Chunk 10

The smile vanished from her face. She frowned, looking from under her brows.

"And stay away from me," I again mechanically rubbed my hand.

Turned out, the back side had gone numb too.

"What's with your hand?" she immediately asked. "You keep rubbing it..."

"What — you'll break it with a wrench?"

"Stop it. Just wanted to offer a little pollen. By morning everything would pass..."

I simply turned and left. Shame she turned out like this. But whatever. My hand worries me much more. "Just pinched a nerve," I told myself mentally. "Think about something pleasant."

...Irma takes off her dirty T-shirt in a crowded warehouse corridor, and I can't tear my eyes from her large brown nipples — for some reason I thought about exactly that.

Everyone at home was already asleep. I took off my shoes without turning on the light so as not to wake anyone. Now I'll grab a quick bite and sleep... I rubbed my hand again. The "glove" had indeed transformed from surgical to rough household... Anyway, it's not yet a fact that this is — it. More likely even — it's not it.

I quietly opened the bathroom door and turned on the light.

Fear shook my insides like an electric shock. There was someone in the bathroom. Or something. Very close, large and dark. It jerked and lunged in my direction. I instinctively raised my hands, involuntarily making a drawn-out "E-e-e!" on my breath. And only after a moment understood it was Vira's robe. A robe worn, actually, on Vira. A second ago she was standing bent over the sink, and now turned to me, covering herself from the light.

"Turn it off!" she said peevishly.

"Virka?" my temples pounded from the experienced fright. "Why are you in the dark?"

"Turn it off, I said!" she approached the door and fumbled for the switch, covering her eyes with her palm. It went dark, but I'd already managed to notice it on her face.

"Wait..." I turned the light on again.

"Gil! Fool!" she turned away, covering herself with her elbow.

I took her by the shoulders and tried to turn her face toward me, but Vira resisted.

"Leave me alone! Gil, turn off the light!"

"You have blood!"

Under her nose was a dried dark stream, and now I noticed a few drops on the sink too.

"Turn it off!" and Virunchik suddenly pushed me.

Whether from surprise or from how much force she put into this movement, but I flew to the wall, hitting my back noticeably. Virka immediately turned off the light.

"Are you crazy! Nosebleed — why are you bugging me? Where do you go until night?!"

I approached the sink and turned on the light above the mirror. Vira squinted again. She was somehow disheveled. And... I paid attention to her gaze. Something was wrong with it. Vira's eyes were running back and forth. I didn't understand why...

"What were you doing here?"

"Got up to use the toilet. Blood started from my nose," Vira sniffled and touched the dried stream with her finger. "Move, I'll wash up. Where are you wandering, Gil?!"

"Was on a raid," I shrugged, letting her to the sink.

"Don't lie! You came back from the raid god-knows-when — I went to your biostation!"

"Went?"

"And what should I do at nine in the evening! Your Anton checked — the all-terrain vehicle returned to camp at six-thirty," Vira quickly washed up. "Hand me a towel. So where were you?"

"At the warehouses. Doesn't matter..."

I shook my head, trying to return the thought that flashed a second before her questions. Something wrong with her eyes...

"What warehouses, Gil?! I called you about six times..."

"It was noisy," I answered mechanically.

Eyes... Something about eyes...

"Where noisy?" Vira went on the attack. "At the warehouses? Were loaders rehearsing?!"

"Rehearsing..."

"Yes, little brother, a-a-a-a-h!"

I tried to catch that thought, but it had already slipped away and my head filled with completely different memories...

"Let the fight begin!!!"

"Gil! Were you with that Irma of yours?!"

"Yes," I nodded absently. "On the raid..."

In a crowded corridor Irma takes off her T-shirt, and I can't tear my eyes away... Eyes... Something wrong with Vira's eyes...

"What raid, damn it?!" Vira raised her voice.

"Vira!" I took her face, turning it to the lit mirror. "What were you doing here just now?"

