"So, what did you want to ask me?"

"You don't know a guy… blond hair, like yours, skin so white, well quite former, and also his arm has burns on it… left?" – the future son-in-law asked slyly.

"Raphael? Are you talking about your son?" "Yes, yes… And you know him well?"

"Well, I know almost everyone here already… And how well… well, that's not for me to judge."

Gora almost cringed -Raphael, was he specially preparing her for this kind of talk? Or is she that amazingly intelligent? No, she's not. Obviously both.

Gabriel decided it was time to ask directly, "Mary, do you love my son?" "Yes… I love it very much."

"Have you guys been dating long?"

"No, I wouldn't say that, but that doesn't stop me from loving him." "And for timing, clarify…"

"Three years… A little more."

"Do you consider that, under our circumstances, to be 'not long ago'?"

"I don't know exactly what conditions you're talking about, but it takes a long time for people to understand each other… Especially under these conditions."

"Generally speaking, you're right. I've been with my wife for seventeen years and I've never fully understood her.

You're right. It takes a lot of time. I don't have a home of my own." "I'm glad you understand me."

"Yes… as far as I know, you have a wedding coming up…" "Yes. Raphael was going to tell you today."

"so… you're in enough of a relationship to get married."

"I love him… And he loves me too… It's more than 'enough' for me."

"Then you may consider that you have my blessing… I wish you happiness…"

"Thank you. That's the best I could hope to hear from you. Thank you, Gavriil Vladimirovich."

"Yes and…I wish…" – Gabriel was about to say the word "grandchildren" when Maria suddenly vomited. Easily, out of the blue. Gabriel himself had a wife, he didn't need to explain why such things happen – the question dropped by itself.

Maria immediately got to her feet, so that Hora only had time to help her by supporting her by the elbow. "Masha, darling, what's wrong?"

"It's okay, it's okay. It's okay."

"You don't have to try to fool me. I've got a kid myself. So how many do you have?" "A month, or rather almost four weeks."

"It's nothing, don't worry. It's a common thing… I'll go tell Vanya to set you free…" "Don't. It's okay."

"I have to. You bet I do. I want healthy grandchildren, so no talking." "Thank you, Gavriil Vladimirovich. I'm glad I have such a father-in-law." "I'm pleased with you too… And one request…"

"Which one?"

"Love him always as he is now."

While the catfish were working underground, the imaginary and actual bosses were sitting right above the mine. The actual boss was Manhr Chum. He had at his disposal the whole of Donetsk and Makeyevka, consisting of 24 catfish, developing 7 mines. Plus 12 security drills and two special purpose drills (mainly against the Maquis). Total 3728 people and 560 chums. Strangely enough, despite all the squeamishness of the chums towards people, they knew the exact number and checked on them once a week. I remember once thirty-eight people had defected to the Maquis, so Manhr himself went into the mine to beat up the Soma, who had lost twenty-two of her miners, along with her deputy. After the punishment she lost eight more killed. This was the only time a karak ("karak" being the head of a group in a column) went underground.

Manhir himself did not differ from all the others in his position, except for his weight: his peers ate up to two hundred kilograms, but he only up to ninety. The plagues actively propagandized this, explaining it by Manhir's sympathy and his desire to help people through constant, including his own work. The only truth here was the weight (the real reason was known to a very narrow circle of the column's leadership, which consisted in some terrible and very rare disease among the plagues; as for "help", it was said that he stole from his own people, and in such quantities that it was possible to buy his own mine of no smaller size).

Now the power is imaginary. Pavel Pozharin (number 726629A1) represented it. Underground, this man was hated more than the chums, despite the fact that it was not from him that the orders to stone them came. The Maquis hated this man more than anyone else, despite the fact that it wasn't from him that the orders to raid the "wild field" came. And even the plagues, including Manhra himself, hated him more than the Maquis and the miners, even though he wasn't the one who killed them and forced them into this place. He was hated by those who didn't know him, and those who did know him realized he was needed. Before him, no one had been in office for more than a year and a half; he had been there for ten.

The task of the number with the ending "A1" included a "basic" report to the karak on the work done, as well as some nuances in accounting. Manhr, with his help, was stealing. The miners and Maquis saw it as a benefit – since he was stealing for himself, less was going to the Empire.

Pozharin received privileges for his "labor": First, almost all the time A1 was on the surface of the earth, not in its depths, which allowed him at least to breathe air, not dust overflowing with methane, second, he had the opportunity to choose seven helpers from the mine, although he did not take any of them, and, third, special living conditions: good food, more time to sleep and so on.

All this Manhir tolerated, but for his own reasons. He hated him for letting him steal too much. He had been taught from birth to love and honor the power of the Darkstone, the Plague Empire, and his own kind, but he stole from his own kind. Shame and greed clashed in him, and the other always won.

Pozharin admired it all for him: the structure of the Empire's society, the supernatural abilities that had overcome once human civilization, the physiological makeup, and even his squeamishness towards humans. He disdained humans, even though he was one of them.

On March 25, the situation in the Donetsk-Makeyevka group changed: a message arrived from the center (the phones were working):

"Personally to the karak of Donetsk-Makeyevka Manhru from the broz of the Slavic column Bluh:

I am disgusted to inform you that some time ago I was informed that you, Karak Manhr, are engaged in treasury theft and are secretly transporting raw materials to the territories of Kuban, Sector 7, granted to you. Do not try to deny your involvement in this. You are required to return 264 tons of coal to the Dark Stone Empire within two weeks. In addition, pay 36,000 Roks as a fine. If you fail to do so, you will be stripped of your rank, position, lands and other property, and you will be placed in the employ of your former subordinates, where you will remain for the rest of your days.

Broz Slavic Column Bluh.

After reading this message, Manhra's eyelid twitched, the fingers on both hands shook, and the green snake tongue came out and became immobile.

Half a minute later Pozharin appeared in the karak's office. According to the rules, the man was not allowed to sit in the presence of the chum – an exception was often made for the A1 category. But this time Pozharin, when he saw the grimace on his patron's face, thoughts of that jumped out of his head.