«If it weren't for the men in my life, I could be everything. Because of them, I can be everything, but only when one of them desires it strongly enough.» She chastised herself for such thoughts, but the mind that controls everything else doesn't control itself.

Rebecca was fixing her makeup in front of the mirror. Her lipstick had smudged, and drops of sweat that had trickled down her forehead during the dance had made her foundation uneven in places. She stared at her reflection, squinting against the harsh light of the bulbs around the vanity. «I don't know if this is a good idea, Mike.»

She looked around the room and glanced at the all-seeing eye of the camera – easy to overlook for someone who had never been in this room, but unforgettable for the occupant, for whom constant observation was a sign of both security and addiction. She averted her gaze to the floor, lowering her head as if embarrassed by making eye contact. In a way, she was right.

"Sometimes I replace the guy at the monitoring station," Mike had once said when they were lying cuddled in her bed. He didn't need to add that he only looked at the image from her room.

"Do you watch when I'm alone?"

"Only when you're alone," he replied and kissed her forehead.

She rose from the comfortable pouffe. She walked towards the carved wooden bed, its shape meant to resemble an open shell concealing a precious pearl. The black arachne robe rippled with her movements, like the surface of the sea. She spread her arms dramatically, and it flowed to the floor, slowed in its descent like bird feathers carried by the wind. Rebecca grimaced at the sight of the most expensive commercial knitwear material on this planet, carelessly thrown on the ground – one of the few things she had taken from home but didn't dare to sell. Or maybe she didn't want to... «Decadence! That's it!» Oh, how that word fit her current life. «Some people keep arachne clothes in special anti-radiation chambers.» When she moved it with her foot, it again seemed as if the air was resisting it.

Naked, she threw herself onto the mattress full of decorative pillows in crimson. The dark waves of her hair spread out on the freshly changed bedding. From the ceiling, the image of Botticelli's Venus from Old Earth looked down at her, remembered or copied by some amateur painter who participated in the Great Migration. It was said to differ from the one known to the Dignified Ones of the Highest Earth, but the inhabitants of Verteria didn't hang other versions in their homes, even after so many thousands of years since the Settlement.

Rebecca was always fascinated by how Venus's mood seemed to follow her own. After her studies at Xantos, it shouldn't surprise her; it had been known for centuries that the environment behaves like a mirror in the face of our emotions, moods, and attitudes.

However, whenever the universe gave her a small confirmation of this, she felt like a skeptic who had prayed to their god just in case and was surprised that the prayer was answered. In fact, there was something religious about the generally accepted approach. Sometimes she regretted that higher education took away from the adepts, to some extent, the sense of magic and wonder in what they do, reducing it to years of observation and repeatable patterns summarized in a textbook in one paragraph, at best in one chapter. The only salvation for divinity and astrology was the fact that the women involved in it were rebellious by nature, which often determined their acceptance to the university. The rebellious nature was the last bastion that prevented graduates from adhering to rigid textbook frameworks with a clear conscience and protected the entire field from the fate of anachronistic Science.

She looked into Venus's eyes – thoughtful, uncertain, as if she didn't know where the accompanying Zephyrs were leading her. «I should listen to my intuition.» She closed her eyes and delved once again into her last conversation with Mike.

---

"Without cameras?" she asked, clenching a cigarette between her lips. The damn lighter wouldn't ignite again, despite replacing the worn-out focusing lenses. She nervously pressed the ignition button.

"You need to give it a moment to catch." Mike said and was met with Rebecca's irritated gaze.

He looked away and glanced at the tangled bedding and pillows scattered on the floor. On the sheet, he noticed traces of red wine and smeared lipstick. A sight like this in Rebecca's room always made him feel a lump in his throat, even though he knew he shouldn't feel that way. «What an idiot of me!»

"I know, I need to clean up here," she said through clenched teeth. Her eyes softened, and he sensed sympathy in her voice.

"Don't worry, they'll be calling you to the stage soon. I'll send someone," he said with poorly concealed distaste for the scene before him.

Seeing her clumsy attempts to light the cigarette, he searched his pockets for matches, lit one, and extended it towards the woman. Rebecca sighed in resignation and leaned towards Mike. The robe she was wearing fell gently, revealing her bare breasts and still flushed décolletage. An indistinct grimace passed over Mike's face, which could have been an expression of anger as much as shy nervousness. «What an idiot of me!»

Noticing this, Rebecca moved away from him as soon as the cigarette attached to the end of the holder glowed with an orange light. She wrapped herself tightly in the fabric, firstly to avoid distracting him, and secondly to show that she wasn't in the mood. She inhaled the smoke, felt it reach the corners of her lungs, and slowly exhaled the vapors, shaping her lips as if for a kiss. Leaning against the wall, she watched as Mike, still nervous, put the matches back in the inner pocket of his gray double-breasted jacket and sat on the pouffe, crossing his legs and thoughtfully stroking his lips with his fingers.

"The decision is yours, I won't..."

"Mike, damn it, I know the decision is mine. I want to know what you think about it. You're the one who talked to him." She looked expectantly.

"You know our policy. The less you know, the better you sleep."

"We also have a policy about cameras."

"Breaking one rule doesn't imply breaking them all."

«Who still carries matches? He is so old…» Rebecca usually didn't pay attention to this. Sometimes, however, especially when he was nervous, it seemed to her that his forehead wrinkled in all possible directions, and when he finally relaxed his muscles, the skin didn't immediately return to its place. Bags typical of people over fifty were starting to appear under his eyes, and the outline of his jaw was no longer as sharp as it used to be. He was still undoubtedly a handsome man, and time usually added to his attractiveness as it left its mark on him. Just not now, not when she was angry and wanted them to clarify this matter as quickly as possible.

Mike stared expectantly at the woman and her hostile, analyzing eyes. «I don't like this either, Rebecca.»

---

The man appeared in his office a few hours after the club opened. According to the clock, it was the middle of the night, but one couldn't say that here in Chi, a city where the sun never rose, anyone would care what time of day it was. Unless they had something to do at an office. Or when they were keen on breaking into someone's house while that person was out having fun at a club. If such an unlucky victim was fortunate, good-looking, and talkative, maybe they even managed to find a girl who didn't charge for sex. Most of them had no such illusions, though. It wasn't without reason that Chi was called the city of unfulfilled wishes and a thousand whores.

"I realize you don't usually deal with customer service," the man said, making himself comfortable in the chair opposite the desk.

"Indeed. Your request must be quite unusual."

Five minutes earlier, the concierge had burst into his office.

"Some guy wants to talk to you, boss."

"You know very well that I don't conduct conversations with clients," Mike said, not taking his eyes off last week's financial data. «Damn it! Another person who thinks that if he talks about his 'extravagant' wishes with me, the stain on his morality will wash off more easily.» He shook his head and sighed to himself. «What do I know about morality?»

