Section 26 / 39

I remembered what we were planning to do that night. But how we did it wasn't in my head. I honestly rummaged through my memory, trying to find at least something, but each time everything was wrapped in fog. I also didn't remember what happened next. And attempts to dispel this veil resonated with a feeling of fear. Even terror. So strong that I would probably give a lot for my memory to remain forever behind this curtain.

"No..." I shook my head.

My interrogator nodded, as if she expected no other answer.

"You stole the reserve special weapons," she said this in the tone of a judge reading a verdict. "Now a very simple question: where is it?"

"I really don't remember where it is..." I repeated plaintively.

The woman leaned forward, as if wanting to pin me to the wall with her gaze:

"Then remember! We'll find out where the arsenal is, even if we have to pump your brain out through a straw!"

The lamps burned at barely half power. Because of this the interrogation room atmosphere acquired some inappropriate coziness.

"Look for images," she said more gently. "For example, your daughter. You remember how you returned to her that morning? Was she sleeping? Or maybe she met you at the door?"

Elza... The mere mention of her seemed to dispel the wall of fog. I was going to her in the morning. I hurried to return to my little Elza...

Dawn was still far off. We'd finished our business with the arsenal, and now Alex was messing with the cameras, replacing their electronic memories with yesterday's video of empty corridors. Irma stayed to help him, and I ran to Elza. I worried that she'd woken up in the middle of the night in an empty house and was crying.

The snow reflected the glow of the lamps, illuminating everything with silver. Paths here and there were blocked by fresh loose white drifts, grainy as cereal.

The shooting had long since subsided. I heard that our people urgently evacuated part of the camp. Everything's going according to plan. Any moment now the commandant will rush to the arsenal. But we made it in time. This means that tomorrow or, at most, the day after, they'll schedule departure from the planet.

"Lieutenant! Wait!"

I turned at the shout. Irma. In the night silence of the sleeping camp it seemed she'd wake up all the surrounding houses now.

"Something wrong?"

"Yes," she was out of breath.

Probably ran all the way from the warehouses.

"More precisely, not yet," Irma clarified. "But it might be. Your house probably ended up in the lost sector."

"Ended up where?"

"In the part of the camp they abandoned because of the reapers. And I thought about your wife..."

"Oh damn... I'll run there!"

"You sure? Maybe I should go instead. You however won't be able to."

"Won't be able to what?" I became alert.

"Understand, it's time to end things with her! I'll just bash her head with something and that's it. If, of course, she's still there..."

"Irma!" I poked her shoulder with my index finger, and I'm afraid, noticeably. "You won't touch her, understand?! Won't touch!"

"Can't be so soft!"

"Not going to discuss this!"

Looking from under her brows, she bit her lip.

"Fine. Just hurry," there was no more anger in her tone. "God forbid she broke free and is wandering around the camp..."

Indeed. From this thought my temples buzzed.

"And you go to Elza, okay? I'll go there and back."

She abruptly hugged me. Pressed against my cheek. Her face was cold and wet from melted snow.

"Better finish her off," she whispered. "Just finish her today, once and for all."

I silently freed myself and rushed as fast as I could toward my house.

Recently this nightmare haunted me almost nightly—that Vira somehow untied herself. I'd dreamed this maybe five times already—I go in to check on her, and the stool is empty. And only from the table hang shreds of torn tape. "And what's your greatest fear, do you think?—Irma's phrase from my dreams immediately spoke in my head. "You understand that the mycelium will arm your tame chimera with exactly that?" The next second I saw Vira dragging Elza somewhere, and she's screaming

and struggling, and I immediately woke up, crying out my little daughter's name... No, this won't happen. When I enter, Vira will be tied to the chair.

Suddenly I tripped. Jumping clumsily twice, I flew face-first into the snow. My face hit something soft and cold. I managed to squint. Snow got in my nose, blocking my breathing. I raised my head, quickly wiped my face with my palm and blinked. Something was right in front of my face—sticking out of the snow. Good thing I didn't put out an eye... I blinked again to get a better look at that thing. And almost screamed.

