Section 24 / 39

"Forgive me. Vi..." she began, but the last syllable stayed in her mouth because I tightly taped her lips.

A few hours later we had breakfast at Irma's. Elza poked at her omelet with a fork and kicked her legs. I said mom was in the hospital and a pipe burst at home. It seems I lied to her for almost the first time in my life. It was Saturday. Today only those on duty worked. Irma didn't eat, just sipped tea. Truth be told, I had no appetite either. I forced myself, understanding I'd need strength.

"Can't do it yourself, let me," Irma said, and I immediately understood what she meant.

"No. I decided. Out of the question."

"And what will you do with her?"

"Don't know..." I glanced at Elza from the corner of my eye, but she was preoccupied exclusively with the omelet. "Nothing. Take care of her. Feed her."

"That's not necessary. If a chimera doesn't eat, the mycelium feeds it."

"But first she'll suffer from hunger, right?"

"Don't you understand at all! Irma stood and paced the kitchen. Then approached Elza. "Are you done eating, sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh. But I still want cookies."

"I'll give you cookies now and you'll go play in the room."

Elza agreed. We remained alone. Irma sat across from me and spoke in a loud hissing whisper:

"Here, for example, you're taking care of her. Let's imagine she didn't break free and bite your head off. Let's imagine no one found out something strange is happening with your wife. For example. Then in two weeks they announce evacuation. And what? You take her with you? Inconspicuously bring a chimera onto the ship?"

"We'll see, Irma."

"She'll ruin everything! You'll never hide her condition! Even if you somehow drag your wife into the shuttle by some miracle, hiding it on the 'Three Crowns' is impossible! And then we won't fly anywhere! Because a chimera on board means contamination and quarantine!"

"There's still time. Maybe the processes are reversible..."

"What processes?!" Irma exclaimed, but caught herself and switched to whisper again. "What kind of processes?"

"You said chimeras preserve human neurons..."

"And inside lichens there are algae—that doesn't make them seaweed! This isn't your wife, understand! Not her body!"

"Then where is she?!"

"Nowhere! The mycelium turned it into pulp and sucked it out like a fucking smoothie! And what sits in your kitchen isn't human and not even a mammal! It's the mycelium's fruiting body! A fucking mushroom!"

"My Vira is a mushroom?"

"She doesn't exist anymore! And the creature in your kitchen—yes indeed, a mushroom."

I shook my head as if I could shake out this new, unthinkable reality that burst into my life.

"What if you're wrong? Maybe not everything's like that... At least the cocoon! Why was it on the wall? Vira didn't die on the wall!"

"Why—because dammit! You don't listen, as always!"

"Irma! Answer normally!"

"You can't die on this planet—I told you! Everything that dies goes to the mycelium. And your wife abruptly stopped using pollen! Just like Okamura! You can't do that!"

"And who got her hooked on pollen?!" I asked this quietly, clenching my teeth, feeling ready to explode with fury.

Irma's eyes flashed indignantly.

"What are you accusing me of?! They would have abandoned us all here! When the corporal fell from the wall a year ago, I realized he'd die—no options!—and resurrect as a chimera. And it would all repeat! Vandlik would declare quarantine, fly to orbit and watch us die. And then I brought him pollen—it was the only way out! And then I understood one simple thing. According to all these morning forecasts, once every six months someone in the colony will inevitably die. So chimera appearance was only delayed by six months. Then I decided to get as many people as possible hooked on pollen—it would reduce mortality tenfold. A hundredfold! No one would die here at all—until I came up with a way to make everyone fly! If the corporal had listened to me, everything would be different! And your wife would be alive if you hadn't imagined yourself the smartest!"

The meaning of her last words reached me about a second later, hitting my face with a hot wave of pity and fury simultaneously:

"Why the hell are you telling me this now, Irma?!"

I jumped up. She did too.

"And when?! When will you be ready to trust me?"

"Irma!" I hissed through my teeth but didn't know what to say next. And only clenched my fist, trying to contain the whirl of fury.

