A man stomping around the closed door touched the worn knob but didn't dare look in. He had been kicked out five minutes before, told in a rude way to stay out of the way. Carlos, sitting on the floor, tossed his empty flask around and asked the glassy-eyed Puppy, who was crouching down beside him:

“Look, ain't there any little ones around? Let's go get them to fetch some water. My throat feels like it's been sandpapered.”

Silent tracker, with difficulty got up, peeked behind a tiny screen covered with a rag, and came back with a bucket full of water. He put it beside him, scooped up a full mug, and handed it to Carlos. Then he sat down and looked at his shaking hands in bewilderment. He drew up his knees and ducked into them, weeping silently.

“What is he?” Burnt Man wondered, stroking the plastic of the door.

“The guy's back from the big mess for the first time. He'll let go. A little rest now, and he'll feel better. It's always like this. Wow, that's cold. It must be from the well. And it tastes...”

“From the well. The water's normal here,” Puppy explained, sobbing, without raising his head. “That's why they built the town here, on the place of former ‘breeding station’.”

“Breeding?”

“I don't know; I never understood the point of the inscription. It said so on the plaque, then they put it away for storage,” the young warrior muttered and got quiet.

The door opened, and a young girl cried out, frightened - lost his balance Burnt Man almost fell right on top of her:

“Careful! I told you to be careful!”

Carlos turned his head with interest, looked at the harmonious figure, scarcely covered by the bloodstained robe, and sighed:

“Look, Puppy, why did you become a machine gunner? If you were a nurse, you could help the girls with the instruments. Life was like a raspberry!”

Puppy took the man's mug from him, scooped up some water, and splashed it in his face. Then he wiped off the mud and sighed:

“Don't make it up; they don't need me here; the best hunters come here every day. I ain't got nothing to brag about yet.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, well...”

Carlos stood up, walked over to the tensely silent Burnt Man, and quietly asked, looking in swollen from lack of sleep eyes of the girl:

“How's our boy?”

“Heavy, but he's fine. The doctor asked you not to leave town today; he has a few questions. But all in all he's fine... I do have to calibrate some of the implants afterwards, though. But that's a couple of weeks, at the earliest. In the meantime, we are putting him in the box for three days for maintenance and regeneration therapy. So you can visit later, okay?”

Softly poking the lone wolf in the side with his fist, the earthling said instructively:

“Did you hear that? Re-ge-nee-ra-ti-i-ion! There you go! The future doctor grows up, grasps terms on the fly. Just you wait, she'll stitch us up too... Thank you very much”- Carlos kissed the cheek blushing the nurse, and pulled a withering Head. “I told you we'd make it. Or else we'd be lugging around your tunnels. Am I wrong?”

“You're right,” the man nodded in reply, disfigured by the burns, and exhaled deeply: “Phew, I'm relieved. That's it; now we can go to rest. At least a couple of hours of sleep.”

The door slammed, and with these last words, Krap and Too piled into the hospital. Without waiting for any counter-questions, the dwarf panted:

“The snooze is almost ready; the water barrels have been ready since the evening. Now we've made fires; in ten minutes, we can bathe. And then we fall asleep.”

“What did the leaders say?”

Krap sat down near the bucket and drank, generously pouring water on his jacket. Passing the dishes to Too, he compressedly reported:

“The management has already had time to call the Blinds. They will send a reinforced group immediately. Behind you and the ambassador of the ‘miners’ and the stuff, for which you arranged such a tram-tararam... By the way, how's the kid you brought in?”

“Not married yet, but he'll be all right soon. We got there just in time... By the way, why don't we go and visit ourselves? Why swallow the dust again?”

The ex-pilot, rocking from heel to toe, sighed:

“We flew away. We flew so fast we blew the engines. Now only for a bulkhead. That's it; we flew away...”

Carlos threw up his hands: what you can do! But he did, remembering the look in Gray's eyes:

“Won't you get beaten up, at least? The man in charge here doesn't like it when people mess with the property.”

