The tea turned out to be brief and purely functional. To me, purple-grade Pure Thoughts were nothing extraordinary. Novak had spoiled me. For an average cadet, it was a valuable resource, and the fact that Rene was spending it on me was something I had to respect. Still, I was annoyed with him for once again turning my visit into a marketing stunt.

  Rene downed his cup almost in one go, threw in a few more comments about my pace and shoulders, then gnced into the hall, and could no longer restrain himself. The first-years had been left unsupervised for too long, and he just couldn't sit still. He turned the walls transparent and started scanning for mistakes.

  “Would you look at that!” he said, staring past me. “Sorry, mate, I’ve got to head back to the hall. Flow is key, just don’t try to force it, or you’ll end up like Andriychuk. Same mistakes, but one and a half times faster. You used to have that problem too, remember?”

  I nodded.

  “Well then, finish your tea. I’m off.”

  I didn’t linger either and drained my cup. For what it was, that tea was gold when it came to focused training, so when Rene vanished into the hum of the hall, almost instantly switching into his usual coaching mode, I was left to myself.

  The spot by the wall was taken again, and when I approached, the first-period cadet gnced at me, expecting to be chased off. But I wasn’t going to push my luck. I took the free line beside him, inhaled slowly, and activated the channel hologram.

  Rene spoke of flow, but flow doesn't come instantly. It needs a clear mind and refined technique. And I always got distracted by energy control. No flow, not until the qi starts following its proper path. The problem was, part of that path was more wilderness than road.

  I didn’t want to go back to Eriksen’s method — refining the movements, the awareness, the sensations at the cost of re-injuring my channels.

  I ran through the technique slowly, without outputting energy. Just the motions, just the physical mechanics, but with my mental focus anchored in the body. Then I added qi, but only minimally, almost symbolically. So little that I couldn’t even form a proper projection. The old channels were deeper, more stable; the qi flowed through them without loss. The new ones weren’t just untrained—they didn’t even exist yet. And that’s where the greatest energy losses occurred. It accumuted as unstable qi in my hands, mainly in the fists and the edge of the palm. But I knew how to deal with that. I expelled it from my body with a sharp, decisive palm strike, imitating a knife.

  The gloves were sturdy enough to channel the hit.

  I repeated the same thing dozens of times, caught somewhere between the joy of training and the crity granted by the tea.

  Over time, the channel along the edge of my palm began to cut through. At first, it was only on the level of intention and sensation, but judging by my experience with this kind of work, the physical signs would soon follow — a slight tremor and swelling, mild itching and a faint burning.

  Of course, I didn’t start moving more smoothly in a single session, and the channels hadn’t formed properly yet, but I was quite satisfied with the work I’d put in.

  The morning training stretched all the way to lunch. Normally, I’d head to the library after eating, followed by a second training session. But remembering what I’d promised Novak, I swapped the library for a novel, and the second session vanished entirely, because the book pulled me in. Just what I’d been afraid of.

  Thankfully, it was Zo who pulled me out. She’d just returned from a raid and wanted to meet up.

  Zo chose Tangerine — a pce where the prices didn’t bite. She arrived first and took a table by the window, overlooking an evening pza somewhere on Earth. Bao and I turned up almost at the same time. He noticed me and waited by the door.

  The fourth guest caught us off guard. Zo was sitting with a guy.

  It was the first time she’d brought someone along to our gatherings. Up until now, she’d simply bounced from bed to bed without much discrimination, like a kid let loose in a sweet shop, dead set on trying everything.

  He was a short European with long bck hair slicked back with gel. His straight hair contrasted sharply with Zo’s wild curls.

  When Bao and I came closer, he stood up and offered a handshake, the motion precise.

  “Tom,” he introduced himself.

  T. D. Taylor. Third Middle.

  So, the oldest and most experienced one here, if you didn’t count Zo’s actual age. Or mine. Still, I didn’t know my real age, but it felt like Zo was way older.

  The handshake was brief, firm, and just a touch indifferent, like someone who didn’t particurly want to be here.

  We took our seats, not quite sure what to talk about. There were all sorts of subjects we had to avoid with this guy around.

  “So,” she said, looking at me but throwing sharp gnces at Bao. “Has he told you about his idiocy yet?”

  Bao rolled his eyes.

  “We’ve been through this,” he said, sounding tired.

  Even Tom didn’t look surprised, he must’ve heard the story already.

  “You destroyed a perfectly solid foundation, you idiot!” Zo couldn’t help but snap.

  “And that’s the tenth time you’ve called me an idiot. Not tired yet?”

  She turned back to me.

  “Jake, back me up. You do realise it was a dumb move. It’s the same thing he pulled back in first year.”

  I sighed.

  “Zo, he’s alive. Not in a pod. It turned out fine.”

  “This time!” she shot back. “I’ve only got two friends I can speak honestly with, so would you two be so kind…”

  Something in those words made Tom gnce at her. She felt his gaze and instantly shifted gears.

  “Tell them, Tom!”

