A dim, lonely lamp barely shone, barely able to dispel the gloom that surrounded the site. Somewhere below, fans rustled faintly, blowing stale air into the ventilation ducts. From there, the occasional thump of metal against metal came from the blackness. Hidden at a kilometer depth, the city lived its own life, incomprehensible and reliably protected from any intrusion from the outside. And the bottomless shaft tube only gave the illusion of free access to the underground.

The stairs rattled, and a tall man with a white staff in his hands stepped into the patch of light. He stood still for a moment, gave a ceremonial bow, and then began to speak:

“I am grateful to the Blinding Men for finding me and the United Nations time to spare.”

“We live in peace,” it whispered in reply, and, with the clinking of joints, a cyborg, like a weighty gorilla woven from scraps of tin and wires, stepped onto the platform. “What brings you to us?”

“We want to talk trade.”

“Trade season's closed. You know that.”

“I know,” the man didn't argue. “But there are exceptions to the rules.”

“There are. But not this time. They plundered the last caravan as it approached the Badlands. One of your brothers turned us over to the Downworlders. The Raiders, as you like to call them. We suffered casualties: cargo and sentient beings.”

“Unfortunately, the United Enclaves do not include all human cities! I can't even control the entire coast, let alone the border with the Badlands.”

“Then why did you call us? Deal with your problems, man. Secure the caravans; then we'll talk. You know a lot of people need the Blinders. More precisely, they need our medicine and equipment. Everyone wants to live; everyone wants to be cured of illnesses. Nobody wants to die before their time... Or am I wrong?”

The man was silent. The objection was pointless - indeed, buried in the depths of the planet, cyborgs and mutants managed to turn into a monopoly in medicine and the remnants of the exact sciences. How they managed it - who knows, since the beginning of the First War, which gave birth to the Blinders, more than a hundred years have passed. Thankfully, those who lost interest in the sky above did not favor the Irreconcilables and were willing to trade with the surface, for now.

“It appears I am right. So don't grovel, man. Get your house in order, then come back. We'll wait. We have someone to trade with now.”

The cyborg backed away but stopped when he heard the word:

“Totem...”

The man gripped his staff more comfortably and laughed softly:

“Ah, I suppose I have something to offer in return? Of course, you wouldn't even ask me to have my people clear the city of the spies of the Downworlders. But I call them Fallen Demons more often than not. Or just bastards, exiled from space stations after World War II.”

“You said Totem.”

“Yes, I did... By the way, I wonder who I'm talking to now. We've been meeting in different places for a long time. And my predecessor spoke to you. And every time - there's a feeling that the conversation is with the same intelligent person. It feels like you're just a voice transmitted over the radio. Or whatever. Because the faces are different all the time. Every time - someone else comes in... Can you tell me what it's really like?”

“Someday, you'll use up all the patience you've got,” the cyborg was still frozen at the edge of darkness and light. It seemed - a moment, and the mechanical pseudo-life would disappear forever into the depths of the black corridors.

“Okay, I get the hint.” The guest rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a tiny box. He flung it open and held out a piece of material. “I found what you asked for. I living Totem. A man, pure of the leprosy that has afflicted our world. No chemicals, no biologicals, no additives.”

The dungeon master stepped forward, hooked the clinking cloth in his clenched hand, and held it to the lenses of his eyes. He twisted the shred and then put it back:

“We hadn't heard about the newcomers from the stations. What, did they manage to assemble a landing module there and send out another poor souls?”

“The Celestials have nothing to do with Totem.”

“I don't understand.”

With a chuckle, the man put the box back:

“Did you know that the relay station in space still works? I don't know who uses it, but they spill all kinds of crap every six months or so on us. It looks like someone decided to turn the planet into a dump... Different spots, different volumes, no system whatsoever. Probably just as they fill the recycling bunker, they dump it on our heads.”

“Yeah, that's what I heard.”

“Now, there was a rumor that once or twice, live people were thrown out with the garbage. Some died when they fell to the planet from a height. Some died of local diseases within the first day or two of arrival. But all the bodies examined were clean - no tissue damaged by mutagens or radiation. Not the inhabitants of that abstract, distant space base you so dream about. Just people.”

