Chunk 18

"Super-powerful magnet," I said. "No wonder the engine died..."

I wanted to turn Irma on her side, but it wasn't working. At most I could barely lift her shoulder and push my leg under her chest to then reach the emergency fastener. Finally Irma also freed herself, and we stared in bewilderment at what was under our feet. The strange surface was flat grating, metallic in appearance, with hexagonal cells the size of a pigeon egg—grass had broken through them. The metal was massive. I stamped my foot several times—not a hint of vibration or sagging.

"Do you understand anything?" I asked.

"I understand we need to at least get the rifle."

I'd left mine inside, and Irma's was now stuck dead to the surface a meter from the exosuit gloves. I couldn't even budge it. Then we pulled together. It only worked on the second try, and even then—not to tear it off, but slowly, centimeter by centimeter to lift it. First the stock (I immediately stuck my boot toe under it), then we managed to set the rifle vertically, and only then strenuously tore the barrel tip from the grating. Irma lifted the rifle to chest level.

"At this height it feels like it weighs twenty-five kilograms."

"We'll have to walk back through the taiga," I nodded.

"Wait with 'back'!" Irma stood on the tread and threw the rifle onto the rover. "Doesn't it surprise you we found a road?"

I slapped myself on the forehead.

"Exactly! A road! That's what this looks like! But hardly for tracked transport."

"Hardly for ground transport at all," Irma agreed. "This looks like a maglev track."

"And where did it come from?"

"That's what I'm saying... I suggest we walk a bit. Even if the corporal left with a full charge, he didn't drive much farther than us. And maybe we'll find something. Agree?"

We had to leave the rifles. We carried the exosuits into the rover in parts and managed only because there were two of us. Or maybe because Irma through her pollen was probably stronger than me. Taking them was out of the question. Armed with only

pistols (and even those pulled at our belts as if they'd gotten heavier by about ten times), we went forward.

"I don't understand," I couldn't stand it, "there was already a colonization project on Ix Chel and they closed it? Where's the road from? And magnetic, when everywhere it's the opposite—magnetic transport, but zero-ceramic surface. I'll never believe they tried to implement in another galaxy what they hadn't tested on Earth!"

The road went uphill, and I constantly looked under my feet, focused on the climb. Only after finishing speaking did I notice Irma was looking at me, and in her eyes—either icy skepticism or even mockery.

"What?"

"Are you serious?" she asked. "You think someone dragged dozens of kilometers of magnetic coating to another galaxy just for a colony?"

"For what then?" I didn't understand.

"For nothing! Sometimes you really amaze me! You yourself say—we don't even have such technologies!"

"And what does that mean?"

We finally climbed the hill, and Irma stopped. I rested my hands on my knees, catching my breath.

"Here," Irma finally said after a long pause. "This is what it means..."

I straightened up and looked ahead. And went numb.

Ahead almost to the horizon spread a city.

The city was strange, unlike any in the world, but obviously dead. It hadn't been built, like ordinary cities, but on the contrary—carved into the earth's surface. A large plateau where the road led was flat and covered with some smooth, glass-like material.

Like canyons, streets cut through it, carved bridges, overpasses and passages. The steep slopes of artificial cliffs were dotted with things resembling windows... Though it could be anything—the city that lay at our feet was not built by humans.

"So that's what the Corps wants this planet for..." accidentally escaped from me.

"What?"

I shook my head.

"Just... Saying, who would have thought..."

Irma stood and looked at the city. Wind tousled her hair, giving her whole figure some gloomy appearance.

"What will we do?" I asked, sincerely not understanding what our find meant and how to act.

"Well... Since we have common problems... I suggest we go down and try to understand what happened to the corporal. That's what we came for, right?"

"You're joking? We'll go explore an alien city?!"

"What are the options? We can also contact base by radio and report we're in a prohibited zone and found a classified object. So Vandlik sends someone to bury us right here. You think when we return, no one will ask where the rover is? If the battery hadn't died, I'd be the first to suggest racing back and keeping our mouths shut. But as it is..."

"We're screwed?" I asked Irma, knowing the answer perfectly well.

