A heavy bullet pierced a radio box taped to the top of a stick stuck in the sand.
“Look at the way we're invited. Funny,” Carlos said, surprised. “I thought they weren't talking about gunfire. And who's there to act the part?”
A rag-tagged figure appeared on the mound next to them and waved his hands frantically.
Sharra glanced at the leader, gave the man a faint nod, and hauled the rover toward the stranger. As the craft rode up the rocky outcrop, another unidentified man materialized to the side, gesturing for help:
“That way, that way! There is the entrance to the dungeons; there we may take cover!”
“Will the Rover pass?”
“No, we'll go on foot, the passages are narrow, so the heavy cyborgs won't fit through.”
Carlos stood up, surveying the road in front of him, and suggested:
“If you can cover the tracks, we'll follow you over the rocks to the entrance. The machine will start on a false trail to win a little time.”
Hoarse shined, displeased with the black lenses of his fat glasses but did not argue.
They drove the rover to the long tongue of gravel and carefully got out, dismantling the luggage. They clipped the remains of the explosives into the places they had planned beforehand and attached the auto-navigator box to the steering unit, hooking a bunch of small cameras on remote rods to it. Carlos typed in a route and set detonation parameters to ensure they hadn't forgotten anything. Now, either the car would use every last drop of fuel and roll as far north as possible, or it would run into a cyborg patrol. Either way, the honest-to-goodness machine would meet a grim end.
“Hut first, Sharra to follow. Let's go.”
The hole in someone else's dungeon looked like a former sewer. Trash, snow-covered, frozen mud. And the darkness that reluctantly gave way to the light of the headlights. Almost immediately after the first meters they had to get down on all fours and move on, puffing heavily from the laden load. After another ten minutes of panting, the group generally began to crawl forward, carefully pulling up bags of ammunition and proper survival supplies.
It was only when the endless tube slowly began to collapse downward that the guide deftly disappeared into the sharply widened opening. Carlos and his men followed him out onto the wide platform. Pausing to catch his breath, the earthling checked the sensor readings and asked the figures of the subterranean inhabitants, who had frozen beside him:
“Is it clear? We were worn out by the suits.”
“It's bearable. The masks could be taken off, but you'll get the whole process down below,” said the inhabitant of the underground city, standing at the side and pulling off a tattered ball of cloth covering his bald head. “We'll block it up now so no one else can go in, but it's a long way to go. We met you at the farthest cordon. The base is located deeper, behind the metallurgical workings.”
“Submountain Two?” Carlos clarified and noticed how alert the owners. “The Blinders have it under that name. That's where we were headed.”
“Your masters are idiots. The first cyborg gutted you this information and led the assault groups from the Spot," grinned the thin tall man on the right, carefully stowing his mask and cape in a large bag. He fixed his long-barrelled rifle, hanging from his shoulder, and muttered a glance at his guests: ‘Why did the high command agree to meet you?’”
Hut glanced at his commanding officer, but no sooner had he commented on the Miners' hospitality than Carlos slipped a heavy bag into his hands and turned to the sniper:
“You're a good shot. The optics glare is true, but you hit it accurately. Really, why this show?”
“You would also yell into a megaphone from the hill, ‘I'm here!’ Any radio signal cyborgs are beeping and checking, who has nothing to do. We don't talk on a radio; we don't talk in a loud voice!”
“But you set the rules of identification. We just followed them as agreed.”
“Yes?! Couldn't you wait another 20 years? Things have changed since then and more than once! If I had my way...”
Carlos smiled and briefly punched the sniper in the stomach. Looked at the frozen hosts and held the sliding down thin figure:
“Who else is unhappy with our appearance? Let's make up our minds at once on the shore. Because I can walk home. The guys will help; we'll get there. And no cyborgs will be able to stop us. Even one group, even several... What I want to understand before I tell you: are you crazy with fear of your underground catacombs? Do you shy away from any shadow, are you afraid to squeak out of the corner? Yep? If you're so eager to visit, why did you answer the signal and call the place?”
