After thinking about my situation, I was still able to find some positive aspects. The biggest plus was that I ended up as a commissar. As far as I remembered, commissars are specially trained people in the army of the Imperium, assigned to the Imperial Guard, the main military force of humanity, to maintain proper morale and discipline among soldiers. To this end, they are empowered to carry out field executions without trial of military and civilians of any rank, and are also outside the military hierarchy, which is why no one can order a commissar except for a higher commissar in their separate hierarchy. Because of this, the attitude towards them is appropriate - many commissars are considered simply fanatics, ready to shoot almost for a sidelong glance, although there are normal individuals among them - the same Cain, Gaunt or Yarrick. So this point can be considered both positive and negative: I have enough power to survive here, but at the same time I am not liked. Another positive aspect in my case was that the Commissars were from the Schola Progenium, a kind of military academy that only accepts orphans whose parents died in the service of the Imperium. That is, I have no relatives, which means I don't have to worry about sending letters home. Yes, there are cases when noble aristocratic families send their latest children to the Schola almost immediately after birth, in order to exclude them from the struggle for the inheritance, but this did not change much: a priori, I cannot know my family here, which means that my chances of getting caught in this field are quite small. I also managed to notice that the memory of the previous owner of this body was still preserved, albeit fragmentary. The concepts I needed emerged as I needed them, and this most likely happened reflexively: it's like when someone tells you about your school, and you immediately remember some moments from your life there, or something like that. In any case, it was an undoubted plus. It was this memory that helped me not to get caught at that meeting, telling me things I couldn't know at all. And the last, another major plus was that I had completely transferred my knowledge of the local language. I don't know how to explain it, but I simply knew this Gothic, the main language of the Imperium, and spoke it fluently. Well, if this was a gift from higher powers, it came in very handy, because if I started speaking Russian here, at best they wouldn't understand me, and at worst they would throw my still warm corpse out the airlock, mistaking me for a possessed person. If you add it all up, it turned out that my chances of surviving here were not zero. However, now it was necessary to understand one more important thing - who was I anyway? No, I knew that I was Igor Vitalievich Vorobyov, you can't argue with that, but who was the former owner of this body? As far as I understood from my conversation with the captain, my last name is Merzelius. Quite a tolerable last name, in any case,not some "Khrenozhopkin" or something like that, which was already good news. And after I'd been repeating that name to myself for about a minute, a name popped into my head. Augustine. Augustine Mercelius. To be honest, I even liked that name. There was something inspiring about it. Although it was inspiring that I remembered it at all. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember anything else. Apart from the fact that we were heading to some Akitos Prime and that there were problems with the orcs there, I couldn't find out anything else, and I wasn't in a hurry to ask the colonel: "Excuse me, remind me, what's our mission there?" - I wasn't in a hurry: I had enough brains for that. But a new question arose - what scale were these problems with the orcs anyway? If there was a real "Waaagh!" Orks, which is akin to the Mongol invasion on a galactic scale, my days here are numbered: during a Waaagh! even the Astartes do not survive long, and there is nothing to say about the Imperial Guard. Unfortunately, I clearly do not have the charisma of Yarrick, who was able to hold back Ghazghkull's Waaagh! on Armageddon, there is no doubt about it, so the only thing I can do in this case is to die with honor, taking an Ork bolt right to the head, so that death is quick and painless. I should know what that is like. On the other hand, if this is not a Waaagh!, but just some bunch of Orks who accidentally fell on the planet and are now interfering with the local authorities, then my situation is much better - the chances of survival certainly increase several dozen times, which, of course, was pleasing. True, I couldn't find out anything in advance, so all I could do was wait for the arrival and hope that we wouldn't meet too many enemies. But the last problem clearly put me, if not at a dead end, then in a very difficult position – my regiment. What did I know about it? Nothing. I didn't know its name, what planet it was from, what its combat history was, and I wasn't familiar with the officer corps. The only thing I knew was the colonel's last name, Sherkin, which I learned thanks to the ship's captain, and