Chunk 28

"This planet materializes our fears," she said.

"I know. Chimeras."

"No, I'm not only talking about them. Here all fears come to life. Any worst expectations. That's the purpose of our presence here—for the first time humanity has a chance to gain power over its own nightmares. It's not only about fundamentally new weapons, which the Corps is naturally also interested in. It's about something deeper. About materialization of thoughts."

"Just some metaphysics..."

"We think it's just physics. And biology. The thing is, chimeras are the tip of the iceberg. They're merely a literal, physical embodiment of images. Most often these are childhood nightmares, like that guy in the t-shirt... You saw him on the floor... Know why he's so huge? Because I was a child when I met him in reality. And here he's like in my childhood memories—huge, three heads taller. But a chimera is just a monster. It can be killed. And when you tell us where the arsenal is, we'll generally burn them in batches. Another thing is our anxieties. Fear of some shit that might fall on us in the future. So, anxieties also materialize, and we don't understand how exactly. And what if this is the key to something humanity's been searching for since it came out of caves?"

I involuntarily looked at my right hand, which recently promised me rapid development of hereditary syndrome and with which now for some reason everything's fine again. But I didn't interrupt Vandlik.

"Actually I'm in your debt," she said confidingly. "You're quite a character, of course, and by stealing the arsenal you caused me a lot of trouble. But to your credit, you managed to fix everything. If evacuation had happened, I'd have been kicked out of the Corps. With a bang. A control officer earns huge money, but if the mission fails, the fines are so astronomical that..." she sighed. "And you know why the colony has a commandant?"

I thought this was the beginning of some dirty joke, and uncertainly shook my head.

"This whole two-headed command system is a tribute to unions and insurers. Private military companies are required to have an independent commander in off-world missions who, so to speak, doesn't give a damn about global objectives. For him the main thing is that real risks correspond to declared ones. And that's our commandant.

Simply put, he cared about one thing—that in three years here no more than eight people would kick the bucket. Well, or not much more. So you'd understand, he didn't give a deep shit about those eight people's lives. He knew our mission was more dangerous than category 'A' from the very start."

"Why lie to all of us?"

"Because the mission needed twelve hundred people of different sexes and ages. Including civilians, naturally. We, Gil, needed a settlement, not a garrison."

"And you brought us to slaughter?"

"What nonsense, Lieutenant! Don't disappoint me. Everything's under control here. Additional casualties are possible among conquistadors, not civilians. Among armed guys who are paid for risk. Even considering we didn't expect to encounter reapers here, large civilian casualties can be avoided. On one condition."

She fell silent, and of course, this pause was intended for my question.

"What condition?" I asked obediently.

"We need the emergency arsenal. Nobody has ever had such perfect weapons as these. All we need is to distribute them to trained guys, wipe their noses and do our job. You know what's there?"

"You said nobody knows."

"First, we're using informal 'you.' Second, I lied."

"Lied?"

"Think yourself, what would happen to me if our seal-commandant controlled the arsenal."

"That's low..."

"But now I'm one hundred percent honest with you. In the 'SWEAR' arsenal—synthesis-nuclear weapons. 'Shiva' rifles. Heard of them? And enough ammunition to burn half the planet."

This explained everything. The synthesis-nuclear rifle of the 'Shiva' system shoots literally a tiny sun. All its insane power is contained in a small pellet of a substance called lithium deuteride. When you pull the trigger, the pellet instantly heats to a hundred million degrees and begins to compress—so quickly and powerfully that a nuclear fusion process ignites in it. Like inside a star. From the 'Shiva' barrel flies such a piece of hell, and where it

hits—in a two-meter radius everything organic burns. Essentially, it's a miniature thermonuclear explosion. With one shot a 'Shiva' can vaporize a reinforced concrete structure the size of a refrigerator—I saw tests on the news. Small creatures, like reapers, could be burned by hundreds, having just one such rifle. One. An arsenal of 'Shivas' would turn our colony into an impregnable fortress...

...My reflections were interrupted by the clicking of a lock. That girl entered with coffee. This time the drink was with milk, as I asked. I thought Vandlik would kick her out or at least bark at her to hurry, but no. I took the cup. Didn't want to taste it—let this poor soul leave first—just in case. And Vandlik, indeed, seemed to be waiting for me to sip. I held the cup and didn't drink. The girl shifted a bit and already turned to go, when Vandlik stopped her in a quiet voice: "Private! Push-up position! On knuckles."

