Напряжение / Voltage: Пролог

Prologue
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The net of puffy clouds in the sky, illuminated by the lights of the sleeping city, looked unkind, spreading from horizon to horizon as if it were locking millions of citizens in a black-and-gray grid. There was no escape, no escape. No one, however, ever tried. On the contrary - thousands of voluntary prisoners were arriving daily in the capital full of hopes to stay forever in the grey, dirty prison of the capital... and if they were very lucky, they might even trade their freedom for service to those who lived in one of the hundreds of skyscrapers-representative offices, whose tops floated above the cloudy bars. Aristo liked to climb higher.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 15:27

Those unlucky enough to be born with a coat of arms over their cradle had a long journey of self-improvement to become useful to a highborn lord. Unique skill and professionalism, solid experience and a great capacity for work, loyalty, and high military rank - many things were valued by dynasties that traditionally elected the best of the best to serve. There was no shortage of applicants. It was not a matter of money or luxury - a true master of his craft, an experienced specialist, or a strong fighter is unlikely to need finance. But only there, at the aristocrat's side, was power - tiny compared to the power of a lord, but even these crumbs elevated the man to a height unattainable by others. For the aristo's servant was his left hand. And if a commoner was struck by an aristocrat's left hand, it was his fate to endure, to swallow his resentment and rage.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:11

But a servant is also a part of the family honor, so those who forgot had their necks cut off by their masters themselves. Most of the time before the servant could stain the lord's honor with an ugly deed. Servants, however, were quite happy with their enormous power, respect for their status, and protection for themselves and their families - it was worth working twenty hours a day for the sake of it. The reward would not be long - the ascent through the servant hierarchy would one day culminate at the very top of one of the family's skyscrapers. What could be better? Except the right to retire, leaving their place to their children - for one generation. If they turn out to be at least a third as capable as their parents, a life of contentment is assured - along with the chance to establish a dynasty of servants. Few people have succeeded in such a feat.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:14

Perhaps Prince Mikhail Vikentyevich Pankratov's personal adviser was the closest to the award. He served his family for four decades with the loyalty of a dog - and with an equally strong grip, to the envy of the young. He did not look his age at all - tall, lean, with no hint of senile wrinkles on his hands and face.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:16

He was not even aware of the reward and continued to speak exaggeratedly cheerfully about the success of the clan. In the last six months, the old man had developed the habit of giving bad news at the very end, piling up tons of good facts. As if he was afraid of anger.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:17

However, the really important things did not fall under this rule. So the definition of "bad" included small things, unpleasant but tolerable, and compared to the successes listed above, it was nothing at all. Nevertheless, it did not allow him to leave the cabinet, depriving the Prince, the owner of one of the hundreds of feudal principalities of the vast Empire, the owner of factories, corporations, and mines, of invaluable minutes of sleep. If it had been another day, it would have been all right, but for the past week he had not slept at all... and his adviser did not seem to notice as if he continued to babble on about useless information. So it was time to change and to give a generous gift as an example to others - not this year, but next year.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:21

The Prince sighed, standing in front of the window, clasped his hands in a lock behind his back, and exhaled sharply, imperiously, interrupting the referent:

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:22

"Is there anything else?"

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:22

Fortunately, the servant got it right and leafed through a dozen plastic-sealed rectangles of the report at once.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:32

"A little difficulty under Karatobe, sir. The Oster family has retreated deep into the oil refinery complex. Active action is hampered and threatens to destroy the facility. The enemy has two fighters of the rank of Teacher. Diversion squads are ineffective. The enemy knows the territory well. The Refinery is an ancestral company of Oster, sir."

