Interlude: The Furniture Maker, the Toymaker, and Kumis

Karyl had not often used teleportation beacons in the past, but not because he did not want to. Most of the time, there had simply been no need for them, along with certain subtle teleportation accidents that always seemed to happen to him.

Thus, what was happening now actually felt quite unfamiliar to him. But at least one thing was certain—the teleportation technology of the forty-first millennium had improved by leaps and bounds. At the very least, the thick taste of rust no longer flooded his mouth, nor did his fingers shift between transparency and solidity.

In truth, it all happened in an instant. Blue light flared, blue light vanished, and he was carried to another fortress within the Sol System.

Pale lights shone here. They were not glaring, but neither did they inspire calm or comfort. The floor bore no decorative embellishment whatsoever. It was simply steel.

It had not even been polished to begin with, only becoming smooth through time and the passage of countless people. Power conduits and curved heat-exhaust pipes rested silently in blind spots or in darkness beyond the reach of the lights, arranged with a practicality that was also orderly.

Only those who truly studied this place would notice this carefully handled pragmatism. It did not belong to art, yet it far surpassed it. Its designer apparently had not expected to win the praise of any observant viewer, for he had offered no further reward.

And one more thing—there were no windows here.

Karyl smiled, smiling at the familiar style and at what was about to happen next. He turned around and saw another piece of steel amid the steel.

His smile vanished.

"Long time no see." Perturabo nodded to him, his chin slightly raised, his face expressionless. "You arrived quickly."

He wore a