, accumulate wisdom and knowledge, for knowledge can give you immortality and happiness. Don't rely on the gods. Each person must cultivate the qualities of God within themselves." This was progressive, and all the weak people and underdeveloped worlds believed in supernatural powers that protected them and could solve all their problems. That's why many worlds so easily surrender to invaders, mistaking them for angels. In ancient times, people had wise individuals - Buddha, Plato, Confucius.
  Konoradson paused, and the winged goldfin fish and butterfly tomatoes began catching the musical instruments spewed from the Zorgs' gloves and headdresses. Then the flying menagerie began playing several melodies at once. Moreover, the music flowed in such a way that it never blended, but rather was even harmonious. The senior senator remarked:
  "How amusing they are in their eternal, childish understanding of the world, but let's return to our conversation. The other concession is the youngest of the major religions, but also the most dynamic for the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Until the invasion of the hellish army of Stelzanat. This is Islam, which signifies submission. Monotheism. One god-Allah. One prophet-Mohammed. The faithful, through their deeds, conquer paradise with beautiful houris, while the wicked-that is, the rest-descend forever to hell, to eternal torment. In fact, it is precisely the fear of death that has created all these illusions. Individuals have fathers and make a father in heaven; they fear death and invent immortal souls, hell, and heaven.
  This time Julinius did not hide the contempt in his tone:
  "Typical for other civilizations. Nothing out of the ordinary. The Stelzans have their own Supreme Lord and a closely related idea of seven high-energy megauniverses where great warriors and those who serve the Emperor are sent. They seriously claim that they have been granted power over all parallel worlds and universes. That only they, the Stelzans, are created in the image and likeness of the Almighty Creator of the Universe, while other species and races are offshoots of slime or hyperplasmic flows. At best, they should be slaves or subject to total annihilation. Yes, anyone with a brain can doubt their religion."
  The senior senator , admiring the performance of the orchestras flying through the air, nodded:
  "Obviously, the supreme and unified intelligence that created the hyperuniverse cannot be cruel or unjust. All gods are created in the image and likeness of individuals themselves. They are beings of different worlds and ascribe their own character traits to their gods: anger, cruelty, capriciousness, inconstancy, and illogicality. Many of them are, at heart, pagans, and view everything from a position of strength. They reward their gods with mighty muscles, but give them their own dull brains."
  Yulinius replaced the accordion with a Sylph resembling precious beads, and the fur harp, and the tone became more melodic. An interesting thought occurred to the seasoned Zorg and he hastened to share it with his colleague:
  "That's a fair point, Des, but here's something I was thinking. I overheard your conversation with our junior colleague, Bernard Paton. I have a thought. Perhaps the legends about the Gods are super-supercivilizations with histories spanning many quintillions of years? And they still exist, although they barely manifest themselves outwardly. Although, come to think of it, if hyperintelligence manifested itself, would we even notice?"
  "So you don't think the end of any civilization is nonexistence?" the Senior Senator asked, slightly flattening his body, flexible as plasticine.
  Several tiny energy balls flew out from Yulinius's boot, suddenly growing in size as they flew, transforming into elegant cars, the kind small, nimble children usually enjoy playing with. The animals, with limited intelligence, immediately pounced on the gifts and began to amuse themselves with the enthusiasm of the younger generation. The otherworldly creatures pressed the simple steering wheels with their paws and spun around on the delightfully extravagant cars. They resembled the chaotic movement of the strikingly colorful balls in a lottery wheel. The Senior Senator's assistant said passionately:
  "Of course not-nonexistence is fundamentally unthinkable! It's just that the heirs of hypercivilizations, and I agree with the Stelzan theory, inhabit other megauniverses with higher energy levels and a greater number of dimensions. Perhaps they've even evolved so far that they're capable of creating other worlds, universes, and dimensions. And our universe is a shadow, a faint cloud in the infinite construction of the boundless macrocosm. It's possible that our universe, compared to the countless other universes, is infinitely smaller than a romokola (the tenth most fundamental particle after a quark, and also not the limit, according to the "infinite matryoshka" theory).
  Konoradson watched with affection as these sweet and amusing creatures played... They frolicked, carefree and naive, living in a shared universe with the kindest of masters. Prava Sylfa is the smartest of them all, having watched countless films, and her cycles already number eight hundred (the Zorg cycle is one and a half times longer than an Earth year!). So this beauty already knows a lot, capable of playing in a virtual world, quite complex games, even strategy games. The topic, touched upon only by a colleague half his age, who undoubtedly has also seen it all and is erudite, isn't particularly original, but it is of particular interest, as it conceals a secret that even the wise Zorgs have yet to unravel.
  "It wasn't a new theory that, upon reaching a superlevel, supercivilizations would move into other hyperuniverses and even create new worlds and spheres, of the most unusual and unimaginable constructions for us. For here, in this fledgling universe, a certain freedom must be granted to worlds and individuals. There's a theory that even the Zorgs could mature and migrate to a hypermegauniverse, where their capabilities would grow immeasurably, but the previous universe would no longer be of any concern." The Elder crossed his six hands for a few seconds (a symbol of regret for force majeure!) "It will continue to give birth to other civilizations, blood will flow, and pain will reign. Alas, gods are usually evil or indifferent. But Hyperevolution, for all its ruthlessness, is an excellent mentor. But this is such an abstract discussion, full of pure fantasy, that I suggest we put it aside. For now, let's think about our younger brothers from planet Earth."
  Julinius answered judiciously:
  "I'm using telepathic scanning to read information about Hinduism and reincarnation, and similar philosophies. Nothing unusual. All of this has been repeated many times on billions of other planets. I've been through half a million cycles, and I've seen too much. Earthlings are unlikely to be surprised by anything new, since it's hard to find anything new."
  Conoradson, having sent a telepathic impulse that changed the design of the cars on which the animals rode and had fun, continued:
  "No, that's not it. There's another strange and unusual concession. It's the primary planetary religion of Earth. Christianity is the most mysterious and unusual faith in the universe. It's a mass religion, practiced by the most highly developed and civilized states of this planet even before the brutal aggression of the fleet commanded by Lira Velimara. This religion taught love, even for one's enemies."
  The senior senator paused meaningfully. Sylph flew up to him, riding and playing at the same time, and showed him the results of the mission they'd just completed. "New record!" the luxurious creature squeaked. Conoradson tossed her a dragon-colored glass of ice cream adorned with flowers and berries, appearing out of nowhere. Julius Ymer Sid interjected.
  - Okay, but this is nothing new... It seems to me that you are also a big supporter of this teaching.
  The senior senator this time exclaimed more emotionally than usual:
  - And for this they died! Without fear or regret, they submitted to the most brutal tortures.
  - Julinius interrupted.
  - which is also not unique. There have been plenty of fanatics everywhere and at all times.
  Des pretended not to notice the tactlessness:
  - But there is one unique thing. Their symbol of faith is the cross!
  The Senior Senator's first assistant retorted in the style of a professional tennis player:
  - The cross, as an object of worship, is very widespread among warm-blooded animals, because the friction of two crossed sticks produces fire!
  Konoradson changed his tone of speech to a calmer, perhaps even ingratiating one:
  - No, they have something different... The cross is...
  An alarm rang out, breaking up the philosophical debate. Type X-100 threat! The starship is surrounded on all sides by thousands of warships of unknown enemies!
  "How's the warning system?" the Senior Senator asked dispassionately.
  The captain blurted out in a telepathic patter:
  "We were already aware! They turned us here for a reason; it's undoubtedly a crudely devised trap, but this isn't a Stelzan fleet. These are the combat starships of the Synkhs and hundreds of other civilizations. This configuration of space submarines is beyond doubt. There are thousands, tens of thousands of them... They're moving in sync from all directions. This armada is within the Empire's borders, but far from its outer borders. The Stelzans are certainly in league with them. That explains everything."
  The senior senator had reasonable doubts:
  "It's impossible they managed to get together specifically for us, and in such a short time. This smells like treason. These guys obviously don't care about us."
  The captain of the Diamond Constellation inspection starship, while preparing the combat systems, suggested, not without irony:
  "Why not give them a chance? Perhaps they want to get our technology or, for the first time in history, shoot down at least one of our starships. They're counting on numbers."
  "In vain! Although a tiny virus can overcome a hypermastodon, multiplying to quintillions." Konoradson sent a teleimpulse to the domestic animals (don't panic, we won't allow a repeat of the shock!), and they began to swirl like the coils of a boa constrictor trying to induce a hypnotic trance.
  Captain Midel said without the slightest trace of emotion:
  "They fired a salvo, and there are thousands of missiles. We're still too far out of range of their ray guns."
  The winged fish and tomato butterflies began to show signs of nervousness. They collided and bounced off each other more and more often, like gas molecules. But they caused no harm, as the automatic system had enveloped them in a protective cocoon. Moreover, the flying creatures even enjoyed the collisions and enthusiastically immersed themselves in this game. Sylph, the cleverest of them, squealed in rhyme:
  There is a legion of enemies before you,
  There are a great many different creatures!
  But more troubles come from fools,
  Stupid advice, all kinds of nonsense!
  Konoradson landed on the floor and ordered without further ado:
  "Our force field can withstand all their most advanced weapons. Keep your cool and scan the charges, just in case."
  Yulinius suddenly had three magic blasters (the sacred weapon of the Zorgs, similar to which other civilizations had so far unsuccessfully attempted to create, with only limited success. There were systems with that name, but it was a pathetic parody of a magic blaster). The seasoned inspector suggested:
  - Everything will be done carefully as always, but maybe it would be better to go into hyperspace.
  The senior senator in this case responded with the reasoning of an aksakal:
  "No, let them understand the futility of their attack. Why run away, giving them a reason to burst with pride? Transtemporal protective fields can withstand any attack."
  Bernard, who had flown out of the next room, exclaimed:
  - And without unnecessary pacifism!
  ***
  Thousands, tens of thousands of missiles and projectiles flew from all points of space. It was as if African bees had gone berserk and pounced en masse on the lone traveler who had disturbed their peace. Some of the missiles had homing systems, but a significant number flew straight and uncontrollable. Some spiraled or followed more complex trajectories, separating mid-flight, complicating the use of counter-missiles. The Zorg starship seemed to be enveloped in a silvery-transparent cocoon and boldly charged toward the enemy. The force field absorbed and easily deflected the blows. Most of the missiles failed to detonate; some were thrown back, and others exploded on the outside, scattering into beautiful fireworks. Flashes of trillions of photoblitzes and reflected particles filled space. Several hundred missiles, reflected or missing, rushed toward the attacking starfleet. Beam throwers met them with plasma tracers, but some of the missiles broke through, ramming and unleashing a fiery inferno on the alien spacecraft. There were so many starships that they barely avoided collision, striving to enter a sector accessible to effective laser fire. Some of the larger ships, battleships and grand battleships, nevertheless fired a second salvo. This time, the damage and losses due to the close proximity of the space armadas were far greater. Explosions and serious damage followed, even to large submarines. One of the League of Worlds' space dreadnoughts detonated its ammunition... A hyperplasma ball instantly swelled, scattering several escort boats into photons... With such a density of damage, even strong fields did not provide 100% protection. In a rage, the starships opened a frenzied fire with beam throwers and plasma throwers, but did not reach the effective annihilation zone. Multicolored beams, intersecting and colliding, emitted streams of particles, creating a unique palette of wondrous light effects. When fragments of starships fell into the plasma and even more destructive hyperplasma streams, streams of gigantic fireworks erupted, scattering flames across the vacuum.
  "They're ionizing each other. These guys have lost control of their minds, and now they won't stop until they've blown themselves to photons. Better to go into hyperspace," the Senior Senator said with palpable regret in his rich, bass voice.
  Bernard calmly, with feigned indifference, replied:
  - No, let them receive a stern lesson for the edification of their descendants, but if Your Highness wishes, then we are ready to go into hyperspace at any moment.
  The captain of the starship Gur Imer Midel was still too young, but deep down he himself would not have minded using the starship's powerful weapons.
  A wave like liquid steel passed across Des Imer's face.
  "No matter how many lessons you give them, it won't do any good! But I won't let these microorganisms destroy me."
  The starship entered another hyperspace, suddenly disappearing from the screens. But several high-caliber megalasers managed to strike its protective trans-temporal field and, reflected, hit nearby coalition starships. When hundreds of diverse and morally semi-savage civilizations gather in one place, ready to tear apart an enemy that suddenly vanishes, their most natural reaction is to vent their pent-up rage on each other. Like a pack of wolves who have lost sight of a buffalo, they turned on each other. One of the firing flagships belonged to the Sinkh anti-privateer service, and the reflected laser superbeam cleaved the starship of the pirate emperor, Gar Farizhejaramal, who had pulled ahead. It was a cutting-edge experimental weapon, so the pirate's starship instantly burned up in a hyperplasmic flash. His enraged allies returned fire. Spaceships of star filibusters and mercenaries began firing on police and military starships. Unbridled mayhem and a terrifying intergalactic carnage began.
  Races and species began to squabble among themselves, retelling every conceivable and unimaginable grievance. Starships exploded by the hundreds and thousands. At first, the battle was waged by separate factions, but then two main groups emerged-the Sinhi and their two satellites-while hundreds of other civilizations joined in, along with mercenaries and corsairs.
  Many civilizations were dissatisfied with the Sinhi expansion, their greed, and their insatiable thirst for profit. Their boundless venality and love of money became the stuff of proverbs and jokes, understandable to any form of life without translation. It was also remembered that during the active war, the Sinhi had quietly seized and occupied many worlds.
  Both groups fought so fiercely that the only way to end the battle was the final annihilation of one side. Starships literally crashed into each other, ramming at sublight speeds. The Synchs were better armed and organized, and their opponents outnumbered them. Their numerical superiority compensated for their qualitative disadvantage. More and more forces were drawn to the battle zone. Tens, hundreds of thousands of machines hacked and melted each other. The battle involved missiles, torpedoes, vibro-rockets, fireballs, lasers, masers, vacuum bombs, space destabilizers, vortex bombs, gas blinders, corona plasma discharges, and various types of ray guns. In some places, nets, metal balls and clouds of objects, neutron radiation, and other exotic types of alien weaponry were used.
  Both sides seemed to be in a frenzy. The pirates rammed, attempting to board, despite their sublight speed. In close combat, the qualitative superiority of the "mosquito boxes" was sharply diminished. Like a karate fighter losing his striking power in a tense fight. Suddenly, five colossal grand battleships burst into flames and crumbled, while three more , despite the mortal risk, were boarded.
  Star Corsairs burst into the compartments, raining fire upon the enemy. The Sinhi responded, attempting to set ambushes and disperse the enemy. Robots took part in the fighting, many of them exploding, clogging the corridors.
  The pirate leader, Zherra Sinja, broke through to the command post and started a merciless showdown.
  - What insects! You've never smelled the burning vacuum or the singing plasma, so get your fill of it!
  The starship, having lost control, opened fire on the ships of the Golden Constellation.
  A pair of nearby cruisers shattered like glass under the blow of a crowbar. It seemed the end was near for the Sinhams; they were being pressed ever closer, trying to force them stern-first toward the scorching stars, preventing them from breaking the distance.
  Another chieftain of the space pirates, the eternal rival of Zherr Sinzh - Cass Fan crawled like a semi-liquid jellyfish into a battle suit resembling a missile mini-cruiser.
  - Listen to me, reptiles! The arthropods' maneuverability has dropped! Board them!
  The space galleon activated its force sticky, a makeshift traction field, at full power. For several seconds, the privateer vessel glowed like an impenetrable halo. At incredible speed, the corsair ship slammed into the Golden Constellation's flagship battleship, expanding the force field. Powerful lasers burned through the thick armor. Thousands of freebooters rushed through the breaches. Cass was in a terrible hurry; in half a minute, the overloaded reactors would explode, and the pirates had only one chance: capture the battleship or die. The corsairs hacked and fired with the fury of the doomed. The synchs, unprepared for close combat, retreated, drenching the narrow corridors with poisonous, grassy blood. One of the massive starship's auxiliary reactors blew... The fluorine-breathing pirate threw a miniquark grenade into the plasma. The filibuster galleon also detonated, adding to the destructive effect. The Golden Constellation battleship began to crumble like a house of cards suspended in zero gravity.
  Zherra Sinzha, a huge ten-legged lizard, creaked:
  "I should have bought myself a newer starship, from those same Synkhs, instead of wasting all my loot! Now the future will be mine!"
  The corsair ships increased their pressure, desperately crushing the overgrown camarilla. Suddenly, the battlefield changed dramatically. Starships from another massive squadron, composed entirely of Synchs, appeared in the rear. A merciless massacre of the diverse coalition began. This alliance even included worlds with internal structures resembling feudalism, even slavery and primitive communal systems. Other forms of governance couldn't even be matched on Earth. Better armed and under a unified command, the Synchs seized the initiative and methodically began vaporizing their opponents. Tens of thousands of starships continued to explode, and fighters from the newly formed league continued to swarm among many of the shards. Zherra Sinja grew timid: his enormous battlesuit was already smoking from the strain.
  "Let's reel in the plasma, bros!" the confused leader shouted. He attempted to lead the captured Synch battleship away. The other space freebooters, realizing what awaited them, launched a desperate breakthrough and, having lost most of their ships, scattered into the endless starry abyss. Even the enormous gross-licor of Zherr Synch, however , was shot down (a dozen similar vessels rained down on it) and barely managed to escape in a rescue boat. In the process, he lost almost all of his comrades.
  "There are many brothers, but only one life!" the pirate muttered. Part of the Sinh fleet made an unsuccessful attempt at pursuit. The rest of the motley armada was gradually destroyed, disintegrating into fragments, melting like melted snow under the bright summer sun. The grand battle, with its myriad flames the colors of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, gradually faded, shrinking to pockets of resistance and isolated pursuit.
  The nearby Stelzan fleet watched the battle motionless, as if it were foreign territory.
  ***
  The Zorg captain watched closely through the hyperscanner, which allowed for good visibility from hyperspace.
  "Sometimes these creatures surpass themselves in schizotypy, but this battle is a masterpiece of insanity. Who gathered these pseudo-intelligent tribes and for what purpose?" Bernard took a drag from his pipe with a hypercurrent discharge (hypercurrent is an order of magnitude higher level of electricity, in which streams of superelectrons move millions of times faster than the speed of light, and have a much stronger impulse, and travel through many other dimensions). The powerful discharge invigorated the zorg, overflowing with energy, and the surface of his flesh shone like polished boots.
  The senior senator, throwing colorful rosaries from his two index fingers, began to catch the wondrous gifts. Squeaks and shrill cries could be heard. Only Sylph froze in place, her flying machine hovering like a UFO, and the animal, being polymorphic, changed shape, looking like a WWII-era tankette. She then squeaked, "A great war is brewing! I see whirlwinds of furious attacks once again over the universe!" Konoradson, motioning to her that everything would be fine, said seriously and judiciously:
  "This is clearly the aftermath of a conspiracy against the Purple Crown! Or perhaps they're plotting a joint universal war? It's quite possible, even against our race! There are many possibilities, and we must inform the Supreme Political Council. And while the transtemporal field isn't vulnerable to their weapons, we must be wary of these androgynous beings inventing some fundamentally new weapon. We must be vigilant and, ideally, have a couple of combat starships for backup. Send a request to the Commonwealth of Free Galaxies. In the meantime, let's continue on to Earth. The stars here are mostly X-ray and gamma-emitting, so it's best to quickly enter the densely populated areas of the megagalaxy. Or, better yet, the galaxy where our destination is located. We must hurry before an intergalactic war breaks out!"
  "Yes, Your Highness!" the rest of the Zorgs shouted in unison.
  A flash, invisible to the eye but with a colossal release of energy, and the starship instantly moved through space.
  Chapter 19
  Alien planet... Alien land...
  And what, man, have you forgotten in this world?
  It's not so easy to get out of this hell.
  Sweep out the trash as if you were in an apartment!
  But if you are given intelligence and drive,
  You won't be afraid of monsters,
  Take the plasma-slaying axe in your hands,
  To boldly settle accounts with the enemy!
  Something flashed in his head, like tiny explosions of light. A great weight pressed on his chest, as if his body were in great depth. Lev stirred, then, suddenly summoning all his strength, jumped up and opened his eyes. This was precisely what he shouldn't have done...
  He was buried under a thick layer of sand and the remains of the starship. Flames flashed in his eyes, and Eraskander blacked out again...
  The young man regained consciousness a couple of hours later. With great difficulty, he managed to escape from the rubble.
  - What a pulsation!
  The boy couldn't resist expressing his human surprise in the usual Stelzan fashion. The landscape truly resembled the delirium of a schizophrenic.
  The jungle surface was made up of rectangular shapes of shifting sand, the vegetation reddish-purple, the sun enormously green, and the sky, conversely, yellow. The atmosphere was clearly oxygen-helium. It was extremely hot. Despite its colossal size, the light was no brighter than Earth's moon ( Eraskander had seen it in the underground cinema and a couple of times during maintenance on the light reflectors).
  Their starship crashed into a fairly high mountain. It might have offered a decent view, though the trees were so enormous that even baobabs looked like dwarfs. Strange, the planet was perfectly habitable, so where were the humanoids or their cities? Everywhere was a desolate, wild landscape with trees over a kilometer tall, shifting sand dunes, and crystal-like plants. The treetops were dense, covered with vines, enormous flowers, and mirror-like leaves, perfect for launching fighters. One of the colossal plants flashed colorfully, stirring a multilayered octagonal flower, its leaves swirling with a multi-colored rainbow. And this was very strange! Absolute silence, a heavy, ominous hush. Not a bird, not an animal, not an insect.
  Eraskander shook himself:
  - The one who has seven Fridays in a week is most susceptible to the influence of the environment!
  Enough philosophy, it's time to act! The most important thing now is to find a weapon, as his battlesuit literally fell apart from the impact, although that's probably what saved his life. The starship partially survived; there must be weapons and, perhaps, living comrades. Those on board couldn't have strayed very far from the galactic capital's planetary system, so sending a signal or a gravity signal wouldn't be difficult. If the starship's course was triangulated, military experts would easily determine that it was a hostile privateer ship, and then the fugitive boy's life would end in terrible agony. True, he was wearing a slave collar, but a story about a forced abduction could be fabricated... But will they believe it, or even want to waste time investigating the fate of a worthless human slave? And he knows about the conspiracy, which is significant, but what good will it do? They'll squeeze the truth out of him and then eliminate him. Who needs an extra witness, especially a human one? The situation was very complicated, as they say: you can't figure it out without a bottle. A significant portion of the starship is still smoking, and the wisps somehow evoke associations with Aladdin's lamp.
  "If only I could find a magic genie!" said Eraskander. "Otherwise I'll have to remember my friend's story: Robinson Crusoe. Only the island is as big as the emperor's ambitions and as hot as Venus's lips."
  Lev resolutely entered the damaged section of the ship. Everything was destroyed and melted. Molten metal, plastic, a terrible stench, and corpses swarming everywhere, charred like cigarette butts. The metal floor was still very hot, burning the bare, hairless feet of the slave boy, his clear skin and toes as smooth as a child's, yet strong, with their beautifully slit wire-tendons. He had to jump to retrieve the scattered weapons. Yes, he needed to find ammunition. Because of their importance, the transmitters were equipped with special stabilizers and had a reinforced protective coating, so there was a chance that this crucial combat-critical equipment had survived.
  Eraskander had studied the instructions well at the time, so he easily unfolded the box with buttons and began to enter the code.
  Here a voice in a mixture of cosmolinga and the language of the Stelzans snarled a threat:
  - Raise your limbs, you bastard!
  The round-bodied man in the spacesuit, the very leader of the mercenary pack, pointed four ray gun-equipped arms at Lev, and with another he held onto the bulkhead. The sixth arm was broken, hanging limply like a whip. The spacesuit, apparently, had carefully frozen it.
  - Drop your weapon, you Stelzan-era runt! Now turn around and move away from the transmitter.
  The young man stepped away, carefully stepping on the hot sand, glancing sideways at the spider, whose eyes, surprisingly large and wide, were positioned on its sides. Likely, it, like an insect, saw in multi-layered images. This wasn't a synch, but it was also a vile creature, most likely a "fluoric." Synchs are much slimmer and breathe an oxygen-helium atmosphere; in a nitrogen environment, without assistance, they die of decompression sickness. These types, however, live and metabolize on fluorine. They are solitary and hostile. Fluorine is an extremely rare and aggressive element, so such creatures are forced to wear durable spacesuits on the vast majority of planets.
  The spider typed something, then began to squeak shrilly and at the same time creaky in its own language.
  Eraskander decided it would be best to disable it. He kicked a shard of shrapnel, ignoring the intense burning sensation of the hot metal. He launched it at his head, then hurled two flat chakra daggers, which stuck to his sweat-soaked hands (the fluoride didn't notice them). The enemy reacted like a movie cowboy, but the boy quickly leaped to the side and avoided the beams. The enemy partially parried the attack, but the sharp chakra struck the suit's weld, damaging the surface. Beams from the enhanced blasters vaporized the bulkhead, punching giant holes in the plating. Lev somersaulted and launched a heavy piece of metal from the floor, snagging one of the beam guns in the process. Firing on the move, the young Terminator managed to destroy all five healthy limbs and even, just in case, a broken sixth paw. The enemy still managed to lightly burn his skin. When damaged, the suit must have automatically cut off the damaged limbs, obeying the rescue program, ensuring a seal. Fluorine, leaking from the holes, literally smoked in the atmosphere, reacting exothermically with oxygen. There's plenty of it here, and the pressure is twice that of Earth.
  Leo shouted menacingly, trying to imitate the shouts of the Purple Constellation officers.
  - And don"t even think about moving, arthropod, or your head will fly apart!
  The spider in the spacesuit bulged its eyes.
  "I just called my friends on the dirfocode. Don't you dare touch me, or they'll disintegrate you."
  Lev was slightly taken aback. The idea seemed sound, but it was doubtful he'd managed to convey the precise coordinates of the sector and the planet in such a short message. And even if he'd caught up with the tail of the swift time-comet, after such a battle, his accomplices would hardly be inclined to search for that planet.
  "Do you even know where we are?" Lev frowned menacingly and flexed his right arm's bulging bicep.
  "They know, they'll locate you and find you. And they'll test experimental torture devices on you," the fluoride creature sneered.
  - Yeah, like hell they need you! - The young man twirled his fingers at his temple. - Ballast on the bottom, the captain doesn't care!
  The arthropod creature distorted its face into a grimace:
  - In vain, there is something interesting for all of us on this starship, and the sinhi know it.
  "What do you have?" Lev asked, simultaneously looking around the room, reasonably assuming that the wild vultures of space would have something to eat.
  "Stupid Stelzan, you're still so young!" The condescension in the "fluoric"'s tone sounded clearly false.
  The young man automatically rose up on his toes and straightened his now rather broad, athletic shoulders. He croaked in an artificial bass voice:
  "I'm big enough to kill you! You'll lose your life! And limbs are nothing, they can be regenerated or cloned.
  The alien began to be cunning:
  "If you kill me, you won't know anything at all. But if you behave well, the boy's physical existence is guaranteed."
  - It is not for you, insect, to dictate terms to me!
  Now seriously enraged, Lev leaped angrily at his opponent, intending to smash his aspen-like face. He shouldn't have done that. Hidden in the arachnid's belly was a surprise-an electronic filament with a paralyzing discharge, firing without the use of limbs. Flying out at near-light speed, the cybernetic cobra pierced the young man.
  - You are defeated, pathetic primate! Now you are mine!
  His muscles spasmed violently, but the life-hardened boy remained conscious. The shock's effect was similar to that of the ancient poison curare.
  The spider managed to switch the transmitter to sound control with its head, gaining the ability to give commands with its voice.
  - Now they will take you apart, torture you brutally, and you yourself will beg for a quick death!
  The spider froze and pressed himself against the partition. He, too, was in great distress and fell into a half-sleep.
  ***
  Time passed... Memories flashed before Eraskander's mind. There he was, a newcomer miraculously escaped from the underground mines, conducting his first sparring match. The sensei, whose real name was a secret, but whom they called Yoda, after one of their favorite underground guerrilla films. The guru smiled, his teeth healthy, large, white, and his eyes were never visible. In any case, Eraskander never once saw the upper part of this wizard's face. And the sensei wasn't nearly as kind as some believed, testing the runaway slave boy's mettle before accepting him into the circle of select adepts. Lev was deeply nervous; his first opponent was much older and twice his size, and this adept had undergone excellent, uncompromising martial arts training. There he is, bald-headed, narrow-eyed, with enviable muscles beneath his black skin, and a red and white belt that forms the entire attire of a novice monk. Eraskander always easily defeated his peers and never backed down from the older boys. The younger fighters, wearing only white belts, stare at them, making bets. A rumor has spread among them that Lev has defeated a Stelzan, and therefore, despite his small stature and age, Star Boy is the favorite.
  But the naked man, who had been through hell, did not expect such speed from a person, and immediately missed a swift and powerful blow to the chin, his teeth chattered, but consciousness did not turn off, on the contrary, Lev reflexively kicked out, catching the knee.
  Although the opponent wasn't a professional at supporting gravity on his forelimb, he felt the stinging response as he staggered. The slave boy was filled with rage and lunged at his opponent. He tried to catch the amateur, but Lev, ignoring the pain in his cheekbone, slammed his shin into the young novice's liver. He groaned, blood clots flying from his mouth, fell, and the finishing blow followed, to the head. His jaw burst, like millet from a torn sack, shattered teeth spilling out. The other novices gasped, one of the strongest fighters among the students defeated, a boy too young to be called a teenager. The horn sounded-the end of the fight. But Eraskander was on edge; he would have continued to deliver a series of blows until his opponent's skeleton crumbled into bloody flour. An invisible hand threw him back, and Sensei's voice resounded: A rare case of "Yoda" is emotional:
  "That's enough, Lion Cub. You know how to fight and control your body, but learn to master your emotions too! Don't make anger your ally, don't draw strength from hatred. For God is love! Evil is more aggressive, but incomparably weaker than good!"
  Leo didn't believe it:
  - And why not! Doesn't the Stelzans' dictate indicate the opposite?
  Sensei answered logically:
  fact that the universe is literally teeming with intelligent life testifies to the power of creation . This means the life-giving principle dominates all universes!
  A searing pain appeared throughout his body-torment, of course, but it indicated the gradual weakening of the paralysis. What should he do now? The boy tried to recall the words of the great guru. Yes, the guru and sensei possessed magical powers, able to mentally move objects, influencing matter. This skill would have been useful to him, but no one had taught him the techniques of higher spiritual power, citing his young age. Or perhaps from the very beginning, Lev had seemed too aggressive to him, mastering the most complex martial arts techniques with perfection, but not particularly diligent, despite all his abilities in understanding philosophy-enlightenment!
  Meanwhile, the spider came to life. He entered the code over and over again, sending gravitic waves into the ether.
  An unexpected howl and pounding interrupted the spider's actions. The sounds were loud and strange: a thumping, a howling, the grinding of enormous bones on metal. The temperature began to rise, and the grinding intensified. The spider began to screech desperately. At that moment, one of the bloodied pirates managed to come to his senses and rise. Apparently, this was a species with enhanced vitality and phenomenal regeneration. The spider gave a command.
  - Keep your sights on the primate!
  Then he rushed towards the exit and jumped back up again.
  - Looks like we're done for! Put him out of his misery! No, wait...
  Hairy like a grizzly bear, with the head of a crocodile, the star corsair took out a huge cleaver and, taking a stance, raised the knife over Eraskander.
  - First cut off the hands, and then the organ that the stupid Stealth warriors value most!
  Whatever mechanism was at work here was unknown, but the young man felt an unprecedented sensation. He felt as if he could wield the deadly weapon not with his hands, but with his entire body. The pirate was at a loss, as the enormous cleaver, forged from archicalest (a material eighteen times harder than diamond), froze in midair, as if frozen in liquid metal. In desperation, the mercenary grabbed the knife with both hands and pressed down on the hilt with all his might. Lev felt the pirate's fury and, at the same time, his own strength. Sharply changing the angle of his attack, he let the enemy's blade pass forward, making a feint, and the blade slashed through the enemy. Splitting into two halves, the hideous monster collapsed to the floor. Eraskander felt a tremendous lift.
  "It worked!"
  Leo realized that he could possess phenomenal spiritual power.
  The paralysis disappeared, and he easily cut down his opponent, and the ray gun, under the influence of just one thought, appeared in his hands.
  The fluorine-breathing insect squealed:
  - Don't shoot! You have nowhere to go, primate! My friends will be here soon! Damn Stelzan!
  A blaster beam cut off his screams, slicing through the spider's skull. The air in the room began to smoke, turning into suffocating fluorine oxide. Lev hurried to jump out of the compartment, which had become a gas chamber.
  Strange howling sounds were heard from outside.
  The street was in chaos, like a demonic invasion from the underworld. Gigantic creatures, resembling tyrannosaurs, swarmed around. But these were hundreds of meters tall, far removed from earthly reptiles. Insects with snouts like excavator buckets and spotted, multicolored snakes half a kilometer long with fiery breath swarmed frantically. Giant butterflies, clearly not chitinous, fluttered through the air. Fortunately, these monsters clearly had no time for the mangled metal fragment. The butterflies' wings shimmered and glittered blindingly in the sun. The sun had grown much brighter, its rays searing the young man's bare, dark-bronze skin. Lev, despite the stinging in his eyes, still managed to notice that there were now two suns. Perhaps this explained the dramatic change in the surroundings. The new star was three times larger in diameter than Earth's sun and erupted with a terrifyingly intense emerald light. The air temperature soared well over a hundred degrees, and beads of sweat hissed ominously as they hit the ground. These creatures were likely crawling out of their caves with the appearance of the second star.
  Eraskander witnessed a sight unseen by humans. Colossal creatures were emerging directly from the ground, surfacing, raising a wave of green-purple sand, tearing apart the soil. Perhaps this is how the sun shines on Mercury. Perhaps this luminary is about to become even brighter. Fortunately, the green light softens the assault on the senses of vision. Lev was at a loss: in this situation, he felt trapped. His only hope lay in the "saviors," who could easily become executioners.
  The temperature continued to rise, causing suffering...
  A sturdy boy, drenched in sweat, ran back into the room. The choking smoke of fluorine oxide continued to billow. A punctured corpse lay on the floor. It would be best to dispose of it, blaming it on the creatures outside.
  Eraskander quickly buried the corpse in the sand, but at that moment one of the strange monsters spotted him. A fountain of flame erupted from its gigantic, cavernous mouth. With a leap quite impressive for the gravity, Lev emerged from the fiery wall. Then he turned and performed a triple somersault, escaping the stream of fire the monster launched in pursuit. The fire burned fiercely, melting the sand. Turning, the young man fired his ray gun at the enemy, right in its snarling muzzle. The laser beam partially sliced open its predatory maw. The beast leaped, racing upward. Even though the ray gun was slicing at its opponent's maximum power, the beast's severed flesh immediately knitted back together, as if made of magnetized liquid metal.
  The air temperature had already reached two hundred degrees, and the monsters were becoming more active. Lev leaped inside the starship in search of a more powerful and effective weapon. The boy's bare feet danced on a frying pan so hot it looked as if a volcano were erupting beneath it. His calloused, sweaty hands grasped a gravity gun with a plasma charge. It was a bulky weapon, but its lethal force was colossal; the plasma charges exploded like a bomb. A red, homing spot was visible through the sight. A shot-the plasma struck precisely on the snarling muzzle, followed by a powerful explosion, a blinding flash, like a small hydrogen bomb. The beast was disintegrated into quarks. In his excitement, the young man began firing at other colossal monsters. Why? It was simply too hot, and his brain couldn't suppress its aggression. Gigantic monsters flared and exploded, their remains falling to the planet's surface, dissolving into globs of mercury. Graviplasma weapons fired like machine guns. Most of the monsters fell beneath the discharges.
  But then something unreasonable started to happen...
  Right before our eyes, the tiny balls began to crumble into pieces, forming once again colossal monsters, identical to their previous forms, only even more terrifying. The giant butterflies soared into the atmosphere again, their wings creating a wave of heat. However stupid or strange these creatures might be, they had figured out where the gunfire was coming from and rushed to storm the crippled hull. The gravioplasma rifle's charges held off the monsters for a while, but everything has its limits. And the discharges were running low.
  The raging creatures surrounded the fighter from all sides.
  All around were furious grins, wild screeches, and mad howls, including those in the ear-piercing ultra-range. The most terrifying thing was the torrents of belching fire that flooded the entire space. They had to hide in the ship's hull again. It's a wonder the guy wasn't burned alive. But apparently, that day, his strength had acquired inhuman resilience. The creatures also possessed phenomenal strength. They tore through the starship's super-strong hull, its armored plating, like it was a cardboard box.
  The air temperature had already surpassed three hundred degrees. His flesh began to char, and his consciousness began to perceive everything in a flickering, screen-like form. Bared jaws... An atmosphere oversaturated with oxygen... A normal person would have died from all this long ago. Lev was simply lucky that his suddenly discovered abilities were maintaining life and consciousness in his exhausted body. The young man felt uneasy. Seeing the red-hot, flame-spewing jaws, thoughts of death flashed through his mind-mysterious and unusually vivid.
  "I don't want to die! Only by staying alive can I help humanity!" Eraskander screamed and choked on a searing blast of air. Blisters formed on his tongue, and a spasm gripped his lungs.
  Death... What lies beyond? He first thought of it when he was being tormented in the basement of the Ministry of Love and Truth, but he was too young then. The Stelzan religion teaches that after death, an individual born as a warrior of the Purple Constellation is transported and reborn in another universe. There, he continues to fight and serve the empire, his personality and memory preserved, while other types become slaves of the empire after death. The young man couldn't remember exactly, and he wasn't all that familiar with their culture. And where would he be, after all, he was human? A slave, presumably, meaning always under the yoke.
  But it's childish folly to rely on the Stelzans for everything! Perhaps people, especially Christians, are right...
  The last barriers crumble, the heat, like a predatory beast, devours the flesh. This is hell, where every part of the body burns and suffers. And yet, the wise teaching and the word of faith of earthlings, though devoid of even the slightest bit of appeal, remain.
  Out of the corner of his eye, Lev saw the sky darken, and white and blue balls rain down from the air, exploding and popping as they fell. Bells began ringing in his head... Then a red-hot iron pierced his body, plunging the space into a pitch-black darkness of radiantly blinding flame...
  Chapter 20
  A vile, cruel punisher
  Zealously serves the empire!
  Well, in fact, the traitor is -
  Low and pathetic servant!
  Elsewhere in the vastness of space, on distant Earth, final preparations were being made for the inspector's visit. Rumor had it that only a few days remained before the starship's arrival. The workforce and the colonial apparatus were shaking like a terminally ill person with a fever.
  ***
  The following arrived on the planet (and this caused a sensation): the State Advisor of the Nineteenth Class, the Sector Curator, the Deputy Hypergovernor, and the Galactic Hypergovernor of the Twentieth Class. These advisors were higher in rank than Fagiram Sham. Therefore, they were greeted as distinguished guests, as if rehearsing the visit of a Senior Senator from an incomprehensibly ancient, though perhaps stagnant, civilization.
  It seemed as if the entire planet had been washed with a supercleaner. Everything literally sparkled and glittered in the eternally shining sun. At night, the Earth was illuminated by mirrors of thin, reflective hibernating glass. It seemed as if the sun never set. Many people had forgotten what the starry sky looked like. The roads were resurfaced with a super-strong varnish, and the landscape was even touched up with luminescent paint, the trees leveled and varnished. Even the country roads were lined with flowerbeds, and fountains beside them. Everything was gigantic in size, with wondrous shapes and colors. The Stelzans, like butterflies, loved everything bright and large. Enormous flowers looked beautiful alongside assemblages of sculptures. They sparkled like emeralds, blushed like rubies, blue sapphires, and shone brighter than the purest gold.
  The sycophantic servants of the super-empire have gone overboard, sleekly decorating and beautifying the planet to the point of implausibility.
  The airfield where the distinguished guest was to land was carpeted with so many luxurious rugs that long legs sank knee-deep, and the fabric and patterns were beyond description. According to etiquette, only the hyper-governor himself and officials of a higher rank deserved such a privilege. Fagiram's efforts were not in vain. Among other things, this allowed him to write off the multi-billion-dollar stolen sums.
  Ultramarshal Eroros, overseeing the restoration work, initially objected. But hints of a lack of zeal and financial mismanagement dampened his enthusiasm. He, too, had a colossal income from the underground trade in human skin, bones, and other body parts. The synkhs paid particularly large sums, perhaps because human skin is so similar to that of the Stelzans. He could lie to the female about having taken her from the most ferocious species in the universe.
  Directives were issued from both the War and Victory and Love and Justice departments, strengthening the governor's authority and expanding his powers, further confusing the situation.
  Formally, Ultramarshal Eroros reported to the Department of Throne Protection, despite Earth being terrifyingly far from the metropolis. This led to legal conflicts and duplication of functions.
  But consensus on the need for a celebratory parade to mark the arrival of the distinguished guests was reached fairly quickly, though not without some squabbling. Fagiram boastfully declared:
  - We have something to impress our distinguished guests with! The parade will be worthy...
  The trio did indeed appear on a massive starship, terrifying in shape, like a double killer whale with dagger-like heads. However, at the last minute, it turned out that the hypergovernor and his charming deputy had postponed their visit due to urgent matters in another part of the galaxy. However, the advisor was accompanied by his two secretaries. Tall females in purple leather suits richly adorned with silver and ruby spikes in a terrifying pattern...
  Together with the advisor, they thundered through the air, moving along an invisible ramp. The advisor himself was athletically built, but unlike the other Stelzans, he was very massive. His muscles were hypertrophied, like a caricature from a bodybuilding magazine. The nobleman's spacesuit was transparent down to the waist, apparently wanting to impress the natives with a display of muscle.
  A parade passed along a special airstrip. First up were the single-seat fighters of the strike fleet. The most common model resembled a predatory, translucent stingray with thin, projecting muzzles. Next came a design resembling a hawk with swept wings. Behind them came two- and three-seat aircraft, also similar in design, but larger.
  But the tanks hovering above the surface looked even more exotic. They resembled similar Earth-based vehicles from the early twenty-first century, only even more flattened, with shark-fin-like fins on their sides. Naturally, they were flying, as all of Stelzanat's combat designs were adapted for combat operations on various planes.
  in size and design, however . Their armaments also varied, including the latest assault hyperlaser cannons.
  The technology flowed through the air like several very long boa constrictors. Large machines hovered in a separate column, trying to match their type, while smaller ones circled around them, so that it even seemed as if man-made, mechanical vines were twining around the thicker, but also moving, trunks.
  The gravity bikes also had a distinctive appearance. The Stelzans performed aerobatic maneuvers on them, sometimes moving backwards, demonstrating polygonal trajectories or even more complex figures as they flew. Soon, other vehicles joined this "dance." In particular, the assault boats resembled excavator buckets curved like a gull's wing, but instead of teeth, the barrels of various weapons carried the annihilation of the earth. These deadly craft were painted to resemble terrestrial camouflage and automatically changed their coloring, further enhancing the impression on the natives. Despite their outward clumsiness, these powerful machines performed "accordion" and "fan" maneuvers in flight, and then their movements became completely unpredictable and swift, like balls being tossed by virtuoso jugglers.
  There were also enormous walking robots... Due to their low combat effectiveness, they were used by the army of the Great Stelzanate, but they were displayed as trophy weapons, captured from other civilizations broken by the Purple Constellation.
  The cybernetic monsters, up to a mile tall, are impressive, seemingly even touching the fluffy cumulus clouds. The walking robot looks like a typical tick with launchers, its claws shaking the ground. Pebbles bounce... The trees shake like bristles in a brush, and the flowers on the branches jingle like heavy, bronze bells...
  And here are the flying discs, also richly classified, and they move in various ways, sometimes tumbling sideways, sometimes spinning like a top in the air. Miniature missile launchers also hover in the air... They look like fish-shaped trays, and missile needles constantly pop out of their backs and then disappear.
  Against this backdrop, the marching native infantrymen look almost pitiful. True, they've been given smart uniforms, and their patent leather boots sparkle in the sun. The soldiers are strong, slender, and young. In front are the drummers and trumpeters, still mere boys. They're wearing shorts, knee-high socks embroidered with animal prints, and factory-fresh sandals, also of shiny, glossy leather. Their shirts are white as flax, but across them is the seven-colored stripe of the Purple Constellation flag.
  The boys are very proud of their attire, especially their peaked caps and headdresses covering their sun-bleached hair. They now dress like gentlemen, and the other native boys-the bare-bellied urchins-are deeply envious. Although, unaccustomed to it, they feel less comfortable in their best clothes than they did naked and barefoot, jumping with their hardened soles on hot, prickly stones or the soft, tickling heels of the genetically modified grass.
  The female police are even more dressed up, as if they were native girls going to a ball. Most of them have chosen to lighten their skin, to a light bronze, making their style even more appealing. Especially since black skin doesn't complement Slavic or Aryan features, with blue or emerald eyes, and predominantly snow-white or golden hair.
  The girls from the native troops were issued wonderful high-heeled shoes, but marching became a real pain. So the shoes were slightly modified, the heel changing size, making the stride easier, and the fabric that touched the skin was soft, maintaining a comfortable temperature balance.
  The Stelzan infantry, of course, flew; their uniforms, up to a certain level, allowed them to withstand various damaging effects. Even a direct hit from a Tomahawk cruise missile could, at best, only slightly shake such a lightweight occupation fighter.
  The most interesting participants in the parade were the cavalrymen. Not on horseback, of course: centipedes, like a hybrid of a caterpillar and a camel. They're incredibly fast, they could outrun a race car. The riders carried flags and weapons, including bladed weapons.
  But there are also troops on horseback... These steeds are very beautiful, also genetically enhanced, and the riders on them are adorned with ribbons and flowers. Their costumes resemble those of ancient Russian princesses on a hunt, and some of the girls even wear fur coats made of luxurious fur. Even their faces are sweaty, but the Amazons don't complain, even though the temperature is like the equator at midday, and they are dressed in such attire that even for Siberia in the distant twentieth century, in the depths of winter, it would be warm enough.
   Large trained bears, painted in every color of the rainbow, march in formation on two legs, almost in step. They play various musical instruments: balalaikas, double basses, drums, cellos, and even violins. And quite gracefully, at that. Boys and girls from the servants scurry about, their bouncy sneakers flashing, tossing them treats and serving them drinks. The bears especially greedily sip vodka, prepared according to ancient Russian recipes. The children's sneakers are not ordinary; they neutralize much of the force of gravity, allowing them to leap high and even hover in the air for a few seconds.
  They also feature various acts and other animals, both from traditional Earth fauna and from other exotic worlds. For example, consider the animal with tiled armor that flies using controlled gravity and ornately decorated wings that merely adjust its flight...
  The parade was dignified and State Councillor Plut Kidala was, with obvious reluctance, nevertheless forced to approve:
  - There's something to see! This isn't the most vacuum-free hole in the universe...
  ***
  The meeting hall was packed. Numerous officials from across the galaxy had gathered there. They wore richly decorated uniforms, and ray guns of various designs shook in their hands. Healthy, massive, with muscles ready to tear their uniforms, the males and females, with the fierce glares of scorpions in human form, cried out in approval and clapped their hands in a very human manner.
  The State Counselor was delivering a speech. He spoke with pathos, sometimes puffing up his chest, sometimes slightly deflating it:
  "We have a responsibility to the state. Frankly, we couldn't care less about that monster, Dez Conoradson. The main thing is that not a single secret should escape this planet. Do you understand what I mean? There are complaints about the local authorities. On all, and I emphasize, on all planets, the leaders of the insurgent rebels are known and eliminated, or have long been operating under the surveillance of the secret services. But here, the main terrorist leader, Gornostaev, and the Prince- Star ( whose identity hasn't even been established!) have still not been found. This is a disgrace for the entire galaxy! The entire planet knows the leader, but the Security Service knows nothing about him. And this despite the reinforced local garrison, whose weapons we just saw, with a powerful spy network, a colossal army of cover. Our satellites alone, from deep orbit, are capable of simultaneously monitoring the entire planet, seeing the smallest detail, down to the smallest microbe."
  The Stelzans listened in silence, some of their eyes darting nervously, afraid to catch their gaze on the tall podium, adorned with statues of graceful yet terrifying, unearthly beasts. The advisor, despite all the pathos, spoke in a calm tone, but suddenly exploded with a bear-like roar:
  - Shame! I won't tolerate this! I give you three days to find and capture this villain, this microbe leader! I personally place a bounty on his head! If you fail, I'll destroy them all, annihilate them, and turn them into preons!
  The thug slammed his paw into the podium with all his might. A glass of vinhodar, carved from a single emerald, bounced and, falling on its side, spilled onto the uniform of a nineteenth-grade dignitary.
  "What a stunt!" Eroros muttered discontentedly. "Responsibilities of such caliber don't usually act like that! The restraint of the strong is the best way to curb the enemy's impotent rage!"
  Advisor Kidala continued to strain himself:
  "Primates with feces in their heads, you think it's not a disgrace when the central palace in the very heart of the colonial capital explodes? Not one of these monkeys should go anywhere near the residence. Where are the security scanners that detect the presence of miniquark charges, the protective fields that illuminate all the natives working in highly guarded or simply important facilities? You'll be subjected to hyperplasmic annihilation in the metal jellyfish for such negligence, and the death of the highest race in the universe!"
  Eros himself was ashamed. Yes, the technical capabilities of such a colossal empire allowed them to simultaneously illuminate the bodies of workers over a vast area, more powerful than any X-ray, eliminating the possibility of even carrying a poppy seed inside a tooth to the palace. But... Fagiram had sold most of the scarce hyperscanner parts on the black market, and as a result, they saw almost nothing. The governor haughtily declared that a basic scan would be sufficient; these savages were too primitive for high-tech subversive devices anyway. But it turned out not to be so trivial; the saboteurs had smuggled the thermal detonator in their stomachs... Also a cutting-edge development for terrorists, where a polymorphic object easily slips inside a saboteur and is just as quickly removed... A modern device, it's unlikely that the partisans themselves could have made it, like the mini-thermoquark charge. This means that either the black market - the mafia is immortal, or even the Sinhi and their ilk tried to supply the earthlings in order to weaken their main competitor.
  A piercing ringing sound, like the screech of a mother-in-law scalded in boiling water, was heard...
  - What else? - the advisor barked wildly.
  "Important message from the hyperultramarshal," the fifteen-gun-armed security robot announced in a low voice.
   The secretary shook her fist aggressively at the audience and loudly exclaimed:
  - Don't flatter yourself, you can't avoid organizational conclusions!
  "I'll give you an answer now!" Kidala said, crushing the emerald cup in his broad paw. "But you're in for a pulsar wash!"
  The tall, somewhat plump man turned and began screaming something hysterically into a translucent device held out by the robot. The Stelzan official growled and howled. It sounded like a pig's squeal. Then he looked triumphantly at those around him, his expression one of wild joy.
  "That mercury slug Dez isn't coming to us, or rather, he's been detained. He'll be sitting there for a long time while the investigation goes on. Ha-ha-ha!"
  He raised his arms, thick as two logs, and crossed them. It was the sign of victory in the Purple constellation.
  "Now the planet can be vaporized, destroyed, and burned. The limiter has been broken and anything is permitted!"
  Eroros couldn't resist:
  "This is our planet, and it is protected by the Emperor's personal order. But when it comes to extraordinary measures, I am the master. And only the Emperor himself can give the order to destroy Earth!"
  "Arrest Ultramarshal Erros! Arrest this private convict, without delay !" Thieves furiously drummed his heels on the floor.
  The Ultramarshal grabbed his Ultrablaster. Governor Fagiram nodded casually to the guards, as if to reassure them, and then said in an ingratiating tone:
  "They can arrest him, but only the head of the Throne Guard Department has the power to demote an Ultramarshal. And the planet really can't be destroyed without the Emperor's sanction. We all know the Emperor doesn't like it when his instructions are violated."
  One might have thought that the governor of a local planet had more authority than the galactic hypergovernor, but the furious screeching stopped.
  - Apparently, I was a bit hasty. We won't destroy the planet for now. And this Eros is under arrest!
  "Your Excellency, this is all a trifle! Other guests await us, if you would be so kind as to receive them," Fagiram cackled with a mocking grin.
  It seemed that this beast was about to explode, but he also mechanically, as if in a strange voice, answered:
  - I will receive them! The meeting is declared closed!
  The advisor turned around and, stomping his boots exaggeratedly loudly on the marble-coral surface, proudly sticking out his chest, walked towards the exit.
  - His boots are shod with hypergold (a metal twenty-five thousand times more valuable than pure gold!), I bet!
  Ultramarshal Urlik Eroros mentally spat in the dignitary's back.
  "I'll report to the central authorities that such unbalanced types are a disgrace to the government. This high-ranking asshole is probably a drug addict."
  This is what the Purple Constellation warrior said to himself.
  When the advisor left, the anthem of the Empire of the great Stelzanat began to play.
  At the exit, the Vice Hypergovernor was met by columns of soldiers and combat robots. Laser guns and plasma beam throwers glittered in the sun. With unusual agility for his two hundred and fifty kilogram frame, the advisor hopped into an armored, enclosed flaneur and flew to his starship. Both secretaries opted to use gravity bikes. The enormous spaceship departed, without further tears, for an unknown destination. Eroros said:
  - You can screw up everything in life, but you can"t live like a rotten person!
  It seemed like he could relax, but a few hours later, the Ultramarshal received a message. It was a high-level alert.
  A massive flotilla of unknown combat starships has been detected emerging from intergalactic space from the outer sector. They even include flagship hyperbattleships. An automatic alert has been issued throughout the sector. The enemy is moving toward our planet. They have overwhelming superiority. If they don't slow down, a collision will occur in two and a half hours.
  "Where are the forces of the outer sector of the galaxy's security?" Orlik Eroros asked sullenly, sensing a forgery.
  A few seconds later a squeaky response followed:
  "They constantly claim their forces can't see anything. In fact, all military starships have been removed from this spiral region of the galaxy."
  "What about the neighboring planets? Have their garrisons been notified?" The Ultramarshal felt as if his insides were collapsing into gravitational collapse.
  Then the familiar female voice of General Sima answered, the girl fired off a rapid-fire burst of words:
  "They don't have strong enough cover. And we have new information, even more alarming information. The number of starships already reaches many hundreds of thousands, and the diverse tonnage and design clearly point to their extragalactic origin. There are even battleships almost as large in diameter as our familiar Moon, with flimsy sides. And some models are terribly ornate; even gravity radars transmit only jagged beams of glowing lines."
  Eroros whistled uncontrollably:
  "It looks like the starships of the Sinkhs and thousands of other stellar civilizations. This is very serious! Could this really be a new intergalactic war?"
  Another girl general spoke out:
  - This is absolutely impossible without a whole brood of rodents at the top of the military, because our galaxy is still far from borderline.
  The Ultramarshal barked desperately:
  "This is blatant treason! Did you mean Fay Skoraya? Those woodlice couldn't have gotten such a large force through without betrayal and bribery!"
  The female generals confirmed in chorus:
  "Treason against Stelzanat! We must immediately send an urgent encrypted message to the Department of Throne Protection. We have been brazenly betrayed by traitors in the very heart of the empire."
  Orlik quickly typed into the keyboard, code flashed on the cyborg screen, and then-stop! The wide monitor suddenly went dark...
  - The outer hypercommunication satellite was destroyed by salvoes from the planet trans-Pluto.
  The computer reported dispassionately.
  - Introduce a backup system!
  "The system has been removed from the outer sector's control. It reports directly to Governor Fagiram Sham. Meanwhile, Fagiram Sham himself is calling you." The machine gun rattled.
  A three-dimensional projection of a bastardly, fat, coal-black face flashed.
  "Hello, my friend! I see you're in shock! Rub your eyes and shake yourself. Power now belongs to the strong. And you're as weak as a jellyfish thrown onto the burning desert sand. You're in deep trouble, but I'm kind and forgiving. Fagiram is prepared to spare your pitiful life if you and your starships lay down your arms and greet our guests peacefully. You'll swear allegiance to the new government and perhaps retain your position. Choose! Life or death..."
  The ultramarshal's mind raced. Service in the special forces had taught him composure and pragmatism.
  What to do in such a situation? Is it stupid to die without any purpose? Cunning is the mother of victory, if it's accompanied by a stroke of good fortune!
  "I'm ready to obey and carry out the orders of my superiors. Let the higher authorities formalize the order!" Erroros growled, realizing he couldn't just start waving his hands upwards.
  "Don't be illogical. Better give the order to surrender your weapons and salute the victors!" the Marshal-Governor declared, barely suppressing his laughter.
  "It's impossible to greet. The officers won't understand. At most, an honorable surrender. In view of..." The Ultramarshal glanced at the monitor and whistled. "There are millions of them here, even millions upon millions of combat starships of all kinds!"
  "Fine, let them capitulate and allow our guests to land on the planets. That'll suit us!" Fagiram yawned lazily.
  - Yes! I'll give the order! - Eroros hesitated for a second.
  "Photon molecule!" the Pithecanthropus governor shouted, as if at a sleepy slave boy.
  ***
  Having polished the greeting, Orlik turned and began typing out the order. In principle, it would have been possible to issue the command via gesture through the scanner, but the password and lock system changed so frequently that it was deemed more cost-effective to use the ancient method of transmitting information. Furthermore, the possibility of severe injury meant that the order would have to be given using different parts of the body, or by sound, or, even better, by telepathic impulse.
  - I knew you were a smart guy!
  An idiotic grin twisted Uncle Fag's inky face. By Stelzan standards, the governor was a real freak, and by human standards too-a gorilla would be more photogenic. And his little voice was worse than the hiss of a snake pit in a swamp.
  "I knew we'd understand each other. The squadrons will enter your sector now."
  "Better into the dragon's mouth!" muttered Eroros.
  ***
  Some time later, numerous groups of alien starships appeared in the solar system. The Purple Constellation squadron respectfully parted before the countless extragalactic armadas.
  And so, the "honored guests" of various colors descend to Earth. Since there are too many starships, the vast majority of them simply hover in space, lest they knock the planet out of orbit. A small portion of the universe's fauna descends on Earth on the lightest ships and landing capsules. Some monsters jump directly from orbit. Hypermonsters land in individual combat suits specially adapted for battle in outer space. There are a variety of creatures here: arthropods, jellyfish, reptiles, worm-like creatures, metallic, silicon, calcium, fluorine. Even radioactive species based on uranium, Plutonium, radium, and many other elements. The diversity of forms was astounding. True, the creatures made of radioactive elements were, so to speak, conditionally intelligent. However, all these living organisms were capable of fighting.
   And here are the flying discs, also richly classified, and they move in various ways, sometimes tumbling sideways, sometimes spinning like a top in the air. Miniature missile launchers also hover in the air... They look like fish-shaped trays, and missile needles constantly pop out of their backs and then disappear.
  They were met by numerous native police and aboriginal laborers herded into groups. Still, there weren't enough clothes for all the hundreds of millions, so the vast majority of the natives continued to go naked, often without loincloths, making the earthlings look like true savages.
  The aliens landed at various pre-selected points on Earth, so billions of people could see them. The spectacle was truly astounding, especially considering that many Earthlings had never even seen a Stelzan in person. Those who had been privileged to see other worlds could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Multicolored creatures, covered in feathers, scales, spikes, needles, hooks, blades, slime, shells, bare skin, armor, fiery plasma, and other strange abominations. Some of the aliens wore sealed spacesuits, while others were so heavily armed that they were invisible behind the piles of shooters of every conceivable design. Most of the people, especially children, expressed wild delight, laughing, and dancing. It's worth noting that there were actually more children and adolescents on Earth than adults. This is a consequence of the high birth rate and genetic viruses decimating the older generation. Older people are smarter than young people, but they work worse. Having such slaves is unsustainable. Using controlled biological weapons, the genotype of virtually the entire human race was altered in such a way that the enslaved population stopped aging, and even facial beards became a rare occurrence, an anomalous deviation (like, for example, six fingers or Siamese twins were before the occupation!). But people didn't live long lives, because the older you get, the more knowledge you gain with experience... And a smart slave is bad. Even the Romans said: stupidity is closer to obedience, agility to villainy!
  So, adults died between sixty and seventy years old, painlessly in their sleep. And this, of course, was luck. Some of the local servants might even be rewarded with an extension of their puny earthly existence. But there were technologies that made the natives' deaths extremely painful, thus punishing them for excessive rebellion and aiding the partisans!
  The alien creatures were chattering among themselves. Others were returning the greeting. A huge number of the native humans had been herded to the Central Spaceport, where they were to greet the "honored guests" in unison.
  Several aliens formed a separate group. Judging by their insignia, they were the leaders of this intergalactic rabble. They called to each other, chirping obscenely.
  Ultramarshal Eroros couldn't help but spat at how disgusting it all was.
  The State Councilor and his beauties appeared like a jack-in-the-box. As if the departure on the starship had been some elaborate performance, but in reality they had never left Earth.
  However, Orlik reasoned quite reasonably that it could have been the doubles who had abducted him, especially since the girls had somehow lingered behind and were catching up with the dignitary on grav-bikes, even though they were grazing with their boss. Another option was to take advantage of the disruption of planetary defenses and return on an invisible reconnaissance module. And there were many other ways to outwit him.
  Be that as it may, the nobleman and the marshal-governor came out to greet the dear guests.
  Luxurious, jewel-studded carpets had been laid out across the spaceport's surface, and their number had even increased. Hundreds of thousands of barefoot, dark-skinned children, holding colorful flags, lined up in squares. Raising one flag or another, they displayed greetings. This had undoubtedly been rehearsed in advance.
  In the Stelzan language one could read the following inscriptions: "Welcome to us!", "We belong to you!", "Rule over us, oh greatest one!", "Glory to the Emperor - the ruler of the entire Universe!"
  One of the galactic commanders was so enormous that he easily grabbed the advisor by the belt with his nine-fingered, suction-cupped limb, lifting him up in a peculiar greeting. The crushed advisor, screaming in an inhuman voice, began to kick.
  There was a movement among the bodyguards, all Stelzans, and ray guns flashed. Fagiram stopped the guards with a gesture.
  - Calm down, the situation is under control!
  A giant, twice the size of a large elephant, gently placed the dignitary in his place. He began to cackle and, stuttering with fear, squealed:
  "I greet you, my valiant allies and magnificent friends. Let us proceed to our throne room."
  There were grunts and croaks of approval. Then the procession of motley characters moved forward in the wake of the traitorous governor.
  Ultramarshal Eroros watched the tramping spectacle with barely concealed anger. The herd of pseudo-intelligent creatures stamped so furiously that they managed to tear the rug's durable semi-metallic fabric. And these parasites had to salute?
  ***
  The spare throne room (the old one had not yet been restored) was enormous.
  However, it was constantly being joined by new starship commanders. Quite a few of them resembled dinosaurs in size and features. Although there were also some the size of small cats, as well as numerous hybrid forms that couldn't be remotely compared to any terrestrial creatures.
  The hall was filling to capacity. Star warriors collided with each other, screaming and clawing. Some semblance of order was restored, with great difficulty.
  Fagiram was the first to speak. From the outside, it might have seemed as if he had suddenly become the leader of the Galaxy.
  The speech was generally confused and banal. The gist of it boiled down to the need to wage a holy war, ending with the destruction and overthrow of the hated Stelzan regime-a nation of space parasites, star ghouls with a death grip on the arteries of intelligent galactic life. The demagogic pronouncements provoked loud shouts, shrieks, and roars from the vast audience. Most of them didn't even understand what was being said, but they shouted and stomped along simply to keep up the good work.
  Then an insectoid representative of the Synkhs took the podium. Twitching its underdeveloped wings, the Synkh tried to squeal into the microphone, drowning out the din raised by its fellow sentients. Several monsters furiously rushed toward the podium, eager to speak first. Synkh soldiers tried to hold them back, but were trampled by the multi-ton bodies. An attempt to drag the "mosquito" from the podium was unsuccessful. Security activated a force field, repelling the mastodons. The bodies flew off at high speed, scattering and knocking down other quasi-sentient beings. A crush ensued, melee light blades flashed, and ray guns bristled. It seemed as if a massacre was about to begin.
  A thunderous voice, amplified by loudspeakers, cut through the cacophonous din. In several galactic languages with different sound waves, the voice began calling for calm.
  "This is no time to create confusion among brothers when we have gathered together for a common global campaign. Save your strength for the decisive war. Let's give the floor to the commander of the Sinkhs, the representative of the Golden Constellation. He has the largest squadron of warships. Then the others will set out."
  The hubbub died down slightly. A relative silence descended. The monsters were whispering. Their whispers sounded like the creaking of glass when a dog's paw scratches it.
  Synch began droned into the microphone, agitated, making the thin insect voice seem even more repulsive. Then other dragonfly-like creatures began to speak. The debate centered on whether to attack the center of the galaxy or immediately, without wasting time, march into the heart of the empire. Some began to insist on plundering and destroying any planets they encountered along the way. The space pirates were particularly zealous, persistently shouting at the top of their lungs, demanding their share. The situation was once again spiraling out of control, especially since millions of diverse life forms were gathered in one hall. None of them were known for their meekness. One of the commanders was sure to start shooting, as there were plenty of frenzied ones. Then the carnage could have descended like an avalanche. One of the troublemakers pressed the blaster button, but a laser beam sent by the computer instantly vaporized him. Several ray guns fired back. Then a stunner slashed down from above, knocking down a couple hundred monsters. Oddly enough, this use of violence calmed the crowd somewhat.
  "Since we are all carrying out a pre-agreed plan, we will not rob or kill for now," declared the Sinkh ataman, who had once again taken to the podium.
  "This territory accepted us voluntarily. We must follow the rules."
  In response, wild howls and roars from countless throats were heard again.
  "Rules are rules! Many of you have signed similar declarations yourselves. Be civilized beings, not a collection of microorganisms."
  "Enough!" Fagiram barked, swinging his umbrella over his head, its shimmering, reflective backdrop. "We won't let everyone speak. Otherwise, we'll be wagging our tongues for months. A hundred of the most senior commanders will speak for three standard minutes. Then everyone off to rest!"
  The noise of protest grew louder, reaching a hurricane-like pitch. Stun guns slashed from above again. Part of the menagerie collapsed, but the rest stirred up even more chaos...
  Chapter 21
  It's difficult for us to decide on a choice...
  But we still have to decide!
  You can resort to meanness,
  And sell your honor to this!
  The Purple Constellation's troops and special services managed to destroy almost all partisan detachments. The old days of playing cat and mouse with the partisans were over. Now they were being driven out everywhere.
  The renowned commander Sergei Susanin (also known as the Black Panther) and the remnants of his combat unit managed to escape their pursuers. The location where he and his comrades lay low was cunningly chosen. It was a central timber depot, containing billions of cubic meters of timber. Too much of this valuable and constantly renewable resource was being cut down on Earth to provide work for the ever-growing population. Billions of people were enlisted as loggers. The forests themselves grew rapidly. New genetically enhanced species and the climate allowed for rapid timber harvesting. Although the depot was well protected from external attacks and sabotage, the partisans managed to infiltrate along with the numerous products and loggers. Since there had been no terrorist attacks on this massive cache for many years, no one even thought to scan it. That's why the partisans hid in tree burrows like bark beetles, not daring to poke their noses out. However, the burrows themselves were so vast that it was possible to get lost and wander until the end of time. The bark of some trees was edible, which at least guaranteed salvation from starvation. However, the fighters were in danger of dying from boredom and idleness. Fortunately, Marat Rodionov, a liaison with close ties to the resistance movement, was back on duty. He was one of the brothers of the leader of the Alpha Stealth group. And, reassuringly, he brought good news. They were about to launch a new operation.
  "We have a unique opportunity to infiltrate the Purple Constellation army." Marat, a wiry teenager with a light reddish tint to his uneven hair, instinctively lowered his voice so much that the partisan commander had to press his ear almost to his thin lips. "One of the young representatives of the occupation army will come here to study the tree species growing on our planet. Scientific interest, so to speak. So, she needs to be carefully replaced. The girl who will take her place is very similar. She has already arrived through the established channel. Just change the girl's clothes."
  The commander could not stand it, and with an effort of will, restraining his raging anger, he muttered:
  "It's not that simple. What about the identification crystals? They'll immediately detect the substitution."
  The boy made a sly face and giggled:
  "It's all much simpler than it seems! Military personnel and members of the economic army have identification crystals, making them much more accessible on the black market. Everything here is already prepared in advance. And her tongue won't give away; the girl speaks the invaders' language perfectly. There is, of course, the risk of a full individual scan, but it's worth it, since we don't need much time. Follow Gornostayev's orders!"
  "With pleasure!" The bearded commander grinned unkindly.
  "Then today in two hours. In the meantime, meet her double. She's very strong and a good fighter. Well, hang in there. See you soon!" The holographic image of a black boy in shorts faded, leaving only the faint scent of ozone in the air.
  Suddenly, the bark of a thick log cracked, and a half-naked, olive-bronze-haired girl fluttered out with the ease of a caress. She was very slender, muscular, and tall beyond her years. Her hair shimmered with the seven-color iridescent palette fashionable among females of the Purple Constellation. Performing a triple somersault, the girl spread her arms, then crossed them.
  - Bravo! Cool! Quasar! - the young partisans shouted.
  The leader frowned.
  - Clever, but know this, little one, this is a deadly game.
  "I'll do it flawlessly!" The girl smiled and leaped even higher, her body spinning like a propeller in the air several times. She deftly grabbed the log with her bare feet, thus hovering horizontally. Her muscles tensed, making the sharp contours of her body stand out even more clearly.
  - Everyone take up combat positions.
  "What beautiful, muscular legs she has, and such perfectly formed breasts..." the leader suppressed a sudden desire, even though the mores of the land had become simpler, the remnants of the old culture still made their presence felt. But they hadn't seen women in so long... The conservative opinion still persisted among the people that girls shouldn't risk fighting in partisan units, and that war was a strictly male affair.
  The commander also noted:
  - Well, her muscles are so clearly defined, you rarely see such relief even on the strongest guys.
  Indeed, although humans have become genetically superior, a slave must be strong, resilient, and tenacious enough to perform heavy labor. However, for reasons of safety and pride, humans were not made equal in strength to a Stealth. The overwhelming majority of the Purple Constellation race were distinguished by their muscle definition, as if skinless and cast steel.
  Everyone took their assigned seats...
  ***
  Two hours later another girl appeared...
  Yes, they are very similar, even in their clothing, or rather, their almost complete lack thereof. For Labido Karamada, a recent arrival, this unkempt planet was too wild and hot. So she arrived almost naked, barefoot, adorned with bracelets of precious, unearthly stones. However, how pleasant it is when the sun caresses bare skin, and blades of grass, twigs, and pine cones gently tingle and tickle bare girlish feet. Only a lightweight blaster hung from her belt, and on her wrist a combination watch, computer, scanner, and phone.
  "Brrr! So many trees! You could build a governor's palace like a quasar!" the aggressive, predatory beauty said, spreading her arms wide and rounding her coral mouth.
  The partisan girl, smiling, smoothly walked out to greet her. Raising her hand, she greeted her with the salute characteristic of the Imperial Yuling pioneers, conquerors of the mega-galaxy.
  - I'm glad to see you, my sister. I see you're interested in these native plants?
  - As you can see, since you climbed up here. - As you can, since you climbed up here! - Labido tossed a piece of bark with her foot and deftly caught it in her lips, beginning to chew vigorously.
  "I didn't come here for the bumps, I just like to wander alone, pretending to be a savage. I'm tired of these stupid natives." The partisan girl wiggled her nose like an elephant's trunk.
  "They may be stupid, but they're still very funny and haven't gotten boring yet. It's strange... I can't understand, it seems to me I've seen you somewhere before." Stelzanka blinked, trying to find the right file in her computer-like brain.
  The young partisan, with almost no running start, did a quadruple somersault in the air and landed almost right next to Labido.
  - Yes, you saw me on our central planet Stealth.
  She snorted contemptuously:
  - No! And our central planet has a different name. Are you a native?
  - Do native women have such beautiful hair with such a wonderful smell? Smell it!
  Karamada instinctively buried her face in the dugout's seven-colored waves of hair and immediately received a knee to the solar plexus. The next moment, the partisan ripped off her weapons belt and tossed it aside, assuming a fighting stance. Apparently, she wanted to fight on equal terms. The commander, however, disapproved of the theatrics and, with a well-aimed blaster shot, severed the bracelet holding the cyberwatch.
  - Hands up! One move - and I shoot!
  The rest was simple. Only the watch bracelet had to be replaced. One of the soldiers sacrificed a trophy. Once Karamada's libido double disappeared, it was time to work on the original.
  A female from the army of hated occupiers was tightly bound with captured wire...
  I wonder how many cycles she's had? Thirteen or twelve? But since Stelzans grow faster and larger than humans, she was considerably taller than the average adult woman. And her figure was quite developed and athletic, with lean, yet not overly muscular muscles.
  It's a shame I have to eliminate such a beautiful girl, but it can't be helped. There's no other way! War is the most exciting game; the number of participants is unlimited, but it's constantly dwindling!
  
