Struggle. Taste of power [Владимир Андерсон] (fb2) читать онлайн

Vladimir Anderson Struggle. Taste of power

Metropolitan

The room in which Guzokh had been staying for the last month was not cramped, even though there was almost no space. It was more than modestly furnished: an oak bed, an oak table and chair, and only one chair. There were a few kerosene candlesticks and a large panel with a picture of the Black Stone on the entire wall.

Guzokh remembered the times he had spent in his cell when he was still a novice in the seminary. He had been studying the ancient rules of the Zhakh and the Silan-Zhakh code, which was still in its infancy and which was destined for a great future.

All the priests had great expectations of how their lives would change when Silan-Zhakh was introduced universally. It would mean the consolidation of the Church's role in all areas of plague life. Then the Holy Inquisition would be able to hold weeks of penance unannounced and more than once a year in the same place, and the guilty could be mercilessly destroyed. In addition, the priest-patriarch and priest-metropolitans will not be able to refuse to visit any place in the plague empire, and no service will be able to prevent an inquest made personally by any of them. Only 7 plagues will be able to wield such power, but still it is a sure step towards fixing the supremacy of the Church. And then we can breathe a sigh of relief that we have finally nipped heresy in the bud. Before it spreads to us all.

Guzokh remembered his prayers then, and piously believed that if he was ever honored to become a Metropolitan Priest, he would certainly not miss a single heretic, and would uphold with dignity the sacred foundations of the Zhakh faith, the belief in the omnipotence of the Black Stone.

Neuroch, now a priest-patriarch, had been a year older than he was, and was characterized by two complementary traits: a tendency to persuade with emotion, and an ability to hold the strings of leadership in his hands. In Guzokh's opinion, however, he did not fully understand the foundations of the faith, but he knew the Code of Silan-Jah, with its new administrative rules and regulations, by heart.

It did not seem strange at the time. Indeed, the Black Stone gave some people the ability to understand the faith and interpret it with reason, others to convince them of its correctness, and others to put it down on paper. The Black Stone gave some of them the ability to understand the faith and interpret it with reason, others to convince them of its correctness, and others to put it on paper.

In time, they even began to rise together in their careers, and Guzokh was even the first to become a metropolitan, and then he helped Nevrokh in this. It seemed very important to him that someone could persuade when real arguments didn't work, when someone simply didn't want to listen to you… Neurokh always had to listen. It always turned out that any conversation, even knowingly useless, turned into a passionate dispute, where Nevroh brought the situation to the boiling point several times and, thus exhausting the opponent, tilted everything in his favor. It was very useful and effective.

Neurochus was given the position of metropolitan priest in charge of the SFC and the higher administration. And at this point he argued and debated. On almost every occasion, trying to sway those around him to allegiance to the new code of Silan-Zhah. But his activities during the weeks of repentance among the SCK looked very strange. It seemed incomprehensible to Guzokh even then. How could you conduct such purges of heresy and not punish almost anyone among the layers of the plagues entrusted to you. It was the lower ranks or those who had already been accused of embezzlement who were at risk. All the powerful rhetoric about a holy campaign against heresy in the SCK for the good of the Black Stone turned out to be a blatant eyewash, at least that's how Guzokh saw it.

He personally knew some of the chums in the SCK apparatus who deserved at least close scrutiny and interrogation because of their open rejection of Silan-Jah in particular and the Jah faith in general. It was as if they didn't consider Jah to be anything important in their lives, much less guided by its principles in general. And Nevrokh had no questions for them. And even his predecessor in one of the cases punished the head of the SCK of the whole column.

And soon Nevrochus became priest-patriarch. The previous patriarch announced that due to his age, he could not fully fulfill his duties and appointed the one who, according to him, deserved it most of all, as he was watching over the sobriety of mind and sanity in our most important circles of the SCK and higher administration, that is Nevrokh… There was nothing to be done about it. Moreover, Guzokh could not oppose such a decision, and then not support Nevrokh in the approval of the patriarch, because once he himself had nominated him for the place of metropolitan. He could only hope that, having become patriarch, he would no longer flirt with someone else on the side.

Now, when Guzokh was in the Krito sector of the Donetsk-Makeyevka group and saw how he was ostentatiously received by the SSK and quietly surrounded on all sides by its agents, it began to seem to him that he had once very much underestimated Nevrokh. The Scekists would never have allowed him to become patriarch, being unsure if it was to their advantage. And when he showed that he would play by their rules and got his place, he started his already hidden war for power with the SCC. All the same hypocritical and despicable, but hardly anyone could think of anything more effective.

And as it happened, Guzokh himself was to be one of the bargaining chips in such a war. On the one hand, it didn't really hurt his feelings — after all, one should always be prepared for something hard when dealing with religion. But on the other hand — it wasn't for Neuroch to decide who to trade. In reality, he's not even worthy of being a priest, let alone a patriarch. He's too overbearing and has absolutely no faith in what he professes publicly. And now Guzoh was already afraid that in time the Church would simply become a new SCK just under a different banner.

The door to the room opened without knocking and Samokh entered. I didn't expect to see him here and now, but on the other hand, when in the whole group "Donetsk-Makeyevka" there were only SCKs left from the chums, it would be logical to assume the appearance of the metropolitan, who is responsible for them.

Samoh closed the door behind him and stared glumly at the décor: the furniture, the blacksmoked candlesticks and panels.

— There's no place to sit down. — Samoh grinned. — I see you're used to it, Brother Priest Guzokh… They couldn't spare me.

— You think too much about material things. — Guzokh saw these open taunts, and they did not offend him at all. — Have you come for a week of penance?

Samokh laughed. And in his laughter and especially in his eyes, it was obvious that he had known for a long time that the deadline for the new week of penance was not yet at hand, and that Guzokh obviously could not have known about it when he had come here. It's all planned out. He's definitely playing along with his patron. And it would be strange if Nevroh put someone in his former position who is not loyal to him. And now his own hands will clean up what he didn't clean up himself, now completely unafraid of the consequences. In case of what happens, he will simply appoint a new metropolitan and will exterminate heresy and everything dissenting in the SCK with renewed vigor.

— Who needs it, this week? No…" Samoh replied. — I'm not here for that. You can keep this private method to yourself… I'm just passing through. I came to see an old friend.

Guzokh was almost twenty-five years older than Samokh, and certainly never considered him a friend. He hadn't seen him in action yet, but the rumors were unequivocal. Samokh hit his opponents rarely, but he hit them hard. Only when he was sure of his complete superiority. A very suitable method against special services.

— So why do you need a more luxurious place to stay than mine if you won't even stay here?

— Because those low-born, empty creatures from the SCK shouldn't even think to behave with me as they please. — Samoh snapped at him. His voice was full of hatred for everything

that not only met, but could even meet on his path. — And you, Honorable Brother Priest Guzokh, should think about that….

After such a heated tirade, his breath cooled a little, he looked again at the panel with the image of the Black Stone and, without turning to his interlocutor, continued:

— How many heretics have you found here?

— Heretics? There's no working class here anymore. Only men work in the mine. The plagues of the imperial army are firm in their faith. And the CCC is already in your charge.

— No one, then… Okay, okay… Let's see how Neuroch likes it.

— Of course we will see… But still I will remind you, my dear brother. That we serve our faith, Zhah. — Guzokh smoothly pointed his hand at the panel. — And our most holy patriarch is but an elder brother.

Samoh stood and tried to sizzle him with a glare. But Guzokh went on:

— It is our sacred duty to strengthen the chums in the faith, not to punish them in vain. It is more profitable to bring back to the Church than to exterminate them. And all those who might stray in the sector of Crito I have firmly established in their faith. Except for the brothers of the CCC, who are beyond my control.

The last word was literally a counter-attack. He, who had just boasted of his courage, could now boldly take on a task with a result worthy of him, and, so to speak, set an example of "proper" work, if there was reason to do so. This made Samoh even more angry:

— You have thought it out well… Good… But you will see how to deal with them

"correctly"… And think very carefully, very carefully. How will you repeat these words when I find the heresy you've overlooked!

— If you find the heresy that I have overlooked, I will be eternally grateful to you, my dear friend… Of course, if it really is heresy and not someone's speculation.

Samoh left the cell, slamming the door. Then came his loud footsteps and a distant scolding at one of the guards.

This is how Guzoch once envisioned Nevroh. The one who would passionately fight the most hidden dangerous heresy in the BCC. Fiercely, openly and implacably. It would seem that this should now be a closed gestalt, but it was nothing of the sort. Neuroch has simply found a hothead and an executioner who will tear and thrash until he is sewn up like a rabid dog, legal or not. The CCC has many methods. And they are clearly more cunning at this point.

Since they have thought of an extraordinary step to hand over the entire Donetsk-Makeyevka group to the people in order to remove all opportunities for inquisition, they will not go backwards now for sure.

Still, it's very interesting to see who they've entrusted it all to. They call him Horus, and he is now the prefect of the seven sectors. I wouldn't think of making any agreements with him, but nobody ever thought of making agreements with the Hiwi. And now it's a force more powerful than the Imperial army. Things change, things change. And certainly, what needs to be changed is the patriarch with someone who is worthy and strong in his faith.

Bolotnikov

— Does anyone take this seriously at all? — Bolotnikov looked at Khmelnitsky, still quite calm. He was really uncomfortable at the thought that Ranierov had not been decimated, and that he and his penalty battalion were one step away from something more dangerous.

— Who cares about that? — Khmelnitsky replied, looking at a poster hanging on the wall with a skull in a beret, their new symbol for a punitive unit. It was pasted on so that the real emblem, the attacking falcon that had once been used to make the trident, was not visible underneath.

— Yeah, of course not. All I cared about was where the informant would be found. Who the informant would be found with. And who that informant will be is a tenth question… But still. Are you sure we got the right guy?

— Sergei, I don't know… All we have is our speculation and information from the Mountain. That Raniere's a jackal is already known to everyone. And the only thing that doesn't add up is his behavior, which doesn't fit the behavior of an informer, who should be quieter than water, lower than grass. But you know… It's quite possible that that was his tactic. He'd get caught, he'd be like, "am I stupid to put myself in harm's way?" So what we got from The Mountain is still out there.

And it looks like nothing's gonna change in the next three days…

The fact that there was an informer in Squad 14 had long been known to the top brass, but the rank and file were fully convinced that there were only friends around. And when Ranierov was sent to the brig, where he had been many times before for drunkenness, most of them had no questions about the reasons. But they did not keep him there longer than three days, and at the end of them it was necessary to decide whether to accuse him officially and tell everyone the truth in order to bring the case to execution, or to let him go as an innocent man, if there was not enough evidence of his guilt.

At the mention of the word "jackal" Bolotnikov immediately recalled his recent conversation with a man who bore the same name. The jackal from Khivi had said that soon Gora would have new mines at his disposal, which meant that his influence would grow disproportionately more than before. He'll be treated very differently. And it will lead to very different results. It is not clear when it will happen, and what the Mountain knows about it. And from this it may follow, whether he has not intentionally leaked to us the one whom we would be glad to kill ourselves, just to make it look the most credible. Like, I did you a favor, acted honestly and in proportion to my strength, so now you do something for me.

And what could the Mountain demand now? They were already doing nothing that would interfere with him in any way. Their sabotage operations were only directed against the plagues and their infrastructure. Though… Things were changing. If people began to set their own punishments and rewards, then the infrastructure must change eventually. And yet the Mountain is silent. He didn't say anything about the recent raids, and especially about the explosion on the outer communication lines, which temporarily stopped the transportation of coal by the shortest route.

Should the Mountain care about that or not?

— Vitya, I have my doubts…" Bolotnikov said. Such behind-the-scenes games were not for him at all, but it was already clear that if he did not participate in them, defeat was inevitable.

Khmelnitsky looked at him questioningly.

— Vitya… About Zubkov, we would never have thought he was such a rat….

Khmelnitsky wrinkled his face — and understandably so, it concerns him most of all:

— No, we never would have thought–

— Gora leaked Ranierov to us. And the facts only point to him. There are no other candidates. No one who has family left at the mine. No one who would have run away in the last few years… At the same time, I know a few people who might fall into this category. I don't have the data he does, of course. But it doesn't add up. We've had a lot of people defect to us, and no one else has any living relatives left in the mine?

Khmelnitsky stood silent, unblinking. It was unclear whether he liked such words or not.

The major continued:

— Remember that girl. Maria. The one who escaped from the mine six months ago, and they asked us to find her. We didn't. That's what we told them. But that doesn't mean she's dead. And her father, by the way, is a deputy foreman… We have another candidate who escaped from the mine, leaving her family alive. I'm not saying anything about her, but Gora said clearly — he has no other options but Ranierov for the role of a snitch… How can you be so unambiguous?

— Sergei, you know… you're fucking with me. — Khmelnitsky said calmly. — I'm sick of defending this asshole. Tell me straight, do you think that Ranierov does not deserve the death penalty for what he did?

— What does that have to do with it? If he deserved to be punished for his past, then he should have been executed.

— I should have. But they didn't. And then they regretted it, but it was too late.

— So now we're supposed to execute him for something he didn't do? And let the real informant walk free? And snitch on us all he wants?

— One. Raniere deserved it a long time ago. Two. A real informant, if there is one, will only relax if we catch him. And then he'll be easier to catch. Three. If you want to do your lawyering, you and Zhivenko should do it together. He fucks me up as much as you do. And fourth and finally. I'm no longer the commander in chief here, I'm just the commander of a punishment unit. If I wanted to do something, I don't have the authority to do it. Zubkov got his way, so he's the one who's gonna have to deal with this shit.

All short and to the point. Yes, possessing exactly these qualities Khmelnitsky once became the leader of "Detachment 14", and then also absorbed the surrounding independent units, making "Detachment 14" the largest among all the Maquis of the Slavic Column.

Dima, Misha Zhivenko's new deputy, rumbled into the house. Since the recent shooting and the capture of the prisoner from the Khivi, he had only become more active in moving his legs and moving his brain more actively, as if he had been given a second life to make things right. Now he wasn't even out of breath, though it was obvious that he had been running from afar:

— There was an ambush. Near the Deese sector.

— An ambush? — Khmelnitsky waggled his eyebrow in surprise. They were preparing an ambush, counting on the fact that the plagues would begin to repair the recently blown up roads, and thus it would be possible not only to postpone the repair work, but also to inflict new damage in manpower.

— Hiwi. They discovered our positions, and attacked at the same time… Only nothing came back, ten men.

Ancient Roman military rule — "If an ambush is detected in time, you can do more damage than what those who were preparing the ambush were going to do. And so it was. Two companies were lost almost entirely. And where the Maquis positions were particularly strong. This goddamn Deez sector is a tricky one.

Prefect

There's no such thing as too much power. No, there's no such thing as too much. And you especially realize that when you get more. Gora had thought about these things a long time ago, when he had been pondering the structure of the Chum Empire. It seemed to him that everyone there reveled in power and had no conscious ability to stop. Back then, he had considered that a weakness. Now he considered it a weakness that they couldn't hold power properly, especially in one hand.

That's the most important thing. One goal, one head, one leader. There was something about that slogan. Something long forgotten, but eerily similar. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that he's got it all now. And he knows how to handle it.

Gora walked along his office. It was now much richer than it had been before: a cabinet at the entrance with machine guns, ammunition, and grenades, a second cabinet in the corner with documents and clothing, a nightstand near the desk where he kept his current necessities, a large flag with a crossed axe and pickaxe under a large white fang on a black background-the new symbol of the Prefectorate. On top of that, he had another room cut into the depths, where he now slept. Three of Tikhomirov's security detail were always on duty near the entrance.

Tikhomirov already had three subdivisions: a "security" unit for the safety of individuals, a GRB (rapid response group) to prevent possible riots or attacks from outside, and an "assault" unit for possible future occupation of new positions. How to use the assault team hasn't even crossed my mind yet — the plague will give as much as they give. But still I wanted more and wanted to take it by force. It was only important to wait for the time to do it.

Yeah, none of that existed just three months ago. And now there are seven mines in subordination, and the paths between them, and the infrastructure on the surface, and even has its own army, although very hidden from prying eyes.

Hora realized that if he had not once surrendered the Bulgarians before their revolt, if he had not come with a bow to the plagues, and nothing like this would have happened. But even that was not enough. It was necessary not only to prove his loyalty to the plague empire, it was also necessary that it was convincing.

There it is. Power. And it must be held not with strong hands, but with a far-sighted mind. That's the only way it can be solid and lead to something. When it's done strategically. Then you can be sure that it won't evaporate the next day or slip through your fingers like sand. You're only sure when it's strategically calibrated. And those fools who once held it by brute force didn't realize one simple thing — they could quietly succeed in front of ordinary people, but inside the system it doesn't work. Only calculation works within the system.

So far, only Tikhomirov understands that. This is what his son Rafael should have been. Intelligent, calculating, restrained. And not a stupid strong-willed romantic who wants a better life for his family and rushes headlong into new obstacles. How did it end? There is no Raphael now…

And there is power. And there will be more. You just have to get the math right.

This morning he received a letter. A very strange and equally interesting letter. It was from a plague, apparently a priest of the Church, who introduced himself as a faithful adherent of the Zhakh faith, as he called himself:

"To Mr. Prefect.

I am writing in your Russian language so as not to waste your time on translations.

Congratulations on your new acquisitions. The six new mines are very valuable and will do you good service, I'm sure. And for my part, as a staunch adherent of the Jah faith, I have nothing against it.

Moreover, I am even ready to support this decision. And in the future, if we succeed, I am ready to give you disproportionately greater influence and territories under your control. You understand the territory I'm talking about.

As my contribution to our long term relationship and first step, I will give you a small gift.

I'll help you keep your place and your current, I'm not afraid of the word, gains. With a kind word.

Which you won't be without in the next few days.

The good word is in the information you will receive in this letter.

Metropolitan Samoh will be raiding one of your subordinate sectors the other day. Not the one you've settled in personally. But a neighboring sector. He's trying out his forces, so to speak.

Neither the imperial army nor the SCIU will offer him any resistance.

But his ultimate goal is right next to you. And a week or two later, he'll show up with a raid on you. Believe me, he's not interested in you personally. He's after the high-ranking plagues of the CCC. But when he deals with them, you can be sure that your achievements will be nullified soon and everything will go back to the way it was before.

Now you are aware of the danger ahead of you. I have no doubt that you will find the right solution and come out of all this victorious.

Upon reading it, burn this letter. And I hope that my help will make you from a human prefect to a Mr. Prefect respecting the holy faith of Jah."

He didn't burn the letter, of course. How could such a thing be burned. It might still be useful, and there were a thousand ways of doing it… The person who wrote it was evidently very much afraid that it might fall into the wrong hands. So much so that he didn't even write it in the plague language. That nice remark that he didn't want to waste a person's time translating is nothing more than a basic digression to confuse.

And it is particularly interesting that it seems to be, indeed, someone from the highest circles of the plague Church. The confrontation between the Church and the CCC was no longer a white spot in the architecture of the plague empire. It permeated all areas of the plagues and over time became an increasing problem in maintaining stability.

From the material received from Shinhra, Gora saw several denunciations within the structure of the SCF on the activities of individual members reproached for collaboration with the Inquisition. This was all the more significant because the nature of such denunciation contained as high a degree of disgust at what had been done as the importance of stopping it. The SCF must have been very wary of the Inquisition, and apparently lacked a full-fledged plan of action.

As for the humans, the people of the Church, much less the Inquisition, were understandably not accountable at all, which was most likely why the Mountain Prefecture had expanded so much in the past few months. The CCC feared the Inquisition more than they feared the people.

At the same time, the priest who leaked such valuable information to the Mountain with this letter is obviously playing for the SCK in this case. It's still hard to understand his motives, but it's certain that the current Samoh raid won't play into his hands. Maybe it's a matter of personal animosity, maybe it's some far-reaching plans, but one thing is clear — the information about the Inquisition's swift act against SCK in the Diza sector is reliable.

And there can't even be any doubt that the local target of the Deez sector is Anankhr.

Gora has over the past six months well studied and realized how Ananhr is an important bird in the SCK hierarchy. In all likelihood, she is someone's protégé with high hopes for the future. At the same time, it was highly likely that she had family ties somewhere in the highest circles of the imperial administration. This was evidenced by the fact that female chums were simply not assigned to similar positions, and this was an obvious exception. To assume that this exception was born of personal qualities rather than connections was too unrealistic. 1 in 100, if not 1 in 1000… No, it was obviously some kind of connection. And that's also why the Inquisition wants to strike here, getting a valuable hostage.

There was a knock on the door:

— May I?

It was Konstantin Bogatyi, now as deputy prefect he was in charge of production in 7 mines, fulfilling the specified norms exactly on time.

— Yes, come in, darling.

Rich walked in and stood almost at attention. He had long been uncomfortable when he entered this room. As time went on, his gaze became the same as it had been when he used to look at the plague-wardens.

— Gavi, it's done. We met the deadline. — Rich was instructed to organize a drilling rig at one more mine, and at two others to prepare them for work in case of need. Now the miners did not work with picks and shovels in the face sector — now everything was done by diesel-powered machines. And it was not a problem for all seven mines to submit production figures, and the free hands were used for new repair and construction works or in Tikhomirov's units. Actually, half a thousand of his fighters now seemed not such a luxury — it looked like it was time to create local units of territorial defense.

— Is the second route holding the load?

— Yes. It's even stocked up. There's enough capacity there even if we double the supply.

The second route is the same route that the Mountain once advocated to Cobre. That they had to use it, that it created difficulties, that they should use the outer transportation route and it would save a lot of time and resources. This was not quite true, of course.

All this time, Gora had ample justification for extending the second and even third underground routes as well. It was true that transportation along them was a bit longer and more inconvenient than along the surface routes, but thanks to the latest construction work to expand and optimize the routes, the prefect was able to organize a coherent system of communication between sectors and, most importantly, to fully control the timing of this communication according to the chart of the routes: the travel time from one mine to another was not only prescribed on paper, but also exactly fulfilled.

— Let's take a walk. — said Gora and left the office.