"He gave me 100 terrans to pass this on to you."

Mike frowned and looked at the concierge over his glasses. «100 terrans...? Who gives a concierge 100 terrans?» He looked at the subordinate once more, whose entire body tensed up in anticipation of the decision. «That's why he came.»

"Bring him in."

And so he sat before him now - comfortably sprawled, with one leg nonchalantly crossed over the other, leaning back. He wore a beige hat, a long brown coat, under which he had on a fashionably cut suit vest and matching creased trousers. The man's neck was encircled by a burgundy ascot and a long, perfectly pressed collar. Mike had years of experience with wealthy clients, as well as those who wanted to look wealthy. The man before him belonged to the second category. His shirt with button-up sleeves gave him away. The clothes that were supposed to look tailor-made were ill-fitting in places where they shouldn't be. «A disguise? Or just frugality?»

"Let's get to the point, if we may," the visitor interrupted Mike's inspection and took out a newspaper from his coat.

He opened it to the penultimate page, where hot but often frivolous articles about the lives of local celebrities usually appeared. He placed the newspaper on the desk and pointed to a somewhat blurry photograph showing the mayor with a half-naked girl sitting on his lap. Mike growled under his breath. «Paparazzi!» He remembered the situation when two security guards escorted a very determined and surprisingly strong photographer out of his club. «They could have at least mentioned the name of the place.»

The client's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"The girl in the photo. I want her for an hour."

Mike glanced quickly at the visitor, then fixed his gaze on the unfortunate photograph again. «Rebecca. Of course.» He recognized her immediately.

"If that's the case, I don't understand why you're here. Requests of this type are well within the competence of those ranked below me."

"I know about the monitoring in every room."

Mike froze. «How...? The concierge? Damn those 100 terrans.» He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. «What does this man want? Blackmail?»

"I don't know what you're getting at. We don't keep camera recordings. And even if we did, the law doesn't forbid it," he said coldly.

"True, but it would deter clients with more... exotic preferences."

The guest stood up, leaned on the desk with his hands, and looked down at the owner.

"One hour with the girl. No cameras. No questions." He reached for the pen lying on the desk next to the financial reports and wrote something in small print in the corner of the newspaper. "Price negotiable."

Staring at Mike with a steely gaze, he slid the newspaper towards him. Mike felt a tickle in his stomach seeing the written amount. There was nothing to negotiate. The percentage from this transaction was his last year's profit. He could finally send one of his sons to college. He rubbed his nose nervously, staring at the astronomical sum. The natural instinct to accumulate goods and increase profit, called greed by some, fought within him against the fear for Rebecca.

"What guarantee do I have that you won't harm her?"

The man straightened up and, standing, looked down at him.

"None," he said bluntly.

With nonchalance, he began to look around the room, giving Mike time to think. He approached the nearest hanging picture depicting a couple in a loving embrace. He parted his lips pensively and added:

"The girl can have a gun if she wants."

Mike almost snorted. «Of course she'll have a gun.» Naturally, every girl was equipped with a weapon and knew how to use it. However, Mike's fear was dictated by something else. He realized that the check he would write to Rebecca after an hour with this mysterious man would be like a one-way ticket to a better world for her. «A world without me.» He didn't want to make this decision. «If she stays, it means she's the one.» And as often in cases when he didn't want to be involved in making a potentially bad decision, he decided that other people or the proudly sounding "destiny" would make the decision for him.

"If it will hasten your decision, I'll pay in cash," said the client, still staring at the painting on the wall. "Twenty percent now, the rest after."

"I need to talk to the girl."

"I understand."

He turned and added:

"The offer is on the table until the club closes. You'll find me in the Main Hall."

He bowed, tipping his hat, and left Mike with his thoughts. The club owner had the impression that after the man left, the room somehow darkened. «Nonsense... there's no sun here.»

---

He was now sitting in Rebecca's room with an absent gaze. This room also seemed darker to him than usual.

"We need a different form of protection," the woman broke the silence.

She extinguished the dying cigarette she had been smoking in silence until now.

"I've already thought about that."

He got up from the pouffe, approached her, and placed one of two small, beige discs he had taken from his pocket into her hand. She took the device in her hand distrustfully. He anticipated her question.

"It's a transmitter with a microphone. Attach it behind your ear. I'll attach mine."

"You'll be eavesdropping on us?"

She looked at him with a slight dose of distrust, which covered her concern. He swallowed.

"I'll only hear when you tap the transmitter twice. You can surely do it discreetly."

"And not by accident."

She nodded as if she heard his thoughts. She came closer and stroked his face.

"I have a performance soon. I need to get dressed."

"He'll come to you after the performance."

She nodded and turned to go to the dressing room. He didn't have the courage to tell her the exact amount. He was too frightened by the vision of happiness and hope that might light up in her eyes. «Then I'd know it wasn't her I was looking for.»

Mike went towards the door. He grabbed the handle but couldn't bring himself to leave. He felt as if he had forgotten to tell her something. Maybe he should mention that he thought he saw traces of mud on the visitor's shoes. «I must have imagined it... no one who values their life walks on these streets.»

The slam of the closing door left her alone, searching for a suitably shiny and sufficiently provocative outfit.

---

When Rebecca opened her eyes after a long moment, Venus's eyes softened, and she herself calmed down. Although certain aspects still troubled her, these unknowns no longer hung over her like vultures over a victim three breaths and a dozen heartbeats away from death. They were more like scattered jigsaw pieces which, although currently resembling no recognizable form, were soon to arrange themselves into a coherent image, perhaps even worthy of framing and hanging on the wall. She knew the feeling that accompanied her now - a sense of meaning in past and future events, harmony with the universe, not just belief, but knowledge that the chosen corridor of time was the right one.

Unfortunately, this certainty opened the way to long-untouched memories, from times when she was learning to recognize this state. In response, her body shuddered slightly - automatically, uncontrollably, like the string of an instrument set into vibration. «It means nothing. I have no right to feel this way, I can't be guided by this.»

Tension returned to her body, reminding her of the panic she fell into during the conversation with that mysterious man hidden in the corner of the Main Hall. When he looked into her eyes, a new dimension exploded in her head.

Deaf silence broken by a high-pitched squeal, shots and flashes, a growing buzz, as if from an insect or machine. The smell of sweat, moisture, and dry air at once, a menagerie of various figures emanating auras of different colors. Then rhythmic drums, pounding in her ears, a feeling of panic, ecstasy, fear, all at once. A prehistoric song from Old Earth. Darkness.

