The faintly lit screen showed the familiar flat face with the beginnings of facial expressions. After a moment of silence, the electronic dummy asked Carlos, who stepped closer:
“We hope you'll take all your trinkets with you when you go camping. We'd like to wait for the crew and the master key to return in one piece, not pieces. We have a deal?”
“So Kairi decided to run away after all... It's a shame about the guy. He was a jerk, and he's dead now. I hope he didn't suffer.”
“I guess... One crater left, and the charred pieces of the rover scattered around...”
The Earthman sighed and spread his hands: well, it happened that way. Then, after a silence, the speaker wheezed and said goodbye:
“Up in five hours. We'll continue to discuss the route and what we've managed to gather on the Irreconcilables. Good night...”
***
The little dwarf whispered hotly, waving a crumpled map fiercely in front of his interlocutor's face:
“What did I say, eh? I warned you; I proved it, didn't I? I snapped my voice, and you just laughed and called me an idiot! The luger came, an hour ago he landed. And what did the pilot tell you again? Or you don't complain about your memory?”
“That's enough! Stop clowning around, I'm fed up...”
“Yeah? So I'm the one who's clowning around. I sent a group with no cover, no reconnaissance!.. Stupid Too, a little overreactor... Sixty men were killed, Lurg. All of them. The rest of the column is still standing in ruins, looted. And there's no count of mutants; the pilot couldn't even estimate how many.”
The pair stood in a tiny end of the hallway, sheltered from possible prying eyes and ears. In an hour, the Council was to assemble everyone who had any influence in the colony. It was quite possible that after that meeting, the tall and sprawling Commander-in-Chief would go as a mere sentinel to the wastelands. To cover the remnants of the Downworlders with his body. Since he couldn't serve with his brains.
“What do you suggest? Just business, not much time left.”
“My group only exists on paper. I can't rebuild the rovers in time. And the men are a girl mechanic and three brats who've never seen a mutant in person. You took the rest of them with you... And from luger noticed that the nest, though partially destroyed, but there were cyborgs nearby. And the most unpleasant thing is that they are already forming a detachment on the southern outskirts.”
“It is clear that there will be a retaliatory strike for sure. A great opportunity to get at our throats before we recover.”
“Before we recover...” Too peeked out into the corridor, made sure no one was there, and then went back in. “We're not really going to make it. Not at all. As for fuel - for luger, one refueling station, and that's cut down. For the rovers, it's a short run. Flamethrowers are half full. And real ammunition - only if small groups are driven away. And that horde that's being raked now - we can't even halve them.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Lurg was indignant as he lowered his voice carefully. No one in the colony would have to hear this frightening truth. “The fuel caravan is on its way. Their rigs pump oil regularly. And ammunition is coming, too. We're like an outpost for Stellar; they'd be knocked out in a heartbeat without us!”
Too wrapped his arms around his head and muttered softly, "My Gods, what idiots are in the Council! How can one not see their total professional ineptitude!.. What a caravan! What fuel and supplies!”
“What do you mean? Monthly...”
“Have you forgotten how you happily shat on the head of the second colony? Every time - commanding, demanding, shouting at them... But did you keep any of the loyalists there? To know what was really going on at Stellar? No?!”
Too was silent. Then got a smelly bar from his pocket and put it in his mouth. Of course, you could get in trouble for taking light drugs, but he didn't care anymore.
“The pushers were held up. They were waiting to see how the trip would end. And before the luger left, someone had told the neighbors about the outcome. You didn't know? Turns out yours truly knows more than all the esteemed Council put together... And you know what that means?”
It was as if the air had been sucked out of the dimensionless warlord. He shrank back and leaned against the muddy wall. He did not seem to be expecting this news at all.
“That means we're all screwed. No more fuel. No ammunition. My man over there said the wells have been working overtime; the production's down. But we did find an old settlement much further south. With remnants of food stores and light equipment... Neighbors are leaving. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow. They'll be off and done with it. As fast as possible.”