  
  One of the tall young partisans couldn't resist touching the girl's graceful, light-brown leg. The woodcutter's calloused hand ran down her ankle, down to her pink, slightly dusty foot, and probed her toes. The girl winked at him.
  - Why so timidly? You are so handsome, dark-haired and blond.
  The boy smiled sincerely in response:
  - And you are also a miracle, your fingernails shine like pearls.
  Another young man reached out to touch her breast, which immediately swelled at the touch. The beauty's ample bust resembled a pile of honey-and-ice cream, with nipples swollen like cherries. The girl purred:
  - Be brave, boys, I want to feel your affection.
  Young men, almost teenagers, cast hungry glances at her, their healthy bodies demanding sex. Even Commander Panther himself felt a heat in his loins. His thick, graying beard, rare in the modern world, made him seem almost old compared to these youths (though some were only boys in appearance). And the girl was so alluring, especially her fairness compared to the natives, her glossy, gilded skin, and the large, pearly teeth in her invitingly open mouth. Labido's voice became languid, breathy.
  - Let's have fun with me, then let me go, I won't say anything about you.
  The girl meowed with delight when hands grabbed her muscular thighs, and the largest two-meter partisan with a still sparse beard, or rather fluff, began to pull off the fabric that barely covered the enticing flesh.
  "I will give you an abyss of pleasure , and I will experience fabulous pleasure myself." There was not a hint of pretense in the Stelzan woman's voice. Being raped by the beast-partisans was so romantic, and the scent of coal-black, muscular, long-unwashed male bodies was a powerful arousal. Her previous partners hadn't stunk so strongly; thanks to bioengineering, Stelzans were almost completely odorless; in war, that was unnecessary.
  "You can do it faster, even two at a time." Labido winked invitingly and licked her cat-like lips.
  The panther exploded, contempt overcoming his animal impulse:
  - Back! Let's not lose our human dignity with this whore. Don't you see how depraved this race is, deprived of the last vestiges of honor and conscience. Animal instincts and lust in such a young head, and what will it be like when it grows up?
  The girl wasn't a coward. She barked in the voice of a deeply angry ruler:
  "I'm already a grown-up destroyer and a full-fledged warrior," the slug understood! "When I break free, I'll rip out your beard hair by hair, then turn the rotten meat into dog food!" Stelzanka roared even louder, the muscles beneath her skin rolling like balls, trying to break through the wire, as strong as an anchor chain. "And you, boys, what are you worth? Tie him up, hand him over to us , and my friends and I will bring you an ocean of bliss, not to mention money, land, and slaves, male and female, as a reward!"
  The commander spoke with difficulty, adding coldness to his stern voice:
  "You see not an ounce of remorse. Only death awaits her. And it won't be easy. I'll shoot off her arms first, and then her legs."
  The boys backed away. Regret was evident in their eyes, for they were missing out on such pleasure. But no one dared contradict the hot-blooded and swift-to-deal Panther. The stelzanka struggled so fiercely that the skin beneath the super-strong alloy wire tore, and bright, scarlet blood oozed out. And the meter-thick log to which it was tied was already cracking, covered with tiny fissures. The partisans tensed, drawing their weapons, fearing that the alien witch, far stronger than a human, would break free, lunging at them like a cheetah.
  The leader, having switched the power to minimum, aimed the blaster...
  Suddenly someone's hand fell on his shoulder.
  - Calm down, Viktor Vediamidovich!
  The formidable commander was at a loss. His true identity was a secret he kept even from Gornostayev. And his weapon, though no one had approached it, instantly snapped into safety. Even the enraged tigress Labido calmed down, frozen, her muscles rippling with tension.
  - Who are you? - Panther stared.
  The figure in the grey tunic was strangely familiar.
  "You can call me Guru or Sensei..." The voice was like the ocean surf in windless weather, it combined strength and softness.
  "Yes, I recognized him - he is the great Sensei ," the second man in the Antonov squad whispered with a trembling voice.
  "Okay, Sensei, you can go about your business..." Panther reluctantly gave a slight bow and tried to take the blaster off safety.
  "No, you won't kill her!" The guru's voice, with his invisible gaze and strong, clean-shaven chin, grew harsher.
  The commander, continuing to fight with the blaster, which had suddenly become unruly, let out a whole stream of words:
  "Are you crazy, old man? Stelzans are natural-born killers. My brother was brutally tortured, flayed alive, covered in radioactive salt, and hung in the blazing sun, forcing the entire village to watch. He writhed and died in terrible agony. And the soldiers laughed at him and the other hanged men, and there were over a hundred of them. When they quieted down, they weren't even allowed to bury them. Those who dared to disobey were hanged nearby, with hooks through their ribs. And my mother and five children were dissolved alive in acid, or rather, what was left of them after the torture. And mine..."
  Sensei smiled sadly; his teeth were surprisingly white and fresh, not a single blemish, despite their owner being over a thousand years old. And the guru's voice suddenly grew younger:
  "Enough, I still can't convince you, but in your own way, you're right. But our planet is threatened not only by the armies of the Purple Constellation. Invaders of all stripes have descended upon it from thousands of galaxies. A volcano of evil has broken free and threatens to flood and devour the entire universe. We will all have to unite, even with the Stelzans, to fight together against this common universal evil. And this girl is just a small but important pebble in the stellar mosaic. Every person is like a grain of sand in a desert, but unlike the vastest desert with its boundaries, this grain of sand knows no bounds to self-improvement!" The Guru shook his head dismissively. "Sorry, Victor, we'll talk later!"
  A graceful gesture of the hand, and the super-strong wire snapped, and a second later Sensei and the girl disappeared.
  Risking his identity, the commander fired a charge into the spot where the stelzanka had just been. He crossed himself and cursed loudly:
  - I'd rather put my neck on a noose than join forces with the Stelzans, even against Satan himself!
  ***
  There was a moment when it felt like my insides were being boiled away, my lungs literally burning out, sucking in living flames, when scorching streams of superheated air blew through me, searing every particle of my exhausted body, paralyzing the convulsive movements of my overstrained muscles. It was a sensation reminiscent of being in a deep volcanic eruption, surrounded by a mixture of lava and boiling water. Then, unexpectedly, it became easier. The pain began to fade, and a surprising lightness set in. Yes, that's exactly what Lev Eraskander felt when his spirit began to leave his charred body...
  ...Here he breaks away from the surface and begins to observe events as if from the outside. The remains of a broken, melted starship are visible. Countless flocks of enormous, motley monsters swarm. In the light of the colossal violet-emerald star, they are so special, bright with a radiant shimmer. Not at all frightening; on the contrary, fabulously beautiful in their colors. Obeying an incomprehensibly irresistible force, the soul continued to rise upward. The colorful monsters on the surface quickly diminished. The spirit enters the stratosphere. Now the entire planet is visible, pink and yellow, at first enormous, then rapidly shrinking in volume. Now it is the size of a round table, now the size of a pentaphone wheel, now the size of a soccer ball, then the size of a tennis ball, and finally - smaller than a poppy seed. More and more galaxies flash by, unimaginable clusters of star fragments and placers. The soul is sucked into the tunnel and it flies, bright seven-color stripes flashing along the corridor on a black background.
  "Where am I rushing to?" the boy thought, confused. "It's a mystery ... probably to another mega-universe, to a hyperworld."
  Ahead of the tunnel, a bright light appeared, growing in intensity. According to the state-imperial, unshakable, and unchangeable religion of the Purple Constellation, after death, a Stelzan goes to trial, where, according to their deeds or military valor, they are admitted to the first heaven, or rather, to the next hyperuniverse. There, they are incarnated in the flesh, receiving a rank based on how zealously and faithfully they served the Stelzanate, the Emperor, and the people. The religion held that the Great and Most High God had given the Stelzans the entire universe for eternal possession, and the other races for enslavement. Anything that contributes to the conquest of the universe is justified. Feats at the front and in the rear. Heroism contributes to a higher status in the new megauniverse, and this is the most important thing. Dying in battle was considered a great act of valor, especially showing self-sacrifice, taking thousands of enemy lives in the process. There are other, even more highly organized universes with a greater number of dimensions and infinite sizes, so an ambitious Stelzan can count on eternal career advancement. But where do the emperors go? Is there really a Megaverse reserved for each of them? But Leo is human, so he's not obligated to believe such nonsense.
  "Where will I end up?" Eraskander thought in confusion.
  As a human and a slave, he must remain a slave in the next life, and that's the best-case scenario. If they don't want him as a talking tool, then he faces the fiery pit and a place of eternal torture for inferior beings.
  A chill runs down my spine, even though my skin is gone. But Sensei said that the Stelzans and humans descended from a common ancestor-the same one who gave birth to the noisy, shaggy monkeys. There was also a great Guru, whom only a select few could see. He, they say, revealed the secret of immortality and great power. So why, if he's so omnipotent, couldn't he drive these bloodsuckers off the planet?
  At the end of the tunnel, Leo emerged onto a suburb bathed in brilliant light. Nearby stood a colossal, resplendent palace, apparently a temple of heavenly justice. Two thugs with blindingly glittering wings, apparently angels, pinned his arms behind his back and led him into the courtroom.
  The hall was enormous, the ceiling lost in the clouds. The judge's menacing voice, as huge as Mount Everest and sparkling like a multitude of suns, thundered like a thousand thunderbolts.
  "You're not a soldier! You're not a fighter! You're not a Stelzan! You're a human, a vile creature, a vile parody of a great race. You're a vile rebel who hates his rightful masters and wants to destroy them all. You will not be a slave; they don't even want you as a slave. Go to hell and burn there forever in terrible torment, along with all the enemies of the Purple Constellation. Warriors of the greatest nation in all the infinite hyperuniverses, fighters of the ideal race, chosen by the Almighty, will conquer the boundless universe!"
  Tongues of flame appeared beneath his feet, searing the boy's bare feet with terrifying pain.
  - Really, fire again! I can't take it anymore!
  The lion shook. He was ready to fall to his knees and cry like a child.
  At that moment, the judge's image disappeared...
  ***
  ... Someone was shaking the young man violently by the shoulder. Opening his eyes, the former gladiator saw the sinkh's vile face with its mosquito-like proboscis. After the fiery Gehenna, his flattened, sparsely haired mug seemed like the face of a good fairy. The nightmarish delirium was so real that his legs still ached and his hands shook.
  - Get up! Your regeneration process is complete!
  It was still a bit painful to look at; even the dim light hurt his eyes. The image was blurry, like when you're crying bitterly. Lev blinked a few times, and the vision became clearer. The room, judging by the furnishings, was a regeneration chamber. Devices of unknown purpose, tentacles, and walls casting a blue tint. Several boxes with archaic-looking antennae. Next to the yellow-coated synchro stood several more insectoid creatures with ray guns at the ready, along with a pair of massive Gruids from one of the most vile civilizations. They were obviously in trouble too. The large, ponderous Gruids held multi-barreled ray guns in their flattened paws, aiming at the suspicious boy. There was no fear; why regenerate then, only to kill immediately? The creature with the proboscis squealed.
  "How did you get on that starship, Lev? What were you doing on the planet of the Fiery Mire?" Ahead of the tunnel, a brighter light appeared, growing in intensity. According to the state-imperial, unshakable, and unchangeable religion of the Purple Constellation, after death, a Stelzan goes to trial, where, according to his deeds or military valor, he enters the first heaven, or rather, the next hyperuniverse. There, he is incarnated in the flesh, receiving a rank depending on how zealously and faithfully he served the Stelzanate, the Emperor, and the people. The religion held that the Great and Most High God gave the Stelzans the entire universe for eternal possession, and the other races for enslavement. Anything that contributes to the conquest of the Universe is justified. Exploits at the front and in the rear. Heroism contributes to a higher status in the new megauniverse, and that is the most important thing. It was considered a great act of valor to die in battle, especially when self-sacrifice was involved, taking thousands of enemy lives. There are other, even more highly organized universes with more dimensions and infinite size, so an ambitious Stelzan can count on eternal career advancement. But where do the emperors go? Is there really a Megaverse reserved for each of them? But Leo is human, so he's not obligated to believe such nonsense.
  y?
  The sight of Singh in a yellow robe was slightly comical. I wonder how he knew his name?
  "I ended up there by accident, carrying out an important assignment. So, unexpectedly, I found myself in this damn mess." Eraskander was almost completely honest.
  "If you're referring to that microfilm, it's such a trivial matter that it wasn't worth rushing thousands of parsecs over. If it weren't for a chance encounter, another two or three units of time would have rendered you unfit for regeneration."
  Pause... The young man thought: "What kind of microfilm is this? Maybe its owner Hermes wanted to leak some of the empire's secrets?"
  "Where"s the fluoride?" the arthropod representative suddenly asked.
  "He died a hero's death. He was swallowed by monsters, plunged into the bowels of hell." Lev shrugged his shoulders, which felt like they were tied with bundles of wire, in a purely human way.
  Synch nervously twitched the remnants of his membranous wings, which had atrophied during the process of evolution.
  "You're just a slave, and we have no use for a primate right now. We can eliminate you. However, we can give you a chance at survival and even a reward-a very substantial one for a penniless, powerless slave."
  Lev suddenly realized the arthropod wasn't joking. They didn't need an extra witness, and there was no point in flirting before annihilation-with rare exceptions, synkhs aren't sadists, though they are ruthless in their pursuits. But the offer might be interesting. The ant-mosquito approached a table near the wall, studded with a keyboard and knobs. He sent some encrypted messages and then received replies.
  The door slid open, and another arthropod entered. His uniform glittered with gold and purple stones, and a scarlet hexagon gleamed on his chest. Clearly, he was of high rank, equivalent to Ultramarshal.
  "How much time has passed? They must have spies everywhere, and there are a lot of them. They probably found out my identity without any difficulty?"
  Eraskander shuddered, a slight chill ran through him after the burns.
  "There may be no traces of being in the hall, but logically you can calculate anything."
  Singh put on his video glasses and leaned back in a chair that was far too large for his frail frame. He must have been watching the news. Then he removed them and addressed the captive slave with exaggerated politeness.
  "So, our little friend, we're giving you a task. First, return to your master, Hermes. He'll have something to convey, and we'll tell you where to get more information. That, however, isn't so important." The insect's voice changed tone, betraying undisguised contempt. "We already have plenty of informants among the Kulamans, but we don't have enough currency to go around. We have to feed them promises in addition to money, which doesn't always work, but is more profitable. Our main task is to contact and establish contact with your friend and our mutual acquaintance, Des Ymer Konoradson, that great Zorg."
  "Wow! How does he know that?" flashed through Lev's head.
  Apparently, the sinh noticed the surprise.
  "Yes, we know, cub." The squeak grew louder and more obnoxious. "Did you really think you could just seduce a Stelzan and then send a gravigram? Your security service completely blocks all signals coming into this sector of the universe; even our specialists can't do everything they can. The message was blocked and triangulated. Then Fagiram Sham himself sent the message on your behalf. He has a strong hand in the Throne Security Department. We calculated everything in advance; after all, it was his idea, not yours."
  - So, it was you who used me from beginning to end? - Lev, his eyes wide, whistled softly.
  "No, not complete surveillance, otherwise we wouldn't have gotten ourselves into an unnecessary battle with the Purple Constellation fleet." Singh softened his tone and spoke more frankly. The arthropod race considered empty lies a disgrace. Yes, one could conceal information, orchestrate extensive and cunning disinformation. But lying without extreme necessity is unworthy of a resident of the vast empire of the Golden Constellation. The emotional speech continued:
  "Fagiram is nothing but an empty puppet. You're a human enemy of the Stelzans! And a man of great merit, with exceptional credentials for your race. Remember how, as a mere boy, you took down the monster in the Colosseum? We've remembered your other exploits, too. The boy killed a fluorine, don't argue, we figured that out. One less freak, after all, he's not a synch. Lev sent a report to the great Zorg, and he'll trust you."
  "I doubt one small message will be enough to gain trust." Eraskander sat up; the blue walls seemed to be crushing the young man.
  "If not, then so much the worse for you! Then we'll eliminate the primate," Singh said with increasing emphasis. "You must report on the senior senator's every move, be his servant and shadow. We'll be keeping an eye on you."
  "Well, the plan is good, but too hasty." Lev shook his head angrily.
  "Not excessively, but optimally. You're a slave, and your master will give you to Dez as a good translator; you're a capable lad, after all. Hermes and Fagiram spoke so highly of you." Singh poked his paw upward. "They're vacuum fools; they don't see the tiger in the kitten! Pretend to be loyal to them, but work for us. You still have a microchip in your bone marrow, but it's been reprogrammed. They can't kill you, but we can kill you and track your every move. And when Stelzanat disappears, absorbed into our empire, we'll deactivate the chip. You'll become a freeman! Transparently!?"
  - Much more transparent! - Lev gave a semblance of a smile.
  "Then do it. We'll transfer you to your master. From now on, you'll receive instructions through him and our contact." A robot flew up to the sinkh and handed the insect a cup of jelly. The creature dipped its proboscis into it.
  Leo was overcome with curiosity:
  - A contact? Who is she?
  "A beautiful girl." The synchro, catching the young man's surprised look, immediately added. His proboscis was dipped in jelly, so his voice sounded gurgling. "No, it's not Vener. Sure, that rich Stelzan girl could supply us with useful information for money, but bringing her to Earth would only cause unnecessary gossip. The girl will be a Yuling (young soldiers and officers no higher than one star!). I sense you want to ask about a reward. I answer that a slave doesn't need money now, and you will gain your freedom after the defeat of the empire. The Golden Constellation, as they call us, values useful agents. That's when the money will come! And maybe even an estate with slaves, whom you can torment as you please! That's it, take him away! He already knows enough.
   The hitherto silent ultramarshal of the Singhs squeaked dryly:
  - Put the slave collar on him again!
  The four-armed Gruids twisted their wrists, bringing their elbows together, and then unceremoniously pushed them out the door.
  When the young man was taken away, the sinh rang with a thin squeak.
  "He's so interesting, I could just eat him! It's a shame their blood is so dangerous. All Stealth creatures are disgusting, and this one is the most poisonous. His thoughts aren't scanned, but he has nowhere to run, we have him on a noose."
  Chapter 22
  A person wants cleanliness,
  I want wise and bright ideas!
  The world (ideally) is the crown of beauty,
  Only for good people, of course!
  It didn't work out... Cruel, evil fate...
  Some scum is running the show!
  Be merciful, Almighty God,
  Don't let a man fall into the abyss!
  Squeals, roars, and clicking noises filled the room. Part of the menagerie was clearly spiraling out of control. The Sinh Marshal was confused. Fagiram, a vile character usually thrown into a rage by the slightest thing, remained calm. At worst, the stun guns would blanket the entire room and knock out everyone, even the radioactive subjects. It wasn't for nothing that the finest engineers had built this hall.
  The noise began to die down again, apparently because common sense had finally prevailed, or the pirates had realized they could be eliminated if necessary. But speech was no longer an option, and many were eager to escape the trapped chamber and relax with a binge before the tough, decisive battles. As the "mammoths" poured out of the hall, the dinosaur-like figure standing guard managed to ask, his deep voice savagely mangling the Stelzan language.
  - And who is this "Great Emperor" that the little slaves praise so much?
  The guard standing there, though he looked like a Stealth-man, was actually a clone, freshly hatched from an incubator, raised on artificial hormones. A mountain of muscle with the mind of a five-month-old, he replied in a sepulchral voice:
  - This is our Great Emperor, the whole universe belongs to him.
  "Then, microorganisms, get your plasma!" Several poisonous green clouds of smoke, leaving a strong stench, flew out of the mouth of the brute of an alien.
  The aliens' multi-barreled beam and plasma throwers simultaneously unleashed streams of deadly energy. They pierced the multicolored square where children, dressed in their finery, with flowers and ribbons braided in their hair, continued to wave flags. Explosions erupted, and where the children had been performing, only craters filled with piles of smoking corpses remained. Abandoning their flags, the boys and girls scattered, many wounded and burned. No one had time to notice where the return fire came from. The charge was fired with pinpoint accuracy, striking the control stabilizer regulating the discharge rate in the plasma generator-the device that powers the monstrous monster's arsenal. The generator went into overdrive, transforming into an annihilation bomb. The ten-meter-tall tyrannodroid managed to tear off the infernal machine and hurl it into the crowd, but it was too late to save it. The generator exploded, destroying the monster and incinerating and disintegrating thousands of motley, supposedly sentient, creatures into elementary particles. The intergalactic fighters' nerves were already on edge, and this explosion blew the last of their reserves.
  A mutual forced beating began.
  The alien creatures slashed at each other, melting and burning, with all manner of weaponry. Considering that the battle took place outdoors, it's understandable that every shot claimed many victims. Within seconds, most of the dear "guests" were killed and a significant portion of the complex was destroyed. The impacts of the powerful charges shattered bodies large and small into smoking fragments. Flames erupted, engulfing the wondrous flowers and trees. Some of the mutilated monsters swarmed, individual severed limbs continuing to flail and convulse. Multicolored fountains of blood spread across the carpet and grass. Some creatures' blood ignited readily in the presence of oxygen, causing many to burst into multicolored flames. Others fled, spreading a raging flame around them. Monsters composed of radioactive elements burned through carpets and even crumbled granite, while menthoplasmic fire consumed super-strong metal. The blaze of beams and plasma would likely have continued until all opponents were completely annihilated, after which starships would have intervened, shredding the entire solar system and its surroundings with the vile energy of total destruction.
  Fortunately, the Stelzans had managed to activate the paralysis field. Eroros was the first to give the order to also seal off the space with a force shield. It was a pragmatic move: if a major massacre broke out near planet Earth, the entire Solar System would be devoid of stable atomic nuclei. And for that, even if he escaped, the Emperor could execute him, in such a brutal manner that it would be better to blow his brains out right away.
  The Earth must exist! Even if the Ultramarshal is infinitely disgusted with this hole!
  Plunder, but don't kill! However, the sheer number of incinerated and slaughtered bodies is enough to explode the situation! Over an area of several square kilometers, the island was completely destroyed by fire, countless dead individuals lay dead, most of them not even corpses, at best just fetid dust and smoking fragments. The Ultramarshal was outwardly calm, but his soul was aching. He found himself between a beam cascade and a reflector. On one side were his accomplices in the betrayal of the empire, and on the other, Fagiram and his numerous accomplices. Clearly, treason had infected the highest levels of power, and a simple warning wouldn't resolve the situation. It might also turn out that the enemy's chief resident was gathering all the information from the very top. A heavy sigh from the young adjutant officer standing behind him interrupted his thoughts.
  Urlik Eroros turned around abruptly and addressed the young man in an unexpectedly soft tone.
  - I see you're sighing. Perhaps the sight of corpses and blood frightens you?
  The adjutant waved his hand in dismissal and replied:
  "No, on the contrary, I regret that I can't fire a maximum-power charge into this snake pit without your order. There aren't enough corpses, photon-few..." Stelzan exclaimed frantically. "How I'd like to hack this entire menagerie to pieces!"
  "Yes, but your face was saddened by something. Our other soldiers are rejoicing, watching the carnage." Eroros automatically sensed suspicion and tensed. The Ultramarshal's hyperplasma thrower even extended its barrels, displaying a hologram in the form of a stream of multicolored exclamation marks.
  "What saddens me most is something else. Are we now traitors to our Great Empire? This is terrible! Those who betray the Purple Constellation and the Emperor, after punishment and execution, will be imprisoned in a hyperplasma reactor in the Ultraverse. There, traitors will be subjected to a relentless bombardment of pain quanta. There, we will experience a level of pain unattainable in this universe. The pain will pierce every cell in our bodies, leaving not a single free molecule. And the worst thing is, there will be no sleep, no rest, no room to catch our breath."
  Eroros forced out a contemptuous grin ( even though he himself was terribly nervous, even his guts were turning with fear!), and with deliberate nonchalance said:
  "Does suffering frighten you? It's shameful, disgraceful, for a warrior of the Purple Constellation to be so afraid of pain that he collapses. And if your enemies torture you, will you break?"
  The young Stelzan, puffing out his chest, said with pathos:
  "No, I'm not afraid of pain. But it's one thing to endure the torment of enemies for a day, a month, knowing that sooner or later it will end. It's quite another to suffer for treason, to receive the punishment of the Most High, the Almighty God, and to suffer for billions upon billions of years. In this universe, hyperplasm burns immediately, but there, in the pain archive, it burns endlessly. The only hope is the mercy of the Great Emperor.
  The Ultramarshal kicked the pimple-covered lizard away, and his hyperplasma emitter even fired a blast of incineration, annihilating the vile creature. After which, Eroros, concealing his irony, said:
  "Yes, the Emperor is kind. I'm sure he will take the circumstances of our surrender into account. Don't worry, we'll still find a way to deal the enemy a fatal blow."
  "Better to die than to betray them by inaction. Perhaps we should attack them while they're in disarray," the young officer suggested , his eyes flashing.
  "That's impossible, our entire communications are blocked. Enough explanations, just follow your commanders' orders!" Eroros snapped sternly.
  - Absolutely! - The officer saluted, turned around and raised his rifle.
  "If you want to survive and save your identities, trust me! I will always be loyal to my imperial homeland."
  The Ultramarshal began issuing orders again. If there was a stellar battle, he had to at least protect the capital. And the Earthlings would still multiply. Ninety percent of humanity had been wiped out during the invasion, and now there are more of them than during the attack. If only a thousand out of 40 billion survived, then there would be 40 billion again in 300-400 years. At this relatively young age for a Stelzan, he would certainly have countless love affairs. Given survival, an afterlife in another universe was hardly believable. And everything destroyed was being rebuilt even faster. He himself longed for war; a thousand years had passed without large-scale military action, and few veterans of those glorious years of rapid expansion of the space empire remained. Many of them, even without aging, ended their lives, as the aliens whispered sarcastically - karma tainted by murder. But Eroros was not fazed by such things. It's so exciting and romantic-to annihilate thousands, millions, billions of intelligent parasites inhabiting the universe with the push of a button. We must, at any cost, reach the Emperor himself; then perhaps he'll be entrusted with a punitive expedition against the Sinkh, even though that would be a full-scale war.
  And here comes Fagiram. His black, sweaty face trembles slightly.
  - You seem unusually cheerful. Could this be a provocation from your people?
  "Quasar, you won't swallow it! None of my people will stand up for the natives," Eroros said confidently, his eyes shining.
  "Oh, come on! And I remember how you spared the death penalty for the man they called the star boy, who had permanently crippled the son of a state councilor. It wasn't in my presence, or I would have disobeyed your orders. What's with this strange leniency?" Fagiram gave his most repulsive face a suspicious expression.
  "There were reasons for that," Eroros simply cut him off, making it clear to his men that he wouldn't be discussing the matter further. "And anyway, why were you teasing those scoundrels, gathered from all over the universe's garbage dumps!"
  "The stupid local authorities went too far. They were rehearsing a meeting with the Emperor. If you only knew what vacuum-headed people these earthlings are." The governor puffed out his cheeks, twirling his finger at his temple.
  The Ultramarshal responded logically:
  "A slave's stupidity is a plus, but his intelligence is a minus!" He glanced around and added, "Where's Gerlok? Has he taken emergency defensive measures?"
  "I have also given the necessary orders, as far as our resources allow. We are prepared for defense. I instruct you, Marshal, to enter into negotiations." Fagiram suddenly became kinder.
  "First of all, Ultramarshal, and secondly, it's best for you to do this. You invited them here, they know you better, especially the synchs. How long have you been programming them?" Eroros narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
  - Fine! Since you're such a coward, I'll deal with them myself.
  Leaving the question unanswered, the Marshal-Governor flew out like a rat from a burning house and raced toward the starship. However, while the Sinhi still retained a semblance of discipline, the other star vultures had entered a hysterical trance. Fagiram's starship was attacked as soon as it left the atmosphere of planet Earth. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately (it would have been better if the bastard had died!), these were only small fighters. Damaged, the ship retreated to the protection of the Sinhi fleet. The rowdy space filibusters, having lost several of their main leaders, were determined to attack the planet. However, the starships of the Golden Constellation blocked their path to their rightful territory. The Sinhi were far stronger than the gathering of pirates and mercenaries of all stripes. Their fleet was far better armed, and as for the squadrons of other worlds, they hesitated. Privateers and bandits shouted and threatened in every language, hurling vicious words at each other across all radio frequencies. But they didn't dare go into battle. It was clear that any collision would destroy the vast majority of spaceships, along with their passengers.
  Both sides froze in tense anticipation, millions of starships ready to unleash quintillions of watts of deadly energy at any moment.
  The daring beasts froze in the sky of space,
  Although there seems to be some kind of intelligence!
  But the power of technology is used for evil purposes,
  Cunning will gain the advantage, not honor!
  ***
  The space is filled with iridescent flames that change colors every second...
  Hellfire, flaring up and devouring all the insides, crushing the flesh. A volcano, burning away all that is alive within. How familiar it all is! But this time, maybe it's real hell?! Patience-and the pain subsides. Vladimir opened his eyelids. He thought he saw a starry sky. He squeezed them shut in surprise, then forced them open again. Yes, he really did see a wondrous carpet of stars. Of unearthly origin, the sky was incredibly densely strewn with precious garlands of luminaries. Tens of thousands of the brightest stars blinded and stunned the imagination. His very body seemed to float in a vacuum, unsupported. The unprecedented sight so stunned the boy that he lost consciousness, disconnected from reality.
  When his ability to think returned, he was able to control his emotions. He regained solid ground, and he struggled to his feet.
  The spectacle that met him was not for the faint of heart. At first, the boy thought he was going crazy. The majestic city, the capital of the Dinazakura galaxy, appeared in all its savage glory. Luxurious skyscrapers stretching for miles, colossal temples, unimaginably gigantic statues, cascading gardens and fountains, glowing devices, colossal advertising billboards big enough to fit fifty Olympic stadiums, and much more. Add to this the millions of colorfully extravagant flying machines of all kinds, and for a fourteen-year-old boy in the early 21st century, it was beyond all reason.
  And yet there was no fear. There was extreme excitement, even indescribable delight at the sight of such unimaginably colorful splendor, created by the hands of intelligent beings. Everything in this metropolis was grandiose and enchanting. A few stars shone in the sky: the brightest, a pinkish-yellow star, two green ones, one blue, and two almost invisible cherry-sapphire ones, which is natural in such intense light. Yet, despite the intense light, the eyes didn't hurt, and it wasn't hot. The temperature was very pleasant, with a gentle, cool breeze blowing.
  The boy walked along the seven-colored sidewalk, a sidewalk framed by flowers, statues, multicolored flashing lights, and crystal-polished tiles. His bare, childish soles felt very smooth, even perhaps slippery as ice, giving off a luminescent, but fortunately not too hot surface.
  Everything in this futuristic metropolis was mirror-like, glittering, and dazzlingly magnificent. Even the garbage disposals were shaped like exotic animals and birds. They opened their mouths and politely thanked you when trash was thrown to them. When Vladimir kicked off a melted and warped mini-soldier boot, a garbage-bird leaped out of the sidewalk like a surface of water. It had the head of an eagle, but a proportionally larger beak, and the body of a striped eggplant, framed by three rows of lush petals. Each row was a different color and shape of the shoots, and the wings even had moving colors like a video. Both feathered and floral, the garbage-bird swallowed the now-unwearable shoe, chirping melodically:
  - We have no reason to torment ourselves with doubts! There are no more desperate guys in the entire universe! Real men throw trash - stelzan kill strangers! Stelzan kill strangers!
  Vladimir waved his hand at the "garbage collector prima donna" in confusion and said:
  - The most amazing thing about a person is that he is not surprised by the fantastic, but is amazed by the banal!
   It's strange, though , that his heavy-duty military boots melted without him suffering even minor burns. His clothes, however, didn't seem to be too badly damaged, though his luxurious overalls were lost. But some things survived, and he's not so ashamed to be walking around town in a smart T-shirt and shorts-normal clothing for a boy in hot weather.
  Although Vladimir was embarrassed by his bare feet, which were extremely out of place in the capital, where every statue, car, fountain, composition, and other structure shone with deafening, garish luxury. Like a ragged beggar in the government quarter of St. Petersburg, you involuntarily blush whenever anyone approaches you.
  There were few pedestrians on the streets at the moment, mostly children. As this was one of the central sectors of the metropolis, renowned Stelzan soldiers settled here. It was precisely the period when mini-soldiers were given short vacations, to experience at least a little bit of life without grueling drills and to relive the joys of childhood. Moreover, this short period of leave, compared to the barracks period, served as a kind of reward for success in their studies and combat training.
  Even a little freedom to manage your time as you please is a blessing! That's precisely why the sight of harmless, laughing children, many of whom, joyfully playing, even flew into the air, did somersaults, and spun like tops, releasing kaleidoscopic holograms, gave the magical city a wonderfully idyllic appearance.
  Tigrov wanted to approach them and ask a few questions, but he was afraid. He was afraid that the peaceful, beautiful, elf-like boys and girls in their sparkling costumes might not be as peace-loving as they seemed at first glance. Especially since that's not typically the case for humans; even the girls were clearly playing war games. True, it seemed like they were playing fairytale, anime-style fantasy, not technological battles. Some of the holographic projections were large and so bright, they reproduced details so realistically. It really did seem as if fairytale castles, fortresses, and houses suddenly appeared out of thin air, only to vanish.
  Stunned by what he saw, the boy walked and walked, continuing to admire the city. What stunning trees and gigantic flowers, tens and hundreds of meters tall, with fountains and flying animals, hung on crystal balconies, shimmering in the sun with a multi-story palette. On the flower petals, constantly changing, moving images appeared , most often depicting martial arts between various otherworldly beings or battles in a retro style.
  "Maybe these are force fields!" the boy thought, rubbing his temples, his brain ready to boil from the abundance of impressions. "There are several luminaries here, such a play of light and colors is inimitable on our planet! What strange forms the creations of the mind take!"
  One of the spherical buildings hung on seven legs, edged with leaves and framed with precious stones, each painted to match the colors of the Stelzan flag. Another structure was shaped like a seven-pointed star and slowly rotated on its axis. Other structures resembled Christmas trees, cakes with fiery torches and turbulent multicolored waterfalls, giant streams reaching into the stratosphere. Some colossal fountains, shaped like various extragalactic monsters encrusted with precious stones, spewed molten metal and strange gases, illuminated by laser beams.
  The lower floors of the luxurious buildings were filled with colorful entrances and exits, their names displayed on screens. And strangely, all the names were perfectly clear: restaurants, shops, entertainment centers of all levels and types, and various services. It resembled a vastly larger and incomparably more luxurious Central Presidential Avenue in Moscow. Tigrov was still very young then, remembered it vaguely, and now, literally, devoured the dazzling imperial splendor with his eyes. Of course, much of it was unique on earth. What kind of human constructor would arrange spires, domes, and pools filled with colorful creatures and indescribably menacing monsters upside down? It was even scary to look at; it seemed as if everything was about to collapse on your head.
  One of the elven girls flew over him, brushing him lightly with her shiny slipper. Vladimir swayed slightly; he was already a bit tired, having walked several miles.
  "You probably haven"t eaten for a long time, star warrior," the little angel girl rang like a silver bell.
  If there were any moving walkways, they were clearly turned off. Apparently, in the ultra-metropolis of the distant future, they were overly concerned about physical fitness. The surface had become rougher, and his bare feet began to itch and sting. Vladimir was truly hungry, as it felt like he'd been hungry for days, except for...
  But who can know how long he spent unconscious...
  The streets are full of colorful vending machines calling out: "It's time for a snack!"
  Vladimir decides:
  - Two deaths cannot happen, and with an empty belly there is no life!
  As soon as I approached the machine, a three-dimensional projection of a beautiful seven-colored girl with wings appeared. In a language that sounded like Russian, the wondrous nymph spoke:
  - What does a small but brave conqueror of the Universe want?
  "Eat!" Tigrov said honestly, a hungry gleam visible in the boy's blue eyes.
  "A selection of one hundred and fifteen million products at your service," the fairy chirped, adding size to her wings.
  "Then Kremlin ice cream, lemonade, juice, cake and chocolate," the delighted rascal babbled.
  - What kinds? Specify your order! - There were two girls now , and they were grinning unnaturally wide.
  "It doesn't matter, as long as it's tasty," Tigrov muttered in confusion, spreading his arms helplessly.
  "As delicious as possible? In line with the most popular standard?" Apparently, the cybernetic servants have had to deal with customers who don't understand what they want more than once.
  - Yes! - Vladimir said with relief.
  "Raise your hands, look straight ahead. Or take out your personal identification card, mini-soldier," the holographic nymphets chorused.
  The boy raised both hands. A dim yellow light flickered, apparently indicating he had been scanned.
  "Your identity isn't listed in the file, you don't have a military identification card, so you can't be served." The girls squealed, then turned crimson and crossed their arms in a Stelzan-like gesture.
  Vladimir quickly stepped away from the machine gun, his heels literally burning. This seemed to be technotronic identification communism. Tigrov sat down on the ornate boudoir, frozen, hunched over, his chin resting on his palms. He was lost in thought... The future was painted in the bleakest of tones. He was completely alone in another galaxy, surrounded by aliens, creatures worse than the most predatory, wild animals. And he couldn't come up with any saving idea. Oliver Twist would have been better off in London; at least there were people there like the homeless fugitive himself. But where would he go here? Maybe surrender himself , hoping for mercy in prison? At least they'd feed him there, even if it was in such a humiliating way, through a hose.
  "Why are you so down, Photon? You're licking your chops, I see. It seems you want to force some princeps-plasma into your stomach?"
  A strange boy in sparkling clothes extended his hand, smiling. How very human! The Stelzan boy's face was round and childish, not at all malicious; he should be in a nutrition commercial, but his hand was too firm. He had a high forehead, blond hair, and wide-set blue eyes. His tanned, sinewy hand, however, felt like it was made of steel, capable of breaking a bone. Vladimir barely managed to keep his expression from showing the pain; his hand was clenched as if in a torture vice.
  - Yes, I'm hungry!
  "You're obviously from the remote colonies. You're badly burned, and you look ragged and strange," the young Stelzan said with a hint of sympathy in his voice.
  Vladimir looked confused. Fortunately, the Stelzans had managed to activate the paralysis field. Eroros was the first to give the order to also seal off the space with a force shield. It was a pragmatic move: if a major massacre broke out near planet Earth, the entire Solar System would be devoid of stable atomic nuclei. And for that, even if he escaped, the Emperor could execute him, and in such a brutal manner that it would be better to blow his brains out right away.
  He took a quick look at himself. His clothes were already starting to smolder in places, and his skin was peeling, reddened. Either from the local radiation, or a delayed reaction to the explosion. Tigrov felt an icy chill in his stomach and spoke in a trembling voice.
  - You guessed it, I was at the epicenter of the thermal charge.
  "I'll grab the food as fast as I can, and then you can tell me." The boy ran as if in fast motion, his boots never touching the elaborately crafted surface of the avenue.
  It's hard to explain why Vladimir felt such trust in this Stelzan cub. Perhaps his youth and stress had taken their toll. Upon returning, his new friend tossed him a few pink, tantalizingly fragrant buds. Volodka began to tell him everything, holding nothing back. He was so full of himself that he wanted to pour out his heart.
  The Stelzan boy listened attentively. He was as tall as Tigr, and probably even younger. A pure smile played across his handsome face throughout the conversation. True, the warrior race's child had very large teeth, whiter than snow, reflecting the rays of several suns like sunbeams. The food from the vending machine was overly delicious, overstimulating the taste buds and, instead of satiating, whetting the appetite.
  When Vladimir had finished speaking and fell silent, the young Stelzan said judiciously:
  "Yes, it seems like a miracle, but you won't survive here. They'll figure you out quickly, especially since everyone's identity is checked daily by a computer. A couple of days ago, very close by, there was a 'plasma blast,' starships exploded like super-fireworks. Even from the surface, you could see the torn-apart ships lighting up the sky. It's a good thing the main 'firebrand' crossed the line."
  The Stelzan child pointed to the central star, Vimura.
  "Now everything's much stricter, a total inspection regime. And even before, the controls were strict. Surely, even this machine, like the others, is connected to the Department of Love and Justice."
  "So that's what you call your secret police?" Vladimir grimaced, smirking at how ridiculous the concept of love sounded among a nation that made the fascists look like kindergarten pranksters.
  "Well, there are several departments, and they all talk about love." The boy drew his eyebrows together and his gaze grew stern. "It's like a mockery of common sense. Even my father, a fourth-rank economic general, is afraid of these departments. Come on, hurry up and leave. I'll take you there."
  - Too late! Now we've got you, my dears! - The voices rumbled like the roar of a pack of hyenas.
  Several armored figures materialized in the air like ghosts.
  - On your knees and hands up!
  Tigrov flinched, but was immediately hit by a stun gun. His consciousness blacked out.
  ***
  He only came to in the investigator's office. The questions were standard, not particularly detailed, and although the detective spoke in a consistently gentle tone, without unnecessary threats, the interrogator's body was covered in scorpion-like sensors. If the boy tried to lie, a pain charge would be activated, far more painful than a run-of-the-mill electric shock. The "scorpions" stung his nerve endings and simultaneously displayed a hologram indicating the truthfulness percentage.
  Despite the terrifying sensation of body cells being torn apart (the loud screams were suppressed by a force field dampening the sound waves), Vladimir still became curious about how the percentage of truthfulness was calculated and whether there could even be different percentages of lies and truth. Although, why not? After all, there is a human concept: a holy lie and a half-truth are worse than any lie.
  After interrogation, he was locked in a hermetically sealed, cybernetically controlled chamber. The head of the special unit of the Department of Love and Truth, Willie Bokr, had no urge to delve into or investigate the curious phenomenon of displacement. He wouldn't get a promotion for it, and he might even be sent on a mission to a hole like planet Earth. There were serious reasons to believe it was best to dispose of the unwanted witness. How? Kill him and dismantle the body for spare parts. The skin and bones could be sold on the black market, just like human ones, but the internal organs were a problem. They were identical, but Stelzans had all their body parts enhanced through bioengineering. No, these organs wouldn't function properly unless they were idiots, but in that case, the metal wasn't worth processing. Besides, Stelzans already had natural regrowth, thanks to hyperactive stem cells. An assistant suggested an idea:
  "Why should we miss out on profits? A few extra Kulamans wouldn't hurt. There's this guy who's been wanting to buy a Stelzan from us for a while."
  - Who? - The bureaucrat tilted his chin to the side, his voice dropping to a snake-like whisper. - Maybe Giles?
  - Yes, it is! - The girl released a spark from under her nails painted with radioactive isotopes.
  Stelzan spat contemptuously, turning the bracelet scanner to the side:
  - A disgusting mixture of a beetle and a primate.
  "But he's so rich that he bought honorary citizenship of the Purple Constellation." The assistant giggled softly. "Even our hot females jump into his bed."
  "Okay, but given the risk, we'll charge a much higher price." The official paused for a moment before adding, "If he agrees, that will be just the beginning."
  "Blackmail? Of course, we'll make quantum recordings." Stelzanka released a tiny fly, smaller than a poppy seed, from her ring. It made a silent figure eight in the air, beeping: "All scanning, recording, and listening systems are ready for operation."
  "I can guess why he needs it. He could really flex his muscles on this one." The official popped a dope-laced candy into his mouth.
  That's how quickly the fate of the human child was decided.
  ***
  Indeed, despite his amorous successes with the Stelzan women, the hairy, two-armed, monkey-faced beetle Giles made a repulsive impression. Even his luxurious uniform seemed awkwardly stretched over the repulsive, furry dummy. When Vladimir was dragged to the remote villa in a packing envelope, the boy literally shook with fear. Giles, however, watched with calm interest. He sensed that the child was afraid of him, and feared violence specifically. A sticky, unpleasant voice buzzed in his ear.
  "I see you're shaking, little Stelzan. Don't be afraid! I'll save your greatest fear for last. Damned bastard of a bastard race of invaders! You must answer for all your sins and for the sins of your death-plasma-exuding kin."
  Tigrov shuddered.
  - But I"m not a stelzan, but a person...
  An ear-splitting roar cut off the sentence.
  "You, Stelzan, you lying little rat! I was warned that you, a monkey, like to harass your masters and have mental problems. That's it, you're mine, and I'll take it out on you for destroying my family. First, you'll feel what it's like to be a slave, then we'll increase your suffering. Take him out and put a collar on him."
  Tigrov was taken away and then sent to a simulated slave barracks. There, under the scorching sun, they forced him to break and move stones on stretchers or carts, all the while administering painful shocks. Giles apparently lacked imagination, or was overly preoccupied with business, but his imagination was limited to forcing him to perform difficult, practically pointless work for such a high-tech industry. Although even this was excruciating enough, swinging a pickaxe or smashing stones with a sledgehammer for 12 hours in such heat.
  Then they walked into the empty barracks over sharp, hot stones that tormented their bare feet. Within the first hour, their bare soles were raw and bloody, and the pain was like being held close to a coal brazier. The only reason their skin didn't peel was because one of their fellow slaves kindly allowed them to apply protective cream. He even whispered to them:
  "You're too weak to be a Stelzan. Your race must be as subjugated as ours. And your outward resemblance to the vile invaders is a mockery of capricious Mother Evolution."
  Vladimir nodded sadly:
  - Yes, nature played a joke on us, or God, if of course the Almighty has not yet committed suicide due to pangs of conscience for such a nightmarishly controlled universe.
  I had to sleep on bare bunks, my entire body aching from the electric shocks inflicted by a soulless robot, while nearby creatures resembling the cubs of the orcs well-known from computer games dozed. Only instead of fur, the young alien slaves had slippery fish scales, the touch of which pleasantly cooled the boys' blistered soles. Despite the whining in my empty stomach-my entire diet consisted of a single amino acid tablet-I fell into a dreamland almost instantly. But sleep after a difficult day is so brief that I didn't have time to recuperate, awakening to the distorted lightning bolts of five different colors emanating from the cyborg's whip.
  This is all so terrifying! I want to kill, toss an arthropod monkey into the belly of the most fiery quasar!
  ***
  After the sale, the police general, fourth class "X," was in excellent spirits. Yet, his relaxation was in vain.
  Literally a few hours later, a raiding party burst into the office, subduing the duplicitous law enforcement officer. After a recent battle, valuable trophies had been seized, clearly indicating General Vili Bokr's connection to Sinh intelligence. And the former executioner had become the victim, experiencing to the fullest extent what this tormentor had so relished on other living beings for centuries.
  Chapter 23
  Is it really honor?
  can't find it in the sky?
  The heart thirsts for revenge,
  to save the world!
  After having to agree to work for the Golden Constellation, Lev Eraskander was in a foul mood. On the other hand, the idea of playing spy was quite tempting. He'd watched movies filmed on Earth before the invasion. Among them, the Stierlitz series also proved quite engaging, despite the lack of fights, battles, or animated special effects. There's something amusing about such intellectual games, when you wear a mask, pretending to be someone you're not.
  The bad news is, he's now tied to the annihilation fuse on all sides. Any careless move and...
  Better not to think about it. And his Guru was right: he who doesn't take risks isn't guaranteed to avoid drinking blood to the point of vomiting, but he's guaranteed to avoid sipping champagne!
  Even though the gangster planet is surrounded by starships on all sides, there's always a way to infiltrate, even during a state of siege. For such a transfer, the Synch liaison ordered the use of a heavy-duty trailer. These are usually giant robot-controlled submarines. They fly through hyperspace using a truncated one-and-a-half-vector collapse, which saves energy but kills organic lifeforms. Here, however, the hyperspace jump will take a short time. At short range, there's a chance of survival, albeit at the risk of severe injury.
  The insect-like officer continued to buzz obsessively in my ear:
  "You'll be wearing a special camouflage suit; it'll help with surface scanning and keep you warm in the vacuum of the cargo bay. Then, after unloading, you'll be taken to a place known as the Big Pink Castle. There, you'll secretly lie low, awaiting Hermes. Then, you'll return to Earth legally."
  "What if the spaceport is heavily guarded?" Eraskander looked thoughtfully at the hologram showing the space races.
  "You must resolve these issues yourself," he grinned, twirling his synchro proboscis. "And the pink castle will have its own reflective wall. And tender, passionate ladies on guard."
  Leo tensed up a little and said, not too sincerely:
  "I don't intend to play the role of a gigolo any longer. Enough, maybe Hermes will come along, feeling a craving for boys?"
  The insect buzzed with a hint of coldness and obvious boredom:
  "You know, you primates have your own customs. We have the stronger sex, the females, while you-often purely formally-have males. And the Zorgs are complete genetic freaks."
  There was no point in arguing further. The loading had gone smoothly. The cargo being transported, in this case, wasn't particularly valuable. So, he could burrow in and relax. The boy did just that, dozing comfortably in a special spacesuit and on metal crates loaded with raw materials. The almighty god of sleep, Morpheus, threw a blanket over himself, completely shutting off his senses.
  Meanwhile, the cargo transport had barely left the base when the air smelled of hyperplasma. Imperial Navy combat starships began appearing from various points. The Sinhi overestimated the role of bribes. They seriously believed that bribing a slew of generals would guarantee safe harbor, almost in the center of the galaxy. However, the system of multiple redundant security systems, the existence of parallel structures, and the vileness and unscrupulousness of the officials already bribed negated the entire concealment system.
  Many of the bribed generals participated in the attack on the system. Is a word given to intelligent insects worth anything? Take the deposit and throw it away, and tell your secret police it was a cleverly rigged trap for your eternal rival.
  Here they are, the warships of the Purple Constellation, whose predatory appearance alone makes trillions of inhabited systems of the universe tremble.
  The strike was commanded by Ultramarshal Digger Violeto. This cruel, cunning dignitary, having received a hefty bribe, immediately passed the information on to the Superminister of War and Victory and the Department of Throne Protection. It's a good way to clean up his act and simultaneously enrich himself at the expense of arthropod "suckers." The Synch fleet is enormous, and the central base dates back to the Great War. It will take a lot of work to rip out this hardened tumor. Dulling the insects' vigilance, Digger sent a welcoming gravigram.
  "Brothers, rejoice! Our starships have arrived to fight alongside you for a sacred cause, for the bright ideals of democracy!"
  This ploy allowed the fleet to close in and unleash a devastating barrage of fire. Tens of thousands of warships were swept away in the very first seconds of the battle. The Stelzans firmly seized the initiative. Yet the outcome of the battle was not immediately decided, even though the central flagship, a superbattleship, was destroyed, shelled almost point-blank by synchronized salvos, and its commander was missing.
  Using their numerical superiority, the Sinhi attempted to establish a defense, not neglecting counterattacks. Losses on both sides were devastating. The outcome of the battle was in serious doubt. But the cunning Ultramarshal always held a trick. Since cargo starships are controlled not only by robots but also by corrective impulses, the Purple Constellation's radio engineers turned back the overloaded liner. The minerals the Sinhi were attempting to send were not so simple. When fused with another ingredient, this raw material created a kind of enhanced antimatter. Given the colossal size of the two transport submarines, a catastrophe of this magnitude would have resulted in an explosion equivalent in power to a thermoproene bomb. Preon missiles had only just begun to enter service with the Purple Constellation army. And, to the great regret of the Purple Constellation's strategists, the only charge based on the principle of preonn fusion (which releases an incomprehensibly powerful interpreonn impulse compactly contained within hyperstrings ) had already been used in the previous battle. Therefore, in this case, a substitute had to be used. The retractable force fields worked in such a way that they allowed transport to pass automatically. And in the chaos of the battle, no one bothered to reprogram the shields protecting the enormous spaceport. Consequently, the two giants collided, releasing the energy of hundreds of billions of Hiroshimas. The base was literally shattered, nearly splitting the planet. The failure of the powerful fortress, the death of the commander, and the destruction of cybernetic control took their toll. Panic broke out among several of the surviving starships of the Golden Constellation. The Singhs believed that the monstrous preonn charges had been used again, meaning they had to flee from imminent destruction. Moreover, a substantial fragment, a quarter of the planet's mass, broke off. It was becoming too much to see a world one and a half times the diameter of Saturn shatter into pieces. On the surface of the fragment, like mercury leaking from a broken thermometer, terrified aliens scattered. Many of them were overturned by the blast wave or swirled in the blazing vortex.
  The memory of how such warheads worked was too fresh. That's why the Synch starships were thrashing around and fleeing. Panic deprived them of the ability to fight with dignity.
  Here on the battleship are three frightened insects instead of a rescue capsule, screaming:
  "May the plasma prince be with us!" They flew into the recycling chamber, where they were instantly broken down into individual elemental parts, sending the stream into the hypernuclear reactor for processing.
  Among the dying were some more attractive individuals. For example, an officer from the Affaka race, resembling an ermine with a ponytail and a body like three Aster buds clustered together. She, fleeing the heat, stumbled upon a sharp spike of broken plating. It pierced her completely , and the beauty died painfully like a butterfly on a needle, unable to escape the special fire generated by the hyperplasma. This flame, in the process of an exothermic reaction, partially utilizes the energy of intranuclear and intraquark bonds, causing even things that should not burn to ignite, especially in a vacuum.
  The trisexual female remembers her family-the male and the neutral, and the offspring they reproduced together. What happened to them? The triad collapsed, grief, suffering, death! The flower ermine whispers with difficulty:
  "Forgive me, Supreme Triumvirate... I didn't observe the full set of rituals. But it was said that the fallen in battle are loved by the Most High Gods..."
  The flesh is burning, and there is no longer the strength to scream or whisper, consciousness is slowly fading, while the soul, leaving the ashes remaining from the body, nods goodbye with something like an invisible head:
  - I believe that in another Universe everything will be much fairer and better!
  Overwhelmed by animal terror, the aliens perished under the relentless blows of the merciless enemy's ships. Starships exploded like bursting metallic bubbles, showering space with fiery spray. Individual molten balls of metal, attracted to one another, formed into peculiar, glittering beads and then fluttered through space.
  The Purple Constellation Female General summed it up venomously:
  "We adore beauty, we turn sinkhas into beads! Our jewelry is top-notch!"
  Creatures of all kinds swarmed the starships, including the mammoth-like mukiviks, trampling the slow-moving synchs into the hypertitanium. The synchs responded with volleys of grav-lasers. The metal burned ever more intensely, sending streams of fiery waves through it, causing their victims to scream and jump.
  A few, but very many, managed to escape. Some managed to hyperspace into the centers of the densely scattered celestial bodies. Caught in the raging plasma, the ships vaporized before their owners could even realize they had made a fatal mistake.
  ***
  During these turbulent events, Eraskander slept soundly, unaware that his transport was hurtling inexorably toward a deadly collapse. The exhausting experiences of the past 24 hours had left their mark on his dreams. He was having a nightmare...
  Here he is again, imprisoned in the gloomy dungeon of an underground bunker for especially dangerous criminals. First, the native executioners take over. They torture and torment him crudely. A traditional, ancient rack, where they yank a boy up with heavy weights tied to his legs, twisting his arms and shoulders, yanking him, breaking his joints. Then they light a fire, roasting the boy's calloused heels, burning his feet to the bone, and cauterizing the pressure points on his body with a red-hot whip. It's incredibly painful; the smell of burning meat fills the room, and against this backdrop, the blows of the sharpened wire cutting through his skin are barely perceptible. Then the executioners try to stretch him on the rack, twisting his ligaments. Yes, it hurts, of course, but beyond the pain, he is filled with hatred and anger. As the torturers adjusted the angle of the rack, Lev twisted and managed, not sparing his crippled, crimson-blistered leg, to smash one of his tormentors in the jaw. The blow was a powerful one, and a dozen teeth flew from his blunt, square mouth. Enraged, the executioners lashed out with red-hot rods, breaking and twisting all his ribs. Another boy would have died long ago, but he remained alive. The executioners continued to torment him, sprinkling salt and pepper on his wounds and burns, running electric shocks through his body until the intense current smoked, and driving red-hot needles under his fingernails. They dunked him in molten oil and ice-cold water, injected him with psychotropic drugs to prevent unconsciousness, administered a pain serum, and used other forms of torture well known to all of humanity. Yes, they hurt, but they couldn't break him, couldn't wring the words from the boy. When through the continuous, painful, sparkling fog, words were heard.
  "Human, tell me you're less than a microbe. Tell me you're a slave to the Stelzans, they're your gods. Tell me you're ready to kiss the organ of your masters that brings annihilation, and then all this torment will immediately end."
  In response, seven-year-old Lev Eraskander spat in the executioners' faces and received blows in return. This, of course, was unacceptable to the colonial authorities of the Great Stelzanate. The son of a high-ranking official, a fourth-class general, he was so severely crippled that he could only subsist on vegetation. It wasn't enough to simply kill a man; he had to be broken. The village where Lev lived had already been destroyed, and all its inhabitants, regardless of age or gender, were subjected to torture and agonizing execution. People were often crucified on seven-pointed stars, where they died slowly and painfully. For some, a more sophisticated method was devised: being dropped in a transparent bag into the sun. Then, over the course of several days, the person would slowly burn from overheating. Other methods of reprisal were also used, such as slowly transporting us into the vacuum of space in special elevators... A typical Stelzanite terror tactic: to intimidate and rule, reducing the conquered races to animal terror. This slave must be broken at any cost. Here was the father of the mutilated boy with the head of the native department of Love and Truth. A slender, large general with a wickedly aquiline face, accompanied by an equally healthy and even fatter head of the punitive forces. Looking at the child's mangled body, the Stelzan laughed condescendingly.
  -Have you used all types of human torture?
  The chief of the native executioners, a pimply, obese Indian, adjusted the headdress with several reddish, crumpled feathers that had slipped off his Neanderthal head and said in a weary, booming voice:
  -I think everything is master...
  - Did they drill your teeth down to the gums? - The general snorted contemptuously.
  "No, we forgot, but we knocked out and broke the jaw. We can finish drilling what's left." The executioners' tongs, blackened by the flame, were stuck in their sockets, and the mechanical drills began to roar.
  "Shut up, lobotomized primate. You've done your job." Sniffing the air with his bulldog nose and smelling the strong smell of something burning, the torturer blurted out in surprise. "How come he's not dead yet?"
  - The bastard is tenacious. He has a rubbery body, and his wounds heal before our eyes.
  "Any primitive savage can tear a body apart, the main thing is to destroy and burn away the soul. And that's not given to you. Just look at your son's killer, General, but please don't hit him anymore. You won't be able to add to his pain anyway, and your heavy blow might stop it altogether." The head of the torturers looked at him with such a benevolent air, as if he were talking about baking a cake.
  "I'm not going to get dirty with that jellyfish, but when we throw him into the cybernetic abyss, I'd like to be the first to strike." General Stelzanat's gaze literally oozed venom.
  "Very well, I trust you to pulse it!" The Torturer winked mockingly, like a thug about to plunge a pike into his victim. "So, kid, rejoice, you'll know the deepest depths of nightmare and pain."
  The executioners grabbed the mutilated boy and dragged him down the corridor. Along the way, they repeatedly stepped on his burned, mangled legs and broken toes, trying to inflict further suffering. Descending in the elevator, they entered a high-security room. They placed him in a spacesuit, attaching special sensors to his head.
  The Purple Constellation's professional torturer winked at the general.
  -Now it's your move, colleague, hit him.
  "I'm not your colleague. My job is to fight an armed enemy, risking my own death, not to torment helpless victims. This slug is an exception to the rule."
  I will cause him special pain.
  At first, Eraskander couldn't see anything; there was pitch-black, oppressive darkness, and then... Something thundered like a cross between a Wagner symphony and a funeral march. The boy saw armadas of starships from the Purple Constellation. Resembling the hallucinations of a drug addict going through withdrawal, the terrifying ships unleashed a terrible blow on the planet. He witnessed the embodiment of hell, in multiple projections at once: multi-story buildings collapsing, children burning alive. Blinded, burned mothers screaming and raging, the half-skeletal remains of barely alive people swarming. Then his own native village, the boys and girls with whom he had recently played his childish games. Soldiers smashing children's heads with their boots, and tearing off the clothes of older ones and beginning to rape them in perverse and cruel ways. Pregnant women were kicked, their bellies crushed, or crushed beneath the queerly wreckage of piranhas and tanks with cobra-shaped barrels. And Lev not only saw and heard, but the smell of scorched meat and bloody sweat literally filled his nostrils. A bloody, metallic taste filled his mouth, and when one of the punishers slammed a boot into his face, his head jerked back from the piercing pain. Unable to bear it any longer, Lev screamed and rushed toward these utterly savage enemies. He wanted to kill one, kill them all, find and kill all the trillions and quintillions of these two-legged parasites who had corrupted the universe. Kill, strike, lunge, swing, burn them all, incinerate them all!
  -I hate them! I hate you! I want you dead! Die! Die! Annihilate!!!
  