Suddenly, the Main Hall, along with the nostalgic jazz music, familiar mixture of tobacco and brandy scent, and the visitor's blue eyes returned, simultaneously aged by a million years and rejuvenated by a nanosecond.

She hadn't had a vision since she met Mike. She thought she had managed to put to sleep the echoes of a long-gone past, and with them the imperfect skills tainted by lack of experience and immaturity. Much was said about the Awakening techniques of the Xantos academy - it was thanks to them that the Seers were so effective: regardless of whether 5 or 50 years had passed since graduating. "Basics, experience, intuition" - their credo proclaimed. The presence of each of these three pillars ensured a vision of the future close to infallibility. Each graduate experienced a different balance between them at various stages of life. Thanks to academic conditioning, the credo churning through seven years of study ensured the practical impossibility of relying on only two or one of them. At least for those who completed their education.

Future Seers experienced visions as early as their second year of studies, so this wasn't one of Rebecca's first visions. However, she usually anticipated the previous ones, felt them coming, and could prepare her body and consciousness for them. The lack of this, combined with its intensity and almost two-year break since her previous vision, meant that when she returned to the Hall, standing before the stranger, she had to lean on the table to avoid falling. It was hard for her to maintain attention on what he was saying when her thoughts were racing at an indescribable speed, trying to understand what she had just seen. She hoped that the studied role of a quiet seductress, which she had played so many times before, managed to cover the fear associated with what she had experienced.

Now as she thought about it, she concluded that she wasn't scared by the content of the vision itself, but rather its suddenness and the fact that it was triggered merely by eye contact. Right after the vision left her, she intuitively felt that she was bound to this man by forces she didn't understand and, at least until she underwent Transformation, wouldn't be able to understand. She knew that being bound by destiny was natural, and fighting it - absolutely pointless. «I thought I would avoid this. Dependency.» She hated that word and all its implications, to the extent that the awareness of being tied to someone by fate resulted in that sudden panic attack she experienced there in the Main Hall. The Xantos conditioning came to her aid. The assumption was to prepare the adepts for the fact that visions of the future could evoke a variety of emotions. They were taught a smooth transition from sometimes fiery feelings, through smoldering awareness, to cool acceptance. Since too much time had passed since her training, the latter came to her only when, staring at Venus on the ceiling, she analyzed past and upcoming events. She didn't allow herself to trust blindly what she saw or what she felt. This exactly separated her from Transformation.

Despite the swirling uncertainty, some inner peace smoldered in her, a quietly screaming intuition that everything was as it should be. «Let's stick with that. If I'm really bound by destiny to this stranger, I'll find out soon.» She smiled to herself at this thought. «Well, well. I didn't expect such bold bets with fate from myself. Ultimately, I'll find out if my five years of study and all this Awakening were worth shit or not.»

She looked at the golden pendulum clock hanging above the door. Her mysterious guest was due to appear in fifteen minutes. «I should prepare.» From the fragments of conversation, she remembered as if through a fog, when her consciousness was still overshadowed by the freshly experienced vision, she deduced that the client had no special requirements regarding her appearance. «A nice change. Though intriguing.» Thinking about this, she had in mind the advance that Mike had left on her dresser during her absence. It was impressive. Although not as large as she would have expected given the requirements regarding cameras. «Did he not give me everything?» She didn't hold it against him. She knew that in the end, he wouldn't be able to deceive her. «Illusion. Everyone deceives themselves.» This thought struck her. With resignation, she got up from the bed, picked up the discarded robe lying on the floor, and went to put it in the anti-radiation box.

---

Gareth stood sheltered from the rain in the recess by the entrance to the now-defunct adult movie theater. He squinted his eyes against the colorful neon lights enticing guests to cross the threshold of the advertised club and leave at least a part of their today's pay there. He twisted his lips into an ironic smile at the thought that on a street equally filled with tobacco shops, alcohols, and brothels, the announcement of "Two for the price of one" did not necessarily refer to bottles of vodka or packs of cigarettes. «Speaking of fags, if Manfred doesn't show up here soon, I'll have to go get some.»

The second butt was already crushed on the pavement as Gareth worked on the third one. He smoked occasionally, nicotine tablets were enough for him on a daily basis, but such jobs always threw him off balance. «Madness... How am I supposed to convince her of this? Some disguises, tricks, and then... Okay, pull yourself together. You've already persuaded women to do stranger things and no one paid you for it. Is that the point? When money is involved, you get scared? Please... but damn, such an amount...»

He hung his head over the burned-out cigarettes, tapping them with the toe of his boot thoughtfully. He returned his gaze to the busy street.

At this early hour for this district, a fair number of transporters were quietly moving over the roadway. Due to the narrowing in some places, the drivers had only one lane at their disposal, and that was a single-level one. The vibrant nightlife and poor road infrastructure meant that heads of annoyed passengers stuck out of the transporters more often than on other streets. They directed words of threat, criticism, or general irritation towards the other vehicles. This sight filled him with surprise tinged with amusement, as it was unlikely that anyone would respond to these people, unless it was another agitated passenger who also had no greater influence on the situation on the road. The transporters may have resembled the archaic automobiles that the first Verterians took with them from Old Earth when they were just beginning to conquer the market.

The inhabitants of Old Earth apparently insisted terribly that they be allowed to take this "miracle of technology" with them. It turned out that what the Dignified Ones had at their disposal surpassed any of their ideas - the internal combustion engine could not compete with them. Their pride would not allow them to reconcile with the sense of humiliation. They were looking for a way to at least show a semblance of independence towards the superior Saviors from the Highest Earth. So they created a hybrid of an archaic structure with improvements from this dimension. Operating the machine required minimal human intervention, and in residential areas it was usually limited to entering destination coordinates on a mechanical keyboard. Few in places like the one before his eyes actually drove the vehicle themselves.

His eyes were caught by one of the old, weather-beaten posters hanging in the recess. It depicted two women in vulgar poses, smeared with grease and with war paint on their faces. They were dressed in tattered, skimpy, leather outfits. The advertised film was titled "Mercenaries from Harel." He frowned at the thought of his hometown and the image its inhabitants apparently had of it. He looked back at the street. «At least we can drive our own transporters.» He immediately ignored the thought that the particular talent for driving vehicles among the Harel demographic was more a matter of necessity than choice and was associated with a particular profession that required preparation for "emergencies." As always, reflections on the city and its peculiar character evoked bittersweet memories of his father. «Ah, old man, if you could see me now, smoking like a chimney with nerves... you probably wouldn't be fazed by such an undertaking...» Thinking this, he exhaled another cloud of bittersweet smoke.

