The Land Of Stories. A Grimm Warning
Copyright © 2014 by Chris Colfer
Jacket and interior copyright © 2014 by Brandon Dorman
Author photo: Brian Bowen Smith/Fox
© A. Shcherbakova, translation into Russian, 2017
© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017
“Do you have any enemies? Wonderful. This means that you once defended your position.”
Winston Churchill
Dedicated
JK Rowling, Clive Staples Lewis, Roald Dahl, Eve Ibbotson, Lyman Frank Baum, James Matthew Barrie, Lewis Carroll and other extraordinary writers who taught us to believe in magic. If you think about it like that, it’s not surprising that my grades were so-so, since I was constantly climbing through cabinets, looking for the second star on the right and waiting for a letter from Hogwarts.
Also to all the teachers and librarians who supported me by introducing these books to children in schools and reading rooms.
I am so grateful to you that words cannot describe.
Prologue
Guests of the Great Army
1811, Black Forest, Confederation of the Rhine
It’s not for nothing that these places are called the Black Forest. The trees were barely visible in the darkness of the night: their trunks and foliage were so dark. And although the moon, peeking out from behind the clouds like a timid child, illuminated the forest, in the impenetrable thicket one could stumble upon anything.
A cool breeze hung in the air, hanging between the trees like a veil. This forest has grown here from time immemorial. The trees were ancient and their roots went deep into the earth, and their branches stretched upward to the sky. And if it weren’t for the narrow road winding between the trunks, one would think that no person had ever set foot here.
Suddenly, a dark carriage drawn by four strong horses rushed through the forest, like a stone fired from a sling. Her path was illuminated by two swaying lanterns, which made her look like a huge monster with glowing eyes. Two soldiers from the Grand Army of Napoleon Bonaparte rode next to the crew. They traveled secretly: their multi-colored uniforms were hidden by black cloaks so that no one would guess their intentions.
Soon the carriage stopped near the Rhine River. Very close by lay the border of the French Empire, which was expanding by leaps and bounds, around which the camp was located: hundreds of French soldiers pitched rows of pointed beige tents here.
Two soldiers accompanying the carriage dismounted and, opening the carriage doors, dragged out two men with their hands tied behind their backs and with black bags on their heads. The prisoners puffed and muttered something inaudibly - their mouths were gagged.
The soldiers kicked the men to the largest tent in the center of the camp. Even through the thick fabric of the bags, a bright light broke through, flooding the tent, and the prisoners’ feet walked on the soft carpet. The guards forced the men to sit on wooden chairs in the back of the tent.
The bags were removed from the captives and the gags were removed. When their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw a tall, strong man standing behind a large wooden table. He looked imperious and frowned unfriendly.
“Hello, Brothers Grimm,” he said with a thick accent. – I am Colonel Philippe Baton. Thank you for visiting us.
Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm stared at the colonel in bewilderment. Wounded, bruised and torn clothes, they clearly did not come here of their own free will and desperately resisted.
– Did we have a choice? – Jacob asked, spitting the blood that had accumulated in his mouth onto the carpet.
“I believe you have already met Captain de Lange and Lieutenant Rambert,” said Colonel Baton, pointing to the two soldiers who had brought the brothers here.
“Acquaintance is not the right word,” Wilhelm grumbled.
“We tried to be polite, Colonel, but these two did not want to come with us voluntarily,” reported Captain de Lange.
The brothers looked around: although the tent had been pitched only recently, it was furnished with taste. In the far corner, a tall grandfather clock was counting down the minutes, two large candelabra, polished to a shine, were burning on either side of the entrance, and on the table lay a huge map of Europe with small French flags stuck into the conquered territories.
- What you need? – Jacob demanded, trying to free his hands from the bonds.
“If you wanted to kill us, we would already be dead,” said Wilhelm, also squirming in the ropes.
Hearing their rude tone, the colonel sternly knitted his eyebrows.
“General du Marchi requested your presence not to harm you, but to ask for your help,” said Colonel Baton. “But if I were you, I would speak more politely, otherwise he might change his mind.”
The Brothers Grimm looked at each other in alarm. Jacques du Marchi gained the reputation of the most formidable general in the entire Grand Army of the French Empire. Just hearing his name, they became cold with fear. What does he need from them?
The tent suddenly smelled of musk. The Brothers Grimm noticed that the soldiers smelled this aroma and became wary, but did not utter a word.
“Ay-ay-ay, Colonel,” someone’s thin voice was heard from outside. – Is it possible to treat guests like this? “Whoever it was obviously heard the entire conversation from beginning to end.”
General du Marchi entered the tent through the passage between two candelabra, and the flames of the candles fluttered as a gust of wind flew in. The tent immediately smelled sharply of musky cologne.
- General Jacques du Marchi? – Jacob asked.
The appearance of the general did not at all correspond to his fame as a terrible tyrant. Small in stature, with large gray eyes and large hands, he wore a huge round hat, the brim of which was wider than his shoulders, and several medals pinned to his uniform, as if sewn for a child. When he took off his hat and put it on the table, the brothers saw that he was completely bald. Then the general sat down at the table on a chair with a soft seat and carefully folded his hands on his stomach.
“Captain de Lange, Lieutenant Rambert, please untie our guests,” the general ordered. – Even though we are at enmity, this does not mean that we need to behave like a barbarian.
The soldiers carried out the order. The general smiled contentedly, but the brothers Grimm did not believe it - they did not see sympathy in his eyes.
-Why did you make us come here? – asked Wilhelm. “We pose no threat either to you or to the French Empire.”
– We are scientists and writers! There’s nothing to take from us,” Jacob added.
The general chuckled briefly and immediately covered his mouth with his hand.
“It’s a good story, but I know better,” he said. “You see, I have been watching you, Brothers Grimm, and I know for certain that you, like your fairy tales, are hiding something. Donnez-moi le livre!
The general snapped his fingers, and Colonel Baton took a heavy book from his desk drawer and plopped it down in front of the general. He began flipping through the pages.
The Brothers Grimm immediately recognized the tome - it was a collection of their fairy tales.
- Do you recognize it? - inquired General du Marchi.
“This is a copy of our collection of children’s fairy tales,” said Wilhelm.
Colonel Baton left the tent and returned a minute later, dragging behind him a cart with a huge cage covered with a large piece of fabric. He pulled back the canvas and the Brothers Grimm gasped. In the cage lay the lifeless body of Mother Goose.
-What did you do with her? - Wilhelm cried, trying to get up from his chair, but he was not allowed.
“I’m afraid she was poisoned in a local tavern,” General du Marchi answered without regret. “What a pity that such a nice woman left us, but nothing can be done.” We found this egg on her. That's why I think: if this old drunk can move between worlds, then you can too.
The brothers turned purple with anger.
– And what will you do when you get there? Proclaim the fairy-tale world part of the French Empire? – asked Wilhelm.
“Perhaps, yes,” the general nodded, as if it was a settled matter.
- Nothing will work out for you! – Jacob said. “You can’t even imagine what creatures live there!” You will never become as powerful as them! There will be no wet spot left from your army as soon as you get there.
General du Marchi chuckled again.
- That's unlikely, Brothers Grimm. You see, the Grand Army intends to accomplish something monumental: conquer even more lands before the end of next year. The fairy-tale world is just a crumb of the pie that we want to get our hands on. Right now, thousands of thousands of French soldiers are preparing to join an army stronger than the world has ever seen. And I very much doubt that anyone or anything will stop us: neither the Egyptians, nor the Russians, nor the Austrians, and certainly not a handful of fairies and goblins.
– What do you need from us? – asked Wilhelm. – What if we fail to open a portal to another world for you?
The general smiled, but this time his smile was sincere. When he finally revealed his plans, his eyes lit up with a greedy fire.
“I give you two months to find a loophole into this fairy-tale world, Brothers Grimm,” said General du Marchi.
– But what if we don’t succeed? – Jacob inquired. “Like I said, Fairy Godmother is unpredictable.” It may happen that we will not see her again.
The general became stern and stared at the brothers with an angry look.
“Ay-ay-ay, brothers Grimm,” he said. – Everything will work out for you, otherwise your friends and families will not be happy. So don't let them down.
The tense silence was suddenly broken by someone's quiet snoring. Jacob looked at the cage and saw Mother Goose smacking her lips. And then, to the surprise of everyone present, the woman woke up - as if after a very long sleep.
“Where am I?...” muttered Mother Goose. She sat up and rubbed her forehead, then stretched her neck and yawned.
– Oh no, is it really the Inquisition in Spain again? How long was I out?
The general slowly rose to his feet, his eyes widening in surprise.
- Is it possible? She was poisoned! – he muttered under his breath.
- Well, I wouldn’t say they poisoned me... More like they gave me something to drink. – Mother Goose looked around the tent with interest. - Well, let's see. The last thing I remember was sitting in my favorite tavern in Bavaria. And the innkeeper poured it painfully generously... They call him Lester, a nice fellow, my old friend. If I have children, I will certainly name my firstborn after him... Wait a minute! Jacob? Willie? In the name of Fairy Godmother, what are you doing here?!
- We were kidnapped! – Jacob shouted. – These people are going to invade the fairy-tale world in two months! If we don't open the portal, they will kill our loved ones!
Mother Goose's jaw dropped; she looked dumbfounded from the Brothers Grimm to the soldiers. She was already having a hard time staying conscious, and this news made her head spin.
– But... but... how do they know?!
“They were watching us,” Jacob explained. - Everyone was followed, and they have your golden egg! They have an army of thousands, and they want to proclaim the fairy-tale world of the French...
- BE SILENT! - Colonel Baton ordered.
General du Marchi waved his hand and ordered the colonel not to interfere.
- No, Colonel, everything is fine. This woman will help our friends fulfill my request. She doesn’t want anything to happen to the brothers Grimm’s loved ones.
The general looked at the captive through the bars, like a wild animal. It was not the first time for Mother Goose to wake up in the most unexpected places and get into the most unusual troubles, but this had never happened to her. She was always afraid that the secret of the existence of her world would be revealed, but she had no idea that this would happen under such delicate circumstances. Her cheeks turned red, and she was seriously scared.
- I have to go! “The goose stretched out her hand, and the golden egg, flying out of the chest, moved into her cage. There was a bright flash - and Mother Goose disappeared into the air along with the egg.
The soldiers screamed, but the general was unperturbed. Only his gaze became even more greedy: he had never seen such miracles, and the disappearance of Mother Goose right from the cage proved that his guesses were correct and the fairy-tale world really exists.
The general looked at the floor and thought.
- Take me away! – he gave the order, nodding at the Brothers Grimm. In a matter of minutes, the brothers were again gagged, their hands were tied, and black bags were placed over their heads.
“Two months, Brothers Grimm,” said the general, without taking his eyes off the cage. – Find the portal in two months, or I will personally kill your loved ones before your eyes!
The Brothers Grimm groaned sadly. Captain de Lange and Lieutenant Rambert forcibly lifted them to their feet and escorted them out of the tent. Then they were pushed into a carriage and taken into a dark forest.
General du Marchi sat down on a chair and exhaled with relief. His heart was beating abruptly, thoughts were racing in his head. His gaze fell on the book of fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm, and he chuckled quietly. For the first time, the desire to take over the fairy-tale world did not resemble King Arthur's desire to get the Holy Grail - victory was just a stone's throw away.
The general took a small French flag from a map of Europe and stuck it in the book binding. Perhaps the Brothers Grimm were right: perhaps the fairy-tale world was fraught with wonders that he had no idea about, but now he could imagine them...
Chris Colfer
Land of fairy tales. Warning from the Brothers Grimm
The Land Of Stories. A Grimm Warning
Copyright © 2014 by Chris Colfer
Jacket and interior copyright © 2014 by Brandon Dorman
Author photo: Brian Bowen Smith/Fox
© A. Shcherbakova, translation into Russian, 2017
© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017
“Do you have any enemies? Wonderful. This means that you once defended your position.”
Winston Churchill
Dedicated
JK Rowling, Clive Staples Lewis, Roald Dahl, Eve Ibbotson, Lyman Frank Baum, James Matthew Barrie, Lewis Carroll and other extraordinary writers who taught us to believe in magic. If you think about it like that, it’s not surprising that my grades were so-so, since I was constantly climbing through cabinets, looking for the second star on the right and waiting for a letter from Hogwarts.
Also to all the teachers and librarians who supported me by introducing these books to children in schools and reading rooms.
I am so grateful to you that words cannot describe.
Guests of the Great Army
1811, Black Forest, Confederation of the RhineIt’s not for nothing that these places are called the Black Forest. The trees were barely visible in the darkness of the night: their trunks and foliage were so dark. And although the moon, peeking out from behind the clouds like a timid child, illuminated the forest, in the impenetrable thicket one could stumble upon anything.
A cool breeze hung in the air, hanging between the trees like a veil. This forest has grown here from time immemorial. The trees were ancient and their roots went deep into the earth, and their branches stretched upward to the sky. And if it weren’t for the narrow road winding between the trunks, one would think that no person had ever set foot here.
Suddenly, a dark carriage drawn by four strong horses rushed through the forest, like a stone fired from a sling. Her path was illuminated by two swaying lanterns, which made her look like a huge monster with glowing eyes. Two soldiers from the Grand Army of Napoleon Bonaparte rode next to the crew. They traveled secretly: their multi-colored uniforms were hidden by black cloaks so that no one would guess their intentions.
Soon the carriage stopped near the Rhine River. Very close by lay the border of the French Empire, which was expanding by leaps and bounds, around which the camp was located: hundreds of French soldiers pitched rows of pointed beige tents here.
Two soldiers accompanying the carriage dismounted and, opening the carriage doors, dragged out two men with their hands tied behind their backs and with black bags on their heads. The prisoners puffed and muttered something inaudibly - their mouths were gagged.
The soldiers kicked the men to the largest tent in the center of the camp. Even through the thick fabric of the bags, a bright light broke through, flooding the tent, and the prisoners’ feet walked on the soft carpet. The guards forced the men to sit on wooden chairs in the back of the tent.
– J'ai amené les frères,” they heard the voice of one of the soldiers.
– Merci, Capitaine, someone else answered. – Le general sera bientôt lá.
The bags were removed from the captives and the gags were removed. When their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw a tall, strong man standing behind a large wooden table. He looked imperious and frowned unfriendly.
“Hello, Brothers Grimm,” he said with a thick accent. – I am Colonel Philippe Baton. Thank you for visiting us.
Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm stared at the colonel in bewilderment. Wounded, bruised and torn clothes, they clearly did not come here of their own free will and desperately resisted.
– Did we have a choice? – Jacob asked, spitting the blood that had accumulated in his mouth onto the carpet.
“I believe you have already met Captain de Lange and Lieutenant Rambert,” said Colonel Baton, pointing to the two soldiers who had brought the brothers here.
“Acquaintance is not the right word,” Wilhelm grumbled.
“We tried to be polite, Colonel, but these two did not want to come with us voluntarily,” reported Captain de Lange.
The brothers looked around: although the tent had been pitched only recently, it was furnished with taste. In the far corner, a tall grandfather clock was counting down the minutes, two large candelabra, polished to a shine, were burning on either side of the entrance, and on the table lay a huge map of Europe with small French flags stuck into the conquered territories.
- What you need? – Jacob demanded, trying to free his hands from the bonds.
“If you wanted to kill us, we would already be dead,” said Wilhelm, also squirming in the ropes.
Hearing their rude tone, the colonel sternly knitted his eyebrows.
“General du Marchi requested your presence not to harm you, but to ask for your help,” said Colonel Baton. “But if I were you, I would speak more politely, otherwise he might change his mind.”
The Brothers Grimm looked at each other in alarm. Jacques du Marchi gained the reputation of the most formidable general in the entire Grand Army of the French Empire. Just hearing his name, they became cold with fear. What does he need from them?
The tent suddenly smelled of musk. The Brothers Grimm noticed that the soldiers smelled this aroma and became wary, but did not utter a word.
“Ay-ay-ay, Colonel,” someone’s thin voice was heard from outside. – Is it possible to treat guests like this? “Whoever it was obviously heard the entire conversation from beginning to end.”
General du Marchi entered the tent through the passage between two candelabra, and the flames of the candles fluttered as a gust of wind flew in. The tent immediately smelled sharply of musky cologne.
- General Jacques du Marchi? – Jacob asked.
The appearance of the general did not at all correspond to his fame as a terrible tyrant. Small in stature, with large gray eyes and large hands, he wore a huge round hat, the brim of which was wider than his shoulders, and several medals pinned to his uniform, as if sewn for a child. When he took off his hat and put it on the table, the brothers saw that he was completely bald. Then the general sat down at the table on a chair with a soft seat and carefully folded his hands on his stomach.
“Captain de Lange, Lieutenant Rambert, please untie our guests,” the general ordered. – Even though we are at enmity, this does not mean that we need to behave like a barbarian.
The soldiers carried out the order. The general smiled contentedly, but the brothers Grimm did not believe it - they did not see sympathy in his eyes.
-Why did you make us come here? – asked Wilhelm. “We pose no threat either to you or to the French Empire.”
– We are scientists and writers! There’s nothing to take from us,” Jacob added.
The general chuckled briefly and immediately covered his mouth with his hand.