Lurg almost cried. Until a week ago, he had ruled this world. Or at least a huge chunk of it, from the South Pole to the borders with the Wild Hordes. And now?!
“What do we do now?”
“Who are you talking about? Everyone who's still alive, or yourself?”
“About me... About you... The others.”
“Don't lie,” the dwarf grinned wickedly. He leaned forward, gazed intently into the frightened eyes, and hissed: “Don't lie to yourself! You've cared for one person as long as I can remember, and that is yourself, my love. Don't you...? S0-0-0... I can give you some advice. It's simple, but it can help.”
The huge man bent over Too, hovering at his waist:
“Tell me.”
“You have twenty-five men left. Hardly more. The sentries, the guards at the approach points. The duty shift... I don't think you'll get more than that. But you can shuffle your men and bring in the loyal ones... No Luger to refuel. Put the rest of the fuel on the rovers. And push the Council on the idea of a counterattack. On the march. Before the mutants get to the colony, hit them. Mobile teams with the rest of the ammunition. After all, the caravan from the neighbors is about to arrive. That's what the Council thinks. Tomorrow we'll move to our borders and meet the cyborgs there. Then we can move to the fortress and kill any horde that tries to move in.”
“They'll take us down before we hit the advance party. Robots aren't stupid; it's been a long time since they've gone unguarded.”
“That's for sure. But you know that. I know that. Maybe your men in charge of combat groups and veterans know it. And the Council will listen to you. And believe that you will personally cover the frightened idiots. You will die - but you will not run.”
They clutched at his shabby clothes with their strong arms and dragged the tiny body to the ceiling:
“You what?! You mean, you want to leave them here? All of them? Without cover, the colony's gonna be wiped out in half an hour. They'll tear it to pieces.”
“And with you, they'll only last an hour! Are you starting to think of others? Isn't it too late, Lurg? It's not what you're worried about it. It's not that... The neighbors don't have a strong mobile unit. You and the men in the heavy rovers with the guns are an asset. The new colony will have to be guarded. Soldiers will be worth their weight in gold. Do you hear me? This is your chance and mine. The only chance of survival... Gather everything of military value and rush to Starfleet. Tomorrow. With flags unfurled. To the drumbeat. Before the mutts get on our tail...”
“I won't do that... Never.”
The commander of the tiny army of Названия put the dwarf back on the floor and stepped into the empty corridor. But before he could make a wide stride toward the colony's central domes, he heard a snide chuckle hit him in the back:
“Sure. You and your flamethrower will take the central post and set the example... Council in ten minutes. Don't forget - I don't have a rover on the move. When you talk about your plan to hit the cyborgs, find a place in the maneuvering group. I want to wave the flag and shoot the enemy too... Somewhere 500 kilometers south... Winter is ending, but it's still cold out there. I hope the neighbors found enough supplies in the abandoned camp. I don't like starving...”
Two hours later, Too picked up the phone that rang and listened to a short order:
“Your team has been assigned a light scout rover. They'll have the car ready for tonight; get it ready to go. You will be my eyes. We leave tomorrow at noon...”
Carefully putting the plastic squiggle back in place, Too grinned. Of course he'll be ready. The fuel from the rover was perfect for the luger. He and his trusty mechanic would reconnoiter at dawn. He'll report back from a mile up. After that Lurg's free to fight for himself or the colony. It won't matter. The little dwarf has his plans. He's not going to change them for the sake of a dying colony...
***
A heavy transport helicopter chopped through the thick, hot air, rising slowly into the red-hot sky. The village remains were still burning below, spitting stinking smoke all around, but the maneuvering group was on its way home, having picked up the wounded and the dead in the short-lived battle. Another in an endless series of military conflicts...
Shuddering, Carlos sat up abruptly on the bed, falling out of sleep. It is unknown what exactly served as the final impetus to awaken the superimposed memory: the long training with the masters of the dungeons or a series of training with assorted weapons. But the cloned soldier realized that he could now tell most of three years of someone else's life, recorded in snatches long ago in a small laboratory on the edge of the African continent. The memory of a Russian special forces man under contract in "hot spots."