Scanning around, he tried to spot at least one person walking. The sidewalks on both sides of the street were very narrow, and few people walked on them. When pulling up to a club or a shop, a ramp or stairs would extend from the entrance, allowing one to reach the door with a clean foot. Occasionally, he saw a vehicle stopping at one or another lit entrance, with an elegant man jumping out enthusiastically, waiting to help his chosen companion for the night get out. She would smile coyly at him, and he would look almost crazed. He would embrace her at the waist, and she would whisper something in his ear, causing his pupils to dilate and an expression of excitement to wander across his face. He followed them as they were carried away by the ecstasy of the night, until the doorman closed the heavy, ornate, wooden entrance doors behind them. More often, however, he saw better or worse dressed, more or less drunk men who, with more or less success, managed to reach the entrance via the protruding ramp.

Finally, he saw a corpulent figure, tightly wrapping a coat around itself in fear of the driving rain and plodding towards him. «Finally!» Gareth waved his hand to catch the attention of the man, who was very focused on avoiding puddles and broken glass. The man quickened his pace, changing his gait to something like long, clumsy leaps. When he finally found himself under the canopy in the recess next to Gareth, he shook himself, shuddering and hopping from one leg to the other. Gareth smiled slightly amused at the thought that his acquaintance now resembled a dog-escapee who had just returned from one of his solitary forays, got wet, and decided to shake himself as close to his owner as possible.

"You got my coat wet, Manfred."

"Shut up," the other snapped. "You should have gone to those clubs yourself. Damn weather..."

Gareth smiled. He glanced briefly at the man and noticed traces of lipstick on the collar. "Indeed, it seems you've had some unfortunate experiences."

He smiled wider, and Manfred laughed in response and stretched out his hand towards him.

"Better give me a cigarette."

"You're out? You?" Gareth asked ironically.

"Some people don't want to talk until you smoke with them. You know how it is. I've already smoked so much that one or two more won't make a difference."

"What a sacrifice. No wonder you're still the best in your field."

"At least I'm doing something. You're not exactly eager to work today, are you?" he teased Gareth, who averted his gaze and grimaced with distaste for himself.

«Damn, he's right.» Seeing this, Manfred grew serious and patted him on the back.

"Hey, come on, what's wrong? It's not the first or last job like this. Give me that cigarette."

The lighter illuminated Manfred's tanned face, and his mustache moved in satisfaction as the warming tobacco vapors reached his mouth. With finesse, he exhaled a smoke ring and began to speak.

"The girl you're looking for works at the Orion club. It's two blocks away. Grab a taxi and wipe your boots, they don't take dirty people from the street and your disguise might not work.” He looked with disgust at his friend's new outfit. “Next time change your tailor, because he messed up the job a bit, but maybe if you slip the bouncer a little something, it'll pass. Anyway, you'll have to do that to get to the manager and negotiate the cameras. I'm not a hundred percent sure, but they'd be stupid not to have them in a place like this. Too wealthy clients with too strange predilections, you understand." He paused for a moment, took another drag, looked seriously at Gareth, and grimaced slightly.

"Here you might have a small problem. The bartender, a wonderful woman by the way, told me about the strange relationship between this chick and her boss. Apparently, she's some kind of favorite of his, or something like that. They say he doesn't sleep with anyone else, well, maybe except his wife, but that's probably out of duty. Anyway, I don't know what kind of amounts we're talking about, but you're going to have to really dig deep."

"Don't worry about that. You'll get double the rate, too."

"For a smaller one, you'd have to pay me extra for the laundry." He glanced at the lipstick stain. "Jasmine would give me hell for this shirt."

"Say hi to her from me. And getting back to it... what about the girl's room? Any windows, vents, secret doors?"

"And don't you think that if they were secret, no one should know about them?" Manfred joked. «If they're secret, it's exactly you who would know about them, that's what I pay you for.» Seeing the impatience on Gareth's face, he returned to the matter at hand.

"There's a window, straight to the fire escape stairs that lead down to the parking lot for the big shots. Theoretically, you could park there, but the exit from the gate leads to a street like this one." He nodded towards the congested roadway.

«I might not have enough time.»

"Yeah, that's not the best. Wait, does that street lead to... you know, one of the main ones?"

"Yes, I was just about to..."

"I think I know how to solve this, thanks." «Need to relocate the transporter.» "What about the rest?"

"All set. I'll wait for the signal."

"Great." Gareth reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of banknotes.

"Drop by the city more often," Manfred added on his way out, patting the inside pocket of his coat where he had stashed the bills. With a smile, he stubbed out the still-glowing cigarette. Without bothering to crush it underfoot, he went back out into the rain, waved down a taxi, which surprisingly quickly lowered its flight to sidewalk height, and disappeared behind the doors of the transporter, greeting the other passengers.

---

Gareth found himself alone in the alcove, with a nurse in a too-short kilt eyeing him lasciviously from a poster on the wall. He furrowed his brow. He ran his fingers across his lips pensively. Once he knew what he had to do, the whole undertaking seemed simpler. «The waiting is the worst part. It's much easier to act.» Thinking this, he strode out from under the overhang, heading towards the transport hidden in the alley next door. «Praise the universe for all the alleys in this city.» He grimaced at the phrase, angry with himself for still holding on to such old-fashioned beliefs. «An alley is an alley, sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not. The universe doesn't care.»

Maneuvering the vehicle took him some time, mostly due to the abysmal road conditions, and only a little because of Gareth's distrust of the autopilot and its too-dynamic driving style compared to the autonomous taxis. Right off the main street, behind a building on the corner, there was a small, dark, dead-end alley. He almost missed it, but a hunch made him slow down and take a second look in that direction. It was in the perfect spot, if Manfred's vague instructions had guided him correctly. Considering Gareth's precise requirements regarding the location and the surrounding area, as well as his own unfamiliarity with the city, many would call it luck, but Gareth had already chastised himself mentally for such an attitude. «The feeling of having luck distracts and diverts attention from the goal.» He left the transporter there, trying to park it as deep as possible so as not to attract attention from the street. Sitting in the taxi, he tried to wipe his somewhat dirtied boots, as his acquaintance had instructed him. The vehicle was empty, and he could calmly prepare to make a good impression at the Orion. As much as he disliked the automated control system, he had to admit one of its undeniable advantages - it didn't ask questions, it just drove.

The entrance to the club was one of those less conspicuous ones, but you could feel its whispering elegance from the moment you set foot on the ramp. The golden, classic, unobtrusive sign above the entrance, the elegantly dressed robotic concierge, but above all, the mirrored doors in which the approaching guest could admire themselves, made one pause and wonder if this was really a place one could afford and whose atmosphere one could handle.

The robot opened the doors and bowed before the guest, to which the latter nodded, as usual somewhat flustered in the face of this anthropomorphic machinery. Gareth approached robots with reserve and never knew whether his behavior towards them was proper, too polite, or not polite enough.