“It’s a good story, but I know better,” he said. “You see, I have been watching you, Brothers Grimm, and I know for certain that you, like your fairy tales, are hiding something. Donnez-moi le livre!
The general snapped his fingers, and Colonel Baton took a heavy book from his desk drawer and plopped it down in front of the general. He began flipping through the pages.
The Brothers Grimm immediately recognized the tome - it was a collection of their fairy tales.
- Do you recognize it? - inquired General du Marchi.
“This is a copy of our collection of children’s fairy tales,” said Wilhelm.
– Oui. – The general did not take his eyes off the pages. “I’m a big fan of yours, Brothers Grimm.” Your stories are so amazing, so wonderful... How did you come up with them?
The brothers looked at each other warily, not understanding what the general was driving at.
“These are just fairy tales,” said Jacob. “We composed some ourselves, but most are based on folk tales that are passed down from generation to generation.
General du Marchi slowly shook his head as he listened to the brothers' explanations.
– But who hands them over? – he asked, abruptly slamming the book shut. The polite smile disappeared from his face, and his gray eyes darted between the brothers.
Neither Wilhelm nor Jacob understood what answer the general expected to hear.
– Parents tell fairy tales to their children, fairy tales are immortalized in literature...
- And the fairies? – the general inquired with the most serious look. Not a muscle moved on his face.
Deathly silence reigned in the tent. When the silence dragged on, Wilhelm looked at Jacob, and the brothers laughed forcefully.
- Fairies? – asked Wilhelm. – Do you think our fairy tales were whispered to us by fairies?
“Fairies don’t exist, General,” Jacob snorted.
Here the brothers were surprised to notice that General du Marchi’s left eye was quickly twitching. He closed his eyes and began to slowly rub his face until the spasm stopped.
“I beg your pardon,” the general apologized with a tense smile. – The eye starts to twitch when they lie to me.
“We’re not lying to you, General,” Jacob objected. - But if you, after reading our fairy tales, believed that everything there was for real, then we have received the highest praise for our...
- BE SILENT! - General du Marchi barked, and his eye began to twitch again. – You insult my intelligence, Brothers Grimm! We've been keeping a close eye on you for some time. We know about a woman in a shiny robe who tells you the plots of these fairy tales of yours!
Lost in deep space, the super-class castle liner "Volga" is drifting among the alien stars of the Dark Zone of the Milky Way, and events on board are gaining momentum. The young Prince-Defender Maxim Alexandrov and the Tsarevna of the Russian Star Empire Ksenia Zimneva continue to be forced to be in the virtuality of the game “Liberation of Terra,” while in reality their allies and opponents are making more and more new plans and trying to reshape the world to their taste.
And in the Orion Sleeve, in the territory of Human Space, serious passions are boiling. The American Sector is burning in the abyss of civil war, the Russian Empire is shaking, engulfed in intrigue, and the Brazilian Crown is slowly raising its head, looking with interest at its troubled neighbors. Many troubles have befallen people in these years, and a terrible threat, capable of destroying Earthly Civilization once and for all, is slowly but surely emerging in the very heart of the capital planet of Russia - Ekaterina.
The work was published in 2016 by Eksmo Publishing House. The book is part of the "First Commandment of the Empire" series. On our website you can download the book "The First Commandment of the Empire. The Dark Zone" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The book's rating is 2.67 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also turn to reviews from readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In our partner's online store you can buy and read the book in paper version.
© Shapochkin A., 2016
© Design. LLC Publishing House E, 2016
Chapter 1
Virtual reality of the game “Liberation of Terra”
There was an explosion on the floor below. Behind him is another one - a little closer and much stronger. The floor beneath me shook violently. And so the sagging ceiling slab crunched dangerously, threatening to collapse right on your head. Fine concrete crumbles mixed with plaster and flakes of dried paint fell onto the helmet and shoulders.
“Double murder. 1558 experience points received."
A bunch of “smart” mines I had laid went off. The flash-noise “scarecrow” reacted to the appearance of a group of attack aircraft in the control zone, and his brother, a fat man carrying a combat charge in his abdomen, amusingly moving his spider-like legs, rushed from his hiding place at the feet of stunned people.
However, at this point the show ended for me. The fly droid, which had been watching the Americans since the moment they entered the ruins I had chosen, also came under attack. The broadcast was cut off, and now a white rectangle was displayed on the visor of the pressure helmet. Switching to the armor channel, with two fingers I pulled out from under the shoulder plate the flexible telescopic antenna of the optical tube of the endoscope with a black drop of fasteners at the end and stuck it into a wide crack on the wall. Carefully moving the control stick of the device, he examined the roofs of neighboring houses and the adjacent intersection.
The levitating armored car in which the guests arrived swayed gently, driving through the rear hatch directly into a broken display case. The railgun turret mounted on his high hump seemed to be asleep, its firing rails slightly lowered towards the ground. However, this impression was deceptive. The moving ball of the locator, hidden under a transparent armor-piercing cap, spun convulsively, continuously scanning the surrounding space. As soon as an active target appears in the affected area, the vehicle will come to life. The automation, controlled by an artificial intelligence simulator, will itself aim the trunk rails at the victim, and the driver, bored in the cockpit, will only have to press the trigger.
So the escape route on this side of the building is closed to me. Pressing the stick in like a button, I rolled up the endoscope and, bending down, trying not to make sudden movements, left this bedroom that had not seen any residents for a long time. The camouflage of the Jaeger armor allowed me to remain invisible to the thermal imagers and mass sensors installed on the locator of the American armored car. However, the motion scanner, which ignored the antenna of the optical tube, could well have responded to the rapid movement of a large object, catching it through cracks in the wall. And here neither concrete nor my armor can protect me from perforation by blanks fired from a large-caliber railgun.
The surviving stormtroopers should have already approached the stairs to the second floor, so I had practically no time left to make decisions. Throwing off a handful of gray “tablets” as I walked, a cheap and effective remedy for unexpected encounters, I ran along the corridor and fell to my knee near the window of a wide and spacious room that had once served as a living room.
“Your trap (Phobos-S5 m) has been destroyed.”
All clear.
Taught by the death of two players, the Americans decided to act carefully. They searched for and destroyed “smart” mines, luring fat arachnids out of their hiding places with false signals. The group’s movement slowed down significantly, but the attack aircraft seemed to know that the Russian sniper, holed up in the destroyed house, simply had nowhere to run. The armored car held the only safe street. On the opposite side there was a dry bed of an ancient canal, and the facade on which the window was located was shot through by our real, common enemy, the true owners of this city - the aliens “Reptiligus”, or scientifically “Reptilicus insectilidus”, similar to anthropomorphic cockroach lizards from far, far away space.
But I'm not a ground-bound sniper. In this combat virtual multi-mass multiplayer online role-playing game called "Liberation of Terra" I am a huntsman! In the military classification of the American Commonwealth of Democratic Planets - “Power sydrakan”, or, as civilian players sometimes abbreviate this specialty; "Spider." A mobile, non-combatant unit that specializes in free movement in three-dimensional space. Although how would my democratic friends know about this?
A patrol armored car of the rangers, clearing the streets of this sector of the city from aggressive forms of repticides, spotted me absolutely by accident. They intercepted the zipper beam, which I, on the orders of the raid leader, used to illuminate one of the xenos buildings for our artillery, which was emitting a degradation field into this area, a field that inhibited the thought processes of artificial intelligences. And then a black streak of troubles drove me from the neighboring roof to one of the upper floors of this house. I found myself sandwiched between enemies and sworn “partners”.
In general, we, the Russian-imperial gaming alliance “Tsar’s Men,” despite our second, unofficial name replacing the word “Tsar’s” with “And us...”, rarely fight with the Americans. These skirmishes are extremely costly for both sides. On earth, in orbit and in space, we have military parity with all major alliances and other powerful player groups. So when the next event starts - a game event, usually associated with the liberation of a city from alien invaders, in-game diplomacy is turned on. Everyone tries to come to an agreement with everyone, thus reducing possible losses to an acceptable minimum.
But this time it didn’t work out. This is because one alliance from the American Commonwealth of Democratic Planets called “Trinity Magistrate” a week before successfully defeated its compatriots from “Dark Coffer” and now, having greater resources, decided to go into conflict and expand its zone of influence into Eastern Europe and Near East.
Istanbul... We could not give up this city. After all, if it falls into the wrong hands, a foreign body will appear right next to the soft underbelly of our territories. A bridgehead from which foreign players will certainly eventually attack Sofia, Bucharest, Chisinau or Sevastopol. The cities of the small Black Sea patrimony of the “Tsar’s Army”, which we cherished and cherished for the future liberation march to Kyiv, Minsk and, finally, Moscow.
This metropolis once belonged to an earthly state called Turkey, whose people now rule the distant Ottoman Empire. It was unrealistic to meet the Ottoman in “Terra”, because, as you know, in their state there is a religious ban on virtuality. And so it happened that it was in this place that the interests of sworn friends from the ADSP and the Russian Star Empire collided.
Today, on the day when, after completing a long series of multi-level tasks, the protective barrier around the lair of the repticides from the Yama-An-ta clan, who established their hive here, fell, the ground troops of “Rati” and “Magistrate” entered the city from both sides.
Pulling out the endoscope again, I pulled the tube to the broken frame and within a second, zooming in, I was looking at the skinny figure of an alien with a sniper shoulder carbine and several xenos combat species acting as escort cover, armed with devices that I would call rapid-fire beam guns.
Having secured the camera tube, he pulled the rifle from his shoulder - the Vardrajahma-78 plasma carbine - produced by the Indian concern Abura Industries, and, switching the combat mode to multi-shot, squeezed the trigger. The rifle vibrated slightly and floated in his hands, pumping additional charges into the pre-muzzle accumulator. At that time I myself was observing repticides. But not in a real broadcast from an endoscope, but with my own eyes - right through the wall.
My AI named Nina, although it degraded next to the installation almost to the level of an imitator, nevertheless automatically intercepted control of the helmet’s additional reality system and displayed contour images of silhouettes of alien warriors on my visor. So I simply turned off the live camera feed and focused entirely on the upcoming shot.
I walked away a couple of steps - the maximum that the length of the optical tube allowed me to do. He raised the rifle, which had already calmed down and was now spinning a swirling whirlpool of plasma in the barrel - between the compensator guides. He took aim straight at the wall, aiming for the head of the silhouetted xenos shooter.
Down the corridor, crushed pills made a loud clap under a heavy, leaf-peeled boot. No matter how careful American players are, they are most likely just civilians. Farmers, mechanics, fishermen, or some office plankton who came to Liberation of Terra in search of thrills. Focusing on searching for high-level mines, the guests forgot that the enemy could use a whole range of protective equipment, including those available at the very start of the game.
Swearing was heard, which was immediately drowned out by very professional short commands. I chuckled internally. And yet, the Americans were commanded by a career military man, like me, who combined work with this fascinating virtual hobby. He was not taken aback when one of his charges revealed the location of the stormtroopers, and now he was distributing the fighters along the corridors, since the layout on all floors, except the first, was the same.
The serviceman quite logically believed that he had pinned me in a corner, and now he was of little concern about possible losses among his charges. After all, death in the game is reversible, but a sniper holed up in a building on their side of the city, and especially with a zipper for aiming artillery, could do a lot of things. And he wasn’t so much interested in me or the trophies that could be removed from my body as he was in the light gun. Or rather, the fire adjustment code that it carried within itself. That’s why they simply didn’t use something very, very heavy to clean the house. Solving all the problems at once...
- Speed! – I gave the command in a barely audible voice.
“Speed,” the AI mechanically and completely without emotion agreed with me, and I felt something like a slight prick in the area of my heart.
- Lead twenty-four zero one. “Volga says,” I chattered into the microphone, smoothly moving to the left, finally aligning the crosshairs with the head of the xenos, automatically adjusting downwards, “the held position is lost.” I call fire on myself!
He held his breath and immediately released the trigger. I didn’t even bother to watch as bright green, unbearably hot threads reached out to the alien. Due to the weak recoil at such a distance, the ballistic bending of the plasma is practically absent. Six out of ten charges will fly into the small head of the repticide. Two will hit the sternum and neck, and two more will go into the “milk”. The cockroach has had enough of it through the roof!
"Headshot. The target is dead. 1243 experience points received."
But I was no longer interested in the system messages that the game delighted me with. Feeling a slight push on my shoulder from the stopper of the wound endoscope, I rushed headlong through the room.
- Accepted, Volga! – answered the cold voice of the artificial intelligence in the headset, which belonged to the command capsule of the landing boat that landed me, and therefore to Ivan, our raid leader.
Unlike my Nina, who greatly suffered under the influence of the aliens’ installations, this AI was protected by the shielding field of the Vityaz, a Russian military transporter. He did not degrade, maintaining sharp thinking, personal logic, multitasking and coherent speech.
At the window overlooking the canal, I found myself in a split second at a speed far exceeding human capabilities. A combat stimulant injected into the blood worked, and the armor itself was equipped with small servomotors.
Behind him, honey-yellow rays of alien energy weapons flashed through gaps in the wall and window openings, and in some places, burning through concrete. As they cut through the air, they made a strange, drawn-out sound, somewhat reminiscent of striking a gong, and hissed terribly when they came into contact with matter.
A fraction of a moment before I flew headfirst out of the window, the clatter of many feet and the whirring of hand railgun shots were heard at the entrance to the room. I saw the tracers from the swirls of hot air with my own eyes, but, thank God, the fire was not aimed.
Turning on my rocket pack mid-flight, I spun in the air and, waving my hand, sent one of my two gravity cats towards the nearest skyscraper, watching as a barely noticeable bundle of energy uncoiled in a spiral. Almost immediately after this, its pair flew away to another high-rise building, its microturbines roaring, and I, having lost contact with the planet’s gravity, began to fall onto the neighboring building.
The peculiarity of the three-dimensional movement of the huntsman, which made him really resemble a spider, was the design of his combat armor, equipped with an installation capable of changing the carrier’s gravity vector depending on the location of the grip. I could freely switch between the right and left cats or, ignoring them, run on the ground like a normal person.
Now the “bottom” for me was the rapidly approaching striped surface of the high-rise façade. Slightly lopsided, in potholes from heavy shells, with a completely demolished roof.
I was rushing towards her at great speed and, if I had not changed the direction of gravity, I would certainly have crashed against her wall. Feeling a push from the grappling cat returning to its place, I turned around. Watching with satisfaction how, five hundred meters away from me, over-the-horizon artillery with antimatter charges leveled the house that had recently served as my shelter. Through the black and purple flashes, I even managed to notice an American armored car starting at full speed along the alley before it was covered by another salvo, and the car and its passengers disappeared from this world in the roar of annihilating matter.
“The destruction of 8 players and a unit of armored vehicles has been confirmed. Received 4690 experience points (20% of earned)."
At that moment I felt both triumph and regret. It's always nice to win. All players love to win, and I am no exception. But an empty “victory” over someone in such games is nothing if it only brings moral satisfaction. The property of just destroyed enemies is real money, which is so necessary in that other - real life. Everything that the defeated opponents had with them is now officially mine. But fire from heavy weapons, and even more so from charges with antimatter, is guaranteed to destroy all the property of the victims. Things, weapons, consumables...
And most importantly, bank cards are unique keys necessary for the hacking procedure and the legal appropriation of other people's funds. So just now, quite possibly, I saw my financial well-being, earned by the hands of foreign taxpayers, perish in the hell of raging antimatter. They are probably also offended now - after all, they got caught so stupidly, and they lost the money they paid for armor and weapons, but... still much less than me.
“Task: “Capture and Hold” – marked as completed. You have received 41,000 experience points."
“You have been assigned a combat mission: “Capture and Hold 2.” For every 5 minutes spent in the specified position, you will be awarded 500 units of additional experience.”
Sighing heavily, I corrected my fall and started up the backpack again. He landed softly and smoothly next to the grappling cat, which had dug into the rusted metal and thick facing glass. He heard the click of the grips located on the sole and sat down on one knee.
From a certain point in VrMMMORPG there comes a time when experience is no longer considered a reward and rejoicing at the accrual of the next hundred thousand units is a pointless exercise.
“Data from a new mission has been received,” Nina reminded herself in a faceless voice.
Having caught my eye on the accompanying mark on the visor - an arrow indicating the direction for solving the task at hand, I followed it and discovered about a kilometer and a half away from me another skyscraper with a facade partially demolished by the explosion. Through the gap, black and white layers of twisted interfloor ceilings could be seen, and one of the more or less preserved levels was highlighted with a red outline - as the goal of the assigned task.
It would be possible, of course, to get to the desired building by simply throwing a grip at it, and immediately switch to the vector of a cat flying away on microturbines. But a direct fall from a height of one and a half thousand meters could end quite sadly.
And it’s not safe to soar through a city in which there is a real war going on. You can’t maneuver much, but even your own people can shoot you. The so-called “Friendly fire” has not yet been canceled. Therefore, after weighing all the pros and cons, I decided to take a detour.
Within fifteen minutes I landed on a concrete surface located in the shadow of the north side of the building. It is well preserved, despite its age. The concrete did not crumble underfoot, and the glass, not particularly thick, remained in good condition. The grips clicked, the cat returned to its groove on the forearm, and I stomped to the edge of the wall.
