"Venus in Furs," I cried, pointing to the picture. "That is the way I saw her in my dream."
"I, too," said Severin, "only I dreamed my dream with open eyes."
- Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, "Venus in Furs".
4 pm, 11th of March, Saturday. 2541. The Darren Plaza

Rain poured. Otherwise it was a mellow day, windy as much as in Engel it was allowed to be. Rain wasn't a favourite of his, even though he didn't quite care about weather anyway. Winter months were preferable, although, just because. He didn't have a preference. Pain, still, remained in every season.

He remembered that one rainy day he was focusedly studying. In that flow, he seemed to not have a care in the world. He wasn't about to die. He wasn't about to experience change. But he had experienced novelty, chose to experience unknowns whenever he wanted and in his case, he was thirsty for it evermore. His father was out so he didn't have to worry for his kin. Then, he started to like formulas. He wanted to immerse himself in the book, bind his mind and wits in its pages and never by chance reincarnate to where he spoke and wrote. In the book - it veiled salvation - his thought was embed, and the boy had wished to bury his soul in the picturesque pages of the concise and, importantly, rational mathematical world. Fortunately, he had succeeded. Nothing else of his life was quite fortunate.

Ender looked back in a quick analytical inspection of his surroundings, then continued striding in an indifferent fashion with an expression detached, four fingers in pockets that seemed to be endless. He was bored, to be honest, with all the mayhem, and, owing to staying a quotidian few steps ahead, he was more bored. Everything had been predicted; everything had been set; and he sometimes he found that, indeed, he desired to meet his end some sooner than intended. He knew the situation to be hopeless. Another month of expectancy didn't change anything. The forty-eight-billion seven million eight hundred and twenty nine human population wasn't aware of what they would face, and, let it be that way. He was only interested in playing his role down to its timely termination. He had done enough, had enough, learnt enough, thought of enough postulation that he obtained a delineation of what was to event minute by minute just a few hours ago. If he withdrew, then yes, there would be quite a change of circumstance, yet the latter would simply hold on for a few more days. His plan would still be implemented. Nothing would change. Only his quota of wood, hay and stubble.

It was quite crowded, and the sun was in its zenith, Mindcars grazing the asphalt of the Machiavellian centre of Engel - the celebrated NovLondon. There wasn't much to tell about NovLondon, since, obviously, it was infamous - yet every day Ender saw a new tinge to it, a new shade. Since the temperature changed. And, being a man of science, Ender marvelled at it and the way the heat intensity changed in the infrared spectre of the Earth. The only thing that, indeed, proved interesting in the overly sanctimonious world. Though he couldn't say he detested the digitalization.

De todos modos, someone was waiting for him by Piccadilly. At the Darren plaza. Although, to give matters honours, someone was waiting to ambush him. An ordinary occurrence, he knew.

"May I offer you some teales, sir?" (tablet tea) "It's past Saturday afternoon," the shorter man said, and, by the looks of it, seemed hesitantly rigid for a moment. Then, his left hand inconspicuously slid to the front of his wrist.

An apprehensive but defiant glance found its way to his eyes and quickly shot back. Ender's gaze instantly deadened. Ah, the unpopular threat. He doubted if the man actually had any DNA-marking device onboard, but that day, he had to play along with it. And, judging from his experience, the man probably had some minor genetical device. The pursing of the lips. and curling of the first, were two common marks among others. It was said that the hands were the first body parts to be paralyzed upon the DNA-powered impact, and the mind was the last. Therefore, many subordinate spies curled their fists in instinct, as to keep an opponent's DNA if affected themselves. Apart from children, soever, the attacker wasn't ever likely to get subdued.
Avin clasped his hands together, wearing the brightest smile as he returned to look at him - the victim, eyes wide. He was sure that the only thing Hanlon's mind was centered upon the character of the response he was about to give.

Ender sighed.

"Very well, then. Let's get going."

And so they went for about seven minutes, the common courtesy of spies inexorably followed - making the victim walk and be uncomfortable. The Jossian exoskeletons few Leviathans plied were very known to them, and magnates and Mindies (those who worked for Minds) used them, not minding often the consequences. Sometimes the consequences were weakening. Most of the time, however, they were fatal.
The rain ceased to a drizzle, lightly falling onto the central plaza - not for long, perhaps. In spite of being an obvious change it did nothing to alleviate the torrid of the weather in southern east Engel, which, if it was possible, became significantly more sultry. The brief cool-down that happened around the previous night was ruthlessly gone; mostly such fluctuations were the result of Global warming, although it seemed its job had already been done, heating up the world into a hued Lychnis. In consequence the cool-downs, though remained, dwindled, and the false flicker of hope and apricity bestowed on the Engelish each time they happened served as a constant source of affliction which sometimes ended in ebullition.

