Struggle. Taste of power

Prefect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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