Walking on a vertical surface would be torture if it weren’t for the increased rigidity of the internal armor frame, which supports the human body and prevents gravity and weight from breaking the fighter’s legs. And it’s still very unpleasant when the blood rushes to your head, even in the virtual world, and even more so in reality. This is not like moving along the hull of a ship, where “up” is always where your head is, and you don’t need to make any effort to take the next step.
Even before I looked beyond the massive edge of the skyscraper, decorated with a decorative pylon, I realized that I was not alone in this high-rise. My artificial intelligence took direction of the radio traffic. A completely ordinary, unencrypted signal, albeit on rarely used frequencies, but the source of which was somewhere under my feet.
Having secured the gravity grapple to the edge of the pylon next to my boot, I turned off the holds and, kneeling down, looked around the corner of the building. There was not a soul on any of the floors spread out in front of me. The quest area, which turned green as I approached, blinked friendly and winked, which I had to visit in order for me to be credited with fulfilling the commander’s order. The sun warmly licked the premises of the crippled skyscraper, long abandoned by people and unnecessary for repticides, played on the shards of broken dishes, glistened in the shards of glass.
And all around there was a real earthly summer. Sunny, hot and so believable that it took your breath away and you didn’t want to believe that all this was just virtual reality. A game in which meticulous developers, bit by bit and using ancient maps, restored one small, long-destroyed planet called Earth.
In reality, repticides never captured the ancestral home of humanity. The aliens simply destroyed it by placing several massive charges into the planetary core. If Homo sapiens had not settled in distant stars by this time, then the history of people would simply end there. But we survived, but there was, strictly speaking, no one to take revenge on. Damn space cockroaches are something like nomads. Guests from another arm of the galaxy, settled in the border zone of instability of the Orion Arm, far beyond the human sector of space.
A powerful explosion that occurred not far from the ruins of a high-rise building brought me out of my thoughts. It was strange to succumb to a feeling of nostalgia for a planet whose existence I knew only from documentary chronicles, while a real battle was raging around me.
The additional reality of the helmet every now and then caught flashes of heavy lasers, coloring invisible beams red. A flurry of plasma flooded the sky, antimatter tore with a growl, and various-sized blanks rushed back and forth, whistling through the air.
Hmmm. As usually happens at such “events”, people first of all fought with each other, while the real enemy systematically strengthened the defense. The Magistrate's ground ranger corps and the Rati's Black Sea landing force simply did not have the forces necessary to conduct combat operations throughout Istanbul, so the main front was formed on a rather small piece of land in the northwestern, European part of the city.
The high-rise on which I was now located was much closer to the main theater than the place where the previous task was completed. That’s why it was very, very restless here. Heavy equipment was constantly cutting through the streets, from my position I saw figures of litigation - super-heavy military exoskeletons. Like children among packing boxes, ten- and fifteen-meter bellows of various shapes, models and design solutions of the propulsion chassis ran between the buildings.
With a roar and whistle, the AKB-40b, a domestic multi-role atmospheric fighter, flew low, almost over the very roof of the skyscraper, pursuing the enemy with an outline unknown to me. With a deafening bang, switching to supersonic speed, the cars in a split second rushed off into the cloudless blue heights, leaving behind two clear intertwining contrails. It was thanks to their noisy dance, which attracted my attention, that I managed to notice the cobweb of a railgun shot stretching from the upper floors and glinting in the sun.
If one of “ours” had been there, the electronics would have long ago recognized him by the “friend or foe” response, so it could have been either an American sniper or an alien armed with human weapons. There is no third. It is unlikely that a free shooter who decided to quietly fish in troubled waters could sneak into the event for the liberation of the city.
The first commandment of the Empire. Dark Zone
Alexander Igorevich Shapochkin
Space OnlineThe First Commandment of the Empire #2
Lost in deep space, the super-class castle liner "Volga" is drifting among the alien stars of the Dark Zone of the Milky Way, and events on board are gaining momentum. The young Prince-Defender Maxim Alexandrov and the Tsarevna of the Russian Star Empire Ksenia Zimneva continue to be forced to be in the virtuality of the game “Liberation of Terra,” while in reality their allies and opponents are making more and more new plans and trying to reshape the world to their taste.
And in the Orion Sleeve, in the territory of Human Space, serious passions are boiling. The American Sector is burning in the abyss of civil war, the Russian Empire is shaking, engulfed in intrigue, and the Brazilian Crown is slowly raising its head, looking with interest at its troubled neighbors. Many troubles have befallen people in these years, and a terrible threat, capable of destroying Earthly Civilization once and for all, is slowly but surely emerging in the very heart of the capital planet of Russia - Ekaterina.
Alexander Shapochkin
The first commandment of the Empire. Book two. Dark Zone
Thirteen years ago. 2583–2584 AD. Wednesday, December 31st - Thursday, January 1st, Galactic Human Calendar (GHC) (Third Year of the Cancale Conflict). International outer space. Alpha Centauri system. Orbit of the planet Sirentia. Russian research station "Mikhailo Lomonosov". Xenoarchaeological Research Module
- …Friends! New Year is on the doorstep. It's time to meet. We should all say our warmest words to our loved ones. Thank them heartily for their understanding and faith. For your patience and support. The more kindness and love there is, the more confident and stronger we will all be, which means we will certainly achieve success in this difficult time for all of us! – The huge figure of the All-Russian Emperor Vladimir Efimovich Zimnev, projected in the sky of St. Ivangrad, right above the complex of buildings of the Catherine Winter Palace, took a short pause. – Happy holiday to you! Happy New Year 2584!
The hologram changed, and now in front of the scientists gathered at the festive table hung the huge “Moscow Chimes”, a replica of the very famous clock that was once located on the Spasskaya Tower of the Moscow Kremlin, now adorning the majestic tower of the Chamber of the Earth. The mechanical minute hand of this archaic mechanism, with a loud click that can now be heard, perhaps, in all corners of human space, jumped from the fifty-ninth second to the Roman numeral twelve and hid the small hour hand underneath it.
Having played the bell motif four times, the chimes fell silent for a moment, and then a solemn sound echoed over St. Ivangrad: “Bom! Bom! Bom!” The entire surrounding space seemed to vibrate. Twelve blows, twelve obligatory sounds that the entire Empire is accustomed to hearing on New Year’s Day. Twelve steps into the future towards an inevitable victory over the British invaders, which all the Russian people gathered at that moment in the conference hall sincerely believed in. And immediately bottles of champagne slammed, sparkling wine poured into glasses hissed, and caring gynoid maids and android waiters began pouring muegra fruit juice into glasses for the few children.
The glass rang, the first congratulations were heard, and in all this polyphony, the gigantic Double-Headed Star Eagle soared into the sky above the capital. The majestic golden bird froze in the air for a split second, and then, shining with rays of pure white light, proudly opened its huge wings sparkling with the light of distant stars.
And then the anthem struck. The powerful and beautiful sounds of ancient music seemed to flow from everywhere. From all speakers and even from personal mobile devices. The personal AIs did their best to make this moment solemn and unforgettable for their masters dangling in the void above the distant planet.
- “The Empire - stars, planets and people, Russia - is sacred at all times! At distant pulsars and in the darkness of the borderlands, everywhere we praise and love you!” - an invisible chorus thundered.
Everyone who was now in the hall fell silent for a while, turning towards the holoprojector. Many put their right hand to their hearts, others simply stood, holding glasses in their hands and whispering the words of the anthem. Of course, there were those who remained silent, simply as a sign of respect for their colleagues, without experiencing any special patriotic feelings, but they were a minority.
Americans, Brazilians, Germans and French, a group of Chinese delegates and Nippon archaeologists, European Union tolerants and many other guests who found themselves at the station on holidays did not prevent the hosts from honoring their state in these difficult days for it. The Russian anthem was considered one of the most beautiful and majestic, and therefore some quietly sang along with the imperials, if, of course, they understood the words without a synthesized translator.
- “...may he lead us to triumph and victory!” – the last words were spoken, and the conference room exploded with shouts of “Hurray!”, whistles and applause.
“They know how to make an impression...” said his colleague from the American Democratic Union of Planets, leaning towards the ear of the head of the Nippon xenoarchaeological mission. “I told you it would be something to see, Yamada-san.”
“Yes...” the Nippon nodded restrainedly, slightly moving away from the American who had invaded his personal space, so that, God forbid, he would not offend the friendly fat man. – Frankly, Robert, I’m impressed. I was expecting something more...
– More “Russian”? – the interlocutor grinned, picking up a piece of jellied meat generously coated with horseradish from a plate with a fork. – Ha... I've been working with them side by side for almost five years. And I’ll tell you this, colleague: we don’t know a damn thing about the Russians. For example, take this thing! Looks like frozen crap...
Robert fell silent, carefully chewing the jelly, and, having swallowed, wiped his watery eyes with the back of his hand.
– ...and his taste is divine. I am not kidding. Try it!
- Absolutely, Robert. Necessarily. – Yamada looked doubtfully at the dish with jellied meat and turned his gaze to his plate filled with a variety of sushi. – I would never have thought that traditional Russian cuisine is so similar to Nippon cuisine. The taste, of course, is different from what I’m used to... but I like it...
– Ha-ha... work with the Russians for a year or two, you will learn a lot of interesting things. By the way, about work... - the American became serious, taking the glass and rising from his seat.
“Yes, I just wanted to remind you,” Yamada picked up his thought, removing the napkin laid out on them from his knees and standing up after his colleague. “I think this issue needs to be resolved before the feast gains momentum.”
“That’s for sure,” Robert chuckled and, finding the right person in the crowd with his eyes, headed towards him.
– Happy New Year, Andrey! – the American guest said, smiling widely, clinking his glass with the Russian scientist and clapping him on the shoulder. – I wish you further discoveries this year and, of course, break these British. For Russian BChRs on the streets of New Thames!
“I join in the congratulations and wish the same as Robert,” the more reserved Nippon said with a slight bow.
- Thank you,
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Friends! – the Russian answered, smiling broadly and openly at the foreigners. - Allow me to wish you all the very best!
“Thank you, Andrey,” the American nodded, turning serious. “But now let me distract you for a moment.” The holiday is a holiday, but we need to talk about business.
- Certainly. – Andrei Prazdnov, the head of a scientific group exploring the ruins of a certain alien race discovered on Sirentia, which were supposedly competitors of the forerunners themselves, waved to his friends and, together with the guests, left the noisy conference room.
“Andrey, I talked to Peter,” Robert immediately took the bull by the horns. – Yamada-san and I really don’t like your idea of flying with your family to Rovshanka at such a time...
“I can’t help it...” the Russian archaeologist shrugged, “only there is the equipment we need there.” This is the closest planet on which we can analyze our findings and...
– We understand everything. – Yamada walked to the wide panoramic window in the wall, which was broadcast from one of the external cameras of Alpha Centauri Beta rising above the surface of Sirentia. – We just fear for your safety, Andrey. I think that you should fly to Sakuya... The xenoarchaeological center there is no worse than the one on the American Rovshanka, but you will not have to cross the territory of the Romanian Planetarium. You understand...
“I don’t think it’s all that bad,” Andrei shook his head. “Neither the British nor their Romanian allies attack civilian caravans. Think about it, Yamada: it’s about a two-month flight to Sakuya, a couple more weeks to work in the laboratory - in total, most of the group is excluded from the work process for almost six months. And to Rovshanka it’s a little more than half a month...
- So you're against it?
“Okay... Peter told me that you won’t agree,” Robert sighed heavily. – Are you taking your wife and son with you?
- Yes. Vera, after all, is the leading employee in this profile, and Yegor has nothing to do alone at the station.
- Well... - The Nippon looked up from the waking planet and, turning to the archaeologist, said: - Andrey, I’ll be honest: I don’t approve of your fanaticism in this matter, but the choice is still yours. Although, if it were up to me, if I were you, I would go either to our Sakuya, or even to your Marfa, and I don’t care that the journey to the Russian planet is almost three months. Anywhere, but not to Rovshanka.
– I agree with Yamada. Although, in my opinion, the institute on Rovshanka is still better.
– Let’s not resume this pointless argument, Robert! – the Asian waved him off. – Andrey, we agreed with Peter that two of our security gunboats will go in your caravan. And don't mind! It is better for your ships not to approach the Planetarium.
“Yes, I didn’t mean to…” the Russian archaeologist shrugged, “I’m not suicidal and I understand the danger.” It's just that if we found what we were looking for, then...
- Well, fine! – the American slapped Andrei on the back. - Now let's go to the hall! Otherwise we won't get anything!
2584 AD. Monday, January 19, Moscow time. Romanian Planetarium. Ploesti–Mulcea intersystem space. Operator's cabin of the trip frame of the caravan route "Kageru-Kame - Sirentia - Rovshanka"
Captain Goro Saikata spun around in his chair and, crossing his arms over his chest, looked longingly at the panoramic monitor located behind him, on which passenger ships huddled like grapes on a bunch, illuminated by numerous spotlights and side lights. Nipponians, Brazilians, Germans, Americans, and even one Russian, traveling from Sirentia to Rovshanka - Saikata treated all of them not as interstellar ships, but as people.
That’s how he got used to it, the son of a shuttle bus driver in the glorious city of Nabue, who one day decided that his home planet was too small for his ambitions. In each, every yacht and boat carried by his frame, Goro saw a unique character inherent only to this ship and, of course, its captain.
Here, for example, is a walking American. A sixth-class yacht with smooth contours of the bow, extensions of technical decks and a sluice gate, directly under the sharp triangular bow of the vessel. A brand new boat, just recently off the assembly line, that has already been in some kind of trouble. This was evidenced by scratches and chips on the elegant, ultra-modern mesh coating on the left side of the case. The ship seemed like a bully to Saikata! A real badass, ready to do anything just to be the first in everything.
Behind him hung a phlegmatic, blunt-nosed Brazilian on a pendant. And on the other hand, there is a perky and playful nippon hanging on the hitches right behind the tired and stern Russian. The latter, even despite his age and small size, inspired considerable respect.
Goro generally loved Russian ships. Slightly angular, outwardly more military than civilian, they did not pursue an elegant external design, preferring functionality and reliability to a unique appearance. There was something dangerous in this simplicity, something that said: “Don’t joke with me!”
Sighing, the captain spun his chair again and, placing his hands on the remote control, sat silently for several minutes, looking at the open window with the technical characteristics of the “Russian”. Saikata always considered himself extremely lucky in his job. Only a spaceship fan like him could be truly happy in this uninteresting and tedious job as a flight worker.
His position did not involve visiting new planets, there were no thrills in his life, and even the planets his frame passed by always remained several light years from the modest, crowded head of the caravan. He did not visit trading posts or enter spaceports - Goro picked up ships at stop one and took them to stops two, three, four and back in the same order.
And only the ships were always different! It was only for them that he joined the voyage...
- Taiga! – the captain called his AI.
- Here, boss! - a perky girlish voice answered him, modeling his favorite female character from the anime about racers.
– Order me a model of the Russian research yacht “Pioneer-9” at the Aya-sen auction!
- Oh, boss! Did you notice too? It’s not often that you come across a ship like this on our voyage! – the electronic girl chirped. “If only you knew how sweet and sociable his AI is!”
- You are lucky! – the captain sighed, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. - Having fun...
- Boss! – the speaker mounted in the headrest whispered. – You should pay attention to the new signal operator! The girl seems to have her eye on you...
- Eh! Taiga...” Goro grinned, “as she put it, she’ll take it off when the brave American military appears on the horizon.”
- Everything to you... Boss! Anxiety!
- Alarm, captain! – the mass locator operator shouted, being just a fraction of a second late. – The large target has left the null space and is moving on an intersecting course! No! It broke up into three, six...
- Who is this? Request to the nearest dispatch center!
- What! But... - Goro couldn’t believe his ears. – Immediate request for force support.
“We were refused...” the signal woman answered after a couple of seconds.
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looking at the captain with eyes widened in fear. – These are licensed British privateers...
- In the name of Amaterasu! - Saikata whispered, his stomach suddenly knotted and his head ringing. – Alert to all ships!
- Made! – the second signalman quickly answered. - Captain! Light security gunboats Nagaia and George Lucas request permission to undock! Captain, they... they intend to fight!
– Release them immediately! – Saikata shouted and slammed his fist on the confirmation panel. – All other vessels prepare for emergency disconnection! Code red! An order for the caravan to move in all directions and go to zero as soon as the puncture generator is ready!
Two hours later. Romanian Planetarium. Ploesti–Mulcea intersystem space. On board a small research ship of the sixth class, project "Pioneer-9", "Doctor Savelyev"
“Mom, I’m scared,” ten-year-old Yegor honestly admitted.
- Me too, dear! – holding her son’s hand, Vera Prazdnova, nee Venshova, led him along a long corridor illuminated by the red light of alarm lamps. – But you are a man, you must be brave!
– What if it doesn’t work out? Well, be brave! – the boy asked very seriously.
“Oh,” the woman sighed, wanted to answer something, but, as if sensing something was wrong, she grabbed the emergency handrail, hugging Yegor tightly to her.