“And?”

“There was an emergency landing the other day. Fortunately, we have a few scanners left and can keep track of such cases. No one else can, and we're tracking every drop... One of the search parties was nearby, and we redirected it. Now I have one Totem at home, suitable for exchange.”

The machine was silent for a long time, then asked quietly:

“You said two Totems. Do you want to keep one?”

“The other is defective. Got violent fever. Not likely to survive.”

“We'll buy them both.”

The guest thumped his staff angrily on the floor with a metallic clang:

“Don't you understand? He's not likely to make it! Yes, we've given him the antidote, and we hope he'll pull through. But I can't guarantee it.”

“Then you'll sell us the first one. Who's alive and well. Who you came down here for. In four days, my men will be coming to your town. Try not to lose an outsider.”

The cyborg turned and moved into the darkness.

“Hey, wait! We disagreed on a price!”

“You name it.”

“I.. I don't understand; what do you mean, ‘you name it’?”

A muffled voice answered out of the darkness:

“So we'll buy it for any price you think it's worth. You will give the list of what you need to the guards, along with the Totem. Just don't forget that if you demand more than we can provide, it's unlikely we'll be able to buy a second...”

The man scratched his chin in surprise for a moment, then muttered stunnedly, turning to go up the stairs:

“Any price? The drugs, the equipment, the scanners... Shit! Anything!... I must kick the medics, let them nurse the second one out, any way they can! That'll be two - two ANY prices.”

***

“Did I tell you to keep your mouth shut? Did I? And all you did was yell and scream that the Council was full of scoundrels who were only raking for themselves. And you used to bend Lurg's ear every chance you got, like, ‘Where's our army when you need it on the badlands? Ah, our army's digging under the Council, dreaming of a warmer place’.”

Hut, sprawled out on his drab mattress, saluted mockingly, confirming what his superiors had said. Indeed, while the ordinary people of the colony hated the former convict for his lousy character, the management dreamed of gagging him for his overly harsh and truthful comments on his work. Unfortunately, Hut had one important characteristic not found in others: the old man didn't give a damn about his own safety and was ready to stick his head into any adventure, saving others on the wastelands under any circumstances. There were no more idiots who were willing to ride outside the protective perimeter for years with guns in their hands. Driving through mud, snow, and dust, crediting another cyborg or a band of Wild Ones.

“Your report worked like a bomb - snot and drooled in every direction. Some yelled that the weapons had to be intercepted before the neighbors could get their hands on an entire unopened warehouse. Others demanded us evacuate south, away from the trouble. Lurg was ready to start a full-scale war and call everyone to arms.”

“The morons. Where will they get the guns for the colonists? We have guards walking around armed with clubs, and the Council is ready to call untrained children a soldier.”

“So, they came up with an ingenious solution. Genius... Wild's scouting didn't get very far. In another twenty-four hours, they will only reach the border of their domain. Which means you can intercept them in time. Ambush them on their way and kill the fighters. The commander must be taken alive. The Council wants information on the unaccounted-for warehouse. If the beasts can use ancient weapons, we have to get them anyway.”

Hut laughed but quickly fell silent, staring at his grim companion:

“Damn, this isn't a joke, is it? Stopping by the Wild Ones, outwitting their trackers, and sneaking off home with the ‘prisoner’? All by my command?”

“Two cars. You and Kairi. You'll be allocated heavy rovers.”

“To the mutts, the rovers. To the mutts, the Council, and the idiots who invented such a thing. I won't go.”

“Then you will be awarded exile.... The decision has already been made. Unanimously, in case you were wondering. Exit in two hours.”

The dwarf stood up, looked at the silently cursing older man, and sighed:

“Nothing has been forgotten for you. Not your two hard labor terms, nor your ability to get out of any trouble. I'm afraid you've run out of luck in the colony, Hut. You'd have to know how to get yourself into trouble.”

The Deputy Warden of the Alert Group grinned back angrily:

“I'll outlive you, you fucking soothsayer. I'll take my car. Kairi can walk all you want; I don't care. And have them open the armory so I can find a better weapon.”

“Only what we have in our workshops. Lurg's already locked down the perimeter. He's probably afraid of you. You might pull some kind of stunt.”