"Up to our balls. But if choosing between just a tribunal and first a walk through the city, then still a tribunal... I'm for the walk," and she confidently headed toward the city.

The closer we approached, the more noticeable it became how strongly the taiga had consumed it.

Now, when we couldn't look at the city from above, the trees seemed to blur the city's contours, turning it into ruins in the middle of forest. And when the magnetic road brought us to the very edge of an artificial canyon, it was easier for me to believe there was no city than that beyond the precipice hid something built by unknown intelligent beings.

Ahead was an earthen rampart as tall as me, densely overgrown with grass. And further—along the very edge—rose some thin tall poles whose purpose was completely unclear. The poles were smooth, about five meters tall, located at a distance of several dozen steps from each other, and stretched along the cliff as far as the eye could see. Irma carefully climbed the embankment and stopped by one of them.

"Careful," escaped from me.

"Come look," Irma called, slowly placing her foot.

I approached her.

"What do you think this is?"

"I have no idea," I carefully touched the pole with my hand. Some kind of metal. A series of small holes at equal distance from top to bottom.

"Do you know?"

"I can assume... I think between these poles was something like our plasma screens. Something that protected the city."

"Interesting, from whom..."

She shrugged.

"There's a descent here, by the way. Let's go."

It became noticeable the canyon on the other side wasn't steep—beyond it began what I'd call roofs of buildings carved below. They stretched into the distance as far as visible. Some high, others barely visible at the very bottom. Thousands of buildings in intricate patterns braided multi-level overpasses, bridges and interchanges (if, of course, that's what they were), and everywhere trees reached for the sun, growing seemingly right through the unknown high-tech material everything was made of. Wind swayed the leaves, and if you unfocused your vision, it would seem that at your feet was a restless green sea. A few meters from Irma stretched downward a fairly steep ramp you could descend on.

It was stunningly quiet, if you don't count the noise of trees. Overall, forest sounds on Ix Chel are specific. Most animals are giant insects or arachnids. There are no birds at all. Warm-blooded are in the minority, and all of them are predators at the very top of food chains, so they make sounds infrequently. But chitinous trills of various arthropods are quite common here. And, considering the size of this local insect life, those sounds are unlike anything earthly. You can't say "death beetles chirped soothingly," because their songs (especially several at once) are hellish hell. But here for some reason it was quiet.

I thought about what this civilization was like. What were the beings that belonged to it? Are they similar to at least something we imagine? Humanoids? What size? And also interesting, how long have they been gone. After all, the taiga looked as if it had been growing here from the beginning of time, but that says nothing: the ruins could become like this in some five-six decades. And if the city was recently populated, then maybe somewhere

on the planet other cities remained... Though would they have allowed us to just settle in like this...

Something knocked loudly behind us. I turned around. Gravel rustled, crumbling from the ramp, but behind the bushes growing even from the walls, no one was visible. I put my hand on the pistol but couldn't feel the grip. For a moment this put me in stupor. I didn't understand what was happening. Looking down, I saw I was touching the weapon with my fingers but not feeling it. At all. Now it wasn't any "glove"—my arm had become a prosthetic. I closed my fingers on the grip, and only by squeezing it hard did I feel something. But not even with skin, but rather with muscles. I could still shoot, but as for quickly drawing the weapon—forget it. Everything I do with my right hand from now on needs to be controlled with my eyes.

"Why are you standing there?" Irma called.

I turned around again. I think if anyone had been there, they would have eaten me a hundred times while I tried to manage the pistol.

"Coming!"

Without taking my eyes off my hand, I unclenched it and clenched it again on the grip. I closed my eyes, tried to press the holster lock button. No, I can't anymore—I just don't feel where it is. I opened my eyes. Easier this way. Pressed, barely lifted the weapon, shoved it back in the holster. The lock clicked. You're no cowboy, buddy... No longer a cowboy.

"It's not neuritis, is it?"

Irma stands and looks at me attentively.

"Not neuritis," I answer.

"Will you tell me?"

She'll most likely understand. And unlikely to tell anyone. But it turns out Irma with this pollen of hers and dreams of a Nobel—is an interested party. Not sure I need advice now from someone selling alien drugs. Though... Maybe everything will change soon. Very soon...