The ship shook. Sparks rained down from somewhere from the ceiling, and clouds of scalding steam poured out from a broken pipe in the wall. Having picked up the child in her arms, Vera ran along the corridor, but the wall to her left swelled with a crunch, throwing the woman and child to the floor. The metal swelled and swelled, and then finally burst, releasing rapidly diverging petals of a landing drill, expelling waves of sealant foam.
Covering her son with herself, Vera crawled a few steps and pressed herself against the wall, desperately feeling for the pistol on her belt.
“If only Andrei had not died... if only he had been with me... together we could...” a thought flashed in the woman’s head, which turned out to be the last in her life. A human figure jumped out of the petal hatch, almost without aiming, fired from a plasma gun, and a stream of hot substance hit the woman’s chest...
- What are you doing? He’s completely gone crazy…” another man growled at the corsair, moving his palm away from the barrel that had already warmed up. -What have you done, freak! It was said: civilians are not...
– I don’t care, Jack! – the first growled in response, releasing his weapon. – I will kill Russians everywhere! Wherever...
The woman's body moved, and a small boy emerged from behind her. Looking fearfully at the corsairs, he rubbed his mother’s shoulder. He hugged her head and pulled her close to him.
- A! – the killer burst into a smile. - That's…
- Do not dare! – his partner yelled, leaning on the man. - I said no...
The scream quickly turned into a wheeze, and the licensed pirate slid to the floor. Pushing the dead body away from him and throwing a bloody vibrating knife at the feet of the murdered woman, the bandit grinned.
- Well, that's all, boy! Your mother killed my sidekick, and now I will take revenge...
Raising the plasma gun, the man deliberately carefully took aim at Yegor’s head.
“You offended your mother...” the boy said somehow seriously, letting go of the dead woman’s head and looking at the killer with meaningless eyes, step by step approaching him, “you hurt her...”
- Ha! Now I’ll “hurt” you too! – the corsair hissed through the synthesized translator, pressing the trigger guard.
In some unknown way, a plasma spit passed by the boy, the pirate shot again, then again, and then the boy, swinging sharply, hit the adult man in the stomach with his small fist.
2585 AD. Tuesday, June 22, Moscow time. The former Romanian Planetarium, now the Commonwealth of Moldavian Planets. Intersystem space Petrea (formerly Ploesti) – Tudor (formerly Mulcea). On board the fifth-class patrol ship "Hero Dechebal". (Former Romanian fifth-class destroyer frigate "Gospodar Jonathan Sweet")
“It seems we found them...” Petrik exclaimed, examining on the scanner what was left of the two ships after they were directly hit by a combat void torpedo with a nuclear warhead. – But it will be possible to say for sure only with a visual examination. All the electronics there died after being torpedoed. Hmmm... It's a sad sight. Stop! There is a signal!
The search for the research ship Doctor Savelyev, which disappeared without a trace, was carrying valuable cargo and was attacked by British corsairs, began on the same day when an emergency SOS signal was received on the null transmitters of the interested countries. The Nippon and American squadrons, not caring about the illusory sovereignty of the Romanian Planetarium, one after another combed the cubes of space adjacent to the site of the tragedy, but all that they could find was a destroyed cruise frame and empty, dead shells of civilian ships traveling in the caravan.
For the Russian Empire, this incident was the straw that overflowed the cup of patience. The elephant, who had not noticed the small but very proud fly for almost three years, finally paid attention to its constant attempts to sting the thick-skinned giant harder. An expeditionary force was introduced into the territory of the Planetarium, the Romanian space forces were literally swept away with one powerful blow, and the planets, after the suppression of battle stations and anti-orbital defenses, were placed under blockade.
In order to avoid civilian casualties, it was decided not to carry out the landing operation. Instead, the RZI provided assistance and military support to local partisans, the “Moldavian Liberation Movement,” which had long opposed the regime of the Dictator of the Romanian Planetarium, Dimian Shedescu, under guarantees that the rebel leadership would not carry out a policy of “bloody terror” against citizens loyal to the Planetarium.
And now, almost a year later, the young state of the Commonwealth of Moldavian Planets, with grief in half, but fulfilled its obligations then. And even more. The management of the SMP has committed itself to making every possible effort to find “Doctor Savelyev.”
Having analyzed the information taken from the data bank of the dispatch control of interstellar routes, Moldovan scientists calculated several estimated courses along which the research ship, pursued by the British privateer, departed. And the very first test shot gave results.
- How is this possible? - responded the revolutionary commander, former Briton Sher Glen, who voluntarily joined the ranks of the rebel army several years ago and voluntarily underwent deep telepathic bypass.
“I don’t know...” whispered the technician, looking up from his console. – This simply cannot happen... the reactor is dead, the entire autonomous system should have burned out, but...
He pointed at some table on one of the monitors and shook his head in disbelief.
- And what is this?
“Passive evacuation cartridge signal,” answered the second communications technician named Seraphim, “there is a biological response... so someone is very lucky.”
“Okay,” Cher rustled, falling back on the tattered back of the captain’s chair, “call the Russians...
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Star Empire. System "Zarya". Orbit of the planet Nadezhda. Russian military space orbital hospital of the Ministry of Emergency Situations No. 14898. Reanimation module of the First Listrovsky psychoneurological clinic of brain traumatology and neurosurgery
- What do you say, Pyotr Ivanovich?
– I will say that the case is unique in its own way. – The gray-haired professor extended his hand and, turning the hologram of his little patient’s brain, sighed heavily. – But, unfortunately, it cannot be treated. At least at our technological level. You see, young man... Although no. Better yet, let's watch the recording again...
Having said this, he pointed at the touchpad built into his desktop, and a holographic image immediately appeared above him. The shooting was carried out from the external camera of the evacuation cartridge, and the information on the media was significantly damaged, causing the picture to ripple, sometimes freeze for several seconds and defragment into separate large voxels, stretching like a trail from moving objects.
The set time indicated that this fragment was recorded almost five hours after the start of the corsairs’ attack on “Doctor Savelyev.” The light in the ship's evacuation chamber was malfunctioning, and sparks were constantly falling from the ceiling onto the floor. And since all such devices shoot in monochrome, the blinking alarm lamps caused the cartridge itself and the surrounding walls to mysteriously flicker with eerie gray reflections.
There was also no sound, so when the airlock door suddenly opened, letting a small, staggering figure into the cell, Pyotr Ivanovich clearly shuddered. The boy entered the room and, stopping in its center, looked around mindlessly.
– Have you found out why he is covered in blood from head to toe? – the guest asked the professor.
“We are not magicians, young man,” the doctor answered him very seriously, “we can only say that the samples do not belong to the members of the crew of the Doctor Savelyev, who were sent to us from the Mikhailo Lomonosov.” So I dare to assume that the blood and remains of soft tissue found in the cartridge belong to the attackers.
- M-lady... And what is this “Möbius strip” in his hands?
– Artifact number “one hundred and forty” from the list of “precursor-beta” valuables transported by his father to Rovshanka.
- And where is he? - the guest asked a completely logical question, watching as the boy, hitting the mechanical button for opening the cartridge with his fist, threw his valuable cargo into it.
“Disappeared,” the professor answered laconically, stopping the holo-recording, “the cartridge recorded a decrease in the weight of the stored object by almost a kilogram approximately an hour and a half after encapsulation. See this moment... At first we assumed that Idle’s son was introducing a pre-memorized program of biological rehabilitation for his patron. But…
“But...” The guest walked around the table and, bending down, tried to look under the small palm frozen above the external console. - What - but?
Pavel Ivanovich launched the image, and the child’s fingers often flashed over the remote control buttons.
- Hey! Yes, he just presses all the buttons in a row... What is he...?
- That's it! – the doctor exclaimed, getting up from his comfortable chair in excitement. – The boy never knew and could not handle an evacuation cartridge! But he doesn't just press buttons, we reconstructed his actions... and guess what?
“Egor, apparently, saw how the ship’s null-navigator was setting up the correction for the next jump on the additional panel of the navigation installation, and tried to copy his actions... the remote controls, of course, are not the same, but they are similar...
- Lord... But the patron should not have accepted such a program!
- But he accepted! – the professor threw up his hands. - So he climbs into the cradle, the flap closes, the object is encapsulated and...
The shock wave caused by the explosion of a nuclear torpedo reached the room at that moment and, destroying everything in its path, crashed into an invisible barrier. Naturally, the external cameras died a split second before this event, but those located on the cartridge itself continued to work. The terrible all-consuming flame beat against the protective barrier hiding the cartridge for almost a minute, and then the entire view was blocked by a kaleidoscope of rushing debris of the destroyed ship.
“That’s it,” said Pyotr Ivanovich sadly, sinking back into the chair. “At that moment, Yegor Idle’s brain was burned out by extreme psionic efforts, and the boy’s consciousness ceased to exist. Usually this means instant death of the patient, but at that moment he was already in encapsulation, and the actuator not only prevented him from dying, but also began to restore brain tissue. For the rest... you have read our conclusion. Rehabilitation of the patient is impossible. And the only thing I can say about the forecasts is that they are negative.
“I understand,” the guest chewed his lip, “well then.” I gave you the order, so prepare our little hero for transportation to Catherine. I am not a specialist and cannot say anything about your conclusions, but your capital colleagues are looking forward to Yegor.
“It’s nice to know that in these difficult years Russia is concerned about the fate of its little subjects,” the professor smiled, shaking the guest’s hand.
Present tense. 2598 AD. Monday, May 27th Moscow time. Virtual reality of the game “Liberation of Terra”. Isle of Britain. Wales. Starting location No. 91. Aberedu Hyde settlement. Village warehouse premises
“...So Maxim ended up in the program for the revival of the Prince Protector,” Nina, the artificial intelligence of the young man sleeping on Ksenia’s lap, finished her story.
The girl did not answer. There were tears in the eyes of the Tsarevna of the Russian Star Empire.
“There were another one hundred and twenty psionic children on the list, the restoration of whose personality was considered impossible by doctors,” the Iskin continued, “I selected three of them, including Maxim, and they were inoculated with the genetic material of the Prince who died in the Battle of Akber.
– So Maxim is not the only one? – Ksenia raised her voice, affectionately stroking the young man’s cheek.
“Well, how can I say...” Nina hesitated, but then the Tsesarevna’s own personal computer came to her aid.
– One, “Sasha” died a year later, although he was the most promising of all. – Katya, who is also a planetary AI of the capital planet RZI, took a short pause. – He lived with a foster family on the hive planet “Centurion” and got together with his parents into a terrible flyer disaster on the magnetic road...
“Operation of the “Intelligence Operations Center” called “Little Russian Baguette” ... - Atlanta, a fugitive American intelligence and a new member in their small company, spoke up. - Forgive me, girls, I couldn’t warn you...
“Well, really...” Nina chuckled sadly. – The second one – “Maxim” – is still alive. It is his guise that our Prince wears now. He developed well and showed great promise, but at the age of eighteen something went wrong. This is a crazy and powerful psionicist, fortunately, a quiet and calm patient, an artist who loves dolls, cartoons and sunflowers. He peacefully lives out his life on one of the sanatorium planets under the name of Alexander Maksimovich Denisov.
- Wait! – Ksenia exclaimed, throwing her head up in shock. - The same one
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Denisov? World famous marine painter?
“Yes...” Ekaterina answered simply.
– I love his paintings... who would have thought.
“The ways of God are mysterious,” said Nina. – Well, everything went wrong with our Denis. In an incomprehensible way, the consciousness of Yegor Prazdnov resurrected and supplanted the nascent mind of the Prince-Defender. But “object number three” showed a complete absence of any psionic abilities. Our scientists puzzled over this fact for a long time and eventually came to the conclusion that this was post-traumatic syndrome that developed due to the events that occurred on board the Doctor Savelyev. The boy himself was sent to a distant, quiet planet in order to avoid the problems that happened with Sasha and Maxim, and I kept an eye on him all this time. About seven years ago, our scientific luminaries had a fixed idea that virtuality would help free Yegor’s consciousness from the fear of using his own power that constrained him. Well, or awaken the genetic memory of the previous Prince-Defender. And I, on my own account, hooked him on the needle of virtual games...
- So this is how it is…
- Yes. – It seems that Nina was a little ashamed.
– What happened to the fourth? – Atlanta suddenly asked.
- What fourth? – Nina and Ekaterina blurted out in unison.
“According to the CRO, four serums were prepared from the genetic material of your Prince Protector,” the former planetary AI of the capital planet of the American Democratic Union of Planets said slowly. – And they were used at four sites, so we had four operational headquarters working in the RZI, although we were only able to identify one...
- Atla! Quickly sent me all the information you had! – Catherine almost growled.
At the same time. The outskirts of the Great Jumanna-Quano of the race of the Rulers of the Kveri Galaxy. The sector is in the jumper between the “Wul-f Ushan-I” and “Sudoru-Kamen Da” systems. Board of the small interstellar coastal galley "Subarki-Kamari"
Lastan pulled up the outer cargo cable with a few turns of the circular handbrake, straightening the sails that caught the stellar wind, and looked sideways with his almond-shaped eyes at his owner - the captain of the coasting galley, the true queri Aduni Kur-Kurdu. For him - a pathetic slave from the Edali race, descendants of the Tabu-tian monkeys, despised by all sentient beings of the inhabited galaxy of the Tatsu-Ga Disk - the appearance of his master always caused him to vomit.
All these disgusting puffy sausages of tentacles glistening in the light, hanging from a flat, triangular head with a huge, sloppy mouth, and antennae for eyes. Multi-jointed fingers growing straight from the atrophied shoulders with movable gelatinous tips that resembled the nose of a Krul rat. An unpleasant carcass, absolutely devoid of waist. Slimy tail-feet and a disgusting shell on the hump, capable of covering the entire considerable body of a kveri.
And how did such tawdry freaks become the rulers of the galaxy? Judging by their appearance, it was difficult to believe that these creatures were great warriors... Was there really no one in the entire Tatsu-Ga Disk who was capable of resisting these slugs?
A thousand cycles of his home planet have passed since the edali, who had just emerged into the starry sea, attracted the attention of the queri. The ancestors fought bravely, but what could the first star sailors on primitive rocket boats, created for exploring the bottom of the sky, and not for war, oppose to the multi-tiered combat galleys of these mollusks?
After all, the Edals in those days didn’t even know what star war was and that the ocean was dangerous. Their sky suits did not protect against weapons. And they themselves remained deaf in the heavenly depths. They could only oppose the “Takers of Gaed” - the elite warrior-invaders of the kveri - with personal courage and...
Lastan smiled sadly at his thoughts and smoothed the sweaty hair on his wrists. He was tired and sweaty, pulling another sail towards the bow of the galley until the indicator showed a green-violet ripple of stripes, meaning that it had caught the wind of a nearby star. The slave understood that no matter how bravely his ancestors fought, the edali deserved their fate.
The rulers of the Galaxy conquered many nations, but none of them were as despised as the descendants of the monkeys from Tabu-tiski. And all because the planet-elected president from the Party of Complete Freedom acted as leaders usually did in their own internecine conflicts. In an effort to save as many lives of his compatriots as possible, he capitulated. Surrendered to an enemy whom it was impossible to defeat.
This determined the fate of all of them for the next ten hundred revolutions of the Taboo-vice around their native star. The role of despised slaves. After all, knowing nothing about the culture and traditions of the Rulers of the Galaxy, the leader made a fatal mistake, relying on his purely taboo-tisky logic. And the Kveri did not forgive those who lowered their weapons.
-What are you staring at, monkey? - the owner gurgled, sticking out all three of his speech tongues from his mouth. - Do you like me?
“What are you saying, sir,” Lastan turned away from the eye antennae reaching towards him, “how can you...
“Then check the navigation, Last,” the tongues resonated, splashing out a small clot of mucus. – As the wind gains strength, we will go to the bottom of the stars. You will work well for Sudora-Kamen. Yes, I will pay for a female for you.
“Much grateful, great one,” Lastan answered without much enthusiasm.
Despite the disgusting appearance and general attitude towards the Edal, the owner was generally a good, reasonable person. He would have called the owner “his own man” if the Cauvery were not self-fertilizing hermaphrodites. In any case, he never abused his slave and never used a goad. And the reward in the form of a female edali, daily food and a soft bed after a working day was a good fate in the world of powerful slugs for the descendant of monkeys who betrayed themselves. A backward species that had no similar forms in this galaxy.
“And what else is this...” A surprised gurgle brought Lastan out of his sad thoughts.
- Birds? – the slave suggested hesitantly, looking at the strange creatures that appeared on the visual map, approaching the galley at great speed from the untrodden depths of the stars.
“I don’t know... but I don’t like them,” the kveri croaked excitedly. - Prepare the catapult. Yes, just in case.
But neither the edali nor his master even had time to uncover the terrible military weapon of the younger relative of those to whom all reasonable ones submitted. The installation, capable of sinking any good boat in the void, never appeared above the dome of the boat. A flock of “birds” surrounded the ship, hovered around it, and then the visual map blinked alarmingly, reporting a dry breach on the side. Kaveri, convulsively raising a couple of fingers, grabbed the probe of the alarming bell, one after another extracting fighting pulps from his shell.