Krap chuckled as he stood up:

“Yeah, whoever breaks something useful is first in line for the hook next to the gate... The Blinds, when they heard we were back and with the loot, they promised us three new lugers, greased from the warehouse. So our dear Too will be the commander of the whole air group, or whatever it is? And teach the young ones how to hit cyborgs from above... Puppy, you owe me one till you pay me back. I managed to get you in as the first pilot while Gray was jumping for joy next to the radio. I've got to think about who's to be put in the workshops, who's to work in the heavy rovers. You've had enough of running in the wastelands. Now just keep going higher and higher. Till a ray of light hits you from above.”

People began to grumble and climb out, to bathe and rest. It looked like the crazy trek was really over. Not only that, it ended successfully.

Noticing a curious eye in the thin slit, Carlos approached the ajar door and said quietly, mockingly observing the blushing girl again:

“I am a new man in your parts. But it's very strange that my good friend and brave warrior was so undeservedly neglected. It's a shame, really. The guy took down a cyborg in hand-to-hand combat and helped capture two excellent rovers along with the enemy soldiers. Today he covered our backs with fire and saved the whole team, taking out a bunch of machine gunners. Without Puppy, I wouldn't have been able to say thank you for such a necessary and useful job... Thanks again, and...”

“Let him be silent no more,” chuckled the nurse, not trying, however, to interrupt the conversation. “Walks, walks, sniffing and sits in a corner silently. At least say a word!”

“We'll fix it,” Carlos promised and smiled. “I will personally see to it! And you do not hurt him. He's still young. He'd rather bury an army of Irreconcilables in the hills than tell a pretty girl he likes her. We'll all come and see Screamer. Honestly!”

Waving his hand, the last of the visitors rushed out into the street and ran to catch up with his comrades. Before the arrival of the caravan Blinders needed to take a little breath. Because the main task had only just begun. Now they had to think hard about how to get back to the Earth. And it seems that this puzzle was much more complicated than the walk to visit the Irreconcilables.

***

“You still think going after the master key was a gamble?”

The Defender did not answer the rhetorical question. Or pretended not to notice the poorly disguised sneer. He was far more concerned that the operation wasn't over yet.

“I've dispatched two groups. One to guard Totem from the Wildlings. The other will patrol north, covering against a possible Irreconcilable raid. Unfortunately, we don't know right now what's really going on in the wastelands near the former colony of the Downworlders. Stellar has been abandoned, and from there came a signal to cut off oil supplies and an offer to contact later, before the summer fair. This means that there is now a hole in the south not filled with friendly clans.”

“The Wild Ones have our backs securely against attack.”

“The Wild Ones are only human, capable of trying to intercept another man's scouting party. They are powerless against a raid by a large group. So far... Still, I suggest you rely on me for military matters. I don't get involved in the city's development strategy. And I believe the same respect for my talent and experience will be shown in planning combat operations. Or am I wrong?”

“You're right. I just took the lack of bad news for granted. Took it as fact, even though it was just an intelligence blunder," the Analyst admitted his mistake. Unlike its former creators, the cybernetic organism was devoid of feelings of a wounded ego. The machine was much more interested in the interests of the Blinders clan than any emotions. And if one of the members of the joint council pointed out a failure in the planning, it's just an excuse to review the work done and to ensure against similar mistakes in the future. “Well, two squads partially insure us against an attack from the north, and we're poking around blindly to the south... We should ask the Wild Ones to send some teams of trackers there. Even if they don't stop a possible raid, at least they'd inform us of a possible threat.”

“I'd rely more on my forces, but we lost most of our cyborg fighters when we set up cover for Totem. And we don't want to weaken our already bleeding defenses.”

“And we won't. We only need to hint to Gray that the caravan can take back the machines and the first disassembled luger. I think he will find the strength to provide a really solid defense.”

After calculating the risks and reassessing his own resources, the Defender agreed that this would be the best option. They had to use neighbors to the best of Blinders' ability; otherwise, why had they already been handed so many weapons and equipment? So what if it was just a tiny fraction of the uncovered stores? For the scruffy savages, every machine gun is worth its weight in gold. Especially since in the new world, gold is worth less than dirt underfoot. An automatic rifle with full ammunition is another matter...