The lobby, for such a renowned and exclusive place, was surprisingly small and cozy. The wooden panels on the floor in various shades of brown were arranged in geometric patterns, shiny from frequent and diligent polishing. The lighting, as in most such clubs, was minimal, soft and warm. It gave the room an intimate atmosphere and evoked an irrational, subconscious conviction that every secret was safe here and had no right or possibility of reaching the prying ears of the outside world. The walls, instead of paint or popular, cheap fabric, were covered in long, wide panels that stretched from floor to ceiling. The modular construction might seem convenient if one wanted to change the decor. However, Gareth suspected that it had more to do with the ease of replacing the materials covering the panels than with a love of interior design. «It's easier to remove a dirty fabric, put on a spare one and wash it, than to paint over a stain and wait for the paint to dry. And it certainly looks better.» He wondered if the owner would have to replace any of the stretched fabrics after tonight's events. «Maybe this color won't show it.» The material was in a bloodred shade, with floral patterns embroidered in a darker thread. In that brief fraction of a second during a blink or when squinting, the patterns on the walls seemed to present provocative erotic scenes, undetectable when looking at them in a normal way. Under the window with heavy drawn curtains stood a small, quilted, leather sofa, but it looked as if no one had ever sat on it. It was evident that the clients who came here were too important to be made to wait in the vestibule.

"How may I be of service to the esteemed gentleman?" asked the mysteriously smiling concierge, leaning against the dark wood counter with golden geometric decorations.

"I want to speak to your boss," Gareth replied confidently, removing his leather gloves and tossing them onto the counter.

The concierge's face twitched slightly at this dismissive gesture, but the smile, this time a tad malicious, returned to his lips, framed by long, reddish mustaches that hung from his nose and below his chin. Gareth thought it looked rather slovenly.

"I can assure you that I've heard of all sorts of, hmm, proclivities. I would even say that simplicity is sometimes, hmm, much more surprising."

His smile seemed increasingly slimy to Gareth. Furrowing his brow, he reached for his wallet and pulled out a banknote of the highest denomination. He slid it slowly across the counter.

"I want to speak to your boss," he repeated, scrutinizing the doorman.

He saw distrust in the man's eyes: his nostrils were flaring like a wild animal trying to assess a threat. The man briefly glanced towards the corner of the room near the ceiling, as if expecting to see something there or communicate with someone. «Ah, the cameras. Now I'm sure.» The concierge extended his hand for the money and slowly tucked it into the inner pocket of his vest.

"At Orion, we greatly value the generosity of our guests," the man said coldly. "I will tell the boss that you are waiting."

He left, leaving Gareth under the watchful eye of the camera in the corner of the room. «Perhaps I'll be the first person to sit on that sofa...» He tried once more to go over the plan in his mind, but the concierge returned surprisingly quickly and hurried him to the office at the end of the corridor, as far as possible from the sounds of the electrojazz music coming from behind the curtain in the lobby.

He admitted to himself that he had expected someone else. In the small, dark green office, lit by a light similar to that in the lobby but unpleasantly sharper, sat a man with graying hair and a cleanly shaven face behind the desk. Gentle eyes were hidden behind half-rimmed glasses and thick, sternly furrowed brows. The threatening appearance did not come naturally to him, which distinguished him from the pimps Gareth had encountered in his almost thirty-five years of life. He sensed a hardness in him, but one he would attribute to a leader rather than an oppressor. It was hard to believe that such an ignoble profession came to him easily - he had everything under control and the club seemed to be a profitable business. «An interesting specimen.»

The conversation ended as he had suspected. Now everything depended on the girl's decision. «He said she would agree, especially for such an amount. As long as she hasn't changed in the last 3 years. I'm just worried about that man.» When Gareth pointed to the girl's photo in the newspaper, the pimp seemed stressed. «Surprising attachment. Hopefully he won't cause any problems.» Then, when he looked at the painting on the wall, it seemed to him that the figures resembled the club owner and the girl. But maybe it was just his imagination?

After leaving the office, he headed towards the Main Hall. He tried to ignore the suspicious glances of the concierge and the girl, most likely an employee of the club, standing behind the counter and pretending not to be talking about him. As soon as he parted the curtain, the smell of tobacco, good whiskey, leather furniture, and sweet floral perfumes hit his nostrils. The music, which had previously been just a faint echo, now resounded in his ears with the metallic tones of the saxophone and trumpet, the soft sound of the piano, and the indistinct sounds from the synthesizers. The music band, seated on the dimly lit stage opposite the entrance, consisted of musicians passionately playing their instruments, and partially of slightly less engaged robots. A black beauty stood at the microphone. She danced to the rhythm of the music, hypnotizing the guests with the fluid movements of her hips, arms and voice. Gareth recognized a familiar melodic line, but noticed the girl was trying to play with it. She constantly studied the audience's reactions, looking to see how much improvisation she could allow herself while still receiving a storm of applause and enthusiastic whistles at the end. He smiled at the sight of the girl immersed in the rhythm and melody. He tried to ignore the persistent thought that there was probably at least one girl like her in every club in this city - talented, passionate, but without the opportunity and with the hopelessness instilled in her daily by her environment regarding a better future.

He approached the bar where a blonde bartender stood behind the counter and ordered a cocktail called "Buxom Betty" made with coffee liqueur, whiskey, and cherry juice. As the girl mixed the drink in the bartender's shaker, dressed only in a short skirt and a suit vest, he understood what Manfred meant when he said she was a "charming woman." «Damn, what a dog of him…» He took the drink with a nod and moved towards an empty booth, as far from the stage as possible.

The drink was quite good, although a bit too sweet in his opinion. «I should have just ordered straight whisky.» When he was halfway through sipping the drink, the black girl came down from the stage to a storm of applause and sat next to a man devouring her with his eyes, holding a cigar in his mouth. She took it from him, took a drag, and kissed him. Smoke slowly escaped from between their joined lips.

His impatience grew with every minute. He had lost the fixed point of reference that was the woman on the stage. Now the space was filled with a chaotic hum - the scraping of chairs, the murmur of ongoing conversations. Someone was laughing loudly, someone else whistling. The band was playing an indefinite soft melody, and it was impossible to say with certainty whether it was a permanent part of their repertoire or if they were just rehearsing it. He was about to head to the bar to order something less fancy this time, but then he saw the owner looking around the hall. The man approached the bartender, exchanged a few words with her, and she nodded in Gareth's direction.

"Please forgive the delay. I hope you've managed to have a bit of fun in the meantime," he said as he approached the booth, bowing slightly with his hands behind his back. "How was the drink?"

"It was alright, but I guess I'm a bit old-fashioned in that regard."