The bald guide pointedly showed his empty hands and muttered:
“You have not yet had enough of war. The wild ones always try to shoot first and then wonder why they're driven from one edge of the heath to the other. We've been sitting next to cyborgs for years. We know how they operate. And we know that any mistake can cost lives. Here in the dungeons, you have to think first. And then you grab a gun.”
“You think too much. And not twenty years, but a lot more," Carlos cut them off. - The Wild Ones get their weapons and equipment from the Blinders. They've kicked the cogs out of their neighborhood. A year from now, they'll clean up the whole shit-hole. What do you call that ruined town? The Spot? Well, they're gonna wipe the Spot off the map.”
“Well,” the explorer grinned, helping the crippled man up. “If you're so smart, why did you come here? Why don't you go on your way?”
“Oh, easy. Not only that, I will. You sent me an invitation by mistake. Rover's not that far yet; the radio's set to receive. I'll give the order to return, saddle up, and all the best to you... I'll blow this to the wind. Because the Blinders made a mistake when they were preparing a parcel for you. You do not need it, do you?”
He opened his bag and took out a green plastic-wrapped briquette. He held it out, tossed it in his palm, and put it back.
“Enough,” came a sudden voice from the edge of the platform, faintly lit by lanterns. “All one or the other is only to show off his coolness to each other. They are waiting for you at Submountain. But we have not called the underground concentrating mill by that name for a long time already. This is our Home. And we are going back home. Together with you... For three days, the Blinds have been transmitting on old frequencies a request for a meeting. We have confirmed, and you have been met.”
“Yeah. Anything wrong with your wind specialist, and I'd have a new hole in my head.”
“Screamer knocks out cyborg cameras from a mile away. If I have to add a hole in you, he won't miss... Am I correct in assuming that you brought the fungal starter for the vaccine?”
Carlos took out a stack of briquettes and handed it to his companion, still wrapped in rags:
“Yes. The Blinders asked me to pass it on.”
“Where were they when the colony was dying out?” There was a hint of bitterness in the girl's voice. “How many people died.”
“I suppose they sat where you did, in their own quiet, private place. It's a favorite pastime around here, sitting in the corners. First they pound each other with atomic bombs, and then crawl into the cracks and not show their noses out.”
The sniper, panting, muttered, absent-mindedly stepping aside:
“Yeah, you're the only one who kills cyborgs; the rest of us don't have time to scratch marks on the wall.”
“There aren't enough corridors for us to count the burnt-out ironclads," Hut stepped forward. - Let's make up our minds, really. You've had your presents, and you've had your say. Shall we go the rest together or run away? We've got a rover to catch.”
“Come,” the stranger commanded. “Command is waiting.”
“Well,” the old man began to settle his heavy backpack on his back in a comfortable way and asked at once: “When will they feed me? I've worked up an enormous appetite after all my jogging. Sharra, why are you poking me in the side? I'm serious. You can't just spray cyborgs with tactical batons; somebody's got to worry about their daily bread...”
***
Cold wind chalked snowdrift, driving prickly snowy grits from place to place. A tiny armored car rolled into the head of the column, looking like a parallelepiped swollen from indigestion on small wheels, slowed down, and opened the door ajar. Barg burst inside, slamming the armor plate shut behind him and shaking hands with the alien sniper squad leader, wrapped in gray overalls. If the sergeant didn't know the young men sitting in the front, he had spent many a day escorting joint caravans with the grim, rugged man years ago.
“No casualties?”
“Yeah. The critters followed the trail, but they didn't even touch the cameras on the route. Spun around and came back.”
“That's all right. Mama was very worried that they didn't tail somebody.”
“They'd clean it up, not yokels.”
The shaven-haired man leaned forward and whispered:
“I'll vouch for you, Barg. To all the gods, be they in bloody heaven or hell. But you wouldn't be welcome at Stellar; you know that. We are the ones who have been in the shit for a long time, and we understand that they will be taken out feet first for ignoring orders. And the smart guys from above that send you to death are usually full of shit. But it's easier to explain it to a civilian than to tear his throat out.”
