Sitting on the hillside, the mutant was looking thoughtfully at the sparse patches of snow below, pondering where to recruit smart helpers. The sassy boy was pretty good at solving small problems in the Lair, but one heady one wasn't enough. Besides, he's human. And while the other slaves might look at him with hatred and dream of ripping out his throat, you can't trust humans. Nor can mutants be trusted too. Any one of the chiefs of the packs gathered around is dreaming of taking his chair. By the way, they've already set up the chair and erected a canopy over it. When the guests arrive, he'll greet them as a true lord of the heath...

Pouting, Tirith tried to concentrate on what was important. Thinking can be boring sometimes. Especially if you have to rack your brain about mundane things. Assistants, then. Assistants, assistants... It would seem that who prevented him from sending the Stubby men to meet the caravan? But he left the Lair on Asha, a hundred times told half of the guardsmen how to maintain order, and ran, despite the frost. Curiosity was still piqued, but the important thing was that there was no one left to carry out the task. Or will clutch with strangers or will take hold of cargo and try to build their own independent camp. That's why I'll do it myself for now. By myself...

“Hr-r-r! Distracted again! What's the matter... Although there's the observer jumping already, the guests are coming. It's time to go down...”

The moment the Blinders offered to arrange a safe corridor through his lands, Tirith wanted to refuse. For someone to roam the wastelands without asking? He would bury them in the ground. But he had the sense to put his decision aside for a day, and in the evening, Ash explained that they usually paid for guarding caravans. And the more serious the caravan, the more they were paid. And the dungeon-dwelling ironmen are the only ones who still trade with the whole area, putting very valuable things on the market. Medicines, tools, assorted machinery. And if they came asking first, it means we can bargain.

“What if we don't agree?” The Lord of the Lair asked, feverishly trying to think of something to demand in exchange for a free pass.

“Then they'd come with heavy rovers to repel any attack. But the Blinders prefer to pay them off. There are not so many of them as to risk soldiers. Besides, they never sell weapons, only something to repair or cure.”

“What do I need cyborg iron for?” The mutant got upset, losing interest in the future deal.

“What do you mean, what for?” Asham got agitated. The boy had talked to his new masters and reported so often on the day's work that he was almost no longer afraid of them. He was well aware that he could be killed at any moment for a trifling fault, but the fear had dulled and dissolved in the day-to-day worries and accumulated fatigue. “You're the one who wanted to trade in the summer! And the solar-panel machines need repair! There's hardly any hydroponic sourdough left, and the wiring in the greenhouses has to be changed! We need so much stuff, and they're offering it to us for free!”

“Sourdough? That's the stinky stuff they use to make soup?”

“Exactly. With fresh from Blinders, we can double the portions and make a stock of briquettes for next winter.”

“Double...?” Tirith was surprised. The little man's counselor was surprised to find that they knew more than their new master would have guessed. “Now, who do you need to make a list? And who went with your caravans, who bargained best? Don't tell me they're all dead! If they're not, you'll find out who helped... I want a list in the morning of your things, as you cleverly call them... And for each one next to it, an explanation of what it gets me. Did you get it? More food, more heat, slaves cured of fever. For each thing. And you tell me what you can give up and what you need right now... I too have gone with merchants, I too know how to bargain. Only I was in the arms business, not the... Iron...”

The next night, Asham and his master snapped. For three hours, the boy helped him name this or that part correctly, listening to the growling and swearing Tirith, as from the speaker bile comments exaggerated requests Laird and offer to cross out this or that item from the list. But after all the coordination, a fragile agreement, built on mutual mistrust and the desire to kill the interlocutor and solve any problems at once, was still achieved.

The conversation began quite differently from what the mutant had imagined.

First, there were three rovers standing on the crests of the hills behind the man, unequivocally pointing their slowly twisting barrels of throwers into the valley. Second, at least twenty enemy soldiers lined up beside two long, high-sided cargo trucks, well armed and ready to open fire on anyone who thought to open their mouths. The crab-shaped cyborg in the cab of the first truck was no joy either. He might have three hundred fighting men behind him and a hundred more behind a makeshift throne in the bushes, but what were his teeth and fangs worth against the iron that could split any head open if you put it under fire?