"The place is here," Avin said when they reached some dern squalid backstreet a couple kilometres left to the plaza, and, warily keeping an eye on him and failing to be discreet, advanced to open the door. Doors with locks weren't uncommon in Engel - the ancient tradition kept on - because, with advance of innovation, amount of conservatives in developed countries had increased significantly over 4 centuries. This was because of a simple matter - confidentiality.

Even in Americ and Europe, the most prominent parts of the world, some conservatives still existed, and they would continue to exist, as long as there was innovation, which was ever in progress. If one put a variety of great reverences aside, the coteries of old money would still have persisted, resilient to the occasional attempt of solicitation with their neolithic ideals. Although changing, these ideals were meticulously cultivated through the ages, and their missionaries often cherished an exact single goal: protect and oppose. When yoked with confidentiality, the conservatives became a deadly match: the need to protect oneself fueled the strife not to accept novelty, and the antagonism was often strengthened just enough to be out of bounds, with such a primal need rubbing salt in the latter's wound.

That had been what happened in eastern Engel. Long after the 24th century.

"Been like that since the revolution," the astronaut remarked, boredly watching a drab tacky robot take his raincoat. The robot seemed unusually quaint, with lots of feathers on its ballet flats, in a way that was old-fashionably usual. It was dressed in a faux leather cardigan, in a violent pink colour, and a pair of cargo pants, just straight out of mythology. "A defective 60s model. Am a lover of literature. Bought in a Bélhand for a couple of Mind'vides, back when it was possible to spend this much,"

"Now, Tess, help him too."

The robot, however, though an old model, didn't require such eloquence of order and was already by its target. It tried to take Ender's cloak from his shoulders: the chemist, however, resisted.

"Not a lover of robotics, I presume?" Avin queried with equanimity.

"Robotics is fascinating. But I prefer self-sufficiency," Ender said nonchalantly, folding his arms on his chest, and the robot withdrew its bony fingers from his shoulder level, stepping back to his master with a little disgruntled expression on its face.

Avin sighed. "Her phony antics. You can be welcomed into my lounge where there are teales and stuff. It's not that big, but it's sturdy. There we will be having the afternoon tea, if that's okay with - here it is."

He was led through a little antechamber into a small living room, that contained only three stools, a narrow table and a book cabinet, all in resemblance of the wonderful style called "wood". There was nothing much to describe there, apart from a big apparatus placed on the middle of the table and a tray of teales next to it.

"Get yourself comfortable. We'll get to this thing a bit later on," Avin said, sitting down in one of the chairs. The chemist took a seat as well. The spacecraft captain clasped his fingers.

"I wish to talk to you about your role in the space mission. I don't fully trust you with other members of the mission, I've never seen you there," he started, and nonchalantly touched the apparatus. "What are your goals?"

"Indeed. And I do not get why I could be of such importance," Ender replied, his coolness showing in every syllable he pronounced. "May I know the reason behind this inquiry?"

"The reason is simple. I do not trust you. I want to let you know that whatever the Spanish embassy's plan is for the English space mission, we will not welcome it. We won't abide by your rules. We're not advising it."

"And we'll prove it with this machinery, " he said, drawing out the apparatus closer to Ender's side.

The latter merely raised his eyebrows.

"Listen, we're just trying to defend ourselves from foreign forces. If you say what you want now, this conversation will be avoided and we won't get mad."

"We, or I?" he asked. "You can use this apparatus on me, but I don't have much time. In fact, if you wish to learn more about my goals, use this business card," he passed a little black card with an intricate logo, consisting of a single snake with its tail twisted into lots of different spherical swirls on the bottom.

Avin glanced down on the business card. Then looked up at Ender, glowering.

"Don't disrespect me," he said, in a hot-tempered nature. "I've the DNA stealer, a painful lie detector and I'm not afraid to use them!"

Ender leaned down in his chair in exasperation.

"Oh God, if you got it, use it," he said sighing, starting to get irritated. "But I repeat: I do not have much time."

A thoughtful expression settled on his face after his last words. As if he was way too lost in his mind's worlds.

A reply to his suggestion became a sharp unclasping of a little apparatus sounding akin to a necklace. However, the very next second Avin found his wrist glued onto the table with a little chain almost touching his skin.

He was unable to move.

"Try using some form of sabotage next time," Ender advised, removing his hand from the charged device as it didn't require human touch to continue working. "More beneficial than knife-to-throat."

Avin appeared to cower under the potent device. He couldn't move; or else, he'd be dead.

"Use the business card next time. Although it's not the Spanish embassy, it may help you in your inquiries," Ender said, putting on his coat and preparing to leave. A fearful expression arose on Avin's face.

After a little period of consideration, the chemist lifted the DNA stealer from above his wrist and carefully put it by the "lie detector" on the table. The man wouldn't have the chance to even take it to the court-room, because the question of who initially possessed the weapon would promptly arise.

"I'm not going to murder you."

And left.