"Nothing can be changed!" she shot out. "But there's still your daughter—that's what matters now! And we still have a chance! We'll make them fly! My plan will work, I promise! Just need to get rid of the chimera. I'm very sorry about your wife, really, but that's no reason to care for a mushroom! Then you'll report her disappearance—let them search. Evacuation will erase everything! And we'll fly! That's all!"

Only now did I see pain and sympathy in her eyes. Almost pleading. I sat down again. Elza peeked into the kitchen. Her little face radiated surprise and a tiny bit of fright. I forced myself to smile at her.

"Everything's fine, sunshine," I said.

"You're not fighting?"

"No-no... Just each proving our point."

She looked at me attentively. I squeezed out another smile. Elza nodded and ran away again. Irma still stood, looking at me as if waiting for me to argue. I silently began clearing the table. Opened the refrigerator. On the door next to a bottle of kefir casually stood that same metal thermos.

"My God, at least hide it... There's a child here now."

"Exactly!" Irma approached me closely. "Exactly, there's a child here! And what's your greatest fear, do you think? The very greatest? You understand the mycelium will arm your tame chimera precisely with it?"

3

The cold tiles seemed to be the only thread connecting me to reality. I touched them with my forehead, and if not for this sensation, probably would have dissolved in the shaky images that spilled from somewhere in the back alleys of my consciousness.

Butterflies... Thousands of black-and-orange sunspot butterflies...

It seems I passed out briefly.

My stomach cramps after a series of vomiting fits. I lie on the floor, knees tucked under me, and press my forehead into the dark blue

tile. I'm in the bathroom. Our bathroom with Vira... My stomach twisted in another painfully strong urge, and I groaned. But there was nothing to vomit, so I felt some gloating toward my own stomach: "That's it, friend, out of ammunition..."

How difficult it turns out to kill the defenseless... I vomited just from raising the pistol. After all, every fold of her is my wife. "A mushroom," I reminded myself, "actually, just a mushroom..." I stood, overcoming dizziness, threw off clothes (this took an eternity) and with heavy steps entered the shower cabin. Cold water should bring me to my senses. At least I thought so. So wanted to. I turned the tap on full. Icy streams instantly knocked all air from my lungs, but I didn't let myself scream. Just exhaled noisily. Mushroom, she's just a mushroom. And I have no choice.

Now strong shivers ran through my whole body, but my head really cleared. I dried myself with a towel for a long time and distractedly—until I finally caught myself just delaying what had to happen. No, this won't work, friend. Come on, get dressed and put an end to this shit.

She met me with a carefree and even somehow kind look. Mushroom. This word just wouldn't stick to Vira sitting at the kitchen table. She just looked. Not frightened, not reproachfully, not alienated. Her gaze seemed alive and interested. And that only made it worse.

I picked up the pistol from the floor, mentally cursing myself for losing control. Can't throw around loaded weapons... Put on the safety. Placed it on the table where Vira sat, taped with duct tape. Sat across from her. For the hundredth time tried to imagine how I'd do this, but couldn't even mentally bring it to completion. Can't do it like this! You can't! Copy or not, mushroom or not—a woman sat before me! A person! My wife whom I love! Loved... Don't know how to phrase this now... The cursed strip of tape on her lips made everything even more horrible, giving Vira the appearance of a helpless hostage. I reached out and sharply tore it off. Vira winced in pain and comically frowned... Just like in those moments when she was in the mood to fool around. No, that didn't help... I pressed my forehead against the tabletop. Cool...

Can't delay anymore. And here, boy, is what you should do... The main thing, quickly. Not giving myself time to think through my own idea, I swiftly go to our bedroom, grab Vira's pillow and yank off the pillowcase. Already on the way to the kitchen flashed the thought that I should have taken mine, because this one smells like Vira... But whatever, I'm not going to sniff it! I approach her. Almost run up.

I try with all my might not to look in her eyes, but she seems to specially catch my gaze. Mushroom. You're a mushroom. A doll. An imitation. And in one movement I throw the pillowcase over her. That's all. There's no Vira here. I take the pistol from the table. It's heavy and cold. For some reason now I notice this. For the first time in my life the thought arises that weapons are disgusting in their essence, and I hurriedly shove that thought as deep as possible. Later. I'll think about everything later. Now only one thing is needed—raise my hand and pull the trigger.