It seemed as if a mishmash of colored images, smells, screams, and flashes of weaponry suddenly emerged from the darkness, filling with itself the ringing void in my head. But in fact, the ex-soldier's character had been awakened long ago: with the first breath, with the first ray of sun that peeked into the hospital complex. It was just that now Carlos could explain why he did what he did and why he didn't. And why he was willing to fight to the death for his tiny team. After all, back then too, in the distant past, a helicopter landing force had been thrown out to save the remnants of a caravan stranded on the jungle border. To save their own. One's own, who are not abandoned...
The man stood up and staggered barefoot to the tiny sanitary cubicle. He wanted to wash and shake off the remnants of sleep. Today began the last day in the Blinders' dungeons. It was necessary to clarify all the accumulated information on the Irreconcilables and collect crumbs of data on the auxiliary control bunker. Tomorrow the three would-be suicide bombers were to begin their insane trek.
***
The pretty woman carefully placed a sharply honed pencil on the worn map and questioned the radio operator frozen beside her:
“There wasn't anything else?”
“No. The neighbors will send out a scout at dawn and get the main group ready to go. The sun will be up in an hour, which means they're in the middle of a rush. Our contact says they haven't refueled the evacuation vehicles for the colony. And I don't think they will - they haven't got much fuel left.”
“Those rats will run on foot when it gets hot. They'll drag all the scum from around here with them. Just as long as we cover and save them. Like they always do. Bloody freeloaders... All right, put the smartest people in there, let them listen. I wouldn't be surprised if the situation changes and they start yelling on an open frequency.”
The radio operator disappeared, and the mistress of Stellar straightened to her full two-meter height and thought.
Thirty years ago, a five-year-old girl picked up some kind of mutated contagion. Fortunately, her mother had connections in the infirmary and managed by hook or by crook to get drugs bought from the Blinders. Liunna survived, but her pituitary gland rearranged itself, causing her body to grow much faster than usual, giving her an accelerated metabolism and a strength rare for a child. Two months later the theft was uncovered, and the parents were kicked out of the colony, but the child remained, taking refuge in numerous ghettos near the oil rigs.
The commandant of the second penal colony of the Downworlders did not like to remember those times. How she had formed the gang that had taken over the slums. How, at fourteen, she'd managed to take over one of the arms caravans and, six months later, wrested all the power from the weakened old-timers. No councils, clans, or helpers. Just her - as the only dictator for miles around. And her loyal pack, ready to rip the throat of anyone who dares to look at the ‘Big Mother’...
But all good things come to an end sooner or later. No matter how careful the technicians were, only a few of the old guard remained: some escaped to other colonies, flattered by the promise of a well-fed life, some simply died of old age and disease. And oil, as the only available commodity, was running low. The narrow stream was getting weaker and weaker in terms of food from the central colony and medicines from the Blinders. It was still a miracle that they managed to last so long. And a second miracle is that years of searching in the snowy expanses allowed them to cling to an ephemeral hope of survival.
There, nearly six hundred kilometers to the south, among the ice lies a dead mining base. A chemical warhead scorched the staff, fouled the main buildings, but left the sorting station and warehouses lined up nearby behind a low mountain pass untouched. A small housing complex, quite capable of accommodating 1,500 people, was all that remained of the once numerous colony. And still not looted equipment, tanks filled with ore hangars. And the containers of freeze-dried foodstuffs found by scouts for geological parties. Ten years of a relatively peaceful and secure life. A local paradise on war-torn Dead End. Ten years that her slow-moving body could still last. Maybe. And the unknown - then...
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“To hell with it! Those ten years have yet to be lived... Show me someone who can think even a month ahead!”
