— I'm at the entrance, but I don't know when I'll get in — there's a line… yeah, there's definitely a line.
— I'll come out now. Just don't blend into the crowd, or I won't be able to find you.
— Mm, alright. I'm standing here, waiting.
Ending the call, I got up from the couch with a grunt. Ah, old age, old age… Raidon turned out to be a punctual guy, arriving at the club two minutes before ten. By that time, I had already spent about three hours messing around with Fantik and another hour just chilling in the main hall.
At Fantik's place I did all sorts of things, though nothing too serious. Tested my new suit, fiddled with weapons — shame there's no shooting range in this building. By the way, I should go shooting tomorrow. I browsed the Internet, looking for videos about the Russians' new infantry mobile armor. Found a few things. Read about "outrageous vandalism" in one of Tokyo's museums. About another mega-battle in the Free Territories, where a mercenary commander nicknamed "Dandy" distinguished himself. Those territories, by the way, used to be Poland. Now it's like Ancient Greece — cities and towns ruled by their own little kings. And none of them are Polish. All that after World War II, which here was even harsher than in my world.
The last hour before the meeting I spent in the company of two beauties, two and three years older than me. I knew them — had seen them here before, sometimes with other girls, sometimes with guys. Not aristocrats, but daughters of wealthy men. I ordered a couple of cocktails, sat down with them, and struck up a conversation — told them I was waiting for a friend and that waiting alone was boring, so maybe they'd like to keep me company?
The girls were the party type. Cheerful, not stupid but not exactly smart either, pretty, and here to have fun. Drink, dance, meet a guy. For one night. What else do you need for a good evening? Their fathers, by the way, were friends too — some kind of начальник and his deputy. And both were convinced their daughters were staying over at a third friend's place. So yeah, I was counting on a no-strings-attached night. And I'd set Raidon up too — with all that "springtime" in his head.
— Alright, girls, I'll go grab my friend. You okay with meeting him? — I asked, putting away my phone.
— Well, if he's as good as you say… — Mira-chan drawled, looking up at the ceiling as if thinking, twirling a strand of her black hair.
— Then the four of us will have even more fun, — finished Tara-chan, shaking her equally black hair.
They really did look alike. Same outfit — black pleated skirt to the knees and a white blouse. Same lively, carefree behavior. And of course, the same hair color. Though their hairstyles were different: Mira had a shoulder-length bob, while Tara wore a braid down to her shoulder blades.
— Then I shall go fetch a second gentleman for these lovely ladies.
Stepping outside onto the porch, I looked around. Raidon and some guy were standing to my right. To my left, the line buzzed — not huge, but not small either. Next to me stood a pure-blooded Japanese guy nicknamed Vasya — our face control. Not just anyone is welcome here, after all. He also keeps an eye on order. People pay at the entrance booth, and he stands here watching. Inside there's also a Vasya — but that one's Russian. Funny thing is, the Japanese Vasya got his nickname before meeting the Russian one. We call them "Vas-Vas." They've gotten so used to each other that when they work together, they do it flawlessly, almost without words. Like twin brothers.
Approaching Raidon and nodding to him, I gave a slight bow to the man beside him:
— Sakurai Sindzi.
— Iida Miki.
That surname… sounds like "Judas."
— My driver. I figured it's better he stays in the hall than sits in the car all night.
— True enough. Though… Iida-san…
— Just Iida.
— Hmm. Well… Iida, how to put this… bringing weapons into the club isn't exactly welcome — especially not in such quantity…
A sharp look came in response.
— Iida, are you carrying weapons? — Raidon asked, surprised. — Though that's obvious… — he muttered. — But what do you mean "quantity"?
The driver only sighed heavily.
— Alright… — I'm exposing myself here. — Iida… if you promise not to flash your guns unless absolutely necessary, I can arrange something with security. And I'd really appreciate it if this whole situation stayed within our little group. Raidon?
— Uh… yeah, of course.
— Iida? — Silence. — Iida, are you a spy or a bodyguard?
— I promise, — he gave in. — Twice.
— Excellent. And if something extraordinary happens, I'm not insisting on silence. I just don't like spreading information about my connections. People were already bothering me about this club back in middle school. And those were just kids. Adults, strangely enough, have much better imagination. Especially adults in… certain professions, — I shrugged.
— Yeah, they'll chew your nerves up for nothing.
And Raidon just stood there listening. Carefully. Then he said:
— Wow. Just brought a driver, huh?