Seems like she doesn't really need reasons to abuse... The girl obediently stretched out straight on straight arms. Vandlik carefully examined her position and again turned her gaze to me.

"Gil, less than fifteen minutes left. Just say where the arsenal is. Don't pay attention to her, my fighters are silent as stones."

I remained silent, pretending I was extremely interested in watching the girl stretched in a "plank."

"I'll be frank, Lieutenant. The fact that an accident happened with the commandant," on the last two words she emphasized, "personally freed me from a whole shuttle of problems. A huge shuttle of troubles... ONE!"

I flinched. She barked the sharp "one" at the conquistador girl, and she obediently did a push-up. The control officer didn't say "two."

"And honestly speaking," Vandlik continued, "I'm the only one in the whole colony inclined to see in this accident something more than coincidence."

I still didn't take my eyes off the girl. You could see that in this position, leaning on knuckles and stretched straight, it was hard for her. Even her breathing quickened. Vandlik stood up and paced back and forth.

"TWO!" she barked.

I flinched again. The girl did another push-up. With me Vandlik spoke in that manner that slightly lulls you, so each of her shouts sounded like a whip crack.

"Most importantly, I understand you. Understand your motives. Personally I would have acted the same. Both with the arsenal and with this seal in general's epaulets. THREE!!!"

The girl did a push-up and froze again.

"Ten more minutes, Gil, and automation will restore surveillance. And I won't be able to speak with you openly and directly."

With these words Vandlik critically examined the poor girl's stance.

"STRAIGHTER!" she barked and kicked the girl in the stomach with her boot; she only grunted and tensed her core harder, stretching into a line.

And immediately in a calm tone Vandlik addressed me:

"But now that you know what exactly is in that arsenal, you can simply tell me where it is. FOUR! FIVE! SIX!"

This time after each push-up Vandlik jabbed the girl in the stomach with the toe of her boot.

"Can't anymore..." the girl exhaled quietly.

It seems after this Vandlik beats her with tripled fury:

"SEVEN!"

(Kick)

"EIGHT!"

(Kick)

"Just tell me, Gileleu, where the arsenal is. Or at least explain why you're silent!"

"Because when I tell, that's the end for me anyway," I answered mentally, but didn't say a word aloud. Vandlik catches her breath, breathing heavily. The girl's body convulses. I'm sure she could push up about seventy times without much effort, but being in the position without moving, only occasionally doing the exercise, and also enduring kicks in the stomach...

"Killing an officer is a grave crime," Vandlik says philosophically, overcoming shortness of breath. "You risk leaving prison very late... And considering your diagnosis..."

I couldn't hide my surprise. My eyes probably rounded like saucers.

"You thought we don't know?" she chuckled with satisfaction and sat on the chair. "Obviously we believe in your lucky fifty percent more than you yourself."

The conquistador girl holds stoically, and only sweat drips from her face from wild tension. Why is she tormenting her? Enjoying power? Sadist? Vandlik seemed completely absorbed only in me.

"You don't want to end your life in prison, Lieutenant. Especially with the stigma of a murderer," she stood up and again bent over the girl. "NINE!"

She obediently did a push-up, and the control officer again jabbed her in the stomach.

"I'm always afraid I'll hit some girl in the chest with my boot," Vandlik informed me confidingly. "Then there's no end to problems... So what about the arsenal? TEN!!!"

(Kick!)

I shudder with my whole body, as if they're beating me.

"And again, what if your illness develops?" Vandlik drinks me in with her gaze. "Can you even imagine what awaits a mentally disabled young man in a dangerous criminals' block? ELEVEN!!!"

(Kick!)

"I think you wouldn't even be scared of death... TWELVE!"

(Kick!)

"But we, Gileleu, don't have the death penalty. But violence in prisons—they can't overcome... Think the administration will bother to transfer you to a medical facility? THIRTEEN!"

(Kick!)

"Just say, Lieutenant, where the arsenal is."