And Tirith did not like the mediator himself at all.

“Is your ass cold? You ought to have put a rag under it,” the tall man grinned, peering at his companion. He unfolded his telescopic legs, set a folding stool, and sat down in front of the Laird's master.

“Smart, eh?” Tirith grinned, sensing that the stranger was not at all afraid of him. He gauged him as a fighter, had counted a flock of outsiders by the head more than once, but was not afraid of him. On the other side was a real warrior, the kind of warrior who could easily fight mutants at close quarters if they ever came across one on the wastelands. Strangely, quite unlike the men with stripes, Blinders on jackets Tirith had seen before. They were all blatantly afraid, relying more on machinery. This one was more of the Wild Clans. A walker in ruins, a scout. A very dangerous sort.

“Smart,” Carlos agreed. “Intelligent and sharp. Just the kind you don't like. But it's your lucky day, big toothy monster. Because I'm just escorting a caravan, not out on a wild-goose chase. And I have cargo to deliver to the new owner of the captured base. I can come back for your tail later.”

“No, I was wrong. It's foolish to try to piss me off. Even if I can't get even with you right now, I can easily find someone to take it out on in the Lair. I've got plenty of slaves to feed the guards.”

“I don't think you would,” the man protested. “If you wanted meat, there'd be ashes where the colony is now. Instead, people are rebuilding the heating for you; you're ordering wiring and parts for the squirrel tanks. I wouldn't be surprised if, in a year or two, you got your toothy goons to learn. And dead slaves can't teach.”

Tirith scratched his belly and decided it couldn't get any worse. The man was surprisingly cunning and shrewd, unable to frighten him with his grinning mouth, so what was the point of freezing? The mutant raked up the piled rags on which the chair was dragged, shoving some under his ass and others thrown over the top. Life in the Lair had loosened him up, though. In the past, he would have sat in the snow and ignored the cold wind, but now he wanted comfort.

“There are all kinds of slaves. Some are useful; others are only good for fodder.”

“Mutants are also different. Some can only die under the wheels of rovers, while others go on campaigns with hordes and capture prisoners. Just don't forget that people learn from birth, especially those coming out of orbit. The dumbest person can read the manual and press the right buttons to start the machine. And your relatives will have to be taught that, and for a long time. That's why I don't believe you'd kill for nothing. Rather, you will ask for something more useful next time, and you will prove that this is compensation for the offenses you have caused.”

“You're sne-e-e-aky,” Tirith grinned. “Aren't you afraid the Blinders will throw you out? To give such advice to your enemies.”

“My enemies are usually in the ground,” Carlos grinned back. “And you are trying to build your own kingdom, seizing lands and forcing wild packs to pass a law that will rule over the wastelands. I see a strong king for the future, a king who will soon take over the whole countryside. It is easier to negotiate with such a strong neighbor than to shed blood for nothing... I don't think the Blinders will turn me away. Because it is always and everywhere that personal connections decide. Tomorrow it will be easier for me to talk to you than to another toothy smart-ass. And you're not likely to want to talk to a clueless ironman when you can point the finger at a soldier who says what he thinks and doesn't try to stab you in the back.”

“And you won't?” The monster laughed, sticking his head out of the pile of rags.

“I'll tell you I'm going to war with the Lair, and I'll crush it and its contents in twenty-four hours. And I won't have to lure the toothy king into the wasteland or the ruins to do it. That's the lot of the weak, hitting from behind.”

“King-king... I don't know what that is. If you want to insult me, you're trying for nothing.”

“But you're sitting on the throne, aren't you?” Carlos was surprised. “I thought they dragged that thing all the way out here for a reason.”

The clawed paw reached into a large bag at the side, fiddled with it, and pulled out bound plastic sheets. Finding the right page, Tirith showed the picture to the stranger:

“You mean this?”

“Well, yes. Here is the king, sitting on his throne. Here are his subjects, who have come by order of their master. The king rules the court, passes sentences and declares new laws. If the king is wise and just, his state grows and prospers. If he is foolish and cruel beyond measure, he will die by night at the sword of the conspirators. And if he is old and infirm, it is time to think of an heir who will continue his cause.”