The people around him tried to hardly look at him as he passed by. They tried to be more on the case, doing good. Some might think it was out of respect for his authority, some might think it was because of the tangible benefits and good that Hora brought to everyone, but in reality it was all about fear. People now feared him more than they feared the plagues, not knowing what to expect next. From the plagues they always knew what could be and in what case — the only difference could only be the degree of punishment for provinces. But they had not seen logic in the prefect's behavior for a long time.

He could punish for something that was not done on time, or he could forgive for a gross mistake, and publicly. It was an approach to management that no one could fit in their head. And that was the Gora's intention. After all, in his logic, the reaction to something followed not only on the basis of the deed, but also on the basis of the personalities of the actors, as well as the situation. And the main thing in making the final decision of each individual case lay not in the plane of justice or some rules, but in the area of how his decision would affect the state of others.

Gora knew very well that he was controlling people, not machines. That something verified in the rules does not always work in the human mind. The logic of the mind in reality adjusts to reality, but it is always worth understanding the vector of this reality. And, only by following this vector, it is possible to manage people effectively. Efficiency — this is what all the prefect's efforts in management were subordinated to.

They had reached the starting point of the second underground path from the Diza sector. A large tunnel now with two tracks. There were cradles on the sides of the tunnel, which could be closed with a steel plate. Two men from Tikhomirov's security unit were on duty at the very entrance. The tunnel was heading toward the Krito sector, and the travel time was now an hour and a half, instead of the three and a half hours it had taken before. Somewhere along the way was the same "plague cave" in which Raphael had once died. His body still lay buried there, and Hora had not yet dared to go there in person again. Yet then, something in him had twisted or broken. When he saw his dead son. When he had no family left. Though… Maybe he'd still have a grandchild… The thought made him try to stir something alive in his chest, but no more. There's no life there anymore — there's only combinations and decisions.

— Mr. Prefect," came from behind. Tikhomirov. With a letter of some kind. It would have been an interesting life if letters meant so much. You used to get something, usually from the Maquis, and sit there sad, but now you get one and seriously change your future plans.

The letter was from a chiwi:

"Get up to the surface and take the job."

***

The elevator was working better now, too. In fact, it was no longer just an elevator, but a full-fledged freight elevator whose speed had been increased several times. There were several people who operated it alternately. Each man had an F-1 grenade. In such a confined space, in case of an explosion, there could be no survivors. And the setting was one — to blow up with whomever the prefect ordered, and when he ordered. That's what it sounded like to those who had to carry it out. Although in Gora's mind the phrase sounded with the ending "if ordered".

Gora had only been to the surface once as a prefect. He didn't want to look out over the wide expanse of land and realize that somewhere in the distance his daughter-in-law and grandson, who might soon be born, must be alive or dead. And his home was underground after all.

— Oh. What people…" Cobra announced. Beside him stood the same heavily armed fighters as last time. Apparently, the others were covering the perimeter without fear of what might happen inside it. The men of the Mountain, not so heavily armed, were looking at the Hiwi with a little interest, perhaps trying on their image, and at the surroundings, trying to see where the others might be hiding. Though in such darkness and lack of lighting, it was unlikely that anyone could be seen.

— That was fast. — The Mountain nodded his head. — How many were there?

— 238. And the seven ran away. — smiled Cobra. — That's a good haul all at once… They were preparing an ambush, apparently, for chums who wanted to fix the road. Well, we weren't gonna fix the road. We don't need it… That's why we saw through the ambush in no time… They are weak, of course. They're used to doing everything by the book, but when it comes to business, they don't know what's what… Well, are you satisfied?

— Quite pleased. — The prefect looked around, at the mangled railroad platform with the roof collapsed on it, at the crumpled railroad tracks and the occasional human body, which had apparently been blown apart by the explosion. — You work fast.

— You bet! Brave guys know what they're doing. — Cobra smiled again. — Well, now it's your turn… We've freed these routes. Do what you want with them… We're interested in your underground routes. We want to use them for our own needs.

No wonder they asked for it. It's the most valuable resource he has at the moment. Using it, the chivi can move their units in unnoticed. And launch new strikes against the Maquis, eventually changing the status quo in the Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping. Everything is quite expected, except that the question remained whether they know that the underground routes are thoroughly improved or just trying to take what they can. It will be very useful for the future to know the answer to this question.

— You can refuse us, of course," Cobra continued, smiling again. — But, you realize we'll be a little offended, so to speak.

— All I need is to know your travel needs in advance so I can prepare everything… These routes are already taken, and to fit you in I'll have to cancel some of mine… That's not a problem, but I need to know in advance. You give me a day's notice, you get the route. If you don't, you don't get it. That's the first condition.

Cobra smiled. He could see that he was dealing with a very difficult man, one who should be respected first and foremost. And he was obviously better to have among friends than enemies.

— You're cunning, Prefect. Cunning. — Cobra smiled again, though not as smugly as before. — Your condition will do.

Commander-in-Chief

When the new commander of Squad 14 was informed of the near total destruction of two companies near the Deese sector, he was more surprised than upset. He had lost many times more in operations, but never had it been such a surprise… And at the same time, when he had lost men in the past, he had gotten the worst of it from Khmelnitsky… That brainless shirtless guy who thought that he was at the mercy of the sea….

He had once gathered more and more units around him, made Unit 14 the largest, but that was his only merit. He couldn't command or strategize. Not at all. Just a few instructions to plug a hole or prepare a new raid. Nothing. Absolutely nothing on the scale of the plagues.

Zubkov was sick of it. To follow these rotten orders as long as something was not jeopardized. This "as long as not" was the Achilles' heel of his leadership. That was how Zubkov was able to lure to his side the three supreme judges, and part of the special forces headed by Seversky, and individual commanders who wanted something more than just hiding in holes from the empire.

And the judges didn't come cheap. The first one was easier. All he had to do was find a good-looking whore for his intimate pleasures. Younger and with serious experience. There was not much choice, but he had to convince her that the best candidate was 15 years younger than she really was… But, in fact, without glasses he wouldn't be able to see it anyway.

The second one was a little more complicated. He's the one who gets the plague money. I wonder how exactly he's going to spend it. Buy land and titles from the empire? Or buy what?

Actually, it doesn't matter so much when he's already agreed to it, having received his own.

But the third was the most difficult — he wanted two battalions for personal use. Well, we managed that too. Although a bit pathetic to give such a mediocre combat forces, but the goal was worth it. In short, he still did not mention the quality of these battalions, so he received the most slag from the long-joined "Detachment 14" and already decayed battalions № 210 and № 240. The names were still with numbers, from the good old days, when they tried to attribute a bigger number to themselves to make it seem that there were probably as many units as well.

Seversky did not have to be persuaded for a long time, especially since he himself hinted that he was ready to get even with Bolotnikov and any of his friends. And it was enough to convince him that Khmelnitsky was his old friend. And at the same time to push the idea that

Khmelnitsky himself was extremely weak and ineffective in the leadership of "Detachment 14".

Of course I'm weak. If he wasn't weak, he wouldn't have overlooked all these preparations. And in general, it would be worth thinking about — what if all these developments were made not by him, a patriot, and the enemy plague? What then? The whole army would have developed… He is an old fool. Khmelnitsky. He expected that everyone around him supports him and considers him almost a father. Well, not many people turned out to support him. Now they're sitting together in their penal battalion. That's where they belong. Although, it must be admitted, so far they've been quite successful. And one of them, the Jackal from the chiwi, turned out to be a big shot. He's told us so much already.

Of course, first of all, he told that he had told a lot of things to Bolotnikov, who had already taken him prisoner. Still, we should be careful with him — you'll give them impossible tasks, and they'll do something to solve them… But the Jackal himself told a lot: and about the confrontation between the SCK and the Church, and about new opportunities of Zheleznov in the grouping "Donetsk-Makeevka", and about how much they know about "Detachment 14". The latter was especially striking — it turns out that the Kiwis have their own informant among the Maquis. And this is the same as the informant of the chums. And whether it's the one they found thanks to Zheleznov. It's Ranierov or not.

It's hard to say. Zubrilov had already become confused by all these informants in the last six months. Especially since he personally leaked some information to the plagues. Like in the case of Kremenchug. This party was too favorable for him. And it paid off! To sacrifice a little to seize the initiative…

But as for the rest, it was no longer him. A lot of information, including the fact that he had become Commander-in-Chief, was not spread with his knowledge, and some real informant of the Chum or the Kiwi still existed in his Squad 14. A real one, or several.

Ranierov had been pointed out by the prefect. The data he had provided left no doubt that Ranierov had every reason to snitch to the plague, and given his character, it should have been a matter of course. But now the situation had changed dramatically — Zubkov, now in charge, did not benefit from anyone leaking anything without his knowledge. Whether it was one person or several, any leak was now only to his detriment. And given the speed at which all kinds of information was spreading, it was becoming dangerous.

Raniere or not? It made absolutely no sense at all to execute an innocent man, even though it was that type. He had more than once added fuel to the fire of the conflicts around him, which in reality amused Zubkov greatly. As Khmelnitsky, gnashing his teeth, could not do anything with him. But now at the top is no longer Khmelnitsky. And new antics of this inadequate will not lead to anything useful. We have to get rid of him somehow anyway. But it should not interfere in the search for a real informant.

Zubkov noticed that after only half an hour he no longer doubted Ranierov's innocence, and considered what was happening only from the point of view of political reality. He really liked this feeling… For so long it was necessary to adjust to someone, to tolerate frankly stupid decisions and eat someone else's orders, regularly trumping the military salute. Now it was different. Now he could decide whether to execute this man or not, based solely on his own personal decision, and no one else's…

But it's still worth thinking about and weighing the pros and cons for now. It was quite possible that this soup might come in handy in the future. Zubkov looked at his surroundings: a large oak table and the same strong high-backed chair, a minibar filled with various alcoholic infusions, a lacquered sideboard with a collection of guns inside and, of course, the flag with the image of an attacking falcon on the whole wall. Actually, to be fair, it should be noted that it was Khmelnitsky's merit… Not those stupid proudly standing eagles and warlike archangels, but an attacking falcon. That's the way to do it. Attack and take the prey at a strictly controlled moment, and not sit in place, clutching swords, scepters and other paraphernalia of monarchs in their paws. Grab the prey on the fly — that's what you should do! And any fool can rest on his laurels, looking at his possessions… Maybe that's why they lost everything to the plagues in the beginning, because there were too few miners and only sitters around. Were they all hatching eggs? Golden eggs, if they were so confident… But they were useless when it came to the apocalypse.

And yet, what we have now in the dry remains. Zheleznov gaining strength in the DonetskMakeyevka group. Apparently covering him are the Kiwis, who have just covered two companies at once near the outer transportation routes of the Diza sector. How connected were the two phenomena to each other? Zubkov wouldn't think of Zheleznov realistically considering defecting to the Chum side, based on the current situation, but he would do so himself. Why wouldn't he, in fact? The Heavies are good cover, much better than the Maquis. The plagues are no longer a hindrance, but rather a help. Life's pretty much back to normal. Why continue a war and help the Maquis? No reason at all. It will be even more convenient to weaken them so that they do not interfere….

Zheleznov himself could have set up the Maquis to fail in the Deese sector. Theoretically he could, but the timing doesn't add up. You'd have to plan it in advance to make it go off now. A couple months to prepare, no less. And back then, a couple of months ago, Zheleznov had only one mine and no Heavies… He needed the Maquis then. Could he be thinking about going somewhere else? He could have. There's nothing to stop him. But he couldn't do it. It's too dangerous. Sure, he's a high-stakes gambler and he's not afraid to bet high, but still. It doesn't seem right. He can't risk it.

It's not him. It would have to be too complicated and complex for it to add up. He clearly didn't expect this kind of success with the chiwis himself. Which begs another question: how did they get so lucky? In the past, they haven't allowed themselves such independent operations without the authorization of the Chums, and especially not without the authorization of the Imperial Army. And this looks exactly like that. Why did they suddenly get so brave and start operating on their own? This Jackal keeps pointing to the CCC and the Church, that they're in the middle of a fight.

Maybe that's why the Kiwis are getting active. Higher the stakes, higher the payoff.

Yeah, the Jackal told me a lot of things. Maybe I should have hit him harder. Would he have told more then? What else could he not have said? I'll never know. We'll never know now. And we'd better wait for some kind of expertise from Schwarzenberg, he's taking a long time to sort out his autopsy….

Zubrilov's head was already full of thoughts that becoming a chiwi himself would not be as bad as it seemed before. But only thoughts. He understood perfectly well that he would not be able to run and jump in front of the plague administration. He couldn't share his hard-earned power, blood and sweat, with anyone. He didn't have to work so hard to take the throne and swear oaths to someone else… Even though the Kiwis looked very attractive now…..

Zubrilov looked around the room again, then stretched out on the back of a chair and pulled out a map. The main forces of Detachment 14 were now located in the area of Severodonetsk. It was supposed to move the main fighting to the Donetsk-Makeyevka area, but after the obvious complications with the Kiwis in the Deese sector, there were doubts about the correctness of such a move. We should stay away from them… Although the guys won't really understand how we can easily retreat after such a loss. They might think we're weak. No. We should do a couple more surgeries. Something small and subtle, but very painful. And make sure it's in places where honor has recently been sullied… And then go deep. So that everyone will think it was meant to be.

The chief took the telephone receiver and called the chief of the special forces to him. It's a convenient thing to have, after all — unwind the wires all over the area, and sit there and talk without interference. But the old man was so stubborn — he didn't want to install it. He kept sending everyone to run away. He said we should talk to people in person. Well, then he would run and call everyone… Actually, now he's running. He's had enough with his traditions and complexes. Let him eat shit according to tradition…

The new head of Special Forces walks into the office. His hands are bloody to the knuckles.

Shouldn't have trusted the Jackal in the first place. Maybe more would have been learned.

— Lieutenant Colonel Seversky has arrived on your orders.

— Have a seat, Lieutenant Colonel… There's a case for you… In the Disa sector…..

Inquisitor

The Korsa sector looked quite typical for the new realities of the Donetsk-Makeyevka group: there were no more plagues at the mine itself, armed men were on duty in the tunnel, and the administration of the plagues sat on the surface. Samoh didn't think this was something incomprehensible — the SChK had done everything to keep the power of the Inquisition from spreading in this area. At the same time, they could not leave it entirely to chance, and a chief from the SChK was still present.

There was an elevator leading to the surface as usual. However, it was slightly different from what Samokh had seen before. This one had a cabin one and a half times higher and moved more smoothly, and most importantly — faster. That even surprised him — could it be that humans had perfected such a thing? Of course, all this was not from a good life, but the result was obvious — people worked more efficiently when they were not so tight as before in the framework of unconditional obedience. I even had a fleeting thought that the SCK's foray into autonomy was not a move against the Church at all, but a gesture of pragmatism… No, nonsense, of course. They care so much about the speed and volume of coal mining…

Also, the man who operated the elevator was interesting. Especially his eyes. Everyone in the mine now had eyes more alive than before in Samoh's opinion. But this one's were sparking a little. As if he knew something that no one else was supposed to know. The eyes of a man a little detached from his daily problems, and ready at any moment for some desperate action. It was even a little frightening. And it was especially frightening that probably no one else noticed it. People are becoming dangerous. Let go of the leash just a little, and they snap. The careerists from SCK don't understand such things, they think they're invincible….

On the surface, Samoh was met by an officer from the SCF who was as friendly with him as the one in the Crito sector, eventually assigning him a two-room apartment:

— Our arrival is an honor, Metropolitan Priest Samoh.

— I understand, Colonel. — Without looking at him the inquisitor replied. — Have we fully prepared the tracks and platform as we requested?

— Of course, Your Eminence. We're ready for you now.

— All the better. The train will arrive in half an hour. — This answer clearly surprised the SSchekist, but he said nothing, and Samokh continued. — Take me to your patron.

The patron of the local SCS sat in a substantial sized administrative building formerly used by the civilian administration of the plague empire. To the former decoration special services added a little luxury in the form of paintings on the walls and a bust with the image of their founder Dzarinhra, the plague, who five hundred years ago spent half his life in prison for trying to overthrow the current government, and after the revolution was released and invited to create a new body of state security. At that time, the SCK was still called GUCHK (General Directorate of Black Stone), but over time, this name was definitely said to change, too pompous it looked. The methods of SCK changed from exemplary to ruthless even earlier.

— What an honor! — Bazankhr exclaimed, waving his hands in a majestic manner. It was not the first time Samokh had seen this colonel of the SCK — he had once watched Bazankhr drinking with someone at a reception to celebrate the millennium of the Imperial Ministry of Transportation. He had been very cheerful and talkative on various offbeat topics then. Apparently, someone had once taught him not to talk about work matters while drunk. — We would be blessed to have your blessing for our service, Metropolitan Priest Samoh.

— That's not why I'm here. — answered Samokh. — But if you insist, of course I'll give my blessing. A little later… In the meantime, tell me, Colonel. Are there many doubts in the souls of your subordinates?

— There is no doubt when all time is spent in service to the Black Stone. Our employees pray regularly, which gives them strength. And your visit will only strengthen them in the fulfillment of their difficult duty.

I haven't seen any church buildings to pray in. — The inquisitor said, looking around.

— Oh. We have a chapel, which was recently consecrated by one of your clergymen who passed by our location. I've forgotten his name…" said Bazankhr, smiling sweetly. He was obviously lying about both the chapel and the passing priest, which couldn't be the case, but it was impossible not to make up a lie on the fly. He had just been caught in a certain kind of violation of the Church's rites — it was forbidden to pray by oneself without any presence of the Church. Either a proper plague, with a holy right and privy to the mystery, or a place suitably arranged and consecrated, was required.

— Show me that chapel. There I will conduct a prayer service for the good of our cause.

— Of course. I will personally show it to you. — Bazankhr pointed to the door and moved forward, but before he left, he suddenly turned around and said loudly to his deputy. — Oh, and, that errand I said earlier needs to be done urgently. While the priest-metropolitan Samokh and I are in the chapel.

They stepped out into the corridor and moved toward the stairs. There were more and more paintings of warlike plagues, in armor and with cold weapons, striking their enemies.

— Colonel, what is this urgent errand that you need to do on my arrival? — realizing that it was obviously not a short walk, Samokh asked.

— Oh. Of course, improving security measures upon your arrival… You know, there is no such thing as too much security, even though we recently defeated another Maquis battalion in the Diza sector… Your safety is especially important to us.

Samokh had heard about the incident, but according to his sources, it was a Hivi group fighting there, not the JFK. And Maquis casualties were counted as two companies, not a whole battalion. But you can't catch me by the hand about the Hivis, because everyone knows the role of the KFOR in the organization and management of these units. And whether it was a battalion or two companies, you can't prove anything at all — according to the papers, the KFK will reflect the number in a specific figure, and next to it they will add the corresponding Maquis unit, and in this case it will be possible to say that the battalion was not full, and the retreating soldiers just took the bodies of their killed comrades with them — by such simple arithmetic it will turn out to be a battalion instead of two companies.

They went up to the third floor and went in the opposite direction. They reached the end again and began to ascend to the fourth floor. Bazankhr was clearly in uniform, but the six novices accompanying Samokh were already a little out of breath.

In the end, on the fourth floor we reached the middle of the building, found the right door, and then it turned out that the key was somewhere on the first floor:

— How ridiculous. — Bazankhre was indignant. It's all right. I'll get in touch and the key will be brought to us. He pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke loudly into it:

— This is Basalt-01. Basalt-02, take the chapel keys to the fourth floor, room 408.

Samoh was beginning to get bored with the spectacle:

— Colonel, don't your employees know what room the chapel is in?

— Of course they do. Of course… But it's one thing to know the way, and another to know the number… Nobody looks at the number. Everyone walks here by memory, not looking at the inscriptions…

— So they wouldn't have told them the room number now. They'd have come from memory.

— Your Eminence, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting. — almost bowed to the secret police. — It was only to show you the chapel as quickly as possible. I'm really sorry about the keys.

After only a minute and a half, Deputy Bazankhra appeared with the keys. Handing them over, he gave out another piece of news:

— Mr. Colonel, they moved the chapel to the third floor in the other wing of the building, right?

— How? When? — Bazanhr was sharply surprised, feigning a full range of amazement.

— After all, the clergyman said there was too much light in this room and told me to move it to another room at the earliest opportunity. Where it's dark.

Samoh was enraged at what he heard:

— Are you playing games with me, Colonel?! Mocking the holy church?!

The SS man almost bowed again:

— What-oh-you… What-oh-you… I had no idea… I apologize for this misunderstanding. My staff works too fast, sometimes you can't see how fast they follow commands… Please, let me show you the chapel.

Bazanhr didn't even wait for his words to be responded to in any way and rushed to the third floor to the exact opposite wing of the building.

This time the room was really something like a chapel. It was windowless, dusty, and looked more like a closet. It was obvious that it had been equipped in some way, and only to show what was expected to be seen: a small altar, candlesticks and pedestals for placing prayer candles, icons depicting the Black Stone and the priests worshipping it, all very small or pocket-sized.

Samoh was disgusted by the sight, but he couldn't help but recognize that it could still be a chapel. Well, the main thing was yet to come.

— I will pray for our common cause, and you repeat after me. — said the inquisitor to the colonel and walked to the center of the room. — In the name of the sacred Black Stone I conjure… May the Black Stone and all its power, which has given us victory and greatness, be glorified… May we punish and destroy those who have strayed from our sacred faith… May this day be the brightest day in the history of our deeds… May we defeat heresy within these walls and be strengthened in our faith by all means….

The Scekist, standing a little behind, kept repeating and repeating and with each word getting quieter and quieter, which in the end turned into an unrecognizable muttering.

— Now help my men get settled. — Samokh turned and said.

— Of course, of course. We've prepared everything. — The whole platoon will fit in there, and there will be plenty of room for seven tents!

— My novices' drill has arrived. Your subordinates will report to you now.

Samokh's sense of time never failed him, capable of calculating individual events down to the minute. And indeed, in a few seconds, the radio started talking:

— Basalt-01, this is Basalt-06. The new train of the Holy Church has arrived. Three cars. Do you want me to let them through?

Bazanhr hesitated. Neither his gaze nor any of his facial features suggested that he was embarrassed by anything, but that second's hesitation showed that something had not gone as he had hoped:

— Yes, of course… Show them into the reception hall.

