Chunk 14

but the sound got louder, and now it was impossible not to recognize it. Quantum hell! Security had raised combat drones into the sky! I hadn't accounted for that at all... And I needed to get back, damn it, through the most lit-up areas. No, now that's definitely too big a risk... Then where?

I rolled onto my other side and looked around... Fifty meters from me was the officers' cottage where Irma lived. It felt like otherworldly forces were playing a joke on me: if it comes out anywhere that after this fight I went to Irma's, the conflict with Vira will never be smoothed over with any words. You probably couldn't think of anything worse. But if I didn't want to spend the rest of the night being interrogated, I needed to quickly hide in a safe place. And preferably stay there till morning. And the only safe place I could reach quickly was Irma's cottage.

In about a minute I was already ringing her doorbell. Then I suddenly imagined that she was sound asleep and wouldn't hear. I felt uneasy. It seemed the patrols could come around the corner any second. I rang again.

The door opened slightly, and Irma's sleepy face peered out from behind it.

"You?! What happened?"

"Long story... Let me in please, there's a patrol out there, and I have nowhere else to go."

She immediately opened wider, letting me in.

"Did they see you?"

"Fortunately, no... Sorry, it worked out that the only place to hide is at your place."

Irma stands there covered only by a sheet she's simply pressed to her chest with her hand.

"I'll put something on, okay?" and, continuing to cover herself with the sheet only in front, she unceremoniously turns her back to me.

I involuntarily held my breath, telling myself it would be good to turn away. But of course I shamelessly stared, trying to make out every curve and every fold. She could hardly not feel this. But it seemed the fact that she was completely naked troubled only me of the two of us.

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind her, I tried to throw this nonsense out of my head and focus on more important problems. For example, I needed to turn off the lights immediately. All I needed was to attract someone's attention

with lit windows... I clicked the switch. Now... Take off my boots or what?... I looked around, figuring out where I could crash till morning.

Since Irma lived alone, her room was furnished much more ascetically than our family cottage. I'll probably lie over there on the floor. I acutely felt the smells of Irma's apartment. Lived-in, warm, but foreign, and from that somehow—unpleasant. As if I'd really come to a mistress while my wife and daughter were sleeping at home...

"So what happened?" she came out in a bathrobe, with elegantly pinned-up hair.

I remembered how once, back in high school, I'd stopped by a classmate's house on business. And she, usually a mannered beauty, turned out so domestic in sweatpants and a t-shirt, with a ponytail and no makeup... She was embarrassed, and her appearance struck me terribly then. As if I'd seen her naked. The contrast between Irma who breaks helpless Capybara's legs and the miniature woman in a bathrobe who now stood before me was a hundred times stronger and stirred up some incomprehensible mixture of the strongest feelings in me.

"Vira and I had a fight..." I began uncertainly, trying to distract myself from the rush of emotions. "And I decided to take a walk to relieve the tension... And it worked out that the patrol cut off my way back. They were looking for someone and... So I had to stop by your place..."

"It's my fault: I dragged you into this adventure. She was worried, right?"

I nodded. Unmade-up Irma looked no worse than "in full parade dress." In fact, even better.

"Want something?" she asked. "Tea or whatever..."

Her offer in the middle of the night could probably seem funny, but I'd gotten pretty cold lying on the lawn, and honestly I wanted to somehow defuse the situation, because I felt extremely awkward.

...It was semi-darkness—we'd decided not to turn on the lights, and the kitchen was weakly illuminated by reflections of street lamps. We drank silently, each immersed in their own thoughts. In my head the pictures of this night went round and round again. The empty hospital corridors—Okamura who somehow ended up on the ceiling—Irma who gratefully kisses me for the rescue—Vira who cries and calls me a scum...

Obviously Irma's head was churning with the same whirlpool as mine—holding the cup with both hands, she stared into emptiness, being in her thoughts somewhere else. I wanted to say something and break

the silence, but Irma spoke first, not looking at me and for some reason in a whisper:

"There, in the hospital... Under the bed... He... He was very strong... Not like a person, but much stronger... I'm no coward and I was once the best at hand-to-hand... But at that moment..."