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:34

The adviser was warningly silent, awaiting his head's command. He was in no hurry to answer, grinning slightly in annoyance. That was the reason why the list of praises was so long - the problem was proportionate to it. Nothing urgent, nothing important. Just a decision to be made: to live the proud family, unable to understand that if not the Pankratovs, others would come, or die. It was not the first time this week he had decided someone else's fate, and probably not the last.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:37

The war in the south of the country broke out without any preparation, unexpectedly. There was no malice or cunning planning involved - otherwise, all the action would have been thought out five steps ahead by the analysis department, and he would not be standing there, looking at the city and deciding what to do with the remnants of a dead clan.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:38

It's just that the old owners of vast territories slightly overestimated their capabilities, lost two fighters of the rank of Ьaster, and ceased to exist.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:38

Dry, succinct, tragic - enough to make it clear to anyone that the smile of a pretty stranger in a nightclub is no reason to drag her into your car. Even if you are a Master, as your brother and the security guards of the two Teachers laugh approvingly nearby. Because the generic skills of ancient families don't really care about your rank or that of your entourage - as long as you stay compact. So the young beauty freaked out and burned the two idiots, along with their entourage, cars, and half of the building by the road, and the frightened, crying family cut out all the remaining heirs the same night - none of them was up to Master. By the way, they were within their rights and could not fear retaliation - there was no one left to retaliate, and the vassal clan would not declare war in defense of an abominable act. If someone from the Main Clan survived, then yes, the oath would oblige them to do their lord's bidding...

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:42

Maybe that's why everyone was slaughtered, methodically, in cold blood, knowingly preparing a version of fear for the heiress - it's much more believable that way. Doesn't really matter. The main thing is that a single stupidity has erased six centuries of existence of the famous family name and with it, the Clan. A weak and poorly respected (with such leaders), but a Clan nonetheless: an association of families and corporations bonded by oaths to the Main Clan. And without that Clan, however small, the others could not survive on their own.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:45

So the question immediately arose as to who would get the now derelict lands, with the people, towns, and industries on them. The perpetrators of the clan's demise have defiantly stepped aside, showing the clan's wealth, honor, and pride - as if they were quite satisfied with the death of their offenders. The former clan kin lingered... did they think things would remain the same? The Emperor glanced half-eyed and went back to choosing a new favorite.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:48

Having caught the vibe, the capital immediately began to methodically divide what was not theirs, negotiate, intrigue, forge alliances and stir up old rivalries. By the end of the month, everything was to have found its new owners - without a single shot or burst of force. Men of substance preferred to fight at long tables, charging armies of bank account numbers, shaking the air with volleys of cries of kinship antiquity and enumerations of battle ranks of their kin and vassals. The opinions of future victims were of no interest to anyone - they buried themselves by procrastination.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:49

While intrigues were raging in the capital, substantial sums were wandering from one account to another, dueling by day and whispering minions by night, Pankratovs had flung half their own army into the dead clan's land with the grace of an axe. While the others talked, the clan specialists worked without sleep or rest on what is delicately known as "securing loyalty". It came out surprisingly quickly and easily, with almost no bloodshed. There was just one lord, and now there is another, and even the burden of taxes has been lowered. Ordinary people accepted the changes quite calmly, and the aristocrats were even glad to go under the hand of a respected clan - all together, without losing established ties and chains of production. Most of them, at any rate...

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:51

So when everything will be divided up in the capital, it will suddenly turn out that the lands are de facto already owned by Pankratovs - oaths have been taken, and banners and coats of arms have been hung. The others, of course, will be dissatisfied. Of course, they will gather senseless talks and even write a letter to the Emperor. And, of course, they'll suck it in. Because it is one thing to divide what is not one's own, but to fight a war paid for with blood and lives is quite another. In the capital, they have forgotten how to die, preferring to send to death vassals, mercenaries, debtors, and, at worst, the youngest generation. But not enough, not enough - we have to fight not with frail clans of China, traded by raids and smuggling, not with the freemen of the Free Lands, not with the rebellious province, mad from the extortions, not to lead sluggish "clan war" in the third hundred years in some remote corner of the earth. One word of war and the enemy will come to them, to their home, without a second's delay.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 16:58

Mikhail Vikentyevich grinned a predatory smile and crunched his fingers, stretching out his clasped hands. He knew how to fight and loved it, as did the fighting backbone of the Clan. So did the three allied clans. So nothing would fall to the old intriguers, except for some grudges, which they might try and avenge in the future, which they couldn't care less about because everyone was grudging and trying.

Camrad_RIP 24.02.23 в 17:00