“That's right, he's afraid. But since the colony's kicking our asses out, I'll unload your supplies.”

“Take it. I'll kick out more for the raids later,” Too agreed. He felt terrible for the older man who'd taken the lion's share of the group's problems. Sending his helper on a suicide raid with his bare hands felt like a betrayal. And the dwarf was no traitor.

After letting the heavy rover through the open gate, Hut slowed his car and peered out the open hatch. He spat contemptuously at the feet of the white-haired lad, who jerked aside, and mouthed off:

“Tell Lurg I'll be back. I always come back. And then our ‘protection and order’ will have to wonder if he dares to look me in the eye. Not to hide behind your backs, rookies, but to stand face to face. Have you got it all memorized?”

The heavy lid rattled, and the car drove onward into the cold wind. The older man had to fulfill his promise and do the impossible. But he always came back. In spite of everything.

***

K2024 had remained in the chosen position for the attack for twenty-four hours. The humans managed to outsmart him. The damned soft-bodied had set an unusual trap that the cyborg had never encountered. As the trail led to the ruins of a tiny settlement, the machine picked out a faintly camouflaged cache on the side of the prints, gleaming with metal on the scanner. It was strange - humans rarely left anything of value in their wake. And metals have always been prized by human enclaves. Somewhere a piece of iron could easily be traded for a slave. And to hide such a thing next to a broken path? Very interesting. The cyborg cautiously moved the rotting board, trying to reach someone else's hiding place, and flew aside, thrown back by the blast. Someone in the group had planted an explosive of unknown nature, taking the risk of booby-trapping the trail for a near-zero chance of damaging a possible pursuit. Following the explosion, a flare flashed across the sky, flapping brightly beneath the gray clouds.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

It took more than an hour for the cyborg to clean itself up. Several sensors in its muzzle were irretrievably lost, and its left claw was damaged. Its overall functionality was intact, but its front articulated legs were shattered, and it was no longer able to run as fast as it had before. So when it reached the secret lair of the trackers, it was forced to stay put, stopping the pursuit of the main group. If the men had obtained an unknown weapon somewhere, an attack by well-trained fighters was unlikely to be successful. The machine assessed the chances of success and decided to destroy the rearguard, which had taken refuge in ruins. According to the information from the malfunctioning scanners, there were three men hiding in the basement, one of whom was wounded. Those would be easy prey for sure. And then, it would be necessary to find one of the repeaters hidden near the wastelands and report any new human traps. Information is the cornerstone of future success in the endless war of the new masters of a ruined world against humanity that does not want to die.

***

“Have you already prepared the second group?”

“Mr. Senator, the system...”

“I'm asking you, Mr. Kurt, is the group ready? Equipment, men, weapons? And I'm not going to listen to some pathetic whining about some overloaded system and the difficulties of transportation. If a corporation is capable of dumping a pile of junk on aliens every three months, then the same rig is capable of transporting tanks, planes, and trained specialists. My son is on Dead End. And I'm not going to let anyone let the kid die because a petty official can't do his job correctly.”

A overweight man in an expensive suit irritably drummed his fingers on the tabletop and asked the secretary who froze next to him:

“What percentage of development is funded by our committee?”

“In the Disposal Inc. corporation? Or by security services?”

“Well, Mr. Kurt doesn't seem to be the assassin.”

“His department uses the corporation as a front. ‘Disposal’ is seventy percent funded by us; the security people get one hundred percent from the committee.

“One hundred?” Senator Liveshitz laughed. “They feed off our hands, yet they dare bark in my face...? Kurt, you can get out of here. I'm not interested in you anymore. I'll ask them to put you in blacklisting. I don't like my employees to forget who they are and who's at the top of the pyramid... Okay, I need the person who handled the case before this idiot. Find me one. Somebody prepared the first group, found unique resources, and provided weapons and communications. I read the report. The initial training was excellent. I want the same specialist to organize a second rescue mission. Basil must come home alive. And as quickly as possible.”

“There's a moratorium on troop movements. We'll have to negotiate with the U.N.”