Most terrible was that I was ready. I could fit the whole secret of the damn arsenal into two words. Two words that would cross out from my life all that nightmare she's talking about. Remove the murder charge I didn't even remember. And most importantly... Don't understand how, but at that second this really seemed most important... Most important, this damn execution would stop!

"FOURTEEN!"

(Kick!)

This combination knocked me off balance: friendly (even sympathetic) attitude toward me, and shouts with kicks—for the unfortunate girl. I couldn't gather my thoughts. Couldn't resist. As if I were guilty for what was happening.

"You, Gil, are just a good father. That's your only guilt. FIFTEEN!!!"

Can't think. I had a reason to stay silent! Definitely had one...

(Kick!)

"You can't be judged for saving your daughter. SIXTEEN!"

Can't say where the arsenal is...

(Kick!)

"They just cornered you! SEVENTEEN!"

...But I don't remember—why!

(Kick!)

"Just tell me where you put the arsenal! EIGHTEEN!"

I'm losing control.

(Kick!)

"Save the rest of the children, Lieutenant! NINETEEN!"

Head spinning.

(Kick!)

After all she's right: I have no right to risk other people's lives. I'll tell her right now...

"TWENTY!"

(Kick!)

I decided. And even drew breath, but my throat dried so much I could barely unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Mechanically I bring the coffee cup to my mouth, take a sip. With sugar... This girl really isn't very accurate... I grimace with disgust, because coffee that stinks of burnt rag can only be made worse by a good portion of sugar. The taste is so terrible that for a moment I forget about what's happening around me. No, a second sip would be unbearable... How can you mix everything up twice in a row...

And then a guess pierces me like lightning.

"Coffee!" I say loudly. "My coffee, officer Vandlik! Now this idiot brought it with sugar! And I asked—without."

And I wait for the meaning of my words to reach her. Vandlik stares in surprise. But most importantly—the girl's reaction. She sat down without permission and gaped at me with surprised eyes. So that's how! Turns out, the all-powerful Vandlik doesn't scare her that much after all.

"Shoot this dumbass, or whatever's customary here," I say zealously, smiling widely.

They're silent. Vandlik's jaw actually dropped.

"Well, you poured coffee down her collar because it was without milk," I explain innocently. "And beat her just for nothing. I think for coffee with sugar you can shoot her."

Now Vandlik's jaw completely dropped. I understood my guess was correct. A show. Interrogation technology of the Corps. She was shaking my psyche by combining unjustified cruelty to another person with equally unfounded friendliness to me. Moreover, the cause of another's suffering was my coffee. Therefore, my whims. And the cause of Vandlik's cruelty—my silence. My stubbornness.

"You can go," these words from the control officer were addressed, of course, to the private. "And you're clever, Lieutenant."

I involuntarily smiled.

"Satisfied with yourself?" Vandlik immediately asked. "Who'll raise your daughter, smart guy?"

The meaning of her words slowly sinks to the bottom of consciousness—like in thick gel.

"What?" I finally asked, afraid my ears deceived me.

"She's alive, your Elza. Was found. How could you forget that!"

12

Sixteen hours until evacuation.

Four in the morning. Irma opened the biostation for me, and I rummaged in the basement for a long time—we had a storage room there—until I found what I needed. Machete. Light and flexible, made of multi-layer monomolecular steel. Fire extinguisher—ten liters, aerosol

and quite powerful. It could produce a three-meter icy stream for a minute, capable of cooling anything almost to absolute zero. I had to refuse combat armor immediately—it was completely stuffed with electronics. I could have pulled out the battery, but then the servos wouldn't work, and without them the armor would become just extra burden of fifty kilograms of plating. Instead at the biostation I borrowed an incredibly strong and light chainmail coverall—they used it for working with dangerous animal species. I wasn't sure it would withstand a reaper's sharp sickle, but from its cutting action—one hundred percent protection.

Now—that's all. I wanted to make something like a torch, but all the necessary materials weren't at the biostation, and there was no time to search for them. So I'd have to manage without light.

I brought my small treasure from the basement and set about putting on the chainmail. Seems like they gave me excellent painkillers—I didn't feel my wounds. Irma gloomily watched my preparations.

"How are you going to search the whole sector?" she asked.

"I think I know where Elza is."

"And where?" Irma was surprised.