his first name, kindly suggested by the modest memory of his predecessor – Vermand. Vermand Sherkin. That was also quite good. And as far as I could tell, he was a seasoned warrior. Many different details spoke of this: his manner of speech, intonation, gait. But the most important factor for me was his gaze. The war-scorched gaze of a soldier who had seen a lot. I know what such a look looks like - meeting Pyotr Mikhailovich, my neighbor who went through Afghanistan, clearly showed me a man familiar with war firsthand. However, a new question arose - how long have they known me here? And how professional is the rest of the regiment? If the previous owner of this body was with the regiment for at least a few years, then I am finished: they will quickly suspect me. And if this regiment also has rich military experience, like the Cadian or Valhalla, then if they do not figure me out, then they will certainly not put me in authority, because I have zero military experience,as well as simply military knowledge. Unfortunately, memory again decided to remain silent, like a partisan, so I could not answer my questions. Although, on the other hand, this could be the answer. Silence. Silence. Lack of knowledge. What if memory is unable to tell me anything, because it knows nothing about this regiment? And then it turns out that the commissar does not know the regiment well, and this can only be the case if he arrived there only recently!
This was already very good. My desire to meet everyone, at least the officer corps, would look natural. If we draw a conclusion from the whole situation in principle, then my affairs are still very bad, but the chances of survival have already become large enough for there to be at least some hope. With a heavy sigh, I again began to realize the full scale of what had happened. There will be no more of that life. I will never see my family and friends again. Never. And my dreams will never come true either. I will not be the head doctor. I will not have a son with Lenka, there will be no wedding ... And there will be no more Lena herself, her gaze, her warm body ... Her soul. She is now there, in another world, and, most likely, she is bursting into tears. I know how vulnerable she is - when I was hit by a car, she ran to the hospital in tears, thinking that I was dying, although then everything ended with a concussion, and not a serious one. And now everything is for real. Now there will be no smile on her face from the news that everything worked out, that everything is fine, and tears of fear will not be replaced by tears of joy. Thinking about my mother is even more painful. If she survives such a blow, then there will be almost no one left to take care of her. Perhaps she can go to her sister in Murmansk, she will not abandon her, but this will not console her much. "Lord," I began to myself, looking at the metal ceiling of my cabin, "whoever you are, why? What did she do to you? It would be fine if you punished me for no apparent reason, but why her?" As expected, I did not receive an answer. And most likely I will not. The unexpected thoughts about Vlad, my best friend from the yard, finally finished me off. He was the only one to whom I would trust anything, even my own life. And I could only hope that he would be able to take care of Lena. To be honest, I even wanted them both to be together now. I won't be brought back anyway, but at least Lena won't suffer from loneliness. And most importantly, if she does find someone, let it be Vlad, and not some random jerk or, God forbid, that cretin Bogdan. "Well, we've come a long way," I said to myself mentally. "There's nothing else to do but hope that your best friend will take your girlfriend, so long as she's not lonely..." Sighing heavily, I left my thoughts, in which I was sitting on a chair, which was one of the few pieces of furniture in this cabin, and decided to finally get outside. I needed to show myself and start doing my duties, or at least the appearance of doing them. Having collected my thoughts once again and brought myself into a form befitting a commissar, I began to think hard about how to get to the guards' location. It was impossible to ask everyone here - if the regiment had already been on the road for a long time, I should already know the way, which meant that constant questions like "Can you tell me how to get to my soldiers?" would immediately expose me and write me a ticket to outer space.Ordering some soldier to take me away was also not an option for the same reasons. So I decided to stay in the cabin for a while and search it. The belongings of the previous owner of my current body should have told me quite a lot about him, which could definitely help me play the necessary role. First of all, I searched the nightstand in the desk. It contained only paper, pens, pencils and other office supplies. Not finding anything interesting there, I climbed into the second nightstand. There I found only a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving foam, deodorant, cologne, shampoo, soap, toilet paper - in general, the bare minimum that a man needs for