The sergeant shivered and nodded:
“It's like somebody took a shit on the guys. First they put the main team down at the cyborgs for show. Then they ordered them to go on a raid, and in the end... What can I say, you know very well.”
“Of course I do. But in any case, you'll be split into groups. Not likely to keep the whole team together.”
Barg grinned crookedly and rubbed his slowly warming arms:
“Would you take me with you?”
“Gladly. I even asked to be reinforced by the good guys in the last radio exchange. Therefore, we will not go to the temporary camp but directly to the warehouses, to the cleanup. How you show yourselves - that's how Mama will decide.”
The guest took out from internal pocket a flask, added himself, and handed it to the friend:
“What is the general task? What to orient the guys too?”
“A former transit base of geological prospecting and other diggers. High hills, a strip of buildings in the gap. A lot of containers and some wheeled equipment were left over. Huge boxes with all sorts of stuff inside.”
“That's not good. If it's crowded, it's gonna be hard to beat the animals out.”
“Yeah. That's why we'll have a big group to clean it up. The only thing that saves us is that it's a long way from the big housing estates. They covered almost all the personnel with chemical weapons, and the rest of them moved to the east, trying to make their way to the spaceport. But they didn't make it, according to the records. Two of them came back, scribbling something in their journals until they were eaten.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know,” the rover's owner returned the flask and wiped his lips. “But it was gone when the food was gone. Reconnaissance spotted a pack of wolves, didn't notice anything else.”
“Wolves are good. Wolves and mutants don't live in the same territory... All right, I'm going to my place. I'll be on the channel. Knock if you need anything.”
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“Sure thing. We got 24 hours till the refueling point; then we'll catch up with the rearguard of the last caravan. We'll shuffle some weapons there and move alongside the main route. We'll reach the spot in a week. They've already started preparing assault groups there. A day or two for coordination, and we'll start. By the time the last caravans approach, we should be in control of the area... And once again, explain to your people that at first, they'll be staring at you. Rumors spread faster than cockroaches. But - you and I know how it is in reality. And people with experience always agree with each other. The main thing is not to get into trouble in the heat of the moment.”
“I'll explain... Well, don't go far away, or it'll be a snowstorm to look for you in the gullies.”
The rover slowed slightly, letting his guest out, then picked up speed again, moving forward. Stellar's future extended strike force was moving south toward their new home. A home where no one, in particular, was expecting them...
***
The incredulous little machine no sooner had descended from another gentle barchan than a drone, a predatory sprawling silhouette with wide circles of frantically spinning propellers, moved to cut it off from the ruins. But the flying cyborg had no time even to get close enough, as a mushroom of smoke erupted in front of it: the wheeled spy self-destructed, leaving behind only a smoking crater and scattered all around pieces of pipe. A report went out to base:
“No known point of enemy landing. Rover computers cannot be restored or decrypted. Continuing visual search.”
The Indomitable Headquarters was faced with a difficult task. A new and aggressive factor had interfered with their normal routine. An alien group managed to pass through the guarded perimeters like a red-hot knife through butter. Neither the objectives nor the outcome of the raid has been established. Atypical military activity on the border of the long inhabited territory. Even the identity of these unknown assailants has not been defined. The Blinders have been long ago entrenched in their underground bunkers and try not to show their noses from there. The Wild Ones prefer to roam as far south as possible, avoiding losing men in knowingly losing battles. Even the Downworlders have more quarrels with mutants than they do with the possessions of mechanical warriors. Hence the intrepid onslaught was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Especially when unknown enemies consider the use of nuclear weapons at the end. Because that kind of ammunition didn't exist on the planet anymore. There couldn't have been. The last of them had been used during the Second War. Not only that, the automated systems of the Precursors had scorched every fortified point that still held anything capable of surrendering to the battle bases hovering over the planet.
True, over the years, the Irreconcilables have twice managed to find the mothballed warehouses of destroyed states: machinery, their own computer networks, and orders to fight to the bitter end. The machinery awakened by the invasion caused quite a bit of trouble and required a raft of scarce resources before they were trampled back into the fire-filled bunkers. Maybe one of the neighbors stumbled upon a similar laying of bunkers a third time? Maybe. Still, the information was woefully lacking.
