Not fairy tales
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Eight to ten hours total, if the wearable engines work properly. Eight to ten hours of uncertainty and stress for the participant. All for the purpose of testing a new suit. Or was it for the show?
A successful descent will give the prisoner his freedom, so one can understand his motives. But why return someone so dangerous to Earth? Take this one, the current one…
A middle-aged woman in a thick, light-colored jumpsuit was scrutinizing the file on the holoscreen.
«Christophe Jes. Thirty-two years old. White.
Born in Spain. Parents unknown.
Boarding School…
School…
Technical University… Included among the most promising graduates.
«Cyclone» Corporation, Development Department
Dismissal. Participation in protests against the new intrachip.
Video: «The installation of the sixth generation of Cyclone subdural chip is to enslave you! Your habitual assistant will become your controller, your overseer, your judge and executioner! Don’t switch to upgraded programs! Refuse to modify for your children! Our designs are stolen and corrected.
The possibility of total external control is real, and you may even suffer physically: reactions to stimulation are not well studied. There are victims in experimental groups who are hidden from you.
Get rid of the chip…»
First detentions. Litigation with «Cyclone» Corporation and the International Modification Agency.
Involvement in the explosion at the «Cyclone» plant in Monterey. Destruction of three million intrachips. Casualties: thirty killed (five terrorists), fifteen wounded. Damage…»
Yeah, and this guy could end up on the outside, back downstairs! How can you give such a guy a chance? So many people have suffered, died, and he calls them «accidental, but justified victims»! Does trying to save millions – supposedly save millions – justify the death of even one person? «The factory workers were involved…they knew who they were working for…the costs…It’s hard to conduct such an operation without getting dirty.» Jes’s words came up again and again in her brain, making her wrinkle in pain.
Is it possible to return such madman?
But it’s not up to her to decide. The corporation expects a super-successful edition of the show: the culprit has managed to become recognizable in the farthest corners of the Earth. The stakes almost broke the record of the biomodeling experience before last (ugh, creepy critter came out then).
The woman turned off the projection, turned around. Through the half-glass door of the A-11 airlock she could clearly see the manipulators being operated by her assistants. Metal arms, hoses and visors were completing the final assembly of the descent suit, checking seams, joints, fuel cells, and oxygen cylinders.
In ten minutes, the prisoner will be brought in. In twenty, he will enter outer space and slowly fly toward his desired freedom.
But it’s not up to her, is it?
***
It took him minutes to get into his spacesuit, but it seemed unbearably long. However, he was too impatient, and there were still ten hours of one-on-one time with the space. But when every moment brings you closer to Earth, it is difficult to remain calm.
His heart was pounding more than usual, but Christophe managed to pull himself together: the art of meditation was doing its job even now, when silence and solitude were out of the question.
The suite fit him perfectly – at least the prisoners had learned not to tamper with the cut – and, at first glance, should have done its job. The air conditioning, the humidity and temperature control, the lightweight exoskeleton with reinforcements at the neck, lumbar and joints, the water and nutrient supply tubes-all seemed smartly made, with clear plans to use the suit in the future.
The engine, despite its compactness, weighed on his shoulders and back, pinning Jes to the floor, but in a second the exoskeleton worked at full power, taking and redistributing the weight so that the entire suit began to feel no heavier than a simple city backpack. Yes, not a bad technique.
For some reason he felt truly protected. So much so that he didn’t hesitate to step into the void behind the open mouth of the airlock as soon as the signal sounded.
His palms touched the rope, attaching the last hold, then unfastened the carabiners still holding Christophe to the «Daisy», and began the glide into the void, toward the beckoning blue ball. He moved slowly at first, adjusting to the position of his body in space, recovering his momentarily disrupted breath, but after three hundred meters from the station Jes was fully assembled and, giving the command, started the engine.
Home… High, bright skies and waves lapping on the shore… See you soon…
***
Charlie took a decent bite of the lunch sandwich, unleavened, like cardboard or sawdust. No, he hadn’t lost his taste from worry; it was just that good food was never here. Well, munching on it while you gawk at the descent would do.
