— And now, let's turn to the latest news from the frontlines. Invading the territory of the 17th district of military operations, Imperial drones "Legion" suffered catastrophic losses due to interception by the forces of the Republic of San Magnolia — autonomous combat drones "Juggernauts" — and were forced to retreat. Our losses remain minimal, with no casualties reported...
The capital of the Republic of San Magnolia — the city bearing the na Liberte-et-Egalite*, was located in the first district. Throughout the nine years since the war began, the main street of the capital remained surprisingly tranquil and beautiful.
The snow-white facades of luxurious stone buildings were adorned with sculptures. Green trees and antique street lamps made of black cast iron created a picturesque contrast with the springti blue sky, filled with sunlight. Loud laughter of schoolchildren and enamored couples echoed from the corner cafes. The naturally silver hair of the visitors sparkled in the sun.
Above the blue roof of the city hall proudly waved the portraits of Magnolia, the Holy patroness of the revolution, and the five-colored flag of the Republic. The colors symbolized the five virtues: freedom, equality, humanism, justice, and nobility. Every detail of the city was ticulously planned, and in the center lay a wide and straight main street paved with cobblestones.
A little boy with moon-colored eyes walked hand in hand with his parents, laughing cheerfully.
"Well, it's ti to gather and leave."
Lena smiled at the passing family with a child and looked back at the holographic screen of the street television. Her eyes, silver-white in color, took on a serious expression.
She wore the Republican officer's uniform in Berlin azure*, with a stand-up collar. At 16, Lena's snow-white, delicately beautiful face was so graceful it seed made of glass, while her refined manners betrayed noble origins. Her loose hair, resembling white-silver satin, and eyes of the sa color, hidden beneath long lashes, indicated her descent from forr aristocrats, one of the subgroups of the white race, Alba*, known as Selena. The Albas had lived in the territory of the Republic long before its establishnt.
— Our advanced combat technologies allow us to defend the borders of the Republic using highly efficient drones, which are under the control of talented curators. The benefit and humanity of such an approach are beyond doubt. The day when the remnants of the forr empire of evil fall before the just order of the Republic is near. The Legion, in its last two years, will be defeated before its technology is completely disabled. Republic of San Magnolia — banzai! In the glory of the five-colored flag!
The Alabaster-haired girl with silver-white eyes concluded her speech with a triumphant smile. Lena's face imdiately darkened.
From the very beginning of the war, the news reports on the situation at the front were so optimistic that they denied the real state of affairs, which most of the citizens were unaware of. In less than half a month since the start of Imperial military operations, they managed to capture more than half of the Republic's lands, and even now, nine years later, the front line had not been pushed back.
Moreover...
Lena turned and looked at the sun-drenched street, as if it had just co out of a painting.
The girl announcer. The enamored couples and schoolchildren in the café. Crowds of passersby. The parents with the child walking by, and even Lena herself.
The Republic of San Magnolia, being the world's first state with modern democracy, actively encouraged the influx of immigrants and thus expanded its dominion. Initially populated only by the Albas, now it was ho to many other races: the dark as night Aquilas, the sunny-golden Auratas, the red and expressive Rubers, the calm and blue-eyed Caeruleus*. All the colorful races (collectively known as Colorata) lived in the Republic on equal terms.
Yet now, among those strolling along the main street, and indeed among all the residents of the capital and the 85 districts of the Republic, there were none without the silver eyes and hair of the white Alba race.
That's right. There were no colored races, just as there were none who could be officially recognized as soldiers or fallen on the battlefield.
And yet.
— ...That doesn't an there were no casualties.
Lena headed to the military headquarters — a magnificent building dating back to the late Imperial era, located on the grounds of the Blanc-Nage* castle, which served as a courthouse during the Empire. This castle, as well as the fortress fortifications of Gran-Mur*, built around all the administrative districts, beca the deploynt site for Republican troops.
Beyond Gran-Mur, from the walls of the fortress fortifications all the way to the front line, which was more than 100 kiloters away, there were no soldiers. Only Juggernauts fought on the battlefield, controlled from the headquarters. Over 100,000 drones guarded the defensive line, where autonomous surface-to-surface missiles, as well as anti-tank and anti-personnel minefields, were located. The enemy had never managed to break through this line, and accordingly, all the troops stationed in Gran-Mur had never participated in combat. All the duties of the personnel in the fortress boiled down to logistics, operation preparation, and other paperwork, so essentially, among the Republican military, there were no fighters as such.