On the way to this hall, they were no longer winding their way up and down the stairs. Bazankhr did not turn around at all, nor did he warn them against sharp turns and high steps as they followed him. It was obvious that he was in a hurry to see for himself those who had arrived in such numbers at his subordinate facility.

The picture surprised him beyond belief. If he could have turned pale, he would have been white as milk in an instant. His heartbeat quickened, though he made no sign of it. Yes, this is what happens to all plagues when they first see the "unspoken resource" of the holy Church in this case represented by the heavily-armed punitive brown Inquisition. These novices were stout, big plagues with languid glassy eyes that didn't seem to blink at all. They stood in formation as if in a straight line, unwilling to even shift from foot to foot.

Gentility, chastity and obedience. These were the three basic rules for combat novices from the punitive units of the Inquisition. At the same time, the first two did not particularly worry their superiors: one could save money and lend it at interest, and even have his own small business, one could also enter into relations with the female sex, as long as it was not showy. But obedience was the cornerstone of the combat wing. What the priest said was a holy rule, and what the priest ordered was a holy duty. Orders were not discussed or commented upon. They were sacred. And in the entire history of the "unspoken resource" there had never been a single instance of violating that sanctity.

I see you are surprised, Colonel? — the inquisitor asked.

— Not at all. — I only see brothers who are faithful to the holy Church," answered Bazankhr, turning and looking straight into his eyes. That makes me feel better.

— All the better… But don't worry, they didn't come here for your sake… Moreover, we're all just passing through… I think you understand where we're going.

For all of Bazankhra's continued equanimity, it was obvious that a stone had been lifted from his shoulders, and he stood more relaxed than he had a moment ago:

— Your Eminence, we could go to my office and discuss this.

Samokh nodded, and they headed across the hall to the far end of it, then went through several narrow corridors and finally came to the former office of the karak of the Korsa sector. The office had clearly been stripped of all the luxuries that had gone before and replaced with another, equally lavish one: several paintings of plagues in officers' uniforms, a small bronze bust of the founder of the GHCC, and gold-adorned oak furniture-a massive desk with an equally massive armchair behind it, two high chairs in front of it, and a wide chest of drawers that held several crystal vases and, apparently, several gold statuettes inlaid with emeralds.

— Please have a seat. — Bazankhr offered and seated himself in one of the two chairs in front of the table, leaving his deputy behind him.

Samoh took a seat across from him while six of his novices positioned themselves behind him:

— That's not a bad idea with the chapel….

— All just to please the holy Church…..

— Enough with the pretense, Colonel. — Samokh spoke not loudly, but firmly enough. He could see that he didn't care that his whole drill was not sitting comfortably, but standing silently at attention, waiting for his patron's command. — My novices are loyal, and they know how to keep their mouths shut. Your second-in-command, I presume.

Bazanhr stopped trying to smile and even stopped moving, he seemed to freeze altogether and then coughed a little. Samokh continued:

— I've already said I'm not interested in you. And that this is not the place I'm interested in at all. I think you understand who I'm interested in and where that someone is.

— Of course, understanding…

— Then tell me, whose side are you on? On the side of the holy Church or on the opposite side?

— I… Not on anyone's side… I serve in the SCK, and you can see that I have achieved a lot… These portraits here… — Bazankhr pointed to two portraits of chums in officers' uniforms. — My grandfather and my father. They both served in the JFK, and I am following in their footsteps… As you can see, they are both of very high rank….

— All the more reason for you to tell me everything you know about Ananhr.

— With all due respect, Your Eminence, she's no match for you… She's no match for Neuroch, either, if you must hear it… Her older brother….

— I don't care about her older brother! — The inquisitor interrupted him somewhat angrily. — She has the entire Donetsk-Makeyevka group under her supervision now. And that's all I care about… What forces does she have?

Bazanhr mewled a little:

— She is guarded by a personal drill. I know the chums who serve in it, and I will tell you that they are as much about professionalism as they are about brutality. Otherwise it would be more than one Boer… Besides, the neighborhood is kept under control by the Hiwi.

— Who recently ambushed two Maquis companies. That I know… So only one drill of personal guards. I take it it's from the Guards… Yeah, not bad… How interested are the local chiwi in her?

— They don't know who she is. But they've been made to understand that no Maquis or anyone else is allowed near her. Not without her permission. And that the price for their mistake would be exorbitant… So without her permission, the chiwi won't let you in….

But you let all of mine through with your permission, didn't you?

— That is correct, Your Eminence…..

Samoh smiled:

— All right… Let's forget about this conversation… I think only friendly relations are ahead of us. I won't hide it, I see in you a great leadership ability and a plague worthy of our faith.

Otherwise, we would have had a very different conversation….

This seemed to have a strong effect on Bazankhra, and he relaxed somewhat.

— I'd like to have a drink with you. — said Samokh. — To our friendship.

Bazankhr, as if he had expected something like this, took a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the chest of drawers, poured them both, and, waiting until he could clink them together, drank them in one gulp. His eyes instantly became full of fresh colors of his surroundings, he obviously felt saved to some extent — if only such a picture with the arrived thugs from the Inquisition….

— Let's have another round. — Samokh pointed to the glasses.

Bazankhr immediately poured more brandy, and immediately, again barely waiting for the priest to take a drink, drank it in one gulp. Then he sprawled slightly in his chair:

— You know, Your Eminence… Still, you guys are tough, in the Church… I didn't realize you had units like this….

— We have a lot, Colonel. We just don't show it because we hope the people of our empire will be reasonable.

— What prudence can this cattle have… You do realize, Your Eminence, that without laws and penalties for its violation, there will be no order….

— Let's have another one…

Bazankhr smiled a slightly drunken smile. He was beginning to like the way he could raise a glass with the Metropolitan. Samokh was ahead of him, took the bottle by the neck and poured more for each of them. Without waiting for the inquisitor to take his own, Samokh drank to the bottom.

They sat for another fifteen minutes in a spirit of similar brotherly conversation. Bazankhr talked about his successes, clearly extolling his own abilities and the successful combinations that had brought him to the chair of such a high-level superior. His grandfather and father were quite pleased with him, and thought he was progressing ahead of schedule. He did not think of a wife or children at all, for at this stage they would only be a burden and would prevent him from growing further. He had not had much contact with the Church up to this point, and his main task was administrative functions in the management of fairly quiet areas of the empire, where there was contact with the Maquis. Thus, on paper, he had a very significant track record, without jeopardizing either his safety or the potential for failure. Samokh listened with satisfaction and occasionally praised his interlocutor for his moderation and reasonableness.

— Well, Colonel… — Samokh finally announced. — It was a pleasure to talk to you. I can only wish you further success….

He carefully stood up and swung his hand lightly:

— May our great Black Stone bless your service and keep you from making any mistakes…. Bazankhr was obviously very satisfied to overcome all these difficulties and to receive the Metropolitan's blessing at the end.

Samoh moved toward the exit, followed by his novices, but almost reaching the door, he turned around abruptly:

— Ah yes, Colonel, still find a decent place for a chapel in your establishment…..

— Of course, Your Eminence…

— She wasn't there before I got there. You organized it in no time.

— Yes, we wanted to please you….

— What was there before, if it's no secret? A closet?

— Oh, I should hate to say, Your Eminence," said the Colonel, smiling still more.

— All right…" the inquisitor calmly waved his hand at that.

That's where the garbage was stored before it was taken to the dump… The darkest room,so it wouldn't rot in the sun…

— HERESY!!! — wailed the inquisitor, raising a menacing forefinger at the SS. -

SACRILEGE!!! To desecrate the holy Church in such a manner. Seize him! — Samoh essentially waited for the confession that the chapel had been made without the authorization of an adherent of the Holy See and, not only that, it had been made in a lagoon.

Six novices rushed to the colonel and twisted him. He tried to say something and even fight back, but it was obvious that his hands were not obeying him, and after a couple of seconds he mumbled something to his deputy… Who stood there and did nothing. It was obvious that in this situation he would not mind to see his chief being grabbed and dragged away somewhere, and he would be left in his place. After all, under the current circumstances, if he started to interfere, he might well be brought to justice himself.

— My father is from the central apparatus! — shouted Bazankhr. — He'll blow your heads off!

— Sacrilege is punished very severely if the guilt is not immediately confessed. And a sincere petition for clemency is not immediately presented. I urge you to repent and confess your sins…..

— I'll shoot you, priest! And then I'll shoot your whole stinking church!

— Threatening the holy Church is punishable by death.

The novices dragged Bazankhra into the reception hall, and he was surprised to see his men standing quietly around him, watching peacefully. The Boer punishment unit was no longer standing in a row, but was scattered around the room, taking up a thorough defense. A fire had been prepared in the middle of the hall, and it was only necessary to light it.

The unspoken resource always gave just such an impression: fear and terror before unearthly punishment. The SCF fighters were not accustomed to being prey, and not even to being outnumbered at that: there were three Boers in total, but only the first was inside and lightly armed. In the absence of a clear order of action, nothing could follow, for Bazanhr himself had ordered that everyone be let in. And since he was accused of heresy, the Inquisition had good reason to do so.

Bazankhru was gagged so that his screams would not be heard as he was burned at the stake.

Samokh stood close by and felt a slight heat from the fire.

— How wonderful it is when they say what they think. — the inquisitor said in a low voice. — And it's even better when you know you were the one who helped make it happen… We won't put a gag in Ananhr's mouth. Let her scream from the bottom of her heart…

Zhivenko

What it means to execute an innocent man. Or executing for something you didn't do. Or executing for a great cause. For some great common cause. Is it worth executing an innocent man for that?

Misha wandered through the streets and couldn't get these thoughts out of his head. It was as if someone had gotten under his skin and was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing until the hole was ripped. And, to all appearances, the hole had already rubbed, because he had decided to go to Ranierov himself and talk about it. To go, of course, was a strong word — who was he to let him see a detainee accused of treason. Captain, yes. Only, first of all, of the Penal Battalion. And secondly, it's not his business. They'll ask questions about how he knows about it and whether he's in cahoots.

Bolotnikov first. At least ask him what he thinks about it. It'll be easier to act there and easier to think.

He lived in the same unit where all the other penalized soldiers lived. There was plenty of space in Severodonetsk, and no one tried to take better places or assign someone worse. There was too much choice around.

The major chose the first floor of an old khrushchevka building, which had survived to this day — back then everyone said that such housing was dangerous and that it was all just for demolition. But in fact it turned out that it had been standing for 150 years after the Great War.

On the door he hung an old rusty doorknob on a rope, apparently to make his hands smell better of rust….

It's me, Zhivenko! — knocking on the door, Misha shouted.

The major was in his uniform as usual, except that he had taken off his tunic. Apparently, he didn't want to wrinkle it, even considering the new chevron on his sleeve. Tidy and tidy again. Even in such a position he looked as if in this uniform he could only go on dates and show off in front of girls.

— Oh. Come in — Bolotnikov let Misha inside, and then carefully locked the door: there were three locks and a good steel deadbolt.

Everything inside was neatly tidied and laid out exactly where it belonged: there was a chair with a tunic hanging on it beside the made-up bed, a closed ancient closet next to it, and a table at the side of the window, next to which was another equally old chair. There was a loaf of bread on the table and a knife next to it, and a tin army flask to the right.

— You don't have to tell me why you're here, I already know. — Bolotnikov started from the beginning. — I don't even want to hear it.

— I just got in.

— Then tell me more about Natasha, about your dreams, about what weapons we lack. — The major continued, curling his fingers one by one, and then waved his hand negatively. — But about that rotter, who is now in the brig, I don't need to tell you….

— Serg…

— Yeah. (chuckles)

— Is everyone here not convinced he's guilty?

— Maybe it is. Maybe not… It won't make us better. I was thinking about it myself, and Khmelnitsky reminded me. That if he'd been decimated, he'd have been sent to the Penal Corps.

That's what I've been thinking the most lately…

— All right. Uh-huh. I'm not arguing — I'm not arguing. I just want to understand. What are the grounds for believing that he is a traitor… I want to understand that. Otherwise, you and I will be accused tomorrow, and others will also say that we deserve it, and that it's all in the interests of the state.

Bolotnikov changed his gaze slightly as he listened to the last sentence. What Misha was saying now really did make some serious sense. If the penalty battalion could stay afloat and not sink in a couple of months, then its commander, the former commander-in-chief, would remain alive. And this is certainly not favorable for Zubkov. So what will prevent him from starting a witch hunt and bring him together with Khmelnitsky under all similar charges. He will also say that he received something from the Mountain as evidence, three days to consider, and then shot. What's not an option?

— Khmelnitsky saw the note himself. — said the major. — A note from Gora, stating that apart from Ranierov there was no one who had relatives left at the mine after the escape. And that he is the only candidate when considering the data for the last few years… Of course, hardly the only one…..

— Yeah, of course not…

— Yeah. Like that girl Maria we were asked to meet six months ago. Her father's still in the mine. Deputy foreman. And he's still alive. Of course, we never saw her, but she wasn't even mentioned.

— Yes, of course, Raniere's not the only one. I myself know people who still have relativesleft…..

— So, yeah. The evidence is so-so…

— Vaughn, Grisha and I have relatives left at the mine. How much he misses them. The last six months he is not himself…

Their eyes stopped on each other almost simultaneously. Grisha had been in Kremenchug and knew the location. And especially lately he had been sad, as if he was doing something he didn't want to do.

— No, Grisha can not. This is nonsense. — Misha began.

In war in general, there's only nonsense around… There's only nonsense around… We have to check him out, Misha. We have to check it out. We can't not check it. We'll have to shed more blood for all these "can't be".

Misha stood there, dimming his gaze, but it was the right decision:

— Yeah. You're right. I'll have to check it out. I'll have to.

Bolotnikov had already gathered himself — he put on his tunic, then clipped his pistol holster to his pants:

— Weapons ready?

— I hope it doesn't come to that. — Misha patted his gun. He polished it every night with special care and caution. And it served well and hit the target. "If you take care of your weapon, it will take care of you." Maybe it's just a saying, but it works.

— If it doesn't come to that, it was a wasted trip….

Misha shook his head gloomily. Bolotnikov is usually positive, and he's not afraid of anything. And if he was so discouraged, then nothing good could be expected. And what good can you expect when you are looking for a snitch among your own, not knowing how to look? And then came into my head an interesting thought — if it turns out that Grisha and is a traitor, he is a penalty officer. He got there together with them on decimation. And those fears that Khmelnitsky and Bolotnikov feared would not be in vain. Zhivenko thought about it when they approached the house where his platoon was located — a 25-storey building of the early XXI century, then it was a business class for people who were obviously not poor.

— Listen, Sergei… And if it turns out that he is, he's from the Penal Corps… — Misha said a little timidly.

— Yeah, he's from the Penal Corps. That's what I was thinking, too.

— So what do we do then?

— I don't know… Let's ask him… The main thing is to follow my lead. And don't ask questions.

They approached the right apartment and knocked on the door. Grisha opened the door quickly. He looked at both of them and scratched the back of his head awkwardly:

— Anxiety?

— Almost. — Bolotnikov replied, and like a tiger pounced on him, knocked him down, fired at the ceiling and pointed his gun at him. — Tie him up!

Misha, without even thinking what was happening, turned Grisha on his stomach, put his hands behind his back and began to wrap his hands with whatever he could find — a cord from some lamp that stood near the entrance.

— Tell me now, how did you pass on the information? — Bolotnikov asked Grisha, who was tied up and sitting on the floor.

— I do not understand. Comrade Major, I don't understand… — Grisha was already depressed for the last few months, and what came over him now, looked out of the ordinary.

— It's over. There's nothing to understand. You've been ratted out. Right from the mine.

Where you came from.

— I don't-" He tried to say something else, but he was breathing harder and more often, so the words wouldn't come out of his mouth.

— Let me talk to him, Sergei. — Misha intervened.

Bolotnikov went to the back of the room and sat down on the sofa. Misha settled down on the floor next to Grisha and without looking at him said:

— There's two pieces of news in one e-mail. From the Deese sector. The first was that you snitched on us… I don't know how they found out… And the second was that your mother and sister are no longer alive… So the plagues took care of them….

Grisha rested his forehead in his lap and quietly cried:

— No… It can't be… They said they'd take care of them… They'd look after them… They wouldn't hurt them. Just as long as— Just as long as— As long as you report to them properly.

Yes… — Grisha said after taking a breath. — Yes, just to report … Sorry, Mish … I had no one

but them … No one … And I had to … I did not want to. It's so disgusting. It's so impossible… To expose your own people. Those corpses. And because of me so many things… But I couldn't… And now it turned out that it was all for nothing… That they were gone….

Grisha sobbed. It was as if the weight that had been on him all this time had just dropped, and now with this relief it all came out. It's so easy when you finally reach a moment when you don't have to hide it all inside yourself, when you don't have to pretend to everyone else that it doesn't exist at all.

Misha got up and walked around the room. There was a reason they had come here. And not for nothing, he thought about the fact that this man had complained to him so much about his life… How easy it was sometimes to see the confessions covered up, and everything was so close. If only he'd paid attention sooner…..

Having come to his senses a little, Grisha continued:

— And when Ranierov was taken, I thought that nobody would find me now. And mine would be even safer… But it didn't get any easier… It didn't get any easier at all… Maybe it would if they had executed that freak for nothing. Maybe then it would have felt better.

Bolotnikov and Misha stared at him at once:

— How did you know Ranierov was taken for treason?

Grisha smiled wickedly, very wickedly. This crying and at the same time damnably caustic and evil face reflected some kind of demonism:

— You stupid lousy rebels… Will you realize that not all people want to be like you? Will you realize that you don't need your freedom for nothing? And that there are more people like me than I can count? Will you finally realize it, punishment major Bolotnikov?

The last words came out of his mouth as if he were repeating them after someone, and those words were the only ones that went bouncing around the room as he bit off something on his collar and immediately arched up, falling to the floor.

Mercenary

The Maquis set up their dugouts so they couldn't be seen. Not even close. They looked like cliffs, hills, a pile of fallen trees or a pile of garbage. Anything but a dugout… The Heavies were much better at this art. Their "cliffs," "hills," and "piles of fallen trees" looked as if they had been created first, and then all the reality around them. And the same with all those who covered them — snipers, machine-gun nests, traps. Everything was arranged in such a way that nothing gave itself away as something unnatural. In fact, that word "natural" was a trademark of the Kiwi.

The central command of the Hiwi was located in Gorlovka, while the field command was located on the outskirts of Bakhmut, a town located at the junction of three roads. It was more convenient to communicate with reserves from different units and to conduct sorties against the Maquis.

— Since the moment of entry of "Detachment 14" in Severodonetsk, our informant stopped contacting — began Cobra.

He gathered the local field commanders for a meeting in one of the command centers. This structure, a few meters underground, left over from the Great War and once completely burned down, was now a good example of using used resources: thick concrete walls, complete isolation from the outside world, and ample room for collective decision-making.

— Well, it's your informant who stopped communicating… — Berkut replied. — But our informant is perfectly fine.

Berkut once distrusted Cobra, and even considered him his enemy for some time, periodically building a kind of setup on the fly. But he coped with all of them, and in return he gave him problems, and in time their relationship settled down. Of course, they did not support each other, but there was no more confrontation. Cobra's dislike of him was still quite considerable, though — he still considered Berkut shortsighted and easy to change his shoes on the fly. It wasn't from a great mind.

So, why don't you share what's going on in there? — Cobra asked calmly.

— Nothing particularly new. Well, except that the Maquis kinda caught someone knocking plagues…I take it that's your good man….

As always these things are figured out in a meeting. Someone will wait a day or two, or even a week, just to say something in front of everyone. You can't warn anyone in advance about any problems that have come to your attention. At least start fixing the problem. No. They'll wait until the last minute just to make someone look bad in public.

— Why didn't you say so before? — Cobra asked, keeping his voice completely calm.

— Yeah we just got that information… But it's nice to have someone to get it from now…..

— Did your informant tell you anything about the Maquis' latest plans?

— Of course they want revenge for the last incident in the Deez sector. It's no wonder.

Sometimes it seemed to Kobra that Berkut had not gone to any peace, but was only pretending. To make an obvious victory over the Maquis look like something that only inflamed them could not have been a spontaneous retreat. Berkut obviously wasn't able to exist on parity with someone unless that someone blindly supported him at least a little bit. And Cobra never supported him at all by any stretch. In fact, the reason for this lay in the key difference in their modus operandi. Cobra calculated and applied his efforts based on the pros and cons he had calibrated, while constantly learning new methods of both Maquis and Chum. Berkut pivoted on his ambition and personal ties to the head of the Hiwi, who had once been a close friend of his. Apparently, this difference in approach did not suit both of them.

— Maybe we should have left it as it was and let a few Boers of the imperial army get ambushed? — Cobra said.

— I'm exaggerating… Of course, all these actions are necessary… But that's not what I mean… We're losing the initiative. — that was Berkut's favorite way of changing his mind on the fly, taking conversations sideways and then turning the tables. — Don't you know how unacceptable it is to lose the initiative at a time like this? At a time when the SCK and the Inquisition are sharpening their teeth at each other….

— That's what we'll talk about. — Raven intervened. He was not a brigadier general, as both of his interlocutors were, but a lieutenant general, and therefore the senior among them. Of course, his personal ties to Berkut were more important than Cobra's professional qualities, though he did not openly admit it. — Who knows anything about the incident in the Korsa sector?

Cobra looked at Berkut with a somewhat defiant look — say, if you know everything, then say more here — but, without waiting for anything, as usual decided not to ruin the common cause with personal disputes:

— As we know, initially Metropolitan Samokh did not plan to have the chief of the sector exorcized, but wanted to limit himself to one of his subordinates. But he did not like something personal about him. He insulted him in some way, and it came to his personal burning.

— And the unspoken resource?

— That's the most interesting thing. In fact, he didn't use it at all…" Cobra continued. — They only took up positions in the main hall, where they later burned Bazankhra. They didn't have to fire a shot at all.

— So. Some inquisitor came to the unit, accused the chief of heresy, burned him and left?

— Well, almost… He hasn't left yet. The mine itself is under the Mountain's control. He doesn't seem very happy about that. But he didn't manage to go down, because someone had blown up the main elevator, apparently together with a small group of plagues. They didn't want to use the spare elevator, and the stairs were out of order. And here's where we don't know. What was meant by this "inoperability" of the ladders…..