She was silent for a few seconds, then spoke again:

"I've never been that scared before. I was like stupefied... Just pushing him away with my hands and that's all..."

She turned her face away, closing her eyes.

"I was terribly frightened too. Truth be told, it's only by a miracle I shot him and not you."

She sniffled and smiled.

"Thank you."

And suddenly she got up from the chair and hugged me. I felt her shudder from quiet silent crying. After a few seconds I realized I was standing like a tree with my arms slightly spread, so I delicately hugged Irma back. Probably after some time I should have pulled away. Or somehow elegantly extricated myself... But I just stood there, feeling through the thin bathrobe her hot body, and breathing in the intoxicating scent of perfume. I wanted to stand like this and stand...

"I'm just a crybaby, don't worry," Irma decisively sniffled, suggesting the tears were over. "For me to cry, you know, is like rolling down a hill."

She tried to say this cheerfully, but it was completely clear this was a lie—both her cheerful tone and that she was a crybaby. Irma leaned back, looking into my face while still remaining in my arms, wiped her tears and smiled:

"And you—are afraid of the dark. I saw."

"It's after the neurodesigner..."

"Well, let me go. Want to see my research? I don't feel like sleeping anyway..."

Irma unfolded her tablet and opened some directory. Judging by the number of folders, she'd done enormous work. For some time she searched for the needed file. We sat on the simple comfortable bed, leaning over a stool that served as a coffee table. Irma was illuminated only by the silvery light of the hologram hanging before us.

"I don't even know where to start," she opened file after file so quickly I didn't have time to read the titles. "Here

dozens of individual cases of pollen use are described... But let's start, probably, with its nature... You're interested what it is, right?"

I tried to concentrate on work, trying not to feel Irma's warm thigh. Silky short bathrobe, strands of fragrant hair...

"Are you listening to me?" Irma nudged me with her elbow.

I processed her last phrase, returning to reality:

"Yes... Nature... Interesting, of course. Did you do spectral analysis?"

"Of course! And not only spectral. I dragged a sample to the laboratory, then erased all the records from the work machine. Look."

A three-dimensional microscope image grew above the tablet.

"Doesn't this remind you of anything?"

"Single-celled..." I said uncertainly.

"I'd say it most resembles spores. But only at first glance. Look at the structure of these bodies inside the cell. See?"

Honestly, her manner of telling in the form of dialogue wasn't quite appropriate right now. I was drowsy after tea and wanted to sleep. I once again tried to concentrate on the hologram. The structure inside the cell... What does it look like...

With peripheral vision I caught that when Irma leaned forward, the folds of her bathrobe temptingly parted. It was as if someone flipped a switch in my consciousness. The hologram of the cell no longer existed, though I tried my best to think only about the pollen. Sleep also vanished as if by magic.

"...Taking into consideration that we're in another galaxy, the difference is quite significant," she was saying, but I wasn't listening at all. "I still want you to guess yourself. Nowhere else do these two elements occur together in one organism. I'll enlarge more..."

She moved her hand inside the hologram, and I saw with peripheral vision how the charming shadow moved behind the parted bathrobe fold. And I even involuntarily sighed. I really wanted to glance there at least half-eyed. After all, what's the big deal? A quick glance, after which I'll finally be able to focus on what Irma is trying to convey to me. And I cast an almost instantaneous glance at the attractive shadow. Almost instantaneous...

Her breasts rested peacefully on the delicate fabric of the bathrobe. A large dark-brown, springy-looking nipple pressed against the thin silk. A mole right by the nipple itself. It must be all fatigue's fault, because I completely didn't control my own thoughts—not wanting to, I imagined touching this mole with my lips. The image was so vivid that I almost felt the taste of her skin... Around this moment I realized Irma was silent, and raised my eyes to her. She was smiling restrainedly.

"Uh..." I winced, feeling my face start to burn with embarrassment. "Sorry, I zoned out..."