Saying goodbye to his interlocutor, the Analyst called a group of radio exchange. The order was short:

“Keep calling the captured colony every hour. I'm hoping some of the men can make contact and tell me what's really going on there.”

***

The cyborg scout froze in front of the mutant sitting on the massive chair and waiting. Waiting for a response to the order given.

Tirith looked at the small car on wide plastic wheels and pondered. But not about what answer to give, no. He already had the answer ready. The lord of the wastelands was wondering where he could find a competent slave to interpret what was drawn and written in the books.

Last night the mutant had discovered a new area of human activity. He found books. Those funny frayed plastic things had tiny little ants swarming in them and frozen colored images of the past. The slaves, who had had the strange things shoved under their noses, said that in ancient times the pictures could move, but now all that remained was such evidence of a destroyed world. But even among the inhabitants of the colony, no one could clearly explain what exactly is depicted in the rare tiny collection, which was collected by several dead enthusiasts. The locals were far more interested in documentation and instructions on how to repair machinery and life-support systems than in ghosts of the extinct greatness of the human race.

But the colony master was suddenly interested in books and was now trying to figure out where to find a clever man who could explain what he was seeing. Tirith especially liked one image, where an old man was sitting on a high chair in a huge hall, and hundreds of people bent down before him in a deep bow, not even daring to look at their lord. Though the meaning of the action was still elusive, the mutant understood the main idea perfectly. Power! Here it is, the epitome of true obedience! One who rules the world and thousands who bow their submissive heads. Thousands and thousands... The mutant liked it so much that he ordered him to bring the little helper and shoved the book under his nose:

“I want the same. Pick a room with lots of windows and warmth. Put a similar thing in there. That's the only way I'll talk to the slaves from now on. Do it...”

First in his unexpected role as ambassador was the scout of the Irreconcilables. Driving across the snowy wastelands, the car received his orders and set out to visit his former servants, who had dared to stand on their own.

“You must assemble the horde, use captured weapons, and attack the Blind and Wild exchange point as marked on the map. In three days, you must reach the area and intercept any groups you come across along the way. Then hold the area until the arrival of the main forces.”

“I heard you fine the first time,” Tirith grinned. Two, three years ago, he would have been running ahead of his own squeal, hurrying to carry out the order given. But now? With over three hundred finely trained men armed with lances and swords? And two dozen guardsmen, who had gotten their hands on automatic rifles and pistols from a looted warehouse? Ha! Former commanders are sadly mistaken, hoping to plug a hole in a distant, cold land with other men's bodies. Tirith certainly won't go there. Especially with the Wild Ones between the Irreconcilables and the new Lair. Perfect protection against the crazy irons that dream of total control over a shattered planet. First, let them reclaim the coastal zone, where the rag-tag savages have built dozens of forts. And then try to find the mutants, which in case of real danger, will disappear again among the ruins. But the insolent must be taught a lesson. And such that they will remember it once and for all.

Aside from the books, Tirith was very pleased with the weapons he found. The frightened slaves did not dare to use it to protect their own lives, so they were not worthy of it. But clinging to the ephemeral possibility of seeing the sunrise in the morning, the former colonists taught the invaders how to use the contents of the looted military stores. Though the escaped military removed almost everything, even the pitiful remnants of former luxury suited the vicious creatures just fine.

The leader of the united pack liked the short-barreled sawn-off shotgun best, with its monstrous recoil and chubby cartridges loaded with buckshot. The point-blank shot punched a torn hole in the metal wall and turned the plastic into tattered scraps flying in the wind. A true symbol of limitless power.

“Can your radio send a message?” asked the mutant, picking up his hitherto hidden weapon. “Yes? Good. Tell him the horde isn't going anywhere. The horde is busy solving its own problems. And if any of those iron knuckleheads show up on the badlands again, we'll tear them to pieces. We need parts for the new Lair. If the Irreconcilables want to help us that way, let them send cyborgs. I'd be happy to use them. Every... Pass it on?”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The sawed-off spat out a jet of fire and the scout's frail hull was thrown against the wall. In the past, Tirith had helped fix the masters' various units on more than one occasion. He'd handled the tools and held the wires. So he knew exactly where the most vulnerable points were located. Especially in lightweight plastic vehicles that sacrificed even the simplest armor for the sake of speed. Such a machine could be handled by Tirith with a spear. But a sawed-off is much better!