Liunna ducked and stepped into the next room, where the guards were dozing. Catching sight of the assistant, she began to give orders, walking around on the creaky plastic of the floor. The woman didn't even check to see if her faithful squire was listening: those who missed what the colony mistress said were usually sent to the vats of plant baiting instead of supper. Stupid biomass did not survive in Stellar:
“Scout and escort in two hours to advance on the route. The last convoy with settlers and technical group for the sorting station depart at noon. Check that all remaining supplies and dismantled equipment are ready for evacuation by the second wave... Our kinfolk shit their pants by putting almost the entire army under the mutants. I'm willing to bet a week's ration that by nightfall, the most dashing ones will try to dash toward us. So by tomorrow night, only a sniper group and a reserve radio operator should be waiting for them at Stellar. In five more days, we will stand on the first point of the route to wait out the blizzard. Probably the last big blizzard for months to come. Hopefully, it will hide our tracks and help disguise the actual direction of our escape. Especially since more than half of the colony has already left following the mopping-up squad a month ago... Don't you forget something?”
“The fuel trucks are filled to the brim; the towers will stop at lunchtime. There's about ten barrels to go; I don't think there's more than that.”
“Yeah, the barrels... Did they put the reagents in?”
“Yesterday, as soon as you gave the order.”
“Good. So we're out of here. We've taken the plastic off the living quarters almost everywhere. We'll leave a little bit of fuel. Just a little bit. So that after refueling, any possible pursuers will stop. And don't go anywhere else... It's about five kilometers before the additives kick in. So let them jump on the wasteland around of the dead equipment. And they say: “Give me oil, give me fertilizers, give me spare parts for the rovers”... Here you are, beloved relatives, for a good memory!”
And Liunna laughed as she pictured the snow-covered cars and the wooden-roofed people inside. It seemed the cruel local gods had heard her plea and would allow her greedy neighbors to remember every last bit of what they had taken. Pestilence, cyborgs, and mutants on your heads, freaks! It's time to pay the bill...
***
Luger quietly warmed the engines, aiming a blunt-footed muzzle to the closed gate of the hangar. A rustling walkie-talkie asked in surprise:
“Too, where are you going?”
“Commander goes out with a reinforced group to intercept the mutts; I'll check his deployment zone, then go through the route for the neighbors so that no infestation of the pourers is caught.”
“Has the flight been cleared?”
“You know, I don't care who didn't put another scrawl on a dusty piece of paper. I have my orders, and I'm following them. Those who aren't happy can line up to take my place. Or better yet, replace me on my return in the scouting raid. There'll be a rover waiting. Do you agree?”
The radio grunted unhappily and went silent.
The dwarf grinned and turned the heavy controls. Of course, a professional pilot would have handled the flying machine far better than he did, but according to the repeatedly revised plan, the flyer was supposed to take off near lunchtime with napalm charges suspended. And so he rested to enter the future battle full of energy. At least, that's how it seemed to the Council and other overworked planning geniuses already huddled in the central hall, where all workable video panels had been assembled since the evening.
“Why do we still have suspended tanks?” Myrra asked, tightening compensatory straps in the copilot's seat.
“Because we'll be turning in the sky all morning,” Too muttered in reply, flicking the tumbler and bringing the armored hangar doors to life.
“In economy mode, that's enough to fly six or seven hours to the coast and back. It'll only take us to the colony's edge and a little detour south to find the jetties.”
The Luger slid slowly forward, sweeping away the tiny debris in the hangar with the turbine's roaring exhaust. The blonde mechanic girl squinted her eyes at the gray walls crawling past and asked again:
“If you'd left the tanks, you'd have spent less on the flight. But it's an extra load for reconnaissance, an extra hassle to refuel later... Refuel...”
Too pulled the helm and proposed, breaking the sudden pause:
“I can drop you off. There, near the greenhouses. You'll be back in an hour. Would you like that?” Myrra was silent, and then she shook her head negatively. “Well, then, don't get in the way.”
“They'll find us. They'll find us, and they'll get even.”
“Who will? The Council, that penniless, ass-kissing warriors, who are now hurriedly throwing out the rest of their army to die in the wastelands? Ha, they can't find their dick in the latrine in the morning the first time...”