"Not today," I deliberately repeated what she'd answered me in the rover. As if to say, openness for openness.

She nodded. Maybe she even understood the hint.

"Then you go first," Irma said, letting me pass.

Right, she's right. Having behind your back a person who can't quickly draw a weapon, that's always a chance you'll turn around and they're already being eaten...

Twenty minutes later we were at the bottom. More precisely, at the beginning of a whole weaving of elegant bridges. To the ground where intricate skyscrapers began, half the path still remained.

"Where would he have gone?" Irma asked.

"Okamura? Who knows... You think he drove here?"

"Of course. If he hadn't driven here, there wouldn't have been a cocoon hanging in his room, right?"

I didn't answer. It was getting hot. Below there was probably shade, so if we're going to look around the city, I'd rather go down... On the other hand, trying to search here for traces of Okamura's presence is like looking for a needle...

We pushed through fairly dense, tall shrubs. I scrupulously examined every branch, but it wasn't similar to a predator—just a bush. But still we tried to avoid close contacts with flora. Especially without exosuits. Probably I thought too much about the damn bush—so I noticed the forest devil too late.

This is idiocy, of course, and now I'm even ashamed to write about this, but I simply didn't understand that before me was a forest devil. Partly I'm excused by the fact that to approach like this within arm's length of this animal—is an unthinkable coincidence. So unthinkable that if I'd heard this story from someone in our cafeteria—I simply wouldn't have believed it. I might have even publicly ridiculed the liar. But this happened not to someone, but to me.

I was walking first. I had to bend down to the ground to pass under branches—I saw only my knees. And I almost stepped on something long and gray that gleamed with naked skin with a faded pattern. Actually, the pattern confused me. I froze.

"Snake!" I said loudly to Irma and stepped aside to go around the reptile.

As turned out a second later, it was a step toward a huge male forest devil sleeping in the shade. His long narrow tail, having described a semicircle, ended up under my feet, becoming the cause of a fatal mistake.

We saw each other simultaneously. I saw him—when I moved aside a large leafy branch, and he saw me—when the tip of this branch whipped him in the snout. I jerked back, stepped on Irma's foot who was walking behind me, and almost fell, pushing her hard. The beast jumped up to his full two-meter height and also instinctively leaped back. If his first reaction had been to strike with a clawed paw (even just

to swat away), I'd no longer have a head. I tried to draw the pistol, but all I managed was to slap my thigh in the holster area.

"Shoot!" I yelled to Irma.

For a second I just waited. The forest devil froze as if preparing to jump. I almost saw the bullet leaving a black spot of burned flesh on his chest, splashing blood behind his back. But there was no shot. Only time stretched out in cold horror, muting all sounds except the heavy, as if slowed, beats of my own heart.

"Irma!" I wanted to bark at the top of my lungs, but at the last moment changed my mind, afraid this would provoke the beast, and it came out some uncertain "e-e-e..."

"Shoot," I repeated quietly, unable to tear my gaze from the giant.

His gray skin was scarred with a web of tiny wrinkles, and at the joints formed folds that made him look like a knight in armor. One of the two tusks protruding from the forest devil's maw was broken. Old claw scars crossed his skull, passed through the cheekbone and ended somewhere on the neck. Six tiny eyes gleamed under a massive growth resembling brow ridges. His front paws were raised. Huge, like scimitars, curved claws he pressed to his chest. As far as we knew, he needed these claws to dig burrows, but I didn't doubt he could easily use them to tear me in half.

The forest devil was old and experienced, so he didn't rush to throw himself at an unfamiliar creature. And also, judging by the absence of an ovipositor, this was a male. Probably that was the main reason I was still alive—females are significantly more aggressive on their territory.

"Irma..." I repeated almost in a whisper, and somewhere deep a timid guess already flashed: she won't answer.

My left foot pressed into something soft.

"Irma..."

I only for a moment tore my gaze from the forest devil and turned around. Irma lay unconscious. Probably falling, she'd hit her head. And I had no idea how serious the injury was. The forest devil stood the same—motionless, like a compressed spring.