Right in front of me a human hand stuck out of the snow. I recoiled and tried to get up, but there was something under my feet too. I panicked and thrashed like a paralytic, trying to find support. And realized I was sitting on a pile of corpses.

Finally jumping to my feet, I ran back a few steps and tripped again—crashed flat on my back with full force. This time under me was just snow, and I allowed myself a few seconds to lie motionless while panic flowed out of my body, leaving a dragging weakness in my muscles.

Not a single lamp was lit around—the only sources of light were stars and snow. I only noticed this now. A gust of wind threw a handful of hard snow, like crushed glass, in my face. I sat up, spitting it out. Then another gust—raised a column of snow around me and swirled, trying to dump as much as possible down my collar. Covering my eyes with my palm, I looked around. The last lamps that were still working were far behind. Low characteristic drifts were visible here and there. From several stuck out hands or army boots.

While we struggled at the warehouse, the camp roared like hell. When Irma gleefully blurted: "I told you they wouldn't stop them," we even argued. I was almost certain—not only reapers were dying. But that the snow would be sown with corpses, I wouldn't have dreamed even in a nightmare...

What I tripped over was wire. Someone had stretched it across the road a bit below knee level. I managed to mentally curse the idiot who did this, when I noticed that a bit to the side on it hung some kind of sign. I knocked off the snow. Black on yellow text: "DANGER. DO NOT CROSS."

Irma wasn't wrong: my house was exactly where they advised not to go. Carefully avoiding the drifts so as not to accidentally step on someone's corpse, I ran again. And in two minutes I was already rounding the corner of the building, running up to the door. Already imagining how I enter the code on the lock. How Vira, who now never sleeps, meets me with another repetition of an overheard phrase or just with her inquisitive, almost joyful gaze. I'll immediately call Irma and say everything's normal. And I'll go home... Strange, but now by the word "home" I meant her house, not mine and Vira's. "Because Elza's there," I told myself. "My home is where Elza is."

Right at the door I rubbed my palms on the go to warm my fingers a bit, and was about to raise my hand to the code panel... But froze without reaching two steps. Fear distorted reality. Snow froze in its fall. Sounds disappeared, yielding only to the loud pounding of blood in my temples. The completely smashed electronic lock helplessly spread fragments of plastic and wires. The heavy outer doors were open, and a small drift had already crept inside.

A moment later I came to my senses and rushed into the house. I pushed the doors, entered the half-dark airlock. The inner doors are also open. Even from here you can see complete chaos inside. Cold. Vira's cosmetics scattered on the floor. A stain of powder, some tweezers, a broken hair dryer.

Quiet. The trashed electronics caught the eye, as if chopped into small pieces. Everything—from music speakers to the air conditioner. Broken outlets ripped from the wall. One more step, and I can see that part of the kitchen where Vira sits tied to the chair. "I hope she's sitting," I correct myself and immediately understand it's a lie. Actually I hope for something else. I hope she's lying down, like those guys I mistook for fresh drifts. That the reapers did my job, and I don't have to worry about her escaping or lie about where my wife went. From excitement my vision darkened for a moment. Don't want to. Don't want to see her mutilated body. Let someone else see it and tell me. At the last moment, a quarter second before the other part of the kitchen appeared before my eyes, I managed to change my mind. Thought, let her live. Let her sit at that damn table and, as usual, look at me with the gaze of a watchdog.

But she wasn't there. Exactly as in my dreams, only the overturned table looked at the ceiling with its four legs.

"Vira?"

I call her quietly, because honestly, I'm scared. Scared that she'll respond from behind. I put my palm on the pistol grip, but instead of the ribbed grip I hit an empty holster. Damn! We left our weapons... All I have here is a meat cleaver. All my army stuff I moved to Irma's... Should I go back for it now? No, probably I'll still check the house. After all, if they find Vira, our whole plan might collapse. Now, when we've almost achieved evacuation, I have no right to take such risks. Need to inspect the apartment as quickly as possible, make sure she's not hiding somewhere here, and straight to Elza. That's the whole plan.

Grabbing the cleaver in the kitchen, I head to the bathroom.