— Did it pile up? — Berkut asked.

— Maybe it was blocked… Or maybe someone didn't let them through. In any case, the mine is under Gora's control, and he's obviously not going to give it up for nothing. If the CCC entrusted it to him, no Inquisition can take it away. At least not for nothing… I'm sure he'll fight to the last man there, and no amount of exhortations from the priests will work on him. It's quite possible that when Zakinhr first thought up this whole idea of autonomy, he was counting on it….

— Counting on people? — Berkut said somewhat contemptuously.

— Well, they still count on us when they trust us to fight the Maquis one-on-one.

A silence formed in the room. This was indeed the cornerstone of the relationship between the Kiwi and the Empire. It was as if they were walking on a razor blade, on the one hand, trying not to overdo it by showing serious successes and thereby demonstrating their strength unnecessarily, and, on the other hand, not to make mistakes so that one could think of their uselessness. That is why the central command has always coordinated its actions with the heads of the JFCs. But lately, with the change in the status quo in the Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping, some field commanders like Kobra started to play their own game.

— All right…" Raven said at last. — You're in charge of the outer security of the Diza sector now. What are your plans in case Samokh moves in your direction?

— I've been given strict orders not to let anyone through without Ananhr's orders. No matter who it is.

— So when he approaches with his this punitive drill, you assume to start shooting at them if they try to break through.

— And there will be nothing else left…

— But in this case, the SCK will just blame everything on us… You see, they will pin the murder of the Metropolitan and the punitive storm of the Inquisition on the Hivi. At first they will definitely do that… Of course, while the SCK needs us, but at the beginning of the showdown, it will be us… On the other hand, if we don't do as you say, the SCK itself will reject us, which is even worse… So you're just suggesting to choose the least worst option?

Raven was indeed a very wise leader. He had no pathos, no unnecessary emotions or ambitions. He just thought like a strategist, and his position allowed him not to compete with anyone, so the decisions he made worked for a really long time, and solved not just one fleeting problem, but a whole set of problems. Cobra realized that Raven expected more from him than a choice between two evils.

— I agree. I totally agree. We need a better solution…

— So which one is it?

— We should start by blowing up the damn tracks about a kilometer outside the sector perimeter. Blame it on the Maquis. At least we'll buy some time.

— That's not bad. That's pretty good. — nodded Raven. — What's next?

— Next we warn them that there are Maquis around. The area is mined and it would be better for them to move back… Of course, they will not move, and then we will imitate the Maquis attack ourselves, we have a suitable uniform. And somewhere in between we'll mow down this metropolitan… And this drill is useless without its leader.

— That's better. This plan is much better than waiting for them to do something on their own… One more question. About The Mountain. You've met him in person. What do you think of him? Whose side is he on?

— He's clearly on his own. And he's dangerous. Really dangerous. I have a suspicion that when the CCC put him in charge of a whole group, they didn't fully understand what kind of man he was… Now he's doing his best to show that the CCC needs him… And at the same time, I have a gut feeling that he's been flirting with the Maquis at least in the past. And he's flirting now. Both with the Maquis and with us… But that's just a hunch… And there's something else… The eyes of the people there… I've never seen anything like it… They're like cursed. Ready to do whatever he commands… He told me himself, when I first went down to see him, that if he had commanded the man operating the elevator to blow it up with him, there's no doubt he wouldn't have done it… And then I find out that the elevator at the Korsa mine was blown up supposedly with a group of chumas. I don't think it's a coincidence… We've organized an iron discipline. And punish mistakes severely… But with him, I feel it's on a different level… They seem to be fanatically devoted to him as a leader… And he's somehow achieved it. Achieved obedience, sacrifice. Achieved privileges from the plagues… We're dealing with a very dangerous man, and he's especially dangerous that he doesn't seem to be… This is all just my speculation….

— For the time being, proceed according to the plan…" said Raven, having heard everything to the end. — And when the time comes, I'll talk to the Mountain myself.

Governor

Being the broz of a column is not an easy job after all. After all, the next step is to become a member of the Central Committee of the Empire. But they are always fighting with each other for a piece of bread, but the governor is his own king and god, no one can interfere with him here.

Blukh used to think that he was the king and god in the Slavic Column, but now the situation has changed so much that it is not clear what is left under his command. The Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping is under the SCK, and everything near it, in fact, is also under the SCK. The edges of Wild Field all the way to Kiev are in constant massacres with the Maquis, it's already too scary to move away from the district centers there, and the Rostov-on-Don-Lugansk grouping is not as powerful as it used to be. In fact, this is the only thing that remains in his subordination at this level, where his order still has unshakable force. And yet, it's clearly a matter of time: SCK will conduct a couple more operations, fight with the Maquis, and then make another autonomy there. And he will be left with his headquarters in Rostov-on-Don on a pair with the headquarters of the imperial army….

He no longer doubted that the confrontation between the SCK and the Inquisition had reached the highest point, where they began to exterminate each other directly. Maybe it would stop at some point and for a while, but then… Then they would just tear each other apart. And it's unclear whether there will be a winner at all.

Bluh's office in the building of the central office of the plague administration was equipped conservatively enough, but rather luxuriously: sculptures of human tibia, silk-embroidered pictures of wild leopards and tigers half a wall in size, sapphire-encrusted furniture and window frames of pure gold. Some might say, of course, that it was all stolen, but in Bluh's mind all these things were merely the merit of his hard work for the Empire. There wasn't a single action that could hurt its interests, and there wasn't a single action that didn't result in success. And the fact that somewhere could have been done cheaper, faster or better is a very subjective matter. Who will count, verify, and, most importantly, it all has to be done, not just shown on paper.

He was well aware of such managers, who drew on paper some options that did not exist, and such results that could not even be dreamed of. But in reality, they had nothing. Nothing. Just reports for bureaucrats. That's why they didn't last long, until the first proper audit. Not like him.

He had a way of doing things that matched expectations. And when it came to figuring out his budget and his spending, Bluh always got away with it. Always. There was never a time when he had to pretend the unfinished was incomplete and the expensive was cheap. Sometimes some of the committee tried to put a stick in his wheel, but he did not go into his pocket for a word, when it was necessary to make it clear that it was not worth saving money on such things, and to criticize — it does not take much intelligence at all. And it worked every time….

But he had his own connections in the central apparatus, and one of the six was not a bad acquaintance of his. Too bad it was only an acquaintance. Now he had a lot of things to do there, and he had his own problems, so he was no longer available to him at once. And it's harder to defend himself. And the BCC has been split up…

Bluh turned in his chair toward the window and looked out into the distance: small hills and an old avenue that went first down and then up. Most of the buildings there had been destroyed and never rebuilt, but the view was still majestic. How many things people had built. And then they destroyed most of it themselves. Looks like we're heading down the same path…

The governor turned back, took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer, a glass, poured it almost to the brim, and drank it down. The empire was going down. It was becoming obvious. Whoever won the battle between the SCK and the Inquisition was a clear sign that the Empire was falling apart. What pieces…

The phone rang. It was a gold antique phone his grandfather had given him. It was still plastic and unadorned, but now it was much nicer to look at. He wanted not only to preserve the memory, but also to multiply it. Bluh picked up the phone:

— I'm listening.

— Imperial Minister Donghor to see you.

— Send her in.

Almost immediately, Donghr walked in. They had become true friends as of late. Now they had no points of contact where they had to share loot or budgets, and after Bluh had helped him with the transportation of several units, and Donghr had returned the favor by helping him restore the Broz's personal mansion and his far-flung security circle, their relationship had become quite mutually beneficial.

The Minister only nodded, went to the table, sat down beside it and sipped from the glass of whisky that was immediately handed to him. His gaze relaxed a little:

— Buddy, times have gone fucked…..

Bluh, who was already a little tipsy, just relaxed more in his chair and played with his whiskey glass:

— No, it's not. You know… When I heard something like this before, my first thought was that the Maquis had blown something up or killed someone somewhere, but now….

— And now the Inquisition and the CCC are fighting like wolves… Have you been informed about the incident in the Corsa sector?

— No. What else is there?

— Metropolitan Samokh paid a visit. In person. With a storm of unspoken resources. And what do you think?

— Oh… Did he execute someone?

— Not someone, but the head of the CID for this sector. For heresy. Burned alive in the reception hall.

Bluh gulped down the glass, which he was still rubbing from side to side. The liquid poured in like fire and immediately vaporized his inner anxiety:

— And here I was thinking it was SCK that had no edges….

— They both have no edges. I've just been informed that the SCIU have taken one of the priests in the center on suspicion of treason. It's unclear what they'll charge him with next, but they won't give him back so easily. They've charged him. If there's no evidence, they'll create it themselves. They've never had a problem with that…

— And what of this Metropolitan? Heading for Anahr now?

— Everyone thought that's where he was going. To blame him, to intimidate him. Maybe make them punitive penance trips to church once a week for a year. As they like it there… Of course, the chances of that were not great, but still the Metropolitan went there….

— What did they do to her older brother that they needed her so badly? — Bluh poured them another round.

Donghr looked inside the glass: this liquid must have cleared his mind. Just a few minutes ago, he hadn't known what to do or how to react to everything, but now he was completely calm.

But he didn't have any more thoughts:

— I don't know, my friend… Maybe it's not about her, but about the fact that no plague can be punished in the entire Donetsk-Makeyevka group except for the JCC. There are almost no my soldiers there, and what kind of a fool would touch them now, when the Maquis are attacking so much… Well, if there is no one except for SCK, then we have to use the most important thing there.

Maybe it's all just a coincidence…

— I'd agree… But it's too hard a coincidence. They've certainly thought about the consequences. What's in it for them if they succeed? I'm guessing they've got a lot more going on than just taking down SCK…

The Minister shook his head only slightly affirmatively. And, really, in the event of a complete victory over the SCK, what would be left for the Sacred Sejm but to take power into its own hands. All the power in the Empire. After all, it was founded for the benefit of the Black Stone and its forces… But who knows now what this boulder gives to all the plagues?

— Have you ever thought about it? — Bluh asked. — What does the Black Stone give us now? 150 years ago, it opened a portal to us and shut down all human electronics. Before that, according to the records, we lived like we did for several thousand years. No portals or anything… Let's say he waited until humans were fighting each other to open the way for us… But what's he doing for us now? Like when we didn't even get to Earth yet?

— You know, I have very little information… All these chronicles are kept by priests. There may be some data in the central archives. But that central archive is only 100 years old. What it can store there… I do not know… As for me, all this is nonsense, and these priests are only noodling on our ears with their stone. I personally haven't seen any miracles from it… About the portal… You know, it was so long ago that you can't even tell if it really happened… The story itself is vague. So he opened the portal, we all came here, and who was left behind? No one? Or did only a few of us move here for fun? It's such a lot of questions, and none of them has a normal answer… Only the priests keep repeating the same thing about sanctity and customs. Even the Inquisition has come to what… It is, you know, more serious than any portals, when at one moment brothers with sacred dignity come and melt your fire hotter… As for me, I'd rather let the SCK tighten the screws than these. At least you can negotiate with them. But the churchmen are sick in the head… You should stay away from them, but you can't. They'll get in everywhere and smell their heresy… No, the SCK, of course, are not cowardly either. They can fabricate cases in a heartbeat. But at least they know their limits. And the Inquisition are fanatics with a bad temper. They'll burn anyone… That's what we saw….

— Dhoni, the CCC gives people power… They invented these chiwis quietly at first. And once they were made, no one dared to stop them. And now they've given them the power to govern…

— Admit it, you wouldn't be saying that if that grouping wasn't in your column.

— Maybe. Maybe… But that doesn't change the fact that there's already an entire faction in the hands of a man. The Mountain. Have you heard anything about him?

— Only that he's an SCC mutt. That's pretty clear to everyone.

— Yeah… Everybody understands… But you know what… I don't like it… I don't like it… He's been running it for too long. It's dangerous. Having the same person running the place for so long.

And growing.

— Is he bothering you? As long as he serves well. And satisfies the secret police…

— This is my faction! — pounded on the table Bluh. — My column! And they're doing what they want… No, Doni… I don't want to put up with this….

— It's so late already, buddy… Under the roof of the CCC he…..

— Well, that's how you say it, Doni, how you say it… How you say it….

Prefect

Gora sat and reread the innermost letter that had come to him two weeks ago. The letter, in which some Church minister had warned him against the future appearance of Samoh, first in his neighboring sector and then in his personal stronghold. To his credit, the letter had come in good time. And although some preparations had already been made, the most important thing — to form a defensive line on the staircases of the Korsa sector leading from the surface to the mine itself — was done only after the letter, and just a day before the Inquisitor's appearance.

As expected, first they tried the freight elevator, which was blown up by the Mountain Man along with himself. And then they tried to pass through the staircase, but the cut-off lights and tear gas did their job — the plagues didn't go any further, and in the end the only way to leave the sector was also by surface. If they had not made these preparations, it is quite possible that this inquisitor would already be in the Diza sector and would have done what he wanted here. It would have been a surprise to the CCC to see him emerge from the mine, and would have probably put an end to any further plans for Ananhr herself.

It's worth noting that even now, Anandhr's chances are not good at all. It's not even clear why she hasn't personally left the place yet. She's backed up by a personal storm of SCK guards and some chiwi units on the outer perimeter of the sector. It's enough to counter the Maquis, but the Inquisition operates legally, so it's not appropriate to use it against her, as the case in the Korsa sector showed.

Too little information. Gora once again thought that for a long time his weakest point was the lack of necessary information for analysis. And often he had to make bets almost blindly and only on the assumption that other options looked even worse…And yet some conclusions were obvious to him.

One. Expanding his influence will certainly not please those who have ceded theirs. That is, the former plague administration. The main trump card here was the SCK, which created this system and, obviously, needed it for some time.

Second. Maki. If even they haven't learned about the increase in coal production and transportation yet, things will change when they do. No matter what they think of the miners, the fact that the recent changes are making the plague empire richer is clearly not going to make them happy. And those slogans about the welfare of the people, which they have been proclaiming for the last hundred years, will be forgotten and remade in a flash. And at the head of their new idea they will put the war against collabrationism, as they will certainly call it. That is why it was so important to get them away from the Deese sector as soon as possible.

Three. Inquisition. If they are not interfered with, at first they will not have any claims to self-government. But in the event of the defeat of the BCC, soon enough, everything will really go back to the old version of governance, which was so warned about by the very minister of the church in the letter.

Fourth. Heavey. There are a lot of questions here, especially since there was even less information about them. It's absolutely certain that they're somehow connected to the SCK, since they were here so quickly. But it's obviously not the same kind of connection as he has with the CCC. They clearly have a lot more leeway. And even more personal vendetta against the Maquis. It's even surprising that the Maquis have never mentioned them, and it seems as if they're covering up the fact of their existence… It's hard to say what the prospects are, but at this point they're powerful allies, and it's not worth it to interfere with their use of underground communication routes, especially since it would really help them in eliminating the Maquis in this area… Let the Maquis operate somewhere else. After all, they should have enough targets. At least the column's headquarters in Rostov-on-Don… The sector's karak was once removed, and they could also try to remove the column's broz….

There was a knock at the door. It was Tikhomirov. Lately he had been looking very tense and with a very concentrated look. It was evident that he was very much enjoying what he was doing, and that his appetite was apparently growing no less than that of the prefect himself.

— Mr. Prefect. It's urgent.

— Come on in. Report. — Gora was very pleased with his work, and sometimes even thought about how he had once successfully chosen such a man for his personal service.

— The first piece of news doesn't smell good. Our informant from Unit 14… — Having first recruited the plague, Tikhomirov had taken to the business of recruitment with real professionalism, and was now doing his best to infiltrate his men everywhere. Even before the transfer of the six mines to the prefect's jurisdiction, Tikhomirov's trusted men were already there, and in addition, there were such men in several Maquis units, including his most important, Unit 14. — The informant reports that Ranierov was released. He was held for two days and then released. In view of the fact that they found the real traitor. Grisha Listov.

Gora remembered the name perfectly well, and how he deliberately did not look at it, checking the lists of those who had escaped and comparing them with those who had stayed at the mine. Surrendering didn't suit him for two reasons: first, he was from the same soma as Maria, and if they found her, then with one traitor already in the same soma, they could obviously mistake her for a traitor as well. Of course, the chances that she was still alive and that she would come to them were slim, but even the slightest chance of that did not satisfy Horus. And secondly, it was not at all favorable to the prefect that the real informant in Squad 14 would stop snitching right now, when he could have such complications with the Maquis. Still, he didn't need a strong Squad 14 right now, and it was not a good idea to help him. The outcome was disappointing: somehow the Maquis had found out about the real traitor themselves, and knowingly or unknowingly denouncing an innocent man would obviously tarnish Gora's reputation. On the other hand, time had been gained, and the Maquis were no longer near Deez's sector, and that was the tactical objective.

However, the prefect was very unhappy. With himself. It was not the time to win tactical challenges when there were strategic ones. And strategically, the Maquis would only get unnecessary suspicions, if they hadn't already. And in the short term, there are no mechanisms to fix it.

— Any more bad news? — The prefect asked.

— The Inquisitors, including their battle drills, left the sector by surface. There's no definitive data on which way they went… Analysis of the railroad tracks indicates that the movement was back towards the Krito sector, but I wouldn't rely on that. There's a detour, and it's likely we'll see them somewhere near us soon….

— It is logical to think so… If I were them, I would not stop halfway, and even with such successes… And what interests me most of all is another point — they must be sure that the BCC will not forgive them… So what are they trying to achieve?

— I have no doubt, Mr. Prefect, that their plans are more than ambitious. And they are not made from nothing… Remember that plague I recruited?

— Shinhra.

— Yes, Shinhra… I did promise him protection from the Inquisition. Protection from everyone, especially the BCC. And it worked… How afraid of the Inquisition are they that they're willing to snitch on the CCC… I think that's just the tip of the iceberg. The Inquisition is far more dangerous than the CCC or the Imperial Army. The plagues themselves are afraid of it. And I think we have to be especially careful with them… — You're right. You're right.

— One last piece of news, Mr. Prefect.

Gora looked more closely into his eyes, and saw something unexpected in them. Apparently, this news Tikhomirov did not really want to give out, but assumed that it was obligatory.

— Go ahead.

— Mr. Prefect… Looks like we didn't just let the man who was going to kill you pass….

Such things can't be surprising when you're gaining power, and at such a rate. He'd thought of it himself, which was why he'd had a personal guard right out front and under the control of the person he trusted most six months ago. It's even natural, because there will be plenty of applicants for your place, especially secretive ones. But when it comes down to it, it's not what you'd expect.

— Speak more…

— He said he was coming from the Maquis… That immediately aroused suspicion. They rarely send anyone, usually just notes. But this one just showed up. Somehow he got past the hivy checkpoints, then up the stairs. They stopped him at the bottom of the stairs. He said, "I'm here to see the Mountain." He was examined, of course, and they reported him to me. And while I was getting there, there was an explosion. Those who were standing farther away said they found something there, they started asking questions, and then he clicked something… I have no doubt why he was coming here. That this "case" was definitely personal… But there's no indication of whose he really was.

— So you've decided it's not from the Maquis?

— It's possible. There's also this information that they've released Ranierov… But it doesn't seem like a good time. It doesn't add up… I wouldn't do that if I were them, even if I wanted to… There are many fugitives among their contingent, including those from our mines. Not many relatives left, but plenty of friends and acquaintances. Who knows what they think, but most of them want us as friends, not enemies. And making assassination attempts like this… And what will they say to their own people that the plague did it? Who would believe such a thing… In short, logical in a way, but not in time. It's not like them. Of course, there are guys of ramming type, but those who are smarter should be more cunning… They would rather shit us with something, so that the plagues really lynched us themselves… And to kill. To kill is, rather, to kill the plague administration… But their chief is Zubkov now. They say he's as cunning as a fox. He doesn't act directly… In short, nothing points to the Maquis.

Gora shook his head affirmatively. He was thinking exactly the same thing. That it could have happened, but it wasn't the time for it yet. And that if they wanted to hurt him, they would destroy the infrastructure, not him. Especially since, truth be told, someone else from the miners could nominally replace him, and it wouldn't make any difference. For them.

And if it's not the Maquis, it's the chiwi. There's not much else. And I wonder what's going on inside the Hivis that's gotten in their way. Cobra's unit transit agreement is very favorable right now. Without the Mountain, that agreement is gone. So maybe someone wanted to interfere not with him, but with Cobra.

Metropolitan

The Korsa sector had a very convenient location in the Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping. It had access to four different sectors at once, and was second only to Diza in terms of labor productivity. Guzokh was not too surprised that his fellow metropolitan had chosen this particular sector for his visit before the main strike. And that the main strike was aimed at Ananhr was no longer in doubt, since her older brother is one of the members of the Empire's Central Committee. The Church is aiming for supremacy in the Empire….

Guzokh was now in the reception hall, the one where the local chief of the SCK, Bazankhra, had been burned alive for heresy just yesterday. The hall was enormous. Marble in white, coral, green and chestnut. Someone had clearly had fun exercising their design skills in this place. Tall columns on either side of the aisle and a large pedestal with a sculpture of the founder of the SCK. This piece was a bit out of place with its surroundings, neither in color nor in manner. If everything around was bright and refined enough, the sculpture was gray and bulky. It should have been made twice as big or depicted an SSchekist sitting in an armchair instead of standing with a gun in his hand. The columns around him seemed to be pressing on him, and it seemed that he was too weak for all this.

Well, that makes sense. Someone else was there before. And they brought him in at the moment when a few months ago they received six more sectors in addition to Diza.

— We are honored by your arrival. — The former deputy and now chief of the CPS in Korsa sector, Divinhr, proclaimed.

— And to my predecessor, did you say the same? — There were only two novices behind Guzoch's back, and though they were quite stout and very manly looking, they were not at all intimidating in the way that the punitive drill of the Inquisition had recently been.

— Yeah, we had a little bit of that last time.

Guzoh stopped and turned around. It was a bit surprising. How could an SSchekist say such a thing so easily. But, on the other hand, there was no point in humoring him now. He wouldn't make the same mistakes as his former chief, especially about things that the church wouldn't like. After all, the church doesn't like the silent ones like SCK, it likes those who speak in moderation. It is the quintessence of the clerical sphere of life to see the measure of permissible and forbidden things, because, in fact, everything around us is both permissible and forbidden. The only important thing is how to approach it. The Church has been proving for thousands of years that it knows how to do this better than anyone else, and no one has ever been able to prove otherwise.