  ***
  In his sleep, Lev's limbs twitched so violently that he managed to break free and, twitching, fly out the emergency release doors for hazardous objects. His suit automatically activated spacewalk mode. How could this have happened? Why hadn't the cybernetic security program activated? Half asleep, the young man automatically entered the simple combination to open the door. In this state, he leaped out into the doorway without thinking. Naturally, even with the acceleration, he was tossed like a champagne cork into the alien, cold void. A tiny grain of sand, a boy, carried by cosmic currents into the endless abyss of the stellar ocean.
  Weightlessness is a strange, incomprehensible state. Something similar is experienced only in dreams, when you float beneath imaginary clouds. And around you is a vacuum and enormous necklaces of fiery, blazing stars. The bright light of tens of thousands of stars, undiminished by the atmosphere. Although the spacesuit is equipped with light filters, the densely strewn radiant orbs blind the eyes, causing intense glare. The spacesuit, however, is one of those automated systems controlled during flight in open space.
  Turning, the boy saw a scene of a massive battle. Although without the optical enhancement, even large starships appear like tiny glowing flies, the image of a massive space battle is still captivating. Seemingly small due to the distance, the starships shower each other with deadly charges capable of incinerating entire cities and even planets. They flare into millions of multicolored lights of varying brightness and size, constantly jumping and racing through space. Then there's an explosion, and the two transports collide. The explosion itself isn't yet visible. The light waves haven't had time to reach the target, but the impact of the gravitational wave is already palpable. It scatters the warships. You can even feel your body being crushed inside your spacesuit, as if struck by the tail of a real sperm whale.
  Lev felt himself thrown aside as if by a heavy club, as if something had struck his head. He experienced a powerful shock, akin to a complete blackout, yet his consciousness remained intact. With ever-increasing acceleration, the boy hurtled forward in a collapsing rush. His flesh was crushed, Eraskander barely breathing, nearly crushed by the acceleration of hundreds of G. His consciousness was clouded, but stubbornly held, like a tightrope walker holding on with one hand, preventing himself from falling into the darkness of oblivion.
  Gradually, the light waves of the planetary catastrophe began to reach him. The incinerating light blotted out the stars for a few seconds, flooding the vacuum with megaplasma discharges. The weak protective coating of his spacesuit only partially weakened the impact. Blisters and burns immediately appeared on his skin, causing noticeable pain with every movement. In a vacuum, one can fly almost indefinitely in one direction, risking eventually being violently swept into the gravitational field of one of the many stars.
  Eraskander desperately tried to use his suit's gvivio-photonic miniature thrusters to enter a dive and turn toward some inhabited planet, fortunately, they were plentiful here. However, it seemed the suit's equipment had been damaged during the flare, and he was unable to escape the tight embrace of the vacuum. He could helplessly flail his arms and legs, twist from side to side, but here, in the vacuum of space, even the strongest man felt like a helpless infant.
  An hour passed, then several more hours.
  I was already hungry and thirsty.
  It's clear that if no one picks him up, he could float in space for centuries, turning into a block of ice. Another option is to enter the orbit of a star, a journey that would take millions of years. The transmitter isn't working either. Well, he'll have to die! No, he can't just die like that, freezing senselessly in the icy vacuum. Sensei's advice came to mind: "When you're helpless, strength must come to your aid. Remember, it's not strong emotions or anger, not hatred, but calm, peace, and meditation that should open the chakras and fill the body with magical energy. The power of the mind will give you the power to accomplish many good deeds, while anger, hatred, and lust turn energy into destruction and ruin."
  The guru is right, as always. Yes, it would be good to relax and meditate. But how can one do that when one is overwhelmed by hatred and anger? Perhaps rage will help awaken the supercosmic force.
  After all, when he experienced for the very first time terrible anger and a surge of previously unknown, frenzied energy, a miracle occurred: the cybernetic three-dimensional reality collapsed, shattering into fragments. The monstrous virtual monsters literally shrank and faded before his eyes. A wave of darkness washed over him, occasionally pierced by fiery sparks. Then he came to. The faces of the executioners were confused, the multiple duplicated computer had completely failed, as if a small thermal charge had exploded inside or a super-powerful virus was raging. But Eraskander already understood then that his rage had fried all the microchips and photon cascade reflectors of the virtual hell, meaning that he could kill with more than just the body. It seemed Sensei knew this and was reluctant to teach him the magical art of the mind.
  Now he would focus his anger, hatred would flow through his veins-and all his chakras would open. If Sensei could move by teleporting through space, then he could do it too!
  Lev Eraskander concentrated his rage. He imagined this entire cosmos, executioners, Stelzans, traitorous collaborators, hideous, predatory extragalactic monsters. He tried to sense the ultra-fine fabric of space, probe the vacuum, sense other dimensions. When concentrating, one must forget about the body, imagine that the body is nonexistent. Some of Sensei and Guru's students had already tried moving objects. He himself had heard that he possessed powerful force and that he couldn't control it deliberately. They were lying! A flood of wild rage washed over him, and his body jerked sharply. It had worked! He could mentally control his flight. And now he could pick up speed-and speed toward the nearest planet. The boy, however, had forgotten that this was, after all, space, that the distances here were vast, incomparable to Earthly scales. Flying a hundred meters, stunning the imagination of simpletons, wasn't something one could do on Earth! Even the most experienced Gurus understand the dangers of unprepared acceleration, much less the uncontrolled use of paranormal power. The acceleration was poorly compensated for by the minigrav. This spacesuit wasn't designed for interstellar travel. Accelerating more and more, Lev exceeded his body's limits and nearly depressurized the suit. The acceleration exceeded three thousand G's and paralyzed his breathing, cutting off blood flow to the brain. This time, thoughts and feelings halted their rapid progress. It felt as if a multi-ton tank had crashed onto his head, crushing his mental perception.
  When strength is revealed to you,
  Be able to hold it in your hands!
  So that you won't be conquered
  That darkness that sows death and fear!
  Chapter 24
  The strong always blame the powerless,
  Therefore, if you want to live freely,
  Strengthen your muscles, brother,
  While doing so, act nobly!
  Within the solar system and its environs, tens of millions of combat starships stood at full combat readiness. Hovering in space, they waited only for a pretext to grapple and plunge into a withering battle.
  But there was still no reason.
  No one was so foolish as to risk a suicidal skirmish. Everyone froze. The tension seemed to be gradually easing. The pirates, however, having lost many of their leaders, were unwilling to leave empty-handed. Some of the privateers had once served the Purple Constellation Empire, actively participating in eco-wars. These pirates knew how rich the center of the galaxy was, with its dense planetary formations, many of which had recently been wild but had now become active resource suppliers. While this was a lucrative prospect, the mighty Stelzanat starfleet lurked here, and there was no agreement on who would allow the pirates access to the heart of the galaxy, and venturing there was mortally dangerous. The pirates, in disarray, demanded that Fagiram allow their ships to pass, as if the governor of Earth commanded the entire galaxy. Yes, even the hypergovernor didn't have the authority to independently withdraw the troops of an entire galaxy-such decisions were coordinated with the Department of War and Victory. The squabble grew increasingly aggressive, and some privateer commanders entered into negotiations with military submarines from other worlds. There, too, was a diverse mix of combat teams and commanders. Many of them were local absolute kingpins, and it was beneath them even to negotiate with ignoble individuals. Others were themselves consumed by a thirst for revenge, especially those who had lost relatives, while the desire to enrich themselves and plunder was virtually universal. Of course, the most aggressive representatives of civilizations in this part of the universe went on this expedition. Sensible beings wouldn't fall for such an adventure. The Sinhi were clearly hesitant. Without the support of other worlds, the war with Stelzanat was fraught with inevitable defeat; even treason and bribery of the elites did not guarantee victory. And it is almost impossible to keep these diverse tribes in check .
  Gradually, more and more leaders of the extragalactic armadas leaned toward a strike at the galactic center. Yes, this disrupted the original plan for a synchronized strike on the capital of the Purple Constellation, but it was still a better option than another internecine bloodbath. The central commander of the Synchs, Super Grand Admiral Libarador Vir, gave the order.
  - In connection with the unanimous opinion of our brothers and us personally, the first blow will be dealt to the local center of residence of these vile primates.
  Millions of jubilant graviograms showed that this solution was to everyone's liking:
  - We will fly forward, and the center of the galaxy will be given over to you for complete plunder.
  Again, unanimous approval.
  - We're taking off immediately!
  This suited absolutely everyone, even Fagiram, who, already quite scared, took a dose of doping.
  The Super-Grand Admiral was pleased. Of course, there might be unplanned skirmishes with the Stelzan army, but there were far more of them, and they would surely crush these parasites. It had previously been thought that the Stelzans knew how to fight but could not trade. Therefore, they could be crushed economically. In reality, it turned out that even in eco-wars, they were stronger, those damned cunning primates. And the only real way was to finish them off by force of arms. Therefore, after a brief reconnaissance, the armadas of warships entered hyperspace.
  Several pirate starships were delayed; the filibusters were angry and wanted to vent their anger on someone. The defenseless and weak inhabitants of planet Earth were the best candidates for this role. When the shepherd is unavailable, anger is vented on the sheep. Several dozen small missiles were launched at the most remote settlements on Earth from Tibet. Some were shot down by lasers, while others nevertheless reached densely populated areas, blazing into gigantic fireballs. Tens of millions of innocent people were once again destroyed or maimed. It seemed as if the souls of a hellish cascade were moaning in the vacuum of space. The shadows of people could find no peace.
  ***
  But the corsairs were wrong to think that they could get away with everything.
  Tracking equipment detected the group of shooters, recording the data and transferring it to a data storage device. Despite strict orders, ground-based combat units fired back. Two ships were destroyed outright, and one of the starships, although it avoided a direct hit, was blown off course. Jumping into hyperspace, it flew into the center of the Sun, where, struck by the multi-million-kilometer core temperature, it disintegrated into individual photons. The remaining space raiders managed to escape into hyperspace, safe for conventional missiles.
  The flight of the motley armada to the center of the galaxy should take only a few days.
  ***
  While hordes of invaders march toward the heart of the galaxy, a young scout wastes no time carefully studying the military equipment of the Purple Constellation. She's still young enough for her curiosity to seem overly suspicious, but caution is still necessary. The starships are furnished modestly, like barracks, but they're full of vivid images. The Stelzans are especially fond of painting scenes of stellar or mythical battles. It's their style. The types of weapons are quite varied. The primary operating principles are beam and hyperplasma. Of course, it's impossible to produce such weapons in a makeshift manner. Various types of cannons, launchers, screen emitters, force fields, vacuum distorters...
  The girl also really wanted to learn more about her occupiers, without arousing unnecessary suspicion with her ignorance of basic things. So she wandered the long, narrow corridors of the battle cruiser-flagship. She remembered a partisan series about similar ships, filmed in the early twenty-first century. This one seemed somehow richer and more futuristic. Countless images of us moving along the corridor walls moved like a video image, combat robots entertained themselves with hologram games. Beautiful, interesting, and a little scary, it showed how far their civilization had advanced technologically. The flagship was enormous, its crew the size of a small city. A mighty starship the size of a sphere, over three kilometers in diameter. It had practically every comfort and entertainment. The only problem was the high risk of failing miserably, crawling around the ship like a bug.
  "Hey, you! What's your name again? What are you doing hanging around doing nothing?" a sharp, hoarse voice interrupted her anxious thoughts.
  The girl turned around. No, judging by the shoulder straps, it was an economics specialist, still quite young. There was no need to be afraid, but it was possible to spark a conversation.
  - I am Labido Karamada.
  "I see it's written on your computer bracelet's hologram. But why do you look so lost?" The guy looked at him with more sympathy than suspicion.
  "I've run into some problems. During my last fight on that damn planet, I was caught in an unknown field and lost too much of my memory," Elena said in a pained tone, crossing her arms over her chest for emphasis.
  "Then let our bioreconstructors rehabilitate you," the young man suggested, smiling.
  "It's very difficult to do. The radiation was generated by distant alien worlds. It would take a long time to recover from such an injury." Labido sighed heavily, lowering her head.
  Stelzan chuckled, his gaze kind and intelligent.
  "Come to my place, let's talk. You're talking about unknown radiation, waves from other races? I'm working on that myself right now."
  The room they entered resembled a cross between a 3D cinema and a state-of-the-art laboratory. The seats and floor were covered in mirrored plastic, and a 3D projection of a star empire glowed overhead, framed in a traditional seven-color scheme.
  "Yes, that's interesting. Were you covered by a force field at that moment?" asked a blond, athletically built guy.
  "No, I wasn't. Does that even matter?" Labido tensed involuntarily.
  "Of course, what's called a force field has changed the strategy of warfare across the universe. Once upon a time, in ancient times, there were two ways to defend: armor and counterattack. I don't remember the sequence, but the thermonuclear missiles they created crushed everything. They led to the creation of a unified planetary empire. Force fields were created in parallel with the first annihilation charges. However, we inherited some knowledge from other races, including the thermoquark bomb. For defense against projectiles ." "Based on the process of quark fusion, which is millions of times stronger than nuclear weapons, fundamentally new types of protection had to be developed," Stelzan said quickly, popping a piece of gum shaped like a race car into his mouth.
  - How do they work? - The scout became genuinely curious.
  "To put it simply, a vacuum contains numerous fields, some passive and others active, depending on the state of the vacuum. Naturally, these fields penetrate matter, and the reaction influences the properties of these fields. When bombarded with certain types of radiation, some passive fields become active, altering the properties of matter. After a series of studies, we were able to find relatively optimal proportions of force impact. But, of course, force protection is not perfect. In particular , the more active the energy flow, the more difficult it is to neutralize. The graviolaser presented a particularly challenging problem. Its very principle-combining the destructive power and all-encompassing force of gravity with a much greater force, ten to the fortieth power of electromagnetic interactions-made such a weapon..." The boy choked on his gum and fell silent.
  "Yes, of course, they shoot down starships," Labido, to her shame, didn't quite understand what the electronic worm was explaining to her.
  "Of course, the projectiles are also being improved. We've been working on missiles, in particular, that emit counter-radiation that penetrates defenses. We, the Stealth, are still very young by space standards, so not everything works out." The Young Man had calmed down; apparently he'd had to talk about this more than once.
  "Yes, I understand. But we still defeated other races and empires with their millions of years of history." Elena smiled innocently, as if she was primarily responsible for Stelzanat's victories.
  "Yes. We won. But the Zorgs possess the secret of an impenetrable force field; they even call it transtemporal. Its principles are a mystery to our scientists, but I have my own theory. Instead of the standard six or even twelve in our most recent developments, the Zorgs use all thirty-six dimensions. I heard they've even managed to penetrate parallel universes." The techie spread his hands.
  "They're still stupid creatures, incapable of properly utilizing the experience of billions of years of evolution. But we Stelzans have a great emperor, and he will destroy them!" Labido assumed a ferocious expression and shook her fists.
  "Yes, Emperor, freedom, and very soon, miracle technology. Our cybernetic devices have calculated that in 100 to 1,000 years, we will technologically overtake these three-sexed metalheads, disintegrate them into preons, and feed the entire universe." The young man also shook his fist. A pair of robots playing star strategies paused, their holograms extinguished, and stood at attention.
  - It's a long wait! - The scout even yawned demonstratively.
  "Why so long? Even in this universe, we'll be young and strong, and if we die, the next realm will be much more interesting. Personally, I can hardly imagine everyday life in 12 or 36 dimensions, and there they'll be of increasing complexity." The Stelzan techie's green eyes gleamed with excitement.
  "But we can get confused, lost in such a multidimensional world," Labido-Elena sighed.
  "Don't be afraid, we too once had vacuum-headed fools who didn't believe in our ability to fly and conquer other worlds. There was a primeval time, a terrible, dark time, when we lived on the same planet, fighting each other with clubs and arrows. This nightmare will never happen again, all the infinite universes will be ours!" The young man exclaimed enthusiastically, crossing his arms above his head, palms outstretched.
  "What about the present?" Labido asked coldly.
  While talking, an interesting couple approached an unusual statue. The guy made a strange gesture and two helmets, vaguely resembling motorcycle helmets , began to float in the air .
  "And in the present, I'll show you a little novelty, something not every biped can see. Let's suit up in a plasma computer, put on virtual helmets, and immerse ourselves in a new world."
  The young man said, looking expressively at the girl with ardor.
  "Helmets? They'll only cover your face!" the scout exclaimed, belatedly realizing she'd blurted out something stupid.
  - No, I see you've been pretty irradiated, your brain and body won't know the difference. On cue. One, two, three!
  Putting on the helmet, Labido felt herself falling into the lilac mist of a bottomless well. Her body became weightless and floated in a mirrored space, surrounded by dense bouquets of multicolored stars. It seemed as if every cell of her body was dissolving into a boundless virtual cosmos. She watched, as if from a distance, as her corporeal shell disintegrated. Each part swelled like a giant bubble and exploded into thousands of multicolored rockets. A frenzied glow mingled with the dense garlands of stars, obscuring visibility. It seemed as if her entire body had been transformed, subatomic bonds collapsing, tearing apart the boundaries of reality. The kaleidoscopic shift of the spectrum merged into a solid glow, and instead of stars and fiery flashes, mountains of burning and exploding banknotes, kulamans, dirinars, grocks, and others rained down. The banknotes smashed, fragments falling on her head and continuing to explode, ominous lights streaking through her long, iridescent hair. Then the bills transformed into vile, disgusting snakes. A veritable ocean of slimy, suffocating, fetid vermin filled interstellar space, cluttering every angle, crushing her with their viscous mass, suffocating her breath. The girl became truly terrified by the hideous creatures with their disgusting, crooked teeth, squealing and hissing from all sides. Dripping poison burned her delicate skin, and the stench literally tore her insides apart. A sudden beam of light cut through the space, and a fiery ball appeared near her face. A melodic female voice said:
  - You have to make a choice of weapons!
  The appearance of the ball helped False Karamada come to her senses, and she screamed in anger.
  "I don't play these stupid games. Maybe you can find some clients from the nursery, let them crawl here and play with the worms!"
  "You're amazing! You use some weird terminology! Are you using some kind of slang? This is just the first stage of the game, a form of self-training for the shock guard fighters. Each level involves a battle and a change of opponents. The pain isn't real, don't be afraid." The balloon's voice, cheerful as the morning radio, sounded from within.
  "Do all your games revolve around death? Shoot? Blow up? Dissolve? Vacuum? Photograph!" The scout was so nervous that she forgot all about caution.
  "You don't want a military topic? Then take your pick: economics, logic, science." The dispassionate robot's voice became even gentler.
  "I want the promised multidimensional world. Where are your twelve dimensions?" Elena growled, shaking her fists.
  "It exists, but only at the very top levels." This time, the ball, having changed shape to a triangle, spoke in a young man's voice. "You have no idea how to navigate in three-dimensional virtual space, and the multidimensional universe is like thousands of complex labyrinths, all connected at a single point."
  "If you're a gentleman, take my hand and lead me through this multidimensional world," the girl insisted, confused yet driven by curiosity.
  "I'll try, but you'll be torn apart at the slightest deviation. This isn't truly multidimensional space, it's just a reflection of our theoretical ideas of what it would look like in a twelve-dimensional universe." The triangle lengthened, beginning to look like a jet fighter from the late twentieth century.
  "I'm quite ready." Elena even raised her hand in a pioneer salute.
  - Good! Let's begin!
  The snakes disintegrated into tiny silver balls, which suddenly evaporated like snowflakes on a hot frying pan. She found herself on a transparent platform with squares resembling a chessboard. A funny, furry little animal, resembling a cross between a squirrel and a yellow Cheburashka, appeared out of thin air. A proboscis protruded and retracted from its cute face. The tailed Cheburashka gently touched the girl's delicate face with its proboscis. The touch was innocent and pleasant. Labido ran her hand through the little creature's soft fur.
  - How funny you are, my cutie! You are much nicer than these cannibals and bastards that fill this space.
  - Yes, I agree! Indeed, I am more attractive than the derivative dregs of the universe that fill the entire universe.
  The voice was a little thinner, but it was undoubtedly the same Stelzan explorer. Labido didn't even know his name.
  With difficulty restraining herself, the girl pushed the animal away.
  - I guessed that you were a pervert, but even now...
  The words stuck on my tongue.
  "What perversion could there be here? We are members of opposite sexes. And what's natural isn't criminal!" the little animal growled and added, "Sex is the torch of life; for those who care less about love!"
  "Stop it! Calm your virtual curiosity!" Labido yelped and tried to push the animal away with her palm.
  "Okay, what you see is just an illusion created by your brain. The image is quite typical, reminiscent of an ancient children's hero. But why is it entirely yellow with a white tip on its tail? Usually this animal is seven-colored," the young man in Cheburashka's guise was surprised.
  "Maybe this color is the brightest?" Labido-Elena suggested uncertainly.
  "Perhaps, but I have no right to show you multidimensional space. You don't have clearance." The little animal's face turned serious.
  "I don't think anyone will know," the girl said, spreading her arms helplessly. Something like orange plantain floated through the virtual air, and the scent of the forest filled the air.
  "They'll find out if I don't erase this from the drive's memory. But a more thorough check will uncover traces. I'm risking a lot." The little animal pressed a furry finger to its thick, cream-colored lips.
  "Yes, I understand, you want payment." Elena shrugged. It's only natural that in this world nothing comes for free.
  "Regardless of your emotions, you'll enjoy it." Cheburashka chuckled. As if to confirm his words, roses began sprouting on the floor. "That goes without saying, but there's one more thing. You must open your mind, let me scan the information."
  "That will never happen," Elena shook her lush hair.
  "Then you won't see other dimensions!" The young man spoke in a tone as if he were coaxing a little girl to eat a spoonful of porridge.
  "You leave me no choice." The scout girl lowered her head.
  - There is always a choice!
  The girl paused for a moment. This Stelzan must have suspected something, to be showing such interest in her thoughts and memories. And if she reported this to command, they'd thoroughly investigate her. Leaving the game was more than suspicious; maybe it was worth a try?
  "Did you tell me you were a learned intellectual? Or did I just imagine it?" the spy girl asked sarcastically.
  "Yes, but I didn't just say it. I'm an officer on the scientific and technical front. My technointelligence parameters are high." A virtual image resembling the mythical Minotaur appeared before the young partisan. The monster was clearly trying to outsmart its ancient Greek prototype.
  "So let's play a game. I really enjoyed human chess, for example. We'll play, and the winner takes everything and can fulfill their partner's every wish," Elena said, jumping on a flower leaf that instantly appeared in the air.
  "You want to play the pathetic games of the petty natives? This primitive stuff? 64 squares and 32 pieces?" The Minotaur changed shape again, donning large glasses and sprouting ears shaped like halberds. "I offer you our game, ancient and intellectual. Do you agree, girl? Will you play or will you leave this imaginary reality?"
  "I agree, just explain the rules!" Elena felt increasingly uncomfortable.
  - Let's get started!
  The virtual space was whirled into a mad, motley whirlwind.
  ***
  Reaching the center of the galaxy took much less time than predicted by preliminary calculations. Due to some still-unclear laws of physics, the same starships sometimes travel the same distance in different amounts of time, sometimes with significant differences between the calculated and actual time. This still-unexplained effect of spatial convergence could decisively influence the outcome of a space war.
  The commander of the Sinh strike squadron, Giler Zabanna, was even pleased that the plundering of the central planets would take less time, and that they would then have time to launch a pre-planned attack on the metropolis. These protein-based primates are a mockery of intelligent life. It would be interesting to devastate and exterminate planets inhabited by hairless apes who imagine themselves gods. The official Sinh religion- atheism with a touch of mysticism-considers belief in gods to be the preserve of the mentally retarded.
  A recently received gravity log reported that the treacherous Stelzans, although they had received the money, still attacked, destroying over two million starships and over five billion fighters of the Golden Constellation.
  The nearest inhabited planet lies directly ahead of them. It's time to test the striking power of their combat submarines on it. The center of the galaxy is quite rich in habitable planets, but it was almost completely devoid of intelligent life forms. Therefore, the central planets are almost entirely populated by settlers, Stelzans, and the most easily exploited enslaved races.
  A huge greenish star with large red spots, framed by a dozen planets of varying sizes, is clearly visible thanks to the superb gravity scanning model. Reproduced in a three-dimensional cybernetic image, the system appears fragile and defenseless. This is the first target; we need to warm up properly. The most agile pirates rushed forward, trying to be the first to reach the prize, to plunder and kill.
  Zabanna squealed with all the fury she could muster:
  "Long-range missiles ready for action! Strike the largest planet! Let the Stelzans drown in hyperplasmic vomit!" And, straining even harder, she added, "They'll scatter across the galaxy as photons."
  A timid voice nevertheless tried to object.
  - Perhaps it would be better to launch a selective strike and confiscate the rich loot?
  "No, you freak! You males only love money. I want to drink the blood of these mentally retarded macaques." The ultra-marshal's squeal became so shrill that the crystal goblet held by the insect-hero statue cracked and burst like a piece of forehead smashed by a hammer. One of the adjutants even fell backwards in fear. Marshal Kuch nevertheless answered the hysterical woman:
  - This is the planet Limaxer, the natives, the Lims, live here. The Stelzans are scattered across the satellites.
  "Quasar's a waste of time. They've found someone to pity. More furry creatures!" The Ultramarshal squealed like a record scratched by a rusty needle. Her wings were still fluttering. "It's high time to sequester the universe from inferior species. Strike from a distance. Maybe there's cover there!"
  Several thousand unmanned homing warheads, equipped with cybernetic target tracking software, launched from the starships. No sooner had the warheads entered orbit around the outermost planet than they were bombarded with a dense network of laser beams. The missiles twitched in flight, disrupting their trajectories, attempting to disrupt the aim and concentration of the beams. In turn, the Stelzans launched mini-missiles and dense clouds of metal balls, aiming to damage the mechanisms of the flying piranhas. Almost all the warheads were destroyed before reaching the planet. Only a few of the two thousand missiles managed to reach the surface.
  Many inhabitants of this densely populated world didn't even have time to panic. A plasma vortex, heated to billions of degrees, shattered bodies into elementary particles. Those farther from the epicenter of the blast suffered far more painful deaths. Seemingly harmless creatures, resembling chickens with the arms and bodies of six-toed Lima monkeys, caught in the deadly radiation, burst into flames like candles on a cake. Greenish flames consumed their feathers, as delicate as poplar fluff, causing the natives to writhe and bounce like ping-pong balls in excruciating agony. During the invasion of the Purple Constellation armada, the natives offered no resistance and thus escaped serious destruction.
  Many tall, multi-story buildings with distinctive architecture remained standing. The natives themselves hung the seven-colored flags of the occupiers and tried to behave as obediently as possible. However, even this behavior did not protect them from murder and abuse at the hands of the invaders. And yet, only now has the planet truly reached judgment day. Colorful polygonal skyscrapers first burst into flames like sheaves of straw soaked in gasoline, then collapsed in the shock wave, scattering giant fireballs for hundreds of kilometers. The Stelzan military bases, protected by powerful force fields, were virtually undamaged, but hundreds of millions of furry intelligent creatures will never again see the wondrous sunrise with its unique greenish-red hues of the "Sun." And yet, the first strike failed to destroy all populated areas, so the bewildered commander of the vile arthropods demands a repeat strike.
  However, a gravigram was transmitted via the computer. The Super Governor of the Galaxy demands immediate withdrawal from the Stelzan-controlled sector, otherwise the full destructive power of the star fleet will be deployed.
  Giler Zabanna bared her teeth, her proboscis rose up, and her voice became piercingly high.
  "A mangy primate dares to threaten us! They're less intelligent than larvae. We'll vacuum up their central planet with this cloven-hoofed gibbon. Force a thrust straight to the center! Attack the administrative planet of Tsukarim! We'll finish off these 'fluffies', disintegrate them a little later. We have tens of millions of ships, we'll reduce the entire galaxy from cloud to core to preons!"
  The multifaceted armada surged forward with its innumerable forces. The starships were so numerous that they stretched out in a front several parsecs high and wide. Some of the submarines, led by pirates, broke formation and rushed toward the nearest systems. Giler and her second-in-command, Komalos, stared impassively at the monitor. The male, slightly shorter and stockier with a short proboscis, was intently watching the enlarged 3D image. True, the females were slightly better fighters than the males, but the males were still more intelligent. And financial power belonged to them, while the women only knew how to shoot. And now Giler was eager to fight, but did she have a battle plan? After all, in the event of a serious battle, they could only count on the fleet of the Golden Constellation and two or three loyal allies; the rest would fight chaotically.
  Greenish alert dots flash on the screen. Enemy ships emerge from space. The Stelzans take up combat positions in unison, like in a space strategy game. There are so many of them, too many! Monstrous armadas of terrifying shapes. So many glowing dots! The computer spit out numbers. Wow, the count is in the millions. They didn't expect this, no one expected it! Zabanna, nervously twitching her right wing, glanced at the three-dimensional image of space:
  - Vertebrates are crawling out of black holes. Now our fly swatters will clear the space.
  "No need to rush. The enemy seems stronger than we thought. We must regroup immediately if he strikes at the weaker, multi-type units." The army collapsed, shattering into fragments. The monstrous virtual monsters literally shrank and faded before his eyes. A wave of darkness washed over him, occasionally pierced by fiery sparks. Then he came to. The executioners' faces were confused, the multiple duplicate computers had completely failed, as if a small thermal charge had exploded inside or a super-powerful virus was raging. But Eraskander already understood then that his rage had fried all the microcircuits and photon cascade reflectors of the virtual hell, meaning he could kill with more than just the body. It seemed Sensei knew this and was reluctant to teach him the magical art of the mind.
  "We could fall into a bubble trap, if we're not careful with other civilizations," said Supermarshal Komalos, his voice deliberately lazy.
  "There are still more of us! And we must attack immediately!" Giler refused to listen.
  "No, if you count only our starships, then it's no more, and the primates' weaponry is more advanced than ours." A note of alarm was already beginning to creep into Komalos's tone.
  "If we strike first, the rest of the crawling satellites will join the attack," the capricious female synch objected.
  "It's not a sure thing. On the contrary, they'll hang around and watch. As we destroy each other. Let the Stealth strike first. They'll fall on the flanks, composed of extragalactic units, thereby forcing the other empires to fight." The Overmarshal was as logical as ever, his voice serene. A small, parrot-sized spotted moth perched on Komalos's shoulder, chirping, "Seven blackholes fight, the pulsar-minded one rejoices!"
  "Then maybe it's best to retreat and let the intelligent protoplasmic race kill themselves." The Ultramarshal twisted her proboscis like a steering wheel.
  "We'd better fall back a bit, otherwise they'll run at the first blow from the hairless gorillas. There are so many of them, our experts misjudged their combat potential." The Overmarshal stroked the donkey-headed moth. It said again: "He who counts too much and punches too little in the face, always has an uncounted income."
  - Don't scare me! - Giler burped.
  Indeed, even in this secondary branch of the empire, preparations for all-out interstellar warfare continued unabated. Throughout this vast, multi-galactic empire, warships were being built and constructed, technologies were being refined, divisions and corps were being formed. On virtually every planet, there were factories and plants dedicated to the war effort.
  The Purple Constellation starships reformed on the fly, strengthening their flanks, preparing to overthrow the enemy and squeeze the Synch fleet in a vice. Some submarines, especially the pirate ones, clearly slowed. It was clear that the warlike spirit of the space pirates had been exhausted by the sight of such a formidable armada. Tens of millions of starships with billions of fighters were inexorably closing in. Cannons and shells were ready to shred and destroy all life. The Stelzans were the first to open fire, several thousand light ships disintegrating into quarks with blinding flashes and a divergence of ear-splitting gravity waves. Each salvo from the countless stellar swarm emitted energy capable of detonating the Sun. As always, the Purple Constellation starships were swift and decisive, their movements precise, meticulously practiced in numerous variations. What they face is a numerous but poorly organized rabble, gathered from all parts of the galactic supercluster.
  The battle hadn't even begun, but they were already mixed up, disrupting coordination and preventing each other from firing effectively. And now, a classic example of space combat! The simultaneous arrival of virtually every ship within striking distance and the maximum possible eruption of particles of uncontrollable energy, completely vaporizing matter. Another second-and billions of intelligent beings will cease to exist in this universe.
  Ultramarshal Giler Zabanny's proboscis swelled with excitement, dripping poisonous pink saliva. Blood... How sweet, how arousing! An indescribable feeling, as the void is flooded with streams of blood and the blinding flame of multi-quintillion hyperplasm. Once upon a time, their ancestors were lighter and smaller. They flew without the aid of antigravity belts. They ate meat and loved blood; without it, children could not be born. Live, eternally winged synch! Let all other parasitic animals die, let all inferior life perish.
  - Why are you hesitating? Burn it all! - Spread across millions of spaceships.
  But no! There are no flashes, no swirls of photons flying through the vacuum. All the starships are frozen, suspended in space. It seems as if time itself has stood still.
  Giler let out a hysterical squeal (her voice noticeably weakened):
  - What's with the braking? They filled the vacuum with Velcro!
  The more cool-headed Komalos continued to monitor the readings of all navigational instruments.
  "It's incredible, but we, too, are frozen in a vacuum! Our starship and all the other starships seem to be crushed by a powerful force field. We can't move even the width of a proboscis."
  "Turn on absolute hyper-acceleration level! Break the field!" Giler was no longer screaming, but rather wheezing.
  "Yes, it's useless. I've already studied this phenomenon; it only crushes a starship." Komalos waved his proboscis desperately.
  "What about you? Do you know all the latest Stelzan technology?" the Ultramarshal hooted incredulously.
  The spotted moth sang, "Everything impossible is possible, I know for sure, and the Sinhi will become Almighty God immediately." He received a painful flick on the nose and began to cry quietly. Ignoring this feigned hysteria, the Overmarshal said:
  - No! This grip wasn't used by primates. These malpas are crude and cruel; they would have crushed us all long ago. Look, they've already sent us a message. Want me to guess who!
  Giler waved her hand dismissively:
  - You already figured it out yourself! Damn Zorgs! Better to be vacuumed or evaporated in plasma than deal with them. Being defeated is worse than dead!
  A thunderous voice interrupted the antimony:
  "This is Des Imer Conoradson. Your war is over. Stop behaving like annihilation cannibals. No more life will be forcibly ended in this galaxy. Put away your ray guns and honor the intergalactic agreements."
  - Never!
  The Sinhi squealed in unison. Giler hummed softly.
  - Don't celebrate too soon, tin can! As soon as you fly away, we'll be back!
  Then she added loudly:
  - Activate all reserves, engines at full power. With the entire squadron, and there are millions of us, we must break the vacuum web!
  Quintillions of watts of energy engaged in an invisible, yet all the more fierce, struggle in star-studded space. Barely perceptible waves of light spread across the vacuum.
  Chapter 25
  If it becomes cramped or there is little space,
  Let the plasma fire rage like a whirlwind.
  Act cruelly, as harshly as possible,
  Just never touch the unarmed!
  Tigrov suffered terribly. The first few days were especially difficult...
  Not known for much imagination, the arthropod gorilla Giles used methods reminiscent of the most primitive civilizations. Whips and hours of exhaustion, until unconsciousness. Then a bucket of ice water laced with supercooled uranium. Then, at the command of the dragonfly monkey, they decided to try the rack with a flame. A primitive torture, but capable of driving the victim to insane shrieks. He was positively bursting with pleasure as his disgusting belly swelled like a balloon as the small, hairless rat screamed like one possessed, then fell silent, completely unconscious.
  Everything would be fine, but after such torture the ability to walk and work is lost for a long time.
  The boy was placed on a stretcher, which flew into the air and delivered the maniac's victim. He was so scorched that even a simple regenerative ointment wasn't enough; a doctor had to be called.
  The pinkish doctor with ten suction cup arms, dressed in a red jumpsuit, was suffering from the heat. The hot air, rich in oxygen, was scorching the moist, delicate skin of the sentient mollusk. To alleviate the burning, the doctor donned a protective suit.
  - Look, this little animal is taking a long time to come to his senses.
  Giles even creaked with rage.
  The representative of the Eight-Rod civilization immediately noticed the horrific burns covering the boy's ravaged body. Smacking his lips, he said to the moral and physical deformity, Giles:
  "What did you expect? Fire is the most terrifying thing in the entire universe. He has seventh-level burns, close to critical. Plus, he's severely exhausted from hunger and excessive physical exertion."
  "Well, this degenerate must, at my request, undergo every form of torture and torment. I wish you could help me diversify my arsenal. I've simply forgotten how to inflict the most painful torments on primates." The arthropod monkey began scratching the varnished surface of the table with its paws.
  "I'm a doctor, not an executioner. Better go to the police department-they'll teach you." Having seen his share of eccentrics over the course of a long life, the doctor understood that lecturing on them was the most pointless thing to do. And not only pointless, but also dangerous.
  "There's information there, but it only concerns the torture of other races and peoples," Giles said, blinking.
  "And you think they don't have enemies within their own race? Okay, you should turn to the gangsters. I, personally, can only cure you." The mollusk doctor made it clear with his whole demeanor that he did not approve of such methods of revenge.
  "Then heal him, restore him, perform a full regeneration. Preferably, as quickly as possible." Giles began to tap his tail. He was already imagining himself torturing this dimwitted, kindly little doctor.
  "There will be a high price to pay for boosting regeneration." Mollusk didn't want to miss out on the benefits.
  "Yes, I'll pay. Give me some more medicine so he doesn't pass out so quickly, but twitches in the flames a little longer." Giles the monkey beetle tucked his tail between his legs.
  "Turn the heat down, you're not roasting a dragon." The doctor began scanning the boy's numerous injuries on the plasma computer. He injected him with a stem cell stimulant and an anti-shock drug. A robot emerged from the doctor's briefcase and began spraying blue-emerald foam.
  "Not a single piece of smart advice!" Giles began dialing, calling his girlfriends-women of easy virtue. Incidentally, oddly enough, it's the stellar ones that are the least expensive. Apparently, tired of their impeccably handsome men, all of them pure muscle, they want some killer sex with a sadistic freak.
  ***
  When Tigrov came to, his head was clear, the pain had vanished. By the time they hoisted him onto the rack, his body was so exhausted that pain was everywhere. Not a speck of blood, not a vein, remained untouched, becoming total torture. His skin was mercilessly scorched by the sun-even sunscreen was only partially effective-and his legs were raw and bloody. The wounds were corroded by the luminescent salt, whipped up in abundance by the thick clouds of wind. Everything was so saturated with pain and suffering that when the raging flames engulfed him, he was only glad, awaiting the end of the ordeal. This wasn't the first time the fire had caressed him, piercing him to the bone, and each time it brought about some kind of change...
  But what is this? There's no pain, no burns. He's lying in a clean white bed under a soft blanket. Could this already be heaven? Or maybe he's at home? And everything that happened was just a nightmare? How wonderful it is when nothing hurts! He could easily jump to his feet and run out of this spacious, bright little room. It's so elegant: all in bright colors. And for some reason, this is unsettling...
  Volodka slipped out the door with the speed of a caress. Streams of fiery light blinded his eyes. Squinting, the boy broke into a run. The scorching greenish-purple sand, sparkling like broken glass, scorched his bare heels, making him jump. Unfazed, Tigrov galloped across the desert. He realized what had been troubling him. That haunting seven-color scheme again, the flowers echoing the pattern of the imperial flag. Never before had Volodka run at such a frantic pace. "The sand here is so scorching; even in the quarry it never hurt so much..."
  The stun beam struck the boy. He fell flat on his stomach onto the scorching surface. His skin immediately blistered, though the pain from the paralyzing rays was barely noticeable. A lumpy, shark-mouthed boulder leaned over him.
  "What, little beast, did you want to run away?" the monster hissed, horribly distorting the words.
  Then the monster, picking up the half-conscious boy, dragged him toward the former portable chamber. Its long, thick, log-like tail left a sinuous trail behind it. Apparently, the salt particles reacted to the contact with the monstrous wanderer's greasy skin, and pink spots appeared on the greenish-purple sand. The monster weighed at least a ton. It unceremoniously tossed the boy aside, like a kitten, and then locked the door.
  Tigrov couldn't even move; he lay face down on the wall. Besides the flowers, there was a strange theme depicted here for a hospital.
  Beautiful as cherubs, children, boys and girls, dressed in the brightest clothes, mercilessly fired ray guns at the alien creatures. Half of the creatures were either kneeling or prostrate. The Stelzanites smiled such kind, cheerful smiles that their faces glowed with happiness, as if experiencing the greatest bliss. The multicolored blood flowing from the slain aliens merged into a rainbow stream, flowing toward the purple-orange "Sun."
  The boy felt excruciating cramps creeping through his stomach. If his stomach hadn't been as empty as the pawnbroker's heart or the artist's, he would have vomited all over the floor. How brutalized must one be to paint such obscenity? Despite his paralysis, Vladimir continued to writhe, twitching his mangled, scorched limbs.
  The sound of elephantine stomping could be heard. The brute crawled noisily into the room, its sharp, spiked combs scraping the mirrored ceiling.
  - Haven't calmed down yet, barite mollusk? Here's a present!
  Such a blow could have shattered granite. Luckily, the animal missed by a hair, and the boy was only grazed. The metal floor buckled slightly, and the boy passed out, fading into sweet darkness.
  ***
  Waking up was like a nightmare. The hideous arthropod monkey bared its snout again, and its new, giant tailed assistant twisted its joints, hoisting it onto the rack. Bones crunched, arms torn from its shoulders.
  - What's wrong, monkey, are you burning your flippers? You'll learn how to play tag.
  Multicolored fire scorched the skin, filling it with the smell of scorched flesh. The child's long-suffering feet, licked by the cruel flames once again. Giles even licked his lips, his forked, snake-like tongue brushing against the boy's beaded skin.
  - Good! You'd make a fine cutlet. Have you ever been eaten alive? I'll eat you piece by piece, without letting my consciousness slip...
  A wild scream erupted from his chest. Somehow, perhaps due to hatred, the boy managed to stop it. His jaw clenched so hard his tooth enamel nearly cracked. "Why do all torturers love fire so much?"
  The lack of screams enraged the insectoid ape. With a wild screech, he grabbed a red-hot rod and jabbed it between Vladimir's skinny, hatchet-sharp shoulder blades. Tigrov felt the massive sting and spat back with the despair of the doomed. The rod flared brighter, burning even hotter. And then, like something out of a good cowboy western, lightning flashed. A precise shot from the ray gun scattered the orange-green brains of the hairy, chitinous beast. Another shot felled the lumpy dinosaur. As he fell, Giles, overcome by inertia, managed to rake the electrically heated rod across his ribs, leaving a furrow in his skin.
  Volodya's vision blurred with pain. Everything seemed to be in a yellow fog, but Tigrov managed to catch a glimpse of his savior. A fair-haired boy with angelic features, dressed in a suit that glittered like gold, he resembled an angry Cupid. His small ray gun seemed toy-like and harmless. After firing a few short streams of light from the ray gun, he burned through the thick wire. Vladimir fell backwards into the large flames, but tumbled head over heels and immediately emerged.
  A boy who came to his aid helped free the clamps that had bound his limbs. Despite the agony, the blistered slave of the Tigrovs recognized his savior. Yes, strangely enough, it was the same Stelzan boy they had met in the galactic capital.
  "Damn angel, I'm simply amazed, you're like the White Cloak," Vladimir said.
  The cherub with the ray gun rang out with a silvery laugh.
  "You mean Gudri, the hero-savior, the vanquisher of the evil spirits of antimatter? He's no match for me. It's time to go into camouflage, otherwise a whole bunch of hairy ants will come running here!"
  Tigrov jumped to his feet, inhuman pain piercing his entire body. Only pride and a reluctance to show weakness in front of a representative of the occupying race kept him on his feet. Sometimes stress overwhelms the most intense torment. Taking a couple of steps and miraculously maintaining his balance, the rescued boy extended his hand to his elf-like savior. He shook it, doing so naturally, like a simple human being.
  "It's strange... Do you also shake hands as a sign of friendship and trust?" Vladimir asked, maintaining his balance with great difficulty.
  The young Stelzan replied:
  - Yes, man. If your hand is open, it's unarmed. And two hands is a sign of great trust. You're covered in blisters and not whining in pain, which means you're a true warrior!
  The boy from the warrior race sang:
  The star warrior does not groan in pain,
  Even torture doesn't scare him!
  He won't drown even in a black hole,
  His spirit will not burn in the plasma of stars!
  The boy extended both hands, making a cross. They joined their palms in a sign of eternal friendship and loyalty.
  At that moment, the lumpy rock, lying motionless, suddenly came to life. The laser-pierced monster twisted in a wild leap. Even in mid-flight, its mouth opened, revealing not only several rows of razor-sharp teeth but also four fangs (suddenly sprouting blood-red sabers). The enormous bulk knocked the friends off their feet, scattering them like a cast-iron ball scattering bowling pins. The semi-sentient monster rushed to finish off the child Stealzan, considering him the most dangerous.
  The little warrior of the Purple Constellation managed to jump aside. The monster's fangs pierced the heavy-duty plastic plating, and a clawed paw lightly grazed his ribs. Though they were only scratches, the weapon belt snapped and was quickly retrieved by the brute. Turning, the beast, with an agility unbelievable for such a bulk, slashed again with its fangs (they had now grown to the size of an imperial mastodon's tusks). Stelzan, nimble as a monkey, dodged the blows, but luck ran out, and the sharp, semi-diamond tusks pierced the child's leg, pinning him to the floor. The monster slashed with a clawed paw, nearly ripping the boy's stomach open; only a sharp jerk to the side prevented him from dying. Another bone-crushing blow! Now its mouth was open... It was enormous... This behemoth could swallow the boy whole. A huge mouth oozes foul-smelling saliva...
  Suddenly, it tears like blotting paper, and a blaster shot cuts it in half. The monster had become so absorbed in its battle with the Stelzan that it deemed the human unworthy of its attention, and it paid dearly for it. Tigrov picked up the dropped weapon and, pulling the trigger of his pocket ray gun, carefully sliced the alien beast in half. Blood spurted, then flared into a sparkling flame, only to fade again.
  The bloodied child jumped to his feet and staggered, but despite the wound, he still managed to maintain his balance. Now, with red blood dripping from the little soldier and a bruise on his face, his snow-white smile seemed even brighter and more genuine. A couple of teeth, unusually strong and large for his age, had been knocked out. And so this formidable boy looked like nothing more than a misbehaving first-grader. He again, though glancing around, extended his hand.
  - You saved me from death, just as I saved you. From now on, we are considered brothers in arms. My prey is your prey. My trophy is your trophy.
  "Good. Then my prey is your prey, my trophy is your trophy," Vladimir replied in Mowgli-style.
  - Now we'll give ourselves some injections from the universal first aid kit, regenerate ourselves and get out of this hole.
  The injections, delivered by a grav-laser beam from a tiny pistol with a collapsible barrel, relieved the pain and gave him strength. Walking with his burnt feet on the scorching sand, Tigrov felt nothing, as if he had prosthetics. But his strength and speed had noticeably increased. Approaching the miniature fighter, he couldn't resist asking.
  - Why is saving lives so valuable to you? Isn't it better in a parallel universe?
  "It's my personal choice. Honor is the most important thing, not life. Furthermore, in battle, we must value life, so that we can have a fulfilling existence in the new realm. After all, when you preserve your life, you preserve the opportunity to destroy as many enemies of your race as possible," Vladimir's new friend from a hopelessly hostile race explained quite logically.
  "Look! New enemies! But we have ray guns!" the boy, beaming with happiness and freed from captivity, showed.
  "That's right, human, but don't waste too many charges. This is a child's weapon; it doesn't have enough energy for real battles," Stelzan said without much enthusiasm.
  - Were you playing with them? - Vladimir was surprised.
  "Yes, that's from the training games. Every Stelzan must master weapons from infancy. But don't worry, it's impossible to kill a Stelzan with it. Five mini-cycles, and we'll jump into the Photon fighter." The boy, however , demonstrated with his very first shot, which destroyed the attacker, that his weapon was as effective as the most modern twenty-first-century aircraft cannon.
  Tigrov was so agitated and enraged that he fired at the vile creatures with sadistic ferocity. True to his name, the spirit of the man-eating Bengal tiger had awakened within him. However, the motley group of natives returned fire. True, only five monsters fired; the others, apparently, weren't allowed to carry weapons. Vladimir was a very good and accurate shot, owing to his extensive experience playing computer games with electronic pistols. Stelzan was an even better shot, but the natives weren't even up to the level of a construction battalion soldier. Leaving the dead behind, the rest of the pack scattered, howling and roaring like jackals scorched by a flamethrower.
  The battered friends hopped into the tactical mini-starship. The Neutrino-Photon fighter was invisible against the desert backdrop (its camouflage blended with the greenish-purple sand). Only on board, after takeoff, did Vladimir think to ask:
  - We have been together for so long, saved each other, fought the enemy, received wounds together, and I still don"t know your name.
  "Yes, you're right, brother." Stelzan extended his hand again. "My name is Likho Razorvirov. And yours?"
  - Vladimir Tigrov, and on my father's side, Aleksandrov.
  "Vladimir is the ruler of the world, and the Tiger is a symbol of war. That's our way." Likho clapped his new friend firmly on the shoulder.
  Tigrov collapsed into a chair, but was immediately pulled back by an antigravity field. Scratching his bruised, skinny shoulder, the boy replied.
  - And you too. Dashing to tear... Dashing tearer...
  "Well, tearing them apart is savage. Better to cut them up and vaporize them. The highest virtue and purpose in life is to mercilessly kill the enemies of your race, to serve the empire faithfully and honestly," Razorvirov said with the pathos of a Soviet pioneer poster boy.
  "Yes, I agree. But isn't your empire our enemy?" Tigroff asked, squinting , trying to look without fear.
  "No, we are your elder brothers in mind. Elder, but brothers nonetheless... And if it were up to me, I would grant you equal rights. You are capable of great deeds. However , I have an idea! Let the weapons speak for themselves!"
  The boy-terminator exclaimed. Vladimir cast a wary glance at the emitter. It resembled a child's air pistol. Judging by the deep craters it left in the desert, the charge could pierce even the newest Russian T-100 tank like blotting paper.
  - What? Didn't it say? - He asked, confused.
  "No. It obeyed you, but there's one caveat. This weapon can't cause serious harm to our race. If you're a warrior, you won't be afraid of it; check it out on your hand." Likho flashed his teeth in battle fervor.
  - No, on the head! - The former young prisoner was possessed by a demon.
  Tigrov put the ray gun to his temple and fired. He jerked away, but didn't manage to intercept Vladimir's hand. The flame lightly singed the skin of his nearly bald head, leaving a reddish burn. Razorvirov snatched the ray gun from him, then carefully returned it. The weapon emitted a small hologram of a black knight armed with an axe and quietly beeped: "Hit angle 87..." This surprised the young earthling. He'd seen gunfighters with guns talking before, and not just gunfighters.
  - What are you doing, crazy, launching into hyperspace with an oblique parabola? You could have lost your head. I was just kidding.
  "I wasn't joking. We're equal now," the boy exclaimed and added, "If you want to be equal to God in strength, surpass the Almighty in courage!"
  "Yes, as equals, here are my two hands. However, the Almighty, by His very nature, cannot die or disappear, so your analogy is inappropriate." He said, skillfully controlling the machine with the small joystick on the antenna. "We're about to land on the cruiser. Did you really think you were flying a Photon, a child's car, to another galaxy?" The boy giggled cheerfully. No, that's not true. "There were fights here recently, so we'll disguise you as one of our own."
  what if they check my retina again?" Tigrov said, terrified. He didn't relish the prospect of being handed over to some otherworldly maniac again .
  "You could be from a very distant sector, after all, we control trillions of planets. I would have spoken to my father, or even my great-grandfather, the Hypermarshal, and he would have prepared the necessary documents for your absolute safety." Likho's voice was confident, his gaze clear.
  "How I want to believe you..." Vladimir sighed.
  "Why would I risk my life? Just to betray you later? I don't see the logic in that. I swear to you, we're brothers forever!" Likho slammed his fist against the transparent armor for emphasis.
  Then, with a casual toss, he handed Tigrov a large candy, shaped like a matryoshka doll but dressed like a punk. It begged to be eaten. The hungry boy munched on it with relish. The taste was sweeter than honey, and more pleasant than aerated chocolate. A wondrous thing, the likes of which he had never before tasted on earth. However, Vladimir swallowed the confection too quickly, not having time to fully savor the flavor. The candy must have been very high in calories, as his shriveled muscles immediately grew larger, and his face no longer resembled a prisoner of a Nazi concentration camp.
  The miniature fighter fluttered like a light butterfly into the belly of the gigantic flagship cruiser.
  ***
  When Lev Eraskander came to, he thought he'd lost his mind. The creature leaning over him was so grotesque. A carrot-shaped nose, three fan-shaped ears, flipper-like arms, green skin spotted with red and yellow, forming intricate patterns. It looked like a character from a children's comic book. Of course, nothing would surprise him, but there was something particularly silly about the strange beast's expression. And when the creature spoke, its words were downright strange.
  "So, the hairless reptile has awakened. How stupid are the representatives of your race-no brains, no muscle power. Disabled creatures of a crippled universe, a viral form of mutilated matter. What can one say about the excrement of protoplasm-disintegrating intellect?"
  The lion literally barked:
  - Yes, who are you, a dressed-up clown, that you dishonor our race?
  The creature jumped up and bared its crooked purple teeth:
  - I am the greatest genius in the universe, knowing all the secrets of the universe and the power of the spirit that controls matter.
  "You're a complete psychopath with the exaggerated doubts of a puffed-up frog," the young man growled.
  The lion tried to jump up, but the super-strong wire tightly bound his ankles and hands.
  The little animal giggled with a laugh as disgusting as the croaking of a desert frog.
  - Dze, dze, dze! You see, you have no muscle strength or brains, since you fell into our net so ineptly.
  The boy tensed his muscles, the thin wire cutting painfully into his skin. The strange creature's multicolored fan-shaped ears fluttered like butterfly wings.
  "Well, little human, you underdeveloped primate, can't you even tear such a thin web? Doesn't your empty head tell you anything?"
  Rage washed over Eraskander like a wave, his muscles contracted sharply, then, like a spring, released with a jerk-he snapped the wire that held his limbs tightly together. Though the wire was thin, it could easily have suspended an elephant. Blood spurted from beneath his skin, and his strong muscles, as tough as the wire, nearly snapped. Enraged, Lev leaped toward the little beast, who was so stunned he had no time to react. With a knee strike, the young Terminator knocked him to the floor and grabbed him by the barbed throat. The barbs were no protection, because with a practiced movement, the young fighter crushed the defenses and locked his fingers in a deadlock. The only thing that saved the fan-eared creature from instant death was his frightened, pleading gaze. The creature looked so absurd, so funny and harmless, that the desire to kill disappeared. Gasping for breath, the little animal squeaked:
  "Oh, great warrior of the brilliant human race! I may have misjudged you. You're so smart, so strong... And besides, you're the most beautiful and sexy!"
  Lev continued to hold him by the throat. Experience had taught him not to trust flattering phrases. If he let go, it was unclear how this would all end.
  - Tell me, you bastard, where am I now?
  - With positive friends. - The creature squeaked.
  - Do you take me for an idiot? Positive friends don't tie you down with wire.
  Eraskander squeezed its throat with his fingers, the little creature thrashed, its flipper-like hands trying to pry it loose. Apparently, the space "Fan-Cheburashka" wasn't strong enough; its muzzle took on a lilac hue. The lion loosened its grip slightly.
  "I swear we're positive. Your friend Venus is here on this starship."
  - What? Venus is here? - Eraskander wasn't surprised at all, he was already accustomed to miracles.
  - Yes, here, and I think she sees us.
  - Then why did they tie me up with wire?
  The animal began to babble like a frightened cartoon character:
  "Because she's not alone. Her superior is also here. She's also a four-star general in commercial intelligence. That's Dina Rosalanda."
  "Another lustful female? Or is she afraid of me?" Leo smiled, feeling the growing desire for a young, physically perfect body.
  - Hold your tongue, young brat!
  A thunderous voice, amplified by cybernetics and acoustics, filled the hall, crashing like a wave into his ears. Lev barely managed to open his mouth, thus avoiding a ruptured eardrum. But "Fan-Cheburashka" was unlucky; apparently, his hearing was too sensitive and not designed for such sonic shocks. The little creature passed out, completely unconscious, only his colorful ears fluttering reflexively, like the wings of a butterfly impaled on a needle.
  The walls turned into mirrors, a blinding flash erupted, and three creatures simultaneously leaped out from beneath the floor. The Purple Constellation's anthem began to play, and multicolored spotlights reproduced the traditional seven-color light spectrum. The colors intermingled, then reproduced complex pirouettes and battle scenes.
  "Well, what about you, little man? You see these fighters, this is your death. Everything could have been alright, if you had just stayed quiet, but now they'll cripple you first." The voice boomed.
  Three thugs whirled in a wild dance. One of them strongly resembled a cartoonishly muscular Stelzan hulk overfed with anabolic steroids. Another resembled a colossal eight-clawed crab, a red, spiked shell and the hideous face of a wolf. The third was a cross between a centipede and a scorpion, its crocodile-like head dripping with fetid acid. Even the armored floor began to smoke from it. Lev silently noted that perhaps the scorpion-crocodile-centipede was the most dangerous of all the other reptiles. When you're only eighteen cycles old (a cycle is far less than years on old Mother Earth), and facing large, pseudo-intelligent monsters, it's no sin to be afraid. But in his relatively short life, the young man had already seen so much that he saw no reason to be afraid. He leaped into a fighting stance, his sculpted muscles tensing. "No, we are your elder brothers in mind. Elder, but brothers nonetheless... And if it were up to me, I would grant you equal rights. You are capable of great deeds. However , I have an idea! Let the weapons speak for themselves!"
  They were all slender. Beneath the degreased skin, every vein was visible, muscles rolling like molten steel being poured into a desired shape. Lev felt rage. Force anger and fear to work for you, burn your enemies in the hellish chalice of hatred. Eraskander was ready for battle, and when all three opponents rushed him in unison, he leaped behind them with a light leap. Lev, already in mid-air, slammed his heel into the back of the Stelzan gladiator's head. He apparently simply didn't expect such speed and audacity; the precise blow sent the carcass crashing to the floor. The other two fighters were strong and fast, but nevertheless, they were slightly behind in their attacks. Lev turned and delivered a powerful kick to the eight-armed crab. The blow was effective, the chitinous covering cracked, but the spikes of the shell dug into the youth's bare heel. Constantly walking barefoot had hardened the boy's legs like titanium rods, but even he was in pain. So Lev decided to change tactics and simply break off the claws. If the enemy had been alone, it would have taken no more than a minute. The centipede proved more agile. A sharp leap caught Eraskander, sending a few pink drops of acid burning his skin. Lev dodged and delivered his signature kick to the jaw. A dozen teeth flew out, scattering across the floor. The scorpion-like centipede went limp, and Eraskander fell upon the crab. Although the monster managed to claw his skin several times, three claws were broken, and the hardened fists struck as hard as his limbs. Then Lev managed to deftly duck under the fighter's belly and simply flip the mollusk over himself. The resulting throw caused both monsters to collide. Leaping up, Lev struck the crab in the seam of its shell, intuitively choosing the most vulnerable spot, and cracked the skeleton. At that moment, a kinematic paralyzer beam engulfed him. The Purple Constellation warrior, his head swollen from the blow, came to his senses and fired a miniature, cleverly concealed emitter that emitted a gravitational current, a special form of electricity that disables all electromagnetic impulses in any body, even those of cybernetic organisms protected by shields. The young fighter lost all sense of his own body, crashing to the slippery floor, stained with multicolored, fetid blood. The scorpion centipede latched on with a death grip, tearing at Eraskander's chest, sending chunks of bloody skin flying. Stelzan, in turn, kicked Lev in the groin and ribs. Lev was in great pain, but there was no way to fight back or even move. Pushing his multi-legged partner aside, the sadistic stelzan slowly pulled a knife from his plastic belt, which flashed with a bright beam when the button was pressed.
  - Now I'll show you! - A tanned grin full of contempt. - You'll sing soprano in the church choir!
  The lion shuddered, a spasm ran through his body. The dagger was made of light and could cut through any metal. And suddenly a thought struck him. When the body is gone, use your mind. You can do it, repeat it again - you can! Let it loose like a dog on a leash, cast out the hatred, shift space, imagine a blade of light in his stomach. The dagger changed direction and plunged into the fighter's stomach so swiftly that he didn't even have time to react. Then the blade slashed across his body, cutting his opponent into two smoking halves. The smell of scorched meat filled the air. Another attacker, a hideous, multi-legged creature, first froze, then lunged, trying to escape. The laser blade pierced the crocodile-centipede as well. Several streams of blood spurted from the monster's arteries at once; due to its more complex metabolism, the blood had several colors depending on the artery. The eight-armed crab was already half-dead, and the blow that finished him off was more of an act of mercy.
  - It has happened!
  Eraskander whispered barely audibly. The agonizing, vein-rending spasm swept through his body again, yet he felt better; he could even move his arms slightly. The paralysis wore off surprisingly quickly, and within a minute, splattered with a multicolored, outlandish paint job, the athletic boy leaped to his feet.
  - You are simply beautiful, my great warrior. You are worthy of my love!
  Immediately, as if by magic, a bed, richly decorated in a grotesque parody of Baroque style, emerged from under the floorboards. The formidable General's wife, Dina Rosalanda, ran into the hall. She was completely naked. She appeared to be a young, sleek woman, with beautiful, regular features and a flawless figure. However, all the females of the Purple Constellation were free of physical flaws and appeared young, no more than twenty-five years old. Dina, however, was already over four hundred, a remarkable age for a woman. She was even larger and taller than the average Stelzanat. By human standards, her muscles seemed overdeveloped and convex, not quite appropriate for a woman, and her firm breasts with scarlet nipples were strikingly flawless. And her arms, bulging like mountains as thick as human thighs, rolled like cannonballs beneath her dark bronze skin. Most male Stelzans were accustomed to seeing females as either weapons comrades or workhorses; their broad, athletic shoulders, musculature like Hercules, were unfazed. Her body radiated an arousing heat, her luxurious, beer-barrel-width thighs arching in an inviting motion. She took a step, leaped at him, and immediately received a knee to the solar plexus. Eraskander drove it hard, infusing it with all his rage. But the muscles hadn't yet fully recovered from the stunner, and so the blow wasn't fatal. However, he had completely knocked out a cow weighing a couple of hundred kilograms; her consciousness flickered, but her body couldn't move.
  - What, you like tied up boys, you like to tease, try it yourself.
  He threw the heavy Rosalenda onto the bed and very roughly tied her with wire.
  - Find yourself a centipede scorpion, it's just right for you.
  It's unlikely anyone in Lev's place would have acted differently; his partner was so exotic and vile in her pursuit of him. Even though his adolescent hormones were running high, they were painfully restless. Leaving the fighting gym, Eraskander waved and called out to "Circe" as a farewell:
  - A thousand abyssal tons into your lustful well!
   Despite the sliding doors being locked with a digital code and complex combinations, Eraskander cracked it, acting subconsciously, and walked forward down the long corridor. Its appearance was more than a little strange, but the soldiers on this starship were clearly well acquainted with the customs of their chieftain, who loved sadomasochistic sex. She was perhaps even bordering on insanity, so they only occasionally made caustic jokes. Judging by its size, it was a flagship, about ten kilometers in diameter. He might have made it all the way to the edge, but a gentle voice called out to the young man.
  - Leo, you've already forgotten me!
  Eraskander turned around abruptly. The boy's gaze was cold, and his voice was reproachful.
  - No, I haven't forgotten. And do you think you acted fairly and honestly?
  The ten-star commercial intelligence officer, her eyes downcast in shame, spoke quietly. Her voice was so full of sadness that you couldn't help but trust her:
  "I had no other choice. Everything was too complicated, but believe me, I truly loved you, and I still do."
  - Is that why you set us up like that? - Lev muttered angrily, frowning.
  Vener answered without unnecessary guile, with a captivating simplicity in the tone of her clear, iridescent voice:
  "If it weren't for me, they would have found another performer. But now you have a real opportunity to help your planet. After all, Senior Senator Zorg will ease the plight of your race."
  Venus's emerald-violet eyes became moist, a pearly tear trickled down her eyelashes.
  - My precious boy, I missed you so much. Listen, I found a way to relieve you of...
  She didn't finish and hugged Lev tightly, caressing him softly, their lips meeting in a kiss. How beautiful she was, her multicolored hair so soft, like silk, tickling her face pleasantly, and the space around her vanished, falling into the abyss of a lustful hyperuniverse!
  Chapter 26
  The time will come and the ray of freedom will shine
  He will illuminate the Earth with his bright power!
  The nations will breathe a sigh of relief, freely throwing off the chain,
  If only a man knew how to conquer the vastness of the universe!
  And there will be grandchildren who will remember without believing...
  Were we really under the heel of hell?
  In fear, people wore the signs of the evil beast,
  Walk better in pure and holy faith!
  