I caught it — the thought that had already slipped away. And now, looking into Vira's brown eyes, I clearly saw I wasn't mistaken. Just as clearly I saw a fleeting fright flash in them.

"Are you sick?!" she sharply broke free and sniffled. "What do people do in the toilet?!"

Vira's pupils were huge. Bright light should have reduced them to the size of a tomato seed. But her pupils were large as a ripe gooseberry.

"Vira! Are you taking something?"

I approached her again, took her by the elbow, but Vira immediately freed herself, stepping back. And mechanically stuck her hand in the robe pocket.

"What are you babbling, Gil?! Is it because I'm asking who you were carousing with?!"

"Stop talking nonsense! What's in your pocket?"

I tried to stick my hand in her pocket, and she pushed me — this time really hard. Didn't even know she could do that. Vira's little shoulder struck me in the chest, and I fell on my back, managing to group myself only at the last moment. The floor painfully hit my extended forearms. And the back of my head rang from collision with the plastic shower cabin lining.

"You're a fool, Gil!" Vira said offendedly. "I'll sleep with Elza. And don't come, I don't want to see you!"

And she slammed the door behind her.

In the morning it seemed to me the "glove" on my hand had gotten thinner. At least it definitely hadn't gotten thicker. This gave me a bit of strength. Vira was sulking and didn't want to talk. I, on the contrary, tried to stir her up with questions. It seemed this way I could understand whether my nighttime suspicions were justified or not. Maybe she'd give herself away somehow. But Virka didn't have a guilty look, didn't do anything inadequate. I almost convinced myself I'd imagined it.

Honestly, that morning the only thing that really worried me was the terrible double bottom of our colony. Drugs of alien origin, brutal fights almost to death, the nightmare execution performed by a girl who just yesterday seemed almost the sweetest person in the world... It was all as if part of some wild bloodthirsty cult. And most disgusting, I didn't just peek into this bottom, I touched it. Dirtied myself first by complicity in collecting pollen, and then...

Memory mercilessly accurately reproduced the disgusting crunch of a broken tibia. I shuddered. No, I won't be an accomplice to this savagery! I didn't ask to join their clan of drug dealers and didn't promise anything anyway. I don't know what they're thinking, but I have a daughter. A daughter and a diagnosis they never even dreamed of. And I won't risk my career, because it's the only thing that can secure my Elza's future. Not their stinking pollen and especially not Capybara's victory in the next fight!

That's why I'll do what I decided. Doesn't matter what they'll call me after this... Now or never.

7

Senior Control Officer Vandlik set up her office in the internal security company barracks — together with her charges. Although by status she should have had an office at headquarters, next to the commander. Many thought she deliberately tried to be "closer to the people," inflating her value in subordinates' eyes. But not the guys themselves, whose right uniform sleeve was dyed black (sign of internal security). For them Vandlik's authority was unquestionable. And, I think, not without reason.

"Black sleeves," to put it mildly, were shunned, since maintaining discipline and investigating service violations were also part of their tasks. Their barracks stood on the outskirts, near the very wall of the Perimeter, as if emphasizing this status. Also here in a long strip were lined up kennels with dogs, whose unfriendly barking rang out to a good half of the camp.

Vandlik was at the sports ground. When I saw her, she was demonstrating to the next group of conquistadors how ridiculous their attempts to attack her hand-to-hand were. Probably, to say she did this with pleasure would be inaccurate: Vandlik did this with relish. Neither her short stature nor boyish weight hindered her at all. She was twice as fast as each of her bruisers. Catching the moment, she dove under the arm of an already quite winded conquistador and poked him well in the solar plexus. Without giving the man even a chance to bend, she bent the poor guy's arm with a crunch, forcing him to maintain balance on tiptoes.

"Animals will attack you with paws, chelicerae, stingers, claws, horns, teeth... And the rule is always one — move off the attack line!" Vandlik demonstratively released the poor fellow, and he fell to the ground. "And you're too in love with your assault rifles! Keep being dumb, they'll bite them off along with your arms!"