“We've sent teams in there before. And no officials from the U.N. or anywhere else have ever poked their noses into our business. So I was hoping you could get me a specialist and get a list of people from the government who can help with resources. The plant will need to be used as soon as possible, and the reactor will need uranium. Or plutonium? Shit, I don't remember. But - look in the report, there it was.”

“Yes, Mr. Senator.”

Joe Swift walked leisurely down the path paved with broken bricks toward the central office. The brainiac who'd thought of building the mess hall in the back of the complex, next to the artificial lake and orchard, had eaten his bread for a reason. Every lunch by the window overlooking the lush greenery and the water glistening in the sun lifted his spirits. Maybe he should put an aquarium in my office, too? You can not even a real one so as not to worry about moisture. A plasma panel with a...

Seeing Stephan sprawled out on a bench, Joe slowed his pace and headed for the shade of a tall tree. His excellent mood crumbled like a crystal glass dropped on the granite. Buddy never showed up with good news.

“Kurt shot himself,” the fat man began phlegmatically, biting his toothpick in passing.

“When?!”

“Ten minutes ago. Livshitz bit his teeth: he gave a scolding and demanded that the whole department be fired with a ‘black marks’. No seniority, no chance of civil service. The senator's got the reins on his tail, and he's tearing it up.”

“Goddamn... They might find out about me.”

“Not only can they, I'm afraid, but they've already dug up all the dirt. The truth is, these smart guys think you were just undeservedly left out at the curve. It's as if an evil careerist thwarted a brave servant and ruined a promising operation in the end.”

“That's the way it should be.”

“Yeah,” Stefan glared at his buddy and flicked the toothpick into the trash. “But I want to remind you that I'm not in the paperwork. I'm not supposed to be. Not only that, I haven't even been in town this morning - I'm out in the field. I was chasing down smugglers who stole small arms from the army stockpile.”

Joe got up slowly, adjusted his shirt cuffs, and asked:

“Why the overreaction?”

“Because you're in charge of the operation again, Mr. Chief of Department. And if you can't prove yourself indispensable here, you'll go with the commandos to Dead End. Do you understand? A one-way ticket... And I won't be around. No way.”

The fat man swept an invisible speck of dust from Swift's jacket, sighed prettily, and whispered softly:

“The government shuffled last night. Now Livshitz and his cronies are the only loyal team of the incumbent president. They will let him sit out the rest of his term in peace, and in exchange, they will get whatever resources they want. And no one in their right mind would stand in their way. So spin it, Joe. You can't take the senator down head-on; you'll have to figure out who's going to lead the new rescue operation on the ground. And there's nothing I can do to help you. You're on your own. You're going to work for the new chair, aren't you?”

***

It was cold in the basement, piled high with rubble. The only thing that saved him was the many rags that Stump wrapped himself in. The main team of trackers went home, leaving only a sick stranger and two fighters. At last, Krap took his friend aside and ordered, averting his eyes:

“I lead the other. Strange as it may seem, the lad is vaccinated, and we can get home without stopping. You've got a soldier on you. If the medicine works, try to get him home, too. You lie here for at least a week; we'll see when you get out. I'll send reinforcements as soon as I can. But right now, I have to split up the squad. You know your orders.”

“I do. Find out the cause of the emergency ejection and get the materials back to base... Don't worry, Krap. We've been in the badlands for years. We'll get through this.”

“If things get lousy, dump the stranger and go. The hiding place is old, nobody knows about it, but anything can happen. I'll leave the Puppy with you. He's got a lot of dope in him, but he runs fast. You can get away if anything goes wrong.”

The group had gone, and now boredom and the pervasive smell of mildew on the damp, cold walls lingered in the darkness of the cellar.

The young tracker had been nursing the sick man for two days, drinking water from someone else's flask, steeping food briquettes in a bowl, and pouring a nutritious slurry into his ajar mouth. This morning he crept over to Stump and whispered hotly, his startled eyes gleaming in the faint light of the fireplace:

“He's on the mend! He's come down with a fever, can you imagine? He can't do that! He can't beat a crisis in a day or two. It takes at least a week, and that if with good medicines from the Blinders, with a doctor at his side. And here?”

“It's not a human being, Puppy. It's an alien. The other one's vaccinated. And even though he looked frail, he stomped all the way, try to keep up.”

