

Fantastic novel.

T h e P a t h i n t h e A b y s s.

Vyacheslav Bagrov.

Original edition: 26.08.2016.

ISBN: 978-5-906895-93-6

Second edition: Dec. 26, 2019.

ISBN: 9780463892312 Smashwords.com

ISBN:978-5-6044014-1-5

Book publisher, author.

( Machine translation in the author's edition. June. 29.2020 )

email: vyacheslav.bagrov@gmail.com

strannik.vyacheslav.bagrov@gmail.com

Author's site: vyacheslav-bagrov.ru

Facebook: id=100022828201707

Вячеслав Багров.

PART ONE.

Aliens.

Chapter 1.

Exodus. The time is real.

The ship, a sparkling metal tower, stood on a flat hilltop. From the burnt earth around him, thick smoke rose.

On the ship's mighty legs, the low, morning sun played.

It smelled of cinder.

Through the puffs of smoke, on the polished side, there were yellow letters of the name of the ship — "Thunder".

The hull of the ship has already stopped swaying, resting its supports on rocky ground, it stood level. Metering.

The "Thunder" landed on a hill near a fast stream, where they left the car, and now ran, panting and wheezing, running, stumbling, up the hill.

To salvation.

Misha both ran and did not run, like a mechanical doll, he only allowed Sergey to drag himself forward to the ship.

Bitter dust on chapped lips, sweat over his eyes, flows down his face and neck.

  * Stir, they will kill us,- he wheezes Misha.

Senchin looked around; two dozen little men with rifles and in gray overcoats were already crossing the stream. They were approaching a big black boulder. The shooter stood up and straightened, leaving the machine gun lying on the ground. Silent for a moment, the shots clicked again - gray haze burst from the rifles. Bullets dug into the rocky ground, to the right and behind the fugitives.

On the far side of the stream, where the long army truck that had pulled off the road was shining green, there was not one killed, no one writhed in pain, did not scream, asking for help.

They got to the gangplank.

Chapter 2.

Firmness. Spring. Quiet Harbor.

Morning. He recently got out of bed, washed heavily and reluctantly, had a bite in the kitchen with two sandwiches, washed them down with a glass of strong, hot tea, and now sat in his room — three by four meters, with one window, on a rickety wooden chair, his hands resting on a shabby, with peeling, off-white paint, table. Behind the dust-covered glass of a single window, a spring, Saturday day flared up. Through an open, rickety window, came a sparrow tweet.

The bright sun was breaking through the branches of an old, branched poplar growing outside the window, from its rays, the dust on the glass of the window shone dull and dull.

"\- The window needs to be washed. Shame,"- he thought.

Remembering this every weekend over the past years, he seemed to perform the usual ritual, while leaving everything as it is.

There was a knock on the door of the room.

  * Yes.

Taok came in - a neighbor from the room opposite. Today he was sober and clean-shaven, in warm felt slippers, black, old tricot with stretched, holey knees, and an unbuttoned colorful shirt without buttons, under which a white shirt was visible.

  * Hi, nephew! - This is Taok to him. - Again you took my pan away, give it here.

  * It's not me.

  * Of course not you. And over there, what?

Taok pointed to the side of the table on which an enameled, yellow pan, painted in large orange peas, stuck defiantly.

  * That's mine.

Taok's freckled face frowned, he entered the room, took a saucepan and put it under his nose, said:

  * Here is the mark! You see? How many times to speak? By the way, yours is generally without one pen. How do you confuse them, I do not understand.

Sitting on a chair, half a turn to Taok, he awkwardly spread his arms, said:

  * Hm ... I'm sorry. I, apparently, got it wrong. It was dark.

  * Should drink less. By the way...- Taok furtively glanced at the closed door and, lowering his voice, asked.- You have nothing?

Apparently, his wife Gemada was still at home. Last week, a short quarrel erupted in their room, after which Taok went out into the corridor with a large lump on his forehead. He avoided conversations on this subject.

  * No. I quit drinking. Here...

  * Yes? - The neighbor looked incredulously into his eyes. - Again? Somehow I can't believe it.

  * Yeah. That's for sure..

  * Then give me a lend, to paycheck. Just so that my wife does not recognize!

He got up from his chair, fished out a pair of copper coins from his brown checkered jacket pocket:

  * When did I report to your wife?

  * Well, come on. This is me just in case.

Taok went out, quietly closing the door behind him. From the corridor came his loud, mocking voice, answering someone:

  * From whom, from whom? At the nephew.

A nasty gravity tossed over in his soul, from fragmentary memories, and a dull guilt caused by a hangover. He again looked at his dusty window, got up, under a recently made bed, found a dried-up, lumpy rag, brought a common basin with water from the restroom, and returned it in about fifteen minutes to the windows that were blind from dust, the old shine.

Would have done so long ago!

He involuntarily admired the unusually clear and colorful view from the window, behind which a branchy poplar grew. He could hear the noise of a passing car and a bunch of kids at the bottom of the house.

The washed glass shone and reflected on the uneven yellow, painted walls of the room the bright spots of sunbeams, from which it seemed to him that the beginning of new, long-tortured actions had been laid. Only things were in such a way that, in fact, he had nothing to start with. Absolutely. Two days off will pass, he will return to work at the port to spend another meaningless and difficult week in dust and dirt. Again he will rivet the armor of old battleships long requested to be scrapped. On Monday, the battleship "Gloomy", the repair of which ended two weeks ago, now stood in the cordon of the guard, most likely will leave the port.

The guns and equipment were re-installed on the "Gloomy", and sailors scurried like ants along its cuttings and decks.

Inaction oppressed him with his emptiness, filling him with irritation and anger at himself.

He was sitting on a chair, looking at the floor, whose boards had long been in need of painting when he heard the sound of a door opening. Tosia Vak came - a sixty-two-year-old woman, with once black, and now silver-white hair, tidied up in a neat, short braid, descending on her shoulders. She wore cherry-colored velvet slippers on her feet.

Tosia's black, large eyes looked tired, with poorly concealed hope.

  * Good morning, of mine golden one,- her voice was deep, gentle.

  * Good morning, Aunt Tosya.

  * Had breakfast?

  * Yes.

She went to the window, opened the frame.

  * What are you thinking of doing today, precious?

Tosia Vak did not look in his direction, looked at the street, she hid her hands in the deep pockets of her dress.

"Precious"...

He felt depressed and awkward, not knowing what to answer.

"- Precious will be sober." - He thought and said with simulated amusement in his voice.

In the kitchen, someone was doing dishes.

  * I'll go for a walk.

  * Go, go...

There was a momentary silence, from which the room seemed to be dark and stuffy.

He wanted to say, utter words, fill the space with sound and meaning, but the words seemed to disappear before they could be heard.

  * They were silent. I'll tidy up here for now,- she still stood looking out the window, apparently about to say what she came for, but did not dare.

In the corridor outside the door, the words rang out:

  * Rouk at home?

  * Yes, at home,- he stood up, pulling up his pants.

In the doorway stood a neighbor from the extreme room, the Ugle Tok.

She was about fifty-five years old, short, full, with short, curly hair, the color of straw, in a bathrobe, in warm felt slippers, thick glasses on her nose, in a bulky horn rim.

She moved with difficulty and always with a wand.

Arthritis.

Tosia Wak turned to face her.

  * Hello, Tosia, - and him. - Good morning, Rouk.

  * Good morning, Ugle.

  * Morning interview?- She smiled guiltily, as if embarrassed.- Then I'll come back later.

  * What did you want? Come in. \- Tosia Vak came up to her and brought her into the room. - How are your legs?

Tosia Wak worked as a doctor in a district hospital.

Ugle shrugged:

  * I can walk.

  * I'll see your legs later.

  * It's good when there is a doctor and you don't have to go anywhere.- She laughed with the laughter of a man who was often and many refused his requests, but who was forced to ask again and again.

  * Do you want to go to the store?- Tosia Vak asked her.

  * Yes, I wanted to ask Rook, only he helps me.- She laughed bitterly.- I asked this freckled Taok, so I heard a lot from him ...

  * What should you buy?- He asked her.

  * Rouk,- she handed him the money and a piece of paper folded in half.- Here, here is the list.

He listened about bread, milk and a pharmacy, nodded, twisting her note in her hand, and she, smiling, remembered the "freckled Taok" again, her sore legs and Rowk's sympathy, for which life would finally reward him.

Life will reward him. Yes of course. Exactly.

Who would doubt that.

Tok's corner is gone.

  * Okay, I'll go.- He turned to the door when Tosia Wak said:

  * Wait a minute. I wanted to tell you,- she went up to him and spoke, trying to hide her excitement.- I am a doctor and have seen a lot of things. There have been cases when a person is not seriously ill, a trifle, but this trifle brings him to the grave. Or, on the contrary, you think that the patient will die, you are not hoping already, but he, you look, is recovering, clings and... It is necessary to cling, golden, even when there is no hope.

"Golden".

  * I know. Aunt Tosya I...

He always called her that - Aunt Tosya.

  * Aunt Tosya!- She mimicked him, and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt.- We have to fight. Hopefully. You can't give up and fall yourself into the swamp.

  * I'm already...

  * Yes, you are already. Get a hold of yourself. That's it, now go. I'll tidy up here. I see that you washed the window. And that's good.

Having removed his jacket and hung it on the humpbacked back of a rickety chair, he left the room, taking a white, knitted string bag, in the dark corridor, lit only by a window from the kitchen, went into the hallway. He shod his broken boots, dark brown, with patched skin, and a minute later he found himself on the street.

The sun was reflected in puddles and windows, playfully running in the glass of cars passing by the road, the smell of moist earth and young greenery, hung in the clear, morning air, mingling with the stink of passing cars. From the table in the courtyard where several of his neighbors gathered, voices and the sound of dominoes were heard. He was noticed, someone shouted:

  * Rouk!

He waved back and did not slow down, turned around the corner of the house, ducking from the low hanging poplar branches.

The street met him with noise and traffic. A flock of pigeons took off from the sidewalk and rustling their wings, rushed to the roof of the nearest barrack, where the morning sun danced merrily in the windows of the second floor and there in the radiance of the reflected sun, like a mysterious nymph, a chubby, young fat woman, laying her lush, falling out of a white sundress on a windowsill breasts, squinting, looked down at passers-by.

People walked with the slowness that is inherent in them at the weekend. Nobody was running late.

He delightedly lit a cigarette, the first one for today, and walked along the sidewalk, paved with shabby cobblestones, to the pharmacy, which was located at the end of the painted green, fresh paint, two-story, wooden barrack. Having caught up with a large puddle on the road, he managed to bounce to the side when a truck rattling its sides with a flat, grooved muzzle, splashing puddles along the sidewalk, drove through, leaving behind a stench of exhaust gases.

The wind carried warm air, the spring sun pleased with its light and brilliance, promising a quick summer.

On such days, the mood is always unjustifiably good, it seems that life will still smile with luck and everything will somehow work out miraculously, although you know very well that there are no miracles in this life itself...

Having bought the ointment necessary for Ugle Toke at the pharmacy, - a small, glass jar with a hand-written label on it, he, going to the intersection of the second and fourth streets, popped into the grocery store, number twelve - small, with a tall, dirty window, which was visible behind, laid out on trays, fruits and vegetables. The store smelled strongly of onions and something stale.

A line of five went quickly, but a middle-aged aunt in a long, lilac dress and a red hat, with a white ribbon on the sides, started a dispute with a young saleswoman, full, with brightly painted lips, and this argument quickly and confidently outgrew into the scandal.

Listening to the skirmish of two women, he patiently waited for his turn, and soon left the store, filling a knitted string bag with bread, two bottles of kefir and fresh herbs.

He did not want to return home immediately. Having lit a cigarette, and holding a string bag in his left hand, he went down the street, starting a short morning trip.

It was a region of a caste of workers in a black city, bore the romantic name, Quiet Harbor. Black quarters. After passing several more barracks, from the open windows of which the music of the gramophone was heard, he went out to the square.

Under high maples spreading their branches, stood wooden benches.

Today there were a few people in the square — three young mothers, they settled down with the children on the bench closest to him, and the next couple, down the square, in the liquid shade of trees, was an elderly couple. He headed deep into the square, walking along the cobblestone pavement, enjoying the peace that surrounded him.

Right in front of the square, on the corner of the spacious area, there was a red, fire engine, for which its best times had long passed.

The hood of the car was raised, and a skinny ass of a fireman driver was sticking out from under it, in dirty, light green uniform pants. A little to the side, on the left, four young guys, already tipsy, leisurely walked to the bus stop located at the nearest hut.

The wind randomly drove through the cobblestones of the square, newspaper scraps and last year's foliage. Stopping, he lit a cigarette, took a drag, slowly released a cloud of gray smoke and was about to step towards the square, when he suddenly saw her.

So many years passed, but he recognized her right away. She barely changed. A girl who turned into a mature woman, a little plump in her hips and chest. The same dimples on the rosy cheeks, the bend of light eyebrows, eyes... Her wheat-colored hair shook the wind to her shoulders, looking somewhere to the side, she walked slowly, squinting from the sun. The white dress, which was slightly lifted by the wind, barely covered her naked knees. Cream-colored shoes shone. With her right hand she held a narrow strap, a small, black handbag.

Confused, he froze, shocked by the sudden meeting, looked at her with wide eyes, looking at her, afraid that he was mistaken. Even seeing her in front of him, he still did not believe that it was her. His feelings mixed up and, as if not wanting to frighten away the ghost, he took the first, timid step in her direction.

Apparently, having lost interest in what she was peering, the woman turned her head. Their eyes met. She did not recognize him. And then, a second later, her attention was attracted by children playing nearby.

They were separated by a dozen steps and she looked at him again.

This time she peered into his face, and at first in her glancing gaze reflected bewilderment, mixed with irritability, but then, after a moment, she recognized him.

They stood a step away from each other for several moments, her face suddenly lost its expression of stiffness, lit up with joy:

  * You!- They said at the same time, and he could hardly restrain himself so as not to shout her name.

He quickly approached her.

They hugged.Her hair tickled his face, he inhaled the smell of bitter perfume, hugged her tightly, feeling the warmth of her body, closed his eyes, and was silent.

For a minute they stood so embraced, each experiencing his own, as close relatives who once lost each other and found again.

"- Life will thank," - he remembered the words Ugle's and smiled broadly.

  * Seryozha!\- She called his name in full voice, and the whole world — alien, painful, hateful, seemed to pay attention to them, listening to the words, suspicious, alien here, spoken in Russian.- It's you...

Over the years spent in Strength, he, Sergei Senchin, became here his own, one with the people around him, and the name spoken aloud made a division between him and the whole world. An almost forgotten fear emerged from the depths of his soul and stood in front of Sergey, like a guard.

  * Let's go from here .- He told her in the local language.\- Sveta, Sveta...

From a knitted string bag in his hands, a white stream flowed \- he somehow managed to break the kefir bottles, and now at their feet a white puddle bright from the sun has formed.

He led her back to his house, holding her warm and dry hand, hurriedly striding, looking now at his feet, then at her. The stupid, simple smile of a man who was surprised at something joyful and stunning did not leave Sergey's face.

She asked something, he answered her something. How strange, it was fantastically unlikely to go now, next to her, Svetka Lanina, here, in a hostile world, many light years from Earth, after a long, painful nine years spent in Strength.

The natives called their planet Strength.

Hateful, asphyxiating, mortally dangerous, like a viper - Strength, oh how he hated it! And myself, living on her, and becoming her part. Nine years of loss, as if your soul had been torn out, dull hopelessness, fear and pretense, fruitless attempts to find a way out and shameful, drunk madness.

  * Sveta!

She asked him:

  * Where are you leading me, Seryozha.? Can we go back to the square? It seems safe there.

  * I live in a barracks, here, next. And no more words in Russian!

Inspired by their sudden meeting, he suddenly believed that now everything will change for the better, that it has come to the end of their "Strength saga", and in some other incomprehensible way, they will leave this world.

  * Sveta, we'll definitely get out of here. You'll see.

At the end of a shady street, his barrack was already visible, a two-story one, like all the residential barracks of the black quarters, with a low, plank fence, an abandoned front garden.

Svetlana Lanina critically, with a smile, looked Sergey in the face. He expected her to say something like "you think so", or "it would be nice, but"...

She took the knitted string bag soaked from kefir from him, looked at its contents and, shaking her head, said with a grin:

  * Don't be offended, Seryozha, but you have always been an amazing idiot.

******* *******

Drank tea. Tosia Vak brought from her room, located on the ground floor, a gramophone and a plywood box glued with pieces of colored paper, a box with phonograph records.

The music, mixed with the hiss of a thick, picking needle, filled Senchin's wretched room with an atmosphere of comfort he had not had for a long time.

Tosiya Vak laid a snow-white tablecloth on the table, went back to her room and returned, carrying a brilliant tin tray with porcelain cups and a pot-bellied, in oil-painted flowers, tea-pot. In the middle of the table flaunted her own samovar. Sergey's samovar, terrible and neglected, remained in the kitchen, bashfully shoved by Senchin under the common table.

Tosia Vak calmly, without expression, looked at Svetlana sitting opposite her. She, holding a cup of tea, listened to the speech of Senchin, in which he set out the story of several years spent by him in Strength. Tosia occasionally corrected him by inserting rare comments, from which Sergei, feeling awkward, and immediately introduced corrections into his story.

There was a fourth interlocutor at the table — a fifty-five-year-old man of medium height, plump and balding, brown-eyed brown-haired, with a round, kind face. His name was Evol. Evol Kyumo. He always, as far as Sergei knew him, dressed like a holiday. Today Evol Kyumo dressed in a gray, formal suit, under which a snow-white shirt without a tie shone. The simple, good-natured, even childishly naive face of Evola Kyumo, contained an expression of surprise and admiration.

He looked at Svetlana as if in front of him was not an ordinary young woman, but an unprecedented creature until this day, who flew into the room through the window.

Evol Kyumo worked as a doctor in the same hospital with Tosiya Vak.

Sergey always addressed him as "you", respected him as a reliable friend and a person incapable, in his opinion, of meanness.

Senchin said:

  * Then, Aunt Tosya, helped me with the documents. She arranged me in this room.

  * It was that story, - inserted Tosia Vak.- It is called a forgery of documents.

  * Well, after that I got a job at the port as a riveter, and I still work there.

Sveta blinked and asked:

  * I do not understand something. You said that Evol found you,- she looked at the latter and smiled at him.- What does it mean to have found? Did you find it in the garbage bin? She shrugged vaguely, interest shone in her eyes. - More, if possible. The narrator of you...

Tosia Wak laughed out loud for the first time this evening.

  * He found him.- And she shook her head.

Sergey was a little confused, began to explain something indistinctly and extensively, but Evol intervened:

  * Well, why, right away, in the trash ?! We met with Seryozha on the street, - he spoke carefully choosing words, politely and tactfully.- He was then in a difficult, I would say, in a hopeless situation, and seeing this, I decided to help him. We came home to Tosia, and then you know.

  * He picked up Sergey,- Tosia Vak said with a sigh.- He picked up a drunk in the yard. Seryozha was insane. We brought him to feelings for a long time.

Svetlana's face shone.

  * So, so, so,- she said.- Very interesting.

  * Nothing interesting. - Sergey mumbled. - Not worth it, here...

  * He is modest. - Tosia Vak took a teapot, poured Senchin into a cup.- Sveta, do you need some tea?

  * What? Oh, yes, yes, thanks.- She looked at Evola and asked.- Please tell me, doctor, this ... story. Just some wonderful salvation.

Senchin:

  * Evol, do not listen to her.

But Evol Kyumo already apparently decided something and started talking, looking at Svetlana, stirring with a teaspoon in his almost empty cup:

  * Well, actually, to say the least ... Yes, in a word. I walked by, it was already dark, I worked late into the night, I look at a man lying in an alley. Mumbles something. I came up, listened and realized that Seryozha urgently needed to be taken somewhere.

  * Again, I don't understand. - Sveta smiled happily, looking at Evola with adoration. - Well, are you bringing all the drunkards to your friends?

  * Why, all at once?! - He was even offended. - Seryozha was special...

  * Yes Yes. He is special.- She laughed loudly, already looked at Sergei, who was completely sour, and reaching out, stroked his cheek.- You pig, my special one. Ha ha. I ... I knew that!

Sergey twitched, said, referring to Evola:

  * Evol, I asked you. You do not know her.

A dusty, muddy electric lamp under the ceiling illuminated the audience in the room with a dim light.

  * He asked! - Sveta Lanina choked with laughter, tears appeared in her eyes. - Quietly, so-so lying around and didn't touch anyone ... Uhh ... And why he turned out to be so ... special for you, Evol ?

  * He spoke a foreign language. - Evol Kyumo looked up with an important look. - In my youth I was a surgeon, worked in a hospital and had to operate on many, including prisoners. I know three languages - Usum, ka, and mikon. I have language skills.

  * Yes, what are you saying ?! - Sveta interestedly looked at him.

  * Many have told me, I don't know if it is that my pronunciation is especially flawless. And Sergey spoke a language that I had not heard at all, and which, as I understand it, has no common roots with other languages. Moreover, all sorts of rumors have been wandering for a long time ... About you. About the aliens. It is not necessary to have seven spans in the forehead to fold two and two. I took Seryozha home to Tosia. Although Seryozha says that I have a bad pronunciation, I can accurately pronounce his phrase, which I heard then. Here she is. - and Evol Kyumo, thoughtfully, with an arrangement, looking over his head Lanina, said in Russian.- Go to hell.

For several seconds, a deathly silence hung over the table.

Sergei Senchin sat like an idol, it seemed that he was paralyzed.

And then Lanina loudly, louder than before, laughed, splashing tea from her cup.

She almost fell, from her chair - Tosia Vak supported her.

  * Evol, can I hear it again?- She was happy.

  * Go to...\- Evol spoke slowly.

He tried very hard.

  * Enough .- Sergey could not resist .- Evol, stop it. She's mocking you.

Sveta was choked with laughter. Her sonorous voice reflected off the walls.

Calming down a little and putting her hand on the palm of the embarrassed Evol, Lanina said:

  * Don't be mad at me, Evol. But I really didn't understand anything. You have a very funny pronunciation .- She looked at Sergey and her gaiety began to disappear quickly, Sveta's gaze was sharpened.\- And this is our pilot, our hope, so to speak. Everyone is looking for him, but he is lying around.

Only that a cheerful woman sat in front of them, bursting into tears of fun, and suddenly, to replace her, another woman appeared, serious, with a prickly look. Sveta Lanina, became different. She looked into her almost empty cup, holding it with narrow, long fingers, her speech became stiff:

  * So the good people picked you up. Responsive people. Others are no so unlucky. You even had a gramophone. But your mistress took him away. Now you have no mistress, no gramophone. Did you save money for a gramophone for him for a long time, Aunt Tosya?

Tosia Vak was silent.

  * You say that the work in your port is interesting. I've been listening to you all day. About how you repair ships there, and how difficult it for you miserable.- Sveta grunted.- Do you want me to pity you? I do not want. There is nothing to regret you. You are well settled, wonderful settled. But, already without a gramophone. Well, I think that you will somehow survive.

Sergei tried not to look at her; his face turned red, he sat motionless.

  * You must understand me...- He said.

Lanina looked him directly in the eye, calmly asked:

  * Why didn't you look for us? Forgot?

  * I forgot nothing,- he snapped, and moving away from the table, he wanted to get up, but changed his mind.- Two years I was looking for you! Two years. I have been to all villages around the landing site. And when the authorities began to send patrols, within a radius of thirty kilometers, around the ship, in general... They combed every village there, organized raids. I decided that those of us who remained at large went further. I pretended to be craze... Four times I was caught, I ran away. Then, here I am staying in this city. Coastal town, of which there are many. Then what's the difference?- Sergei got to his feet, and moving to the window, opened the window, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit a cigarette.- Hmm, I'm settled. If neither Evol and Aunt Tosya, then I would sit where all of ours are now sitting. I would sit where all of ours are now sitting. They,- Sergey pointed to Tosia Vak and Evol Kyumo.- My family and friends, I owe everything to them.

  * That's what, guys,- Tosia Vak said calmly.- I think that you should not swear, and find out who was looking for someone. Seryozha was looking for you, but could not find you. You are lucky to meet. Now there are two of you. I do not believe in chance, everything in life is connected and if you met, then change will come. I don't know what changes will be, but they will come. It's like a stone, if you throw it into the water, circles will go.

Sveta was looking at Sergey.

  * There are three of us,- she said.

Senchin did not immediately understand the meaning of what she said, looked at Lanina in shock, asked:

  * There are three of us? Who else?

  * Misha. - Sveta answered and smiled solemnly, her eyes warmed up. - Misha Gorin. And I also found him. I seem to have a talent for finding you.

  * Why were you silent?- Sergey exclaimed, and Tosia Vak gave a warning gesture to him to make him speak quieter.- Why did you arrange this whole circus? Misha!

  * I decided to leave it for dessert, - answered Sveta.- Misha lives with his wife in the mountains. Her name is Talya, and she is from the white caste. So he lives wonderful. I came to ask for work. They have a large farm ten kilometers from the estate. I thought the farther from the big cities the better. He left the house right at me, can you imagine? I lived with them for a long time. But this year I decided to continue the search. Misha and Tallya dissuaded me, it came to a scandal. He even started a fight with me, can you imagine? Our Misha! He grabbed my hand so much that then my bruises did not go away for a week. They gave me money, I'm rich now,\- she laughed.- I promised them that by the end of the summer I would definitely return to them.

  * Well, and how ... do they live? - Sergei asked her.

  * What do you mean?- Sveta smiled.- They live together, not officially. They have no children. How did you manage to become a pilot, I don't understand ?! You're an amazing fool, Seryozha.- And she, remembering something, burst into laughter.- You are special!...

******* *******

The guests are long gone.

It was a deep, spring night.

Sergey made Lanina's bed on his spring-creaking bed, and he lay down in the corner of the room, near the closet, on the old mattress, worn in places with holes.

He recalled the recent words of Svet's and his mouth, involuntarily, was stretched out in a smile.

  * Seryozha,- she told him when she went to bed, and he stood by the wall to turn off the light.- I will tell you so that you know if you climb to me you will get in the face. Don't be offended, okay?

Will get in the face.

Sveta Lanina.

She is like that.

She can.

Through the ajar window in the window frame, air cooled during the evening penetrated, which made the room cooler. Sergey pulled a thick, cotton blanket up to his chin.

  * Seryozha, - Sveta said from the darkness. - Are you still awake?

  * No.

The bed creaked with springs, probably Lanina turned in his direction.

  * Forgive me for today. I am sometimes a splinter. Will you forgive me?

  * Of course,- he said.

  * They were silent.I am very pleased. It's just fantastic that we met.

  * Yeah.

Another minute of silence.

Somewhere far on the street, disturbing the sleep of the night, the car rumbled and the night bird shouted, sadly and lonely.

  * Do you think they're alive?- Asked Lanina.

Senchin did not answer immediately; he himself wanted to know.

  * I think they are not touched,- he said.

  * Do you think so?

  * Judge for yourself. Local ghouls really need a ship to get to the "Wanderer" - this is logical.

  * Weapons?

  * They need our weapons, our capabilities.

  * Do you think they are being held somewhere in prison, fed, kept, persuaded? Seryozha, do you really believe in this?

  * Yes, - Sergei replied to her.\- The ship is in its place. I went there in the winter, looked, from a distance, of course. They surrounded it with wooden walls, turned it into a tower. Of those who landed on the Firmament, there are only two who can lift the ship — this is the captain and me. If the ship is in place, then shish them with oil, and not "Wanderer". They won't get to the starship. And our planetary ship will not fly anywhere. I'm sure. The captain is flint, no one will take it with his bare hands. They are alive.

They were silent. Sergei looked at the dark ceiling and thought that he had practically no chance to get to the ship - he was guarded as the most expensive treasure of this world, and those who stayed on the "Wanderer" did not take any action. And that was the strangest thing for him.

  * How is he, my Semyon?- Lanina suddenly asked, saying this to a dumb night.\- My husband. Will he accept me if we ever meet again? Does he still love me? Sometimes it hurts in my chest, as if my heart was torn out, as if it was empty there. You understand?

"Will he accept me?"

Lanina's words made him ask and by asking, Sergey already regretted it:

  * Sveta, how did you live all this time? How at all?

  * Do you want to know that?- There was in Sveta's voice, something unfamiliar to him in her, some cruel cold.- It is very important, Seryozha, to die on time.

He already wanted to tell her - no, I don't want to know, forget it, but Lanina continued quietly, saying:

  * I am afraid of pain. To the panic. How many times have I intended to go to give up, to be with him, with my heart. With my heart. But the fear of torture does not stop me. My life is torture. Maybe he won't accept me... Will not accept me as I have become. I will not be silent, I will tell him.

Sergei wanted to interrupt her, stop her, but Sveta could no longer shut up, as if the words themselves burst from her chest. Alien, dead words:

  * You asked me how I lived. Want to know what happened to me?

  * Sveta, listen...

  * Want to know what I am now? Do you want me to tell you about how the soldiers caught me when I was hiding in the forest near the village? I can tell how I then wandered from village to village, asking for a piece of bread. Do you want me to tell you how ...- She fell silent for a moment and spoke again. Get us out of here, Seryozha, and if I stay here, if I can't get out, then you will burn their cities, kill their soldiers! Do it for me, please.

And she, having buried her face in the pillow, sobbed, gravely, not stopping, and he lay frozen, like a log, looking out the window where the shadows of the poplar swayed, listened to her torment, helpless, unable to ward off her pain.

Sveta Lanina, an incendiary, with her indestructible optimism, the one that forgave him when they were children, the offensive nickname for her, "Fluff", did not forgive anyone, but forgave him. Sveta, who always found words of comfort in those days when longing tormented him. Terrible, suffocating longing. The same Sveta, who was the first to appear in the open hatch of the Thor lock chamber, there in the deadly dance of emptiness and light, after the disaster on Ledova, told him:

  * I knew it was you.

Sveta Lanina, as if over and over, was dying now in the dark.

He remembered the planet with the dull name Ice, and this memory, in some mystical way, was transmitted by Lanina and she, calming down, asked him from the darkness:

  * Do you remember how we swore?

  * I remember.

  * Never betray each other and what we believe in. I said that then... Do you remember what we were like?

He remembered everything.

  * We will never go back. We'll never be the same...

  * I promise, Sveta, I will burn everything here.

  * What will it change?

In the morning she fell asleep, and Senchin also fell asleep. For the first time in many years, he dreamed of stars.

Distant, sparkling lights, they called him.

They called him.

******* *******

Chapter 3.

Strength. The same day, morning. His nobility, captain of the inquiry department, Folk Stoke.

The spring sun burst into the spacious office through two large windows, illuminating a clean, recently varnished parquet.

Folk Stoke is a man of medium height, thirty-two years old, in a white officer's uniform and chrome boots polished to a high gloss, standing in front of the general who was sitting at the writing desk, looking at flabby, generals face. General Jerzy Sumu, has long exceeded seventy, but despite his age, he, to the astonishment of his subordinates, kept himself alert, fit, and as always was deadly.

Folk never experienced any illusions about the general's manners in communication - patronizing, with a sort of touch of paternal involvement.

General Jerzy Sum, drummed the fingers of his right hand on the polishing of the massive mahogany table, and looking Folk in the eye, he said in a dry, inexpressive voice:

  * Folk, son, I really want you to not let me down,- General, slightly twisted his thin, senile mouth on his side, which meant his smile, his colorless eyes, looked cold.- I have to be sure of my people. Complete the task and you will become one of us. While your documents are pending... But I think the major epaulets in your pocket, son.

Son.

  * It will be done, Your Excellency!

  * I have no doubt, son, I have no doubt. Two or three days, you will deal with the untouchables, and there your documents will come from the ministry. You will replace Major Rimi. Old Rimi ...- cruel sparks appeared in the general's gaze.- I need my own, reliable person at the base where the aliens are kept, and our old fool Rimi, apparently, has sold himself to the Long Nose. I have such a thought.- This nickname he gave to the head of the Department of Justice, General Ood Mlei. A long nose.- Rimi's reports have already become very sweet and you, son, will dispel or confirm my suspicions. I want to know about everything that happens there, to be in the know. Our department should receive the aliens with all the guts, and the role of observer is sick of me. You will find and give me a clue, an excuse to move the Department of Justice, to get the right to aliens, - the general's look became hazy.- The Long Nose and its gentlemen, ministers, will soon recede into the past, and we will become masters. The owners... Okay, more about that later. Documents will come for your promotion, then we will discuss it. In the meantime ...- The general ran a hand through his gray, ashen-colored hair.- Go to the Quiet Harbor, deal with the untouchables. Hand them over to Major Sof in the port. I think that a week is enough for this town. Hand over the loading of the untouchables to Lieutenant Ool Schick. That's it, son. Go on.

Son.

Folk saluted, turned on his heels and left the general's office, quietly closing the black, heavy door behind him.

In the small reception room, the general's secretary, the red-faced, full Major Shum, didn't even raise his head from his papers, wrote something sitting at the table with a stack of gray folders on one side and a bronze bust of Mr. First Officer on the other.

Folk stepped out into the corridor, and headed for the stairs at the end of the floor.

Son.

Every time he heard the word "son" from the general, Folk felt an acute desire to curl him, his flabby neck.

Son...

That is what his father called him.

Tomorrow he will leave for Quiet Harbor, away from these dull, suffocating walls of the department, and very soon he will see the aliens.

He thought about a turn in his life.

Aliens.

Chapter 4.

Starship "Wanderer". Nine years before landing on the Strength. Ice.

Two weeks passed before the "Wanderer" entered orbit, a brown dwarf — Hidden.

And already two weeks, as people landed and worked on the second planet of the system — Ice. Ice in size and mass, belonged to the earth class and revolved around a brown dwarf-dim star, which never became a star in the usual sense of the word. The lack of mass and helium in its composition did not allow the Hidden — such a name was given to it by the crew of the "Wanderer", to flare up, thermonuclear fusion was not born, only the available heavy elements, like smoldering coals in a dying bonfire, heated this, almost star, gave it a dull, crimson glow.

For landing, they chose the second planet Hidden, the spaceship made a maneuver for rapprochement, and the people of the Earth first appeared in another star system.

Yesterday, Sergei Senchin had a birthday, he was sixteen years old.

And tomorrow, Tor-2, the planetary shuttle of the light class, is leaving for Ice.

Without him.

He lay on a bed in his cabin, not undressing, as he was in his blue, everyday overalls, with his hands behind his head and looking at the white, glossy plastic of the ceiling.

The stop at the Hidden was not included in the flight plan, and about her, until her unexpected discovery, nothing was known at all. Sergei prepared himself for a measured life on the "Wanderer", on which for several years he had to study and master the piloting of small ships and starship planets, disappearing for a long time in the simulator compartment.

And suddenly Hidden appeared.

And tomorrow, the Tor-2 cargo shuttle flies off to Ice, along with the same understudies as he himself, Lanina and Kislovsky. But not with him.

A round, light plate under the low ceiling of the cabin brightly illuminated the room with warm, yellow light.

Sergey crossed over to his right side, fixed his gaze on the large oval of the porthole on the opposite wall.

Stars blazed in the black of the porthole.

The door to the cabin opened and two understudies, Misha Gorin and Hans Wulf, entered it without knocking. Both in blue overalls.

  * Here you look!- Misha pointed at Sergey with his index finger, broke into a wide, solemn smile.- He to lies and is killed. He has grief. He is moping.

Hans did not smile, walked over to an armchair that stood at a larger desk and sat down with his legs crossed.

  * Why are you acting like that?- Misha asked Sergey.

He stood in front of the bed on which Senchin lay, laid his hands behind his back. Sergey was silent.

  * They don't take us with them either. So what?- Misha shrugged.- I won't fight in hysteria, like some.

Senchin silently rolled over onto the other side.

  * Hans, we are asked to leave. He ignores us .- he heard Misha grunt contemptuously.- His Envious Highness is not in the mood for conversation. You see him in sorrow.

  * Serge, - said from the chair, Hans.\- Throw you it. Let's go to. Today we are going to meet with Sveta. It will not work out well. She flies away tomorrow.

Senchin's left ankle was itches, he scratched her with the toe of his right foot, he wanted to answer Wulf, but said nothing. A lump appeared in his throat; he wanted to yell at both of them, something rude.

  * He wanted to spit on Svetka,- Misha continued .- You understand, they don't take him with you, and you are talking about Sveta, some kind of... Some kind.

Sergey could not stand it and turned in their direction, sat on the bed, spoke:

  * Am I a pilot? Who was supposed to fly there? I AM! Do you understand? When will this opportunity now be?

Misha looked at him with his black, round eyes, grinned mockingly and said:

  * Who is the pilot here? Are you?

  * I AM! - Sergei shouted to him, and jumping to his feet, poked himself in the chest with his index finger.- Pilot!

  * I would tell you who you are, only you again...

  * Guys. - Hans, too, got up from his chair, stopped between them, said, for some reason, looking only at Senchin.- Again you quarrel.

  * On my simulator, "excellent" for driving the "Tor"! I would, I ...- Sergey did not find what else to say, suffocated.

  * Hero. - Misha grinned, approached Senchin.- I will tell you, and you will be offended, pilot.

  * Misha. - Hans was now looking at Gorin. - Enough.

  * Well? - Sergei defiantly stuck out his chin, his cheeks reddened.-

Gorin said calmly:

  * You are not a pilot. You, like all of us. Understudy. Senior assistant, junior the one who scoop out shit. Heh... Genius slack-baked. They left him. Now for him everything- shit. Let's go from here, Hans, we came in vain.

They both went to the door near which Misha, without turning, threw to Sergey:

  * You'll come to apologize later...

... Sergey caught up with Misha and Hans in the corridor, and went next to Wulf.

He smiled at Senchin, patted his shoulder, said:

  * Spit. Our time will come.

Misha looked out from behind Wolfe and grumbled:

  * It was not necessary to come after you. You would then blush with shame. By the way, the Cat is going to talk about you with the captain. This is about a real exit on the "Tor".

Sergey even slowed down a step:

  * Real? - he asked. - Me? About me? Are you kidding me?

  * You, you, - and Misha didn't laugh offensively.- You are our pilot. Underdeveloped.

Their reflections went next to them in the metallic luster of the walls, white, long lamps under the ceiling pressed their small shadows to the semi-gray, dull. Walking along the corridor to the library, they turned towards the elevator shafts.

While they were waiting for the elevator, Sergei, trying not to give a look, was inwardly glad to hear about himself.

Real exit on the "Tor"!

This is not a simulator - a real flight and he will fly!

An elevator arrived, they entered a cabin, a cylinder two meters in diameter from brown plastic with a metal control panel.

Knowing the character of Misha (he can even lie without malice, for the sake of laughter), Sergey incredulously looked at Gorin who was standing nearby, asked:

  * Did you honestly say that? Are not you lying?

Misha only snorted in response, he ran a hand through his short black hairstyle.

  * Stepan Igorevich said about you, with German,- said Wulf.- I heard it myself.

Sergei peered into Hans' round, bright-browed face, he was serious, calm.

In fact, Hans didn't lie like some, if he said anything, then he can be trusted. That's for sure.

  * I myself would love to fly there, but ...- Hans shrugged his sloping shoulders .- We arrived.

The elevator stopped smoothly, and they left on the fifth tier \- the first Wulf, followed by Senchin, the last left Gorin.

They passed along the corridor past the engineering hall to the intersection, turned right and immediately found themselves at the wide, open door of the compartment of the wardroom. Sveta Lanina was waiting for them at the door - a slender, smiling one, and black-haired with a short haircut, tall - Irma Rosen. Both girls were dressed in orange overalls. They talked about something.

The guys approached them.

  * They brought him,- said Irma.

  * Are you very upset? - Sveta asked him.

Sergey tried to smile at ease, and said:

  * I was just resting. Can a person just lie down to rest?

  * He was snot and miserable,- Misha threw and entered the wardroom.

  * Yap.- Sergey took a deep breath.- Well, let's go, or what?

In a spacious, like a games room, cabin company at a long, sparkling pink plastic table, a crew of elders and understudies had already gathered. On the far side of the table, Captain Strizhov, was talking about something with the co-pilot of the crew, Cat Stepan Igorevich, closer to the exit were Vasily Yurievich German, Galina Sergeevna Vyazemskaya and Galya Romanova.

Senchin, standing in the corridor, did not see the others.

He was glad that Misha and Hans did not let him "act like a pig," he was glad that Sveta understood everything and was not offended, but Sergey was more happy and inwardly ashamed of this, that he might soon pilot a real, albeit small, but all - the same spaceship.

He took a laid-back look, and stepped into the wardroom.

******* *******

The protective armor shield silently stepped aside, like a giant monster, opened its rectangular mouth, revealing an endless blackness strewn with not blinking stars.

  * The hatch is open, - said Sergey cheerfully, in a businesslike way. - The bar and the farm are free. I finished typing commands. Ready to start.

He sat in the pilot's seat of the cargo "Tor - 1".

Directly in front of him was a control panel - silver, with five rows of illuminated switches, monitors of indicators of devices, internal and external systems of the ship. On the relief, rough surface of the helm, indicators of orientation engines blinked, and above the control panel, there was a frontal, viewing porthole - flat, wide, two meters long, with side windows running along the edges of it.

Sergey tenderly ran a hand along the helm, looked at the communication screen.

Eh, it's a pity that Galya doesn't see him now.

He smiled broadly, happily, looked at his white pilot's jumpsuit - a real one! Like the captain or Cat.

On the right breast pocket of the overalls flaunted the "Wanderer" emblem - a man walking along the Milky Way in a long, steel-colored hoodie and immediately below it there is an inscription in blue, rounded letters- "first pilot- Senchin Sergey", "Wanderer" spaceship.

  * Did you fall asleep? - Stepan Igorevich's voice suddenly appeared in the quiet atmosphere of the pilot's cabin — harsh, annoyed. - Senchin!

  * I'm hearing you. Ready to start.

  * He is ready. Dreamed, or what?

  * Yes...

  * Once again miss the call, the flight is over. Is that clear to you, understudy?

  * I understand you, Stepan Igorevich.

  * Watch me, dreamer.- The co-pilot of the starship was silent for several seconds, then uttered.- As soon as I exit the hangar and take a position, I will inform you. Wait and wait.

  * I obey.

Sergey took a breath.

It's good that Galya does not hear them now. It is unlikely that she is now in the command compartment.

Stepan Igorevich Cat was a good-natured and cheerful uncle, but during training on the simulator, he could also yell at Senchin and use a strong word. He did not limit himself in expressions. And here is not a simulator, here is a real exit to space!

In fact, space had already surrounded "Tor-1", when the ship's internal systems evacuated air from the hangar and the armor shield opened, and Tor moved Sergey to autonomous mode.

He was waiting for the team in order to withdraw the shuttle from the "Wanderer's" hangar.

"Tor-1" and "Tor-2" were "trucks" for transporting goods in the proposed studies of small planets on which there is no atmosphere. In appearance, these small spaceships might have seemed bulky and awkward bugs, with flat platforms and "drawers" of cargo compartments, but, in fact, they were agile, high-speed short-range ships. Having mastered the management of "Tor", Sergey sometimes, when there were no senior crew members nearby, boasted that managing modules for him was a "trifling matter". Although he was silent about the fact that he drives the "Tor" to "excellent", not taking into account the take-off and landing. The latter, he "rolled up" on the simulator and its conditional landing on the surface of conditional planets, often ended in an accident.

On the control of a ship of the type "Thunder" - a heavy class planetary plane, Sergei has not even dreamed of.

Even on the "Wanderer", in addition to the "Tors" and the planetary ships "Thunder" and "The Tempest", there were passenger small ships "Skat-1" and "Skat-2", but Sergey was far from piloting them.

The voice of the navigator Vasily Yuryevich German appeared in the pilot compartment:

  * Stepan, when finished, fly to the second shock absorber of the fourth frontal shield, it seems that the sensor is lying.

  * I'll look. - Cat answered, and already to Senchin's. \- "Tor-1" - to the exit. Get out a few maneuvers and go home.

  * I understand you, I'm going out.

Someone coughed on the air. On the communication screen, to the right of the pilot, an image of a Cat. The co-pilot of the "Wanderer" busily inspected the instruments in front of him, said to Sergey:

  * You'll leave on the ten thousand.

German's voice appeared:

  * I just spoke with Jacob. At Ice they are ready to receive, they are waiting.

  * They will wait,- answered Cat, and again said to Sergey. - "Tor-1", how are you?

  * Fine.

Sergei removed the magnetic supports of the "Tor", while simultaneously engaging the shunting engines, slightly up and forward, his ship obediently rising from the launch platform, slowly moved to the exit from the hangar.

The ship's flashing red and green sidelights illuminated the steel edges of the hatch, the silvery, tubular hangar trusses.

On the tracking screen, the "Tor - 2" mark glowed with a yellow unblinking light. Below, numbers were lit indicating the distance between Cat, the "Wanderer", and Senchin.

  * The distance is ten thousand, - said Sergey.

Holding the helm, with his thumbs, he lightly pressed the control thrusters of the shunting engines, switching the control of orientation engines to the helm, corrected the movement of the "Tor" with the helm.

A few more seconds and now the "truck" smoothly emerges from the hangar like a swan, another moment - and it is in the vastness of the universe.

It was not a soulless simulator - Sergey admired the stars in the frontal porthole and without noticing it, smiled at them like friends.

  * Well done, Sergey. - Cat's voice: - I'm watching you.

"Tor" moved away from the "Wanderer" three hundred meters.

Sergey stopped the movement. He was captured by an indescribable sense of admiration for what he saw now. And there was something else, something, in what he tried to figure out, peering into the blackness of space.

It was like someone's gaze, as if someone was watching Senchin, while remaining not open, invisible, watching the person who appeared from the side. Sergey listened to his feelings for a minute or two; he knew without a doubt about the reality of watching him. A little stunned, excited by the unexpected, impossible discovery, Senchin, looking into the depths of the abyss that opened before him, fearless, but so attractive, could not resist the exclamation and said quietly, literally exhaling the words:

  * I'm here! I'm here!

He knew that this abyss hears, he knew that sitting in a tiny space ship, he was not alone.

Sergey was very excited, wanted to say something to this abyss, but no words were found, except for the same thing, repeated again and again:

  * I'm here! I'm here...

A myriad of distant, inaccessible worlds looked at him, illuminating the abyss with colorful, unblinking lights, they saw him, looked, perhaps friendly, maybe even called Sergei into their inaccessible, distant light, and he could not take his eyes off them, in vain was looking for words in myself to express to them my sudden feelings that surged over him in a wave. It was as if in some incomprehensible way he was at home, as if his real home was here. It seemed that if listen longer, can hear what this animated abyss tells him. Bright stars, not blinking, were looking at him, and Sergey in one elusive instant either heard with his very heart, or thought up his own words, but calm, clear words came from this animated abyss and sounded in his whole being:

" - We are waiting for you."

  * Sergei! - Cat's voice burst into the silence of the compartment. - What do you have, panic?

  * I ... I look around. - He stunned stared at the abyss.

  * I'm watching you.

Sergei pushed the thrust key; "Thor" obediently, smoothly moved forward, increasing speed, like a fantastic iron beast, he went towards the abyss and imagining the ship alive, Senchin smiled at him warmly, happily.

Apart from the starship behind him, the tiny red-green lights of the "Tor- 2" were far ahead, Sergei was alone in a vast "something", face to face with the Universe.

The abyss called to him.

She was next to him.

Having lost track of time, he caught himself smiling and laughed merrily and freely. It was beautiful and it was his life, that which cannot be explained, expressed in words.

This day he will remember forever.

He was happy.

Like never before.

  * We are waiting for you.

  * I'm here.

******* *******

  * Base, base, answer!- Nico Grasso turned to Vyazemsky, who was sitting a meter away from him, saying,- They are silent.

In the room where they were sitting, a small control room, there was a creak and the noise of radio noise, sound plates under the polished, duralumin ceiling irritated nerves.

Vasily Vyazemsky shrugged broad shoulders, answered without looking back in his direction, examined something in the monitor of an electron microscope:

  * Niko, you can do something else. This radio blockade is already a common thing here. You had to get used to it. Still, I do not believe it. I look, I see, and I do not believe.

Grasso ran a hand through his black, straight hair, then touched his unshaven chin, sighed and, turning to the communications equipment, continued to call.

  * I call the base.

Vyazemsky still pulled away from the monitor, and spoke irritably:

  * Nico, there will be no connection! This has been going on for two weeks now. The interference will pass soon and they will contact us.

Suddenly he was interrupted by a voice that sounded from the ceiling of the room:

  * I hear you, Nico. I hear well, the interference has passed.

Indeed, the interference, as if by magic, disappeared, radio communication was again possible.

The Ice for radio communications was unpredictable, the connection disappeared every day for an hour, happened a little longer and also appeared again, and no electromagnetic disturbances or radiation were recorded on the planet. Unless the usual, natural background. The expedition from the "Wanderer" was on Ice for a little more than two weeks.

The voice on the air belonged to Clifford Roberson, the head of Base 1. Grasso and Vyazemsky were at Baz-2, a few hundred kilometers from Baz-1, and Vyazemsky was the head here. After a long and tiring installation, Bazu-2 was opened six days ago, but there was not enough equipment. They were waiting for the cargo Tor from the starship.

The forty-three-year-old Vyazemsky, who had begun to grow bald, a stout man, asked:

  * Let's talk about business right away, Cliff. Has Stepan already flown to you?

  * He flew in two hours ago.

  * When will you bring the equipment to us?

  * Tomorrow, wait for him at twelve o'clock.- Roberson answered.- Here, Stepan asks here.

  * He asks!- The voice of Stepan Kot arose.- They ask for a pot. Hello to the hermits!

  * Great, tramp,- Vyazemsky said.

  * Hello, Stepan,- said Grasso.

  * And I am not alone.

Vyazemsky nervously drummed his fingers on the white surface of the plastic table, repeated after Cat:

  * Not one.- He looked at Grasso, said in a half voice.- I was against it.

Nico Grasso did not answer.

When voting on the "Wanderer" to send understudies to Icy or not, he, like Vyazemsky, voted against.

  * Hello! - The sonorous voice of Sveta Lanina burst into the air. - And we are already here.

  * Good afternoon. - This voice, restrained, youthfully high, belonged to the understudy chemist Semyon Kislovsky.

  * Good evening guys. It's already evening on Ice.- Grasso smiled good-naturedly, looking at the wall in front of him.- Are you only two?

  * No.- answered Lanina with a laugh and Vyazemsky with Grasso, heard her telling someone.- Why are you standing there as a pillar? Go now.

There was a short pause.

  * They sent him at the last moment,- Lanina's voice again.

  * Hello,- said the voice of Hans Woolf, the backup engineer for The "Wanderer".

  * Hello, Hans,- Grasso said.- How do you like the base?

Vyazemsky muttered something under his breath, Grasso did not hear.

  * Impressive. We haven't seen everything yet.- Hans Wulf spoke calmly.

  * It's just fantastic! - exclaimed Sveta Lanina .- We are on a planet of another star system!

  * Kindergarten, pants on the straps, - Vyazemsky muttered.

  * We are very glad to see you.- Grasso raised his voice, fearing that the words of his partner would be heard on the other side of the connection.- Uncle Vasya is also very happy that you guys are here.

  * You're lying to the kids, Nico. Not good. - Vyazemsky said. - Ask better about quarantine.

  * Guys, is Stepan Igorevich far?

And after a second, Cat's voice:

  * I'm listening.

  * Vasya asks about quarantine,- Grasso said.- Nothing dangerous was found in the samples, we want to send them to the "Wanderer".

  * Dead number, guys,- answered Stepan Kot.- Sergei forbade categorically. He imposed, so to speak, a captain's veto.

  * He didn't impose a veto, but impose in his pants! - Vyazemsky flashed. - It is necessary to investigate, and not to deal with nonsense. Artifacts are completely neutral, they must be delivered to the ship.

  * Vasya .- Cat calmly said .- The captain ordered to leave everything that you find on Icy. No options. Explore everything in place.

  * But you could somehow influence him.

  * He is not a little boy to influence him,- Cat snapped.- I won't take any of your finds on "Tor". A point, - and he laughed. - Here and now, look, twist.

  * Some kind of madhouse .- Vyazemsky looked at Grasso, frowning.- They do not give work, and they brought children here. What the hell, one wonders, have we even landed here? Dances will we drive? Stepan, we need many years of research, many years, you know? What can we learn in a month? Everything we found is neutral to everything, does not radiate, is not toxic. We have already figured this out. I'll tell you so, for what ...

  * There are children here!- Stepan warned him.

  * And the children still! - Vyazemsky's cheeks turned red.- Listen to me, Stepan.

  * Let's do it with you, bring some of the samples to the "Wanderer", show them to Strizhov, explain on the spot what and how, and if he bumps, we will throw all the artifacts to the damn mother.

  * Right Galya talked about you, you stubborn. A complete ban on the export of anything from the planet. Basta. Not discussed,- said Cat.- The question is closed.

  * Well, it's closed.- Vyazemsky got to his feet, began to slowly walk around the control room.- But, let's say, your personal opinion?

  * I don't go into your affairs, I have my own business up to the neck,- Stepan answered him.- German, for example, also has a theory on this subject...

  * German is not a scientist, he is a navigator! What can he have in science?- Vasily Vyazemsky "wound up".- I'm telling you, as a scientist, this is the only opportunity, a chance to stick your nose as far as it won't be possible, maybe a million years! If humanity has this million years at all.

  * Aren't you afraid to be left without a nose?- And Stepan laughed again, said.- Vasya, the question is closed.

  * Good.- Vyazemsky took a deep breath, said.- This is your decision, to bring the understudies to the planet. The commander of Baza-1 is Roberson, so let him be responsible for them, but here I am the commander, and I am categorically against the idea of arranging excursions with us. You herd them at Cliff. I have to work. And I have neither the time nor the desire to follow the children and wipe their snot. I am not a nanny.

  * This is not for you to decide. - Said Cat. - Wait for dinner tomorrow. Lanina and Alla will fly with me. All.

  * Stepan, have you brought everything?- Asked Grasso.

  * "Tor" is not rubber,- he replied.- The equipment was divided into two parties. "Tor - 2" is ready and refueled to capacity, the equipment is loaded, so that I will return to the "Wanderer". Then immediately to you.

  * Two days, - Vyazemsky muttered.

  * How is my Sarah?- Grasso asked.

  * She loves, worries and waits,- Cat answered him.- Everything with your Sarah is in order.

Grasso said nothing.

  * OK, see you tomorrow. Give the cliff? - asked Stepan.

  * No, - answered Vyazemsky.

  * See you then.

And the connection was interrupted.

Grasso looked at the monitor, near which Vyazemsky was sitting.

On the flat surface of the electron microscope monitor, a color picture of sample number seven — a spiral of multi-colored balls, with a straight garland in the center — glowed softly.

  * What do you think?- Asked Grasso.

  * I don't think anything, - answered Vyazemsky .- This is an impossible alloy, an impossible composition. Molybdenum, chrome, everything else is clear, but here it is - he took a fountain pen from the table and, as a pointer, pointed to a colored garland on the monitor screen. Impossible! The lifespan of these elements is less than a second, but they, as I see, are not going to disappear. Damn that with a bow on the side. Impossible alloy. There must be something that holds it all together. Hm.

Grasso said nothing, looking at the multi-colored "garland" on the screen.

  * It is understood that the samples are intact in appearance, the details of something. The details of what exactly, we will never know, "continued Vyazemsky." I have one idea.

His eyes clouded, his face froze.

  * If you're talking about smuggling, then forget about it,- Grasso shook his head.- I won't allow it.

  * What? And you about it ... No, perhaps not. I'm talking about something else. Hmm ... Okay, spit. So ... The area of each of the parts we found does not exceed four square centimeters, the grooved surface, as in the children's designer-mosaic, but they are all different. At least we did not find any matching pairs. Let's imagine that they are all parts of one whole.

  * This is clear,- Grasso crossed his legs.- In order to find at least one suitable pair, you need to have hundreds of thousands, and we only have a hundred. Good. Well, you find a suitable pair, suppose, so what? Will you have fun - connect, disconnect? It's funny.

  * Nico, they must interact with each other. For example, elements that do not exist for longer than a split second, due to which they continue to live? Maybe there is radiation that we can't detect and it retains all of these elements. Well, it is, my guess. They didn't put them on glue! We tried everything - and warmed and irradiated with an electromagnetic field ... We must look, Niko, look.

  * Watch at the "Wheel"?

  * Yes, at the "Wheel".

They fell silent, looking at each other.

  * No,- said Grasso.

  * Yes.

  * This is a gamble. We won't stay there for a long time - it's cold and it takes many hours to search. We will die from the cold. Besides, and where to look for it? Will we beat frozen ammonia? This is ridiculous.

Vyazemsky silently looked at him.

  * This is funny, I tell you. Yes, and you and I were there. Okay. Even if you do not take all-terrain vehicles, but fly on a "Skat". Yes, all the same nonsense turns out, Vasya. Such a trifle on the surface does not roll, it is impossible to find by instruments at all, they do not register.

Vyazemsky was silent, he only sat back in a folding, plastic chair, and smirked.

Grasso thought for a moment.

He was never in a hurry, he did everything carefully thinking over and, if possible, having counted all the steps.

Minutes passed.

  * What did you decide?- Vyazemsky asked him.

  * Total round-trip flight time, hour. The "Skat" is half full.

  * This half is enough to fly to the "Wheel" three times, - a smile touched Vyazemsky's narrow lips. - Three times.

  * If I say "come back", then we are leaving.

  * Naturally.

  * Where do you think looking?

  * On the inside. Where we have not been. Tomorrow will be a madhouse here, just have time to talk, don't go there, don't touch it. Today is the time.

  * Flew .- Grasso nodded in agreement.

There was no smile on his swarthy, slightly elongated face.

******** *******

The "Skat", a small transport ship for planetary communications, has just taken off from the launch pad of the base and is gaining altitude, increasing speed in the airless blackness of the Ice.

Both Vyazemsky and Grasso were dressed in Viking-7 middle-class suits, sitting in armchairs, next to each other, in the cramped "Skat" cabin.

The light in the cockpit was turned off, and only the lights of the devices illuminated their faces and the upper half of the spacesuits with a ghostly, blue-green glow.

  * "Baza-1," how do you hear me?- Vyazemsky tried to turn in his chair to Grasso, clumsily raised his right hand.- Are they already sleeping, or what?

Clifford Roberson's voice sounded:

  * We are not sleeping. What do you want? Are you alright?

  * Everything is great, Cliff, we are flying.

  * Where are you flying?- His voice immediately turned into discontent.

  * We flew out five minutes ago, to the Wheel. We want to conduct reconnaissance of its internal side.

  * You are an adventurer! Why without warning? What a rush? And anyway, I would agree in your place...

  * Are we working here or what? This is my decision as the head of the base. We will carry out reconnaissance, we will return back. I think we'll be home by midnight.

  * Okay. Be in touch.

Roberson's voice fell silent.

In front of the frontal, convex glass of the cockpit, below under the "Skat", below, about a hundred and fifty meters, stretched a dull, dark pink surface of the evening Ice, on the right near the horizon, bristling in the distance, with the peaks of low icy cliffs, a small, orange pea of the local sun had already touched their peaks. Not yet a star, but not a planet - Hidden went into darkness.

It was possible to see everything visible only thanks to the included adapter, which as a night vision device amplified the weak, insignificant light of the pseudo-star reflected from the cold landscape surrounding people, giving out an image suitable for human eyes. Ice one third of the diameter of the Earth, had an equal gravitational force, making one revolution around its axis in twenty eight hours, and a full revolution around the Hidden, Ice passed in fifty-three days.

On the left side, about ten kilometers, a mountain range began from frozen ammonia, methane and helium, immediately after it stretched a giant fault in the ice, similar to the Grand Canyon, leaving in the opposite direction - pinkish-brown, with black veins of cracks and faults.

The local sun - a brown dwarf, before leaving the horizon, dimly illuminated the bumpy surface below, and in front, a giant "Wheel" was already indicated by black, faceted teeth.

Minutes passed.

The "Skat" was approaching its target.

The "Wheel" was a giant gear thrown here by someone. Ten kilometers in diameter, the "Wheel" was five hundred meters wide, each time it struck the imagination with its inappropriateness and archaism.

  * Hmmm,- Grasso said, looking in front of him in the "Skat's" windshield.- How much I look at this, I can't believe my eyes. Hmm, gear. Anachronism of some kind. The beginning of the mechanical era. Super civilization and gears.

  * A simple way to transfer kinetic energy .- Vyazemsky also looked at the approaching artifact now, frowning thoughtfully.- It's ridiculous, of course. Although rational. Interestingly, such a colossus could twist?

The "Skat" hummed weakly, flew smoothly and softly.