They were lucky this time: the petal of their compartment was pointed almost in the center today, so that there was a good view of the descent string – compared to the outer sectors, which would see nothing at all.
Ars came over and looked out the window as well.
«So, we haven’t started yet?»
«That’s right, you’re just in time. Look, the airlock is already opening.»
The buddies clung to the glass.
A man rolled out of the airlock membrane and quickly crawled along the cable. Though in his experimental spacesuit he looked more like an insect – a snow-white mixture of a grasshopper and a crunch larva. Slightly flaring engines behind him enveloped crimson glow the frail figure against the background of the huge planet.
«Look how fast he is! It’s as if he’s been preparing somewhere.»
«Hmm… indeed. Maybe he can do it.»
The man was hurtling downward faster and faster. Soon he was nothing but a gleaming blob flowing down a gray vein.
«I think it’s… it’s lower now, like…» Charlie didn’t finish.
A carmine-yellow flash pierced the darkness. The rope, torn by the explosion, was thrown in the direction of the station. A moment – and nothing more reminded of the failed attempt to return.
«I knew it!» Ars huffed. «I told you they were shooting them with garbage on purpose, and you’re an „accident is an accident.“ Scientists, my ass! A little debris – there’s not many of them flying around, huh? Just bad luck. Boom! Ratings!»
«Why didn’t you tell him?» Charlie sighed and shook his head.
«How could I not?! I warned him. But do they listen? They’re all drawn back… there’s nothing you can do to stop that power…»
Purrer
Purrer woke up earlier than usual today. Softly, but perceptibly, all the nearby compartments vibrated, following the uterine grunt of gears, pumps, filters, and ducts.
«Purrer» is how the stationers nicknamed the orbital gravity drill – a huge structure that occupied almost half of the cruiser, not counting the storage facilities.
Tamor felt the floor shake as he sat down at the communal table. He was on time: he hadn’t even spilled his vitamin shake. The boys, on the other hand, were a little late.
It’s to be expected, though. They’re always sleeping when they get a day off.
It’s all right, they’ll all get a real rest soon enough, and they should just go home.
Rechce stumbled into the canteen, rattling, hooking the doorjamb with his shoulder, as usual.
Yes, the engineers had somehow failed to take into account the fact that new races were involved in the missions. That’s why the golut didn’t fit in half of the aisles. True, we should not forget the natural clumsiness of this snow-white hulk.
Several new threads were added to the cobwebs of small cracks in the light green panels of the hall’s panelling. Rechce, naturally, paid no attention to this.
«Hey, Brigadier!» he shouted loudly as he made his way over to Tamor. «They’re early today, ain’t they? In a hurry. Good, ’cause I’m sick and tired of being stuck here eating this crap… What are they serving, by the way?»
Golut looked at his companion’s plate, grinned dismissively, and rushed to the food counter. The android scurried about, fulfilling his ever-increasing order. In the end, Rechce sat down next to his friend, taking up most of the table with his tray of piled food. Tamor only smiled as he watched the big chunks of meat, bowls of salad, and a whole box of donuts disappear into his friend’s mouth. He himself contented with a couple of sandwiches and two cups of coffee and milk: he was just savoring the last sips.
Golut burped when he ate, spoiling all the fun of breakfast with the stench that came out. It wasn’t the first time, though, and the station men were used to more than that.
«Hey, Tam, do you think, if this is the way things are going, when do you think we’ll be done?»
«Well, if the commander doesn’t change the schedule, three or four days at the most,» he looked out the wide window, behind which a dusty red-brown ball was slowly spinning. «Yeah, that’s about right.»
«I wish,» Rechce patted himself on his hairy belly. «I want to go to my mom’s house to get a decent meal, huh?»
The foreman indefinitely shrugged his shoulders: no one was waiting for him at Tsimfei.
«To be honest, though,» his comrade continued, «I don’t understand why we’re hanging around here at all. Everything important has been taken out long ago, so what else are they looking for? There’s only stone.»
In a sense, he was right: every living thing had been moved years ago – every animal, fish or bird, every bacterium, every tree or seed. Next came water, then metals, and now, really, only ancient rocks and a lukewarm core remained.
«I don’t know… the consul knows best.»