"I see..."

"You were saying about structures inside the cell..."

"Three minutes ago."

I frantically tried to find a way to defuse the situation. Suddenly Irma burst out laughing.

"You know, I'd like some juice."

She looked at me almost tenderly. Or did it seem to me... On cotton legs I went for juice. My ears were pounding. I thought it would be better to just leave, because this won't end well. And when I returned with a glass in hand, Irma had mercifully fastened her bathrobe.

"Black pollen makes the cell create another healthy cell," she said without preamble. "Just improved. Remember what I told you about perfection?"

I remembered Capybara knocking me off my feet like a bowling pin.

"Irma, I wouldn't trust anything that takes up residence inside our cells."

"And I wouldn't trust anything but facts. Agree?"

Not waiting for an answer, she opened a new file. These were brain images. Computed tomography.

"What do you see?" she asked in the tone of a sergeant giving commands. "If you say 'brain,' I'll kill you."

Overall, I would have answered exactly that if she hadn't warned me. Okay, Gil, pull yourself together. I leaned forward slightly, carefully examining the images. Yes, there could be no doubt.

"Cancer," I said. "And long-standing. I'd say inoperable, given the localization. But I'm not a medic, of course."

"Brain cancer, that's right. Stage four. Now ask what the patient's surname is."

"And what is it?" I turned to Irma, but when I saw her face, I understood everything. "This is your scan?!"

"This is my old scan," she clarified. "And this one—is recent. What do you see in it?"

This time before me was an absolutely healthy brain, without any tumors or anomalies.

"You had brain cancer?" despite all the absurdity, I couldn't squeeze out any other question.

"The key word is 'had,'" her eyes burned with triumph.

I realized this probably does look exactly like that, and got embarrassed. The uniform was wet and dirty, I couldn't get into clean sheets like this... I quickly undressed and, in my underwear and undershirt, lay as far from her as I could. For some time I lay as if I'd swallowed a poker, and then sleep started to take over. I just needed to relax and fall asleep...

Suddenly Irma said quietly:

"Hold me, please."

I swear, at that second I was even indignant! What for, Irma?! Lost your mind! But of course I didn't say anything like that to her... I was torn between the intention not to do anything like that and the passionate desire to do this and significantly more. Between not wanting to look idiotic in her eyes and understanding that to put my hand on her waist now—is the same as pressing the trigger. After all, I definitely wasn't planning to cheat on Vira. And overall, I wasn't planning to sleep with a coworker, especially with Irma. The most difficult thing was that she also didn't seem to be asking me to sleep with her—just to hold her... Why the hell did she ask to hold her...

I don't know what came over me and at what moment. Unexpectedly for myself I suddenly softly pressed against her with my whole body. It must be all her perfume's fault, so delicate and tender... Reality seemed to cease to exist... Drunk from the rush of lust, I touched my lips to her neck, feeling some special spicy taste of her skin... The dizziness became literal, somewhere near my throat my heart froze sweetly, and, weakly understanding what I was doing, I greedily felt for her breast with my palm...

She reacted with readiness and, probably, even too actively. Somehow too sharply—her skin slipped from under my lips... Then—sudden pain in my arm. And only here did I understand that Irma wasn't playing along with me but was wriggling free, for persuasiveness decisively twisting my wrist.

"Hey! Lost your mind? I said 'hold me,' not 'do with me what you want'!"

I seemed to come to my senses and now didn't know what to answer.

"Well, what's with you?" Irma said softly. "You have a beloved wife. And we also work together."

She said the last phrase already smiling. Well, at least she's not angry...

"It's all fine, don't worry!" Irma turned away from me, with obvious satisfaction "burrowing" into the pillow. "I'll take your impulse as a compliment: a good witch, means! Now sleep. If you can..."

I really didn't fall asleep right away.

The alarm on my phone jingled at seven fifteen. I tried to find it on the floor, but it jingled and jingled, and my hand for some reason fumbled in emptiness. Finally it stopped on its own, and I flopped back on the pillow, never having found it. Dark. Virka must have lowered the shutters... No, not Virka—I'm not home...