“But the Wild Ones will kill us. We're their enemy. Irreconcilable enemies.”
“Enemies to some, possible companions to others... It was only Lurg who would slap any northerner. Stellar traded with the Blinders and the Wildlings. I heard they even made a deal with the mutants for a time, dumping food scraps next to abandoned mines for them to help load the rest of the ore... So I made some connections. So we'll give our beloved former home a great opportunity to deal with the problems alone, and we'll move closer to the equator. With a working luger and spare parts for possible repairs in the hold.”
The girl looked at her clenched fists, then gently relaxed her hands and rubbed her thin, scruffy fingers:
“You're fine. You can settle in anywhere. In any power, in any upheaval. I know you're the only one of the service chiefs who hasn't been touched for years.”
“Is that why you came to me?” The dwarf finished his climb and turned carefully to the west toward a possible cyborg attack. Threw a quick glance at his companion and grinned understandingly: “Yeah, you want a warm seat. You've always got a job as a mechanic, and you've always got food and warmth, and they don't make you run with a rifle through the radioactive sand. You really got yourself a lucky ticket, though, girl. Cause the Wild Ones to need specialists, too. And you'll live in your own house, go to work, and have a hearty dinner every night. And I'll hang around as a pilot at first, and then I'll get closer to the metal like I said I would.”
“We'll settle down. And then?” The girl poked at the white snowy emptiness below. “From the luger, they could hit the cyborgs accurately, then the soldiers would finish off the mutants, and the colony would wait quietly for the caravan from the neighbors.”
“Yeah. If there was one, that caravan. And also at least one more gas station for us, ammunition for heavy combat, and a hundred or so extra warriors capable of shooting mutants. But there's none of that, Myrra. There's only one chance for two people to escape a doomed settlement. Everything else is a fairy tale for people who have forgotten what the world really looks like.”
Peering out the side window, Too turned on the radio and muttered, scrutinizing the string of dots below:
“Lurg, this is aerial reconnaissance. Confirmed enemy group on approach, about two hundred beasts and at least four cyborgs. You've got an hour and a half, no more. I repeat, an hour and a half. I'll look a little to the west; there's a second column in sight. Stand down!”
Luger circled the alien army on the march and began a slow descent. Myrra looked at the alien horde, then the barely visible colony domes behind, and whispered:
“What an hour and a half; it's thirty minutes for them to run, no more!”
“Of course. That's why I added an hour, as I had arranged with the commander-in-chief. He's got the go-ahead, he knows the approximate time of the attack, and he's already taking the fighters out of the pits... ...rolls out all the rovers on the move and disappears. Just like us. A one-way ticket for anyone with a head on their shoulders.”
The girl froze, hiding her flushed face in her hands. After a moment or two, she glanced behind the clearing below and whispered:
“Why so low?” she whispered, “We could get hit!”
But Too merely brushed it aside, keeping his eye on the crawling marker on the map:
“We've already gotten away from everyone. Another ten minutes of flying the old route and then a big detour a little further south. We turn off the answering machine, gain altitude, and head north to the equator. To a new life. I don't think anyone who came down from Downworlders will know we exist in six months or a year. We're gone. Gone on a scouting mission. Maybe we ran into a stray cyborg with a machine gun. Maybe - got into some other unpleasant story. But we're gone...”
***
Heavy ceramic needle into the shell until it clicked, sinking the rough surface with your thumb. Click-click-click and the box full of deadly gifts lies in line with the sisters, waiting for future blood. Turns out the cyborgs decided to replace the reliable heavy steel armor with lightweight plastic. Maybe someone had given them the evil idea. Maybe they considered the benefit of invisibility on the radar to be more important than weakening their defenses. In any case, the new ammunition is great for penetrating other cyborgs' bodies and shredding delicate electronic stuffing.