“Yeah? And the words? He remembers words. When he's delirious, he mumbles something of his own. And when he's a little lighter, he remembers everything I say on the first try. Even I can't do that, and this is a sick man...”

“So teach him, since you've got a comprehensible prisoner. At least it will be of some use. Who will be able to speak gibberish with him?”

“Use?” The Puppy frowned. “What use could it be? Krap will bring back the loot; he'll be honored and respected. And they'll say about me again: went to the wastelands, came empty-handed.”

“You're a fool. You're young and stupid,” Stump interrupted him grudgingly, picking up his dirty rags. “The commander gives you a chance, and you turn your nose up. If you can get the stranger to talk, get some knowledge out of him, that's good. He's got a strange weapon; no one's ever seen anything like it. He looks more like a soldier than a merchant or those two idiots that left with the group. Go on, teach him. The more we know, the better.”

“The elders will take their weapons,” the young tracker sighed. “What's the use of it?”

“An outsider can make another. As long as he can tell us why the crap's been falling on our heads. As if we don't have enough crap of our own. Go on, get out of my sight...”

He was glad to see the stranger on the mend. If he was really recovering quickly, we could follow Krap in a week. Or two. Better at home than on the border with the Raiders. The bastards tried to destroy their neighbors at every opportunity. And the less you hurt their eyes, the healthier the hide. We need to leave before they dig us out of the cache. Go away...

Stump woke up as if someone had kicked him in the side. Then, without opening his eyes, he gently groped for the handle of a broad knife lying beside him.

“I... I am. Peace.” The alien voice whispered softly.

The tracker rose slowly, ready to strike at any moment. But the stranger sat quietly by his side, barely visible in the faint flicker of the fireplace's flame.

“What do you want? Are you hungry?”

“I. To talk. Can you...”

“I hear what you're saying. If you have to pee, go to the corner. There's a latrine over there.”

Squinting at the pile of garbage piled in the corner, Stump sighed. Yesterday evening and night Puppy chatted with his prisoner. He taught him something and tried to talk. The sick man obviously felt better, and he was actively trying to ask something, repeating unfamiliar words, drew a dirty finger in the sand in front of him. He was learning. Apparently, he had whisked his young teacher away so badly that the guy fell off and slept without his legs. Good thing there was a gun, though...

The tracker opened his eyes and turned to the stranger. He tore his gaze from the smoker and smiled:

“I am Carlos. Who are you?”

Shit. The stranger was not only fully dressed in his stained clothing, he was also armed. Harnesses on his body, his legs, incomprehensible glands all over his body. Though sweat wept on his forehead, the ranger realized that he could have armed himself in a heartbeat. And there was no way he could be disarmed now.

“Stump. My name is Stump,” the man, hiding the knife in his palms, thought feverishly of the best way to act. But the next phrase made him forget about the possible attack:

“Guest. We have a guest. There. Above.”

“A guest? What kind of guest?”

“I am. Like... How do you say...? I'm Wild. I'm a walker. I'm like you.”

“You're not a Wild One,” Stumpy got angry. “You're an outsider. Without clan or tribe.”

“I don't have to explain. Here's the gun,” Carlos pointed to the side of the gun. “I take the gun. You take the gun. We walk. We go far. Find. Catch. Is this the Wild One? Or what?”

“A tracker or something? The one who walks and searches? Well, yes, a tracker.”

“Track-experienced,” the man tasted the new word and grinned. “Yes. I am a tra-acke-er. I'm looking for my man. You take him away. And I'm his to look for. And when you walk, I put... How's that? Well...”

Carlos tried to make something fly in different directions with his hands. Stump tried hard to understand what the strange man wanted to tell him. The phrase about the guest did not come out of his head:

“What was it? A tent? A stick? A spear? What was it?”

“Such a... Bang, bang! You touch and bang! Hard - bang! You put ‘bang’, and go home. The guest takes your ‘bang’, and you hear. А! Say - ah, I know; there take my ‘bang’! And the guest is no longer a guest. You already know about him.”

“Shit, did you set a trap for somebody? Did you?”