  Ivan Gornostayev felt a certain confusion and disorientation. The unexpected invasion of multi-tribal space troglothytars and the strange, incomprehensible maneuvers of the star fleets could have perplexed anyone. On the one hand, this seemed good. Even wonderful; the Purple Empire was in crisis and civil strife, but on the other, he needed to avoid getting into trouble. Although it seemed as if things couldn't get any worse, one look at those faces, those terrifying claws, fangs, and fins, and the Stelzan invaders already seemed like family. There was no new information from the scout yet. She seemed like a good girl-extremely strong even for a man, brave, decisive, even cruel-but there were serious doubts about her. The final blow from the extragalactic pack had already claimed tens of millions of lives. Human life had become worthless, and it was terrible to feel helpless and weak. At such a moment, the upcoming meeting with Sensei is a saving respite from anxious loneliness. Especially since the Guru won't be coming alone.
   As always, the arrival of Sensei or Guru via teleport was sudden. About half a second of faint light, and then familiar silhouettes appeared in the air. One wore a gray cloak, the other a gray head and a long, curly beard, a rarity on Earth today. They were dressed in snow-white clothing. Gornostaev bowed respectfully before the head of the banned united Orthodox and Catholic Church. Even wearing the ancient silver cross encrusted with stones was punishable by a painful death sentence, along with all relatives up to the seventh generation. Of all the religions on planet Earth, the Stelzans feared Christianity most. On other planets, the cross, as a runic or religious symbol, is very common, and no one has banned it. Earth is an exception to the rule. Although Gornostaev disliked these pacifists, if the Stelzans hate them so much, then what is it that these space fascists fear?
  "I am glad to welcome you, Holy Father Peter Andrew II. What brought you here, prompting you to stick your head in the tiger's mouth?" the rebel leader said politely.
  "Into the maw, that's an incorrect observation. The cosmic dragon swallowed the entire planet and a third of the stars to boot, which means we've all long been in its belly. I came to tell you that the hour of our redemption and deliverance from suffering is near," His Holiness said in a rich, spruce bass voice.
  "How can we get rid of them? Even if we rise up all at once, we'll be exterminated as a species, if not by the Stelzans, then by other degenerates!" Gornostayev said, with both fervor and despair.
  Peter Andrey said politely:
  -Tell me, brother, what is the most forbidden book ever written on our planet?
  "Number one is the Bible," the leader of the resistance answered briefly.
  -So why is it banned!?
  "I think because it had the largest circulation before the occupation. The Stelzans were straightforward thinkers, like cyborgs, banning the most widely published literary work first. It's logical and correct," Gornostayev said with the confident tone of a know-it-all.
  "That's logical, but wrong . They banned the Bible because it is the Word and revelation of Almighty God, destroying the false, heretical fabrications of the Stelzanata religion. It is their most shameful pillar." The priest even crossed himself in front of him. Sensei nodded in confirmation, but remained silent for now.
  Gornostaev naturally could not agree so easily:
  "You know, guru. I read that book. Maybe I'm stupid, but it looks more like fantasy than a scientific picture of the universe. As they say, people are molded from clay and the sun can stop with a word."
  His Holiness spoke calmly and without unnecessary pathos in such an audience:
  "No, brother, you're fundamentally wrong . Firstly, you can't take everything literally, and secondly, this book is the most scientific, especially for its time. The Bible teaches a lot, from the fact that the Earth is round and rotates on its axis to how to achieve immortality by becoming equal to kings. One could go on and on listing the divine truths revealed by the holy book.
  Gornostaev now became curious:
  "I'm feeling pretty lonely right now. I might as well listen. I haven't read it all, just a few pages, enough for those purple devils to wipe out an entire village. What does this Book say about the future?"
   Andrei Petr, his eyes wide open, said in a whisper, as if he were revealing an extremely important military secret:
  -That the man of sin will be destroyed.
  Gornostaev blurted out in disappointment:
  "Humanity has already been nearly exterminated. What you've told us doesn't need to be read in an ancient manuscript; it's enough to simply take two steps to the highway!"
  The Holy Father began to patiently explain:
  "Not just a man, I mean my disobedient child." The Patriarch tried to pat Gornostayev on the head, but he recoiled and glared at him with hatred. Then the cleric continued in a completely serious tone. "Thousands of years ago, even a hot air balloon was considered a miracle, and the Bible says: Even if you, like an eagle, soar higher than the mountains and build your nest among the stars, even from there I will cast you down."
  Gornostaev was interested in this:
  -Exactly so? Where does it say this, brother?
  - Look here!
  Pyotr Andrey handed over an ancient Bible and opened it to the bookmark. The verse had been underlined in red pencil and even an exclamation point had been added.
  Gornostaev whistled:
  -Yes, I see. It's amazing, of course, but this isn't about Stelzans.
  The Patriarch grinned slyly and said instructively:
  -And you know, in one of our languages, namely German, Stelz means star. This is not just a coincidence.
  Gornostaev didn't argue. He looked closely at the large book, its cover adorned with pearls and gilding. The pages were slightly dusty and already smoldering. The font was large, not quite like modern English, but with yat signs, hard marks at the end. Apparently, this was one of the very first books with a synodal translation. The antiquity of the work is impressive; it seems as if the answers to all questions can be found in the Holy Scriptures.
  "I still don't understand what awaits us?" Gornostaev said, stroking the golden plates that held the book's binding together, barely tarnished by time.
  The Holy Father, with the condescending air of a wise elder talking to a boy, said:
  "Here, brother, read the Revelation of John and the Book of Daniel. Read thoughtfully, slowly, and you'll understand for yourself what's what. Then say a prayer." The patriarch corrected himself. "It's better to say a prayer and, before reading the Holy Scriptures, make the sign of the cross four times."
  Gornostaev said with sudden harshness:
  "I don't know how to pray and I don't believe in God. As Plekhanov said, God is a fiction, a harmful illusion that paralyzes the mind. And Lenin-religion is a drug for the people; only the withdrawal symptoms enlighten the mind!"
  The Holy Father began to deliver his speech with fervor, getting excited like a priest giving instructions to soldiers before a battle:
  Plekhanov, Lenin, and those infidels like him created the bloodiest regime on Earth. For God fettered not their minds, but their animal instincts, their passion for lust, destruction, and sadistic torture. What did this pathetic attempt by humans to get by without the Almighty Lord lead to? It only led to increased suffering. The absence of God is an illusion , and life follows a diabolical scenario. Take the Stelzans, do you think it's a coincidence that they're so similar to us? They've reached the limits of evil and heresy. No true religion has ever elevated murder to the level of the highest virtue. Even on Earth, almost all religions strove for good. But here, in their Stelzanate, the main thing is to kill, torment, torture, and zealously serve the empire. All universes beneath them, all other beings, are created for destruction or, at best, humiliating slavery. "Andrei Petr grew increasingly heated, shaking his fists like a professional boxer about to fight. "It's their pride, such boundless satanic pride that destroyed the Devil! Here's their coat of arms-the seven-headed dragon of the Apocalypse. The seven colors of the rainbow, the seven-pointed star, seven times seven. They love this symbol; remember their coat of arms-seven blasphemous heads with ten paws and wings. We can dwell in more detail on the interpretation of the Revelation of John, or the Book of Daniel, or even you, possessed by the spirit of rebellion, will see that everything happening now was foretold thousands of years ago!"
  The priest choked and coughed... He truly did look old and decrepit, making an unpleasant impression on Gornostaev, a warrior accustomed to seeing people young, healthy, and full of vigor. Even the slightly hunched figure of the holy father and the dense network of wrinkles somewhat jarred on the rebel leader. It was interesting how the head of the Christian Church managed to avoid the effects of combat viruses and radiation that grant rejuvenation. Here was Gornostaev, knowing he had another ten or fifteen years left, only to suddenly die in the prime of his life. Unless, of course, the effects of biological weapons could somehow be tampered with-which was theoretically possible... Individual traitors sometimes lived for centuries, but one had to have the necessary knowledge.
  Gornostaev had long since grown tired of living in a palace that surpassed the Hermitage in St. Petersburg in luxury and splendor. Some precious stones, though synthetic, sparkled brighter than real ones, and even produced more nuanced light than natural ones. And what captivating designs the stones created-a mix of anime, space battles, beautiful plants, medieval battles, and much more. The Stelzan films mercilessly mixed all sorts of battle styles; erotica, and often sadistic pornography featuring numerous aliens, was a constant companion to the battle scenes adorned with jewels. However, such splendor became tiresome and sometimes nauseating. He longed for action, for a real fight with a race that could be called more hyperanimal than superhuman... Although, of course, if the opportunity arose, there was the opportunity to fight in a virtual world, or even the native slaves could put up a fight.
  The guru, who had been sitting motionless until then, stood up, even hovering slightly above the floor, and bowed politely:
  "I also respect the Holy Scriptures. Unfortunately, I have very little time. Senior Senator Zorgov and our friend Dez are already on their way. It would be better if I met him in person. To my conscience's scourge, my comrade won't be able to teleport without me."
  After clearing his throat, the Holy Father"s voice regained its strength:
  "Is it really that burning? I haven't expressed my views in a long time. Few people have read Scripture, and even fewer know and understand it."
  The Guru bowed his head sadly and agreed:
  "It's bad, even very bad, when there's no faith. Christianity is the brightest teaching on Earth. Its most important principle is love your enemy. Everything built on love is unique. Buddha has something similar, but his is human, while Christianity is divine."
  Gornostaev raised his voice, interrupting the speakers.
  - I didn"t understand a lot, it"s true, but I heard that your God said: if they hit you on the right cheek, turn to the left.
  The leader of the rebels, seeing that the patriarch was embarrassed, began to speak himself:
  We've been offering our backs and cheeks for over a thousand years, and what's the point? Pure Tolstoyanism. A Stelzan walks or flies, it's a run-of-the-mill story. He hits a man in the face, and he doesn't respond. The Punisher hits him again, jabs him in the solar plexus, takes out a whip, and begins to lash out with neutrons. He tortures him, and the man doesn't respond. He kneels and begs for mercy. And what's the point? They'll beat him until he's dead, and who's ever been better off? Unresisted, evil grows bolder! What's the point of not resisting violence when a cruel person interprets any concession or indulgence as weakness?
  Andrey Petr hotly objected:
  By the way, a person doesn't fight back against a Stelzan not because of the teachings of Tolstoy or Jesus Christ, but because he's afraid. He might just beat you up and let you go, but if you fight back, you'll die a painful death with your family. But if he had the chance, he'd drop a preon missile on them, not even sparing the Stelzan's children. It's a dead end: blood for blood, evil for evil. Because that's how negativity grows; evil doesn't destroy itself, but only gives birth to something new. Who knows, if all people behaved like Christians , then perhaps the Stelzans, looking at us, would also find spiritual purity. It's the only difference: everyone behaves like savages, except humans have tomahawks, while the Stelzans use state-of-the-art bombs.
  The guru waved his hand through the air, and a colorful, glowing diamond appeared. Sensei spoke with an air of calm regret, his voice deepening:
  "We'll talk a little later, brothers. When Zorg's starship and its escort ships enter the solar system. Because the transtemporal fields will alter the congruence of space. There could be serious problems with teleportation, we have minutes left."
  Gornostaev muttered impatiently:
  -Okay, I would like to read this book to the end, leave it to me.
  The Holy Father shook his head:
  "This copy is too valuable. It is one of the most ancient Bibles, possessing supernatural powers." The Patriarch pulled something like a miniature calculator from his belt. "Take a modern version. This pocket-sized e-book-it contains not only Bibles, but also church tradition, as well as the apocrypha of the Orthodox, Catholics, and even Protestants. Prayer books of various denominations, the works of a long line of theologians of all times, including those who claimed to be prophets: Russell, Ellen White." The priest put his finger to his lips and nodded. "It's better not to read these-they're heresy, although they're also interesting for general development. Then I'll acquaint you in more detail with the great and pure Christian faith, as correctly understood by the Church, which has preserved the first apostolic succession from Peter, Paul, Andrew, and James. May God, who created all things, be with us."
  The rebel leader said mechanically, "Amen!" And then added, rudely and inappropriately, "Your mother!"
  The Holy Father apparently did not understand and added in an unctuous tone:
  - And to the glory of the Most Holy Theotokos forever and ever!
  Before the messengers disappeared, Gornostaev also said in an elevated tone:
  "If the Purple Imperials banned this book number 1, it's for a reason. So perhaps it does preach the truth. But how can I love my enemy? It's unthinkable!"
  "But perhaps this is where the real power lies?" the Guru and the Holy Father said in chorus.
  