Hand, safety, trigger. You've almost done it. I put the barrel precisely to her temple so the bullet would go into the floor. Like this. No ricochets, no splattered blood. The safety crunched. I smoothly and evenly began pressing the trigger, mentally pronouncing "twenty-five." As they taught. Smoothly and measured. On "ty-five" it will all end.

"How's Elza?"

The pistol clattered to the floor. I threw it away even before I realized what exactly she said. As if an alarm went off in my brain, and an invisible airbag pushed me in the face and shoulders, throwing me away from Vira. Her voice was so bright and casual... So ordinary and dear... And my lips answered as if by themselves:

"She's fine, Vira..."

"Stay with her, okay? Because she'll wake up... And get scared."

She was repeating. Of course, only repeating our morning dialogue with Irma. It just fit devilishly perfectly. This thought, which embodied reason and common sense at that second, even managed to flash in my head... But turned out so helpless and lonely against the background of other emotions that I almost didn't hear it. Didn't want to hear. This exchange of remarks was too similar to a normal conversation... And I terribly wanted it to really be so...

"Of course, Vira... Everything will be fine..."

Even through the pillowcase that roughly reproduced the features of her face, you could see Vira smiled.

"Good..." she said and turned her head slightly, as if wanting to look me over. "Do it and come to your daughter. She's now the most important thing in your life."

The floor was pulled from under my feet. I didn't fall only because I embraced her. Pressed my face to hers, feeling through the fabric the warmth of her skin.

Couldn't... And no one could. For a long time I stood like that—breathed in her scent and cried.

4

I carefully sorted through the restored memories. It seemed they might dissolve like dreams do... The woman was silent.

"Why are you in this suit?" I asked. "Am I contagious?"

She looked at me, and for the first time I noticed in her eyes the fatigue of a person who hasn't slept for more than one night.

"We don't know for sure."

And she anxiously looked at the ceiling. The lamp blinked again. Returning to her tablet, the woman made some notes.

"How's your hand?" she asked.

I flinched and mechanically rubbed my wrist with my fingertips. Not a trace of numbness. This is strange.

"How much time has passed?"

"And what does it seem to you?" the woman answered in her favorite manner.

I tried to make out the expression on her face, but under the mask nothing was visible. Only a small, refined chin.

"Who's my Elza with?!" the realization that I didn't know the answer rushed over me suddenly.

I wanted to jump up but the handcuffs wouldn't let me.

"Don't panic," the woman reacted impassively.

"I want you to bring my daughter!"

"In exchange for cooperation," she nodded. "You'll see her when we finish work."

Her gaze was direct and prickly. And I decided not to argue. She nodded as if she could read this in my eyes and checked the tablet.

"Your wife... You said she transformed into... What's it called..."

"Fruiting body," I prompted.

"Yes. The mycelium's fruiting body. What did you do next? Did you visit her?"

"Twice a day. Every morning and evening."

The lamp went out and immediately lit uncertainly, hummed and flickered disgustingly. The woman raised her eyes to it as if expecting it to explode. Unexpectedly a feeling of nausea and even dizziness rolled over me. I winced and stared at the floor.

"And?" she hurried me.

"What 'and'?"

"You visited—and what?" she asked impatiently. "What did you do?"

"I taught her to read."

"Read?!" she raised her head in surprise.

"To develop her brain..."

"Why?"

"I thought... Even if she's not Vira but a copy, this might awaken in her... memory... And..." I couldn't find words. "Humanity."

It seemed to me the woman scornfully twisted her lips under the mask.

That day I showed Vira pictures with words. Elza had recently learned to read from them. On Vira's face was carefree calm and something like curiosity in her eyes. This spark in her gaze was my last straw. "She's not indifferent, so reason remains in her," I told myself.

"Girl," I pronounce almost by syllables and stick the next card under her nose.

She follows with her eyes and seems about to smile and repeat. But no. Now she's silent more and more. I show a new picture:

"Cloud."

And again this attentive, even inquisitive look that unblinkingly follows the card in my hand. When we finished, I got out the tablet.

"Here's what Elza sent you," I tell her and open a video file.