After numerous meetings and assessments of potential machine risks, several decisions were made.
First, they postponed the summer military campaign, during which they were going to disperse all the Enclaves of the Wild. The unpleasant reinforcement of nomadic tribes and the attempt to gain a foothold in the Badlands could create serious problems in the future. But that problem could wait for now. Collected equipment should have plugged the resulting gaps in the defenses.
Second, the punitive detachments that had been prowling around in long-range raids were recalled. Protecting the denuded perimeter was more important. Unfortunately, the nuclear blast wiped out most of the city-state's search and maneuver groups. The overall combat effectiveness was not as critically affected, but the former maneuvering capabilities of the accumulated assault groups evaporated along with a decent chunk of the repair and reprocessing plants. About what would happen if an explosion were near the control center, tried not to think too much. Because the analysts made only apocalyptic forecasts for such a scenario.
Thirdly, it was decided to reorganize the command and control system of the troops. Since the unknown enemy had such a crushing argument in an eternal war, it was necessary to abandon the idea of a single super-fortress and duplicate the existing command centers many times over. Everything, as usual, will be stymied by scarce resources, but this cannot be avoided. Let the final point in the fate of the neighbors will be put not in five years, but in twenty. But it is better to win a little later than to lose one step away from victory.
And the last order redirected the widely-spread network of observers to one particular northern area. It was there that traces of the unknowns were lost. That is where they were to be found. Every structure was covered with sand, every hole in the ground. It was vital for the Irreconcilables to make sense of the alien attack. And try to capture the brazen alien base. See if they could find anything else interesting there. Like a second nuclear charge?
***
The road to the underground factory was very different from the usual wide corridors Blinders. Narrow passageways, often leading along creaky bridges, barely alive with old age, thrown over the bottomless sinkholes. A mishmash of collapsed pipes through which winding tunnels were dug long ago. Cyclopean remains of factories and sewage treatment plants are hidden underground, compressed by atomic blows into a rusty monolith. And traps, traps, traps at every turn. Without guides, the guests would have died within the first hour of their journey. Not only that, but Carlos could tell for a fact that in a couple or three places, he had not had time to break open the mine system, and therefore it was impossible to return back the same way.
Finally, another rickety ladder led to a hatch covered by a heavily armored lid. Behind it was a large living module equipped with filtration systems, and a good kitchen, where the advanced group of sublimates was already in full swing preparing dinner.
While the guests cleaned their anti-radiation suits and washed up, Screamer nestled next to a tired woman sipping hot tea brewed from recycled food scraps:
“I don't believe them, Vita! I don't believe them at all!” thin fingers depicted how little trust in strangers accumulated in the sniper's soul. “I will not be surprised if it's some kind of trick from the neighbors. How many times they pummeled us, but all could not finish us. And now they intercepted a group from the Blinders, and are waiting when they get accurate information about the House.”
“You're paranoid, Screamer. People don't serve cyborgs. These aren't the times. And there are no robots among the guests.”
“Yeah? Don't you want to check on their eldest? He's got a head full of microchips; I can feel it.”
“The Irreconcilables don't have that kind of technology. If they did, they'd sent us a bunch of converted Wild Ones a long time ago. There's plenty of meat around.”
“There's a first time for everything,” the man said, frowning irritably, rubbing at the short lock of his hair.
A thin hand covered his arm, which was on the counter, and Vita whispered:
“Calm down, please. The identities of the guests were confirmed. The Blinders had managed to re-establish communication with our leadership before their departure. Not only that, the guests brought leaven, and the children will now stop dying of gray mold and transient pneumonia. Something else will be passed on in words. Maybe an offer of mutually beneficial cooperation. I don't know... But don't write them off as enemies just out of fear of the unknown. We're on the brink of survival as it is. We need all the support we can get.”
Screamer only grimaced:
“I believe you; you still think I'm human. And the guys I go raiding with. And these... I don't know them. Haven't seen them in action. They came running in, waving their arms, yelling on the radio at the whole neighborhood. What now - should I bow to them?”