  Meanwhile, the Zorg starships emerged from hyperspace. It's hard to believe, but defying all the laws of physics, they managed to drag along several hundred million starships from various civilizations, with individual flying monsters boasting more soldiers and combat robots on board than all the armies on Planet Earth combined! This small Zorg squadron consisted of state-of-the-art combat starships, their combined combat power providing an incomparable technical and military superiority. An attempt to forcibly sever the force fields resulted in several tens of thousands of space submarines filled with motley fighters being crushed into a shapeless mass. The rest were forced to submit to an invisible and monstrously harsh harness. A temporary stability, sustained by superior force, had arrived in this part of space. The long-awaited rendezvous with Earth had finally taken place. Even the outwardly imperturbable Zorgs were slightly agitated. The senior senator looked at the planet with interest.
  "It looks like the Stelzans tried to clean the display case. But how stupid they are, even a baby can see that most of the buildings were only recently built. I think we're in for a serious showdown."
  -We think so too.
  The assistants responded almost simultaneously and the Star of Life spacecraft landed.
  
  Vladimir Tigrov found surprisingly easy rapport with the numerous children milling about in the starship's elegant children's section. Perhaps it was because they were children. More likely , it wasn't that simple. Despite their genetically ingrained aggressiveness, the mini-Stelzans behaved politely and correctly. Legend had it that Tigrov lost his memory after being overwhelmed by the synchs' vibrofield. This was a reasonable explanation, especially since Vladimir had quickly mastered the military and fantasy-themed games of the Stelzans. Every boy and girl was drafted into the Army from birth, with only the different areas of combat and areas of talent differing: the military front, the economic front, and the most prestigious, the scientific front. The Earthling's problem was the physical superiority of the mini-warriors of the Purple Constellation. Thanks to the wonders of bioengineering and cutting-edge pharmacology, ordinary children have demonstrated such results that they could easily compete in the adult human Olympics, winning medals in every discipline and sport. Of course, bullying is inevitable.
  Tigrov was enthusiastically firing a toy ray gun at virtual starships, which were hurtling through space with virtually no momentum, when he suddenly felt a strong blow to his shoulder. When he turned around, two boys about his height, but younger, stood before him. They resembled evil Cupids, with perfectly formed, friendly faces, dressed in sparkling white robes with seven lightning bolts on their chests. A blow to his solar plexus followed, and Vladimir fell, gasping for air.
  "Just look at him, is he even a warrior? He's a shell-less mollusk, a degenerate, inferior specimen." The stelzanyata rang.
  The little "warrior" standing to the right unabashedly kicked him in the stomach. The soldier standing to the left followed up with the butt of his ray gun.
  "This is disgraceful, he couldn't even do thirty pull-ups with one small weight. My one-year-old brother is stronger than him. He should be eliminated."
  They wanted to continue the beating, but Tigrov managed to twist and kick the overenthusiastic mini-punisher in the groin. He fell, the blow accurate and aimed directly at his opponent. The second one took fright and opened fire with his ray gun. However, the child-sized version only emitted a slightly scorching light. At that moment, someone hit him hard in the arm. The purple-haired boy was taken aback and dropped his weapon, speaking in confusion upon seeing the squad's informal leader:
  - Likho, please go away, we'll sort it out ourselves.
  Razorvirov grabbed the mischievous boy by the ear and pulled him to the right, causing him to yelp in pain. If you press the nerve endings just right, you become as helpless as a newborn baby:
  "No, I'll deal with you. Why are you beating your brother when we're surrounded on all sides by hostile extragalactic monsters?"
  "He's not our brother. He's too weak." The young Stelzan squeaked, trying unsuccessfully to free himself from Likho's grip with weakened muscles. He explained in a calm, logical tone:
  "He was exposed to radiation and is still sick. You should support your comrade."
  However, the boy-fighter is no pushover either:
  "Are you sure he's our comrade? Look, you see a light scratch; he got it two days ago."
  - So what? - Likho immediately understood what his friend meant, but pretended to be a "closet" for the purpose of a more comprehensive investigation of the personality.
  "It's not gone yet. In a couple of hours, we wouldn't have left a trace of such a small thing, or even a much deeper cut," his friend declared, calming down . Likho let him go, and the hologram of the children's ray gun made a Pinocchio-style gesture.
  - I'm telling you, he's sick and injured.
  "Then let him be examined by a doctor and treated for his malnutrition." The boy straightened up, assumed a serious expression, and began explaining in a clear voice, mimicking the intonation of the robot instructors. "You think I don't know the basic rules? If it's suspicious, report it to your commanders; if it's criminal, stop it yourself or notify your superiors. This is pure pulsar nonsense. If his stem cell function is suppressed, he needs real inpatient treatment."
  "We'll solve this problem, smart guy," Likho answered sullenly.
  -We've already decided.
  Tigrov rose, feinted, and, catching his opponent in the act, slammed his fingers into the bare-chested Stealth fighter's solar plexus. The blow connected with the tiles, reminiscent of a tank's active armor. The mini-fighter fell, gasping for air.
  "And where's your strength? Being strong isn't bad, that's for sure, but you still have to be able to cook balls," Vladimir said proudly, spitting blood from his split lips. Several teeth were knocked out, bruises spread across half his face, but he still looked pleased.
  "What balls? Is that a new weapon or a muscle enhancer?" Likho asked in surprise, then added, confused. "It's strange that you knocked him out; that shouldn't be happening. He's much faster than you, with incomparably better reflexes."
  "You need to use your head!" Tigrov muttered. The human boy was also surprised by his success. After all, in sparring, the Stealth fighters moved faster than Earth's cheetahs, and their children could knock out Tyson even in the prime of this legendary fighter, who had become a symbol of world martial arts. Indeed, where did his hands get so fast? Even his fingers were swollen from the blows.
  "Didn't you hit him on the head? Don't take me literally, I'm just saying the words." Likho echoed the playful tone.
  -You're joking, then. - Vladimir winked cheerfully.
  The boy took a couple of steps and staggered, no less than eight ribs broken by the young scions of a race of cruel, space-faring invaders. His knee was bruised and badly swollen. His mouth was salty with blood, his tongue vaguely felt the shards of broken teeth, his jaw was cracked. And his nose was dripping with juice-he wanted to sneeze, but it was scary. Mmm, they'd really hurt him; in his less advanced days, he would have been in the hospital for at least a couple of months. And it seemed his kidney had been damaged, his liver was exploding like a vacuum bomb. And the pain was so terrible everywhere that it was hard to breathe, his legs were buckling.
  The dashing fighter , well trained by cybernetic programs to visually assess the condition of both the enemy and his comrades, immediately understood everything:
  "By the way, it wouldn't hurt you to bulk up and increase your stats. Let's go to the lab; our warrior brother shouldn't be inferior to others in physical strength." Seeing how hard it was for the brutally beaten Tigrov to stand, he added, "And at the same time, heal the damage."
  Access to the laboratory wasn't exactly easy, especially on a military starship, but old connections came into play. Equality among the mini-soldiers is purely formal, especially since they have their own young commanders, albeit not as empowered as their more mature comrades.
  Vladimir was seen by a doctor in a blue coat, surrounded by mini-orderlies and mini-nurses from among the interns. Thanks to selective breeding and hormonal medications, even children were virtually free of infections and other common illnesses. The hospitals' primary goal was to quickly return soldiers to combat duty. Naturally, there was a vast array of pharmacology for artificially stimulating physical and mental performance. The offer to treat his emaciated brother was no surprise-just pay, after all, this wasn't a battle-related recovery caused by defeat.
  Tigrov was seated in a special chamber sphere and hooked up to IVs, wires, and scanners. The recovery process began. Electrical stimulation of the fibers was activated, and ultra-anabolic steroids were injected into the bloodstream. The latest drugs and advances in genetic engineering were employed. All this was supposed to boost Tigrov's capabilities to the level typical of Stelzans of his supposed age. (It should be noted that after all the transfers, the boy had shrunk and looked no older than eleven or twelve years old-why is a mystery; Vladimir himself even wondered if time had robbed him of two or three years of physical development to compensate for such a fabulous transfer.) Of course, it would be worthwhile to inquire where Likho got the money and why he brought his protégé to the lab; given his rank, that would be the job of his superiors. But Likho's father was not only a general; he was also an oligarch, a fabulously wealthy man, and so the boy was forgiven much. Especially since they weren't doing anything bad, they were simply boosting the empire's mini-soldier. Vladimir entered a trance-like state; the enhancement process took time.
  Of course, it was tempting to reach their level of physical potential, to activate stem cells at the genetic level-it was already the possibility of rapid and complete spontaneous regeneration. Hours passed in such a sweet daze. His consciousness sank into deep sleep. Moreover, under conditions of total cellular and supercellular renewal, these were very pleasant dreams. He dreamed of his home planet, so colorful, with snow-white mountains and emerald fields. And he was flying over its wondrous expanses. All around him were small, fairytale elves with multicolored wings, and below him was his hometown, the capital Moscow. The majestic Kremlin with its towers and sparkling stars. What a happy time it was! His homeroom was there, where he studied before his father's transfer to the Urals. Friends, girlfriends, he landed, and they waved affably. Here comes the Olympic Bear, and next to him walks the familiar Marshal Polikanov, who looks remarkably like the wolf from the latest 100-hour TV series "Well, Just You Wait!", which takes place in space. There are plenty of flowers, and everyone is happy. His friend Likho Razorvirov lands next to him, shakes everyone's hands, and says:
  - We love you, our brothers in mind, we have always been and will be our friends. Let's eat candy and drink kvass. Look at the sky.
  Everyone looked up. A huge, colorful candy, arranged in a complex combination of colors and patterns, floated across the sky. Next to it, smaller treats glided across the surface of the sky, blending into a seven-color palette.
  Vladimir hears an unpleasantly familiar voice, despite all the melodiousness: "Forgive me, people!"
  The boy glances down and nearly chokes in amazement. Kneeling in her swimming trunks is the all-too-familiar infernal Lyra of Velimar. Her head is bowed, her seven-colored hair braided, her beautiful feminine expression possessed of wondrous meekness. The fierce conqueror bends her muscular back again and again in a deep bow and prays:
  - Lord, help and forgive me, a sinner.
  Marshal Polikanov lashes the harlot with a whip, saying:
  - You speak the truth, daughter of hell, but you repent too late!
  Vladimir grows tired of looking at this, and he turns his gaze back to the sky. Things are indeed more interesting there.
   For example, enormous mountains larger than the Everests of ice cream, studded with berries, chocolate bars, and edible flower buds. Or striped pasta, condensed milk, and chocolate shakes with candied fruit sparkling like precious stones dripping straight from the clouds. And the pastries - shaped like fairytale sailboats on which princesses and sultans sail. And there are cakes decorated with animals, curls, flags, and brightly sparkling, appetizing fish. Some confections even emit streams of shimmering fountains or fireworks of multicolored sparks. And then there are cartoon characters flying through the air - girls with ribbons from various American and Japanese anime. Others are cloyingly glamorous cartoons. For example, here's Ponca from "Duck Tales," along with his friend the ninja-mammoth from the Russian animated series. They break off pieces of cake and throw them around like jugglers.
  Everything is so wonderful, as if you've arrived in paradise-the kind imagined by little children living in a well-fed country. Where everyone is happy and dreams come true, and no one can even imagine that problems and sorrow could even exist.
  He didn't even notice how the light suddenly dimmed, and a terrible roar shook the starship. The dream instantly transformed: candies turned into rockets, pastries into battleships, cakes into medieval prison fortresses, and kind elves into evil vampires. Friend Likho sank his fangs into his throat, his eyes blazing with the fires of hell. The Olympic bear transformed into a colossal goblin with a shark's mouth and the tail of a Tyrannosaurus. The wild monster's mouth opened, and right before his eyes, fangs more like nuclear warheads emerged. Velimar's lyre sprang to her feet, the harpy wielding the legendary magic blasters. She opened fire , and the formidable Marshal Polikanov transformed into... an amoeba, his cap stupidly sticking out of the steaming slime.
  Hypernuclear explosions thundered, heating up space, and the light once again pierced his brain like searing lava. Tigrov lunged and fell from the chamber. Returning to reality was a nightmare.
  Deafening explosions continued to echo in reality; a serious space battle was underway, and powerful missiles had struck the flagship's hull. A blast wave rolled over the starship, shaking it violently. Apparently, the charges had detonated, and an ultraplasma cloud burst into the room. Burning particles seared his skin. Tigrov jumped and crashed into something soft, and the fiery inferno erupted again. Fire hadn't frightened Tigrov lately , and he made no attempt to dodge or flee. "If I'm caught in a vortex of fury, it means I'm moving again; the flames won't kill me." The hyperplasma flow swept through once more and died down. There was no pain, not even a burning sensation; a warm waft blew into his face, and the scent of tropical plants was strong.
  Tigrov, who had been squeezing his eyes shut, boldly opened them. Dense, golden-yellow jungle lay before him. It was incredible; he'd shifted again, meaning it was working, an incomprehensible effect. Someone groaned beneath his feet; Vladimir was clearly standing on a living body. The groan seemed familiar; it seemed he'd been lucky and now he wouldn't be alone in this unfamiliar world.
   CHAPTER 27
  
  A delicate flower petal
  We are only at the beginning of the journey...
  Even though this world is cruel
  You have to go stubbornly.
  The jungle wasn't particularly dense, and a double star shone through the golden and orange petals. One star was poppy-red, the other cornflower-blue. The stars were large, but not particularly intense; the light they emitted was soft and pleasant. His fallen, badly burned friend struggled to his feet, his legs buckling, and he was forced to grab a vine. His hair was slightly singed, and his face was covered in blisters and bruises. He blinked rapidly, apparently shaken by the gravity wave. Finally, the boy managed to stop shaking and spoke.
  "You're here too." Razorvirov spun his neck three times quickly, as if it were on propellers. "Rejoice, we've died and been transported to a parallel mega-universe! Our starship was torn apart , and we're on a new plane of existence. The muster signal will sound soon; the mini-fighters will be formed into squads."
  "I see you're eager to get another good charge of hyperplasma?" Tigrov, despite their current unclear prospects, couldn't help but smile.
  "What are you talking about? Everything in this universe is ours. Other races will be destroyed," the mini-soldier said decisively. "Since you're our brother, take up arms and prepare for battle."
  Razorvirov held out a toy ray gun. Tigrov took it, feeling the grip comfortably. Weapons are important things, even if they can be overly talkative. But oddly enough, it's children's blasters of all kinds that are most often silent, except in special cases. Well, that's understandable; no need to spoil future soldiers. The climate here is fine, and his body seems full of energy. The only problem is-where to go? The boy , puzzled, said:
  "I think so. We've probably been thrown into a deserted area, possibly a wild world, so it's best to climb to the top and survey the area."
  "Good idea," Razorvirov agreed, kicking the terrestrial fly agaric. The mushroom proved elastic and, instead of scattering, bounced back like a ball.
  Climbing to the summit wasn't as easy as it first seemed. Likho hadn't recovered from the shock, his muscles were weakened by the radiation, and Tigrov hadn't yet felt the real effects of the muscle pumping he'd achieved in the biochamber. He seemed to have plenty of strength, but in reality... It was like the swagger of a drunk, ready to move mountains, only to stumble on a hill. Somehow, they managed to climb about eighty meters to the top of the tree. The species was unknown, but it looked like a hybrid of pine and palm, and the bark of the trunk, with sparse branches, resembled a tiled roof .
  A fascinating view opened up from the heights. A mountain-tree rustled behind them, colossal and branched like the baobab's older brother. Somewhere in the distance was a clearing, and plump creatures with the bodies of elephants and the heads of dinosaurs grazed in it. This wouldn't surprise the mini-warriors, but here's the surprise: barely noticeable domes of towers were visible just on the horizon.
  Vladimir almost fell off the treetop:
  "You see, this world is inhabited, there is intelligent life here," the boy exclaimed joyfully.
  The young Stelzan, now not hiding his jubilation, answered!
  - I see - Ultraquasaric! And Hyperstellar! Most likely, this is one of the native colonies under our control in the parallel Giga-universe.
  "Unlikely. More likely , however, something else: we haven't died, and this is our former universe," Vladimir suggested, not entirely confidently.
  "How could we not die? It's impossible to survive an explosion like that; it defies the laws of physics. If we're here, that means we're already dead. Death in battle is honor and glory. I love you, Stealth - Superpower!" Likho sang, heated by the impending adventure.
  "By the way, you forgot something. The new universe should have six or twelve dimensions, but here there are only three." Vladimir even pointed his fingers at the sky, as if that were more convincing.
  "It's only at our level of perception; we simply don't feel the difference. The brain and body think there are three, even though there are already six. Look at the opportunities this will give us." Likho wrinkled his forehead and tried to tense his muscles. He growled with displeasure, like a tiger cub who's lost its prey. "Archdemon of all things, it's a bit painful to move."
  "I wish it would burn like that!" Vladimir himself felt a gradually weakening itch in his body. Similar to the feeling that occurs when you train intensely after a long break. The boy suddenly shouted loudly, vigorously pointing his hand and jabbing his index finger. "Look over there, there's a shepherd!"
  -Where? - Likho squinted, his keen vision still not having recovered from such a hyper-jump from Gehenna.
  Indeed, a shepherd boy, a youth of about fifteen, was sitting on an animal vaguely resembling a unicorn. The most interesting thing was that he looked remarkably like a Stelzan, and was dressed quite decently for a shepherd. Something about his appearance was familiar. Tigrov tried to place it.
  "Yes, it's a Yankee cowboy. Look, it's like we've fallen into a time warp," said the human serving boy.
  "Don't talk nonsense. Our guy is obviously following a different fashion here," Stelzan retorted.
  -Where is his ray gun? - Vladimir grinned.
  "The sinhi's been gobbled up." The mini-soldier shook himself sharply, flexed his abdominal muscles, and touched the back of his head with his bare, chalk-blistered, soot-covered heels. "Okay, I'm going to see him."
  Feeling much more energetic than Razorvirov, he leaped nimbly, swinging his arms to slow his fall. He landed more nimbly than the paratrooper and ran toward the herd. Tigrov followed suit, barely feeling the jolt of landing. His strength rapidly increased, and the boy who had traveled back in time kept pace, curious too. When they reached the clearing, the shepherd boy didn't pay them much attention at first. But when Likho grabbed the unicorn's reins, he even shouted arrogantly.
  - Get lost, ragamuffins, go to the city for alms, there might be a holiday there, they"ll give you something.
  The Purple Constellation mini-warrior wasn't known for his gentle nature, and the remark took him aback. True, both boys did indeed look like tramps, and were grimy from the unwashed soot, like devils. Fury gave him strength, and Likho literally threw the young man to the ground. He fell, but apparently having had some fighting experience, he didn't lose his composure and, jumping up, tried to draw his dagger. Likho, at first glance, lightly struck him on the bridge of his nose with his finger, and Tigrov twisted his arm. The boy went limp, blood dripped, and he began babbling.
  "Speak more clearly. What a weakling, rotten muscles. No, you're not our soldier!" Razorvirov barked, making a terrifying face.
  "Don't kill me. I'll give you a couple of pennies," the captive shepherd said breathlessly.
  "We don't need your money, especially such a small one. Who are you?" Razorvirov made a fork with his fingers and practically poked someone in the eye with it.
  "I'm an elite shepherd, and here comes my tank-tigress running this way. Let me go or she'll tear you apart."
  The semi-legendary tank-tigress leaped into the clearing. It was a beast the size of a Tyrannosaurus rex. A colossal Tiger in striped, scaly armor, with two-meter-long fangs and six scoop-like claws. And a mouth with seven rows of teeth, like a land-based sperm whale.
  Both Likho and Tigrov fired simultaneously, purely instinctively. Even as they were firing, both boys turned their ray guns up to near maximum power. The striped dinosaur collapsed with a death roar. The roar was so loud that pine cones and fruit rained down from the trees. The young shepherd jumped up and galloped away.
  Mini-Stelzan stopped him by grabbing the arm of Tigrov, who was about to rush after him.
  "No need. They're a primitive tribe. It'll be like in the cyber-video, they'll mistake us for gods and come in a solemn procession." Likho spoke confidently. Especially since he'd already had a chance to view, albeit in a condensed form , a virtual reality experience of behavior among primitive races. Become a god and then you'll win.
  "Or maybe they'll think we're demons and drag us to the stake. Better yet, tell me, how long do our charges last?" Vladimir sounded seriously worried.
  "I don't know, we haven't recharged them in a while. I'd guess about twenty kilocals for an average battle, and half that at maximum power," Likho said, nervously fiddling with his emitter.
  "Although that's over an hour if you convert it to Earth time, we're in deep trouble!" Tigrov said. "Appearing weak is cunning, but actually being weak is idiocy!"
  Likho automatically raised first one leg, then the other, and, not understanding the allegory, objected:
  - Not yet, you're wrong, the soil keeps us on the surface perfectly.
  "Metaphorically speaking," Vladimir sometimes marveled at how stupid these creatures, who could extract the square root of a twenty-digit number in a split second, could be.
  "I understand your human slang. We have similar things too, peculiar jargons, especially on the outskirts." The Stelzan boy couldn't resist boasting, though he didn't exaggerate even by a photon . " Can you imagine what a vast power we have? Light travels from one end to the other in a million cycles."
  "Yes! That's if you compare it to the Earth, where it circles it eight times in a second," Vladimir replied without a hint of envy.
  "We have almost identical seconds, also calculated based on the beat of a calm heart, but the rest of the cycles are similar to your hours, and the minutes are decimal. Earthlings, why are you making things so complicated? You've switched to the number of fingers and toes, it's so natural!" Likho tossed a nutritional ampoule from his belt, shaped like a cube and the size of a Greek nut, to Vladimir. "Take this, you really need it!"
  "Because we had many countries and peoples. I think it's better to go and meet them; if we run away, it will only inspire our pursuers." The ampoule was sucked into his palm with a slight tickle. A warm, pleasant sensation began to spread through his hand, gradually spreading to his body. He caught Vladimir's glance and explained:
  "A mixture of amino acids and bio-anabolics. You need it after the recent upgrade. It seems they managed to completely remake you before the unknown enemy attacked. At least, that's what the medical hyperplasma computer declared-the transformation is 100 percent complete."
  The boy looked around again, his neck twisting and bending at every angle, like a rubber doll's. Apparently he'd made up his mind:
  - Of course, we'll go to the meeting. We'll give those bastards who parody our race a good beating.
  They emerged onto the path and strode briskly toward the domes. Soon, as expected, they emerged onto a wide road. The clatter of hooves and the blast of war horns could be heard. A cavalcade of fearsome horsemen rushed out to meet them. There was a whole army of them, many on horses, others on stags, but only two unicorns, and judging by their rich attire, they were ridden by nobles. The stags were very large, with three antlers and six hooves, and heavily armored knights perched upon them. Some wore shining armor, some black, others wore plate armor, a pitch-black, ominous against the horned helmets and predatory emblems. The horses, however, were quite earthly, beautiful, slender, and galloping warriors with light weapons , most carrying crossbows and bows. Of course, the light warriors made up four-fifths of the detachment. In total, there were over five hundred horsemen. Alongside them, trailing at the very end were three plump men in lush red robes, riding overfed gray goats. The riders ignored the boys; what were barefoot ragamuffins to them? Likho's magnetic space sandals had evaporated in the hyperplasm, and Tigrov was almost naked, fresh from the pressure chamber. The riders could simply trample them without even warning. Mini-Stelzan, trained to shoot first and think later, blasted the knights with a beam of light. The deer were cut to pieces, the animals convulsing. Some knights fell, others had their legs cut or broken. Vladimir also opened fire , driven more by nervous excitement than by cold calculation. The detachment scattered, the light warriors jumped off their horses, many even threw down their weapons and ran away.
  "So these savages are afraid of us. Every Stelzan is a god for another world."
  He jumped daringly and, jumping onto the croup of the fallen horse, yelled at the top of his lungs.
  - On your knees. We, gods, have come here to rule this world! Whoever is not with us is against us!
  A tall, large man in a red robe majestically climbed onto a three-horned goat. In addition to the red velvet robe, a swastika, a symbol of supreme wisdom and power, was embroidered in gold and framed in pearls on his chest.
  -You are not a god, you are just a little demon, a pathetic vampire, powerless against the cult of Sollo.
  -And you with a spider on your chest, receive divine lightning.
  Likho fired a blast from his ray gun, expecting the gray-haired man to explode into smoking pieces. However, the beam, striking his chest, merely created a sparkling cloud, typical of children's games. Likho continued firing frantically.
  -What a devil. Your lightning is powerless against the divine power of the High Priest Sollo.
  Several archers fired a volley, their long arrows narrowly missing the mini-soldier, and one lightly grazing his skin. Tigrov, realizing things were taking a turn for the worse, grabbed his companion by the arm and jerked him along with him. The mini-soldier tried to fight back.
  -What a shame to run away?
  "This isn't flight, it's a tactical maneuver. A change in the battlefield landscape," Tigrov joked seriously.
  "It's easier to evaporate them in open areas," the young Stelzan growled.
  "Don't you understand yet? Why didn't your beam cut it?" Vladimir explained as he ran.
  "Maybe magic or a defect in the weapon?" Likho suggested.
  "This is the first time I've seen magic protect against a laser beam. As for the defect, you can check it on mine."
  The boy, who had been transported, turned around as he ran, and fired a bolt at the nearest archer. The beam of light hit him square in the face, apparently blinding him and causing him to drop his crossbow, but that was all. His skull didn't burst, and his fried brains didn't spill.
  "See, now you get it. They're either you or us, so the mini-computer in our combat toys recognizes them and fires a salute," Tigrov explained.
  "Demons of the anti-world. Clearly they're yours; ours aren't such primitive savages," Likho retorted.
  "Or maybe it's yours, on the contrary. They speak the language of your Purple Empire," Vladimir remarked.
  "And where did you learn our language so well, man? You speak it so well, albeit slightly, as if you were born in the metropolis." The mini-soldier, jumping over the hummocks, narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
  "I don't know, maybe it's related to the phenomenon of displacement." Tigrov himself wasn't quite sure what it was all about.
  The boys ran fast (though in top form they could have been even faster) and had a decent chance of escaping even their well-mounted pursuers, but the unfamiliar alien forest was full of surprises. It felt like soft yellow-red grass, fluffy as moss, beneath their feet, and then a thorn as sharp as a vicudra sting, digging into their bare heels. They were terribly weakened; the carnivorous plant must have been producing a powerful paralyzer. Their legs were completely paralyzed, only their arms twitched slightly in convulsive movements. Tigrov had to hoist his comrade onto his shoulders. Their speed immediately dropped, and their pursuers-most on good horses, some on foot, the latter, however , had fallen behind-began to catch up with the fugitives. Vladimir fired accurately; his beams were quite effective against the horses and could even cut down a rider if he was smart enough to hide behind a horse. In principle, the friend-or-foe recognition system could see across a range of wavelengths, but the thermal-quark explosion with movement reduced its sensitivity. If a shooter fired an arrow at a target while hiding behind a tree, the return shot could easily take out both the tree and the shooter. The young man fired charges, which severed trunks; large trees fell with a crash, sometimes crushing soldiers. Those cut by the beam presented a terrifying sight, their charred body parts smoking faintly. Tigrov was peppered with arrows, but while he was lucky, he only got scratches; his skin had become tougher and often ricocheted the arrowheads. Furthermore, the thick tree trunks that obscured his aim offered a saving grace.
  Likho groaned, the son of an aggressive empire had a noble heart and a sense of camaraderie:
  - Leave me, Vladimir. I'm just a burden, without me you can leave!
  "No, you and I are brothers in arms. We swore to live and fight together, which means we will die together," the human boy said with pathos.
  "It's not logical. If we both die, there will be no one to take revenge on our enemies," Likho said, genuinely suffering. The mini-soldier's face had turned purple from the effects of the plant poison.
  -I believe we have a chance.
  The archers soon realized that the safest way was to shoot from the open, without concealment. Soon, one of the long, improved-hardened arrows pierced the biceps of his arm. Moreover, the hyperplasma battery's charge had depleted far faster than the low intensity of the erupting annihilation streams suggested. Even Stelzanat's childish weapon could be used in combat; at maximum power, it could sink the largest and most modern battleship of the twenty-first century. Now the arrows were flying in clouds. There was no point in dodging, and Tigr simply broke into a run. It was hard to run with a comrade on his shoulders. The mounted archers were approaching. A couple of arrows finally hit, striking the half-conscious Likho. Then another arrow struck Vladimir between the ribs (shot from special four-stringed crossbows designed to pierce heavy knightly armor; of course, the rate of fire of such weapons is slower due to the tightness of the drawbar, but it is still lethal). It was the end; the boy staggered in pain, stopping. Several large, sharp arrows immediately struck him and his helpless comrade. Standing still meant certain death. Tigrov, overcoming the pain, rushed toward a huge tree, towering over the others like a mountain. Perhaps there was a hollow in this tree, and he could hide from his pursuers that way. Before this monster of the plant world stretched a pristine meadow with beautiful flowers of unprecedented colors and shapes. And what a strange, intoxicating scent these unearthly plants emitted.
  But the cover they provide is insignificant; they have to run across practically open ground. The archers , having aimed their guns, strike with precision. Both boys are wounded; if they were human, they would have died long ago; the strength and resilience of their superhuman bodies saves them. But there's a limit to everything. Tigrov feels himself losing consciousness, and all around him is the beautiful nature; such beauty makes one want to live, not die.
  Through the bloody fog that clouded the eyes, through the booming noise like the surf, when heavy waves hit right on the crown of the head, the nasty and thin, mosquito-like squeak of the high priest's voice could be heard.
  "Stop shooting. The demons must not die so easily; a cruel ritual execution awaits them."
  Vladimir runs to the tree trunk and falls forward, it seems to him that the fall lasts forever.
  
