Standing naked in the shower stall, Ruda took several deep breaths, checking her body for discomfort. The first wound was more serious than she thought. The sharp blade pierced the shell and cut through part of the intestines, leaving rust and irradiated slag inside. The doctors cleaned and treated her injuries, preventing even the slightest risk of cancer, and Cenfus handed her eight vitamin suppository candles.

  She suspected that her attempt to evade examination by acting as a chaperone irritated him.

  The flesh under the bandages stretched and straightened with each breath, causing not the slightest pain. It'll do. Ruda reached for the terminal and sent a signal, confirming her readiness for training and service. She then finished wiping herself down with body scrub powder without letting a drop escape from the showerhead.

  But from under the bandage, where the nurse had used water instead of alcohol to wipe the blood from her belly, scales emerged. Blue, almost azure, and between her index and middle fingers stretched a membrane, thin as a film, yet very strong. The fingers themselves swelled, filling with muscle. Ruda stood still, holding her breath, watching as the swelling disappeared, the membrane merged with the skin, and the scales lost their bright color and dissolved, becoming one with the surrounding blackness.

  Whole. Tarnished but clean again. She stood still for a moment and put away the cleaning supplies, angry at the thoughts that had flooded her. Ruda pulled on a green top and red shorts and went back to her cabin.

  Of the two beds inside, one was cleanly made, and Julia's belongings she had collected lay packed for shipment to her family upon her return. In the oblong recess hung the venerable priestess's armor, with a ragged hole in the chest. Ruda didn't know her cabin mate very well; they had served in different units before being accepted into the Order and were assigned to different commanders, but in honor of her memory, she lit incense and cleaned the venerable armor, preparing it to be sent away for repairs. Upon completion, it would be given to a new sariant or knight.

  Our brother and sister had honorably fulfilled their duty, not disgracing the oaths they had taken. She remembered the magister's dispassionate words to the crusaders.

  They had gathered around the two transparent capsules containing the dead. Their lids were thrown back, and Ruda forced herself to come closer and apologize to the deceased for the dirt left behind and their constant arguments about faith. She knelt and kissed the forehead where the tan was fading to a deathly pallor and wished the priestess an easy journey to the Planet's court. Then Szarel concluded the farewell ceremony by listing the services of the lost comrades and praising their service records.

  Julia had been present at the defense of Stonehelm, had survived the entire siege, and had led fifty civilians out from under artillery fire, cutting down one of the invaders' champions in the last phase of the war.

  And now she was gone. She died far from her homeland, on a mission against insignificant savages, pierced by a plasma cannon.

  Why her and not me? Ruda asked herself again. Julia was pure, her faith was sincere, so why did the Planet need to take her? She frowned, angry at the stupid guesses. Her former cabin mate would have been the first to punch her and order her to make her bed and put her scattered things in strict order instead of pointless self-digging.

  And she would be ten times right. Ruda put her priceless treasure, the history books delivered all the way from Iterna, in the safe and moved it under the bed. She would hardly have enough time to read them again. Then she dusted off the table, reassembled the disassembled pistol, loaded it, and put it on safety.

  Ruda plopped down on the couch, looking through the mail. She deliberately put it off until the end of the mission, not wanting to be distracted by anything. Notification of automatic payment debit for watching movies. Hmm. She forgot to turn it off. No problem, they are just crosses. Easy come, easy go. Her brothers and sisters sent her congratulations on her recent birthday, and Dahel wrote two days later. Typical. Who cares? Her head is probably full of school right now.

  Love you, thank you so much! P.S. Dah, set yourself a reminder already. Ruda wrote and realized that the message had not gone through. They were probably still in stealth mode. The next letter was from the landlord, informing her of the Order's decision to pay her rent. The polite man offered to explain kindly to her all the privileges of her current position.

  Thank you, but there is no need. She wrote back, blushing slightly and hoping that he had not gotten into trouble with the authorities because of her stubbornness. Trained from childhood to strict economy and the spirit of mutual assistance, she was uneasy about accepting any free favor. The last messages were from Mom and Dad. Mom congratulated her and started apologizing again, and Dad simply wrote: I am ready to talk when you are, Ruda.