Empty... Now the children's room. Open cupboards and cabinets, scattered toys, fragments of a children's nightlight on the floor, Elza's forgotten hairpin... With a jerk I lifted the blanket and looked under the bed. Empty. Now mine and Vira's room. Nobody. All electrical devices destroyed with maniacal scrupulousness. Lamp, chandelier, switch, outlets... Nightlight fragments on the floor—feels like it was stuffed in a blender. And white scatterings of fresh snow around—small snow tracks of reapers. How many of them were here? Broken, broken, broken... For form's sake I also look under the bed—of course, empty. Empty. The multitude of small snow tracks around the broken nightlight could have told me something... Don't care. Need to run to Elza. Need to make sure she's all right.

"And what's your greatest fear, do you think?—Irma's phrase from my dreams came back. "You understand that the mycelium will arm your tame chimera with exactly that?" It became truly eerie. The idea that Vira managed to get to Elza ignited in my head like a match head. "Wouldn't Irma have called?" this thought calms me for a moment, but I immediately remember that my phone is where the pistol is. At home.

Stop, boy, Vira just ran away. Probably ran away to save her fungal life, because there were reapers everywhere here. Tracks... Small tracks... Snow tracks, because there's snow outside... What the hell did I care about them! Thoughts spun in my head like a kaleidoscope. No, Vira's definitely not here. Bad, very bad... Need to run to Irma. Tracks, snow tracks around the nightlight... With Elza, of course, everything's fine, but need to think how to catch Vira... Why are these stupid tracks important...

And then the thought that spun somewhere in the depths burst from the bowels of my subconscious so suddenly it took my breath away: "The tracks should have melted! If they'd been left at least half an hour ago, they would have melted long ago!"

The reapers are still here. I froze, afraid to breathe.

8

Most animals from different planets fear attacking frozen prey. And vice versa—they attack if the prey starts moving too sharply. So I moved like a snail. Smoothly turned and raised my pitiful cleaver. Mentally I divided the room into firing sectors, examining every centimeter... Only there's nothing to shoot with... "Clear..." I say mentally. "Clear... Clear..."

Here it is.

On the right, near the entrance I'd turned to face, next to the wardrobe. It sat hiding behind the laundry basket. Motionless as a statue. A reaper. I don't know why this single reaper managed to scare me so much, but I froze, afraid to breathe. Everything's fine, I don't have anything electrical... Except the kidney... But last time the reaper didn't attack... Got interested, yes, but didn't attack...

I noticed that the four legs the creature used for moving were maximally bent and tucked under its belly, and the sharp chitinous sickles pressed into the floor. You don't need to be an analyst to understand—it's ready to jump. I slowly and deeply sighed, raising the kitchen cleaver. All I need to do is go to the exit. Just leave the apartment as quickly as possible...

There was no sound—it jumped silently and instantly. Raising its sickle-legs in the air, it flew right at my chest. Swinging the cleaver, I smacked it, but the blow came out inaccurate—with the middle of the handle. A strange sensation pierced my hand. A moment later I realized: it's pain. My right pinky finger points somewhere to the side at an unnatural angle. Blood. Lots of blood. I focus maximally on the reaper. It, touching the floor, like a rubber ball, bounces in a new

jump. Swing the cleaver again. This time precisely—the wounded reaper thrashed on the floor and froze.

I turn quickly to make sure it was the only one. Unfortunately—my gaze immediately snatches at least four! They're crawling out from behind furniture here and there and swiftly climbing the walls.

Something like a large hand grabs me from behind around the waist. A reaper! On my back!!! Sharp pain. I fall, hoping to knock off the damn beast. Pain again! It punctured me a bit above the artificial right kidney!

I beat off another one that jumped from the ceiling, and feel how the cleaver blade goes deep into chitin. This one's done! By miracle I dodge another one—manage to roll away and get up. The one that was on my back immediately jumped like a spring, throwing forward its "sickles."

Probably I should have used the cleaver, but I instinctively kick it with my boot toe. Got it! A strange sensation in my leg indicates I seriously underestimated their sickles. Like butter... A thick boot—like butter... Better not think what's going on with the toes.

