Lieutenant Roha alternated his gaze between the two until Melca spoke. "There is a possibility that the race was rigged. The Seorite you used was analyzed at the end of the race. We were surprised that it still had eighty percent of its energy remaining."
"What? But I..." Xanter whispered, holding onto the table.
"Relax. Everything is fine," Zakin pulled out an old Zalesian knife and began to twirl it between his fingers. "They checked the footage, and there's nothing suspicious. I watched it over and over again by myself, everything is in order."
"No! Nothing is in order. Someone gave him the charged Seorite on the twenty-fourth lap, when he stopped," growled Laur.
Xanter widened his eyes. "Director, I can assure you that-"
"No one came into direct contact with the Lieutenant in that stretch! And Ermet, what are the chances that they provided him with an identical stone in shape, color, and size?" Zakin said. "Stop with this attitude!"
Ermet Laur adjusted his tie. "Yes, well, it's unlikely, but not impossible."
The doors opened, and Prime Minister Carl Gizen entered.
"Gentlemen, good afternoon," he said in a full and burlyvoice. The bald head reflected the light from the ceiling lamps.
They all stood up, but Gizen gestured for them to return to their seats. "We're only missing Greed and General Leidara to be complete," he said, amused. He took a seat on the vacant side of the triangular table, unwrapped a candy and popped it into his mouth. He pointed at Xanter with his index finger. "Xanter Roha, we had high expectations for the Grand Prix and I must say, you were exemplary." With a satisfied expression, he looked at the generals. "So, what should we discuss? I'm in a bit of a hurry... we're starting the construction of another Garden of the Senses tonight, and there'll be a ceremony," he added, speaking faster than before. "There's always a ceremony, and I can't seem to lose weight."
Director Ermet Laur jumped to his feet and yelled, "Prime Minister, the situation is very serious! The army is underestimating the problem, but I'm sure someone has betrayed the spirit of the competition," he said in one breath. "They helped Lieutenant Xanter Roha in some way: the Seorite of the vaasp was replaced during the race."
Zakin and Melca looked at each other. "Nonsense!" the former shouted. "You're criticizing a brave soldier when we have much more serious things to deal with."
"Right... speaking of which, Janus, how did things end up with that Lamia country?" Gizen asked.
"We're still looking for the Seorite and the Hozman, but we haven't found any links to the empire. We believe they're just independent groups," Janus replied.
Prime Minister Gizen massaged the back of his hands. "So no involvement from Aletar or Meliro?"
"No, Carl. We can say that with certainty. But we should still be careful about how the Emperor and his High Powers are moving," Zakin said, taking a cigar out of his uniform case and putting it in his mouth without lighting it.
"Could it be the work of 'Lake'? Maybe he's moved too far east from the last sightings?" Gizen suggested.
"No, Carl. We can rule out the Zalesian rebels," Zakin replied.
Gizen nodded. "How do you plan to proceed? If we could get that Seorite, I could keep the public opinion calm for a while. The Lafkai mines are no longer producing the same daily quantities, and I'm sure the Sultan of Zaal will start playing with the prices soon," he concluded seriously.
Janus Zakin stood up and went to the window, the lights of Edel shining like the night sky before sunset.
"My men have already contacted the Senate of the Republic of Lamia, and we're preparing to help them search for any survivors, but unfortunately, they haven't found any at the moment," the general said, his rough hand on the glass. "It was a real disaster."
"I'm sorry for those people, but I'll leave the rest to you," the minister added brusquely, getting up and looking at the Director of the Research and Development Institute. "Ermet, my dear, don't cause more problems than necessary for yourself." Gizen went to the door, but turned back again. "Oh, I almost forgot, Xanter, I would like you to attend my daughter's birthday party this weekend, if you're available, of course."
"Certainly, Prime Minister, no trouble at all," Xanter replied. Carl Gizen waved goodbye and went past the doorposts.
The Director Laur shook his head, took the files on the table, and bid farewell to the generals of the High Command. He quickly shook Xanter's hand and, grumbling, left the room.
"Sir, why did you call me?" Xanter asked.
Zakin twisted his face in a grimace. "Civilians don't understand. They built their success on our blood," he thundered. "We maintain balance on the continent, we conquer the Seorite mines, and they pretend to do whatever they want once we've done the dirty work."
Melca nodded in response and put a hand to his temple. He spoke slowly and calmly. "Let's conclude the meeting, I need to catch up on some sleep."
"I agree with you, but when that horse-faced Laur talks, I feel nauseous! I wish I were in Leidara's shoes right now," Zakin said.
"Heh, heh. You're right, she knows how to ask the government for money without too much fuss. We should thank her," General Melca said with a slight smile.
They both looked at Xanter. Zakin composed himself and called the secretary on the intercom. She entered immediately with a column of documents in her arms. The General took the stack of papers and quickly read through them. "Since you're the winner of the tenth Grand Prix of Edel," he said, accompanied by a vague wave of his hand, "you have the opportunity to work as a civilian at the Research and Development Institute to experiment with new technologies. What do you think?"
Xanter pushed his chair back and put his hands on the table. "Sir, if I may, I would like the opportunity to demonstrate my value in the field."
Zakin chuckled. "That's my boy!" He gave him a folder with Xanter's name on it. "I knew you wouldn't leave the army. You're like your father."
Xanter quickly read through the papers in front of him. "Project Eight? What is it?" he asked. Zakin gestured for him to continue with the documentation. "Flight? Amplification of physical performance? But these armor schematics are five, ten years ahead of what the army currently has in use."