"If anything of Vira remains... And something undoubtedly remains... She took her home. To our home, in the lost sector."

"Seems to me you just don't understand the nature of chimeras."

"She didn't kill her! Could have done it right there, on the threshold of your apartment, but didn't! I'll go into the lost sector, but need to do something. I'm leaving everything electrical here, and they won't touch me."

"Truth be told, I'm not sure about that anymore."

"Irma," I approached and took her by the shoulders, "Elza is my life. Without her—nothing makes sense. And the biggest stupidity I can commit in the abandoned part of the camp is to die. But you shouldn't do this. If you really want to help somehow, better go convince the commandant."

"I doubt he'll change his mind," she shrugged. "Okay. Go and find her. And... They sense fear, haven't forgotten?"

"You joking? Impossible to forget a reaper that climbed on your head. That's why I'm taking all this with me..."

She nodded. We hugged. Then I quickly pulled on the gleaming steel coverall, clipped the machete to my belt and left with the fire extinguisher in my hands, not dropping another word.

Elza, my little Elza. Just be there...

Both moons had risen, but the sky was now covered with heavy low clouds, and the two saucers peeked through gaps only rarely and one at a time. Snow had stopped falling. I walked along the wire with "Danger, do not cross" signs that separated the sector we lost tonight. Lost because of my fault. More, of course, Irma's. But I was an accomplice—and no point fooling myself. I predicted this. Feared exactly this. And let myself be convinced. "We'll achieve targeted mutations"—is that what she said? Just cut power to the colony: no casualties, no victims. That was the plan...

The chainmail coverall burned with cold when it accidentally touched the skin on my neck. I was forced to constantly shift the fire extinguisher from hand to hand and tried to keep pace. Tracks, if there were any, had long been covered. Ahead loomed our house. Only at this moment did I realize how much I hoped to find Elza there. How much I believed she was exactly there... And how much I feared she couldn't be saved. I forbade myself to think about anything starting with "if." Reality here and now! No "would haves," no "whys"! My daughter is somewhere there, and I'll find her.

I cross the wire and go further. The snow's not deep—a bit above my ankles... How I want to hear her voice now—I'd rush to her as fast as I could... Heavy cold drops began falling on my head, and I looked at the sky in surprise. Rain. Seems like rain. Not surprising, now it's approximately zero degrees. Drops drummed on the chainmail hood. A gust of wind that came out of nowhere threw a handful of prickly ice crystals in my face. I involuntarily squinted. Clouds covered the sky, hiding both moons, and it became truly dark. My house was no longer visible, though probably within arm's reach. And even the nearest building, some ten steps away, I could barely make out.

I looked back. No fires from the inhabited camp visible. The wind intensified, brazenly pushing me in the chest. And a second later real hail the size of peas poured from the sky. Ish-Chel once again reminded me

that she's not Earth. Damn... I lowered my head, looking only at my feet.

Several times the gusts of wind were so strong I had to stop. I walked forward until I finally realized I was lost. No longer understood where I was or how far from my house. Dawn should have broken long ago, but the ice storm postponed it indefinitely. My hands froze so badly I was afraid to drop the fire extinguisher and not feel it. Thin tactical gloves didn't warm at all, and the chainmail layer seemed to only intensify the cold. Just need to keep walking. Either way, I'll still run into the Perimeter, and that'll be at least some landmark.

From time to time a creepy thought arose that among the bodies that occasionally appeared on my path as characteristic drifts, she might be. Twice I made a small detour to check another snowy burial, but each time found only a dead conquistador.

Finally I hit the Perimeter wall. Noticed it about three meters away and didn't immediately grasp what it was. Only approaching closer did I recognize the specific blocks it's made of. Turned right and walked a few meters, examining the wall. Here—at outstretched arm height yellow paint shows the number six. Sixth section adjoins the north gate. So I deviated quite strongly. But now I know where to go again. Just warm up for about five minutes at the checkpoint...

The gates—both north and south—are maybe the busiest place in camp. Always full of people here: "Black Sleeves" from internal security, assault troops on duty, invariably about two techs. Even in the worst weather at least half of them stick around outside with coffee or vapes, exchanging gossip and jokes, because they're all required to be here round the clock, but work—half an hour a day, and not even always.