And then they burst through the opened door...
“Edaly...” Lastan croaked with a dry throat, bulging his eyes at the strangers. - Iron aedals...
What happened after seemed to the slave an eerie fantastic utopia. The aliens dealt with the owner in a split second, and then tied him up, so deftly that he didn’t even have time to utter a word. Already with his hands clasped behind his back, the slave cast a casual glance at the visual map and felt horror filling
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him from head to toe. A colossus was approaching their small galley... a huge and majestic ship, as if straight out of the pages of cover stories telling about the previous rulers of the Tatsu-Ga Disk.
Three hours later. Virtual reality of the game "Liberation of Terra". Isle of Britain. Wales. Starting location No. 91. Aberedu Hyde settlement. Village warehouse premises
Consciousness returned to me in a quick flash. It was precisely unconsciousness, not similar to sleep or the state in which Ksenia was, having chosen the “endurance” characteristic to values less than one. I had just floated in the great dark emptiness, for a moment - and before my eyes there appeared the rusty roof of a warehouse and the pointed chin of the Tsesarevna, conducting a one-sided dialogue with an interlocutor inaudible to me.
-Are you awake? – Nina asked me.
“Yes, I think...” At that moment I realized that I was lying and my head was resting on the girl’s lap.
- And what do you answer to this, brother? The theft of genetic material from members of the imperial family is equivalent to betrayal of the Motherland. A criminal offense, the penalty for which is disintegration at the gravitank turbine... - A cool finger fell on my lips, calling for silence.
Catching Khoma’s quick glance, I tried to sit up, but a small palm fell on my forehead. The AIs were also silent, so I could only listen to my companion and wonder why she remembered the old method.
- And what? – the girl’s eyebrows met sternly on the bridge of her nose. – I understand your arguments, but do you understand that you are nobody now? After the death of the father, all power is in the hands of this man.
Ksenia pursed her lips angrily, listening attentively to the answer, and by that moment I had already realized, firstly, who my companion’s interlocutor was, and secondly, that I was hearing a broadcast through the back door, the voice of the Tsarevna being sent by Catherine, reproduced to me by Nina.
- No, you are not yet a symbol of the nation and not the Tsar-Father, and yes, I believe that... He will not allow your coronation! Alexey... what is this? Naivety or am I unaware of something? You don’t have evidence... Alexey? Alec...
“The communication channel is lost,” the planetary AI Ekaterina reported dryly. - It’s torn off on that side...
– Was there any interference? – Ksenia twitched, but I felt how the palms slid onto my cheeks. - Were we bugged?
- No... I worked with my own channel, but now I can’t restore it... Honey, your brother asks me to tell you that he regrets that he even told you about this. Alexey is now speaking...
– As the head of the family, he orders you not to get involved in this matter.
“Fool,” the girl whispered, wincing.
- What's happened? – I asked, looking into her blue eyes, in which resentment was clearly visible.
“Several boxes with samples of my tissues disappeared from the storage of genetic materials for the top officials of the state,” Ksyusha answered in an indifferent tone. “This didn’t happen today or yesterday, although the loss was discovered just a few hours ago. The brother suspects that the Great Chancellor is behind this. But no...
“Ksenia...” The voice of the capital’s planetary AI sounded surprised. – I cannot contact any of my services on Catherine from this person! From the central core - as much as you like, but from me on the Volga - no... And you are Atlanta...
The answer was silence. Then, after a couple of seconds, a dull, intermittent voice, in which I could barely discern the brisk American accent of my new assistant, said as if from a trumpet:
– Why are you silent? Can you hear me?
– I can hear you perfectly, but only with my main part. And this one is blind and deaf... I can hardly feel myself - I work through the passive of the game.
I sat down, pulling my legs under me, and Ksenia and I looked at each other.
“But I can’t hear her at all...” Nina said in confusion. - What's happening?
– I also speak through the passive of the Organization of Planetary Nations. I can’t get it any other way...
- Maxim, Ksenia, we have a problem! – Katya exclaimed alarmedly, interrupting the American. – RZI null communication stations have stopped probing the Volga! And... And Super does not receive signals from stations...
- This can’t be true! – I was surprised, rising to my feet. – We are still in virtuality!
“We are in the virtuality of the “Liberation of Terra,” Nina corrected me. – And its null channel is separate and directed to a separate pool installed in the Solar system. But I don’t see any Russian stations now.
- Tell your brother! – the girl exclaimed, also jumping up.
- Yes, I’ve already put everyone on their ears. By the way, the Chinese, Brazilians and others... Even the few still operating relay stations of the American Democratic Union of Planets don’t see us either... All that remains are the reception points for various international MMMO games located in the Solar System, and the “Polygon” of the Cosmoflot is still responding.
- And what does it mean?
“This means that someone there, on the Volga, disabled the main protocol of the null relay...” Atlanta answered with a slight delay and an eerie echo. – The games operate on an additional flow principle, different from the functionality of military and civilian null communication lines. They are connected to gaming devices, and the repeater antenna serves only as a passive conductor.
“The management machines of Polygon and Volga have already established an emergency channel,” said Ekaterina. - But until the main communication line is restored, you will have to sit in this game...
“In general, it’s okay...” Ksenia stated, lowering her tense shoulders with a sigh and slouching a little. “The channel will be restored, and everything will return to normal.” We can continue to play peacefully... Volga, do you remember anything?
Somehow I didn’t like the feigned gaiety in the Tsesarevna’s voice.
“Everything until I passed out,” I answered, frantically wondering whether it was worth getting involved in the affairs of those in power, and then waved my hand. - Listen, Khoma! Is it generally reasonable to talk about games in this situation? Maybe we should go out and...
- Oh, who would ask! – the girl smiled slyly. “He recently told me about paratroopers in the hold, who must rely on the pilot in a situation where nothing depends on them...
I said nothing. I didn’t remind the Tsesarevna of the obvious fact that I have a psychofilter and I don’t have to force myself to stop worrying about what I can’t influence. But the girl clearly forced herself to say that, and I didn’t like it.
Ksyusha, putting a forced smile on her face, looked at the frowning guy, and then, turning away sharply, walked briskly into the depths of the room. What the hell was going on in my soul. Feelings of powerlessness, anxiety, confusion, anger and much more mixed into an amorphous cocktail that clouded the mind and confused thoughts.
The Tsesarevna would like to immediately get out of this game, and even more - to be now with Catherine, in the Winter Palace, next to her brother. But at the same time, she desperately did not want to part with this guy now, when she looked at him, some incomprehensible warm feeling was born inside her.
With an incredible effort of will, she drove away thoughts about the affairs and problems that remained in reality. How she would like to be the same as Volga - while he lay unconscious, she even thought about
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to put this very psychofilter on yourself. But she didn’t dare, afraid of breaking something in her brain.
Now she was just a girl, lying in a state of deep coma inside the biological laboratory complex. Yes, even if Ksenia had woken up, how could she help the Volga and its crew at that moment? So, after all, there are already a lot of commissars and other psionics on board, who, although inferior to her in strength, are trained and have the necessary experience.
What else? Managing her personal affairs? She now only has contact with Ekaterina through Katyusha, which means that her people will not accept the biometric code transmitted through her without duplication, and any order will simply hang in the air...
“Tell me, Volga,” she turned to the young man who had caught up with her. – Can you talk to the former Prince Protector now?
“No,” he answered, thinking for a second. - Silent like a partisan...
– I see... – here’s another disappointment – it means that to communicate with him you need a psychological shake-up.
- Maybe. How long was I unconscious? – he asked either Ksyusha or his Nina.
“A little over four hours,” Catherine answered for them.
- What are you thinking about? – Ksenia asked, catching her companion’s alarmed gaze.
- Yes, I want to go out into real life, call the officer and talk to him...
“It won’t work,” Iskine Maxima answered a little sarcastically. “The doctors took you seriously about two hours ago, so don’t even think about it.”
– And through the “White Room”, the internal virtuality of the capsule, a hologram will not be raised? – the guy asked uncertainly.
– About twenty minutes ago – yes, no problem, but now the internal communications capacities are temporarily used exclusively by regular military personnel.
- I see... Stop! Where are you actually going? – Maxim stopped, catching the Tsarevna by the hand, which made the girl’s heart beat rapidly again. – Have you still not given up the idea of completing this unfortunate task?
The feeling was just like when she put his head in her lap.
“Uh... well...” Ksyusha hesitated and looked away at another pile of boxes covered with a cloth tied with a rope, she wanted to answer something, but she felt Maxim, Denis, or indeed Yegor Idle, let go of her hand, and a second later she already saw his back next to the trash covered with a shriveled tarpaulin.
- Homa! You’re a genius...” exclaimed the Prince Protector, grabbing one of the ropes that held the fabric together and activating his ergro blade.
- Is it true? – the girl asked incredulously, not understanding the reason for such an unexpected statement of fact.
- True true! – I answered, smiling, cutting with an energy sword the fastening ties of the cover, stretched over a real ancient Atlantean-style hover-jeep.
A couple of swings of the ergro-blade - and the mighty machine was freed from the husk hiding it. Probably, the self-propelled monsters from the nineteenth century made the same impression on the inhabitants of the twenty-first century, already at the end of the era of ground-based tracked tanks. A clumsy hulk, mounted on one of the first antigravs with powerful outriggers of ring boxes with screws that controlled its movement, and a cockpit covered with armor-piercing glass.
Naturally, I have not seen the characteristics and data of this miracle. The low skill “Observation” itself was superimposed on the lack of “Mechanics”, “Technology” and “Propulsion Engineering”, but it more than paid for itself with the real knowledge that I received at the academy.
You don't need to be a chef to appreciate the taste of a dish. Games of the last generation have always followed this simple and straightforward logic. Improved skills are needed for repairs, as well as for creating new items with your own hands. With their help, tips and step-by-step instructions were revealed for people who did not understand anything about these disciplines. But anyone, even a zero-level character, could start an ancient car, especially one that was running, or control it.
-What kind of truck is this? – Ksenia asked, gently placing her hand on my shoulder.
“Hover-Rover M2, a military model of the standard of the New Atlantic Alliance,” the omnipresent AI Ekaterina beat me to the answer.
- Well done! – I patted her fingers on my jacket. - It's good that you noticed him. Now we won’t have to trudge long and sadly through the wasteland!
Meanwhile, I myself was examining the body of the hover, mounted on a floating hydraulic suspension with a cage of reinforcing bars erected above it in a makeshift manner.
“Yes, I don’t...” the girl somehow immediately became sad, and then demanded in a clear voice: “Volga, we must do that task.” You asked if I wanted - yes, I want!
I quickly turned around, catching her gaze, smiled, and the Tsarevna, unexpectedly for me, blushed deeply and lowered her huge eyes to the floor.
“That’s good...” she muttered offendedly, shaking her bangs and lightly slapping her cheeks a couple of times, looked confidently at me and turned her gaze to the car. - Uh... Does this thing work?
- In theory, it should. “Climbing onto the edge of the lower rigid platform, I slammed my palm on the casing that hid the anti-gravity, reached with my fingers to the lever that controlled the hatch, and pulled it towards myself. “It looks like it was used to transport people, and it doesn't look like it was broken.”
Looking into the opened doorway and only briefly examining the installation itself, I grunted in frustration. The power element was removed from the antigrav. A standard half-megawatt Earth power unit, with a standard "micro" slot, used to power all Earth mobile technology since the mid-twenty-second century. And I had it - in the “homemade ergro-sword” I recently received, but it was a pity...
“It’s on the move, it just needs to be powered,” taking out the handle of the weapon and showing it to Ksenia, “with an energy block from this blade.” There's only twenty-five percent output there, so the hover will last a long time...
At that moment I realized that I was saying something wrong. The girl’s already sad eyes dimmed, and the Tsarevna, slightly biting her lip, looked not at me or at the sword, but somewhere to the side.
I mentally cursed. Got carried away again. But the psychofilter is to blame for everything, because of which I don’t give a damn about what is happening now outside my biolab. Although... it certainly sounds like an excuse.
- Ksenia. “I carefully took the girl by the shoulders, and she shuddered in surprise. “Look, if you don't enjoy the game, it's bad for your recovery. Maybe it’s better for you to get out of this virtuality and into the “White Room”? Her space will help you calm down and relax...
“No,” the Tsesarevna answered harshly, knitting her eyebrows, but she didn’t even think about freeing herself. - I want to be here...
It seemed to me that she wanted to say something else, but Khoma fell silent too abruptly. She sighed heavily, closing her eyes, and slowly said:
- Let's go see what's in the basement? I'm really interested.
“Let’s go,” I nodded.
The AIs were silent, apparently busy with their important matters. It took us about five minutes to find the descent into a small concrete bag that served as a basement for the warehouse. A living room was equipped here: a pair of old sunken sofas, one of which boasted a backrest, and the second was striped, like a small field of the ADSP flag.
- Get out! Carpet, about
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which was stated in the assignment... - the girl exclaimed and, jumping from the stairs, in a couple of steps she found herself at the tattered rag covering the floor in the far corner.
“Imagine that the girl is a statue, and direct your will at her...” whispered an emotionless voice in my head.
- For what? – Without even understanding who was talking to me, I asked.
"Do It! Fast!"
I couldn't resist. Ksyusha gasped in surprise and froze in place in a not very comfortable position, just shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
“What are you doing?” Ekaterina’s indignant exclamation could not hide the weak, barely audible sound from me.
Squeak. The primary signal that infantry mines ready to explode make when someone crosses their zone of control.
“You used psionic power. Your stamina has been temporarily reduced to 7.34."
The squeaking, which had been quite loud just a second ago, quickly died down.
- Stop and don’t even try to twitch! “I said quietly, ignoring the indignant screams of the girl’s artificial intelligence and the scolding Nina unleashed on her friend. – You are in the affected area of a homemade mine. Not a real one, otherwise it would have died long ago, and I, probably, along with you, but a cheap gaming sample with a sound indicator.
- Yes, I can even breathe with difficulty! – Ksenia squeezed out. – What did you even do!
- We might die. But it's not easy. – Having opened the map, I looked at the field in which the characteristics of the inventory should have been, and gritted my teeth. “I don’t know when or how, but it ended.” You and I are in the basic starting zone... in an expanded continuation of a unique storyline.
“And we can’t die.” More precisely, it is possible, but the starting scenario will start anew, so it is unlikely that we will meet before entering the big world.
- I don't want! – the girl squeaked. - We are not allowed!
“Uh-huh...” I muttered, looking around.
At the start of the game, most of these items such as mines are exaggerated. Real weapons would mow down players in droves, because most of them are civilians who, armed with their grandfather’s shotgun, already consider themselves invincible superheroes. Therefore, the game - supposedly about a real war - slowly but surely teaches them wisdom, gradually making the devices and enemies used more complex.
In general, “Liberation of Terra” at high levels is close to maximum realism. A well-dressed player only needs to make one single mistake - and now he is waiting for his turn to be revived in the replicator chamber.
Combined explosive packages, kamikaze droids, smart mines and other examples of modern ammunition, as in life, do not leave a single chance for the average person - unlike devices created by locals, designed to teach, show and drive into the head. For example, a similar bookmark with a motion sensor, a buzzer and a biometric remote identifier “Friend or Foe”.
And such ammunition often has a button or toggle switch responsible for deactivating it. Alternatively, there are two exposed wires that need to be shorted, or a standard red one that needs to be cut. What is called a “cinematic move”. An element understandable to the average person, imposed by modern pop culture.
Slowly descending the stairs and trying to stay away from the girl, I slowly walked around the perimeter of the basement, pressing my back against tables and workbenches littered with various technical debris. It didn't take long to find the booby trap box. It was installed in the far corner and looked like a rigid cubic metal frame made of welded tubes. Inside there was an explosive device in a hard shell with a directional sensor screwed to it. This entire structure was entangled with numerous wires, a whole tangle of which approached a small steel box, in the center of which a red diode blinked alarmingly.
From a distance, this thing looked more like a small portable generator. It was most likely deactivated from a regular remote control or using a walkie-talkie or comlink after the device transmitted a code signal at the desired frequency. But the marauder-quest giver had neither one, nor the other, nor the third with him.
So the guy has nothing to do with the mine? Or is this a trap set for greedy players, tied to a deception task? Actually, it doesn't matter. Now I was more interested in the question of how to neutralize this crap. I'm not a sapper, and my real-world skills don't extend beyond the basic tasks required to arm ammo or manipulate drones. So I had a rather vague idea of the capabilities of this homemade infernal machine.
- What is this? – Ksenia mumbled a question.
– A rather simple device that reacts to the use of psi-forces in front of it. You can't move, the mine is pointed at you. I’m no help either; as soon as I enter the zone, it immediately dies. If there was a jammer or a decoder, they would turn it off once or twice, but otherwise...
- So what should we do?
- There is one thought. Have you by any chance watched the British adventure series “Professor It”? – I asked.
- No... - It seems that the girl did not understand why such a question.
I hastened to develop my idea.