"Absolutely understandable. Then let this one be on me."

"Thank you, you're most kind." «Not surprising. With how much I'm supposed to pay him.» "So about…?"

"Ah, yes." Mike hesitated to make the final decision.

If it weren't for the sparse lighting, Gareth might have noticed the uncertainty lurking in the manager's eyes. «My Rebecca.»

"We are willing to accept your terms," he finally forced out.

"Excellent. When will she be ready?"

At that moment, a woman in a black, sequined corset with a ruffled skirt, slit in such a way that it revealed legs clad in lace stockings, stepped onto the stage. She stood with her back to the audience, with her hands at her sides in long black gloves. For a moment, there was silence, and all the lights were focused on her. Gareth and Mike froze, staring towards the stage. A soft pluck of the double bass rang out, signaling to the rest of the band, the girl on stage, and the audience that the show was beginning. The other instruments joined in, and a pre-recorded female vocal, slightly nasal and hoarse, came through the speakers. The dancer tossed her head, her hair flowing, and the movement seemed to flow smoothly into her shoulders, back, and torso. Mike shifted his gaze from the dancing Rebecca to the guest. He saw a similar expression on the faces of many men he had met in this club: enchantment, a kind of excitement, a close encounter with inaccessible beauty. He felt a sudden surge of pity for himself and grew saddened. Gareth noticed the man looking at him and responded with an expectant gaze. Mike nodded towards the stage.

"After the performance. She'll be ready after the performance. The concierge will come to escort you to her room." He had the desire to end this conversation as quickly as possible. He bowed and added, perhaps a bit too hastily: "I wish you a pleasant rest of the evening. The reception will accept the remainder of the payment."

Gareth returned the bow but said nothing more. He turned his gaze back to Rebecca on the stage, and out of the corner of his eye saw the owner hurrying out of the Main Hall. From the beginning of the number, the woman had already shed both her gloves, and now she came down from the stage and placed a foot in a thin high-heeled shoe on the seat of a chair, to the delight of the group of men sitting at the nearest table. She smiled coquettishly, but her eyes remained threatening and distant, as if with an expression of disdain. «’Ignore me and I will despise you. Worship me and I will despise you even more.' A survival mechanism, or is she seeking seduction?»

He had to admit, however, that the performance was really in good taste. Naturally, it aroused the hidden desires of the viewer, touched them where they would want to be touched, but never say out loud. Nevertheless, it was done so subtly that the viewer practically didn't notice when the thought appeared in their head whether they could afford a night with one of these girls.

Rebecca finished the performance without her gloves, skirt, and the detachable lower part of her corset, but she descended from the stage with such self-assurance as if she were still fully dressed and her acquisition did not depend solely on the appropriate amount paid at the reception. She disappeared behind the curtain concealing the backstage area. A black-clad dwarf quickly darted across the platform, collected the scattered clothes, and also went behind the curtain. Gareth considered another drink. «Maybe it will help, at least for courage.» He tried to locate the bartender with his gaze and signal her to come to the table.

"I think it will be faster if you go to the bar yourself. I don't think anyone cares about a table so far from the stage," said a deep female voice.

Gareth turned his head towards its owner. She was wearing the same outfit she had worn on stage earlier. Her thigh peeked out from between the black frills. When he looked into her eyes, her eyelids widened as if in panic, the smile wavering for a moment. He heard, despite the din in the club, the sound of her catching her breath. Some strange spasm passed through her body. In itself, it seemed quite natural, but combined with the rest, it gave the impression that the girl was not feeling well. He noticed that she was leaning on the counter with her hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?" she replied immediately. It reminded him of parrying a blow.

«An attack to divert attention? Or perhaps just courtesy? She's still smiling. A mask?» He didn't respond. He looked at the empty glass in his hands.

"If you'd like, we can have a drink in my room. I have a few bottles for special guests like yourself."

The change of subject, the flirtatious smile on her face, and the lustfully narrowed eyes gave Gareth the sign that she had once again slipped into the role from which she had just fallen out for no apparent reason. She ran her hand along her body and said:

"I just need to change. Any suggestions?"

"I give you a free hand in this matter." he replied dryly and without enthusiasm.

He was glad that by paying such amounts he didn't have to play any kind of games in front of the cameras. «One eccentricity one way or the other won't make a difference. They don't trust me anyway.»

"Free hand, you say? Are you suggesting that afterwards my hands might not be... free?"

As she said this, she tilted her head thoughtfully, clasped her hands as if they were bound, then looked him in the eye and leaned towards him, resting both hands on the table.

"I assure you they will be capable of much more without any binding," she whispered.

"I assure you there will be enough time to discuss these matters when we are alone." «Oh, and probably many others.» "See you in a moment."

The girl stepped back as if slightly offended, but the coquettish smile returned to her face. She didn't say anything else, she just walked towards the black door with the golden handle to the right of the stage. Before disappearing through the door, she glanced back at Gareth - at first, he thought it was with fear, but he must have imagined it.

He forewent another drink and simply waited on the leather sofa, occasionally closing his eyes for a moment, listening to the club's clamor in meditative calm. Finally, he heard the redheaded concierge clearing his throat. He gestured towards the door. The corridor that lay behind it had the same decor as the lobby - the same colors, the same illusions on the walls, only the floor was finished in a soft red carpet. They went up the narrow stairs at the end of the corridor to the first door on the right. The receptionist knocked three times, announcing the arrival of the guest, opened the door for Gareth, and slowly retreated towards the stairs, still watching him surreptitiously.

As the other man's footsteps faded, Gareth entered the room. His hand in his pocket managed to discreetly press the button on the communicator, sending the previously prepared message to Manfred that everything was going according to plan. Rebecca was sitting on the bed with one leg crossed over the other. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, exposing her face with distinct cheekbones. She was wearing a dress the color of her skin, with large floral patterns embroidered in gold thread and adorned with crystals that played with the light at the slightest movement of the fabric. He was so disoriented that he barely registered that when he entered the room, her hand had clenched on the otherwise impeccably smoothed bedspread. She took another deep, hissing breath.

"Do you like it?" she asked before he could broach the subject of her suspicious behavior.

She looked at him expectantly. «That damned vision again! Dear Universe, let this be over as soon as possible...» When he didn't answer, she stood up and approached him, swaying her hips from side to side.

"You're rather taciturn. Maybe a little whisky will help you relax?"

She ran her hand across his chest and gently grabbed the lapel of his coat.

"Let me help you with that."

She stood behind him, ran her other hand down his back, across his shoulder, to his chest, and grabbed the other part of the coat. She drew close enough that Gareth could feel her lips on his neck. «Damn it, focus, that's not why you're here. Get to the point. Now.» Rebecca stepped away from him, holding the folded coat on her forearm. She tossed it carelessly onto the nearest chair, walked up to the dresser under the mirror, and turned around briskly, leaning against the piece of furniture.