“Is it written here? My slaves can't read other people's signs.”

“No. I just know it from the old days... Get a translator from the Blinders; they have these little cyborgs who can speak all known languages and read everything in sight.”

Tirith grimaced unhappily:

“I don't like cars. They keep trying to sit on your head.”

“Fools do. And the smart ones make them work for themselves. That's the fate of machines. But you still think about the talking box on wheels. You can also order other books. The Blinders have managed to retain much of the past. I wouldn't be surprised if they have more about kings and government.”

Hiding the book, the mutant slowly rose and snorted back:

“I have a long drive home ahead of me. I'll think about what you said. You're sneaky; I bet you're looking for your own advantage. But I'll think about it; I'll ask my advisors. Maybe a strange soldier really does say what he thinks. Maybe... I will give you two packs as far as Stellar. They'll escort the caravan and make sure no wild one gets your ass.”

“Okay,” Carlos agreed, getting up and raking a folding chair. “Your truck two, they're about to open the side.”

“The Blinders arranged for passage there. But they didn't say anything about the way back. Do you think Big Mama will find something to pay for it?”

“I think the interpreter will cost a lot. Probably enough to get us there and back for free all summer,” the man bowed slightly and walked toward his crew, who had already turned the tractor around and hooked the gangway to the open side.

Already on the road, Carlos got drunk and wiped off his sweat:

“What a toothy bastard. Constantly trying to squeeze, squeeze, and force him to dance to his tune. Oh, what a difficult neighbor the Blinders had at their side now. And if he gets hold of more weapons, he'll get bolder and start raiding again.”

“Drop a bigger bomb to smother them all at once," suggested Hut, listening to the roll call of the cars in the caravan on his headset.”

“People are there; you can't. We'll have to deal with that later after we've dealt with the Downworlders. For now, we'll have to feed them, so they won't be too beastly and multiply corpses. Even if the enslaved didn't fight for their freedom, it doesn't mean they should all be fed. We're not cyborgs, after all.”

“Whatever you say,” the old man didn't argue, figuring out the slow-crawling dots on his tablet. “But I wouldn't spare a bomb after the hard labor and going after the Wild Ones. I remember my former relatives too well. Believe me, even if you drop the catfish, it won't make the viper's place any better. By the way, I did not understand about the interpreter; why do they need it?”

“I'll have to tell the Blinders. They'll send a great spy as a gift. The main thing is not to screw up the radio exchange. He's just sitting there, singing bedtime stories and reading books. And he sends us everything he sees and hears. What's the idea? I think toothy doesn't fully understand the possibilities of human technology. We should take advantage...”

***

A tiny flower sprouted on a pile of earth, and the remains of bricks piled near the hospital years ago. At that time, no one ever thought that a hospital would appear in the place of a dilapidated building. That there would be some crazy people who were not afraid of the swift raids of the Irreconcilables or the vicious hordes of mutants. It seems that times have indeed changed since the Wild Ones have decided to occupy the land they like and begin to rebuild the ruined city.

Like all wasteland plants, the flower was poisonous. It absorbed radioactive and chemical filth and looked proudly from its filthy pile at the world around it. Another week would pass, and the boys running by would snip off the future creeper, preventing it from gaining strength and braiding the surrounding rocks. People tried to clean up the busy area and let the minnows work at the cleanup. But for now, the man sitting on the crooked-looking bench could admire the bright yellow petals that the wind fluttered.

Rubble rustled, and a companion, more like a skeleton scorched by fire than a living man, sank down beside the sick man. The head exposed his burn-damaged face to the sun and sighed contentedly:

“Spring. At last. I was beginning to think I wasn't going to make it. All these chambers and corridors were getting on my nerves.”

“This is Home. How can you be bad in it?”

“Maybe, Screamer. Especially when no one's waiting for you there... I'm not talking about friends, no. I mean the ones who make up the meaning of our lives.”

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The wounded sharpshooter made himself comfortable and answered without taking his eyes off the flower:

“I don't know. I never had a family. And after the accident, when I survived only thanks to implants, I never had any. Who needs me, not a human or a cyborg?”