I turned over. Irma was sleeping with her back to me, curled up in a ball. I tried to throw off the blanket, and then something fell on my face. Flinching with my whole body, I grabbed it with my hand. Something soft and disgustingly warm... For a second I didn't understand what it was, and only then realized: I'm holding my own right hand that had completely lost sensation. I sat up with a jerk. A wave of horror washed over me.

Oh God... It's started... My arm fell onto my knees. With an awkward movement I brought it to my face, almost hitting myself. The shoulder worked, but the hand was as if dead. Grabbing the numb right hand with my left palm, I started massaging it... Not now... What will happen to Vira if I become a fool here, in another galaxy... Please, Lord, not now!

The finest needles pierced my fingers and started pricking somewhere deep-deep, as if breaking through with nerve endings from another reality. My heart pounded wildly. Sweat broke out on my forehead. After a few more seconds of energetic rubbing I felt how a hot wave of blood flowed to my arm... But the "needles" didn't want to disappear yet, and the fingertips felt almost nothing, as if they were made of latex.

"Come on," I told my arm. "I know I just slept on you wrong."

Probably only at this moment did I realize I didn't believe it. I'm terribly afraid of this, but actually, I don't believe it. And even now, rubbing the fingers that had become foreign, I don't think I got sick, but on the contrary—I'm trying to convince myself it just seemed to me: "It fell asleep—and no more. Scared for nothing... For nothing...". The arm gradually regained sensation, if you don't count the already familiar "glove." The fingers were still being pricked, as if by weak electric discharges. Breathing in slowly several times, I calmed down. Everything's fine. For now everything's fine.

...The morning turned out surprisingly cold and gloomy. I hope Irma wasn't counting on me to wake her—the last thing I wanted this morning was to look her in the eyes, so I just fled while she was sleeping... A new thought now knocked at my temples, crowding everything else out of my head: you spent the night at Irma's, buddy! Had a fight with Vira and couldn't think of anything better than to go spend the night at Irma's! And in the same bed! "Well, to hell with it..." I tried to shut up my conscience that was wailing hysterically. "Vira won't find out anything anyway!" But it seemed now I physically felt in my mouth the nauseating aftertaste of shame. Without going home, I went straight to the biostation. Irma came half an hour later. She greeted me cheerfully, as if nothing unusual had happened to her that night.

In about two hours the fears about my arm and pangs of conscience about Irma gave way to other heavy, thick fears that they'd arrest me. In two hours I drank four coffees and about fifteen times closed and opened the same file without changing a single letter in it. And almost every minute I expected that now the guys from internal security would burst in (of course, led by senior control officer Vandlik) and accuse me of murder. Or—even worse—they'd arrest Irma, not me. And

I'd watch them go, choking from my own cowardice, and melting from self-pity, but I'd lack the courage to confess that the killer is me. And then Irma would look back, and in her gaze would be not even contempt, but outright disgust...

...Even worse if this happens at home. They'll ring the doorbell, and Virunchik will open it, as is customary here, without even asking who's there. And they'll say something official like: "Your husband is accused of murdering a defenseless patient in intensive care." No, they won't say "defenseless" of course. And about the patient—also. I don't even know if they have the right to inform her of the charge before me. Probably they'll have to say something neutral, like: "We need your husband, ma'am," and then they'll stand with enigmatic faces and be silent until I come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. And then they'll pounce on me... Probably they'll really pounce—I am after all accused of murder... They'll throw me to the floor, twist my arms, then, putting on handcuffs, they'll lift me... The damn towel will fall off me, and naked I'll look like some pathetic, helpless worm against the background of their combat exoskeletons... Elza will run out of her room and cry. Or even rush to me with a cry of "Daddy!", and one of those hulks will block her with a paw in a mechanized glove and growl to Vira: "Take the child! And bring your husband pants!". And Vira will take Elza in her arms and, finding my gaze, will say just one phrase: "Gil, is this true?". And I, having gone through mentally a dozen absurd excuses, will be forced to just nod...