"How's Elza?" Vira immediately produces.

My heart flips in me, jumping right to my throat. Is it working?!

"She's fine, Vira... Look, see."

I lean toward her across the table, place the tablet and start the recording. "Mommy, get well!" Elza shouts on screen. I look into Vira's eyes, hoping to read there a bit more than usual. And here, as if in answer to my thoughts, she raises her eyes to me. At this moment I'm almost sure I'll see tears in them. But behind the huge, unnaturally dilated pupils I don't have time to see anything—Vira suddenly opens her mouth wide and lunges at my face.

I pull back at the last moment. Her teeth slide along my chin and click unpleasantly.

"Vira!!!"

But she doesn't hear. Making some mournful groan, she leans with her whole body to the side as if about to fall from the chair. Reflexively I lean forward to hold her, when with a crack the tape on her left hand bursts. She throws it forward—like a whip—and wraps it around my neck. And the last thing I see is the unnaturally wide-open mouth approaching my face.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I dive down because her palm holds me by the back of the head like iron. I can't twist free—instead I hit my head hard against the tabletop. And immediately her teeth crash into my crown, responding in my head with a ringing knock. The horror and pain I felt at that moment saved me—I laid my chest on the table and pushed off from the wall with my legs with all my might. She didn't expect it.

I pushed her with my forehead into her stomach, and while she tried to grab my back with her teeth, I just rolled onto the floor. Fabric tore—she still managed to grab with her teeth. I fell and immediately jumped up. Vira made a howl full of animal fury. In her teeth was a dark green bundle of fabric torn from my uniform, and in her eyes—that same feline interest.

"Hunger," flashed in my head. "It's just hunger..."

A large warm drop rolled down my forehead. I mechanically wiped it and stared at my palm. For some time I couldn't understand why it was bloody and just looked.

"How's Elza?" Vira casually repeated.

I shuddered. She tilted her head dog-like as if expecting an answer. A piece of tunic, caught on a tooth, absurdly dangled in the corner of her mouth.

5

"COME ON, COME ON, COME ON!!!" someone's frenzied scream burst into my consciousness, displacing unclear images that a second ago seemed real.

"Got it!"

"FULL POWER!!!"

Sudden pain pierced my ribs as if I'd been hit with an iron rod. I wanted to scream but barely squeezed out a wheeze and began gasping for air like a fish. The iron rod pressed on my chest trying to knock me off the chair screwed to the floor, and the handcuff on my left wrist mercilessly twisted my wrist, not letting me fall. Then the rod pushed me in the shoulder and immediately hit my chin. My head jerked so hard the neck vertebrae crunched pitifully. My mouth instantly filled with water mixed with blood.

"ENOUGH!!!" screamed that same voice. "Not the face!!!"

I convulsively inhaled and immediately choked. Coughing responded with painful pain in my ribs. Water gurgled in my throat. Finally I spat it out and with a convulsive groan filled my lungs. Blinking several times, I could finally look around.

From the metal nozzle of a fire hose water dripped onto white tiles. A dark-skinned man in a bio-protection suit squatted, peering into my face.

"Do you see me?"

I coughed again. Now water came from my nose.

"Yes..." I squeezed out heavily.

"How do you feel?"

"Alive..."

"Thank God..." the dark-skinned man exhaled.

The guy behind him lowered the fire hose. People in suits bustled around.

In the corner of the room someone else coughed painfully on the floor, curled like a snail in a yellowish puddle with a sharp smell. They wore a white suit. I managed to notice the transparent mask was smeared with blood inside. The dark-skinned man tore it off—under the mask was that woman. Her chin completely bloody, eyes bulging and insane.

"Breathe!" the dark-skinned man barked at her. "BREATHE-BREATHE-BREATHE!"

Someone thrust a first aid kit at him. A broken ampoule clicked. A pneumatic syringe squealed, and the doctor gave her an injection right through the suit. The woman finally convulsively inhaled.

"On her side," he commanded. "What about the others?"

"Dead," someone said.

"How's that..." the dark-skinned man stood, bewilderedly surveying the room.

Here and there lay people in white suits. The dark-skinned man rushed to them, began tearing off their bloodied masks, feeling for pulse.

