“Follow Gorshenya! Where it goes, why!” ordered Guy. “I want to know what it does each second of a moonless night. And try this with the bees!” He, not looking, stretched out his hand and immediately the attentive secretary put in his hand a small glass jar. Something similar to milk separated by water was splashing about inside. “Grease the roof of the beehive with this. Well, and other places where the bees rest. Only a thin layer. And use gloves. The poison is very dangerous,” said Guy.

The youth stretched out his hand and, having touched Guy’s dry finger for a moment, fearfully took the jar. “Bees are immortal. What have our novices not done with their bees!” he warned almost joyfully.

The corner of Guy’s mouth sagged with annoyance. “Bees are constantly cleaning their queen. When this passes to it through their legs, it will become barren and perish. There won’t be new bees, sooner or later there won’t be HDive.” The youth shuddered and straightened up. It seemed for a second that he would now fling the jar at Guy, but then he stooped and hid it in his pocket.

“What are you waiting for? Move!” ordered Guy. The youth did not leave. Even when they grabbed his shoulder and nudged slightly, he remained on the spot. Pressing the clms against his chest, he was looking around with uneasiness at Guy. “Well, what’s the matter?” Guy asked impatiently but with secret teasing encouragement in his voice.

“You promised!” the youth said anxiously.

“Ah, well yes… So be it!” Guy stretched lazily and, making his face a rubber mask, with a bitten nail touched the youth’s forehead.

The young fellow in the sweatshirt shuddered. A wave of pleasure passed throughout his body. He tried to hide it but his face gave him away. His mouth smiled weakly. His eyelids grew heavy. Droplets of sweat came out on his forehead. When Guy took his finger away from the forehead, the youth did not even notice. Then, losing his balance, he took a step and bumped his tummy into the chair. The berserkers guffawed with understanding.

“Only don’t abuse it!” advised Guy.

“I can stop any time!” the youth said obstinately.

“I know you can,” Guy agreed willingly, lovingly shaking down the shoulders of his dusty sweatshirt. “But all the same don’t spend it all immediately. I’m begging you!”

The youth pulled his collar with a finger and, having nonchalantly pushed aside a berserker in his way, went to the edge of the platform. He was stepping lightly, getting up on his toes, and felt an unaccustomed ease in his body. He wanted to push off and fly, but here was the trouble – a low ceiling.

At the edge of the platform, the youth felt something rolling in the sleeve of his sweatshirt and scratching his skin. He pulled up the sleeve. A dead bee with folded wings fell out. He leaned over it. Then he straightened. Something buzzed in the tunnel, approaching. The youth in the sweatshirt looked around. A yellow cyclopean eye was hitting his face. The young man burst out laughing, slipped the unlaced clms onto his arm, took a run and, after jumping directly towards the eye, teleported the moment before collision with the train.

Guy and his secretary Arnaud exchanged glances. “If our young friend knows about the hyeon, it means so does Kaleria. And she hasn’t interfered. Thereby, she sets up the whole situation…” Guy said slowly.

“One hyeon is no big deal. Won’t even leave descendents,” Arnaud remarked.

Guy clicked his tongue. “The trend is important. I don’t want hdivers to have tame hyeons.”

The secretary nodded and made a note in the notebook, where there was a note about today’s meeting. “Useful fellow,” he said.

Guy massaged heavy eyelids. “Must warn him to give up diving. For the time being he’ll be able to enter the grounds of HDive, since he hasn’t appropriated markers, but already can’t dive,” Guy answered in a preoccupied manner.

“But if we come to an agreement with the elbes so that they don’t touch him…?”

“What do elbes have to do with it? The matter is Duoka. It won’t accept him. Besides, he devours such doses of psyose that the crazy house will be waiting for him in half a year. But in this half year we must extract from him as much as possible.”

Guy smoothed out the notebook page:

Makar Goroshko Tukhachevsky Street, #, Apt. 9

Daniel Kuznetsov B. Cherkizovo Street, #, Apt. 155

Alice Fedina Sobolevsky Proezd, #, Apt. 99

Alexander Dudnik Vernadsky Ave, #, Apt. 301

“Telling handwriting! A lot of curlicues on the ‘M’, but the end of words are broken up, and the ‘y’ has a flabby tail. The fellow shows off but not enough confidence,” he remarked.