All these pictures scrolled through my head with such merciless clarity and so often that several times I thought about whether to surrender voluntarily. Then I'd pull myself together, and the fear would recede a bit. However, it didn't disappear, but only wrinkled up, hiding somewhere in the liver area, and constantly reminded of itself with an insistent dragging, nausea-like sensation.

When I wasn't thinking about arrest, I involuntarily relived again and again the horror of the dark ward with a strange creature on the ceiling. Then another, completely inappropriate memory would suddenly surface, which shouldn't have had any place against the background of that nightmare: Irma going to the bathroom, pressing a sheet to her chest, and I'm devouring her with my gaze, trying not to miss a single curve of her body.

I got up and went to the coffee machine. I realized what I was doing only when my hand reached for the "espresso" button. Fifth cup? Really? After thinking a bit, I just drank water.

I need to tell Vira everything. Just so I don't fight on two fronts.

Interesting, what will she say when you confess to murder? I winced as from the screech of metal on glass. It's not murder. Self-defense. And even then, if you consider that creature a person. Because it seems to me, that's not so. He was no longer human. "Tell Vira that, buddy!" egged on that smart guy who likes to give advice sitting in my head. "With all the details! How you decided to climb into the hospital through the window, and then—how the corporal crawled on the ceiling. And when she believes you, say all this: pure self-defense, he wasn't even human... And you'll repeat this at the tribunal, if Vira suddenly doesn't want to become an accomplice."

What nonsense! She'll never turn me in!

"And what will she do?" the internal voice wouldn't stop. "Will she sympathize? Or maybe she'll say: 'I can't lie in the same bed with a murderer'"?

Unlikely... Unlikely she'll say that... But the problem was that I didn't feel confident about this...

"Did you hear about that Japanese guy in the hospital?" Anton suddenly spoke up from his seat.

I flinched with my whole body, as if someone had unexpectedly punched me.

"They say he was killed today," he continued.

"Killed how?!" it seemed to me I said this terribly falsely.

"Like that. I also thought he died yesterday. Everyone thought so. They literally made a sieve out of him. But it turned out no. Something happened at the hospital overnight. And he was shot. Either by security, or... Different things are being said."

"Where's the data from?" Irma asked carefully.

"There are people everywhere," Anton shrugged.

A minute later Irma slipped out onto the street, inconspicuously showing me to join her. I made coffee and went out.

"And you?" she asked when I handed her the cup.

"It's already pouring out my ears."

Irma took a sip.

"We need to hurry," she said.

"With what exactly?"

"With our... This... Research."

"Investigation," I automatically corrected.

"Right. Because this won't end with this."

"For us?"

"For all of us," she said with emphasis. "Have you been to the morgue?"

The question was so unexpected that I was confused.

"When?"

"Ever. Have you ever been to a morgue?"

"I have... Why?"

"What do they lie on there?"

"Who?!"

I didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Corpses, lieutenant, corpses! Wake up!"

"Well... On tables... And on such special shelves... Pull-out ones..."

"Made of what?"

"What 'made of what'? Irma! I don't understand what you're talking about!"

"What are the tables and shelves in the morgue made of? I've never been there. It's important."

"Steel... Probably... Why is it important?"

"Probably or exactly?"

"How should I know, Irma! Maybe somewhere steel, and somewhere carbon fiber! What kind of quiz is this? I don't understand anything!"

She looked through me, thinking about her own things.

"I hope they cremate them quickly."

Anxiety was heard in her words.

"Irma, I'm going to strangle you now. Cremate whom?!"

"Those guys the corporal killed."

"Look, if you know something, say it straight!"

"Not today. But soon you'll find out everything. You probably won't be happy, but you'll find out."

"I don't like this. There shouldn't be secrets between us after everything."

"And there won't be. Listen, here's what we'll do next. Yesterday I was deleting from our rover's onboard computer the data about trips for pollen..."