Kirin had received the invitation to the banquet three months in advance, but when the appointed date arrived, she dismissed the reminder with a swipe, tempted to feign illness. The annual Anachron Battles qualifier banquet drew the entire AC elite. She didn't know when the tradition had begun—perhaps before she was born—but she'd been thrilled the first time she'd received an invitation years ago. No other event—not even the dozens of galas held yearly—commanded such attendance. Executives cemented their positions and displayed their power. Those lower down sought patronage and forged useful connections. For her personally, attendance was paramount—both for maintaining status and for business. Refusing would have been utterly foolish. No one in their right mind would even consider it.

  A few days before the event, Kirin informed her husband.

  "Want me to tag along, or you hunting for someone hotter?"

  "I want to take Athra. Time to introduce her to society."

  "Athra? Seriously? Good luck with that. What's the point?"

  "Let her have fun, at least."

  Ramon chuckled. Conversation over.

  Athra reacted similarly:

  "Why do I need to go there, Mom?"

  "Just keep me company! Mother-daughter night out. Network with potential clients. You might even enjoy it"—Kirin didn't believe it—"though unlikely. I want to show off my beautiful, brilliant daughter."

  "Alright," Athra sighed.

  Since her daughter's return from psychocorrection, Kirin had been trying in every way to make amends for the overly long session and her own stubbornness. Athra understood this. Cultivating guilt in her mother might have been advantageous—but by granting this favor, Athra could count on reciprocity later.

  They arrived at the Sonytook.Alliance station, where an entire tier was occupied by the Diplomatic Corps, just in time for the repeat of the opening presentation. They watched it in a vast, festively decorated hall. Kirin periodically stepped away from her daughter to pay respects to one guest or another. Some—far less frequently—approached her themselves. These were mostly current partners. With certain guests, Kirin intentionally avoided direct contact. Spotting each other in the crowd, they exchanged only imperceptible nods before turning away in opposite directions.

  Battles were being waged in this hall—far more important, dangerous, and delicate than the real fights in the arena.

  After the opening ceremony and the president of Sonytook.Alliance's toast to "our joyous gathering and good health," conversations deepened, touching on topics requiring time and discretion. Kirin introduced her daughter to nearly everyone she spoke with. But as agreed en route, Athra would excuse herself if discussions moved beyond pleasantries. Perhaps forty minutes later, Kirin noticed another familiar face.

  A well-groomed woman with proud posture, elegantly styled chestnut hair, a perfect figure, and an expensive cream dress with gold embroidery that accentuated it all—spotted Kirin's attention and waved with a smile. Emilia Volzh-Tarovsky. In distant years of their youth, still on Perina, she'd lived in the neighboring house and shared a half-forgotten but genuine friendship with Kirin. A moment later, she approached:

  "Oh, Kirin, so good to see you!" Emilia warmly opened her arms. The women ceremoniously kissed cheeks without quite touching. "Who do I see? Is that Athra?" Her gaze shifted to Kirin's daughter standing nearby with an indifferent expression. "You couldn't mistake such beauty for any other family! Athra, are you still studying, or are you already enriching Amatin Mining with your mind and talent?"

  "She graduated with honors, Em. Double major and all. Athra, you remember Aunt Em?" Kirin laughed, turning her palm toward her childhood friend and turning to her daughter: "Emilia Volzh-Tarovsky, Second Special Advisor to the Communications Apparatus of the Corporate Leadership Council of Sonytook.Alliance, representative of the Diplomatic Corps—and my oldest friend."

  "Oh, so formal, Kirin," Emilia laughed, opening her arms to Athra.

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  "You look exactly as I remember from when I was little, Aunt Em," Athra said, shaking cool, slim hands.

  Kirin gave her daughter a subtle signal. Athra excused herself to refresh their drinks and disappeared into the crowd. Emilia, however, swept her old friend into a whirlwind—trying to share all the gossip at once while saying nothing of substance. This trait had been hers since childhood. Em could talk for hours, days, weeks—and it would turn out she'd said nothing. Or utter two disjointed phrases, and the listener would receive exhaustive information. She could remain completely silent, and those who knew her would decipher that silence with absolute accuracy. Emilia was never simple. Kirin remembered that.

  Kirin froze for a moment, glancing sideways at a message notification but deciding to read it later.

  "Perhaps it's important, Kirin," Emilia smiled understandingly. "I won't be offended. Take a look."