For some reason I remember the wind—it greeted me friendly and casually, blowing on my face. It also swayed the thin gray hairs on the rough, hippopotamus-like skin of the forest devil. The beast roared. The sound was dry, like a rattlesnake's rattle, though it came from the throat. Probably since Irma fell until this moment about eight seconds had passed. Maybe ten. Infinitely stretched ten seconds...

"Easy, big guy, easy..." I told the beast, trying to add maximum confidence and calm to my voice.

That's how I was once taught to behave with bears: don't show your back, slowly retreat, speak calmly. True, the forest devil wasn't a bear. He could even be considered warm-blooded with a stretch. And we had a fairly approximate idea about their intelligence level.

"I disturbed you, but I'll leave now, agreed?"

Irma suddenly groaned and sat up. The forest devil, as if coming out of stupor, rushed forward, but it was a false lunge meant to scare—he took two steps and immediately jumped back, and his guttural rattle became even louder. I remembered the weapon, looked at the holster, grabbed my right wrist with my left and placed it on the pistol. Now I can try to shoot the giant—I can definitely press the trigger—but I'm not sure I'll kill him with the first shot. And he won't let me shoot a second time.

"Irma..."

She seemed to understand nothing, only stared ahead into emptiness, barely maintaining balance and not even trying to stand up. I grabbed her with my left hand by the evacuation loop of her load-bearing vest and pulled. She mumbled something. The forest devil again made a false lunge in our direction. I dropped the weapon, but he again retreated.

"Can..." Irma squeezed out.

"What?"

"H-help..."

Only now did I see she was trying to unbutton a chest pocket. I stuck my hand in it. The beast started approaching us,

pressing his front paws into the ground like a gorilla, and bouncing on each step like a street cat preparing for a fight.

In Irma's pocket was a plastic bottle. Well, of course, what else! I unscrewed the cap, and Irma immediately snatched it—almost greedily.

"Svits—sh-sh-sh."

The new sound scared the forest devil, he again jumped back and gurgled gutturally.

"Can you walk?"

"Shut up and freeze," she said quite clearly.

I did just that. Irma also sat motionless, only frequently squinted and sniffed with her nose. The forest devil made another feigned lunge, but this time somehow unconvincing—I didn't even get scared. Then, throwing back his head, he gurgled loudly and resonantly, as if at the bottom of a loud well a whole brood of rattlesnakes were rattling.

"Listen carefully," Irma said. "We can't shoot, otherwise we won't get out alive. He's calling relatives. I think at least a pair has been following us since we entered the city, and they'll be here soon. We can't stay on the overpass. I need half a minute. Then I can walk."

The forest devil sharply jumped in our direction. I flinched, but Irma grabbed my arm and squeezed firmly. The beast again gurgled, stretching his six-holed snout in our direction.

"Just scaring," Irma said. "Hide the weapon."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We'll jump onto the overpass one level down. I saw a building they won't climb into."

And for some reason she clarified:

"If I'm not mistaken."

There was no time to clarify, I just hid the pistol as she said. The forest devil again threw back his head and called out gurglingly. About a hundred meters behind bushes rustled on the overpass.

"Time!" Irma decisively stood up.

The beast immediately jumped back. Irma grabbed me by the forearm.

"Don't run," she said and pulled me along.

The forest devil kept his distance but didn't fall behind. We found ourselves at the edge of the overpass.

"Bear in mind, as soon as we jump, their 'chase' instinct will kick in," Irma warned. "We need to manage to run to that

entrance."

The "entrance" she talked about was about fifty meters away. The building itself stuck out like a huge finger, and all its walls consisted of identical closely spaced "windows," resembling a honeycomb. We'd need to run fast but not long. True, there was a nuance—we'd have to jump again to the "window" we needed. Only about three meters there, easy with a running start... If nothing happens.

"Ready?" Irma asked. "You first."

Silently I lay on my stomach on the overpass, dangled my legs, then lowered myself on my arms.

"Now!" Irma shouted and immediately jumped too. I released my hands. We landed together. I felt sharp pain in my ankle, but not that strong. And immediately ran after Irma.

