After the cafeteria, Nur and I fell a little behind my guys, and I whispered in her ear.

"Did you imagine it very vividly?" I asked with an obvious hint, also giving her a meaningful look.

"Like I lived through it," she said, her voice low with meaning.

We understood each other, but I wanted more details.

"Fancy a rest? Denis's bed is always at your disposal."

"I think I'd better pop by the infirmary. Maybe they'll prescribe me another pill," she said, flicking one of her earrings.

"Good idea," I agreed.

So she headed off to Doc Bulsara, while I went back to my room. Not to lounge about on the bed, but to write to Novak.

Outgoing message: V. Novak

Subject: Reaction!!!

Content: S. R. Mehra!!!

I prepared the message but hesitated, not sending it right away. It seemed I'd sent something very similar when I first met Rahman, and now she no longer felt like a threat. Besides, it had already been more than half an hour since the encounter with Mehra. Better to formulate it properly.

Outgoing message: V. Novak

Subject: I'm certain!!!

Content: S. R. Mehra!!! She asked about the ring, described a strange image, and Nur had a reaction to it. Looks like she is the lover of Nur's "acquaintance".

Novak's authoritarian reply arrived within a minute:

"To me. Now."

It was a good thing his aura didn't press through messages, though replying was still frightening.

"Soon there will be my shift in the block. Leaving without a reason will raise unnecessary questions. Besides, Nur's with Bulsara right now… And a lot could become clearer in a few hours."

No response. One minute, two, seven...

And what was I supposed to do? When Kate was unhappy with my loose tongue, she had zapped me thoroughly with electrobolts — although that had been under the guise of training. What would Vaclav do? It was one thing if Wong miscalculated her strength; if Novak miscalculated, there would either be nothing left of me but a wet patch, or a pile of ashes — depending on the technique he decided to use.

Outgoing message: V. Novak

Subject: Shift

Content: Sir, may I complete my shift?

"Permission granted," Novak replied.

I don't think there's any job at the School that could beat shifts on security duty. I'm sure there are better-paid jobs, but they also require far more effort. And thanks to some well-timed scheduling, I hardly ever had problems with troublemakers. This last shift, once again, I spent lounging on the bed with a tablet, browsing the library for movement techniques that might improve my dodging.

To be honest, I didn't find anything particularly useful, but at least I had a rest — and some tea.

After the shift, I wrote to Novak again. He replied that I should come by after supper, but not before. In the meantime, I was to keep an eye on Nur and stay alert.

Very reassuring... Not paranoid at all!

I approve.

Thus, I spent the day in the Fist Garden — keeping watch over the drones and packing baskets of violets and immortelles.

There was nothing suspicious in the Garden, apart from the arrival of the first penal cadets — those sent here by their supervisors for some dreadful transgressions. One of them somehow managed to earn three penalty points from Diego 098 for careless handling of the baskets. The cadet had kicked a full basket of flowers to clear a spot for another one, causing the Fist's Qi to detonate — the lid blew off the basket, and the cadet was flung into a drone, crushing it with his armoured backside. Thanks to the reduced gravity, the drone wasn't too badly damaged, but it still needed repairs, and the chain reaction took out two more baskets of flowers.

I think the cadet was very lucky it was Diego and not Albert. Albert wouldn't have settled for just three points.

As for the rest, Nur and I didn't have a safe chance to exchange even a few words, so all I knew was that her migraine had eased but kept returning whenever she thought about that scene. The Doc had told her it wasn't anything serious.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Well, if a specialist with a hundred years' experience says so, it must be true!

We finished the rest of the shifts in silence. Nur took breaks for walks and studying the Fist's Qi, while I stayed focused on packing baskets. I hadn't been gaining much from the Garden other than points for a long while now. I can't wait for Nur to move on to studying techniques so I can drag her into Rene's hall. Though it's still unclear who will be paying for that.

We said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek — playing the part for her girls — and then I headed to see Novak.

On the station platform, I was met by Doc Bulsara. The bald doctor stood ramrod straight, as if he had swallowed a stick for lunch, with his hands clasped behind his back — clearly, he wasn't thrilled to be playing nanny to me.

"Sullivan," he nodded somewhat loftily. "The Master is waiting."

Without further words, we made our way along the platform towards the lifts. Bulsara stayed silent the whole way to the lounge, and so did I. It seemed that silence had become the official protocol between us. This time, Vaclav didn't meet us himself, but the tea table was already set. There were two glasses of bourbon and a teapot. From its spout rose a fine steam, carrying a familiar scent — citrus and honey. Pure Thoughts.

It looked like the conversation ahead would be serious, and I would be an active participant. Why else would Vaclav bother brewing it?

"Take a seat," came the familiar calm voice.

Vaclav Novak emerged from the adjoining room, adjusting the cuffs of his white shirt. His gaze slid over me, paused briefly on the teapot, then settled on Bulsara, who was already lowering himself into an armchair.