A faint smile touched his thin lips:
“Maybe you can't forgive them for killing more cyborgs than we did in the last year? Did you know that the aliens burned a piece of The Spot with a nuclear bomb? Lured a bunch of hunters down there and blew them up.”
The sniper twitched his cheek and grunted, convincing more himself than his companion:
“What a feat! Getting the bomb and pushing the button!”
“Yeah. Getting through security systems, fooling the guards, not getting caught in a raid. And then plant the charge and walk away... I know you can do it, Screamer. But for now, we're just chasing drones of scouts... But if you want to burn The Spot to the ground in a month or a year, I would lick my guests' boots.”
The man pulled up his rifle strap and shook his head:
“You can't humiliate yourself in front of anybody. Not in front of the Blinders, not in front of the Wildlings. You can't...”
But Vita stuck to her opinion:
“Today I received a gift from my neighbors. And it means that not one more baby will die of pneumonia. This for me - covers everything. And if for the sake of other sick people I have to smile and bow - I will smile and not unbend until I pull out all that I can and cannot from Blinders... I buried my family, Screamer. It was a miracle I got you out, but how many I couldn't? I'm tired, madly tired of burying friends. I dream that someday this horror will be over... So please don't bully strangers. The older one is like the Burnt Man. He also hits first and then tries to figure out what happened. You don't need cyborgs to bring them together; they'd tear everything to shreds.”
After dinner, the woman sat at the tiny table where the guests cleaned their weapons. Hut carefully moved aside the oily rag with the parts spread and gestured thanks for the mug of hot drink placed in front of him.
“You made it through The Spot. What did you see? Maybe you could share some information? Any information might help us.”
“You need to get out of here; I can tell you that. You can't stay underground all the time.”
“We're not. We keep most of our production deep underground, and we try to keep most of our people upstairs.”
“The spaceport?” Carlos asked. When he saw how his eyelashes flinched, he explained: “I've seen the paperwork on it. And generally tried to study the local history as much as possible. You know, I'd be freaking out, too, after all your colony's been through. From what I can remember, the Indomitable has been burning the northern suburbs for decades.”
“Have you read it?” Vita gasped for air but continued: “It's good that you read... And I spent three months in rubber because everything around me was covered with some rubbish that made the meat fall off the bones. And I buried my beloved children, who were rotting in my arms. And they never found my husband, so they buried him in a mass grave, collapsing the roof of a workshop that had been hit... I also watched my friends die during epidemics. I am grateful for the briquettes you brought; many will be saved. But how many will not return.”
The Earthman picked up his automatic and jabbed his finger at the tiny spot on Sharra's bolt. Assured that his partner had spotted the drop of grease, he turned to his companion:
“You'll have to ask your ancestors who made this mess. Who turned this planet into ashes? And you can give the Blinders a bill for not covering your rear instead of your own survival. You don't have to give me credit. I got here after the massacre started.”
“You'd think I was the one who pushed the button!”
“Then we'd better make sure no one else presses it,” Carlos cut him off as he finished assembling the guns. “Some sit on a pile of guns, afraid to move in a warm cellar; others come out in their skins, running around in wastelands, or drop in from outer space and play the part of the king of the mountain. It would be a long time ago to tear apart the metal and start rebuilding a normal life. But no, they're still reminding each other of their old grievances and waiting for one by one to be crushed.”
Sipping a tiny sip, Vita grinned:
“You should show you to the command. They, too, are building the world on a whim.”
“So they are idiots.,” the man did not support the joke, checking the equipment. “You don't tell people what to do; you should unite them for a common cause, teach them, and give them an opportunity to prove themselves. Then there won't be any need for show-offs and assaults... I was dying in the jungle seventy years ago, too. The wise guys decided to divide the territory, and the natives went crazy and hunted the whites. So they threw some mercenaries into the swamps to save what they could. And then they saved themselves.”
“Seventy?!”
“Yeah. And then they took what they could out of his brains and put it here, in a new body. But even if I have a new body, my soul is the old one. And I'm not going to play your rat race. I'll sort out my problems and see what needs to be fixed once and for all. I've already started to pick up guys. So we'll be fine.”