— There is no point in denying the obvious. — Whoever was burned here for heresy certainly deserved to be punished. But it was too harsh. And then his mind went blank….

"I wonder what side he's even playing for," thought the Metropolitan. After all, he was now admitting those things that could be argued with. Then still accuse Samokh of it, and then strike back quite legally at the Inquisition itself. The same punitive battalion, for example. Of course, Divinhra isn't a high-flying bird, but he's no stranger to career advancement, especially since he's grabbed his new position. So, what's his agenda? Is it to take the blow away from himself once again, to realize that he has nothing to lose, or to get something more than just a few more quiet days?

The Metropolitan looked at the ashes. A black, staining mass, which with every new breeze of wind only spreads to more and more spaces. It was original that no one had thought to clean it up until now. Maybe this way they comfort themselves with the thought that since it is still fresh, it won't happen again any time soon? A bit unconventional behavior for a special service, whose adherents mostly boast of their luxury and unlimited influence, the kind that no one else has….

Guzoh began to speak somewhat quieter:

— My son, tell me, what's on your mind? Your associates are very reluctant to talk to a churchman. It is all pretense and flattery without action… And you confess to me that your chief was really wrong.

— Don't you recognize me, Your Eminence?

The Metropolitan looked at him even more closely, then began to recognize facial features, then a look. But nothing. Nothing familiar or similar to anything he had seen before.

Escheckist noticed that his interlocutor was slow to answer because he couldn't find that answer, so he said himself:

— You don't remember my name because I never told you my name before. And my appearance, because I was too young… But that does not take away from the fact that twenty-two years ago I was your novice… You said to me, "My son, you are firm in the faith, but I do not see how you can confirm others in the faith as a priest.

Guzokh remembered him instantly. Indeed, back then he had been the rector of a church parish with an orphanage for homeless children. The children themselves, of course, were difficult, and only nuggets like Divinhir could enter the seminary and become priests. The only thing required to enter the seminary was a recommendation from the priest superior of the orphanage. Which for Divinhra, Guzoh had not given at that time, having said that phrase. He was really sure that Divinhir was firm in his faith, already knew the ways of Jah at the priestly level, and fit all the criteria, especially considering the available space in the seminary that the orphanage was supposed to have at that time. But the gift of convincing others in his faith, using a full understanding of the power of the Black Stone for all chums, not for one particular one — this favorite novice did not have. And Guzokh, by virtue of his fundamental conservative principles, could not allow himself to become a priest of such a plague… Fate had decreed that in its place he became an eschekist.

— Ah… It is you, my son… What a pleasant meeting. — Guzoh smiled. In a way, he was pleased that the once homeless child had achieved something in his life.

— Yes, I understood what you said about me not being able to strengthen others in the faith by being a priest. It really would be inappropriate… So I decided to defend the faith as best I could. Interesting twist. Up to this point, all the information that Guzokh had about the burning of Bazankhra included just a few simple points. One, the chief of the SCK had ordered the chapel to be equipped on the fly without the sanction of the holy Church, which was an attempt by an unordained chum on the holy sacrament. Second, the chapel turned out to be equipped, in fact, in a just-abandoned lagoon, which was a sacrilege. And, third, intimidation and threats to the

Metropolitan Priest himself by an official of the Empire, which was the highest degree of apostasy, not counting sorcery. Guzokh was more than sure that Samokh had simply brought the SSchekist to the last point, and the second was a coincidence. But now it didn't seem to be a coincidence in the choice of a place for the chapel, because the one who was responsible for the choice was obviously the one who, among all the S.S.C. men here, and maybe not only here, could choose the ideal place, not to mention not to choose the inadmissible one. Divinhr knew all the peculiarities of religious rituals too well.

So there was more to Samoh's visit than that. He didn't rely on intuition and improvisation alone. And he's not as simple and battering ram as he seems. Looks like a worthy student of his teacher…

— Divinhr, my son. — Putting his hand on the shoulder of the SR, the Metropolitan said. — You are seriously exposing yourself to danger… You must realize that you also have your own superiors…..

— I made my choice a long time ago, Your Eminence. — And I have never once regretted it… And the fact that I will have to wear worldly clothes for the rest of my days, I have long since accepted that….

— Realize, my son, that if anything wrong happens… And even I can't help you…..

— With all due respect to you, Your Eminence. — Divinhra's gaze changed and became somewhat menacing. — I only said all that to make you realize that it is you who should be careful, not me.

One didn't even have to go on. He was obviously in direct communication with Samoh, and maybe even with Nevroh. They'd obviously promised him full protection for service, information, or whatever. In a way it was even a surprise — it turns out not only the SCK has its plagues among the priests, but the Church has its plagues among the SCK, and in a way that is not even rumored.

It was not for nothing that he had once shuddered at the idea of Nevroch becoming patriarch. He was too powerful and ambitious. Too much on his own mind, no matter what others said or thought. He wanted too much even for the head of the Church. And the result was this: the Inquisition has its punitive units, so that a week of repentance is not even necessary. Instead of bending the plagues to the faith with subsequent forgiveness — immediate burning. And the employees of the SCK in reality are themselves failed priests. Is that what the Jah faith was aiming for when we affirmed the faith of the Black Stone?

And now he, the metropolitan, who all his life was faithful to the holy rules, fulfilled them and carried them everywhere in the world. Now he's being warned not to poke his nose into other people's business… Other people's business. This word alone means what it means… The affairs of faith can be called "alien" for the metropolitan…..

He used to think he'd just be removed if anything happened. Given some non-serious position away from the Center to keep him out of the way. Now. Everything looked completely different… Now, at best, he would be killed quietly and blamed on some personal score or accident. And at worst… Neuroch and Samokh's imagination is not lacking. And they have enough tools… They can trade him in the war with SCK, pretending to be a valuable figure, but in fact just getting rid of the ballast. They can also leak "compromising" materials to the SCK through their own chums, and he will be accused of high treason. And maybe something else….

And how well I remember that look in Samoh's eyes when he said that he would find "the heresy that he had overlooked" and "that it was something to think hard about." Yeah. It really is something to think about. And to take a few more steps, not to moderate the fervor of the Inquisition, but to protect oneself from the Inquisition.

Chief SCK

The chief of the Slavyansk column was on an outing near Luhansk, looking into a Maquis sabotage seven months ago. At that time, the SCK and Imperial Army units had been ambushed: the Maquis had fired on them and blown up a tunnel. Then the tunnel also flooded. He claimed at the time that he had only lost two of his Boers and several Imperial Army Boers, but in reality it was much worse. Almost ten times worse. He had to use all his powers to shut up both Minister Donhra, who had to "redeploy" 38 of his Boers on paper. And the chums from the Ministry of

Transportation and Material Supply, who in reports had to depict completely the wrong things to be repaired, and take materials about the servants to be repaired from completely different places. And supervision from the central apparatus, which came to check and assess the losses. It was good that there were those who were not likely to make a peep without being asked, given what had been dug up on them.

Zakinhr looked at the tunnels, where repairs had just been completed a couple of days ago, and remembered what he had been through. He had been walking on the edge of the abyss, for the loss of two legions of 18 Boer SCK and seven legions of 46 Boer of the Imperial Army would not have been forgiven even conditionally. He would have been shot and tortured, because no one would have believed that it was possible to lose so much on purpose. Even though it wasn't on purpose. He was just beaten by the Maquis then… Yeah, it happens. There are times when the Maquis win, and they win big. Then the Slavyansk column was left without its assault forces, and all that was left were security drills in each of the sectors and a few special purpose drills in Gorlovka. We had to revise the entire security structure in the region…..

And the bet was on the Kiwis. Expand their presence, allocate additional resources to them, and organize the whole thing with self-governance of one sector and then the whole faction. To free the security drills from there… At the same time, of course, to remove any possible influence of the Inquisition there. But that wasn't the first priority. It was at the same time, though it should have seemed to everyone who was even a little bit aware that it was about the confrontation between the Church and the SCK… And who knew that this very step would aggravate all the relations between them…

Zakinhir wondered now if he would have done the same thing if he'd known how it would turn out, and he wasn't so sure anymore. Back then, he had thought that only coolness and subtle calculation had helped him survive. Now the other side of the coin was demonstrating that he had simply dug himself another hole, much deeper than the first. Allies in a war against the Church are not easy to find, unlike allies against the Maquis. And it's too late to backpedal now. And what are the options?

It is unrealistic to return chums to the mines of the Donetsk-Makeyevka group. There are not so many plagues in the subordination, and the miners there have become very strong. They now produce twice as much as before. There's no need to guard them. Know your stuff, get your resources. The Center and all the ministries liked it very much. Except for the Church, of course… You can't go back to the way it was… And you can't explain everything to the Church either. Now their goal is Anankhr, and they are eager to achieve it. And obviously to achieve something more than just to tickle the nerves of a member of the Central Committee of the Empire….

The only thing left is to go to the end and fight back against the Church more and more harshly. So that they would be afraid to go any further. Let them really think that self-government in the Donetsk-Makeyevka group is a pre-planned action. And Zakinhr organized a provocation against Dolonokh, the priest of the main temple of the Empire, located in the capital — Chum-Batu, at the mouth of the Volga River.

Dolonoch was neither a metropolitan nor a priest of the central administration of the Church, but the temple of which he was abbot was the largest, most famous and important temple of the entire Jah faith, the Temple of the Black Stone named after the Grand Inquisitor Torquedoch. In this temple were held the ordinations of metropolitans and patriarchs, as well as services for the benefit of the most important persons of the Empire.

I had to bring in my old informant, Juninhr, who had served as a notary and had been present at many church trials, including the torture of the Inquisition, certifying the "legitimacy" of the secular authorities. He didn't know much, but as a witness he was pretty good. As in this case.

Zakinhru managed to dig up an old case of an interrogation during the "week of repentance" in which Dolonoch was present. The procedure had been certified by Uninhr as a notary.

Everything seemed to be conducted according to the regulations, but some circumstances could say that the process was biased, such as the fact that some items were used several times during the torture, which was forbidden by the instructions, and the justification was that the items had been used "incorrectly" before. In addition, the start time and end time did not match the time of the service — it turned out that Dolonoh had to leave at least twice during the process, which meant that either he was not the one conducting the service or the interrogation was not taking place in his presence. Either option was unacceptable. But at the end of it all, the chum tortured and then executed by the Inquisition was an employee of the Ministry of Transportation and was being held as a witness in a treason case. His burning thus interfered with the process of investigation of an important case, and in turn could well be blamed on the intentionality of this step to cover up the traces of the crime.

Everything "from" and "to" in this case, of course, was turned upside down by Zakinhr. The time that was not beaten for questioning with worship was simply adjusted — the notes were made by hand, and a few lines were slightly changed in them, for the good of the handwriting and the figures themselves suited the possible correction. Chum, who was executed, was in reality "still" a witness, and he had not yet been reclassified as a defendant. And, no less importantly, the case was about treasury theft, not about state treason, which also radically changed the essence of what had happened.

But in this way Dolonokh himself was brought to the article on high treason and was now kept in a special isolation center of the SChK in Chum-Batu. The signal to the Church was unambiguous — the SCK would get to anyone it wanted, if necessary. And right now, Zakinhr was really hoping that this would cool their ardor in some way, at least by changing the target from Ananhr to someone else. That said, the most surprising thing was that he had yet to receive any signals from the SCK Center. No approval or reprimand. It was as if he had been given a free hand to act on the principle of "if you win, we'll join you, and if you lose, it's nothing to do with us". A possible reaction from the higher-ups, but it was particularly frightening. They clearly had their own agenda against the Inquisitors, and to expect him to straight-up hit the mark would be irrational. It was entirely possible that they'd just trade him in a couple moves, win influence a bit, and then designate more or less similar to what the status quo had been before.

But he hadn't clung to this place so tightly that he'd just become someone's pawn. And now he knew that if it came to a direct threat to him, he'd raise the stakes again. And make himself a force to be reckoned with. He was even willing to pretend to be a somewhat disconnected psycho, just to make it work… And he would certainly do that if he had to. Fabricate cases against whoever he can, accuse them of colluding with the Maquis or whoever. He'll take out his most ardent opponents quietly, and make it clear that he'll stop at nothing… That's what he'll do. After all, he's the head of the entire column, and he still has enough power….

Zakinhr looked up at the new tunnel vaults. Powerful supports holding the walls together and holding tons of concrete and earth above his head. Not long ago there had been rubble and a mass of water, brownish water mixed with chunks of cement with rebar sticking out of it. That was behind him… But for a moment, he thought he saw something dangling somewhere at the top.

It was only 7 or 8 meters there, and it seemed that some object was moving there from side to side. Shadows to the right, to the left. Is it a play of light or is something really moving? Scekist looked in the distance, then around, then turned back — everywhere was either empty or his guards were there. Nothing and no one else. And no dangling light sources… Then something rumbled behind his back.

He turned around and saw a piece of concrete rebar just a meter away from him. He looked up, and where something had just flashed, there was a small notch in the ceiling where the piece of rebar had come from.

— Fucking employees! — Zakinhr yelled. He was nearly killed by the negligence that was rampant throughout the empire, especially when someone rode horses in achieving their plans in the shortest possible time. He remembered an incident from his past and laughed in surprise.

When he first started his service in the SCS, he was entrusted with keeping an eye on one of the chiefs of the Ministry of Material Support. They had enough reason to believe that this clerk was stealing, even if only a little, but quite regularly.

He followed him very roughly — he noted all the points of his appearance, all the persons with whom he had contacts. It's all timed, coherent. Even in the framework of the table on a separate sheet. In short, the material was exhaustive.

Taking into account that the task was quite typical and did not go beyond the standards of operational work, a few freshly graduated from the academy of SSchekists were involved in it.

They said, you follow him, and you follow him. You'll see how such things are done.

Then they gave the command to detain him. There was no solid evidence against him, and the younger generation was to be taught that such things, if there was sufficient confidence, could be extracted on their own, so to speak, in the middle of the hunt.

The object was entrusted to the youngsters to take over and they were to start working with bias. Which they did. Of course, they spared no effort or expense. By the time Zakinhra and his chief arrived to take over the "work", the subject had already confessed. Looking at them, the chief nodded affirmatively, and then decided to look at the subject himself. That was where his surprise came when, instead of the original target, he saw one of the academy trainees who had been sent to observe the work of their future colleagues. They had simply mistaken the ultimate target for this failed spy.

— Fucking employees! — their boss yelled at the time. — You got the wrong guy!

Zakinhru thought it was very funny now, especially since he had given out exactly the same phrase.

— It's the same everywhere. — thought the head of the Slavic Column. — Everywhere we have the same employees…..

Inquisitor

The Samoha railroad train was traveling quite slowly. At an average speed, it was possible to get from the Corsa sector to the Deese sector in an hour and a half. They had been traveling for three. There was no hurry. The rumors had to get out in time, they had to intimidate, and in a way that would make all the nearby S.S. officers realize that they'd be better off just folding up peacefully and not interfering with his work. In the end he showed that he only needed one chum.

He will also need only one in the Diza sector. Give it to him and he would be gone. No surprises…

He'd been thinking about this formation and despite previous success, he didn't quite like it. This one had been Nevroch's recommendation. But he could be wrong too, especially since that latent influence that was in the Korsa sector in the Deese sector no longer existed. There aren't any high-ranking bosses there who once dreamed of being priests… But on the other hand, the

SSchekists are common plagues. They also want to live a quiet life, so that no one can prevent them from resting on their deserved laurels in their old age… Yes, and they are afraid, among other things, that they will be torn apart if they just give Ananhr to the Inquisitors… Did Nevrokh not think about this?

The train slowed down. Then another. And another. And then it stopped. Half a minute later there was a knock at the door. He had the center carriage, occupied entirely by himself, furnished and decorated as befitted a high minister of the Church. The communication between the front and rear of the train was by means of the roof alone, specially equipped with railings on the sides. This was, of course, very convenient, but on the other hand it made it stand out from all the others.

— Come in. — The Metropolitan said loudly.

His assistant showed up, a very young but very faithful novice taken on duty from the Empire's central temple in Chum Batu:

— Your Eminence, the tracks have been destroyed. About 10 to 15 meters of railroad track… There are Hiwi units on duty nearby. They said there was a Maquis raid yesterday. They beat them off, but they blew up the tracks. What are we supposed to do?

— Get me the guy in charge from the chiwi… And don't forget the translator.

So much for the news. Of course, he expected something like this, but not like this. Some poppies, you see. After they've just been trashed? That they'd just show up and blow up some tracks? 10–15 meters can be repaired in one day at most. But a raid like this, you could lose a whole group. Considering how many Kiwis there are in the area now, and how entrenched they are, it's unlikely that any of even the most zealous rebels would risk it now. No matter how much it might hurt their honor issues… So, either the Kiwis or the S.S.C. were blown up, which doesn't really make much difference….

What if he'd arrived at once, instead of waiting in Korsa's sector first, and had not waddled all the way back here? If he had done it his own way instead of listening to his patron? It happens that even such experienced minds as Nevrokh are wrong about something… But are they? Maybe it really was the Maquis. And then not only would have blown up the tracks, but perhaps even him and the train? Not all of them, of course, but his carriage stands out… We should take these railings off the roof — let them get there as they want, or wait for the next stop. It's not so important that someone goes from the tail to the head of the train while it's moving. But showing everyone where the supervisor sits is not a good idea. Especially when passing through neighborhoods full of saboteurs….

_A few novices entered the room first, then a couple of chums from the punitive drill, and then a not particularly sturdy-looking man in camouflage. He was unarmed now, but judging by the outfit and the unloading bags, he'd had plenty of weapons up to this point.

— Ask him how long ago the paths were blown up," Samokh told the novice who knew Russian.

Heavey listened attentively and answered immediately:

— Ten hours ago.

— And how many Maquis have you destroyed?

— About twenty people. We don't have an exact number. The Maquis take the bodies of the dead with them.

— How long will it take you to recover your tracks?

— We've already sent for a repair crew. We'll have it fixed in a day or two… But you should be wary of the Maquis. They may attack again.

No exciting news. Of course, he said it as expected. Whether it was a Maquis invasion or not, the answers would have to be. Since he's standing here in front of him and calmly telling it all. I wonder how these chiwis behave with their handlers from the SCK? Do they report calmly, or do they show up with their enemies' heads in potato sacks? Or do they get down on one knee and stare sullenly at the floor until they are allowed to speak? How does that happen? I also wonder how many of them there are? Well, the CCC has never given an exact number. One, two legions or so. But that's what they tell other people. And in reality? In practice, when has the CCC ever told the truth?

— Tell him there's no point in posting guards for us. We're going back. And tell them to fix that road, because we'll be back again tomorrow.

The novice conveyed all the instructions to the chiwi and then departed. Samoh called to him the captain who was in charge of the punitive drill, Rambanhra:

— We're gonna head back now. Make sure we're out of their sight. We need to go back about two kilometers. And stop the train. You got it?

Rambanhr tapped his boots and looking straight ahead, asked:

— Permission to proceed, Your Eminence?

— Do it.

"I wonder what action they are planning for tomorrow?" — Samoh thought. He would go back, come back the next day. And what would they tell him: we didn't have time to fix it, or the Maquis had blown up the tracks on another section? Unless, of course, it was a Maquis attack… But it doesn't look like one. It's out of place. If it was easy to blow up the tracks, they'd have blown up the whole place. If it wasn't so easy, they wouldn't even bother. No. It's not the poppies. It's these shapeshifter artists. At the behest of the CCC, of course. They're here to defend Ananhir, so they've come to their senses. They're fast… But what's fast? You gave them a head start. I guess Nevrokh's advice to wait a little longer was wrong… I guess it was wrong.

Still, there's something about these chivvies that impresses him. He's never seen them in person like this before. Just rumors. Blew them up, beat them back. They don't look so easy in reality. The guy who came to report was definitely not the most important, but he answered precisely, quickly, to the point. Not a word too much. He was obviously preparing to answer all the questions. And there's nothing to catch him on. Cunning types. Very cunning.

Once upon a time, when Samoh was still a young boy, he thought about a career in the military. First to march, then to fight with his fists. Then firing single shots and bursts. To attack in groups and with artillery support. To make your ears ring. Then stand in the blood and mud and stare at everything around you with frantic eyes. And grab the air as if it will never be enough….

But his father, a rather pious and highly influential chum, decided for him. He decided that a career as a priest would be much more attractive and fruitful for him. His father was never wrong about that, but it was still a little difficult for him… It seemed to him that his actions should be more decisive, so that he could grab and tear if necessary. A priest is not supposed to do that, unlike a military man. But even in this case he found a use for his character in acts of inquisition….

When he found out that the Church had a certain "unspoken resource" represented by paramilitary units that could clean up problems with fire and sword, it was truly a holiday in his street. All that remained was to bring the situation to the point where this resource could be used, and this required the approval of the Holy Seimas….

How difficult it was for him, even as a metropolitan, to try to push through the decision to use it every time. An unspoken resource. And the name was such that it would be impossible to mention it once again. And in time everyone began to perceive him as the main supporter of this method. It was even useless for him to suggest this option first, because it seemed to everyone that he did not care enough, that he only thought about shedding someone's blood once more… And finally, he began to periodically remind the patriarch about it. That it's the only real way to make the CCC reckon with him. That they don't understand any other language, and catching small fish on heresy doesn't affect anything at all. You have to be headstrong, menacing and precise. So they know who's boss. Only force, real force, can definitively show that only the Church can have the last word.

And now here he is. With his own person burning out this heresy at the head of the punitive storm of the Holy Inquisition. As the train came to a stop again, Samoh thought about how, just a few years ago, he would have wished he had someone adding to his problems along the way, putting sticks in his wheels during his holy campaign. It was more interesting than just being a winner. It's always more interesting to be a winner who not only did everything he set out to do, but overcame a number of challenges in doing so. With honor, with intelligence and perseverance. Like he had done… And now he was very proud of the fact that he could do it. All that was left was to finalize things with Ananhr…..