The black, jagged mass began to grow rapidly, increasing, making it possible to see the accuracy of its forms, black and smooth as a mirror.

  * The mechanism from which it was removed must be fantastically huge,\- Vyazemsky continued to speak.- A thousand kilometers across, ten, one hundred thousand? Perhaps it was the size of Saturn or a star. This is where you see the real scale of humanity. Ah, Nico? Kings of nature, crowns of creation, ha- ha. People learned how to make something from carbon MT, but there was noise. Ah well done, oh wise guys! But this crap is lying here - from which it is not clear how it is made, in general... If I had the opportunity, I would have dragged it with me.

And Vyazemsky laughed with a loud, high laugh.

  * And after all, our expedition paid off. To the nearest star for so many years to saw, but it has already been proven that humanity is not alone. That is, gentlemen, wise men begin to itch.

  * Two minutes,- said Grasso.- Where do we start, Mr. Philosopher?

The "Wheel" grew before them, merging with the blackness of the sky, that part of it that was in the shade. Fine-cut teeth rose, shone either green or red, cast glare.

The black edge of the gear rose several tens of meters above the cracked ice surface, most of it was in the depths of the ice.

The "Skat" approached the edge of the "Wheel", began to decline, passed over the blunt edge of the "tooth" at a height of one hundred meters and flew over a flat, without protrusions, smooth surface, heading towards the opposite edge of the artifact.

Two minutes later, Grasso led the ship over the edge of the Wheel; The "Skat", swaying gently, tumbled to the left side, dropped still, and sank below the top edge of the giant gear, and went into its shadow, slipping over an invisible ice surface.

Having removed his right hand from the helm, Grasso touched one of the luminous keys on the dashboard and then the look of the darkness surrounding them was replaced by the light and colors of a strange, alien day.

The adapter allows you to see the surrounding darkness, like a day. An icy desert flew below, went into the distance behind a black wall. Stars in a black, bottomless sky flared up incredibly bright, like lanterns.

Visibility became good, even the smallest details in the icy landscape were distinguished, and where the black wall went under the ice, there was an almost even, with rare hollows or elevations, clear border.

Grasso led the "Skat" even lower, said colorlessly:

  * The height is small, ten meters.

  * Fine.

The "Wheel" did not have a central part, only a gear ring.

  * Slow down.

The "Skat" slowed down the flight, the surface of the Icy, cut by cracks, pale gray, crawled under it slowly and unhurriedly.

Vyazemsky, then tilted to the right in the chair, peering down through the side glass of the oval porthole, then looked at the expressionless, black surface of the wall.

Both were silent.

Another twenty minutes of flight passed.

Grasso said:

  * I think that the same thing will continue — nothing.

Vyazemsky did not answer.

Grasso turned on the external lighting and right there in the light of the spotlights, the surface of the ice beneath them began to play blue, green and white, as if they turned on multi-colored garlands of light bulbs, going either side along the edges of the cracks, then down.

When they approached the deep fault near the wall, Vyazemsky tried to look deep into, but the light of the spotlights glided along the surface of the fault and rested in its opposite direction, leaving the abyss unlit.

  * Depth is more than two kilometers, the width is seventy meters,- Grasso commented on what he saw, looking at the readings of the instruments.

  * Can...

  * And don't think. Look behind the wall.

As time went.

And suddenly.

  * Wait, come back! - Vyazemsky sharply ordered.

The "Skat" froze, people swung forward, then it turned one hundred and eighty degrees and slowly flew in the opposite direction.

After a few moments, both researchers saw an opening in the black wall.

Rectangular in shape - forty by twenty meters, this opening was blacker than the surface of the Wall of the Wheel and was only ten meters from the ice surface.

The "Skat" approached the wall almost close and hovered opposite the aperture, the light of the spotlights of the ship dived into the depths of the rectangular mouth, reflected off the flat, black walls extending far into the "Wheel".

  * We can land on ice, but how to climb up? - said Grasso. - It's more convenient, of course, to put the module inside, but I have no confidence that this is a good idea.

Vyazemsky patted the arm of the chair, clad in a glove of a spacesuit, and said:

  * The "Wheel" is just an abandoned part. I think that there is no danger here. Bring the "Skat" into the opening, do not turn off the engines. We look around there and then decide.

  * We can return here later with a flying platform,- suggested Grasso, who was peering intently at the opening in front of them.- The robot will check everything and then we will come in. Nothing to poke your head in the jaws of a lion. What do you say to that?

  * Move forward. Why are we here? Detail long cast.

  * Okay,- Grasso said.- I'm sitting down.

Vyazemsky reached for the dashboard in front of him, touched a glove, a key glowing in blue, and said with simulated enthusiasm:

  * Neither radiation nor disturbances, quietly, as in a coffin. It has long been dead, if it was once active. Cliff, can you hear me?

  * I hear,- Roberson's discontented voice responded in the helmet.- Nico is right, first you had to bring the platform...

  * See the picture?

  * I see. The satellite broadcasts normally.

  * Well, we're going, - Vyazemsky gestured Grasso forward with a gesture of his hand.

"Skat", quietly buzzing, slightly raising the stern, moved into the "Wheel" opening and a few seconds later it was inside. Its powerful spotlights, brightly illuminated the wide corridor that goes into the black depths, rested its rays against the walls - smooth, as if polished, sparkling with green and blue glare.

Having delved inside the "Wheel" twenty meters, Grasso stopped the Scat movement and, without turning to Vyazemsky, asked:

  * Are we sitting down?

  * Cliff, what's the connection?

  * So far, order.

  * Sit down,- Vyazemsky ordered.

Hovering five meters from the surface of the "Wheel", the "Skat" gradually sank down and swayed weakly when the shock absorber legs found support. The ship froze.

  * Everything.- Grasso looked in front of him, through the windshield of the cabin into the depths of the mysterious corridor.- Do I turn off the engines?

  * Extinguish them.

The rumble of engines subsided, and quickly disappeared.

Grasso let go of the silver helm, with glowing indicators on the edges, and he quietly buzzed into the dashboard, freeing up space for the pilot to exit.

Under the gray ceiling of the cabin, matte white light panels lit up.

  * You'll be here,- Vyazemsky said, rising from his chair.- Just in case.

But Grasso had already stood up, squeezed sideways in his spacesuit between the pilot's seat and the helm, answered without expression:

  * Who will pull you by the legs from there, if that?

  * Niko...

  * Or we go together, or fly back.

They stepped to the hatch of the lock chamber - Grasso in front, Vyazemsky behind him, each of them took out white suitcases of portable laboratories from the side niches in the wall.

Grasso opened a silver hatch with a small round porthole, and they entered the airlock.

  * This is a historic moment, Nico,- Vyazemsky said, lowering the transparent glass of the helmet.

He closed the hatch into the cockpit, examined the partner's suit:

  * Are you ready?

  * Yes.

Behind the glass of the helmet, Grasso's indifferent face looked at him.

The air pumped out of the airlock hissed softly.

  * A historical moment,- Grasso said, and his voice sounded in Vyazemsky's helmet.- A moment ... Do not go anywhere. We will go out and look around.

He did not answer.

They opened the exit hatch and Vyazemsky was the first to enter the short, corrugated platform of the "Skat", holding onto a round, steel railing, awkwardly went down the ramp and walked several steps away, waiting for his partner.

When Grasso stopped next to him, Vyazemsky said:

  * Well, let's go?

The bright light of the spotlights located on the helmets of the spacesuits highlighted their figures against the black walls of the corridor, giving everything around them a fabulous, fantastic look.

  * Let's go,- replied Grasso, and they walked slowly, walking alongside each other along a corridor that went far ahead.

  * Cliff is right,- said Grasso.

  * Cliff is an old reinsurer who does not like science.

  * I hear everything,- came Robertson's voice in the helmets of both.

  * He hears everything, - Vyazemsky grinned quite a bit. - There are only bare walls around. I don't see anything interesting yet.

  * I know that.

He walked, hearing in headphones, the sounds of Grasso's breath. In the lights of the spotlights on the smooth, black surface of the floor came their inverted reflections, the walls glittered from the light that hit them.

Grasso looked at the indicator attached to the sleeve of the suit, said:

  * Surface temperature minus two hundred and seventy-two degrees Celsius.

Minutes passed.

Grasso stopped, turned back, saw a ship standing far in the surrounding blackness. The light flashes of the side lights were three-colored, bright, illuminating a small area around the "Skat", the rays of the spotlights motionlessly froze, abutting against the opposite walls of the corridor, which now seemed narrow with a low ceiling.

Grasso went after Vyazemsky.

  * On the radar a hundred and twenty meters from us, the intersection,- Vyazemsky said.

Grasso walked from Vyazemsky at a distance of five meters. When the light of his spotlight fell on the suit in front of him, his pockets, fasteners and pulling belts were clearly visible bright red with a yellow stripe.

There were no sounds, vacuum.

After a few minutes, both reached the intersection.

They stopped.

The main corridor along which they walked went further forward and lost in darkness. It was crossed by another corridor, five meters wide, with a low, three meters high, ceiling. No details were visible anywhere else - everything around was black, smooth and flat.

  * Probably serving the passage,- Vyazemsky suggested, peering to the right.

  * What makes you think so? What can be served here?

  * It seems so. We will not separate?

  * No,- replied Grasso.- Come along.

  * Then we go along the small corridor.

  * In my opinion, it's all the same where to go.

Vyazemsky grunted, turning right, went down a small corridor. Grasso followed, two meters from him.

Around it was absolutely clean, as if someone had done a thorough cleaning here. If, of course, there was something to clean. For all the time they didn't come across any object, but there wasn't even dust - everything shone in the light of the spotlights, with that special purity that seems sterile.

  * There is nothing here,- Grasso said. -And was it worth it for us to drag here, you and Cliff to swear?

Roberson's voice immediately echoed on the air:

  * Well, what are you. Roberson is a well-known nerd.

Vyazemsky was pleased, smiled, but said nothing.

  * Feet start to freeze,- said Grasso.

  * Add heating.

  * Already added to the full.

  * We'll deal with your spacesuit at the base. And it's better to order Stepan to bring a new one. So far, bearable?

  * Fine,- replied Grasso.

  * Then do not whine. Are you inspired by where you and I are? The builders of planets and stars walked along these corridors!

  * I was already imbued with this.

Vyazemsky suddenly stopped, turned left, stepped toward the wall.

  * There is something,- he said.

  * What is it?- Grasso asked, but after a second, lighting up the wall where Vyazemsky stopped, he saw everything himself.

The white light of the spotlights illuminated in front of them, a part of the wall on which it was possible to see narrow, five millimeters wide, thin slots that formed either a drawing or a pattern — straight, broken lines. These lines ran in five rows, and in length had no more than four meters.

  * So, so, so,- Vyazemsky drawled.- Already something.

  * The lines are as if cut out,- Grasso said.

He crouched a little so that the light of the spotlight illuminated the depth of the lines.

  * They are deep, Vasya. I do not see the reflection inside.

  * I can't really see it,- said Roberson's voice.- Yeah, now I see.

  * The depth of the slot can be checked. - Vyazemsky sat down, put the box on the floor - the laboratory, opened the lid and briefly rummaged in the instrument compartments, straightened up, holding a short, steel-colored cylinder of the laser probe in his hand. - Now I will find out.

  * Wait to find out,- Roberson told him.- Maybe this ... Well, I don't know.

For a moment Vyazemsky froze in indecision, grunted, raised his hand with a stylus to the lines on the wall. Red, bright numbers lit up on the small screen of the cylinder.

  * One hundred fifty two meters! Wow! What for? This weakens the overall design...

  * Still, you got in there,- Roberson said on the air.- You need to tear your hands off.

  * And you tongue, - Vyazemsky answered, moving the laser probe along the slot. - Depth is the same along the entire length.

Grasso silently watched his partner's hand. Vyazemsky's white-blue glove with a cylinder clamped in it, slipped along the line to the very corner of the picture, froze and smoothly went down and left along the line.

  * Vasya, wait, wait, - Grasso's words seemed to be stuck in his throat, he coughed.

And then it happened.

Vyazemsky could not explain the sudden feeling. It was as if something had enlightened through him, as though through a transparent glass. As if invisible spotlights turned on. He would probably call it a "flash." And in this "flash" of incomprehensible, invisible "something", but obvious, before the shock of the whole inner being, they both froze.

It was utter confusion and helplessness.

It lasted only a second, which seemed to both infinitely long, heavy, dull, like a dying longing.

Also all of a sudden it ended.

Vyazemsky sharply jerked his hand away, turned to Grasso, the cylinder of the laser probe fell out of his hand on the black floor and rolled to the side.

  * Did you hear that?

  * Yes,- replied Grasso.

  * What have you got there?- Asked Roberson's voice.

Behind the glass of the helmet, in the light of the spotlight of Vyazemsky's spacesuit, Grasso's face seemed pale, parchment.

  * Something has changed,- Vyazemsky answered.- The laser beam caused ... I can't explain it. Neither sound nor light. Something ... Wow! The temperature of the Ring began to rise. Can the appliances lie?

  * Get out of there.- Roberson's voice became harsh, demanding.

  * Let's leave.- Grasso held out his hand to Vyazemsky.

And the sound came.

In the surrounding vacuum, the sound could not be transmitted; it came from the floor, through the legs, shook their bodies with a low, continuous vibration. It was like a trumpet call - dull and long.

And then they ran.

Portable laboratories thrown to the floor remained left lying in the darkness of the corridor.

On the air, blocking the sounds of the breathing of Vyazemsky and Grasso, an increasing rustle and noise of radio interference was heard and through them, Roberson's voice seemed to crawl through from far away:

  * Say what's going on with you, the picture ... We heard ... Go away from...

And all.

The voice of the head of Baza-1 disappeared, and at the same time both Vyazemsky and Grasso stopped hearing each other.

They tried to run, but running in spacesuits was slow and awkward, as happens in a dream spacesuit, under its own internal air pressure, as if resisting the movement of people, trying to take a rest position.

Grasso lagged behind his partner a few steps, ran, falling forward.

"\- There were radio interference before," Vyazemsky thought feverishly. "" It's the usual thing here. "

But the feeling of irreversibility, the fear of the still unclear consequences of his actions against that wall, has already reliably settled in the soul, drove forward, to salvation, further, further.

Run, run soon!

The light of the searchlights of the suits jumped and jumped in front, now sparkling on the black floor of the corridor with bright highlights, then flying away into the darkness.

Faster Faster!

Vyazemsky ran to the crossroads first, stood up, waiting for Grasso, who, as it seemed from the side, was in no hurry. But then they both turned along the main, wide corridor, towards the sparkling lights, somewhere in the distance, the "Skat".

In a straight line, with all his might, to pain in the muscles and chest.

Like from an avalanche catching them.

For some reason, this is exactly what Vyazemsky remembered. Once, in his youth, he and the guys went to the mountains in the Carpathians — white peaks, dazzling in the sun, pure frosty air.

Thousands and thousands of tons of snow fell down with a roar and roar, they raced, sweeping everything and everyone in their path, and he, a young man, first experienced a mortal fear of the inexorable element, fled, infinitely long, as it seemed then, without looking back. And there was an idea that the ski would break or he would fall ...

Rather!

Now he felt with his whole being that they were being covered by a black, silent avalanche and, probably, it was already impossible to be saved.

They were approaching "Skat" — the saving shore. The ship sparkled like a Christmas tree, and its shining in the light of searchlights, metal poles and a short gangway were clearly visible.

  * The end,- Vyazemsky said aloud.

The sound that frightened him so much against the wall no longer repeated.

There was not that "flash."

He suddenly thought that an avalanche would surely cover them, the silence of these alien black walls, a lot of obscure artifacts found here, all this frozen, dead, abandoned by someone world, like a trap, would close and kill them.

  * Cliff!- Vyazemsky shouted while running, panting breathlessly from the run and hoping to be heard.- Evacuate yourself, ... immediately!

But he will not be heard.

Stupid, everything is stupid.

They approached the ship. Something gray, like fog, was moving somewhere behind the "Skat", near the opening itself, slowly crawling into the corridor.

They have already run! Vyazemsky in front, helping Grasso, climbed up the ladder, burst into the lock chamber. They closed the hatch.

While they were waiting for the air in the chamber to return to normal, Vyazemsky put his face mask on to the face mask of Grasso, shouted to him:

  * Outside, something is happening!

  * I have seen.

  * You think...

  * I think you're a greater fool, Vasya.

The green indicator flashed to the right of the hatch, they entered the cockpit, quickly seated in their places. Grasso connected the power cable and the corrugated steel-colored oxygen supply hose to his spacesuit.

Vyazemsky did the same.

Now they could hear each other, talking through a cable, emergency channel.

The spacesuits were not opened, they remained airtight.

  * Start ! - Vyazemsky cried out.

  * Not so soon.- Grasso turned on the switches on the dashboard in front of him, giving orders to the computer, and the computer answered him with a friendly female voice.- Plasma line is activated.

  * LLO is on,- the computer answered.

  * PPH included.

  * Intensive cooling of the case began, - the computer said.

  * Fuel filed. ShShK included, amplifier, accelerator, reactor-active...

  * Not ready to start,- the computer said.

  * We will die here.- Vyazemsky, as if spellbound, looked through the windshield of a cabin at a milky-white fog creeping out from somewhere below.

  * Not ready for the start.

But Grasso had already pulled the helm toward him, and he revived with multi-colored lights, "Skat" responded with a quiet steady hum.

  * Not ready for launch, traction power sixty percent, seventy-five percent...

Grasso silently looked in front of him.

The ship came off the surface of the "Wheel", hovered three meters above the floor of the black corridor, and began to turn toward the exit, swaying and tilting to the starboard side.

Blue bright flashes were visible in the side windows; "Skat" shunting engines were being worked out.

  * The power of the engines is eighty-two percent,- the computer said.

Obeying the movements of Grasso's arms, the "Skat" turned fully toward the exit and, gathering speed, rushed forward, where the rays of the spotlights illuminated the continuous seething wall of fog.

Vyazemsky instinctively grabbed the arms of the chair, sweat corroded his eyes.

They dived into the seething white fog, after a moment they were shocked by a strong blow from below, as if a shell had hit the "Skat" platform, it was thrown forward, but the magnetic fasteners holding the spacesuits worked as they should.

Rattle, quick fraction of strokes and push up. The module lifted its nose "up into the sky", it quickly tilted to the left side and Grasso, trying to squeeze out of the car everything that she was capable of now, gave the engines an afterburner.

The noise outside was mixed with the whistle of air leaving the cockpit.

Overloads piled on them.

  * Depressurization of the compartment, - reported the computer.

At the time of a strong blow to the hull of the ship, the light in the "Skat's" cockpit blinked, for a second or two the light panels dimmed and disappeared completely.

They went higher and higher, almost vertical.

Vyazemsky was looking at the rear-view screen, where gray drab reigned. It was the same in front of the windshield and behind the side windows.

A few seconds later, the "Skat" emerged from the boiling fog and blurry blurry stars flashed in the windows, a black sky met them. The heating system quickly removed the remnants of frost from the glass, and returned the stars to their normal appearance and shine.

The "Skat" began to straighten the flight from vertical to horizontal and, looking at the right window, Vyazemsky saw that there were no more "Wheel", everything was hidden below in giant steam clubs tearing at the top.

  * Five hundred and eighty,- the computer said.

The overloads weakened - Grasso reduced the thrust of the engines, drove the "Skat" back to "Baza 2".

We escaped, Niko, Vyazemsky breathed, and already starting to smile with relief and timid joy, he suddenly saw something in the windshield that made his face look like a mask with a smile. There, a few kilometers from them, where the once giant bottomless abyss stretched, where the blocks of their base stood, now swayed, the fog swelled in large moving clubs, and in this fog, like bright coal in a dying bonfire, bright-red light flickered.

On the side from where they flew out for reconnaissance, the fog absorbed everything, spread for many kilometers around, filled the lowlands of the foothills, which rose to the right of the rocky silver mountains.

And in the distance, forty kilometers, a thin gray pillar grew, expanding to its top.

Grasso said:

  * There is no base. We leave to the base of Roberson.

The "Skat" rocked to the left, it changed the direction of flight, now it went to the local northwest.

  * There may no longer be a connection,- said Vyazemsky and was surprised at his voice, a calm everyday life.

  * We have nothing to choose from .- Grasso examined the testimonies of devices burning with a steady green fire in a cabin plunged into darkness.- If they heard you and started the evacuation ... I think Stepan will fly for us.

  * They can wait for us.

  * Then it's over with us, - answered Grasso .- Stepan or Cliff.

  * We have little fuel.

  * Our lighthouse is visible from afar. At such a height, it will not pass us by. And now I would not particularly count on the appearance of communication. In any case, we will not reach the base.

  * Cat will find us,- Vyazemsky said, and felt the fear of the doomed turning in his soul from these seemingly encouraging words.- He will find, he will find, Stepan ...

Grasso did not answer.

Then they flew silently.

Descending to three hundred meters, the "Skat" flew over a continuous blanket of fog, it seemed that they were flying above the night clouds, and the cities of the Earth were sleeping under them.

Vyazemsky drove away from himself the thought about the Earth.

In the light of the instruments, both people in bulky spacesuits looked like fantastic dolls.

Vyazemsky squinted in the direction of Grasso, saw only his gloves resting on the helm.

"He'll arrive. Stepan ..." he thought.

Below them, in clubs of gray fog, something sparkled - obscure, hardly guessed - the blue lightning was alien, mysterious.

******* *******

  * We need to evacuate, there is no connection. I'll fly after them,- said Stepan Cat, looking through the glass of the protective dome at the bright band near the horizon, where an unexpected alien dawn began to flare up, as if there was a big fire in the distance, but unlike the usual color of fire on Earth, this one bright green. - They're not coming back.

  * I'll fly,- Clifford Roberson, who was standing next to Alla Koffman, turned to the co-pilot of the" Wanderer ", added.- Only you can control the "Tor", if you do not return, no one will fly away. I'm not sure about the need for evacuation, but I'm flying off. All.

  * Actually, this glow is not in their direction. - Alla Kofman, did not take her eyes off the horizon. - I'm not sure of the need for evacuation, but if you decide...

  * You, Madame General, are an optimist,- said Cat, looking at the astrophysicist standing next to the crew, of medium height, a thirty-eight-year-old blonde with a short haircut.- Alla, we are done here.

Koffman, the wife of Captain Strizhev, has long been accustomed to Cat's manners.

  * That's it, I went .- Roberson- a tall man of forty-two years old, fit, with a clean-shaven face, stepped to the exit from the viewing room .- Stepan, help with a spacesuit.

The understudies who arrived at the base today were already asleep.

  * Good.- Kofman followed after them.- We're starting the evacuation.

******* *******

Roberson glanced over the landscape in the left porthole — the monotonous, sharp spiers of local, icy cliffs."Skat" was heading straight for "Baza-2" at the highest possible speed.

After four hours of flight, he will be in place.

The mountains; gray, monophonic, in black deep faults, endeds, now a frozen plain shriveled from hummocks was flying under it, and a giant, dark fault stretched to the right, leaving a ragged abyss deep into the plateau.

Such abysses were not uncommon here, reaching almost five kilometer depth.

Roberson did not pilot so often, even less often went to the "Skat" far from the base and now, looking at the dead alien distance, he involuntarily thought about a possible accident. Frightening thoughts about the sudden breakdown of the apparatus began to come to mind. No connection, help will not come.

Roberson drove away these thoughts with an inner cry - the machine is reliable! And the point!

Leading the Skat now was just- follow the cursor on the on-board computer screen, occasionally adjust the direction, flight altitude and that's it.

"Vasya, Vasya," thought Roberson with displeasure and irritability. "- For the sake of what, did you climb there ?! You were not sitting in peace."

Of course, sooner or later they would have found the entrance to the "Wheel", activated the artifact. Assuming that this is precisely what happened from Vyazemsky's actions, although ... this is unlikely. Coincidence.

Roberson believed that the tremors that appeared were a manifestation of local seismicity, the nature of which is unknown to people, and the dawn that has erupted today is also a manifestation of the usual processes in this world. The same mysterious are not yet understood.

Although it is impossible to exclude even the most incredible.

And the connection disappears here regularly and without any understandable or explainable reasons.

True, the first three days after the landing, everything with the connection was in order.

OK.

It is possible that Vyazemsky and Grasso will meet him along the way, but this is unlikely. Most likely, they are just sitting at their base now.

He imagined with what words Vyazemsky would meet him, what caustic epithets he would choose.

Roberson inspected the instruments - everything is normal, smiled.

The alien world was calm and despondent, everything around looked ordinary, ordinary and he smiled to himself again, said:

  * We are still savages, gentlemen. We are afraid of the Fearful Buku.

Roberson Buku was not afraid.

******* *******

  * Take higher! - Vyazemsky shouted.

He looked into the windshield of the cockpit, in which sparkling boulders were crumbling from the black sky. The ship was shaking, as if in a fever, it was thrown from side to side, deaf blows shook the hull.

  * I can't- this is the ceiling!- Grasso answered him with a cry.- Does not go higher. It was necessary to bypass.

  * For a hundred kilometers? And where will they look for us ?!

  * I can not above. And I can't go down.

  * We will slip through! Nico, take us away from here, to mother dickens's!

Twenty minutes ago they were over a foggy area, from which giant gas geysers, mixed with ice, began to fly up high. Soaring much higher than the "Skat's" flight altitude, five, six kilometers, these pale, sometimes illuminated by flashes of blue lightning pillars, began to rain down ice and stone rain. While the geysers were rare, Grasso was not difficult to maneuver between them, like a man running in the woods, but then it became very bad.

The space around the "Skat" was filled with white, sparkling in the light of searchlights and a signal beacon, with whitish dregs, which thickened every minute, threatening to reduce visibility to zero.

  * The case has cooled down to minus two hundred. - Speak Grasso. \- Helium, methane ... We won't last long. A little more and we... will fall.

Vyazemsky saw how tiny droplets, like morning dew, began to form on the surface of the spacesuit and dashboard.

"Hydrogen, helium?" He thought distantly and asked:

  * What about the course?

  * I keep it on the computer.

Vyazemsky wiped the frost from the helmet's glass, but visibility did not get any better.

And there was a cold. It was as if the surrounding space sucked out warmth and life from a spacesuit.

Grasso's teeth knocked out a small fraction. His faulty spacesuit warmed much worse than Vyazemsky's spacesuit.

Two powerful, crushing blows from above, the "Skat" leaned to the right, almost rolled over, but Grasso managed to return the car to its normal, horizontal position.

  * We'll slip by, Niko. - Vyazemsky grabbed the arms of the chair. - Just get out.

He remembered how he had said goodbye to his wife on the "Wanderer".

  * Vasya, be great,- she told him then.- Do not go anywhere.

  * Do not worry. You know me.

  * I know...

"- Galya," he thought, and his chest ached unkind, a foreboding of misfortune appeared: "- A friend, my, my poor..."

  * My suit will die soon,- said Grasso.- I hardly feel my legs.

  * Be patient, Nico. A little more and we will break out ...

She will wait for a radio connection with the base, will go from corner to corner, not finding a place for herself. They never parted for long. It so happened. He remembered the photograph hanging in their cabin by the porthole; he is in stupid green shorts, she is in an orange bathing suit with a bunch of wildflowers, and behind them is wild, overgrown with feather grass and wormwood.

"- Galya. I will definitely come back to you."

A series of thuds from somewhere above threw the car down. Something burst with a rattle.

  * I still missed,- said Grasso.

In the raging white darkness behind the portholes, the light of the spotlights, now merk, now again lit up the storm.

"The case is sour," thought Vyazemsky.

Vyazemsky, despite the serviceability of his spacesuit, was already trembling from the cold and, imagining that he was experiencing a partner, was horrified.

And then, like in a fairy tale, "Skat" flew out into a clean, transparent space, leaving white madness behind him. White tornadoes suddenly gave way to the clear starry sky of Icy, and eternal cracked ice stretched below.

Now the "Skat" walked without trembling, calmly, but strongly tilted to the port side.

  * Vasya, we escaped,- Grasso said loudly.- Everything ahead is clear...

  * I told you, we'll break out.- Vyazemsky tried to laugh at ease. - Nico, they will find us! Stepan is on his way, that's for sure!

He constantly moved his toes inside the suit's boots, so that they would not completely numb. Vyazemsky gazed steadily, with increased reliability, into the blackness behind the windows, expecting to see the lighthouse of the oncoming car.

About twenty minutes later, when the ice geysers were far behind, Grasso told him:

  * Energy is over. We won't last long. I burn fuel and sit down.

Another twenty minutes of flight, running from death, and now, Nico Grasso led the "Skat" along a gentle curve of descent, down.

There were no signs of an oncoming car. In this darkness their lonely flight led the last minutes. From three thousand meters they dropped to hundred.

  * I don't see anything, the glass froze ...- Grasso spoke abruptly, banging his teeth from the cold.

Vyazemsky, looking at the approaching ice surface, did not answer.

On the rear view screen, a gray fog slowly crept after them.

On a round small screen, altitude readings were quickly replaced by luminous yellow, numbers thirty-one, ... twenty eight, ... twenty...

  * Too fast!- Vyazemsky shouted.

Below, in the rays of white spotlights, ugly ice flows, white-gray, flat, rushed, sparkling with myriads of colored sparks.

Ten meters!

The "Skat" drastically reduced its speed, lifted its nose upward, threw people forward with force; safety belts tightened to hold the spacesuits in their seats. Suddenly the engines were silent. And everything became quiet.

And like a beast killed by a shot, "Skat" collapsed onto its metal belly with a roar, clang, rattle.

From a blow, Vyazemsky's teeth gritted, his head shook so that the neck vertebrae snapped painfully. A bitten tongue filled his mouth with blood.

The "Skat" froze, subsided.

Vyazemsky automatically checked the readings of the instruments - the energy dropped to thirty percent.

Into the darkness of the cabin, through the windows, the bright inviting light of the lighthouse poured.

He tried to turn to Grasso, but he was restrained by the seat belt clasps. For a minute Vyazemsky tried, with his hands already losing sensitivity from the cold, to unfasten them, and when he succeeded, he turned and looked at Niko. In the helmet of the spacesuit, there was only a quiet, feverish murmur of Grasso, the glass of his helmet, white from the frost inside, was completely opaque.

Vyazemsky, looking at his freezing friend, already saw his death.

  * Niko, Niko, do you hear?

He did not react, the muttering, intermittent, painful, became quieter, weaker.

  * He will fly after us, Nico.

Grasso was dying.

Goodbye my friend. Sorry.

Another five minutes passed.

Grasso did not scream in pain. He moaned softly, Vyazemsky heard the creak of his teeth, jerked forward and froze, stopped.

All.

Sarah will never see him. The mocking Sarah Grasso will forget happy days.

Shuddering at the unbearable cold, Vyazemsky looked at the partner's dead body sitting next to him for a long time and now believed in his own death.

Will be no salvation. And Stepan will not come, and if he flies to their aid, then there will already be no one to save.

Vyazemsky shuddered with his whole body from a burning frost inside the suit. With every minute the cold became stronger, angrier, harsher and it seemed that this frantic, already uncontrollable trembling, was taking away his last strength.

Came, growing pain. He no longer felt the feet and hands, but only from the elbows and above, the fiery pain was tearing. Legs above the knees and hips have long turned into places of acute torture.

The air that became frosty and heavy inside the suit was strangling the lungs.

With a longing, desperate, screaming, he looked into the black starry sky.

Somewhere there, on the "Wanderer" of his Galya.

  * A- a- a- a- y- a- a!

He always loved her. Even in moments of rare quarrels.

The control lights on the dashboard blinked and went out, and the whole world plunged into darkness for him. The red eye of the indicator blinked inside the helmet under the very edge of the glass and Vyazemsky saw a barbed frost coat of frost quickly growing on the glass.

She was not beautiful, his Galya, but looking into her black eyes, he always saw her true beauty - close, dear, beautiful with his inner light.

Instead of saying "forgive me," his numbed lips said inaudible:

  * Fo- o- ai-e e- e...

They were always interested together. Even when they studied at the institute, Galya told him that he had a broad outlook and that she liked to listen to him.

Broad outlook.Pain, anguish, longing and horror.

Blood with the force of a hammer beat in the temples, around Vyazemsky's mouth cotton wool formed from frozen steam and blood. The face is insensitive - cardboard, pulled.

He remembered how they threw snowballs in the yard of their one-story house, how he warmed her hands with his breath. He believed that they would always be together, that they would never leave each other, and now he would die here, and she would die there.

"- I let us down."

  * A - a - I - I!...

And not restraining himself, Vyazemsky cried out, putting all his pain and torment into his cry, calmed down, picking up chilling air in his lungs burned with frost, he cried out again, long, dying.

******* *******

Everyone gathered on the "Tor-2", including understudies. In the spacious compartment, where there were nine anti-overloading chairs in three rows, people spoke little, many looked at the external viewing screens attached to the ceiling. Light panels shone brightly from the walls, a rare squeak of invisible sensors was heard.

In the first three seats were Stepan Cat, Alla Kofman and Tamotsu Aoki, in the next row were Yasu Aoki, Jenefer Roberson, and the understudy Semyon Kislovsky, followed by understudies Hans Wulf and Sveta Lanina.

Given the three more expected members of the expedition, there was not enough space for everyone.

Stepan Cat said this:

  * I'll take everyone like firewood.

Due to the lack of radio communication, optical communication was used, transceiver devices that use a laser beam instead of radio waves. The big disadvantage of this method of communication was the need for direct visibility of the message object.

Cat left only a little lighting - two flat side lamps.

All gathered were dressed in spacesuits.

Alla Kofman said in a colorless voice:

  * Something new.

A green glow blazed in the front view screen, far away, somewhere near the horizon. They are already used to it, but now changes have appeared in the picture of the glow. Hundreds of tiny, bright, white sparks, like small fireflies, rose chaotically up to the starry sky, slowly, unhurriedly.

  * Beautifully,- said Cat gloomily.

The ice under the supports of the "Tor's" faltered, swayed.

  * Three balls on Richter,- said Yasu Aoki from behind Kofman.- The third push in thirty-five minutes.

Kofman turned to Cat, and said:

  * We may not have time, Styopa.

Cat silently looked at the screen in front of him, where the cheerful whirl of light and colors began.

  * Stepan I know this decision is difficult, but apparently ... They did not return. If not for the understudies, then I agree, we could take a chance, wait. We need to fly away from here.

  * It is necessary. It has long been necessary.- Cat did not look in her direction, spoke emphasized, calmly.\- But I don't understand who will take you to the "Wanderer"?

  * Good.- Kofman turned away.- You can bury us all here.

  * I will bury, no doubt about it.,\- he also calmly answered and asked, addressing Tamotsu Aoki, who was sitting next to Kofman.- Is there anything?

  * No, - he answered. - Silence.

The next second, a strong, much stronger last push, literally shook the "Tor" from side to side.

  * Wow!- Hans Wolfe's voice came from the last row.

  * Four and a half points,- summed up Yasu Aoki.

Kofman turned back to Cat, she wanted to say something, but said nothing.

  * Yes!- Tamotsu exclaimed, switching the screen readings to the south-west direction. There, in black, the bright point of the "Skat" emergency lighthouse blinked and at the same time as the lighthouse appeared, Clifford Roberson's voice sounded clear, without interference:

  * ... I'm coming. I repeat, immediate evacuation. Vasily and Grasso died. An ice storm is coming at you. Stepan, can you hear me?...

******* *******

Sergei sat in the pilot's seat of the "Tor-1", and two hundred and fifty meters away from the "Wanderer", stopped the truck in front of the residential complex; waiting for a team from Strizhov to the beginning of maneuvers.

In general, Strizhov was categorically against Sergei's solo appearance on the "Tor", but Cat found convincing arguments in favor of such a flight and Strizhov gave his consent. In addition, it was possible to control the "truck" remotely from a starship, which, as Sergey thought, was the decisive argument in his solitary exit.

  * Sergey, you can begin maneuvers. I'm watching you,- the captain said.

Senchin was without a spacesuit, in a white overalls for the pilot.

According to the instructions, the presence of spacesuits in the crew of "Tor" was mandatory when making work expeditions outside the spacecraft. During training flights, spacesuits were not allowed to be worn. The "Tor" was a reliable car. Four middle-class spacesuits rested in two transparent cabinets, on the right wall of the cockpit.

  * I understand, - Sergey answered. - I begin maneuvers.

He gently pulled the helm toward himself, while simultaneously engaging the thrust of shunting and running engines, led the "Tor" forward with a gentle turn to the right. The "Wanderer" behind him began to slowly retreat into the blackness of space.

Sergei took the "truck" five kilometers from the starship, completed the U-turn and turned out to be from the stern of the "Wanderer".

He looked around.The stars, like good friends, looked at him from all sides, on the right loomed a raspberry pea of the Hidden. Against the background of the surrounding darkness, brightly lit by navigation lights and numerous windows of the residential complex, the spaceship appeared before him delightfully beautiful machine. In the now inactive nozzles of the marching engines, the power of the ship was guessed.

Senchin only prepared for the next maneuver when he heard from the sound panels the voice of the navigator Vasily Yuryevich German:

  * Sergey, - he is Strizhov. - Vasily and Grasso are already in the "Wheel".

  * Give on a common line.

Broadcast with Icy! He would love to be there.

Sergey listened, catching every sound passing from the abyss.

  * How are you doing there?- Roberson's voice.

  * Geometric slots on one of the walls of a small corridor,- answered Vyazemsky.

Sergei began the movement of "Thor" along the "Wanderer", listened to the program with Ledova.

Minutes passed.Having made a "somersault over his head," "Tor," while maintaining direction and speed, slowly tumbled to the other side. Actually, on the simulator, Senchin conducted such maneuvers, which is called "clean", but now, listening to the program and distracted, he somewhat "smeared" the output of the "Tor" on the flight axis. He corrected the movement of the "Tor" by shunting engines.

He listened to what was happening there, on Ice.

When a heavy hum was heard on the air, Sergey stopped the "Tor", turning on the brake engines, and the truck stood motionless in the void.

Roberson screamed and his voice, breaking through unexpectedly strong interference, was distorted:

  * We heard it! ... It seems ... Go to the base!...

  * Cliff! - This is already screaming Vyazemsky .- ... If you hear! Evacuate...

Further, Senchin could not make out anything, all the voices on the air absorbed the noise of radio interference.

He saw on the dashboard in front of him a flashing green, a signal sign- "optical communication" and "no radio communication." He heard how Strizhov and German were talking among themselves.

  * Radio communications end. - Herman.

  * Something happened, - said Strizhov. - Vasya said about the evacuation. Case rubbish. They climbed somewhere.

  * There is Stepen.

  * If they did not manage to unload the "Tor", then leaving with Ledova all at once will be difficult. Thor will pull, but...

  * Sergey, we must fly after them - this is German. - I think that time has passed.

And after a second, Strizhov exclaimed:

  * Look!

Silence reigned for about a minute, after which Herman said:

  * And flashes. How many of them! What's this?

  * The readings of graviometers ... A real storm. Hidden activity increased by orders of magnitude. We must take the "Wanderer".

  * But what about them? Throw them?

  * We will take the starship to distant orbit and return for them to Ice. I said.

  * I'll go to them on the "Tor",- German said resolutely.- Let me go out.

  * Look what started there. And it goes to us.

The colorless voice of the on-board computer said:

  * An immediate threat to the crew and ship was detected.

  * They will die there! - Voice of Herman.

  * All ship systems are number one prepared!- ordered Strizhov.- Senchin, come back immediately!

And at this very moment, having not yet decided anything, Sergey sharply threw his right hand forward and hit the key with the blue light saying "remote control", and the second, next to it, "remote control lock".

As if spellbound, he stared at his hand, like at someone else's and smiled, defiantly.

  * Senchin, are you deaf, or what? - The voice of Strizhov. - Bring "Tor" into the hangar!

Sergei looked at the communication screen and in it, just showing the entrance hatch into the command compartment, the captain's face appeared.

There was a voice of Galina Sergeevna Vyazemskaya - calm, deaf:

  * You kill them all.

  * I'll try to save the rest,- Strizhov answered her.- Senchin, take "Tor" to the hangar!

Sergey quickly examined the readings of the fuel devices "to the eyeballs", both reactors are ready to enter the "march" mode.

They will perish.

  * Scum, - said Vyazemskaya. - Your friends there...

  * Shut up!- The captain ordered.- Senchin ...- And after a couple of seconds .- Immediately cancel the lock, this is an order!

  * No .- Sergey said this word and, listening to his own voice-voiced, indecisive, added sharply .- I go to Ice, captain.

  * Well done,- German said.

  * Stop this circus. Return to the ship. We will not abandon them, but now you must return. We have little time.

Sergei suddenly remembered the words of Stepan Igorevich, and having already decided and emboldened by the decision, he said to Strizhov:

  * I know ... When I fly, I am my own captain, and alone I make the final decision.

  * Stepanov's work,- German said.

  * Sergey, do not be foolish, - said Strizhov.

And Sergey said, as he snapped:

  * This is the final decision, captain. I'm going to Ice.

German said, addressing him:

  * Sergey, afterburner you will reach them in ten hours. Do not use autopilot, go on manual control. Do not relax. Be careful. All.

  * Senchin, okay, - the captain's voice became calm.- Good luck, boy.

  * Look for Stepan's lighthouse,- Herman reminded him.

  * I understood you..- And Sergey for the first time in real life began to give the "Tor" commands for a long hike, pressing the keys of marching systems.

  * PIU is turned on, - the computer voice reported. - The accelerator is ready, fuel supply control, USK are normal, one and two reactors are activated. Propulsion engines are ready to start.

The nominal capacity of the "Tor" cockpit was designed for nine people, it was this number of oxygen connectors for life support that was available by the number of places. "Tor", of course, could take more passengers, but in case of depressurization of the compartment, all the "extra" ones could only rely on the capabilities and air reserves of their spacesuits.

Time passed and Senchin for the first time clearly realized that now he is "in action", in an adult way, as a real pilot took up his direct duties.

He pulled the pull helm on himself...

******* *******

Over the past hour and a half driving the "Tor", Sergey was exhausted and tired. A difficult section of the road began with terrifying formidable obstacles.

He slowed down, but under new conditions the danger of disaster was great, and a decrease in speed delayed the flight time to Ice by half. He watched the surrounding area around the "Tor" through a panoramic frontal porthole, waiting for another inexplicable hindrance.

The abyss with which he smiled and rejoiced so much on his first training flight disappeared, giving way to another menacing and silent, fiery and fast, and he had no doubt that was deadly.

The first time a bright orange ball flew a few hundred meters from the "Tor", Sergey barely noticed it. It seemed that something flashed by, leaving a ghostly trace in front of his eyes. But then, after a short time, everything repeated. A small yellow star appears far ahead, stands motionless, and suddenly breaks down from its place and, like a meteor, flies past.

Close, very close.

And suddenly another star appears, right in front of him, in a dull, bottomless blackness, and Sergey rejects the helm to the side, in the hope that he correctly determined the direction to the obstacle. Hands in cloth gloves have long been sweating.

He deflects the helm to the side.

A little bit.

Slightly.

A new star appears, then three more, followed by several.

The calm flight ended long ago - "Tor" wags from side to side, blue flashes of shunting engines sparkle in the dark, and in the pilot's cabin sunk into darkness, funny amusing shadows dance.

To the side, to the side, more ...

He could no longer maintain his previous course; he dodged flickering stars farther to the right; he had to extinguish the speed again in order to avoid a fatal collision.

Somewhere on the edge of view, on the left, it turned green, bright, almost dazzling, he want to see what is shining there, but Sergey does not look away, he looks directly at the "Tor" course.

What is it? He tried not to pay attention to the arisen surprise, which grew into fear.

Just to slip in, not to miss the danger, there will be no other chance.

He clearly realized that all of his classes on the simulator did not go to any comparison with what he met here, on the outskirts of Ice.

Suddenly, right on the course, something appeared white-yellow, bright, pulsating, like a living, blazing fire-dazzling cloud that struck his eyes with his light and all the "stars" from which he so carefully avoided, merged against the background of this cloud lights into one and become indistinguishable.

At that moment Sergey panicked, confused by hopelessness, and for the first time in his life, by some incredible, unknown to him until now, effort of will, stopped the panic, filling his consciousness and feelings with a doomed determination.

And slipped through!

He did not collide with anything, nothing hurt the ship, did not plunge him into disaster. A cloud, everything in rainbow streaks, implausible, impossible, sparkling with colors and light, grew before him like fantastic heavens. Another moment and it was gone.

Along with the rainbow, the rushing "stars" also disappeared.

He slipped by.Before Ice, there was very little left; it hung above and to the right, a cloudy, gray-orange ball.

Sergey looked closely.

The space in front of "Tor" did not become cleaner. Large, cone-shaped rods, glowing with a pale blue radiance, rose from the void, like thick, faceted needles, and departed slowly, and even seemed to solemnly deep into space, growing to gigantic dimensions, turning into columns. There were a lot of them.

On the planet itself, as far as Sergey could see, something inexplicable was happening.

Most of Ice was hidden by a gray fog, and in it, escaping into the surrounding darkness, numerous lightning flashed, flashes of bright fire - yellow, white, blue.

To land there, it seemed to him now madness, but he did not want to turn back.

He needs to get to Ice!

Something happened instantly. He was just about to turn away from the faceted, green colossus approaching on the right, when he suddenly ceased to be.

Senchin did not go anywhere, like a big, meaningless doll, he continued to sit in his chair, gripping the helm tightly, but in some incomprehensible way, he pulled away from himself, turning into a helpless observer from the outside.

It seemed to him, or maybe it was, something enlightened him, like transparent glass, pierced with a dead, mechanical look.

Senchin lost his sense of time, fell out of reality.

From the side, from below and to the right, a majestic, green-matte column rose — infinite for him.

Sergei did not care. He saw her luminous ideal facets and could not be surprised or frightened.

His eyes looked forward, into the black emptiness, and in this emptiness, trembling and changing, the Ice floated out.

The cloudy, gray-orange ball of the planet began to move incredibly. The stars went out, and only pitch darkness, thick as jelly, studying, filled the world, looked into the cabin of the "Tor", came home and approached Sergey face to face.

Whether this blackness was reasonable, what is happening with Ice, where did these pale, ghostly balls come from - he didn't know anything. He did not think about that. He could not think at all. And only the inner chilling cold reminded him that he was still alive.

How long did it last, minute, year?

Somewhere on the edge of an almost extinct consciousness, a picture emerged from his past.

He stands in the middle of the director's office, the bright summer sun hits through a large window, lights up a square of light on the parquet floor.

He is eight years old.

It's lunch time, and all the children will soon have to go to "quiet time". At the director's desk are two men and a woman, the director herself, Alla Vasilyevna, is standing against the wall, next to the picture on which a small sailboat is struggling with a storm. Man; a tall, broad-shouldered man in a brown suit without a tie, a black mustache sticking out like a bast, looking at Sergey seriously, from top to bottom. A woman in a white fitted dress, with black ones gathered in a funny ponytail on the back of her hair, smiles affably. The freckles on her face seem as ridiculous as the ponytail.

  * Seryozha,- says Alla Vasilievna, and he sees concern in her green eyes.- These people want to talk with you.

He understands that this is a serious matter, and that just so strangers would not come to talk with the child, although he will go to third grade in the fall, and this is not as small as it might seem from the outside.

  * Meet, - says Alla Vasilievna. - This is Valery Fedorovich, and...

  * My name is Albina Aleksandrovna, Seryozha .- And the unknown woman smiled warmly and simply at him.- We want to offer you a trip, almost to a fairy tale, Seryozha.

He looks into her eyes, speaks, choosing words so as not to offend, because people are different, they can be offended because of a trifle:

  * There are no tales.

  * Yes, Seryozha, there are no fairy tales, - she takes a step in his direction.- Therefore, it is almost a fairy tale. Would you like to fly into space?

He looked doubtfully first at her, then at the mustached man and again at Albina Alexandrovna, said:

  * Yes.

  * Very, very, or just like that?

She spoke to him as if he were a little one; he did not like it. He's not a first-grader to have fun with him! And then he told her in an adult way:

  * Anyway, you won't send me into space. I know. This does not happen.

She laughed, but not offensively, cheerfully and lightly, she said:

  * Only if you yourself want to fly. The starship on which you fly is called...

  * "Wanderer!" He almost blurted out.

  * "Wanderer".

Who doesn't know this ?! He watched the news, where they always talked about it. Millennium Expedition! So they talked about this starship. Earth's first interstellar ship!

  * And you do not deceive me?

  * Do we look like cheaters?

  * And I will fly into space on a ship? To other stars?

  * Yes, Seryozha, you will fly.

An incomprehensible suffocation gripped his chest, as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

He will fly away from here - far, far away, to where everything will be fine and simple, where there will be no dull-falling snow outside the window, which he could look at for a long time in winter, sitting by the window in the hallway of the gym, where there will be no endless autumn rain blur the world and colors. And where he will never be alone. Before his eyes, as if another, beautiful and mysterious world began to unfold, amazing and fabulous.

  * I'll fly,- he tells her in almost a whisper.- I agree.

  * Good. There on the ship, on the "Wanderer", there will be more children with you. You will not be bored, Seryozha. And you will have parents.

He stares blankly into her face, asks:

  * Parents? I do not have parents.

  * You will have parents, Seryozha, like other children. You will have mom and dad. There.

And then he realized that truth, there are no fairy tales, and in order to get something, he will have to give his dear. Forever.

Mum.

He did not remember her face, did not remember her voice, but he remembered the love emanating from her. It was a long time ago. In his memory, there remained an imprint of the past, from images and feelings. There was a lot of sun, he stands on the pavement, and pigeons hustle around it, and sunlight plays on their feathers - blue, green, blue. They rustle their wings and utter a satisfied "u- r, u- r, u- r, u- r", and his mother says something quietly and affectionately, putting bread crumbs in his small hand, and he throws them to the pigeons.

And mother's love, clear and close, as if enveloping him with warmth, suits the whole world around him with kindness and affection. And the world is clear, and he is his own in this world...

He remembered her love.

She loved him.

Her and father have long been dead.

He did not remember his father at all, only his strong hands holding him high-high...

  * No, - a prickly, bitter lump appeared in the throat, squeezed.

  * Serezha ...- Alla Vasilievna approached him.

A new wonderful world crumbled and showered with fragments, like broken glass. No fairy tales.

He looks at the floor at the sun-drenched parquet, and tears fill his eyes, stubbornly frowning and ashamed of the fact that he cannot hold back tears, he repeats hoarsely and angrily:

  * No!

Let it be dull snow, let it rain endlessly, but he will not abandon her, he will not betray his mother.

  * I will not fly. I will stay here...

And he hears the pigeon "u- r, u- r", and as if his mother were standing next to him, and with her that far right and kind world...

The memories of a long gone past disappeared.

As if they were turned off, the mechanical, cold, insensitive look disappeared, his thoughts thawed and came to life.

Horror swept Senchin's awakened mind, he screamed as if from severe pain, and the sound of his own scream confirmed him in reality.

He is alive.

There was no Ice ahead. Senchin turned and saw the planet in the right porthole. "Tor" flew away from Ice at a great angle, and moved away.

He checked the testimony of the on-board computer - ninety-five minutes have passed since the sharp change in course!

With shunting engines, he sharply changed the position of the "Tor", putting it with his nose to Ice, switched on the driving engines and, increasing the traction, sent the truck forward.

Overload came. The low, quiet sound of the propulsion engines dispelled recent horror and inspired hope.

The planet, all in placers of bright splashes of light, now stood right on course, and behind it, a sparkling rainbow blurred, smoothly spinning into a wide spiral, leaning on its side."Tor" searched the surrounding area with fans of laser beams, was looking for his fellow "Tor-2".

On the left, went into the abyss, the giant columns are far, not scary.

Time passed.

Sergei hoped that he would find Kot outside Ice, because landing on the planet, judging by what he was observing, was likely to become fatal.

Suddenly, the Cat truck was found by a detection system, a beep sounded and the computer announced:

  * "Tor" discovered. It does not respond to the request. Coordinates...

Sergey corrected the course in new coordinates, deflecting his "Tor" to the right and down, and, increasing the thrust of the engines, began to peer into the blackness, in search of an emergency beacon.

Ten minutes later, he noticed jerky flashes from the oncoming lighthouse of the "Tor".

The light of the lighthouse behaved strangely, it either flashed, sending its bright signal with a frequency of one, two, one, then disappeared for thirty seconds, and then came to life again. Most likely, this was due to the uncontrolled flight of the car - "Tor" Cat, somersaulted.

Five minutes later, Senchin approached Cat's "truck" for a distance of visibility. The details of the construction of the "Tor", the side lights and the light in the windows became discernible.

The "truck" slowly rotated along the transverse axis.

He was noticed - the light in the living compartment blinked three times, after a few seconds a series of light signals repeated.

They are alive!

He twice, briefly, pressed the control keys of the orientation engines located on the helm — the "truck" directed its blunt nose directly to the oncoming "Tor", then with the other keys, slightly lower than the previous ones, slightly, using the running engines to "reverse", waited a second or two included more and more.

The "truck" slowed down, but still flew too fast for rapprochement.

After waiting a moment, Senchin turned on the "reverse" for a couple of seconds, the body threw forward, the seat belts dug into the chest painfully, and the module stopped, which is called "tightly" - ten meters from the "Tor"-2.

For such maneuvers on the simulator, Stepan Igorevich reprimanded him and always threatened to remove him from training for a while, but now he was his own captain.

Sergey saw through the windshield of the "Tor" the pilot sitting at the helm, next to him are other figures in the spacesuit \- the light in the cockpit is weak, muffled, spotlighted several people in the seats, someone waved a hand in left side window, dressed in the glove of a spacesuit .

Suppressing the strong excitement that arose in himself, Sergey examined the rotating "truck".

He clearly saw a black dent on the left side of the "Tor", directly above the cargo compartment, and a torn crack in the upper part of the living compartment — the metal of the body was pressed, a distorted beam stuck out. Another crack was on the body of the tank with hydrogen, leaving under the belly of the ship. The rear pair of landing gears was absent and the left upper engine was steel-colored, a large cylinder with a wide, yellow nozzle was turned out of the mounting frame and turned up and to the right. The base of the platform, almost all of its right rear, was mangled and torn by a terrible blow. Helium tanks are torn down.

It became clear that there was a vacuum inside the living compartment, and people in the emergency "Tor", in any case, had little time. The starboard orientation engine packages are shattered.

Decision time.Using shunting engines, Sergey brought his "Tor" to the nose of the second "truck", waited for the right moment when he made a full turn, went aft down, gave a short pull forward.

The blow came in the corner of his shock absorber farm, the right landing support; the dead, marker light of the emergency "Tor" scattered in all directions with small gray splashes.

Now the emergency "truck" stopped its rotation and began to slowly retreat from the impact.

They drifted in a high orbit of Ice, its matte disk, the size of a soccer ball, loomed in the right porthole.

Maneuvering the engines, Senchin turned his "Tor" over the emergency "truck", smoothly brought him to the docking station located in the aft part, on top of the living compartment. By pressing the "docking" button on the dashboard, he released a pointing rod, and slowly went closer.

On the monitor, a clear image of the lock node is a metal funnel with a convex passageway in the center. Senchin's "Tor" lights illuminated the entire docking station with bright yellow light.

Sergey waited until the target mark on the monitor exactly coincided with the black mark indicated on the figure on the docking unit of the "Tor" of Cat, gave a short traction by shunting engines.

Five meters, four ...

The mark of the oncoming target crawled into the lower left corner - shunting lights flashed abruptly.

Two meters, one...

A shiny metal rod with a soft clang crawled inside the funnel of the receiving unit. Another second, another, and a series of loud clicks, announced a successful docking.

All.

He turned off the magnetic fasteners of the belts, took them off and easily pushing himself away from the arm of the chair, swam into the depth of the compartment.

He gave a command to the computer:

  * Light in the cabin. Start gateway.

The lock chamber could accommodate four people in spacesuits. After a while, looking into the small porthole in the access hatch leading from the airlock to the "Tor" living quarters, Sergey saw the outer hatch open and a white spacesuit appeared in its opening.

And so the man had already sailed into the airlock, approached the hatch in the living compartment, giving place to others. Sergey looked into the helmet glass standing there.

Sveta Lanina.

He waved her hand, she answered the same.

Next was Semyon Kislovsky, followed by Kofman and Cat.

Sergei pushed off the wall, slowly sailed through the rows of seats to his seat, sat in the pilot's seat and fastened his seat belts. He looked back.

From the opening passageway, walking awkwardly, Lanina appeared; the glass of her helmet is already raised, her face serious.

  * Hi, Fluff, - Sergey told her with a smile.

He expected a joyful exclamation from her, but he heard another answer:

  * I knew it was you...

******* *******

Chapter 5.

Folk.

The Sun has risen - cold, inhospitable, not a cloud in the clear morning sky, only a faint haze in the distance above the bay overlooking the open sea. Seagulls flew low over the water, screaming sadly.

A light breeze drove dampness and coolness from the sea, and Folk, dressed in a white officer's uniform, froze. It smelled of rotten seaweed and fuel oil.

He commanded the loading of the untouchables.

All night his officers cordoned off one of the rotten quarters of this town, drove the untouchables into the ancient, overgrown with weeds area - men, women, children. Then they were loaded into army trucks and on a night bypass road, taken to the city port, where they, along wide, wooden ramps, were led into the holds of one of the three barges standing at the pier.

Lieutenant Barks yelled angrily and hoarsely, addressing the buzzing crowd. Prowled from side to side, the yellow rays of the spotlights.

  * Gentlemen, the ministers have deigned to take you all to the Blooming Archipelago. You are the dirt of society! You should be thankful for such grace.

Dog barking merged with his words.

The empty trucks roared around on the transport platform of the city port, and left back for a new batch of untouchables. Folk gave orders, cursed with escort officers, setting off for rotten quarters, shaking in the cab of the head truck.

The loading of the untouchables was entrusted to Folk. Further transportation by sea was commanded by Major Schlom Sof.

One of the three barges was taken under the untouchables, the other two under criminals.

The night has passed.

The last batch brought by Folk's trucks had just plunged, people were hiding in the belly of a large, high barge, sailors ran around her deck, closed hatches, their indistinct shouts were heard. Folk was waiting for Major Schlom Sof to come and he would be able to get back to his bed. But first, Folk decided to go into a restaurant, thoroughly drink something stronger.

Next to his barge and tugboat, on the railway tracks, was a newly arrived train.

Prisoners jumped from the prison wagons, in dark blue robes, shaved bald, young, old, immediately built in disordered columns, waiting for the team.

Along a long port pier, three large barges and three tugboats were moored by thick ropes to rusty, cast-iron pedestals. The barges were led by wide, wooden gangways with high sides fenced with barbed wire, and the other gangways, recently painted with white, shiny in the sun paint, which were towed, were intended for senior officers.

"Idiots," Folk thought, trying to wipe off traces of fresh paint from his right hand.

There were no soldiers here. In the cordon on the shore, on the decks of barges, as well as convoys near the wagons, only officers stood.

Special event.

And over all this mass of people hung a continuous, annoying barking of guard dogs, the clatter of many legs, and the shouts of officers.

Folk flicked his fingers, threw the cigarette butt overboard, then spat into the dark water with a rainbow, oily stain and, hesitating, pulled out a second cigarette from the cigarette case.

He lit a cigarette.

Summer is coming soon. Again the heat will come, flies and in his office in the department of inquiry, it will become completely lousy.

Folk hated the heat. However, he hated the cold too.

In the water floated some kind of soaked paper. An oil stain trembling in the water like a bright, dazzling rainbow.

He looked at the nearest wide gangway, where at the very rise the fat senior lieutenant Wal Schick, holding the bald and thin man by the collar of the prisoner's robe, shook him and shouted in his face with a shrill, high voice:

  * Where are your things, pig? Everyone was told, belongings with you! Where is your duffel bag?

The prisoner, pulled out of the crowd, said something muffled in response.

  * And where is your spoon?- Wal Schick could not calm down.- What will you eat?

The dogs nearest to them, completely went mad, pulled the convoys along with them.

  * Get out, erysipelas!

On the deck of the barge, two machine gunners, lying on warm litter near the machine guns, with boredom on their faces, watched what was happening.

Wal Schick pushed the prisoner back into action and, with a contented mine on his broad, smooth face, walked from side to side, choosing another victim.

The prisoners, with a quick step, keeping a distance of three meters between them, left the ramp, crossed the deck under the watchful eye of the guard, and, hunched over, dived into the low hatch of the superstructure leading to the corridor.

The cell chambers went into three tiers inside the barge, and armed officers distributed people as the chambers filled.

Before loading, Folk descended into the interior of the barge, inspected, checked, and was quite pleased. All light windows taken by the grilles were open, open wind plugs stuck up.

According to calculations, each such barge should have accommodated three thousand people.

