Chapter Text
***
Imperial march burst out from somewhere deep within.
Having a hell of a headache, Dimka woke up groggily and groped blindly under the bed in search of that damned videophone. It took several tries to find the thing and turn it off, all the while wake-up call burrowing straight into his brain as a red-hot screw.
“Gotta swap it for meowing”, he thought vindictively, finally hitting the screen and falling back on a pillow with a huff of relief. The threat was empty, though: to wake up him, military service survivor who mastered the art of dozing off even to the accompaniment of a drill sergeant yells — with merely a meow… Well, it could be feasible, of course. If it’d be a tiger meowing right into his ear. No guarantees though.
The alarm choked off resentfully at mid-note, quieting at last.
“Xu? Window?”
His throat felt like sandpaper, pushing out sounds not unlike hoarse gurgles.
The window was supposed to lighten gradually, in sync with the timer. However, today was not his day: it rippled, flickering occasionally with rainbow colors. The display actually closely resembled an ancient TV-set that Dimka caught a glimpse of in a historical museum.
“The window is malfunctioning. As you have been notified,” was his home AI report. Or a retort, in a mildly reproachful tone. “Good morning, Dima.”
“Lights, then,” gurgled Dimka in lieu of answer.
His home AI had excellent speech recognition. Or what passed for speech of its owner. The lights went on. Full power.
“Ugh, Xu…”
Dimka groaned and tried to shield his head with a pillow. The lights turned a bit less intense.
“That better?”
Dimka had a distinct sense that there were not only sympathetic but also teasing tones in his home AI’s voice. Deeming squabbles with a willful computer beneath him, he sat abruptly. His head buzzed “gratefully”. Serves him right. Shouldn't have drunk so much yesterday. Had a fine scientific discussion, right. Should have disputes at work not at a bar. And today is a workday, by the by. So Dimka carefully navigated his way to the kitchen feeling like a crystal vase in the grips of an auto-loader: one wrong move —and it’s all in shatters.
The kitchen window worked as it should, transmitting another cloudy morning. Dimka didn’t like this time of year: snow wasn’t melting in earnest yet but got grey and splotchy, already shrinking into loose dirty piles, while treacherous ice hid under murky puddles. Psychologists claimed spring to be the best cure for seasonal affective disorder known as autumn&winter depression. Dimka remained skeptical about that debatable notion: springs on Occulta were dark, with heavy morning fogs and nightly frosts. So he cast one sullen sidelong glance at gloomy goings-on beyond the window, took his coffee mug and went to his room.
***
A spacious room was a living room and a study in one, with a compact holo-platform tucked in a corner. Above it hovered frozen blueish outlines of a girl in kimono. As he entered the area, the silhouette moved, rose smoothly, and a full-height hologram blinked into existence in the middle of room. The Asian girl smiled and asked, tilting her head a bit:
“Training today?”
“Nah, not today, Xu. Got mail?”
Every morning as was his habit Dimka had a workout using AI as a virtual sparring partner. But today just a thought about it provoked nausea.
“Okay.”
The hologram collapsed, moving back to its platform and hovering in the lotus pose.
“…Three messages at your work account address. One at your personal account address, from the user [Olen’ka]”.
“Open the work ones.”
He was very sure that he did not remember any user called “Olen’ka”.
Two messages turned out to be newsletters, one — a notification about an off-schedule conference at 9 a.m. From the Head of department. Attendance at the meeting was mandatory. The feeble hope to be late for work died before maturing into a definite choice. Getting his immediate higher-ups angry wasn’t in Dimka’s plans.
“Dima, I would like to remind you that the excess consumption of ethano-’’
The AI wasn’t allowed to finish as Dimka cut her off crossly. “Xu, freeze. I’ll format you.”
The figure complied, freezing with a slight pout.
Its owner sighed, gulped down bitter coffee dregs with much revulsion and headed to the bathroom.
***
Hot and cold contrast shower helped if not reconcile then at least to reacquaint himself with the reality. At present, Dimka was studying his reflection in the mirror, reflecting upon the dilemma to shave or — would it do for now as it is? A tall unfriendly-looking dark-haired bloke with a crew cut and a small scar at the outer corner of his right eye stared back at him. Dmitriy Sergeevich Korolyov. Age 32. Single. Two years of service under contract in spacemarines. Graduated from a police academy. Former commander of rapid response task force unit in galactic police. Currently, a research officer of DEX company.
“…I don’t know you and I won’t give you a shave.”
Dimka turned off the tap and went about getting ready for work.