  Enough. You have done nothing wrong. It's all right, I love you. I had a birthday, by the way. Her fingers tapped furiously on the buttons. Again, they took her parting words too much to heart. It would've been better if Dahel had received so much attention. The poor little sister had confided in her about the ridicule she had received at the village school for her mixture of snake hair and horns. After an unofficial visit from Ruda and Satanini to inspire the younger generation, the ridicule had turned to admiring disbelief at the little girl's embarrassment.

  She'll survive. Embarrassment is preferable to humiliation. Instead of focusing on her, her parents should have solved the problem themselves.

  What was the point of rehashing the past? Discussing how something should or shouldn't have been done? The past was gone; it had already happened; only the present, and the future mattered. I don't want to blame you, and I don't need discord. I want everything to be as it was before. We had no choice. Why is it so hard to just forget that sale?

  A loud knock prompted her to put down the terminal and open the door. Ney stood on the threshold, a dark-haired, tall, youthful-looking guy without a single scar, dressed in a loose red tracksuit, decorated with an embroidered blue symbol of his noble house, a fiercely scowling bull's head. In his tanned hand, Ney held two aluminum cans that jingled as his fingers waved them.

  "I thought you might want to freshen up after visiting the radiation microwave." A playful glint flashed in his brown eyes. "Still keeping me outside? Was I wrong?"

  "Come in, come in," Ruda laughed, catching the cans and immediately opening one. The pleasant taste of hops touched her lips and slid down her throat in a cold trickle. "There's mineral water in the fridge! Also, cold."

  Ney paused in front of the broken armor, knelt, and touched his wrist with his chin. Straightening up smoothly, he poured himself a full glass of water and leaned his elbows on the table, shamelessly examining her.

  "Sad. I intended to treat the scratches that disfigure your delicate pelt. Bullets are not beer; try not to take them on your chest," he teased. "Even a child has enough brains to put two and two together and try to defend himself from shots."

  "Hey, the commander lost a rib today. Don't think I'm careless; in the chaos of battle anything is possible." Ruda didn't finish her sentence, letting a drop of beer fall on her collarbone.

  "Unlike you, El Satanini can afford to be wasteful." Ney moved closer, catching a drop of beer on his finger, and then licked it off. "But we need to take care of ourselves. No one will give us spare bones and organs. They'll give us augmetics, and we'll clank like Commander Eloise." Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his around her waist, touching the place where the fur met the human torso. "Need help patching your cape and tabard, little fawn?"

  "No." They rubbed their cheeks against each other. "Several of the former captives turned out to be weavers. They volunteered to mend our clothes in gratitude. I allowed it, since according to the customs, virgins must make the vestments of the Crusaders, and I'm not one of their number anymore."

  "Do you want to talk about it, precious fawn?"

  "No." She pulled away from him, finishing her drink and crumpling the can of beer in her fist. "Want to forget it," hissed Ruda.

  "Pissed off. At me?"

  "At you. At my parents," Ruda admitted. "You act like I need this conversation, like I'm a victim thirsting for death."

  "And you don't want to?" Ney asked, sitting down on the sofa. A moment later, she joined him.

  "No. I dreamed about it in that place, thought about it even after we were liberated. Nasty thoughts haunted me at home, too, I won't lie, but do you know what helped me?" Ney was silent, listening to her. "Dad took me with him as a volunteer when the miners near us were buried. So, when I was pushing the rocks aside, when we—Mom, Dad, and I—pulled a dude into the light, something clicked in me. I remember him as if it were yesterday: curly-haired, his helmet cracked, his black hair seemed gray from the dust, his face covered in scratches, and his lips were cracked from the heat. He was shaking all over and grabbed my hand, thanking me over and over again, and then I understood." She smiled. "Nothing is over. No one but me blamed me for what happened, and I didn't have time for self-flagellation anymore. I returned a man to his family, I was able to save those in trouble and maybe even punish oppressors, preventing tragedies. I snorted and rushed back to work, scaring Mom."

  "And then you sought admission to the Order." Ney nodded. "To become like those who stopped the slavers oppressing your home."

  "Not even close." Ruda smiled. "Seriously, I didn't look that far ahead. I joined the police; we barely survived the invasion; I was promoted to lieutenant in absentia for trampling a few shamblers while protecting civilians, and after the war, a recruiter offered me to join the Order. I asked about the salary, gasped, and immediately agreed."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that," confirmed Ruda.

  "What a crook!" Ney drawled. "I had to pass exams in shooting, forced marches, theology, and mathematics so that the recruiter would at least pay attention to me. During the exams, I was almost devoured, I fell into a swamp and barely crawled out of there and then didn't sleep for a week, taking vows. Why, oh why, did I choose a personal vow of sobriety as a personal burden?"