The unmistakable sll of alcohol wafted from the passing officers. Lena frowned, thinking they were probably watching a sports match again, taking advantage of the big screen at the command post. She couldn't help but cast a disapproving glance at the passersby, which was t with scornful smirks.
"Look, it's the doll-loving princess watching us."
"Oh, how terrifying. It's the one who always locks herself in her room, keeping an eye on those valuable drones."
Lena turned sharply.
"You..."
"Good morning, Lena."
A voice ca from the side... Turning, Lena saw that it was her forr classmate Annette.
Annette, also 16, held the rank of captain and worked in the research departnt. They had known each other since middle school, where they had skipped several grades together by taking exams externally. Lena considered her her only friend.
"...Hey, Annette. You're up too early, usually you sleep in."
"I'm back. From the night shift... And don't think I was hanging out with those idiots, I had work to do. There was a problem that only the brilliant Henriette Penrose, the technology work captain, could solve."
Annette yawned — wide, like a cat. Characteristic of Selena, her white-silver hair was cropped short, and her large, almond-shaped eyes of the sa color were slightly upturned at the corners.
Glancing at the group, who had already moved away, emitting the sll of alcohol — they had exchanged greetings by then — Annette shrugged and gave her friend an expressive look, clearly indicating that educating fools was a waste of ti.
Lena blushed.
"Yeah, by the way, there was an intrusion signal on your information terminal. I could have taken control..."
"You can't. I'm sorry. Thanks, Annette."
"It's nothing. I've never been interested in piloting drones anyway."
Lena turned back, lost in thought, then shook her head and headed to the control post.
Her workspace was a small room, half of which was occupied by a console made of so inorganic material. Inside the room, semi-darkness and cold prevailed. The gray floor and walls dimly flickered in the weak light of the main holographic screen, which was in standby mode.
Sitting in the chair, Lena stretched her legs, lifted her long hair, and put on the raid device—a graceful silver ring resembling a choker. Finished with her preparations, she sternly looked at the screen.
The front line was far from Gran Mur, and now this tiny room beca the only battlefield in the territory of all 85 districts of the Republic.
"Initiating authentication procedure. Major Vladilena Mirize. Eastern Front, Ninth District of Military Operations, Third Defensive Squadron, Curator."
The authentication program checked fingerprints, voice, iris pattern, and activated the control system.
Several holographic screens appeared before her eyes, and data from various observation devices on the front line flickered. Then a digital map appeared on the main screen, with units of both Republic and Legion combat equipnt marked by dots.
70 blue dots represented Juggernauts. In Lena's third squadron, there were 24 units, with 23 each in the second and fourth. The Legion's red dots were countless.
"Activation of the Parareid perception synchronization system. Synchronization object—Pleiades central processor."
The blue crystalline substance located at the back of the raid device ward slightly. However, this warmth was rely a phantom sensation, induced by the activation of the nervous system under the influence of the Parareid.
Excited crystals initiate the process of information retrieval. They form a virtual nervous system that activates functions of different areas of the brain—so of these areas have been actively used throughout human evolution, while others have remained hidden deep within unused brain regions since ti immorial.
—"All this is just fiction, Annet. Excuses for not doing their job."
Smiling, Lena started fastening the garters to her stockings. She diligently underwent all periodic examinations related to raid work, but her friend still found reasons to worry.
—"That rumor about one guy committing suicide is true."
Annet sat behind the partition with a holographic image and entered new data into the raid device. Taking a sip of coffee from her mug—or rather, so strong, muddy water resembling it—she added:
—"Although I don't believe the old man's tales about ghosts. The guy just blew his brains out with a shotgun."
Putting on her skirt, jacket, and collar, Lena turned around and threw the falling hair over her shoulders with both hands.
—"...Really?"
—"I was tasked with investigating the case to see if it could be so raid malfunction. That would be a perfectly logical explanation for resigning from service or for suicide."
—"And?"
Annet shrugged indistinctly.
—"Well..."
—"What do you an 'well'?"
—"Since the guy is already dead, there's no way to conduct an investigation or find out the details of his death. The raid device is in order, and that's it. I tried to dig deeper. Like you said, 'the Gravedigger'? So, I contacted the transportation departnt, asking them to bring this processor here. But those idiots just replied, 'we have no room for pigs.'"