  * If lice are found in anyone, they won't go to the barracks.- Wal shouted.- You will live in tents, in a quarry.

"- You will become a major,"- Folk thought, looking at the low, full figure of the lieutenant, at his thick legs bending when walking. "- Fat ass."

Wal did not have any special merits, he was never at the front, he was not distinguished by successful investigations in his department, but he was already a senior lieutenant, with the younger ones he was angry and rude, and with the older ones he was helpful and disgusting politely.

To disgust.

Folk spat on the deck, crushed the butt on a rusty handrail and decided:

"- No. It will reach the colonel. It will."

He was falling asleep. Folk rubbed his face with his palms.

A few more hours and that's it, sleep, sleep ...

The train unloaded. From the open hatch to the engine room of the tugboat came the swearing and curse of sailors and mechanics. Folk broke away from the handrail, went down the officers' ramp, prudently, not touching the freshly painted railings and slowly walked along the loose sand, along the wire fence, past the cordon officers, further to the tail of the train.

Smelled of coal, asphyxiating smoke. Pipes tugs smoked into the sky.

Folk managed to go a third of the way to the tail of the train when a young doctor ran up to him - the green collar is bulged out, the right sleeve is dirty with soot.

Tall, with glasses, he held with both hands a red paper folder with a white inscription "a train number two."

  * Mr. Captain!- The doctor shouted.

Folk stopped.

  * What do you have.

The doctor's beardless face expressed extreme concern.

  * We have an emergency, Mr. Captain.

  * What other emergency situation do we have?- Folk looked where to throw the cigarette butt, and threw it under his feet.

  * In the second car...

  * Who are you?

The doctor was at first confused, but quickly realized, answered:

  * I apologize. Senior Lieutenant of the Medical Service - Khlim Gong.

  * Yeah. - Folk raised his collar.

  * Mister captain, in the second car of the second composition, patients are noticed. Presumably... I'm not sure, but typhoid is possible. I repeat, not sure. I have to stop loading. I reported this to Senior Lieutenant Wal Schick...

  * And what did our valiant Schick say to you?

  * Sent to you.

Folk without expression, looked at the doctor's glasses.

  * We have to stop loading, Mr. Captain. - Insecurity sounded in the doctor's voice. - They will infect everyone, there will be an epidemic. But I have a responsibility, and I have to...

  * That's what, Senior Lieutenant, ship them all together. Now there's no time to understand, "Folk answered, and was about to turn his back on the doctor, as he spoke again:

  * How so? We must deliver the prisoners, preserving their health. This is their legal right and obligation of the White Caste, to guarantee the life of anyone...

  * I do not cancel the loading. All.

  * I will...

  * Complain,- Folk finished for him.- That's what. My good advice to you, lieutenant, do not complain anywhere, and generally forget that you were here. It would be nice if you did not bother me anymore, for nothing.

The doctor flashed indignantly his glasses, saluted, and, drowning his boots in the sand, went to the side of the barges.

From the slanting rays of sunlight, Folk had watery eyes.

Near the last carriage a guard dog nearly bit him; the lieutenant, saluting Folk, loosened the leash.

  * Hold your dog, lieutenant.

  * I'm sorry, Mr. Captain!

Folk walked around the train, headed for the officer's buffet in the old warehouse building. He hoped to find Captain Kos Mule there and, given the state of his hangover, he should now be there.

Security guards stood in cordon for the train, three in front of each wagon. Along the composition, in the sand, machine-gun crews settled down.

Folk went to the second free path, widely rearranging his legs, strode along the sleepers.

The sun slowly crawled up, promising summer warmth for dinner. With the exception of the pier, with its noise, screaming and barking dogs, the rest of the port was deserted and quiet. The operation, led by Folk, should last exactly a week. All port workers were sent on an extraordinary vacation, and sailors from an armadillo moored at the far mooring wall were left somewhere outside the city, in the barracks.

He had not eaten anything since last night, and his stomach urged him to go to the buffet and eat.

  * Your Excellency!

Folk stopped abruptly, and nearly tripped over the railway sleepers.

His Excellency? Colonel? Here? Where from?

He looked back at the scream.

A burly, medium-sized uncle hastened to him, in a light brown tunic, with three green stripes on his sleeves.

A white, wrinkled cap was held in his right hand; informant.

Folk waited patiently.

Approaching, the informant stopped a step away from Folk, then defiantly looked at the officer's shoulder straps and his pale, aging face broke into a guilty apologetic smile.

On a bad day, Folk decided, this episode was needed.

  * What did you want?- Folk asked, not trying to hide his squeamishness.

  * I'm sorry, Mr. Captain, I accepted you...

  * You took me for a colonel. Farther.

He timidly took half a step forward - a confidential, sweet smile did not disappear from his face, and spoke quietly:

  * Excuse me, Your Honor, I am a port employee; informant of the third category. Toch Kih, my name is.

  * AND?

  * I have information of extreme importance, I would say, of state importance — and he leaned forward.

  * That's what, kind, - Folk was about to leave. - Go to the police. You know the order.

  * No, no, Mr. Captain, this is not their part. The information is so important that I didn't even dare to report by mail, I was going to go to the capital, to the inquiry department.

  * What is it about?- Folk asked sharply in order to reduce the" outpouring "of the informant.

  * Actually, oh ... Mr. Captain, I exposed ... an alien.

Folk tensed internally.

  * Whom did you expose?

  * The alien, Mr. Captain, is absolutely certain. I personally...

And the informant of the third category, Toch Kih, in a lowered voice, told Folk the following.

The other day, namely, ten days ago, at the end of the day he went around the port territory, well, was everything in order, as usual, that means, and he found a drunk riveter in the repair shop. He was lying right at the locker rooms; completely drunk. No one was already there, the shift was over, and this one went through the hot drink, well, he could not leave. For them, the workers, this happens; sleep off a bit and by night, they roll to the port entrance.

Home, mean.

Folk listened in silence, deciding that in the event that the informant did not tell anything of value, but only "catch the fog", then this conversation just won't go away; Folk will break him all his mug, and then... No, he just breaks his mug and that's it.

Toch Kih continued to say:

  * I tried to wake him, but he began to swear, and swear in a foreign language. Many years ago I served in a prisoner of war camp, as a young man, then they gave me a promotion for black castes, and I...

  * Farther.

  * I know different languages from my service, I've heard many, but not like that. The drunkard even burst into tears. Can you imagine?

  * I imagine.

  * Well, then he said, clearly said so...

  * What did he say?

  * He said so- "your world is such shit." And all. Of course, this phrase itself can mean anything, but if you compare it with that strange, strange speech... The language is completely unfamiliar, there is no such in Strength, and even his name is Rouk Vak, got into the port seven years ago. I lifted the archive and found out that his aunt Tosia Vak was a lot of trouble about it. She works as a doctor in a local hospital, she herself is demoted to a black caste, from the caste of disposer she is. Her husband died after the arrest, her son is also convicted. For that, I don't know. They have a whole nest there, I suppose. Rouk lives in the same house as Tosia Vak, house number five, Second Street, first entrance, second floor, room number five. He has been working at the port, as I reported to you, for seven years. Is drinking. True, it is strange, but the last week he has been sober, he got sick, I think.

For a long minute, amazed at what he heard, Folk was silent. He pondered what the informant said, then said quietly:

  * Who else is up to date?

  * No, no one, only me,- the informant vigorously shook his head. Is it possible? Well, I serve the first year? I understand...

  * You married? Wife can blurted out? To children? We'll tear out our nails, for starters...

  * To nobody. We are childless... I talked about this only to you.

  * Mr. Captain.

  * Mr. Captain! I apologize...

  * And why are you so immediately about the aliens, then? - Folk decided to scare the informant.\- Or do you not know the official report on this? To stop nonsense talk about aliens allegedly taking place, and to report peddlers of such rumors?

  * Well, I know, I know.- Toch Kih nodded his head knowingly.- But we all know that this is all for black castes, and you and I need to be vigilant.

"You and I".

Folk wanted to knock out his teeth.

  * So! - Folk had an expression of deep reflection on his face, but he had already decided everything .- If everything is confirmed, then ... You definitely didn't tell anyone? Look - we will check!

  * No, Mr. Captain.

Further actions, Folk mentally built in a clear, balanced order. He took out his cigarette case, and slowly lit a cigarette.

  * If everything is confirmed, then the reward is waiting for you generously .- Folk said .- What do you want?

  * So I ... Well ... I, in general, up to the rank of the deputy officer do not have enough half a hundred disclosed cases, but the police do not accept, they say that I carry all sorts of rubbish to them, it became really bad with that... And I have a little left until retirement. Maybe this thing ...

  * Maybe.- Said the Folk, in the affirmative.

  * ... It will push my rise,...

  * Will push.

  * And at least in my old age I'll calm down. To buy a house by the sea is a very small house. With my salary, how can I?... But I have more than three hundred opened cases and sixty of them, according to subversive conversations and sabotage. I even identified one engineer! Imagine, Mr. Captain, he turned out to be a moralist. I sent all their filthy family to ... All my life I served faithfully. I have identified and reported. I risked, so to speak.

Folk asked thoughtfully:

  * So he said so? Your world is such shit.

Toch Kih's face lit up:

  * Yes Yes; shit. He said so. Shit, he says. Well, relatively...

  * I understood.

He looked at Toch Kih, who was obediently waiting; his face turned white, his right cheek, slightly trembling from a nervous tick.

A little bit.

  * So, amiable. This is a matter of utmost secrecy. If you talk to someone, then I personally will release your guts.

  * Yes, yes, of course, did I...

  * Shut up. Now I will send a telegram to the department, personally to Mr. General. The general does not like being led by the nose, if something breaks, both you and your wife will regret being born. Personally! So. The answer will come from the capital quickly. Surely the general will send a car for you - this is a serious matter. We will not contact the local. Take you out secretly. Still, we won't go home for you, you have a small town, if rumors of your departure reach the alien... Therefore, we will arrange a meeting in advance. What is your address?

  * Second street, house twenty...

  * You live on the same street with him.

  * Yes sir!

  * Is there a quiet, dark place in the vicinity of your house so that no one sees the car?

  * Oh, of course. With lighting, we simply have trouble, your nobleness.

  * I will find the address.

The informant did not think for a long time, said:

  * Place de la Concorde, between the bridge, over the canal and the Park of Honor. This is at the end of Tenth Street. There on the square there is still a monument to the founder of the city, Mr. Iin, Mr. Captain.

Folk said directly looking into Toch Kih's eyes:

  * Wait for me there at midnight, do not take any things with you. I will come in a cloak, not an officer uniform, in black. I'll leave the car in the next quarter, we'll get there. Then, we will call in your White City, in the investigation department, you will write a report, this is the order. Surely we'll go with an escort. They'll take you like a minister!

Toch Kih's face shone, radiating dog devotion.

  * Mr. Captain, Your Honor, I will deserve it, I...

  * Shut up and listen. In the capital, I will present it to the Excellency, your story in the best possible way, I will sign you as a faithful servant who is undeservedly oppressed. Well, you, in turn, do not forget to note my operativeness. Well, more on that later. And look, if in front of Mr. General you forget about me, then I am your house brick by brick...

  * How can you, Mr. Captain, I will not forget! My benefactor...

  * And do not talk much before his excellency, he does not like talkers. You get your little house. Now go.

The informant began to shift from foot to foot, he spoke:

  * Your nobleness, I'm sorry that I again...

  * What else?

  * Or maybe arrest him right away?

  * Fool! And if he is not alone? Take it, and the others will leave. This business is not for your mind. And talk less. In our interrogation rooms, it often smells of fried meat!

On that they parted.

******* *******

Major Shlom Sof, tall, well-built, brown-eyed brunet, short-haired and clean-shaven, stood on the deck of the barge with his foot on a bollard and looked at the high spring horizon. The loading of the barges was coming to an end, the security officers glanced irritably at the people walking along the wide gangplank, fenced with barbed wire, waiting for everything to be finished and it would be possible to leave the sunshine. The day passed into its second half, the sun set high in the sky warmed everything around and only a weak wind that drove the cool from the sea, brought weak relief from the heat.

Soaked with sweat under his uniform, Folk approached the major, saluted and reported:

  * Mr. Major, Captain Stoke has arrived at your command.

The Major looked boredly at Folk, took a cigarette from his mouth, and said hoarsely:

  * Captain, we have an unpleasant incident. Captain Caun broke his leg. There is no one to replace him, therefore I ask you to take command of the third tugboat and go for a walk with us.

Folk tried not to betray his annoyance, answered calmly, indifferently:

  * Glad to help you, Mr. Major, but I have a task from His Excellency to collect and ship the untouchables. You have a long-distance flight.

The major looked at him from under his swollen eyelids, replied:

  * The flight will not be long, captain. Go back by midnight.

  * I obey.- Folk saluted, but the major no longer looked at him.

******* *******

Twilight faded over the sea, as a candle fades - darkness quickly replaced the light.

Calmness, calm and only because of the rapid movement of the tugboat dissecting the calm dark waters, the cold wind came in — a solid elastic wall penetrated the body with moisture, leaving no room for warming.

From the heat of the day there was no trace.

The caravan of ships moved quickly - twelve knots.

Folk was in the second tug of the caravan, on the starboard deck and saw the identification lights of the ship behind him, like red, muddy, luminous spots of light. The first tug with a barge that disappeared into the gathering darkness was indistinguishable and only its lights glowed ghostly, like the eyes of a nocturnal predator that went hunting.

Heavy clouds have closed the sky long ago - it will rain.

  * I tell you, you'll get sick, captain,- said Wal Schick.

He stood next to Folk, like a clinging, annoying fly; did not leave.

Folk blew his nose overboard, replied:

  * I will survive it.

Three years ago, when Folk himself was a senior lieutenant, Wall Schick often called him "buddy."

Now he began to turn to him, solely by the rank of Folk.

Buddy.

  * My cousin Ki, somehow caught a cold on the river...

Wal spoke, as a perfectly normal man says; judiciously, even taught, gradually.

Folk tolerated his presence, tried to think about his own.

  * ... From the beginning, it's easy, well, the cough is there, snot...

"\- Alien! Is it possible to? And if so, then everything in this life can be changed, corrected. "

  * A doctor was called to him,- came Wal's voice.- Well, he examined him and...

"- Suppose that the old shit told the truth and this is really an alien. One of the escaped. But I found him. Next, what?"

  * ... He suffered until morning and, hi, died...

"- How many of them are there? One, two, or all three? I must act for sure ... Without misfires."

  * Hey, captain? He died, I say!

  * I hear. I'll dress warmer tomorrow. Haste damned.

  * Tomorrow may not be.

"Smelly nit, when will you leave?" - Thought with anger, Folk.

  * Let's go to the cabin, captain. - Wal Sheek was shaking. - There, of course, it stinks like a garbage can, but it's warm.

  * No. I'll be here.

And Wal left.Folk, left alone, experienced real relief, tried to return his thoughts to their previous course.

"You need to take an alien - this is understandable. In principle, there is no special role - he is alone or not alone. Time works against me. If I came to him, then others will come out. Informanr..."

Folk only once saw aliens. This was about five years ago when General Jerzy Sum ordered Folk to conduct another inspection on the basis of detention, since Major Rimi was then ill. Folk went there.

Who would have thought! The aliens turned out to be ordinary people!

The alien walked past him two steps away, in the new from the "needle" of the colonel's blue uniform from science, and surprised Folk saluted before him. The alien colonel was accompanied by four captains and two female lieutenants from the Department of Justice.

Folk froze, trembling.

The shallow, drizzling, cold rain began its despondent exit to the night scene.

From the engine room came the heavy noise of the engines, black, greasy smoke rising from the tow pipe into the night sky.

Need to crank everything up today.

The alien is hope, the alien is the key to the door to Folk's life, which says "emergency exit". Like in a top class carriage. The upper class is what Folk strove for many years, and now, when he reached his brilliance and the pinnacle of his career, it turned out that this pinnacle was not needed at all. At all. The major's shoulder straps, which would soon fall on his shoulders, no longer seemed desirable, as they had once been.

But even in the officer academy, he literally raved about the captain's epaulettes, and much later, the major. It turned out he wanted emptiness. He believed in emptiness.

Beside him stood Lieutenant Wilt Tkay, a stunted, thin man, a streak of mustache blackened over his upper, narrow lip.

Wilt.

He did not notice when Wilt approached him.

Folk studied with him at the academy and has not met him since. They were not friends, but Folk once told him:

  * Wilt, when we are two, to the dogs of the ranks. What is my name you remember, I hope?

He said this to Wilt on this very deck this morning, and he, after a moment's pause, suddenly laughed - easily and freely, as he once laughed at the academy.

Wilt Tkay leaned on the railing, looked at Folk and said:

  * You will get sick.

  * I have already been told about this.

  * Subordinates care about their captain?

Folk grunted in response, trembling from the piercing wind.

  * This fatso lieutenant from your office?- Wilt asked, and Folk did not immediately understand who he was talking about.

  * Ah, thas ... Yes.

  * He will eat you, man. I know these types .- Wilt grinned and in the gloom of a dimly shining lantern, his face seemed to frown.

  * Hardly.

The wind was noisy in Folk's ears, and Wilt, speaking in a low voice, was barely audible.

Wilt looked in the direction of blackness over the sea, hesitated for a minute and said:

  * Something is not visible, the transport that should meet us. We will hand over these barges to them and back to the port. The weather is nasty.

  * Yes, it's time for him to appear, the night is already. I'm not sleeping the second night. Let's hand over the barges and go home. I know where in this hole there is not a bad restaurant.

  * Why the hell were you sent on this flight?

  * Your captain broke his leg,- Folk answered him.

  * Is this the Caun? And when did he manage to break his leg?

  * The dog knows him; when. Afternoon yet.

  * Hmm, weird thing .- Wilt looked at Folk.- I saw how he got into the car and was alive and well. This is exactly when you spoke to the major.

Folk silently considered what he heard.

  * Okay, man.- Wilt slapped Folk on the shoulder, stepped away from the railing and added.- My health is dear to me.

He left.

The words of Wilt, about the major, aroused in him an unpleasant feeling of the deceived, whom someone decided to play or ridicule.

He was alive and well.

For some reason, the major needed to change captains. Folk did not see any point in this.

Folk was shivering.

The assistant to the captain of the ship approached him from the darkness — tall, with a pockmarked face, and in the light of a signal light hanging on a hook seemed unhealthy red, he said aloud:

Your nobleness, from the lead vessel gave the signal "stop the car."

  * Stop the car, then,- Folk answered him.

He immediately disappeared into the dark.

Folk looked forward into the pitch darkness, to where the yellow light pointed to the bow of the barge. Somewhere on the barge were four security officers, four more with machine guns on the second deck of the tugboat, two aft.

In the night, three loud beeps sang dejectedly, in the engine room something rattled noisily, the sounds of working machines amplified.

The tugboat began to slow down and now, after some time, stopped with its load, completely.

If the caravan got up, then oncoming transport will approach soon.

Folk peered into the darkness of the night and saw nothing in it except the tug lights. There were no extraneous lights.

An assistant to the captain of the tugboat appeared next to him again, and said excitedly:

  * Your nobleness! A signal was sent from the lead ship: "unhook the cargo, flood the cargo."

  * So ...- Then the meaning of what he heard came to him. Folk stopped, looked into the weathered face of the assistant captain, on which the light of the yellow lantern fell.- What are you talking about, fool!- Folk's teeth beat out the drum roll.- What kind of load did you decide to sink?

  * The signalman read the signal from the head...

  * He is drunk, I will knock out the teeth of a bastard! Order to give a request for a repeat of the signal and personally control!

  * I obey, Mr. Captain.

Folk was left alone, lit a cigarette, peered into the flashing headlamp tuglight, which he sent, a new message to the ships.

The assistant captain returned soon, stood in front of the Folk, straight as a string.

  * Well, what is there?

  * Your nobleness. Flood cargo, order. I personally watched. Unhook the load, flood the cargo.

He was waiting, standing next to him.

Folk was silent.The wind was getting stronger, a storm was coming soon. Over a short collar of a tunic, cold drops of water dripped from somewhere on the upper deck.

"And you will become one of us, son,"- Folk recalled the words of General Jerzy Suma.

Son.

He uttered the words, trying not to betray his bewilderment and even fear, as if listening to someone outsider speaking nearby:

  * Unhook the barge. To flood ... cargo.

  * I obey, your nobleness!

And the assistant captain quickly went up the steep stairs.

******* *******

Folk looked at Wal and said dryly:

  * Command.

Wal turned, raised his full face and cried out in a voice breaking in a squeal:

  * Proceed, gentlemen, drunk sailors. Moves your feet, lazy pigs!

There was the sound of voices and legs running through the metal. The assistant captain was already down, giving orders to the sailors:

  * Give the moorings, open the hitch, open the kingstone on the barge! Faster guys.

The cars were almost silent, only a muffled noise and a knock came from the engine room. It smelled of coal smoke.

Fat Wal jumped from the deck of the tug to the barge, flashed there in the light of the lanterns. It was visible how he bent over the barred light window, opened it with a jerk and, standing on all fours, shouted down:

  * Hey dregs! We arrived. Now we will feed the fish.

And he joyfully burst out laughing, as if hearing a hilarious joke.

Rusty hatches clapped with a nasty clang, sailors in black oiled pea jackets appeared and disappeared on the barge. From the depths of the iron belly of the barge, a roar and a thousand-voiced rumble suddenly burst forth from the dormer and light windows, and flowed over the dark waters of the agitated sea.

Wal spat out, got to his feet, and shaking his knees, headed back to the tug.

The security officers who were hiding from the cold in the cabins of the tugboat - ten people, went outside. They crowded on the first deck at the bow of the tugboat where powerful steel stops towered. Folk stood next to them, leaned against the handrails of the gangway going to the top, looked at the approach of Wal.

He groaned from the barge to the tug, and approached the silent officers.

  * Wow! - Wall shook either from the cold, or from excitement, - Now we have them ... Now.

The sailors gave the moorings, and wrapped thick ropes around the bollards - iron pedestals, the tug cars began to rustle and the rumble from the barge suddenly grew into a muffled roar. Like a giant bee swarm locked in a larger iron box. The tugboat rattled off, sailed a hundred meters from the barge and stopped.

Not far the other two tugboats fumbled in the dark, grumbled, there were rare beeps, the light of their distant spotlights rushed from side to side.

Folk silently looked at the dark silhouette of the barge.

  * And how long will she sink?- Asked Wal.

One of the officers standing next to Folk answered:

  * This will take a long time.

Wal approached Folk - energetic, enthusiastic.

  * Mr. Captain!- Said Wal.- Let me help the little people ?!

  * In what sense?- Folk didn't understand him.

  * I want to indulge in a machine gun.

Folk tried not to show his disgust, said:

  * No need to make any noise here. The barge will sink itself.

  * Yes, there is no one here except us, Mr. Captain! AND? They don't care. And what is the reason for us to loom here?

Folk was silent, and accepting his silence in his own way, Wall ran up the steel gangway up to the second deck and his screaming voice could already be heard from there:

  * How are you doing here? What about this? What about the shutter? Organize it. So...

Choking on his own cry, Wall screeched shrilly, and this sound mixed up and drowned in the rumble of machine-gun fire.

  * Brute,- said standing a stone's throw from Folk, short, strong build, lieutenant.- Bitch.

Folk pretended not to hear anything.

******* *******

Midnight passed, but he still did not appear at the appointed place.

Two hours ago, a boat, smoking with coal smoke, moored to the elegant, strewn with lights of the embankment of the White city of Quiet Harbor. During this time, Folk managed a lot - he took his car left in the parking lot near the sea station, noted in the commandant's office, where he chatted amiably with an old and balding major, he carefully examined the map of the Black City of Quiet Harbor, hanging on a long wall without windows, found the addresses and location of the Place de la Concorde. The Rotten quarters inhabited by the untouchables were not mapped; however, they were not interesting to Folk. After the building of the commandant's office, he went home to the two-story red brick mansion, kindly given to him by the city administration for the duration of the events at the port, dressed in all black clothes and sat in his black car "Lightning 101", then quickly got to the bypass road and rushed off to the black city. Looking at the trembling headlights, he thought about what happened at sea. Awareness of the terrible and irreparable, in which he was the main participant, filled him with anger. He did it. He was there.

It's not at the front's, it's not in the interrogation room to beat some bastard in the face.

"You will be like us."

He drove the car along a bumpy road, listening to the springs creaking.

He was there.

To the Place de la Concorde, he chose the entrance from the canal. Stopping about three hundred meters from the bridge, Folk turned off the engine and the car quietly fell asleep, turning off the headlights.

It was already three in the morning.

The informant had to wait for him.

Having put his "Rince" pistol, heavy, with a short blued barrel, into the side right pocket of the cloak, Folk folded and put the knife into his inner pocket and went out on a quiet night.

The poorly paved road was buried in mud and deep puddles. In the dark, without examining the roads, Folk quickly reached the bridge — a humpbacked, old one, thrown over a not wide canal, through which a quiet rivulet flowed, he crossed the bridge and found himself in black quarters. Across the river, barracks slept, quiet, dark streets, occasionally lit by dim lanterns, lost among black, tall poplars. While walking towards the bridge, he wet his feet - disgustedly champing in boots.

It smelled of spring. Quiet and calm around.

Having met no one, Folk walked along the deserted sidewalk along a gloomy square, turned off from the square on which Toch Kih was waiting for him and was on the seventh street, consisting of wooden, two-story barracks sunk in the darkness of trees. Rare lanterns shone from wooden pillars, cloudy and ghostly. After about three hundred meters, reaching a dimly lit intersection, holding in the shade of trees, he turned right on Tenth Street, turned right again, at some small shop with dark, dirty shop windows, and went to the square on the opposite side of the bridge.

Folk was in a place agreed with the informant, the river and the bridge were in front of him. He immediately saw a lone figure sticking out on the corner of the hut. From the second floor of the hut, through an open wide window, drunk voices came, a dim electric light poured, and the figure on the corner was very clearly visible. Along the narrow sidewalk, almost at the very road, tall, spreading poplars grew.

Folk strode forward.

As he approached, the figure at the corner of the hut peeled off from the trunk of the tree and headed toward him.

Quickly headed.

  * Your nobleness...

  * Quiet, fool,- hissed at him, Folk.- Do not shout.

Toch Kih spoke in a strangled voice:

  * I already thought if something had happened to you.

  * What could happen to me? Waited for a long time?

  * More than two hours.

  * Let's go,- Folk told him, and they moved up the sidewalk, up the street.

They walked in silence.

They reached the intersection and Folk turned left, there was no lighting at all, even the windows of the barracks were dark.

The informant was noticeably nervous, now and then he looked around and was already beginning to lag behind. Probably, with his sensitive gut, he sensed something was amiss.

Folk spoke in a steady, low voice:

While I was waiting for a response telegram from the capital, I thought that I would die from your major dumbass, in the commandant's office. This is a real dumbass. I must report to Mr. General. Such boob can not be kept in the service!

Another three, four seconds and Toch Kih was already walking next to him.

  * His excellency is very pleased,- Falk continued,- the telegram says, "to the informer of this matter, to ask for everything." Got it? Total! About me, look do not forget the general.

  * Eh-eh,- exhaled Toch Kih.

  * This means that you will have a house, and most likely not a small one. But Mr. General made it clear, "lifelong supervision."

  * And how is it, your high nobility?

  * With protection, fool, you will be a .

A soft moan came out of the informant's lungs along with air.

  * This means that they will protect me, as an important person...

And at that moment Folk stabbed him in the heart, grabbed the falling body of Toch Kih and waved the knife twice more \- in the chest, in the stomach.

For persuasiveness.

The informant died quietly and immediately - short cramps and all.

Folk dragged the body of Toch Kihe into the thickest bushes near the fence of the garden, where last year's dried weeds stuck out, checked the pockets of the informaht. Some pieces of paper, a handful of coins and a wallet. Folk deliberately left his pockets turned inside out, took a wallet, put it in his coat pocket and straightened up, quickly walked away along a dark street.

A few minutes later he was already on Second Street in the courtyard of house number five.

He stood by the dense shrubbery, from which the smell of young blossoming foliage emanated, opposite the dark porch, where the tall old poplar touched the twisted lamppost with its branches.

The pillar stuck out like a black finger, its dead lamp did not shine and everything around was plunged into sleepy darkness.

Folk was trembling with a nasty inner chill.

For those few hours spent at sea, he literally froze from the cold and still could not keep warm.Before the porch, on a bench without a back, there was a large man in a light shirt and dark trousers.

In a downcast hand, he held a lighted cigarette.

The man hiccuped.

All the windows facing the courtyard were dark, with the exception of one on the ground floor of the extreme window, from the open window of which came the hoarse sound of a gramophone.

Sitting on the bench was drunk and hiccups attacked him, did not allow him to drag on a cigarette.

Knowing the room number, Folk easily identified the windows of Rouk Vack and his imaginary aunt. Rouk's window was on the second floor of the hut third from the corner, the window of Tosia Vak was also the third from the corner, but on the first floor.

The man on the bench hiccuped loudly and angrily:

  * Your mother!

He could not get into the window on the second floor without noise. And Folk could not climb into the window of the first floor because of the presence of the man who was sitting on the bench now. And this unforeseen hindrance was not going to leave.

As time went on, the man smoked and hiccuped at times, and Folk stood ten paces from him, waiting for him to finally leave.

A dark woman came out from the entrance, a dark sundress in light spots, small and thin, her hair gathered in a short ponytail on the top of her head. She stopped next to the man and quietly (Folk barely heard her words), said pleadingly:

  * Marun, let's go home, it's late already.

And then the unexpected happened. Marun shifted the cigarette from his right hand to his left and sharply, with force, hit the woman in the stomach. She bent in half like a broken branch, sat next to him on the ground and began to move back to the entrance.

The red flame of cigarette flashed brightly - Marun smoked again.

Folk stood quietly in place.

He decided to postpone his visit to the alien for later and was about to leave, but then a boy ran out of the entrance. He looked about eight years old, nine; in shapeless dark pants and a light T-shirt. Running up to the woman, the boy took her arm, tried to raise her, spoke:

  * Mom, get up, Mom. Let's go home, please, mom...

  * Come here, you snotter, - Marun said without malice and not loudly.

The boy did not go.

  * Go when father calls.

Leaving his mother on the ground, the boy went up to Marun and he immediately grabbed his elbow with one hand and dropped his cigarette butt, and with his other hand took him by the throat. In a voice full of gurgling anger, Marun hissed:

  * Do not dare to interfere, you bastard. I'll blow your brains out. You are the same as your mother! Get out of here, you bastard.

The boy flew away to his mother, and fell next to her.

Folk stood like stone, he even seemed to stop breathing.

A picture from his childhood suddenly flashed clearly in his memory — words, sounds, even the smell of his father's strong tobacco. It was as if he was far in the past, in the hallway of their luxurious six-room apartment, and his father, who had gathered in the morning for service, calmly and instructively tells him:

  * Folk, son, look after your mother - he stinks of fumes and tobacco. - Be a man, son, women, they are women...

Then, all morning, Folk, with a rag, washed his mother's blood in the hallway, listening to her strangled cry in the room:

Don't be angry with dad, son ...

Son.And then, when he held a bowl of soup in front of her and looked at his beloved face, now disfigured by beatings, she said to him:

  * It's my fault, I didn't have to leave the room...

To leave the room ...

The woman with her son has already left.

Marun lit another cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke and suddenly found a dark figure in his cloak in front of him.

"\- Do not kill!" - Folk thought, looking at Maroon and, holding back the anger of the night that was bubbling in his chest, tearing out .- "Do not kill."

Blood was beating in his temples and a suffocating heat seemed to rise from his throat.

Marun raised his face and asked:

  * What do you want?

And Marun hiccuped loudly...

******* *******

Chapter 6.

Three days after the launch of the "Wanderer" from Ice's orbit.

A long howl stuck, somewhere high on one annoying dull note, wedged into the consciousness of a sleeping Sergey — something inappropriate, unnecessary, interfering with his confused, episodic dream.

And he woke up.

Sergey immediately remembered everything. And the fact that Uncle Vasya is no more and the grief of Galina Sergeyevna Vyazemskaya, his "aunt Gali", and again, overwhelmed him with a sense of shame, as if it was he — Sergey — who was to blame.

For a few seconds Senchin listened to the monotonous sound of a siren, then jumped out of bed and began to dress quickly.

  * The entire crew should urgently gather in the company cabins,- said Strizhov's voice in the sound plate, under the white ceiling of the cabin.- I repeat...

Sergei was already buttoning the "zipper" of his overalls — white, wrinkled, which he had thrown yesterday on a chair by the writing desk, thought feverishly:

"- Anxiety!"

Shod, he ran out into the corridor, ran to the elevator shafts, located at the very end of the corridor on a wide, brightly lit area. His reflection in the glossy walls - curved, blurry, ran next to him.

Sveta Lanina and Faina Aliyeva stood at the site.

  * Hi. - Sergey stopped next to them. - What happened?

Senchin overalls buttoned to his chest showed a crumpled T-shirt.

  * We don't know.- Sveta fastened the "zipper" of his overalls to the collar.

Faina - tall, slender, with straight black eyebrows, said:

  * Now we find out.

An elevator came, they entered his spacious matte pink cabin, and drove off.

On the fifth tier they went out and, having run down the corridor to the wide open door, flew into the wardroom. Beige, softly glowing walls illuminated the entire room of the wardroom, in the middle of which stood a long table, behind it in soft, light green-colored chairs, all crew members were already seated.

The alarm went off. It was quiet, except for the sound of the voices of Strizhov and Tamotsu Aoki, who were sitting nearby at the far end of the table.

Senchin went to Misha Gorin, who was sitting next to the doctor of the crew of Bei Zuo, fell on a chair and quietly asked:

  * What's wrong?

  * No idea,- Misha answered.

He found with his eyes Vyazemskaya, who was sitting in a soft leather armchair, next to a ficus growing in a white pot on the floor.

Captain Strizhov examined the audience, ran his hand over the polished surface of the table and said:

  * Well, now everyone has gathered .- He paused, deciding something, and spoke .- We have an emergency. I gave an alarm so that those who were resting and not in the know came. The necessary measures were carried out so that now we need to discuss the circumstances and make a decision .- He turned to the ship's engineer Jennifer Roberson, who was sitting in an armchair by the wall.- Jenny, you can start.

The woman got up, folded her hands on her stomach, went to the table and, standing behind the back of the chair, with Vasily German sitting in it, spoke:

  * The situation is as follows. A day ago, the spaceship left the limits of the Hidden system and returned to its previous course. At two-thirty-two, the gravitational-neutrino complex gave a report of a weak perturbation of gravity three hundred thousand kilometers from us. The optical and radio observatories did not notice anything. Actually, the GN testimony of the complex was insignificant, on the verge of error. In general, I believe that the "Wanderer" passed by a motionless object, the nature of which is unknown, what kind of matter or type of energy it is; it makes no sense to talk about it. For simplicity, let's call it Object. All on-board devices, no impact on the ship from outside, was not recorded. If you rely on the readings of the instruments, then there was no object at all. Apart from the testimony of the GN complex, of course. Preliminary computer analysis gave the following. Weak curvature of gravity with a volume of, say, a thousand cubic kilometers. All. We walked from this object, three hundred and fifty thousand kilometers, and almost immediately, at two thirty-two, the control system gave an alarm. All the H-blocks are out of order. More precisely, those of them that were under load worked. Those stored at the warehouse, including systems using H-communications, are in order. They are serviceable.

  * H \- blocks ... They seem to be eternal and not vulnerable,- said Cat.

  * Two years before the start of the "Wanderer", systems using H-bonds were found to be almost invulnerable, compared to flint and even optical ones. They are not afraid of either high temperature or transcendental radiation. Also, H-systems are neutral to any effects of electromagnetic waves. For this reason, some changes were made to the "Wanderer" project. Over reliability. Now they are dead.

  * What is the main problem? - Alla Kofman looked at Roberson, turning to her half a turn. - Jenny, do not pull.

  * A problem with replacement,- she said.- The H-blocks located in the aggregate compartment acted as compensators in the gravitational component of the "Frontier". Now we continue to go in the "flicker" mode, the spaceship makes jumps in the subspace, but because of the failure of the H-blocks, the dissonance of gravitational waves grows and it is not possible to compensate for it. Seventy-five hours later, the "Wanderer" will turn into a small supernova.

  * We have repair robots,- said Cat.

  * Repair team does not count. Their processors have been replaced by processors with H-connections. Now they are a pile of scrap metal. The radiation level in the aggregate compartment is such that even when working in heavy spacesuits, none of the people will survive.

  * We cannot stop the reactor either, right?- Kofman asked her.

  * Without H-blocks, no. As soon as the energy supply ceases, the "Frontier" collapses, there is nothing to compensate for the gravitational wave - we will be blown to dust. Repair robots are in the aggregate, I don't see the point of repairing them myself - the time spent on repairing the robots, their adjustment, will take no less than the time required to change the H-blocks themselves directly... I called seventy-five hours, but this is the most critical. I believe that replacing the H-blocks should be done no later than sixty hours later. That is the situation.

For a while, everyone in the mess room kept silence, were silent.

Roberson returned to her seat.

Then the captain spoke:

  * It remains to decide who will go. And further. How much do H- blocks weigh?

  * One hundred and ninety-five kilograms,- answered Roberson.- And by the way. Heavy suits of high protection, do not fit, are too bulky, and not agile for such work. I think that middle class suits will be optimal, though they have much lower protection.

  * The necessary composition of the repair team will decide now. There will be no second chance. Two conditions are clear - understudies do not go and the team, in addition to the rest, should have one engineer and one nuclear engineer. It is necessary.

Unexpectedly, Galina Sergeyevna Vyazemskaya got up from her chair.

  * Write me down, she said calmly. I will be in my cabin.

And she went out ...

******* *******

Six went to the aggregate compartment.

The engineers are Clifford and Jennifer Roberson, the nuclear scientist Galina Vyazemskaya, the biologist Sarah Grasso, and the astrophysicists Victor and Marina Petrova.

At ten o'clock in the morning behind the repairmen, dressed in Orion-5 spacesuits, the access door to the aggregate compartment closed.

In the engineering compartment, from where there was communication with the repair team, understudies were not allowed.

Three hours later they returned. German and Bei Zuo, dressed in spacesuits, met them at the passageway.

Senchin, stubbornly pushing against Cat, trying to move him from his place, sloppy, with a reddened face, and with crazy, wet eyes from tears, hissed hissing through his teeth angrily:

  * Let me in! There, Aunt Galya... Get out of my way!

  * You stubborn fool, - Semyon Cat calmly answered him, not budging .- Get a hold of yourself. Slush ... Well?

And two days later, a funeral took place - the bodies of six repairmen laid in white containers, through the lock chamber, from the second section of the technical level, were sent to the abyss.

"Wanderer" continued on its way.

******* *******

Chapter 7.

Strength. On the same day when Folk fell ill. Senchin.

They always, when it was warm outside, gathered on weekends, here in the courtyard, behind a ragged wooden table, about two hours before dinner, playing chess or dominoes.

The still, quiet morning courtyard kept the coolness of the past night, but the sun, rising above the roofs, the rickety sheds, warmed those sitting at the table, promising a nice warm day for dinner. The silence of the morning was broken only by the growing noise of the scandal, coming from an open window leaf on the ground floor of a neighboring, recently painted green, two-story hut. The male bass, the female voice breaking to a squeal, and the rare, decisive sounds of breaking dishes.

  * Terbey has a good day again,- said Nosed Nod, thoughtfully holding a black chess rook in his hand.

His real name was Fis Nuum, and he was greatly offended by his nickname. He was over sixty years old, Nosed Nod lived on the second floor of a corner apartment and kept a hamster.

Large horn-rimmed glasses greatly enlarged his eyes and, in addition to this, he had a large nose, which was the reason for the nickname. Because of the morning coolness, Fis Nuum huddled, trying to pull his bare neck deeper into the collar of an old blue sweater.

The other two, sitting at the table next to Fis and Sergei, were Yamo Yakash, a blond-haired, twenty-six-year-old guy from a neighboring yard, with a sharp nose and funny eyes, in a dark green warm shirt and gray trousers, and Rocco Si, probably the same age as Fis Nuum - a strong physique, in a yellow rubbed on elbows to holes, a shirt and an old black tights - he always kept cheerful and seemed to never freeze.

  * Have you fallen asleep?- Rocco Si did not quite grunt, looking at Fis Nuum, who was frozen in thought.- You're not alone here, you are playing. You lose soon and free the reserved seat!

  * You wait,- Fis answered and lowered his black rook onto the chessboard.

  * Exactly? - Sergey asked him.

Fis impatiently shook his palms.

  * Exactly, exactly.

  * Then, mate to you, Fis!- Said Sergey, removed the" officer "from Fis's board and put his queen in his place.- Party!

  * Well, you bast shoe.- Rocco Cee laughed, nudged Fiss with his elbow.- Move from here. Old gelding, overslept everything.

They swapped places. And now Sergey had to play a game with Rocco Si. While they put the figures in their places, Fis Nuum, aka Nosed Nod, aka Bast shoe, grunted, leaned back in the bench; wide untreated board, and began to reason:

  * Yeah. I wonder at you, Rouk. You are young and love to drink, and you play chess skillfully.

  * I lose too, - Sergey answered him .- Sometimes. When you do not sleep.

Rocco laughed with a low, chesty laugh, winked at Fiss's offensively.

  * Let's go,- and Sergey made the first move with a pawn.

  * It's like a game as a game, these chess.- Fis poked his index finger into the clear morning sky, moved his fleshy nose.- But understand all of them, uh ... depth. A lot of combinations!

  * Have you seen a wise guy?- Rocco Si looked at the board, a thoughtful smile walked across his unshaven face covered with graying bristles, exposing an empty place in the mouth where once had the upper, front tooth.\- Farting, all these combinations of yours. Bast shoe. It's too late for you to be smart.

Fis fell silent and over the table for a short while, silence fell.

In the midst of the party, Fis suddenly started, leaned forward, his eyes went "roll out" and he proclaimed:

  * A man could not come up with chess!

The fair-haired Yamo, also perked up, said:

  * That's for sure, Fiss. What brains should be to come up with this?

  * Okay, brains,- Rocco grinned.- Probably not such bast shoes as you came up with. Two smart guys are sitting here - one locksmith, another janitor.

  * I, the watchman. - Fiss corrected him. - And in my youth I worked on the manufacture of machine tools, and I'll tell you, not some kind of tailor.

Rocco worked for many years as a tailor.

  * Well, yes, of course,- Rocco said thoughtfully, removing the white pawn from the board.- You were probably not allowed to come close to the machine. You probably walked around with a rag, wiping dust from the machines.

  * Poisonous, you man. On any word, be sure to bark. Fools, bast shoes...

  * And who are you? An engineer, may be?- Rocco laughed.\- You talk about the "brains" at home to your hamster. He will soon speak to you in a human voice. And just about the brains!

Yamo Yakash got up from the table, and said as if making excuses:

  * I'll go down to my own. I soon.

  * Go, go, dear. Your home has already lost you.- Rocco stared at the chessboard.

He left.

  * Regarding chess, you say it right, Fis,- Rocco spoke up.- It is unlikely that chess is from people.

Fis exclaimed:

  * Well, what kind of person are you ?! You just made fun of me ...

  * Bast shoe, you, log. You make speeches not for prying ears .- Rocco looked straight at Fis.\- This one is gone, now you can talk.

  * Why didn't Yamo please you?

  * And so .- Rocco looked in the direction where Yamo Yakash had gone .- He does not live in our yard. Why is he rubsing here?. What for? Or is he us, the same age?

Fis scratched his nose, said:

  * This is sure true. But he kinda became like his one of the lads... already.

  * Yes, one of the lads.- Roko nodded.- Only it is not clear to whom. Toch Kih was also "one of the lads", and then neighbors and friends suddenly disappear. It turned out that they were sent to prison. And our Toch Kih became a informant. I studied at the same school with him, and he was constantly spinning among us, crud.

  * Rocco, more careful with the expressions.- Fis raised a warning hand.

  * And here, besides the three of us, no one. If I did not trust you, then I would be silent.

  * I am not talking about this. You can't talk like that about the dead.

  * Why? Will he bite you? You can't... He lived like a dog and died like a dog.- Rocco watched the chessboard.- He was probably under the windows, eavesdropping, spying. He needed to retire soon. He was collecting dirt on someone. Incriminating evidences. Therefore, he was slaughtered. Scum.

  * Rocco!

  * Take it easy. How sensitive you are .- Rocco waved his hand at Fis.\- Although, of course, in the morning the police searched all the yards, interrogated, searched. What's the point? Well, someone stabbed him, well, robbed. Nothing, hanging around at night. Anyone ...- Rocco spat irritably to the side.- If Matza hadn't talked about this today, I wouldn't have thought of this bastard at all. I don't give a damn about him. By the way! This night, to our Marun, someone broke all the ribs! There are still good people in this world. Yeah...

And Rocco laughed.

  * I talked with his wife,- Fis said in confidence, rubbing his nose lovingly.\- She said that he was treated in the courtyard before the entrance, and so much so that she now takes out a night pot from under it. He was beaten hard. And without front teeth they left him. Like so.

  * He constantly pounding her, \- said Sergey.

  * Now he will love her,- Rocco laughed.

  * It's good that they didn't make a fool of Marun's yet,- Fis said.

  * Why do you regret it?- Asked Roco.- He would have stood at the entrance all day, all in saliva, and would have asked for cigarettes. He painted a bruise on his face son, and now suffers. Sufferer!

  * Or maybe it was his wife's lover, was he?- Fis philosophically suggested.

  * This is unlikely. - Sergey looked at the windows of the second floor of his hut. - She is a decent woman.

Fis abruptly changed the subject, saying:

  * Something I haven't seen your sister in a while, Rouk. Did you quarrel with her, or what?

Rocco grunted.

  * Sister. I have such sisters — half the city,- he said.

  * She is my sister.- Sergey rearranged a pawn on the board, reached into a pocket of a well-worn brown jacket behind a pack of cigarettes.- Cousin. She is looking for work now.

  * Okay, this is not our dog business, as they say, a sister or not a sister. She is polite, always greets. By the way, was it she who scratched the whole face of your neighbor? I heard something about this incident.

  * She, - Sergey lit a cigarette and squinted his eyes at the coal, puffed, spreading blue smoke around.- He molested her.

  * She's good, it's immediately obvious,- Fis commented.

  * Yes, ...- Rocco looked dreamily at the blossoming leaves of the nearest poplar .- She is pretty, lady. Be careful with her, Rouk, you never know... So that Fis and I wouldn't have to take out the night pot from under you.

  * There is an aunt for this,- Fis laughed, happily.

Sergey lost this game.

The next game was played by Fis and Rocco.

After a while, Rocco asked Fis's:

  * Well, and who do you think came up with chess?

The sun began to warm in a good way. Fis relaxed, sat contented, moving his big nose. Two sparrows flew in and sat on a branch of an old maple, with curiosity glanced at the players, exchanging a short tweet.

  * Why did you suddenly remember that? We didn't finish .- Rocco squinted at the Sun.- Well, and? Spread your thoughts, a storehouse of wisdom.

It was evident that Fis was gathering with a spirit — his brows were frowning, his eyes became stubborn. He even looked around, before "laying out."

  * Aliens. Chess is their game,- he said.

With a grin, Rocco removed the "officer" of Fis, who was thinking, from the board, and said:

  * This is clear. Diarrhea from dirty hands, children from her husband, and chess from aliens. But why did it dawn on to you? And besides, in the manner of moralists. Have you heard what newspapers write about aliens? Talking about aliens is harmful and does not support the foundations of castes, and therefore, are prosecuted by law. Got it? According to the law; bast shoe. They will take you away ... To Rotten Quarters.

  * According to the law, - Fiss grumbled, corrected his enormous points and resolutely made a move with a knight, which, in other matters, he immediately lost.\- Shit this law!

  * Fis, speak quietly,- Sergey warned him.

  * What is true is true,- Roko said with an arrangement.- We have a lot of shit, that's why shitty laws. Checkmate to you; bast shoe. Rouk, give me a cigarette.

Sergey reached into his pocket for cigarettes.

After half a minute, puffing on his cigarette, Rocco Si continued to say:

  * I don't know how about chess - who invented them, but the aliens are real. My brother-in-law saw them.

Sergei was even taken aback, took out another cigarette, lit a cigarette.

  * How's that?- He asked.

  * Here, Fis, look at Rouk. You saw how he stared. Simple soul.

  * Ah, you're kidding...

  * I speak seriously. My brother in law saw, not the aliens themselves, what they were like, but when their ship landed in the mountains.

Fis vindictively smiled and declared:

  * Your barber's cat, brother-in-law.

Suddenly, a gust of wind raised a stifling dust, spilled over the yard overgrown with weeds, dusty waves. Rocco coughed angrily, nearly dropped the cigarette, Fis sneezed twice, his glasses slipped down his nose.

Rocco wrapped himself in tobacco smoke, squinted, looking at Fis, spoke calmly and confidently:

  * I didn't catch him in a lie. I, too, saw something.

All silently waited for the continuation.

Rocco slowly took a drag on his cigarette, blew two wisps of smoke through his nostrils, and continued to say:

  * On the Eastern Ridge, fifty kilometers from the Iron City, their ship is standing.

  * Yes?- Fis often blinked, took off his glasses, he began to breathe on the glasses, then wiped them on a sweater.- I didn't catch you on lies either, but...

  * You may not believe, this is your business. But he still stands there, only wooden walls were built around him, like a tower. High tower, it is visible from afar. And there are many officers there. They even closed the road, which passes nearby. And several villages were completely evicted. So what if you snoop in there and they catch you; trouble. You won't see your hamster for a long time.

There was not a single cloud in the clear blue sky. The bright sun cheerfully reflected off the windows of the second floor of the hut, the wind died down.

  * So what?- Fis asked, putting on his glasses.

  * They can finish you off - without noise and dust. Who will look for you?- Rocco looked at the chessboard and added.- And you say; chess.

Sergey listened with interest to the conversation, listened attentively.

  * And, where are they now, the aliens?- Fis asked.- They were killed?

  * Who will kill them? Hillbill, you; bast shoe. They are kept in some kind of closed prison, and they transfer knowledge to them.- Rocco looked around, then leaned to Fis and Sergey across the table, said, lowering his voice.\- People say different things. I heard that not all the aliens were caught, some managed to escape. They are looking for them, they have been looking for them for a long time. But only they are not bast shoes to get caught like fools.

  * They will put us in jail for such talk .- Fis nervously drummed his fingers on the ragged surface of the table, but his face showed that he did not want to stop talking about aliens.\- In the inquiry department, all the ribs will break us.

  * Why are you so upset about it? Do you want to live a hundred years? Okay, okay, don't be angry, Fis ,- and Roko conciliatoryly smiled broadly.- I said it in a friendly way. Maybe soon we will not be afraid of anyone.

  * You think so? - Sergey asked him, throwing a cigarette butt into the nearest bushes: - I think that there will always be someone to be afraid of. One bloodsucker leaves, another comes.

  * People will come, not bloodsuckers .- Rocco turned a white pawn in his hand, then put it in a pile of chess folded up a slide.- And another life will come, and these loans will not be, and the attitude towards people will become human. I'm telling you exactly, you will see it yourself. In fact, some sort of mess in the cities is expected, so if it becomes not calm, it is better to immediately collect little things and run out of the city.

  * Did your brother-in-law tell you this too? - Fis asked mockingly.- They choked us, and they will continue to choke us. You better tell about the aliens.

  * Rouk, treat me with your cigarettes,- Rocco said.

Sergey treated him.

  * I don't know exactly when they arrived, but eight years ago, that's for sure,- Rocco said.

  * If they were alive, they would certainly have appeared.- Fis shook his index finger.- The awl in a bag cannot be hidden.

Roco snorted, said:

  * What are you all the same, clever man, Fis. Tell me, in which factory do make people like you? It is necessary to close this factory. Bast shoe.

  * Actually, Fis is right,- said Sergey.- A lot of time has passed.

  * Good,- Rocco said conciliatoryly.\- How long have we got all these chemical plants? What kind of cars now? Twenty-five years ago, all the newspapers were screaming about the miracle of progress — the steam engine. Fis, do you remember what a monster it was ?! Do you remember? And suddenly, like in a fairy tale, all these cars and trams appeared, they built factories... Where did all this come from? Do you know, Fis, how long does it take to get from a simple invention to hardware? It could not do without a hint.

Fis scratched his fleshy nose, adjusted his glasses and said uncertainly:

  * Of course... My nephew serves as a sailor on an armored cruiser. He says that now they are given such shells, in comparison with which the former powder; crackers.

  * Here! Listen to your nephew. Speaking of nephews! - Rocco stared at Sergey seriously.- Rouk, when did you come to your aunt? Probably seven or eight years ago?

  * And what? - Sergey portrayed a misunderstanding.

  * Well, here it all fits together. I had never heard of any nephew of Tosia before. Yes, and you play chess skillfully. Fis, what do you say? Could our Rouk be an alien?

Fis spat to the side, said:

  * He is a stranger like me an engineer. He still hasn't dried vomit on his shirt-front. He does not look like an alien. Not at all like that. Do not be angry, Rouk, but you are our man.

  * He drank from grief! - Smiling, said Rocco.

And they both laughed out loud. Sergey also laughed with them.

He laughed the longest.

He won the next game of chess.

******* *******

A few hours after gatherings in the courtyard with Rocco's and Fis's, Sergei stood on the platform of the black station, waiting for the train.

Sveta promised to return today by the Northern Express, along with Misha's.

Sergei was nervous, he smoked a lot, one cigarette after another.

On wooden, recently painted white oil paint benches, standing along the one-story long, old building of the station, built of red brick, sat men and women with children, young and old, with bales, suitcases and boxes. Some of them were leaving, someone was seeing someone off.

At the main entrance to the station, leaning against a broken jamb of a wooden door that did not close, stood a policeman, about forty-five years old, full, not tall, in a blue, worn uniform. The policeman took off his cap, exposing a bald spot glistening in the sun, fanning his sweaty and drunken face with it.

About ten meters from Sergei stood a man of about thirty, he was dressed in a long black cloak, black trousers and black boots, on his head, pulled over his eyes, was wearing a gray wide-brimmed hat, he somehow cringed, wiping with white with a handkerchief his reddened sharp nose, and seemed sick. A man in a black cloak stood exactly like a pillar to a leg, his back was straight, like a board.

"\- He is a military man." - Senchin decided, looking at him.

Somewhere in the distance, around the bend of the railway tracks, a steam locomotive hummed invisible behind a dense thicket of bushes growing at the end of the platform. On the second path stood a "freight car" and an old locomotive attached to it, with a white wheel rim, threw smoke and steam into the sky.

It smelled of fuel oil and coal.

Sergei, soon forgot about the "military".

The sun shone brightly. It shone on smooth, railroad rails, heated the dirty asphalt of the platform and the sky seemed transparent, blue crystal.

Misha...

They had not seen each other since the day of the landing, when someone ran away to where, under the thunder of gunfire and screams, soldiers and officers suddenly came running.

So many years have passed. Sveta said that Misha was fat, but Sergei could not imagine him fat.

Senchin asked Sveta a lot about Misha, several times he could ask her about the same thing, which brought Lanina out of patience.

  * Are you pretending, or really, here.- And Sveta tapped her forehead with her knuckles.- Did you become a sclerotic?

According to her, Misha was collecting the transmitter, but things were going badly. Misha himself said that he lacked the necessary knowledge, and had to "reinvent the wheel." In his basement, Gorin could disappear for hours, doing his "pile of junk."

"A bunch of trash" - this was her review, about the transmitter Gorin.

Misha's wife, the owner of a rich estate, loved her husband to madness.

  * She's like a cat, - said Sveta, laughing, and at such moments Sergey saw her eyes moisten with restrained tears .

Misha's wife was called Talya Zerkh from the White Caste of Managers. They lived almost without a break in the estate, in the mountains. Sveta told him that Misha was telling his wife what he needed for the transmitter, and she was ordering this from her uncle, colonel, artilleryman. Through him she got documents for my husband. Remembering that day, Misha told her:

  * Yeah, the scandal was grandiose! But uncle loves her very much, and obeys her.

Talya's parents died a long time ago, except for her uncle, she had no relatives.

Misha himself, according to Sveta's words, did not participate in the mentioned "scandal"; he sat out in the next room. The fact that Gorin is an alien, Talya knew.

A stopping train informed the whole district about its approach by two long, piercingly high beeps. People began to pull up from the station to the platform. Benches quickly empty. There were a lot of people, there were no crush. People spoke animatedly with each other, carried things, went to the very edge of the platform. And so, because of the turn, puffing and hovering with steam and enveloping in smoke, a smoked locomotive appeared. He pulled a long "sausage" of dirty blue carriages, faded curtains on the windows, conductors standing in the open doors of the cars, holding red flags in their hands, lowered down.

Train of black castes.

On the water tank of the engine there was an emblem - a yellow circle with two white circles in the center.

No one announced the arrival of the train. He approached the platform quickly and confidently, leaving behind in puffs of smoke and vapor, allowing semaphores.

The beep again and the second immediately.

The train rolled onto the first track of the station with a whistle and clang of brake pads, a clatter of wheels and a loud pant, enveloped the people waiting for it with a thick white cloud of steam and quickly, slowing down, went to the end of the platform.

He stopped. Conductors jumped out of the open doors of the wagons, dirty from soot and soot, and passengers began to descend after them.

  * The train will stand for half an hour!- The conductor shouted from the carriage that stood next to Sergey,- he looked rumpled, was not shaved, and his light green form had traces of soot on his sleeves.

The space on the platform was filled with the noise of voices and movement. Those who got out of the cars, holding teapots and cans, ran towards the black station to collect boiling water in them, while those who were about to board the train crowded around the cars, holding out paper tickets to the conductor.

People hugged, said goodbye.

  * Where are you pulling all this, dad?- The conductor of the next car shouted, addressing a gray-haired, stunted man who was trying to squeeze through the crowd, with huge boxes tied with a rope and kicking a shabby brown suitcase in front of him.- This is not a freight train!

  * Son, give my regards to Aunt Malusha...

  * Pass into the carriage.

  * Where are the tickets? Ah, you see off...

  * Boy, do not crush the boy!

In this short confusion, Sergey saw them.

Sveta stood with her back to Senchin in a light pink dress, in white shoes — she looked towards the "head" of the train, and next to her, stepping her foot on a small black suitcase with iron corners, stood Misha. Tilting his head, he lit a cigarette, covering his burning match with his palms.

Sergei even from afar began to smile at them. He began to make his way through the crowd along someone's legs and suitcases, collecting indignant cries of people, he climbed ahead like a rhinoceros.

Misha!

******* *******

  * Maybe,- said Misha, looking at Senchin with eyes drunk with wine.

They discussed the transmitter Misha was going to assemble, whether he could or not, make a working transmitter.

  * Maybe I can. Maybe... Maybe an acne will appear on the ass. Maybe... Sorry!

Sveta laughed loudly. She sat next to Tosia Vak with her hands on the table. Sergei settled in a shaky chair opposite Misha, and Evol Kyumo sat next to Gorin, on his right.

The light under the ceiling was dimly burning, it was dark outside the window.

On the table stood a samovar, which had already cooled down, two open bottles of wine, glasses, plates with a snack - they had been sitting here for a long time.

Evol Kyumo looked at the ranting Gorin, occasionally hesitantly, asked him something.

Before Sergey stood a large faceted half-liter mug, with strong sweet tea, from which he periodically drank.

Evol Kyumo, like Senchin, drank tea from a white pot-bellied cup.

  * I,- said Misha, and with an aiming gaze, reached for a green bottle.- I'm doing business. You, Seryoga, do you know what a diode is? For instance.

  * Element in electronics. - Senchin drank from the mug. - Will it get away?

  * And how to replace it, you know? What needs to be done to get a diode? Oh you don't know,- and Misha leisurely emptied his glass of wine, exhaled, continued.- This is not the same as turning a helm wheel. The diode can be replaced... It can be replaced with an ordinary sewing needle. Well, that's roughly speaking. What about a variable capacitor?

  * I am a pilot. You do your job, and I'll take you away from here. With wind in ears.

  * To the "wind in the ears" is still far away, - said Misha.

He hiccuped loudly:

  * Excuse me. I hope to get in touch with "Wanderer" soon. If it weren't for Sveta with her hysterical arrival, then maybe I would have done it already the other day.- He portrayed a completely idiotic expression on his face and raised his voice, imitating Lanina, exclaimed.- I found him! I found him!

  * A clown,- said Sveta.- You should stop drinking.

  * And in my opinion, everything is decent,- Evol stood up for Gorina.

Evol Kyumo sat at the table in his usual gray suit. His tightly buttoned snow-white shirt and not loosened tie knot caused Sergey respect and sympathy.