She spoke beautifully, weightily, calmly. Vividly. Vandlik had a talent for hammering new skills directly into her charges' subcortex.

I had the chance to get better acquainted with her at recent shooting competitions. Only combat units participated. I was present then only because such were the rules: at any mass events in the colony there must be at least one biologist, just in case. Vandlik noticed something in my eyes when I was watching the next fighter performing tasks. Shooting prone, standing, from cover and on the move. Once, back in the army, I went through enhanced marksmanship training and didn't become a sniper in my unit only because there were too many like me there. But my love for shooting hadn't gone anywhere, and I sadly noted the crude mistakes of some shooters, thinking how great it would be to participate myself.

"Want to shoot?" she unexpectedly asked.

"Yes, ma'am! Don't have clearance."

"At the start is a completely disassembled rifle. New design, you haven't shot with such yet."

"Think I'll manage to assemble it somehow..."

"I think so too. But you won't fit in the time limit on the first try. And even if you don't miss once after — forget about a prize place."

I understood from the tone that this was a kind of invitation to participate, and smiled broadly.

"What are you standing for, lieutenant?" Vandlik barked emphatically by the book: "To starting position at the double!"

The new rifle indeed differed from everything I was used to dealing with. After figuring out the bolt fairly quickly, I got stuck trying to understand how to snap the body together. Someone was shouting completely senseless hints. I mentally counted off precious seconds in my head — instead of the allotted fifteen I was fumbling for probably all fifty. But it didn't matter: following Vandlik's advice, I threw out the very thought of victory and just got pleasure. Finally the lock pin clicked, and I raised the combat-ready rifle.

I remember how I took prone position, reminding myself I could take my time now. How I made myself slowly inhale and exhale, allowing my body to "spread around the rifle," as my instructor once said. How I smoothly pressed the trigger... The shot thundered, and as always when you can't see whether you hit or not, the thought arose that I'd missed.

After all, I only see the target outline, and any deviation to the side... But I habitually threw all this out of my head, focusing on the shooting process. Just need to repeat everything exactly the same as the first time. Shot! And again — exactly the same, to the smallest movement. Shot! And again...

I remember Vandlik, checking the targets, found me with her gaze. I expected from her some gesture, like, not bad... Or maybe, on the contrary, that she'd grimace contemptuously... But she just looked at me attentively, and then, approaching an officer from another range, checked his table for a long time. When they announced the top twenty, I won't hide it, a timid hope smoldered in me to be at least in the tail. But a miracle didn't happen — how long I fumbled assembling the rifle put a cross even on the twenty. Well, fine.

And when it all ended, Vandlik suddenly came up to me and with her characteristic directness stated:

"You know you showed the best result?"

"That is, the best?"

"That is, the best in shooting. Doesn't matter what place you ended up in. I hope it doesn't matter to you either. But you shoot excellently. For a biologist. Want to come to my training? Starting tomorrow. You'll like it."

Since then for a month I'd been spending in Vandlik's company at least three hours a week, improving my combat skills together with her personal bull terriers — guys with black sleeves.

She didn't spoil me with any special treatment, and I was hardly her best student, but we both enjoyed our interaction. She valued the pleasure with which I trained. I — her directness and ability to explain something once and for all. If you already managed to avoid injuries in training, going forward you'll apply the learned techniques without thinking.

...The paratroopers were jogging sluggishly in a circle under the encouraging shouts of the miniature control officer. I approached Vandlik, choosing my words.

"I have information," I said. "Unofficial. Concerns security."

Vandlik looked at me seriously with her pale blue eyes.

"Twenty more laps!" she barked at her charges. "Whoever has a dry back — penalty duty!"

And the senior control officer nodded, inviting me to follow her.

We stopped in the shadow of a building. Vandlik got out an old-fashioned tobacco cigarette and held it out to me.

"No, thanks. I don't smoke."