  “Um…” Whatever thought had crossed his mind vanished, and now he was just looking for a way out. He couldn’t say no to the girl, but the st thing he wanted was to be dragged into an argument between junior cadets.

  “It’s his life, his decision, and he followed it through,” I said.

  “Thank you!” Bao said sincerely, and Tom gave a small blink of agreement, just as sincere, if more subtle.

  “I’m not on your side,” I added to Bao. “Your perfectionism is dangerous. I just don’t see the point in stirring it all up again. What’s done is done, and the consequences were minimal.”

  Before Zo could unleash the artillery again, this time in the form of her boyfriend, I cut in, “Why don’t you tell us about the raid instead?”

  “Yes, love,” Tom chimed in supportively. “That’s why we came, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I didn’t get the crystal, and that’s the main thing. Means I’ll have to drag myself back into those bloody mines in a few weeks!”

  From that point on, the tension between her and Bao began to ease.

  All in all, I got the feeling Zo had picked the safest raid route with the lowest projected yield, so she’d probably be going out on another run soon enough.

  Mostly, we were just getting used to a new face at our table. It was the first addition since cull. But Tom still had a long way to go before he earned the kind of trust Marlon, Denis, and Nur had. He hadn’t been through everything with us. And Bao was right, it wasn’t up to Zo whether she could tell him anything.

  That was her choice, sure. But she’d be a complete fool if she didn’t respect Bulsara’s decision.

  Speaking of Zo and Bulsara, also Bao and Johansson, I only found out about that the next day, when Novak brought me up to speed on the details of the portal project.

  The project was built on Space as a base, but the portal itself, the technology, required two other types of qi: Gravity and Vacuum.

  Gravity had strong synergy with the Mace, and there was even a theory that the Mace wasn’t pure qi at all, but a mix, like the Sword, which consisted of Edge and Bde, one of which, supposedly, was Gravity.

  One way or another, Bao, after his second breakthrough, was also set to join the project’s young talents, specifically as a Gravity user. Zo, for her part, would represent Vacuum.

  Vacuum was an even more controversial type of qi, though the debate wasn’t so much about its purity as its definition. Some proposed calling it the Void, the Abyss, or other epic-sounding names. Strangely enough, it was this qi that was responsible for the safety and integrity of an object’s passage through the portal. The failure of the initial experiments had come from its absence.

  In short, Novak wasn’t sending only me into the project. Bao, admittedly, was under the command of the Hall of Order of the Bck Lotus, but I could count on him as an ally, and he on me.

  Who we couldn’t count on was the project director. Novak didn’t sugar-coat it.

  “He’s a self-absorbed bastard,” he said ftly. Not as an insult, but as a statement of fact. “Thinks he’s a genius like no other, and that’s not even the biggest problem.”

  I stayed quiet, letting him go on. If Novak was calling someone a bastard, it was worth listening.

  “The real problem is that he’s been given carte bnche,” Novak said. “Absolute. Because of time constraints, the scale of the task, and the simple fact that there’s no one else, no one ready to take responsibility at that level.

  “He has no internal limits when it comes to sacrifice. If stabilising the portal means grinding a dozen b techs into paste, he won’t bat an eye. If it takes a hundred, then a hundred it is. To him, it’s not a tragedy or a drama. It’s statistics. All losses are justified.”

  I recalled the bck surface of the ring and the crushing sensation that came from the portal.

  “He doesn’t care about individuals,” Novak went on. “He cares about results. And he genuinely believes he has the right to make those decisions, because if he fails, humanity loses everything.”

  “And technically, he’s right,” I said, shivering at the thought. “Which is not comforting. People like that need a controller.”

  Novak allowed himself a faint smile.

  “Exactly. There is an administrator, but our genius is at Stage Five. The admin’s only Fourth.”

  Another Fifth Rank? Seriously?

  Novak looked at me directly now.

  “To him, you’re a resource. Promising, useful, but repceable. He won’t talk to you, won’t try to convince you, and definitely won’t consider your opinion if it gets in the way of the schedule. But he can’t force you, if you show enough will.”

  I gave a non-committal grunt. As always, all the talk, all the philosophy I was fed — it was just preparation for the task.

  Novak paused briefly to sip his tea.

  “You won’t be working with the project head directly,” he said. “He’s too busy to deal with regur team members. You’ll have a direct supervisor — a Fourth Rank. One of three candidates, I’m not yet sure which. But you’ll manage them just fine. If things look like they’ll get physical, drop my name.”

  That sounded far more manageable.

  “So what exactly will I be doing?” I asked. “I’ve got no idea what the tasks might involve.”

  “Nor do I,” Novak admitted. “Right now, they’re testing the space gates — rings for spaceships. Everything points to a successful unch. After that, an expedition will be sent to the edge of the system, to the wormhole, with several sets of rings. It'll be travelling for over a year, so I don’t expect any serious work before the passage is activated.

  “Once Earth is linked to the wormhole, that’s when the real experimental work begins. I’m told there’s little difference between pnetary and system-level portals, but interstelr wormholes… that’s something else entirely.

  “You’ll have time to study up on the theory, and break through to Third Rank.”

  MaksymPachesiuk