  "And this man accuses me of not foreseeing the consequences. At least we have some leeway on missions."

  "Eh. And she was simply served a title and a rank on a plate!" He poked the image of a green seahorse on Ruda's top.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  "Don't be jealous." She kissed his ear, keeping her distance from the glass of water. "The trials forged an amazing man out of you. You became a knight faster than me."

  "It's your own fault," he accused. "You would've earned the color long ago if you hadn't shown such aggression and recklessness. Are you sure you're not looking for death? Because today you rushed forward like a bull smelling a cow in heat."

  "Thank you for such a flattering analogy." Ruda burst out laughing, and Ney tickled her long ears. But he continued to look at her, waiting for an answer. "Don't confuse the readiness to die with the desire. If it weren't for me, who would have rescued Sylvie from the blow?"

  "You can't save everyone, Ruda."

  "Won't argue. But I can try to save those who are close. And I will try without sparing myself. This is my duty and what I swore." Her gaze fell on Julia's armor, and she fell silent.

  "Was she your friend?" Ney guessed the subject but not the reason for her concern. "Want to talk about it?"

  "It's just not fair. I do not believe in the Planet, I almost never pray, and I do not keep any vows. Julia was a devout and noble person, a hero. Why did God take her?"

  "It does not work like that." Ney shook his head. "The Planet allows people to make their own mistakes. God sends gifts so that humanity not only recovers from the results of its mistakes but also prospers in the future..."

  "And a bastard changed by such a gift killed Julia!" Ruda rose to her feet and paced the room back and forth, like a cornered animal. Ney's words struck a chord in her soul. "Latif was an Abnormal, those who held the defense at the armory too. What is the point of God giving anything to the wicked if he cares about us?"

  "Because the Planet does not need mindless automatons. We are free to make our own choices, and Julia's will clashed with the will of those who turned the blessing they received into the service of evil," Ney said patiently. "Victory or defeat proves nothing. Our choices are valuable because we choose how to act, without expecting a guaranteed reward from above. People are recompensed according to their deeds in another world. Believer or not, God loves everyone."

  "Uh-huh. What loving parent would allow... It doesn't matter." She threw the last can into the trash. "Sorry for acting like a pest. I didn't even thank you for saving me today. Well then. Thank you."

  "You're bursting with energy." Ney smiled. "How about channeling it into something positive? El Satanini is conferring with the magister, but the training hall is free."

  Ruda grinned, pulling Ney off the couch and grabbing her mace, twirling it in her hand to see if the extra weight was bothering her muscles. She tossed the weapon unceremoniously into the air and caught it with her other hand, pointing the tip at the knight.

  "Sire! Your challenge is accepted."

  ****

  "Sylvie!" Rustam called out, relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd of noisy youths. "Where have you been?"

  Shortly after Cenfus had drilled and filled half of his teeth and replaced the rest with dentures—ignoring the boy's desperate twitching and recommending him not to be a crybaby—Rustam, Grisha, and a couple of other kids were moved from the medical bay into a large room with many black displays on one side and rows of empty beds. At first they felt uneasy; the group tried to guess their future fate, and Rustam strictly forbade Grisha to use his ability. They couldn't change anything, anyway.

  Then the front door opened, and a stream of excited boys and girls rushed in. There were former newbies and freed slaves, and instead of quiet obedience, many had wide smiles on their faces, and the crowd burst into boastful statements about how someone had noticed and thanked their efforts personally. They were led by a giant in dark armor and purple robes, reminiscent of the colors worn by Szarel, but instead of strange words and pentagrams, on his breastplate a lion painted in silver was ready to spring, roaring at a sky filled with yellow stars.

  Pushing aside the arguing girls in her path, Sylvie rushed to Rustam, who was sitting on the bed, and he marveled at her appearance. Dressed in a baggy jumpsuit buttoned to the neck, decorated with orange symbols on the collar; a helmet dangled from her belt, and the girl's shock of hair was gathered into a bun, held in place by a simple string. The cuts and bruises on her face began to heal, and her pale, washed skin acquired a flush. But the most significant change was in her eyes. A little tired, they developed a purposefulness that ate up the usual fear and doom.