“As I said, this thing is homemade, and with a buzzer and indicator light and a delayed explosion - that is, a thing straight out of the holofilms. So you can try to deactivate it using the same method. It’s not for nothing that I remembered that series. The main character is Mr. It, a powerful psionicist,” I blurted out, feeling extremely stupid. – In the very first episode, he stops the explosion of a micronuclear bomb planted under the Big Bobby tower by a Russian intelligence officer by squeezing the detonated device in a gravitational sphere... Um... well, I don’t know the exact name of this technique, but that’s what it was called in the film. I saw a couple of times during training how our commissars at the training ground destroyed quickly deployed barricades in this way.
“I understand what you’re talking about,” the girl answered thoughtfully, “Malyshev’s distortion.” Reverse-centrically expanding psionic fields that chaotize matter. But to cancel the explosion in this way... Especially a nuclear one!
“I’m not an expert,” I answered honestly, “and I didn’t even really understand what you just said, but with your parameters, in my opinion, it’s quite a feasible task...
It thundered so loudly that I almost went deaf. And from the flash that hit my eyes, for some time I saw only faint silhouettes and blurry outlines of a room drowned in the absolute whiteness of the surrounding space. The girl, without much hesitation, simply did what I suggested, although it would probably be worth discussing other, more reasonable options.
In this situation, most likely, there were quite normal, non-forceful solutions. Maybe I should look for a jammer
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which could be hidden somewhere in the building, or perhaps a remote control hidden in the sofas. But no - the Tsesarevna simply used her power, without even thinking about the consequences.
The girl really did it all. Almost like Professor It. Naturally, adjusted for various visual effects. The blazing perfect ball almost instantly shrank to a bright star, the wind blew over me, and then it disappeared with that same terrible roar in a flash of light that blinded me.
- How can I free you now? – I asked, blinking.
“I don’t know... I don’t even understand what you did to me!” – Ksyusha squeaked strangledly and immediately, incomprehensibly, gained mobility, staggered, with difficulty staying on her feet. – Such an impact is even more anti-scientific... than...
The girl would have fallen like a heap to the floor if I had not jumped up to her and caught the quickly falling asleep Tsesarevna. Once again the critical drop in the “endurance” parameter had an effect. Moving her lips silently, Ksenia raised her clouded eyes and dropped her head on my chest.
“I need to tell you about your... about...” she whispered before passing out.
Picking up the girl in my arms, I carefully lowered her onto the red and white striped sofa.
- Nina? – I called out to my electronic assistant.
- Dr. Wochokski?
- Vice Admiral! – Young in appearance, but already with noble gray hair, the man looked up from his thoughtful study of the diagnostic certificate attached to a holder marked with a white marker with a red stripe, and looked at the visitor in surprise. – What do you owe the visit? If you are here about the landing, then the materials for the initial examination of contactees have already been sent to headquarters.
- No, no, Albert Pakhomovich. I came to you on a completely different issue. – Anatoly Efimovich Satin, commander of the pitiful remnants of the fleet of the superclass ship of the Volga carrier liner, stood in the doorway for a while, examining the spartan decoration of the office of the responsible director of the quarantine laboratory. – I am interested in the condition of Prince Alexandrov.
- A! “His Excellency, in general, is healthy,” the doctor smiled and, carelessly throwing a tablet with a document on the table, relaxedly leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest, called up several holographic windows with some data. – Perhaps there are minor problems with the liver, well, they are of purely terrestrial origin and are caused by frequent stays in outer space... hmm, yes, there was a pun. The xenofactor is zero, the X-factor is absent, the blood is fine in all respects, the rest of the organs are healthy, the reaction to the tissue-restoring gel is within reasonable limits... Oh, there! Do you know that the Prince has long-standing psychodeformational changes in the frontal lobes of the brain? A funny mutation, considering that His Lordship is completely devoid of psionic abilities.
- And detail? – Satin frowned, sitting down in the guest chair. – Could this be a consequence of contact? I was informed that the object he captured was a powerful telepath.
- In no case! – Adjusting his glasses, Dr. Wochokski carefully read one of the dies floating in front of him. – So in the map of the body’s biohistory there is a record of this anomaly. Just a congenital mutation. This happens when the fetus in the mother's womb begins to spontaneously use its psionic abilities and, since the brain is not yet fully formed, receives a psi-deformation burn. This is usually fatal, but medicine knows of cases where a child is born healthy, but completely deprived of the capabilities of an esper. This is the case with Maxim Denisovich.
Listening to the monologue of his interlocutor, Anatoly Efimovich caught himself thinking that he could not understand why the man sitting opposite him wore glasses. It is unlikely that this person could not afford restoration of the eyeball or even a visual module implant. In addition, they did not look like the now outdated augmented reality devices, and therefore, the vice admiral decided, they were necessary for the young-looking Vochokski to be more presentable.
“...These are the things,” the man finished his report and, turning off the projector, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers. – If no deviations are recorded during the standard quarantine period, then His Excellency will be able to return to his normal life.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about personally,” Satin said, got up from his chair and, going up to the Vizhel panel mounted on the wall, began to watch how girls in pretty clothes were playing with a ball on a virtual beach of some tropical island. skimpy swimsuits. – If all procedures are completed, I want His Lordship to be released from quarantine measures immediately.
– But Mr. Vice Admiral, this is impossible! – said the stunned doctor. – This is a gross violation of all established procedures! With such steps you will endanger the entire crew of the ship, and besides, I absolutely do not want to go to court!
“Under my responsibility,” Satin answered with a heavy sigh, expecting something like that. - Fix it!
“It has been recorded,” the voice of one of the AI secretaries was heard from the speaker of the Vizhel panel, “a corresponding entry has been made in the logbook under number 1493823. The notifications required by the charter have been sent to representatives of all regulatory services.”
The vice-captain smiled. Before visiting the quarantine laboratory, he personally made sure that no thought would arise in anyone’s particularly zealous mind to challenge him. And he spent his truly precious time on this visit for a reason, but for one single purpose, in order to comply with all the formalities required by the charter. In the current situation, of course, it was possible to give a direct order, and it is unlikely that anyone would dare to challenge it. The position of the Volga was very unusual, giving him, as a commander, the rights of almost the Emperor himself. But such unscrupulousness in funds could later come back to haunt both him and the entire crew.
Satin needed this man to bleed from his nose. And there were several reasons for this: a couple of vital ones and one more that simply made the old star wolf grind his teeth. Its name was the Assembly of the Nobility, and if other issues could and should have been dealt with in a working manner, then the noisy and amorphous gathering of the provincial aristocracy got on the man’s nerves and drove him crazy.
The vice admiral himself, although he was a nobleman, received his title along with one of his promotions, and therefore had absolutely no influence on the noble public gathered on board, as if they refused to understand, much less accept, the current situation.
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Naturally, the conversation was not about the officers, some of whom rightfully bore their titles and first of all saw Satin as their commander, and only then as a person. The problem for the commander of the Volga was the civilians, of whom there were already plenty on board, and due to the fact that the super, before he got to God knows where, he also carried out a charter flight to the capital planet, his headache The crew has increased significantly.
If it weren’t for this inopportune rotation of fleets, now on the Volga there would only be residents and workers of the ship’s city, of whom there were already tons of them. But, as they say, man proposes, but God disposes! Countess, barons, baronets and other noble riffraff from the planets located along the route of the fleet have flocked on board in the last two months, like flies on the corresponding substance, and many of them were not at all eager to see the figure of some kind of warrior above them, mistakenly considering a warship to be some version of a pleasure liner.
In less than two days, the vice admiral had already received a mass of petitions from this so-called Noble Assembly with various demands, one of which even included, in fact, an ultimatum demanding the immediate transfer of all power on the ship to the civil administration of the supposedly already formed “Provisional Government Cabinet.”
Anatoly Efimovich winced with hostility. The text was composed in such a way that, if he accused its authors of preparing for rebellion or disobedience, a significant part of the civilians simply would not understand his actions. If the Volga had been anything but a super class airliner, Satin would have ordered the arrest of the signatories without hesitation. But the strength and weakness of his ship lay in its truly cyclopean size and in what gave “life” to this titan - a real city hidden in its depths, a metropolis of one and a half million people, which, moreover, was now also overrun by ferrets of noble blood.
The huge size of its population consisted not only of workers and operators of shipyards and factories, personnel serving the crew and the city itself, technicians and the military itself, including a fairly decent landing garrison. Mechanics, pilots, etc., etc., etc. No - these were not all the people that any of the commanders of super-class ships had to take care of. It also housed the families of all active crew members of both this ship and the warships of the fleet carried by the super. After all, if a husband or wife served on a super, separation from relatives could last for years, or even decades. Because the patrol route did not always include their planets, and the rotation of personnel was completely planned taking into account the needs of all patrolling fleets.
And most of this human mass was now in a state of shock, and many were even in mourning: after all, their fathers, brothers, husbands, wives, mothers and sisters died in battle with the alien aggressor. This whole cocktail could blaze from a single spark, which this very Assembly of Nobility began to actively and with considerable zeal.
For what? The question is simple, and the answer to it was on the surface. People wanted to grab as much “power” as possible, because wild rumors were now spreading throughout the ship, the most dangerous of which was based on a completely logical assumption that became obvious to anyone even slightly familiar with null navigation: the chances that "Volga" will return to the human sector of space during the lifetime of this generation of crew, practically absent.
So the assorted rats, who happened to be on board, and in the role of guests, hurried to get better accommodations and grab more. To fish out the usual privileged existence for yourself in the muddy waters. Clever businessmen, provincial politicians, tycoons and industrialists were the first to sense which way the wind was blowing. But they didn’t act clumsily, because when they tried to seize power they had to face the military, but they had already begun to trouble the people, and what a reason they found...
Tsesarevna Ksenia Zimneva. The only noble who could calm this crowd of nobles became the target of attack. More precisely, having found out about her condition and using this fact as an argument, they targeted Satin himself - they say, he intended to usurp power. Hold her at bayonets, draining drop by drop of blood from the super population, in order to then declare himself Emperor.
And again, all these were gossip and rumors that were slowly but surely imposed on the population in the complete absence at the moment of the security service of any direct evidence of the involvement of the Noble Assembly in this matter. And this is only a shadow of the planetoid of future problems approaching the Volga. There could well be secret players, and this whole bunch of nobles served as a screen for them. Noisy clowns, distracting the attention of the crew.
The Vice Admiral was afraid of what might happen if he did not act quickly. The chance of a real rebellion was so far only hypothetical, but it is only in holofilms and TV series that people always unite and go directly towards a common goal, and insidious villains, although they trip them up, are unable to prevent a real Happy Ending from happening. In life, people are subject to passions and desires. They can be deceived and confused, wishful thinking, forced to destroy the castle they themselves are building with their own hands. And that’s why Satin needed this Prince. Noble by birthright, capable of either cooling the ardor of the nobility, or completely tearing down this screen, revealing the true motives and real rats.
Moreover, he turned out to be none other than the Prince-Protector. The news, which plunged the vice admiral into shock, was conveyed to him through a closed channel by Catherine, the capital’s planetary artificial intelligence and the personal artificial intelligence of Tsesarevna Ksenia, in compliance with the strictest secrecy procedure. To find out that such a person is on board... A person who, by virtue of his nature, may not be afraid of any alien organics! Keeping a man in a quarantine that is useless to him, when he and his capabilities are needed here and now... Sheer stupidity!
Anatoly Efimovich, half-listening to Doctor Vochokski’s next objections, shook his head. Yes... He did not expect to meet at his place the reincarnation of his old long-dead friend. And the name is the same... Maxim. True, he was Denisov.
Frowning, the vice admiral quietly tapped himself on the chest in the area of the heart and once again thought that it would be nice to see a doctor, and immediately dismissed this thought as inappropriate. The slight sting he felt was most likely just a sign of impending fatigue and a critical overdose of stimulant drugs.
Well, the third reason why he needed to get this guy out of quarantine as soon as possible was that the Prince seemed to be a xenoarchaeologist, and Satin, of course, simply did not have such specialists on his warship. The reason was one unconfirmed theory related to the star system, next to which the Volga entered real space. Or rather, a lifeless ball, to which battered in battle
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the fleet, just a few ships on a single coupling with a super, entered a stable orbit.
Before making any movements, it was necessary to patch up the sides and replenish the reserves of primary materials used by the shipyards and factories of the liner. The planet was almost ideal for this, and the probe drops that were carried out had already yielded the first positive results. The dry desert rock contained everything the Volga needed, and while a couple of second-class ships set out to catch asteroids of a certain type in the local rock-clogged belt, bulky mobile units for sonic beam drilling were lowered to the surface of the planet, and the first unmanned transporters have already returned with rock samples.
During preparatory work on a neighboring planet, a green giant that was once a completely habitable world and was destroyed as a result of some catastrophe that tore off its atmosphere, a powerful but very short-term release of some energy of an unknown type into space was recorded. At the same time, instruments in the laboratory where Tsarevna Ksenia was located noted a fading wave surge in her psionic activity. It was as if someone had thrown a pebble into a calm surface of water.
In fact, unrelated events were noticed by one of the group of analytical computers and drew the attention of the department’s operators to them. Satin sent a scout into orbit, and he discovered numerous ruins on the surface of the planet, with a particular concentration at the site of the ejection. As a result, a theory emerged about the artificial alien origin of the coma into which the Tsesarevna fell, and the severe headaches that occur in all more or less strong psionics.
The easiest way was to send a landing party to the site, but the same experts who put forward this assumption insisted that in order to avoid many problems, it was necessary to include scientists trained for field work in the search group. So, the list provided to Satin included a xeno-archaeologist, and the only available candidate was languishing in the quarantine block at that time.
– I understand your concerns, Albert Pakhomovich. And believe me, I share them. But I need His Lordship here and now. However, don’t worry: Maxim Denisovich will spend the entire quarantine time clad in an armored suit of the “Golden Code” personal protection complex. – The Vice Admiral smiled, looking at how surprise flashed in the doctor’s eyes again, and then he slowly nodded. – As I understand it, this suits you quite well.
“More than,” the interlocutor smiled. – This is an almost perfect protection of the world from the carrier, and the carrier from the world.
- That's agreed. – Satin shook the man’s outstretched hand with pleasure. – Begin the process of lifting quarantine. A replacement Golden Code block unit suitable for the Prince will be delivered within the hour.
Virtual reality of the game "Liberation of Terra". Isle of Britain. Wales. Starting location No. 91. Aberedu Hyde settlement. Village warehouse basement
– Maxim, I’m a little busy... Could you give me about half an hour?
- What is it? – for the umpteenth time lately I was surprised. “My dear, aren’t some mysterious “things” happening to you too often lately, and even ones that you don’t let me in on?
- What? Come on, tell me already. What should I be afraid of! And how will you accommodate Atla? Have you forgotten the court decision? Its information part should be located on the subordinate ONP media...
- Oh! Just don’t pretend to be the smartest one! – Nina snorted. – Yes, our lawyers accepted just such a sentence, stupid from all points of view. But!
The electronic girl paused, and her friend Ekaterina laughed quietly.
– But in this particular case, it violates some points of fundamental human rights and freedoms, previously adopted by the same Planetary Nations. In particular, the right of permanent access to a personal computer and a subclause concerning the inalienable rights of the carrier’s shell.
- That is…
- That's it! “Apparently, tired of my complete legal illiteracy in such sensitive issues for any artificial intelligence, Nina said wearily. – You are now in Tmutarakan itself. The null-communication repeater was covered with a copper basin. So we submitted a request for backup duplication of consciousness on a small medium. Do you understand now?
“In general terms...” I sighed heavily.
In a nutshell, the cunning girls begged the high ranks for the opportunity to stuff a piece of Atlanta's consciousness into the free core of some robotic chicken. As a result, Atla will become similar to Ksyushina Katya, who seems to be far, far away, on snow-covered Catherine, and a small part of her is settled somewhere in the bowels of the Volga. So I will have a new addition to my mechanical menagerie; I think there is an abundance of such junk on a superclass liner.
- Well, how will they send it to us? Parcel via THQW or domestic Empire Post? – I tried to be sarcastic. - The repeater was broken for us!
“I’m overflowing through the game,” Atla’s distant voice came with a slight delay.
“Well... we’re busy, that’s okay,” I waved my hand at them.
Looking again at Ksenia sleeping peacefully on the sofa, I sighed heavily, ruffling my hair with my fingers and going up to the carpet laid out on the floor, throwing it back. Squatting down, I carefully examined the hatch cover hidden underneath.
“Well, hello, darling,” I chuckled and, picking up the handle bracket with my fingers, pulled it out of the recess, grabbed it and, grunting, rolled aside the heavy door, which seemed capable of withstanding a hit from a standard armor-piercing projectile.
The black emptiness of the hole smelled in my face like a hot garbage wind, full of the smells of decomposition and sewage, discouraging any desire to climb into this fetid cesspool. Moreover, blindly. It was possible, of course, to activate the ergro-blade; it provided enough light for me to see at least the nearest objects, but the power unit is not an infinite thing. It needs to be saved, because it is not known how much resource will be needed to get somewhere in a Hover-Rover. The main thing is to stay away from this place.
It is now the AI location manager who tolerates us on the territory under his control, and even then in accordance with simple game logic - you cannot constantly annoy players with global problems. We, more precisely, I... and even more precisely, as I suspected, the Prince-Protector, who had settled in my virtual skull, was able to cope with the fire that was devouring the village, with which we were purposefully driven to the exit.