«The Consul, oh, please! No,» golut shook his finger, «it’s his henchman that’s inducing him. Search and dig! More for me, more for me! What’s a man need so much for, I ask you? The capital swindler!»
Behind them rumbled a pot that had fallen: the mechanical dispenser had become loose lately, often dropping dishes. The sound echoed through the dining room. A rattling sounded sick to the ears, and then faded away.
Rechce snorted.
«Oh, yeah! He grabs and saves on equipment. Although… Did I hear the „Purrer“ is going to be decommissioned after this mission?»
Tamor nodded.
«Most likely. Some parts are useless to fix, you know. It’s even a bit of a pity: it was a good station.»
«Aha! Deserved to be here, didn’t it?»
«More than any other,» the foreman agreed, looking around the shabby room, the tired colleagues eating lunch, the view outside the window. «And I’m glad I’m here, even though it’s sad.»
«Yes, unfortunately,» golut shook his hairy head, «but it’s inevitable. This star has just a little bit left, and after… poof! It’s all done in time.»
«Just in time… But it still shrinks inside: the cradle of humanity, after all.»
Behind the transparent glasses, against the background of a huge scarlet ball, a stony blob, once known as Earth, swirled into the gut of the «Purrer».
Witches don’t belong here
To think how it worked out!
Here she is again in Ilfania in her old age. And again, she huddles in the little hut on the Marshlands, just like in her youth, when no one knew the novice witch yet.
Then they found out, of course. Of course, they did.
And now… they’ve forgotten. She should to remind, but her strength is not the same, and the desire, to be honest, almost no more.
Is that too much to ask?
Just not to live in the damp, where old bones break so much. Just a little memory, a little respect.
No, no one needs an ancient sorceress either there or here.
Barbeza sighed, grunted, stepped over the high threshold, climbed out onto the porch, and sat down in the shabby, creaky rocking chair, exposing her wrinkled face to the spring sun.
Below, on a large boulder on a path winding through the woods, a grass snake was basking in the warm rays, its black, resinous scales gleaming.
Heh… here she is, like a snake, crawling out of its den-lodge, to fry her bones. As if her own heat is no longer enough, as if the body is gradually taken over by a cold grave mist.
Oh, no! She’s not going to die like that, in the middle of nowhere and oblivion. She must, she must leave something behind… Only, what?
Lost in her thoughts, the witch, soaking in the sun, soon fell asleep. The lullaby of the wind rustling the young leaves and the chirping of the countless birds that inhabited the thickets near the marsh lulled her into a deeper and deeper reverie of her past.
***
A hundred and fifty years ago, Ilfania was a veritable haven for magic.
Who hasn’t met in its forest thickets, high mountains, and cool lakes? And there is no need to talk about the Marshlands.
Mermaids and woodsmen, goblins and dwarves, trolls, faeries and even dragons.
And there was no shortage of mages and witches. Well, not so many that their art ceased to amaze, but many. And their skills were valued: they could heal a cow, help a woman in labor, or help a king in battle. Oh, well, yes, they could also send rot on the neighbor’s field or boils on the old miller’s ass. Yes, it happened. But for the cause! Yes, yes!
To say that all the wizards were like cheese in butter, no. But they lived decently: they didn’t have to worry about food and shelter. And when a monster came out of the woods, they had to get some gold: what better way to smoke a stinking grisna out of a barn than with witches’ candles? Who else but a magician could drive away a dragon?
Everyone bowed to them when they met, invited them for tea and coffee, invited them to weddings, and to funerals to weep, to light a fire for spirits. Beautiful!
They were called to serve from neighboring lands too: the local wizards were always in short supply, and they also often went to Ilfania, to the roots, for training.
She herself was born there. Lucky. She had been under Gartanda’s wing, and she’d been in cromlech – magic circle – all her childhood. And how she learned to make potions was astonishing. For love, for battle, for health, and for sickness. Sweet as honey or the cries of lovers, and bitter as wormwood or heartbreak.