  * So far,- said Sveta.- You have not yet seen him in all its glory.

  * Svetlana, stop spreading vile gossip about me. - Misha, leaned a little in her direction, a serious, intelligent face.

  * So we will soon fly away from Strength,- Evol said thoughtfully.- Frankly, for so many years of waiting, I have already stopped hoping.

  * Soon. - Misha looked at Evola, reached for a bottle, but Lanina moved his hand away. - I suggest everyone to move to our mountains, to the estate. We will all be together, so safer.

There was a knock on the door of the room.

  * Are you waiting for someone? - asked Misha, Senchin's.

  * No. I will open it myself.

Sergey got up from the table and went to the door, opened it, looked out into the dark corridor. There stood Toka Angle in a warm, dark blue robe, a woolen white shawl on its shoulders.

  * Rouke, guest to you. I opened, you don't hear.

And she, having turned away, went down the corridor to her room, and from the darkness a black figure in a cloak advanced.

  * Can I come in?- The guest asked hoarsely and Sergey stepped back into the room, letting the visitor in.

It was the same "military" from the black station that caught Senchin's attention.

The stranger went into the room and stopped in front of the table - kind of painful, cloak buttoned. He pushed his gray hat to the back of his head, stood and silently looked at those sitting at the table.

  * Who are you to?- Tosia Vak asked him.

Her voice was steady and calm. Probably, in the same voice she talks with patients in her hospital, and only her eyes acquired a mixed expression of fear and anger.

  * Can I?- The stranger asked, nodding at Sergei's empty chair.

Without waiting for permission, he sat down at the table, took off his hat and laid it on his lap.

Misha examined the guest with drunk interest.

A whole minute passed in silence.

  * So you, nevertheless, to whom did you come to? And for what?- Tosia Vak asked him again.

The guest continued to look silently, somewhere past Misha's, trembling slightly under his black, buttoned cloak.

It seems that Gorin examined something in him that the others did not see, he took the bottle, filled his glass to the brim and splashed pink wine on the tablecloth, stretched out and set the glass in front of the guest, said with understanding:

  * Have a drink. The rest later.

The stranger drank. Putting the glass on the table, he said:

  * I don't know where to start. Not sure if all of you are up to date.- He shrugged.- Problem.

Gorin filled the glass a second time and set it in front of the guest.

  * Stop it.- Sveta restrainedly looked at Misha, then looked at the stranger, asked.- What are you talking about?

  * I AM? - The stranger coughed. - Oh, what am I? Do you all know each other well?

  * Are you crazy?- An expression of irritation appeared in Sveta's face.- Either you leave for good, or we will call the police.

  * Ah, the police,- the guest said indifferently.- It's no use.

  * He is an officer,- said Tosia Wak, and Sergey heard the metal in her voice.- Probably the captain? Am I not mistaken?

The guest looked at her in surprise, grinned and answered:

  * Ahem. From today, I'm a major. What is very noticeable?

  * Yes, for me.

  * Wow! - This is Misha.

Gorin even held up his hand with a glass halfway to his mouth, but still brought it.

Evol and Lanina were silent.

  * "Wanderer". Land,- the guest said distinctly.- Does this tell you anything?

Senchin caught his breath from what he heard.

"\- Hit him on the head," he thought. "And then we'll figure it out ..."

  * Says,- said Gorin.

He stared at the guest in the face.

  * This tells us nothing,- Sveta spoke out and it was evident that in her look fear and hatred were fighting each other.- Get out!

Gorin waved his hand at her, was already very drunk, said:

  * He knows, and he is here. He is alone here. We are not arrested. The officers would gladly take us by the collar.

  * With joy.- The guest wiped his sweaty face with his palm, he shivered.- I wanted to find out. Does everyone know the subject of conversation.

  * Everyone knows, - Misha answered.

Senchin stood behind the stranger, looking at his short-cropped head, black hair "hedgehog."

  * I have a suggestion for you.

  * What suggestion? - Misha's eyes narrowed.

Guest said:

  * After all, at first, as I thought? I'll break in, everyone's face on the floor. Hurriedly. The thing is common. Wow. It's just that aliens go to work, walk, meet each other at the station. There is no one to meet me. I came because I want to leave with you. If you take me, of course.

Misha leaned back in his chair, said:

  * We do not have a secret society, but a passage yard. So what? Are you very hot? Are your colleagues eating you or have you done something wrong?

The officer's cheeks were red with wine, his gleaming eyes clouded over and he spoke, as if in delirium:

  * They always ate each other. Always, but now everything will become much worse. A month, two ... And the carnage will begin. Dangerous animals. I did it, I was there. Like one of them. Yes, I became one of them. One choice is to leave. Forever. As far as possible from here. With you.

Misha grinned drunkenly and declared:

  * Will turn out far enough with us.

Everything happened quickly.

With a sharp movement of the hand, offhand, Lanina forcefully slapped the guest with a ringing slap in the face, swung to strike a second time, but Tosia Vak grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her.

The stranger did not react.

Only the head shook.

  * What, conscience ate you? - Sveta, with a distorted hatred face, tried to get up, but Tosia Vak held her back.- Wanted to escape? Scum, officer snout, bastard!- Tears flowed from Sveta's reddened eyes.- Scums, you are all scums. Do not even hope! Do you want to whitewash your conscience? You'll never be clean! Never!

******* *******

Part two.

The path in the abyss.

Chapter 1.

"Wanderer". In orbit Strength. Hans Wulf.

He had long ceased to keep track of the time — the months and years merged into an endless dull and meaningless road that seemed to go to infinity.

He sometimes even forgot his own name, as he wanted to remember today and couldn't, and for several minutes sat in a stupor, looking into the window and trying to find in memory these seemingly familiar words embedded in his own "I".

Hans Wulf.

Hans Wulf was his name.

Loneliness - terrible, asphyxiating, gave rise to fear - chilling, unaccountable, and fear led to hatred. To all. Hatred for the empty and deserted corridors of the ship, for the Planet, slowly spinning two thousand kilometers from the starship, in a bunch as hopeless as shackles - Planet — "Wanderer". This doomed dance drove Woolfe crazy. He hated the Planet, hated its mountain ranges and oceans that glistened in the sun, hated the blue-and-white swirls of cyclones floating in its transparent atmosphere.

A strange, contradictory feeling dominated Hans, hating the Planet, he would happily end up on it now, where the sun was shining or a thunderstorm was raging, where there was movement and life.

There was no life on the starship except Hans Wulf.

He knew that he was doomed to die in this convenient huge prison, with no hope of pardon or escape.

In other matters, he still could, albeit weakly, count on an escape.

His imprisonment began on That Day.

Wulf called it that day, highlighting it in his life as a fatal red line - That Day.

On that day, they, the remaining crew of the "Wanderer", set off for the moon.

Hans was left on duty on a spaceship, and they themselves, taking the passenger shuttle "Platform-1", went on a cruise.

"\- Cruise." - So said Alla Kofman.

Cruise.And they never came back.

Communication with "Platforma-1" was interrupted when the shuttle left the far side of the moon. Hans was waiting for radio communications with them, sitting in the starship observatory.

But they did not answer.

They stayed there forever.

He thought a lot about it and could not call the decision to fly, except as stupid. But then it seemed to be the right and simple decision that began in the crew, depression. Yuri Makeev and Tom, Tom Smith grappled in the wardroom, at Koffman, grappled, on death. They began to kill each other. Because of a trifle. Hans did not even remember the reasons for their sudden quarrel. Apparently this incident served as the decision of Cat for a short-term outing.

He said, "short-term outing."

How did it all start?

It all started a few years ago, with the landing on the Planet. One of the two heavy planetary ships, The "Storm", with half the crew, including Captain Strizhov, undocked from the starship and headed for the Planet.

The "Storm" stopped contacting the day the captain scheduled an exit to the surface of the Planet. And suddenly the planetary began to challenge the "Wanderer".

It was Semen Kislovsky.

Two weeks after planting.

Semen Kislovsky.

Kislovsky spoke with Stepan Kot, he lied to him something, and demanded to give him the "Storm" start codes, without which the "Storm" was just high-tech junk.

Cat did not give him anything, and also cursed him rudely, abusively.

Cat decided not to endanger the captain and team, he decided to wait a while. He did not want to risk the last planetary shuttle "Thunder", and he was in no hurry with the landing. There were many suggestions, including to carry out intimidation measures, to use the weapons available on board the "Wanderer", but the Cat said that "we will always be in time to hit the planet."

And then that fight and the departure of "Platform-1" took place.

All.

How many years ago was that? A lot of.

Eternity.

At first, Hans still watched the Planet in the optics of the observatory, watched what was happening on it, conducting observations through two reconnaissance satellites put out by Cat, but afterwards threw it.

There were people on the planet, ordinary-looking people. Factory chimneys smoked, ships sailed across the oceans, now and there, military clashes took place.

The "Storm" crew no longer made contact.

Wulf could not pilot.

Sometimes Hans ceased to be afraid of death, as if a natural, instinctive feeling of fear of death had died out in him. It happened that he began to be overwhelmed by thoughts about the self-termination of his life, but at such moments he said to himself:

  * You are a tough guy, Hans Wulf. You can stand it all, just imagine that they come back. They will be back.

He imagineding that the "Storm" was returning and it became easier for him to wait.

Months passed.

Finally, Wulfe decided.

Landing on the Planet became for him the obvious and only right step. Having made a landing on the "Thunder", certainly next to the "Storm", he will not, like the last nerd, open the exit hatch and hang around the district. No. He will incinerate all life within a radius of a kilometer from the ship, then with the help of automatic probes he will take up big cities, he will force the authorities or the one who holds the crew to return earthlings. He will force. Hans Wulfe did not doubt it.

But for the implementation of this plan, it was required to obtain access to the planetary control systems from the on-board computer, which meant that it was necessary to master the piloting of the heavy "Thunder".

Even on autopilot, the computer, due to the directive he had on this subject, refused to send "Thunder", albeit with a passenger on board.

Hans Wulf was to become a pilot.

  * You are a persistent guy, Hans Wulf. This must be done.

He began training on the simulator, spent hours in the training compartment, listening to computer lectures, crammed.

At first he was distracted by his studies, it became interesting for him to delve into the complexity of the control and arrangement of spacecraft. The development of piloting was assumed to be stepwise. From the beginning, he had to master the skills of piloting the "Tor" and the orbital "Platform", without which the computer would not allow him to materials on planetary shuttles.

Wulf, as if obsessed, took up his studies. But time passed and fatigue filled him with indifference to study. The path to shuttle management turned out to be too difficult and long.

Forgotten fear returned.

The corridors began to frighten him, especially the ajar doors to the compartments, it seemed that someone was sitting in them — a stranger, not found.

Wulf finally settled down on the eleventh tier in the training rooms, arranged expeditions to the food department for groceries, gathered packs of rations intended for those who were on duty, and did not go to other tiers of the "Strannik" residential complex. Until hunger again began to drive him into the catering department.

The toilet and shower were at the very end of the eleventh tier.

Once Wulf was visited by a ridiculous, at first glance, thought, but when she arrived, she no longer left him — was he alone on the ship? Can someone else be nearby, hide, somewhere in the compartments, or even watch him? For example, what caused the failure of the H-systems, when at the cost of the lives of six people the crew managed to survive.

Invisible, elusive.

To drive away these thoughts, Hans tried to devote more time to learning, but before going to bed, he involuntarily returned to what he was trying to leave.

He called them- They.

They are an invisible alien presence on the "Wanderer". Now Wulf began to fear not only empty corridors, but also that moment when he went to bed and closed his eyes. It was then that they could bend down to look into his face...

It was really scary, so scary that breathing stopped, and the body went numb.

What do they want from him? Why are they here? Do they know of his hunch?

  * You are a tough guy, Hans Wulf. This is just nonsense.

Do they play with him?

  * There is nobody on the ship except me!

They are playing. In addition to the aggregate compartment, They have nowhere to hide.

Hans asked the computer for a total scan of the starship and the answer was expected - on the "Wanderer" there is only one living creature, it is Hans Wulf.

Who would doubt that. With them, it is not so simple.

Maybe They clung to people back on Ice and only now got out of the hidden, dark places of the ship, crawled out...

  * There are no hidden spaces on the ship!- Said Hans loudly.- There are no dark corners!

He was now in the classroom, a small, brightly lit compartment, from where he had previously cleaned all the tables and chairs, equipped a compartment for his bedroom, sat on an elastic mattress, clutching a thin blanket in his hands.

  * Here is just me.

And he lay down, covered himself with a blanket and even now hesitated to close his eyes ...

... He suddenly heard the usual girlish chuckle.

Good-natured chuckle.

Not loudly.

Hans jerked up on his mattress, listening to the silence of the compartment.

Nothing.

But he knew; They went out.

They will come.

One more thing. Hans Wulf realized that he had made a big mistake. Firstly, he didn't have any weapons with him, and secondly, the doors on this tier can hardly be called reliable. Reliable in all respects were the access hatches in the command and navigator compartments - armor!

The laughter did not repeat.

  * You strong guy, Hans Wulf,- he whispered to himself.- This must be done.

In the command compartment were stored weapons that no one had ever used - four laser pistols locked in a safe. But there are four tiers to go to the command compartment.

Light panels indifferently illuminated the classroom with a steady, white light.

  * You can.

He quietly got up and went up to the door leading to the corridor and listened.

Not a sound behind the door. Moody silence lurked deep in the corridors.

Weapons this is serious. With a weapon, he will beat out anyone's brains or whatever They have instead of brains.

Wulf opened the plastic door - just a little, looked out into the corridor. Light panels burned in the corridor, they shone from the ceiling and walls, and silence and peace reigned around.

To the elevator and then from the elevator to the command compartment.

And what will They do to him, will they kill him? If they wanted to kill, then they would have killed for a long time. No, no, not touched.

In fact, a cat does not immediately kill a caught mouse before releasing its guts.

And he, having jumped out of his hiding place, ran as he ran along the corridor to the elevator platform, past the gym, the door to which he had left open on the eve.

Do not look around, forward.

He ran to the elevator platform and pressing the elevator call button, waited, peering into the depths of the empty corridor — no one.

The elevator came soundlessly, the mother of pearl door quietly opened. Hans ducked into the cockpit, pressed the seven button. Another minute, and now he is already on the right tier — everything is quiet, calm.

Slipped?

He rushed to run along the softly lit corridor, past closed doors, rooms that had not been visited by people for a long time, ran to the command compartment, where confidence and protection awaited him. The sound - the dull splashing of his bare feet on the smooth surface of the floor, echoing treacherously loud, rang out on both sides of the corridor and then he heard Them.

The growing noise of many legs running after him, Hans heard in horror of the death sentence, for whom they came to lead him to execution.

No!

Engineering compartment, instrument compartment, laboratory ... He rushed to the command compartment, without looking back, with all his might, before calling to the computer:

  * Computer, open the hatch in the command compartment!

The massive, bulging hatch in the command compartment had just finished climbing up, opening the door when Hans Wulf flew into the rescue room like a bullet, ordering:

  * Close the hatch!

With a quiet hiss, the armored hatch fell into place. Choking on the run, Wulf sprawled on the smooth floor, listening to his heartbeat.

He looked around - no one.

He did it.

Hans smiled, a croaking sound of laughter burst from his throat.

  * Hans,- he heard a quiet, friendly voice, on the other side of the hatch.- Open to us, Hans. We won't do anything to you.

Wulf crawled up to the wall, pressed against the warm smooth plastic with his back — his heart was beating, ready to break out of his chest.

  * Quiet, - the first voice. - Hans, my friend, I will tell you many interesting stories. You want to chat with someone, right? Loneliness is so scary. So scary...

Wulfe was shaking.

  * He screwed up, he sits in a puddle, - says a hoarse voice.

  * Don't bother,- interrupts his first calm voice.- Hans, you not very polite with friends. But we are your friends.

  * Yes friends, darn it! Open the hatch before we ourselves enter.

A cheerful girlish laugh is heard.

  * Hans, the first voice says. We all the same, get to you, but then it will be too late.

  * Yes, it will be too late, you bastard.

  * We can get angry.

  * Oh yeah. We can, we can. Let's get angry... Open the hatch, reptile smelly!

Hans squeezed his head with both hands, laughed hysterically. What he had been thinking about in recent months, about which he had guessed, all this, was confirmed, turned out to be real.

  * I won't open this hatch! I will not open it! ... I will not open it! I will never open it!...

  * Sooner or later, but you get out of there...

And he woke up.

He woke up, shouting the last word, staring madly into the snow-white ceiling of the training compartment, not yet recovering, not realizing that it was a dream. Nightmare.

Only after some time, all the comic nature of his position reached him, he realized that he woke up.

Having risen to his feet, Wulf began disgust, with shame, to pull off his wet overalls, muttering:

  * I'm must act. I'm going crazy.

Now, after waking up, he began to look more ironically at his situation.

  * Well, well, it happens, I blundered. But nothing, they won't take you with their bare hands, Hans Wolf. You will still show everyone, Kuz'kin mother.

"Kuzkina's mother" is an expression of Stepan Kot.

"Kuzkina's mother."

But there was no one to show the notorious "Kuzkin's mother".

He stood, staring pointlessly at the floor, and the fingers of his hands moved as if they lived a life separate from the whole body.

"Kuzkina's mother," thought Hans. "- This is Kuzma's mother ..."

******* *******
Chapter 2.

Strength. Inspector Sklim Yark.

It was morning.

Sklim Yark, police inspector of the second category, got off the bridge and turned left, where the gentle slope led to the river, stopped, looking down.

And why this wallet was found here, and not on the side of the road, for example.

Sklim recently turned fifty-eight, and although he considered himself still in quite normal shape, he tried to avoid unnecessary physical exercise.

In this case, it was quite obvious to him that the robber was a rare bastard, and having thrown this wallet so far from the road, he apparently wanted to express his contempt for the police.

The real bastard.

Top grade.

Can such people be re-educated? And anyway, who needs to educate such complete bastards?

Sklim began to carefully descend the slope.

The bright sun shone on the right, blinded his eyes. Sklim bowed his head, looked at his feet.

Last year's sod, dried up through which young grass made its way, seemed quite reliable so that Sklim could safely go down it to the river. He regretted that he had not taken a stick so that it would be possible to make this path better and safer.

He spent at least five minutes on the descent and, finding himself on the shore with a smell of something musty, he breathed a sigh of relief and began to inspect the site about which the boy had spoken. Namely; a large pile of poplar branches cut down a year ago and piled near the very edge of the water.

The boy was brought to the police station by a saleswoman of a shop selling expensive wall carpets. It turns out that the boy came to her store to buy a gift for his mother; carpet. The woman without thinking twice, without unnecessary proceedings, took him to the police. Then they brought his mother to the station. Sklim interrogated the boy. The boy was ten years old, and he studied at a nearby school. According to him, last night he played on the shore near the bridge, and found a wallet, with a considerable amount of money. It is clear that he took the money, and threw the wallet. He said that he threw it there, where he found it, in a bunch of old, sawn branches, near the bridge over the canal. Having written the protocol, Sklim let mother and son go home and decided to find this wallet.

Looking at a large, shapeless bunch of branches, Sklim was already preparing for the worst, namely, for a long and tedious search in this mess, when he suddenly saw a wallet. He lay open, next to the thick, sawn trunk of a poplar. Sklim smiled a contented smile; there are also good days in his work.

He picked up wallet, examined it; plain, black, leather, with strap and iron, round clasp.

When he opened wallet, he immediately saw a token of oval shape shining in the sun, with the numbers stamped at the top, 7508, and below the name of the owner, Toch Kih, and the name of the city, Quiet Harbor.

Still, this is the wallet of the murdered Toch Kihe.

Found.

Damn him.

He saw nothing else in wallet.

He put the find in the right pocket of the blue police raincoat, and the token in the inside pocket. So more reliable. For another thirty minutes Sklim examined the coastal strip in search of anything that could indicate a killer, but he did not find anything.

Puffing, he climbed up to the road, and caught his breath.

In principle, the day started not badly.

Three days after the murder, a Toch Kih wallet was found.

That's goodHumming with a motor, a green MP-500 truck drove by, scattered asphyxiating gray dust. Sklim coughed, covering his face with his palm, quickly went to the bridge, walked to the end and ended up at Place de la Concorde, where, surrounded by flower beds, stood a monument to Mr. Iin.

Sklim thought, looking at the people sitting on the benches, that a little more and the hot summer would fall upon them, and the black quarters, like every year, would suffocate from the heat and dust.

He liked spring. Dry, late spring, with the smells of revitalized greens and its beautiful, comfortable weather, always gave an excellent mood and a ghostly hope for non-existent happiness.

Examining himself, he found dirt adhering to his right boot. The dirt looked disgusting. This morning, getting ready for service, Sklim polished his boots with wax to a shine, he tried. And what now to do with it?

  * Shit,- he muttered quietly under his breath, stepped over to the curb and carefully wiped his dirty boot on it. It turned out badly, he just smeared the dirt.

He headed across the square to the exit to Tenth Street.

Passing by the monument, Sklim heard a sparrow-like tweeting - the birds were sitting on the bronze bald head of Mr. Iin. Bird droppings painted the head of the "founder of the city" white, and the sparrows chirped cheerfully, looking at the policeman passing by them. The sight of the policeman did not bother them.

He winked at the sparrows and smiled.

In their life, too, there are difficulties and the danger of being eaten by a cat, but this is nothing compared to the opportunity to shit with impunity on a bald head, a respecteding person.

Sklim was heading to the police station, where he seemed to serve for ages, and now this eternity was ending, soon retirement. At the thought of retirement, his broad, cheeky face was clouded.

Sklim Yark did not want to retire; he hoped to remain in the service for up to sixty-five years, as Inspector Malke from the twelfth station. True, now this hope was melting like snow in the spring. And all because of the murder of Toch Kih's.

One nerd, decided at night, to wander around the dark corners of the black quarters, and another nerd (who was yet to be found) cut the night owl, which plunged the entire Sklim's police station into big unnecessary trouble.

Sklim, unhurriedly, took a pack of cigarettes from his left pocket in his cloak and lit a cigarette.

Passers-by — men and women — passed by, each of them went about his own business, and almost everyone, when the policeman approached, his expression became ... bland. Sklim called this expression on face bland, as if a person suddenly lost his ability to think and feel at once. Like a doll's face.

A light breeze carried yellow dust along the dry, dusty cobblestones of the sidewalk.

He knew some of the passers-by, others only by sight. Like, for example, this man from the Eighth Street, a pimpled big man in a gray checkered suit. Look how you squint! Do you remember me? Do you remember. And I remember you. Well hello hello.

Sklim nodded briefly to a passing red-haired man who smiled warmly at him, showing Sklim all his 32 teeth. Although, perhaps already 31.

Sklim walked past two-story wooden barracks where tall poplar trees covered with bright green leaves grew along the road.

A white bus drove past him, up the street, recently washed, rattling doors, it smelled of caustic exhaust fumes.

This year for Sklim was unsuccessful. The filthy year, to be sure, is much worse than the year when he was wounded in the left shoulder and, he spent a month in the district hospital. And a week before, on a drunken case, he had a fight with a neighbor in a communal apartment, and the neighbor's wife, a shrill and quarrelsome lady, quickly filed a complaint with the police department. They wanted Sklim to be kicked out of the police, but then it happened, that shoot-out - Sklim was taken to the hospital, and the robbers to prison. It turned out that before the arrest these bandits robbed some bureaucrat in the White City. Sklim was even awarded a medal "for valor" of the second degree, they quickly forgot about his fight with a neighbor, and he remained to serve in his precinct, and even with a medal. True, the shoulder still hurts, and it looks like it will hurt, for a long time to come.

But this year turned out to be worse than before.

His wife left him, his Irga.

Irga.He pulled the "family cart" for many years, and never, even in the moments of the most terrible scandals, never hit his wife.

Never.

His father told him:

  * Son, when you grow up, remember, only cowards and bastards beat women and children. Cowards and bastards.

Father always knew what was talking about.

Irga left with hysteria, accusations and the last words addressed to him. A red thread in her words was her resentment against him - for the fact that for so many years he had not reached the rank of at least lieutenant, as he was a sub-lieutenant, so he remained. And her youth passed, her hopes, which she laid on him...

He silently watched what was happening, realizing that he couldn't change anything, that all her words were just a screen behind which there was a long-made decision on divorce.

All. She is gone.

However, all her tantrums during their family life have so tempered Sklim that the last scandal with his wife he took as the logical ending of their painful marriage. The only difference from their other scandals is that she disappeared from his life forever.

She left.

To some clerk from a freight office. Sklim made inquiries and found out that his wife, his Irga, had been attending this clerk's apartment for many years...

It would be better if he did not know about it.

Nothing left.

In addition to bitterness and annoyance, years spent in vain.

But it has already happened.

Irga, Irga ... In your forty-eight years, the second youth is unlikely to calm your absurd character.

  * Shit,- he said out loud and spat on the sidewalk.

Sklim has a son, Roskl.

Reliance and hope for the father.

The joy of life, protection in old age, so to speak.

Sklim always loved order in both things and thoughts, everything for him had its place and its meaning. He wanted his son to become a policeman.

Yeah.

Since childhood, Roskl reached for his mother, constantly rubbing near her skirt.

Snotter.

Sklim tried to use the belt as little as possible, only in the most extreme cases, when the offspring's act simply cried out for punishment. He always believed that words are stronger than a belt. But it happened that Roskl got his portion of cuffs.

  * Mom, dad slapped me again! - Roskl complained to her mother, theatrically smearing tears on her cheeks.

Well then, he was still very young and Sklim hoped that growing up, his son would change for the better.

In vain he hoped so.

Once, when Roskl was already twelve years old and he was at school, Sklim, leaving for work, being in the hallway, he distinctly heard his quiet words from the room:

  * Mom, the bastard is leaving.

He was literally dumbfounded at the door, unable to do anything. This is not the same as dragging drunkards to the police station.

The bastard is leaving.

Snotter.Roskl and now, having married at the age of thirty, remained a jerk, only now he rubs near another skirt.

Son, son... Your mother.

Who knows how it happens; you marry, love, believe that now life has got a new breath, and are happy about the birth of your child, wash your diapers, having come home after the duty, when your wife is lying on the couch with a "headache". You run away with your crying child, in the middle of the night to the hospital, frightened by the thought of a possible disaster with him, and then, years later, you listen to at school, his teacher's story that your offspring stole money from this teacher's handbag.

  * You do not punish him strongly, Mr. Yark,- she says, without looking into his eyes.

Or you go to a neighboring house, where in the courtyard local hooligans beat your son; they broke his nose, and put a bruise under his eye. And finding them, you are burning with anger and wanting to tear their stupid heads off, you suddenly find out that Roskle deserved both a broken nose and a black eye.

And after a few more years, you hear a malicious hiss behind your back, like a shot in the back, which overtakes you unexpectedly:

  * Mom, the bastard is leaving.

  * Shit,- Sklim said again.

Passing by the large, cleanly washed shop window of the "Lucco and the Brothers" store, which was unsuccessfully robbed the year before last, Sklim saw a brand new, painted in green "Shkell" gramophone. The gramophone lid was invitingly open, a record with a bright red circle in the center cast glare on a shiny sound tube.

Sklim walked by without stopping.

The wife took their old gramophone with her (son helped her mother) and in their two rooms, which now had to be exchanged, grave silence reigned.

"- I need to buy a" singer,"- thought Sklim.

At the corner of a vegetable shop, a homeless black dog barked at him.

"\- Think about the matter, "- Sklim ordered himself.

So. What we have?

Someone killed the informant's Toch Kihe. At night near the house on twelfth street. There is an crone; witness.

Sklim remembered the reproaches of his already ex-wife, about his small rank. He grinned. Of course, if he wrote denunciations, as the slaughtered Toch Kih did, then of course he would have had the rank of lieutenant for his retirement. Or maybe even captain epaulettes. But Sklim did not want such epaulets. He even did not wear his well-deserved blood medal, and he never put it on, but kept it in a closet in a small box of red velvet. He was unpleasant at the thought that the guys in the station would decide that he was showing off in front of them.

Now about the case.

During a search of the corpse, nothing was found - no money, no documents. Toch Kih's pockets were empty.

Robbery is clear and understandable.

The informant, although not a big "lump", but had a certain status in society, was in the department of inquiry, among the lower ranks. And this already made the murder of Toch Kih an attempt on statehood. In the morning at the Sklim's police station, all the ranks of the City Office were noted, they shouted, demanded, threatened.

Police Major Raum Hu, stood in front of the captain from the White City inquiry department "like a string" and, bulging his eyes, heeded every word of the officer who arrived, and after hearing it, began ardently (as bosses can do, before leadership), promising "to sort it out" "and" find as soon as possible. "

Now the medal will not help Sklim's stay in the service.

He did not believe in the capture of the criminal. At least in the near future, as Major Raum Hu promised.

The head of the police station, who was on the sick leave of the district hospital with a broken leg for the third day, Captain Grenslok, if he needs to, he will knock out all the personnel from the station in order to maintain his place. He also does not really want to become unemployed.

Passing by a metal urn rickety under a poplar trunk, Sklim threw a long-extinguished cigarette into it and, lighting another, tried to return his thoughts to a business move.

Firstly, what the hell did this gelding, Toch Kih, have to walk around the black quarters in the middle of the night? The informant's wife testified that her husband never left his home after nine or ten in the evening. Never. About the reason for leaving home that night, Toch Kih didn't tell her anything, he just mentioned the mysterious "urgent business."

Urgent affairs of the informant's.

It turns out that he was going to meet with someone, and perhaps this unknown person killed him, then threw his wallet behind the bridge on the bypass road.

The killer did not take the money.

So there was no robbery, as Major Raum Hu hoped. Here is a blow from the new, discovered circumstances.

Sklim grinned, looked at the windows of the hut he passed by. The sun danced in the windows.

Nobody robbed the informant's, they just killed him. Perhaps he found out something about someone and tried to blackmail the criminal by exposing. Maybe. Anyway, it seems like that.

At the corner of Success Square and Third Street, Sklim Yark stopped near the main entrance to the "Clean Sky" drinking establishment, stood indecisive for a couple of minutes and decided to postpone his visit here until the evening, moved on along the dirty sidewalk.

Here the street went up. Part of the black city was on a hill, and part smaller, below, near the river.

Poplars growing along the road have already acquired bright green leaves and cast a dense shadow.

So.

There was also a witness, an eighty-two-year-old lonely old woman who lived on the first floor of the hut, near which the murder took place. According to her, late at night she saw through the window as one man, dressed in a black cloak, dragged another man to the front garden. She could not see the details.

Naturally, in such and such a darkness.

But she still saw the cloak.

Black cloak.

Sklim grinned and spat on the sidewalk.

Sklim suspected that the old pepper mill was lying, wanting to attract the attention of the "gentlemen of the police." Old age and loneliness.

Hmm.

Another incident on the night of the murder haunted him; the brutal beating of local brawler Marun Tash, who was beaten up near his own home. If you believe the statement of the doctor who examined the corpse and named the approximate time of the murder, it turned out that in time both incidents differed in strength in one and a half, two hours.

Was there a connection between them?

It is interesting.

Ten minutes later, a police inspector, sublieutenant Sklim Yark, approached the police station.

It was an old one-story barrack building, straight and long, like a school pencil case. The shabby plank walls looked dull and shouted with all their appearance about an early repair. The dark blue paint had peeled off for a long time and hung in places, curled up like autumn leaves, ugly rags.

The walls of the police station had not been painted for the fifth year.

All the windows were tiled with iron bars, a porch with three wooden steps, worn and rotted, lonely sheltered under a wooden canopy rickety from old age and led to the main entrance. There was also a back entrance, on the back side of the hut, where in the courtyard stood a rusty, long-standing truck Igmo-7.

Sklim did not remember where this rubbish on wheels came from in the courtyard of the police station, but for the last fifteen years, Igmo-7 has become an integral part of the courtyard - a large pile of garbage has been piled into its rusty body, and the car's cabin has turned into a comfortable, albeit cramped, summer smoking room.

Barack was divided into two wings. The left wing was taken under four, almost always empty cells for detainees and a small smelly toilet, while the right wing included five small cabinets, and a long corridor leading into a wide lobby.

Climbing the steps of the porch, Sklim opened the creaky door and entered the lobby.

He was about to turn right when he saw the door of the back door.

She was a little ajar.

To the left of the wall stood a waiting bench, a table on three shaky legs and a large enameled pan in which a branchy prickly plant grew.

Sklim passed the lobby, approached the ajar back door and, closing it on the heck, went to his office.

Today, besides Sklim, three more were on duty - Zhar Dar, Ku Fin and Rembe Oup.

Ku Fin and Rembe Oup were young police officers, both barely thirty years old and constantly disappearing somewhere. They said they were patrolling.

Oh well.

Zhar Dar was a partner of Sklim for twenty years and did not worry at all about the upcoming pension. He didn't worry much at all.

Sklim found him in his office. Lounging in a tattered brown leather chair, Zhar read the newspaper. Sklim's partner was a tall and well-fed man, he did not like to run, but he was always a sight inspiring respect and awe.

With one hand, Zhar supported the newspaper on his lap, with the other, with a thoughtful expression on his loose face, he picked his nose. His blue cap was famously pushed into the back of his head.

The appearance of Sklim's, Heat did not notice.

Zhar Dar was always like that, either a finger in the nose, or a fly unbuttoned, loose and sloppy, but many years ago this did not stop him from saving Sklim's life.

One could say that they were friends. They even went to visit each other, only their wives quickly became nasty to each other and arranged a disgusting scene. Family gatherings are over. In the end, there are always hospitable pubs and eateries for male conversations in the city.

Sklim looked at the reading Zhar's for a long time, after which he shouted:

  * Hi farter!

The result was quite predictable. The heat waved with both hands and his cap fell to the floor, and the newspaper smoothly flew under the table.

  * What are you yelling?- Zhar yelled, rounding its inexpressive colorless eyes.\- You know that I don't like that.

Sklim laughed quite a bit, walked over to his partner and patted his round shoulder.

  * You yourself, farter. - Said Heat and smiled.

Sklim leaned against the table, stood next to him.

  * Did you interrogate Marun's?- Asked Sklim.

  * Yes. He can't walk yet, I had to trudge to his house.

  * AND?

  * What, "and"?

  * He did not remember anything new?

  * Don't hope,- a happy smile appeared on Zhar's face.- They did a good job of him. His nose and ribs are broken. AND! Now he has no teeth. Good job.

Sklim sighed and said:

  * Sorry to hear that.

  * Remember how we dragged him to the station? Last year this was.

  * Yes. He's a bastard .- Sklim took off his cap and laid it on the table.

  * I would like to beat him as well. It is a pity that it is impossible. Ah, one more thing! The son of Marun's said that right before someone had finished with his dad, Marun beat both him and his mother. Right in the yard.

  * It's funny.- Sklim scratched unshaven two days, dumb his chin.- And where are Ku and Rembe?

  * The dog knows where they are .- Zhar shrugged vaguely.- They are on duty.

  * They are on duty.- Sklim repeated thoughtfully.- Well done.

  * Spit. Oh yes! To you mail!

Zhar rose from the chair, went to the windowsill and took from him, folded in four, a white sheet of paper. The message was taped around the edges and had only one inscription made in black pencil at the very top.

Sklim took the letter from the hands of Zhar's, read aloud:

  * For a senior cop. Who brought it?

Zhar laughed, said:

  * I did not see. Someone knocked on the window and ran away, and he put it at the door. After the captain, you are for the elder, then a letter to you.\- Zhar waddling went to the exit of the office.\- I'll be in my office, if that.

He went out into the corridor.

Sklim threw the letter on the desk littered with papers, slowly unfastened his cloak, took it off and threw it on the back of the chair.

"Some kind of nonsense," he thought, and, opening a folded sheet of paper, read the following.

"To the chief policeman. On the night of the tenth of this month, we saw a man in a black cloak. And in a hat. Also in black. Time was at night. We saw him at the bridge in front of the square with Iin. He arrived in a black car. He left her across the river, not far from the bridge. We saw. When he left we do not know, because we were no longer there. We ask to sort it out. The informant was killed. Well-wishers. "

Sklim re-read the letter again.

Most likely, judging by the handwriting, the letter was written by a girl. Maybe a teenager. What she did at night in the park is her parents' business, and the contents of the letter can be very useful.

Sklim brought the sheet, written in neat handwriting, to his face, sniffed; persistent smell of tobacco and cheap perfumes.

This is clear.

She also smokes; smoking snotty.

He opened the top drawer of the table, brushed a letter into it and sat down on the table.

So. An old woman from the house near which Toch Kih was killed claims to have seen a man in black. Now also this letter. Yes, and with the bastard, Marun it is incomprehensible, it is quite possible that the murder and beating is the matter of one and the same person.

Signs, of course, are liquid.

So he arrived by car. Wow. Yes, you guy, "bump." A machine. Hence the logical assumption that the killer came from the White City.

Sklim winced.

White caste. Lousy business, bad business. Even knowing the name of the killer, you will think a hundred times that it is worth interfering in this matter? Although, of course, not a simple one, say a worker, was killed, but a informfnt. But anyway, with such a version to get out; expensive for yourself.

He presented the reaction of his boss if he was presented with such a version of events.

Yeah.

The captain will vomit and throw.

Sklim lit a cigarette.

White Caste.

This is the business of the Department of Inquiry. If he starts to dig himself, then he will be in big trouble. And the pension, of course ... In addition.

He approximately knew what such a story might end for him. A couple of interrogators will arrive; officers from the Caste of Officers, not lower than lieutenants. Sklim, also an officer, but an officer from the black caste, and that's different. Most likely, they won't beat him right away, but then...

Then ... Then the questions begin.

Who are you trying to stain, dog? To whom do you, cattle, open your filthy mouth? Maybe you yourself wrote this scribble, do you want to push the investigation from yourself? Maybe you don't want to work, you bastard?

This is where it starts.

His mood, already filthy, became even more disgusting.

Sklim crushed a cigarette butt in a round aluminum ashtray, took out a new cigarette from a cigarette case, and lit it.

He remembered, he remembered well how the predecessor of the current captain, right in front of the station, was beaten by the sub-lieutenant of the department of inquiry, with whom at first they seemed to have a peaceful conversation. The sub-lieutenant, a young beardless goldfinch from the White City, was drunk. What he did in the black quarters remained a mystery to Sklim. Conversing with Captain Mulk, a young officer, suddenly for no reason, hit the captain in the face. Then again, again, again.

He beat him even when the captain was writhing on the sidewalk with bloody snot and no one said a word to the sub-lieutenant's. Including Sklim.

A car from the White City came for the dandy officer, and he, smiling and happy, drove home.

And Captain Mulk also left; in hospital. And after the hospital he wrote a resignation report. Of own free will.

Here it is.

Sklim looked at the poster hanging on the wall opposite, depicting two circles, one white, the second black. The white circle slightly covered the black circle.

Slightly.

By the edge.

And against the general red background of the poster, only one word flaunted.

"Unity".

Unity.

Slightly.

By the edge.

If, for example, you were unlucky and you ended up in the Department of Inquiry as a witness. For example. That they will ask you "affectionately", and "affectionately", that means, with brass knuckles in hand. Well, if fate turned its back on you completely and irrevocably, then the conversation with you will go "special"... And this means that everything will be very bad, nowhere worse.

Sklim finished the second cigarette, threw the cigarette butt into the ashtray.

He looked at the window. Behind the dusty glasses taken up by the bars, the day flared up, a dove sat on the ebb of the window and, turning its small head, watched Sklim's.

"- Throw it all to hell, why should I get involved in their affairs," thought Sklim. "- They will figure it out for themselves."

He put all the years of his service in the police to catch every bastard and believed that order was maintained in the city from his efforts too.

His pride was wounded.

In principle, an informal investigation could also be conducted without reporting to management on the results.

Can.

Of course can.

Not reporting's.

Okay.

Good.

So what happened?

What is available?

And available, that's what. Someone arrived late at night to the Black City and left the car at the bridge, first killed the scammer Toch Kih, then when he came into the courtyard of house number five on Second Street, he beat a local drunkard and a rowdy, Marun's.

Sklim could not understand the latter.

Further. A murderer from a wealthy family (a luxury car, not a means of transportation) and most likely he is an officer, and moreover an officer of a higher rank. Of course, they could have been someone from the administration of the White City.

Maybe. But...

Sklim imagined a clerk sneaking through the night streets of black quarters, walking towards a informant, and then crippling Marun's.

Sklim laughed.

No no. It must be an officer, it must be an officer! He is dangerous, knows how to turn a person into a living corpse. Yeah. Skills, brother, skills, it's like a personal signature.

Sklim was almost certain that the killer was an officer.

If the meeting with the scammer can still be somehow explained, then the story with Marun's didn't "fit into any gate" at all. If it were not for the expertly beaten Marun, Sklim would not have linked both events together.

He lit again, looked at the tip of the smoking cigarette, and thought.

Marun, most likely, had nothing to do with it, he just ended up in the wrong place, at the wrong time. The officer came to where he needed to go, to house number five. What for? This is unknown. Okay. Maybe Marun, by his drunken stupidity, attacked an officer? It is unlikely that he could see him freely at all, the killer would not sit on the bench with him and talk about something there. The officer beat Marun's for some personal reasons.

Sklim raised his eyebrows perplexedly and laughed.

It can't be!

  * No, no,- he said out loud.

Zhar told him that shortly before the beating of Marun's, Marun himself had beaten his wife and son there at the bench. It turns out that the killer saw this scene. And he mutilated Marun's. But he did not kill him.

Well well. He didn't want a second murder in one night? And it was at the house to which he had come.

Sentimental officer!

Sklim laughed, this time loudly and not holding back.

He felt sorry for the mother and son. Well well! But he slaughtered Toch Kih's like a pig, and quite calmly.

And you, Mr. Officer, are a sentimental, but extremely dangerous adversary. This must be taken into account.

What did he need that night at the house of Marun's? Something extremely important, so important that after the murder of the informant's, the officer did not run away from the city. He took a chance. What for?

So. It later. This is not at all clear.

Let's go on the other side.

Toch Kih. He could soon retire, he was married, had no children. In the evenings, he always sat at home with his wife, worked in the city port. Could it be revenge? Revenge of an officer? No, this is ridiculous. Then what could be the motive of an officer to kill a informant's? Informant. Maybe this is due to the work of the murdered, he saw something and talked about it? It seems very much like that. Just what Toch Kih could see in his port such that so excited the officer?

Port.

The last few days, the port has been closed.

For holding "events".

What kind of "events" is unknown. He only knew that the territory of the port was surrounded by officers, the trains were entering the gates of the port, loading or unloading something from barges, which were then towed to the open sea. This is what Sklim knew for sure.

And further.

The officers began to take untouchables from the rotten quarters, transporting them to the port.

And in the port are officers.

They were brought in large white buses with metropolitan numbers.

So. There are officers in the port. The killer Toch Kiha is most likely also an officer. Toch Kih worked at the port. Here is a chain-informant, officer, port.

It's funny.

Outside the window, a black and white cat jumped on the ebb and, frightening a curious pigeon, fell down.

Sklim grinned.

So; port.

Something was wrong with this port.

The Untouchables is one thing, but there were also trains.

Suppose Toch Kih saw what was being loaded and told the officer about it. It's bullshit because the officer himself knows what they are doing there. If he was killed for privacy itself? Too nonsense. Right in the port, they would put Toch Kihe in a closed car and - hi!

From all of the above, it follows that the officer killed the informant so that he could not tell anyone about what he knew. But what exactly did the informant know about?

Sklim lit a cigarette again, unfastened the two upper buttons of his blue old uniform.

What is superfluous in this matter? What the officers in the port were doing was superfluous, all this secret fuss had nothing to do with it. Toch Kih worked with people. So, there are people who work in the port. The informant found out something about one of the port workers, for which he was killed. It makes sense? It makes sense. And killed by a high-ranking officer.

Good. Suppose.

Sklim listened to his own thoughts and from unexpected, wild conclusions, professional curiosity flared up in him more and more.

And what kind of port employee is this, which Toch Kih did not run to report to the police, but decided to tell the officer? And for this he parted with his life.

And that night, the killer came to the house on Second Street because ...

Oak; your head!

Sklim quietly laughed at himself, shook his head and said out loud:

  * I'm getting old, I'm getting old.

He understood that the officer came to that house for the man whom the scammer had told him about, for the man for whom he went to conceal Toch Kihe's information and kill him.

Incredible assumption ...

Sklim shook his head again:

  * A glomerulus spins. My sentimental friend.

Sklim got up from the table and went to his old safe, painted with white oil paint, turned a round handle and, opening a heavy steel door, looked inside. There, in the second upper compartment, was a long plywood box. His file cabinet. Card file on the residents of his site.

He quickly found cards for residents of house number five, along Second Street, pulled them out — a small pack of cardboard sheets yellowed from time to time, then he returned to the table and began to slowly look through everything in order.

The cigarette clamped in his teeth went out.

Reading the names, Sklim tried to recall these people. He remembered someone, but not many.

Khen Zu with his wife and two children. Place of work ... So, that's not it. Marun ... To hell with Marun's! Tosia Vak, a doctor at the district hospital. Farther.

His gaze reached Rouk Wack.

Yes, that's where you live, guy.

Sklim took matches from the pocket of his trousers and lit a cigarette.

The emerging memory of the incident that happened to him this winter brought some embarrassment to Sklim's soul.

He looked out the window.

In winter, when Irga left, he drank heavily. That evening Sklim greatly went over alcohol in the Clear Sky diner and, on the way to his house, he fell into a snowdrift and fell asleep. Actually, his condition immediately after the divorce was such that he did not even think of the possibility of such a stupid death as the death of a drunkard on the street. His life became empty for him in those days. He vaguely remembered how someone insistently asked him, Sklim, the address, how he, stumbling and tumbled forward and to the side, was led to the house and as he came to the door of his apartment, he collapsed to the floor, at the lament of a neighbor Judi. And in the morning he discovered that the gun, the police badge, and the money had not disappeared. And he himself remained alive and well. But, that was already in the morning.

It turned out that the neighbor knew the one who helped him not freeze that night "to death" - Rouk Vak.

  * Yes, this is Rouk Vak!- Judi told him.- Nephew of our district doctor, Tosia Vak. They seem to live in the fifth house on the second street.

So Sklim found out who actually saved him.

He remembered this guy only when he showed up for allegedly checking their apartment. Sklim asked for their documents. He recognized this Rouk's. He was taken several times to the police station completely drunk. Sklim remembered how Ku Fin cleared the pockets of the sleeping Rouk's.

Ku Fin, a junior police inspector, generally liked to fumble in the pockets of detainees.

Sklim recalled what he said to Ku Phin's that evening:

  * You shouldn't wear a police uniform, Ku.

  * Why is this?- Ku Fin mockingly looked at Sklim's face.

  * Because your place is in the cell. Once again I will see how you rummageing through the pockets of the detainees, and you will fly out of the police.

Yeah.

Ku Fin.

The other day, Sklim saw Rouk's on the street. Rouk walked slowly along the sidewalk with one pretty young woman.

Sklim did not approach them.

Sklim continued to read the files of the file cabinet, laying aside the one on which the Rauk Vak data had flown. He did not read his card.

A minute passed.

Sklim swore:

  * What the hell!- He took Rouk's postponed card and, struggling with an incomprehensible sense of shame, as if betraying a friend or relative, found a line where the tenant's place of work was registered.

Place of work - the city of Quiet Harbor, city port, riveter of the fifth category.

Sklim checked the cards of all the residents of house number five. Not one of them, except Rouk Vak, was listed as a port employee.

All.

That's it.

Rouk, Rouk. Why exactly you?

Sklim took a cigarette from an aluminum cigarette case and, turning to the window, lit a cigarette.

The officer killed Toch Kih's because the informant told him about Rouk Vak's.

Shit. Who needs this fifth-rate riveter?

Riveter and drunkard - Rouk Vak.

Sklim laughed.

Here, about whom Toch Kih told officer'n.

Rouk Vak is a big secret.

Rouk Vak is a deadly secret.

Never tell anyone about a drunk riveter from the port, otherwise a bad uncle officer will come and cut your throat!

Sklim laughed to tears, Sklim was funny.

A terrible, terrible riveter lives in house number five.

He wiped the tears from his eyes.

Well, well, well, suppose let Rouk. Okay.

Drunkard.

Well already.

So what? This does not interfere ... What? Stealing wallets at night? But he was neither a thief nor a murderer, and Sklim was absolutely sure of that. Very many in his city would not have missed the opportunity to cut the throat of a dead man to a drunken policeman, and to pull out from his pockets everything that could be found in them. And even more so, they would not drag him home.

That's for sure.

No no. What Toch Kih told about Rouk's should be unheard of, going beyond anything that might come to mind.

Espionage?

For example, Rouk Vak is a spy from the Solar Country or from the Iron Caste Federation.

Sklim imagined how a spy Rook in his port, quietly sketching a lathe device on a piece of paper. Nonsense, that's not it. Of course, there were types that the police had been looking for for years, who lived on fake false documents.

Yes, this is possible, but to kill for it?

He bent down, opened the bottom drawer of the table and, flushing his face, pulled a heavy police album out of it. The album was as thick as a fist, no less, once the white cardboard cover now turned yellow and had numerous dirty spots on it, of someone's unwashed hands.

Sklim began flipping through pages of drawings by police artists. Faces, faces. The drawings were disgusting, even Sklim would have painted better if he wanted to.

May be.

He knew well one unflattering circumstance about the police drawings, namely, the discrepancy between the original of the first drawing and the one that was delivered to the station. Of course, there were similarities, but! A huge number of people suited this similarity. He remembered the raids that the police carried out around the city eight years ago. Crowds of suspects, reconciliation of documents, endless interrogations. The city was almost paralyzed. Finding no one (Sklim did not hear that they had found at least one of the three criminals they were looking for), the raids came to naught. True, sometimes, for reporting, they grabbed someone by similar signs, drew up a protocol and sent to the inquiry Department.

Only.

He had heard from someone about a new invention - photography, but had never seen this photograph with his own eyes and was skeptical about talking about it.

He remembered the brown leather folder that had been lying under the police album for years. Sklim climbed into the table again and pulled it out.

He knew what was in this folder.

He opened the metal clasp and opened the leather folder. On the skin coarsened over the years, lay three hand-drawn black and white drawings. The drawings depicted two guys, and a girl. Above each drawing, block letters:

"A particularly dangerous criminal! Wanted. If you find the above mentioned person, you should immediately inform the nearest department of the Department of Justice or inquiry. Independent detention of the specified person or such an attempt is equated to high treason and is punishable by imprisonment, up to life! The reward is guaranteed. "

So, no more, no less.

Sklim neatly laid out all three drawings in front of him.

Two guys of about twenty-five and a girl of about the same age.

One of the guys was like Rouk's and not at the same time. The tip of the nose is too thickened, the face is fuller than that of Vak, but of course there are similarities.

This discovery unpleasantly surprised Sklim, but the second made him hold his breath.

Girl. It was she who was with Rouk's. Without any doubts.

She.

The second guy in the third and last figure was completely unfamiliar to Sklim.

Rouk, Rouk, damn you!

Foul day, foul year. Now you.

Sklim carefully reading in the card everything that related to Rouk Vak. The accommodation was provided by his own aunt, mother's sister, and the doctor of the district hospital, Tosia Vak.

Aunt, then.

Sister of his mother.

Of course.

He lit again. An insistent fat fly was beating in the window glass, buzzing with displeasure.

Officer, Officer. You were not in a hurry to report to your superiors what you found out, although you must think that you would have grabbed a decent jackpot by the head of Rouk's, but you decided to play your game. And the risk of exposure did not stop him, like and Toch Kih.

Now, and now, about the main thing in this matter.

So who is this imaginary Rouk Vak really, and what fault is it if the state put his wanted list so high?

As they say- "The Strength is filled with rumors."

Sklim heard a lot of things in recent years and summing up what he found out today, he came to the only, albeit funny, conclusion.

Rouk Vak is an alien. It was another discovery for today, and the most stunning. Something he exposed himself to Toch Keeh, and he hastened to inform the "bigger" officer about the alien. Then everything is clear.

It is not clear what this officer was planning, but this is not so important.

Sklim put the folder and album back on the table.

The conclusions to which he had come overwhelmed him.

The officer will come for Rouk again, maybe tonight.

Having made a decision, Sklim got to his feet, picked up his cloak and put on his cap, went out into the corridor. He looked into the office to Zhar Dar's.

The heat was sleeping in his chair at the table, his head thrown back, snoring.

Sklim grinned. A cheerful mood gradually began to break out from under the recent despondency.

  * Wake up, by your mother!- He screamed, and his companion, startled, and not yet recovering, tried to get out of the chair.

  * Ah, it's you again .- Zhar, calming down, said .- I was thinking...

  * Get down to business, Zhar,- Sklim said in a serious voice.- They can come to us from the Head Office.\- Sklim was about to leave, and suddenly, remembering something, he said.- You didn't close the back door again, Zhar.

  * I threw out the bucket of garbage. - The heat painfully and yawned with a crunch.

  * You will soon be stolen or thrown away.

  * Yes, you went ... I myself can anyone...

Sklim grinned.

In the hallway, wearing a cloak, he thought that investigating the Rouk's case was the most serious matter in his life.

Sklim knew where he would be able to sit for an hour or two and carefully think over what he had found out. And, being on the porch of the plot, immersed in the shadow, he was already thinking about the "Old Friend" beer cellar, which is located up the street, at the corner of the vocational school.

A pistol hung pleasantly on his belt under a cloak.

"- I will catch you, you son of a bitch," Sklim thought of the officer, "- A sentimental friend."

Having made the decision, he strangely forgot all his hardships and he was again, as once, twenty-five years old.

His life made sense again.

******* *******

Chapter 3.

The untouchables.

Shout of Zhar's \- hoarse and hysterical, overtaken Sklim's at the very exit from the police station.

  * Sklim! Come back! Rather.

Sklim turned to his voice, holding a heavy wooden door with his hand. The spring mounted on top of the door creaked strainedly.

  * Have you already woken up?

  * Come back, I tell you! They called from the Office. Restless crow! Need to croak less!

Zhar did not appear, he shouted from the corridor, apparently did not leave his office.

Lazy.

Sklim entered the building of the plot, walked along the corridor and turned into the office of Zhar's. He frantically piled folders and sheets of paper scattered across the table, his full face was unusually focused.

Sklim asked:

  * And what do they want? Inspection, or what?

  * An urgent need to go to the rotten quarters, something there happened to them. Now the bus will drive up behind us. - The collected documents folded into a roll of pile, threatening to tumble to one side.- Maybe one of the bosses will come here. Well, sort of order.

Five minutes later, both stood on a wooden porch - Sklim closed the door of the plot to a large padlock, and Zhar lit a cigarette, covering his light from the match with big red palms.

  * The captain from the eighteenth station will arrive. Well, the one who likes to point with his finger, - said Zhar, looking at Sklim through clubs of tobacco smoke. - Serious, something happened.

  * Missing day.- Sklim looked at the bright sun, squinted, and, putting the key in the side pocket of his cloak, said.- We will not have lunch.

  * We will see.

A police bus drove up to the police station in ten minutes; blue, brand new, with clean windows of large windows, stopped in front of Sklim and Zhar standing on the sidewalk, creaking brakes.

The driver pulled the handle from his seat, opening the door. Sklim was the first to enter the bus, followed by Zhar. Having peered in front of Captain Syum Ez, who was seated in the front seat, Sklim looked around the saloon with ten policemen, waved his hand in greeting and sat down on the free seat by the window, behind the captain. He knew four policemen, he saw the others for the first time. Zhar flopped down next to Sklim's, turned back, shouted to someone:

  * Hey Mor! How are you?

  * Great, Zhar. We live quietly. And you, I look, did start to grow stout?

  * This is an optical illusion. - Zhar turned to Sklim, explained. - Mor Sau from the second station. He is a good guy, we had a drink with him somehow.

  * Let's go,- captain Syum Ez said loudly to the driver, turned to Sklim who was sitting behind him and said gruffly.- We were informed that in the rotten quarters uhh ... mass suicide. This is the official version, keep in mind, - the captain raised his index finger, wanting to emphasize the importance of his words, his cartilaginous nose turned red .- You, senior inspector, will subscribe, where it is necessary, and of all affairs. Zhar, and I tell you individually, do not speak with your tongue about what you saw. This is clear?

Zhar looked into the captain's thin and pale face, and replied insulted:

  * Mr. Captain! When did I rattle my tongue, about anything?...

  * That's it,- the captain turned away from them, began to look out the window.

The bus rumbled with a brand new motor along a spring-filled street in the sunlight, buzzed at intersections, demanding to clear the road.

The heat turned to Sklim and nodding towards the captain, and he terribly bulging his eyes, pulled his cheeks. Sklim laughed soundlessly; he also did not like Captain Syum's.

They rode in silence.

The bus passed the tenth and twelfth streets, where opposite the Theater- old, of white silicate brick, with a low, triangular roof of the building, shops and stone houses of the administration of the Black City were stretching and, turning around the park, rolled along the long wooden fence of the repair shops. Sklim indifferently looked at the brick buildings of the workshops, floating outside the window, at the dull areas with abandoned rusty equipment. A turn to the right appeared ahead. The paved road went to the port, and to the left was a dirt road — broken and curved. Slightly slowing down on a bend, the bus turned left, and circling a hefty hole, he creaked disgustingly with springs, the motor growled louder, strained.

For another twenty minutes they rode along fields — uncultivated, in some places young birches and Christmas trees grew. It was getting hot inside the bus, yellow dust flew from the cracks of the rattling door. The road led to a city dump, and there were Rotten Quarters. Once that area was part of the Black City, the barracks were inhabited by workers and office workers, but over time everything becomes worthless and decaying, like the life of a person, the old area was abandoned, the inhabitants were resettled in new rebuilt huts, and abandoned huts were given to the untouchable for settlement, and there arranged a city dump.

That was a long time ago. Sklim's father also lived in those old quarters, before they moved with to their new housing.

The fields overgrown with tall grass ran out and the bus turned towards an abandoned cardboard factory, with its high brick pipes and blackened workshop buildings. Stray dogs walked through the fallen fence. Sklim looked at the surrounding desolation - ruins and mountains of garbage piled along a dirt road, packs of stray dogs rummaging through garbage. Sklim's mother used to work here in a factory, even before his birth, and his father patrolled this area as a young police officer who had just started his service. Looking out the window, Sklim thought about how time should pass quickly, his father grew up and served here, and now Sklim himself has an adult son, and his retirement and lonely old age are not far off.

A stench began to penetrate into the bus's ajar window, carried some sour meat, as if they had stuck rotten sauerkraut under Sklim's nose.

  * Close this window! - Shouted the captain Syum Ez to the driver. - There is nothing to breathe!

The driver quickly closed the window, cursed quietly.

To the stuffy heat in the cabin, the stink now also added.

Ahead appeared the first barracks of the Rotten Quarters - the broken windows were boarded up in some places by plywood and rusty tin. Some barracks collapsed and were a pile of garbage. On the right side of the road, there were barracks whose roofs had fallen, and protruding and ugly beams and logs stuck out into the clear sky.

The front gardens are overgrown, thick weeds have long stepped over the rickety hedges and marched triumphantly through the yards and roads. The bus passed an empty street, rolled out onto a paved square and slowly, having traveled around the rotten skeleton of a truck, moved along the once main street of the Black City, wide and straight.

Sklim turned away from the view of the square where grass and bushes sprouted between the stones and, looking ahead, saw three long army trucks and, standing in bulk, two dozen soldiers in gray overcoats.

  * Oh, did you see?! - Zhar looked in the same direction as Sklim.- The police come last.

Sklim was silent.

The police bus passed army trucks, slowed down and turned right, stopped near the rickety wooden sheds, under a poplar high with dense foliage.

His motor sneezed and stalled.

  * That's all, we've arrived,- the captain grumbled, getting up.- Our business is to stay away. Here the army is ruling, so do not meddle.

Police officers began to get up and leave the bus after the captain. Zhar sat letting everyone through, then with a grunt, he got to his feet.

  * Take off your raincoat, Sklim,- he said, expecting a friend.- It's already hot.

Sklim stepped into the aisle between the seats, pulled off his raincoat and, throwing it on the handrail, said:

  * Walk, Zhar.

Near the bus, a few steps from the army truck with the tailgate open, Captain Ez was talking quietly about the army captain, a tall, hefty guy of about thirty. The police broke up into two groups, one group moved to the side of the road, under the shadow of a larger maple, and the other group was located behind the bus. Many of the police lit a cigarette.

Soldiers with rifles looked grimly at the police.

  * What are they doing here?- The heat wiped his sweaty red face with his sleeve.- This is a civil matter; suicide. And in such heat they decided to say goodbye to life! Missing day.