It seemed I was moving too slowly. Almost like in a dream. My leg hurt, but it wasn't about that. I just needed to run much faster. Significantly faster than I was capable of... The forest devil's gurgle sounded again, and now several throats immediately answered him. I was ready to swear I heard in this call some new, triumphant intonations. Somewhere in the subconscious flashed a panicked thought: "Won't make it!" and I increased pace, putting force into every movement.

They landed quite noisily and, judging by the sound, very close—almost at my back. I didn't dare look back—afraid to lose precious fractions of seconds. But it seemed I could feel their breath on the back of my head... Irma first ran to the edge and jumped—gracefully and easily, not hesitating for a moment. It seemed to me if I didn't slow down at least a little before the edge, I'd definitely miss and fall down. But to slow down was even scarier.

And I jumped.

The jump fell on my left leg, too far from the edge, and came out weak and uncertain. Already hanging over the abyss, I thought this was the end. It tickled sweetly somewhere in my groin, I helplessly waved my arms. With the toes of my shoes I almost slid along the wall, not jumping a few centimeters short. Fortunately inertia saved me—hitting painfully, I fell onto the edge of the "window" on my stomach. Irma's hand immediately lay on my back and pulled me inside. The forest devils stopped at the edge of the overpass—looked at us and fearfully sniffed the air.

"Oh God," escaped from me.

"Careful!" Irma barked somehow even angrily. "Crush even one nest—we're toast!"

Under other circumstances this "toast" of hers instead of "death" could probably have made me laugh. But I couldn't tear my gaze from the huge gray panting beasts on the other side of the chasm. Screeching like a disturbed snake ball, they somehow reluctantly moved from the edge and soon disappeared in the bushes. I leaned back with relief. Only after this did the meaning of Irma's words begin to seep into my brain. What nest?

The room (if we were, of course, in a building) had a fairly clear octagonal shape, as if someone squeezed it out with a giant pencil. Each face of the strange room resembled a beehive much more than the building itself, because it consisted of many rows of identical nests. And they weren't empty. I even squinted to make it out, though I'd never complained about poor vision. Each nest was the size of a huge watermelon and covered on top with a film or transparent lid. Inside seemed to be some liquid... Obviously the walls of this honeycomb let through light, because the liquid was slightly illuminated and seemed reddish.

"Where are we?" I asked Irma.

"I'd get up if I were you."

And since I immediately tried to jump up, Irma forcefully pressed her hand on my chest.

"But no sudden movements. Okay?"

"Okay?" I repeated uncertainly.

"Yes," she cut off. "Be careful."

The floor also consisted of honeycombs. And I was lying right on them. Turning on my side, I involuntarily peered into the nearest one. The light inside the nest was warm, like a pre-sunset sky, and the liquid seemed alive. For some reason an association with amniotic fluid flashed and an inappropriate thought arose that this is how a child inside mother sees the world—tenderly red—when she's basking on a veranda with her belly exposed to bright summer sun.

Something flinched in the illuminated liquid—some shadow—and I involuntarily shuddered. If not for Irma's hand holding me by the shoulder, I probably would have jumped.

"No panic," she said. "Just don't step there, and everything will be fine. You can walk calmly on the partitions."

"What is this?"

"Well... An incubator—probably. There should be a shaft inside we'll descend through."

"Whose? Whose incubator?"

"Let's not now, okay?"

"Irma, whose incubator is this that even forest devils are afraid to poke in here?"

She was silent. Then asked:

"Do you trust me?"

Actually I trusted her significantly less after that pollen raid. And even less after Capybara's broken legs. But on the other hand, Irma always knew what she was doing. Even when she was doing something terrible.

"Rather yes than no," I nodded.

"Then do as I say. All questions—below. And I wouldn't linger here too long."

"Fine," I gave in. "Give orders."

"There's a passage," she nodded to the far end of the room. "I'll climb first."

I stood up. The partitions between nests were wide and soft, as if the whole building was molded from their "paper" by huge wasps. The passage was in the floor. I peered in—a short and narrow crawl resembling a pipe twisted and led somewhere into emptiness.