  "Rustam!" She hugged him, and through her jumpsuit he felt her heart beating very, very quickly. "I was so worried that they could've... that you might've been..."

  "It's okay," he reassured her, surprised by her concern. It was safer together, no doubt, but he had done nothing to warrant such care.

  "Your cheek! And... who is that with you?"

  "Grisha," the boy introduced himself, holding out his thin hand.

  "Were you starved too?! Why are you speaking so slowly?"

  Rustam stopped Sylvie and explained to her how he met his new acquaintance, what happened in the medical bay, and how he got his patch. His story attracted the attention of the other guys, and a small group gathered around them, sharing their memories and trying to guess where Grisha's homeland was.

  "So this cockroach pulled me up with three paws," said the girl resembling a barrel on short legs, choking with emotion, her head shaved almost bald except for the wheat-colored fluff on the top of her head. But her fingers, covered in scars from whip blows and calluses, were thicker than Rustam's wrists, and no one dared to ridicule her appearance. "And he tells me, 'You're saved; no one will do anything bad to you anymore.' And then he stuck a needle into my eardrum, and I shit myself! Allegedly, he needed to pump out the pus from my ear. And he just kept reproaching me for my unjustified reaction. I still have worse hearing with that ear."

  "It will pass," assured a gray-skinned Long Arm. The upper part of his jumpsuit was tied around his waist, leaving his torso bare. Outwardly, he looked like someone had taken Szarel and shrunk him three times. He even spoke dispassionately and measuredly. Rustam had never seen him before and was not sure whether he was a boy or a girl. But his voice resembled a man's. Sylvie mentioned that he was one of the freed prisoners. "Now you won't have a headache anymore."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I helped the vet in the village."

  "A horse doctor, then." The girl nodded respectfully.

  "A vet," the guy corrected her. "Grisha, do you remember anything about your home? Well, were there mountains, plains, what kind of houses were there?" He pulled out a notebook.

  "Look what I earned!" Sylvie took a handful of coins from her pocket and showed them to Rustam. In the center of each was a perfect cross. "If I understood correctly, then it is the money here. Take half; we need to figure out what they're worth..."

  "Sylvie. They are yours!" Rustam tried to refuse. "I did nothing to rob you of your property!"

  "Nothing," the girl snorted and slapped him on the forehead. "You saved my life!"

  "Tried, rather!" He returned the slap to her, and she staggered in surprise. The two stared at each other and laughed, pure and hearty, releasing the worries and grief of the past weeks and forcing themselves to believe that they had survived. "Seriously, it's your money," Rustam said, chuckling.

  "Mine, yours—what difference does it make? We need to stick together, Rustam," Sylvie said. "If we are together, if we share our earnings, then even if one gets into trouble, maybe the other will be able to pay the masters, so that…"

  "I don't think we have owners anymore." Rustam shook his head. "It seems we were freed by good people."

  "Don't be stupid," Sylvie whispered insistently, sitting down next to him. "There is no good, no evil; there are personal choices and the strong who use the weak. That's all. Right now our masters are in a merry mood; they are pretending, toying with us, because it amuses them. But it'll end soon. The others are too careless, but I know. I have been deceived before. The strong, the inhuman—they all love to give you hope. It makes it even sweeter for them to tear it asunder later so that you break. We must prove our usefulness. We must. Otherwise…" She shuddered, casting a wary glance at the entrance.

  The knight in black took off his helmet, and two long tendrils growing from his brown chitinous eyebrows straightened, touching the door frame. From the side, they looked like underdeveloped wings covered in dried-out feathers. Thick plates covered the entire head, almost hiding the dark eyes and creating the impression of a second helmet. If it weren't for the moving mandibles, Rustam would have thought so.

  Another Insectone.

  Gosha stood next to the knight, whispering and glancing sideways at the talking guys with his round, whitish eye without a pupil. Only red vessels crossed his eye. Rustam didn't like this look. Tall, covered in bony growths because of which he could barely bend his hand, Gosha's wrists were decorated with natural spikes capable of cutting flesh, and his jumpsuit was already covered with holes made by sharp natural shell. The guy was also a newbie and had a sinister reputation. They said he tried to escape and was taken on the raid by force. After that, the Malformed intimidated the rest into unquestioning obedience. The other newbies nicknamed him Corpse Eater since he was rumored to receive special snacks from the morgue.