Sklim silently went to the nearest, two-story hut, Zhar slowly trailed behind him. Because of the dense, overgrown shrubbery, a short, young soldier came out. He hung his rifle on his shoulder.

  * Mr. sub-lieutenant, you cannot go there,- he said to Sklim, as if apologizing for something.- Not allowed.

Sklim stopped a step away from him, looked along the road where, near a nearby barrack, about a hundred meters away, overgrown with bushes and maples, a truck back stuck out and several soldiers dragged some bending, shapeless bales towards him.

  * I'm a policeman,- Sklim calmly told the soldier.

  * I have an order, Mr. Sub-Lieutenant, - the soldier still apologized, answered and looked around, as if seeking support from the outside.- I can't let you go there. We are ordered not to let you go there. And you'll talk with our captain,- and lowering his voice, he added.- Here in the morning there are officers from the Department of the White City.

Sklim raised his eyebrows in surprise, asked:

  * Officers?

  * Yeah,- the soldier nodded and, seeing an army lieutenant walking in their direction, full of medium height, with a round, whiskered face, he stepped back a step from the police, said louder, more cheerful.- Not supposed to be, gentlemen, the police, not. No go.

A lieutenant approached them, saluted the police, they answered the same.

  * What do you have here?- The lieutenant sweated, drops of sweat protruding on his forehead under the peak of his cap pulled over the back of his head.

  * Here, - the soldier stood at attention "quietly."- The police wanted to go to the barracks, Mr. Lieutenant.

  * You are free,- said the lieutenant, and the soldier, with apparent relief, quickly moved towards the hut.- I can't let you in there guys. This case is under the special control of the Department of Inquiry.

  * Ahhh ... - Zhar depicted on his face an understanding, as if the lieutenant's words had explained everything to him. - It is clear then.

  * What do they want here?- Asked Sklim Lieutenant's.

Army officers; immigrants from the Black Caste, you can say your own. Officers of the inquiry Department; White Caste.

  * Mass suicide,- he answered, turning away towards the trucks and again, looking at Sklim, said.\- I do not advise you to go into this business, guys. Wait by the bus or walk. Look, your captain and ours will decide what is needed, and that's all.

  * Lots of corpses?- Asked Sklim.

The lieutenant was silent for a while, looking into his eyes, answered:

  * A lot of. Today is a crappy day guys. Take care not to get dirty.

The police left the army lieutenant's to stand alone. Sklim walked ahead along the road, away from the unfortunate hut, Zhar stepped vigorously nearby, sniffed, spit to the side.

  * That's for sure, shitty day,- he told Sklim's.\- Come on, let's stand at our place, we'll rest with Mor. He's so wow, just a drunken fool...

  * You go, wait with them. I'll come to you later,- Sklim said.

  * Where are you going? ... Uh, Sklim, stop it, I tell you! Did you hear what the lieutenant said? The officers are here...

  * I do not for a long time.

  * You stubborn son of a bitch!

  * All.

  * What is "everything"? - Zhar looked around cautiously, looked at the bus that was left behind, at the dense bushes around the broken, half-overgrown grass road.- I'm with you.

Sklim grinned and looked at him, said:

  * You are a good friend, Zhar. Only a little bit turd. A bit.

  * Yes you go!- Zhar laughed and suddenly stopped, said.\- The Departmental is not without reason. They can and...

  * And you are not piss's. And you pretend to be a fool, "we did not know where we were going," and so on. Heh, as usual.

  * As usual.

A light hot breeze blew from the side of the river not far from here, and the stench of the garbage was here unusually strong, although it seemed that everything around was saturated with a putrid disgusting smell for many years.

They walked along the street along an abandoned quiet huts and, going to the crossroads, found themselves at the monument - a bronze man in the uniform of an officer of the last century, pointed with a green-green hand from his arm, somewhere in the direction of the garbage dump, near a dead cardboard factory.

Sklim turned right, they walked another hundred meters.

  * Quiet all, no one.- Zhar shook his head around.- They hid, scattered, probably.

  * We will come from the other side,- Sklim said calmly.

They turned right again, and walked through the overgrown courtyard, between tall poplars and densely growing maples, until they found themselves near a bare platform by a two-story hut with boarded-up windows. If someone lived here, then he managed to hide in time; no people were visible.

The platform, sprinkled with small gravel, was clearly arranged on a permanent basis — the bushes were cut down, there was almost no grass, and in the middle stood four rough benches and a large table covered with a piece of tarpaulin.

Sklim and Zhar went to the table.

  * Someone was here yesterday,- said Zhar.

Sklim looked at the dishes placed on the table with the remains of roughly chopped boiled potatoes, with parsley, three glass glasses — two were lying on the table, overturned on brown spots, something had already dried up, the third glass was half full. Sklim saw one spoon lying in a dusty gravel lying under a bench, the other two, large and small, were lying on the table.

Sklim lit a cigarette.

  * Tonight or last night,- he said, waving his hand with a cigarette towards the table.- Everything is fresh.

Zhar took a glass of raspberry-colored liquid, sniffed squeamishly and exclaimed in surprise:

  * Compote, Sklim! I thought that...

Sklim walked around the table and saw a boot - a small children's boot; for the right leg, probably for a child of about five, six, yellow in color with shiny brass buckles. Under the table, the crushed stone turned dark burgundy, as if something had been spilled here.

Very little.

And on the right side, the stones were splattered with large dark red blots, already almost blackened.

  * This ...- Zhar did not finish, reached into the side pocket of his police tunic, took out a pack of cigarettes.

  * They ate when everything happened,- Sklim said.- Two adults and a child of six. About.

He looked around the site, walked right and left, bent to look.

  * Do you see these furrows?

  * Well .- Zhar stopped next to Sklim, and looked at the gravelled surface of the platform along which a wide, shallow furrow stretched.

  * The bodies were dragged here. - Sklim straightened up, and went from the platform towards the hut, examining the ground under his feet and next to him. - Zhar!

He approached his partner.

Three steps from the high poplar was an extinct fire, ash and coals were fresh. Probably, here, in this fire, they baked potatoes, which the missing people did not have time to finish eating.

Near the poplar lay in the grass several brass shells from a 32-caliber pistol, scattered here and there, they shone brightly with gold, in the rays of the rising sun.

  * Someone reloaded their gun here .- Sklim picked up one of the shells, sniffed it, twisted it in his hands and threw it aside .- They are fresh. Cartridges of the company "Amber", most likely Doms 38. An expensive toy. I can't afford myself that.

He looked at Zhar, that at him.

  * Suicide?- Sklim said, grinning.- Look, the tracks from the truck are fresh. They load corpses in them. Clear business. How much are they here? ... From the place where our bus stands to this, almost a quarter. They cleaned from the beginning here, now they clean there.

  * Sklim, let's get the hell out of here.- Zhar glanced around.- This is shitty business. These were killed with expensive weapons, officers graze here, the army, for some reason, dragged. These were killed with expensive weapons, officers graze here, the army, for some reason, dragged here. We were pushed back ... And the fool's is clear that... In short, let's quietly move to ours, and be silent.

Sklim continued smiling, looking into the eyes of Zhar's.

  * When did you manage to become such a yellow-belly's?- He asked.

  * And you ...- Zhar suddenly got angry .- I'll tell you from friendship, you became like that after a divorce!

  * Zhar...

  * Of course, I understand everything, your Irga is an unbearable bitch, but...

  * Zhar!

He stopped, sighed and said:

  * You and I are an empty place, Sklim. Why should we look for problems?

  * We will only look in this barracks, Zhar, and all. I promise.

They headed to the nearest hut and, having reached the first entrance, entered. Wooden stairs rotted, creaked under the feet of the police, threatening to fall under their weight, the smell of mold was everywhere, a dark ground floor ground met them with empty openings, without doors.

They entered the first apartment, where they were glanced at by empty, moldy walls, with peeling green paint.

  * Is there anyone here?- Sklim asked loudly. - Police.

They walked along an unlit corridor, peering into empty deserted rooms, looking at the few furniture, tables, beds, crooked chairs, which were obviously brought here from the garbage dump. In the room, right by the kitchen of the apartment, in the corner at the upside-down table, a man sat under a dim light coming out of a window half-closed by a sheet of plywood. He sat on the floor with his legs outstretched, in dirty, black- gray trousers, with a bare torso and barefoot.

His disheveled, black beard looked like a dirty brush.

Sklim decided he could be fifty or seventy years old, long gray hair with dirty tow lay on his shoulders, a long, thin face. He saw such faces many times by which it was very difficult to determine the age of these people. They all looked alike; dirt, hopelessness and emptiness.

The man stared blankly in front of himself at the wall on which a cheap painting hung, with the image of a house and a yellow field.

  * Another corpse,- said Zhar with a sigh.- Nothing to look at, Sklim? Let's get out of here.

Sklim approached the still-sitting man, saw a chain, clasped in his hand, thin silver, with a small oval pendant. He tried to pull the chain from the dead man's hand - it did not yield, then Sklim tried to unclench his fingers. The hand of a man sitting on the floor was warm.

The policeman straightened abruptly, stepped back a step, and asked:

  * Do you hear me?

  * Is he alive? - Zhar exclaimed in surprise and went to Sklim, stood next.\- Wow, but I thought...

  * Can you hear me?- Sklim repeated his question and, not waiting for an answer, bent down and resolutely pulled the chain from the man's hand.

He opened the silver pendant and found in it a small bundle of blond hair.

Closing the pendant, Sklim laid it next to the man's hand. He seemed to not notice the police, indifferently looking at the battered wall in front of him.

  * What happened here?- Sklim asked him again.- Can you talk?

He was silent.

Sklim waited for several minutes without asking anything, stood a pillar next to the Untouchable, was silent for a while, then slowly stepped back, turned to the exit and quietly said to Zhar's:

  * Let's get out of here.

They had already stepped out into the corridor when dry, insensible words came from the room:

  * Officers.

Sklim returned to the room, stood next to the man.

  * These were officers,- he said.

  * What did they do here?

  * They were killing.

Sklim felt a chill on his back, as if pulled from behind by an icy draft.

  * Why?- He asked.

  * They just killed everyone,- the man repeated, and also added detachedly.- I was not here. I had to die with them. Lilica, Faum. They are no more. And I stayed to live .

  * Were there many of them, officers?- Asked Sklim.

  * They arrived in two trucks. Sium told me everything. The boys. They were boys. Probably, at the officer academy yesterday was a graduation. Boys... I used to be a teacher, I taught children. The same children as they are. I had to be here, then we would be together now. Lilika, my glorious, Lilika. Faum... I taught my boy that life is beautiful, that you need to love life ... And then we ended up here.

  * Where can I find this Sium?

  * They killed and said that they would soon be allowed to shoot us like cattle. They will be allowed ... to shoot...

  * This one, Sium. How do I find him?

The man closed his eyes and did not answer.

The policemans are gone.

They returned in the same way that they came to these huts.

A loaded truck drove by; rattling and scattering suffocating dust in all directions, his wooden body was covered with dirty tarpaulin.

Zhar was silent.

  * They are murderers,- Sklim said.- They sweep traces.

  * This is not our business, Sklim. Eh, what can say?

  * They are criminals, Zhar.

  * Yes,- he said quietly, and thinking, he added,- Twenty years ago it wasn't like that. The untouchables were already there. But just like that!... Like cattle! Did you hear what he said? They will be allowed to! Do you understand what this is? It means that...

  * Shut up Zhar,- Sklim calmly told him.- We are here.

Near the bus where the police stood, they were met by an enraged captain Ez. Black passenger car; long, with shiny polished sides, stood at a distance and next to her were three officers, in white uniforms and caps. They smoked and laughed out loud at something. Their blindingly white uniforms seemed out of place here.

  * Where did you go?- Captain Ez hissed evilly and splashes flew into Sklim's face.- They have been waiting for you for half an hour!- He slipped Sklim some piece of paper.- Sign here, quickly!

Sklim took a sheet of paper from his hand and slowly reached into his pocket for a pencil, reading what was written.

"... There was a mass suicide of antisocial individuals ... Evidence ... Witnesses testified that ..."

He finally took out his pencil and signed at the bottom of the document, where was the inscription "police officers."

Sklim gave the leaf to the captain and captain Ez, holding it in front of him, ran to the laughing officers.

Sklim watched him go when he heard the words of Zhar's standing nearby:

  * We are just pawns, Sklim.

And then he said:

  * I just became an accomplice in a crime.

He said so, "an accomplice."

******* *******

Chapter 3.

Night hunting. Inspector Sklim Yark.

Sklim had been waiting in ambush for more than an hour.

He chose a place for an ambush, although not quite, but he was quite satisfied with it - a bush a hundred meters from the bridge, the bypass road can be seen well in both directions. The shrub seemed a reliable shelter from the headlights of the expected machine.

For all the time Sklim spent in his hideout, not a single car drove by.

Of course, Sklim could not count on the officer to appear today, but somehow or other, the killer Toch Kih would definitely come for the alien.

Sklim decided to hunt down his prey every night.

He was lying on his left side, laying under himself an old sheepskin sleeveless jacket brought from home. His Irga would raise a terrible cry about this. Earlier, when they were still, husband and wife...

"\- Think of the matter!" - He thought.

The night stood out cold and cloudless, a moist wind blew from the north, and Sklim froze to the bones in his cloak, buttoned it all buttons and put on a hood. Black quarters fell silent and slept behind a narrow canal, everything was quiet around, and only the rustle of leaves of a bush that came to life after a long winter was heard.

No steps, no noise of an approaching car.

Nothing.

He raised himself on his elbow, and began to peer into the night, towards the bridge.

Thick darkness, barely diluted with the light of stars and the rare lights of the black quarters, swallowed up the entire space around.

Sklim decided to smokeed.

So far, everything was going well, even the absence of the moon tonight.

The wind blew from the city, so if anyone appears on the bridge, they will not be able to smell the smoke of cigarettes. Clinging to the ground itself, Sklim took a cigarette from a cigarette case, then pulled a gas lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette.

"\- I'll take this bastard and shoot," he thought. "" No policemen and officers, just kill him like a mad dog. "

He threw the extinct cigarette butt into the darkness.

"- I will kill you, my sentimental friend. But before that, you will lay out to me everything you know, to the very bottom! Nobleness."

The untouchables.

It so happened that before the arrest by officers of the department of inquiry, people were broughted to the police station to wait for the car from the White City.

They were ordinary people.

Men and women of all ages, they were waiting in detention cells, some with a challenge in their eyes, some with fear, some with humility — workers, teachers, doctors, anyone, and they were not socially dangerous.

These were ordinary townspeople.

He reassured himself with the thought that you like it or not, but the state is obliged to protect itself, otherwise everything called order will collapse. He reassured, but Sklim's had no peace.

And everything turned out to be much simpler. He was deceived and led by the nose, the same criminals as those whom he had been catching for so many years, thinking that he serves people, serves order.

He was deceived like a snotter.

  * Son, when you grow up, remember; only cowards and bastards beat women and children. Cowards and bastards.

Father was always right.

It only turns out that he served in the police all his life, namely to these coward-lords and scoundrels.

  * Dad, dad,- Sklim said into the darkness.- Good for you now.

Sklim's body went numb, his legs froze. He began to tremble finely.

Spring weather is such that if you disappear during the day from the heat, then at night you have to freeze.

And before, in his youth, it was not so. Previously, he could hang around in the cold and hardly freeze. Maybe he just did not notice it? He was young, it was interesting ...

  * I'm getting old,- Sklim said out loud.- Retire, time.

If the car passes and stops further than the place where Sklim lay, well. He will come in from behind. But if the officer arrives from the other side and stops facing him? No. He will come from the White City.

He is there.

An officer is not a pickpocket, you won't take such a thing in the forehead. And the hunter is not young anymore, and his vision has begun to fail. However, the advantage is still on his side, Sklim, is surprise, the main thing here is not to screw it up, act quickly and for sure.

And here Sklim noticed the headlights of a passenger car, which appeared in the distance due to a turn.

He took off his warm gloves and reached into his coat pocket for a gun, took it out and checked the cartridges.

The car was approaching.

Sklim removed the gun from the fuse and squatted.

The headlights shook, and the noise of the engine barely appeared in silence.

Is it he or not?

"\- Well, then, your high nobility, or whatever your name is, I will meet you."

For a long minute the headlights came nearer slowly, as if reluctantly, and suddenly the car quickly grew on the road with two bright yellow lights, the noise of a motor arose near Sklim; a clear, dry chatter, and now the driver began to slow down, pressing the car to the right side of the curb, the car drove off the road and its wheels rustled on the gravel. A larger, black car stopped right in front of Sklim's hideout.

The motor fell silent and the headlights went out.

Is he.A minute passed, then another. The driver did not get out of the car.

Sklim was in no hurry, he was waiting. His legs ached and hurt, blood pulsed in his muscles with a thousand injections of sharp needles. And as if on purpose, in the throat of Sklim's began to tickle. Cough once, and his funeral is guaranteed. He saw the driver light a cigarette; a bright lighter spark pulled out of the darkness, his face. A hat was put on the driver's head.

It seems that the driver was not going to get out of the car at all, probably he was waiting for someone.

This complicated and confused the whole thing. When someone second approaches a meeting with the driver (if he is waiting for one person), then Sklim's chances of a successful outcome will decrease significantly. Of course, he could just wait until this meeting ends, listen quietly to what they will talk about, but Sklim did not come here to sit out in the bushes.

He will no longer have such a second chance. It was necessary to take an officer now, and then, when his accomplice approached, act according to the circumstances.

"I'll shoot both," he decided.

Sklim Yark began to act.

For a minute he peered into the darkness, where the hump of the bridge blackened, listened to anyone's steps and then slowly crawled away from the bushes, got up and, bending down, trying to move silently, began to go around the car, going behind her.

The driver smoked. Sklim smelled expensive tobacco, saw a red light in the passenger compartment. The driver smoked. Sklim smelled expensive tobacco and saw a red cigarette light in the passenger compartment.

He approached the trunk of the car, and the driver, opening the side window, still did not notice it.

This is even funny.

Smoking ignorance. Once again about the dangers of smoking, your nobleness.

Sklim stopped in front of the open window, from which the driver's elbow protruded and, holding his head on the sight of his nine-shot "Dodo" 45, clearly and calmly said:

  * Hands so I can see them! I shoot without talking!

He slowly put both palms out the window and a cigarette butt fell on the gravel, scattering a few sparks.

  * Now open the door with your left hand and slowly leave. No surprises, I'll take your head off!

  * I believe,- said a deep male voice in the car, hoarsely.

There was a click of the lock and the driver's door began to open slowly. Sklim, holding the driver on the gun's scope, took a step back, one more.

And stumbled.

Losing his balance, he waved his hands and, falling on his back, already realized that he had lost. Sklim collapsed with his back to the edge of the road and hit a stone, literally knocked the spirit out of his lungs.

For just a second, for one short second, Sklim was as if in a trance and at the moment when his hand with a pistol began to move forward, a short and crushing blow to his face deprived him of consciousness.

******* *******

He woke up and opened his eyes, tried to move and realized that his hands were locked behind his back with handcuffs. His head was buzzing.

He was lying on the back sofa of the car and his legs hung down from the open door. The lower part of the face was pulled by the already thickening blood that wet his right temple and neck.

The nose hurt a lot.

Sklim's stomach was struggling with nausea, ghostly, pink stains floated in front of his eyes in the dark, there was a coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

He coughed; hard and painfully.

  * Woke up, - said a familiar voice with hoarseness, and in the dark doorway appeared a black figure in a hat.

Strong hands jerked Sklim upright. He leaned back in the couch, and led his shoulders aching with pain - he lay for too long with his hands behind his back.

A man in a long black coat smoked, looking into the interior of the car.

  * So how did you find us?- The man in the hat asked, and Sklim wanted to spit in his face.

He did not answer.

  * That's what, Mr. Policeman, I'll talk with you until morning. And you will tell everything.

Sklim turned his head to the right and saw another black ghostly figure in the front passenger seat.

The second man was the one the killer was waiting for.

Sklim coughed again and said with a grin:

  * I almost took you. The officer.

  * Decided to show heroism, Sklim? - Without a shadow of irony, he asked him.

Sklim left his police badge at home, and yet the killer knew his name. Sklim could not come up with an explanation for this better than the conjecture that had suddenly visited him now.

  * Hi Rauk.

  * Hi, Sklim.

  * You got in touch with a bastard, guy. I thought about you much better until this day .- Sklim, in his skin, felt that he was on the right track .- He did not tell you about his exploits? - Sklim laughed briefly and heavily and, turning to the officer's standing nearby, told him.\- You must have been shy, your nobility? - And already Rouk's .- That's what I tell you, guy. Never believe scum, they will deceive you. I'm telling you like a policeman.

The officer leaned towards him and said to Sklim's face:

  * Do you want to talk?

  * In vain .- Sklim looked into the officer's face obscure due to the darkness.- I should have shot you right away. A professional habit let me down; I wanted to interrogate you.

  * So what? Were you going to take me alone? Could report to the department and sleep peacefully.

  * No, your nobility, I can't sleep peacefully. While you walk on Strength. And your department ... The same dregs and scum.

The officer laughed softly, said:

  * You are a hero, Sklim. I take off my hat.

  * Well, take it off, you bag of wind.

  * Come, Sklim, we will take a walk,- said the officer inexpressively.- Not far from here. Will you come out yourself or should I drag you with a drag?

Sklim was in no hurry to get up.

Then the officer, taking him by the lapels of his cloak, abruptly pulled out of the car. And at that moment when Sklim was already outside, Rouk quickly opened his door, jumped out, saying something in a tongue unfamiliar to Sklim's, and came close to them.

  * He will live, Folk,- said Rouk with pressure.

  * He knows everything. We will all perish because of him. I do not believe him,- Folk said.- There are many of us.

  * You won't kill him!

  * Do you want to argue with me?- Folk asked Rouk's, who stood before him.

  * He walked here alone. I know him.- Rouk spoke confidently, as if he and Sklim were old friends.- He is ours.

Sklim was silent, realizing that now everything would be decided, but still could not resist, he said:

  * Chill out, guy. He used to walk corpses all his life.

  * He's a policeman. I don't believe him.

  * With us or not, but he will live, Folk .- Rouk spoke, gradually raising his voice .- After all, we believed you! To you!

Something has changed, something elusive, it is impossible to hear or see through the eyes, but Sklim noticed it. It was as if the tension in the air between Folk standing next to him, subsided and subsided, like a black cloud driven away by a strong wind.

  * Listen .- Sklim shifted from one foot to another, leaning his back on the car body .- All this is certainly good, but I can't imagine myself next to you...

******* *******

Chapter 4.

By the river.

Summer has come.

The time was approaching noon and the bright sun, sultry in the summer, dispersed morning raw freshness with its warmth, crawled to the zenith. The forest that grew near the calm river was noisy with the foliage of trees from the light wind, he surrounded a small clearing of wild, dense thicket.

On the burning corners of the fire, the meat strung on steel bars was fried, and the air around the people sitting in the meadow was saturated with the thick smell of barbecue and flowers.

On the dry logs of fallen trees, there are vacationers sitting opposite each other - Tosia Vak, Evol Kyumo, Sklim Yark, Folk, Gorin, Lanina and Senchin.

A little far from the fire, on a white tablecloth laid directly on the grass, there were two enameled pots with boiled potatoes, bread covered with a blue napkin, glasses and several green bottles of wine.

There was a laugh around the fire.

Sklim just told an ambiguous greasy joke about a drunkard brought to the police station, where his wife's drunk lover was sitting.

  * Sklim,- said Lanina, wiping away her tears and still continuing to laugh.- And you look like such a serious uncle.

Gorin smiled broadly and happily.

  * All of us, uncles, are serious,- he said.

  * Yes, by the way, I wanted to ask,- Sklim asked.- You have a good pronunciation. Are all aliens so capable of languages?

Dressed in a white dress with blue flowers, Lanina drove off the bee that appeared next to her, and answered, saying, as if about a trifle:

  * Injection stimulating certain areas of the brain. Well, it's long and boring to explain, - she looked at Sklim with laughing eyes.- One injection and you learn a foreign language in a week.

  * It took me three weeks to do this,- Sergey said, stirring the coals of the fire with a dry stick.- Each has its own peculiarities.

Lanina burst out laughing and, seeing Senchin's displeased look, waved her hand at him, said:

  * Everything, everything. It's me, just, not about you.

Folk, dressed in a light, green-colored tracksuit, sat on the edge of the log, next to Misha Gorin; he smoked a cigarette, squinted at the smoke of the fire, and silently listened with interest to the conversation.

Evol Kyumo spoke little, occasionally asked or commented on what he heard. He even came to the forest for a picnic in black trousers and a white, immaculately clean shirt.

  * The meat, it seems, is already burning, - he said. - It's time to put it on the table.

They began to remove ready-made barbecue from an impromptu barbecue made up of thick, raw twigs.

Gorin, holding his portion in his hand, stood up, saying:

  * Ladies and gentlemen, please go to the table.

******* *******

  * I wanted to ask you, Mikhail, again ... - Evol Kyumo continued to call Gorin "you", despite the insistent demands of the latter to reduce the appeal to him in the singular.- Our conversation was interrupted. I am about the goal of our, mgm,... flight. You probably have a route...

  * The route!- Gorin interrupted, raising his index finger to the sky and spoke seriously, holding a glass of red wine.- In principle, this is a secondary issue. There are many goals, but the goal of the flight, as such, is different.

  * They asked you in human language, - Sveta looked at Gorin from the side, lying on the grass near the very corner of the tablecloth-table. - And you started to get clever.

  * Not to be clever, but to state ... As for the route, this is to Sergey,- Misha summed up and looked into his unfinished glass, studying.

Evol looked at Senchin, who was between him and Folk's.

  * There are seven goals,- said Sergey calmly, stirring a spoon with sugar in a half-liter aluminum mug, from which steam rose weakly. He drank tea.- The closest star system to us in four light years, the farthest in twelve. Well, based on the best possible visits... To the Earth from the Strength fifteen light years.

  * So you have not yet decided where to send the ship after the Strength?

  * No .- Sergey sipped out of the mug loudly, said.- We will solve it, Evol. Together with you and decide. Let's get to the ship first.

  * Yes, yes. The challenge. But quite achievable .- Misha reached across an impromptu table, behind an open bottle, his expression focused.\- I ditched the years on my transmitter! I started from scratch. True, I knew something, I will not lie.

  * Mishanya, you have already reached the condition .- Senchin watched him fill his glass with wine .- To drag you far. Hefty bull.

  * Do not spoil the holiday! I have long noticed that those who quit drinking acquire wrecking tendencies. Envy, nde- uh ... So. If everything goes well, then I will establish a connection with the "Wanderer" in the very near future. Here is Sveta, she saw the transmitter.

  * Actually, I saw a bunch of wires and a piece of iron .- Sveta looked at Gorin with doubt .- And I doubt very much that this rubbish that you are languishing over will give out at least something.

  * He will work. Reception is steady. I tuned, of course, to the starship's radio beacon. With the transfer so far problems. So far, problems.

Some kind of bird, invisible due to the branches of the nearest tree, burst into a jerky whistle. Sklim listened to her with a dreamy look.

  * That means there is hope.- Said Folk, lighting a cigarette.

  * Hope? - Misha laughed. - Confidence! And there ... I'll call a planetary shuttle, I'll indicate the coordinates and that's it. Forward. But not to Earth. There is now electronic immortality and other dubious pleasures. Also this Great and Knowing. Although, what can he know? Corn aphid.

  * Who is this?- Asked Sklim Yark with incomprehension.- Minister, or what?

  * We don't know,- said Senchin.- On the way to Strength's, we received a short message from Earth. They chose some kind of god, some kind of little bastard, to whom they bow and devour each other. We were informed that our return home is highly undesirable. Shortly speaking; there is nothing to do on Earth.- Misha explained to him.- This means that the blood is guaranteed. Or bow to some bastard if you want to live.

  * So in your world it's the same as in ours,- Folk said.

  * Yes. The same thing, - Misha nodded.

  * Then what is the point?- Asked Sklim.- Well, if there are bloodsuckers everywhere.

  * The point is that this is not the case everywhere.- Senchin also lit a cigarette, squinted at tobacco smoke.- It cannot be that the bloodsuckers were everywhere.

A gust of wind brought them smoke from the bonfire's.

  * They gave immortality to people on Earth, - Misha spoke .- They made better, so to speak, human nature, mother their, he sipped from a glass. And for the sake of this, most people will dig the earth with their nose. This is such a breed of people; for their own benefit, they will both betray and kill. Ass lick? They will gladly do it. E - e - e. I apologize.

  * Well done,- said Lanina.- Well done, "said Lanina." Again you got drunk. " Your Tallya is not here, she would have reassured you. You prudently acted that you did not take her with you, Misha.

  * This was done for security purposes,- Gorin replied, not embarrassed.

  * So, after all, not everywhere, like ours?- Sklim interrupted him.

  * Uh ... You have ordinary fascism and ordinary fascists rule you. Money and power, so to speak. As always, for some they are few, and for others it is not enough .- Gorin crossed to the other side .- And about peaceful shores... There must be "peaceful shores"; societies where relations between people completely exclude violence and domination of one over the other.... Peaceful shores. We had one glorious wonderful man in the carriage - Vasily Vyazemsky. This is his theory. We are looking for them .- Gorin vaguely waved his hand up.\- Vyazemsky had such a theory that if in some worlds there is darkness and hopelessness, then in other worlds it is necessary; fabulously good. The exact opposite of our disorder. The absolute harmony of life.

  * Heh, disorder, - Sergey grunted.- But I think that a very "device". In general, the Earth and the Strength, in my opinion, are not an exception, but a rule. Now transfer this rule to the whole universe. What will happen?

Misha said what he thought would come out of such a rule and again apologized.

  * Don't apologize already,- Sveta told him, and turning to Senchin, she asked.- Why so gloomy?

  * Is there a reason to think differently?- Sergey asked her.- I don't want to dissuade anyone, but I don't have such reasons. I have not met such reasons.

  * There are reasons .- Misha smiled happily .- There is! And I can list them. Tosia is such a reason, Evol is also a reason, Folk, Sklim. They are to you, why is there no reason to think positively? AND? You, in general, became some kind of depressive, Sergey. This is from sobriety.

  * This is from experience.

  * Well, yes, of course, from experience. Look, look at him! He found, you see, experience! There was nothing to climb in the shit and wallow in the gateways. He has experience, you see. We know about such an experience.

  * All your experience,- Senchin told him,- was that you were well attached to the rich skirt. If you worked in our port, then be sure that you would wallow in shit like everyone else. Because when there is nothing to hope for, then there are no reasons for joy. Smart ass.

Misha listened to Sergey with a condescending smile and said:

  * So in your opinion, I "attached myself to a rich skirt." Not "attached", but fell in love with a good woman, and without her I can't imagine myself. That's better? Maybe she, in order to please you, should go into the untouchables? If you got into shit, then do not whimper, but if you got out, then well done.

At these words, Misha waved his hand to the side, almost putting his palm in the face of the attentively listening Folk's.

  * Sorry, monsieur. - Gorin said.

  * "Sorry, Monsieur," is that?- Folk asked him suspiciously.

  * Sorry, sir. - Misha explained to him.

  * Yeah clear.

  * Do they always talk to each other like that?- Asked Sklim Yark, asking Lanin's.- I mean...

  * Always, - Sveta smiled at him. - It was worse, - and already turning to Gorin .- Tell me, my optimistic friend Misha, how do you explain to your wife, Faina, your beautiful story with Talya? AND? I just asked out of curiosity. She will scratch your whole face.

Misha was noticeably depressed, but tried to give himself a peppy look:

  * I will explain to her. Somehow.

And all.

Folk, thinking something over, asked, addressing both Gorin's and Senchin's:

  * I'm about that man, Vyazuskon.

  * Vyazemsky,- Lanina corrected him.

  * Yes, Vyazemsky. But is it likely to get to those same "coast"?

Misha chewed a piece of meat from his kebab for a long time and thoughtfully, then he said with his mouth full:

  * Ma-ay-y-e-e...

  * What? - Folk didn't understand him.

  * Maybe,- said Misha, picking out the meat from his teeth with his finger, and aiming his gaze at the second shish kebab lying in the saucepan.\- I don't think that such a mess reigns in the whole universe as you or ours on Earth. In any case, being on the road is always better than standing in a swamp. And hope ... Well, yes, there is always hope.

The sun was mercilessly scorching from above, filling the small clearing where they settled with suffocating heat with the astringent smell of dust and flowers.

Senchin got to his feet, said:

  * I'm going to swim. Who is with me?

Folk also stood up, pushed Sklim in the shoulder and said mockingly:

  * Inspector, would you like to freshen up?

  * Maybe later? I ate too much. Though...

Folk grinned.

  * Okay, let's go for a swim,- he told Sergey's.

  * I'm going too. - Misha started to get up, but lost his balance and buried his face on the "table", raised his head, a piece of fried onion stuck to his forehead.

  * Everything is clear with you,- Folk said and headed for the river.

He and Senchin walked along a narrow path, barely noticeable in the grass, Folk walked in front, Senchin followed him, spreading branches of bushes with his hands. Sergey plucked a green branch and waved it in front of his face, dispersing the swooping small midges. Sklim was several steps behind them.

  * Folk.

  * What?

  * You have said very little about ours.

  * I've only been a week since taking office as an observer. I saw aliens only twice. The base for keeping aliens is not a passage yard, and if they suspect me, then no shoulder straps will save me. And so, yes, I didn't tell much. There was no case.

They went to a narrow rocky beach, stood nearby. Sklim approached them, squinting at the water shining in the sun.

  * It's hot,- said Folk, looking at the other side of the narrow river, where tall spruces stood.- There is news.

  * What news?

  * About Svetlana's husband. About Semen Kislovsky.

  * What happened to him?

  * The colonel happened to him,- Folk answered, took out a cigarette case, lit a cigarette and offered to Sergei.

  * I do not understand.

Sklim silently listened.

  * He works for the Department of Justice, has the rank of Colonel for Science. It's all.

Senchin silently pondered what he heard, in his soul, something moved unpleasantly.

  * When with him ... this? ...- He could not utter the requested words, remembered how Sveta sobbed that night when they met her after so many years.

"\- Will he accept me?" - Senchin recalled her words.

He many times noticed on her face an expression of doom or hope when it came to her husband.

Colonel happened.

He felt disgusted.

  * What,- he asked Folk's.\- So, at once, "the colonel happened"?

  * Right away. On the very first day your captain died, three security officers were shot right in the corridor where they kept yours. Nobody was going to kill the captain. He was punched in the chest, hit hard and everything - his heart stopped. The entire security personnel received a tough order not to use physical force on the aliens. Your Semyon's, no one was going to beat. He was only intimidated. I read his case, everything is written there. The officer summoned him for questioning and simply jabbed his scrotum with a gun, and he said, of course... In short, this is what Kislovsky received from the colonel from science; he now works as the chief manager in the chemical industry. Almost a minister. They put a wife to him, the captain. I saw her. And I saw her personal matter too. She will cut the throat of anyone, and does not even hiccup. She is very affectionate with her husband. Probably, she has instructions on his account.

They were silent for a moment.

  * They really need a pilot. A pilot is extremely necessary for them.- Folk continued to speak, looking at the calm expanse of the river, in which numerous sunny "bunnies" flashed and went out .- They want to know a set of numbers and words, without which a ship is an ordinary pile of iron.

  * Access codes. - Sergey looked at the smoking cigarette, shook off the ashes.

  * If they get to the pilot,- Folk looked straight into Senchin's face.- Then they will cut the crew members in pieces, before his eyes. I think he is not one of those who can stand it.

Sergey turned away and said nothing.

  * Ministers take care of your friends, just in case, Sergey. I told you this morning and will repeat it now. There is no way to save them. Even trying to do it; it's funny. Break into the ship; also. You can immediately forget these paths. There remains the option of Misha with his transmitter. And further...

Sergei looked Folk in the eye; calm, almost indifferent look.

Folk said:

  * Thanks for Sklim's. I would kill him.

Sklim, who was standing nearby, grunted, said:

  * For me, you still remain a criminal and a murderer.

  * I know that,- answered Folk.- What, Mr. Policeman, do not want to swim in your old age? Shake your antiquity.

  * Ugh, snotter. - Sklim spat out a cigarette butt, began to unfasten his shirt.

They undressed to their underpants and, spraying water around themselves, rushed into the river, sailed towards the opposite shore.

  * Have you not forgotten your skills yet, man?- Folk shouted to Senchin, floating further ahead of Sergey.- A ship and all that.

  * I forgot. We'll fly on a stool.

  * I get it.

******* *******

Sergei and Folk entered the clearing. Sklim with a naked torso and in trousers sat down on a log, heavily puffed out. Water dripped from his wet hair.

Everyone had already crossed over to the bonfire that Lanina was kindling. On one side of the campfire sat Sklim and Misha, on the other, Tosiya Vak and Evol Kyumo.

Lanina saw those who came from the river first, sat next to Gorin and said:

  * Like water?

  * The water is excellent, - Sergey answered.

He sat down next to Evol, and Folk looked skeptically at Misha, and sat down next to Gorin.

  * Oh, oh, this is the second part of the question,- said Misha. Vyazemsky believed that the whole universe is an engineering structure, or at least a large part of it. In the sense that the stars and planets around them are created by someone whose level of knowledge and capabilities for this exceeds ours, well...

  * Man and ant. - Sklim suggested.

  * Sklim, you are flattering mankind. - Misha would like to lean back, as if in the back of a chair, and if Folk had not supported him in time, he would certainly have fallen from the log.\- Th,... tha,... thank you. Uh. On the way to Tverdi, we landed on a planet in the Brown Dwarf system, a type of star... So, this whole system, apparently, was formed not as a result of natural processes, but because of the activities of civilization, the possibilities of which are even scary to think about, - at these words, he wildly bulged his eyes.\- Vyazemsky considered Ice's existence a direct proof of his theory.

Sveta sat on a log near Folk, asked:

  * So, do you think it's impossible to arrange an escape for them?

  * What?- Folk turned away from Misha, and looked into her eyes.- This is unrealistic.

  * Tell me about him, officer.

  * I already said,- it was clear that Folk did not want to continue the topic proposed to her. You know.

  * And you repeat this, officer. Still, he is my husband.

Folk was silent for a moment, looking into her eyes and said:

  * Everything with your husband is in order, - he lives at the base with everyone, he is alive and well. I spoke to him as an investigating officer. So ... If I find out anything else, I will definitely tell you. You are the first to know about it.

Sveta looked at him with a grin incomprehensible to Folk, then patted his hand, saying:

  * Thank you.

Misha's speech, meanwhile, changed direction - leaning towards Sklim, he, with bulging eyes, asked him:

  * Well, what do you believe in? Well, just tell me, Sklim. What do you believe in?

  * Michael,- Evol Kyumo began to say, soothingly.- I do not want to offend you, but as a doctor I must tell you...

Misha turned his attention to him, blinked incomprehensibly:

  * What are you talking about, Evol?

Evol said in a calm voice and there was a patient expression on his face with which experienced teachers say something to their stupid students:

  * Alcoholism does not begin immediately. His first symptoms...

Misha recoiled from him, as if from a plague.

  * Evol, you ruined everything! What does alcoholism have to do with it? ... And in general, it's not about that! - He was already looking at the smiling Sklim again.- So what are we talking about? Yeah. Faith... What do you believe in? Explain it simply, in general.

  * Well ... - Sklim vaguely shrugged. - You know. The official religion is faith in the first Officer and his companion, the Knower. You make contributions in the heavenly contribution during your lifetime and the comrade of the first Officer will provide you with everything you need. It's simple.

  * That is, you- Sklim, believe that after your death, you will go to heaven, where everyone is ruled by the so-called first officer and his comrade- loan shark?

  * How will it really be, I don't know.- Sklim shrugged again.- Yes, and who knows what will happen to us after death?

  * Imagine that there is in heaven, well, I don't know where, - Misha's gaze clouded over. - That everything is controlled by these same Officer's and his companion, Ghoul's. Just imagine it. After all, this is bullshit.

  * Well, he's already begun to preach,- Senchin grinned.- How do you get home, Your Grace? To drag you?

  * Yes, right, I'm drunk right now .- Misha was sad .- We'll talk about this later, I'm not able to. And about the house ... No, we can't have it at home, in my opinion.

  * Mishanya, how are you?- Sergey looked puzzled at Gorin.

  * I am ok. We don't have a house, that's what. And will not be. Nde-uh...

  * Everything, he is get drunk. The main thing is that you'll finish your transmitter. And there we will have a house.

  * You don't understand. - Gorin said, staring at the fire. - In terms of being "home" or getting to the notorious Peace Coast... After all, what are you counting on? Well, get out of this Strength's and go on to the universe on the "Wanderer" ... And where to go? - He waved a hand over his head. - Towards new worlds. Heh. And, of course, in the hope of finding a home there, so to speak, where everything is, of course, good and wonderful. And of course, we ourselves will become better there, and so on ... A sort of comfort in newfound happiness. The fullness of days.

  * Are you against the fullness of days, Misha?- Lanina asked him.

  * Who! I AM? No, just the opposite. Just I do not believe in this fullness. At me, - and Gorin hit himself in the chest three times. - It hurts, right here!

Evol started, hastily said:

  * It could be a symptom...

  * Evol. - Misha flushed his face, he was "in shock" - I am healthy as a bull!

  * Why don't you believe that?- Senchin asked him.

  * Yes, this is nonsense, and that's it.- Misha hiccuped in agony, grimaced.- Uh, nonsense. Yes. Do you think that you will find somewhere there a cozy warm nest? Well, let you find it. Do you know what will happen to you next? Well, let's say you arrived on those very Peaceful Shores. Let be. Only who is waiting for you there? Who needs you there?

  * I don't understand. - Sergey wiped sweat from his forehead.

  * Just everything. You are everywhere and stranger. We flew off from Earth as children, for several years they haven't given anything on Tverdi. I generally suspect that the only Peaceful Shores for us are ourselves, who are sitting here. Your home is where you are, where they are waiting for you! Do you understand this is a garden head? We are used to the "Wanderer", used to be on the road. Our home is an abyss. We will always long for the journey, because this is our home. The path in the abyss. We are all waiting for one return to where we came from.

  * It is clear. - Sergey lit a cigarette, added. - I thought you could say something worthwhile. Yap. You see it hurts him, right here.

  * Fool. - Misha told him affectionately. - You believe in fantasy. Suppose ...- he shook his index finger in front of his nose, trying to focus his eyes on Senchin .- Suppose they are, these Peace Shores, only who will let you in to them? With your mug! And do not make lips "chicken ass." I'm telling you something. Our house; The "Wanderer", our way; in the abyss. In the abyss, do you understand this? Of course, in principle, it doesn't matter where and on which ship you fly, whether on a starship, on a planet that is the same ship, only large, but you will never find what you are looking for. Never. While you are alive, until you return home.

  * He's right,- Tosia Vak said quietly.- Probably we...

  * He- drunk yap! - exclaimed Sergey.- I'd rather settle somewhere on the outskirts, on the outskirts of those very Peaceful Shores that you don't believe in, than rot on this damned Strength! And I do not care what- "erysipelas", do not care that I'm a stranger there. You see, wise guy? Strength, this... She's sitting in my liver, itching under my skin! I lost myself on it, I lost faith, and you say ... So that you yourself are a fool and what else.

  * He lost himself, faith ... - Misha grunted and nodded towards the silent Evola Kyumo. - You, talk about this with Evol, he tells you; nerd, a lot about alcoholism, it will tell, but do not complain to me.

  * We will definitely get out of here, Seryozha.- Lanina said, looking at Senchin.- And he will fly away with us, he will not go anywhere. Poor clown .- And she grinned, added caustically .- Polygamist.

And then Folk laughed out loud.

  * What are you doing?- Sergey asked him.- Tell me, we'll laugh together.

  * How good it is to be with you guys,- answered Folk.- I have never been so well in my life. Well, the company has gathered here! - And he nudged Sklim with his elbow and asked. And what about the inspector? Will we fly?

  * It's easy...

******* *******

The day was late in the evening, the suffocating heat was asleep, and a life-giving wind blew from the river, driving the cooling air now.

Misha was bitten by a wasp in his left palm. Misha suffered, he winced, looking at his hand with puzzled drunk eyes, and blew, puffing out his cheeks. He and Senchin stood on the banks of the river.

  * What were you preaching about to him here? - Sergey approached Misha, evil hissed in his face. - You...

Gorin looked at him blankly with drunken eyes.

  * To whom did I preach?- He hiccupped loudly.

  * Folk!

  * What? I do not understand, I you do not understand...

  * There is no greater love than if someone would give his soul for his friends,- Senchin mimicked him.- When did you become like that?

  * What have I become? - Misha staggered.

  * You have become a bastard. Do you want Folk to clear the way for us? So that he would give his soul for us?

  * Yes you just ... just...

Finally, the meaning of Sergey's speech came to Mishka, and, spreading a generous smile, he said:

  * You are fool. Fo- o- o- ol.

  * You have become a bastard, Mishanya.

  * You did not understand anything. He needs it, understand? He needs to know that...

Sergey let go of Gorin's shoulder and he, like a mannequin, collapsed into the grass. Sergey left without turning around.

  * God is love, - Misha shouted after him. - He will forgive him everything, everything...

******* *******

Chapter 5.

Hans Wulf. "Wanderer". A year before the exodus from Strength.

The moon is like the moon.

Nothing special. Hans Wulf has seen her countless times at the "Wanderer's" telescopes - a lifeless satellite of the Planet, devoid of atmosphere, all pitted with impact craters from the ancient asteroid bombing. Moody gray-white landscape.

  * You did it, Hans Wulf .- He said aloud to himself .- You did it.

Always looking at the Planet with one of its sides, the Moon, like two drops of water, was like the same Moon that revolves around its native Earth. It was strange and even wild to see now, below the "Platform", the familiar outlines of the Sea of Rains, the Copernicus crater and so on, which in principle should not have been.

The local moon was the twin of the moon left in the solar system for many light years from here.

True, there was no absolute resemblance.

For example, there was no Archimedes crater, the Sea of Tranquility on one side was several tens of kilometers smaller and had four large craters that were missing from her earthly relative. Otherwise, there were no differences.

Hans remembered how many disputes and hypotheses gave rise to the "Wanderer", such a similarity of the satellites of the Earth and the Strength.

  * You are here,- he said again, looking at the surface of the moon in the lower right porthole of the pilot's cabin.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

The orbital shuttle "Platform-2" flew over the lunar surface at an altitude of one hundred and twenty kilometers.

For a very long time, Hans was waiting for this day, and he considered the efforts over himself that he put into training piloting to be a real feat.

Three days ago, an on-board computer gave him control codes for the "Tor" and "Platform" - light spacecraft for landing on planetoids devoid of the atmosphere. A little more patience (he believed in this) and permission to pilot a heavy planetary shuttle, he will receive.

Now this is the business of the next three months. Maybe half a year.

Wulf felt life returning to him, as if consciousness had emerged from a quagmire of stupor, and now what until recently seemed hardly feasible now turned out to be real.

This flight was necessary for him - to fly around the moon, maybe to find out what happened to the crew. But the main thing is to prove yourself in business, to test your abilities, to break the vicious circle of endless days on a spaceship, to break free. Even for a few days.

Wulf decided that if he saw the "Platform-1" crash site from orbit, he would definitely land. He waited a long time for this day.

Sunlit peaks of the lunar mountains pierced the surrounding space, shone, sparkled as if cast from metal, and in front of the "Platform" course, crumpled and broken by light and shadow, a terminator was approaching - a dividing strip between the illuminated surface and that part of it that was in the shadow of the Planet.

A few minutes later, the "Platform" plunged into the shadow of the Planet and now went to the opposite side.

Hans Wulf once again checked the instruments readings - everything is in order. Search engines included.

The ship was covered by shadow and night.

Hans turned off the lights in the cockpit.

The reverse side of the moon turned in the direction of the flight of the "Platform's", revealing previously hidden details of its surface.

Hans peered into the window, but what he saw shocked him, made him freeze.

The entire surface of the dark side of the Moon, as far as one could see, was absolutely smooth, stretching for thousands of kilometers, a plain, without craters and mountains, no gorges, smooth, as if it were ironed by giant skating rinks.

For a moment he peered at what was revealed to his eyes.

Impossible.

It could not be.

And then he saw an opening.

The association from what he saw aroused in his imagination precisely this word; opening.

On the surface of the moon there was a pentagonal opening-pit, going deeper, under its surface, and in this opening, somewhere below, the light shone pale green, even. The size of the open opening shocked him.

Hans looked at the readings of tracking devices, seven hundred kilometers across!

And the "Platform" flew right in the direction of this cell of monstrous size.

He looked up to where stars were shining above the hole in the smooth surface of the Moon and saw what was without a doubt a cover for an aperture — a pentagonal shape, a giant panel slightly curved to the radius. It hung above the orbit of the flight of the Hans ship, at an altitude of two hundred kilometers, and at the corners of this lid, the panels were attached, reflecting a green glow from below, five columns without any details on their cylindrical sides are smooth, as if polished. The size of the columns was impressive \- about twenty-four kilometers each. The lid-panel itself consisted of two parts, the upper and the lower, and giant trusses connecting them were visible.

On the upper, convex ends of the columns, white lights shone.

"Platform-2" was approaching the opening-cell.

Down there, in the midst of green light, over a pentagonal abyss, several dozen small white lights rushed about, like fireflies flying over a light source.

Hans Wulf, as if mesmerized, looked in the gaze that opened to him, a failure in the Moon, and in this radiant failure he saw giant, round-shaped machines — brightly lit, moving at dizzying depths, like parts of a gigantic mechanical monster and there was a dazzling, pale green glow.

The thought that he was noticed was pierced by his creature in fear, as if he had caught off guard someone who was secret and mortally dangerous, hedged his dark deeds, trying to go unnoticed.

He had nowhere to hide.

The ship was already flying up to the opening, when suddenly from somewhere below, a blinding white light hit the cabin and Wulf froze paralyzed by an invisible, alien force's.

His body relaxed limply in a pilot's chair, his hands hung in zero gravity at chest level and horror came. It was like a punch — piercing, instant. The horror came from outside, like an angry hungry beast, it seemed, clutched its jaws in the very soul of man, in his being, and tore it with iron claws.

To tears, to cries.

A second passed, another.

The suffocating wave rolled away. Hans Wulf again took control of his body and right there, wide-eyed furiously, he yelled with all his strength, for a long time heart-rending, until the air ran out in his lungs. He sighed frantically, coughed, and, not understanding what was happening to him, he began to pound the helm with his hands.

He nearly vomited.

Instinctively, he was eager to get up, to escape from what had just inflicted terrible pain on him.

And then a voice arose.

These were not words that appeared in his ears or head.

Like an electric shock, words were spoken in every cell of his body:

  * Closed area. No entry. If the ban is violated, we will come for you. We will come. We will come. Behind you.

And at the same time, Hans seemed to understand what happened to the crew that had gone to the moon. Without details, only general necessary knowledge.

It was an accident. Clash. Accident - they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And it was all over.

The beam went out.

He was let go.

From shock or maybe this ray had such an effect on Wolfe, but for a few seconds he literally forgot everything he learned in controlling the ship.

Absolutely!

Looking at the keys and dashboard screens, at the blinking of multi-colored light indicators, he helplessly tried to figure out what function and purpose they had, as if he had seen all this for the first time.

The pentagonal opening in the lunar surface was left behind the ship - the Platform went to the dull horizon.

The memory reluctantly returned to him.

"Accident ... We will come for you..."

He grabbed the helm, sweating palms tightly gripped the embossed plastic handles, and with the index finger of his right hand, Wulf felt and pressed the traction engine thrust key to the limit.

With the muffled hum that arose, his body gained weight. Gaining speed, the ship changed the height of its orbit, higher, further ...

There will be no second orbit around the moon.

Hans Wulf went to the "Wanderer".

******* *******

Chapter 6.

Look in the face.

A month has passed since the day they had a picnic in a forest glade, not far from the river. Misha Gorin left for his wife's estate, promising that as soon as the transmitter works, he will personally arrive in Quiet Harbor.

Folk, going about his business, rarely came.

A clear sunny day drowned the whole city in the light and inexplicable inexplicable joy, as if light and well-being penetrated its dirty streets along with the rays of the sun.

Of course, there couldn't be prosperity in the black quarters, but Sklim long ago noticed that on sunny days of the crime there were much fewer crimes than on cloudy and rainy ones, and the smiles on the faces of the townspeople became noticeably greater.

On days like this, Sklim felt young and alert.

It was getting close to dinner.

Sklim walked along the sidewalk and he wanted to sing. He even began to mutter, some primitive motive, but soon ceased to do so; passers-by looked suspiciously in his direction.

Having walked along Cypresses Boulevard, where there were never any cypresses, he turned onto Eleventh Street, passed the high concrete fence of the repair base and soon found himself at Vokzalnaya Square. Making a day tour of his site, Sklim always went to the black station.

There were not many people here today. In any case, there was no crush near the cash desks located under a low wooden canopy.

At the bus stop with a single broken bench, there was a yellow bus number five. Its doors, invitingly open, with all its appearance, invited a few passengers to take their places in the cabin, and the big driver, in a jacket soiled with dirt and oil, and in the same trousers and trampled boots, lay under the front of the bus, on a sweatshirt.

Passing by, Sklim crouched beside him, looked at the driver's face stained with something black, and said:

  * Howdy!, bagel.

  * I wish you good health, Inspector,- he answered, continuing to delve under the motor.

  * Are you sunbathing again?

  * Yes, yes ...,- the driver reached with his dirty hand under his jacket and scratched his chest, exhaled.- How many times have I said at the base what needs to be changed...

The driver's name was Toush Keh and he was about the same age as Sklim. Sometimes Sklim met him at the diner, they were talking about life, they could argue about something and even quarrel obscenely, but then they met like that on the street and talked as if nothing had happened.

Toush began emotionally explaining to Sklim about the "curriculum of mechanics," who, as long as you don't ask him, "will never do everything right," about the new bus that was sent last week and was given not to him, Touche, an experienced old driver, but a young one, another snotty guy who (of course, by chance) has to be the son-in-law of the garage manager.

Sklim listened to him "half the ear", but nodded knowingly, they say, yes, it happens! Ten minutes later he said goodbye to Toush and his "mechanical trouble" and headed to the station.

Climbing onto a low concrete porch, Sklim opened the heavy wooden doors painted in bronze and, entering the waiting room, turned left to the sideboard.

Through the long, unwashed windows of the station, overlooking the platform, he saw a standing train and a usual crush of passengers near cars with suitcases and bags, and drunk porter Ama, who was leaning against the window frame on the street side.

At the buffet, which consisted of two high counters covered with a white tablecloth, there was a crowd of passengers. Serving them, two saleswomen.

One thin, sickly-looking young woman poured boiling water into teapots and cans of passengers holding out their containers to her, pushing and arguing among themselves about something.

Another, a full-bodied, high-growth saleswoman who had already exceeded fifty years, with bright painted lips, was selling pastries on the opposite side of the buffet.

It was Fat Now. Actually, her name was Mikka Silka and calling her Tolstoy could have cost a daredevil's a lot.

Sklim approached the sideboard from the side where an inscription was drawn on the wall above the bakery cabinets - "be polite, people everywhere" and began to squeeze through the crowd.

People turned around nervously and, seeing the policeman, tried to give way to him. Some snapped at Sklim's in the back.

  * Girl, girl!- Shouted a short man in a sweater and a leotard with outstretched knees, holding out his hand with the money clamped in it, over his head, in front of a woman in a white and green striped dress. A friendly smile and an imploring grimace were simultaneously displayed on his face.- Kindly give me two cakes. My train is leaving now!

The fifty-year-old "girl," glanced briefly at him, and her piercingly high cry, announced the entire space of the buffet:

  * Now!\- The saleswoman's sonorous voice spilled over a crowd of buyers.- I run and stumble. Go and get in line, the slyboots.

  * Well, girl, my train will depart.

  * The dead depart. Stand in line, I said already!

Sklim squeezed to the counter, got up from the edge, so as not to interfere, said hello:

  * Hello Mikka.

  * Oh, what kind of people have come to us.

  * Hello, hello, Mr. Sub-Lieutenant,- her full face took on a joyful expression.- Do you, as usual?

  * Yes.

  * The next one!- Exclaimed Fat Now, already picking Sklima some pies from a large box and wrapping them in gray paper.- Here, take it.

Sklim gave her some coins, took a parcel with pies, asked:

  * And Yusen, where? Something not to see him.

Jusen Kuul, a sub-lieutenant of the traffic police, has been at the station for thirty years, he loved to stand on the platform and inspect passengers, with a formidable look of a law enforcement officer, but that didn't prevent him from being "drunk" almost always.

  * Well, where, where ...- Fat Now lowered her voice and, continuing to pack the pies for the next customer, spoke conspiratorially.- He's sick today." In the warehouse he is sleeping.

Someone pulled Sklim three times on the sleeve.

He looked around.

  * Hi, Sklim.

Next to him, dressed in a blue dress fitted with a black belt, stood Svetlana Lanina, in her hand she was holding a small brown travel suitcase.

Sklim raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  * Hi,- he said.

  * Let's move aside,- Lanina said and began to get out of the buffet to the side, to a place free from people.

  * In my opinion, she is too young, Mr. Sub-Lieutenant.- Fat Now said mockingly.- She will break your heart.

  * She is my niece,- Sklim explained to her.

  * Ah ... Well ... Well, I understand. Following!

He went to the window, where Svetlana was waiting for him, putting his suitcase at his feet.

  * Hello, Sklim.

He did not see the usual friendly smile on her face. It seemed that Svetlana was very upset with something.

  * Hello and you, my joy,- and lowering his voice, almost to a whisper, he added,- an alien.

She did not react to his humor.

  * Are you going somewhere?

  * I'm leaving, Sklim.

  * Where?

She stubbornly shook her head, said:

  * Sergey will explain everything to you, - she hesitated a little, asked. - Is there a pencil and paper?

Sklim took an office notebook from the breast pocket of a police uniform and handed a small pencil to her.

He looked at her face and it seemed to him that Svetlana was about to cry now.

Lanina turned to the window, wrote in a notebook, laying it on a dusty windowsill.

Sklim looked at her, waited patiently. He could see how she wrote in a notebook with a wide sweeping handwriting, letters unknown to Sklim. He looked around and, approaching Svetlana, covered her with himself from prying eyes.

"- This is not reasonable," Sklim thought. "- She writes in her own way."

He grinned.

It seemed funny to him that, just like that, in this railway station, amid the routine and dullness of everyday life, an alien stands by the window and writes a letter. And no one can even think of such a thing.

Sklim decided that she had a falling out with Sergey, and thought that he himself would never have quarreled with such a woman.

A long and dull, locomotive whistle sounded.

The restless crowd at the sideboard flinched; people, pushing, rushed to the exit to the platform.

Lanina put a pencil in her notebook and returned it to Sklim, took the suitcase in her hand.

  * I explained everything there. I wrote it at home, but ... Not about that. Goodbye Sklim. Pass this to Seryozha and tell him, say that ...- She thought for a second, said .- I have to go.

She turned away, hiding her tears, and she walked quickly to the exit from the waiting room. At the doors themselves, Svetlana looked around and Sklim saw her smile.

She turned away, hiding her tears, and she walked quickly to the exit from the waiting room. At the doors themselves, Svetlana looked back at him, and Sklim saw her smile.

Lanina went out the door and disappeared from sight.

The engine gave a second beep, the human bustle near the wagons became almost panicky - people climbed into the wagon doors with shouts and curses, lifted their teapots and cans higher.

He looked through the window at the platform until the last, third beep sounded, then, holding a bundle of pies in his hand, Sklim left the station.

******* *******

Sklim met Senchin's in the evening in the park — he was waiting for him after work.

Secret events at the port have already been completed for two weeks, and Sergey was working again, as before.

They greeted each other.

Sklim said:

  * Let's go, there's a deal.

The evening sun cast long slanting maple shadows, it shone in the face.

They sat on a bench near the iron stand with scraps of old ads and glued sheets of fresh newspapers.

Rare passers-by, not paying attention to Sergey and Sklim dressed in civilian clothes, walked by.

  * What happened?- Senchin was dressed in a blue overalls, looking with poorly concealed anxiety.

  * Here. - Sklim handed him an open notebook. - This is for you.

Sergey has read.

  * I would,- Sklim said.- I would never begin to swear with such a woman. Of course, she has a husband and more...

He fell silent, looking at Sergey.

Sinking his hand with a notebook on his knee, Senchin motionlessly looked in front of him with a frozen face. He seemed petrified.

  * What?

  * When she?...

  * She left by a twelve hour train.

Sergey bowed his head, said:

  * Late. She left for her husband. All.

Sklim thought and asked without understanding:

  * That is, how is it, to her husband? He is...