  Immersed in a wave of lust, Lev lost himself in reality. How good and pleasant it felt for both of them: the soft silk of hair tickling his face, and the masculine desire overflowing his flesh. Retiring to a closed, mirrored room, they did what they had long dreamed of. In a voluptuous ocean of intoxicating honey, volcanoes erupted, sending up emerald-sapphire waves. They washed up on a golden-sand shore, where the tips of women's breasts sparkled like scarlet, mother-of-pearl shells. And a tornado, whipped up by the volcanoes, raged with increasing intensity. And suddenly, as if a tornado had swept in from the north, the volcanoes fell asleep, and the waves were frozen in cold ice, casting a treacherous shimmer. After the initial emotions had passed, Eraskander suddenly felt a terrible aversion and roughly pushed Vener away.
  "Allamara and Velimara alike. Two wings of one branch! Why did you betray me, using me like a toy? You yourself devised this, you wove the web of the mousetrap for the Great Zorg."
  Venus fell from the push, but did not get angry, but on the contrary, she fell to her knees and began to stroke the young man"s muscular leg, with bronze skin, clear as a marble statue"s:
  "No, not me. I was just a photon in a multi-cascade reflector. This wasn't even the governor's idea. You, Lion Cub, are not for the mind of a black-faced degenerate."
  "That doesn't excuse you." Eraskander looked at him with a cold expression, but didn't pull his foot away. Vener, like a worthless slave, began kissing the angelic boy's feet. She did it passionately, forgetting all pride, not a representative of the largest nation in the universe, but a captive under the heel of a usurper.
  "I'm not making excuses for my love and loyalty. I'll go further: if they hadn't wanted to use you, they would have eliminated you long ago."
  "Who's the main customer, the brain quantum center?" Lev squinted.
  "The head of the throne's security department, Velimara's brother." Vener grinned crookedly. "What's so scary? On your planet, they scare children with it."
  "This is too much. We can't see each other anymore. We're breaking up and that's the end of our relationship." The young man snorted contemptuously.
  - No, don't, Lev, I truly love you. - The kisses became more passionate.
  "It's not me you love, but pleasure." The young warrior, however , loved pleasure himself, not wanting to push the beauty away.
  "No, that's not true, Leo. It's not about that, it's much higher." Vener drank into him like a leech.
  "Can a spear get higher? Go away, you've already proven your love." Leo found the strength to throw off the amorous clinger.
  The proud Stelzanka began to cry without any pretense.
  - Leo, I love you and I have the most compelling proof of your love.
  "Yes, for us, Earth usually has a big belly," Eraskander teased.
  Venus grasped the meaning in a purely feminine way.
  "My beloved, if you mean procreation, then you're right," she added theatrically. "I've conceived a boy and a girl from you, who are due to be born soon."
  "Where are they under your heart?" Lev looked at the warrior girl's chocolate-colored, steel-mesh-like abs.
  "In an incubator, like all our children," Vener began to explain quickly. "It's forbidden and too dangerous to carry a child inside you; there are traumas, stress, wars. And giving birth, like in the primordial world, is painful. There, in the biocomputer, in a special cybernetic womb, it's optimal and safe. Optimal development of the embryo, and at a faster rate than nature would." The commercial intelligence officer's voice grew even more heated. "Remember our last meeting? You said yourself then that you felt like a suicide bomber, and that you'd like to have successors to your work in this universe."
  "How did you manage to leave the fetus in the incubator? Our races aren't allowed to have children together, are they?" Eraskander wasn't exactly shocked by the news. He'd intuitively sensed something similar would happen. He even suspected that the beautiful Vener wasn't the only one to have offspring from him.
  "At first, I just wanted to bribe her, but then, unexpectedly, that wasn't necessary." Allamara smiled broadly and contentedly. "During the analysis and scanning of the embryos, it turned out that you and I share excellent genetics and outstanding abilities... Especially you-you're superhuman! These children will be geniuses in the art of war and strategy. We have excellent compatibility; even the hyperdoctor was surprised; he was very interested in the father's identity. You see, the most important thing here is genetic compatibility and the quality of the children, and marriages are merely a convention for the distribution of property, and even then, everything is relative. A woman who conceives a hero's child is a heroine herself! I lied, saying he was too famous a warrior, and to avoid unnecessary questions, I donated to their fund-without documentation, of course."
  "They develop much faster in the incubator, don't they?" Lev had long known that Stelzans weren't even born like humans, but of course the details were a closely guarded secret for an earthling, hidden behind seven seals and star systems.
  "Yes, they'll be born much faster and soon," Venus added, her erudition shining. "On Earth, before our arrival, it would have taken a whole cycle, but now, after the improvement of your species, it's a third of a cycle."
  "And then what?" Eraskander said this coldly. He certainly didn't think the occupiers had improved people. Although, of course, the pregnancy and gestation period had been shortened-slaves with bellies work worse-a purely pragmatic approach, like victory over old age .
  Vener began to explain with fervor.
  "Lion cub, you know yourself, as soon as a baby emerges from the incubator, it very quickly becomes a mini-soldier. They are raised, nurtured, and trained according to their genetic predispositions. The parents themselves are usually not involved in the upbringing process, and most of us are not even interested in our offspring, sometimes never even looking at them. About two percent of the entire barracks cycle is spent on vacation, although this varies. The descendants of oligarchs and heroes can have more; they can, if their parents so desire, receive privileges. Well, those from the plebs, and that's the majority, generally see nothing but the barracks." Intercepting Lev's angry look, Vener added. "But there are also entertainment programs and an excellent, well-rounded education with physical development." The Stelzan warrior added fervently. "I believe they will become great Stelzans-your children will conquer and rule the Universe."
  "That's not what I meant when I talked about continuing the case..." Eraskander said, gradually thawing. "In fact, in the humane twenty-first century of our planet, philosophers would say, the Stelzans would be monsters who deprive children of their childhood, forcing them into barracks from the cradle..."
  Vener was about to protest, but the armored door shattered, sliced open by a grav-laser. Harpy Din and a dozen thugs, armed with weapons, appeared in the doorway. Behind them, a couple of unmanned boarding ships' tanks crawled quickly. Lev laughed ironically.
  - I didn't expect anything else. Do you want affection?
  Rosalenda's wicked face instantly softened, breaking into a wide smile. Her battle suit instantly fell off, revealing her terrifying charms.
  -Yes, my little warrior. You're a real Tiger Tank.
  -It's better not to pull a tiger or a lion by the whiskers or...
  Lev felt the air thicken and, purely instinctively, pushed away the barrier, mentally imagining what would happen, pushing the force field. It worked, and the gorilla-stealths collapsed like trees caught in a tornado. Two large tanks, protected by a powerful force field, flipped over, and a third stuck fast to the ceiling...
   Eraskander leaped up to the general's wife. Despite weighing two hundred kilograms, her waist was relatively slender, her abs were prominent, and the physique of a professional, tall bodybuilder was in peak condition. A heavy yet athletic build, in its own way, that of a very beautiful woman in her fifth century. Of course, he didn't love her; it was even terrifying to touch such a monster, but he wanted to get his own revenge on Allamara. He wanted to make the duplicitous officer jealous and tormented by falling in love with Dina before her eyes. Naturally, she not only didn't resist, but greedily clung to him. When the debauchery was over, Vener was deeply aroused and giggled joyfully:
  - Quasarno! You are a magnificent super-hyperman, our little one. Now make wonderful love to me.
  The young man spat, turned around, and walked away.
  These Stelzans can drive you crazy. No matter how brutalized people become, they still hardly consider such behavior normal. Especially in the puritanical pre-war times.
  "The slave collar must be removed from him. Such a fine young man deserves to be included in our invincible army," the four-star general shouted.
  Dina, curvaceous, with buffalo muscles rippling beneath her bronze skin, was repulsive to him. Lev wanted to send her packing, but how could one survive based solely on raw emotion? He couldn't let such a chance slip by.
  "I have long since proven my readiness and ability for war!" Eraskander exclaimed with pathos.
  "Wonderful, ultra-stellar, magnificent, quasaric!" Dina beckoned to the servant with her finger. "Flomanter will free you."
  The familiar three-eared creature timidly approached Eraskander. It was clear that the universal genius was terrified of him.
  With shaking flippers, Flomanter entered the code, turned something, and removed the collar.
  - That's it. - And he added sarcastically. - You probably didn't think it would be so easy!
  -And the tracking device? - Lev pretended to miss the pin.
  The little animal's ears flapped. Its frightened squeak, working miracles, inspired terror, even in the general's presence.
  - Maybe later. It's very complicated...
  Dina interrupts him with a thunderous voice:
  -Now you are a warrior of the Purple Constellation with a probationary period until complete assimilation!
  Since Lev was still very young, he was assigned to a basic training group for special forces shock troops. At the preparatory school, the fighters were intensively trained, using the most modern methods, challenging obstacle courses, sparring, and cyber-training in various environments. Although Eraskander was introduced as a native of the Stelzan empire, rumors that he was merely a former slave spread with shocking speed. However, the young Stelzans training with him were afraid to touch Lev. The powerful Earth Terminator's reputation was too threatening. Moreover, in all sparring sessions, he demonstrated, in essence, top-notch combat prowess. Along with his intelligence and charm, this created such a bright aura of trust and authority around him that Lev soon became the informal leader of the training brigade. This, of course, didn't please everyone. Particularly annoying was the fact that he won every brutal combat course, in any environment, and as easily as a tiger would defeat kittens. The former youth leader, Girim Fisha, along with his accomplices and some older soldiers, decided to put the newcomer in his place. They would stage a "dark battle" in the style of Stelzan: beat and humiliate him. Everything was carried out very simply: thirty-five fighters with bladed and beam weapons gathered in the sparring room. There, they eagerly awaited the young, accomplished combat veteran. When Lev entered, they immediately pounced on him, aiming to cripple him. Despite the enemy's numerical superiority, Eraskander successfully fought back and even counterattacked. He constantly moved, using barbells, weights, dumbbells, throwing daggers, and spring-loaded brass knuckles. He tried to avoid killing him, though he desperately wanted to punish these idiots. An attempt to stun Lev with a stun gun was initially unsuccessful; instead, the shots incapacitated his attackers. And yet, one can't be lucky forever; the Stelzans, having conquered billions of populated worlds, are certainly capable soldiers. After the young man was struck by the discharge, they pounced and began beating him. They hit him with whatever they could find, including heavy metal objects. Lev tried to use his mind, but this time it didn't work. The telekinetic flame faded, and the blows grew in force. At some point, Eraskander lost consciousness. It seemed as if his soul was leaving his body, and he was watching this fight as if from a distance. There he lay, bloodied and motionless, being kicked and hit with weights. A familiar sight, even on Earth, of a crowd beating one motionless man. Lev wants to hit or kill one of them, but his new form is incorporeal, and his fists pass through the Stelzans like holograms in the air. Lev strains his remaining consciousness and hears Dina's familiar voice.
  "Yes, Mister Ultramarshal. The entire hypersquadron must form up in battle formation and be ready to jump to the Diligarido galaxy region, but it's such a long distance."
  "Your job isn't to reason, but to follow orders. I command this hyper-squadron," comes the dry reply. A second's pause, and then the machine-gun patter continues. "As for the distance, the effect of a nine-order vacuum vortex has set in. This alters the congruence of space, making it possible to travel with a single hyperspace jump. I don't need you to explain the advantage of such a head start!"
  "I will give the order to bring the mighty squadron under my control to combat readiness," the mighty general's wife barked.
  The Ultramarshal continued in a dry tone:
  "I've notified all the other generals. Listen, it's true that you're harboring the fugitive slave Eraskander."
  "Yes, we included him in the combat landing group, he's an excellent fighter... Hyper!" Dina raised her voice on the last word and added more quietly, "Hermes is waving the deed, he wants to take him."
  "He's too small fry. Tell him it's too late, they've jumped into hyperspace and are no longer accessible. The Path itself watches over its own property." The Ultramarshal's voice grew stern.
  "He's too brazen about asserting his rights. He's a complete lawyer!" the general's wife snapped her teeth.
  "Declare a state of total combat readiness, mobilizing even mini-soldiers. And try to make sure this slave doesn't get killed. And if Hermes gets too brazen, remind him: under martial law, accidents are possible."
  "I understand the order. This wonderful young man will not be killed. Hermes will be arrested if necessary or..."
  The Ultramarshal interrupted in a barking tone:
  "Perform the transfer, it's time to strike a blow of vengeance. Leave Hermes alone for now; he has influential relatives."
  "The Emperor spoke correctly: family feelings are like a rusty chain, they fetter courage, poison honor, and defile duty!" the hippopotamus woman exclaimed.
  When the connection was lost, Lev froze in amazement. Why had even the Ultra Grand Marshal shown interest in him, a mere slave? And what if he listened to his thoughts? How pleasant it was to fly! He knew that only the highest of gurus (of whom there were practically none left on Earth) were capable of moving so easily and freely in a spiritual shell. As he passed the flagship's hull, the boy felt only a slight spark, as if he'd been struck by static electricity. What a majestic view opened up after entering open space. Millions of starships of the most varied designs and menacing shapes floated majestically through space. A multicolored mosaic of stars shone all around; it seemed to everyone the sky was awash with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, and agate. But there was no time to admire it , and he flew into the largest flagship-a gross battleship. A titan starship. A Kelelvir hedgehog at least 300 kilometers in diameter. A military starship armed with thousands of monstrous weapons capable of incinerating entire planets in a split second. In the ship's central cockpit, the Ultra-Grand Marshal conducted communications via hypergravity.
  -Yes, oh great one. Everything will be done.
  "Look, you're deeply involved in this matter. Try to wriggle out of it and you'll be finished." A strange, completely devoid of humanity voice hissed like a cobra.
  "I'm ready for anything," the dignitary said in a nervous tone.
  -Now listen to the additional instructions...
  Lev didn't hear the instructions. The room suddenly went dark, and almost instantly, as if his soul had been sucked out by a powerful vacuum cleaner, he found himself back in his badly injured body. His head was splitting, and several ribs were broken.
  When Dina pressed the button to enter full marching mode, pink lights flashed throughout the rooms. The soldiers automatically stopped beating them. Then the largest of them turned toward the five-star officer, the senior member of the torture team.
  -Continue the educational process, or...
  "That's enough, he got what he deserved," the commander interrupted.
  Girim Fasha also decided to put in his word.
  "We've already taught him a lesson, thoroughly pulsating him. Overall, he's a great guy, just a bit too brazen, but he's an excellent soldier. He'll be a great fighter. Unless, of course, he breaks his neck in a gravitational collapse."
  -Yes!
  The officer winked slightly.
  "He has the potential to be a great fighter. But for a slave, he held his chin too high. And remember, Stealth warriors never flinch among themselves. This is either a training sparring session or a training session. Give him a stimulant; guys like that get back into action very quickly."
  Lev, coming to his senses, suddenly felt material objects begin to obey him again. A huge metal pancake lifted off the floor, and Eraskander nearly crushed Girim's head with it. However, the muscular Stelzan teenager smiled welcomingly and extended his hand.
  -Let's forget the past, because we are on the same team.
  Lev longed to send their entire team into the depths of the quasar and cover them with a pancake, but he suddenly realized he couldn't break the rules like that. To surreptitiously strike an outstretched hand would be to humiliate one's planet, revealing one's vile nature. Eraskander remained proudly silent and didn't offer his. The pancake fell with a thud onto the surface.
  Fasha smiled.
  "How do you do it? Okay, we'll talk later, when everyone's calmed down. I had to take five fighters to the regeneration chamber. You're a real dragon of the anti-universe."
  Girim ran out of the hall, he felt Lev"s anger with every cell of his dark-bronze skin.
  
   CHAPTER 28
  
  Piercing the vastness of space
  You will never get tired of love!
  Because of her you will move mountains
  You will find many wonderful places.
  
  After the emergency alarm interrupted the game at its climax, Labido never saw her random scientist again. Apparently, command decided she had too much free time, and she was transferred to intensive combat training. Preparation for war never ceased, for military labor is the most important, perhaps the only, purpose of every Stelzan's existence. War breeds heroes, while peace breeds only bribe-takers and traitors. The combat training courses exposed them to every conceivable combat situation. Battles in a vacuum, zero gravity, in a gelatinous environment, in liquids of varying densities. They had to fight in constantly changing conditions: fluctuating gravity, light and radio waves, spatial planes, and so on. The variety is too tedious to list in detail. There were variants of combat in multidimensional space, in molten lava, and in a black hole. The only limitation was training costs, so preference was given to the cheapest forms of combat training. Naturally, virtual shooters and hardcore sparring were the cheapest. Sparring sessions were unique: they were forced to strip naked (although from a practical standpoint, this was stupid; no one would go into a real fight without a military special suit!) and fight each other completely naked. The fights were either themed or, on the contrary, a no-holds-barred victory. The only condition was not to kill completely. When Elena gouged out one girl's eye in a fit of rage, her victim only smiled joyfully. And then, after a quick recovery, she even bragged about it. Any sparring with weapons or just hands left bruises, scratches, and sometimes even fractures. Once, Elena even had her hand chopped off. The stump felt like it was in boiling water, but when they put it back, the medical robot activated a special field that seemed to glue cells and bones together. The fingers began moving again almost immediately, and within half an hour, there was no trace of the wound. Even the skin remained smooth, a moderate bronze color, without the white streaks or scars that humans had. Minor injuries weren't even examined; they healed on their own. It's a good thing the Stelzans have such phenomenal regenerative abilities.
  Now they've been sparred again, pitted against each other on a scorching hot frying pan. The temperature will only rise as the fight progresses. They've entered the ring, a sort of aquarium; through the transparent walls, you can see the other guys and girls being brought out to be roasted. Her partner is roughly the same height, close in weight and strength; the pairings are expertly matched, with some pairings being mixed, guys against girls. The siren sounds the signal for the fight. The surface is hot, but still bearable. Both girls engage in full contact almost immediately. They know each other too well to engage in a silly exchange of blows, but jump and maneuver, trying to reach each other from a distance. The ring surface quickly heats up, the girls' graceful bare heels burning. Their wild leaps become ever higher, and their blows sharper and more vicious. Beads of sweat hiss ominously, falling onto the rapidly reddening surface. Both young females fight like goddesses of death. It's as if lava and ice, plasma and liquid nitrogen, have collided. Desperate to strike each other with direct blows, they grapple in a convulsive, twitching ball, using their nails and teeth.
  For the first time, Elena tasted the skin of the hated occupiers, the blood of a ferocious stelzan on her tongue. It tasted sweet and tart, like the juice of a ripe plum. The skin itself was tough, like scaly chainmail, but Elena's jaws and teeth were stronger than a shark's. Her partner responded cruelly. The girls fell sideways. The surface, heated to thousands of degrees, literally burned their flesh. The poor girls screamed hysterically as the floor, already beginning to soften from some metal unknown to Elena, scorched both warriors' thighs , sides, and chests. Even the air began to glow, rapidly ionizing from the monstrous heat. A wild thought flashed through Labido-Elena's mind: "What's going on in the other aquariums?" It was a good thing they were soundproof; otherwise, the roar would have been as loud as if millions of menagerie animals had been crammed into the mouth of a volcano. Ultramarshal Eroros, who is overseeing the exercises, gives the command in an indifferent tone.
  -Everyone, stop it, that's enough for today. Last check!
  Liquid helium poured into the aquarium, a mind-blowing supershock, the transition from brutal heat to monstrous cold. The vapors from the fumes, like a champagne cork, spewed out mutilated, half-roasted bodies. Even he realized he'd gone too far. This is what anger can do-you want to vent it by conducting barbaric exercises. It's ubiquitous, after all; all Stelzans are trained with barbaric cruelty, to the point of death. Where is this Dez Imer now? May his enslaved descendants forever curse his name, the Zorgs will still groan beneath Stelzans. This "metalhead" is already on Earth, mercilessly enforcing order. Apparently, he can't escape the death penalty; how did he get into this mess, though he's not to blame, after all, he warned the Great Emperor. Yes, the Great Emperor is wise, he said it right.
  -The empire is dying, the world is disintegrating it, in order to save the nation we need to start a new universal war.
  Or as the very first Emperor said.
  "Peace that lasts more than a year is harmful to the army; peace that lasts more than a generation is harmful to the nation. Peace that lasts more than a century is fatal to civilization!"
  The gravity field wavers, slightly bending the light. Eros's low-beam gun, resembling a terribly sophisticated eight-barrel pistol, emerges from its hyperplastic holster. "Started" by an invisible tide, it squeals like a song:
  "It's wonderful to live among fire and plasma, when the vacuum shakes from the explosion! We experience terrifying orgasms, a deadly lunge forward!"
  The Ultramarshal stroked his weapon:
  "You're hilarious, it's a good thing they equipped you with a hyperplasma processor. It's expensive , but at least it saves on clowns."
  "If you like, I can play you any of the two hundred and twenty-five million melodies from seven thousand countries, " the mage-gun said in a beeping tone. "Or I have one hundred and ten million six hundred thousand shooters, strategy games, and erotic quests."
  The Ultramarshal interrupted:
  "That's enough for now. Since we're on a power trip, it's better to relax. Tomorrow we're announcing Season XXX. The boys deserve some fun and some rest. And you, my dear little machine, let's play."
  The ray gun, using a miniature antigravity device, lifted itself into the air and released a massive hologram. Eroros immersed himself in the virtual battle; it helped distract him from his troubling thoughts. Moreover, it allowed him to exercise not only his brain but also his powerful body. Specifically, some holograms, and this new addition, emit a gravitational wave, simulating a powerful blow. They can also wrestle, crush, and caress. True, this increases energy consumption, but at least it can always be recharged.
  After regeneration and an unusually long sleep, False Labido Karamada felt fresh and energized as never before. However, there was something unusual about her sensations. Something burned within her, a long-forgotten urge of the flesh. And when they formed into the traditional column, the internal itch became almost unbearable. Many of the girls felt the same, and only discipline prevented them from letting go. As always, they were marched naked, so that every muscle and every injury suffered during combat training could be seen. True, there were also battles in various combat suits, but this was much less common, despite the great practical value of this particular type of military training.
  Two commanders, ten-star officers, a huge male and a massive female, like a buffalo, came out to read out the instructions:
  "You're all grown-up girls now, and I don't think I need to explain sex to you. Now you must fight on the sexual front. Why are you all sweating, and are your pubic areas itching? Relax, military service is pure pleasure. First you enjoy beating each other up, and now it's physical affection. Now we'll pair you off. You'll mate for the glory of the Super Empire."
  Almost all the girls were delighted; of course, it's much more pleasant to make love to guys than to knead them , especially in hot pressure cookers. Especially since the sexual suppressant drugs had stopped flowing into the bloodstream, and the special radiation spectrum had stopped suppressing desire. After all, sexual frigidity is an incomprehensible concept for Stelzans, or rather a disease. The first couples were to be taught in a random order, as specified by the commander, then combinations were possible. The sex instructor chose couples for the first act simply by height...
  Elena felt so disgusted and ashamed that she even closed her eyes tightly, trying to imagine it was all just a bad dream. No, this would never happen. After all, you can't just do this right here, right in front of everyone, with an entire regiment , under bright lights... This... This intimate, romantic thing, the stuff poets write poems about, the stuff they sing beautiful songs about. To trivialize love like this, to turn it into something that... Even wild animals don't behave so brazenly, so rudely, and yet this is a race that holds complete control over three and a half thousand galaxies, that has eradicated all illnesses (maybe except mental ones!), a literal super-civilization.
  A loud shout interrupted her thoughts, the stinging touch of rough hands on her body, shame and torment, the awakening of sudden desire. Elena was no longer able to comprehend anything, had lost all sense of reality. Her genetically perfect body reacted, plunging into vile bliss, and her mind... Her mind couldn't resist, for to do otherwise meant betraying herself and condemning not only her soul and body to incomprehensibly monstrous suffering at the hands of the executioners, but also burying with her failure the only elusive chance to free the planet from the invaders.
  So let the tornado rage with exploding hypernuclear bombs, raising colossal tsunamis in the ocean of passions and emotions. And she will ride the waves, soaring on the ninth wave of lust, struggling and blissfully, and each time, the mental pain gives way to the pleasure of the treacherous flesh. Like millions of pulsars rushing and rushing through her veins, fluttering in time with the rhythm of countless hearts, streams of chaotically colliding asteroids, exploding like supernovas in arteries and veins. Command:
  - And now it's a change of partners! Come on, like thermopreon bombs! - It's already out of earshot, over the din of the "zoo", it's obvious . And in my head, a song is playing;
  Man is only a wanderer in the universe.
  Protect us from troubles, O holy cherub!
  The spirit suffers now I am an exile....
  I believe in Jesus in our hearts, we will keep him!
  
  If there is hell on Earth, there is no bliss,
  Because know people - one flesh.
  Do you want to achieve perfection?
  There is only one way: to help your neighbors while they are suffering!
  
  Starships cut through space -
  The seven-headed dragon has appeared on Earth!
  Here thunders a menacing anthem across the planet,
  A Russian house was burned down by a hypernuclear tornado!
  
  Ashes, corpses - no room for the living,
  Those who did not die from terrible pain are roaring!
  The bride walked down the aisle with her beloved,
  But this is by no means a honeymoon year!
  
  Those who survived were slaves - insignificant worms,
  There is no end in sight to human humiliation!
  But know, the knife breaks free from its sheath -
  Revenge burns, leading the fighter into battle!
  
  The enemies have hyper blasters, bombs,
  Thermoquark napalm flared up...
  Mother Mary, who gave birth to God,
  Help me withstand this blow!
  
  We will win, we firmly believe in this,
  Let us raise Rus' from the dust, from its knees!
  There is no soldier stronger than the Fatherland -
  There will be a time of drastic changes!
  
  Then evil will disappear forever,
  And the Lord will give grace to the good -
  The Milky Way will become an easy road,
  Happiness, peace and love every hour!
  When the voluptuous nightmare ended, a whole day of frenzied orgy had passed in an instant. The machine's indifferent voice sent everyone to bed. The girl was sad and angry, feeling like a complete whore. She could take the ray gun and fire a blast of ultraplasma at the superiors, but that would expose her, failing the partisan center's mission. Although , why should she punish herself? Her body is ruined, but her soul is not enslaved.
  Sacrificing one's flesh for the sake of saving all humanity cannot be called a sin. Before the mission, His Holiness Patriarch Andrei Peter of All the Earth declared in confession after receiving communion, making the sign of the cross: "Our Lord, God, and Savior forgives you all sins, voluntary or involuntary, committed in the name of the Motherland and victory over the hordes of the Devil!"
  The end justifies the means, as the leader of the world proletariat, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, said!
   On planets floating in eternity
  People's prejudices are pathetic,
  What can you do, humanity,
  Stupidity rules, not gods!
  
  Although it seemed to Tigrov as if he were falling into the abyss for an eternity, it actually lasted only a few seconds. The boy quickly came to, feeling a sting. It was completely different from the crossbow bolt protruding from his collarbone. He managed to fall over the edge of the hollow, falling out of the enemy shooters' sight, and the pain from the sting was different, a spreading heat, not excruciating, but this time pleasant. The crimson haze before his eyes dissipated quickly, as if someone had wiped sweaty glass. A small, broad-shouldered girl sat before them, holding a syringe and a medical kit. That was the last person he expected to see. The mini-Amazon carried a small, multi-barreled ray gun over her shoulder, her hair seven-colored. Had he seen her somewhere before?
  "You're the one, Likho!" The girl injected a purple substance with a ray syringe, and with her strong hand, she deftly pulled out arrows and crossbow bolts.
  "Be careful, sister. He could die from such pressure," Vladimir warned.
  The cutie turned around and smiled slyly, like a little hooligan who had already managed to do something mischievous, with disproportionately large teeth:
  "Ah, it's you, Tiger from an unknown galaxy. Pull those arrows out of yourself, don't worry, I injected you with "Regeneiner," which gives you lightning-fast regeneration, you're as good as new."
  Tigrov didn't argue and, surprisingly, pulled out the arrows and bolts, both triangular- and square-tipped, with ease. Likho also rose very quickly, surprisingly leaving no traces.
  It seemed that even little Stelzan was amazed by such a quick recovery:
  -What a miracle, Laska, you little sorceress?
  "No, Likho, it's just 'Ridegainer,' an experimental drug for instant regeneration." The young warrior grinned, shaking her lush hair, which smelled of expensive perfume.
  "Why isn't it used more widely?" Razorvirov was surprised. He was even annoyed that his old friend knew something the curious Likho had never heard of.
  The girl answered without any unnecessary antimony:
  -It has side effects, only in an emergency like this situation can you take the risk.
  "Excellent! Mini-medic. Do you still have a weapon?" The Stelzan boy spun around in the hollow, taking an arrow in his hand and childishly gnawing on the tip.
  "There is something." The warrior said this in such a tone as if she actually had nothing significant to say.
  "Give it to us!" exclaimed the angry Likho, biting through the arrow shaft with his teeth.
  "No! I'll use it myself in our mutual interests," the seven-colored girl said, much more confidently.
  "What if we take her by force?" Likho clenched his fists and shouted to his friend. "Grab her by the legs, tiger!"
  The girl immediately snatched up a small pistol with little buttons.
  "Don't worry, it's a gamma emitter. It's universal, not like those kiddie blasters! It specifically kills all living things."
  Likho calmed down, especially since he was now visible, and the archer's arrow narrowly missed his head. Driven by excitement, the mini-soldier leaped out of the hollow, screaming in a terrifying voice:
  - Pathetic mortal creatures, you dared to raise your hand against the children of God!
  Tigrov also jumped over his comrade's head with a big leap and added his voice, which had also become very loud after the bioengineering modification:
  - Unholy ones, a painful death awaits you in the reactor, you dared to attack the gods!
  Almost all the warriors fell to their knees. The sight of terrifyingly muscular boys, completely unharmed and barely covered by clothing, was startlingly unsettling, yet riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts tearing through the raft. Only the High Priest of the Sollo cult remained standing. In a red robe with a swastika, he looked more like a Nazi executioner than a priest.
  "Demons, you want to frighten us with your illusions. You don't have the power to kill, which means you're not God's children!"
  - Do you want to die? - Likho thundered, clenching his fists tightly.
  "Yes, if you are the children of the supreme god Ravarr, let your father kill me," the pontiff exclaimed shrilly, shaking his triple chin.
  Tigrov raised his hand, spread his fingers, and said.
  -Great Father, punish the villain.
  Likho added, trying to shout louder and raising his right leg vertically with four arrows between his toes:
  -Let his soul go to the anti-world along with the vomit.nbsp;
  The pagan priest's ironic smile instantly gave way to bewilderment, and a second later he began vomiting uncontrollably. The priest flushed, his eyes bulged, his skin saggy, sagging like the bark of a rotten tree stump, literally before the eyes of the battered but growing troop. Several hundred more warriors had already reached them. Spitting out his entrails, a cloud of bluish blood and brown bile, the head of the cult breathed his last. All the warriors and nobles fell to their knees and cried out in unison, begging for mercy.
  Just recently, the proud and arrogant would have crawled on their bellies, trying to kiss feet. Likho simply kicked them in the face, and Tigrov didn't show any liberality either.
  -Don't dare touch us, despicable mortals.
  The despised retreated, and a richly dressed nobleman spoke. His voice was melodious, a poorly concealed fear permeating it:
  "Oh! Great children of the supreme god Ravarr, hallowed be his name. Would you do me the honor of staying at the palace of Grand Duke Dizon de Padier? You will be received as kings, or rather , as gods."
  Likho growled with natural arrogance:
  "Isn't it too much to ask, worm ignored by the stars? Let the Duke himself come and bow to us, and for now we'll just explore the city." The young warrior's voice turned angry. "And why don't you bow?"
  The nobleman began to bow with the fervor of Ivan the Terrible during repentance:
  - Good, oh great ones. Greatest of the great! A stretcher will be brought to you now.
  "We'll go ourselves," Tigrov declared unexpectedly. However, the boy blurted this out not out of modesty, but because of the energy that overwhelmed his body when sitting on the sweep was torture.
  "Yes," Likho quietly interjected. And then added deafeningly loudly.
  "Only a royal litter will do for us. Laska, get out, let's take a short walk. Hey, mortals, greet our most holy sister."
  The stealth girl Laska came out.
  The beautiful warrior appeared to be eleven or twelve years old, but in reality, she was only seven. Her uniform had been virtually undamaged by the transition, and it sparkled defiantly in the "Suns." Her seven-colored hairstyle, with lush, flowing waves (her more practical battle braids, woven with monoatomic needles by Mars, had been left loose), looked striking, like a little fairy with a toy-like ray gun and gamma pistol. A seven-headed, ten-winged dragon shimmered on the surface of the medical case, changing colors from red to purple depending on the viewing angle, and opening and closing its jaws. Clearly, Laska, dressed in her best formal attire, was more suited to the role of a god's daughter than her still-filthy brothers-in-arms. That's why the servants, hastily arriving, threw large and small freshly picked flower petals at her feet. This was the custom in this world to greet gods and kings.
  -You are not performing the ritual correctly !
  The "goddess's" ringing, yet powerful, voice brought everyone to their knees again. And the girl, feeling the intoxicating taste of power over individuals like you, began to get worked up:
  "The petals must be of seven different colors, and they must be strewn at the feet of not only me but my brothers as well. Otherwise, the dome of heaven will crack, and all-consuming lava will swallow you! The fire of meteors, the hurricanes of seven mega-galaxies, the eruptions of a quintillion super-anti-worlds will turn everything into an ultra-peculiar hypercollapse!"
  Likho unexpectedly showed an ethical attitude, which was not at all typical of the warriors of Stelzanat:
  - Laska, don't scare them like that, they've already messed up. Modesty is the beauty of goddesses.
  "Don't you think it's blasphemous to pretend to be gods?" Vladimir suggested, carefully stepping on the strongly scented flower petals.
  Razorvirov, from the cradle (This is a metaphor; in reality, biologically and physiologically enhanced Stelzan babies do not need diapers, nappies, or potties!), said with learned pathos:
  "That's entirely our style, for on other planets, Stelzan, there is a god of this world. Wherever our warrior sets foot, there remains a place for eternal worship. So, Tiger, we'll be promoted and given officer stars for acquiring a new colony. Look, the royal litter has already arrived."
  Truly enormous chariot-seats, fit for an elephant , drawn by the familiar toothy mastodons, emerged from the imposing gates. The city was surrounded by a fairly high wall, the central entrance flanked by four towers. Naturally, they were adorned with something resembling griffins, only with three-toed pincers instead of front paws, and horns on their heads. With them as the second persona of the couple, mermaids with gilded butterfly wings looked quite natural.
  The city was quite well defended. The wall was wide enough that, as Tigrov noted, a couple of KAMAZ trucks could easily drive along it. However, the medieval settlement had clearly grown too large, and half the buildings were undefended. The houses were built more in the Reverence or late Baroque style; only a small number of buildings resembled classical medieval structures. The city was large and apparently wealthy. Thousands of light soldiers and knights in gleaming armor and ornate helmets had already formed up, solemnly welcoming the new gods. Even the musicians had been herded away; the music resembled the British National Anthem. At the same time, the common people were also arriving.
  "You'd better sit on the stretcher next to me, otherwise you don't look so divine," the young warrior suggested in a whisper.
  Likho, unable to resist, tugged the girl's hair. Laska quickly snatched the emitter, her emerald-sapphire eyes flashing. Smiling, having overcome her fit of anger, she quickly hid it.
  "You boys are completely unbearable and illogical. After all, I'm concerned about our common safety."
  "Let's sit down, friend. We've had enough running around for today. We'd better travel in comfort," Volodya suggested, also disliking the disrespectful glances they cast at him, surely mistaking him for a slave. Indeed, clad only in blackened swimming trunks and grime, barefoot, with their lean muscles, the boys looked like slaves or, at best, the lowest demonic servants of the revered gods. However, if they caught a threatening glance from one of the boys, bows and blessings followed. Of course, slaves can't look like that...
  When the "divine" children had settled, to the sounds of a welcoming march, the mastodons once again set off along the ever-widening road. The pavement was smoothly swept, the houses beautifully decorated with colorful patterns. People were more or less decently dressed, a quite prosperous environment for a pre-industrial era. While this city might have seemed a barbaric hellhole to the haughty Likho , to Vladimir it was an interesting and unique world. Most of all, this city resembled the old part of St. Petersburg, a wondrous museum city that had given Russia so many outstanding talents: imperial and liberal at once. Tears welled in Tigr's eyes as he remembered his ruined planet. There was no return to the old days, and the future was foggy: an empty stomach, a torn pocket. An ancient song came to mind: God grant that one may be a little bit of a god, but one must not be a little bit crucified! Or even better: a man has been crucified so many times that it's no sin for him to be at least a little bit of God! And what can he say about his partners? His new friends are the children of humanity's number one enemy, simultaneously naive and cruel.
  Every child harbors an angel and a demon. They coexist quite peacefully within the same head. But look at him : his soul is torn, and there's no peace. Vladimir felt quite grown up; the abundance of experiences was aging him mentally. Nevertheless, to distract himself, he said:
  -A superb Renaissance city.
  "Primitive, not a single aircraft. Do they have beam, hypernuclear, mag-nuclear, or even nuclear weapons?" Likho said sarcastically.
  "I hope not," Tigrov said sincerely. Explaining why he hoped so would be unnecessary.
  "Then we'll teach them to make new weapons and fly to the stars." Razorvirov calmly picked at a crossbow bolt in his incredibly strong teeth, capable of biting through titanium.
  "To teach someone, you have to know how to do it yourself," Tigrov said with undisguised skepticism. "Let Laska tell you what kind of side effect this super-regenerator, 'Ridegainer,' has."
  The young warrior , making a smart face, began to chatter:
  "Well, as you know, every type of weapon has its pros and cons. For example, a gamma emitter allows you to physically destroy an enemy while preserving material assets. There's also the problem: the greater the beam's penetrating power, the less damage it causes to living tissue. In this weapon, the radiation is significantly more neutral to inorganic matter , while at the same time more aggressive to living organic matter." Then the girl suddenly gets excited and starts firing off a tongue twister. "The preons that make up quarks have a specific bond structure between them, which structures their colossal momentum. This hyperstring, in turn, prevents the nucleus from disintegrating and is the core of the electromagnetic bonds in the atom. The momentum of the preon and the bonds between them is extremely high, as is the speed of this particle. Only it is hidden in a special ten-dimensional space, a mini-hyperstring. In it, this fantastic, super-tiny particle with colossal momentum, many times faster than the speed of light, is not so noticeable." If a string were to be transformed from a ten-dimensional state to a three-dimensional one , the tiny preon particle would acquire hypervelocity, so much greater than the speed of light that it would cause the super-fast ball to instantly disintegrate. Numerous other particles would emerge, with lower speeds but greater masses. A kind of hyperplasma would be born, capable of exhibiting a wide variety of properties, both in terms of propagation speed and mass, representing a special sixth state of matter.
  "I understand you want to seem smart, but keep it simple," Vladimir interrupted. The boy only looked the same age as the Stelzans, but was actually twice their age, and he was irritated by the way these seemingly first-graders pretended to be great geniuses.
  "Okay, let me put it briefly: this regeneration drug affects genetics and dramatically slows down and even stops the process of physical maturation, puberty, and growth. So, if you use it constantly, you'll never grow." The warrior finished, without any offense.
  -What if this drug is given to adults? - Volodya became curious.
  "Then adults will shrink in size, becoming more like children in appearance. They will grow at a negative rate."
  - It's clear why it's not used in the military. - Tigrov, having already had experience with downsizing, was not at all thrilled about this.
  "I don't agree with this policy; how are mini-soldiers any worse than adult specimens? In hand-to-hand combat, they win due to their weight, but in shooting, we win due to our size."
  - Having made what seemed to him a discovery of universal scale, Likho, quite pleased with himself, laughed.
  - That's a good point, so will we remain children forever? - Vladimir became worried.
  - No, just for a year or two, and only if... - Laska was embarrassed.
  -What if? - The boys pricked up their ears.
  "The achievements of our science are great..." The warrior hesitated and cast an uncertain glance around. Too many aliens, thousands of warriors capable of turning their submissive, bowing slaves into merciless enemies at any moment.
  - Yes, but what do we know? - Vladimir interrupted the girl's thoughts.
  "I know twenty-one thousand three hundred and twenty-five ways to destroy a living being, that's a record for my age," the warrior boasted, her brazen confidence instantly returning.
  "It would be better if you knew at least one way to revive someone; you are a candidate for god, after all," Volodya noted reasonably.
  "Remember the legend? Our Almighty God first killed, and only then resurrected, a sinful soul." Marsov kicked the hand of one of the overzealous wealthy citizens who was trying to touch the goddess. The blow immediately turned his hand blue and swollen, and the citizen fell to his knees, crying out, "Gods, forgive me, a sinner."
  Tigrov sighed:
  - It's always like this! You want bread in your mouth, but you get a dagger in your heart!
  "A philosopher!" Laska replied, adding, "He who does not want to cut up his own prey will surely be cut up by another!"
  Meanwhile, the stretcher approached the Duke's palace-castle. It was a colossal building, impressive in size, with soaring hundred-meter towers guarding the approaches. Besides the usual horsemen and knights, the castle was guarded by several familiar types of tiger tanks, lizard elephants, and archers. There were also war chariots, catapults, and even launchers like Katyusha rockets with spring-loaded needles. What was missing were firearms. Swastikas adorned the castle towers, and they were also plentiful on the domes of the churches. Tigroff felt uneasy, especially since the velvet carpet laid out for the honored guests also sported tricolor swastikas. He quipped:
  -Apparently they pray to arthropods, look how their symbol looks like a four-fingered spider.
  "I think this symbol would be much more appropriate for your empire," Vladimir answered logically.
  "Ours, more accurately... After all, you're already a Stealth mini-soldier. Remember once and for all-the spider is not our symbol. The seven-headed dragon, spewing multi-million plasma, is the primary version of our coat of arms. There are seven versions of the coat of arms in total, and the secret coat of arms of the Purple Crown, the Great Emperor." Likho added , rolling his eyes.
  - What coat of arms? - Tigrov became curious.
  "I said secret, even my glorious great-grandfather doesn't know it!" Razorvirov waved his hand dismissively.
  - And mine too! - Laska added , squinting.
  Meanwhile, the Archcardinal and the Duke watched the procession attentively. Apparently, the children of the chief god didn't impress them.
  "If a girl in sparkling clothes can be mistaken for a goddess by foolish people, then they are just barefoot ragamuffins," the Duke barked.
  "Nevertheless, they cast lightning bolts and proved invulnerable to arrows, even those that could pierce the heaviest armor," the prince of the church countered, quietly adding, "And as for clothing, the gods usually go around half-naked, like Vitra or Adstrata. The celestials don't give a damn about our prejudices."
  After a pause, the Archcardinal added in a barely audible voice.
  "Demons have power too. They're not ordinary people. Let's pretend to be friends for now. And I'll personally notify the Archpope, the high priest of our world. Then we'll poison them at the feast. Then we'll blame it on the conspirators, if it's the gods who can do them no harm anyway, and the impostors must be killed."
  "No, this is my castle. Don't rush to kill them, even if they are enemies, they are only children. Perhaps they will be useful to us. Youth is naive, old age is treacherous!" the dignitary remarked logically.
  "A strong fool can be more useful than a weak genius, but the end is the same either way." The Archcardinal fell silent. They had set another, albeit quite simple, trap.
  The boys were confidently walking along the fluffy carpet when the Tiger Tanks rushed at them.
  One of the ray guns was already discharged, and the other two fired, cutting down the saber-toothed predators in mid-flight. Only one managed to leap up to the children, scratching the small Stelzan's arm with its paw. A drop of blood appeared on the skin, a tiny little thing that no one noticed. Only the Archcardinal, carefully examining the candidate gods through a secret spyglass, noticed it. So they weren't gods after all. But then, he never believed in gods. The time would come when they couldn't escape the stake!
  