"I hope you like the one from Werenworth. They still use real oak barrels, not infused synthetics, or so I've heard."

She enthusiastically opened one of the dresser drawers (which apparently also served as a modest bar) and bent down to retrieve two crystal glasses and a bottle that was about a third empty. As she did this, the strap of her dress slipped down. When she straightened up, Gareth could see a glimpse of her nipple reflected in the mirror. He saw her looking him in the eye and smiling in a way that only a fool would misinterpret. He averted his gaze as she began pouring the alcohol, and blurted out:

"Rebecca, your father sent me."

He heard the sound of the glass bottle being firmly set down on the copper tray on the dresser. Rebecca turned slowly towards him. She crossed her arms over her chest. In one hand, she held a glass filled with an amber liquid. Her head was proudly raised, her lips pressed tightly together. She stared sharply at the stranger. Her eyes were shrouded as if by a dark mist, like smoke billowing with fiery rage, ready to explode at any moment. She now resembled an enraged animal, ready to attack and crush anyone who dared to come closer. «And now I have to pet this beast and persuade it to wear a leash.»

There was one upside to this situation: the masks had finally fallen.

---

Rebecca seized the man up, exhaling angrily. She felt a burning heat throughout her body. She took a sip of the drink. The searing alcohol acted like fuel added to the fire. In the face of all these emotions and the returning pain from old wounds, a quiet voice of reason spoke up in her head. «You knew this would happen sooner or later. It's a miracle no one recognized you before.» However, her instincts and pride were prevailing over reason. Slowly, she set the glass down on the dresser. She still did not take her enraged eyes off the hired man. Encouraged by her apparent calming down, he took a step towards her. Rebecca jumped back and rushed towards the door. However, she underestimated Gareth's physical capabilities. He lunged at her and firmly grabbed her right forearm. She began to struggle, but the grip was too strong. There was no way she could reach the transmitter she had behind her right ear. She wasn't sure how firmly it was attached to her skin, and she couldn't risk it coming off. She braced her legs and tried to wrench herself free, but the assailant caught her other arm in the meantime. She tried to kick him, but the high-heeled slippers greatly hindered her. The man pushed her towards the bed, as if not feeling the resistance Rebecca was putting up in every possible way. He knocked her down under his weight, but managed to pin down only one of the woman's writhing legs. The girl saw her chance in this. With her still free leg, she delivered a powerful kick to Gareth's ribs. He lost his breath, bent over and staggered with pain, loosening his grip on her forearms. Rebecca used the moment of distraction to slip out of his grasp, roll off the bed, and reach for the weapon she kept in a small wooden box under it, usually dedicated for jewelry.

When the stunned and furious man got up, Rebecca had the gun aimed straight at his chest. «They usually aim for the head. Daddy's little girl.»

"A dead customer is bad advertising for the club."

She didn't respond, but she didn't shoot either. She remained motionless, holding the pistol with both hands. «If it weren't for those visions, you'd be dead by now.»

The look of anticipation in her eyes gave Gareth encouragement. «Something is holding her back... it doesn't matter what, the important thing is that it works in my favor.»

"Killing me won't change anything, Rebecca. Others will come, you know that," he spoke to her in a calm voice, positioning his body in a defensive stance.

«He's right. I know that.» Still, she did not lower the weapon. She adjusted her stance, relaxed her shoulders and straightened up to minimize the impact of the recoil in case of a potential shot.

"I have enough bullets to treat each of you."

"Perhaps not everyone will be tempted to use such subtle means as I do."

"Subtle and ineffective. Father apparently still doesn't know people. Especially not me."

It was only now that she noticed he had moved a bit towards her.

"It's not just your father who's looking for you," he said, ignoring her last response. "Your uncle is as well."

She made a surprised expression, but still kept the gun raised high. «Albert? He's back?»

"I don't believe you. He left the planet about fifteen years ago. He has no reason to be looking for me. And neither does my father, for that matter."

"Unless it's about power." Gareth lowered his head, looking gently up at Rebecca, letting her know he was aware of the situation.

"Ha! So that's what it's about!" she exclaimed, then added in a hiss. "I don't want power on my father's terms."

"If you don't come with me, you'll most likely be forced to accept it on your uncle's terms."

"That's a lot of bravado for someone I have a gun pointed at."

"A lot of bravado for someone who's facing kidnapping. Your uncle isn't known for being too subtle, you know that."

A momentary silence fell. Rebecca had heard the stories as a child, but didn't know which parts were true. Rapes, tortures, executions as examples. Perhaps such things could have easily passed a hundred years ago, or even now, if it weren't for the fact that Albert treated them not as a necessity, but as the highest pleasure, the essence of working in this type of "enterprise". The prospect of meeting him was not the most pleasant. «But I don't want to see my father either! On the other hand, since he's remembered about me... In the worst case, I'll have to run away anyway - from my father, my uncle, or the police, once they find that guy's body.»

"What does my father want? Talk!"

"He wants to make amends. He said he'll pass the ‘company’ on to you." He blurted it out, knowing he had little time left to convince her. «Maybe the jargon will help.» For a moment, there were sparks of hope and interest in Rebecca's eyes, which once again gave way to flickering distrust.

"Pass the company on to me? Sure... I've heard that before. Which of his little thugs did he appoint to be my husband this time?"

"No one. He wants you to take over the power. Alone."

She was stunned. She couldn't believe her father had changed his mind. «A trap? He wants to lure me in so I'll go with him.»

"It's hard for me to believe that. But since my uncle is looking for me too, maybe I should wait for a messenger from him and find out what his intentions are."

"I don't think you'll become their supporter. Your father suspects your uncle wants to take you as his wife."

"Oh, really?"

She understood now. «What a scumbag... did a rival have to appear for him to even consider me?!» She felt like screaming, throwing the gun to the floor. «Three years... he had to think about it for three years.» The rage over everything she had been through mixed with the desire to immediately accept his proposal. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise coming from downstairs, followed by cries of panic. She recognized the characteristic smell of smoke from a fire.

"I told you they wouldn't be subtle," said Gareth.

He still had that expectant expression on his face. His slightly furrowed brow and narrowed eyes were starting to irritate her.

"How do you know it's someone from him?"

"Me? I don't. But unlike you, I don't want to find out."

Another loud noise, even more screams and the sounds of chaotic running in the corridors. Rebecca felt she had no choice, but for some reason, it didn't terrify her. She lowered the gun and resigned, letting it drop to the floor. She looked into Gareth's eyes, now clearly calmer, still vigilant and expectant, but in a different way that said: «Looks like you don't have a choice, darling.» He raised his chin and clenched his jaw, waiting for her to vocalize her final decision. Rebecca took a deep breath as if hoping that the fresh air would expel the aversion to the newcomer that she apparently had to come to terms with. «So be it. Destiny.»