  * She heard our conversation with Folk. I'm a fool.

  * So what?

  * Her husband betrayed the crew. He works for power.

And Sergey translated the contents of Svetlana's note to Sklim, then tore out a sheet from a notebook, took out a gas lighter, lit a sheet of paper and watched him turn black and turn black.

  * Sveta, what have you done,- Sergey said quietly.- What are you...

They lit a cigarette, barely talked. And having parted with Sklim, Sergey trudged home along the dusty sidewalk.

Lanina wrote him the following:

"My dear Seryozha.

I can't live with it, I'm very tired, so I don't need to fly anywhere. You will understand me, I know. That day, at a picnic, I went after you and heard what Folk was saying. It will kill me, I always loved him! I want to look in his face. I won't give you away, even under torture. Do not forget about me, remember me and goodbye. I always loved you as a brother, I'm sorry.

Your Fluff. "

******* *******

Chapter 7.

This is what remains.

Sergei returned from the post office, where he received a telegram from Misha. He nevertheless did not keep his word and sent him a telegram.

"It's all right point I'm leaving today point Nolash point"

Nolash is the local Misha's name.

It was noon. Approaching the entrance of his hut, Senchin literally collided in the doorway with Fis Nuum's. He tried to drag over a protruding threshold, a large black bag on wheels. Fiss pulled her with both hands. A medium-sized gray suitcase was on the left side of it.

  * Hi fis. Let me help you.

  * Hello, hello,- he muttered back.

Sergey jerked out a heavy bag on a low woodening porch. Fiss, puffing, pulled out his suitcase.

  * Where are you going? To visit?

  * Where where...- Fis took a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and, looking furtively looking around, asked Sergey.- And you, then, will stay?

  * I.e?

  * Didn't you hear what people are saying?- Fis Nouum spoke in a low voice and his incredibly enlarged glasses glasses seemed to be about to pop out of their sockets.

  * People say different things.- Senchin shrugged indifferently.

  * Miscellaneous. Well, well. - Fis stepped to Sergey. - A mess is planned. Half of the city has already fled.

  * Do not understand.

  * Well, if you do not understand, then you do not understand. This business is yours, and I'll sit with my relatives in the village. Shooting is expected. There will be some kind of rebellion. Everyone is talking about it. My brother-in-law told me that it's better to leave the city for the time being. Do you remember what Rocco was talking about at the table? He collected manatki in the morning and hi. So that. And you, take your aunt and get off somewhere. Well, come on. I'm already late for my train.

Sergey watched the stooped figure of Fiss's. He quickly disappeared around the corner of the hut.

Returning to the entrance, he climbed the creaky wooden steps of a steep staircase to the second floor, unlocked the door to the apartment and entered the hallway.

An unnaturally quiet bustle occurred in the hallway, a dim dusty lamp burning under the ceiling illuminated the picture of the gathering.

At the larger common cupboard stood the unusually sober neighbor Tos in his brown casual suit and polished shoes.

His always screaming wife was silent now. Putting on the feet of her five-year-old son, beige sandals, she defiantly did not look at Sergei who had come in. The freckled son of Tosa looked at Senchin and showed him his tongue. His yellow long-sleeved shirt crawled out of his belt.

  * Wow, Rouk,- Tos greeted and broke into a silly smile.

  * Hey. Are you going to where?- Sergei asked, seeing a dark green oversized duffel bag.

  * Gathered, now, - without raising her head, answered the wife of Tos. - To visit my relatives, - and already to my husband. - Come out, or something, onion woe.

Tos threw a duffel bag over his shoulder with one hand, grabbed a suitcase with a small iron-black corners with the other, walked sideways past Sergey and went out onto the landing.

A minute later, without saying goodbye, his wife and son came out.

The door behind them closed with a noise.

He's taken off his shoes. Pushing his ugly trampled boots into a corner, Sergey went to his room.

After Sveta's departure, a day passed.

His room still smelled of her cheap perfume.

Senchin sat at a table on a shaky high-backed chair, put his hands on a white tablecloth, ironed by Sveta.

Misha was to arrive soon.

He recalled that distant time when he was a teenager and life seemed like a magical, easy fairy tale, he recalled how, many years ago, they spent carefree evenings in a small forest-greenhouse on the "Wanderer".

He almost clearly heard now, Sveta's perky and sonorous laugh.

That Sveta Lanina, which will no longer be.

He looked at the yellowed plywood bedside table in the right corner of his cramped room in which his diary lay. What to write in it now? What for?

Behind him, a door opened, and Tosiah Vac's voice said:

  * Do you accept guests?

And immediately the voice of Evola Kyumo arose:

  * Hello, Sergey.

Senchin looked around.

Dressed in her homely blue dress with a white lace collar, Tosia Vak went into the room and sat across from Sergey. Evol sat on the right side of Senchin, folded his hands on the table. His white flawless shirt shone with cleanliness.

  * Tosia told me about Svetlana,- said Evol.- I came to you, Sergey, also with the news.

Senchin looked at him expectantly.

  * I will not fly with you, Sergey,- he said with visible effort and looking at his palms.- I stay.

  * Are you staying?- Senchin coughed.- Why?

  * It's hard to explain, but I will try. Because of the wife. Maybe I don't love her, as I once did. Years, events or something, happened like that,- he shrugged and, raising his face, looked directly into Sergey's eyes.- But I have never been a traitor. We had no children, we are aging and lonely. But I love her. It's true. Even the way she has become now. People can change, and I hope that she too ... - He stopped short and then continued. - You understand, Sergey - a person should not be alone. Loneliness, it is like death. Whatever it was, but a person should know that they love him, that he is not alone in this world. If I leave with you, she will die here, without hope. Those other worlds where you fly and where you will be... I would like to be there with you, to see it with my own eyes, but not as a traitor. After all, she believes me.

  * Take it with you, Evol,- said Sergey.

He shook his head, said:

  * Here is our home. We have lived our lives here, but it's too late to start from the beginning, and I don't want to. Goodbye Sergey. I will remember you.

Evol stood up and held out his hand, which Senchin shook too, rising from the table.

Evol Kyumo left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Senchin went to the window.

In the gap between the branches of poplar he saw, standing at the curb of a dirt yard, a stunted, feeble woman in some plain gray dress and with a black handbag on her shoulder. She looked at the window that Sergey was looking at.

Evol left the hut, passing a little, caught up with her, and the woman followed him, looking at Senchin who was standing at the window, then she took Evol's by the arm and they disappeared from sight.

Sergei looked into the courtyard, which became a stranger to him.

Tosia Wak quietly approached him and stood next to him.

  * I was always the first to tell him that he would leave her. It will be a lesson to me,- she paused a little, then added.- I don't understand. I do not want to understand this.

  * Aunt Tosya, maybe you are with us?

  * No.

They were silent for a long time, then Tosia Vak spoke:

  * We were from the caste of stewards and everything seemed simpler and easier. And then they came for husband. He was accused of moralism. The court sentenced him to ten years of corrective labor in the quarries of the Eastern Mountains, and me and son to lowering caste rights. We were deported. Then we settled here in Quiet Harbor. A year later, a notice came that my husband was dead. Then, at work with his son, his boss wrote an oath that the demoted managerial son expressed disagreement with the court decision. My Maul was taken right from work. Ten years in prison. I can't write letters to him. This is prohibited. I don't know what happened to him, I don't know if he is alive. But what they couldn't take away from me is hope. I will wait for him. He has no one but me. All that remains for me is hope...

Then they drank tea with her lingonberry jam, spoke little, and when she went to her room, Senchin, sitting at a table in his quiet little room, recalled days gone by.

He recalled the time when they were still teenagers, and stood in the observation room of the "Wanderer", and before them was the whole universe ...

******* *******

In the observation room of the starship - spacious, with transparent high walls, it was dark and quiet.

They stood six of them and looked at the stars.

  * Beautiful,- said Galya Romanova.

  * Ordinary stars,- said Semyon Kislovsky, standing between Sveta Lanina and Hans Wulf. Sergey Senchin looked at Misha Gorin; he stood a little to the side, leaning against the wall.

  * It is a pity that others did not come, - said Sergey.

  * Guys, - Sveta looked around everyone, asked. - And why did they take us to the crew? What do you think? Well here you are, Misha, tell me. Only without stupid jokes.

  * Seriously,- Gorin turned in her direction,- I think I got into the crew so that you had someone to torment with stupid questions.

  * Everything is clear with you. - Sveta turned away from him. - And you, Serezha?

  * Me?- He shrugged, answered.- To be honest, I don't know.

  * You are all modest,- Semyon Kislovsky grunted.- We were taken into the crew of the "Wanderer" because we are recognized as the best. It is obvious.

  * And in my opinion,- Hans interrupted.- There would have been a lot of people like us. I think that is the will of chance. Just an accident.

  * Probably,- Galya Romanova agreed with Wulf.- Many other childrens could be here instead of us.

Semyon laughed and said instructively:

  * Only we could be here.

Senchin wanted to tell him some nasty things, looked and saw in the ghostly light of the stars and the reflections of the dimensional lights of the starship, Lanina. She looked with admiration at Kislovsky.

"- Girls. - He thought. - Everything is clear."

Lanina noticed Senchin's gaze, was embarrassed, and suddenly, with enthusiasm, she spoke impulsively:

  * Friends, how wonderful it is here! The Milky Way - you can get it with your hand. We are the crew, we will be there, among the stars. Let us swear here, now, in front of these stars that we will never betray each other and what we believe in! AND?

  * This is so, of course,- Kislovsky said calmly, not looking in her direction.

No one supported the enthusiasm of Lanina and she fell silent, ashamed, as if she had said some terrible stupidity. Sergey saw this shame in her face and he felt very sorry for her, and he told her:

  * You said everything correctly, Sveta. It is nice here.

  * Really?- She smiled at him.- As if there was nothing, only we and the stars.

  * Abyss, - Misha answered from the side. - She hears us.

  * Your abyss is simply emptiness. And just stars,- Semyon said pointedly.

They stood in that darkness for a long time, looking into the abyss, and everyone saw it in their own way.

******* *******

Chapter 8.

Smoke, thunder, fire.

From dirty borders, spring whitewashing has almost disappeared. There were almost no passers-by on the sidewalk and in the square; weekday. At the end of the square, drowning in green maples, huts were visible.

Clear sky. The sun slowly crawled to the zenith, filling the streets with bright light. The heat began.

Sklim left the square on Seventeenth Street and, standing at the crossroads, inhaling the exhaust smoke of passing trucks, he walked through Unity Square with a leisurely step, calmly looking in front of him, as befits a policeman.

Near the grocery store number eight; a one-story red brick building under a rusty tin roof and tall, long-washed windows, Sklim paused in front of the windows, stood looking at the cabbage and onions laid out in wooden trays and lit a cigarette, and leisurely went along the sidewalk.

Three drunkards, having seen the policeman from afar, hurriedly turned from the sidewalk into the yard of the nearest hut painted in yellow.

Go calm guys.

Sklimu smiled.

His mood today was the most festive, something that made him want to foolishly, breaking his cap on the back of his head, to dance.

Sklim was fine.

Probably, he experienced something similar in his youth, long before his marriage.

Although, if you think carefully, he is still not an old man.

No, not an old man!

He remembered how, as a boy with his friends, he climbed into the garden of an office where forever green sour apples grew behind a wooden rickety fence.

And all this for the watchman guarding that garden; old, angry like a dog, screaming obscenely and limping on both legs, who tried unsuccessfully to catch young bullies bothering him.

Yeah. Sklim also recalled the joyful feeling with which he climbed over the fence, tearing his shirt and losing half of his green and inedible apples, hearing the swearing and swearing words of a guard hurrying in his direction.

He would happily return now at that time, and to that garden.

At least for one day.

At least for one hour.

He walked along the sidewalk, admiring the thick green leaves, poplars, inhaling dusty warm air, with the smells of flowers and grass growing in small gardens under the windows of the barracks.

Sklim met Sergey in the morning and he said that Gorin was arriving today, which means that everything is in order with the transmitter, and that soon they will have to pack on the road. And then...

Then there will be a ship.

How did Misha describe to him the launch of the ship?

Smoke, thunder, fire. Like thousands of thunders and hundreds of earthquakes.

He, for the umpteenth time, tried to imagine the launch of the ship, and could not. Imagination painted a night thunderstorm and dazzling lightning striking the black sky.

No, he could not imagine it.

To do this, yourself must be there and he will be there.

Soon.

Sklim did not notice that he was smiling.

When? Tomorrow or in a few days?

Never mind.

Sergey said that it's four light years to the nearest star from Strength, but the "Wanderer" will cover this distance faster than the light comes.

Other worlds may be the same as Strength. Although no, as Strength\- not necessary. Maybe everything is different there, better, easier. And he, Sklim, will see them with his own eyes.

A few years of flight on a ship ...

He lived here all his life, and recently believed that he had lived his life in vain.

Sklim did not notice how he ended up on Twenty-second Street, not at all where he was going.

  * I'm getting old,- he said, and shook his head.

He turned into the yard of the nearest hut and walked past a string of low sheds that had grown into the ground, along a narrow path along bushes and sparse pines.

Twenty minutes later, passing several yards, Sklim went out into the street, near the police station.

There, directly opposite the front porch, about twenty meters away, by the road itself, a dozen and a half crowded crowds — police and civilians. And all because of the larger truck, which as if deliberately crashed into a hefty tall poplar that grew next to their police station.

A truck of the Begun-1500 brand, of dark green color, with a square plywood cabin, stood against the poplar trunk with its right wing turned out of impact. A deep, wide wheel mark was imprinted in the flowerbed.

Sklim slowly walked to the formed crowd.

For the sake of such an event, all the few police officers came out of the police station - Zhar Dar, Ku Fin, and Rembe Oup.

The drunk truck driver sat on his knees under the poplar, and he vomited loudly.

  * Ugh. He found a place.- Zhar squeamishly turned away fastidiously and then, seeing Sklim, he exclaimed joyfully.\- Have you seen this? Here you go!

At these words, Zhar's large red face blurred in a happy, childish smile.

Crowded nearby passers-by discussed what had happened; women are judgmental, men with grim understanding in their eyes.

It seemed that the fountain from the driver was not endless.

  * How long has it been?- Sklim asked, nodding at the crumpled wing of the car.

  * Puke then? Yes, that's just that...

  * Has the accident happened long ago?- Sklim watched with interest the evolution on the face of Zhar Dar's.

  * Oh, what are you talking about ?! No. Imagine, I am sleeping, then all of a sudden!...

  * Make a protocol yourself,- Sklim interrupted, looking at the driver.

Baggy black driver trousers pulled tightly over his ass, revealing a view of the top of the white hemispheres.

  * Has the captain arrived yet?- Sklim looked at Zhar's again.

  * No, he's still in the Office. Probably a strong scolding gets from the authorities. The Toch Kih's; complete hopelessness. The captain cut us a prize for the last month, and in this he will cut it. I hope that now he is as good as this sufferer,- and Zhar Dar nodded toward the driver.

Sklim grinned and added to what Zhar said:

  * I think the Captain will leave all his breakfast at the Office.

The heat of Dar trembled with laughter, and almost all the nearby onlookers looked in his direction.

  * Okay, I'll be in my office,- Sklim said and headed for the front steps of the police station.

Having risen on the porch and, holding the iron doorknob, he mechanically looked around and looked at the sidewalk, and still smiling, he saw them.

There were two of them.

They were equally dressed; in gray plaid suits over snow-white shirts, the same gray wide-brimmed hats and in black boots polished to shine.

They always dressed in everything new, "straight away", and there were rumors that the agents of both Departments had a fad on this score. Allegedly, they never wore the second time the clothes in which they were in the black quarters.

Fad.

And they were always like that; gray-checkered.

For all his time as a police officer, Sklim saw agents from the Department of Justice and Inquiry, only a few times, and they always looked like that.

These are not local.

Local do not have such a gloss.

These are from the capital, from the Brilliant High's itself.

Agents of the Department of Inquiry or Justice. However, for him there was no difference.

One agent was smoothly shaved, the second, which was taller, wore a small trimmed mustache.

They walked with a firm decisive gait of the trained officers — they did not go, but marched. One of them lit a cigarette.

Black boots while sparkling merrily sparkled with brand new varnish.

Without a car.

In order not to attract attention.

Sklim grinned.

Yes, you guys have written on your forehead who you are!

They would hardly have gone on foot to detain him. This is already good. They worked quickly. First they traced the path of Svetlana; this is not a complicated matter, and when they got out they went to the departure station...

Well done.

Further it was quite simple.

Sklim almost clearly saw the face of Fat Now, when her asked about the "girl". They showed her a drawing. How without it? Fat Now probably gladly told the "gentlemen" where and with whom she saw this girl for the last time.

  * We have a policeman- sublieutenant Sklim Yark, he even knows her very well!

Her words, of course, were different, but the meaning was the same.

Sklim had to admit to himself that in the event of his arrest, the alien arrest would become a matter of soon, and with them Folk, and Tosiya Vak with Evol Kyumo.

Sklim was not afraid of pain, he had to endure anything, but what can you know about pain until you are touched by torture?

Even the dumb ones sing songs in the Department of Inquiry.

He understood all this in a few seconds, while he looked at the approaching agents. They went to the police station - one stopped a few meters from the porch, looked at Sklim's (looked straight, his eyes fixed), the other, saying something to his companion, stepped towards the crowd.

Sklim took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled out one, and lit a cigarette from his smelly gasoline lighter.

The agent who was looking at Sklim continued to smoke, holding a cigarette in his right hand.

"\- Right hand, that's good., Mr. Officer, "- Sklim thought, and trying to look calm, turned slightly to hide his right side from the agent and with his left hand, defiantly shaking off the ashes from the cigarette, he lowered his right hand to the holster on his belt .

  * Ah, Sklim?- He heard from the crowd the joyful voice of Zhar Dar's.- Yes, he's standing on the porch.

"- Stupidity, some kind,"- Sklim managed to think.

His short-barrel Do-Do-45 comfortably lay in the palm of his hand, a finger touched the trigger.

An old friend Do- Do- will not leave you a single chance.

Both agents simultaneously moved in his direction confidently, purposefully, and in their polished movements and petrified faces, a threat appeared.

The agent who smoked still held the cigarette in his hand.

With a thumb, Sklim cocked the trigger and heard a soft metallic click.

Are you still smoking, Mr. Officer?

The distance between him and the agents was rapidly shrinking.

They got closer. And not a single hindrance.

Like a shooting range.

Sklim seemed to split: one, he looked at what was happening as an outside observer, and the other acted. Sklim did not fully believe what was happening to him now.

All.

The mustachioed agent began to slowly take his right hand out of his jacket pocket, and he noticed how his upper lip twitched and, turning abruptly, Sklim threw forward his hand with a pistol.

  * Bah- bah!..

Two shots fused into one loud bang.

The bullet of a mustachioed agent burned Sklim in his right forearm, but his bullet definitely found a target. The mustachioed agent flew back, spreading its arms to the sides.

The second agent lost only a second and, throwing a cigarette butt, yanked something in the pocket of his jacket.

Do- Do in Sklim's hand thundered a second time, and the agent, without pulling his hand out of his pocket, fell a meter away from his comrade.

Everything happened quickly.

The trembling crowd on the road resounded with a female screech, and began to crumble to the sides. Two policemen crouched (only Zhar Dar remained standing), grabbed the weapon that still had to be removed from the closed holster.

Keeping them in sight, Sklim shouted:

  * Calm guys.

He moved his back to the door, opened it with his left hand and burst into the hallway of the police station. Closing the door, he pushed the iron bolt.

All.

Done.

Now events will go on their own.

A throbbing pain was pouring all over his right hand, and like an echo rang through his chest, his hand hardly listened to him.

Just below the right shoulder, the navy fabric of the police uniform had a small ragged hole in which was visible a lining soaked with blood. Blood flowed down to the very fingers of his right hand and dripped from the grooved handle of the gun to the floor.

Done.

He put Do-Do in his left hand, and looked back at the hall; across from him the back door was closed. In the police station itself, there should be no one except Sklim.

  * Assholes. - Sklim grimaced in pain and moved on to a narrow barred window.

On the windows of the lattice section, so they will not succeed in getting here quietly.

Sklim broke the glass with the handle of a pistol, pressed his back against the wall, in case of a well-aimed shooter from the street.

Glass fell on the plank floor, letting people 's voices and the sounds of cars into the room.

  * Hey Sklim!

Voice of Zhar's.

Sklim grinned, shouted:

  * What do you want, Zhar?

  * You are ... Do not shoot, Sklim. What are you doing?

  * Sklim give up - this is already shouting to him Rembe Oup. - Throw the gun out the window and go out - hands over your head.

  * Sklim, you killed them, - the voice of Zhar began to break in a wheezing and he coughed forcefully.

  * There they have a road, Zhar.

  * Listen,- Zhar Dar continued to shout.- Is it all because of Irga? Is it because of a divorce? Sklim, they will put you in a mental hospital, and that's it.

Sklim laughed out loud, shouted back:

  * And all?

He heard Zhar chuckle too, or maybe it seemed to him.

  * Can you hear me?

  * I hear.- Sklim winced in pain.

He began to tremble finely with a sudden chill.

  * Don't get in here, Heat,- he shouted.- Sit where you are, guy.

He looked down at the wrist of his right hand - blood with thickening influx covered his knuckles, flowed out from under the sleeve.

  * Sklim, surrender now, until the departmental arrived. I don't want them to shoot down you, Sklim. If you want, I'll go to your Irga and tell her what lousy she is...

  * You are a kind guy, Zhar,- he grinned, looking out the broken window at the greening branches of the nearest poplar.- She won't understand.

  * So does that mean all because of her? Well, what did I tell you ?!

Last Zhar said, apparently to someone who was next to him.

So you flew away.

And smoke and thunder and fire.

  * Nevertheless, I am still not very bad. Two shots and both at the bullseye,- he muttered.

There are six rounds left in the gun.

The agents are dead, which means the aliens will have time to leave. The area is no bigger here, in a couple of hours everyone will know what happened, and to put together two and two, special abilities are not necessary, they will understand everything.

Sklim stuck out his left hand in the window prem, bristling with shards of glass, and shot up three times.

  * Bang - bang — bang!

The more noise, the more talk.

  * Hey, what are you doing, Sklim?

  * Sit calmly.

In his office in the safe there are four more packages of cartridges for Do-Do and a police shotgun. Shotgun, I tell you, this is a serious thing!

He could see from his place a wooden pillar of a canopy, with tattered peeling blue paint, part of a thick poplar trunk and a branch hanging down, with bright green leaves in the sunlight.

Looking at the leaves, he remembered how, on such a sunny day, he was walking with his little son along the sidewalk, holding his hand, walking measuredly and slowly.

  * Son, son. Life has passed.

That day, walking along a sunny street, he was happy.

  * I was happy.

The pain in the arm grew stronger.

Ammo and shotgun in the office.

Sklim staggered back from the window and started backing away when he heard Ku Fin's colorless voice behind him:

  * Drop the gun, hands behind your head!

Sklim froze.

Back door...

Zhar; you are lazy, son of a bitch, close the door, it means to lock it!

A recent vision from the past again reminded him of himself with a longing.

  * Son, son,- he shook his head.

  * I'm not your son, bitch,- Ku Phin answered behind him.

He grinned, said to Finn:

  * Yes. You; bitch.

Sklim jumped to the side, turning to face the enemy, and in thunder, smoke and fire, he received a bullet under his left ribs. Falling, as in a dream, he saw his left hand with a pistol raised to the left and up.

He had not yet touched the floor, and his Do-Do already rumbled to the whole world, spewing fire and smoke from his short trunk. Both bullets fired by him went to the ceiling, broke the plaster, and an old wooden beam splashed with chips.

Sklim saw Ku Fin's.

He stood with his legs wide apart, looked at him with his indifferent watery eyes, and with both hands held a brilliant Resok.

  * Bang, bang, bang, bang...

Fin pulled the trigger and the gun in his hands, aimed at the fallen Sklim, twitched and spat out smoke and fire spray.

Twitching a few times, Sklim froze. He was lying on his right side, awkwardly wrapping his right hand behind his back, and brown and viscous was spreading out from under it.

Beside him lay his Do-Do.

  * What? He? ...- It appeared Zhar Dar.

Flushed, with a loud shortness of breath, he stepped out from behind Ku Fin and looked with amused eyes at the body lying on the floor.

  * Sklim...

  * Ready, bitch, - and Ku Phin defiantly spat on the one lying.

But Sklim was already indifferent.

******* *******

Part three.

I returned.

Chapter 1.

Everything will be fine.

Vasily Yuryevich German rose from a soft, upholstered black drape chair, towards the visitor.

The head of the alien secret department, Colonel of the Department of Justice Moore Hhok, a medium-sized brown-haired, forty-five-year-old, strong-built man, with nondescript colorless eyes, under his thick black eyebrows, entered the door of their apartment with Alla. As usual, he was dressed in a white uniform with the colonel's gold epaulettes and a cap pulled over his eyes.

Herman had just returned from an afternoon stroll along the "paddock", as he called the alien manor house, surrounded by a perimeter high, red brick fence, in front of which was another one made of barbed wire. Sentries, standing on machine-gun towers, for many years got used to walks of "wards", and idly glanced from above at their movements inside the perimeter.

On cloudy and rainy days like today, the "Wanderer's" crew usually sat under the roof of a large wooden veranda. As always, they played chess or had conversations on the same tedious topics.

Today, German lost three games to Leonid Semenov and won one against Clark Smith.

Colonel Hhok went to the middle of the hall and said dryly:

  * Get ready.

He did not say his usual "good afternoon."

A cold fire shone in the eyes of the chief jailer.

  * Good afternoon, Colonel,- German said.- Something happened?

  * You will find out everything in due time.

Alla came out of the kitchen; in a white apron, dressed over a red and white polka-dot dress.

  * Hello, Colonel,- she said.

He nodded briefly to her and said:

  * I am waiting for you at the door. I give you five minutes.

And he went out.

  * Are we going somewhere?- She looked at her husband in confusion.- Are we leaving?

  * We have five minutes, Alla, get dressed.

She shrugged and, removing her apron, replied:

  * I am dressed.

Herman stepped to his wife and hugged her.

  * Get ready, something will happen. I think our vacation is over. Alla...

The smell of the upcoming pie was drawing from the kitchen.

******* *******

In the courtyard of the administration, a one-story, long building built of red brick, to the right of which there is a high fence, ending with massive, painted with fresh bright red paint, iron gates, there was a bulky black bus, with windows tiled with bars. The windows themselves were painted over with white paint.

From their apartment to the administration, there was a narrow path paved with polished cobblestones, around which sparse, low pine trees grew.

The whole area, surrounded by a fence of the estate, with well-kept lawns and a few buildings - a kitchen, a security barracks, two windowless brick warehouses and a veranda sticking out on a small hill, was clearly visible.

The path, still wet from the recent rain, shone in several places with shallow puddles. A bright sun came out from a small gap in low clouds. Officers stood next to the bus, dividing into two unequal groups. And at the gates themselves, they froze, shutting down the engines, two green army trucks, with officers sitting in the car bodies, and a black passenger car with an officer-driver behind the wheel. The black car glistened in the sun with varnish and clean windows.

Some officers smoked.

A string of aliens were led by two guards in the front and two guards in the back. Colonel Hhok walked ahead of everyone.

Having reached the end of the path, the aliens were brought to the bus and one of the officers, opening the back door, put forward a folding, iron staircase under the threshold.

  * I beg you,- Colonel Hhok gestured with his hand to the door of the bus.- A short trip.

The alien prisoners climbed into the cabin of the bus, settled on the hard wooden benches that stood along the walls, under the windows. They were followed by ten security officers. Alla Kofman and Leonid Semenov sat on a bench next to German, opposite them were Clark Smith, Sylvia Smith and Victoria Semenova. Some officers were seated on a bench at the very exit, others went further to the beginning of the cabin.

Colonel Hhok silently looked at the seated aliens and officers and, having remained outside, without saying a word, closed the door with force.

White paint on the windows did not allow anything to be seen, except for the murky shadows of the bars.

Short commands were heard, the stamping of feet and, after a couple of minutes, the engines of the bus and cars at the gate roared.

  * Let's go!- There was a distant cry.

Something rattled with a rattle and they drove slowly.

  * What do you think about this?- Alla Kofman asked her husband quietly.

  * I dont know. Something happened. We'll see. Probably a disaster. They need a ship. We have been pickled here for so many years, and now, "get ready." They did not have a pilot, and now, apparently, he appeared.

  * Do you think they caught Sergey?

  * He could not hide from them, all his life.

He did not want to scare her. He did not tell her what he thought of this sudden departure.

The probability that they still caught Senchin was extremely high, otherwise German could not explain what was happening. The authorities need a pilot; without it, a ship is useless. And they will not touch the pilot, it is a fact. But there are other methods of influence, especially if there are people at hand who are dear to this pilot himself. But they will not stand on ceremony with them.

He had no doubt, if so, they would cut into pieces. Although, of course, he did not know the real state of affairs.

The bus picked up speed.

They rode for about an hour, were silent.

Finally, the bus slowed down, crossed over some kind of obstacle and, turning right and driving for about a minute, stopped.

The motor sneezed and stalled.

German heard unintelligible screams from the outside and the calm, even voice of the bus driver, who was sitting behind a dull iron partition.

Door opened.

Outside was Colonel Hhok.

  * Come out,- he said dryly and stepped aside.

First, security officers crawled out of the bus, those who were sitting at the exit, followed by the "Wanderer" crew.

Herman looked around.

They were inside a large room, like a hangar, with a high iron ceiling. There were no windows here. Dim light bulbs hanging along the ceiling poured down a murky yellow light. About ten meters from the bus, a brick wall with an ajar door, with four officers standing, ghostly shone.

The light was on behind the door.

  * Let's go,- said Colonel Hhok and headed for the ajar door, stopped at her, letting three officers pass first, and then the captives.

Herman entered a narrow corridor where, due to the small space, the light of the dim lamps seemed brighter. The plastered walls, cracked, in places showed a glance of even brickwork. Thirty meters they walked to a small room, with chairs standing along the walls.

The colonel gestured to the chairs and prisoners, without saying a word, sat on them.

There was a closed wooden door in the wall of this room, near which stood a colonel and three officers, four more officers remained standing at the exit to the corridor.

The colonel pulled out a round watch on a shiny chain from his breast pocket, looked at the dial and said:

  * Let's wait.

Another twenty minutes passed.

And so, far in the corridor, voices were heard, and as they approached, Herman began to distinguish between the words of those who spoke.

  * Mr. Colonel will explain everything to you.

  * You pulled me out at the most inopportune moment. Me, a senior officer, like some ... Today, I'll inform Mr. Minister!

Semen Kislovsky appeared in the doorway; Colonel's new blue uniform from science was impeccable, black boots polished to a shine, played with highlights.

Herman recognized him immediately.

The last time he saw Kislovsky about three years ago was when they, the aliens, were gathered in the administration building of the manor prison. Kislovsky then tried to look like a crisp, but he did it badly. He mumbled for an hour, something about "cooperation" and about "future benefits."

German ostentatiously, with an indifferent look, looked at the incoming colonel from science.

He, having seen the crew, was embarrassed, but quickly pulled himself together, saluted before Colonel Hhok.

  * I wish you good health, Mr. Colonel.

Hhok did not bother to trump back, he only said:

  * Have a nice one you too. It took a long time, Colonel.

  * The roads are disgusting - from the recent severity of Kislovsky there was no trace left. - Then we punctured the wheel.

Colonel Hhok looked at Herman and said:

  * Vasily Yuryevich, come on, talk a little bit.

They went out into the corridor and Hhok handed the officers standing there to leave. The officers silently saluted and left.

  * I don't have time, Vasily Yuryevich. But for this conversation...- Colonel Hhok spoke calmly and even sincerely, with notes of friendly warmth in his voice.\- I want to tell you that you lost.

  * I do not understand you, Colonel.

  * Soon you will understand. I have never lost. Never in my life. But your perseverance, in the end, began to get on my nerves. I respect your position and understand perfectly everything, just like you, in fact. But you also understand me. I am not a beast or a monster. But the circumstances were such that I have no choice but to do what I intend to do. You see, my leadership, uh ... decided to send me to a premature retirement,- he grinned sadly, but his gaze remained cold, dead.\- Do you know what that means? Bullet in the back of the head. Who knows a lot, sleeps badly. Therefore, one way or another, but today you will pick up the ship and take me and my people to your spaceship.

  * Mr. Colonel. - German sighed tiredly.- This is a pointless conversation. I am not a pilot. You know that. You can kill us all, but without the access codes that only pilots know, the ship will not take off. We can even perform ritual dances near it. You wish.

Hhok smiled and said:

  * We can do without dancing. You do not know yet. But a little patience. You are a moralist, which means the losing side. Such as you are always sent to punch your forehead against the walls, but smart people like me sent you. Practical people always win. If not for the ban of the ministers, the ship would have been ours for a long time. But... I agree for today. Heh, I never believed that your late captain, who was still a shredded kalach, went to the landing, having in reserve only a snottered of the pilot. This is stupid. And as far as I know, he was not a fool. Everything is simple. You were friends with him. You are the navigator, and I am sure that you are a pilot.

  * You are wrong.

  * Well, Vasily Yuryevich, stop playing baby. We are adults. I suggest you not to take matters to the extreme, it will be unpleasant for me.

Herman was silent.

  * As you wish. Then let's start.

They joined everyone in the room.

The officers opened the door and another corridor appeared behind it.

They went. Twenty meters later, an unpleasant smell, musty and rotten fish hit Herman's nose. The corridor stretched for several tens of meters. On the right side there were closed, iron doors and rare windows, with curtains down on the other side.

  * Is there some kind of warehouse here, Mr. Colonel?- German asked, following him.

  * It was once. Not so long ago, fish was stored here, now ... There is a good glacier. Deep.

The corridor turned left, and ended with a large room lit by electric lamps, in which there was a guard, eight officers.

And again not a single window. In the wall opposite the door.

No tables, no chairs.

Herman did not notice how Hhock gave the officers a sign (if he did it at all), they immediately approached the earthlings, took each in his arms, two at a time.

They took him tight.

  * We will not run away, Mr. Colonel,- said Semenov.

  * I know,- he answered.

A door was opened in front of them and three officers, along with Colonel Hhock, were the first to enter it, then led the earthlings.

The lighting in this room — spacious as a hall — was bright, almost dazzling.

Large lamps burned under a low ceiling, brightly illuminating a long high table, near which three in white, medical gowns gathered. On the heads of doctors were wearing white flattened caps, hats.

Doctors stood with their backs to those who entered and talked quietly about something, waiting. Two of them stood at the head of the table, the third, slightly to the side.

He smoked.

Herman glanced at the table.

"- Not!"

On the table lay a nude woman. She was covered to the waist with a snow-white sheet, leaving her chest and belly uncovered.

Herman jerked, but the strong arms of the guard officers left no chance to escape.

On the table before those who entered, Svetlana Lanina was lying.

Her arms and legs were handcuffed to a table.

Lanin was trembling.

Their eyes met.Her lower lip was broken and swollen, her right eye was covered with swelling, and the entire right side of her face became bluish, covered with abrasions and deep scratches.

Behind Herman's back, Alla exclaimed.

He did not make out that.

Others did not utter a word.

Colonel Hock turned to those who entered and, without looking at Herman, asked someone behind him:

  * Would you like to say hello? Although of course, your current wife has a larger bust than the previous wife. Ah, Mr. Colonel?

Kislovsky stepped forward. A silly, apologetic smile appeared on his bewildered face. And he all somehow hunched over, put his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

  * Have you decided on the material, doctor?- Colonel Hhok asked one of the high-shouldered doctors, wearing small shiny glasses.

He replied:

  * That's right, Mr. Colonel. First, we will remove the breasts and...

  * These explanations are superfluous, Captain,- Colonel Hhok shook his head.\- The main thing is that she should be alive as long as possible. And then I will give you the rest in order. What do you say to this, Vasily Yuryevich?

And then German heard the voice of Kislovsky.

  * Hello, Sveta. And here I am...

She did not look at him, as if she had not heard. Svetlana Lanina's gaze was directed at Herman, and he, under that gaze from the table, seemed to have petrified.

He looked at her and saw that thin little girl that he and Alla had brought to the training center by the decision of the personnel committee, the one who straightened her long green-yellow dress and shook her with liquid light pigtails and asked them that day:

  * Hello. Are you mine, dad and mom?

  * No Sveta. I'm not your dad. You can call me Uncle Vasya, and my wife Aunt Alla. He hugged Alla by the shoulders.

And then Sveta asked him seriously, looking into his eyes:

  * Will you be my dad? And is she a mom?...

Kislovsky froze three steps from the operating table, silently looked at the floor.

  * I agree, Colonel,- said German.

  * Checkmate, Vasily Yuryevich. Check and checkmate, - Colonel Hhok turned to face him.- It's even boring to never lose. Now, let's go. We have business today.

There was deathly silence behind Herman.

******* *******

For several hours they were shaking all in the same noisy bus.

Colonel Hhok made only one stop, in a wooded area, at the foot of a high hill.

Having ordered everyone to get off the bus, he ironically said:

  * Boys to the right, girls to the left.

The bus was escorted by two army trucks. About thirty security officers rode in the back of each truck.

After the stop, the bus long and painfully, hysterically buzzing with the motor, climbed up a steep climb, sometimes heaving heavily at bends, creaking and groaning with its iron body.

Herman sat with his eyes closed and hugging Lanin's shoulders. She, dressed in some kind of greasy robe and resting her head on his shoulder, seemed to be asleep.

For all the time she did not say a single word.

It was dark outside the tinted windows and a dim light came on under the ceiling, making the people sitting on the benches look like big dolls.

And so the bus stopped.

Herman did not move.

With a creak, the door opened, and Colonel Hhok appeared in the light of the spotlights cutting through the thick darkness of the night. A cordon of guard lined up behind him.

  * I ask everyone to exit, gentlemen aliens,- he said.

German touched Svetlana's chin, said:

  * Wake up, daughter.

She raised her face and looked at him with an incomprehensible look, and then, after a few moments, the awareness of what was happening returned to her again, filling her eyes with horror and hopelessness.

Herman touched Lanin's palm and said quietly:

  * Everything will be fine.

Everyone got off the bus onto a concrete platform, about fifty meters across, stood next to each other and looked at the tall wooden tower, illuminated from below by the rays of searchlights, rising from the vicinity.

Colonel Hawk, standing a little off, said cheerfully:

  * Do not be timid, Vasily Yuryevich. The ship is waiting for you.

  * Don't do this, Vasya,- Sylvia Smith said quietly, standing next to him.- They will kill us anyway. Do not give them the ship.

Herman looked at her silently.

She stood tall and straight, a gentle wind slightly waved her blond wavy hair - her face was stern, decisive.

He did not answer and, embracing Lanin by the shoulders, went forward next to Alla.

Kislovsky walked separately, almost close to the colonel.

Cloudy, night sky, pierced by the bright rays of searchlights, somewhere grasshoppers chattered.

A wide concrete road led to the tower, fenced on both sides by a double barbed wire fence, every ten meters there were watchful and gloomy officers. To the right, a searchlight beam snatched a machine-gun tower from the darkness.

The officers standing along the road cheerfully saluted the passing Colonel Hhok, and watched the aliens and security officers with indifferent glances.

There was a clatter behind. German turned around half a turn; about thirty officers in white uniforms, pulled cross to cross with narrow black straps, closed the procession to the tower. Each in white gloves, instead of caps, is wearing white caps, each with a holster on his belt.

Two security officers threw open barbed wire gates in front of Colonel Hhock and saluted.

Walking beyond the gates, they entered a low wooden extension adjoining the tower. Everything here was lit by bright electric lamps and on the opposite side of the corridor, ten meters from the entrance, there were two more guards. And so they ended up inside the tower.

Massive wooden trusses went all the way to the top, held the tower walls and spiral staircases, and rested their ends in the armored body of the ship. The ship rested on extended shock absorbers and their wide supports, under its weight, plunged into the ground by half a meter.

Herman looked up at the long, silent nozzles of the propulsion engines. The ship was lit with bright lamps, and under it were several wooden buildings, apparently serving as barracks for security. Under the ship, grass grew, which apparently had recently been cut out by green stems and there were marks everywhere in the ground, either hoes or shovels. A dim light burned in the windows of the buildings.

  * How do you like this? - Colonel Hhok asked Herman. - Impressive?

He did not answer. They approached the gangway and began to climb the corrugated steel steps.

"\- You waited, my old friend," thought German, holding onto the handrails. "" Soon. "

Lanina walked in front of him, immediately behind the three security officers and the colonel.

Herman looked around. Officers in white caps were already climbing the ladder. Assault group. When the "Storm" comes up and dock with the "Wanderer", they will enter the game. The entrance hatch was open and behind it was a dull, spacious elevator car.

The first batch of people entered the elevator - Colonel Hhok, German, Lanina, Kislovsky and six officers. It looked like Colonel Hhok had visited the "Storm" more than once — he raised his hand to the elevator control panel and pressed the glowing orange light; the key labeled "EC" is the engineering compartment.

The inner hatch gently closed and the elevator car slid up.

  * Probably nice to be here again? - Asked Herman's, Colonel Hhock.\- You have not forgotten your skills, Vasily Yuryevich?

  * I have a good memory, Colonel.

He loudly and sincerely seemed to laugh.

The elevator stopped at the third tier of the "Storm", where the engineering compartment was located, and its inner hatch opened.

Everyone is out.

Herman expected to see rows of equipment and five anti-loading seats, but he saw something else. The entire space of the engineering compartment was turned into a passenger compartment - six rows of bulky, leather-covered chairs, six in each row, almost occupied the entire compartment. There was no equipment.

Lighting panels burned brightly on the white smooth ceiling. So the power plant has already been launched, perhaps today or a few days ago.

German glanced at Kislovsky.

He silently waited for the order of the colonel.

  * Well, well, please,- Colonel Hhok invited with a gesture of his hand.\- It's time to take places. But your daughter, Vasily Yuryevich, will remain here.

  * She will come with me,- Herman firmly declared, looking him in the eye.- And she will sit next to me.

  * In my opinion, you have chosen a bad time for bargaining, Vasily Yuryevich.

  * This is my condition.

Colonel Hhok thought a little and, smiling softly, said:

  * Good. Colonel Kislovsky will be on your left. He understands a lot and he has been given instructions in case something, uh, goes wrong. Unfortunately, we cannot shoot there...

Herman looked at Semyon Kislovsky.

  * Did you get a weapon, Colonel?- Asked Colonel Hhok.

  * That's right, - and Kislovsky gently patted his thigh, where narrow leather scabbards hung from a belt fastened from which a long hilt of a blade adorned with a silver ball protruded.

For the first time today, German saw Kislovsky's weapon.

He was given instructions.

A narrow steel staircase led upward along the rounded wall of the compartment, along which Herman, Lanina, Colonel Hhok and Kislovsky climbed into the control compartment, where two officers were already waiting for them, standing on the right side of the stairs.

The control compartment was smaller than the IO and it barely fit two rows of seats, three in each row.

A long dashboard with a helm in front of the second front seat and a transparent cabinet, with six light suits, class Amber.

Everyone began to sit in their places.

Kislovsky, German, and Lanina sat on the front three seats, one and a half meters from them, behind a narrow dashboard, Colonel Hhok and two officers.

One of the officers ran up the stairs, and German heard the words behind him:

  * Mr. Colonel, all the officers and aliens in their places. The hatch is closed.

  * That's good, captain. Take your place, we're leaving now,- and to German.- And here we are.

Kislovsky looked gloomily in front of him.

  * How are you?- German looked at Svetlana.

She didn't answer.

  * Colonel,- said German.- Command your people to a safe distance from the ship.

  * Those people are not mine,- he answered.- Start and without stupid things. And so, gentlemen,- he turned to the officers, almost fatherly.\- This is an unusual thing, and although you were being prepared for this day ... In a word, you are strong guys. The next morning, only we will be gentlemen in Strength. We will descend upon her like gods. Legends will be made about us, they will pray for us, "their restrained laughter was heard." Each of you will find a bigger business. Forward!

******* *******

The "Storm" quickly pierced the low dense clouds, and in the tracking screens and the upper oval portholes, trembling stars flashed - the ship, trembling finely, with the roar of marching engines, was rapidly gaining speed.

  * All systems work fine,- the computer reported in a flat, manly voice.- Yaw and pitch are normal.

Overloads pushed people to their seats.

German looked in front of him at the tracking screen - the stars no longer belonged to the sky of the Strength, they were now his.

  * Three minutes, the flight is normal.

The computer put the "Storm" into the orbit of the planet, and there Herman will take control. It was as if it merged with the planetary shuttle together, with its power, with its aspiration upward.

A few minutes ago, Herman doubted the success of his plan, he was waiting for the reaction that was following his actions, Kislovsky's, and when he introduced the latest amendments to the flight schedule and heard how he said to Colonel Hhoku "everything is right", he calmed down.

"- Well, Semyon,"- thought German.- "Better now than like this all his life.

  * All systems work fine.

******* *******

The crash of the marching engines ceased — the ship reached its calculated altitude and speed, and immediately an even low hum of an atomic accelerator arose.

Overloads, which at the start seemed to crush people in their seats, have now decreased, but still remained strong.

"Storm" - obedient to German's control, entered a high orbit and, continuing to run in an invisible spiral, went further from the planet. In the right porthole, the Strength was now fully visible, like a huge blue and white ball. White craters of cloudy cyclones covered the eastern part of the large, black due to the shadow of the ocean, and the sun peeking in the east filled a thin strip of atmosphere with transparent blue light.

On the navigational screen, where the "Storm" path was marked in blue italics, a red, gentle line shone with a blinking circle indicating "Wanderer".

In the upper left corner of the screen, both lines were in contact.

The "storm" flew, not catching up with the "Wanderer", but moved towards him.

Kislovsky was silent.

Herman looked at Lanina.

The planetary shuttle, flying around the Strength, in an increasing spiral, rushed towards the starship.

German said:

  * Computer, establish a connection with the "Wanderer".

And struggling with overloads, he barely reached out his right hand to the dashboard, pressed the "sound notification blocking" button glowing in red, and the other, in the upper row of buttons, "blocking shunting engines".

On the screen in front of Kislovsky, the inscription "connection established."

  * Says Herman. "Wanderer," answer.

After a couple of minutes, German said again:

  * I call the "Wanderer", answer.

Nothing.

  * Is that how it should be?- Colonel Hhok asked loudly from his seat.

  * This is a standard request, - Kislovsky answered him. - Everything is fine.

Another five minutes passed.

Herman watched on the screen the slow movement of the blue mark to the red.

And then a voice arose.

  * I, I am this!

On a small communication screen appeared a face overgrown with a red beard, barely familiar. The blond hair of the speaker hung over his shoulders with greasy, clumping curls.

  * Hello, Hans.

He hesitated and suddenly uttered impulsively, excitedly:

  * I'm Hans Woolf! I it! Me, me!

  * Hi boy. How are you?

He stared blankly at the screen at Herman, ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and asked:

  * Vasily, uh-uh, Yurievich?

Herman smiled at him and answered:

  * Did you find out? We are coming back, Hans. What do you have?

  * Are you coming back?

  * Is Stepan far?

  * A-a-a ... No one. Everyone died. This happened a long time ago. And you ... Are you already flying? It is you?

  * Hans, this is us. And we are already flying.

And Wulf cried - hysterically, angrily, smearing tears on his overgrown face, cried out:

  * I'm so happy! Now everything will be as before. And I ... I will not be alone! I will become a living person again. A living person! - He suddenly laughed through tears .- We will drive them away. Together.

German silently listened to Wulfe.

About the Strangers that are hiding in the aggregate compartment, about the fake Moon, about the crew of the ship that died many years ago...

A red inscription on the screen lights up:

"Pilot, attention.

Change emergency course. Your collision course. Perform a dodge maneuver or extinguish speed to a safe value. "

Safe value will not work.

  * Hans,- German said calmly.- You have to do something alone.

  * And you? You're already flying here!- He stared blankly at him from the screen.

  * We can not. The "Storm" is captured...

  * Shut his throat!- Yelled behind Herman's, Colonel Hhok.

Kislovsky did not move, did not make a single sound.

  * Starship computer!- Said German.

  * I'm listening to you, navigator German,- the calm voice of the "Wanderer "on-board computer answered.

  * Kislovsky, kill him! - This is Colonel Hhok.

Herman spoke, ignoring the screams behind him:

  * I confirm the death of Captain Strizhov. As the senior officer, I transfer command to the ship's engineer, Hans Wulf. Authorization Code - Elm, 200894755.

  * Kill the bastard!

The ship's engines continued to accelerate, increasing overloads, forcing people to stay in their places.

  * Carrion! - shouted Colonel Hhok .- Cowardly, filthy...

  * I believe you, Hans. - German continued to speak. - A computer will help you. Your loneliness will end. Senchin and Gorin remained on the planet. Pick them up. Do you hear me?

New text on the screen:

"Change course immediately!"

"Well, well,"- thought German.- "I have been waiting for this day for many years."

And then Kislovsky exclaimed loudly and distinctly:

  * Forgive me everything! If you can.

  * You are already forgiven,- German said, and it became very quiet.

The engine fell silent and, along with silence, weightlessness appeared.

The inscription on the screen changed again:

"Unlock the ship's automatic maneuvering."

Herman unfastened his seatbelt and easily turned in his chair, looked back.

Colonel Hhok hung upside down above his chair and frantically chopped air around him with a long, sparkling knife blade. Two other officers also managed to get out of their seats. One of them, with surprise on his broad face, sailed to the right side of the compartment, towards the larger oval porthole, the other soared under the ceiling, his back down.

Herman turned to Lanina.

She looked incredulously into his face.

  * Everything will be fine, daughter,- he said.- No need to be afraid. It will all end. We will definitely meet you. There.

Understanding appeared in Svetlana's eyes, it seemed that fear had really receded from her.

  * It will end now,- she echoed, and German saw an uncertain smile on her lips.

  * You had funny pigtails,- he said.

The "Wanderer's" anti-meteor system worked, which saw a danger to the starship; a bright crimson beam momentarily connected the two ships, and the "Storm" gasped with an inaudible explosion, turning into a dazzling big star.

And it was all over.

As German promised.

******* *******

Chapter 2.

Officers.

Early morning.

The beginning dawn timidly lit a strip of cloudy sky, over a low dark horizon. Station of the White City of the Shining Heights continued its measured life, scheduled in the schedules of arrival and departure of trains.

The five-story building of the station, still brightly lit from the outside with wrought-iron lights, proudly towered above the passenger platforms, a white, recently renovated facade. There was a passenger train on the first platform and passengers slowly entered the carriage doors.

At the doors of each carriage, groups of people gathered — women in expensive dresses and original screaming hats, men — an important type of gentlemen in formal suits. In some places, between the standing adults, their children ran around - they were mischievous.

Two movers in gray overalls with tarpaulin aprons and trampled boots pushed a large trolley toward the nearest platform, loaded with suitcases and bags to the top.

The steam engine, painted blue with white wheels, was already standing under the vapor, spreading the smell of coal smoke and steam around it. The last train cars sailed in the blurred haze of morning fog.

The conductor of the fifth carriage, of medium height, a burly man in a green uniform, took out a round silver watch from his breast pocket, looked at the dial.

  * Gentlemen,- he said courteously, referring to the three dozen gathered near the car.- We are leaving in ten minutes. I ask everyone to enter the carriage. I beg you, gentlemen.

The engine made a high-pitched whistle.

From the front gilded doors of the station building came the third deputy chief of the station. In an impeccably clean blue uniform and the same blue uniform cap. On the left pocket of his uniform was a gilded plaque. The chrome boots, polished to a shine, reminded him of his long-past youth, of the carefree two years of service spent in the Officer Corps, after which his father, then an influential person in the trading part, transferred his son to the railway service.

At sixty-two, the third deputy chief of the station, as some said, looked fifty-five.

His name was Ilku Mnre.

Small attentive eyes on a broad, cheeky face calmly examined crowds of people.

He glanced at the movers, slowly pushing the laden cart in front of him and irritated, turned away.

Ilku Mnre cringed from the gentle wind, wrinkled his nose in displeasure and raised his collar. Until the end of his shift, an hour and a half remained.

He thought of a white folder lying on his desk in his office, and felt a pleasant sense of hope. The folder contained seven sheets of "proposal" scribbled with his hand, and which he intended to send today to the Department of the Knowers.

This was his last attempt to advance up the career ladder, before an impending retirement.

He did not have a career from the very beginning — his father died, and there were no influential relatives or acquaintances who could contribute to Ilku's advancement. Without his father, a benefactor, his life took on a difficult and sometimes hopeless character. For many years of service, he managed to rise to the rank of third assistant to the chief of the station. And that's all.

How many young scoundrels, who had neither ability nor knowledge, quickly went up the career ladder! But the "young scoundrels" had connections in the higher spheres of the bureaucracy, which he-Ilka did not have.

And Ilku Mnre decided to advance, through his, as it seemed to him, ideologically advanced "proposals" addressed to the highest authorities. But all his proposals were rejected, without any favorable consequences for him.

To his great chagrin.

And so, he proposed to build roads exclusively for representatives of the White Caste, so that passing on it, noble people would not defile their thoughts from the sight of representatives of the Black Caste.

And again disappointment.

Although, he received an answer from the Department of Knowers, with the wording "noticed." And this is already something.

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of his assistant, Ool Sky.

He was a young and quick guy.

Young.

Young scoundrel.

Mr. Third Deputy Head of the station did not like the young. They annoyed him with their mobility, irritated him with their sudden loud laugh. He did not like them because he had already stepped into old age, leaving behind both mobility and loud laughter.

And much more.

  * Mr. third deputy!- Ool Sky spoke quickly, and his narrow face showed the chief extreme concern.- Your intervention is required.

  * Well, what else is there?- Ilku Mnre looked displeased at his assistant.- What's the matter?

  * Trucks, Mr. Mnre. On the square.

  * What other trucks?

  * In appearance, army trucks. There are already a lot of them. I did not count them, but ... They interfere with the passage of cars and buses. Passengers complain.

  * What do you need me for? Deal with the drivers yourself, call the cops.

  * So if they were ordinary drivers. Truck drivers, officers!

Ilku Mnre stared blankly at the assistant, frowning bushy eyebrows.

  * Are the officers driving the trucks?

  * Exactly. Sub-lieutenants and lieutenants. They ignore me, and some rude to me, abusively! They will listen to you as an officer.

The flattery of a subordinate is always pleasant.

Ilku Mnre really came from a caste of officers, but, with the help of his father, he retired as a young lieutenant.

  * Let's go,- he said, and resolutely strode to the station.

Deputy Skye walked beside him, saying perked up:

  * They also rude to me. They do not wish to observe the order at all.

Ilku entered the station building himself! He opened a heavy high door (the youth was slow) and, passing through a waiting room filled with people, went out through the front door.

Several men gathered on the wide stone porch of the station near the round marble columns, smoked, wrapped in fragrant tobacco smoke, spoke quietly, looking at the square.

The morning, not crowded square, with a tall monument to the First Officer (a stone figure in an old-fashioned uniform with a hand raised high in a silent appeal), pleasantly pleased the eye with order and severity. Trucks broke this familiar harmony.

The side of the square closest to the station, usually occupied by cars and buses, was now literally packed with long green army trucks.

He calculated that thirty-two trucks stood in two rows on the station square and other trucks continued to drive up to them, crawling out of the nearest Seventeenth Street, more and more trucks, lining up in the third row, back to the station. Their headlights shone brightly, tearing out from the darkness the figures of people in light uniforms.

Ilku began to descend down the gentle marble steps of the stairs, feeling some confusion from what he saw. The central station of the Shining Heights, some trucks ...

And most importantly, no one warned the station authorities about them, did not agree. Otherwise, Ilku would have known about this.

It is also not clear why these trucks are here, and even in such numbers!

He stepped onto the sidewalk and headed for the nearest truck. His assistant walked nearby, cheerfully, confidently.

  * Boors, real boors!- Ool Sky spoke.- Not the officers, but the shoemakers!

Ilku walked in some embarrassment, but without fear.

A few years ago, here at the station, he scandalized with one captain officer. It came to the assault, and even in the presence of his subordinates! The officer (boor, drunken muzzle) gave Ilk a slap in the face. Ilku wrote a complaint directly to the Department of the Knowers (there were rumors that almost all the proceeds from the railway connection go directly to Mr. Chief Knower himself), and literally a few days later the offending officer humiliatedly apologized to Ilka. And in the presence of the same subordinates.

Officer, you are of course an officer, but know your place!

The incident then received wide publicity at the station, and even the head of the station stopped talking to Ilka Mnre about his remarks.

Ilku, accompanied by an assistant, approached the square dusty cab of the truck and, holding the curved metal handle, jerked open the door. The driver, indeed, turned out to be an officer (an unprecedented matter), on his wrinkled, long-washed uniform, the lieutenant's shoulder straps loomed in the yellow light of the nearest lantern. The officer, putting his hands on the steering wheel of the steering wheel, leaned back in his seat - his cap was moved to the back of his head, his face was thin and unshaven. He looked about thirty years old.

Ilku is lazy, as befits a higher rank (the deputy chief of the station was equated with a major), saluted, and said demandingly:

  * Deputy head of the station. Who is your eldest?

To Ilk's surprise, the lieutenant did not salute in return, but only with a lazy look at him, from top to bottom.

  * All questions to the major,- said the lieutenant in a dry, raspy voice.

  * Which major?

  * Major Dark.

  * Take the trouble to get out of the car, lieutenant, and look for your major!- Ilku raised his voice, but it turned out to be somehow ridiculously shrill.

The officer grinned and said, pointing with his hand, somewhere to the left:

  * Here he is, our major is coming, Mr. Deputy.

Ilku slammed the cockpit door shut and looked in the direction indicated by the lieutenant.

  * Mess, Mr. Mnre, - Skye, who was standing nearby, answered.\- Egregious!

Three were already approaching them; two policemen and one officer.

Looking at them with an disapproving look, Ilku slowly walked in their direction. A few steps before the third deputy head of the station, the officer walking to the left of the police began to smile Ilk affably, grabbed the visor of his broken cap and pulled it to the back of the head.

He seemed to Ilku's drunk.

The police officers who were walking next to the officer were lieutenants - Mir Un, a stout, short man of thirty-five years old, and Toob Su, a lean, same-sized man, about twenty-three years old.

They came up.The police saluted before Ilk Mnre, respectfully greeted. The major officer, also in army shortly touched the peak of his cap with his fingers on his right hand, said with a smile:

  * Major Yus Dark, I have the honor, gentlemen, - a full smile shone on his full face, as if he had met his old friend.

Major's smile, Ilku didn't like it, familiarity or even mockery emanated from her unpleasantly.

Ilku saluted, grunted "I wish you good health," and looked inquiringly at the police.

  * The documents are in order, Mr. Third Deputy, - Mir Un predicted his question.

  * I would like to personally look at them,- Ilku said and began to watch with restraint how Major Dark reached into the inside pocket of his worn tunic.

A few seconds later, a scribbled paper appeared in front of Ilku's nose with two red round seals in the lower corners. Ilku took the sheet from the officer's hands and carefully read what was written.

As he read, he was seized with awe and bewilderment.

"... Due to the need ..."

"... acceptance of the above cargo, charge ..."

"... To place trucks directly on the forecourt, for the greatest convenience of loading ..."

"... Responsibility for the observance of the order, to lay on Major Yus Dark, the Second Officer Army, the second regiment ..."

After reading the signature, which was under one of the seals, Ilku Mnre completely froze. Signed in person by Marshal Akoma! Decryption, signature, seal of the headquarters of the Second Officer Army.

  * We arrived to execute the order, so to speak, sir, uh-uh ...- Major Dark looked inquiringly and quite peacefully into Ilku's eyes.

  * Ilku Mnre,- Ilku said, handing the document back to the major's hand, he looked without rigor, he asked.- But why to the central station, major?

  * Ah-ah ...- He drunkenly waved his hand to the side. -Do you know how we do this? We were ordered, we went.

  * Typically, such events are held in a black city at a freight station,- Ilku said.- A large cluster of trucks paralyzed the traffic, and this is only the morning hours.

  * We are bonded people, Mr. Ilku Mre.

  * Mnre, - trying to be polite, he corrected the officer.

  * Yes, I'm sorry. But this is not for long. I assure you that we will not occupy your area all day,- and the officer laughed gaily.

Ilku smelled of alcohol emanating from Major Dark. He also drew attention to the fact that the uniform of the major, far from new and not fresh, washed, in some places the seams were sewn with a rough and inept hand. The once white collar of a tunic was now dirty.

The major understood his gaze, shrugged and said:

  * We just arrived with the front line. There was no time to preen, like a parade.

  * Aaaaa,- Ilku handed out understandingly, though he understood nothing.