But this time everything's different. Not a soul. Usually brightly lit gates are completely dark, lit only by the deathly whiteness of snow. One of the gates is flung open into the surrounding taiga darkness.

Even through the blizzard you can see trees that have come right up to the Perimeter. Under the wind's blows their black silhouettes moved in convulsive dance, like teenagers on methamphetamine. And instead of soldiers bored with guard duty—everywhere those damned oblong drifts...

My first impulse—to try closing the gate. But the mechanism jammed, I could only partly close it, leaving a gap of a good meter. Anyone could get in here if they wanted... I spat and ran on.

The hail stopped—as suddenly as it began. Wind dispersed the already scattered clouds. The sky turned gray. Ahead, about three hundred meters away, our house finally appeared.

...The door's closed. I definitely remember that when I ran out of here, escaping from reapers, it was open and snow had blown inside... Melted? And wind slammed the door? I cautiously approach closer. My heart pounds so hard it's difficult to breathe. She must be here, I tell myself and open the door. I carry the fire extinguisher in my left—in my right the hose with nozzle—finger on the trigger.

First I glanced at the ceiling. No reapers. But last time they didn't sit openly either, so can't relax... I carefully look first in the children's room, then in our bedroom. Empty. The same mess as yesterday. Not one object moved. I return to the door again and step toward the kitchen... And here I notice Vira's broken compact in the middle of the corridor. I saw it last time too, but the stain of spilled powder... I put down the fire extinguisher and squat. Yes, the stain is smudged... As if someone stepped on it...

"Elza!" I shout loudly, and my voice echoes off the walls, as happens in uninhabited buildings. "Elza!!!"

Some knocking... I freeze listening. Quiet. Then the knocking repeats!

"Elza, it's Dad!"

I tear from my spot like a madman. This time there's no doubt—she hid in the wardrobe in the children's room. I woke her with my shout! I open the wardrobe doors wide. And even bend down to hug her.

From the things dumped in a pile, like from a burrow, six angry little eyes of a primate-like creature wrapped in thick, rhinoceros-like leather armor stared at me—I was looking at a forest devil.

Probably for a second we were both equally confused. It bared its teeth, and the upper jaw, predatory as a white shark's, thrust from the gums, showing long triangular teeth. Instinctively I sensed the beast would

jump now, and subconsciousness suggested the only right solution. Instead of pulling back, I dove under its legs. And the forest devil lunged forward at that same moment. If I'd delayed a fraction of a second, it would have been too late.

The carcass wrapped in leather armor flew over me and landed in the center of the room. I manage to take a step toward the door, but it jumps again. And again I'm forced to dive headlong under it. This is their attack manner—very high jumps that allow attacking the victim from above. Only this saves me. But not sure I can do this endlessly... I jump up. Now the forest devil stands in the doorway, cutting off my retreat path. My fire extinguisher—right behind it, by the spilled powder stain. Confused by two misses, the forest devil doesn't hurry to jump again. Obviously understands I'm not going anywhere. With its throat it makes a familiar sound resembling the rattle of a bone rattle.

"Quiet, quiet... You don't need me..." I try to speak confidently and calmly.

The sound of my voice confuses the forest devil even more. I notice this is a female—in the lower part of her belly she has an ovipositor coiled like a snail.

"I'll leave now, okay?" I say this while slowly drawing the machete.

The she-devil weighs about four hundred kilograms. The machete will hardly help me. Unless by some miracle I manage to hit right in an artery or nerve cluster. She "rattles" with her throat again, like a giant rattlesnake.

"Listen," I try to calm her with my voice again...

She lunges at me without letting me finish. This time I don't manage to dive. Maybe this jump of hers is lower than the previous ones. I jump back, slashing with the machete almost blindly. I feel the blade pass viscously through flesh, and immediately a powerful blow to the shoulder throws me to the floor. I see how slowly huge jaws full of white triangular teeth close on my thigh.

But actually—fast. It's just that I'm intoxicated with adrenaline and fear that filled me up to my eyes. I try to roll away, but only manage to turn my leg slightly. The teeth closed on the chainmail coverall. Fortunately for me, she grabbed the leg not deep enough, otherwise the jaws would have crushed the bone. The muscle feels squeezed like in a vice, but she can't tear