All units of time and length measures have been reduced to the formats familiar to humanity.
The author does not take responsibility for the possible coincidence of names and events with reality.
The bright, cutting light from the ceiling filled the tiny room completely, creating black contrasting patches of shadow beneath the plastic table and chairs. In unison with the fluorescent madness, angry voices sounded, ready to lose their pretense and break into a scream.
“Have you tried telling Livshitz that he's an idiot? And his son is an idiot, and the whole family is a bunch of idiots. A bunch of total morons.”
“Are you kidding me? Tell the richest bastard what you really think of him? You know, I prefer other kinds of entertainment. I'll leave it to you to yank the angry shark's tail. Especially since Mr. Senator's father is still considered the handler of our service. Even though the older man's formally retired, he found the right ropes and made everyone jump from top to bottom when he had the urge.”
“I'm not getting into that. Not under any circumstances. I'd rather retire.”
The tall, short-haired brunette rubbed his puffy face tiredly and grimaced:
“What's the matter with you? We'll be retired a lot faster than you expect. But you want to live up to your honestly earned pension without excesses. So all we have to do is to be careful not to get too dirty.”
“Yeah? Is that what you call ‘let the problem go to waste’? A one-way ticket?”
“No one's gonna...”
“Don't bullshit!” yelled a tiny fat man, looking more like a disheveled hamster, mistakenly wearing an expensive suit with a thin gag tie. “They chop off tails after this kind of operation. Do you hear that? They clean everybody, regardless of rank and file! Besides, this project is unrealizable, so your love of adventure and quick jumps on the career ladder played a bad joke. There's no profit in it. Nothing... But why the hell else are you trying to stick me in the shit? You don't want to stand up against the wall by yourself?”
“That's enough. You're as hysterical as a schoolgirl. I'm sick of it... I know as well as you that the task is complicated.”
“Complicated?”
"Hamster" jumped up and whirled around the table, rubbing the lapels of his jacket. Black boots creaked to mark each short step, adding unpleasant sounds to the irritation that filled the entire room.
“This is not a difficult task. It's a total ass... You're probably stuck in the department, buried up to your neck in paperwork. You don't look around; you don't gather rumors... What's it say in the briefing request? ‘Organize a search for the target, provide an escort team, and transport to a safe location for evacuation’? Ha! Where should it be organized from? Dead End! From the gods' cursed planet, blocked by the Forerunners! From a world that has survived two full-scale atomic wars, biological and chemical, and declared a total blockade until the end of time. The Dead End where we dump industrial waste, ignoring any environmental conventions and other "green" crap. Do I forget something?”
“You made a good point about the blockade. The evacuation of the younger Livshits will take a lot of thought.”
“Break it. I'm done talking. This cursed place has been occupied for over forty years, ever since we managed to hack into the Precursors' gravity-tunnel system and take a corner at their observation station. The only achievement over the years has been the ability to dump debris through the channels they've punched into the planet. Everything else is a series of failures. No access to arms control, no hint of elevators to battle stations, no deciphering of the language or at least the life support control markers on the Outpost. Forty years and only a rundown latrine up the hell's ass in a huge base above Dead End. And sixteen ships that burn any object that dares to rise above twenty kilometers above the planet's surface. And a bunch of shiny careers that shattered into a harsh reality. No prospects, no rewards, no opportunity to achieve anything more.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“But the guy really managed to jump in there! You know there are plenty of crooks, every five or six years, the next freak comes along, offering a way to go to the cursed world and come back. And gathers the idiots who are willing to take the risk of landing on a science-intelligent dumb-ass mission. Along with another batch of garbage. Slam, someone gets richer, and a string of empty coffins are buried in the cemetery.”
“I know. And that's why I don't want my picture gracing a numbered spot in the suburbs. And it doesn't matter which box they stick in the hole - an empty one or one with a body that unexpectedly broke its neck at home by stepping on wet bathroom tiles. The guy should be written off. It is not giving a damn about the handlers or anyone else. Because among the mutants and other biological debris, the boy will not survive. Even experimental groups of prisoners with weapons and supplies died in a day or so. And we were informed of the problem after a week! So have fun on your own, without me.”
“I have my orders. And...”
“You can shove your orders up your ass, you know where? I'm out of your jurisdiction. And I repeat, I will not get involved in this project. Not me, not my department. And if you want to go over your head, I'll go to the Committee of External Control. Believe me, those guys will chew Livshitz and you for breakfast for fun. And they won't choke.”
The fat man walked to the door and took hold of the shiny handle.
“Stefan...”
The brunette took a cigarette from the pack, tried to light it, and irritably tossed the shiny gold lighter onto the table. The ajar door closed.
“Oh, dear. That's the first time you've called my name in five... No, in six years!”
“Stefan. I promised the senator I'd do my best. I have to pretend at least to be active. I'll try to set up a scapegoat later, but right now, we have to dig, make noise, and rattle the iron in all the corners. Please help me. If I don't hold out for at least a week, there really will be a numbered grave in the cemetery.”
A chubby hand picked up the lighter, and with a light flick, it produced a tiny flame. Then, waiting for the mate to let out the first puff of smoke, the fat man quietly inquired:
“What credentials have you been given?”
“Carte blanche for three days, then a supervisor's control. Most likely, in a week, Stotz, the secretary of the directorate, will get involved.”
“Then, you can slip through. If you fake a lot of activity in a week, the heads of the directorate will undoubtedly try to take advantage of the possible success. If you let Stotz take over, you'll be a dumb performer. You put one of your operatives in the lead. You play it safe; you get away with it. And you can't bring Stotz down yet; his family is no weaker than Livshitz. Let them find out later who exactly failed the case and is responsible for the death of the young idiot.”
“But will you help organize the cover-up? All this noise, the search operation, and so on?”
The interlocutor answered with a short nervous chuckle:
“Carte blanche, you say? You know, we can bargain. We could... Close the project I'm going to be quartered for, and I'll help you solve the problem.”
“ ‘Shiva’? How the hell are we gonna stick that shit on Dead End?”
“I need to write off the biomaterials. Whether they die in the furnace or on the radioactive wasteland, what difference does it make? As long as it's guaranteed, no chance of return. And your task is exactly that. A black hole that will eat up every effort, every technique, and every executor.”
“Looks like I'm not the only one who's been hung by the balls. - The tall man thoughtfully stretched out, rubbing his cigarette butt in the ashtray.”
“Yeah. A banned program that has been officially shut down twice by Congress. Three suicides of department directors, a pile of lost papers, and a lab that burned to the ground. A program that sucked up a lot of money and is still alive today. And I, who have been ordered to finally chop off the tails and bury everything that others have managed to dig up over the wasted years. You knew who to ask. You're a sly son of a bitch, Joe.”
“I knew... So we work together.”
The fat man returned the lighter and laughed hoarsely:
“No, you work alone. I'll get the cover band and all the smoke that'll keep you going at first. But you'll get your boat and row off the Titanic. Sorry, I'll only get fired for failing the ‘Shiva’. But Livshitz could kill you for failing. That's why you play alone. I'm just the backup. But if you do it right, you can be Stotz's second in command. And from there, you'll be on your way to the head of the service.”
“You want to get your hands on the top?”
“I want an honorable retirement. Alive and well. I'm fed up with it all. So let's hurry up and make a nice funeral for the young idiot who jumped the Dead End and got busy with our personal problems. Otherwise, the stakes in the games are growing every day, and any step will end up with a bullet in the back of the head. You and me, we're too high up. It's time to either disappear with fake documents, or chew out the curator's seat with a reservation from any problems. It's about time...”