“I set a ‘bang’,” the interlocutor nodded, pleased that the tracker somehow understood him. “I saw the guest take it. Far away, loudly. And now the guest is near. I know him. He is waiting and waiting for us. And waiting badly.”

“Badly?” The knife slowly returned to its sheath. “What do you mean, ‘badly’?”

“You are a friend, aren't you? Pua-a-p-py said we were friends.”

“Puppy. His name is Pup-py, understand?”

“Yeah. You know. “Puppy,” Carlos repeated clearly. Stump began to understand his partner's fear as the strange man learned at an incredible rate, picking up new words and concepts for the first time. It was enough to name something distinctly, and he memorized the new term and tried to use it.

“The Puppy is right. We are friends.” The man didn't elaborate on who was really a friend to whom. When there's a heavily armed thug sitting across from you, it's better to be his friend; it's safer.

“Yes. Friend. A guest is an enemy. I know that.”

“How do you know that?”

Carlos just grinned sadly and tapped his finger on his temple:

“Know. I can't explain. Just know.”

“And who is that? The one who is our enemy?”

“Don't know. I don't know very well. I only understand - a guest has come. I feel him sniffing us out. Finding. And now waiting. Over there. If I walk, the side is there. But close. And waiting...”

Now this news turned everything that had happened before upside down. If the stranger was right, then near the hiding place was someone who had picked up the trail of the group. And now, the time available for survival was counted in minutes at best. Because a loner would never just sit in an ambush next to armed trackers. The trackers would be sure to call for backup. The beasts will try to lead the pack to the hot meat. Even cyborgs rarely fought one at a time, trying to crush the enemy with numerical superiority. So the ‘guest’ had to be destroyed as quickly as possible while there was still a chance to win. A tiny chance, but a chance. If the unknown spy's cronies drew up, the lair would turn into a grave. There was no way.

“Puppy, get up,” Stump hissed in a corner. Noting the resulting silence, he commanded, “Our friend here has spotted one of the neighbors. At the very least, there's a loner in the vicinity. Get ready; we need to shake off the tail while it is still possible. Have you ever dreamed of fame and respect? It's an excellent chance to earn it...”

***

The light rover rolled slowly in front of its heavily laden counterpart, wary of the thrower's barrel as it moved sideways. By some miracle, Hut managed to find the cold trail and decided to head back south, ending the pursuit of the far-away group. When Kairi tried to get indignant, the older man silently slapped him in the face and jabbed his finger at the faint indentations on the ground:

“The wild ones were divided. Most of them are already at home drinking chacha and writing fables about their exploits, but a few fighters are camped out on the trail, waiting for us. We'll go as you tried in the Rotten Gully, and we'll die. Everyone...”

“How do you know?”

“If you'd come here once, when I was training the guards, maybe you'd know what I'm talking about. Here prints. There's one mark missing from the grooved soles. And I don't see the lightest footprint either. A teenager or a woman. Left them in an ambush. Which means we got a shot. It's not realistic to take the whole group. But we can take the guards. We can do that. So shut up and get in the car. They came from over there, from the former farms. That's where we'll look, neatly.”

Now Hut was cocking his head warily, sticking his head slightly out of the sunroof. Behind him in his car, Kairi was seated proudly, either lord of the world or a stupid target. Ahead of them on foot were Vogli and Droi, cautiously searching for debris, ready to fire on any sign of movement or rustle, even a mirage of possible danger.

An almost inconspicuous path meandered past the melted ruins of the houses. A little longer, and the tiny detachment would be completely drawn into the former street, covered with sand and snow. The shaven-haired old man was about to give the order to cut off the engines and begin a combing but noticed a flickering shadow behind and yelled, realizing - no time, no time to react! And the cyborg brushed Kairi off the turret in one fell swoop and slid into the open hatch of the second rover. The damn machine had the wisdom to think that a heavily armored machine was far more dangerous to it than a light rover of an alarming group, unable to instantly turn the turret back and open fire.

Hut jerked the levers and snarled at the turrets, trying to speed up the clumsy ride. But under the whistling of unfolding rotor realized that anyway - does not have time, no way! In a moment, the creature would jump back, and then the end of all. The turret began to turn, and all he could hear in his head was the pounding, “I can't keep up...”