Where is the front, and where is the Shining Height ?!

Front major in the capital, in Shining Vysi; dirty, drunk, his appearance is repulsive, and still this laugh is bawdy!

But he is no longer a boy, and the rank. And these trucks...

  * The observance of order, I observe personally, Mr. Mre.

  * Mnre,- Ilku corrected him again.- Ilku Mnre.

  * Yes, I'm sorry, I thought so. Of course,- the major said, and suddenly he told a raunchy joke about a girl whose name was confused in a disgusting way.

Everyone laughed.

Even Ilku.

In the east, dawn flared up, and it became brighter in the square.

  * And how is it at your front?- Asked Ilku the major's.

Something in the face of the major changed - a rustic smile still shone on his lips, but his eyes now looked evil.

  * We have at the front,- said Major Dark,- as you have at the station, there is complete order. Our Second Officer Army sits in the trenches, feeds lice and protects the peace of the country.

And the major loudly and completely unleashed, as Ilk seemed, neighing. Like some sort of shoemaker.

Something unpleasant came from these words, it seemed dangerous, dirty. Ilku hastened to transfer the conversation to another topic, asked:

  * And what kind of cargo do you have, Mr. Major?

  * Nonsense,- he laughed drunkenly.- Ordinary cargo; rags are different, uniforms.

  * So many trucks and everyone came for uniforms?

  * So, after all, the army is a large institution, - and the major immediately told the following joke, which was just as disgusting in Ilku's opinion, about one institution where venal women were not allowed.

Ilku did not understand this joke, but he laughed, for decency.

The sky quickly filled with the light of sunrise, glowed blue in the gaps between the clouds. The roar and measured rumble of the arriving trucks filled the square, smelleed of exhaust fumes.

Major Dark lit a cigarette - the air near Ilku was filled with cheap smelly tobacco, and began to reason, long and tiring, about the ladies of the capital. Ilku again laughed, said something himself, and still did not dare to leave, so as not to seem not polite. Having stood like this for half an hour, the third deputy head of the station looked at his young assistant standing nearby, nevertheless said:

  * I was glad to meet you, Mr. Major.- He held out his hand to Major Dark and he shook it tightly.- I have to leave.

  * And I am so glad, Mr. Mre! You are such a pleasant conversationalist.

  * Mnre, - Ilku corrected him with a smile.

  * Yes of course! Sorry.

  * All the best, Major.

  * Same to you... - The major saluted sharply, and they parted in different directions.

Ilku Mnre returned to the station, where he was met by the usual hustle and bustle. He stopped in the middle of the waiting room, staring aimlessly at the bright crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. In heart, the third deputy head of the station was somehow disgusting and hard.

The young assistant silently stood nearby, did not leave.

"- Still, some kind of story with these trucks is not clear," Ilku thought stubbornly, recalling the drunken face of Major Dark.

Plus, the recent fervor of Ilku, with whom he walked to the square and where he ran into the "piece of paper" of the marshal himself, vanished, leaving behind a feeling of annoyance and humiliation. It seemed to him that he had only been taken away like some kind of errand fool.

The errand boy.From these heavy thoughts, Ilku was interrupted by a strange confusion of passengers at the exit doors to the apron.

An assistant stood beside him like a pillar.

  * Go find out what is there,- Ilku told him irritably, nodding to the growing crowd, which is harassing about something.

Ool Sky vividly tore off and rushed forward.

"- He will arrange some nasty thing for me. Kite,"- thought Ilku looking into the assistant's receding back. "- A young scoundrel. And his dad is a bump from the Department of Transportation."

He reached into his breast pocket, took out a silver watch on a chain and looked at the dial.

Soon he should leave the service home.

Locomotive beeps, the noise of cars and voices penetrated the station building. Through the high windows of the waiting room, clouds of steam, smoke and the blunt snouts of steam locomotives standing at the two nearest platforms were visible.

There, amidst all this movement, a dawn flared up.

  * Sir, Mnre!

Assistant Ool Sky ran up to him, stood next to him, with a silly, frightened face.

  * Mr. Mnre,- he blurted out.- Lustmir Express... He is not there, but instead of him on the first path, for some reason they filed a freight train. And on the second way the same thing! Passengers are outraged. That gentleman over there, from the Department of Knowers in general, threatens us with troubles,- Ool Sky uttered the last words strangled, his voice lowered, almost to a whisper.

Ilku approached the crowded passengers at the door - about forty disgruntled, embittered gentlemens.

  * Ugliness!

  * Where is the head of the station?

  * I look at the schedule! What are you telling me...

  * Here's the boss!- A tall, stately middle-aged man, in an expensive suit and sharp-nosed black boots, stepped out of the crowd forward, toward Ilka approaching.\- Take the trouble to explain what is going on here ?! Why is there still no Western Express?

  * Gentlemen, we'll figure it out now .- Ilku smiled reassuringly at the faces of the crowd, wading through the crowd to the exit.

He went out. Just at that moment, when Ilku Mnre, embittered, not understanding what was happening at his station, found himself on a wide cobblestone paved area in front of the first platform, piercingly creaking brake pads and shrouding in steam, under the big white sign "the first way", the dirty one stopped , in rusty red spots, an old steam locomotive. Another freight locomotive was already standing on the second platform.

Both newly arrived trains pulled in closed box wagons, in which livestock are usually transported. The wagons of the trains, boardwalks, not painted, with narrow light windows under the most arched roofs, looked at the central station of the Shining Height's, wildly and defiantly.

Ilku even heard a laugh from someone commenting on what was happening.

An officer ran from the "tail" of the train, shouting something.

And here Ilku Mnre, very surprised, saw how wide, wooden doors began to roll away at the wagons with noises, and from them officers in dirty uniforms, with duffel bags behind them, fell on the platform. Many had rifles in their hands.

Behind the "tail" of the first train, another rolled out. On the second platform, the same thing happened.

The bewildered passengers still continued to stand on the platforms, and the rapidly growing crowds of officers, already crowding and pushing them, rudely, unceremoniously, ran towards the station, densely filling themselves with the space around. The noise and boom grew, the stomp of many, many feet, the commands sounded as loud as shots:

  * The second battalion, to the square!

  * Fifth Battalion, come to me!

  * Telegraph, take.

  * Faster, faster, guys.

  * Where are the ammo?

  * In the first and second carriage, Mr. Major!

  * Line up!

  * Boxes in cars.

  * The road; machine guns. To the square, everything to the square!

  * Into the columns, stand!

In front of the stunned Ilka, the officers were divided into those who were built in narrow uneven columns, and those who, with purposeful crowds, fled to the station, sweeping away gapeous passengers on their way.

These people, once in white, and now dirty gray uniforms, fled to the third deputy head of the station, who froze in place.

  * The second, fourth, seventh battalion - to the square!

They suddenly plunged Ilka into an unimaginable wild atmosphere from the stomp of thousands of feet. Rifles in hands, screams on the go.

  * Gentlemen!- Ilku for some reason stepped forward to meet them, confusedly raised his right hand with a silver watch.- Wait, gentlemen ... Who is your senior officer? ...

The officer closest to Ilk Mnre, without stopping, raised the greasy butt of his rifle, aiming it at Ilku's head. And the third deputy head of the station, the author of the "messages" to the Department of Knowers, received a crushing, murderous blow to the jaw, and already unconscious, like an insensitive big doll, rolled down the cobblestones, spraying thick blood and saliva.

  * Scat, dog!

******* *******

Chapter 3.

Folk Stoke.

Folk lit a cigarette, put the flat copper lighter in his trouser pocket, and leaning his shoulder against the round edge of the white column, he looked indifferently at the street that had come to life after night.

He has just left the building of the department of inquiry. General Jerzy Sum had not yet arrived (an unprecedented delay on the part of the general), and Folk was waiting for the authorities to appear.

Morning came to the street in full force - overcast, in the gaps between the clouds, the sky was lit up by the sun rising behind the houses. Citizens hurried about their business along the sidewalks, expensive cars smoked with exhaust fumes, drove past Folk, sparkling with varnish and nickel.

A new day has come.

Today, Jerzy Sum should sign an order on the constant presence of Folk on the base's of the content of aliens. Folk was looking forward to this, from there not far to the estate where Gorin lived.

Because of the turn, at the end of the street, turned a green bus. Behind him is a long army truck.

Behind him one more.

There were three hundred steps to the trucks. Folk with lazy surprise saw that in the back of every car people are sitting.

He was distracted by the sound of the door opening.

  * Major!

Folk looked around.

In front of him stood Captain Chemes Juore, about the same height as Folk, a sullen blond with a small scar on his lower cheekbone.

  * We have an Occurrence,- said Chems half-voiced.- In our department.

  * What is there?

  * Encryption came,- Captain Chemes Juore stepped toward Folk.- A business; rubbish. The aliens took off. There are a lot of dead officers. Now someone's head will be planted on a stake. Now there are searches at base 2. The Department of Justice is in a panic, while they are pulling time with a report to the cabinet. And our general is still not there.

  * Have the aliens soared? - Folk almost dropped the cigarette.- Has the alien ship taken off?

Chems wanted to answer something, but he looked behind Folk's back and said:

  * And this, what is it?

Folk looked out into the street.

There were five trucks. The last truck had just turned onto the street, and the first was approaching the Department of Inquiry. Officers sat in the back, shoulder to shoulder, the rifle trunks upturned to the top, long bayonets shone in the sun.

  * I don't understand ...- Chems was reaching for a holster that hung on his belt, hesitantly, then he lowered his hand.

The first truck roared with an engine and drove onto the sidewalk, nearly knocking down two middle-aged pedestrians, a man and a woman. He braked sharply next to the porch on which Folk and Chems stood.

The second truck stopped next to the first.

The officers, having opened the tailgate, began to jump out of the body and immediately ran to the front porch of the front door to the Department of Inquiry. An officer of about forty, crawling out of the cockpit, overgrown with stubble, hurried to the frozen Folk and Chems with a smile, like - "here I am."

  * Gentlemen!

The officers ran up to the porch, pressed Folk and Chems to the wall, quickly disarmed them.

  * Oh well. Calm, major, calm, - officer - captain of the infantry, fastened handcuffs on their hands .- Without heroism.

A young guy, a lieutenant, a beardless man with a small capricious mouth, opened the front door and the officers poured into the building like a living river, holding rifles and pistols.

There were screams of their orders:

  * Hands behind head. Everything is on the floor! On the floor, your mother! ...

Folk watched as two of the five trucks did not stop, drove past, further down the street, and the third, turning right, drove onto the opposite sidewalk and stood at the light pole.

The officers jumped onto the paving stones, rushed to the Department doors, and the three remaining in the back of the truck threw back the tailgate and Folk saw sticking out between several bags, the bell of the "Merry-maker" machine gun bulging to the top.

The morning was filled with the noise of voices.

  * Aside,- the captain ordered Folk and Chems, and they followed him to the forged fence on the corner of the building of the Department of Inquiry.

They stopped near a marble pillar with a relief image of the head of a lion.

Somewhere on the upper floors, two quick shots loudly slammed, then another.

  * What's going on, captain?- Asked Chems.

The infantry captain grinned and said:

  * Arrest, gentlemen, what else? Do not twitch and everything will end happily.

On the second floor there was a loud crack and a weighty stool, knocking out a window, covered in a shining cloud of broken glass shining in the sun, crashed down onto the sidewalk, nearly beating the young lieutenant standing in front of the truck.

  * Here, bitch! - He shouted, with his head up and looking at the window-frame blinded without glass, then he turned and shouted to the officer lying in the back of the truck with a machine gun.- Hey Mock! Give them a turn for the mind.

The nose of the machine gun pulled up to the sky, sank down a bit, and trembled, rattling deafeningly, spitting out fire and smoke.

  * Danz, Danz, Danz...

Shards of glass, wood chips from window frames, sprinkled on the sidewalk, cheerful splashes of dust jumped on the facade of the building. The echo of the shooting, trembling, ran along the street to the hushed several peeping pedestrians, and two passenger cars, white and black, confused at a crossroads at the end of the quarter.

Usually fast-acting police, now did not appear.

Officers cordoned off the road, put forward their rifles.

No more shots were heard from the building of the Department of inquiry; only the noise of voices.

  * Something you gentlemen are kind of lethargic,\- said the captain of the infantry with a grin.- I thought there would be shooting, bloodshed, and you are all so ... malleable.

And he laughed cheerfully and guilelessly.

******* *******

The officers of the Department of Inquiry lined up in the courtyard, on a small, cobblestone-paved area between the squat wooden structure of the business unit and the iron-clad garages for senior officers' cars.

In total, there were no more than fifty people who were "departmental" officers, some of them were handcuffed, many of them stood with bloodied faces and blood-stained uniforms.

Infantry officers, with three black oblique stripes on the left sleeves of their tunic, surrounded the arrested, rolled out a machine gun into the yard.

The thin major, black-haired, with a sharp nose, examined the system of "departmental" officers and loudly, with the arrangement, and said:

  * Gentlemen. I do not want unnecessary blood to anyone. We are officers. You are arrested before the next the trial. I think that soon you will be able to go home, to your wives.- He grinned stingily.- In the meantime, all of you are being taken to the basement. And I ask you to remember, while we are in a good, so to speak, secret manner, without humiliation and other things, you will be kind enough to keep order, without any good nonsense. But if unrest ensues on your part, or who dares to attempt an escape and resistance... Uhhhh... We will throw grenades at you, to hell's grandmother, and hello! I emphasize once again; there will be no extremes on our part with respect to you. You will sit in the basement for a while, and then you will leave, maybe in the evening.

He took out a folded sheet of paper from his trouser pocket, unfolded it, and began to read something. Then, he said:

  * Major Folk, Major Scowley, captains Jen and Aaum. Are there any of these? Come forward!

Folk stood on the right side of the line.

All four of these officers came forward.

  * That's nice,- said the major.- You will come with me to Colonel Yusin. Remove the handcuffs from them.

A tall, strong physique, a lieutenant of about thirty, quickly approached them, he took turns unfastening the handcuffs in the hands of the "department" officers, and stepped aside.

Folk rubbed his stiff wrists, asked the major:

  * Can I find out why we are more special than others?

  * You will find out later, Major. Lieutenant! Take all those arrested to the basement!

******* *******

On Unity Square with two wide avenues of greening birches, it was crowded and noisy. The square, surrounded on four sides by tall, six-story buildings, has lost its inherent solemn and unhurried order.

At the fountain sparkling in the sun, with a wide stone bowl in the shape of a flower, lay the body of a policeman. To hide his head, someone threw a canvas bag over the policeman's face and, from under that bag, onto a shining stone of paving stones, a pool of blood flowed and froze.

The elongated army trucks stood in rows at the main entrances of the administrative buildings, with their engines turned off. In their bodies, sitting on bags or lying on the boards, machine gunners smoked. Around were heard commands and laughter.

At the entrance of the Ministry of Castes, next to a round flower bed of bright red roses, a group of officers made fun of a frightened clerk's of medium height, plump man in a blue uniform, with a green stripe on his sleeves. The official was without a hat and for some reason in one single boot, pressed a black leather folder to his chest. The officers alternately pushed the official and he darted from one to the other, shouting aloud:

  * Gentlemen! Documents, gentlemen!

The whole area was floating in a hot haze, the air trembled with rare shots.

In several places of the square, inside birch alleys, officers drove officials into large groups.

Clerks and employees of various ministries wore blue, white and green uniforms, and officers guarded them like herds of animals, threatening them with pistols and rifles. Officials stood obediently. Officers rolleded machine guns in their direction.

A black passenger car drove up to the front door of the Ministry of the Knowersed. In the rays of the bright, midday sun, the white facade of the Ministry unbearably shone with a new whitewash. The car stopped at a high marble staircase, with six white columns.

Five officers ran up to her right there, opened the back doors, and two colonels stepped out of the car into the sunlight. Both in white uniforms, about the same height, both in fifty years. One of them put on his cap on a completely bald head, was shaved smoothly. His full face, with a heavy lower jaw, expressed interest. Other; thin and painfully pale, with a thick well-groomed mustache, walked with a slight limp on his left leg.

The officers who met them walked on either side of the colonels. On the steps of the marble staircase of the ministry, two more captains and major escaped to them. They saluted, and not harmoniously, barked:

  * Good day, Your Excellency!

  * You are not at the parade,- the bald colonel grimaced, saluting in return.- What do you have here?

  * Not so soon, Lam,- the lame colonel muttered that he was following him.- They will not run away.

One of the officers, the captain, wanted to take the colonel under his elbow, but he said irritably:

  * I'm not a woman. I'll get there myself.

  * We have gathered all those arrested, Your Excellency,- the high major reported.- They are waiting.

  * And this one, their chief solicitor, is here?- Asked the lame colonel.

  * He is here, Your Excellency.

  * I have been waiting for this for a long time,- Colonel Lam said with a grin, pausing on the stairs.- What do you say, Zur?

Colonel Zur caught up with Colonel Lam and they, going out under the columns, strode to the open front doors of the Ministry.

The officers standing at the door snapped their heels, saluted.

Colonel Zur answered with restraint:

  * I want to feel his educated snout, really, you know, I can't wait to do it.

Accompanied by officers, both colonels entered a spacious bright hall, brightly lit by large crystal chandeliers hanging beneath a high vaulted ceiling. At the end of the hall began a wide marble staircase covered with a red carpet, lush plants growing in large gypsum pots turned green in the corners. To the right, where there are arranged in a row glass offices decorated with mahogany from below, a crowd of employees of the ministry gathered — about a hundred people. A dozen officers, armed with pistols, stood along the hall, enclosing a space with arrested officials.

Several officers went down and up the stairs.

Dressed in strict black suits, employees of the Ministry of the Knowers silently looked at what was happening.

Colonel Zur suddenly stopped in the middle of the hall, grimacing, stroking his left knee. Colonel Lam and the officers who were walking nearby stopped in anticipation.

  * Lam, where would we ...- Colonel Zur looked around, blindly squinting with watery eyes, saw a row of soft leather armchairs to the right of the wall, and moved toward them, saying.- Lam, buddy, let's sit there. Damned weather will kill me. From the very night the foot achs, damn it. Major, bring us Mr. Ashe. Hope he's not dead yet?

A minute later, the colonels sat in armchairs at a small polished table. Five senior officers stood side by side.

Lam took off his cap, revealing a shiny bald head, and said:

  * It's hot today.

  * Yes,- Colonel Zur unfastened the officer's leather tablet from his belt and casually dropped it on the table.

  * I would personally like to hear from him what we already know about - Colonel Lam wiped his bald head with a fresh handkerchief.- Let me talk to him, do not scare. This is a serious matter, an error is unacceptable.

Colonel Zur snorted in exasperation and said with a grin:

  * It's a waste of time. All the answers are in your pocket, Lam. However, as you wish. I'll wait.

Three officers were already leading to them through the hall of medium height of the puny, with a large gray-haired head, gentleman, dressed, like all employees of this institution, in a strict black suit and the same black shoes. He looked about sixty years old, he walked with a light springy gait, and in the light of the lamps his large, gold-framed glasses shone and sparkled.

They came up.A young lieutenant guy with a thin, cheeky face reported:

  * Sir, the main Knower, Eshe Fum, Excellencies!

The lieutenant saluted.

Colonel Zur grimaced, said:

  * I see, see.

At the small mouth of the main Knower, the deep wrinkles became even deeper - he smiled and said in a calm voice:

  * Good day, gentlemen. Would it not be difficult for you to explain to me what is happening here?

  * You are arrested,- answered Colonel Lam, not getting up from his chair.

Eshe Fuma's little wrinkled lips smiled even wider, even friendlier:

  * Is Marshal Kamai up to date?- He asked.

  * No, Mr. Chief Knower, he is not in the know,- answered Colonel Lam.

  * Marshal lingers, - Colonel Zur stroked his left knee. - We are here. Well.

Ashe Fum stood motionless, like a statue.

  * The plan of today's event, this does not provide, gentlemen colonels,- he said, everything is just as calm.- What are your names, gentlemen? You did not introduce yourself.

  * Really?- Colonel Zur yawned widely.

  * The Second Officer's Army, Colonel Lam Yusin, and this gentleman, Colonel Zur Whai. Good afternoon.

Lam Yusin crossed his legs, looked at the main Knower from the bottom up with some curiosity.

  * And so.- Ashe Fum bent his big gray head to one side, said everything with the same smile.- Then I don't understand anything at all. You should have been introduced to the details of the coup plan, and it clearly states that there is no arrest of the Ministry of Knowers. We; your true superiors, gentlemen. You should know that. So, and, where is all the same, Marshal Kamai? Marshal Helm?

  * They will be later. I already told you about this,- answered Colonel Zur.

Colonel Lam added his words by saying:

  * While there is no high command in the city, we are executing the leadership of the regiments introduced into the Shining Heights, Mr. Fum.

  * Then we'll talk to you later, - said Ashe Fum, turned and threw over his shoulder- I'll be in my office, and you rush the Marshal...

  * Stand! - Zur Vkhai yelled in a fury, his eyes bulging and his face blushing .- To me!

He rose heavily from his chair and stepped forward.

The Master Knower stopped and turned to the colonel, with an expression of surprise on his aging face.

Colonel Lam also got to his feet, went up to Ashe Fum and calmly, with an arrangement, said, as if addressing a juvenile idiot:

  * Mr. Fum, nobody let you go from here. You're arrested, aren't you?

The expression of surprise on the face of the main Knower was replaced by the old smile.

  * I will give you one chance, gentlemen,- he said.- And this stupid trick will go unnoticed by me. Use it.

  * He threatens me!- Zur Vkhai gasped in anger, but when he saw the eyes of Colonel Lam, he fell silent.

  * You do not correctly assess the current situation, Mr. Fum.- Lam Yusin smiled softly.- You see, Marshals Kamai and Khlem cannot talk to you.

Gold-rimmed glasses sparkled.

  * Why?

  * You see what's the matter, they recently died. Such is the loss, ah, yay, yay.

  * When?

  * Yesterday morning,- answered Colonel Lam, and ran a hand over his bald head.- Both.

  * Both?

Colonel Zur Whai slapped his thigh and exclaimed:

  * And these people rule us!- And already, looking into the eyes of the main Knower, he yelled a crimson with his face.- We hung them! We hung both marshals and all the generals of the headquarters, along with their adjutants and informants. We slammed all this scum to such a mother at once! Is everything clear to you now, Mr. Fum? Or should I tell how Marshal Helm urinated in his pants when he was dragged to a birch?

One of the officers standing nearby laughed briefly, and then stopped short.

The Chief Knower silently looked from one colonel to another. His shriveled face betrayed no emotion.

Lam Yusin continued to calmly say:

  * The fact is that marshals and generals are sitting at headquarters or having a drink at each other's places, and directly with people in the trenches, we are colonels and majors. We are tired of rotting in the mud for years, while you, Mr. Chief Knower, are playing war games. You fed one elite so that they lost a sense of reality, and now you have decided to change it to another. And you want to do it with our hands. I understand it. But and you understand us, why do we need this? Protect your greed? What good is all this fuss for us officers? Dig trenches again? So that... You prepared the coup, and we took advantage of the prepared. It would be foolish not to take advantage of this. Do you understand me? Such a case will no longer be presented. You cannot help but see that everything is heading for disaster. We are not satisfied with the existing orders, which will eventually spill over into the Great Riot. And a revolt will sweep away both you and me, and this whole country that is rotten through and through.

Ashe Fum was silent. In the bright light of the chandeliers, his face seemed unnaturally yellow.

  * I understand you, gentlemen, he said, thinking.- So now there are no marshals. This is even good. Actually, this does not change much, we can do without them. New, as you put it, the elite, you will become. Your bayonets, our money. New people, new look. Former gentlemen, the ministers have already turned into an obstacle. We are tired of them.

  * And why, Mr. Fum, if not a secret?- Asked Colonel Lam.

He took out a tin cigarette case, took out a cigarette from it and lit it from a stinky gas lighter.

The Master Knower did not expressively shrug his bony shoulders and answered:

  * They constantly had "little money." Few houses, little land. They took fashion, giving their mistresses the most expensive trinkets. For example, the state of the Minister of Finance is such that he could well, if desired, build a couple, three cities. And their relatives are endless. This we have endured. But when, gentlemen, the ministers began to climb into our affairs ... The treasury is not a bottomless well. We, gentlemen, are in the same boat. I already became worried. The situation in the country has now developed in such a way that extreme measures have been required. Urgent measures. Otherwise, the Big Riot awaits us all.

Zur Vhai inseparably looked into the face of the main Knowersing with evil, bloodshot eyes.

Colonel Lam puffed at a cigarette, examining Eshe Fum with the interest of a botanist studying some kind of flower.

Having dispersed the puffs of tobacco smoke that enveloped his head in the hot air of the hall, he asked the chief Knowing:

  * Do you mean the coup?

  * The coup is the beginning,- he answered.\- We want to completely change the foundations of society. And in this matter, gentlemen, you are necessary. The caste of officers again, as it once will gain brilliance and greatness. This is not a figure of speech.

  * Mr. Fum,- said Colonel Lam.- We went across your plans. We risked everything and got into it. There is no turning back for us. Talking about our bayonets and your money sounds, of course, not bad. And I would take your word if I were young and naive. What are the guarantees that over time you will not write us off as an expense? And greatness, brilliance ... Why would it?

  * I understand. - Eshe Fum adjusted his golden glasses and smiled as if he was smiling at his beloved children.- I was waiting for you to say this, Mr. Colonel. Everything is very simple. We need you, and we need you. The caste of officers will assume the responsibility of maintaining a new order, in which the word "master" will cease to be an empty formality in the conversation, and will find its original meaning from the word "dominant". Wars will end. This I guarantee you. We are war. You will have another matter, - as the main Knowing person spoke, his words took on a touch of inspiration, his gaze flared up.- By all accounts, the Great Riot was about to begin, the low standard of living of the black castes had long passed the line of relative calm. The realities are as follows. Black castes must live in constant need and dependence on us. Otherwise, their standard of living will be equal to ours and we simply will not be able to dictate our will to them. Do you want them to live in the same houses as you? So that they drive in cars, such as yours? What can you then order them to, or will they, in an appeal to you, use the word "master"? Are you ready to share with the black castes the benefits that you have now and then will be?

  * I have a small apartment in a county town, Mr. Fum,- Colonel Lam said with a smile.- And in general, I do not think that I am very different from any driver.

  * And it will be even worse,- the chief Knowering reassured him.- With a slowdown in the development of living standards, discontent follows. And if you increase this very standard of living, then in us, or rather in the distribution of income by us, the need will disappear. They are black castes, they themselves will become masters. Do you want it Think about the consequences, gentlemen. All the financial resources that we have are made precisely by the black caste. We are consumers. For example, in my ministry, only scribes are seven times more than necessary, but people also need to live on something, and live with dignity. And what about the caste of officers? And stewards, others? The state of affairs is such that we are forced to scoop up funds for the maintenance of unnecessary categories of black castes, which were intended for the maintenance of the white caste. And the number of black castes has grown dramatically. There are only two ways. Either we take from what we have taken and use them to build factories, factories, etc., so that they produce and increase their income, or we reduce ... the stock of black caste. And even that is not all, since none of them will voluntarily lie under the knife. That would be nice.- And the Chief Knower laughed with a young resounding laugh.

  * This is all clear, Mr. Fum,- said Colonel Lam.- And what do you propose to do with all this? It turns out to be a dead end.

  * Well what are you! There is no dead end. You just need to optimize the budget expenditure, that's all.

  * And in what, interesting way?- Asked Colonel Zur, who was silent before that.

  * Everything is very simple, gentlemen, - answered the chief Knowing, smiling.- It is only necessary to eliminated of the excess and take control of the rest. All categories of the population, one way or another not generating income, must be destroyed.

Lam Yusin reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of white paper folded into four, unfolded it and handed it to the main Knower, with the words:

  * Are you talking about this, Mr. Fum?

Eshe Fum took a paper from him, looked.

  * It fell into our hands by chance,- continued Colonel Lam.- This is an order for the department of inquiry department to destroy the categories mentioned in it from the black caste. There is your signature, Mr. Chief Knower.

  * Yes, this is my signature,- he answered, returning the paper to Colonel Lam.- All who are not involved in increasing revenue should be disposed of. Criminals, pensioners, people with disabilities and, of course, untouchables. With the latter, I think everything is clear to you; they are rebels, dissenters, moralists... For example, we in our cast of Knowers have long been uprooting such people. And it doesn't matter that from one caste, it doesn't matter that they are our relatives or friends. Money is the main thing. And for them there are no relatives or friends. There is only money for money, gentlemen. This is just math. We are building underground city-factories and other factory-prisons, where black castes will operate under the control of gentlemen of officers, reduce their numbers to the necessary, limit the age of life to forty years, select children and bring them up in closed institutions for one purpose - they must grow in obedient slaves, whose existence is definitely a desire to please their masters. We will put to each of them a stamp with an inventory number on the forehead or on the arm, it does not matter. Slaves do not need names, only a number. A slave is not a person, this is a thing. And they should think of themselves as things! No pensions and benefits, no expenses for treatment and so on. Patients can immediately be disposed of and put in their place healthy. You will still see how they will betray each other to death, some for a bowl of pottage, and some for the opportunity to kiss the master's hand! We will be gods for them! By the way, aliens landed near one such underground city! Can you imagine? I laughed when I found out. The guards took them. One of the aliens, still young, stood at the entrance to the ship with his mouth open, while guards grabbed his comrades. He did not even close the hatch; confused. He is working for us now. It's quite a funny story, I'll tell you later,- he spoke more and more enthusiastically, pronounced the words like a prayer.- This will be a new order, which will finally and forever provide us with a fabulous life and guaranteed peace. Any number of slaves, and endless financial resources. You will not believe it, gentlemen, but the standard of your life will become such that you cannot spend all the money you receive! Unprecedented prospects! You will live like gods and black castes will rightfully consider you to be gods!

  * Excuse me, Mr. Fum,- Colonel Lam interrupted him courteously and gently.- And what happened to the former gentlemen ministers? They did not want to become gods?

  * Ah, that ..., - the face of the main Knower became sad. - You're ironic in vain, Mr. Colonel. These swollen pigs suddenly became stubborn. You see them dislikes to participate in this. I had to act secretly, and believe me, it took us a lot of resources. But there is no other way. The ministers had to be removed.

  * So you suggest we do all the dirty work?- Asked Lam Yusin.

  * Your bayonets, our money,- said Esche Fum, shrugging his shoulders.- But then the prospects are fabulous, and there is no threat of a Greater Riot. Forever and ever. And if you do nothing ... Greater Riot, an absolute disaster, like two hundred years ago, with all the ensuing consequences.

  * Your scale is serious,- said Colonel Lam thoughtfully.

He threw a cigarette butt on a sparkling pink tile, looked into the depths of the hall, where at the desk crowded the employees of the Ministry of the Knowledges and the officers guarding them. The high doors of the front door opened and four officers brought in two bulky machine guns.

  * Where to put them? - Lam Yusin heard the voice of one of them.

  * A terrible scale,- he told the chief Knower.- All the same, they are people... Aren't you sorry for them?

  * Mr. Colonel,- Eshe Fum looked like a good teacher in a kindergarten, calming a roaring baby.- So what to do? Do we go under the knife ourselves? Treat everything as necessary, gentlemen. Do you think I like it? We are people too, and we also have our weaknesses. We are not monsters.

  * Yes, yes,- said Lam Yusin.- Not monsters,- he looked in the face of Colonel Zur Whai.- I'm done, buddy. I can't even believe it. Everything was confirmed.

  * Well, glorious. - Zur Vkhai did not take his eyes off the main Knowing One, he spoke harshly- This is what I will tell you, Mr. Chief Solicitor, you have begun a business that will bury us all. You will be killed like mad dogs, and with you and us, as your's accomplices. We think that the best way out of this situation is to end you and come tomorrow as saviors and friends of the people. I think this will be enough for another two hundred years, and then... These are the things of the future,- he unzipped the holster that hung on his belt, and took out a heavy army pistol" Guardsman ".- We managed in time. I can only promise you one thing, Mr. Cannibal; we will give you a drink from the cup that you have prepared for others. Your little ones will no longer jump on these streets. You do not leave us a choice.

And he raised the gun, pointing it at Eshe Fum's forehead, and he, as if waking up from a pleasant dream, screamed in fright and evil at the colonel's face:

  * We insured against such a case, wait, we can discuss everything and...

Slammed a shot.

Red splashes and debris flew from the back of the head of the Knowing One, and he straight, like a stick, collapsed flat on a pink tile, quickly pouring it with his blood.

  * It is urgent to wire to the headquarters of the armies, so that they move to the White Cities, - said Zur Whai to Lam Yusin.- Block army headquarters immediately, - and to the officers who stood nearby.- You have all heard, gentlemen. We don't have time. We will try to save this country and ourselves. Turn their quarters into cemeteries, do not spare anyone, give everything to fire. By evening, everything should be over. To fulfill!

A few seconds later, the hall space of the Ministry of Knowers was filled with the noise of the screams of dying and the deafening roar of firing.

******* *******

Chapter 4.

Quiet Harbor.

They were silent for a long time.

Misha Gorin, arrived half an hour ago.

The three of them sat at the table in Tosia's room Vak-Senchin, Gorin and the landlady herself. On the walls of the room pasted over with yellow wallpaper, two oil paintings hung. The same size; about a meter high and half a meter wide. On the one that was almost in the corner by the window, a young couple was depicted — a man of about twenty-eight, in a white uniform and gold stripes on the right sleeve of his tunic, smiled with an open, cheerful smile, and a woman of the same age as he, bowing his head on his shoulder, calmly looked from the picture with big black eyes. Her black hair shone in the rays of the invisible sun, and her elegant, beige dress with a lace white collar seemed light and airy.

In the second picture, next to the first, the artist depicted a thin boy of about ten years old, in the front green uniform of a high school boy in the White City. The boy was black-haired. He smiled with the simple gullible smile of a prosperous child.

Misha, without any expression in his eyes, looked in front of him at the tablecloth, sat with his fingers crossed. His baggy dark green shirt with short sleeves was wet on his chest with sweat.

Tosia Vak, dressed in a white and pink polka-dot dress, sat across from him and there were tears in her eyes.

  * Maybe he's not quite in his own, ... said Sergey in a hoarse voice, but Gorin interrupted him.

  * He is not crazy. I spoke to him.

  * Didn't Hans really go crazy? - asked Sergey, without any hope in his voice .- Svetka...

He rubbed his unshaven face with his hands.

  * They are no more .- Misha leaned back in his chair, unbuttoned his shirt, wiped his neck with his palm soaked from sweat .- None of them are already alive. Sveta was with them. That's for sure. I think that the launch of the ship was a consequence of her appearance. In addition to Herman, there was no one to pilot. And we will smear the snot later, if we get out of here.

  * German is not a pilot,- said Senchin.

He got up from the table and went to the window, looked at the rare white clouds floating in the sky.

  * Who is the pilot? We don't know this, and it doesn't matter now,- Misha said.\- Gather everyone. Tomorrow morning we are leaving. I spoke with Hans, and told him the coordinates for landing the shuttle. He received access codes to the "Thunder" and will fly out as soon as I contact him. We agreed with Folk last time - if we are not here, then he goes to my estate. All. Nothing more to wait.

  * There is nobody to collect, - Sergey answered .- Yesterday there was some shooting in the station. Sklim in the hospital. Evol refused to fly, and Aunt Tosya did not intend to fly with us.

Misha changed his face, leaned forward, bulged his eyes and asked, trying to keep calm in his voice:

  * What kind of shooting?

  * Some gangsters were detained, they were poorly searched, and there were two killed and one wounded, our Sklim.

  * How do you know about this?

  * So, after all ...- Sergey turned his eyes to Tosia Vak.- Aunt Tosya went to the police station this afternoon...

  * What? - Misha even got up from his chair. - She went there?

  * Take it easy. She went there allegedly because she was robbed, she wrote a statement, and as if out of curiosity, she asked them about yesterday's shooting. The policeman told her everything. We must wait for Sklim's ...

  * You idiot!- Gorin shouted, rising from the table and helplessly spreading his arms to the sides.- You are a complete nerd! Sklim no longer. This is clear? They came for him and he, knowing that he, and therefore all of us end, fought! When did you get so stupid? Do you have frequent shootings at the police station? Or do police officers search the detainees so poorly that they can miss a gun? Have Sklim taken to the hospital? No further than the morgue they took him away. At least you didn't call hospitals or ask about a wounded policeman?- He said the last words, looking at Tosia Vak.

  * Actually, I called ... I have a good friend in the city hospital ...- Tosia Vak cut off her speech.

  * We must leave immediately,- Misha said resolutely.- Now.- It will be enough for you ten minutes to take with you everything you need?

Tosia Wak nodded her head and answered:

  * Yes.

  * I don't ask you, - said Gorin in the direction of Senchin, who was standing at the window.- Take only the documents.

A bell rang in the hallway.

  * Tosia, are you waiting for someone?- Misha looked at Tosia Vak.

  * Not.

Sergei walked away from the window and headed for the exit of the room, saying:

  * I will open the door.

Senchin went out into the hall and opened the front door. He tried to give his face an expression of equanimity.

On the landing near the stairs, lit only by the light from the open access door, stood a tall, strong-built middle-aged man in a gray shirt with rolled up sleeves, black crumpled trousers and trampled work boots.

  * Good afternoon,- said the stranger with a guilty smile.

  * Good day.

  * I'm from the boiler room. We have a leak somewhere, we can't find where. We walk, check ... Are you all right with the pipes?

Sergey shrugged, his concern began to quickly go away.

  * Yes, everything seems to be fine.

  * In all rooms?

  * I don't know that the neighbors don't have them.

  * Are you a tenant, I apologize?- Asked the stranger, smiling.

  * I'm from the second floor. Everything is fine with us too.

  * Yes? This is good, - the man smiled even wider .- So we can check with you. Now half of the houses are empty. We run like dogs, and some tenants are rude to us. Can I see your apartment? Maybe there is a leak.

From the entryway pulled into the hallway with the smell of urine and tobacco smoke.

Sergey stepped back.

  * Look,- he said.

Crossing the threshold, the man asked:

  * And you are by chance not from the fifth apartment?

  * From the fifth.

The stranger smiled broadly and cordially, he could not smile wider, even if he really wanted to.

  * Well, fine.

Senchin managed to see two dark figures arising in the doorway behind the stranger's back when a crushing blow to the chin knocked consciousness out of him.

Falling to the floor, Sergey ran into a stool standing against the wall, and overturning it, collapsed with a noise, buried his face on the plank floor.

******* *******

Chapter 5.

The fire of madness.

Folk was among the ten arrested officers.

They were lined up opposite the main entrance to the Ministry of the Knowers, to the right of the stone fountain, where heaped upon one another, lay the bodies of the newly executed male and female officials in blue uniforms. The cobblestones of the square near the pile of bodies turned dark red, the rising wind drove along the paths of the alley blue caps and sheets of white paper. A large group of officers, about fifty in white uniforms, were now climbing into the bodies of two trucks standing at the edge of the square, near large, round flower beds, planted with red flowers and bearing the sign "Do not walk."

Folk could hear the sounds of short commands.

A column of dozens of trucks, in the bodies of which the seated officers swayed, slowly turning around in the square, stretched away to Seventh Street, past the six-story building of the Ministry of Railways, with a high, gable roof, from which the thick, oily black smoke poured from the broken windows.

Shots and screams were heard from all sides.

The bright sun merrily played on the water jets of the fountain.

  * I lucidly explained everything to you, gentlemen? - Colonel Lam Yusin examined the prisoners with a calm gaze of attentive eyes, adjusted his cap on his head.- So, if it were not for the "shooting lists" of General Jerzy Suma, we would have shot you at a loss with all the rest. And so, you are lucky. You have the opportunity to stop the fire in the country, which I have already told you, gentlemen. Either today we will cut them all to the root, or tomorrow no one will give even a broken penny for our heads. We did not start this madness, but we have to put the finishing touch in it.

Around the arrested "departmental" officers, there were officers armed with pistols and rifles - they were waiting for the colonel's decision.

  * And so, you all agree to go over to our side,- Colonel Lam looked back to the road, where a black passenger car with a captain-driver and two tall majors was waiting for him.- You are at the disposal of the Majors, Numa Kras and Tejes Yasmal. That's it, now get down to business, gentlemen.

And Colonel Lam Yusin, saluting, turned around sharply, and with a quick step went to the car waiting for him.

  * Well, gentlemen,- said a tall, strong-built man with a long face and black short mustache from a group of officers, Major.- I am glad that everything ended well for you. My name is Num Kras. Major Yasmal will be right now,- he pointed to several officers, including Folk, said.- You are coming with me, the rest will be taken by Yasmal,- he turned to the officers behind him.- We are leaving now. The fourth and eighth battalions are for vehicles. And return them weapons.- He nodded toward the former arrestees.

"\- It has begun," Folk thought. "- I need to survive this."

The high sky almost cleared of clouds shone in the rays of the spring sun rising to the zenith. The day flared up like a fire. But from the north, swelling and filling with darkness, a heavy thundercloud grew somewhere near the horizon.

******* *******

By order of Major Num Kras, a young, pimpled lieutenant with a scar on his right eyebrow, silently shoved the cool, heavy "Merry fellow" machine gun into Folk's hands, throwing him a leather machine gun belt around his neck.

The major was already standing nearby, holding his gun at the ready, flicked the cocked trigger, and told Folk's:

  * Well then, major. You agreed to play our game with us. As they say, you and cards in hand,\- Num Kras smiled a little with his narrow lips, his eyes looked calmly at Folk. - It's time.

Folk and Krasus, escorted by several officers armed with pistols, walked away from the army truck in the alley and turned around the corner of the inquiry Department building and found themselves in front of a closed door leading to the basement. Near the door, upholstered in green painted tin, leaned against the wall, a young, short stature sublieutenant. Taking off his dirty cap, he stood looking at his feet, where he sat a black and white, spotted cat.

  * Open the basement!- Major Kras ordered him.

The lieutenant jerked and the cat immediately rushed away, running into the depths of the yard lit by the sun. The open door creaked on bad hinges, and Folk peered into the twilight of the basement, where a dusty, concrete staircase led.

They approached, and stopped in the doorway, and Major Kras shouted affably and loudly into the darkness of the basement:

  * Gentlemen, go out.

The darkness at the bottom of the stairs came to life, stirred something gray, the dull uniforms of department officers appeared.

Folk recognized Wal Schick; full, like a swollen corpse, he hastily climbed the stairs, stumbling, holding his left hand against the wall, and with his right covering his eyes from daylight, he said:

  * Well, you see, gentlemen? Everything was resolved. Well, it's wonderful.- he spoke quickly, hurriedly uttering words, looked back, and notes of joy sounded in his voice; too joyful too loud.- Lieutenant, in my office there, you know, on the table, there's a notebook — brown one. Bring me. And while we are with Mr. Major, we'll stay here.

Wal Schick had already gone half the way and was now in a bright square from the doorway, removed his hand from his face, he squinted, flashed his white teeth in his joyful smile, and the new captain's epaulets shone brightly with yellowness of gold on his rounded shoulders.

Wal Schick went to meet Folk; he recognized Folk's:

  * Mr. Major! I knew that everything would be resolved in the most favorable way!

"Mr. Major".

Major Num Kras stood next to Folk, calmly said:

  * Your move, Major.

Folk pulled the shutter handle to the limit, removed the fuse, aimed the machine gun at the approaching Schick, and pulled the trigger tight. At that moment, Wal Schick had already raised both hands, put them in front of his face, his puffy, glossy lips still smiled broadly at Folk, and in his bulging eyes darted a dreadful horror.

  * Mr. Major!...

The machine gun in Folk's hands came alive with thunder and fire, twitched like frantic, swift jets of bluish, tart smoke from its trunk, flooded the entire space of the stairs, ran deep into the darkening womb of the basement.

  * Danz, Danz, Danz, Danz...

Wal Schick crashed down the steps, his right arm, torn, with bleeding stumps of fingers, stuck out over his reddened chest, twitched.

  * Danz, Danz, Danz...

Muddy shadows climbed from the basement, they pressed against each other, walked in an incomprehensible desire to leave the rumbling darkness as soon as possible.

Lime fell from the walls, smoke covered with a thick veil what was at the bottom of the stairs, and the roar of firing; uninterrupted, bubbling, merged with the deaf, uterine cry of the basement, like the desperate murmur of a madman.

Lime fell from the walls, smoke covered with a thick veil what was at the bottom of the stairs, and the roar of firing; ceaseless, bubbling, merged with the deaf, guttural cry of the basement, like the desperate murmur of a madman.

******* *******

A thunderstorm rang out on the street, and the peals of thunder, with a long displeased echo, rumbled behind the stained glass, marble stairs dimmed by the suddenly darkened sky, and the blood stains on them no longer seemed so bright, provocative. A thundercloud, saturated with lead, hid the midday sun.

Which is this home? What is the apartment for today?

Folk never knew these people and will never know them.

The change of faces, a monotonous, inevitable action - the pistol barrel in his hand, abruptly turns and shoots, and the thunder of a thunderstorm echoes him.

There is no need to rush anywhere anymore, there will be no Peaceful Shores, ears are deafened by screams and fire.

Peaceful Shores.

On the landing there is a smell of feminine perfume, and colored tile, cleaned to shine by someone with diligent hands, solemnly met the officers. Folk, who climbed the marble staircase to this floor, was the first to approach a high wooden door stained with mahogany and bearing a gold sign "Mr. Mav and the family," and as usual, without hesitation, with a kick of his foot he broke the lock and the door opened. They were waiting. In front of him stood a middle-aged fat man in a velvet light green robe. A mask of horror froze on his round, sleek face; wild, animal horror, and in a trembling arm extended forward, a chrome-plated pistol gallops from side to side. The fat man's wide open eyes widened, his puffy mouth twisted like a paralytic's.

Peaceful Shores.

Folk immediately aimed his gun at the fat man, but did not open fire, he hesitated, looked at the full face of the landlord, who, like a yellow ghost, was floating in the darkness of the hallway. Behind Folk, other officers approach, and the clatter of their boots gets stuck, somewhere under the high ceiling of the landing.

A second passed slowly, one more.

Folk saw a colorful female dress flicker in the back of the apartment and heard a stifled, muffled exclamation.

"\- Shoot." - Folk calmly looks the fat man in the eye.

The fat man pulls the trigger, there is a loud click, but there is no shot, and he pushes the trigger again and again, looking with distraught eyes at Folk standing opposite him.

Click, click, click ...

"- Fate."

Folk pulled the trigger, slammed the shot, the gun in his hand habitually twitched, and the fat man, together with his horror in his eyes, fell into the depths of the hallway. He collapsed heavily on his back, his green robe lifted up, exposing his plump thighs. The fat man's right leg twitched, a black slipper flew off her.

Folk entered the hallway. The officers, pushing him, rushed deep into the apartment.

"\- I could spit the colonel in the face. Already then."- Folk put the pistol into a holster and reached into the pocket of his uniform trousers, behind a pack of cigarettes. "- I want to live. Everything is simple. "

Somewhere from the back room, from where a murky light penetrated from the street, a female screech came to him, and then a loud hysterical whisper, speaking hasty words:

  * Gentlemen, please do not! Here, take this... I beg you! Do not! Have mercy on the children! Please, please, please!...

Three shots banged, one after another.

Folk lit a cigarette; the hallway quickly filled with tobacco astringent smoke, and took out a gun.

Even now, he could turn the barrel to the right, and the lieutenant, who was standing near the glass room door, with his left eyebrow split, would roll on the floor. To the right, and a black-haired captain coming out of the corridor into the anteroom, with a dry long face, will fall to the floor, pouring it with his blood.

Somewhere on the upper floors, the doors were already breaking, and the flight of stairs was filled with screams, obscenities, and shooting.

The captain went to Folk, holding something shiny in his left hand. Folk looked at his hand - a gold chain and a heavy pendant with a blue stone. The captain pushed the gold jewelry into the pocket of his tunic and, grinning, looking at Folk in the face, said:

  * You risky guy, major.

Folk said nothing, smoked.

  * He could easily shoot you.

  * We all will die.

  * This, yes, - the captain approached, without any expression looked at the fat man lying in a dark puddle.- Fool, did not remove the fuse. I thought you were departmentals, rags...

The captain smelled of wine.

Two lieutenants emerged from the side room — one still a snotter, fair-haired, tall, with narrow thin shoulders, the other thirty-five years old, stocky, broad-faced, with a short thick mustache under his nose.

  * What is there?- The captain asked them.

  * Everything is clean, - answered the young one.

Saying nothing more, the officers leisurely left the apartment, leaving Folk alone.

Rare shots and swearing were heard from the upper floors, the sound of boots was heard.

"They don't tremble." Folk looked at his hand with a smoking cigarette and suddenly remembered himself when he was at the front — many, many years ago, almost forever. He remembered how he fled, through the damp morning air, towards the enemy trench ahead. There, where a non-stop machine gun was spitting fire into his face. He thought then that now for sure; death.

And then, after the battle, sitting in the trench taken from the enemy, among his dead bodies and strangers, and hearing the laughter of the surviving comrades and the groans of the wounded, Folk tried to light a cigarette, but could not, his lips were trembling, and the burning match in his trembling hand could not find the tip of the cigarette's.

His hands were not shaking now.

Peaceful Shores.

Having finished the cigarette, Folk flicked it into the corner of the hallway, looked at the dead fat man and, having crossed the threshold of the apartment, went out onto the landing.

The dead day froze like an icebound river, and there were no survivors in that river.

******* *******

Folk left the entrance of the apartment building under a high stone canopy, leaned back against a rough wall. He held the gun in a sweaty palm.

Before the eyes of Folk splashed nasty turbidity, unnaturally bright, vague, sounds, now deaf and, seemingly distant, then sharp and clear. Everything in it became somehow wooden, and feelings and thoughts. He looked at the green, open side of an army truck, standing on the opposite side of the road, and seemed not to see him. In front of him, faces flashed again and again, the smoke and the noise of screams and firing, and he recalled the sight of his own hand with the gun held in it, and the fire and smoke escaping from it.

Time passed far after noon, the shadows from the cars frozen on the road lengthened. Near the neighboring entrance, having buried against the wall of the house, a regular bus, pale blue, with clean sparkling windows of the passenger compartment, froze, and in them Folk could see the curved handrails of the chairs and the hunchbacked shadows of the motionless figures sitting in these chairs, which were once passengers. The bus driver, head back, looked with open eyes at the ceiling of the cab.

A crowd of officers gathered near the army truck — about twenty, they smoked and laughed out loud. In the back of the truck, a machine gunner, sitting on thick canvas bags, smoked a cigarette; freckled lieutenant, middle-aged. His machine gun looked sadly with his bell along a deserted street.

Many motionless bodies lay on the sidewalks on both sides of the road, right up to the intersection, where everything was lost due to gray smoke creeping out from the windows of the first floor of the distant house, and going further down the street.

A gentle wind blew.

It smelled of fumes and gas.

Five steps away from Folk, with his hands in his trouser pockets, Major Num Krasus stood and smoked. His black-soaked cap was lowered over his eyes. He turned to Folk, looked at him for a long time, with an expressionless look, then said:

  * You look bad, major,- he walked slowly to Folk and stood next to him, looking out into the street.- What do you have here?

  * Everything is clean here.- Folk answered him dryly.

  * Today is a grisly day, but it will end. And do not try to do any stupid thing. You departmental too ...- He fell silent, choosing the right word, then spat on the step, asked.- Were you at the front?

  * Under Perona,- answered Folk.- For a long time.

  * Yes, they are there, they have soaped our neck. Everything is sluggish at the front now.

Folk put his pistol into a holster and reached into his trouser pocket for cigarettes.

  * Why do you think the general wanted to get rid of you?

  * The dog knows him,- Folk answered, lighting a cigarette.

  * The general managed to escape from us, managed to,- Major Num Kras grunted annoyingly.- He will be found. Anyway, he won't run away from the hemp rope. In the evening we will manage here, and at night our battalion will go to the black city, to the station. Now there is the third battalion of the second regiment. They quite lazy there, they sugaring.

Four officers came out of the door open next to Folk, and one of them, the captain, a short blond, about forty, with a weathered broad face, stopped next to Major Kras's, he listlessly saluted and said wearily:

  * We lit this house. Our guys have already finished, they are coming down.

  * This quarter is dead, - Major Krasus threw a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. - Now let's move...

He did not have time to finish the sentence. A young lieutenant came out of the house opposite, abruptly opening the access door, staggering, with a pistol in one hand and an open green bottle in the other. Without a cap. He was drunk and an idiotic smile shone on his narrow face. Seeing the officers standing nearby, this lieutenant threw his face up and began to pour it with the contents of the bottle, shaking his head from side to side.

The conversations between the officers fell silent, everyone looked at the young officer.

  * Ratsk, - someone from the crowd told him. - You are drunk, go to bed.

He muttered something in response, bowing his head low and looking at his feet. Brilliant streams of wine flowed from his hair. He raised his head and suddenly laughed, shouting in a high voice:

  * I am a hero, gentlemen!

  * Ratsk...

  * I am a hero ... We are all heroes...

With these words, the lieutenant raised his hand with a pistol, put the barrel to his chin and pulled the trigger. Slammed a shot. His body, already dead, threw his head back and he fell like a sack on the sidewalk.

  * Here, a fool! Here you go, fool! - some officer shouted from the third floor; without a cap, a broad-faced brunet, looking at what was happening from the broken window.

  * Puppy,- said one of the crowd.- Rag.

  * lucky beggar.- Major Kras said.- I, to you, Major, have spoken about this very thing.

  * I still have things to do,- Folk answered, looking at the dead lieutenant lying near the neighboring house.

Nobody approached the dead lieutenant.

  * Things are good. And what if it's not a secret?

  * Friends.

  * You are still counting ... Do you know what, Major? Do not tell your friends about today. it's no use.

They were silent.

To the right a passenger car turned out onto the street - gray, growling, she drove quickly, as if moving away from the chase, wagging from side to side.

After a short time, the car braked sharply at a standing truck, steam was coming from under its flat bonnet. The passenger officer sat with his face bowed in front of him, the driver officer, a fat lieutenant, quickly got out of the car and ran towards Major Kras's.

Folk saw that the windshield of the car was broken, and there were small round holes along the port side.

The lieutenant approached, quickly saluted, and blurted out, addressing Major Kras's:

  * Army battalions in black quarters, Mr. Major! Captain Ushog, dead, he did not reach. Almost all of our guys were killed, we barely escaped.

And he quickly said that the army regiments had unexpectedly advanced from the northern part of the black quarters, and that trains with soldiers and guns arrived at the second station.

  * They clamped us at the bridge over the river, - the lieutenant continued.- Those of us who managed to break free, go to the white city. The rest were scattered in quarters. I saw four armored vehicles. Artillery guns. We took the "language", he says that the seventh division, the fourth mixed army, General Fabus's, has arrived.

  * Division,- the major said.

  * That's right, Mr. Major. The second division is expected from the east, walking along the Stone Route. In the black quarters, they are already distributing weapons.

  * This is bad.

Appearing increasing noise interrupted the conversation. From the side of the smoky intersection, figures of civilians, men, women began to run out, some ran towards the officers, clutching small children to the chest. The crowd of fleeing rapidly grew - hundreds and hundreds turned out from behind a three-story long building covered in fire and smoke, they fled as if obeying the panicky feeling of animals fleeing predators.

  * What is this?- Said one of the officers standing on the road.

  * They broke through,- said another.- From the quarter where the second battalion is.

Among the fleeing masses were women's multi-colored shirts, blue uniforms of officials, and weekend suits. The machine gunner, who was sitting on the bags in the back of the truck, looking at the runners, calmly threw out the cigarette butt and also lay calmly by the machine gun, directing the black, long machine gun barrel at the growing crowd.

  * Zhorch!- Major Kras shouted to the machine gunner's.- Let them get closer so we don't have to chase after them later.

He nodded with understanding.

  * It's necessary to advance to the black quarters,- said Major Kras to the lieutenant's who had just arrived.\- Division ... Colonel will be surprised. Major,- is he already Folk's.\- I definitely don't like the way you look. Do you want vodka? Not? In vain. The fun goes on,- Then he called out to the machine gunner who was sitting in the back of the truck.- What are you watching? You fell asleep there? Fire!

******* *******

The last shots subsided, pulled with astringent powder gas, and over the deserted field, where bushes of wormwood and burdock were stuck out everywhere, there was a nervous silence.

The battalion lay, who, where. From all sides heard the commands of commanders, the groans of the wounded and dying.

Grass wet after rain shone with drops of water, and it quickly wetted clothes, glowed green in the sun.

Ahead, beyond the field, began a long strip of forest. There, behind the branchy, densely growing trees, machine guns calmed down.

  * Full shit,- said the lean captain lying on the left next to Folk.- Major,- he said to Folk.- Do you happen to know what the hell we need here? We could gain a foothold in the city than to climb here under machine guns.

Major Kras answered him. He lay to the right of Folk, next to the murdered captain, whose face was disfigured by a bullet.

  * Captain, do not discuss orders.

Major Num Kras had already removed the heavy army binoculars from his neck and, putting it to his eyes, adjusted his focus.

  * We did not have time, did not have time...- He muttered.- They have an excellent position, and we are in full view. Now the path to black quarters is cut off. And we could get hold of guns there, we could. We arrived here lightly, as if for dancing...

The sun has long passed over the zenith, shone in the faces of officers, blinded.

  * It's hard to see,- the major swore.- We are late. It doesn't get worse.

  * Three hundred steps,- said Folk.

A broken dirt road stretched along the forest and, turning, went deep into the trees, behind which the invisible enemy lurked, and there, in this green unknown, something growled and buzzed, boring and long.

  * They are rolling out the gun,- said Major Kras.- Ah, here is the second. Hello to you.

Officers examined themselves and their weapons, aiming from long-barreled rifles. Some fitted bayonets to their rifles, sparkling in the sun.

  * The third gun,- said Major Kras, looking through binoculars.- Fourth ... They were waiting for us here.

  * Mr. Major!

Crouching to the ground, the captain ran up to them and fell beside him; about thirty-five, curly, with a dissected bleeding lower lip.

  * Mr. Major!

  * What? Yeah, another gun.

  * Major Das killed.

  * It's a pity,- Major Kras said indifferently, continuing to observe what was happening in the forest opposite.- It is possible that they will kill us all here.

  * What do you order?

  * What can be ordered here?- Major Kras looked up from the binoculars for a few seconds, looked into the captain's face and stared into the eyepieces again.- We will not get into black quarters, gentlemen are good. We won't even reach those trees; they will lay us down. The guns are silent ... Well, that's clear - they are waiting for shells. Then they will begin to roll us, like a pancake in a frying pan.

  * Mr. Major, I think it's time to retire to the city,- said the captain, the one to the left of Folk.- For now, we can.

  * We can, we can,- Major Kras whistled and said in an arrangement.- But this is a surprise, gentlemen. No, these are two surprises.

With a rumble of motors and smoke from exhaust fumes, two armored vehicles rolled out onto the road from behind trees, one after the other. Their cylindrical machine-gun turrets in the shade of the trees seemed gray-green.

The armored car moving ahead crossed over a hill near the road, roaring forcefully, it slid into the mud and drove forward a bit, got stuck with its front wheels in a viscous slush and died out.

The second armored car stood at the edge of the road, continuing to buzz with the engine. The machine guns from the towers stared menacingly toward the officers.

  * So, so, so, - Major Kras grinned. - Surprise stuck. Excellent.

A few minutes later, a black passenger car appeared on the road from the forest, with a white rag pulled up on a long stick. Having traveled around the armored car, the car turned off the road, and rumbling and waddling over the bumps, like a duck, slowly drove towards the officers.

Having overcome half the way, the car stopped and an army officer in a light green uniform crawled out of the open front door. In relative silence his screaming high voice was heard:

  * His Excellency General Bow gives you half an hour to lay down your arms and surrender! Life is guaranteed. Otherwise, we will kill you all. We give you the opportunity to settle in a new society without castes, where everyone is equal before the law. Time is running out!

The negotiator climbed back into the car and she, turning around, drove back to the road, and soon disappeared from sight behind the trees.

Major Kras grinned and lowered his binoculars and said:

  * Army Colonel.

  * Of course, we hastened to scorch the city,- Folk said, looking back at the white quarters.

  * General Bow, a big fan of cut prisoners,- said sarcastically the captain, who was lying to his left.- I wonder where their Marshal Zakren had gone? Probably the same place as our glorious Helm.

A gentle wind carried with it the ashes and the smell of burning.

The nearest houses of the white city were at least a thousand steps away.

The city was on fire.

Yellow-orange flames burst from many houses and, licking once snow-white facades decorated with plaster stucco molding, turned into black greasy smoke. Some roofs collapsed, and such buildings were bonfires fenced with a stone box. The quarters were burning and smoke, mingling with ashes, a whirlwind soared up to the blue sky with rare torn clouds.