“The Irreconcilables exist for war. For destruction. There is no other meaning in life for them. They were created to fight. Their programs are focused only on hunting and attacking people. That is their strength and weakness.”
Tiny clusters of grenades are stacked with purple beads in the curved chute of the plastic receiver. Each charge - able only to burn the light tendrils of the remote cameras and the thin films of the sensory shells on cyborgs' muzzles. Trying to bring down a heavy, multi-kilogram enemy with this kind of weapon is a utopia. But a single burst is easy enough to turn a powerful fighting machine into a blind piece of iron.
“After the main centers of human resistance were suppressed, the Irreconcilables crushed each other for several years. But then they first concluded a temporary truce, and then their computer centers worked out a joint program, deeming the Wild ones the only potential threat to the future takeover of the entire Dead End. And now, combat robots created in different countries have become one. One cybernetic empire occupying most of the equatorial zone.”
Lightweight body armor to protect against small fragments, knee pads, and gloves made of a rough material remotely resembling leather. Such protection would not withstand a machine-gun burst, but it would be suicidal to fight any heavy cyborg openly. Its reaction speed and firepower density would surpass that of any superman. These creatures were specifically designed to suppress fortified points, break through defenses, and fight against powerful enemy rovers. Only speed, cunning, and traps can give a tiny group a chance. Only survival experience gained in a hibernating world will allow them to sneak unnoticed past the gun-toting bases and stay alive against all odds.
“At the moment, the cyborgs have set up their bases on the edge of cities devastated by atomic explosions. High levels of radiation serve as additional protection from humans and mutants, and the abundance of building material makes it easy to build new echeloned strongholds and slowly form a zone for the future rush to the poles.”
The tablet is littered with maps noting alien tracks and tunnels with communication cables. Identification codes, basic models of mobile reconnaissance systems, fixed artillery, and archery systems. Promising developments mastered by machines over the years and old ideas developed unexpectedly in cybernetic bodies. Eerie creations of a dead machine mind aimed at solving a single problem - the destruction of all life.
“The main problem the Irreconcilables have not yet been able to solve is access to free energy. Their reactors are just as depleted as ours. So the neighbors are trying to conserve available resources by concentrating on reconnaissance with light search parties, as well as defending the invaded space. Unfortunately, while their forces are not sufficient for immediate aggression and long-range raids across the wastelands, the cyborgs have generally managed to establish a reliable patrol service in recent years, as well as constant radio communication with the advanced units. Any change in human tactics is relayed to the center and analyzed to develop countermeasures. Any large Wild squad in the border areas is attacked with long-range artillery, or raiding parties are targeted. In the past two years, there have been instances in which Irreconcilables have used chemical weapons missiles. We believe that the established United Alliance will come under attack in the near future. In order to defeat the human enclave being created, the cyborgs will go to any cost. It is vital for them to throw humans back into the Stone Age in order to win another ten to twenty years. According to intelligence, during that time, our neighbors are going to finish assembling the first reactor in the affected area and solve the problem of available energy. That will put an end to any resistance to the machines.”
Two machine guns each, a pistol, and explosives. Flasks of filtered water and med packs with medicines. Grenades, spare clips, radios. Batteries for tablets and food briquettes. And dozens of other little things vital to the upcoming hike. Plus, separately manned boxes, which will load on the issued mechanized helpers - steel spiders, the size of a large dog. Each fighter - one "attendant," a faithful shadow crawling behind. And again - explosives, detonators, ammunition, and food. Everything is checked more than once, fixed in its usual place, and does not rattle when walking or running. Three men are ready to stick their heads into the jaws of an angry tiger. And three faithful six-legged boxes with a minimum of intelligence: "follow me, keep up."
“If you get the master key for us, the Blinders can restore the delicate balance. A triggered reactor will activate the factories hidden in the depths and give the Wildlings weapons and defenses. Then we'll have a chance at survival. We might even be able to move some resources further south to form a new living area in the war-torn wastelands. There are areas there where we can grow crops again and build greenhouses. When we have energy, we will solve the food problem, because we found a lot of useful things in the uncovered warehouses. But only if you fulfill your task. And there's no other way...”