   CHAPTER 29
  
  You want to bring something bright into the world...
  But it is difficult to break through the gloomy ice of cold!
  The universal ether is filled with nightmare
  And only love will save our souls!
  
  To celebrate the appearance of the three gods, a gala feast was held. Around two thousand guests gathered in the enormous hall. Although not much time had passed, news spread so quickly that many nobles and knights had already arrived. Special royal boxes were reserved for the new guests of honor, at the very top of a long table that descended from top to bottom. Closest to the children of the supreme god sat the Archcardinal, clad in a tricolor robe, and just below him sat a duke, as huge as a rhinoceros, dressed in barbaric opulence. The table sloped downwards so that a stage lay right in the center, allowing guests to feast while enjoying the wondrous spectacle. Music played, and intoxicatingly scented flowers fell from time to time.
  The guests were offered the most exquisite gold goblets studded with precious stones, filled with a strangely fragrant purple-colored ale.
  "The feast is good, but we might be poisoned," Likho said in a low voice, keeping a close eye on the servants carrying the dishes.
  Weasel shook her multi-colored head negatively.
  "No, they won't poison us. I have an analyzer. Right now they're serving us a fortified drink with a 37% ethyl alcohol concentration."
  "It's a reagent!" Likho became wary.
  "It's low in toxicity, produces a mild euphoria, a weak narcotic," the unnaturally erudite girl replied. Likho noted happily:
  - I want to coordinate a little, fly off the core, without significant damage to health.
  "What damage! Their food might be the cause; it's unbalanced, with lots of heavy fats and no vitamins. And what about the bacteria that's inevitable in cooking? It's not sterile here." The small analyzer in the girl's computer bracelet downloaded information using a contactless scanning method and transmitted it telepathically.
  Vladimir grinned and said:
  "For their level of development, it's quite clean; hands washed with soap and gold cutlery. In medieval novels, knights didn't wash at all and ate with dirty paws; that's where the unsanitary conditions lay. And yet they bent horseshoes and lived to be a hundred, keeping all their teeth into old age."
  "Everyone's looking at us, let's drain our cups!" Likho whispered.
  Tigrov tried to object.
  -We are still too young to drink alcohol in such high concentrations.
  -Stupidity again. A Stelzan will never say he's small. To the great Emperor!
  He emptied the cup like a first-class alcoholic with half a century of experience.
  Vladimir was astonished to see Laska drain hers as well. He, too, was forced to drink the pleasantly sweet liquid; strangely, the alcohol was completely undetectable. The next goblet was shaped like the face of a tiger tank, with rubies for eyes. The golden-yellow liquid in it foamed slightly.
  -This cup will be drunk in honor of the yellow god Kirichuli.
  The yellow ale flowed easily down his throat. The other goblet was shaped like a dragon, framed with rubies. The liquid was a scalding red.
  The toast was now in honor of the red god Sollo. The Archcardinal himself proclaimed the ritual, and the red glass beads on the chandelier shifted, illuminating the room with a strange red glow.
  The liquid, almost as strong as vodka, had a stupefying effect. The Archcardinal himself observed with amazement the mini-aliens' truly divine thirst. Likho was the first to fly up onto the pulsar, jumped onto the table, and, waving his ray gun, began to scream.
  -Why should we drink to Sollo, this impostor.
  The eyes of the feasting nobles bulged. Many were already drunk and had seen everything, but one god would call another an impostor. The characteristic drunken hubbub died down. The Archcardinal tried to defuse the situation.
  - Sollo, the god of the red light, is your father's right hand. You drink to them as equals.
  "Am I Sollo's equal? Who could compare to me!?" The young Stelzan was carried away.
  "But you yourself proposed a toast to the Emperor, and he's only slightly shorter than Sollo." The Archcardinal was out of his element.
  - For which emperor? - Likho's eyes widened, not quite able to comprehend.
  -For our Filigier 4.
  "And I'm for our Emperor of the Great Purple Constellation. Whose empire encircles and tramples the entire universe!" The Terminator boy's consciousness clouded and his brakes failed.
  "What are you talking about? The universe is a sphere surrounded by the sky revolving around it," the Archcardinal blurted out, in complete accordance with dogma.
  This was too much for Likho , and the enraged boy aimed his ray gun at the mentally damaged heretic in the tricolor robe. Tigrov was so cross-eyed that he stared at the ceiling, watching the chandelier spin. He'd never seen such large lamps, especially in the shape of a swastika. It seemed to him that these weren't candles burning, but a marching column of torch-bearing stormtroopers. Enemies! Reflexively, his fingers pressed the button. The ray gun blast knocked the chandelier down, crashing down and smashing through the table, and the oil splashed, blazing brighter than gasoline. A scramble and panic ensued: many superstitious gentlemen mistook this for the wrath of the gods. Meanwhile, a mini-soldier of the Purple Constellation grabbed the Archcardinal by the neck, shook him sharply, and dragged him to the center of the table.
  - Tell me, bastard, who is the main god, or I'll kill you.
  The strength in the boy's fingers was terrifying.
  -You, of course, oh great and wise one.
  - Yes, me and my friends Tigrov and Laska! - He deftly lifted the carcass weighing a ten-minute weight over his head with one hand.
  Tigrov suddenly jumped onto the table and managed to land a kick to the head of one of the Pope's viceroy's personal bodyguards, the Archcardinal. Apparently, the pharmacology hadn't been in vain; his strength had increased terribly, and a vertebra in his neck had fractured. Duke Dizon de Pardieu even smacked his lips with delight.
  - Divine, what a fighter.
  Why did he say that? Something telepathic must have jammed his brain. Weasel, whose rivets had also softened considerably, squealed.
  "I, the ruler of all universes and higher worlds, command everyone to beat each other. Right here in front of us."
  This statement was shocking. Although the will of the gods is law. Laughing, the Duke commanded, "Invite the hetaerae." Relax, great gods. The triple ale, a detonating, explosive mixture of drugs and alcohol, made Tigrov nauseous, and he left the banquet hall, vomiting into a golden tray. When he returned, hell was already happening. Dlikho had clearly not yet reached the level of development where he lustfully threw himself at women, and he simply kicked anyone who came his way. Women were tormented, coals were poured on their bare legs, and toes were broken with pincers. He was having a great time.
  - Look, Tiger, how they torture animals. Ha-ha-ha, super cool, or as the adults say, hyperfuck!
  A large, busty slut plopped down in front of the living embodiment of a deity. Shaking with laughter, Likho jumped on the cake, crushed it with his bare feet, and, smeared with cream, ran up to the woman.
  "You want some fun? You know what the magical bioplasm of the ruler of the universe is." He spread his arms wide. "I am the strongest! I am the smartest! I am the supreme god!"
  "Agreed, my greatest!" Her hands reached for her feet, star-spangled with drinks and culinary delights. Likho struck her head with the whip. Her seductively wriggling tongue resembled the sting of a spectacled snake. It touched the heels of the living god, thickly smeared with marshmallow and cream. Likho continued to beat her, ripping her tunic open with the whip. She kissed her feet, each toe of the boy, and said:
  - May God's grace be upon me! The magical flesh will make me younger.
  Laska, it seemed, was also ready to play the role of little executioner. She beat both women and men, chasing them away with a torch. Everyone was covered in cream, grease, gravy, and sauces. Likho began throwing forks, trying to inflict as much pain as possible.
  "The warrior of Stelzanata trumpets a menacing march, brutal retribution-human mincemeat!" sang the young Stelzan, slamming the girl face-first into a platter of brown caviar. Vladimir, having sobered up, suddenly felt disgusted and afraid. This shouldn't be happening, it's worse than beasts; even animals don't behave like this. There's no point in talking; there's only one way out.
  "Enough, people, you've crossed all boundaries. Piety, an intimate and sacred feeling, stop beating each other up immediately!"
  A blast from a ray gun pierced the ceiling, sending marble boulders raining down. The Tigrs fired with full force, the terrifying laser beam carving out enormous holes, sending ton-sized slabs crashing down on the brutalized humans. The orgy was interrupted, and many were buried right at the banquet table. A beautiful death: just one moment you're at the height of bliss, riding the whirlwinds of collective madness, and suddenly heavy granite crushes your skull. The gilded statues of gods, nymphs, warriors, and naked maidens standing on the roof collapsed, tumbling down, crushing iron and flesh. Some of the knights scattered, others fell to their knees and begged for mercy. Many were injured, but few were killed. Likho and Laska managed to jump aside, stones shattered wine vessels, spilled oil burst into flames, and ebony tables caught fire. The Purple Constellation mini-soldiers were stunned, standing with their eyes downcast, clearly unsure how to react to this turn of events. Likho was glistening with spilled oil; he had apparently collided with the barrel that held the clear liquid symbolizing the Supreme God Ravvara. The Duke maintained his Spartan composure.
  - I understand morality, culture, your right...
  "You've had enough of me. Morality was invented by the nation's enemies to weaken and shackle us. Despicable mortal, primitive primate worm!"
  Likho leaped toward the Duke and, misjudging his strength, fell into a fiery stream. The flames engulfed the boy, turning him into a living torch. The little god grabbed the Duke by the throat and, apparently despite his bear-like neck, would have strangled the dignitary, but Tigrov managed to fire a tranquilizer charge from his spitz pistol. Fortunately, a medical briefcase can be opened without a code, if you're like a stelzan. Likho dropped the Duke and fell into a deep sleep. Laska didn't resist; apparently, the child's body was already overloaded. A somnambulistic stupor followed the extreme arousal.
  -The gods are tired, where is our resting place?
  A pair of frightened servants appeared out of nowhere.
  -We will show you the most luxurious bed of all possible, the greatest!
  Already on autopilot, Tigrov dragged his comrade and his staggering mini-sister to the chambers. Then they fell, as if struck by a club, though Vladimir managed to bolt the heavy door. But a door was no obstacle; they could have been taken with bare hands.
  The Archcardinal suggested that the Duke do just that:
  "Your bright radiance has confirmed what kind of gods and children of the Most High these are. Can't you see they're crazy demons? It's time to grab them while they're as helpless as woodlice."
  "I'm inclined to think so myself. Little devil, my throat hurts like hell, but who among mortals would risk arresting them?" The Duke coughed, spitting out blood.
  "We need to stab these monsters secretly. We have the right criminals; they'll climb through the secret hatch and that's the end of it." To emphasize the point, the Archcardinal ran the edge of his hand across his throat.
  "So you solve their problem, but what if they are immortal gods?" The Duke truly doubted that such small fingers could press so hard on mere mortals.
  "They were drunk, and I saw blisters on their skin. Can fire really burn the children of Ravarr? Excuse me, Duke." The prince of the church turned in the opposite direction. "What happened? What kind of signs are you giving?"
  The man in the black robe showed a complex symbol, an emergency call signal.
  -Speak quickly, I need to finish with the demons of Hell.
  "The Archpope is summoning you urgently. Do nothing against the gods, that's an order," the guard monk blurted out.
  "What, children of the underworld, should we not touch?" Having received confirmation, the Archcardinal agreed. "Very well, I obey the Pope. When will the Infinite Brightness be?"
  -Tomorrow. The great pontiff has sent a flying rat for you. It will take you quickly to your destination.
  The envoy in black clarified.
  "Yes, the Archpope is as kind as ever to me and all of us!" the Prince of the Church added with some regret. "The entire operation is cancelled. As long as I am with the Great Pontiff, these impostors will live. Continue to show them divine honors!"
   The Archcardinal , grabbing his light luggage, hurried out into the palace courtyard. A flying rat was already flapping its wings there-an animal resembling a bat with an eagle's beak and a thirty-meter wingspan.
  The cardinal cursed under his breath.
  "The Pope is known to be very cunning. Why does he need demons? Does he want even more power, or does he have more compelling reasons? There are persistent rumors that the Supreme Pontiff is seriously seeking something that will help him become a god, a true God with a capital G!"
  ...................................................................................................................................
  Although becoming crippled by physical injury is impossible, Lev Eraskander was terribly angry. Every cell, every muscle in his body seethed with the power of a princeps-plasma dragon and thirsted for revenge. Meanwhile, millions of combat starships were forming up in strike formation, storing energy for an unprecedentedly massive hyperspace jump. A joyful excitement reigned on the intergalactic submarines; the proximity of battle inspired the fighters. For the first time in nearly a thousand years, the Stelzans were about to conduct a large-scale military operation on enemy territory, which meant it was no wonder they had been subjected to extreme training from early childhood. Eraskander decided not to put his revenge on hold; who knows, after a stellar campaign, either you or your opponent might cease to exist in the flesh. Girim Fisha was just finishing his preparations; in principle, everything was already ready, when an enraged Lev appeared at the threshold.
  -Hey, you jackal mollusk, turn around quickly, it"s not right for me to hit you on the spine.
  Fish smiled and extended his hand.
  "It's all over," Lev hushed up. "War is coming, and in battle we are all brothers and mustn't reminisce about old conflicts."
  Eraskander slapped the outstretched limb with a clang.
  - First I'll hit you, and then we'll forget and become brothers in arms.
  The sharp blow numbed his arm, and Girim furiously threw himself into hand-to-hand combat. He was older and heavier than Eraskander, a fine fighter, swift as a tiger and ferocious as a boar. But the battle-hardened young warrior from planet Earth was clearly superior. He moved like lightning, striking with the efficiency of a ray gun. A couple of precise strikes, and Fisha lay on the metal surface. The young Stelzan convulsed painfully, gasping for the helium-oxygen atmosphere of the starship's interior. All his ribs were broken, meaning the combat unit was out of action for at least several hours. Girim's friends, of course, returned the favor, but this time Lev was so caught up in the storm of wild rage that it was impossible to control. He kicked him in the chin, and the enemy didn't even have time to react, such was the speed of the hurricane. The other leg strikes the kneecap. Then a hand to the neck, an elbow to the temple, a knee to the groin. And all this at an incredible speed. This is no longer just a technique; the words of the Guru and the stories of the students of the Tibetan martial arts school come to mind. You enter a state of hypertrance, a state of magical power, and you are already beyond this physical world, in a state of maradaka-vis accessible only to great masters. When the speed of your body's movement exceeds human capabilities. And not only for imperfect human reflexes; even genetically perfect Stealth fighters are unable to react, and all twenty muscular young men are defeated by the super-terminator. The big guys lie motionless, paralyzed in a semi-death coma. Lev stopped, a previously unknown sensation of power filling his body.
  He was becoming more and more of a master of martial arts, discovering the power of unknown energies. A shot from a gravity stunner interrupted all sensation, dropping the "Guru" to the floor. His muscles twisted in unbearable spasms that tore at his ligaments, squeezing his breath like a steel hoop. Several officers ran to the fallen youth and, with a hasty blow to his ribs, dragged him to the punishment cell. Doctors hastily attended to the others. The soldiers were seriously injured, but fortunately for Lev, no one was killed. In that case, according to the laws of wartime, a painful execution was inevitable. After injecting a stimulator to intensify the pain, the disciplinary officers began the torture. Sparks flew across the cell's surface, a static shock struck, the charge was strong, and there was a burning smell. When electricity passes through nerve endings, it certainly hurts. However, the commander of the torturers, nine-star officer Loga, was not satisfied.
  "We need to vary the torture. Alternate between a hot mixture and then a cold one."
  The executioner's assistant tries to object.
  "What will it do? They've already gotten used to extreme temperature changes during training, and you can't surprise them with electric shock. They've tried everything, even radioactive pain radiation with alternating phases."
  "When you're training extreme sports enthusiasts, especially a group of them, you need to be more careful when choosing your torture arsenal. Maybe try cinema, non-invasive psychological effects." Loga was puzzled himself.
  "This guy's not very experienced, maybe we can knock something out of him in terms of shock effects. But there's also the brown beam. It plunges everyone into their own personal hell," the assistant rattled off.
  After four days, irreversible processes occur in the brain, and even the most steadfast soldier turns into a cowardly idiot.
  "It's better to just do the alternation for now, and you don't need to become an idiot!" the torturer joked.
  The flamethrower jet scorched his skin, roasting his entire body with microwave beams. Ordinary fire couldn't evoke such intense and vivid sensations. It felt like even his bones were red-hot, his brain melting, his skin peeling, his blood scalding, and smoke billowing from his mouth. Every cell in the fire was bombarded with quanta, and the pain intensified, the flame's temperature rising. When the intensity of the red-hot impact on his tissues exceeded his conscious perception, exhausting his potential for suffering, a chilling cold immediately pierced every particle of his body. Frost gripped his insides, his blood rapidly congealing, curdling into ice. His heart froze, liquefied air flooded his lungs, cutting off his breath. The satanic cold was more terrifying than a hurricane of death. Then again, fire, ice, plasma, liquid helium. All at the level of wave radiation. You get used to it, and it seems less frightening. He remembered his difficult childhood years, back then, when he broke the punisher computer and the executioners were in shock. They summoned a whole company of soldiers, tied him up, and threw him into a cell. For a while, he wasn't tortured, so he simply fell into a deep, hibernating sleep. When he awoke, his wounds had healed and no longer hurt, his broken bones had knitted together. The injuries closed, and then simply disappeared without a trace, only a painful hunger. The executioners were so amazed by the healing that they fulfilled his request, feeding the little prisoner. What happened next was completely incomprehensible: they no longer tortured him, and for such a grave crime, they simply sent him to work in the quarries. And that was a minor detail; many worked there without any guilt. After all, they weren't sent to work in the uranium mines, where prisoners don't see the sun until their agonizing death, but in an open granite quarry. Of course, it was worse there than in the forest: exhausting work for up to 18 hours a day, food was scarcely available to keep them from starving, and beatings were the norm. Even if you're obedient, you'll still get your share of the lashes. Stupid cybernetic overseers, even worse are the sadistic local natives. Many people, especially children, died during such harsh labor. Of course, he survived and even managed to escape. He's no donkey to endure the yoke.
  The memories were interrupted, and a pink light came on in the cell. Soft music began to play. A pleasant female voice said:
  "How magnificently he holds up, this little warrior of alloyed querlil. Stop teaching this sweet boy endurance and take him out."
  They brought Lev, he recognized the voice immediately, Dina Rosalanda smiled kindly:
  "My little Lion, you're a real hero. You took on twenty of the best guys on your own. What are you idiots for? Why irradiate a little Super Soldier like that !"
  The torturer officer tried to object.
  We are experienced professionals. Wave torture is completely safe for potency. Rather, it may have a stimulating effect.
  "Dominant! He can test you, raise your capabilities." The General giggled.
  - As you deem appropriate! - The executioners barked and stood to attention.
  "An hour in a contrast radiation bath! Don't argue, or I'll add more time." Dina's expression turned stern, her smile turning into a snarl.
  -And it might even be pleasant.
  The large tormentor couldn't resist making a flat joke.
  - We'll triple the time of pleasure. Maybe I'll even treat you to a brown ray.
  The executioner wanted to blurt out a word and ask for seven-color radiation so much that he even shoved two hefty fists into his mouth.
  "Who doesn't want to get high from a super high!" A muffled moan was heard.
  -That's great, keep quiet! And you too!
  And she, leaving the regular executioners, winked affably at Eraskander:
  "You're a hero. We know how to value strong and brave soldiers. You have so much energy, so much paranormal power, that we decided to put them to good use."
  "I'll play rats and tigers with you," the young man joked harshly.
  "Ugh, what a rude barbarian you are. I've decided to appoint you commander of the reconnaissance detachment. You're a natural leader, and your abilities will serve the empire!" the general exclaimed with pathos.
  -Really? It's a great honor for me!
  There was a hint of irony in Lev's words, but Dina pretended to take it all literally.
  "But you must live up to this honor and the status of temporary officer. Not many people your age have achieved that, especially considering you're not a Stelzan."
  "Exactly, all your laws..." Lev couldn't find a catchy metaphor and fell silent. Dina, on the other hand, delivered a whole speech.
  "We're already flying towards the Sinh Empire. There will be serious fighting there, and with your energy, you'll perform glorious feats that will open up new opportunities. Besides, I have a plan: we can register you as my biological son. You'll become a full-blooded Stelzan and be eligible for any position in the future. Just think, you were a slave, and now you'll become an Ultra-Hyper-Gross-Super-Marshal. Someone who single-handedly knocked out twenty formidable fighters is quite capable of that. In fact, this is the first time I've seen a fighter of such high caliber. Who knows, maybe they'll remember me as the mother of Stelzanat's greatest warrior."
  The prospect was tempting; Lev wasn't foolish enough to reject such an offer outright. He needed to cling to it with a death grip. After all, he might not be human; everyone knew he was a star child, a comet that fell from the sky.
  A smart person should foresee everything.
  "I'm a slave, I have a tracking device in my spine. If anything happens, my master will simply kill me."
  Dina bared her teeth, but in a kind, ironic way:
  "What device? Maybe the Gili-vastor system? Remember the one you called Cheburashka-butterfly? That extragalactic freak, a master of technotronics. A genius with a twisted psyche and a weak will. While you were unconscious, he carefully deleted everything. If anything happens, your master and that biting slut from the Sinh dung constellation will only get a couple of seven-level curses. Should I send Felt-tip Pen to your group? No, you're as dangerous as a thermopreon bomb; you'll still kill a valuable worker."
  "I'm not such a sadist or a terrorist. I think we can work together," Lev said indifferently. He really didn't care anymore.
  "Do you have love in you? You're so handsome and cold, a true querling on helium." Dina's gaze grew languid and she reached out to the boy. Eraskander roughly pushed her fleshy limbs away.
  -You should be ashamed now, my mother, what will the soldiers think of us?
  "From a genetic standpoint, it's not desirable, but we're protected from unnecessary gene combinations. Fine, Vener will be the mother." Dina involuntarily began to blush, losing her commanding zeal.
  "She loves me too. And I personally prefer younger girls. Goodbye, lady of Balzac's age!" The young man blurted out a phrase that seemed beautiful to him, but not entirely clear.
  "Human slang again. He's a crazy boy, and insanity is contagious. I'm going crazy myself." Dina even took a step back.
  Meanwhile, the multi-million-strong armada was gaining speed and was about to punch a hole in the three-dimensional world, escaping into familiar hyperspace, when a large enemy combat squadron flew out to meet it. Or rather , it was a poorly organized cavalcade of various starships. There were over nine million of them, but the bulk of them were clearly outdated types, and, judging by everything, the appearance of such a huge number of starships from the Purple Constellation came as a complete surprise. It was as if a pack of wolves had stumbled upon a tank division instead of sheep. The Stelzan starships easily switched to attack mode. Meanwhile, the enemy ships were clearly trying to turn around and flee, not accepting combat. At the moment the battle began, Eraskander was still near Rosalenda. The familiar voice of the Ultra Grand Marshal, heard during a brief period of extracorporeal existence, gave a strange order.
  - Stop pursuing them, don't waste time, carry out the initial order.
  Lev couldn"t stand it any longer and barked into the cyber transmitter:
  "Are you crazy? If we leave these bugs alone, they'll plunder the galaxy. Strike quickly, using the double pincers. It'll take about twenty minutes without causing any serious losses, and if we use a thermopreon missile, half a minute will be enough. A discharge, however, isn't worth the target."
  The Ultra-Grandmarshal was "super-pulsarously" stunned:
  -Who is this?
  "I am Lev , and you know me. As an officer of the Great Empire, I must fulfill my duty and attack the enemy. Agreed!" Eraskander spoke loudly and confidently, without a hint of hysteria.
  The Ultra Grand Marshal answered mechanically.
  -Agree.
  Ultramarshal Gursat's eyes widened.
  -Are you crazy? Where is the chain of command?
  "Attack, the plan is for a double pincer attack. It's madness, but he's right. We can't leave the sector to the mercy of bandits; they'll simply execute us," the chief dignitary ordered.
  "Excellent! War is the most interesting game in which you shouldn't miss moves and let your partner think!" Lev blurted out.
  "Better sweep the pieces off the board!" someone shouted from far behind.
  , vastly superior in both numbers (to a lesser extent) and technology (to a greater extent), attacked a dense swarm of enemy starships. A terrifying cosmic massacre began. Ships exploded, shattered into fragments, disintegrating into quarks. It was clear that the motley pack was incapable of putting up organized resistance. The pack's attempt to scatter was futile this time, as the massive Stelzan fleet blocked all escape routes. A gigantic battleship was riddled with holes, cracked, and disintegrated. Under the Stelzans' synchronized attack, cruisers, battleships, destroyers, and torpedo boats were mowed down by the thousands. The only options were to break through or perish in an unequal battle. Surrender, however, was not an option; due to the limited time available, the battle was one of total annihilation. A grandiose spectacle, radiantly beautiful, brilliant, and terrifying at the same time. Human language is too poor and lacks earthly equivalents to adequately and thoroughly describe the wondrous interplay of lights, starry colors, and gravitational spirals bending space into streams of light.
  "What bastards! Now you understand what robbery is!" Lev Eraskander shouted. "Now you'll wash yourself in hyperplasma!" The young man flew past the combat turtle robots and personally leaped up to the heavy weapon. In a rage, he fired a charge and hit the battleship's reactor, causing it to split. Then, mounted on his thermoquark horse, Superman Lev shot down at least two dozen more ships. When they were covered by the destructive wave, the fields calling the vacuum of various physical natures shook, and the heated young man felt as if a draft were blowing on the back of his neck.
  With each hit the boy exclaimed:
  - Shock is our word, but to the grave is yours!
  The superhuman's eyes weren't blinded by the flashes, but still, due to the excessive abundance of billions of large, small, and medium-sized flashes, with energy equivalent to trillions of atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima being discharged every second, there was a slight glitch. However, in a state of hypertrance, which doesn't interfere with his awareness of reality, Lev aims not with his eyes, but with some eighth sense as yet unknown to human science.
  And above the gun crew flies a ship's orange butterfly (a living creature like a good parrot), a little larger than a crow, and sings along, not without beauty:
  A mighty stelzan awaits in ambush,
  Pointing the radar to the sky!
  And if the enemy comes at us,
  The blow sweeps him away!
  Dinah, engrossed in the battle, found time to run up to the young warrior. Placing her heavy hands on his shoulders, she said enthusiastically:
  "You hit better than the computer. It's like you can see right through your opponent. How do you manage to burn through force fields?"
  "I see cracks in the matrix defenses and I'm piercing them. And I don't even have to aim," he replied, continuing to send annihilation bolts at Eraskander with Robin Hood-like accuracy.
  "You're my boyfriend, Quasar!" Dina kissed Lev passionately, pressing her powerful body against him. He pushed her away.
  - No need to kiss, you're stopping me from shooting!
  The young man launched chunks of hyperplasm and special missiles, and was so successful that the damaged starship, a converted transport, turned around when it collided with the cruiser. The impact knocked the cruiser off course and was soon destroyed, while the destroyer completely disintegrated.
  - Keep it up! - The Terminator boy raised his finger.
  Twenty minutes was enough to complete the task; it took a little time to destroy these creatures. Space battles are, by their very nature, fleeting. Only one, the enemy's most advanced starship, was boarded after capture, invisible behind a force field net.
  The young warrior didn't have time to personally participate in the battleship's capture. But watching the television holograms, he was amazed by the precision and flawless coordination of the Purple Constellation assault forces. However, rationality didn't hinder the display of initiative and military savvy.
  The captured trophy will be carefully examined, and scientists from the great Stelzanat will squeeze the maximum out of the captured prize.
  Lev Eraskander never ceased to be amazed at how quickly the Stelzans restored damaged ships. Some looked absolutely terrible, resembling mangled spheres and triangles, their shapes deformed, and the once-formidable machines evoked only pity. Others retained their menacing configurations, but were pockmarked with hundreds of holes with jagged, melted edges. Tens of thousands of repair robots, shaped like winged octopuses, swarmed over several hundred mangled ships. Three-color ultra-plasma welding sprayed, flexible tentacles ejected molten metal, instantly solidifying under the freezing radiation. Literally before his eyes, the crippled starships regained their former appearance: gleaming with aggressive newness. In total, taking into account combat reorganization and space clearing, the delay in hyperspace jump was just over an hour. It seemed a small thing, but in space, there are no small things. Everything that happens affects the course of universal history. When the intergalactic carnage ended, Dina summoned Eraskander to the command center again. She said in a pleading tone:
  "You're certainly a dragon of the antiworld, but you can't speak so insolently to the supreme commander. It's a shame he didn't vaporize you, you capricious monster. You're an officer now, try to maintain discipline, and I ask you not to kill anyone without a reason specified in the regulations. The unit is small, the soldiers are new, very young, but with very good skills. We'll be in a strange, unfamiliar sector; any careless move is mortally dangerous."
  "I understand everything, but I personally don't think such a large army could have penetrated almost to the center of the empire by accident. Besides, you noticed that there were no Synkh ships among those starships." Lev emphasized the last words with a worried tone of voice.
  - What of it? - Dina's large, but not devoid of grace, ears twitched in alarm.
  "We"ll leave, and their fleet will strike the exposed sector, " Lev made a logical assumption.
  "But we will also strike at their constellation." The large warrior inflated the soccer balls with her swords and rolled them under her skin.
  "Are you sure they haven't set a trap for us? Why didn't the Ultra-Grand Marshal want to strike the enemy starships right away? Maybe because they're already waiting for us, and the ambush is calculated down to the hour and second. Think about it yourself," Eraskander suggested.
  "He's our commander, and this accusation smacks of treason." Catching a glint of anger in Lev's gaze, she added. "Although I think I'll report it to the appropriate authorities."
  "Just not the Department of Throne Protection; its head is the main traitor. It's safer in the Ministry of Warriors and Victories, although there are plenty of traitors there too," Eraskander said with inspiration.
  "You're saying terrible things." Dina shuddered, but didn't argue.
  "How else can one explain such uncontrolled enemy movements, almost in the center of the empire?" "Such a thing, even with such colossal masses, cannot be accomplished without treason!" The young warrior frowned and looked up from under his brow.
  - Absolutely right! Now if only we could get to the Great Emperor. He is, after all, Super-Stelzan.
  Lev winked. What kind of Super-Stealth can he be if he can't see his empire falling into the abyss? But why is he suddenly so worried, as if it were his own homeland? It's strange...
  The armada meanwhile began to move, accelerating into an intergalactic hyperspace jump.
   CHAPTER 30
  
  Do you want to gain an advantage over everyone?
  A firm hand is needed for power,
  To show the galaxies power
  And remain to rule for centuries!
  
  It's good to wake up after a heavy drinking session and feel no pain. It's even better when there's no hangover; if you're alert and fresh, that's already excellent. The modified body has neutralized all the poisons of the damned alcohol. A human wouldn't get off so easily: vodka is the most dangerous killer, but unfortunately, it kills more than just the client. Nevertheless, Vladimir Tigrov felt unwell, a strong pang of remorse tormenting his soul. He'd lost his temper again, and because of him, people had died. When you kill all sorts of monsters, even intelligent ones, you experience no hesitation or torment, but here, even if they were dense, they were creatures similar to you. You need to move faster; when you're on the move, your thoughts don't weigh so heavily. Likho, too, was outwardly alert and fresh, but inside he was joyful, a pleasant feeling, like a god. Now the servants are obligingly scattering multicolored petals before you, softly rustling underfoot; even the proud knights are bowing low. How glorious it is when others humble themselves before you, and especially gratifying is the servility of one's own kind.
  -Hey you! Tin can!
  The knight, dressed in fine clothes and polished armor, shuddered and fell to his knees. Apparently afraid the little god would actually turn him into a tin can. The boy raised his nose and muttered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
  -Who is the most important person here?
  "The Archcardinal, and behind him the Duke," the knight babbled cowardly.
  Likho easily lifted the knight by his iron collar and shouted
  Arch to me !
  "No way, he flew off to the Archpope." The knight's legs buckled with fear, but the boy-terminator easily held the armored giant at arm's length.
  "Who is this?" the young warrior asked, dismissively and casually, as if he were talking about a mongrel.
  "Supreme Pontiff of the entire world!" the warrior squeezed out.
  "Then let the pontiff himself come here!" Likho stamped his bare, tanned foot.
  "I think he will gladly accept your invitation, the great and radiant one!" The knight's face broke into a smile.
  Razorvirov pulled a dagger from the warrior's belt and bit off the tip with relish. The warrior nearly fainted, watching the self-proclaimed god chewing on the tempered blade. The younger squire, however, fainted altogether.
  The Archcardinal was indeed with the Archpope. From the height of a flyer's flight, the planet's largest city presented a majestic spectacle. Enormous buildings, palaces, temples, and highest on the hill stood the Supreme Planetary Temple, next to the personal palace of the Supreme Pontiff. The temple building towered a kilometer, a colossal height for that era. On a clear day-and the weather here is almost always sunny-the fiery spires with swastikas were visible for two hundred miles. Four main domes, each dedicated to a different god, were framed by a dozen statues of winged titans. Everything was stunningly luxurious, rich, and tasteful. The Archpope himself was a tall, sturdy elderly man, wearing a sumptuous tricolor robe studded with precious swastikas. The papal crown was studded with diamonds. A diamond is the stone of the supreme god, Ravarra. With a majestic gesture, the pontiff indicated a chair. The Archcardinal sat down after kissing the hand of His Holiness.
  -Have you seen the children of the supreme god, my son?
  The Archpope did not like ceremonies and preferred to immediately grab the dragon by the thorns.
  "Precise information, Most Holy One, I saw them in every detail." The Archcardinal bowed deeply.
  -And what kind of children of God are they? - The Supreme Pontiff was very interested.
  "They look like children of eleven or twelve. The boys are half-naked, olive-bronze, incredibly muscular, aggressive-in short, they're savages. The girl is dressed unusually, like a fairy in sparkling robes. She holds a box with a picture of a seven-headed dragon, and her hair is a rainbow of seven colors." The prince of the church listed in a businesslike tone.
  "You say the dragon has seven heads, but how many wings does it have?" The Archpope picked up a pair of gold-rimmed, emerald-studded glasses from the table and began leafing through a thick book.
  "Ten, O great one," the Archcardinal answered briefly.
  -This is very interesting. What abilities did they demonstrate?
  "They emitted devastating fire and lightning from tubes in their hands. They destroyed part of the palace and killed over a hundred people, including the high priest of the Sollo cult. They were real demons." The Archcardinal's tone was such that it was impossible to tell whether he was admiring or, on the contrary, full of indignation.
  "Is the information about their immortality true?" The Archpope was clearly worried.
  "When they were struck by arrows, they didn't die; their skin became covered in porcupine spines, but they revived, leaving no trace of the wound. However, they are apparently mortal. Blood pours from them, and fire burns their skin."
  The prince of the church spoke, not quite confidently and slightly hesitating.
  "You know, according to legend, even gods cry and shed blood. The main thing is no scars." The Archpope pulled his glasses down to the tip of his long nose. "Are you saying, or do you think these are demons?"
  - Definitely not people of our world! - This time the tone was confident.
  The archpapa rolled a pancake and deftly dipped it in honey. He casually waved his hand, tossing the gift to the tiger cub. It opened its mouth, catching the sweet ball in mid-air.
  "Even demons and monsters can be tempted, deceived, seduced," the Pontiff added more quietly. "What does the golden legend say?"
  "That our ancestors lived in heaven and were banished to this world by evil demons," the Archcardinal said mechanically.
  "That's right, and every legend is based on real events," Archipapa said in a peremptory tone, slowly leafing through the book.
  "I agree, Your Holiness, not in general, but to what extent are legends truly capable of reflecting reality?" The Archcardinal was about to interrupt the conversation and fortify himself with a glass of sweet ale. He'd overindulged yesterday, too; his head was pounding, and he was feeling foul, despite the mug of date liqueur he'd downed before the flight. Usually, the prince of the church knew his limits, but the arrival of the child-gods had thrown all his plans into disarray and seriously frayed his nerves. After all, no one had known or could have foreseen this.
  "Our lineage on this planet is limited, just over 1,450 cycles. This city of Gidiemma was the very first. Which means there was a time when our ancestors lived in another world. It all makes sense. Here they are, the gods of the sun, seemingly capricious and wayward, but in reality, they too have complex cycles of movement." The Archpope spoke in an unctuous tone, pulling the lever. A barefoot slave servant, wearing a short skirt, ran into the hall. She quickly set down a tray of food, drinks, and spices and bowed low. Then, obeying the pontiff's menacing gaze, the fair-haired girl departed. Slender and with a perfect figure, she seemed like an angel as the nun ran off, seductively flashing her cleanly washed feet, roughened by frequent floggings. The innocent face was lenten and sad.
  The nuns of this world also led a hard, toilsome life, but unlike their earthly counterparts, they dressed like ancient slaves-barely covering their breasts and thighs. Furthermore, the clergy were often forced into prostitution at temples, thus replenishing the church coffers and pleasing various gods.
  "Yes, great one, the luminaries are subdued." The Archcardinal spoke to fill the emptiness surrounding him. Wine had already been poured into a golden goblet, and the ecclesiastical dignitary carefully began to sip the honey- and spice-flavored beverage.
  And the Archpope"s voice became more stern:
  "And the people. They're a rebellious and arrogant tribe. There's Emperor Chirizkhan, who's become so popular lately. He's an insolent fellow, he refuses to pay a ninth of his income to the supreme god. And if he's excommunicated, he might send his troops to storm. He's looking for a pretext for war; even your duke is being cunning, flirting with this rebel. And imagine what will happen if these children are killed, and Chirizkhan and the others rise up against us. A perfect excuse to become a ruler in more than just name!"
  "And what if these self-proclaimed gods themselves revolt? They're insolent, very capricious?" The Archcardinal voiced his own hidden thought, noting with satisfaction that the heaviness and pain in his head were receding and his mood was lifting.
  "Children, what can you expect? Play along with them, don't anger them without reason. Take advantage of their inexperience and the touchiness and conceit typical of tender age. Flatter them more, praise them more often. They'll like it. A ruler who loves sweet flattery has the intelligence of a fly, and a sniveling man's intelligence isn't much higher. In short, indulging the self-proclaimed gods will only benefit you, or rather, our cult!" The Archpope suddenly changed the subject. He picked up the goblet himself, but sipped it slowly, which didn't stop him from talking. "All this, oddly enough, is trivial; something else worries me: how is the search for the key of the Supreme Gods progressing?"
  "Oh, great one, it's very difficult to search for something we have no idea about. Many even doubt it..." The Archcardinal took up the discussion of this problem without much enthusiasm.
  - In what, who disputes the authority of the Holy Church? - The pontiff frowned, his graying eyebrows.
  "They're afraid out loud, but in their thoughts, I believe, there's discord." The prince of the church, feeling relaxed after a hangover , blurted out a brief speech. "And I think it's worth wasting time on something that's just a fairy tale. Especially now, when the church's opposition is stronger than ever, and Chirizkhan-to his credit, he's one of the great rulers. He has a real chance of overthrowing the clerics for the first time in the history of our world!"
  "If you wish, servant, I will show you a miracle, and you will understand that skepticism is absolutely inappropriate here," the pontiff's calm voice rang out.
  The Archpope approached the altar and with an imperceptible movement pressed several points.
  A bright three-dimensional projection flared. A cry of amazement emanated from the Archcardinal. The holographic image was so real it seemed almost touchable. First, dense clusters of stars floated past, then a glowing orb appeared. This orb, too, was visible from the inside, though it was very difficult to discern the details. And then a strange creature appeared, human-like in silhouette, but glowing with such a vibrant seven-color spectrum that its face was impossible to discern. The alien, turning and glowing ever brighter with streams of light, literally burning out its eyes, spoke in a resonant voice.
  -With a power of boundless enormous...
  The one that is hidden in the bottomless abyss,
  Only he can master it!
  Who through space and time
  He will start watching without blinking!
  Then he flashed like a thousand lightning bolts and vanished! How impressive he was, all legends pale before reality. How dazzling the silhouette in its seven-color gamut, shining brighter than the heavenly bodies. The Archcardinal stared in amazement, blinking rapidly from the glare in his eyes (he could barely see), nervously fiddling with the swastika edged with diamond leaves.
  -What is this? - He squeezed out a wheeze.
  "It fell from the sky, like a bolide or a star. My distant ancestors found the box and the symbol I have around my neck. There was a barrel of some unseen metal and a tablet with secret symbols," the Archpope said in a melodious tone.
  -And where is this tablet? - The Archcardinal shook away the tears involuntarily flowing from his eyes, reddened by the light.
  She disappeared along with the barrel, and no one ever saw her again." The Pontiff said this in a tone full of sadness and genuine regret. He took a couple of cautious sips from his goblet.
  "Isn't it about her, there were rumors that Emperor Decibel was seen with glittering tablets with unseen signs?" the Archcardinal said with not much hope.
  "Perhaps! Anything is possible in this world, but the Great Decibel, conqueror of northern and southern pagans, sought power and immortality. What happened-he died without attaining power. Not everyone is given the power to read what the gods have written, much less compare to them." The Archpope even pointed his index finger at his comrade. The latter pretended to take it as a joke. And his curiosity was piqued by something entirely different:
  "It's all strange. Even if he has power, why would he just give it to someone? The gods don't give anything for free."
  "I don't think he's a god in our understanding, although legends concocted by my predecessors say this man claimed to be capable of even creating other worlds. Perhaps they're just stretching the truth; we don't have more definitive data. My opinion is that he possesses quasi-divine powers." The Archpope set the goblet down and picked up a chocolate-covered wafer.
  -These two boys have short pants, also rainbow-colored, where these green-beaked slobs are not covered in soot, and...
  - Yes, you see, there is a dragon depicted on the box, only it has ten heads. - Archipapa interrupted.
  "So these children and this shining one are from the same people!" The Archcardinal was delighted, for some unknown reason.
  "No, hardly. Didn't you notice that this god has six limbs and a much longer head? No, it's a different, inhuman creature." "What good will that do? They've already gotten used to extreme temperature changes during training, and you can't surprise them with electric shock. They've tried everything, even radioactive pain radiation with alternating phases."
  "Yes, but these guys also came from another world, and they can help us find the key to mastering limitless power. There are documents available only to us, I know that people can travel between worlds and reduce cities and mountains to ashes with a wave of their hand." The Archpope even rose from enthusiasm.
  "I suspected as much, oh Great and Most Holy Father!" The Archcardinal rose, bowing to his master. The expression in the pontiff's eyes suddenly grew cold, a clear sign that the audience was over and that it was best not to waste the time of the most influential and honored ruler on the planet.
  "I will personally receive them, show them the honors of the gods. Believe me, providence exists!"
  Bowing with the obligatory touch of his fist to the floor once more, the Archcardinal left the mirror-like, luxurious hall, the seven-colored reflections still painfully sparkling before his eyes.
  ________________________________________________
  Meanwhile, the commander of the native Alpha-Stealth detachment, Igor Rodionov, was receiving and transmitting another encrypted message received from a scout nicknamed "Belka".
  Igor considered this nickname unfortunate.
  "It's better to call her a cat; I've long suspected she's a complete whore," the special forces soldier, who had just received the epaulettes of a colonial general, said rudely, after quickly examining the encrypted message.
  Officer Ivan, standing nearby, looked at his brother reproachfully.
  "That's easy for you to say. But do you know that if a girl among these feline primates refuses sex, it's considered abnormal. So she's either pink or sick; you can't let such a valuable agent down because of caveman prejudices."
  "What's the point of this spy? She doesn't convey anything concrete, she didn't get any weapons, and she even sent the encrypted message after arriving in orbit." Igor winced.
  "A spy is always needed. For example, thanks to secret scouts, we were able to blow up Fagiram's palace and survive. Sooner or later, she'll gain access to the latest technology, and then..." Ivan made a gesture that meant, "You're screwed!"
  "Then what? We won't accomplish anything anyway," the commander of the elite special forces waved his hand hopelessly. "That three-sexed Konoradson will fly away, and everything will return to normal. At most, they'll issue the hundred-millionth, the final Zorg warning. If Fag is gone, Krag will arrive. It's like a prison cell; no matter how much you rearrange the beds, the cell won't get any wider."
  "But I think you wouldn't mind placing the bed further away from the latrine!" Ivan, a seemingly country boy, flashed his wit.
  "If you weren"t my brother, I would have..." The huge Igor really did look scary, especially if there were no Stelzans nearby.
  "What about me?" Ivan smiled broadly. At the moment, with the Great Zorg inspection planet, and a small but technologically overwhelming escort squadron, any surveillance of them had become absolutely impossible, and the brothers were speaking confidently in full voices. "By the way, we're closer to independence than ever before. Do you think countless millions of extragalactic ships just came here for a picnic, to have fun? The Empire is close to collapse, it's about to crumble. Then no one will need our outlying planet. While tigers are gnawing off each other's tails, the hare will run away. For thousands of years, we've developed independently, without our older brothers in madness. We'll become independent and free again, let everything return to normal."
  "Dreaming is a waste of time. And even if we gain independence, who will rule the planet-that insignificant President Ducklinton?" Igor grimaced.
  "No! The rebels are led by Gornostayev," Ivan said confidently.
  "Damn Parsec! Ducklinton has a colonial army and mountains of weapons, and Gornostaev has only a handful of supporters; they'll crush him like a dung patty." The commander's gaze turned truly ferocious.
  "If you go over to the rebels, the other units will follow!" Ivan looked at his brother with hope.
  "That's right, I have the strongest part of the Native army, and I will be the new leader of the planet!" the head of the special forces declared firmly. Catching the reproach in his brother's gaze, he added, "No, I will not usurp or create a monarchy. We will form a Central Committee under my control, and the best people, including Gornostaev, will join it-they will rule collectively. Together, we will move mountains and roll up the sky."
  "That's funny. I just remembered an old ditty," Ivan sang beautifully in a folk style.
  Everything happens in the world,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  The sun rises and sets,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  Everything grows around,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  Ships fly into space,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  Soldiers go to war,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  They give us all our salaries,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  Bombs are falling, rockets,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  They lift up the comet's tail,
  At the behest of the Central Committee.
  Thunder rumbles, the earth shakes,
  At the behest of the Central Committee
  Even the woman...laughs,
  At the behest of the Central Committee!
  For the first time in a long time, the stern Alpha Stealth commander laughed heartily.
  "Yeah, that's funny, but seriously. We also had some mating drills with combat units. They separated our soldiers and women and forced them to copulate, all in one place. Anyone who didn't agree was cut in half with a laser. They also looked for anomalies, measured orgasm rates, and then declared their absolute genetic superiority over humanity."
  Ivan twirled his finger at his temple:
  -To each his own, but have you ever had sex with their females?
  Igor answered with fervor in his voice:
  "A couple of times, of course. They're damn attractive women, and very hot, but... They really love to torment people; they can fry, break, bite, cut off. They'll do anything their imagination allows to torment the little people. It's a good thing my rank forbids me from mating with them, otherwise I'm sure I'll be maimed or killed... But in my dreams, it's nice, and most importantly, fair, especially if I tie up a stelzanka, essentially a pretty "malpa," and take a neutron whip in my hands..." Then the special forces commander noticed: a beautiful melody was playing softly. He glanced at his computer bracelet, which he wore like a wristwatch in the old days. "They're probably calling us, the signal is flashing, tell me quickly, what did this girl tell us?"
  "The fact that her starship is being transferred to another galaxy, and apparently this is her last message, she will be out of reception range. She also believes that her star-boy messiah is alive and hopes to find him," Ivan warned, throwing toothpaste from a tube, which in mid-air transformed into figures of funny animals.
  - Do you believe it yourself? - Igor frowned.
  "I think you're wary of a rival for the Earthly throne. You hope he gets lost in space. The hearts of lovers are the best compass." Brother spoke, both jokingly and seriously. "In short, if something good were to happen, the messiah could unite humanity... Although most people don't even know about him. Moreover, the ability of one person to radically change everything is hard to believe."
  Ivan crossed two fingers.
  -Do you know how many times larger their empire is than planet Earth?
  - No! - Igor answered honestly.
  Ivan pointed to a zero with his fingers. The two brothers burst into deafening laughter, like elephants trumpeting their trunks.
  