Annet folded her arms across her chest, leaned back in her chair, and snorted angrily. She had a peculiar tomboyish beauty and often mimicked n in her behavior.
—"And even when they brought him, we tried everything, but still didn't find out anything. Absolutely nothing!"
Lena frowned. Of course, these furious self-accusations were artificial, but it was still unpleasant to listen to them.
—"So, that processor was interrogated..."
—"Not by , by a guy from the military police. I did receive a report later, but it was purely formal. The processor stated that it knew nothing, end of report. I don't know if he told the truth or not."
The corners of Annet's lips lifted in a sarcastic smirk.
—"When they told him that the curator had died, he only replied: 'Is that so?' In such a calm and innocent tone. Well, he's still 'Eighty-Six.' They tell him that his commander died, and that's his reaction."
— ...
Lena fell silent, and Annette stopped smiling.
"Listen. Maybe you should consider joining us in the research departnt?"
Lena blinked, her face puzzled. Annette's cat-like almond eyes with white irises looked unexpectedly serious.
"The army is no longer just a ans to fight unemploynt. And compared to other departnts, where only idiots from the higher districts suffer from idleness, ours is still quite decent."
The Republic's territory was a rectangle, with the first district located in the center. The higher the district number, the lower the level of housing conditions, dical care, literacy, and the higher the unemploynt rate.
"In two years, there won't be any more Legion, and then what? In peaceti, forr soldiers are of no use to anyone."
Lena smiled ironically.
The Legion will completely stop in two years.
This fact was discovered by studying several captured enemy machines. The current version of their central data processing system has a limit of 50,000 hours, or approximately 6 years. Apparently, this is so kind of insurance in case the machines go out of control.
The Empire fell four years ago, and in another two years, the Legion's central data processing system will collapse. Currently, the number of observed enemy machines on the front is gradually decreasing. Those that haven't received the latest update are already starting to malfunction.
"Thank you. But the war isn't over yet."
"That doesn't an you have to take it on!"
Annette persisted. After finishing inputting data, she waved her hand to turn off the holographic screen, leaned forward, and spoke out with clear annoyance in her voice:
"Whether he lied or not, you're going to work with a processor who has no concept of decency! ...Besides, I'm not even sure about the para-raid anymore, I don't know how safe it is."
Lena widened her eyes.
"...Absolute safety of the para-raid has been confird..."
Apparently, she said sothing wrong. Annette's face took on a guilty expression, and she lowered her voice:
"And what, Lena. Have you forgotten where we live? Officially, yes, everything is fine, but only for now."
The Republic, having proclaid its own superiority, did not tolerate any doubts about the flawlessness of its technologies. Even if there were slip-ups, no one ever acknowledged them. This applied to both the para-raid and the juggernauts.
"We studied people with so-called... super abilities, tracked which area of the brain they use, and found that activating this area allows the use of the para-raid. That's all I know... But even that's already..."
She lightly tapped the raid device with her hand. Blue crystalline substance and an elegant silver body. Code stread from the information terminal to the crystals—data inside the device was being rewritten.
"Thanks to the fact that these 'people with abilities' could synchronize with their parents, siblings, and other relatives, we managed to create devices that aggregate information in the pseudogenes of second cousins and more distant relatives, that's all. Why this allows synchronization, I still don't fully understand to this day," she said.
"But didn't your father used to be involved in this research?" Lena asked.
"It was a joint research effort. The basic theory, or rather hypothesis, was put forward by a whole group of scientists, and my father was responsible for preparing the experintal conditions and conducting repeat trials of the subjects," Annette replied.
"Then couldn't we get in touch with his colleagues and find out..." Lena suggested.
Annette gave her a frosty look. "Impossible... They were the 'Eighty-Six'."
Since the 'Eighty-Six' were not considered people, they were assigned numbers when relocated to camps, and their nas were never recorded anywhere. Finding out where the scientists were kept was already impossible.
"In modern raid devices, there are safeguards in place, so nothing like that will happen, but if you, for example, try to synchronize your vision with multiple objects simultaneously, your brain will lt from overload. And if you spend too much ti in synchronization, you'll lose your personality. Excessive nervous activity will lead to the concept of 'returning' losing its aning for you... You know what happened to my father," Annette explained.