a normal existence somewhere. Fortunately, no ointments or pills were found, which immediately refuted my fears about the health of this mortal body: it most likely had no problems, which was good. After that, I climbed into the large wardrobe, but as soon as I opened it, I immediately stopped. There was a mirror on one of the doors, thanks to which I could fully examine my new face. Now I was a brunette with green eyes, high cheekbones, a straight nose and pale skin. Not to say that I did not like my new appearance - rather, it was unusual for me. It was difficult to accept that instead of a brown-eyed brunette, I would now be looking at a completely different face. However, I had to accept the fact: I would not be able to go back, so I could only come to terms with it. In addition, my new appearance did not cause rejection at all, which was already an undoubted plus. On the shelves lay pants and several T-shirts, clearly intended so that I would not sleep and not run around the ship at night, if I really needed to, to the toilet in a commissar's uniform. Black house slippers were needed, most likely, for the same reason: it was very unpleasant to walk barefoot on the cold metal floor. There were also socks, underwear and some clothes on the shelves, which I assumed were for civilian purposes. It looked a bit like medieval European clothes or something like that, but I liked them quite a bit. At least they weren't eye-catching, which made them okay. But at the bottom of the closet I found a large bag with a strap for carrying over the shoulder. Apparently, it was in this bag that the commissar had brought all his belongings. I quickly took the bag and put it on the bed, immediately starting to rummage through it in the hope of finding something worthwhile. The things I found were also unremarkable: the same clothes and underwear that couldn't tell me anything useful about their owner. Having closed the bag and put it aside, I started thinking about where else the commissar's things might be, which would help me find out at least something about him. Suddenly the idea came to me to search the commissar's leather jacket, which I was currently sitting in. And after a few seconds of searching through the inside pockets, I finally found something interesting:a book in a dark cover with the coat of arms of the Imperium made of gold and the inscription "Prayers to the Emperor", a notebook with a pen and some kind of plastic card.
I decided to examine the card right away. On one side it had the same sign as on the prayer book, a double-headed eagle, but on the other side there was my face and personal data:
Name: Augustine
Surname: Mercelius
Year of birth: 203.121.M42
Place of birth: planet Glaretian, Formast system, Alitor subsector, Yakurt sector, Ultima segmentum
Regiment of registration: 15th Verlon Infantry Regiment
Rank: regimental commissar
Having read the card, which was most likely my ID and pass, I mentally rejoiced, because I lacked this knowledge. Now at least I would not be caught not knowing my own regiment. I also learned the place and year of my birth, which was also not superfluous. Having put this card back in its place, in the inner pocket of my jacket, I decided to look through the notebook, which should definitely contain something important.
"Vermand Sherkin. Colonel. 53 years old.
25 years of service.
Commanded the 117th Retrogan Infantry.
Survived the Battle of Merkon and the destruction of the regiment.
Obvious hatred of orcs, wants revenge.
Suffers from nightmares.
Drinks (prefers amasec).
Smoker (10-15 cigarettes or 2-3 packs per day. Specify)," it was emphasized .
"Treats recruits like children.
Forgives many disciplinary violations.
Incompetent!" it was emphasized twice. Now it became clear what it was. This was where Augustine wrote down his notes about the people around him, with whom he had to work. And if he made these notes, it meant that he was just getting to know the regiment, which in turn meant one thing: he was here very recently, that is, he was not yet well known here. This was also indicated by the fact that the colonel served in another regiment and survived its destruction, after which he was transferred here, and the commissar himself called the soldiers of the regiment "recruits". It became clear that the regiment had just been formed, it was not for nothing that Sherkin mentioned the "post-oath drinking party," which had obviously taken place relatively recently. This was very good news, but there was a fly in the ointment. The commissar wrote his notes in a clearly negative light, although I had no doubt that the colonel had his positive sides. The same twenty-five years of combat experience is worth something. An unpleasant conclusion followed from this: Augustin was a supporter of unquestioning adherence to the regulations and iron discipline, and the attitude towards such commissars and commanders was never good, both here and in my world. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to fix all this, if, of course, Augustin had not managed to do too much. And to find out, I decided to read this notebook further.