“You shouldn't say that. A lot of local girls would like to get to know you better. A fine warrior, any local clan, would be honored to give you a seat by the fire. Even here, you're better received than the mad Burnt Man. So don't grumble.”

“Here's another thing... They don't like you because you don't listen to anyone. Though, with your experience, I'd do as I please, too.”

The loner scout corrected his companion:

“I do as my heart dictates. Unfortunately, all too often lately, commanders have had to do things that will somehow prolong the life of the colony. Often at the sacrifice of living humans.”

“Or cyborgs,” Screamer agreed. “Lousy cyborgs, which are great for filling holes.”

“What a fool,” Burnt Man laughed, and he leaned back on the bench with his eyes closed. “Still can't forgive him for pulling you out, can you? What did you say? A goddamn upstart, a lunatic, and a moral creep? By the way, Mr. Cyborg, he's the one who got you out when we got pinched.”

“So? You could have done it too; he was just closer.”

“Yeah. And then I would have killed you trying to get you to our doctors. And Carlos pushed the luger to the limit and poured solutions into you. Can you imagine a whole luger in exchange for a sniper? The command would kill for that choice. He didn't care. Drove it off, put the engines down, and handed it over to the doctors... So don't be silly; he's all right.”

“Exactly,” could not agree with friend Screamer. “He is a man. And I'm a piece of meat stuffed with iron. It's a wonder they could calibrate anything, put me on my feet. Otherwise, you'd have been better off leaving me there. Only for nothing; you spoiled the equipment.”

Without looking, Burnt Man lightly slapped his forehead and again folded his hands on his belly.

“By the way, about humans and all... Carlos isn't human, either.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself; he's got stuff inside his head. To improve his memory, speed up his reactions and stuff... He wasn't even born like you or me. He was bred in a test tube. They messed with his head and threw him in here. Can you believe that? He doesn't even have his own clan to stick up for him. He ain't even got a clan of his own to stand up for him.”

“He's Wild,” the sniper tried to argue, but the scout snorted mockingly:

“He's on his own. But already managed to make friends among the locals, with Blind's equal fights. And in the team, you know who recruited? Ex-convicts from the Downworlders. Took them in battle, spared their lives, and now the three of them are running races on The Spot... Can you imagine? He's not even human, but he doesn't give a damn about prejudices. He considers himself a normal man and lives as he pleases. Fighting, making friends, maybe starting a family. I couldn't do that... I don't think you could either; you're all sour and grumpy. You're surrounded by girls like that, eh...”

Dodging the return clap, Burnt Man quickly jumped up and stretched:

“That's it; it's spring. So, we'll go back home and start going on raids again. In about a month, the second luger will be on the wing, we'll fly back with loads. Reactor cartridges, weapons, and other stuff. At first we'll guard the flights so as not to be shot down somewhere on the way. And then I'll go hunting freely again. I'll remind the Irreconcilables that they're not the only ones who have the right to life.”

“I can't hold it for a month,” Screamer said indignantly, rising slowly. “I have been through enough as it is.”

“What do you suggest? If you agree with the doctors, move to the flight unit. There are a lot of people there; it will be more fun. It's noisy, though; they're banging day and night.”

“What about you?”

“I'll fly south with the locals. Big Mama's got a new base in the ice. Carlos is already there. They've found something interesting, and they want to fly even farther. So before they catch me with another order, I'll disappear. I wonder what adventure the guys want to stick their heads into. So you'll be without me for a while. Come on, get ready. A month will fly by fast; we must have time to gain form.”

The engines of the luger slowly began to untwist, staining the surrounding cold air with liquor stains of the exhaust. Puppy raised the barrels of the thrower and reached for the door when a hand in a rough glove gripped the edge of it. Carefully holding the rifle, Screamer climbed inside, nodding to those sitting in the flight machine. Looking up at the astonished Burnt Man, he muttered:

“I've got to pay off a debt, or it's not good somehow. Yes, and get into trouble without me; who will cover the fire?”

“Did you at least write a note?”

“Of course I did...”