I attack another reaper on the floor first—the cleaver point pinned it to the floor. The second one briskly runs along the wall—can't let it jump... Stepping forward, I knock it to the floor and crush it with the dresser. Now run! Run while I can! And I make a mad dash for the door.

Probably it really hurts now to step on the wounded leg, but adrenaline drowns everything out. I only feel a strange vibration... Don't think about the wound in my back. Don't look at the wounded hand... Don't look back until you run out... And that's the hardest part.

I guess I was outside the door in less than a second. But it felt like even that was unforgivably long. I turned as fast as I could. A reaper crawled along the ceiling onto the airlock doorframe and froze. The last one. Maybe I'm too far, and it'll just let me go...

It lunged with the swiftness of a black mamba—plopped into the fluffy fresh snow and rushed forward, raising a fountain of snow spray. I aimed where to hit, but understood I wouldn't hit it until it jumped out of the snow... Once more I gripped the handle more comfortably. I'll beat it back in flight, that's all. Already worked once, I'll do it again... But the reaper didn't jump from two meters, or from a meter and a half. What it was doing, I understood too late. I jumped back, but the creature somehow understood this and immediately turned around. There won't be a jump—it'll crawl onto my leg straight from the

snow... Climb onto my head and smash my skull or whatever it needs... I jump back again. The reaper unerringly turns in my direction. Fast as a miniature snow tornado.

Run! The decision comes instantly. Just run like hell! But the wounded right leg fails me on the very first step. I still don't feel pain, but the foot, it seems, is severely damaged: the leg turned, simply refusing to bear the body's weight. And I sprawled face-first in the snow.

It's hurtful... Like in childhood, when you got hit in the face with a snowball... And everything's by the rules, but it hurts so much and feels so unfair, it seems unjust... Unfair when you can't breathe through the cold snow... Unfair when your leg turned... Unfair when right before evacuation you're killed by some miserable arthropod... Unfair to die without hugging your daughter... Unfair...

The cleaver's still in my hand. I realize I'm holding it with three fingers. What's going on with the pinky and ring finger—I don't know. I roll onto my back... Sit up... Just in case I grip the handle with both hands. Nothing to wipe my eyes from snow... I blink... I can see with my right eye. Raising fountains of snow spray, the reaper rushes toward me like my personal miniature hurricane. Under the snow. Can't hit earlier... And can't hit later... I hope it won't jump...

I put all my strength into the blow and feel the metal click against the asphalt hidden under the snow. "Missed!" flashed in my head like an electrical discharge, and I hastily yank the cleaver out in a panicked movement to hit again. And again. And again. And again! And I just couldn't understand that another blow wasn't needed. I got it. I finished off the damn creature...

I desperately wanted to rest at least another half minute, but I realize I'm losing a lot of blood. The snow around me was all in brown fringe. Need to go. My head, strange as it is, was thinking quite clearly. And first of all I rummaged in my pockets to bandage my hand with something.

In my left pocket my fingers hit something flat and rectangular. Interesting, what's that... I pulled out the object and for a second fell into a stupor, trying to understand where I got it from—the electronic key we used to unlock the emergency arsenal. The same one—the pride of our hacker-jack-of-all-trades. Obviously I stuffed it in my pocket mechanically when, at Alex's request, I was locking the special weapons reserve... At least now it's clear why the reapers attacked

me like mad... I hurled it into the snow with force. Need to bandage my hand... Or not? The palm was cut almost in half—a deep incision ran between the pinky and ring finger. But the wound wasn't bleeding at all and even seemed to have started healing, which was completely impossible... Although... I did sniff the pollen... And yet blood loss was making itself known. My ears were ringing, everything before my eyes was covered with a gray veil, and it was getting worse. Scooping up handfuls of snow under my feet, I pressed it to my face. Need to go.

Each step with the maimed right was like I was leaning on a prosthesis. My vision darkened so much that everything around seemed to plunge into deep twilight. Sounds came from far away, as if I'd stuffed my ears with cotton. Seems like I'm losing consciousness... I try with all my might to control myself, but with each step it's harder. Don't fall... Don't fall... Don't fall... I screamed, forcing my lungs to push air out as intensely as possible, but all I heard with my inner ear was the weak and pitiful creaking of my vocal cords. My hands hit something soft and cold. Snow. A moment later I guessed I'd just fallen.