"Sebastian Verkis. Major. 51 years old.
25 years in service.
Served with Sherkin.
Humorist.
"He is loved by the soldiers.
He likes to drink with company.
He plays regicide.
He is incompetent!" — underlined twice. So this is our deputy colonel, aka Major Verkis. Judging by the description, he is a merry fellow and on friendly terms with the soldiers, and he does not disdain to play games of chance with them, which always added points to the commanders in the eyes of ordinary soldiers, if we are to believe the stories of those of my acquaintances who served in both the USSR and the Russian Federation armies. And I had to take a closer look at him. If I managed to establish friendly relations with him, he would quickly tell the soldiers that I was normal, and this, in turn, would allow me not to be afraid of third- and fourth-degree burns on my back. However, here again all that was left was to hope that Augustin was at least simply unknown here, and not that they wished him a quick death.
"Erwin von Kreydel. Captain. 74 years old.
50 years in service.
Lazy.
Glutton. Eats 5 times a day. Favorite dish - spicy meat marinated in amasec.
A regular at port brothels.
Condones the decay of discipline.
Turns a blind eye to criminality among the crew.
Incompetent!!!" - underlined twice and circled. But the captain of this ship was clearly not an exemplary officer. Even at that meeting, I realized that he was not averse to food, but, apparently, this was his least sin. Although I am already beginning to suspect that Augustine's notes are not particularly trustworthy - he clearly wrote only negative or, at most, neutral things about officers.
"Arthur Giltoris. Lieutenant. Senior mate. 31 years old.
11 years in service.
Nobleman.
Womanizer, heartbreaker, socialite.
Three illegitimate children (or seven, specify)", - underlined.
"Sleeps with one of Admiral Stepan Volkov's daughters (or both, please clarify)," it is underlined.
"Carries contraband on the ship (contents unknown, please clarify)," it is underlined.
"Has a share of the drug trade on the ship (possibly).
Incompetent!!!" it is underlined twice and circled. The first mate, as you can see, is quite the macho. And, apparently, he prefers girls from high society or, at worst, the most elite brothel that can be on the planet. However, we must give Augustin credit - apparently, he compiled the notes based on rumors circulating around the ship, and it is not to say that he believed them much. Rather, these notes could be called a kind of rough draft, which once again proved my hypothesis that Augustin did not spend very much time with the regiment.
"Otto Breaker. Chief Petty Officer. 36 years old.
12 years in service.
The leader of a ship's gang (130 or 240 people, to be specified)— underlined.
"Organizer of drug trafficking (obscura, kalma, halo, night dust, lho, stim, slot, spur, havoc).
Organizer of underground fights without rules on the ship (money betting).
Carries contraband (specify the contents)", — underlined.
"Incompetent!!!" — underlined twice and circled. The petty officer, in all likelihood, is also not distinguished by nobility and observance of the charter, which Augustine clearly did not like. However, here, most likely, not everything is so simple. Apparently, both the captain and the first mate know about the petty officer's tricks, but turn a blind eye or even lead this whole thing. There can be many reasons for this, but most likely, it is either a desire to make money on his own crew, or a way to let off steam for the crew so that they do not rebel due to strict discipline. I can't blame them for this: everyone wants to eat and live.
But the last entry in the notebook upset me a little.
"Melz Rengor. Ship's Commissar."