There was another knock at the office. It was Rambanhr:

— Permission to enter, Your Eminence.

— Come on in.

— We're here. We're about a kilometer and a half out. We're under the cliff. You can't see us from here. You can't see if we've gone any farther.

— Great… The Black Stone has blessed us for this good deed. Unload your boys, we'll go on foot. Make sure they're ready to shoot properly in case of trouble. And push through. But they're only ready. Because the goal is to get to Deese's sector quietly and without anyone noticing. And no one will think that we can be prevented from getting there.

Prefect

When the prefect ascended to the surface for the second time in a month, the first thought that came to his mind was that it was not a good sign to do so with such regularity. After all, his realm was underground, and there was nothing to get used to about sunlight. But there were simply no options for not checking for himself.

The recently undermined tracks had to be repaired. Again. For the second time in a month. The Hiwi told him about another Maquis sabotage, as a result of which 12 meters of track had been mangled by the explosion. For this reason, the Metropolitan Priest's visit to the sector had been postponed.

The story didn't appeal to him from the start. The last time the Maquis had settled in this vicinity, it hadn't been to blow up a useless stretch of road, but to take over a whole section of territory that they'd controlled with mixed success for nearly a month and a half, until their position had been exposed by the Hiwi, wiping out two companies at a time. And if the Maquis wanted to return, it wouldn't be to spoil someone else's property, but to get serious revenge for past losses.

And they wouldn't risk the group for such a waste.

No, that was not what the Kiwi was trying to portray. It was not for nothing that he had thought earlier that it would be bad for them if the inquisitors were here to try Ananhr. He had even prepared to do something about it himself. But he hadn't expected the chiwis to be so bold. And if they did, the stakes are even higher for them than they are for him. That means they're not going to give in to the Church of Ananhr. And if that's the case, they're perfectly capable of covering her on the surface right now. While he's covering all the approaches underground. It all looks pretty solid. But this Inquisitor Samoh, the one that the "church minister" warned about, is not a simple man, and he will not back down.

No, it was a good thing he'd thought of taking every precaution against infiltration into the mines of the Korsa sector back then. It was worth it, after all. And he picked the right people. People who would want to redeem themselves. So there was no doubt they could blow themselves up in an elevator. No hesitation. It's all about the guilt. That's what it's all about. Guilt makes their life impossible. They want to atone for it. And for more than it's worth. To cover everything. To wash it all away and not leave a trace… And the easiest way to wash it away is with blood. Especially their own. Which they were allowed to do… Still, there is no more important skill in leadership than the skill of selecting the right people for their roles.

Gora was now watching his men repair the tracks and knew full well that it would take them six hours. That was how long, because he had ordered it to be done in six hours. And they could have done it in three and a half hours without hurrying. But he said six.

And all around him stood guarded by his men. It was the first time he had ever stepped so openly away from the mine exit with an armed group of men under his command. It's an indescribable experience to know that you're not guarded by just anyone, but by those who are completely under your command. It's a whole other level of security. A level that you don't just own, but that you create for yourself… Even the air you breathe seemsdifferent. It's like you've created it for yourself…

And he, the prefect, was in charge of it now. Seeing orders carried out and making sure it was the right thing to do. All of that together is what it means to be in your place.

Was his son ever in his place? Was he in his place when he went after those canned goods? Or when he had his first and last gunfight in the plague cave? Was it his place, or did he find himself in the wrong role?

I'd like to think it was some awkward coincidence of fatal accidents. I really wanted to… But it wasn't. His son wanted to be like this. He didn't just want to pursue freedom for others. He wanted to give his life for that freedom. To give his life for others. And why?

There is a huge difference between him and those who are now on duty in the freight elevators with grenades, preparing to blow it up with them if necessary. And that difference is guilt. Raphael had no guilt. He was an exemplary miner and a great friend. He made you want to do something better. Something that would make the world and everyone better. And amazingly enough, that's exactly what happened in the end…

It turned out that not just one mine, but a whole group of mines began to live not just a normal life, but a decent one. And everyone around considered it a merit of Hora, but Hora himself knew very well that without Raphael's death none of this would have happened. Everyone would have died trying to fulfill the labor norm. And Raphael's death changed the very approach — Gora decided that it was necessary not to survive, but to win… To change something, one must win. First of all, you have to defeat yourself.

The men are in their places… Gora looked at the repairmen again, then at each of the guards in turn, at their weapons, at their loose gait along the perimeter. All in their places… And as sad as it was to admit, even Raphael was in his place. In his distant afterlife. Because if he had stayed alive, nothing would have changed. Sad as it is to say.

In the distance, the chiwi were showing off. They were covering the perimeter at a decent distance, and the fairly open area was now covered on all sides. Like ants. Workers and soldiers. They were scrambling about, not thinking about the value of their lives or what the next order would be.

I wonder if things work the same way for the chiwi. Some repair and build, and some fight? Or do almost all of them fight, and only a couple units of engineers build something, and that's just temporary, hastily? Somehow they organize their logistics and supplies, even if the plagues give them everything they need…Such archons are usually quite industrious guys when left alone. They must have their own stove and beds with comfortable mattresses. Though it is hard to imagine this when you see them with bundles of ammunition, grenades and grenade launchers.

A group of people, 20 people in all, began to approach from one side. Slowly and without any sudden movements. It was as if someone wanted to come over to say hello. And after a few minutes, Gora recognized one of them as Cobra. Yeah, looks like they really were just coming to say hello. You just don't walk around with news like that.

— What people… Mr. Prefect himself decided to make sure everything was running smoothly," Cobra said, smiling. Before, he'd seemed a bit of a show-off, pontificating left and right without meaning to. But now the message didn't seem pretentious at all. This message in reality, apparently, was supposed to relieve the tension, quite expected in his interlocutor. We are tough guys here, of course, but we are mortals too, and we can't dodge bullets either. And we also know how to appreciate other people's interests. At that moment, Gora thought about the fact that for all that, Cobra had never once crossed the boundaries of the prefect's interests, but sought to negotiate. And on terms that would be favorable to both of them, and that both of them would want to abide by.

In the couple weeks that the Kiwis had been using the miners' underground infrastructure, Cobra had never once called himself to request an emergency corridor for his units. And the volumes he'd specified had been followed exactly every time. And by the looks of it, that had already paid off for him. Otherwise he would have asked if it was critical to ship more or not on time. No. He was fine with it. And it was obvious that he wanted to keep it for the future.

— One's own eye always sees sharper. — replied the prefect.

— You bet. You bet…" Cobra glanced toward the road leading away from the mine. — Our great friend Metropolitan is out there somewhere… He said he'll show up tomorrow. But no one in the Korsa sector knows anything about his arrival. He's a slow learner.

Cobra was hinting at something very important — worth being on guard for. Samoh's ultimate target is here. And he'll be here today, tomorrow, or whenever. No matter how much he gets in the way. And we'll have to decide how far we can go.

— They tried to go down into the mines of the Korsa sector," Cobra continued. — And they didn't succeed… You know, you really excite me, Prefect. You've got strong hands. You can't let me go if you want to. Isn't that right?

— So…" Hora nodded, and then moved a little closer, so that no one standing nearby could hear, and said. — Would you let him in if you were in my place?

— You know, I'll be honest with you… I wouldn't have gotten that far. Not to the point of not letting you in. No. That's the obvious action. Very much so. But only when you have the means to do it. And you had the means to do it. I wouldn't have… I wouldn't have thought of it beforehand like you did… Guards, barriers, yes. But training people to blow themselves up at the right moment… I don't have the skill you have. And I haven't seen such a thing… We'd be glad to train everyone like that — blow themselves up as we order. But it doesn't work. Even in a last resort, when there's nothing left to lose, not everyone explodes to avoid being captured. Even though we use the two grenades thing. And this despite the fact that our guys know what awaits them in this captivity… But yours just explode on order… When I heard it, I didn't believe it was like that. The others don't believe it now. They think you put some kind of detonators to blow things up remotely… But I saw it in your eyes right away. How you can control people… And that you specially selected someone who wouldn't blink an eye before pulling the pin off a grenade when ordered… You're a real puppeteer… A goddamn puppeteer….

Mercenary

Cobra noticed that these words somehow encouraged his companion. It was as if someone had finally recognized him in her. Then he's got it right. That's what the Mountain wants most of all — to control and subjugate. People and territory. And he's obviously clever for hiding it all so secretly. On the surface, he's a simple functionary — better to do as he's told. But in reality, he's a real leader with big plans.

— Damn, because I'm sitting underground? — asked the Mountain in reply.

— Because that's the devil's behavior… I'm not a chiwi to say that, of course. We're devils ourselves… But you seem ready to outdo us… You know… I don't mind… You can be bigger and stronger. Just don't break our agreements. Okay?

— Our agreements are fine with me… Did your people complain to you about anything?

— No. — Cobra smiled. — They say there are such tunnels, they've never seen anything like it in their lives. They say you look like you've got a lot of resources. They say you can withstand a much larger volume without question… But you see, I didn't demand more from you….

Gora looked at him directly and expectantly.

— And I'm not going to demand it. — continued Cobra. — The paths are yours. And the mines are yours. I have no claim to them…..

— I wonder how it is that you've moved over time from "we" in the sense of all hivy but "I don't claim" when it comes to your own interests… I, as you realize, don't particularly care, but I wouldn't want to you know in a month or two negotiate with someone of yours in a new way….

Cobra made a little face, as if he had eaten something sour, and replied:

— Yeah… You wouldn't like it… Not everyone here is like me… Forward thinking. Some want everything now and don't really care what happens later… Berkut, for example… If you come across it, you'll see what I'm talking about….

— If you don't praise yourself, no one will, eh? — The prefect grinned, and it was obvious that the mercenary liked that phrase in some way. — You only have nicknames. I see you don't use names. Is there some reason for that, or can't he remember why?

— You know, the reason is one and very simple… You can't get a name dirty if you don't have one… That's why we have only nicknames. — Cobra replied, squinting a little and looking away.

You're all that dirty, aren't you? I don't get it. Is it a guilty conscience? Where is there a conscience these days? Let alone someone who appreciates it.

— It's not a matter of conscience, dear prefect. It's about memory… It's not important for everyone to leave behind a good memory. But no one wants to leave behind a bad one.

— Interesting approach to the case. And it's all very well, of course… But I wonder if you remember your own surnames well… So that at least you have something to remember.

— You're a clever prefect. Clever… I guess I wasn't wrong when I decided to make a deal with you first… You kept your surnames at the mine, too, didn't you just remember the numbers that the plagues gave you?

— Yes, we did. We kept calling ourselves what we used to. Maybe we survived because we kept our own face. Not the plague fangs on our flags.

— While we're on the subject of plagues…" Cobra spoke even more quietly, even though no one could hear them. — They don't fight very well. The Imperial Army especially. It's all about numbers. They put up artillery and fire it until it's red… The SCK has elite divisions, but they're few… Without us, they can't hold it all….

It was clear from the Mountain's eyes, though vaguely, that this was huge news to him.

Assuming, of course, that he believed those words. But Cobra was not going to deceive him:

— Now we're covering the entire Donetsk-Makeyevka group. All the ground units. And we don't let the Maquis come even close… Beyond Bakhmut they come only by sabotage groups. And you already know what happened to the largest of them… And while the plagues were in charge, the Maquis were visible even in Gorlovka, right here at our side. And the groups were quite different in volume. The plagues didn't get out of their positions there. All around the facilities and near the roads… And we drove the poppies away behind Bakhmut. They're sitting far away now. — Metropolitan means you fear the metropolitan… Like me…..

— Like you…

Cobra hadn't spoken so frankly to anyone in a long time. And there was no one to talk to. There were only snitches and scribblers around. Some of them are trying to lay as nothing to do, and make up on the way, which was not. The others, graffomaniacs, do nothing but talk for nothing, discussing what has already been said a hundred times before them. Which one of them is there to discuss what with? Shall we give food to both of them? Is it necessary? However, someone obviously needs it, since these two cohorts of people are so prosperous… And businessmen are hard to find… Gora turned out to be a very businesslike man. And he's not afraid of anything. They usually sit in a bunker and give orders. And they don't even know how they are carried out, because they get everything on paper and in words. They'll just be commanding paper battalions. But they will save their lives… And others, on the contrary, do nothing but rush everywhere, and do not think about what will happen to all their activities, if an explosion does not go off inadvertently, and a bullet does not fly into their heads. That's probably why they don't have a lot of well-thought-out moves… But Gora is not like that at all. He cares about security, and thinks strategically, and does not sit in a bunker for nothing….

Cobra began to remember his friends and suddenly remembered Jackal… Yes, he was a great friend. So many times saved… Yes, how saved. Saved from the last asshole, and did not ask for anything for it … And at least tell me who nailed him, that he needed intercessors from the SCK. You should have told me before you do something you can't fix later… Maybe something was different. And now there's no Jackal. He's got a nickname for himself, too, of course… He's never been a jackal. Unless he gives something of his own… His boys, however, all went to Raven. Or, rather, they were given to Raven… Maybe it was all because of him….

He noticed that in the distance, on the northwest side near the industrial tower, just on the side from Gorlovka that he had just mentioned, his men were not visible. They were, of course, hiding themselves, and you wouldn't see anyone at a glance, but he knew them perfectly well, and what their positions were. He might not have seen all of them, but he must have seen someone…

There were people along the road to the north and west, but no one to the northwest….

You know, Prefect, we should take a break… With this repair. I don't have a good feeling about this…" Cobra said aloud, so that the others could hear him, and gave a command over the radio.

Gora turned in the direction Cobra was looking and almost instantly commanded his own:

— Company, to battle! Ten o'clock. Do not fire without command.

The miners and the guard company immediately took up positions and pressed themselves to the ground. By now, Cobra's men had spread out even wider in a radius. Nothing followed. The sun was still shining, the wind was blowing slightly. No shots fired, no movement.

In the distance to the northwest, the silhouettes of a man in one position or another began to appear little by little. Cobra was more than certain that his men were no longer there. That someone had taken them out very quietly and pinpointed them… Plagues didn't do that: not the Imperial Army, not the SCK. The Maquis could in theory, but in practice… Their skills are far worse than the Kiwi's at this. They could fight, ambush or sabotage, but quietly exposing their flanks, especially against the Kiwi… No. They couldn't do that quietly. Not a single shot. Then who? The Inquisition's punitive drill? He'd never seen them in action, but to think that plagues could operate so stealthily was impossible.

But, on the other hand, since this metropolitan has only one drill with him, and he feels more than confident with it, who knows. Maybe they really have perfected their skills to such an extent that they have learned to operate silently….

A slight whistle was heard, as if from afar.

— Mines! — Cobra shouted to everyone.

A few moments later, the first one exploded nearby. It didn't seem to hit anyone, but a second one came right after it. Then another and another. In a minute it seemed as if this cannonade had been going on all day. The mortars on the other side were obviously few in number, but those who used them had chosen to equalize the intervals between them so as to keep their positions under constant fire.

— Everyone change frequency to 2… Charlie Group, take up positions on the right flank of the pokeweed (industrial pipe). Foxtrot Group, take up positions on the left flank of the pokeweed. — commanded into Cobra's radio, then switched to the first frequency, realizing what he was about to hear. — Bravo Team, report the situation.

A little silence. Despite the explosions all around, it seemed to be silence. And finally there was an answer:

— Change the frequency… You haven't done anything yet. You're already changing it. — The voice on the radio was happy and seemed familiar. — Well, hello to you from Unit 14. Your boys from that Bravo got minced to a pulp. And the mines are just for dessert… Actually, that's it, asshole, you don't have to try to take us in pincers….

The connection was broken. Still, the voice was familiar. Very familiar. The speaker tried to change it, and successfully enough, but still the feeling of familiar manner of speaking remained… He pretended that it was revenge from the Maquis… Unit 14 means. And with mortars… And they know about the retaliation plan right away. Interesting how the Maquis turned out to be…

— Groups Charlie and Foxtrot, team 177 (move very carefully, probably the area is mined) — commanded Cobra.

The mortar fire stopped. The Prefect lost one man killed and two wounded. Cobra none of those covering him personally and the entire Bravo group of 32 men. All killed, none captured or wounded. Somebody worked very well together. And knowing what they were doing and who they were dealing with. They booby-trapped the bodies, too. Not a single aisle, bush or branch, just the bodies. Bombs and grenades under the corpses. You turn him around and everything explodes. It's not for nothing that Cobra changed the frequency and gave the command 177, otherwise the casualties would have gone over a hundred.

When he received the report of the occupation of the industrial pipe and the complete destruction of Bravo's group, Cobra stood next to the prefect and watched as the miners repaired the road again and several men carried the dead and wounded toward the mine entrance.

Someone didn't need the road right now. — said the Mountain. — It was one of us. Or maybe both of us.

— You don't think it's a poppy right off the bat, do you?

— And look at the mines… 80 caliber… How far can you go with mortars like that?

The prefect was talking. He sure did. The road from Bakhmut to Gorlovka is not close, and even more so to the Diza sector. And we have to leave with all these weapons… And we have to leave even faster. And even further away… The prefect was talking. Those aren't Maquis.

Commander-in-Chief

Seversky stood in front of Zubkov, reporting on the last mission. The light was rather dim, for there was only one kerosene lamp burning. He did not want him to see the sleep-deprived eyes of his chief.

Frankly speaking, he was getting quite fed up with this Spetsnazov: he was always too eager to fight, and with his own notions of heroism and military duty. At least it became clear what Bolotnikov could have disagreed with him — he was stubborn about his own ideas, and did not want to see other sides of the case.

— We need a full operation. I'm just gonna lose people one at a time. We work as a team, that's our strength.

— And you would have lost the group then, not one person… Don't be a fool, the group wouldn't have gotten as far as one person did. And he almost made it.

— Comrade Commander-in-Chief, if we had a group, we'd have mowed down every last one of those lousy miners.

— Why would we want to weed out every last lousy miner? — Zubkov got up from the table and walked around to his side. To hell with him, let him know that he reeked of yesterday's alcohol, which he'd had a little too much of. But at least he'll know there's nothing to argue about. — Nobody wants dead miners! Are your men going to mine coal and ore? Well. Tell me? Are you ready to do it?

— Negative. — Seversky pressed his lips together, realizing that he'd overreacted a little. His hatred was turning into stupidity, and he was already realizing that it wasn't doing him any good.

— Exactly. There's no way. — Zubkov continued and headed toward the minibar. There's nothing to lose. If he already smelled his stink, he could have a drink. He took out two glasses from the minibar, took a bottle of old Armenian cognac and went back to the table. — Here, have a shot for a fallen soldier.

Seversky looked at the shot glass, then picked it up and raised it before his eyes. And began to gaze into its contents. It looked as if he were remembering, remembering in great detail this fighter and everything that had touched him before. And then, as if he was remembering those who had passed away before him… The Spetsnazov drank the shot glass in one fell swoop and put it back on the table.

"At last," Zubkov thought. He was beginning to doubt that it was worth pouring this shot glass. But no, it turned out that this decision is even better than he had assumed in advance. After all, he knows how to judge people properly. Not like that old geezer Khmelnitsky, who treated everyone like a "big daddy". You have to be a commander, a boss, a big boss. Then it works. Then you are not only respected, but feared, the main thing. And only then you can show a bit of humanity, like this shot for peace.

The fact that Seversky's man had failed to take out the Mountain was not particularly surprising. It was, in fact, more expected than a possible success. The point of the action was not to achieve the immediate goal. It was to make Gora more suspicious, more suspicious, more fearful. Now he will be afraid of every shadow in every pissed corner, and more cautious in accepting any offer. He's got all sorts of people out there who want to succeed him: hewis, plagues, even his own. He ain't got nothing on the Maquis to think about. Maki doesn't even need him, he doesn't interfere with anything.

Even on the contrary, one could decide that only the Maquis would benefit from his elevation. That only the Maquis will remain his loyal friends, trying to make life better for ordinary people. Not just fighting for influence like everyone else. He may well think so… And the fact that he didn't leak us an informant at all, but someone who fell into his hands, it's not known at all. Maybe he was sure who he was leaking, maybe he wasn't. But it is unlikely that he knows that in the end we let Ranierov go, having found the real traitor. Gora doesn't need to know that. Let him believe that he supplied us with good and timely information.

And the big problem is that now he's got the heebie-jeebies backing him up. Together they might even have a very successful symbiosis. As long as he feeds them economically and provides his, albeit meager, transportation capabilities, the quiwi will successfully defend him from any dangers. And it would be best if he thought of the act he had just made in the form of an assassination attempt on him as an act on the part of the hivi who want to take his place and control everything themselves. There's not much hope for that, but it's still better than just waiting for their conglomerate to gain momentum.

And I think that once the Jackal did not tell everything he knew about his own people and the prefect. I don't think you should have trusted Seversky, who knows nothing else but brute force, with this job. His abrasions healed in one fell swoop while his head was cut in half. He could still be useful. If only for a visible exchange… They had approached him through closed channels with an offer to exchange Jackal for thirty of our fighters. And we had nothing to give … On the other hand, and our 30 fighters would have to give all of them to the Penal Corps and only strengthen Khmelnitsky … Everything always has two sides. There is no one side…

— I'll kill him myself. — Seversky said, sitting menacingly in his chair and looking at the empty shot glass.

— Who?

— The Prefect. I'll come and slit his throat myself.

No, he's a sick fuck. He doesn't think about consequences or reality. They'll know who he is, where he's from. And it'll be clear to everyone who authorized him to go there. All the conspiracies and intrigues for the miners will be forgotten.

— Someone will recognize the commander of the Special Forces of Detachment 14… — the Commander-in-Chief started.

— Let them find out! I'll cut them too.

— Well, as you know… When you put your head down, I'll have no difficulty in putting Bolotnikov in your place. He's a good soldier. He won't let your boys get hurt.

Seversky gave his commander a rather menacing look and stood up:

— I'll still find a way to get the prefect… Permission to go.

— Permission granted.

Seversky bowed out. At least for a while he would be quiet and think about not only his future, but also the future of his favorite special forces, which he no longer separated from himself. There are still times when grown men play with something and begin to treat this something not quite objectively. And as to his brainchild… In short, Khmelnitsky again… He also treated Unit 14 as his brainchild and was afraid of its split. That's weakness, not strength. When you're afraid that the business will burn out, so you give it to someone else… Strength is in the fact that the business does not live without you. Then you can hold it together properly.