— I'll be invisible, Ohayashi-san.
— Sigh… fine. Let's go then, — he waved his hand.
— Wait here a couple of minutes.
I quickly ran to the security room — which also doubled as the payment point — warned them about my companions, then returned.
— Let's move.
As we passed Vasya, I nodded back at his sharp glance.
— I know.
— What do you know? — Raidon whispered.
— About the weapons.
— How do you know? I didn't notice anything.
— I train in firearms. You get used to noticing things like that.
— Ah, I see.
Of course, that was nonsense. Raidon — a hand-to-hand fighter and just a teenager — wouldn't understand. But Iida definitely didn't buy it. Firearms training teaches you how to use weapons, not how to detect them on other people — especially when someone is trying to hide them. That's a completely different skill set. Though maybe high-level fighters can do something like that.
— By the way, Raidon, get ready, — I stopped him at the entrance to the hall. — I'm about to introduce you to two beautiful girls. So gather your aristocratic composure and don't embarrass yourself.
— Couldn't you have warned me earlier? — he hissed.
— What if you'd run away?
— What am I, a kid? Pff. I'm always happy to meet a beautiful girl, — he said pompously. — Especially two.
— Perfect. And don't get nervous — they're fun and easygoing. Trust me, everything will be great.
— Stop treating me like a child.
Well, yes, of course, as if I don't know you teenagers. Then again, maybe I'm the fool, and this aristocrat has long since stopped being a virgin.
— Well then, all set. Forward, toward a night of wild fun!
As we approached our table, I felt Raidon tense up. Lately, in general, I've been feeling far too much of everything. Am I turning into an empath or something? And that's strange, because empathy is the prerogative of women, or more precisely, witches. Roughly speaking: we see life, they feel it. Men feel emotions the way women see life. Which is to say, pretty damn poorly.
There were no free seats near our table. I don't know whether there were any free tables at all at the moment: the hall is shaped like a "U," with the bar in the middle, and I couldn't see the whole place from here. What I could see, though, was two guys hovering by our table and sticking to our girls — at least, our girls for tonight.
— Yeah, seats are tight, — I said, looking around the hall. — So you'll have to hang around at the bar until you find one, — I said to Iida. — We're easy enough to see from there, — I pointed at our table.
The driver only nodded in response and headed left, making his way toward his new objective.
— Ladies, here we are!
— You took your time! — they answered in chorus.
— Our apologies, — I said with a slight bow and a smile. After that I turned to the unknown guys.
Exchanging glances, one of them spread his hands.
— Our apologies. We thought they were joking about having boyfriends. Well then, we won't bother you.
Fair enough. Reasonable people. And Raidon, the sly bastard, had already landed next to Mira while I was dealing with the competition.
— Well then, — I said, sitting down beside Tara, — let's get acquainted.
Over the next hour we got thoroughly hammered. Another hour later we switched to first names and dropped the suffixes. During that time the girls went off to powder their noses about five times and, apparently, thoroughly talked us over. And at the end of the third hour Tara whispered in my ear:
— Sindzi, I know you have a permanent VIP room. How about helping our friends get to know each other a little better?
Pulling the girl closer, I stretched and discreetly glanced around the hall. Iida was still sitting at the bar, talking to some woman. Looking over at our little couple, all I saw was intimate whispering. Well, why not? I don't think his parents would bury me for that. Now if I seduced his sister, or helped with that… But like this, to hell with it.
— Guys, I need to step away for a couple of minutes. — In response I got only fleeting glances. Yeah… I really do, apparently.
I walked up to the bar and perched not far from Iida, so he'd hear everything, basically. Why not? Covering our tracks. If even he doesn't stop me, then all the more reason to let them have fun.
— Hey, Shotgunny!
— What, got yourself plastered, you underage drunk? — he rumbled back.
— Does it really show?
— On you, strangely enough, no. — Of course not, with my "body control." — But on your companions — even from here.
— We're all drunks. I'm a night one, you're a day one. Everyone relaxes when they can. Speaking of relaxing, any chance you've got keys to a couple of VIP rooms?
Yes, yes. I've got plans too.
After rummaging around under the counter, Honda pulled out two key cards, numbers five and six.
— Think it over, you little degenerate, — he said, laying them in front of me. — You're only sixteen.
— They don't care, and you shouldn't be jealous. Better take a vacation.
Shotgun puffed up with indignation.
— And who am I supposed to leave the club to, huh? You want it to fall apart here while I'm gone?!