When the roar of a transporter reached me, I decided I was imagining it...

I came to. Even electric light. Some device was beeping anxiously. On my right hand a bandage with wires that stuck out from it threateningly. I'd been unconscious all day, and now it was dark again outside the windows.

As soon as reality broke through to my consciousness enough that I could distinguish it from a dream, I sat up abruptly. My leg immediately protested, drenching me in a hot wave of pain like boiling water. The device beeped indignantly.

"Where's Elza?" I asked, seeing Irma sitting on my bed.

"Calm down," she said gently. "Lie down. They're already looking for her."

"Looking?!"

I tried to get up again.

"Don't," Irma took me by the shoulders. "Half the camp is looking for her."

"My Vira..." I suddenly remembered. "She ran away..."

"Yes," Irma nodded. "I warned you it would be exactly like this."

"Exactly like what?"

Somehow I immediately understood she didn't mean the escape.

"The mycelium reads fears. And you love Elza most of all in the world."

Irma put her palm on my chest, and I grabbed her hand as if I was drowning in a swamp and she was my only salvation.

"What? What happened there? Tell me!"

"She came to my apartment. I don't know how she found it. She read it in your head or in general—by smell. Evidently she knocked, and Elza opened the door for her."

"Oh God..."

I remembered that disgusting sound when Vira's teeth struck my skull, and involuntarily touched that spot.

"What... What did she do to her?"

"I don't know. There's no blood or anything like that."

"My God... You think she took her?" a weak hope stirred in me that maybe the most important part of Vira's personality remained: the caring mother who would never harm her daughter.

"I don't know."

I still sat up. This time calmly and slowly, and Irma didn't object.

"Let's go. I won't lie here."

"Your leg's pretty badly damaged."

I threw off the blanket. The foot was bandaged. I moved my ankle—it hurt, of course...

"When does evacuation start?"

"In a day," Irma looked at her watch. "In twenty-five hours, to be exact."

...Probably only that night did I truly understand the meaning of the word "despair." From time to time a siren wailed monotonously. Frightened conquistadors in full gear rushed here and there. Searchlights flared at full power. Somewhere armored personnel carriers roared with engines, surveying the farthest corners of the camp. Irma and I stood by the headquarters entrance. We waited every minute. And now the roar of an all-terrain vehicle began to grow. Hope stirred in me. The vehicle approached in a cloud of snow dust. And suddenly it'll stop and from the hatch some big guy will stick out with my little daughter in his arms! And probably he'll grumble that she was two hundred meters away and there was no need to raise the whole camp. Let him say that! It would be incredibly wonderful to hear it. To hear that all the worries were in vain. That Vira, even becoming a mushroom, didn't lose that ancient and strong maternal instinct written into the very essence of a woman. Maybe she scared Elza and she ran away... Don't care. Now the hatch will open and I can hug her. But the transporter rushed past us without slowing down, and sped off to sweep another sector. Then a second one appeared and also didn't stop.

In half an hour all six armored vehicles sent to search converged on the headquarters entrance. Conquistadors climbed out of hatches and clustered, waiting for instructions. The duty officer came out with sleepy eyes, looked at me sympathetically and said: "We're waiting for the general. We'll keep searching. And..." he wanted to add something else, but didn't find the words.

The commandant appeared in five minutes. Just glanced at me for a moment and approached the duty officer. He told him something—obviously about where and how they searched—and the commandant nodded. Then finally he approached us. I silently saluted.

"Most buildings are locked, and without key cards or codes they can't be opened," he said instead of greeting. "Nobody can be there. Those with free access were already checked. On open territory she's not there either."

The commandant fell silent, probably expecting our reaction.

"But she's somewhere," I said hoarsely and hastily corrected myself: "They are."

Because officially both disappeared—the child and mother. He nodded:

"There's a small chance they hid in a hard-to-reach place. Ventilation shafts, utility tunnels... Their complete check will take about another two hours."