Too turned and twiddled his thumb at his temple and shouted, overriding the growing roar:

“If you spill your guts on the floor again, I'll make you clean it up before I take it to the doctor. It's your idea to die under my feet... Come on, you empty-heads, let's go. In two hours, we'll be at the Blinders', and then in five, we'll be there; you'll even have time to sleep...”

***

“So you can't decipher all the notes," Liunna said sadly, eyeing the scribbled pages on the desk.”

“You're lucky they pulled that out. Think about it-other people's dead language, some of their own abbreviations. This isn't technical documentation, which they've managed to translate from fifth to tenth.”

“I was under the impression that they'd stolen all the information from the Precursors.”

“If the whole thing was copied,” Carlos pulled a chair for Big Momma and gestured for Hut, who was dozing at the door, to fetch some tea. Then he stretched tiredly and continued: “How well do you know your history? I think you even had a school, something to tell the children.”

“I don't know much,” Liunna cut him off, pushing away the image of the boy with the cut-throat that had suddenly come back half-remembered. “I grew up in the slums, practicing shooting instead of school.”

“I see. Then I'll make sure we speak the same language briefly. No one knows what the Precursors are. That is, before the First War, their base was tried many times, but unsuccessfully. But then four clever guys figured out that the rare signals from behind a protective field were just technical messages from automated equipment. And they managed to snag an open exchange protocol with their response requests. They provoked the brainless robots to do some repair work and listened to the active radio communications between them. As a result, they managed to get through to the recovery and certification system. And from there, they extracted the contents. All the repair schemes and rules of assembling and disassembling of the destroyed equipment.”

“What kind of equipment?”

“Ground-based. The Precursor Base was a foothold for future colonization. It was supposed to prepare the terraforming of the planet, if necessary, and then help the colonists survive. Therefore, biotechnology, some clever computer systems, and other useful junk for a comfortable existence. True, most of it could not be deciphered. But even that, which was peeped and recognized, gave a great impulse to the local geniuses with a soldering iron in one place. Then it went on and on. The first cyborgs, improved engines, and two spaceport complexes for throwing cargo into orbit. And the arms race, which in the end pitted all possible representatives of humanity against each other.”

“Bastards,” sighed the woman, shifting the pile of waste paper aside and making room for a tray of crumpled teapots and mugs. “They've got it under the knife, and it's up to us to clean it up.”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed, pouring the boiling water. “But that's not what's so interesting. I think they terraformed the planet but didn't inhabit it. Left it stockpiled. The base has been here a long time. Millions of years, judging by the scraps of information that have survived. Probably the Outposts have been hanging around since that time, too. They activated as soon as they hit a ground point. They fulfill their program - to prevent the spread of potentially dangerous biological contamination in all directions.”

“How long will they keep it from spreading? Maybe there's a timer ticking somewhere. They'll figure the quarantine didn't work, and they'll sweep it clean.”

“Who stopped them from doing that before? I'm more inclined to think that the system hit a logical dead end there. Probably requested help from the creators and is waiting for a response. And the creators are already dead. Otherwise, they would have come to deal with it. Fortunately, their ships can run around the galaxy like fleas. I can't even imagine the distance between Dead End and Earth, and it takes a fraction of a second to get through. You're shaken out in a split second.”

After a sip of tea, the speaker continued by pulling out the right sheet of paper from the pile:

“Now about our discovery. If translator Blinders is not mistaken, then there are my brothers and sisters in space. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," and Carlos patted Liunna, who had choked on her back. - I mean, there's a warehouse at one of the Outposts for clone stock. Biological repairmen the cheapest materials to produce. Pour leaven and bacteria into a vat, then make whatever dough you want out of it. In a word, there were brave guys hanging around with ice as a last resort. Then there was a general emergency; one group was awakened. They gave everyone an enema with a nutrient solution and prescribed something to their empty heads, like mine. And they sent us to deal with the farming that was going haywire.”

“What do you mean?” Big Momma was surprised, filling the mug with boiling water again.

“I'm talking about how the natives were really screwed up by the natives. Because the machine was spitting parcels all over the place, one of the parcels landed in a toilet on the Outpost. As soon as they saw this on Earth, they put scientists and microscopes in the toilet. What if the nosy eggheads saw something interesting? So the Outpost's automatics blocked all the jumps on the starship. Such an idiot hangs over their heads, and the awakened repairmen cannot even get out into the corridor. So they stayed inside their block as long as they had enough resources and their anabiosis worked. Here, look. It's kind of like a picture of their birthplace. I pulled it out of a diary that one of the beak-eaters kept.”