Even Bolotnikov's pointing to the right place was good. Of course, I'm not such a fool as to put the disgraced Bolotnikov in the place of the commander of the special forces. But besides, he knows what's on my mind. It can be done out of spite. I'll do it or I won't. No one knows what I will or won't do. Except me. But you can always threaten consequences. Especially for empty-headed soldiers like Seversky…

And it was high time to talk to him too… Since they had so successfully found this traitor to their own disadvantage. The traitor was from the penalty battalion, and even though they found him themselves, they were reprimanded for the fact. Fair? Fair enough. They won't complain… But at the same time we can ask this….

Zubrilov picked up the telephone and ordered his adjutant to call Major Bolotnikov to him. He appeared in a couple of minutes, just a moment before Zubrilov had time to drink another shot and put the bottle with the trimmings away in his desk drawer.

— Major Bolotnikov has arrived on your orders.

— Come in, Major. Have a seat.

Bolotnikov walked over and sat down in the chair opposite. His face showed no anger, no hatred, not even some kind of censure. He was definitely in control of himself and, apparently, was ready for anything.

— Do you know why I called you, Major? — Stroking his chin Zubrilov said.

— I can't know, Comrade Chief.

— That's all right… That you can't know… But I want to ask you something… You've just identified a traitor among your own. In the punishment battalion… He was knocking on the plagues… Is that right?

— That's right.

— That's right… — Zubrilov stretched out, and his hand was about to reach for the bottle in the bedside table to pour himself another drink, but stopped in time. — And tell me, Major, what's worse than snitching to the plagues or working for them?

— Both are crimes. There's no point in making a distinction. No matter how much you help the enemy, if you do it, you are an enemy yourself.

— Yes… — the commander-in-chief realized that it would be impossible to bend the major in the right direction, and decided to switch to another tactic. — That's all so… But come on… I'll ask you directly. What do you think, what is happening now in the group "Donetsk-Makeyevka", when they are extracting and supplying twice as much to the plagues as before. Is this a betrayal?

Bolotnikov looked at him directly and confidently. It was very original that this was the second person in a row to look at him in some such way. They look more like fanatics than soldiers fighting the plagues. You have to realize that the world is not black and white at all, but has many shades. And whoever doesn't realize that will always be at a loss with all their ideals.

— There are many things that can be called treachery, Comrade Glavkom. — replied Bolotnikov. — But I wouldn't call the work of people who get stoned for failing to fulfill a plan treachery. Grisha surrendered his own, being among his own. Miners do everything to survive, that's all.

— Are you not aware, I believe, that it was Gora who wrongly turned Ranierov in to us? — I know. Gora turned in someone he thought was a traitor, based on his calculations….

— That's right… You're right… Based on his calculations… And what calculations does he have when he went from being a brigadier to being a prefect. And when he became a prefect, he got not one mine, but seven… Tell me, what's his calculation now?

Bolotnikov's eyes showed that he understood what Zubrilov was getting at. He understood, and he couldn't help but understand. Because from a certain moment it had become clear to everyone. He who gains power and influence will only want more of both with time. And it is absolutely inappropriate to deny it, when in the course of time you only see the only evidence of it.

— I don't care about his calculations. — Bolotnikov answered as calmly as before. — I am at war with the plagues to free the people. I can have no other goals.

— Are you going to tell the chiwis you're fighting for the people too? Or do you think they also get stoned for not fulfilling the plan? In Kremenchug, it was the Kiwis who fought you. How did it feel? Did it seem like someone was forcing them?

— If you want to give an order, Comrade Commander-in-Chief, then give it. And such talk is not for me. — The major stood up and stared straight ahead. It was clearly impossible to convince him of anything. But at least a seed of doubt, we clearly planted him. How long they have to grow.

These seeds.

— You have one task for now, Major. — said Zubrilov, stroking his chin. — Find a place. A place in the Donetsk-Makeyevka group, where you can still fight with plagues, not people.

Inquisitor

The punitive drill of the Holy Inquisition was distinguished from the Inquisitors only by its heavy armor and military chevrons on the forearm with the image of the Black Stone on a white background. It was trained better by the commanders of the Imperial Army and the SCK. All former. Already after their seniority, the church involved them in individual work. And gave them all the resources. Absolutely everything to achieve one goal — the punitive drill of the Holy Inquisition must be better than any drill of the army, the SCK, the Hivi or the Maquis. The plagues in this drill must know all the techniques and tactics of combat that any of the opponents opposing them could know. And it wasn't a matter of prestige or competition — it was a matter of survival. Those who could not keep up with the rhythm or could not reach the necessary standards were not just kicked out, they were executed by their own coworkers by stoning to death. This is how obedience was formed in the plagues from the "unspoken resource", and this is how this unit became the first invisible fighting unit of the empire.

Samoh's plan was to break a narrow path in the outer perimeter positions to the main administrative building of the Diza sector, and then kill Ananhr in a quick firefight to make it look like a failed resistance to an Inquisition action. But when he saw that the hivi unit that stood in their way began to redeploy, leaving the road empty, the plan changed somewhat. There was no need to make the narrow path now, and the approach to the building could be quite a surprise to the plagues within it. This was a much more fortunate coincidence.

The terrain had a lot of ravines and cliffs, which made it possible to get there quite stealthily, though with a decent increase in time. The column of the punitive buras, six of the Metropolitan's novices, and Samokh himself stretched out in a long string, and after an hour or so of travel they were all covered in mucky mud.

Samokh thought once again of all the things he had to do to do what pleased the holy church. He looked at his luxurious vestment, now stained with brown clay underneath, and thought that it was not the most original thing he had ever done.

In his former position as a priest of the church's central apparatus, he was responsible for the files of church officials and carried out individual assignments for Nevrokh, then still Metropolitan, who was responsible for the CCC and the higher administration. These files periodically had to be wiped up in some cases and added to in others. So once he happened to personally follow one of the priests, and then arrange a show raid, so that he gave up his claims to one of the most important posts of the holy church, responsible for the finances of the organization. He was added to the dossier with a note stating that he was unable to keep track of his finances and a note written at Samoh's dictation, in which he apologized to his father for having spent a large portion of the funds once entrusted to him on gifts to his women, three of whom were listed in the document. Of course, with such facts, the priest lost all chances for any post connected with something material.

And the mud on the dress shoes he was wearing now, and the already caked clay on his robe, reminded him of that very stakeout nine years ago. He had gotten muddy in much the same way then, climbing a slope near his subject's house. He had lived in the suburbs of Chum Batu, and the soil there was as black as it was here, as thick and greasy as if oiled with something. How much time had passed, what post he held now, and still the realities of service had not changed much. Except that then he was not surrounded by a hundred and fifty selected fighters of the "undisclosed resource".

And, as then, his sudden appearance surprised many people. It was too late to do anything about the inquisitors, as the security detachments of the SFK had seen them on the very outskirts of the administration. At such a distance one could see who it was, and if the shooting started they would be blamed on the SCF, which would have to admit on the one hand that they had let a whole unit get close to them without their knowledge, and on the other hand that they had recognized the unit and opened fire on it deliberately. The former meant that they were incapable of controlling the area around their facilities, the latter that they were openly declaring war on the Church. Ananhr didn't have the authority to do that, and besides, there was no certainty that her drill would overpower the Invisition's drill, so when she was informed of the appearance of Church officials, she gave the green light for their passage.

Samoh saw this formation perfectly well. Ananhr had been cornered, and now nothing could stop him from finishing his game in the Deez sector. They couldn't keep him out now, and then they wouldn't be able to deny his requests if he staggered them. And that he could do perfectly well, something he had recently managed to hone on Bazankhra.

The inner perimeter was fenced in with a gridiron net, and the SSchekists opened the gate. There were obviously not many of them, and there were only ten chums on duty outside, and the passing by them of the sweating but not tired chums of the punitive buras together with the metropolitan looked almost like the surrender of the camp after a siege.

The Inquisitors took up positions inside the perimeter, then advanced into the building and took up positions there, not threatening the S.S.C. in any way yet, but simply creating the appearance of a security fortification for the presence of their patron. Almost immediately, one of the officers approached Samoh and offered to help station the soldiers:

— You are so unexpected, Your Eminence… There has just been gunfire nearby. The Maquis have attacked. Allow me to offer you shelter within our walls.

— That's very kind of you. — Samokh was somewhat amused, but he didn't show it. — Take me to the Sector Chief.

The internal architecture and layouts were no different from those of the Corsa sector, but the decoration was not similar at all. In fact, there wasn't much of one. Bare walls without any paintings or decorations, only occasional service and propaganda posters, which were usually hung in workrooms rather than in the premises of the SChK. No bronze busts or statues. No carpets or lacquered furniture. Everything is very strict, rank and ascetic. As if this was not an administrative building, but a monastery filled with fanatics, where there could be no place for anything worldly.

Such was also Ananhr's private office. Her personal guard of six chums inside and four in front of the door stopped the metropolitan and his novices, and separately reported their appearance.

An order was immediately followed to let them pass.

Ananhr herself sat at a small table and watched the surroundings through the panoramic window, looking out. She looked out at the industrial chimney and the surrounding steppes. The expression on her face said nothing, and the silence in the office seemed subdued.

Samoh knew that Manhra, the karak of the sector, had once been shot dead in this office. And then a rebel had been tortured, who had given away some information, the details of which only the SCK knew. And rumor has it that this information turned out to be a very unfortunate acquisition. The fact that Ananhr was sitting so calmly could speak either of her idle stupidity or of some far-reaching and many times calibrated plans.

— Why is it so difficult to reach you, Mrs. Ananhr? — The metropolitan asked, stepping evenly to her table. Pieces of clay flew from his sides and fell to the parquet with a clatter.

— Call me by my title, Metropolitan Priest. — So why have you come to us?" she said without looking at him.

Samoh sat down in a chair as his novices lined up in a semicircle behind him:

— Why are you so quick, Colonel… Your fellow officers are usually very courteous to representatives of the Church.

— Yes, and they burn afterward, too, courteously. — Ananhr turned and looked straight into his eyes.

— They burn courteously. There's no disputing that… But the judgment of the Holy Inquisition is first of all just. I will not waste your precious time, Colonel… I am here on such business to bless you and your unit for future service… It was not a long journey, and all for the sake of our common cause. A cause worthy of the sacred Black Stone…

— Then bless, Your Eminence. Or do you need help from the CCC leadership?

— Yes. I need your help.

A silence settled. Ananhr looked at him without showing any emotion. It was evident that she had long been able to control her actions and it would not be possible to make her mad. After all, her brother is a member of the Central Committee of the Empire. And she had the proper upbringing. Education and character. Yes, there was a reason why she was sent here, to one of the most important parts of the Empire now.

— Leave us. — said the inquisitor to his novices. They left quickly, and Samoh was left alone in his office with Ananhr and her guards. — I trust you, Colonel. You see, I have released my own.

— That's fine. — If you're implying that I should let my own go too, it won't happen. Their job is to guard me round the clock. Wherever I am… So what do you want?

With each new step Samoh realized that his task was becoming more and more difficult. She is quite straightforward, but at the same time, you can't reproach her for anything. Everything is strict, clear and according to the rules. Those are the Inquisition's favorite words. And when these words are in the hands of the enemy, there is nothing to punish.

— You're in danger, Colonel. And these are not empty words… I have something to tell you about some former details of this sector… For example, details of the Bulgarian Soma uprising at this mine, which may have been one of the reasons for the formation of the autonomy….

Ananhr was silent. Her expression on her face and eyes still did not change. At some point he realized that she was very beautiful, and it was even a wonder how he could not have noticed it before. Plague women were usually characterized by rounded facial features and a rather coarse nose — her face was more very neat and her nose was thin and straight, adding a sort of sexiness to her nature. Samoh continued:

— Almost a year ago, my patron Nevroh gave the command to organize this rebellion. We had two men infiltrated as leaders of their soma. They were real provocateurs, who did everything in their power to encourage their soma to openly oppose the Empire. And they were to act wherever we gave the command. And we gave it in the Diza sector… The choice was not accidental, because it was here that the Maquis eliminated Karak and put you in his place… The rebellion was supposed to sweep away your units, kill you personally, and the Imperial army units that arrived would have suppressed the rebellion and returned control over the sector to the civilian administration of Bluh… The plan was thwarted because of your current protégé, whom you call Prefect… And rest assured, we will soon remove him with our own forces, and there will be a new rebellion at the mine, worse than the old one, which will certainly sweep away the SCK in the entire district… Of course, including you…

— What a touching story, Your Eminence. — So why are you telling it to me, if it's going so well?

— I told you… I need your help… Ergo, you need mine.

— Considering the literal shit you're in right now, Your Eminence…" Ananhr replied, her eyes pointing to the hem of the Metropolitan's robe. — It seemed out of place to offer your help. Not to mention how you would bless someone like that.

It's all about playing on the edge. And a masterful one at that. On the one hand she was accusing him of inappropriate behavior, but on the other hand she was obviously concerned about the holy sacraments of the Church, which no one, not even the patriarch, was allowed to violate. Otherwise it would nullify both their sanctity and the sanctity of those who administer them. It was not for her to say so, but she was right, and therefore there was nothing to answer.

— Well, that's the way it is with transportation here. — replied the inquisitor. — And security…

— And you were warned, Your Eminence. That for your own good, you should delay your visit… but you didn't. You came here by all means, and confessed to me that His Holiness the Holy Patriarch is engaged in subversive activities, which should be understood no other way than an attempted coup d'état… I must admit, it's a bit surprising….

— I serve the Holy Church… the Holy Church, not the patriarch. It also happens that a patriarch may stumble, that is why there is a Holy Sejm, so that it is possible to replace the patriarch, if necessary, with a more worthy one… I told you about it only to warn you, and no more. — So if we start a trial against him, you'll be a witness?

— Absolutely. — Samokh took the most implacable look. — The patriarch should not allow himself to meddle in worldly affairs, especially through such unacceptable actions.

Ananhr shook her head slowly in the affirmative, looked out the panoramic window, then turned to the metropolitan again:

— Good. So if you're on the side of the interests of the Empire and not someone else's personal interests, what do you say to the recent execution of Colonel Bazankhra?

— Fatal accident. Your colleague, apparently, is not allowed to drink at all. He had too much to drink and began to publicly desecrate the holy faith, and when he was asked to stop, he went on to make direct death threats against members of the Holy Inquisition… I would have let it pass, of course, but, you see, there were plenty of witnesses around who would have reported that I had not taken the proper measures… I don't know what Bazankhr was thinking when he was doing all this madness.

— I see. — I want to ask you again about the intentions of His Holiness Patriarch Nevrokh… After a successful rebellion, did he plan to gain access to direct control of the Donetsk-Makeyevka faction or through Bluh's civilian administration? Was Bluh in cahoots with him?

— I don't know that, Colonel… — he hesitated a bit. — I only know for sure about his involvement in the organization of an uprising to destroy the SCK and you personally… I can say that for sure. I don't know about his further plans.

— It is quite enough, Your Eminence… To bring you in as a witness. — Ananhr's beautiful eyes turned to the guard on her right. — Take him into custody.

— You have no right! — Samokh jumped up from his seat. — I am the Metropolitan!

He turned toward the door and shouted to his subordinates who had recently left the office.

— Don't make a fuss. — said Ananhr while her guards were twisting him. — Four armed commandos can handle six unarmed ragamuffins anyhow.

— You're forgetting yourself, Colonel. — Samokh said with a less heated tone. — I have with me the punitive drill of the Holy Inquisition. If I give the order, they'll sweep this place away!

— Yes, if you just give the order…" Ananhr rose from her seat and walked out from behind the desk. She looked very attractive in her black dress with the SCK insignia on the sleeve, and it was strange that such thoughts were on her mind at this moment. — And until you do, they will stand in place like statues until they starve to death… You have obedience there — the cornerstone of these units… And that you inadvertently did not say that you are not asked, so for this we have our own wonderful drugs. Not as clumsy as the ones you like to slip to your interlocutors… With our drugs you will be in such bliss that you will not even think that something is going wrong… And we will find a worthy use for your wonderful storm of unspoken resources….

Strangely enough, with all these words, the expression in her eyes and face was no different from that of ten minutes ago. Still as calm, confident, and reserved. Education and character. There was no other way that such a thing could have been achieved only by a simultaneous combination of the two.

— Oh, yes, I'm sorry. — Not us, but you will find a wonderful use for the storm of unspoken resources… With our help.

Mercenary

On his return to the Kiwi camp in Gorlovka, Cobra had only one goal: to understand, at least by hints, who could have carried out such a daring attack on his group, while being fully confident in his invulnerability. They had succeeded, apparently as planned, but what was surprising was the unwavering determination with which it had all been done. 32 two corpses had cost him in this attack. He had three regiments of nearly five thousand men under his command, and such a loss was not a big deal, but the emphasis was apparently not on that. Someone wanted to hit his reputation. A commander's reputation for letting his men walk away with their heads.

Yes, with heads. Because all the dead were beheaded, apparently with an axe, and taken away with them. They were found in a ravine near the river half a kilometer from the industrial pipe. They were piled on top of each other, and a small pole with a snake nailed to it had been dug into the middle. It wriggled from side to side, unable to do anything… Someone was demonstrating to Cobra the fact of settling personal scores.

And they were clearly not poppies. He remembered again what Gora had said about the 80millimeter mortars that had fired on them. And if Gora, who wasn't at all military savvy, had guessed such an obvious thing, what had the attackers been counting on when they used them? It would be obvious proof that the Maquis were not behind the attack, unable to transport such weapons over such distances. They must have realized that Cobra would recognize their own, the Kiwis. And would look among them. So what's their plan?

Maybe Tikhomirov could give us a clue? Gora asked him to take his man with him, so that he could better understand the structure of the Khivi and, perhaps, learn some of their methods. The guy looked very smart.

— You'd better think of a nickname similar to ours. Nobody's gonna call you Vanya. — the mercenary told him right away.

— Then they can call me Tarantula. They won't make a mistake. — Tikhomirov answered at once.

The prefect warned that his man thought and acted quickly. Quick to understand, quick to make decisions. And that in return for their gratitude, the miners would show Cobra's man the details and intricacies of the underground transportation routes, including track sheets, to make it easier for him to plan his movements from one sector to another.

Cobra's main base with its central headquarters was located on the western outskirts of Gorlovka. It was a former shopping center, where inside the building along the central aisle there was a view all the way to the ceiling of the fourth floor. Right in the center of this aisle stood a BRT-80 with a cannon pointed at the entrance. The lighting from the diesel generators was sparse, but sufficiently supplied and allowed even the far wall of the building to be seen. Life inside was quite lively and resembled more like one of the mines, only with a clearly more active population and more armed — almost everyone was only in military uniform with the exception of some engineers and repairmen dressed in gray overalls.

The former pavilions were equipped with various kinds of barracks, warehouses, storage rooms for weapons and special means, and offices, but all without any signs or placards. Sandbags and small concrete blocks had been set up as firing points everywhere. Cobra's office was exactly in the middle of the building on the second floor, which had apparently once housed a clothing boutique. Across the passageway from it stood a powerful Utyos large caliber machine gun, staring menacingly at the entrance. In case of emergency, it would keep the entire central passage under continuous fire, and it could only be reached from the outside by destroying the entire building with large-caliber artillery, for which the Maquis would not have the means.

The commander's office itself was divided into several separate rooms, the central of which, the private room, was furnished with a long table with the chief's seat at the head of it. A row of chairs stood on either side of it. In the near corner sat a pretty assistant at her small desk with a typewriter placed on it. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, illuminating everything around.

Cobra sat down in his chair and pointed to the seat next to Tikhomirov:

— Straight to the point, before I forget, maybe. Any questions about anything around here?

— In this room, I understand they used to sell clothes?

— Right. Clothes. Underwear, to be exact.

— Why was it chosen? Best sheltered from outside influences? And allows you to see everything from here? Or is there some other reason?

— Yeah, you said it right. Those two reasons and there's a third one I'm not gonna tell you. Any other questions?

— How long have you been here?

— I'm the one who's been here six years. Before me, they were here for a long time. But it wasn't a base like this. Before me, it was quite modest.

— Do the Maquis know about this place?

— I don't think so. Despite the scale and how long we've been here, the Maquis are unlikely to know anything. You know, they've been emphasizing the war on the plagues. And they don't tell their own people that there are any chiwis at all. — Cobra smiled as he had when he first came to visit the Mountain. — Do you have any idea why they hide from their own people that we exist?

— I think the answer is simple enough. — answered Tarantula and after a little look at the situation around him, he finished. — So that they don't defect…..

Cobra literally froze. Indeed, what a strikingly obvious and understandable answer to such a complex question. After all, many people who could not tolerate the humiliation and deprivation at the enterprises controlled by the plagues fled to the Maquis. And these people were not so much afraid of change and the unknown as they were of the plagues themselves. As opposed to those who stayed at the mine, who were more afraid of the unknown… I can see now why Gora was so eager to send this man here….

— Uh-huh. That's an interesting idea you brought up… So, put flyers out there and half of the Maquis could be seen on your team?

— I wouldn't idealize it so much… After the flyers, we'll see half the Maquis dead in the ravines. Especially considering their current leader.

Tikhomirov spoke in a very restrained, precise and measured manner. It was obvious that he was able to analyze situations from different angles and think in depth, taking into account a number of different factors at once. At the same time with an understanding of people's psychology… A very rare combination of the ability to calculate well in terms of all possible options and the ability to understand human nature and psychology. It's strange how the Mountain let him go unguarded. Maybe he thought that the guards would only draw attention to him?

— Zubkov… I suppose you've long been aware that this rat is in charge now. — Cobra got up from his seat, walked to the far corner, poured brownish liquid into two aluminum mugs, came back and sat back down, putting the second mug to Tikhomirov. — Well, dear Tarantula. Here's our tea for you… And as a kind of gratitude for such an interesting idea that you just threw me about the leaflets, here's some more news about this Zubkov… I didn't call him a rat for nothing.