"What do you propose?" she asked.

He nodded towards the window, which led to the fire escape. She heard the sound of a door being forced open on the other side of the corridor and automatically turned her head towards the one to her room.

"We'd better hurry," Gareth said gravely.

Gareth quickly grabbed and threw on the coat, then rushed to the window. It was hard for him to hide his satisfaction that his plan had succeeded. «Wait with the congratulations until we're in the transporter.»

Gareth helped her climb out. It was raining, but the weather wasn't too bad for Chi. Rebecca leaned out over the metal railing. She could see the smoke rising from the windows on the floor below. Panicked customers were getting into the transporters parked on the patio and driving off in a frenzy. Others who had rushed out of the club were gathering in the alcoves to take shelter from the rain until their taxis arrived. From afar, she heard the wailing of sirens.

"Too many people, we won't be able to escape," said Rebecca.

"Up," Gareth replied, and headed up the stairs to the roof.

---

Following the man, who had introduced himself as Gareth, up the slippery stairs leading to the roof of the building, Rebecca analyzed her situation. She had no doubt that she had made the right decision in leaving behind the comforts of the private room in the club. The cold raindrops, soaking her clothes and hair, had somewhat extinguished the burning rage towards her father and the entire intrigue.

Her companion may have thought that the message from her father and the attack on the club had convinced her to climb up after him to the top of the building. The truth was a bit more complex. «Wasn't this what I really wanted? For him to find me and ask me to come back?» However, when she reflected on her conversation with Gareth, she did not perceive a request there. Rather, a threat, a bargain, a hard calculation. Her father knew that when faced with an unavoidable choice, she would prefer to choose him. It was not just about the promise of power, which (she allowed for the possibility) could have been just bait. She was supposed to want to come to him herself, not even considering Albert's offer, which was the one thing he couldn't promise her. It was primarily about the confrontation itself. «And he wasn't mistaken. Here I am, returning to you, father, like the prodigal son you never had.» She smiled inwardly at the thought of this biblical allegory. Struggling to catch her breath, she climbed the last few floors.

It was only when they reached the roof and she cast one last glance at the club's parking lot that she thought of Mike. «This will probably break his heart.» The thought came to her, but echoed without resonance. She tried to feel a semblance of compassion for the friendly soul in this den of vice. She had long known that their parting was inevitable. The vision she had evoked when he offered her a job with him was easy to interpret. Mike was passing through the corridors of time with which she resonated the most, but they all converged on a single point where she no longer felt his presence. He was more of a pawn than a destination, and this game had the peculiarity that the pawns were insignificant, interchangeable. By the way, she didn't trust the vision anyway, and after months of living in the club, she had convinced herself that she must have been mistaken. She looked thoughtfully at the illuminated metropolis. «If I'm not sure, then why am I even here?»

Gareth cleared his throat meaningfully, hurrying Rebecca.

"The transporter is in the alley, four buildings down."

They walked along the flat roofs of the buildings towards the main multi-level street. The question was still buzzing in her head. It was the only manifestation of her internal doubts. It had nothing to do with intuition, but rather with the conditioned and hated Xantos training, the mental muzzle imposed by the teachers, which constrained and limited, reminding her of her dependence on the school and the need to complete her education. And yet, despite the bitterness of uncertainty, she always knew what she should do. She didn't know where it would lead her, it didn't alleviate the pain and suffering, it didn't bring joy or excitement. She simply felt a pull towards the decision and listened to it. It wasn't strong enough to overcome the doubts, but it was there. That had to be enough.

They reached the edge of the last building, located on the corner of the street leading to "Orion" and one of the larger streets of Chi. They headed towards the stairs leading to the narrow, dead-end alley. For some reason, the builders did not bring the stairs all the way down to the ground. Perhaps it was simply a replica of what they remembered from Old Earth. At about the second floor level, a retractable ladder had to be lowered, and then they had to jump down.

Gareth went down first. He told Rebecca to take off her shoes, throw them down, and follow in his footsteps. She descended the ladder barefoot, nearly slipping on the first step.

"Wasn't there another way?" she complained, carefully making her way down.

He just shrugged, which made her roll her eyes. «Irritating...» She descended slowly, trying to hang from the last rung with her hands before dropping down. Even when she did that, she still fearfully realized she was quite high up. She looked around for something to jump onto. Suddenly, she let out a sound of surprise as she felt strong male arms catch her around the thighs, taking the weight that had been on her hands. Gareth gently set her down on the ground, kneeling. He looked up at her with eyes that in the faint light of the street lamps seemed navy blue. As he stood up, his nose nearly touched her dress, which clung to her rounded breasts with their erect nipples from the cold.

"You could have put my shoes on my feet first."

As he straightened up, the barefoot Rebecca looked up at him, raising her left eyebrow slightly.

"You could have worn different ones," he replied.

"You could have told me to wear different ones."

He shook his head, averting his gaze.

"Do you want to stay wet?"

"I can't get any wetter."

He waved his hand and headed towards the transporter. He didn't feel like getting into a war of words.

Rebecca herself wasn't entirely sure why she was so irritated with him. Maybe it was the soaking wet, unpleasant surface under her bare feet, the projection of feelings towards her father... or the awareness of another dependence.

She recalled her grandmother's words: «’Why mourn what is inevitable?' Well, since our shared fate is so inescapable, why should I be nice? I owe him nothing.» However, she realized that this wasn't entirely true. «He had an escape plan. I don't know how I would have ended up if it weren't for him.» She felt a glimmer of warmth for this man, which she almost immediately covered with a snort of disdain. «Of course, because he showed up out of the goodness of his heart. Fat chance...»

She gathered her heels, put them on without regard for the dirt on her feet, and walked towards the vehicle with her nose in the air. She sat in the back, slightly surprised that Gareth was in the driver's seat.

"I don't trust autopilots. Besides, it's better to drive yourself outside the city. The light corridors are treacherous." «And you never know when you'll need to make a getaway.» "In the back, you have a blanket and a pillow. Get some sleep. You can take off your dress. I'll turn my head."

She wanted to snort and roll her eyes. «You'd try not to.»

A moment later, they were exiting onto the lower level of street traffic - Gareth, having taken a stimulant to stay awake as the driver, and the naked Rebecca wrapped in a fluffy blanket in the backseat.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they left the outskirts of the city.

"You'll see," he said with a slight smile, focused on the road.

He chose the least traveled exit to the light corridors, with a signpost pointing towards Harel.