"Mother of God..." he exhaled, standing bewilderedly at the other end of the room.

I saw this with peripheral vision. All my attention was riveted to the skinny guy lying on the wet floor two steps from me. It seemed to me he was about two and a half meters. Because he was lying, determining height was difficult, but he's definitely much taller than any even tallest person. His face was young, almost boyish, covered with red inflamed pimples. Dirty faded jeans and an orange-and-white t-shirt with "Party or die" written on the chest.

It seems no one cares about the pimply giant. And only I can't tear my eyes from him, not understanding what's wrong with him. What else is wrong with him besides huge height. Then I understood. Saw. He's shrinking. So slowly that if you just look, you might not notice. But if you latch your gaze onto the tile joint on the floor, it becomes obvious that past it at snail speed crawls the edge of the t-shirt sleeve.

I don't have time to say anything about this or comprehend what I see when the t-shirt with the moronic "Party or die" inscription begins to fade. In a moment it becomes clear this is something like body art. It's as if painted on the body and now rapidly melting. As if evaporating... From all this my head spins.

I close my eyes for a few seconds. And when I open them again, the person is already completely naked. From his hips evaporate the remains of pale blueness of jeans, and on his shoulders there's no t-shirt anymore—now there more and more clearly appears a tattoo. Dragons. I see only the curves of serpentine bodies on his shoulders, but already know that on his back they're woven into a tight ball. On the pimply face more and more clearly appear familiar Asian features.

"Is this a chimera?" I ask.

The dark-skinned man immediately turned. In his gaze flashed annoyance.

"Take it away!" he barked, pushing the body with his foot.

Two in suits brought a stretcher. The dark-skinned man bent over the woman. From how her chest rises, you can see she's breathing heavily.

"How are you?" he asked. "Can you stand?"

The woman wanted to answer but coughed strenuously. He held out a napkin. The woman wiped, staining it red.

"Help her!" the dark-skinned man called.

People in suits picked the woman up under her arms and led her away. The bodies were carried out. One of the guys in white returned to collect bloodied masks from the floor.

"Bodies for cremation," the dark-skinned man said briefly.

He left, barking a short "Yes, sir!". We remained alone.

I examined bloody stains on the tiles. In the corridor someone called to each other. Lamps hummed. I looked at the dark-skinned man. He sat across from me, staring into emptiness.

"What happened here?" I asked.

He started.

"You'd better not know."

"Why did you spray me with water?"

"To bring you to your senses. And enough questions, Lieutenant. We need to work," he licked his dried lips. "Can you remember what you talked about with my colleague?"

"Yes... It seems about my wife."

"Right. Nothing else exists now. We don't have much time."

"Not much time until what?"

"You'll have all the answers when we finish. Okay?"

"And you'll bring my daughter," I clarified.

"And we'll bring your daughter. The sooner this happens, the better for everyone."

"How is she?"

"Who?" the dark-skinned man didn't understand.

"My daughter. Who's she with? She's not crying there?"

"She's fine," he nodded for convincingness.

I couldn't see his eyes under the mask, so didn't know if he was lying or not.

"Are you ready to continue?"

"Okay..." I breathed deeply, and my chest immediately responded with a flash of pain. "It seems I have broken ribs."

He ignored this phrase, taking the tablet and checking the notes the woman made.

"Why didn't you report your wife's infection?"

"Because then they'd declare quarantine. And we'd die. You know about the dead city near the colony... The same thing awaited us. And I have a daughter."

"And how long were you planning to hide it?"

"Until evacuation began. On departure day I would have reported my wife was missing. No one would cancel evacuation for one person."

"Do you remember when this happened?"

"What exactly?"

"The evacuation."

I rummaged through my memory but couldn't pull out even one date.

"Not exactly... Snow had time to fall..."

"We're approaching the main point. You're doing well, Lieutenant, don't stop," there wasn't a hint of support in his words. "Try to remember the reason for evacuation. You want to see your daughter, don't you?"

Daughter... I want to see my daughter... The reason for evacuation, of course, is the mutagen. But what Irma grew from it... I tensed, sorting through