Lena fell silent, recalling the tragic fate of Annette's father, Dr. Joseph von Penrose, who lost his mind and died during an experint imdiately after completing work on the para-raid.
"The level of nervous system activation set on his raid device exceeded all allowable limits. Apparently, he plunged to the depths of the collective unconscious, down to the level of basic concepts like 'where', 'I' (as a human individual), and 'whole'," she continued.
"I can't say if there are any side effects of using the para-raid constantly... I an, if they manifest in the 'Eighty-Six', it won't matter much since they don't have long anyway, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Annette said sincerely, sensing Lena's concerns.
"That's... arrogant," Lena muttered, although she understood that Annette was genuinely worried about her.
Annette waved her hand casually, indicating she was tired of such discussions.
"Yeah, yeah, you're quite a piece of work yourself," she retorted.
For a mont, an awkward silence hung on both sides of the glass partition.
Suddenly, Annette smiled.
"By the way, Lena, how about so chiffon sponge cake? It's fresh. Made with real eggs."
"What?" Lena perked up imdiately, her ears pricking at the ntion of food, much like a cat sensing a al. Annette suppressed a smile.
Lena, like any other girl, had an inexplicable passion for sweets, and chiffon sponge cake, made from egg whites, could be considered a delicacy—especially now, when there was a shortage of land for poultry farming in the Republic. Such a treat could only be available to mbers of forr aristocratic families like the Penroses, who had enough space on their estate for raising chicks.
And yet.
"Mm... I hope it doesn't sll like cheese, even though it's not in the ingredients, and it doesn't look like it's about to emit smoke... and, in terms of shape, it doesn't resemble that... frog."
All these were mories of Annette's experints with profitroles—Lena acted as the taste tester.
To be more precise, the last dish was nad "Transplanted Corpse of a Fat Toad." The resemblance was obvious even in color, not to ntion the shape.
"Nope, this ti everything turned out fine. My boyfriend ca by yesterday and already tried it."
And yet, from attempt number five, he started foaming at the mouth and had a stomach upset.
"Well, that's good... Now you're simply obliged to send him a decent piece of your new masterpiece, whether he liked it or not."
"Of course. For that, I even specially bought cute pink wrapping paper, tied it with a ribbon, attached a card with the inscription 'To my beloved Theobald,' and left my kiss on it. I handed it over through his roommate."
"Poor guy," Lena thought. Although, to be honest, she didn't feel sorry for him that much.
While the friends enjoyed their conversation over tea and cake, the data rewriting process in the raid device was completed. Returning ho to her room, Lena imdiately put it on her neck.
Adorned with Alba's favorite intricate pattern, a stylish silver casing, a sprinkling of blue crystals of the artificial nervous system, sparkling in the sunlight—the raid device looked nothing like a communication device capable of replacing headphones and a microphone.
She suddenly rembered today's conversation.
God of Death. Suicide. Indifference to the deaths of the "Eighty-Six."
What kind of person was he?
Clearly, he hated us.
Shaking her head, she took a short breath.
Alright.
"Activate."
The para-raid started up. A revolutionary ans of communication, independent of weather, distance, and terrain, requiring no special activation location and activating instantly.
Connection established. No malfunctions detected. The room was filled with barely discernible rustling interference.
"Curator One to all mbers of the Spearhead squadron. Pleased to et you. As of today, I am assuming the duties of your curator."
A puzzled pause.
Lena felt a chill.
Apparently, the squadron was bewildered by the new appointnt and such a greeting.
But they were just like her—ordinary people—and mutual greetings should be commonplace for them.
After an awkward pause, a quiet and very young voice finally replied:
"Pleased to et you, Curator One. This is the Spearhead squadron commander, callsign 'Gravedigger,' on the line."
Contrary to all rumors and the infamous nickna, his voice was clear, pleasant, and enveloping, like the waters of a lake deep in the forest. It was the voice of a boy about her age, from a middle-class background or even higher.
"Notification of the change in curator received. Looking forward to working with you."
His indifferent tone sounded as if he was trying to overco his reserve and speak as casually as possible. Lena smiled.
Well, direct dialogue set everything straight. She couldn't be mistaken.
These guys were people, not the "Eighty-Six" or sothing unworthy of being called human.
"Likewise. I'm also glad, Gravedigger."
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