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“What are you intending to do now?” Wanderer asked.

“Wait…” Maxim asked him. “At least tell me who you are.”

“I work as a Galactic Security agent,” Wanderer said in a bitter voice. “I’ve been here for five years. We’re working on trying to save this unfortunate planet. Painstakingly, taking into account all the possible consequences. All of them, do you understand? And who are you? Who the hell are you to go meddling in somebody else’s business, ruining all our calculations, blowing things up, shooting—who the hell are you?”

“I didn’t know,” Maxim said in a crestfallen voice. “How could I have known?”

“Yes, of course you didn’t know. But you did know that independent interference is forbidden—you’re an employee of the FSG… You ought to have known… Back on Earth his mother’s going insane over him… Some girls or other keep calling all the time… His father’s abandoned his job… What were you intending to do next?”

“I was intending to shoot you,” said Maxim.

Whaaat?” The car swerved.

“Yes,” Maxim humbly said. “And what was I supposed to do? I was told that you were the head villain here, and…”—he chuckled—“…and it wasn’t hard to believe it.”

Wanderer dubiously squinted at him with a round, green eye. “Well, OK. And what then?”

“Then the revolution was supposed to start.”

“And why should it?”

“But the Center is destroyed, isn’t it? There’s no more radiation.”

“So what?”

“Now they’ll immediately realize that they’re being oppressed, that their life is wretched, and they’ll rise up—”

“Where will they rise up to?” Wanderer sadly asked. “Who will rise up? The Unknown Fathers are still alive, and thriving, the Guards are alive and well, the army is mobilized, the country is on a war footing… What exactly did you calculate would happen?”

Maxim lowered his head. Of course, he could have told this sad monster about his plans, his intentions for the future and the rest of it, but what was the point, since nothing was ready, since things had turned out like this…

“They’ll do their own calculating.” He pointed over his shoulder at Boar. “Let this man do the calculating, for instance… My job was to give them a chance to calculate a few things for themselves.”

“Your job…” Wanderer sputtered. “Your job was to sit in a corner and wait for me to catch you.”

“Yes, probably,” said Maxim. “Next time I’ll bear that in mind.”

“You’re going straight back to Earth today,” Wanderer harshly said.

“I’ll see you burn first!” Maxim protested.

“You’re going straight back to Earth today,” Wanderer repeated, raising his voice. “I’ve got enough trouble on this planet without you. Collect your Rada and be on your way.”

“You have Rada?” Maxim eagerly asked.

“Yes, she’s been with me for a long time. Alive and well, don’t worry.”

“For Rada—thank you,” said Maxim. “Thank you very much.”

The car drove into the city. On the main street a monstrous traffic jam was honking and pouring out smoky fumes. Wanderer turned onto a side street and started driving though the slums. Everything here was dead. Military policemen jutted up like columns on the corners, their hands clasped behind their backs, their faces surmounted by battle helmets. Yes, they had rapidly responded to events. A general alarm and everyone was at their posts. As soon as they recovered from the depression. Maybe I shouldn’t have blown everything up immediately—maybe I ought to have followed the prosecutor’s plan? No, no, massaraksh, let everything go on just as it is now. I don’t want to hear his pointless rebukes. Let them figure out what’s what for themselves—they’re sure to figure things out, after all, just as soon as their heads clear…

Wanderer turned back out onto the main highway. Boar delicately slapped him on the shoulder with the barrel of his pistol. “If you don’t mind, let me out here. Right over there, where the men are standing…”

The men were standing beside a newspaper kiosk, with their hands thrust deep into the pockets of their gray raincoats—about five of them—but apart from them there was nobody out on the sidewalks; the local residents had obviously been badly frightened by the depressive radiation strike and had all hidden away in various places.

“And what do you intend to do?” Wanderer asked, slowing down.

“Breathe a bit of fresh air,” Boar replied. “The weather’s really glorious today.”

“He’s one of ours,” Maxim told him. “You can say anything in front of him.”

The car halted at the roadside. The men in raincoats went behind the kiosk, and Maxim could see them peeping out from there.

“One of ours?” asked Boar. “Who are they, ours?”

At a loss, Maxim looked at Wanderer. Wanderer had no intention of trying to help him out.

“Anyway, OK,” said Boar. “I trust you. We’re going to deal with HQ now. I think HQ is the right place to start. There are people there—you know who I’m talking about—who need to be gotten out of the way, before they can put a halter on the movement.”

“Good thinking,” Wanderer suddenly growled. “And by the way, I think I recognize you. You are Tik Fesku, otherwise known as Wild Boar. Is that right?”

“Exactly right,” Boar politely said. Then he told Maxim, “And you deal with the Fathers. It’s a difficult job, but it’s just right for you. Where can I find you?”

“Wait, Boar,” said Maxim. “I almost forgot. In a few hours the whole country will collapse for days from radiation deprivation. Everybody will be absolutely helpless.”

“Everybody?” Boar doubtfully asked.

“Everybody except the degenerates. We need to make good use of that period of several days.”

Boar thought and raised his eyebrows. “Well now, that’s excellent,” he said. “If it’s true… As it happens, it’s degenerates that we’ll be dealing with. But I’ll bear it in mind. So where can I find you?”

Before Maxim could reply, Wanderer spoke for him. “At the same phone number,” he said. “And the same place. And I’ll tell you this. Set up your committee, since that’s how things have worked out. Reestablish the same organization that you had under the empire. Some of your people work for me in the institute… Massaraksh!” he suddenly hissed. “We have no time, and none of the people we need are close at hand… Damn you to hell, Mak!”

“The most important thing,” said Boar, setting his hand on Maxim’s shoulder, “is that there isn’t any more Center. Well done, Mak. Thank you…” He squeezed Maxim’s shoulder and awkwardly clambered out of the car, grappling with his artificial hand. Then suddenly his feelings broke through. “Lord,” he exclaimed, standing beside the car with his eyes closed, “is it really and truly gone? That’s… it’s…”

“Close the door,” said Wanderer. “Harder, harder…”

The car sped away. Maxim looked back. Boar was standing in the middle of the small group of men in gray raincoats and saying something, waving his good arm around. The men were standing there without moving. They still hadn’t understood what had happened. Or they didn’t believe it.

The street was empty. Armored personnel transports carrying guardsmen came trundling toward them along the edges of the sidewalks, and far up ahead, where the turn for the department was, trucks were already parked across the road and little figures in black were running across it. And suddenly a sickeningly familiar orange-yellow patrol vehicle with a long telescopic antenna appeared in the column of personnel transports.