Inhaling the sour smell of gunpowder, the mutant glanced at the guard frozen beside him:

“I'll go to the radio room. Have them bring in a tadpole who knows how to push buttons properly. The one with the scratches on his bald head. Well, take Ash with you; he knows exactly who he's talking about... And clean this place up. Put the giblets in the warehouse, and let them take them apart. I'll find a way to use them.”

Having established a comfortable life, Tirith was concerned for his own safety. First, he placed numerous guards in all the important areas of the colony. Now not even a mouse could slip through the corridors and tunnels of the base unnoticed. And the long-distance communications room was guarded with special care. Too well, the toothy host remembered what opportunities the incomprehensible boxes with bright lights on the sides gave. Though he could not comprehend how a voice or a cry could be transmitted from one end of the wasteland to the other, a conversation with an invisible interlocutor allowed him to direct the pack toward detected outsiders, to coordinate the forces scattered around, and to achieve an incredible coherence of action. It's a wonder man with such fantastic gizmos managed to lose a war to their own servants. Though what else can you expect from a pampered and stupid creature who can't even clutch at the enemy's throat?

“Did you bring it?” The mutant gazed suspiciously at the grimy, raggedly dressed man standing near the closed door. “Does he really know how to press the shiny things right?”

“He can,” the boy muttered back grimly, holding the old man's hand as he struggled to his feet. “If he doesn't die first.”

“Why should he die?” Tirith wondered.

“Because a servant must eat, drink and rest. If you really want them to work for you properly!” Asham snarled. “People are frightened; they're on their feet, trying to rebuild what's been destroyed. But now you have electricity and heat, and the greenhouses are producing protein again. But every night, we go back to the barracks, and we don't know who will live until morning... If you knock on a stick all the time, sooner or later, it will break. And who will you replace the masters with then? For example, we don't have another radio operator. This is the last one.”

Rummaging through a wide pocket of his pants, the waist-naked monster extracted a piece of cookie and shoved it into his mouth. Crunching and scattering crumbs, he thought about the new problem voiced by the assistant and grinned. It turned out that thinking is not so difficult. On the contrary, it is very interesting. So many fun things you can put together. Who to exalt, who to stick his face in the dirt, who to let breathe fresh air, and who just to eat. The main thing is not to forget who has a gun in his hands and who can stop the game at any moment.

“I'll think about what you said. Sometimes you say interesting and useful things. I am even ready to select from among the slaves those who will become faithful servants. And who will be the first to know my laws. I am not a wild beast of the infected lands. I am a master. And I will rule the Lair as I see fit... But now your master will carry out his orders. If he succeeds, he will be rewarded. If he can't prove he's the Chosen One, he goes to the biomass tank. I was shown these in the greenhouses yesterday. Very useful stuff.”

Opening the door to the radio room, Tirith stepped inside and beckoned the old man to follow.

“I got word that the Blinders are trying to talk to us. They used to send signals to the base. Find their shout. Let me hear it. The deadline is tonight.”

“But the channel may be down!” The radio operator wheezed. “No one calls in all the time; they usually put an answering machine and check for messages!”

“Check. You don't have to shout about yourself, and I need the connection. I'll talk to the Blinders. And if you want to stay alive, you'll help me...”

Half an hour later, the guard poked his head into the ‘throne room’ and reported:

“The old man was able to find the Blinders. They are ready to talk.”

Taking a plastic ribbed ball in his paws on a long cord, Tirith wheezed into the membrane:

“This is the master of the Lair. What do you want?”

“We wish to speak to the base commander of the Downworlders,” the mechanical voice answered.

“They've already been eaten. All the people who tried to tell me how to live my life. Now I'm the only one who makes the laws of the Badlands.”

“What sort of laws are they?” The invisible man asked.

The mutant hesitated. Then grinned and answered:

“The law is simple, don't mess with me. I will tolerate neither Wild, nor cyborgs, nor Blinders on my lands.”