  If Sylvie was right, then this big guy could be an excellent tool for reminding the kids of the need to obey. The knight leaned over, placing something in Gosha's hand, and he walked towards them with a smug grin, causing goosebumps to run down Rustam's spine from his whitish-bloody balls deeply embedded in his skull.

  Come on, you're just paranoid... He forced himself to get off the bed, looking around for any weapon.

  "I remember the house," Grisha said, surprised by the attention. "It was… you know, not made of a single chunk. Of individual bricks!"

  "So his people knew how to work stone," said the big girl. "Not barbarians."

  "And they had cement," Sylvie added, trying to shove the coins into Rustam's hands.

  "And what color was the stone?" asked Rustam, watching the approaching Malformed.

  "Gray. Like his skin!" Grisha pointed at the Long Arm. He merely waved his hand at the ensuing giggles, writing in the notebook. "And we had a barn. Wooden… I think. I don't recall ever leaving the house until we were attacked." He hung his head.

  "That's already a lot," the Long Arm encouraged him without changing his tone. "Let's think logically. The animals that abducted us would not have been physically able to travel far from this region. To the east are the Wastes, to the south is the Steppe..."

  "I'm from there!" the big girl said proudly. "My dad is very influential. If we hadn't been saved, his Khaganate would've come and butchered everyone!"

  "Even us?" asked Rustam. Silly girl, does she seriously think that her family would have saved her? He thought sadly. If she really was such an important person, how would she have been caught in the first place? Most likely, her relatives are no longer alive. But I don't want to voice it. "What's your name, by the way?"

  "Why would you be harmed? The Gilded Horde doesn't raid anymore. Цэрэг," after some hesitation, the girl introduced herself, holding out her hand to Rustam. His hand sank into hers.

  Damn, she's huge! And it's all muscles! He admired, immediately envying her physique. If he were like that, no one would touch his family or friends.

  "Don't get distracted." The Long Arm tapped his pen on the notebook. "If Grisha really had a barn at home, then it definitely couldn't have been to the east. He would've remembered the heat. Well, that's what I was told," he said to the other kids.

  "You're right," a tanned boy with curly hair supported him. "It's freezing cold here."

  "Cold? You know, hold on to that thought for later; I'm curious. What else can we ask to narrow down the search..."

  "What color was the barn? Did the grass grow on the ground?" Gosha's clicking speech interrupted him. He stomped closer, licking his torn tongue at the jagged, pointed plate that had grown above his lower jaw. His nostrils inhaled noisily, causing the two girls to retreat.

  "What do you want, Corpse Eater?" Rustam forced himself to ask, shielding Grisha with his body.

  The wet, large balls shifted, staring at him.

  "What I want, I won't get," Gosha stated. "Well, midget? I asked a question. Answer!"

  "Yes. There was grass. I saw it from the window when Mom opened it to let the breeze in," Grisha answered shyly.

  "So he lived in a place where there was water!" Rustam blurted out. "There are mostly rocks around here…"

  "And if his mother took care of him, then his family is civilized!" Sylvie spoke up.

  "Any fool can understand that much," Gosha declared, leering at the seated boy. "No water, no grass. No trees. A pretty family of soft-skinned. You don't see the obvious."

  "Enlighten us." The Long Arm's tone did not change, but Rustam could have sworn that he said these words with a chill.

  Sylvie stood next to him, trembling all over. She pressed herself against him, and suddenly the handle of the screwdriver touched his palm. Oh, you clever girl! He hid the screwdriver under his hospital gown.

  "Blind cretins. If they opened the window, then the wind there could not harm such a weakling and a brat like this little one. There are trees in the Steppe, but there are frequent hurricanes there, so he's definitely not from there," Gosha said smugly. "Well, did that narrow the search, gray mug? I am not as dumb as I look, am I?"

  "Hey, you're right," Tsereg said. "To the north, all the mountains are worn out by the wind, and to the south, the bandits would not pass; the Guild is constantly hunting there. And ours would have raised the alarm long ago. But don't insult my friends. Or else I'll break your back, freak."

  "And what are you, babe?" Gosha hissed, raising his clenched fist. "You sit here, chatting about nothing, as if you decide anything. Boring. Let's play an interesting, more exciting game, with real stakes, in which the winner..." The spike on his wrist swung, aiming at Rustam. ".... Will rule. And the losers will fulfill his every desire."

  Rustam squeezed the screwdriver tighter, preparing to defend himself.