  Kirin nodded gratefully and opened the message. Her expression changed instantly—the smile vanished, brows furrowing sternly.

  "What is it, Kirin?" Emilia grew worried.

  "Una's been arrested." Her tone suggested she herself didn't believe the words. "Good grief… Una is reporting her arrest. They're charging her with unauthorized use of military hardware. What does that mean, Em?"

  "Haven't a clue," Emilia frowned.

  "I need to fly to Perina." Kirin turned sharply, as if ready to jump into a pilot's seat right there in her evening gown and single-handedly storm the military base near Torsad to rescue her daughter.

  "Shh…" Emilia gently grasped her friend's shoulder, turning her back toward the crowd. "Have you lost your mind, my dear? Adjust your expression before your partners suspect Amatin Mining has troubles. Wait here. Don't move."

  Emilia walked away almost to the viewport itself. For several minutes, Kirin saw only her slender back. Her nerves frayed. No sooner had her eldest daughter returned to society than her youngest had landed in some mess. Though with Una—endless crews of "friends," memberships in every dubious group in the region—it was only a matter of time. What hadn't she "supported" or "fought for" by eighteen? The elder cared about nothing; the younger cared about everything. Worlds apart.

  "Do you remember Max?"

  Kirin started and turned back to her friend.

  "What Max?"

  "My lover from, say, three to five years ago."

  "Should I? Em, get to the point—or I'm leaving."

  "Remember Lake Renova? The Polyanka resort complex has graced its shore for several years now. That's his official place of service and property."

  Kirin shook her head but asked something completely different:

  "What's Polyanka?"

  "Oh," Emilia clearly hadn't expected that question. "Means 'clearing' in an old Earth language. Play on his Polish roots—his father was from old Europe. He's a history buff. Loves languages. Could be quite charming when telling stories. Especially in bed. I recommend him, my dear."

  "Em, this is hardly the time. What's your point?"

  "Do you remember who he was?" Emilia waited for the denial. "Deputy Head of Security for Space Intelligence and Violation Countermeasures at the Cyber-Block Ministry of Defense. We met when he held that position—about fifteen years ago. Before that, special operations unit…"

  "Em!"

  "And now he runs a quiet resort thirty kilometers from Torsad. If you want this resolved quietly, quickly, and reliably—you won't find a better person."

  "Do you trust him?"

  "As much as I trust myself, Kirin. Will you talk to him?"

  "Yes. Send me the coordinates."

  Seven minutes later, a weight lifted from Kirin's heart. It had been a long time since she'd heard such calm, warm confidence in a voice. She heard only his voice—no visual link, not the place or time—but even that was soothing. They agreed to call closer to nightfall, when he'd reach the military base. (Una had reported arrest by military police and detention there.) When Kirin asked if they'd even admit him—especially at night—Maximilian Vazovsky laughed sincerely and promised "everything will be fine." She believed him.

  For a while, Kirin and Emilia laughed tensely, sipping sparkling wine, until Kirin caught her daughter's gaze. The smile pasted on Athra's face was slowly peeling away. Athra was beautiful, sociable, laughter-prone—but Kirin knew her daughter too well not to recognize the insincerity. If Athra's instantly acquired admirers continued to pester her—and with her looks, that was almost guaranteed—her daughter might turn sarcastic, subtly dismantling people with words, blacklisting herself while tarnishing Kirin's reputation in the process. How much longer she could keep up the act was unclear.

  Beyond Emilia, Kirin spoke with many old acquaintances and met several new faces that evening. The reception wasn't useless for her—unlike for Athra, who quickly grew weary of the crowd and intrusive compliments from bored dandies, merchants, and politicians.

  Mother and daughter stayed in separate rooms. When Athra, exhausted by the reception and regretting the wasted evening, was already preparing for bed, Kirin continued to work.

  "Harry, good evening."

  "Oh, Kirin, I was just about to call you. How's my order coming along?"

  "I'll dispatch a hauler this week."

  "Thanks for the promptness. I'll include a little advance for your daughter with the shipment."

  "You won't lure her away with your peanuts, Harry," Kirin smirked.

  "It's not peanuts—it's an advance. Perhaps I'll still manage to pry her from your skirts and bring her to my side. I'm on the front lines of expansion. Her profile and brains are priceless."

  "You can rent her profile and brains without poaching my people. That's risky."

  "Alright. How's Ramon doing? We've got some tastier ore here…"

  "Goodbye, Harry. Wait for the hauler," Kirin laughed and terminated the connection.