“So you're offering peace,” the speaker said with a tiny amount of surprise. “You control the wastelands; you don't raid other people's cities. You live in an occupied base. Am I reading this right?”

“That's right,” Tirith agreed. There was no telling how things would turn out in the future, but for now, he was fairly happy with what he said.

“Shall we wait for your caravan at the summer market? The Downworlders always came with goods.”

The monster was taken by surprise by the question, but after giving it some thought, he decided to answer:

“I don't know very well how you count the days. My assistant will specify when it will be... But I will send a caravan. If people have traded before, I will trade now.”

“How shall we keep in touch?”

Looking at the radio operator wet with fear, Tirith bowed his head and wheezed, relishing the very opportunity to speak to an unseen stranger hidden somewhere in the depths of the alien underground city:

“My servants will report. I need to consider when it will be convenient... But don't you worry, I won't get lost anywhere. You can forget about the Downworlders. It's me now. And the first gift of the Lair to your neighbors is that no one will go to war on your lands now or in summer. We will send a caravan of goods. My voice, Ash, will specify the details tomorrow...”

Throwing the microphone to the old man, the mutant turned to the aide and commanded:

“You find another smart guy to learn flashing things. I want the master to have a good apprentice. I'll give them a room close by; I'll give them food and new clothes. Their bellies will be full, and the guards won't cut off their fingers for fun... Come, Ash. I want to know what the stranger's voice meant when he asked about communications and commerce. I want to know exactly how your Council masters used to live and what they did to live even better. In the summer, my caravans must go to my neighbors. And you will help me make sure that there is trade with the Lair. Because I already know how to fight. Now I want to learn how to trade weapons and useful things from others with cunning...”

***

The rover over the ridge slowly rolled down, waving the barrels of the thrower in front of it. A second rover swung over the ridge to the right, followed by a third. Big Mama's assault team was moving toward the first point of the future battle. They had to capture a large hangar, which stood a little out of the way, in order to turn it into a foothold for the future offensive. Thirty well-armed soldiers had to check every corner of the frozen structure while a few more rovers maintained a cordon around it.

Jumping out into the creaking snow, Barg gestured the first three to the side, toward the piled iron boxes. A good position for a sniper with backup, quite capable of keeping the windows open and snagging any mutant who tried to get close.

As the roaring engines of the escort rovers crawled into position, the two threesome had already cracked open the dilapidated doors and flung open the sashes. After making sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, the others went inside.

“One, our sector is clear.”

“Copy that; hold him there for now. The Third one got lost in the boxes.”

“You should be here,” said an unfamiliar voice, “it's all a jumble of junk. What you don't touch crumbles under your hands.”

“Keep busy; no one's in a hurry,” Barg interjected in the exchange. “We'll do it till the evening if necessary, but I don't want any trouble.”

“All right, it is understood. Sich, check on the left; there's a door...”

Liunna listened attentively to the voices in the air. She had several important decisions to make. The first was how safe the new base was. The almost complete absence of wild animals could be explained by various reasons. These included the possible effects of chemical contamination of the area, some large mutant that had settled nearby, and a thousand other different factors, all of which were still in the "unknown" column. The second was to decide on a new team. Yes, it had been carefully shuffled, diluted with their own guys, but sixty-four soldiers with good military experience were serious. If the outsiders got up to snuff, it would take a lot of blood to bring them down. And there are enough men to count on the fingers. And lastly, they had to be somehow carefully integrated into the already well-established relations in the colony. Now the last worthless outcast is ready to spit on the backs of outsiders. With the stigma of being a traitor, it will be hard to survive. And to allow an open confrontation is more costly. So you'll have to figure out how to get out of it.

“Big Mama. Hangar's clear, perimeter's secure. I need your presence.”

“How urgent?” The woman stepped forward, closer to the microphone.

“I want to give the boys their rations and have them eat. I can buy you one, too.”

Lunch? So the squad leader has decided to call off the operation he'd just started? And doesn't want to talk about his reasons in the open wave?

“All right, I'll be right there. Don't shoot me on the spot.”

“Roger that. All units, we have Big Momma visiting. Try not to mistake her for someone else...”