Behind, lying in the mud of the officers, lay motionless dead, and the wounded, as if lazily barely moving.

  * We won't stay here,- Folk told Major Num Kras's.- They will shoot at us, and the end.

  * This is clear to and a fool,- he answered.

On the right, in an uneven chain of officers, packs of shots rang out, rifles shrouded in gray haze.

  * Who is shooting there? - Major Kras looked at the captain with a split lip, ordered in exasperation. - Order to cease fire, take care of the cartridges.

The captain got to his feet and ran hunched over to the shooting officers, shouting "cease fire."

Major Kras looked back at the fire-ridden city, and said:

  * In the city they would have broken their teeth, and now we have no place to hide. Even the division. Not later than tomorrow evening, our army will be here. It is necessary to survive, - the major got up and screamed. - Everyone to retreat to the city and take up the defense!

And they ran.

By dirt, by potholes.

Folk ran without looking back, pulling his legs shod in boots from the muddy ground, holding a rifle in his right hand, energetically waving his left. He bent his head.

The blond-haired captain ran ahead of him, twenty paces away, ridiculously gliding through the mud.

Around Folk there was a noise from the officers' running legs, heavy breathing. No screams, no teams.

Folk ran through the greasy mud with all his might, occasionally glancing at the quarters burning beyond the field. It seemed to him that there was a running on the spot; burning houses swayed from side to side before the eyes, not approaching as if teasing.

Somewhere far behind, machine guns rattled.

The first gun thundered in the back and a shell flew with a choking whistle, smacked with an explosion on the right — hard, echoing. The earth shook. The second shot of the gun, the third ...

Explosions thundered from behind.

Not touched, alive!

With his peripheral vision, Folk saw two officers fall to the left, on a grand scale, on their backs.

Bullets knocked dirty fountains out of the ground, whistling very close by.

The white-haired captain was already running without a rifle.

He left her.

The explosion right behind the "blond", sprinkled with fire, smoke and clods of earth, pushed the air elastically into Folk's chest. Continuing to run, he cut a smoky cloud with his chest, jumped over the fallen captain, caught a glimpse of something yellow, sparkling in the sun, dropped out of the pockets of the "blond" ring, chains, some.

Gunpowder smoke bursting his lungs.

Gold.

And for the first time that day, Folk laughed - abruptly, to cough, to tears.

  * Doo, doo, doo, doo ...- Machine guns told him in the back. - Come back, come back, your nobleness.

Folk laughed.

He suddenly felt funny.

******* *******

Folk stood by a light green passenger car with a broken rear window, and his left hand motionlessly froze on the doorknob. Warming up from the fire, she burned his palm.

An orange fire burst from the window of the first floor, the nearest five-story building. The smell of burning was unbearable.

  * Are you going somewhere, Major?- Major Kras, who suddenly appeared nearby, repeated his question with a good-natured smile on his sooty face.

Major Kras stood three steps away from him, and held the "Fat Man" army pistol in his hand, pointing his long barrel at Folk's left side. Black flakes of ash fell on his sloping shoulders from the dark sky.

Folk's right hand mechanically reached for a holster.

  * In two steps, Major?- Num Kras shook his head.\- It is a bad idea.

Somewhere in the depths of the quarter enveloped in fire, gunshots thundered. Machine gun bursts fading into the depths of the streets with a fading echo.

  * The city is dead.- Folk said calmly.- I'm leaving. If you decide to shoot, then shoot.

Major Kras grinned and said:

  * This is not friendly, what do you think?- He coughed due to smoke.- So you decided to quit everything, Major? And the end of the comedy?

  * There is nothing to leave here. Want to die in this shit, if you please.

  * I do not want. I know this city poorly, but you are a local person.

An explosion barked behind the nearest houses, the air fluttered. The coming night was voiced by distant cries.

  * See what I'll do now .- Num Kras slowly lowered his gun.- Do not want to take a companion with you? For two more chances.

From the fire raging in the house opposite, the heat heated the tattered Folk's tunic, burning his face.

  * Get in the car, Major.- Folk jerked open the driver's door, and then he heard a scream.

  * Gentlemen!

Along the street, near due to a burned-out skeleton of a bus, some young officer with a machine gun in his hands ran to them in the dark.

  * Gentlemen! Wait.

Folk and Kras waited in silence.

He ran to them.Lieutenant, thin face soiled with soot, one shoulder strap torn off. He looked no more than twenty-five years old.

  * May I come with you, gentlemen?- He asked, breathing abruptly.

  * Sit behind, lieutenant, Major Kras told him.

The lieutenant released his left hand and grabbed the handle of the back door, exclaimed:

  * Hot! - He opened the door. - But the car will not explode?

Num Kras and Folk were already seated in the hot car interior, and Major Kras said with a laugh:

  * Shit, like us, doesn't burn!

The lieutenant threw a machine gun in the back seat, climbed himself.

Folk turned, the key left in the ignition switch, and the engine roared obediently.

The car started, wagged, slowly circling the blackened body lying across the road, and began to quickly gain speed.

  * Where are we going now, Major?- Asked Folk's, Num Kras.

  * My house is not far away,- he answered, without turning his head.- We will not go far on this ruin. I have my own car.

  * You are a smart guy, major.- Num Kras laughed, he held the gun in his right hand.- No wonder Jerzy Sum wanted to shoot you!

They raced along the extinct streets of the city.

Some houses, blackened with broken, blind windows, smoked like big bonfires. In other houses, fire flames raged, and reflections of fire danced merrily on the walls and pavers of the road, illuminating on the sidewalks the dark coolies of motionless bodies and abandoned cars. Here and there, tattered wires hung from poles and like black snakes lay across the road. And on the pillars themselves, in complete calm, the dead were motionless.

The car, without slowing down, sharply turned to the left. At the crossroads, several officers, standing in a crowd at a pile of bags and boxes, rushed in all directions. Their screams and claps of single shots rang out.

  * Marauding, sons of bitches,- Major Kras laughed.

The crowd of officers was far behind.

From the round hole punched by a bullet in the rear wall of the cabin, the blinking light of an external fire shone. The lieutenant, squeezing the barrel of a machine gun, buried his forehead in the back seat of the driver and now looked with his eyes wide open. A trickle of dark blood flowed from his mouth and dripped onto his dirty sleeve of tunic.

Major Kras turned, looked at the lieutenant.

  * Ready?- Folk asked him.

  * Directly in the "top ten,- he answered.- Now he is in no hurry.

In the gathering twilight, everything around took on black-gray tones. In the quarter along which they were driving now, some where fire was still breaking out of the windows of the houses shone with bright tongues, which was why ghostly, bright highlights danced on the road.

  * How long will it take?

  * We are approaching.

The quarters of the multi-storey buildings are over - the car, turning left, left on a wide road, on both sides of which tall fluffy fir trees grew. To the right stretched dark, two-story mansions, with protruding black roofs, amid a blue streak of extinct sunset. Somewhere in the distance, fire blazed. There was no light in any house, the windows were black, dead.

Twilight crawled onto this street and froze with dark, blurry shadows along the deaf high fences and rare well-groomed bushes, spilled under the trunks flickering outside the windows of the car, fir trees.

Folk drove the car, without turning on the headlights, pressing his chest against the wheel of the steering wheel, peering into the road ahead.

  * We have arrived,- he said.

The car slowed down and, turning right, drove into a short platform, in front of a dark two-story mansion, with a low gable roof.

They stopped, the motor stalled.

  * It seems calm, but ...- Major Kras opened the door and, at the same time as Folk, got out of the car.

Pulling a pistol out of his holster, Folk moved toward the house.

A light evening wind blew from the north of a distant forest and in the air, cool and fresh, there was almost no burning smell.

Both, Folk and Kras, approached the closed gate of the brick garage, stood shoulder to shoulder.

  * Wait for me here,- Folk spoke quietly, barely audibly.

Major Krasus remained standing near the garage, leaning his back against the iron gate.

The forged gate was open. Folk silently, with a shadow, slipped into it, walked along the gravel path to the low porch and, climbing the steps, after a moment's pause, entered the open front door.

The house is dark and quiet, and only from the street do the distant sounds of booming explosions penetrate into it.

Folk in the dark quickly examined the first floor - a hall, three large rooms and a kitchen. He moved confidently, knowing every detail in the setting. Then he climbed a steep stone staircase to the top.

No one. He was met everywhere by the lifelessness of empty rooms and corridors. He quickly went downstairs and left the house, went down the porch and, turning left to the garage, took a key from his trouser pocket.

The door to the garage was ajar.

Ready to shoot at the slightest rustle, Folk was in the garage.

Everything is quiet.To the right of the wall, above a low and long rack, was a kerosene lamp. To the touch, finding and removing it from the hook, without lighting the lantern, he walked along the car, which had merged with darkness, to the locked gate and, removing the bolts, let in the major Kras's, who was waiting.

  * Why so long?

Folk did not answer. He closed the garage door, and only after that said:

  * Want to get a bullet in the back of your head?

He lit a kerosene lamp.

From the emerging light, yellow and trembling, Major Kras turned his back. He still held the gun in his hand.

The room of the long garage was lit up and, on the smoothly plastered walls, shadows danced. In the middle of the garage was a large black car. Folk raised the lantern higher, lit the hood of the car.

During his absence, someone diligently, and in the entire length of the hood, scratched, with something sharp, a raunchy word.

  * Major, hold the lamp.

Raising the hood of the car, Folk examined the engine compartment, checked the engine.

  * Do you know the motors?- Asked Major Kras.

  * Hobby.

  * And that's all ...- he looked at the tools on the shelf.- Do you do all this yourself, with your own hands?

  * I do it with my feet, major, with feet. Hold the lamp normally, I can't see anything!

After a minute, Folk straightened up and closed the hood as quietly as possible.

  * Let's go,- he said.

They stopped at the rear wall of the garage, Folk pressed on something in the corner, and a hidden door opened in the wall.

Major Kras whistled.

From the secret niche, Folk began to extract weapons — two army Sturm-45 pistols, small cardboard boxes with cartridges. Then he pulled out, one after another, three cans, and finally a long bundle in an oiled light rag, from the end of which a machine-gun bell protruded. The last thing Folk took out of the niche was a weighty dark green box.

  * Here are machine gun cartridges,- he said.

They put all this in the back seat of the car. Three large, heavy gas canisters went into the trunk.

From the second of the shelf, Folk took out a hiking backpack.

  * Of hunger we will not die .

Next to the backpack, dirty sweaters, work trousers and boots flew to the roof of the car.

  * It's smart,- Major Kras grunted.

A few minutes later, both stood dressed in dirty civilian clothes, throwing their officer uniform on the garage floor.

Having extinguished the lantern, Folk put it on the rack and, passing in complete darkness to the gate, opened it wide, and then sat in the driver's seat.

Major Kras sat next to him.

There was no longer a gun in his hand.

******* *******

Outside the city, they turned off the road into the forest and the car shook along a hideous dirt road.

The headlights, trembling, then flew up, then fell down, illuminating the pits and hummocks, sticking out roots of trees and a heap of last year's foliage. The car bounced, creaking with springs, and heaved, falling wheels into the pits.

  * You leave before reaching the village. I think we will get there in an hour.- Folk stared in front of himself at the road.- There is a small railway station, as far as I know, trains stop there regularly.

  * And you, major?

  * I have things to do.

  * Drop your business. Come with me, to the Second Officer's Army, and there...

  * In this world, I have the last thing I want to finish. The rest does not count.

  * Woman?

  * Friends,- Folk answered after a moment.

  * Yes, you talked about it.

Major Kras was silent for a long time, then spoke, thoughtfully:

  * What we did today...

Folk said nothing.

  * Yes, we did it. I have an old mother. She has been waiting for me for years. And she always calls me, "sonnie." Can you imagine? Sonnie. All day she is busy in front of the house with her flowers. Well... Sonnie... I haven't been with her for a long time, you know. I had a vacation once a year, and somehow I all ... couldn't. How many mothers and fathers were there today... I do not bore you, major?

  * Not.

  * What did I think? Well, life did not work out, as I wanted, once, let. At least, I thought, I would die with honor. My grandfather was a colonel, father major. Grandfather always said that it is very important to die with honor. And I was hoping to die with honor. It seems like I'm just going to die like a dog. Unlike you, I have no business left in this world after this day.

He fell silent and rode on without saying a word.

The forest is over.The road wagged like a drunk, it stretched through a large field, drowned in the darkness of night. The car was driving smoothly, there were no pits on the road. Folk accelerated. On one section of the road, they almost collided with a broken cart abandoned by someone, without rear wheels.

The black starry sky hung over the field, bottomless.

Half an hour later, Folk took the car out onto a flat stone road. Not far ahead, the lights of a provincial village burned, and from there occasionally came long locomotive beeps.

Folk stopped the car, turned to the major and said:

  * I won't take you to the village, Major. No one in this outfit drives cars.

  * This, yes, he didn't rush to crawl out into the night, as if he was waiting for something.- Maybe you're still with me, eh?

Folk did not answer.

  * Well. Then goodbye major,- they shook hands.- I wish you to find your friends, and more... Try not to shoot yourself. Someone else will do this service for you.

He opened the car door and stepped out into the darkness.

Folk looked into the back of Major Kras, who was leaving, until he stepped out of the headlights and finally disappeared into the darkness of the night. After that, he turned the car around and drove it, in the opposite direction of the village, along a stone good road.

There were no more than three hours to get to Quiet Harbor.

******* *******

Chapter 6.

Quiet Harbor.

Before dawn there was an hour and a half.

Folk stood by the hut where Senchin lived, a few steps from the first entrance, looking through a narrow gap in the greenery of the bush, at the lonely shadow under the window of Tosia Vak's.

The man stood leaning against the wall.

Without taking his eyes off the man under the window, Folk pulled out a long hunting knife from the pocket of his black jacket. He had watched the sentry for thirty minutes, waiting for a convenient moment.

Not in one window overlooking the courtyard, the light did not burn. From the side of the street, from around the corner, a lantern on the high pillar weakly shines, creating a wide pale streak of light, dissected by crooked shadows, from a branching poplar growing near the sidewalk.

And so the man turned to the window and three times quietly knocked on the glass, then two more times.

With a clink of glass, the window frame above the man opened, and a quiet, irritated, male voice asked:

  * What do you want?

  * Jock, give me a lighter, mine is dead.

  * So you... On, take mine and leave it to yourself.

  * Tell Grisma to let him replace me.

  * Grism is busy.

  * Well of course he is busy. May he replace me.

  * I will tell him.

The window has closed.

The wind intensified, rocked the branches of trees, rustled leaves and somewhere on the roof thundered a torn sheet of tin.

Folk, looking at the figure by the window, came out from behind the bush and, remaining in dense shade, began to approach the sentry. He tried to light a lighter; sparkling flashes highlighted from the darkness his nose and a cigarette gagged in his teeth. When the light, dazzling in the dark, broke out, a man brought it to his face, lighting a cigarette, enveloped in tobacco smoke and saw Folk's face in front of him.

At the same instant, a long blade of a knife with a crunch pierced the watch's throat and came out of the back of the head.

Folk carefully laid the convulsing body to the ground, and stepped his foot on the lighter that continued to burn, which fell into the grass. He stood for a while, letting his eyes get used to the darkness again, after which he stood on the dead man and, bending his knees, knocked on the window; three and two times.

Now the window was thrown open by a nervous jerk.

  * Os, you moron!...

Folk straightened up straight, grabbing the talking man by the shoulder with one hand, and stabbed him with the knife under the lower jaw with the other. After a few seconds, clutching the bottom of the window frame, Folk jerked himself up in his arms and, leaning on the murdered man and trying not to make noise, quickly climbed into the darkness of Tosia Vak's room.

He listened.

From the far end of the apartment, on the left, came a faint murmur, and from the gap under the door a weak light penetrated the room. He put the knife into the side pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pistol from a holster hanging under his belt. He wiped his wet and sticky fingers on the curtain, looked out into the street and, making sure that it was still quiet there, decided to move to the door when he heard a soft moan on the left.

The sound repeated.

Holding the gun in front of him, Folk felt for the mumbling man with his left hand, pulled out a rag-gag from his mouth and quietly asked:

  * Tosia?

  * I,- she answered.- Folk ... They are in the kitchen. Serezha, Mikhail and the third officer.

Tosia Vak's hands were tied behind her with a thick rope. Folk spent a minute trying to free her and then headed out of the room to the door. After a moment, he opened it a little, listening to the conversation in the kitchen. From there, at the end of the corridor, the light of an electric lamp poured and a monotonous, insinuating voice, with the intonation of a teacher, said:

  * Do you understand this? Not? We will torture you! Do you want to keep your honor? This is in vain. We will not leave honor to you, because we have no honor. Not in our department. Ha ha...

Folk was already walking silently down the corridor through the open door, looking into the depths of the brightly lit kitchen at the strong, short man in a plaid black and brown suit, who stood with his legs wide apart and with his hands in the pockets of his plaid gray jacket. The speaker was wearing black patent leather boots.

A man in a plaid suit stood with his back to Folk. In front of him, sitting on the floor against the wall, with their hands behind their backs, sat two — Gorin and Senchin. The elbow of a standing man prevented Gorin's face from being seen, but he saw Senchin's face in all its glory; his nose is swollen, his lower face is bloody, his right eye is swollen.

  * We will not be nice to you. You guys can't imagine, no, you can't imagine it. How many years I serve, and never once have I seen a single silent person. On the contrary! So funny, they sing songs! And you will sing for us ...

The board under Folk's foot creaked loudly.

  * What, Os whines again?- The speaker asked, without looking back.

Folk did not answer. He calmly took the last step and, putting the gun barrel to the back of the man's neck, said colorlessly:

  * I'll blow your brains out. On your knees, hands behind your head.

He slowly knelt down, crossing his fingers on his crown.

Senchin and Gorin, with outstretched faces of surprise, looked at Folk who appeared.

  * Handcuffs or rope?- Asked Folk.

  * Handcuffs,- the officer answered.

  * The keys.

  * In the upper left pocket.

  * Take them out with your left hand, slowly.

He obeyed.

  * Now set them free.

Folk did not tear his gun barrel from his neck.

When Senchin and Gorin got to their feet, and the officer, a chubby, freckled guy, with blue eyes like sky-blue, already handcuffed, was sitting on the floor under the window, leaning his back against the heating battery, Folk removed the gun and asked the alien earthlings:

  * Everything is good?

  * Hi Folk,- said Senchin.

  * It's all right,- said Misha, rubbing his wrists.- They almost broke my hands.

Behind Folk appeared Tosia Vak, dressed in a white, red and polka dot dress. Was silent.

Folk crouched next to the captive officer, coldly asked:

  * Who you are?

His freckled face took on a pale bluish tint. He looked about thirty years old, with a little.

  * Captain Grims Roh,- he answered quickly.- Department of Justice.

  * Hello, colleague.- Folk looked him directly in the eye, pointing his gun at the floor.- How did you come to the aliens? Do not look at the door. Your comrades will not come.

In the blue eyes of the captain, fear darted.

  * You are an officer,- said the captain.- I ask you, as an officer of an officer's, give a word of honor that you will not kill me and I will tell you everything. I have a little son and wife. I am here on duty ... I followed the order.

  * I give a word of honor,- said Folk, already with some strange interest, looking into the eyes of the captain.- Lay it out.

And he said, willingly and quickly. An alien woman came to surrender, but refused to speak. While all this red tape was running with a request to the ministry, the Department of Justice sent groups of investigators. But this alien woman, a rare fool, didn't even get rid of the train ticket! So they learned about Quiet Harbor. Further, according to the polls of witnesses, they went to the policeman, Sklim Yark, but they couldn't take him alive. He was killed in the police station, and he managed to shoot two investigative investigators. The case stalled a bit, but in the police officer's apartment they found an office notebook hidden in the ventilation outlet, and in it the address and name of the alien. And here they are.

Folk listened carefully, did not interrupt. Then he asked:

  * Why didn't you take the aliens?

  * The initial order of the Mr. Chief Prosecutor is to detect aliens, neutralize them, keep them isolated from outsiders, send a telegram to the department and wait for a special car and convoy. Do not enter into contact with the authorities of the white city of Quiet Harbor. Keep everything a secret. We sent a telegram, but there is still no confirmation or car.

  * They are silent,- said Folk.- They will be silent for a long time,- and looking back, he said.- We are leaving now.

  * I stay,- Tosia Wak said.

Clasping herself, the woman looked at Folk; her eyelids became inflamed and reddened, gray hair tangled.

  * Then tell about it. All. Everybody get out.

Tosiya Vak and Misha Gorin left the kitchen, but Senchin was delayed - he did not leave.

  * What are you doing?- He asked Folk's.- Let's go.

  * Go, I will go out now.

Sergey came out.

Folk turned to the captain who was sitting on the dirty floor, got to his feet and waited silently for something.

  * You- promised! - the officer said with concern.

  * I remember.

  * A word of honor.

  * I know.

Folk continued to look at Grisma Roe indifferently expectantly.

There was a click of an open lock, the front door creaked leading to the landing, and then Folk, as if in thought, raised his gun, pointing its barrel at the captain's face.

  * You promised! I have a son! A word of honor...\- He jerked his legs in handcuffs, trying to crawl away.\- I will not tell anyone! I ... A word of honor...

  * I have no honor,- Folk said dryly and pulled the trigger.

******* *******

Chapter 7.

"Valley of Dreams."

Folk drove the car, almost a day. Several times they stopped; refueled the fuel tank with gas, a couple of times Folk was busy with the engine. Sometimes he turned off the main road into the forest and drove into a deserted wilderness, sometimes they drove without any road at all; fields, circling deep fast streams.

Passing some kind of a provincial town, the car drove onto a broken dirt road, and sneezing and growling, crawled up to the gentle rise of a low hill, leaving behind a flat plain, with abandoned fields that had long been overgrown with birches.

Sometimes Folk stopped to study the map he had stocked.

It was evening.

They reached the top of the hill, where the road swung to the left, and further down to a small rivulet with an old wooden bridge. On the other side of the bridge began the foothills - hills covered with tall grass, one above the other, went to the horizon, to the peaks of the mountains, crowned with white caps of glaciers, where they stood.

The road turned into a wriggling snake, serpentine edged the hills, lost behind them.

It was getting dark fast.

In the morning, they landed Tosia Vak, near a small town.

They said goodbye to her.

  * My friends live here,- she said with a guilty smile, barely holding back her tears.- I will not be lost...

An hour later it became completely dark. Sparks of stars poured out on the cloudless, transparent sky. The full moon was rising. On both sides of the road stretched a forest of tall trees.

Folk drove confidently, as if born in the area.

  * In my opinion, we will come soon,- said Misha.- Well, for sure, here's the pointer!

They passed the signpost; a white wide sign on a wooden pole, with the inscription in large black letters- "Valley of Dreams."

  * To the estate, if you drive at such a speed, then in twenty minutes we will be at home,- Misha perked up, peering into the darkness outside the window.- Talya will go crazy with joy! She was very worried when I left, I had to reassure her for a long time.

  * Is there another way to the manor?- Folk asked him.

  * Why do you need it?

  * Is there a road or not?

  * There is,- Gorin answered him.- We drove past her about five minutes ago. And there is no road there; a path through the forest...

The car braked sharply, Folk muttered something under his breath, and began to turn.

  * Why do you need it? - Misha did not understand.

Folk was silent.

For several minutes they drove downhill until they noticed a fork in the road; a deaf, almost overgrown with grass, narrow road went to the right, lost in the forest.

They turned right. A machine rustled through the tall grass, waddling over bumps. A few minutes later, Folk, turning to the side, drove the car into the depths of the forest and turned off the engine. They stopped in front of a solid wall of densely growing trees, and the headlights went out.

Folk in the darkness turned to Gorin who was sitting next to him and asked:

  * The road goes to the estate itself?

  * To the house. Nearly.

  * Now here is what. Now we go out and go, trying not to make noise,- said Folk .- Before reaching the estate you will stop and wait for me. I will check what is there and how, then I will return for you. Do not go anywhere, wait for me. No chatter and noise. I say it all here and now, so as not to explain near the estate.

  * Why such measures? - Misha nervously fidgeted in his seat.

  * If you were found in Quiet Harbor, then they could go here too.

  * I'm coming with you! - said Misha.

  * You will not help anyone there, only you will interfere. I'll look around there myself. This is not discussed. However, I think that there is nothing to worry about, but we need to check.

They got out of the car in the night.

From above, due to the high crowns of the trees, the ghostly light of the Moon was breaking through, which loomed like a dull spot between the branches of the trees.

Protecting their faces with their hands from the thorny branches of the bush, they climbed out onto a grassy road.

Folk walked ahead, Senchin followed him. Gorin was the last to go.

The wind walked in the treetops, occasionally an invisible bird fluttered, disturbed by the night guests, announced the night with a lonely sad cry.

Misha began to say something to Sergei, but Folk abruptly cut him off, saying:

  * Shut up.

They walked to the estate for about an hour. Finally, ahead of them, behind the trees, loomed a lone window light.

Folk approached Misha, almost tight, asked quietly:

  * How is the house arranged?

Misha explained.

  * Where is the transmitter located?

  * In the backyard, in a brick shed. In the basement. Wait. I understand, precautions and stuff, but...

  * If I do not return; go away. All clear? Get out without a car.

Folk headed toward the fire and soon disappeared into the darkness.

******* *******

Sergey wanted to smoke.

He and Misha took refuge in the bushes, sitting on the grass, two hundred meters from a larger house, sheltered in darkness.

  * He doesn't come back too long,- said Misha anxiously.

  * Forty minutes already. I think that...

  * Think silently - snapped Gorin.

  * listen to me...

  * I won't fly anywhere without her. Point.

  * So we'll go there together.- Sergey stroked the heavy pistol that Folk handed him.

Senchin did not know how to shoot.

Folk, of course, taught him, he explained to him how to use weapons, but Sergei understood that he was unlikely to be able to do everything as he should.

  * If the estate is captured... - Misha stopped short, continued more confidently.- No, they do not dare. She is like a hostage to them.

Sergei looked at Misha sitting next to him; a fuzzy pale spot instead of a face, against the background of a hunchbacked body shadow.

Senchin stood up, his legs numb.

It smelled of flowers and needles.

Misha, you ...From the side of the house they heard two quick claps. Then two more.

Misha jumped up, pushing Senchin away, and climbed steadily; through the branches of the bushes, breaking through the windbreak and thicket, but Sergey grabbed his hand, wheezed:

  * Wait!

Misha jerked forward.

Senchin climbed after him. Branches hit his face, something crunched dryly under his feet and crackled.

They got out of the forest.

Further, from the forest to the large one-story house with a high, sharp roof, there were no bushes or fences. They ran alongside.

Sergei, holding a gun in front of him, tried to make out the expected enemy in the dark. When there were twenty meters to the house, the front door opened and a dark figure stepped out onto the wide porch under the canopy.

Folk.

  * I told you to wait,- he said calmly when Senchin and Gorin ran up the steps to him.

Misha rushed to the doorway, but Folk blocked his path, began to push him to the side, said:

  * Do not go there.

Gorin grabbed Folk's by the lapels of his jacket, hissed:

  * From the road!

And Folk let him pass. Looking Sergey in the face, he said:

  * We need to hurry. Guests may come here.

Only now Senchin saw feet protruding from behind the door in heavy boots. He looked out the door; the dark figure of a man lay against the wall itself, collapsing on its side. The officer's white uniform turned black on chest, a dark-haired head turned back, without a cap.

He and Folk entered the hallway brightly lit by electric lamps, stepped over another dead officer with a shot head and down the corridor, the walls of which were glued with expensive golden wallpaper, decorated with heavy frames, went through the open glass doors of the in larger hall.

At the very entrance to the hall lay two corpses - men of strong physique, dressed in gray formal suits. One of them held a pistol in his hand. On the parquet floor, blood.

They entered.

In the spacious hall, a polished round table lay upside down. A white tablecloth, with bright spots of blood, was lying nearby, near the walls, expensive furniture sparkled with glass and polishing. On the floor, covered with a thick colored carpet, an officer lay in a tattered uniform and with his hands behind his back.

The officer silently watched those who entered. From his broken nose to a white tunic, blood flowed plentifully.

The officer was about forty years old, his face was round flat, his small eyes looked cold and hard. Judging by the shoulder straps, Major.

The officer tried to sit down, but the approaching Folk kicked him with force.

  * To lie down.

Three bright lamps burned in a crystal chandelier under a high ceiling.

Misha's was not in the hall.

Folk crouched next to the major and asked, without raising his voice:

  * How many of you were here?

Sergei stood nearby, looking at Folk's bleeding right ear.

The major cursed obscenely and laughed in response.

  * How many of you were here?- Folk repeated his question, and suddenly, with a quick movement of his hand with a pistol, he struck the major in the jaw.

Sergei turned away, he heard the officer coughed, spitting something.

Teeth to crunched.

  * I can repeat.

  * If you're here,- said the major, lisping.- So you put them all. Preparation, hmm... Iron Guard?

  * Major, I don't have time to talk. You'll give me everything anyway. You have a choice; either you die quickly, or...

  * You know what, good man? Would you not go?... I'm not a snotter.

Senchin looked at the officer. He smiled calmly, looking into Folk's eyes.

Folk took him by the lapels of a bloodied tunic, pulled him to him, saying:

  * I will butcher you like a pig ... Why did you kill the mistress of the house?

  * It was an accident. The dog knows where she got the gun from. The captain shot her. So it happened.

  * Why did you kill the servants?

  * Do you need to explain it, why? They are witnesses ...

  * How did you find out about the alien, and who else are we waiting for here?

The officer spat in his face, smiled and said:

  * And if so?

Folk beat him with a short wave of his hand with a gun until he beat him to death. Then he got up, and wiping the bloody spray from his face, he told Senchin's:

  * Come on!

Shocked by what had happened, Senchin went out together with Folk, from a quietened hall into the corridor.

  * Can you handle the transmitter yourself?

  * I think so,- Sergey answered.

They left the house, went down the porch and walked along a cobblestone path, passing a low fence, behind which was a bulky dark barn structure, were in the courtyard. They approached a brick house with no windows.

A lock hung on the door.

The full moon peeping from behind the rare foggy clouds illuminated the courtyard with ghostly silver light.

Folk, bending down, was looking for something underfoot, and when he straightened up, Sergey saw a weighty cobblestone in his hand.

On the third blow, the castle flew to the side and, opening the door, Folk entered the house.

Senchin followed him and closed the door behind him.

Twice a lighter struck in Folk's hand; her trembling tongue of flame caught fire. Finding a convex round switch on the wall, Folk turned on the light - under a low plank ceiling, a muddy lamp lit up.

Along the wall to the right is gardening equipment — shovels, rakes, hoes; on the wall itself, nails sprinkled on a wooden shelf, garden shears, a hammer, some rags and colored scarves lay on wooden shelves. It smelled of paint.

In the corner stood, in fact, the paint keg itself with fresh green drips.

Folk with a shovel, began to pry floor boards. After a couple of minutes, he managed to find and open the boardwalk to the basement, behind which was visible a staircase going down.

  * Light!- Folk told Sergey, pointing to the switch on the wall.

Senchin hastily turned off the light.

They went down into the dark basement. It smelled of earth and mold, a cobweb in the dark corners was dull, and at every step, the narrow wooden steps of the stairs creaked gruffly.

Folk shone with a lighter in front of him. He quickly found and turned on the switch; it was light in the basement, two light bulbs hanging from the ceiling hanging on black wires.

Right on the wall, on a low long workbench covered with boards, on one side were hefted a hefty cast-iron vise, and on the other, there was what seemed to be a transmitter. Senchin leaned over the workbench, examining Misha's brainchild.

The open circuit was located behind the iron plate of the dashboard, and was a chaotic pile of wires and wire spools, all kinds of plates with tin cylinders and ridiculously sticking sewing needles, with wires screwed to them.

On all this, lay gray dust.

All this electrical confusion was blocked by a dashboard plate — a tin plate with a jammed upper right corner, and it was equipped with switches, a pair of small bulbs painted with blue and red paint, and two round metal handles with white cuts. Around the handles on the panel were Arabic numerals.

Abandoned — a short slate pencil and a small notebook in a greasy cardboard cover and black headphones, from which a black two-wire wire went into a bunch of wires — lay nearby.

Sergei looked at the wall, where a large map hung, lined with a pencil, broken into squares, with numbers.

  * Will this work?- Folk asked in disbelief, standing next to Sergey's.

He shrugged vaguely and sat down on the rickety stool, which stood right there, picked up a notebook and opened it.

The first pages were somehow covered with Misha's scribbles, then there were schemes incomprehensible to Sergey, some of which Gorin crossed out, writing something in the margins.

Finally, on one of the pages, Sergey saw the inscription "manual" printed in large block letters, where a column of words and numbers was below.

Folk was silent.The lighter began to strike, pulled a tobacco smoke, and Folk, pushing Sergei in the shoulder, handed him a lit cigarette.

  * What? Yeah...

  * I see that he is thoroughly settled here,- said Folk, thoughtfully waving his hand with a cigarette over the transmitter.- It looks like a landfill. Shit, I think. Junk.

Despondency sounded in his voice.

Sergey did not answer.

He flicked a switch in the upper left corner of the panel, and the green light, right then lit a cheerful, muddy light.

Folk grunted.

Sergey put on his headphones and heard the noise of radio interference, brought the ebonite microphone tube to his lips and slowly, twisting the tuning knob, he began to listen to the crackling and noise. He expected to hear the radio of the "Wanderer", but in the cacophony of sounds, his hearing did not pick up the long-awaited signal.

After some time, he heard a starship beacon breaking through extraneous noises.

  * There is!- He exclaimed loudly.

Sergey flicked a switch, and then a red light came on with the word "transmission" written under it, he spoke loudly, excitedly, in Russian:

  * I call the "Wanderer". I call the Wanderer. Answer me. Reception.

He switched the switch to "receive", waited.

And so the voice of the ship's computer, clearly and legibly, asked:

  * Provide your code.

He again switched the switch to "gear".

  * Says the pilot of the crew of the "Wanderer" Sergei Senchin. My access code is 7793159605...

******* *******

Chapter 8.

Smoke, thunder, fire.

They buried three bodies wrapped in sheets in a shallow grave; Talyu Zerh, a servant girl and an old watchman.

Quickly returning through the forest to Folk's car, they drove onto the road.

Misha was sitting in the back, Sergei in the passenger seat, next to Folk.

  * Misha,- Senchin called out.

Gorin was silent.It seemed to Sergey that where Gorin was sitting now, a thick, suffocating grief thickened like a jelly.

Headlights illuminated the road. The machine was buzzing tightly and tediously, climbing up.

At the turn, Senchin, looking back through the window, saw two pairs of trembling lights far below.

  * Folk!

  * I have seen. They are far from us,- Folk answered, looking at the road.- They are also going uphill. We have equal chances.

They passed the turn to the "Valley of Dreams" estate and soon the climb stopped. Folk accelerated, the car shook on bumps and pits. Sergei sometimes looked out the window, but the lights of his pursuers were not visible.

  * They are behind, sort of.

  * They're going to the estate,- Folk answered.- I think they will follow us soon. They could not help but notice the light of our car.

About an hour later, when the car, turning, circled the steep wall of the rock, far behind them, headlights flashed.

  * Now they will not leave us,- said Folk.

Dawn was approaching.

Soon the road, wagging the bends of the serpentine, reached a flat, rocky terrain, the climb turned into a smooth descent and the car briskly ran past the ghostly predawn landscape.

Sergey did not want to talk about anything; what happened in the Valley of Dreams instilled fear and disgust into him.

  * And he will certainly land where you agreed with him?- Senchin's Folk asked.

  * I gave Hans the coordinates; he won't miss.

The sky in the east quickly turned blue, white peaks sparkled on the tops of distant mountains, which had already been touched by the rays of the rising sun, still invisible.

Folk slowed down, brought the car to the rocky roadside, and they stopped.

  * We need to refuel,- he said, getting out of the car.

Sergey, after a pause, also got out of the car after him, took a deep breath in his full chest, the morning cold air, smelling of field grass.

Standing next to the car, Sergey peered into the gloomy road behind, listening to the sounds.

  * Can I help you?- He asked Folk's.

  * Not.

Taking out a heavy canister from the luggage compartment, Folk opened the neck of the gas tank, and began to carefully pour fuel into it. The air next to him was immediately filled with the smell of gasoline.

  * This is the last,- he said.

Senchin looked into the rear side window of the car and saw Misha sitting on the seat. Gorin leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes.

  * So you say; smoke, thunder and fire,- asked Folk.

  * Yes, we will not miss it. There will be a lot of noise.

He looked around and saw far on the bend of the road, car headlights that emerged from behind a distant hill, glistening with light.

  * They're coming,- he told Folk.- A few kilometers from us.

Folk threw back the empty canister, and she gasped loudly, rolled down a steep slope, down.

  * Go.

They got into the car.

Folk turned the silver knob under the steering column, quietly, quickly got out of the passenger compartment, opened the trunk, thundered with some glands and, bypassing the car, bent over the hood and began to sharply turn the starter.

A minute later he opened the hood and disappeared from sight.

Minutes passed.Sergey got out of the car and went up to him.

  * Folk, is this serious?

  * Leave me alone. We are going now.

Folk went up and opened the door behind which Gorin was sitting, and with the words "go out", unceremoniously pulled Misha out of the passenger compartment and put him in the front seat.

  * Come, I'll explain to you,- he told Senchin and took out a machine gun lying before Misha's feet.- I will not repeat, there is no time for this. Everything is simple...

And he, throwing away the oiled rag in which the machine gun was wrapped, began to quickly, briefly explain to Sergey how to charge and shoot. After that, inserting a square tin cartridge into the machine gun, he jerked the shutter, climbed into the back seat, and stuck the machine-gun in the broken window.

  * Sit down. Remember; he rises up, you shoot in short bursts. All we go.

Sergei distinctly heard the echo reflected from the cliff, the still, roaring automobile engine coming to them.

******* *******

  * Do not beat in long bursts, you fool!- Folk shouted to him.- Burn short!

Sergey's ears rang from deafening machine gun bursts, the salon was filled with poisonous gray smoke, he had a sore throat.

A dark green passenger car, jumped from side to side in a broken window, going up and down, flashed in a round scope like a mischievous little devil, sparkled with nickel headlights.

  * Drive smoother!- Cried Senchin.- I can't...

They rushed along the disgusting road, under the wheels there was a pounding and beating, the wind whistled, mingling with the roar of the engine.

The green car of the pursuers glittered in the sun with nickel-plated headlights and a flat windshield. From her right front window, a man leaned out on his chest, put out his hand with a pistol, from which gray haze flew out.

Something snapped next to Sergey.

Folk moved closer to the side of the road - the wheels were beaten on fine gravel. The car of the pursuers was thirty to forty meters behind. A clear blue sky floated, twitching.

Fear disappeared, giving way to excitement, reckless, reckless, and Sergei, aiming at the green car, smiled.

  * Now...

Something stung him in his left hand; it was almost painless, and he looked perplexed to where the pain came from. The sleeve of his jacket, just below the shoulder, protruded, there was a small ragged hole in it.

  * Why are you, your mother, staring?! - Folk shouted to him.- Shoot, don't wait.

Sergei took aim, holding a machine gun for two iron staples. The green car shot into the scope, and he pulled the trigger.

  * Bang, bang, bang, bang...

The machine gun frantically fought in his hands, lifting up his thick iron nose to the top, belching smoke, thunder and fire.

  * Bang, bang, bang...

The green car wagged sharply, ducked to the right into a ravine and, flying off the road, turning over and throwing stones and clods of earth, rolled down.

Far from them, two kilometers away, on the road, an army truck appeared due to a turn.

  * Yes, Folk, there is. I hit him!

  * You fiddled for a long time. We will be there soon.

  * There is still a truck dragging.

Sergey stuck his right hand in his bosom, felt for his hand; wet, sticky.

Taking out his hand, he looked at the blood on his fingers, wiped it on the seat.

  * They hit me.

  * Strong?

  * Nonsense.

  * Where is your flyer? It's about time.

Sergey, lowering a hot machine gun into the seat, turned to Folk, said:

  * He will definitely fly in.

The car rolled cheerfully along the road, under a slight slope, toward a shallow stream. The road, going around a stream, went to the left.

  * You yourself didn't confuse anything with the meeting place?- Folk turned his head slightly to Sergey, looked frowningly.- Maybe...

  * It can't.- Senchin frowned; arm pain intensified.- and Misha's. - Misha, how are you?

Misha silently looked out the window.

And here Senchin's hearing discerned, as yet obscure, extraneous sound. It was humming, like distant peals of thunder, it intensified and a minute later it became loud, blocking the noise of the motor.

  * It's him!

The car, without slowing down, fit into a left turn and rushed along the stream, past rare curved trees.

Behind the stream, as if scattered by a giant, lay large boulders - black, rooted in the ground.

Ahead, about two kilometers away, a high hill, spread across the valley, and the road, together with a stream, turned to the left, going around it.

The rising sun climbed to the zenith, flooded the world around with its bright light, from which the slopes of the hill cut out uneven stripes of shadow.

The ship was landing.

A low rumble and din a were already shaking the ground, passing through the wheels of the car.

Leaning forward, Sergey saw through the windshield, a giant torch of fire directed downward, descending from the sky, to the almost flat top of the hill, all in puffs of white raging smoke.

A sparkling sharp top of a shuttle peeked out of a fiery smoky vortex. The ship went down, setting apart the long columns of shock absorbers.

  * This ...- Folk hesitated, continued with admiration .- Unthinkable. I see him!

The ship, hovering for a second above the top of the hill, sat down. Verse crashing engines. The wind drove the smoke northward, clearing the space for sunlight.

  * Is that all?- Folk laughed happily, shook his head.- I saw it! I have seen!

Sergey said excitedly:

  * This what's?! Here is the "Wanderer"! You will still see a lot, Folk.

The car rolled off the road and, bouncing on bumps, crashed into the surface of a stream, buried its body in the water, lifting a waterfall ahead of it from sparkling jets and spray.

The motor has stalled.

The car stopped and everything became quiet.

  * Get out of the car!- Folk ordered.

Misha got out of the car, stood up, squinting from the sun, looked at the ship towering above the hill.

Water poured into the cabin - icy, clear.

Folk jumped to the door from which Sergey climbed out, shouted:

  * Machine gun!

Sergey gave it to him.

  * Come on ammo! Faster.

He got out of the car, wandered knee-deep in the water behind Folk and Gorin.

Leaving the stream first, Folk put a machine gun against the mossy side of a black boulder, waited for the aliens, looking to where the amplifying sound of an approaching car came from.

  * Well, well, let's say goodbye,- Folk said simply and smiled.

He had already lit a cigarette, was leaning on a boulder.

  * Do not even think about it. - Sergey grabbed him by the sleeve of a dirty jacket, pulled. - On the ship! Rather.

A humming, somewhere car, has not yet appeared.

Folk calmly pushed Senchin's hand, said:

  * Farewell. I can't fly with you, it will not change anything for me. I have to stay.

  * You understand that,- said Misha, looking into Folk's face.

  * I will remember you ... friends.

  * No, Folk, stop it. - Sergey did not leave...

******* *******

They ran up the slope, stumbling and falling.

Sergei looked back to the stream, to where the machine gun briefly rattled.

There were only two hundred meters to the ship when the Folk machine gun fell silent and, Sergey involuntarily looking around, stopped.

There, in a stream glistening in the sun, people in brown uniforms and black caps fled in the water, holding long rifles in their hands. A dark green army truck with a large square cab froze on the road.

And next to the boulder stood a lonely figure and, raising his hands to the sky, a man standing next to a machine gun lying on the stones shouted something into the bottomless blue, not paying attention to the approach of people with rifles.

Sergei saw how people in brown uniforms rushed to this figure, knocked him to the ground, and crushed him. They beat rifle butts, frantically, shouting something. Some of them, not stopping, continued their run to the hill, aiming with rifles, shrouding in gray smoke.

Senchin did not see corpses by the stream.

Bullets hit the ground very close to the fugitives.

  * Move! - Shouted Sergey.

Here he is; ship.

Like a pointed steel tower, the shuttle towered above the outside world, casting a long dense shadow on the charred slope, stood a majestic, sparkling.

A long white ladder has already touched the earth, shone with handrails.

Smoke rose from the ground.

It smelled of burning.

Before the ladder, Misha suddenly donkey, fell and groaned.

Sergey jerked, put him on his feet, pulled him upstairs to the ship.

  * We are already here!

They grabbed the hot handrails, they climbed the ladder to the closed entrance hatch looming on the polished side of the shuttle. Bullets poked at the metal of the gangway, whistling over their heads.

The smooth surface of the ship's casing at the end of the ramp parted, and, indicated by a black slit, the access hatch opened, stepping aside, and Sergey saw Hans Wulf.

He smiled.

His bearded face parded in a smile, the wind stirred his long, fair hair.

In the sunlight, his white jumpsuit shone like the robe of an angel.

Three more, four meters!

Hans Wolfe solemnly raised his right hand, waved to Senchin and Gorin.

  * I am here to ...- he began to speak, but Sergey already shouted to him, panting:

  * Go back, go away!

Wolfe's face, radiating the complacency of the abnormal, was darkened for a brief moment, and the next second the rifle bullet, hitting him in the chest, threw Hans away like a rag doll into the depth of the lock chamber.

Already bursting into the opening of the hatch, holding Gorin's arm, Sergey felt Misha jerk forward and, falling to his knees, twisted his face in pain.

Senchin grossly dragged Gorin into the airlock and, jumping to the hatch, hit hand on the green square key. With a soft buzz, the hatch smoothly fell into place, reliably separating the two worlds.

The stoppers clicked.

All.

Hans Wulf lay on his back, arms outstretched to the sides, and his dead blue eyes looked in surprise, somewhere past Sergei. Blood was already flowing under Hans on a corrugated metal floor, matte glistening in the light of the lighting panel under the ceiling.

Senchin crouched next to Gorin, tried to lift him.

  * Le,...leave it. - Misha coughed - painfully, with a groan, blood flowed in a thin stream from the corner of his mouth onto his chin covered with bristles. - That's it.

A bullet pierced Gorin right through, striking in the back, came out under his right breast, blood quickly wet his shirt, painted in red, flowed abundantly on his stomach.

Sergei squeezed his wound with his hand, clasped his shoulders with the other hand and froze, shocked, still not completely believing what had happened.

He was sitting next to Misha, in Misha's blood, and it seemed to him that something monstrous had come up and stood over them, so that he would never leave.

Misha coughed again.

  * Misha...

  * I wanted to ... so. I wanted to...

  * I will kill them all.

  * Fool. No need to do irreversible acts. You will not forgive ... yourself later .- Misha looked in front of him in the white plastic of the skin of the compartment.- You will be worse, you are alone. This is bad... With you too; all. Dead end. But you accept it. Maybe Vyazemsky was right ... Seek and hope. What else do you have left? And remember that...

And without finishing it, Misha calmed down, relaxed, his head fell on his bloody chest.

And Sergei, continuing to sit next to him and, filled with anger and despair, quietly repeated the same thing:

  * I will kill them all, everyone!

******* *******

Chapter 9.

The path in the abyss.

Sergey decided to bury the bodies of Misha and Hans away from the star, from the damned Strength.

He strode along the empty corridors of the "Wanderer", and his reflection in the glossy pearl walls - distorted, ghostly, walked nearby. He walked past the open compartment doors, and light panels greeted him with a dull glow. Everything was still here. But now he is alone.

Forever and ever.

Engineering compartment, Shturmanskaya, Svyaz ...

The walls of the corridor went farther to the elevator platform.

Sergei approached the convex armored door with the sign "Command compartment", and the door in front of him silently went into the wall, freeing the passage.

He found himself in a spacious command compartment, where a series of control panels lined up at the far wall. Once in the operator's chair, in the "combat systems" section, he ordered:

  * On-board computer. Prepare the ship for battle. Shock systems on alert number one. Identify goals. The nature of the goals; total.

On a large screen in front of him appeared broken into squares pictures of cities and factories. Some of them depicted ships sailing in the calm ocean. On several frames, images of trenches and rows of guns froze.

Sergey touched the fingers the right hand of each picture, and on them the words and numbers lighted up in red: "goal one", "goal two", ... "goal twenty seven" ...

The frames were changing.

  * The combat terminal, reports, - said the expressionless voice of the computer.- Nuclear-pumped satellite satellites launched at the launch pad. The rocket mines are open. Coordinates of goals are entered. Guidance satellites launched. Nature of the blows; total.

Hot anger, strangled Senchin's.

  * I will leave you a memory of us. About everyone. You die.

The starship, like a gigantic monster that suddenly remembered its power, prepared to carry death, made out its victims.

Those who survive in atomic fires will tell their descendants about this day. The memory of him will not be erased even after thousands of years.

The computer reported:

  * The battle systems are ready to strike, captain.

Sergey hesitated.

What will happen next?

Next there will be death. He knew that he had already perished. He knew that he had no chance and therefore, as a mortally wounded animal, he desperately wanted revenge, free from the rage and despair that tormented him.

In his soul, through anger and fear, images and words broke through that he could not forget. Must not forget.

Another feeling touched his consciousness - the images of the past, that which remains with him until the end. They did not die, did not go into oblivion, like a dream, each of them, dear and close to him, continued to live in his memory.

And in that clearing, sitting on a moss-covered log, Misha, looking into a glass filled with red wine, says thoughtfully and drunk:

  * Our path is in the abyss.

And here he is on the floor, sitting in his own blood, and coughing, trying to protect him from something:

  * No need to do irreversible acts, you will not forgive...

Lanina's voice from the darkness of his room pronounces clearly, carries bitterness and pain:

  * Burn their cities, their soldiers ... For my sake. - and adds. \- We will never, be the same. Never...

And the shadows of the branches swaying in the night, as if they were saying to him- "Be quiet, be quiet."

And Folk smiles sadly, leaning against a black boulder:

  * It will not change anything for me...

What was he shouting at the sky there's?

And Vyazemskaya looks at him over a white porcelain cup, affectionately, motherly, and Vasily Vyazemsky laughs, saying:

  * You still have your whole life ahead of you, see.

See.

When it was?

It was.

A long time ago.

In another life.

He stands with Tosia Vak at the window and she speaks of her precious, only thing that remains of her:

  * There is hope, understand, Seryozha?

The eyes of Evola Kyumo look straight, honestly:

  * After all, she believes me...

And Sklim Yark, laughing out loud and pouring wine over his trousers, says in disbelief:

  * And I, will I see it?

And he did not see anything Sergey promised to him, he died there, at the police station, in which he served for so many years.

His wife Galya Romanova, who died a year before landing on Strength, strokes his hand, says soothingly in the compartment night, when Sergey woke up from his own cry and, waking up, was still in his nightmare:

  * Everything will be fine, Serge ... This is a dream.

And Hans Wulf, a young boy, even before the start, laughs at Misha's joke:

  * You will see! - He says. - The Universe will accept us as its own. She cannot but accept us!

And all that his bright eyes saw was his death.

And Roberson walks past him in the corridor, and sings with a smile about the Mississippi; he was not yet on Ice, he had not yet aged prematurely, this good-natured and right crank.

The voice of the computer spoke, dispersing the words and images of the departed:

  * Waiting for a team.

Sergei sat motionless in an armchair, looking in front of him with a blind eyes.

  * Sorry, Sveta...

The "Wanderer" circled the Strength three times before Senchin broke off the starship's combat systems.

And after four days the ship sparkled with fire of the propulsion engines, and in an expanding, invisible spiral, left Strength, laying down on a new course that had not been completed.

******* *******

Epilogue.

Near the soldiers by the fire sat a tall, gray-haired old man, with a handsome face, in old dirty castoffs. Scooping hot millet porridge from a soldier's oval pot with an aluminum spoon, he cried and his senile tears rolled down his dirty, long-uncleaned cheeks.

It was a deep night. Two dozen soldiers gathered around the night fire, looked at the raging fire in it, blowing tiny bright sparks to distant stars.

  * Thank you, thank you, sons.- Said the old man, and several persons who looked sympathetically, turned in his direction.- I guys have suffered a lot from this officer bastard. Oh, a lot. Once I was at the rotten quarters, alone. My old woman died, we had no children. So I got into the habit of going to them, to the untouchables, either throwing some things to them, or bringing them some food. I certainly understand; they are the dirt of society, and you can reproach the old man for his weakness...

  * Enough, grandfather, foolishness to say something, - said a soldier of about forty-five years old, leanly and stooped, talking to him, lean and with black, short-cut hair.- The untouchables - they are the same people that are here ... Now life will go different - all are equal. No more untouchables and others. Everyone is equal.

  * I can't even believe it,- the old man sobbed, took a deep breath.- It's scary to remember how the officers with them... I remember; there was a daughter in a rotten quarter, among some sick parents, she was so mocking. She loved reading books. Yes ... I became very close friends with her parents, just like they were my relatives. And then it started, that scary one. They took them somewhere, my relatives.

At the last words, his face quivered and became miserable, his eyes filled with tears.

  * And then they beat me, oh, how they beat me!

  * This they could, very simply.

  * I ran from them, as if from fire, I was saved. No documents, no things!- Said the old man.

  * You, grandfather, did not harden with your heart. Immediately visible; man,- said the soldier with the stripes of the senior soldier, sitting on the right and holding in front of the fire, drying his raw footcloths.- Then in the morning the captain will come, and you will report to him as it should, tell him about your trouble, and he will attach you, will not let you die .. Believe me, the captain is with us, oh!- And the soldier shook his fist in the air.- Now many are embittered, there are few good people. And with whom to start a new life? That's it. So that you do not disappear, I'm telling you this for sure. Maybe they'll attach you to some position. It may be so. Honest and kind people now, we really need!

  * What about me? Nothing,- said the old man, calming down.- I'll wait. And life experience, I have a lot.

And the former General Jerzy Sum gave back to the soldier, his already empty aluminum pot, with a spoon ringing in it. He wrapped himself tightly in a woolen shawl, and glanced over the fire at the soldier.

Night over the Strength; a quiet, silent night, preparing for dawn.

******* *******

Less than a year has passed.

The guns were silent.

Tosia Vak returned to her room, and soon her son returned.

In it from the cheerful young man, there was nothing left. An adult, laconic man appeared before her. It was like another person, as if everything burned out in him that gave joy and former ease in communication.

Stooped and thin, with an incredulous look of cold eyes, he said "mother", and she hugged him, did not let go for a long time - without hysteria, without tears. The son began to live in his former room on the second floor, where Sergei lived a year ago, walked like a shadow; unsociable, silent. It was as if it burned him from the inside, an invisible pain to her, not allowing herself to be forgotten.

A lot of time passed, and then one day the son told his mother, suddenly, when they were sitting in her room, drinking tea. He told her about the trains.

He told how he built the railway with other prisoners, and this road led to the old abandoned coal mines.

Many prisoners died on these roads. They fell face down into the gravel and remained lying. And then, along the finished branch of the railroad track, freight trains with cattle cars began to pass, and he saw human faces peering through bars from narrow light windows and protruding waving arms.

Soon, these trains returned, went back to where they came from, but there were no more faces in the windows, but there was only a dead void.

He said so to her:

  * Dead void.

Then Tosia told her son about the aliens, about Seryozha, Mikhail and Svetlana.

She spoke quietly, and her face became sometimes thoughtful, sometimes dreamy.

She asked her son if he would be against the guests?

He was not opposed.

Evol Kyumo began to come with his wife, a thin little merry, with a prickly incredulous look. Her name was Goyala.

She knew about the aliens from her husband. And always, when the conversation began about them, she splashed with her thin hands and exclaimed:

  * Wow, someone would have thought that they are people too! They are probably good people, right, Evol?

And Goyala always defiantly, looked after her husband, asking something, like:

  * Do you still have a piece of cake, dear?

Or:

  * Maybe some more tea, dear?

A sly little light turned in her eyes, her expressionless eyes turned to Tosia.

At parties, they talked about everything.

About reduced salaries, rallies and the hospital in which Tosia and Evol worked together for many years. They said that products can now be bought only with grocery cards, and that everyone is tired of endless rallies.

And silently listening to the conversation, Evol suddenly spoke, without addressing anyone:

  * Peaceful shores ... Where are they?

******* *******

In the face of Sergey, behind the glass of the helmet of the spacesuit, a flat steel beam of the supporting truss slowly floated. Holding on to it, he pushed his body in a clumsy spacesuit further into the darkness of the opening, between residential complexes, increasing the distance to the entrance gateway.

To the right in the distance, on a flat landing platform for the "Tor", was a bright white lantern. Down below Sergei, about ten meters away, the silver wall of the second residential complex floated, with an oval porthole facing him, behind which in a dull dim light, there was a long table and white armchairs with high rounded backs.

A lantern illuminated everything around; the farm, the outer walls of both complexes and the white gloves of the spacesuit, which seemed to themselves emit light, reflecting the lanterns.

Behind Sergey a safety cable with a steel carbine stretched along a safety rod - a round and shiny pipe. Senchin moved slowly, the suit seemed to rest, resisted his movements.

"\- Today everything will work out," he thought. "Today is the Day of awakening."

He pulled the rope behind him, unfastened the carbine and, rearranging it to the next section of the safety rod, again hooked it. He tried not to look at the stars behind him.

Not now.

It is too early.

Awakening Day!

Today everything should work out.

He called so rare days, when he woke up in the morning and his thoughts were sharp and clear, and his feelings fit perfectly into reality.

All the rest of the time, merged for him in months and years, Sergei was "absent".

Lack of.

Wandering the corridors of The "Wanderer" senselessly, he looked into the empty rooms, expecting to see a ghost in them, a ghost, the same as himself.

Having lost track of time, Sergei could sit for hours somewhere in the compartment and pointlessly contemplate in front of him a nonexistent point in space. Pointless and feeling nothing, he seemed to be dying, going into the ghostly images of the past, listening to something elusive, looking for life there.

He liked to speak out loud to himself, listen to the sounds of his own voice and imagine that he was not alone. There were days when he was attacked by an unaccountable fear — insane, insane, and Senchin drove him into the depths of consciousness, with logical convictions, warning himself to himself about possible insanity.

Neither films, nor books, nothing could return his interest to him, all this lost all significance for him, became dead.

  * Awakening Day,- he said in a rumor.- Today everything will work out.

He reached the black shadow and the beam disappeared, merged with the blackness around.

Life is the fullness of feelings and consciousness, when everything that is called human life is possible, left him.

Once upon a time, there, in the Strength.

He thought so. And now, Sergey wanted to bring his life back, get it back, so ... To, what?

For life.

Sergey stopped moving forward on the farm and, looking into the blackness in front of him, froze.

They should see him.

Only this could help him end his loneliness, find next to that living that he once had in himself, to realize and find real communication — impossible, inexplicable, but so real.

Like when he first came out on the "Tor" and the abyss saw him.

Then he was not alone.

  * You can't rush,- he said, and the sound of his voice gave him great confidence.- Calm down. Today is Awakening Day. I will not return there, alone. Not. I won't go back there.

The green oxygen indicator showed the time allotted to him, the luminous numbers on the scoreboard near the chin cast pale glare on the face mask glass.

  * I will not return alone.

"\- Suddenly, nothing will work out?" - He thought with fear "- If they do not hear me? If the abyss doesn't answer me? "

And out loud:

  * Do not think about it. Today is Awakening Day. Today I will not be alone.

He held onto the barbell, his safety carabiner was swimming next to his shoulder. Sergei turned in the void with his whole body and closed his eyes.

  * Awakening Day. I will not be alone. I will not return there alone. Will not come back...

Sergey opened his eyes.

Distant stars looked at him with cold, insensitive lights.

His breathing quickened and Senchin, suddenly in a hoarse voice, said:

  * I'm here. I returned.

Nothing happened, all the same indifferent silence of the universe, as if he was no longer able to hear her voice, as once upon a time.

A long time ago.And then, Sergey cried out, stunning himself, with all his voice, desperately, with a flashed, sincere hope:

  * I returned! I returned! I'm here!

And the abyss came to life, responded to his call, suddenly moved out of infinity and he heard words:

  * Are you at home. We are waiting for you.

The abyss saw him, approached Sergey, with myriads of Peaceful Shores, shortening his path and became close. It seemed that if listen carefully, can hear life itself on these distant worlds.

They called him to themselves.

  * We are waiting for you.

He wanted to say so much! And he couldn't. His being was flooded with joy and the awareness that he was at home. Tears covered his eyes, and the stars swam with rainbow, bright circles.

He knew that he had returned home, that now he would not be alone.

Never.

And reaching out to these close Peaceful Shores, Sergey continued to repeat the same thing:

  * I returned. I returned. I'm here...

  * We you are waiting for .

The end.

Vyacheslav Bagrov.