  "False Jelabido" also mocked her cheerfully when she learned they would be fighting. The modest girl, who had received a religious upbringing, was already quite tired of both sadomasochistic teachings and sexual experimentation. Or rather , physically (what a shameless traitor, bioengineered flesh) she was even enjoying it more and more. Having different partners, or several at once, is unusual and creates a unique palette of orgasms. However, her conscience torments her; she can't mock sacred feelings so brutally. A sense of sin, monstrous and tormenting, haunts her. During her brief slumbers, she dreams of the underworld, where Elena, receiving cruel punishment, offers repentance to the Almighty God. Fortunately, the Stelzans, to their credit, are superbly organized and trained soldiers; they are forbidden from any actions that reduce the army's combat effectiveness, meaning that during combat, she will have much peace. At least in terms of her damned conscience!
  
  The Archpope was unaware that Chirizkhan's vast army was already on the march. The formidable Emperor had long been amassing his forces, and the pretext for his uprising was the treacherous capture of the great-grandson and direct heir of another great Emperor, Decibel. Decibel was a true legend, and his heirs could rightfully lay claim to a significant portion of the vast church lands. Archduke Dulupula de Grant, a monstrously wealthy descendant of priests, clearly wanted to please the Archpope. He believed that the threat of abdication would stop the invasion, but Chirizkhan was no longer afraid; he was ready to challenge the bloated Gideem Throne. His numerous troops had to be divided into twenty parts, otherwise the roads would have been completely clogged. Furthermore, the "medieval tanks"-Tyranno-mammoths, weighing up to eighty tons, with four rotating turrets on their scaly backs-were particularly destructive to the roads. Nightmarish creatures with five rounded horns capable of battering down gates like a battering ram. The army was motley, with numerous units. The countless flags and coats of arms literally dazzled . The locals either fled or cheered the marching columns. The first serious obstacle in their path was Baron Tuhkar's gray castle. It was a true fortress, virtually impregnable, with high towers and thick walls, perched on a hill, making an assault on the citadel even more difficult. It would probably have been more rational to bypass the structure, but the commander, Count Druvam de Kir, decided that the baron's treasures were worth the sacrifice. They began firing at the fortress with portable catapults. Heavier clockwork ballistas entered the fray a little later. Fiery charges flew into the castle, burning the inhabitants alive. Heavy stones smashed against the basalt walls, barely scratching the surface. They did, however, manage to knock down several battlements. Some of the castle's defenders were already dead, others seriously maimed. With the help of Tyranno-Mammoths and Allosauruses, they managed to bring in such powerful engines of destruction that their effectiveness was not much inferior to the most sophisticated artillery. Individual boulders weighed up to half a ton, and the roar of their fall shook the walls of the gray castle. The defenders' return fire, including crossbows, fell mainly on the light infantry. Sharp, spinning bolts tore the bodies of unlucky soldiers to pieces. Even metal shields were not sufficient protection. However, the need to tightly draw four or even eight crossbow strings simultaneously negatively affected the rate of fire, but increased the range and penetrating power of the bolt. Leaving a pile of corpses, the infantry retreated under cover of thick, solid shields. Meanwhile, the relentless bombardment continued. Apparently, Count Duvan hoped to exhaust the enemy completely before the decisive assault. This calculation might have been successful, but the defenders threw in an unexpected joker. A rat-flyer, carrying a substantial supply of flammable material, rose high above the castle. Then it swooped down, and a short but strong, undoubtedly highly experienced fighter in a blue mask, perched atop the beast, dropped pots of a fiery mixture. The blow, logically enough, struck the flammable material piles. The supply trains burst into flames, exploded powerfully, and detonated like a multi-cratered volcano. The fiery mixture scorched both the soldiers and the Tyranno-Mammoths and Allosauruses. The monstrous beasts raced like a firestorm, trampling all who crossed their path. Many warriors burned alive, charring in their red-hot armor. The heavily armored mounted troops suffered the most. Clumsy knights fell from their enraged mounts, engulfed in raging fire, their bulky armor preventing them from rising. A nightmarish, agonizing death in a steel pot awaited the renowned fighting elite. The perpetrator of the disaster did not escape retribution either. The flyer was studded with arrows like a hedgehog, some of them poisoned. The fall of the membranous bird, a monster the size of a good bomber, was spectacular. Leaving a trail of smoke, the monster crashed into a rocky ridge with a roar. The hydrogen contained in the flyer-pterodactyl's chest and abdomen exploded. It seemed as if the airship had burst, and remnants of smoking flesh landed among the archers, increasing the casualties. However, the rider himself managed to leap off and even, taking advantage of the confusion, dive into the thick of the tents. Meanwhile, the castle gates opened, and elite cavalry charged the panicked soldiers. Baron Tuhkara himself rode in front on a massive unicorn. Enormous in his gleaming gilded armor, he was majestic and terrifying. His tempered sword sliced through iron like cardboard. It was clear this warrior was in a rush to get even with Count Duvan. The Baron was in a frenzy; a fragment of a boulder had killed his daughter, splitting the seven-year-old girl's head. The child's blood-soaked corpse remained before Tuhkara's eyes, adding to the force of the already heavy blows. Surrounded by elite knights, hacking through the steel forest, the Count managed to break through to his main adversary.
  -You are the Black Count, you will answer for everything!
  -You are a white corpse, you will sit on a stake!
  They were a match for each other. Their swords crossed. The Baron was heavier and stronger, the Count more skilled and swift. However, with his first blow, the Baron severed the skillfully forged shield bearing the emblem of a tank-tiger. Duvan still managed to strike the unicorn in the head. The horn slightly softened the blow, but still, the wondrous beast staggered and began to fall. In a rage, avenging the pain inflicted on his favorite, the Baron grabbed the Count with one hand and hurled him to the ground. Fighting on foot left no chance, and the merciless sword cleaved the enemy's helmet and head. Scattered brains spattered Tuhkar's sweaty face. Seeing their leader defeated, the remaining warriors lost their already faltering spirit and fled. A small but formidable detachment, bristling with steel, followed closely behind the fugitives. However, the brave men's joy was premature-a mighty Tyranno-Mammoth rushed forward. The Baron was the first to be struck down, one of the beast's six legs crushing him, armor and all. Some of the remaining warriors were crushed or put to flight. Archers from the towers delivered deadly fire, and some of the fleeing soldiers, seeing the tide turn, turned their horses and stags. Fresh forces entered the fray, and it was not the warriors' valor that mattered, but their numbers. The Count's army was incomparably larger; soon all the knights who had taken part in the sortie were slain. After the Count's death, his son, Viscount Bor de Cir, assumed command. This young man, wasting no time, gave the signal for an immediate assault. The Tyranno-Mammoths rammed the walls. The armored gates shook from the immense blows, and warriors of all stripes rushed to the assault. The stormers were so excited that they ignored the molten resin, stones, and arrows. Their losses were enormous, yet they kept coming. Overwhelmed by their numbers, the fighters took tower after tower. The walls became slippery with resin and blood. Finally, the gates, bound with alloy steel, collapsed, and the marauders rushed into the castle. The battle escalated into a massacre, as the surviving defenders tried to fight back. The resistance was particularly fierce at the entrance to the temple of the supreme god, Ravarr. Large, athletically built priests fought desperately, covering the entrance to the structure. Due to the narrowness of the corridor, the attackers were unable to exploit their numerical advantage, and the pile of mangled bodies grew. Seeing the defenders' desperate tenacity, Bor gave a breaking command.
  -Incendiary charges! Fire!
  The experienced commander Azur tried to object.
  There are great treasures in the temple, the fire will damage them.
  "Then strike precisely at the passage, and if it burns any brighter, we'll extinguish it." The young warrior was already experienced in assaults, and his face shone with happiness, his green eyes ablaze with excitement. This was the romantic rapture of battle.
  The shots had their effect; the priests and monks, burned and blinded, threw down their axes and fled. Some hoped to lose themselves in the vast labyrinths of the temple dungeon. In the vast castle itself, wholesale looting and coercion began. Warriors pounced on women, brutally raping them, and, when they were sated, slit their bellies, cutting off their breasts and ears. It was considered a sign of valor to possess a collection of dried ears. Many people flocked to the protection of this citadel. Infants were taken from their mothers and thrown into the fire, and even the elderly were not spared.
  Viscount Bor de Cyrus, went into a rage; yelled and shook his fists.
  "Kill them all, spare no one, let my father's soul drink its fill of blood before it flies into the sky. Destroy all the neighboring villages, not sparing the bastard baron's vassals. The entire area will be awash in fire and blood, even animals will be spared."
  Meanwhile, the soldiers dragged in the baron's eldest daughter, Elvira, who had been knocked unconscious in the fight. Bor watched with interest as the soldiers tore off her expensive, gold-embroidered clothing, her stone-studded shoes, her earrings, and her jewelry, throwing them all into a common pile.
  -What a perfect figure she has, and her breasts are like amethyst ice cream.
  The young viscount jumped off his horse; the sight of the beautiful victim was more exciting than the spilled blood.
  "Let's pour a bucket of water over her head. The victim is especially beautiful when she trembles and resists. How soft and smooth her skin is, like satin in gold!"
  A lustful hand ran over her stomach, then higher, stroking the sensitive scarlet nipples of her velvety, golden-bronze breasts, after which it roughly grabbed the most intimate place!
  After an icy waterfall crashed down on her head, the girl came to her senses, jumped up abruptly, and ran. A skilled warrior tripped her, and she fell. It seemed like a doe lying on the ground, upon which a titled satyr wolf had leaped. The baron's daughter and the count's son grappled like cat and dog, wrestling fiercely, the baroness even using her teeth, but the viscount proved the stronger. The disgusting spectacle unfolded before the eyes of several thousand warriors, who chuckled and offered encouragement. When the viscount rose, his sweaty face was scratched, but he looked delighted. After the intense struggle, his tongue was barely moving.
  - Nice one, little tigress. What are you staring at? Hands off!
  The last cry was piercing and loud.
  Several thousand-man officers quickly pulled their hands away from the tempting, fluttering prey.
  "My beauty, you won't get it, at least not now. Send it to my personal tent! And for you, there's work: build a palisade around the castle, and place a severed head on each stake. Let the whole world know who they're dealing with."
  "And what should our master do with our fallen warriors?" the assistant, heavily stained with blood and soot stains on his armor, asked, barely catching his breath.
  "As usual, burn the corpses, showing them the honors they deserve. The families will receive compensation. What else? Where's that degenerate baron's son?" The young man's gaze grew even more angered.
  -We're looking! - The assistant shook his axe, which was glistening with blood.
  "You'll find him, don't kill him right away!" The warrior viciously poked the dying soldier, the enemy's army, with his silver-forged boot, silencing the unfortunate man. "My father recently bought a very rare Mari executioner; we'll test his skills."
  The warriors rushed to carry out their new overlord's orders. The fallen baron's pumpkin-sized head was hoisted onto the highest stake.
  The Viscount spat to the side and shouted ominously in an unstable, breaking voice:
  "This castle is too small, that's why we killed so few. The next city is half a million strong, that's where we'll really get going. Father, you'll be pleased; your family will go down in history as the bloodiest and proudest. I swear I'll never utter such a pathetic word: 'Darling!'"
  
   CHAPTER 31
  
  In this mysterious and dangerous world,
  Hidden in the darkness are the keys to happiness.
  If you don't want to live in vain
  Find the sword of power!
  
  The starships entered hyperdrive. Here is the jump into the legendary hyperspace, incomprehensible to ancient human physics. Imagine a mouse trudging for hours along a coiled hose; once it chews through the casing, the path is shortened hundreds of times. A similar process occurs when exiting the standard three dimensions into other dimensions with different physical laws. And why the properties of hyperspace sometimes change, the speed of travel increasing or decreasing dramatically, is still, at least for the Stelzans, an unsolved mystery of the universe. When billions of trained and seasoned fighters, from mini-soldiers who learned to press a ray gun before they could walk to veterans of the first superwar, cover distances of light years in a split second. During hyperdrive, especially during collapsed acceleration and deceleration, life inside the ships freezes, freezing into an icy mass. Before lying down in the shock-absorbing bunks, Lev Eraskander read the standard instructions. The fighters had only recently been recruited from the mini-soldiers, even younger than Lev, but two of them did indeed possess pronounced paranormal abilities. The others had only very slight inclinations. Oddly enough, even with such a high level of science and technology, the nature of superhuman abilities was extremely little studied. Perhaps in the technological age, their role in ultra-modern warfare was underestimated, or perhaps it was something that couldn't be weighed on a scale or measured with instruments.
  In any case, Stealth ships with such capabilities are extremely rare, and Lev had good reason to believe they would be relegated to a more than justified role in the upcoming operation. Never before had the Purple Constellation fleet penetrated so far in the deepest hyperspace jump. The golden constellation of synchs would be disintegrated into quarks. No, it wouldn't become a photon, much less a neutrino in the Quasar's radiation. New battles beyond imagination and fresh, breathtaking Super Adventures lay ahead!
  _____________________________________________________________
  Upon his return, the Archcardinal found the "gods" missing. Tigrov managed to persuade Likho and Laska to leave the palace to explore the surroundings. They were offered sacred three-horned goats as a means of transportation. Although the goats were large, like good horses, and much more attractive than their earthly counterparts, this option was rejected, and the beautiful and swift unicorns were unanimously chosen as the means of transportation.
  The planet was unusual-palms and ferns, deciduous and coniferous trees were painted in a gamut of yellow and red, with only the occasional hint of blue. The city was large and wealthy even by modern standards, with over half a million residents. It seemed as if there was no poverty within the city walls; even the children were sleek and neat, wearing boots and sandals despite the warm weather.
  After the city walls disappeared over the horizon, the landscape changed. Instead of smooth, paved roads, there were cobblestones and dust, a multitude of wooden houses, and poorly dressed people. The distinctive, relatively faint smell of manure mingled with the pleasant aroma of freshly baked flatbread and roasting meat. It was a typical large village; it had recently rained, and barefoot, half-dressed children splashed through puddles, kicking up muddy spray. In the distance, a dozen large, spherical blue-and-red animals swam rhythmically across a lush meadow. Each animal stood on ten furry legs, five meters tall: apparently the local equivalent of a cow. And judging by their appearance, they were very light creatures; a fresh breeze gently swayed their carcasses. In the center of the village stood a temple with a golden dome and a swastika glittering against two "suns." Vladimir and his friends, who had set out without escorts, had already covered a considerable distance, so the priest, naturally unfamiliar with the "gods," stared at them in bewilderment. Still, Tigrov wanted to see the temple from the inside. There was a light twilight, a multitude of large, multicolored candles, and four main statues, one for each god.
  Likho was indifferent; this world was primitive and devoid of surprise. Vladimir and Laska, on the other hand, gazed at the church with genuine interest. All the more unexpected was his cry.
  -Look, it's us!
  Indeed, one pagan icon depicted the four-armed supreme god Ravarra and his three children. Two boys and a girl, very similar to human children, except that all three had iridescent hair.
  "Yes, boys. I see myself, and you look like impostors!" Laska exclaimed. Stelzan girls were forbidden from wearing any hairstyle other than the rainbow and Stelzanate flag colors until they came of age, and boys were forbidden to wear makeup unless it was necessary for camouflage. After initiation into the Yulings, the rules became more relaxed, depending on the Stelzan's status. There might be some temporary concessions during vacations, but with a mandatory return to the standard after the holidays .
  There was a loud rumble behind them. The children looked around; the fat priest had fainted, falling from his pulpit, breaking three jars of intoxicating substance in the process. That wasn't so bad; several candles had fallen onto the spilled, highly aromatic mixture. Apparently, this intoxicant was similar in composition to cologne, as everything burst into flames. The children hurried out of the temple, and a fire broke out. The unicorns galloped much faster than racehorses ; this time, even Likho didn't want to return to the city. They stopped after flying for about twenty miles, and it wasn't just fear. Riding a horse, and especially a unicorn, is a rare joy, and it captivated the children. Plus, Likho wanted to compete in this exotic sport. The competition dragged on, and only when the unicorns were exhausted did the race end. Laska was the first to collapse, weighed down by her beautiful, practically impenetrable clothing and her medical kit. They decided to leave the hunted animals and continue on foot. The road was straight and rocky. The young travelers splashed, and the sharp pebbles pleasantly tickled their elastic soles. Vladimir even deliberately chose the sharpest surface possible, to massage his impenetrable feet. The boys chatted casually, and then, as they walked, even exchanged military and economic strategy on the multi-chip emitters. About a couple of hours later, or maybe a little longer, a large settlement reappeared. Something like a huge village, on a yellow meadow with lush, mown grass, a sizable, barefoot gang of almost sun-blackened, white-haired boys were kicking a ball around, playing something resembling football. It was still very light, but it seemed to have gotten even hotter.
  "The climate here must be different. When we left, it was maybe twenty-five degrees, but here it's thirty," Vladimir remarked, having already gotten used to the slightly cooler temperatures of Stelzanat's starships.
  "That's right, it really has gotten hotter." He pointed his fingers upward. "Look at the sky, it looks like a new bright spot has appeared."
  - A UFO in this world? - Vladimir was surprised, although there was nothing particularly surprising.
  "Anything is possible. Let's go, drink some water and play with their primitive children. We'll show them the supernova hyperdrive," Likho suggested , baring his teeth.
  The game was different from regular football, with pushes, tackles, and the occasional scrum. It was like rugby or American football, but on a medieval planet, they kicked at makeshift goals. I wonder what the natives call their planet?
  Laska lagged behind a bit, arranging the local's luxurious flowers into an intricate wreath, and when they approached the field, no one paid them any attention. They were little different from the locals, also tanned, a dark bronze. The natives here aren't as dark as on Earth; the air temperature is usually cooler, but the bright gold-yellow background of the field makes them appear much darker from a distance than they actually are.
  "Hey, players, we want to reserve a queue," Likho shouted.
  The boys stopped playing. They didn't like the strangers.
  -What do you want? We're already fully stocked! Get out!
  -We want to kill the goat!
  Tiger inserted and waved his fist.
  A horrific squeal was heard. The goat is a sacred animal, something the time travelers, of course, didn't know.
  -They are blaspheming!
  He quickly went into ambition.
  - I am God myself and you are the blasphemers, on your despicable knees !
  Likho and his friend might have resembled a scarecrow, but they certainly weren't gods. The boys were grimy, nearly naked, even their seven-color shorts were covered in dust. It's no wonder, and compared to the village children, they look like little homeless people. This isn't exactly the dark Middle Ages, but rather a retrograde turn in the development of a nation that once plied the cosmos. So even the rural poor, by custom and law, are expected to maintain cleanliness.
  There were about fifty boys, a vast mismatch in strength. Nevertheless, even as he struck the Tigers' first blow, he sensed their brutal strength. His time in the bio-chamber hadn't been in vain; gene therapy and biological modifiers had added strength and speed. Of course, the children attacking them knew nothing of bioengineering, mini-soldiers, or the intergalactic art of hand-to-hand combat. The battle escalated into a massacre. Moving and maneuvering, the Terminator boys were winning. It was reminiscent of a karate-versus-makiwara action movie. Even their bones had become stronger, and their blows more effective. Arm, leg, elbow, head-everything they'd been taught came in handy. Vladimir, mischievously, jumped, and two boys collided heads, colliding, dead.
  - You still have to play with rattles, - Tigrom mocked.
  Likho approved:
  - Cool move!
  When half the children had already gotten their fill, the rest scattered. Only one boy, ten years old or a little older, remained. Tigrov barely held Razorvirov back; apparently, Likho still hadn't had his fill of fighting to his full satisfaction.
  -He's already given up. Don't be a savage!
  "Let him kiss my feet and lick my fists. I am a god!" the young Stelzan shouted.
  - You've gone crazy, you madhouse, it's crying for you. Baby, get up off your knees, no one will hurt you!
  The child stood up, with a large bruise under his eye.
  "You are the great ones, children of the supreme god Ravarr," the boy said with a tremor in his voice.
  - Mortal, you guessed it, we are messengers from heaven! - Likho puffed up his chest.
  "Forgive us. It's just that you look so much like runaway slaves," the boy stammered.
  Vladimir laughed, baring his teeth, which had become much larger and stronger.
  - I myself understand that we don"t look divine, but we have the fists of demons.
  "No, the fists of gods, but the appearance of demons. My name is Likho, best not wake me! Death to anyone who dares anger me!" The young Stelzan, without a running start, leaped from the spot and performed a seven-fold somersault. It was impressive, especially since the boy hurled several boulders in sync and, landing, kicked the stones as they flew.
  "I agree with you." The boy bowed, kneeling.
  -Maybe you have valuable information.
  Razorvirov fumed, mimicking a painful interrogation. The boy squeaked in fear:
  "You've probably come to read the sacred tablet. So says the ancient legend!"
  Although Likho heard about the table for the first time, he didn"t show it:
  -That's right, we're looking for her, where is she?
  - I don"t know! - The child was ready to burst into tears from fear.
  -Who knows!? - He squinted, even mentally changing the color of the iris of Razorvir's eye.
  "Rumor has it that Prince Alimar, great-grandson of the great Decibel, knows," the boy answered readily.
  - Lead us to him! - Likho barked.
  - I'm afraid he's in the hands of our archduke, they're ordering me to be skinned for treason against a dignitary.
  Weasel crept up unnoticed, her face glowing with mischief.
  -Your "Archi" wants to anger the gods, since Alimar is his prisoner?
  "But they say the war has already begun," the young prisoner blurted out, not entirely to the point.
  "That's right, and only the main gods or the children of Ravarr can read the writing. Mere mortals can't," Laska stated confidently.
  - Do you read minds, great goddess? - The boy calmed down.
  "Damn, just devilishly smart, I am!" growled the cute and at the same time scary Laska. "Now all that's left is to read Alimar's mind."
  "Let's read it. Lead us to the castle, don't be afraid, we will protect you." Razorvirov ordered in such a confident tone that the captive boy moved forward without argument. He was forced to run, as his new masters vigorously pushed the young guide. Despite his tender age, the bare soles of the village boy, no doubt hardened by a harsh life, were already calloused , and he fearlessly flew across the recently piled thorny grass, not yet smoothed by cart wheels and the limbs of local reptiles.
  The castle and city of Archduke Dulupoul de Grant were a vast domain. The city's tallest tower, the "Flyer's Nest," soared more than a kilometer into the sky, its enormous golden swastika, fifteen meters tall, resembling an ominous, spider-like "Sun." A swarming bustle reigned, and this was natural; news of the outbreak of war had already stirred the masses. The gates were closed, and all who entered were carefully screened. However, part of the wall was unfinished, so they decided to enter the city through this route.
  A boy named Samik felt it necessary to warn his new comrades. After a long and intense run, for a normal person, his voice was slurred by his heavy breathing.
  -There are a lot of guards here, they have cordoned off the unfinished walls, but there is a chance to sneak into the city almost unnoticed.
  - What, put the guards to sleep? - asked Likho.
  -Look more closely at the wall!
  Indeed, nearly naked people were milling about on it. They were being driven on by chainmail-clad overseers with the merciless blows of long whips. Apparently, the slaves were hastily completing the high, thick wall of the young city.
  "Over there, where the children are working, is where my older brother is," Samik pointed.
  Likho interrupted rudely.
  -What is he doing there? Do you think we'll free him?
  "No, I'm not asking for that. Another four years and they'll put him down. His parents sold him into slavery for debts, that's what many do. There hasn't been a war for a long time, everyone has a lot of children, each one has a special tax , so they rent him out to pay off the debts," the boy explained.
  "What does that matter to us!" Razorvirov curled his lips in disdain.
  "We're still children, but strong, and they have urgent work to do; they're short-handed, since the war has started. One of you and I will work one shift, and the guards will let the rest of us into the city. If the others return by then, the temporary workers will be allowed home." Semik looked pleadingly at Razorvirov, whom he considered the leader, despite Laska's smart appearance and impressive presence.
  He bared his teeth dashingly.
  "Looks like they're taking us for imbeciles. It's better if we break through by fighting; isn't there another way to get over the wall?"
  "Stop killing. I'll work with him, and you two go infiltrate the city. We've already done enough damage in this world, we need to do something useful." Vladimir interjected.
  "So that's how it is, go and work, altruist, you wet-nosed saint. It's clear why you people are our slaves." Likho even swung his fist , almost touching his friend's face.
  Tigrov wanted to hit him, but held back:
  - People's weakness is my weakness too!
  "Maybe you'll fight me, you're strong now!" Vladimir swung his fist around his nose again.
  - No! - The boy from Earth was firm. - I'm done with violence!
  Indeed, wherever they go, there are problems, and they need to somehow salve their conscience. The resolution was unusually trivial. The head of the guard hadn't lied, leaving two behind and allowing Likho and Laska into the city, even though the latter looked quite conspicuous. Roughly feeling Tigrov's sculpted muscles, the richly dressed giant smirked with satisfaction:
  "Like a rock, apparently a strong, seasoned guy. If you work hard, we won't beat you."
  Although Semik was also a sturdy fellow, compared to the sculpted, sculpted Vladimir, he seemed almost a slob. Tigrov worked with enthusiasm, perhaps even excessive zeal. Because of him, the other slaves also suffered the lashes, as they seemed lazy. When they were taken to dinner, they were forced to wash thoroughly in a stream-hygiene above all else. The food was relatively good, the climate was almost equatorially mild, the soil soft as feathers. Harvesting was possible year-round, perhaps even overproducing agricultural produce.
  "This is my brother too," whispered Samik.
  A muscular fourteen-year-old boy, his face tired and sad beyond his years, with a large black eye, raised his closely cropped head. He was surprised:
  -What are you doing here?
  - We got a part-time job, brother. - Samik smiled.
  "You idiots, you'll be branded and kept until you reach adulthood, and only if there's no urgent need for slaves. A new kingdom has appeared in the south where they're eager to buy us." The boy lowered his voice, almost whispering. "It's extremely rare for temporary slaves to return after their terms are up. Usually they're accused of not working hard enough, or being rude to their masters, or even failing to meet the work quota set at their masters' discretion. And then their sentence is re-started, or even permanently yoked."
  Another boy confirmed this, showing the marks of a spanking on his broad back:
  - This is what awaits you.
  "Don't worry, if anything happens, we'll escape and free you all," Vladimir said in a low voice.
  "Childish babble. See the triangle on your shoulder? That's the mark of a temporary slave. Draw one more line, and you're a slave forever," the boy added quietly. "It's not hell here yet. There's fresh air, decent food, and the work, though hard, is something we're accustomed to almost from birth. We can endure it and live a long time." A hint of fear crept into the boy's voice. "And if they transfer us to the mines, where the stench of torches and excrement is terrible, and in some places, toxic fumes emanate, even the strongest and most resilient slave will never last more than two years. Most die in the first weeks and months, so to replenish the ranks, disobedient slaves are sent to the mines. And by the way, children have a higher chance of ending up there than adults, since it's easier for little ones to move or push a cart through narrow shafts and adits."
  Although Tigrov understood the boy was right, he was completely calm. Slavery was harsher for the sadistic arthropod monkey than on the surface, and in the mines and shafts, with their labyrinths of various passages and burrows, he, with his superhuman abilities, would always be able to free himself from the shackles and escape. Where did he get that confidence? The hyperplasma computer had programmed his brain, as if it were a hard drive, for navigating various dungeons and even the most intricate labyrinths.
  When they branded them, the pain was palpable, as if frozen. Vladimir didn't even wince, but the newly minted slave, Samik, cried out, uncomfortable as his skin was being stroked with a hot iron. His shift had clearly been too long; he was forced to work another shift, and in the most difficult section. His reward for his enthusiastic work was the right to overtime and a mixture of free, rotting vegetable and fruit slop, which, in such a generous climate, was already in short supply. Only when all the suns briefly disappeared behind the horizon were they allowed to get some sleep. The other child slaves gloated, wondering where else would they find such a fool who had put himself under the heavy yoke. Tigrov, however, felt quite happy; even the lashes were a relief. Working hard, he was atoning for his numerous murders; not just for a naturally kind-hearted boy, but for all his suffering. And if her muscles trembled slightly from fatigue, she felt much calmer.
  Meanwhile, Likho and Laska were plotting an assault on the Archduke's red-and-black striped palace. A frontal assault was too risky; the guards alone numbered several thousand fighters. And the city itself had over a hundred thousand troops, not counting the battle monsters.
  "One fighter, and we'll all be blown to the anti-world," Marsov giggled.
  He clenched and unclenched his fists with a flourish.
  -Can use his divine authority.
  "How are we going to prove it to them? We'll just let them shoot us with arrows again. There's no TV here, and they won't believe you, you savage!" Laska stuck her tongue out inappropriately.
  "You're already so cool. If we had a force field and heavy ray guns, we'd cut down all twelve towers with beams. But we still have some charge left; we'll fire them off with a bang and they'll scatter." Likho was in a very combative mood.
  "You've ionized. This is a big city; if the effect of savage fear and panic doesn't work, we'll be hunted down like rats," the girl remarked logically.
  -What do you advise, to retreat and surrender? - Likho's whole appearance showed the utmost degree of contempt.
  - No. To scout and find vulnerable points.
  The streets of the big city were crowded. There was clearly more poverty and filth here than in the first city. You look and see beggars, cripples, and the sick- though these exist in any populated area, only here it's much more pronounced, more noticeable. Although in this world, aging isn't as noticeable and glaring as in the Middle Ages on Earth. The influence of ancient human genetic modifications is telling. But it weakens with each generation, and unfortunately, the deplorable results of degradation are visible. Pointing to the wrinkled, hunched old women, Likho couldn't resist saying loudly:
  "What an abomination. Crumpled effigies, a pathetic parody of a great race. Well, just see for yourself, would our women allow themselves to look so ugly?"
  "This is a terrible atavism, a primitive level of degeneration." Laska herself was quite disgusted by this abomination.
  -What are you saying? - He grimaced, not understanding Likho.
  "They don't have our enhanced genetics, with their super-regeneration. That's why the hairless primates are crippled and bruised. Have compassion on the old savages," Stelznak said condescendingly.
  "Such freaks have no right to resemble our greatest nation. When we break through to our brothers, this backward planet will be cleansed!" Likho mounted his horse again, speaking unforgivably loudly.
  Their incomprehensible cries attracted people's attention. Voices of indignation were heard. Someone yelled.
  -Crazy fools!
  "Why did you attract attention? We'd better annihilate ourselves. Get to the camouflage level," Laska shouted, forgetting that only she could camouflage herself.
   Likho, however, couldn't think of anything better to do than deliver a spinning kick to the nearest guard. The blow landed in the chest and slightly stunned the kid. The mini-soldier, however, wasn't so lucky: his bare heel caught a sharp spike protruding from his breastplate. The pain sobered Razorvirov slightly, and he managed to dive like a pike into the crowd. Since the guard didn't immediately raise a cry, the children managed to retreat to a safe distance. Laska lightly hit her friend in the ear.
  "You're always asking for trouble; you should be enslaved. You want us to die ingloriously."
  "We still have to be wary of these primitive creatures!" The boy was very angry.
  "Better think of how to get into the castle and the underground prison. We, Likho , will have to go down into the dungeon; they won't keep prisoners in the royal chambers." Laska pointed downwards. And quietly, in an unseasonably gentle tone, she added:
  "We'll get clothes and documents. We'll pass as servants or guests. Then we'll disappear into the hallways and downstairs; our skills make it possible. I have a mini-computer; I keep it in my first aid kit. You know the standard stuff. We'll use it to calculate the rules of war and tricks..."
  However, the miniature cybernetic device showed no signs of life. The beam throwers were also dead, seemingly addicted, wasting their ultra-current on pointless games. Ah, the frivolousness of childhood!
  -Plasma dragon in my jaw, I'll have to act at my own risk.
  The first attempt was unusually crude in execution: a couple of blows to the head in a secluded area, and the children of suitable size were neutralized. However, these appeared to be servants of the lowest rank, and the squeamish Weasel demanded that their clothes be disinfected. Likho finally gave up and declared this plan unworkable and that it would be better to enter the castle illegally. The task was complicated by the fact that, in addition to numerous guards, the approaches to the palace were guarded by Tank Tigers and smaller Bull Lemurs.
  - We'll cut down a few bastards with a laser, panic will start, and we'll use the noise to get into the castle.
  "We only have one charged ray gun, and our stay here could drag on, wasting our last trump card on the creatures," Laska countered.
  "No, you also have a gamma pistol. And how many shots does it have?" Likho squinted.
  "This one can fire for a very long time. I'm not sure, perhaps several hours of the most intense fire and dozens of times more of the quiet kind. In terms of energy consumption, gamma weapons are far more efficient than laser weapons and, to a lesser extent, gravity-laser weapons," Laska declared.
  "Give it to me! We'll knock out the guard animals, but fooling people is no problem!" Razorvi suggested.
  Laska didn't object. It was decided that the best option would be to fire from the rooftops. They needed to choose a position invisible from the castle's nearly hundred-meter-high walls and even taller towers. Razorvirov put forward an idea.
  "It would be good to get some ropes. Vladimir told me that's how they lassoed enemies in ancient times."
  "I know, the instructions downloaded into my brain are about conducting combat operations using improvised means in the absence of modern standard weapons," Laska said mechanically.
  - Do you know how to throw a noose? - Likho grimaced.
  "They didn't teach me!" the girl answered honestly.
  -Me too, what a mistake! - The boy frowned.
  "We're only seven cycles old. We shouldn't have to be proficient in basic combat." Laska shook herself.
  "Okay, I agree, not all at once. I can throw at rings, it doesn't make much difference." He nimbly tore the rope off the roof in one leap.
  "I can do it too, maybe we can throw it on the wall tooth?" the warrior suggested, without any tricks getting herself a lasso.
  -First, let's eliminate the monsters.
  Having taken up position, Likho opened fire to kill. The gamma radiation sent the Tiger Tanks into a frenzy. The usually docile beasts scattered across the city. Bloody drooled from their mouths, their beautiful five-colored striped skin blistered and fell in chunks from their enormous, muscular bodies. Terrible panic erupted throughout the city, as large and small beasts tore apart hundreds of people. Thousands of heavily armored knights were deployed to suppress the enraged beasts . Enormous beasts with fanged sabers rushed at the knights, ripping and tearing apart people, elk, and deer alike. Usually, heavily armored warriors preferred the more powerful elk. Horns are no small asset in battle. Two knights in gilded armor were smaller than the others, but they rode unicorns. Judging by everything , they were very high-ranking nobles.
  "Look, Likho. They're so small, they must be princes. And their armor is just the right size for us. Give us a lasso, we'll lasso them," Laska suggested, delighted by her unexpected luck.
  "Radiant! We'll pick a moment when they're lost from sight." Likha crept up like an Indian.
  They didn't have to wait long. One of the wounded Bulldo-lemurs managed to break off a spear and bite off the unicorn's front legs. The small gilded warrior collapsed, and his comrade dismounted and tried to pull him up. The others were too caught up in the fight. The enormous Tiger-Tank, despite several spears piercing his body, leaped up and, breaking off spears, felled the nearest knights. The others rushed at the enraged monster. At this point, even the Tiger-Tanks, unaffected by the radiation, rushed into battle, drawn by the intoxicating scent of blood, so the moment was opportune. The overconfident Likho managed to lasso him only on his third try, while Laska managed it on her second. The knights were quite heavy, and the ropes snapped, cutting into their skin, but fortunately, they managed to drag the prisoners to the roof. Razorvirov slapped the stocky knight across the face, and his ornate helmet flew off, revealing his balding head.
  "Look, these aren't princes, but grown-up shorties, and with ugly brooms on their faces, too!" the mini-soldier growled in disappointment.
  "Typical dwarfs, we studied that in the clinical anomalies section." The girl spat at the captives with disgust.
  The second short knight charged. Laska kicked him in the groin with unnatural strength. Despite the metal plate there, the attacker stopped and doubled over-the area was too sensitive for the powerful blow. Razorvirov's opponent was only slightly stunned and, on autopilot, attempted to stab the impudent boy with a dagger. A jab to the eyes paralyzed the attacking knight. Then a precise hit to the neck completely incapacitated him. Laska let out a loud cry.
  -Don't help me, this is my exercise machine.
  The shorty howled shrilly like an out-of-tune violin.
  -Little brat, my sword will finish you off!
  The girl fluttered across the roof like a butterfly, deftly dodging the short knight's sword. Then the miniature fighter in the skirt counterattacked. Her blows were like the leaps of a panther. The dwarf's helmet flew off, and there was a crunch of broken neck vertebrae.
  - Agree, it's beautiful!
  The young warrior sang;
  The purple constellation of the Universe gives happiness,
  In the endless universe you will not find anything more beautiful!
  Likho interrupted his friend;
  "We're putting armor on the unicorns too. They have a coat of arms, which means these little goats are titled!"
  Half an hour later, the mini-soldiers, dressed in luxurious armor, were already in the magnificent palace. The place was incredibly lively, with knights, warriors, and armed servants scurrying everywhere. The main throne room was also packed with people-mostly nobles. And there was Archduke de Grant himself, a pompous fellow with a long, fiery red beard, covered in jewels like a royal jeweler's shop.
  -Count Left Kami and Right Tsami. I'm glad to see you! I hope you've brought your troops? Chirizkhan threatens us all.
  Imitating the squeaky voice of the former owner of the armor, Laska answered:
  - Of course. We've announced a general call-up. What's the latest news from the front?
  "Count, where did you pick up such learned words? They're not very good, the first significant losses have already been incurred, and many feudal lords are wavering," the Archduke stated frankly.
  "We're also in doubt," Likho said , imitating the dwarf's unpleasant timbre of his voice. "Why did the war start?"
  "Well, Alimar de Decibel's capture is just a pretext. You know, Chirizkhan wants to rule the entire world," the Archduke stated confidently.
  "I suppose there's not much difference between you. Show us who started the war." He took the bull by the horns , as is typical of tough guys.
  "Why do you need this?" the Archduke became wary.
  Laska intervened in the conversation, blurting out childishly and artlessly:
  - Elementary curiosity. Who is this individual who has become the antipositron of discord?
  The Duke eyed the guests suspiciously. He disliked such curiosity and overly learned language. Perhaps they, too, wanted to find the tablets? They were playing dumb, pretending to be fools or deranged sages. And even if they did, they wouldn't be able to read anything without the Archpope.
  "If you wish, I will take you to the guest. You must be careful with your requests, but gentlemen, give me your word of chivalry and an oath on the swastika-that your host will join my army." De Grand gave no sign of suspecting his guests.
  "Besides, a knight's word is too valuable to throw away. I can only guarantee that Kami and Tsami's mobile bioplasmic units won't attack you!" Likho blurted out, recalling the cybernetic video.
  What a strange way to put it. Maybe their helmets are jammed. So much the better, because crazy people aren't that dangerous.
  In the dungeons of the Purple Castle, the Archduke's executioner expressed open displeasure. His thick hands shook, and his fists clenched and unclenched.
  - On what grounds, Mr. Cardinal, did you take him?
  "There is an order from the Most Great and Most Holy Archpope of Gideemma. You see the sacred bull." The cardinal thrust the sealed parchment scroll under the nose of the obtuse-looking torturer for the third time.
  "This is my sacrifice, our right..." The fleshy face of the gorilla-like executioner, with its sloping forehead, shook with displeasure. His small eyes expressed annoyance.
  "What are you babbling about? You're just an interrogation tool. Know your place if you don't want to become a victim yourself." The Cardinal, tall and skinny like a furious Don Quixote, hissed venomously and made a terrifying face.
  "At least you notified de Grant," the massive brute said, embarrassed.
  "There's no need, since I have the bull and the right of the Order of the Fiery Swastika. What's that mortar you're holding that's smoking?" The Cardinal grimaced in disgust at the foul smell of burning.
  "I prepared a treat for Ali, some hot coals," the Big Man blurted out in a serious tone.
  "You're a freak, a mentally retarded primate, Alimar is a prince of the blood, and the coals leave blisters." The Cardinal was seriously angry. "You obviously want everyone to see the traces of your interrogations, to create new problems for us?"
  "I'm an expert in my field, even though I can't read or write," the giant with a belly big enough to stuff a whole ram into said proudly. "So, in addition to traditional methods and traceless torture, I invented this machine. Beautiful!"
  A rough knock on the thick door interrupted the professional torturer's rant. The archduke, two false counts, and a dozen guards entered the stuffy marble chamber. The praying mantis-like cardinal, wearing the tricolor robe of a supreme deity and a swastika on a chain, struck Likho as quite comical. Adults should be large and muscular, of course, but a goatee was a savage relic. The fat, immense executioner, with five quivering, bristly chins, resembled a Summo fighter. A red leather apron covered the torturer's belly, and his arms were thicker than buffalo thighs and certainly not made entirely of lard.
  "Where is the prisoner?" the insolent Likho shouted without further ado.
  The torturer's stupid face twisted, although in principle such a degenerate face could not twist any further.
  - Ate it! - came the stupid answer.
  Catching the threatening gesture, the executioner quickly corrected himself:
  - The holy fathers took him! They took him to the Archpope in Gideon.
  "Catch up, stop them, bring them back!" Likho ordered as if he himself were the real ruler of the planet.
  The cardinal snorted contemptuously:
  - Too late. They took him out through an underground passage and put him on a flying rat. No one can fly faster than him.
  "Nonsense! Any Imperial fighter is a million times faster than your pterodactyl," Laska barked and took a step forward.
  The executioner shook his belly and wrinkled his sweetest face:
  - I see that you are learned people, and you will be able to appreciate my invention, the interrogation machine.
  "It's unlikely to surprise us, but it's curious. Yes, Duke, we'll go to your Archpope; the poor, unfortunate city of Gideemma will be his." Likho grinned like a leopard, which, however, was completely unnoticeable under his visor, and therefore meaningless.
  The next room smelled of blood, pepper, and burnt meat. Stocky assistants in red robes whispered ominously. Something between a loom and a spindle occupied the center of the room.
  "Here, the wool is simply rubbed, and the parchment is welded onto these balls. And then, connected by needles, sparks fly. If you stick two needles in your tongue, and two more in your ears, and twist the handle, the eyes will pop out and light up like light bulbs. They glow especially beautifully in the dark, tears dripping, sparkling, an amazing sensation and no traces. Ha-ha-ha!" The executioner cackled, as if nothing could really be funnier.
  "A primitive stun gun, based on the electrostatic principle. Friction accumulates charge on a simple capacitor in the form of balls," Laska, the scientist, interjected.
  The torturer said tenderly, with venom in his voice:
  - Perhaps you should take off your helmets, my lords. It's hot here; the rack was just recently heated up.
  "No, we're not hot," Likho growled, although in fact, the armor felt like a sauna.
  The Archduke approached the executioner, his dull, shaved face suspiciously cunning and polite.
  -What are you hiding, executioner?
  He calmly and very smoothly turned the lever on the spindle.
  Likho and Laska suddenly felt the floor beneath them disappear. Gravity pulled them downward. Purely on reflex, the mini-stelzan managed to hurl his short sword at the executioner's thick belly. The sword pierced the massive belly right where, beneath his apron (which immediately burst), a ten-armed crab tattoo-the Archduke's family crest-had adorned the figure. A fountain of thick blood spattered the nobleman's suit and face. The torturer wheezed, barely able to utter words and crimson bubbles. His voice was barely discernible:
  "I recognized them, guessed with the instinct of an experienced investigator. These are the demon children you've heard of. It's a shame I won't have to look into their shining eyes, glistening with pain and electricity, torturing such sweet little chicks."
  Dulupula de Grad old shouted as loudly as possible and commanded:
  Sound the alarm, send guards to the underground tunnel. Gods and demons don't die from falling on granite!
  Large brass horns sounded over the castle, and the clatter of many fleeing knights and commoners could be heard. The executioner was rapidly weakening. The Cardinal muttered something rapidly, and a dropped torch ignited the Archduke's brocade toga, causing the nobleman to shriek in piercing pain. To the sounds of a discordant song, ranks of fighters descended into the dungeon. It was clear they were singing more out of fear, still wary of unknown demons, than from an excess of martial enthusiasm.
  The wind will disperse the gray fog,
  An angel will split the fortress of evil clouds!
  In the field, a mound is filled with the blood of battle,
  The swearing is illuminated by a pink ray.
  
  My dear one cries her brow in sorrow,
  Fingers mechanically weave a crown.
  Let us be together, it will become light,
  Our suffering will soon end!
  
  The light has illuminated our homeland,
  They fought together, the fallen and the living,
  God, give us wrath and strength.
  We will win and defend our native land!
  
  We believe that our brothers will return from the war,
  Even though it cost us dearly.
  After all, before the gods we are all equal,
  Duty to fulfill - before a great country!
  To be continued....
  Comments that can be skipped or laughed at, with their unique humor;
  -In Super Action, with each episode, the further, the cooler it gets!
  -And when will they kill me?
  -You're immortal! You'll live until the box office drops!
  "The Last Hero" Arnold Schwarzenegger.
  _________________________________________________________
  -Why did the USSR collapse?
  -There was no sex!
  -So, the Purple Constellation has a future!
  
  -What is the difference between a literary star and the one in the sky?
  -That a literary star can be extinguished with a simple cobblestone!
  
  -What is the difference between an aspiring writer and a famous one?
  - A beginner wants to create the best creation in the world, and someone who is famous wants to create something that people pay for!
  From a review site about the novel "Lucifer's Armageddon!"
  The story is just beginning, gathering momentum, momentum, and intensity. New incredible adventures, fantastic even for science fiction, lie ahead. Sudden, unpredictable plot twists await. A grand battle will unfold across the entire universe and in other endless hyper-mega-universes. On a scale unprecedented in human fantasy! Hurry to purchase the sequel to the series-the new novel, "The Skeleton Key of the Underworld!" A unique experience awaits you!
  
  
  
  
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