A two-meter tall figure in a warm cloak walked quickly past the tall containers with blurred markings and stopped beside the grim former sergeant. Squinting at the woman, he kicked the trap where the decayed corpse of an unidentifiable beast lay:

“Mook. A mongrel mutated rat. Very rare in our parts, by the way. They don't like the cold. Organized packs roam closer to the equator. Sometimes attacking subterranean settlements. But still, they were almost wiped out everywhere. The Blinds, in fact, have made endless raids for the protein labs.”

“Haven't seen them before. What's in it for us?”

“That's trick number one. Let's go see number two.”

Barg walked a little forward and pointed to the remains of a body tied up with rope:

“They found it in the sewer. There's a network of underground utilities between the warehouses.”

“Was he eaten?”

“They did, but he blew a grenade so he wouldn't suffer. Probably some kind of special stuffing. That's why the meat was left untouched after death. By my estimation, both the mook and the guy had to lie there for five years. Hardly more than that.”

Squinting squeamishly, Liunna glanced at the soldiers who had frozen around the perimeter and asked:

“So, besides the two idiots they found, there were other people in the warehouses. How does that affect the continuation of the operation? Do you think there were traps set?”

“It's not human. I don't think there could have been a creature with a beak instead of teeth on Dead End during the two wars. There are all sorts of secondary markings on the body.”

Pulling out the knife, the woman sat down next to the dead man and carefully lifted the piece of decayed breathing mask on his face. Then she turned the clothes over and looked at Barg in surprise. He threw up his hands and explained:

“I can tell you how it was. True, this is only speculation. But to me, the picture seems like this... The first to sit in the warehouses were the remnants of the staff who had survived the chemical attack. Then they tried to make their way to the southern spaceport, where they promised to organize the evacuation. Two of the squad returned, left records, and died. Right?”

“Yeah, that's what we were able to find.”

“Next. There's nothing for the beast to eat here; the cyborgs didn't make it. So there were hangars, maybe wolves or something else, wandering in once in a while. And then, about five or six years ago, these showed up.”

“Maybe some kind of mutants or the remnants of experiments?”

Looking for a cleaner place, Barg sat down on the floor and shook his head thoughtfully:

“It doesn't look like it. Look at the remnants of the weapon-it's obviously some kind of alien design. It looks like an energy thing, crystal-shaped barrel, batteries. The plastic is weird, more like metal, almost no crumbling... I'd bet on some guests. Maybe the Predators' buddies, maybe someone else. But obviously not from around here.”

“Why?”

“Because over the years, we've learned to survive. We squash any contagion that tries to get up our asses. I could tell you all the beasts that breed in the badlands, their habits, how best to take down a wolf or a sand spider. Even among the mutants, you could find anyone, but they would be our freaks. There were no bird-like ones. Until today... Well, they were caught by accident, obviously. They set up a base here and cleared the area. Probably finished off the rest of the animals that came by. But either they brought the mooks with them, or they ran into some locals. And since they can't fight them, they died.”

Liunna peered suspiciously at the desiccated corpse, then at the knife, and tossed the blade with the rags. She stood up straight and looked down from above:

“What do you suggest?”

“I looked down into the basement. The underground utilities had been cleaned out; they were clearly being actively used. The only hope is that the outsiders did not have time to leave behind any elaborate traps. Therefore, I suggest we not bring the main personnel here for the time being and wait until we have checked everything a hundred times. The hangars will pass quickly; we do not see any traces of beasts. But the catacombs will have to be explored.”

“I agree. Check every nook and cranny, but I need to know what really happened here. And what the future might hold. I ain't got no choice: either we take the base and get settled here, or we die in the wastelands. The Blinders just reported that the mutants have completely taken over the colony and are already broadcasting. That's why there's no way back. Stellar will be under constant attack. We don't have any flamethrowers or fortified points there. And they didn't do much to help you hold out. Understand? We're in the same boat now, all together. Either we swim, or we go down. That's it. Right away...”