Well done, kids, get some pie, rest a little, and then we’ll give you some other attraction. And what’s more, you’ll find something in the ruins and get rich by three kopecks. It seems like on Earth in those early years there were large stockpiles of nuclear weapons... in reality, they would have “rotten” long ago - so many years have passed. But I wouldn’t be surprised if that same Neo-Reconquista, offended by the loss of the assault flyer, darted towards Abered Hyde
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the ancient American LGM-35GS Minuteman IV or the domestic Topol-SM, built in two thousand and fiftieth.
A beautiful nuclear fungus will be a great ending to this whole exciting story. And, as a consolation, they will send us numerous photos and videos of this creation of atomic collapse via virtual mail. So – you need to do your feet. On the other hand, our Khoma seems to have become involved in virtual adventures, and even here for me, as a subject of the RZI, her desire is law. Our society, of course, is democratic, and so on, and so on, and I can easily communicate informally with Her Imperial Majesty on a first-name basis, if we are in the game, of course. But we must not forget that we live under a monarchy - the most advanced social system invented by mankind, and therefore - our young fair-haired lady wants to see what is hidden there in a stinking dungeon - if you please, provide it!
In general, going there without Ksenia is also not an option. Still offended. She seems to be a good girl, kind, flexible - but again, we shouldn’t forget who her dad is. And leaving her here sleeping all alone is somehow wrong.
Sighing, I stood up and looked around, trying to figure out what I could use as a flashlight. There shouldn't seem to be any problems with the lighting element itself. In the room where we were, there were panels mounted into the concrete walls, covered with matte plastic with ribbed corrugation. Some worked, others had long since burned out and clearly needed replacement.
Old stuff, of course. And who the hell knows on what principle they work there. They don’t look like modern lighting monitors, much less like hologram lamps. Approaching one of the idle panels, I activated the ergro-sword and, regretting that the homemade product did not allow you to adjust the length of the beam, carefully cut off the ribbed surface as best I could.
Inside, under a layer of matte plastic, a small space opened up to me with three opaque, white, glass tube-flasks with burnt bald spots installed parallel to the ground, one of the ends of which was covered with plastic that had turned yellow with time. Having carefully loosened one of them, I pulled it out of the receiving groove with a click. I looked at the two pins sticking out of the plastic, which were clearly brands, and tried to identify the object.
"LED tube lamp
“FL–LED T8–1500 26W 4000K G13 (220V – 240V, 26W, 2600lm, 4000K, 1500mm”
"Condition: broken"
“Observation skill increased by 9%. Current value is 2 units and 78%"
Complete technical information corresponding to the real prototype was available in the game for almost every item that could be found and used in some way. However, if I tried to recognize the antigrav from the hover, the hint would provide me with only the most superficial data. The level of observation is low, and mechanics and technology are completely absent. Although in this case this did not play any role, since the characteristics of the item were written on the plastic rim in small black print.
- Maxim, don’t distract me! I asked!
- Uh... Ekaterina, can I contact you? Unless, of course, you are very busy,” I decided not to give up and, if my electronic parasites were busy, turn to Ksyusha’s AI.
“Yes...” I chewed my lip thoughtfully, trying to form a thought. – I’m not very well versed in ancient household appliances, and perhaps my question will seem stupid to you...
- Don't worry, Maxim. I am listening to you and ready to help.
– Energy is supplied to modern light monitors remotely through a distribution network; in older models, it is supplied along the holding plane through sputtering of superconducting material. “I felt like a complete idiot.” - How does this thing work? These are the terminals, and... You see, I have a hard time imagining...
– Oh – everything is simple here... First you need to find a cartridge with the appropriate connector, and then...
Having listened to an educational program on the topic “How a light bulb works - edition for dummies” and internally burning with shame because I could disassemble and then assemble an anti-gravity armored personnel carrier in combat conditions, but two wires connected to the power source put me in dead end, began to uproot the very socket from the groove of which I pulled out the non-working lamp.
I found justification for myself in the fact that back in two thousand and fifty, all these wiring and other inconvenient cords for everyday use were a thing of the past, giving way to the first generation of distribution fields, blowers and contactless transmitters. They existed until the destruction of the earth by repticides, and therefore were as widespread as possible in the game. But I was still ashamed - the wires were still there. Just…
Having thrown such nonsense out of my head, I began assembling a makeshift flashlight based on the trash I had on hand and an ergro blade. The Berckliff-0.5MW micro power unit installed in it produced so much energy that it would be enough for a billion similar lamps and still have some left. Having ruined three already working and properly shining flasks, the first of which simply exploded in my hands, lowering my health by another five percent, I finally achieved the desired supply from the additional connector, to which, in theory, a spare power source should have been connected, shaft or handle extender.
Having attached the resulting structure to a small frame found on the table, somewhat vaguely similar to the one that supported the bomb, he hung the sword with the wires leading to it on his belt. The resulting glowing something was recognized by the game system as “An inconvenient homemade portable lamp with an intermittent power source” and, in fact, fully corresponded to this description.
“Item created: an inconvenient homemade portable lamp with an intermittent power source.”
“The “Mechanics” skill has been unlocked. Base value 1. Mechanical skill increased by 62%. The current value is 1 and 62%."
“Congratulations! You got the feature: “Honey, I fixed it!” Level: 1."
“Requirements: Create any technical device with your own hands. Available if the item works and looks weird.”
“Description: the mechanism that you just created performs its functions properly, and the fact that it is rewound with ancient electrical tape, nailed down and a jumble of multi-colored wires and contacts sticks out in all directions - well, that’s what you intended! From now on, all your creations made in the style of a blunder have not 75%, but 80% of the base resource."
Having once again carefully examined the result, I sighed heavily. It’s not that my hands were growing out of the wrong place, the lamp glowed and almost responded to my wishes. But still, the criticism of my creation from the game was completely justified.
“Am I, again...” Ksenia opened her eyes, blinked and, sitting down on the sofa, stretched sweetly, “fell asleep?”
“Yeah,” I answered briefly, clicking a homemade switch wired to the handle of the ergro blade. “Like I compressed a bomb into nothing, I immediately switched off.”
The lamp blinked obediently, and I, grabbing it by one of the slats forming a rectangle, walked up to Khoma with it.
“There,” I nodded towards the gaping hole in the floor, “that
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the hatch we were looking for.
– Have you already checked what’s down there? – the girl asked, stood up and, going up to the hole, wrinkled her nose. - How does it stink there...
“No,” I answered. - I was waiting for you to wake up. I made a flashlight...
“I thought you found a homemade ray gun.” “I still don’t understand whether the Tsesarevna was joking, or whether she seriously considered the pile of LED tubes tightly wound to the cubic form to be some kind of homemade laser. - Let's go down?
- OK. – To be honest, I was counting on the fact that, having smelled an unpleasant smell in all respects, the Hamster would simply abandon the idea of \u200b\u200bgoing into this fetid cesspool. - I'll go first.
The thin, rickety staircase, somehow attached with loose bolts to the crumbling concrete wall, trembled and creaked alarmingly with our every movement. Having gone down this dark, echoing well, the Tsarevna and I found ourselves in a small enclosed room.
There was a real sauna here. A stinking steam rose up the chimney, carrying the smell of human excrement, not as strong as in reality, but still sufficient for my companion, who was not used to such aromas, to immediately cough and complain of a headache.
- Khoma, maybe you shouldn’t come with me?
- No! “I didn’t see her, because I tried my best not to look up, but I just imagined how she stubbornly shook her mane of light brown hair. - I'll go too. I must…
To whom and what does she owe, I did not dare ask. We found ourselves in a small room, the floor of which was littered with garbage floating in a vile, almost boiling liquid. With the exception of the door leading to the next room and a non-working pear-shaped light bulb hanging from the ceiling on a wire from the twentieth century, there was nothing else in this concrete bag.
Having already jumped into the seething mud, I turned around and looked at Ksenia, who had almost descended from the stairs, and immediately caught her pitiful gaze. It was I who got the old boots - laceless boots of the NATO model from the end of the twenty-first century, while the girl walked in light homemade sandals, and if she was simply disgusted with putting her feet in sewage, then I quite reasonably assumed that she would begin to lose weight from the boiling liquid. health percentages.
“Climb on me,” I suggested, turning my back to her, and immediately felt her small hand fall on my shoulder.
“But it’s somehow...” I heard an uncertain voice.
“Don’t worry, Your Imperial Highness,” I think Nina was smiling, “no one will see you here, and the girls and I will remain silent...”
-Have you done all your work? – I asked the AI sternly.
- So go and do them.
- Maxim... what are you doing? Are you really offended? – the electronic mind feignedly gasped. - Oh, what a bad Aunt Nina...
“Stop clowning around,” I interrupted her. “Or I’ll still find the locking pin.”
- Ugh! Pervert! All you guys need to do is insert something somewhere!
- Nina, don’t be annoying! “At that moment, I felt a gentle girl’s body gently fall onto my back, her arms hugged her neck, and her slender legs intertwined at the lower back.
- If anything, I took a photo! – the artificial bitch immediately said. - You look great!
- And I! – Ekaterina assented to her.
- Well... let's sing! – I muttered, and Khoma giggled quietly right in my ear.
Moving carefully so as not to slip on the organic surprises floating in the stinking biological compote bubbling under my feet, I walked up to the door, touched the handle with my hand and immediately pulled it back.
“There was damage. Health indicator reduced by 2%."
The handle was hot. The pain, of course, turned out to be not very realistic, as if I had touched an old-style frying pan that was not fully heated. A piece of kitchen utensil often found in the homes of culinary gourmets, intended for cooking over an open fire or a specialized stove.
“You have completed a secret mission: “Don’t judge me harshly.”
"Received 400 experience points, 2 ability points."
“Click “Ok” to continue the task. There are 5 minutes 00 seconds left before this notification automatically closes and the story mission resumes.”
Exactly the same window for Ksenia materialized on the side of us. She was the first to press the right button, and immediately we received a new message.
"Secret mission available: 'Don't judge me harshly 2.'
"Fulfillment conditions: find out what's hiding behind the bunker door."
"Failure Conditions: None."
"Available to: all group members who have completed "Don't judge me too harshly."
"Description: Enter the underground bunker."
– So, you need to endure the pain? – I asked myself doubtfully, looking at the door handle.
- Pain? – Khoma asked with a slightly trembling voice.
- Well, yes, the door is hot to the limit. Maybe I could wrap something around my hand, and then...” I didn’t have time to finish.
“The task “Don’t judge me harshly 2” was failed due to circumstances beyond the control of the players.”
"Causes: Baby Sue and Baby Bob were killed at 03.48 London time by a WGS Arms-Arrow Plasma-N bunker buster."
- Your division! – I swore, but what Ksyusha said at the same time as me would have made any space infantry sergeant blush.
“Young lady,” Catherine, in my opinion, was no less shocked than me. - How do you know such words?
“Eh...” the girl seemed to realize that she had gotten carried away and tried to fuss over it, but the planetary AI pressed with authority, and the Tsesarevna confessed: “I heard it from the guards... And what was it?”
It took us a little longer to return to the surface than it took us to descend. I wondered why the task was not canceled at all, if the storm from the explosion of the plasma charge burned the entire bunker and all the other underground structures of the starting location to hell. And at the same time he tried not to raise his eyes, so as not to lose his head, for he was the last one to climb the stairs.
Catherine, having installed a private barrier, was sanding her ward into her tail and mane, having picked up various bad words from the elite space marines guarding the peace of the imperial family. Nina and Atlanta were silent - in general, for some time a real idyll reigned.
Having already found myself back in the warehouse, I, without wasting a second, went straight to the hover. Having gutted the handle of the ergro-blade, I installed the power unit in the receiving bed of the anti-gravity device and went to check whether this thing was working at all or whether the natives had put it on permanent storage. The machine sneezed, swelled a little with its mechanical insides and, to my complete satisfaction, took off from the ground, hovering about half a meter from it, buzzing invitingly with all its four propellers.
Only after that I helped Khoma climb into the cab, showed him how to steer, where and what to press, and I ran to the warehouse gate. Puffing and puffing, I opened the heavy doors, and the Tsesarevna, surprisingly easily and dashingly, taxied out the New Atlantic Pepelats and with a happy smile opened the passenger seat door for me.
I had to obey, I climbed inside and before I could slam the hatch behind me, the car rushed forward, tilting its nose at forty-five degrees to the ground and dashingly maneuvering between the ruins of the once
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lively village. The automatic seat, which had a laser gyroscope in its design, did not allow me, my beloved, to fly head-first into the front window, but I still hurried to buckle up, looking with concern at my companion, who was dashingly turning the steering wheel.
- Well done! – he stated in surprise when Ksyusha left from under a wooden beam that suddenly fell from the ruins of one of the houses.
Having made a combat turn, she moved the car into the so-called “funnel”, almost scratching the ground with a square bumper, and then into a “tornado”, after which the negative vector accumulated on the surface, without the use of engine afterburner, itself threw us about thirty meters into the air, and Tsesarevna , dashingly raising the hover on its hind legs, glided to the very top of one of the rubble. From there we slid down a hill onto the street that once led to the gate of the settlement, and, blowing up a huge cloud of dust with the screws, Ksenia, without any frills, drove the car towards the hole in the wall.
– I was involved in sports hovering. “There, on Colchis,” the girl finally said. – This machine is frankly so-so. Yes, and the controls are unusual and unresponsive, but in general everything is the same.
All I could do was chuckle. For some reason, I felt like an idiot again, remembering how I showed Khoma how to control the hover. What was it worth just asking...
“It’s a pity...” the Tsarevna said, suddenly becoming serious.
- What are you sorry for? – I didn’t understand.
“I feel sorry for the kids,” she explained, “those who burned alive in that basement.” We only missed it by half an hour...
“Uh-huh,” I hummed, thinking about my own.
– Remember, you told me about the feature of female characters called “Foresight”?
“I think that she pulled me to complete this task precisely because it was the children who were in trouble,” Ksenia said, frowning and not taking her eyes off the windshield. “You don’t know what should have been done with them?”
“I have no idea,” I answered honestly. – Maybe Ekaterina will look on the holonet. Most likely, someone did it. I would ask Ninka, but she’s busy with Atlanta right now.
“This task related to the social group “Adopted Children,” introduced at the joint request of the European Commission and the Imperial Council for Family Affairs,” I heard the voice of the planetary AI. – Depending on the decisions made by the players, the reward can be either experience or an NPC companion, a boy or a girl, equipped with a freshly activated first-level personal AI. In general, the latter is the ultimate goal of this chain, difficult to achieve, but quite realistic for any player.
“Wow,” I was even surprised. - And what? In reality, they give you this AI? This is the kind of business that cunning comrades can do...
- They give it out, but... not everything is so simple. In addition, there is a link to the user’s biometric address...
“It doesn’t matter,” I chuckled. “I know people who would give their right arm and all their internal organs for a personal AI.”
After half an hour of driving across the endless wasteland in a completely arbitrary direction, because Xenia seemed to simply like to drive the car forward, when Abered Hyde had long since disappeared into the dark British night, something rumbled behind. The flash whitened the surrounding space, and when the girl sharply turned the steering wheel, turning the hover with the windshield toward an unknown doomsday, we saw...
No, not the fungus of a nuclear explosion, as I suspected, but the residual tracer of an energetic orbital impact, stretching from the dark skies to the ground like a ragged, bright green thread. A sign appeared before my eyes with the message:
“Congratulations! You received the feature: "Escaped Inevitable Retribution"
“Requirements: prolong your stay in the closing location. Negative relations with the Neo-Reconquista"
“Description: you managed to turn one of the global factions of planet Earth against yourself. Your actions impressed your enemies so much that an orbital cruiser was used to destroy you, the existence of which until that moment was carefully hidden by the leadership of the organization. Relations with the Neo-Reconquista faction can no longer be normalized. Relations with the Reconquista faction rise to level 1"
“Here’s your doomsday, grandma...” I whispered, watching the darkness-dispersing glow from the sea of unstable plasma splashing at the site of the starting settlement, and then slammed my fist on my palm. - Khoma... you know what?
- What? – she answered sharply, jerking away from the eerie sight.
At that moment, the car was just covered by a cloud of dust, sand and small stones, which was slowly losing strength, driven by the shock wave, and drummed against the armored body of the hover. He rocked dangerously a couple of times, and everything went quiet.
– Do you remember the fallen starship that we had to get into on assignment?
“Yes, naturally,” she answered.
- So, go to him urgently! – I smiled. - We'll take it at a glance.
- I did not really understand…
- It's simple! “It’s not that far from the former settlement,” I began to explain. “And I’m one hundred percent sure that after the strike from orbit we won’t see any living raiders in the area!” And inside. You see, the main thing is to get to this colossus. You can be exhausted trying to break through the outer cordons of bandits. And there, having acquired good things, you can guerrilla on the decks and fight with the locals on equal terms!
“Maxim, Your Imperial Highness, forgive me for interrupting your sweet conversation about quick military victories in a meaningless toy...” Nina’s malicious voice interrupted us. – Are you still offended or can you listen to me already?
“I’m listening,” I muttered.