"And if they're not there either?" Irma asked.

"Then they're in the lost sector."

"Lord," escaped from me. "We need to go there now. Can't wait another two hours!"

"Lieutenant," the commandant said quietly. "I sincerely sympathize... But that's the same as poking a stick in a wasp's nest. There's a whole swarm there. It's enough to go in on an armored personnel carrier, and..."

"I don't care, General," I said quietly and belatedly added: "Sir. My daughter's there! And wife... Daughter and wife who were allowed

to come here with promises of minimal risks! I don't care what wasp's nest you stir up. Go and find her. Sir."

"I understand your feelings," he nodded. "And in general you're right. This is the Corps' responsibility, therefore mine personally. But we're all in this situation. And your daughter isn't the only child in the colony. I can't, while rescuing your loved ones, risk the lives of others."

"Listen, General, surely..."

"No," he cut me off. "If these crustaceans break through here, we won't be able to prepare for evacuation. And it's not a fact we'll hold out at all. I'll leave a squad for round-the-clock sweeping of the camp. That's all I can do for you. And that's more than enough, if they're still alive."

He went to his fighters to give them orders. Armored personnel carriers rumbled off. About ten people, breaking into pairs, dispersed to sweep the camp. Irma turned back to me and looked into my eyes with an unbearably mournful gaze. I didn't know what to do or what to say. My daughter disappeared. She was kidnapped by her mother, with whom monstrous changes happened that nobody fully understood. Maybe Elza's somewhere here, in the camp... But they didn't find her and, in fact, won't look anymore. There's a minuscule chance she's really somewhere in the controlled territory. But more likely not. Purely mathematically... Suddenly I had an epiphany, and hope flared with new force.

"He's not the only one who decides," I told Irma, "there's also the control officer! And she's the one who represents the Corps command, not the commandant. That is, for all these promises of minimal risks she's also responsible!"

Irma wanted to say something, but I stopped her with a gesture.

"And our safety is directly her duty! After all, she's a woman and..."

"She was arrested!" Irma couldn't hold back.

I fell silent mid-word, as if choking.

"This morning," she explained, "by the commandant's order. We hacked the system under her name, remember?"

With a sickening feeling I found the windows of the commandant's office. They're lit.

"He already told you everything," Irma noted, catching my gaze.

to come here with promises of minimal risks! I don't care what wasp's nest you stir up. Go and find her. Sir."

"I understand your feelings," he nodded. "And in general you're right. This is the Corps' responsibility, therefore mine personally. But we're all in this situation. And your daughter isn't the only child in the colony. I can't, while rescuing your loved ones, risk the lives of others."

"Listen, General, surely..."

"No," he cut me off. "If these crustaceans break through here, we won't be able to prepare for evacuation. And it's not a fact we'll hold out at all. I'll leave a squad for round-the-clock sweeping of the camp. That's all I can do for you. And that's more than enough, if they're still alive."

He went to his fighters to give them orders. Armored personnel carriers rumbled off, roaring. About ten people, breaking into pairs, dispersed to sweep the camp. Irma turned back to me and looked into my eyes with an unbearably mournful gaze. I didn't know what to do or what to say. My daughter disappeared. She was kidnapped by her mother, with whom monstrous changes happened that nobody fully understood. Maybe Elza's somewhere here, in the camp... But they didn't find her and, in fact, won't look anymore. There's a minuscule chance she's really somewhere in the controlled territory. But more likely not. Purely mathematically... Suddenly I had an epiphany, and hope flared with new force.

"He's not the only one who decides," I told Irma, "there's also the control officer! And she's the one who represents the Corps command, not the commandant. That is, for all these promises of minimal risks she's also responsible!"

Irma wanted to say something, but I stopped her with a gesture.

"And our safety is directly her duty! After all, she's a woman and..."

"She was arrested!" Irma couldn't hold back.

I fell silent mid-word, as if choking.

"This morning," she explained, "by the commandant's order. We hacked the system under her name, remember?"

With a sickening feeling I found the windows of the commandant's office. They're lit.

"He already told you everything," Irma noted, catching my gaze.