— Hmm, true enough. Then make me two signature ones, club slave.
— It's all jokes and giggles with you, — Honda kept grumbling as he mixed the cocktails.
Whenever I watched him work, I always got this strange sense of dissonance. Shotgun's thickset build just didn't fit in my head with a top-class bartender, which he absolutely was.
Once I got the drinks, and since Iida raised no objections, I headed back to the girl waiting for me — or rather, the girls.
Setting the cocktails on the table, I sat back down and wrapped an arm around Tara's waist. With my other hand I pulled the key from my pocket, and holding it between two fingers, lowered my hand onto the girl's thigh.
— They'll give it back to Shotgun later, — I whispered to the beauty pressed against me. — And make sure they don't forget to lock the door, — I kissed her ear. — From the inside.
A couple of minutes later Tara invited Mira to "powder her nose." What I'm curious about is whether Mira has condoms. Doesn't matter to me. "Body control" is a highly versatile ability with enormous possibilities. A person can shock someone by touch. But without "body control" he won't become a witcher, and he definitely won't be able to throw lightning around. At least half of combat and non-combat techniques are based specifically on "body control." "Push," like a Jedi. "Severing," though in this world it's not very useful because of "spirit armor." "Shield"… no, wait, that one isn't from there. "Glide," "rupture," "wave," and even "lightning" itself — the only truly long-range technique in a witcher's arsenal. We always relied on speed in one way or another. Many can use "body control" to some extent, but only witchers have full access to it.
Yes, "body control" is cool. Around twenty-five I'll set myself an "anchor" — that's a hard-to-explain mental trick that freezes your age at a specific point in time. A very dangerous feature available only to Absolutes. If anyone didn't get it, let me explain — eternal youth. Or old age, depending on what age you were when you managed to place the "anchor." There are two problems. After the first "anchor," you black out, and if you don't wake up in time to place the second one, you're screwed. The body simply shuts down. Kidneys, lungs, heart, brain. Everything turns off, and you die without waking up. What determines how quickly you black out after the first one is unknown. It's believed to depend on the witcher's strength — which is, of course, also a fairly abstract concept, but at least it's something.
And the second problem is that there is no proof of eternal youth. Not a single Absolute has lived long enough. So why even bother with it? Witchers already age slowly because of that same "body control," and Absolutes in that respect are monsters altogether. There's the Spaniard Bugardzhini Massimo, for example, who holds the title of the "longest-lasting" Absolute. He became one at sixty-six and died at ninety-nine. He was killed by another record-holder — Pascal Didier. They say Massimo didn't change at all, looked forty. Quite the problem for a family man, if you think about it.
And then there was my former boss, Colonel Sazonov, Vadim Sergeyevich, also known as the Necromancer — a Master, one rank below Absolute. He celebrated his seventy-eighth birthday a couple of months before I got thrown here. And he looked about fifty. So there's something to think about — is it even worth it? I, by the way, had the opportunity to prove it, since I had gotten out of the system. Got out in such a way that everyone understood: touching me was a bad idea, so no deadly missions with orders not to retreat were waiting for me. And just touching me, or my family, for no reason was dangerous — what if I survived? But it wasn't meant to be. One way or another, I still got hit.
In the end, "anchors" were mostly the pastime of the craziest ones, the ones chasing glory, though in a pretty narrow circle. I won't claim it for certain — it's hard to say — but by the time I left… or rather, by the time of my rebellion, when there were still quite a lot of witchers around, only five of the dozen existing Absolutes had "anchors," myself included. And really… if you think about it… twenty-five is too early, yeah. Though that's still a long way off.
But returning to this particular night… "body control" will help me not only avoid catching specific diseases, but even perform a vasectomy on myself, better known among ordinary people as sterilization. And one hundred percent, in both directions, which science still can't do. I control whether I have a child or not. Too bad you can't explain and prove that to everyone. Ah, how much easier my life would be.
Raidon and Mira had already been gone for about five minutes, and Tara had settled herself against my side, resting her head on my shoulder, one hand on my waist. And that hand kept sliding lower and lower.
— Tell me, Sindzi, — she asked, pressing her little nose against my cheek, — you wouldn't happen to have one more key left, would you?
"I wonder," I thought, closing the door and placing my hand on Tara's head as she immediately dropped to her knees, "if all Patriarchs were Veterans, would I be able to remove suspicion from the Tokyo Dwarf by publicly taking down a Teacher?"