With her potions and brews she traveled halfway around the world. She had seen such wonders. She saw the wild seas with flying ships-like-birds on them (she never sailed herself, though – she was terribly nauseated, until she turned green and warts popped out), and rocks, high and smooth, like heavenly fortresses, rivers and deserts, hills and valleys…
…swirling in a dreamlike circle, the states and cities, forbidden lands passed by… thousands of faces… and the sky, always the sky. Formidable and dark, with bluish-purple clouds bringing downpour; blue, bright like periwinkles, with flocks of lamb-like clouds; almost white, sultry, dazzling, like death itself… the sky…
It was the potions that ruined her. Or rather, not the potions, but the dragons.
She found common ground… ha! With those creatures! No, some really worked: barrels of her brew were bought off from scaly monsters in Ilfania, and Pranezh, and in Sukhumet. Ugh! She had to shake in roads with all these travels.
Then they called her to Gizel. She stayed there for a long time… she could have stayed there forever, but she was too brainless. She wanted power. Old fool! She’s been around a long time; she’s seen it all.
And then there was this dragon…
Ugh… a stone-skinned lizard… it will be damned… it was bad lucky thing to get in touch, to get herself hopes up…
It was not her fault, though. It was him, Dorrenoi. What a geezer! How could he have known?
How could it not occur to her that the royal advisor knew all the ins and outs of the swamp creatures? They had worked side by side for so long.
Eh! Krumland’s promises clouded her head. If it were money – Gaffaro paid good money, too. After all, he promised the entire Zhemyr Grove, the bastard, along with the stone ringland, yes, yes. She was so glad that the idiot didn’t know what he was promising. She should have wondered if he knew what he was getting into at all, but she was blinded by greed.
With the main ring of the entire kingdom of Gisel, she would have gathered her conclave: among the ancients of that time, she was still considered a young girl. And she was a young girl compared to the walking relics that led the Ilfania coven and Hutumet, she was. It would take a long time to wait, and then there had to be a choice… there were always plenty of applicants.
And here was an unoccupied prime circle for nothing, and in a place like this…
Ah! Such a chance she missed!
And she did everything she was supposed to do. She made potions for the Krumland rabble, and spells, and handed out a whole bag of rune stones (she’d been poring over them for months, by the way). And still, it didn’t work.
And it could not come out… if you look at it now… Too hot and reckless was the Duke, so he burned, figuratively speaking.
And Gaffaro had done well. Gisel is still in full bloom, and soon his grandson will be on the throne.
Only the old witch can’t go there. They called her a traitor. A traitor! Thank gods, not tarred and feathered, not executed, but simply kicked out. It would have been nice for her to be in the south: no winter, no dampness, and a house not like these shambles here.
…a single tear rolled down the wrinkled cheek of the slumbering old woman…
For a while she was able to settle down in Pranezh, near Kakhnitz, in the district of Martz. She collected herbs and cured the sick. She lived with a farmer who gave her a nice, bright room with windows overlooking the brook and the birches. She ate sweet: fresh milk, fresh butter, bread only from the oven. She went to take care of his cattle, in case of illness or a calf going wrong during calving. She taught his little daughter witchcraft wisdoms: not seriously – the little girl had no abilities, but to distinguish herbs and roots, not to take poisonous berries, and to understand when to wait for rain, yes.
In general, lived a good life, without honors and power, but well-fed and quiet.
The only trouble was, there was a rumor that there were evil spirits in all the nearest lakes, mermaids, dragging and devouring the occasional traveler. Nonsense, of course: there were only two or three water maidens in all Pranezh, not to mention Martz, and only one nearby, in the Maiden’s Pond. And they didn’t eat humans at all: fish, mostly, and small animals and birds that happened to be near the shore, close to their clinging tentacles.
In short, foolishness and fear, grown on gossip passed on to one another. She’d be surprised if anyone actually managed to see a water maiden: they live in too secluded a place to be seen by accident.
But foolishness is foolishness, and who do you think was blamed for it? Yeah, her, Barbeza, who didn’t know anything about it. Well, they blamed her. They looked at her and whispered, and stopped ordering her potions. And then her landlord hinted that it would be a good idea to think about changing places. Kicked her out, what else can you say. He gave her, however, a donkey and a cart, so she could take her belongings with her. Didn’t deprive her with provisions and water either. A good man, but a coward, like all of them.
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