And that was it. Not a word was written about this Meltz anymore. Apparently, Augustin simply had not had time to find out about his comrade in the profession, which completely and now irrevocably confirmed my theory that the regiment had been on this ship relatively recently. There was just one problem: I still couldn't find out what this Meltz was like – was he in cahoots with the captain, first mate and chief petty officer, or, on the contrary, was he a fanatic from whom this "trio" hid everything well? I didn't know the answer to this question, and the memory that I had inherited decided to tactfully remain silent. After sitting for another minute thinking, I still decided to leave the cabin: it was necessary to find out where my regiment was located so that I could show myself to the colonel and the other officers, so that they would not suddenly suspect me of being a coward who was now crying in his cabin because he almost died today. But finding out the information I needed was not so easy. Although I, or rather Augustine, had not been there long, he had to remember at least a little of the ship's structure, and therefore stopping passersby and asking them: "Excuse me, could you tell me where my regiment is stationed?" would have been the height of stupidity. There was only one thing left: to wander around the ship, feigning professional activity, and also to ask high-ranking officers if they had seen anything suspicious. Of course, it was the ship's commissar's responsibility to question the ship's crew, but one could always answer that I simply wanted to help him in his difficult task on the way to his soldiers. There was no other option anyway, so I hid the notebook in my jacket and made myself look as neat as possible, took one deep breath and left my cabin. The ship, as it turned out, was truly enormous. I didn't know exactly what class it belonged to or what its dimensions were, but my predecessor's memory told me its name as I walked through its corridors - "Count Alejandro Olivares". But here's what I could definitely say about this ship after just five minutes of walking: a labyrinth. A real labyrinth of corridors, turns, intersections, stairs, some rooms and who knows what else. And everywhere I turned, there were people scurrying back and forth, who, upon seeing me, stood at attention and saluted, after which they immediately ran away, not wanting to have anything to do with me. This could be attributed to the general fear of the commissars, but it could also be fear of me personally, that is, Augustin Merzelius, which was already very bad: if this turned out to be true, it meant that the previous owner of this body had managed to do things that would reduce my chances of surviving in a space battle, where my safety would depend not only on the skill of the captain, tech-priests and other crew members, but also on their loyalty to me. Suddenly, turning to the right, I almost collided with a huge soldier, who was a little over two meters tall, if my eye did not deceive me.However, this guy reacted instantly and stepped aside, stood at attention and saluted. "Mr. Commissar!" he said in a steely bass voice, almost deafening me. The two men walking with him also saluted. The two-meter-tall big guy himself had an oval face, short black hair, brown eyes, a bulbous nose and stubble, which, frankly, suited him very well. He was wearing a helmet, a bulletproof vest made of some kind of plastic and thick-looking pants with leather boots. "Sergeant Major," suddenly popped into my head, and it immediately became clear to me who was standing in front of me. Otto Breaker himself. And not shot, as I feared. This meant that Augustin, although he had made a list of incompetent individuals on this ship, had still thought of not executing these individuals on the spot, realizing that this would be the last sentence - the ship's crew could quickly deal with such an upstart, throw the body out the airlock, and then say, "There was a mutiny, the commissar died." And that's it, there's nothing to prove. Such thoughts still raised my spirits: Augustin had brains, which meant he was unlikely to do any crap. Yes, anything could happen, but there was now a lot of hope. - Chief, - I answered briefly, also saluting. - How is the situation on the ship? - In perfect order, Mr. Commissar. There have been no incidents since leaving the warp. All crew members are in their places according to the staffing schedule and are on heightened combat readiness in accordance with the captain's order, - Otto reported to me. But I decided to act and, so to speak, take the bull by the horns: I had to show that I was at least doing something. - At ease, sergeant major. You are the one I was looking for, - after these words the sergeant major's expression changed for a second, but then immediately came to his senses. Apparently, he did not like my words at all, but I did not have time to find out why exactly. - You are free, - I said, looking unequivocally at the two soldiers who had accompanied the sergeant major before our meeting. - Yes, Mr. Commissioner, - they both said, saluting, and quickly disappeared around the corner. As a result, the sergeant major and I were left completely alone in the corridor. Most likely, I managed to wander around the ship quite far. - Something happened, Mr. Commissioner? - Otto said in an even, low voice, but I could not understand whether he was worried or not. If the rumors that Augustin had collected were true, then Otto must be very uncomfortable being alone with the commissioner now. However, no matter how closely I looked at him, I couldn't find a grain of fear on his face. "Not exactly, sergeant major. I wanted to ask you…" I began, trying to choose my words correctly. "Have you noticed any strange behavior among the crew members since the incident?" "Hmm…" the sergeant major made a thoughtful face, probably trying to replay the last hours in his head. "No, Mr. Commissioner, I haven't noticed," Otto answered firmly after a few seconds."But my people and I are keeping a close eye on everyone and don't relax for a second."