"I also try not to get carried away," she nodded. "Statistical forecasting and all that... But you know, one acquaintance of mine suffered all his life trying to quit, because his individual oncology forecast was sky-high... And in the end he was cleaning a rifle and shot himself in the head. Such things..."

And she lit the cigarette she'd offered me herself.

"What did you want?" she asked, releasing a cloud of smoke through her nostrils.

Suddenly I realized I wasn't ready for the conversation. It seemed so necessary and unambiguous to me that I didn't even think through where I'd start. And only when Vandlik asked, any beginning started to seem like some disgusting snitching.

"So..." I began. "I accidentally learned that in the colony... things are happening... dangerous for all of us — probably..."

"Get to the point!"

I sighed and delivered:

"Illegal fights at the warehouses — heard of such a thing?"

"Of course," Vandlik nodded without even raising an eyebrow. "Did someone get killed there?"

Her calm caught me off guard.

"N-no, not really... Definitely not, but..."

"Crippled?"

I nodded uncertainly.

"Probably."

She shrugged.

"I knew sooner or later they'd overdo it. But those are their problems. For violating the Corps charter they get kicked out to hell without compensation."

I hesitated. I should have told her about the pollen. But at the same time manage not to name Irma. Even though I came with a report to the control officer, I definitely wasn't planning to become a traitor. Though at that moment I felt exactly like one.

"They're taking some filth," I finally said.

"Drugs?"

"I think so..."

Vandlik's face became concerned.

"Anything heavy? Synthetics?"

"As I understood, it's something local. Looks like black powder."

"Pollen," she nodded and lost interest. "Organic stimulant. They have a whole mini-religion about it."

Squinting, Vandlik took a drag with pleasure. I waited for her to say something, but the senior control officer was completely absorbed in smoking.

"Anything else?" she asked, noticing my gaze.

"Well... This isn't enough?"

"Just enough, I'd say. Enough for the guys to have somewhere to let off steam. A conquistador absolutely needs his own piece of freedom. Freedom from the charter and commanders, I mean."

"You're joking!" escaped from me.

"Not joking at all," Vandlik answered imperturbably.

"It's just... Drugs and illegal fights... I thought the direct duty of a control officer..."

She interrupted:

"The direct duty of a control officer, Gil, is to ensure mission success. If for this we need to forbid drugs — then forbid them. But if pollen can help perform tasks, be assured, I'll set up uninterrupted production here."

"Didn't know you were a philosopher..."

"I, lieutenant, am a practitioner. In one mission in our unit there was a guy. Such a nerd... Wouldn't hurt a fly. Some important specialist in something... Private first class. Once he took his rifle in the middle of the parade ground and started shooting everyone in a row. I was still an ordinary internal security lieutenant then. Was standing right in formation... And he killed a guy next to me. And a bunch of people. And then someone shot him... That's how it was... And you know why he did it? They drove him crazy. They had some conflict with the commander, and he decided to get back at the nerd, driving him to hysteria with petty harassment. If this had happened with us, the guy would have gone to the warehouses, taken some powder, won a hundred on the tote, and mentally showed the commander 'fuck you'!" Vandlik warmed up, she gestured animatedly, clenching the cigarette in her teeth. "Understand? Felt free and subject to no one — look, and the person doesn't have a depressed but elevated mood! But in that mission there was nothing like that. The nerd endured humiliation for about half a year, and then he snapped."

"I understand..." I said somewhat confusedly. "May I ask another question."

"Go ahead."

"Does the commander know?"

She looked at me with interest.

"You're quite a character! But I like it. Few people care, you know! Answer: yes, the commander knows everything that concerns him. And isn't aware of what doesn't concern him. Any more questions?"

In the last words sounded a threat, and I thought it was better not to push it.

"No, ma'am!"

"That's a good boy. And if you learn that someone's selling anything heavy — whistle immediately. That's a real threat to the mission. But pollen or herbs..."

"We have herbs too?"