"Farukh, bring Jake up to speed."

The doctor's eyebrows twitched slightly. I'd bet anything he was wondering what the hell a Golden Core, a neurosurgeon with a century of experience, was doing briefing a green rookie like me.

"Yes, Master," he nodded.

"Please, help yourselves," Novak emphasised, probably to make Bulsara's task easier with a splash of alcohol, and to jump-start my mind with tea.

Bulsara sipped the bourbon. His eyebrows twitched again, and he gave Novak a polite salute with his glass. Whatever had been poured in there wasn't simple stuff.

"The demon is displaying unusual — I would even say extraordinary — activity, but it poses no danger to Rahman beyond causing headaches. What's more, the harder he struggles, the faster she assimilates him," Bulsara said, then fell silent, waiting for my reaction.

I didn't rush to respond. The tea hadn't kicked in yet, but Novak clearly wanted to hear my thoughts.

"Still think it doesn't fit the laws of the genre, and he's going to bite us in the backside?" Vaclav asked.

"Anything's possible," I dodged the question and instead asked the Doc, "Nur saw those events. It was like she lived through them."

Well, it wasn't actually a question, but it was a good one.

"Yes, it seems strong emotions allow the girl to glimpse the demon's memories," the doctor confirmed.

"And it's only headaches she has to worry about?"

"Well, it's not going to do her mental health any favours, especially the intimate..." here Bulsara faltered slightly, "She's a heterosexual girl, and the memories... they belong to a heterosexual male demon."

I pictured myself in the wrong body during... No, I didn't!

Did not and do not!

Out of my head, you damned curse!

"I see where you're going with this," Novak said. "I like it. We don't even need to touch Mehra."

Farukh's eyebrows did something strange again — they seemed to stay in place but were somehow restless.

"Master?" he asked.

I finally pushed the nonsense out of my head. My fears of gender-swapping were nothing compared to what Nur might soon have to endure.

"Only if she's truly safe!" I dared to emphasise. "It seems like you finally have a chance not to bury a demon's victim in the wastelands. Let's be careful about this."

Farukh finally caught on.

"I tried setting up triggers for it. They burn out quickly," the doctor said. "Besides, I suspect it'll only be emotional, personal information — not military plans."

Novak took a sip and thoughtfully swirled the bourbon from one corner of his mouth to the other before swallowing.

Did it not burn him at all? I never understood people who could savour strong alcohol. Or maybe, at his level, bourbon felt no stronger than wine?

"Who is the Prime Minister right now?" Novak suddenly asked.

Good question.

I wasn't exactly well-versed in local politics myself. I was far more interested in techniques, and besides, things here worked a bit differently than they did on Earth. From what little information had accidentally made its way into my head, it was the United Nations, but with a system more akin to the European Union.

Wow! I remember what the European Union is but can't even remember my own name!

Suddenly, my ears clogged. It felt like someone had poured snow down my collar, and then screamed right into my ear.

"Teren!"

I flinched in shock.

That was my name. I was Teren, which meant "blackthorn."

"Jake?" Novak asked. Of course, he noticed the change in me.

"Just remembered something personal."

Novak raised an eyebrow but didn't press for details. Instead, he nodded at Bulsara, prompting him to answer.

"Te Rangi," the doctor replied. "Master, does this boy have a demon in his head as well?"

"No, Farukh. We've been through this. He was supposed to, but for some reason, it ended up in Rahman's head instead."

What had they been talking about? Had they discussed whether or not to bury me in the wastelands?

Novak chose not to expand on the topic. Instead, he asked another question.

"What's her stage? Te Rangi I mean."

"Middle Foundation," Bulsara answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Because culture matters," Novak said.

"The Earth is flourishing. You're too young to appreciate the difference," he told Bulsara — who, mind you, was 154 years old. "Back in my youth, we were still digging ourselves out from the last invasion. Perhaps if it hadn't been for the demons, for the threat of invasion, we'd have torn each other's throats out with all the enthusiasm we could muster. But now we are ruled by one of the weakest. She was literally dragged to the level she has just so she wouldn't be frightened by people like you or me." Novak savoured another sip and smiled. "On the other hand, we're not even allowed to run for office ourselves. And what about the demons? We're used to thinking that their invasions were led by the strongest, but was it really so?"

Novak gave Farukh time to let that sink in. I certainly did!

And then he gave the order.

"I want to know everything — every detail Rahman can pull from the demon's memory. Be it the taste of his favourite dish or his mating habits."

Probably not the best moment to remind him about the girl's safety. Novak was fully in "save the world" mode now. Still, even this time, he didn't miss the smallest flicker of hesitation in me. He looked me straight in the eye and added.

"Of course, only if you can guarantee that the girl won't come to harm. Culture matters. And if we abandon the protection of the weakest, then what makes us any different from the demons?"

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