Two days later, the resettlement convoy pulled into the territory of the former cargo terminal. The only exception to the resettlement plan was a lonely hangar on the outskirts. The underground corridor was blocked by a newly installed grid, near which a regular post was placed. And at the evening report, Barg made a brief summary of the finished operation:

“We have the outsiders to thank. They really cleaned up the area. I managed to find a diagram with markings and a photo report. The language has not yet been deciphered, but the pictures show that the cyborgs did hold a surveillance post here. It was destroyed. They also took out a pack of mutants that were running around. That's why we only drove the wolves away, but no one's taken the area yet.”

“Mooks?”

“The beak-eaters brought it with them. We found a few containers of groceries and household sundries. That's where the nest was. They hadn't had time to really breed before one of the guards ran into them, rummaging through the junk. Mookie killed three, not counting the first one on top. The two survivors flooded the cellars with poison and finished off the scavengers. After that, they decided the job was done and began to prepare for the winter. They set movement sensors around the area and unpacked additional weapons. They made sure that no infestation could stumble into the chosen bunker without being asked.”

“And then?” Liunna couldn't help the slow pace of the conversation. “What happened to that couple? And where are the others who sent the group here?”

Barg grinned and pointed at the big fellow across the table who was helping to sweep the cellars:

“They're strangers. They're like children. The idiots. Can you tell me what they were up to? We were examining bodies together.”

“Air recirculation. In all the old rooms, you have to run the supply system several times at full throttle. Otherwise, there's all kinds of crap left in the pipes, like mold or toxins or whatever.”

“Exactly. A couple went to bed with their masks off. During the night, the remaining gas slowly drifted down the vents. In tiny doses, without setting off any alarms. By morning, they were no longer awake.”

Big Mama looked at the soldiers incredulously, then shook her head:

“Come on; any kid knows that!”

“We know. It's been drummed into my head since I was born. You take over an abandoned place, you check it a thousand times, and you clear the vents if you don't want to die. The outsiders were more afraid of mooks and cyborgs than of their own contagion. So they ran out... I don't know about help. It seemed to me that beaked-faced buzzards were packed in a hurry, in boxes piled at random. They haven't sorted it all out yet, although they've lived here for a week or two. So how long has it been? Four years or five years? And no one has come for them. It seems to me that we are seeing the end of someone else's drama. The remnants of the staff of the wrecked base. Something happened there, something very serious. Maybe the mooks attacked, and the refugees took some of the creatures with them. Maybe something else happened. How many idiots do they need who are not trained for survival? Anyway, the group died without the expected help. We're in our new home now, with a well-guarded perimeter and no casualties.”

Taking out her notebook, Liunna ran her eyes over the list and turned to Barg:

“There were seven of us who were messing around with the bunker and the mummies. You and two assistants and four of my guys. The airlock's closed, and the colony has no idea what we're really up against. So if word gets out anywhere, I'm not gonna look into it; I'm gonna skin everybody. With that, all right?”

Making sure that everyone in the room really imagined the possible future, the sole master of the former Stellar finished her thought:

“I don't think we can send a caravan out to bid in the summer: we don't have a drop too much oil. Unless we can get some kind of field going. After all, the base of exploration, there should be records, reports... But I'll contact the Blinders at the first opportunity and invite them to visit. Because now we have something better than stinking black slurry. I take it we have an opportunity to pull the Precursors in one place. Or maybe someone else. But I'll squeeze every last drop out of this chance. It's not just the Wild Ones that I'm happy about. Every last drop...”

***

Tiny manipulators carefully inserted a panel with many connectors into the socket and connected a comb of wires. A switch clicked, applying voltage, and a protective panel lay on top. Flexible plastic fingers ran over the buttons, typed initialization commands, and a voice without intonation evenly reported:

“The reactor is ready for launch. All systems normal, readings within tolerance.”

“Launch,” replied the Analyst, receiving an image from a camera anchored in the bowels of the industrial complex.

“Done. Command issued, reactor on standby. The reactor is in standby mode. Key not recognized. System shutdown, no startup.”

In the total silence, the voice of the Defender was barely audible, just as he was observing such an exciting moment:

“I think the thermonuclear charge as a gift to Totem was unnecessary. It's impossible to find the real key now. It was burned along with the cyborgs of the Irreconcilables.”

The Analyst was silent, switched to security, and ordered:

“Invite our guests to the briefing room. I want to talk to them...”