Vandlik giggled. Seems she was deliberately provoking me.

"Didn't expect this from security..." I said carefully. "In a good sense."

"That's what they pay us for. And just for guarding we have dogs and assault troops."

Vandlik extended her hand to me in a manly way. Her handshake was surprisingly firm.

"Don't you want to transfer to us?"

"To the 'sleeves'?" I was surprised. "That is, to the service..."

"To the 'sleeves,' to the 'sleeves,'" Vandlik smiled. "You're a sharp guy. And our own biologist wouldn't hurt either."

"I'll think about it," I promised.

We said goodbye, and I shuffled off to the biostation, feeling embarrassed.

From a distance I noticed that all our people were crowding outside, surrounding the transformer box. Anton, cursing under his breath, was rummaging inside. I stood behind the others' backs and silently watched, trying with all my might not to let one guess form into a full thought. I waved it off like a persistent autumn fly, mentally repeating the word "nonsense." But in a minute Anton turned to us, and the guess became reality: he disgustedly held out to us two freshly extracted from the transformer's depths dead reapers.

"Strange," Aba said quietly and went inside, not developing this thought at all.

Anton threw the reapers on the grass. Returning, he clicked the switch, and the transformer quietly hummed, returning to life.

"Next time it'll burn out," he muttered, addressing no one.

"Don't jinx it," Irma said and also went inside.

Closing the transformer box doors, Anton looked at me wearily. He didn't say anything, but his gaze was more eloquent than any "I told you so."

The day turned out long and strange. I often rubbed my hand and kept thinking about Irma. She acted as if nothing had happened, smiled, flashing her dimples on her cheeks, and all that. And I again and again returned in thought either to that terrible execution of the poor fighter, or to how Irma unceremoniously changes clothes in front of everyone. This combination of sexuality and cruelty didn't fit in my head and constantly troubled me. Irma was a complete contradiction. On one hand — to sell drugs... Stimulants, as Vandlik says... And on the other — to arrange, what the hell, a colossal experiment on the pollen's effect on humans! These studies should really be looked at. I'm not saying, of course, about tasting the pollen... At least without a full laboratory analysis... I rubbed my hand again. Seems now I do this always when I think about pollen. No, kid, let's not rush. I haven't forgotten Okamura who was vomiting some black shit.

Speaking of Okamura. Finishing work, I immediately went to him.

On the barracks second floor it was ideally clean. The corridor was flooded with uniform cold light. Okamura's door turned out to be the last one. I knocked. It was quiet. I knocked again and put my ear to the door. No steps, no other sounds.

"Who?" suddenly sounded right under the door, and I flinched.

The voice was weak and quiet. As if its owner found the strength to answer between retching fits and is hurrying to be alone again with the toilet.

"It's Gil. The lieutenant who rode with you yesterday," I stepped back so he could see me in the peephole. "Wanted to ask how you are."

"Shitty... Body's not accepting it."

I thought he'd open, but — no. The corporal wasn't planning to continue the conversation either.

"Maybe you need the hospital?"

"Don't need..." he answered, and it was clear each word came terribly hard. "Irma said, it'll pass..."

"You... Don't sleep there..."

"I know..."

"Call if anything, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

I stood a bit longer, expecting that maybe I'd hear some sounds. At least him walking away from the door. But it was quiet. Shuffling a bit more, I left.

The nightmare happened the morning of the next day.

8

It was around eight. Seems I was just standing in the middle of the kitchen and for the hundredth time rubbing my fingers, convincing myself everything would pass. Though actually that morning the "glove" on my hand had become noticeably longer. Now it evenly covered my whole wrist. Vira sat with her nose buried in a cup. We'd hardly talked for the second day. The radio chattered. I even remember that morning the announcer was reading the emergency forecast and promising some ridiculous fractions of a percent calculated per colony resident... And then gunshots rang out. So unexpectedly that I didn't believe my ears.

End of Chunk 10 (Pages 109-120)