Hut threw off his sweat-soaked shirt and headed for the showers. One last workout for the day. Lunch and rest. And by nightfall, a transport is waiting to move the group with all their gear closer to the drop-off point. Thankfully, the underground tunnels are primarily intact from the distant atomic bombings, allowing the Blinders to combine them into endless mazes, giving access to multiple exit points into the wasteland.
“One thing I don't understand is why are only three of us being thrown out there? If that damn key so important to them? Don't they have five or six heavy tanks and half a hundred ironclads on wheels? An unexpected blow, and we're already there, and from there - a breakthrough under cover of friendly fire.”
“We considered this option and counted it more than once. Alas - chances are zero. The irreconcilables are well trained for this kind of warfare. They have been exchanging this kind of attack for decades, and how many times have they crushed the heavily armed maneuvering groups of the enemy? Such an attempt is doomed to fail by its predictability.”
“All right, then, just cover the key nodes with the cannons or whatever is hidden in the basement. Panicking the enemy is a great way to divert attention away from the area we need.”
Carlos patted the densely packed bag with his hand, silently pursed his lips, counted the goods on the table, and nodded: everything was ready, and we could load the helper. Then he scratched his forehead thoughtfully and answered Hut, frozen in the shower-room opening:
“You see, the trouble with the Blinders is that they are not warriors. They are essentially construction machines. Machines for creation, not destruction. They were designed to work deep underground, to install new factories and cities. That they were forced to become independent and are now building their own civilization is a misfortune for them, not the happiness of independence. It is the Irreconcilables who, from birth, are prepared for individual warfare against all. That is their essence. And the Blinds - they think from the defense and act within the laid down programs. For them, the chance of a possible successful attack is often negligible before the cost of fuel, spare parts, and dead repairmen. Therefore, they will lose in a direct fight. They may make some noise in another area to cover the raid, but that is all. Our success is in being invisible and slipping to the place like mice.”
“So then, too, with the reactor running, the Blinders will deflate. Not now, but a little later. If they still haven't grown their teeth properly.”
“And for that we will have to come back with a wrench and give a good kicking. In the right direction. Because, my friend, it is people who are capable of combining attack and defense at the same time. And they're also capable of both shoving the world around them up their asses and pulling them out of them. That's why I'm going to see these horrible cyborgs in person, feel them by the udders, and then with the help of the Wild Ones and any rabble from orbit or wherever, put a final end to the protracted war for survival. That's it; we're done playing. It's time to return to civilian life.”
Listening to the commander's epochal speech, Sharra finished spritzing his assistant's limp paws and grinned:
“Yes, with friends like that, you don't need enemies. First, you almost got us wasted; then you invited us for a walk in radioactive hell. And the next item on the program - the salvation of all mankind. What was it? If it's love, then love the queen?”
Carlos laughed and threw up a clenched fist:
“Exactly! And we're not settling for anything less! I won't settle for anything less!”
***
His hands ran frantically over the panels, switching between scanning modes. A hoarse voice rumbled nonstop into the microphone:
“Lurg, base to Lurg, come in!”
But only the crackle of static in response. Not the commander of the colony's tiny army nor any of his subordinates. The troops on the reconnaissance mission were gone, vanished as if they had never existed.
“Lurg! Where are you!”
Some disheveled clerk from the secretariat poked his head into the control post and yelled:
“Well? Anything? The Council hasn't been able to get in touch with anyone for forty minutes! What's the matter, after all?”
“How should I know?! We're calling on all frequencies, but they're silent!”
Echoing the commotion, a red light flashed on one of the panels. It flashed once, then again, and then swelled up into a purple blister, hitting your ears with the sound of a heavy siren:
“Breakout at the greenhouses! Breakthrough at the greenhouses!”
And following in the corridor howled someone's frightened to death voice:
“Moo-taa-nts! Moo-taa-nts in the base!”