"Don't think that only Research and Development carries out the most ambitious projects. Two years ago, we built "Overseas Branch Number Eight" in the middle of the Zalesia Desert. Unfortunately, we had to do the work in great secrecy, you know how the newspapers feel about military expansion. We didn't want to alienate public opinion. But these are our problems, and let's just say that for you, it will be a kind of playground," Zakin replied with a smirk on his face.
Xanter went back to scrolling through the documents.
"It's a highly classified project... even for Kharzan's internal institutions," Melca added.
"Yes, sir. But what exactly am I supposed to do?"
"You will be the only pilot for the time being. The head of the project was clear: to achieve certain performances, certain qualities are needed. He asked me to provide him with the best soldier with on-field energy balancing skills." Zakin grabbed Xanter's shoulder. "You won the selection. Thanks to your Grand Prix victory, you will be the cornerstone around which we will build the future of the entire nation," he concluded, proud.
Xanter closed the folder. He couldn't believe it. How far had they gone with energy balancing? And then, flying? No one had talked about it for years.
"We expect great things, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that we're not the only ones waiting for another one of your successes. The government and the people have all their eyes on the army, and you carry a heavy legacy. It's your duty to maintain the Roha's reputation," Melca said as he stood up. With one last glance, he left the room.
As soon as the doors closed, Janus Zakin took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He sighed, exhausted, and ran his fingers through his gray hair. "Your father would be proud, as I am right now. Not a day goes by when I don't think of him and what he did for me. And now, here you are, from a spoiled child to a man ready to serve his country like no one else."
Xanter observed the ceiling with his hands behind his head and gazed at the Kharzan emblem made up of rows of lamps. "It's an important project. Are you sure I'm the right person for it? From the way Director Laur chewed me out...believe me, I knew nothing about this story."
"Hey, aren't we in the same boat? It's just speculation. Laur has always been rooting for Laratt Tena, everyone knows that. Forget about it and focus on more inviting horizons." Zakin poured himself a glass of liquor and sat back down. "Your career was already paved when you were born. You're a Roha, after all. Your family has fought more battles than the population is entitled to know. Never doubt what you can do, and now get it in your head that you can achieve any goal." He lit a cigar, ignoring the confined space, and then looked at Xanter with a smile on his face. "I served the nation side by side with your father...you know that?" Zakin waved the cigar as if he wanted to poke the air. "I know what a red dog is made of!"
"You tell me every time."
"We spent weeks in the desert without food..."
"And water..." Xanter added, massaging his forehead. "I know."
Zakin curled his lip. "And that time we assaulted Frama Ramones' pirate ships?"
Xanter interrupted him with a raised hand. "They were about to land in Jalla, right?"
The General drummed his fingers on the table, visibly disappointed. "Yes." And he stared at Xanter. "Your father should be in my place now," he murmured after a long pause. He took a photo from his pocket and looked at it once again. The last team under the command of Colonel Conrad Roha.
"He was a soldier," Xanter said. "He did his duty and made his nation proud."
"Fletcher, Brock, Standford, Randall, and your father. Those guys! Each one of them was like a brother." Zakin pounded his fist on the table, his eyes watery. "Damn Hozmans! No one was supposed to die like that. No one deserved that kind of ending," he concluded with a note of anger in his voice. He looked up at Xanter. "I wished he was the one on that stage, not me." He propped up the photo with his finger, slumped back in his chair, his hands hanging at his sides.
"Stop it! You are part of my family, you have been the father I was missing. Anya and I are deeply grateful to you, you have never abandoned us," Xanter stood up, "I just ask you not to make me witness these scenes anymore."
"You're right, I'm sorry, sometimes I let myself get carried away. Sometimes, when I look at you, I see your father again. I forget how difficult it can be not to have him with us," he pointed to the door and picked up a document from the table. "Now go, go have fun. We'll catch up during the week," he concluded with a slight voice.
"Anya will stay with me for a while, do you want to have dinner with us?" Xanter asked.
"That little flea!" she exclaimed. "I found out that she ran away from the Academy of Sciences two days ago!"
"Well, you can scold her as much as you want, so are you joining us?"
Zakin shook his head. "I would like to, but I leave for Zaal tomorrow."
Xanter said goodbye and headed towards the exit.
As the car took him home, he pondered on Melca and Zakin's plans. He knew he was up to the task, he had no doubt that he would give the army what they demanded of him.
The car stopped in front of his house, he took the elevator and entered his apartment. Here, with his head full of thoughts, he spent the rest of the evening with his sister.
She bombarded him with questions, wanting information. She wanted to know everything he would be doing in the coming days. But Xanter only told her that he would soon be leaving for the Zalesia desert, and that he would be gone for an indefinite amount of time. However, Anya was not stupid and Xanter was convinced that she would still call Zakin the next day, hoping to find out everything there was to know about his mission.The conversation quickly turned to the usual worldly news that both of them usually found a pleasant distraction.
That evening, however, he couldn't even listen to any of those gossips. His mind was fixed on the project that awaited him, torn between doubts and excitement.
At night, in his room, Xanter looked out of the window. Pitched in the garden in front of the entrance, about a hundred fans began to sing chants in his honor. He waved to them and they responded with a roar.
"Project Eight," he thought, caressed by the summer wind of Edel.
"Well then," he murmured. He went back inside and opened the closet. He signed the jerseys and racing suits of the Wings of Edel. He knew he wouldn't be wearing those clothes for who knows how long, now that the desert was waiting for him.
He rolled them up and threw them in the direction of the garden, to enjoy the roar of joy from his fans.