On the table was a murky image of a large room, lined around the perimeter with tall flasks, with faintly visible bodies frozen inside. In the center of the room were piles of boxes, and a lean humanoid stood brooding, twirling a stump of hose.

“There. They sat and sat and sat. And since there is no tolerance, then the options are two: or die in orbit or try to go down. Fortunately, they had a small shuttle. Probably to repair the Outposts from the outside. Stuffed it with all the junk, they could carry. They sat on the track and went down, hoping for a brighter future.”

“So the base is crushed; what they forgot here?”

“Apparently, they hoped that they could sort it out on the spot. But if the guys were able to tighten the screws, then their handling was much worse. They landed where they could. It was another 500 km south of us. We landed close to some kind of research complex. No one was alive there anymore, but it was livable. Some kind of walls and no snow falling on the top.”

The woman pulled up a schematic map and looked at the place in question. She found the marked point and laughed:

“That's a weather research center. They were also used to guide missiles. The first target to hit! There's no way I'm going in there only to lose people.”

“Yeah. They were hit with something small but without total destruction. That's where our poor bastards went down. They lived for a week. The second week, they started eating them. Apparently, a colony of mooks survived. I have no idea how these overgrown rats of yours manage to survive, but that's a fact.”

“And the beak-eaters are heading north, closer to us.”

“Exactly. They transported the first group, unwittingly dragging them into their hastily assembled containers and mutants. And the second group did not fly. Here are the marks of the last radio exchange. They all died there, next to the parked shuttle.”

“Is that what it says?“ Liunna couldn't believe what was being said, picking up one sheet of paper after another.

“Well, that's my paraphrase. Detailed with dozens of interpretations of each phrase written here,” Carlos handed a thick notebook. He took a flattened ball on legs out from under the table, put it in the middle of the table, and bragged: “Here, the miracle of science and technology. An interpreter. A boring one, though, to no avail...”

“I will give it to my assistants; let them study it. And I'll give them your tadpole. Or should I send it back?”

“I'd send it back. Why should someone else's property be idle and private conversations written? In the meantime, let me show you something else...”

In the narrow basement, where all the belongings of the dead were piled, Carlos led Big Momma to a rack and pointed to the gun lying on edge:

“Do you know what this is? It's a heavily armored cyborg that died from a single shot. Or a mutant that would be scattered around in little shreds. Or a burnt-out rover with all its contents... I don't think we'll be able to reproduce that in years to come. But you have two shotguns and three little things you could call pistols. Unfortunately, the idiots in the rat hunt shot almost everything they had. There were only two full loads left; here's the tag on the buttstock... I'll leave everything I've managed to translate myself on weapons, communications, and other things. I didn't show it to the tadpole.”

“You don't believe the Blinders?”

“They're machines. And now they're acting in their own interests. Think about it, how many years in a row have you gone around asking them for something to trade? It was only when the Irreconcilables really got strong and said they would kill all their neighbors, whether they were meat or wires, that the Blinders began to move. The Blinders have to supply the Wild Ones and help you and the Miners because you can't hold out on your own. They are a temporary ally. The best-trained, best-armed, and best-supplied with other people's stores. Human stockpiles, by the way. So I won't put all my eggs in one basket, as we say. I'll give you a chance to grow fangs.”

“With two charges? Are you kidding me?”

Carlos put the gun down and spoke, curling his fingers:

“You came down from the asteroid belt. You still have the best machinery, tolerable medicine, and at least some of the equipment that small colonies have managed to survive on their own for so long. All you have to do is get a reactor. Either find it in South Spaceport, where personnel from that base couldn't get through. Or you can trade it for something from the Blinders. I don't know how to solve this problem, Liunna. But it must be solved. Sooner or later, you will encounter either mutants or cyborgs. No one is going to let people evolve in peace. Too many people want to take our place. So - we have an obligation to help each other and drag ourselves by the hair out of the swamp where our ancestors drove us.”