Tarantula gently touched the mug to see if it was too hot, then picked it up carefully and sipped a little. He was in no hurry to ask or hint that he was waiting for an answer. He knew that the best way in such cases was to just wait, without giving any appearance. Cobra was very impressed by this. He'd rarely seen restraint among his own, and that was mostly among older leaders like Raven.

— Now, about Zubkov. — continued Cobra. — He's a rat because he pawned his own. And not to someone, but to us. As, for example, in Kremenchug… We did not immediately, of course, realized who there so happily knocking for free. But when we took a closer look at the selectivity of these "tapping", we saw an obvious trend. The informer was hitting on Khmelnitsky's close people. Not on the most important points or nodes of the Maquis, not on the concentration of their troops, not on the supply routes. Which would have been most painful to their movement. But at their leader's friends. By those who were especially dear to him, or had once been his shoulder to lean on.

It is this selectivity that leads us to conclude that someone is simply clearing a path to the throne. And the most suitable candidate was, of course, his deputy. Who else would want to be in charge of the entire Unit 14? When you're near the throne, you drool faster than anyone else. And that's why, when we received information about Kremenchug, we were almost sure that Zubkov was behind it… And we were only in favor of his ousting Khmelnitsky. He fought thoroughly, strategically. Five more years would have passed, and we would not have recognized the new Maquis, which would have grown out of the old ones. It would have been a cohesive organized army with unified command and planning. And, you know, we've already started working out options on how to counter that — maybe recruiting people from the mines and factories. Maybe something else. We didn't really have any meaningful plan… But you see, we got such a gift… So when we got the information about the details of the cover at Kremenchug, we gathered everyone we had, exposed all the flanks and roads, and sent them there. Even our exotic T-95 tanks were not spared. We did everything to make Zubkov's plan succeed… And as you can see, we did not fail.

Tarantula had almost finished his tea, leaving only a little on the bottom so the mug wouldn't be empty:

— So, now the poppies won't bother you so much anymore….

— That's the way it is, my fellow Tarantula.

— Which means one of your own will decide to start sharing resources within the chiwi….

Cobra was stunned. He had pondered all these things hundreds and thousands of times, and this conclusion had not occurred to him, although now it was absolutely obvious. Indeed, resistance from the Maquis should no longer be expected to be so determined, let alone possible retaliatory actions and guerrilla warfare. They would sit peacefully enough, occasionally disturbing the chumas in far from the most important parts of the empire. The support of the Hiwi will be needed mainly to guard routes and extraction points, not for retaliatory punitive operations. And that means it's time to divide the spheres of influence within the Hiwi.

And that's where the recent situation near the Diza sector, where a Bravo group was interrupted and mortars were fired at a crew repairing the railroad tracks. This explains the fact that the Bravo let them get close, although it did not explain why they did not report when doing so. Whether their own were there approaching or strangers, and it had to be reported either way. And yet it was not followed.

So who would do something like this? The Berkut? Who once had an agreement, but that was then, not now, when times are different? Or the Viper? She was always complicated, and there was hardly any balance, as she simply changed enemies from one to the other. It's a wonder even how she hasn't been openly killed by one of her own so far. Or who else? Coyote? Yeah, could have been. Greedy as hell. He's never had enough of what he's got. No matter how much he gets, he's always complaining that it's not enough. Maybe he just lost control of his thirst.

In general, any one of them couldn't pose any problem. But if it was just one. And in such a position, they could very well agree with each other. Korba didn't have the most numerous subordinate units, but some of the most significant resources: two fundamental bases, a repair plant capable of servicing even heavy equipment, several important high points controlling the surrounding area in the "Donetsk-Makeyevka" and "Dnepropetrovsk-Kremenchug" groupings. And now also underground transportation routes in one of these groups. Perhaps anyone and anyone in any group could have laid their hands on such a thing.

Still, we should start with Berkut. He's the first choice for the role. And he certainly wouldn't turn it down if he got an offer from someone else. Start with Berkut, and talk to Raven first. After all, there is no one among the Kiwis in this part of Ukraine more important than him. And even from his silence we can learn something.

***

Raven's base was no larger than Cobra's or any of the warlords'. On the contrary, it was characterized by a certain modesty. Everyone usually chose former shopping or business centers, sometimes buildings of city administration or large corporations. And Raven was sitting in a building from the complex of former winery facilities. And they said that this building had been used for some other purpose before the Great War. A four-story white building, somewhat buried among the others, with a separate approach to the entrance. Apparently, Raven liked that his neighborhood could be well controlled, and if necessary, withdrawal could be made in almost any direction.

— You want a joint operation with Berkut? Why him? — Raven asked. His beard was beginning to gray, and as time went on, he began to seem like a kindly grandfather who would always be supportive and helpful. In reality, he remained more of a planner than a caretaker. Probably that's why his gaze became more and more distant — it was filled with more and more future and less and less present.

— His group knows the terrain better than anyone. You could learn from their experience. — Cobra decided to be a model commander, playing for the whole team, sometimes even to his own detriment.

— All this while you two aren't exactly on good terms with each other? I don't think that's a good idea.

— We can ask what Berkut himself thinks about it…..

Raven thought for a moment. He flicked his eyes around a bit. It was an almost imperceptible change in demeanor, but Cobra had known for a long time that it meant Raven's unwillingness to agree or do anything.

— Berkut is not in Horlivka now… It is conducting an operation against the Maquis near Severodonetsk," Voron replied.

High Priest

The High Priest was in the main temple of the plague empire in the capital city of Chum Batu, the Black Stone Temple of Unshakability. Its domes were so high that from the bottom, the ceiling felt like dark clouds on a moonless night. The six domes, all rolled into one central dome, signified the ministry of six metropolitans around a patriarch capable of interpreting the Black Stone's commands.

All in shadows and oily air from burned kerosene lamps. The icons did not seem to be anything special — they simply intimidated with their grandeur and formidability. The monumentality of the building was formed by the massive six columns forming the basis for the central dome.

Nevroh had just conducted a service with his own hand. The very service that the priest Dolonoch, the abbot of the temple, was supposed to perform. But now he was behind bars. Now he was under investigation by the SCIU. And now this service seemed nothing but a precursor to the inevitable war with the SCK.

Standing near the altar, the patriarch once again looked at the icons, the burning lamps with kerosene and the marble walls that surrounded him. Even the thought of trespassing on the sacred is already a crime against the very nature of the plagues, against their faith and the very universe.

Only a fool or a madman could do such a thing.

Dolonoch was very close to him. Almost like a father. He was already very old, experienced, and yet quite free-thinking. But all his labors were crowned with success and elevated the spiritual authority over the secular. He forced the chums to think in terms of the primary underlying reasons for their existence. He forced everyone to gather around the service of the most important thing in the Empire. Around the Black Stone… And who is he now? A prisoner in a detention center. A prisoner told to go to bed or wake up. To be told when to eat or leave the room he's in. A prisoner who must ask permission, not give answers.

— No!" said Nevroch out loud. — They will answer for this!

He really now saw before his eyes the blazing fires of the Inquisition, the screams of the S.S.C. begging for mercy and forgiveness. The S.S.C. who would receive neither. The SSchekists, who will now end their days in the form of ashes, on which sheep and sheep will shit. Eschekists, whose trace will be blotted out in history, the new history of the Empire, where the only truth will be only for the Holy Church, and no one else.

Neuroch was so eager for it that he angrily knocked over one of the kerosene lamps that had fallen to the floor. The oily, flaming liquid spilled onto the floor and blazed with a new brightness. And he stared into that power… How fire takes everything around it, how it takes everything without stopping and demands more, and will take it if it gets in its way. And faith must be like that! To take for yourself. Take everything. Anything that comes along. Everything must be infused with faith or destroyed. And there can be no other way but the way of the holy Church.

The patriarch looked at this burgeoning fire, and he was relieved. Easier because he saw how these things could actually happen. Ruthlessly and irrevocably. There can be no compromise with heresy and false prophecy. And SCK claims both roles… And then a startling thought went through Nevroh's mind.

It was very strange that he hadn't thought of it before, but now it shone inside his mind clearer than the fire he now saw. The idea that without material there is no fire, and the more toxic the material, the more and better it burns. The more fire there would be. The stronger the faith will be in all the survivors. Therefore, the toxicity of the BCC will only strengthen the church itself, for it will create a fire like no other. And this fire will make the Church more powerful than it has ever been before. The Silan Jah will become not just a code for the capabilities of the holy Church, it will become a pervasive rule for the lives of all the subjects of the empire.

At that thought, Nevrokh coughed. The acrid smoke had gotten to his lungs, forcing him back to the mundane. It was already burning, within a meter and a half radius, and threatened to grow into something bigger if he didn't take action.

— Water here, quickly! — shouted the patriarch and moved away from the throne, on which there was a stand for the texts on which prayers were read, and moved towards the royal gates. The gate that separated the altar room from the main temple space. A couple more minutes, and the fire would spread to the high place where the rector of the temple was sitting, and to the katapetasma, the curtain in front of the royal gate.

Several novices came running up. Only one had water in a small bucket.

— Put it out quickly. — Neuroch said, approaching the underdome space. — An eschekist tried to set us on fire. One of the novices immediately turned around:

— And where is he, Your Holiness?

— You find out where he is! — The patriarch snapped at him, stopping under the dome itself, which was already gathering smoke from the flames. — Find out his name, too.

They can't even put the fire out right away. I told them to get water right away. But in fact, one of the four has water. And what will the others do? Pray for the good of his sacred extinguishing? Stupid boys. They don't realize that the only way to achieve something is by force.

Force, not prayer. One that is feared and respected. Which makes you tremble at its mere mention… And then you can bless it… When nothing stands in the way….

Zhivenko

Natasha had a dream similar to the previous ones. This dense, endless forest, where you couldn't see the huge armies, but you could feel their presence. At least this time it wasn't raining so much. It was quite dry, dark and quiet. No rumbling. No hum of voices. No stirring of any kind.

She suddenly found herself in the middle of a small grove that was quite light and peaceful. No warriors, weapons, armor were felt nearby. Only a young man in the work clothes of a miner stood in front of her. Handsome, strong, and with very intelligent eyes. Clear eyes. The kind that a girl would like to drown in, as in something light and exciting at the same time.

— Maria. Her name is Maria. — he said.

— I don't understand… What secret am I supposed to learn with her? What will it change? — Natasha answered incomprehensibly, trying to see some truth in his eyes, but there was none. There was only a direct, clear look without the heaviness that usually comes from the eyes of a person who knows something important.

— It will change your life. It'll change everyone else's life. It'll even change my death.

Because I miss her so much.

Very strange words. He seemed very much alive, healthy and full of vigor. His skin was a little pale, but that was nothing more than the color of his skin. But something seemed odd about him, and it wasn't yet clear what it was….

— How do I find her?

— First you have to want it. And when you want it, they'll help you find it. There are plenty of people who can do that around you… I couldn't find it if I were you. No one would help me. But they will help you. If you want it, of course.

Natasha looked at him, and she felt scared. And then she realized why. He wasn't breathing!

It was quiet, and she could hear her own breathing, her own heartbeat, and the occasional breeze.

But he's not breathing. And his chest doesn't move. It's a dead man!

She staggered backward, and then it was as if she recoiled:

— Stop! You're dead!

— Yes. It is. I told you that you can change the lives of others and even my death.

— Why change it?! Why change anything if you're dead???? — Natasha screamed and immediately covered her hands with her palms…..

— It's all right, Natasha. You're what…" someone's voice said, a little anxiously.

She woke up. In sweat and Misha's arms. He stroked her head and held her close to him:

— Natasha… My darling, it's all right… Everyone's alive. It's all right.

She calmed down a little, especially seeing that his eyes were not at all like the man she had just seen in her dream. Misha's eyes were very alive and very specific, all business and constant thoughts about different details. It was a little comforting right now.

— I saw him again. In my dream. — said the girl.

— Who? The warrior who told you about the secret of the Black Stone?

— Yes. Him. Maria. He said again that I had to find her. And I would if I wanted to. And that it would change other people's lives. And his death. He was already dead. And he said he missed her, I guess. Maria, since he kept talking about her. Should I believe it?

Misha took a deep breath. After all these betrayals and suspicions, the question of trust seemed blasphemous to him:

— Trust who? Who to trust? There Grisha … How many I knew him. How many we fought hand in hand. How much blood spilled … And he, it turns out, surrenders us to the plagues … And happily does it … You should have seen his eyes … And how he said it "penalty major Bolotnikov" … His last words. Words full of contempt. Like the devil himself said them, it made me shudder… And how easily he sent himself to the other world. Just like that.

— You didn't want to tell me.

— Yeah. I didn't mean to. It's the kind of thing you don't want to tell anyone. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have— I just couldn't help myself. I wanted to say it to someone else instead of dragging it out with the major.

— How did you know it was him? Why did you even go to check on Grisha?

— No one believed it was Ranierov. He's a real piece of work. But a lot of things didn't add up. So I started thinking. I went to Bolotnikov and told him that Gora was too definite about Ranierov. As if there were no options. As if there's no one else… And there's that girl the miners asked us to meet, but we couldn't find her. Her father's a foreman, after all. And he didn't say anything about her. Maybe he's got his own game going on. Now that he's prefect, he's got so many subordinates. Maybe he didn't want to talk about her. And who else he didn't want to talk about…

And even if it's nothing about her, it's for sure, even if she is for sure… And there's little chance… There's little chance. This unambiguity is strange… It doesn't fit… There could be someone else. And we could have found her, too.

— And you didn't find it?

— No, we didn't find her. Somebody saw her once. On the other side of the river. Maybe they imagined it. Well, how do you look for her? Walk through the woods and fields and yell, "M-a-r-iya…" Is that it?

— Maria? Her name is Maria?

— Yeah…

Misha looked at her and tried to figure out what else he could have said wrong, since she had such a change in her look, and couldn't figure it out.

— It's her! She's the one asking me to find that ghost in my dream!

— All right, all right, all right. I'm not even gonna argue… He's asking me to find her. All right. What are you gonna do now? I'm gonna raise our units and look for some chick? Who am I gonna tell that makes as much sense as you say it does? That you need her to understand the secret of the Black Stone. They won't even let me finish, they'll say that you're all drunk and crazy with grief. That's what they'll tell me.

— So you remind her that the Mountain needs her.

Misha froze. He didn't even know what to say to that. Woe, because she was really needed then. Needed then, needed now. And, if they have a hunch that he started to play not on their side, so she will be very useful. It does make sense, regardless of what Natasha was dreaming about.

He put his arms around her and kissed her hard:

— You're smart… You should be a chief commander…

Inquisitor

The room was disgusting. It was just plain disgusting. Not dirty, not damp, not small. Just disgusting. The stench of the S.S.C. stank everywhere. It was as if they went and wiped the walls and the floor with themselves, and then climbed up on stepladders and climbed on the ceiling.

Samoh looked at this room and burned with hatred for everything around him. Someone had dared to choose this room for him. Someone had dared to put his own sentries outside this room.

And someone dared to decide for him when he could leave this room.

Ananhr. That vile creature. The sister of a member of the Central Committee of the Empire. A colonel of the SCC. A woman. Yes for any of those words combined with what was done to him should be tortured and executed. Torture and execution. And put on paper how it was done. How it was done precisely, coherently and in a timely manner. By all rules, standards and canons. So that no other creature, no other sister, no other colonel, no other woman would dare to even think that she could dispose of the Metropolitan's time.

And yet there was a window. Not a wide one with bars. But still a window. And now it seemed to be the most important thing in the room.

It was the fourth floor and quite high to the ground. Every now and then, a patrolman from the SCK security drill passed by below and looked around. Not once, no matter how many times they looked out, there was no sight of a plague from the punitive drill of the unspoken resource. It was already the second day, and not a single one of them had passed by, there were no sounds of them outside the door, and in general they did not appear anywhere.

Samoh was beginning to worry. Of course, his drill without a command shouldn't do anything, but seeing that their leader was gone, they should at least engage in searching for him, find him and get orders for further action. Especially the last order they were given was to keep control of the sector's administrative building. And where is it,this control?

One could imagine that together with the novices, the SSchekists one or two by one also interrupted a few chums of the tacit resource, but to imagine that they were all interrupted like that. No. It's impossible. There is something wrong here. It's all beyond comprehension… Shots would have been heard, explosions. Even if we imagine they lost, it couldn't have happened so meekly and silently. It's impossible.

Samoh looked out of the window into the distance. From here he could see the road he'd had to take three days ago stretching off into the distance, and judging by the way the trains went back and forth from time to time, it was more than workable. He'd been sitting like that watching those tracks all day, hoping to find something that might help him get out of this shit. And the whole time he was thinking, one central thought flashed across his mind — how did he even get into all of this in the first place. I mean, everything was going according to plan. His masterful victory in the Corsa sector over Bazankhre. And his sudden appearance here. Everything was going his way… And in a moment he didn't understand, all his achievements had been undone….

No. It's not quite no, though. It's not the accomplishments that have been undone. He was derailed. And solely because of his overconfidence. That's what he allowed himself to do in this game. And it was that, and nothing else, that had brought him to this situation… Everything had gone too smoothly on the Corsa sector, too much as it should. But also the opportunities there were all hands on deck unlike what he had here… What did he have here? Surprise effect? Any other trump cards? No. Well, why did he get so careless? He knew that bitch had something to lose and that she wouldn't let herself be drugged like the others… Did he know that? He knew it. So why didn't he take it into account?

His mind was beginning to clear of hatred and anger. Starting to become more objective. When he began to realize that he had allowed himself to do things he had no right to do, he relaxed, he got loose… There were times in his career when he had to retreat, change his mind or his plans, and only then go on the attack again. It seemed perfectly logical. But now the rank of Metropolitan had clouded his eyes… No, one must not make such mistakes. Even with the support of Nevrokh, even with an unspoken resource. No matter what surrounds him — must be in shape and ready to take any blow. And from anyone. And anywhere. And certainly in the cloister of the SSchekists…

How they stink. And everything that surrounds them…

Samoh noticed a train coming toward the administration building, and recognized it as his own, with a reinforced mid-car with a railing on the roof. He had indeed ordered them to arrive in the Deese sector when the work on the tracks was completed, but they should have arrived yesterday, and he thought he had simply missed the point. It turned out that the train had only arrived now, and this new mismatch of plans and reality had him stumped again. Where were the orders being carried out anyway? His orders? The Metropolitan's orders. The punishment drill has no idea how it controls the building. The train arrives when it wants to… One could assume someone made a mistake, was late, betrayed. But for everyone to do it at the same time. No, that's impossible. And there has to be some explanation.

The Inquisitor stepped away from the window and approached the door. Then he knocked threateningly several times. He knocked intermittently and very powerfully. He knocked intermittently and powerfully, so that it looked as if he were knocking someone who was ready to come out if he wanted to.

The door opened almost immediately. A secret police officer appeared, and another behind him.

— Do you require assistance, Your Eminence?

— You're the one who needs my help. Do you want blessing or excommunication?

— Your Eminence, we serve at your service and protect you, including as an important witness in a treason case. — Without blinking an eye, the one closest to him answered. It was obvious that they had been given strict instructions, rehearsed several times, and it would not work to try to browbeat them or to enlighten them in any way. They would fawn over him indefinitely and would not allow him to leave the room even one meter.

— Tell your mistress that either she will come here herself, or she will have no witness. — The inquisitor said firmly and slammed the door shut behind him, making the two S.S.C. officers a little uncomfortable. Let them know that he has physical strength too, you damned brats. They dare to make a fool of themselves in front of him.

It was beginning to get dark, and Samokh lit a kerosene lamp for himself. He put it on the table and sat down in front of it. The room was quite spacious, and there were two windows, facing two sides from different corners. But still the smell. That unbearable official odor of those lousy servants from SCK… After a couple of minutes the lamp was already smoking properly, and the vile smell was somewhat diluted by burning kerosene. Even so, it was better…

The door to the room opened and a foot stepped inside. The mantle of the Metropolitan was revealed, and in the walking shadows from the lamp Samokh recognized his colleague Guzokh in this plague. Having choked a little at first, Samokh jumped up from his chair and exclaimed in surprise:

— What the hell are you doing here?

— I came to see an old friend… — Guzokh was leaning on a long wooden staff and seemed to be barely moving his feet. — I suppose you have failed to find heresy here…..

— Why are you clowning around?! Help me get out of here. Call my chums from the Boer that came with me!

— Why call? — Guzokh settled on a chair near the entrance. Despite the simplicity and even a certain decrepitude of this piece of furniture, he didn't look inferior on it. On the contrary, he looked humble and unwavering at the same time, which was a bit surprising. — So that you, brother priest, would massacre this place?

— What is this heresy? Do you realize what you're saying? I'm locked up! By what right?

— Under secular law. What else… Why did you start saying such things about our holy patriarch? If it's true, you should testify in the case of state treason. And if not, you should resign as Metropolitan because you slandered His Holiness.

Guzokh sat so calm and at ease that one would have thought he had come to preach to a bunch of his favorite workers somewhere in a factory making flags and special symbols of the plague empire. His eyes were practically unblinking, and his breathing was very even. And expectant…

— So you're with them! — Samokh shouted. — You foul creature! You should be burned yourself!

— I serve the holy Church… But you, brother priest, seem to be confused about whom you serve… And yet, I will ask you again… Have you slandered the holy patriarch or are you ready to testify against him?

— I'm going to kill you! — Samokh lunged at Guzokh and tried to grab him by the robe with one hand, swinging with the other. Samokh drew back easily, and then swung his staff at him. There was a crack, and Samoh was on the floor, flying backwards. His mouth was salty with the taste of his own blood.

— Don't be so hot… — Guzokh said in a calm voice again. — I see that you are finally confused… Well, nothing. We have time to think…

— My punishment drill will set me free! And then you will have your bonfire! — shouted Samoh, still on the floor.

Guzoh, who had already gotten up and opened the door to leave, turned around and, smiling slightly, replied:

— This drill belongs to the holy Church, Brother Priest Samoh… And all the time you have been in this cell, it has been subject to me….

End of part three.

Оглавление

Bolotnikov

Prefect

Commander-in-Chief

Inquisitor

Zhivenko

Mercenary

Governor

Prefect

Metropolitan

Chief SCK

Inquisitor

Prefect

Mercenary

Commander-in-Chief

Inquisitor

Mercenary

High Priest

Zhivenko

Inquisitor