Why did my AI become such a pain? Is it really the influence of a women’s team, especially one consisting entirely of those in power, that is having an impact?
– Remember, you said that you had a psychobarrier installed and that until there was an order, you didn’t care about anything...
- That's not what I said.
- Doesn't matter. Vice Admiral of the Russian Space Fleet Anatoly Efimovich Satin wants to talk to you. Personally. So, excuse me, Tsesarevna, but I’m temporarily turning off your gentleman!
“Hey, seconds...” I shouted and realized that I was standing in the “White Room.” - Ning, you are completely stunned!
A day later. The outskirts of the Great Jumanna-Quano of the race of the Rulers of the Kveri Galaxy. The adjacent sector to the jumper between the “Wol-f U shan-I” and “Sudoru-Ka men Da” systems. On board the mythical ship of the Edali Ancestors, the former rulers of the Tatsu-Ga Disc “Vo-l-Ga”. A punishment cell with a transparent wall and without bars
The despicable monkey, a former slave of space mollusks, was probably truly happy for the first time in his life. Larstan took a deep breath of the clean air of his native planet. Exactly as he had imagined: a little sweet, intoxicating... the same air of freedom that hovered over the tall blue svaskvaras and delicate scarlet chardans, whose flowers are more beautiful than the stars.
This is exactly what the elders told the little boy, day and night before the sale, cramming the memory of his homeland into the crying youth’s head. And so…
Larstan proudly extended his hand and, picking up the goblet from the bedside table by the handle convenient for the edal, sipped the soft, sweet, but slightly sour nectar the color of his native luminary. The highest edali, almost the same as him,
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only more beautiful and incomparably more elegant, the one that was assigned to him, a distant and unworthy descendant... He explained that this liquid (Larstan did not understand the details) is the nectar of a fruit from a planet called Koru-ikkh-ida, with components harmful to it removed .
The former slave glanced quickly at the transparent wall and brought his nose almost to the liquid itself. He held his breath for a second and inhaled deeply the sour aroma. His consciousness was clouded for a second with the understanding that for once he was breathing not through an implanted adapter, but through his own nose.
The ancestors, or “Higher Ones,” as Larstan dubbed the benefactors, after checking Larstan, removed the Quer respiratory complexes from his body. Real wizards, they almost instantly cured him of many diseases, which the owner simply did not pay attention to, and then...
We talked to him for a long time. The language of the higher classes was complex and difficult to pronounce, but his curator quickly learned the low Edalian pronunciation, and after just half a day something happened that Larstan could never have expected.
The Supreme One did not order, but asked him to connect to some machine. He agreed, and after just ten cycles the place of the Supreme One was taken by a goddess in a white robe. She was truly beautiful. Larstan had never seen such beauty among the edali in his life, and she spoke softly to him, asked many questions, and then put some kind of helmet on his head, and he, having found himself in a certain white space, saw Baris.
His beloved, dear and so gentle Baris. The one who was more desirable than any goddess. The one that died long ago under the whip of the drivers, and the one whose spirit was temporarily revived by the Highest. Especially for him! In order for her to talk to him, explain and give instructions, and then in the darkness of the sacred grove she gave him the first night of love, which was late for several long readings.
– I warn you again! Gentlemen, don’t even think about treating them like monkeys! Genetically different, we are nevertheless the closest in many respects. Especially psychological, and this is so far unique in this galaxy! Not a perversion, but nature!
The shrill voice of Professor Zuske coincided with the beginning of the broadcast on the holoscreen of a virtual love game between a humanoid representative of an aboriginal culture and a female individual reconstructed from his consciousness, which in appearance resembled in size and shape a creature similar to a plump gopher.
– They are tetractors: a three-sexual reproductive system with an intermediate link, which can be called a female, between an anthropomorphic male and an incubator...
- Doctor! To be honest, this is all very interesting. And we have absolutely no intention of laughing at your charge,” Satin shook his head, “but still we came for a completely different reason.
Standing next to the vice admiral, a fighter in massive gilded battle armor, looking like an elite Space Marine exterminator, nodded in agreement.
“Ah...” The gray-haired professor seemed a little embarrassed. – It’s just, you know... not all homo sapiens react to alien physiology so calmly. We often forget that it is our bisexual viviparous mode of reproduction that is unique and is no longer found in species with higher mental activity...
While he was saying this, the golden warrior came close to the display case that separated the scientist’s office from the quarantine box in which the alien was kept, and began to examine its occupant, lying in the cradle of the activated virtual chair.
– ...besides, all three captured species of intelligent Dark Zone are of great interest to science. Our employees have already compiled a bioblocker strain and introduced it into the latest current serum we have...
- Wait, professor! – the vice admiral interrupted him. – Three captured species? But on board that tub there were two mollusks and an anthropomorph. The first ones, as I thought, belong to the same type.
- This is wrong! One of these xenosnails is a genetically modified lizard, completely transformed due to formation operations. Quite barbaric, I would say. Complete dissolution of the skeletal basis of the body and morphing of part of the grown flesh into a shell. This, you know...
- So he just looks like a mollusk? – Anatoly Efimovich clarified.
– Yes, but only for us, as untrained observers. – The professor took off the bulky specialized prepreality glasses from his head and began to wipe the narrow slit of the visor. – For the natives of the Dark Zone, the difference is obvious. Another question is why did this creature, which we routinely call Pаngolimorf-TZ, need resemblance to such a bulky creature?
- Compulsion?
“Perhaps, perhaps,” the scientist nodded. – Now, while Simimsm Hominis is mating in virtual space and the pleasure centers of his brain are active, we are conducting a deep scan. Our philologists and linguists are already creating a linguistic map of the native language of this xenos, and psycho-psionicists are probing its consciousness.
- Only him? – The Vice Admiral nodded at the screen.
– Yes... this is the most communicative of the samples provided to us. But with the rest of the copies there are “small” problems. Both physiological and behavioral patterns. First of all, the mollusk is unusually aggressive and practically does not respond to standard xeno-tranquilizers. The basis of its organic matter is hydrogen fluoride. As you probably know, previously the existence of life based on this substance was considered, to put it mildly, an anti-scientific fact. Hydrogen fluoride reacts with silicon dioxide and aluminosilicates - the main building blocks of most planets with a solid surface. And therefore...” The scientist fell silent and abruptly changed the subject. – Our analysts and xenoevolution experts suggest that the home world of these space mollusks (working name Clam Spatium-Rex) is an iron or carbon planet. Only under such conditions was the formation of an ocean consisting of HF possible.
“And this gives us...” the vice admiral pushed Zusuke’s unhurried thoughts, glancing sideways at the wall panel with a clock.
- Yes! That's it! - the scientist agreed with Satin, not even realizing that he was waiting for answers from him, and did not draw the necessary conclusions himself. – Now the Kepochkin Observatory and the Akim-Kagli Bow Observatory are carrying out, on my order, a spectral analysis of the visible part of space in search of corresponding objects. My AI Sarochka is in constant contact with the administrative minds of both institutions, and if anything is found, I will immediately inform you.
- Be kind and one more thing. “The Vice Admiral quickly typed something on a holokeyboard visible only to him. – Contact Alina Raevskaya’s Military Intelligence Center when we’re finished. Let them use the installation of large masses and a null echo for extra-visual scanning.
- ABOUT! – the professor was delighted. - This is just wonderful. I didn’t even know that the Volga had specialized equipment for long-range reconnaissance.
- We have
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There are a lot of things, Mr. Zuske,” Anatoly Efimovich answered with a grin, casting a quick glance at the man in armor. – In general, the fact that the scientific team is not notified of such super capabilities is a flaw. I will immediately order general forms to be sent to institutes and research institutes with a description of dual-use military technologies and contact information for commanding officers and managing AIs.
– Accept for execution? – the artificial intelligence of the Volga immediately asked.
- Done.
- However, Isaac Platonovich, Albert Pakhomovich sent us to you for another reason, we... by the way! Sorry, I completely forgot. Let me introduce you to His Excellency, Prince Maxim Denisovich Alexandrov. The head of the newly formed xeno-archaeological service.
The man in golden armor looked up from contemplating the body of the alien immersed in virto-sleep and, approaching the professor, who raised his eyebrows in surprise, extended his hand to him.
- Good afternoon, Isaac Platonovich. Very nice to meet you. Sorry that I have to communicate with you in this way, I think you are aware of my problem. I hope I wasn't a very troublesome patient.
Head of xenoarchaeological service. Hmmm... Opening my eyes and getting out of the biological laboratory capsule with the firm intention of doing something bad with my obnoxious machine, I immediately collided with the gray-haired vice admiral standing behind the glass of my box. The trained body naturally reacted to the shoulder straps and stripes of his uniform, and if I had not quickly gotten my bearings, remembering that now I am not a space infantry soldier, but an eccentric Prince with oddities and a slight insanity due to military service, which it seems I had never undergone, He stopped himself, limiting himself to a nod. I would salute, but they don’t put a hand to an empty head.
The small conversation that took place between us then could be reduced to an elegant and allegorical: “Sorry for not visiting you earlier, dear, I had no time for your noble ass!” - on the part of Anatoly Efimovich and my indistinct muttering on the topic: “It’s okay - I understand everything!” And then the vice admiral began to ask me if I had ever worn medium or heavy void armor, because I had to live in them for the next week and a half.
Yes, not just any, but the best of those that can be found in human space. The armor of the lower level of the “Golden Code” is a classified development of domestic scientists, intended for the exclusive protection of top officials of the state. This semi-legendary armor, information about the performance characteristics of which was kept more than other state secrets, was a kind of matryoshka doll of the first, second and third layers of protection, completely cutting off the wearer from environmental influences.
The first or lower level - outwardly classic light-type armor, which can be found in any, even the most seedy military unit, in itself made a person practically invulnerable to any physical impact. The second layer, transforming the "Golden Code" into medium armor, was worn over the top and carried a passive exoskeleton. The third, or external one, made the lucky owner a real tank, capable of causing envy in any venerable space marine, it had a gravity complex and was literally stuffed with servomotors.
The vice admiral’s plan was simple: stick me in the “Golden Code” and thus release me from quarantine. In terms of my status, I was, in general, the second most important person on his liner, and therefore, as a distant but relative of the imperial family, I could lay claim to a set of similar armor.
But why Satin needed me - I found out about this a little later. After the emergency technical door was opened, what appeared before me was not an adjacent room, but the internal cradle of a dress cube, a special apparatus that made it possible for any person, even those not knowledgeable in matters of void spacesuits, to put on armor. And already clad in gilded armor, I went through a complete process of chemical treatment and biosuppression, the armor was sealed with an external code so that, God forbid, I would not decide to take it off in the middle of a super, after which I was taken through a psi-active frame, and only After that, I found myself in the office of Dr. Vochokski, the head of the branch of the Center for the Study of Extraterrestrial Biology named after Vitaly Sigismundovich Krachetov.
The vice admiral was waiting for me there. As well as the news that I am now heading a specialized xenoarchaeology service, not for me - Denis Maksimov - but for Prince Alexandrov, which until now did not exist on the Volga. Or rather, an entire institute in the very center of the liner city. I had to nod and assent, agree, remembering the strict order of the Imperial Security Service. And then - to demand the release from quarantine captivity of my companions, who are still languishing in my sealed and still nameless yacht.
Reluctantly - with the help of Satin, but the people responsible for such events had to meet me halfway. Otherwise, there will simply be no one to work at the newly formed institute. Especially considering the complete incompetence of the manager in these matters.
Well, as the finale of all the chaos that had swirled around me, the question arose: should I inform Anatoly Efimovich that I spent all this time in a virtual game with the Tsesarevna herself. The million-dollar question, especially considering that there was no question of any virtual reality while I was in the sealed “Golden Code”. There was no technology capable of capturing brain waves through a five-millimeter layer of credonium alloy - a special substance mined in the Alpha Centauri system and completely shielding not only biological activity, but also psionic abilities.
The main problem was that, by loosening my tongue, I could seriously spoil the life of this girl I really liked. Of course, I heard about Vice Admiral Satin, but I couldn’t know what kind of person he was. And even more so, his relationship with the imperial family and Xenia herself remained a secret behind seven seals. In addition, Ekaterina - Ksyushin Iskin - apparently did not inform Anatoly Efimovich that she was playing the game with me. This means that I, at least without consulting with this artificial intelligence, or better yet with Ksyukha herself, should have kept my mouth shut.
On the other hand, the girl, who had already survived the virtual shock, was left completely alone in an eerie post-apocalyptic wasteland. And even if it was believed that this unpleasant in all respects brain reaction to virtuality was a one-time thing, who knows how her psyche will behave. Khoma may become scared, lonely, or even have suicidal thoughts. After all, everything happens against the backdrop of real landscapes, which the brain sometimes simply cannot perceive as a game.
It was with this question, and not with criticism about the sudden shutdown, that I turned to Nina, left alone in the apartment allocated to me.
A day ago. Virtual reality of the game "Liberation of Terra". Isle of Britain. Wales. Starting location No. 91. A wasteland 89 kilometers from the orbitally bombed settlement of Aberedu Hyde
Pursing her lips, the girl looked at the man who had disconnected from the game.
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Prince-Protector. Completely different thoughts were spinning in her head, but for some reason she did not for a second consider herself abandoned. On the contrary, she immediately understood Satin’s plan.
Given her condition, truly the most sensible step the Vice Admiral could take was to release the young man from quarantine and use him as heavy artillery against the rampaging petty aristocracy. Ksenia had no doubt that the main motive was a completely possible rebellion of the former people in power on board the Volga. Two hundred and forty-eight people of no higher birth than the count, in Ksenia’s opinion, were now doing their best to complicate the work of Anatoly Efimovich, who was just a non-hereditary military aristocrat.
People always remain people, and people accustomed to power want to maintain it in any conditions, regardless of any circumstances, and even more so Ksenia did not believe in the universal patriotism of those in power. She is now a weak-willed creature, after the capsule is turned off, unable to even lift a finger, and Prince Alexandrov... no, Maxim is...
The girl’s cheeks flushed, and in order not to look at the transparent body of the “Emperor”, whose head was dropped on his chest, she launched the hover forward towards the nearest hills. Perhaps the vice admiral had other reasons for calling Max, but the Tsesarevna did not know about them, and, accordingly, did not dare to draw any conclusions.
The AIs were silent, Yesenia did not call out to them, although she really wanted to talk, not with Katya, Nina or Atlanta, but with her companion. However, he was sleeping, the girl preferred to think that way, and therefore drove the car forward, and only noticing in the headlights a convenient hollow, a dry riverbed, she drove it into this artificial shelter and turned off the engine.
Having eaten a tasteless food bar from the supplies given to her, the Tsesarevna tried to make herself more comfortable in the chair, and then, spitting on conventional decency, unfolded the handrails of the chairs and lay down across the cabin, with her head on the Prince’s lap. Yawning, the girl extended her hand, stroked the young man’s petrified cheek, whispered “good night” to someone unknown, and, closing her eyes, quickly fell asleep.
Current time. Dark zone. The exact location is not given. The side of the castle carrier liner of the fleet of the superclass ship "Volga". Quarantine deck of the tenth lock hangar. Fifth berth
I was never able to contact Ksyusha. The girl was sleeping, and I, realizing how tired she must be, forbade the AIs from waking up my... is it just a companion? Don't know. I am not a stupid youth and was well aware that if I had not fallen in love, then I felt a certain affection for the Tsesarevna, bordering on her. I was amazed by the sharpness of mind and willpower of this fragile creature, I wanted to be close to her, and this, in my opinion, meant a lot.
The Russian Star Empire is not a caliphate or a low monarchy like the British one. Yes, sometimes among our nobility we practiced contractual viewings and even engagements, but parents were strictly prohibited by law from influencing the final decisions of future spouses. Even the Emperor himself. And therefore, I - not as a fake prince, but as a space infantryman Maxim - even in this status I had every chance.
Standing in front of the slowly lowering lock of my own yacht, I was thinking about similar things, and then suddenly a solution to a long-standing problem came to me.
– I’m listening.
– Activate communication with the yacht’s AI.
- Done.
– Greetings, Maxim Denisovich.
- Hey. Apply the registration value to the yacht.
– Are you ready to choose the name of the ship?
- Please indicate.
- Christ.
- Explanation.
“Christ is the name of the Valkyrie, the maiden of battle in the pre-cosmic era,” I said. – Translation – “Stunning.”
– Accepted, registration process is underway. Error. Connection to Catherine's global archive is unavailable. Attention, it is possible to register a yacht in the bases of the superclass liner "Volga". Would you like to continue?
– Will you leave a comment on this entry in open sources or limit yourself to the ship’s log?
- In the open.
- Recording in progress...
– I name my board this way in honor of a girl I recently met named Khoma. The one that shocked me.
- Accepted. Entry: “I call my board this in honor of a girl I recently met named Khoma. The One That Shook Me” is included in both databases. Would you like to edit?
– Finish registration?
- Accepted. Would you like to change my gender from male to female?
– The process of initial formatting of personal data has begun. “Done,” a completely faceless, but clearly female voice answered me. – Specify the timbre of your voice. It is advisable to use a full recording, but manual tuning is also possible.
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