“What will the reactor do for me?”

“Here's the recharge unit. Virtually all human reactors have been upgraded with Precursors technology, which we were able to steal from the ground base. These things even have adapters that fit together. You know what I mean? Anything that gives you extra power is either borrowed from the aliens, or it's their own work with their ideas. A lot of computer programs are simply adapted to local implementation... Before the war, they prepared special databases for survivors. Some clever people knew that this could end very badly. I was able to steal four sets. Fortunately, technology has come a long way; you can record a lot of information on an ordinary information crystal... The Miners have one set. They've got a pretty good technology base in the ruins of North Spaceport. They've got remnants of spaceships, some weapons. The Blinders will send them power cassettes, allowing them to threaten the Irreconables from the north. I hope that with the knowledge passed on, a lot of things can be done faster and easier.”

The man bent his first finger. Then a second at once:

“Another set at the Wild ones. I don't think Gray will be in command much longer in the Enclaves. There are plenty of young, tough fellows who'd gladly take his place. Or maybe they'll keep him as a screen door. It's very convenient to keep such an amusing figure in sight. Either way, with or without him, the Wild Ones will be able to put the information to work. They'll make high-powered rovers or something else. They'll go hunting with the cyborgs.”

Liunna picked up the small box Carlos had handed her, bending the third finger at the same time:

“This is for you. Now you and the new Stellar are on par with your neighbors. The Blinders will no longer be able to crush you with an information blockade. You have most of the useful and necessary technology. If you try hard enough, you can solve immediate problems. Maybe, in time, you can replace medicine with your own.”

“Difficult. It takes resources, trained people, tricky stuff...”

“Wrong,” the Earthman protested. “You think you've already lost. The only thing the Blinders have is time. They could have spent almost a hundred years unraveling the inherited economy. Mines, factories, information warehouses. Now they've grabbed someone else's warehouses. But they're going to have to give a lot away. They will have to share their energy, their weapons, and their accumulated stockpiles. Or they'll be swept away along with the other colonies. So you've got a chance. Take what they give you and ask for more. At the same time, train your people, get ready to fight back, and don't be afraid to make a mistake. If you hesitate, you will be turned into slaves, as happened to your neighbors. I talked to the mutant chief. He is only at the beginning of his journey, but he will go far. Though it's to our advantage to let him scoop up the scum from the wastelands and lay low, for the time being, he'll show himself sooner or later. Don't forget that.”

“And the fourth set?” Liunna asked, already knowing the answer.

“I have it. I don't know how things will turn out in the future, but it's better to have such a strategic stockpile.”

Big Mama touched the gun, put the gift away, and clarified:

“You help me stay independent. You share information, weapons, are willing to offer your friendship. But what do you keep for yourself, Carlos? And what do you want in return?”

“Clever girl,” the soldier from the alien planet smiled sadly and nodded: “Yes, I want to ask. A luger and his boys will arrive at lunchtime. Will bring technicians with equipment, will help set up medical units from Blinders. They will come back when they are done. I'd like to ask you for a couple of life-beaten fighters to round out the team. Food, ammunition for the raid. And meet them when they come back. I want to visit another beak man's camp. There's a perfectly serviceable shuttlecraft there that I'm not giving you.”

“Thinking of going back into orbit?”

“No, they'll shoot it down. The tadpoles figured that out when they came down. It's still an alien to the Outpost security system. But it was designed for a one-time drop. The Precursors had the coordinates of the ruined base on Mars. I found them in the archives. So I want to test a wild idea - is it possible to throw back my boyfriend, the one who started it all? There's still a colony on Mars. We'll bring a rover, food, oxygen, a hazmat suit. If Basil gets reassigned to the former receiver, he's got a good chance of getting to the second Martian colony. From there, home...”

Liunna only shook her head:

“It's too complicated for me. All that traveling, the stars. I don't even remember my ancestors coming down from the sky, leaving behind dead corridors in abandoned ships.”

But Carlos just wagged his finger in response:

“You're doing it again, aren't you? Wait till we get back to the ships. We can make it if we want to. We are humans. That's the only way we can do it.”