“Alone?”
“Don't worry; I won't search the dungeons. I don't think the ones who're afraid of the world are gonna help their neighbors. But there'll be some willing to help. Not everyone has yet come to terms with the fact that they've been poisoned like cockroaches for years. With such restless and I will begin, perhaps.”
After finishing her tea, the woman slowly rose and said:
“You are a very strange man. I did not understand almost anything from your story. About the body and the jungle and seventy years... But I'm glad you want to help us. Us and other people. That's very rare these days.”
Carlos took the off-load from the table and sighed:
“About the information... I'm afraid I have only bad news for you. The Spot is full of cars. All kinds. Heavy assault, scouting, maintenance. The tunnels are crawling with them, a thousandth or so on the surface. The cyborgs are getting ready. The only thing holding them back is the lack of power. And the fact that we gave the Irreconcilables a good kicking to the cyborgs is not likely to stop them. It'll hold them back for a while.”
“They'll follow your lead. They'll come after us...”
“So the sooner we get home, the less chance we have of getting the locals in trouble. Better that we leave again with noise and rumbling. To draw attention to ourselves by disguising your possible help. I repeat - the sooner, the better...”
Vita adjusted her baggy overalls and sighed:
“I'll try to contact the Home; there used to be a way to communicate by cable. Wait half an hour; maybe I'll come back with some news.”
Ten minutes later, the grim sniper came to the table and commanded:
“Let's go out. A representative of the command is waiting at the intermediate base. He is also authorized to negotiate with you as ambassadors Blinders.”
“That's good,” Carlos was pleased. Then he jokingly shoved Sharra, who had dozed off, and ordered, “Wake up road genius. We'll sleep it off after the war.”
***
A jovial humming tune could be heard coming from the open door of the luger. Too fiddled with the opened dashboard, checking one of the malfunctioning units. At the same time, he looked at Puppy, who was scrubbing the floor for the fifth time with a rag in his scruffy hands. The boy hinted that he was with him, ready to go anywhere as a passenger at any moment. Or not even a passenger, if he was very, very lucky.
The dwarf stared at the frozen figure in the doorway and then frowned. He tightened the last bolt, carefully slid the plastic plate back into place, and turned the latch. Getting comfortable in the pilot's chair, he asked:
“That's why I think you got us into trouble again, huh? Why?”
Krap grinned even wider.
“As soon as the sun came up, and it seemed that they would not let us sit quietly, be sure to think something bad.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself; you were born as one big nuisance to those around you... Check the car; we're leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Where to?”
“The great and wise Gray received another offer from Blinders, which he could not refuse. True, is silent on what they promised. But - for the sake of it is ready to run the entire city with spears in excess. But for some reason, instead of favorite townspeople, choice fell only on us.”
Shaking his carefully cleaned and polished boot, Too cautiously asked:
“Where are we going? What kind of cargo? You know, we should calculate the fuel allowance.”
“We'll take tramps from the wastelands. As they said, not more than five people. Maybe they'll have some other small stuff with them. We'll fly 10 kilometers south of the old power substation, which used to supply the factories. I'm always confused; what was the correct name for this place: Shirmit or Shirdamit?”
“What?” the pilot goggled his eyes and scrabbled blindly over the armrests of his chair: “Shirdamit? That's the suburbs of the Irreconcilables! The very nest, you might say!”
“So I say, let's have some fun!” Krap, pleased with the effect he'd had, turned back but paused long enough to finish: “You'll take the Puppy and me with you. Bombs and stuff will be here in an hour. Weigh, count, and fill up. We leave at dawn... What was that song you sang? ‘A girl in a short skirt was waiting for me from the hunt...’ I'll have to write down the words, it's an old song, I keep forgetting...”
“The lyrics...? Why would a dead man need words, Krap? The Irreconcilables would drop us out of the sky in a second next to their viper house! Why in the hell would I run from the mutts to stick my head in the jaws of the cyborgs? What a life!”
But Krap was already gone, falsifying at the top of his voice:
“The girl in the short skirt...”