"I am glad to hear it, Chief," I said in as encouraging a voice as I could muster. "Get back to work, and if you find anything strange, anything, even if it seems insignificant, report it to me or Commissar Rengor immediately. We must do everything to ensure that the Unholy Powers do not pose a threat to the ship, and in this matter we can only rely on officers like you, Chief. Do you understand?" "Yes, Herr Commissar. It will be done," Otto answered firmly, and I could tell that he was impressed by my words. Or perhaps he was very good at pretending, for I could not be sure of that yet. "Good. You may go. And may the God-Emperor protect you," I said, making the "bird" sign of the aquila, which in the Empire, as far as I knew, was the same as the cross of the Christians in my world. "God-Emperor protect you," the chief answered, also making the sign of the aquila. Then we quickly parted ways, and a minute later I was wandering down the corridor, where, although not often, I met crew members, servitors, and tech-priests. However, they are the least of my concerns. The most important thing is that I showed the chief my concern about the situation, and since we are on a ship, this will quickly be known, as they say, "from stem to stern" within a few days. Let people think that I am worried about the situation, rather than think that I am lazy. After another hour of wandering, I was able to find an elevator, which opened right on my floor. And it was at that moment that a memory flashed through my head. In it, I, or, to be more precise, Augustine, pressed the button in the elevator - the second from the bottom. I had already gotten used to the fact that my memory gave me clues based on the principle of déjà vu - I remember what happened to Augustine only when I encountered it again. And this meant that Augustine had gone down to this floor using the elevator for some reason. It could well have been the deck where our regiment was located, where I needed to get to show my mortal body to the colonel and the other soldiers. - Wait, - I said in a raised voice towards those who were in the elevator. They immediately, almost reflexively, straightened up and began to wait for me. Having entered the fairly spacious elevator cabin, I pressed the right button, judging by my memories, after which the metal door creaked shut and the elevator headed down. I don't know what the sailors who were in the cabin with me felt, but they clearly did not experience positive emotions from this. It was clearly audible - the sailors were trying to breathe slowly and quietly, as if afraid to blow too hard on the back of my head. Most likely, it is because of the general fear of the commissars. I can't say that it is pleasant when they are scared to death of you, but in my situation it is even a plus: no one will interfere in my life without a special reason, and therefore the change in character will not be particularly noticeable. After half a minute, which passed in deathly silence,The elevator finally stopped and the door opened. But what I was looking for was completely different. Ahead of me was a completely empty corridor, in which barely a third of all the lights worked, and some of them were flickering unpleasantly. It immediately became clear that these were the lowest decks of the ship, which, moreover, had not been used for a long time. This, as I remembered, was commonplace on huge imperial ships. And now all my instincts literally screamed at me that I should not go here and press the button for the upper floor. And suddenly the memory of my predecessor made itself known. In an instant, I saw myself exiting the elevator, turning left and reaching the wall with an arrow painted on it that said "warehouse" and pointed to the right. Whatever that had just been, Augustine was here for a reason. And this "something" could be quite important to me: if I wanted to survive here, I needed to know absolutely everything about Augustine. So I forced myself to take two steps forward and stepped onto the deck. To the left and right of me, as well as in front, were empty, semi-dark corridors. The sailor behind me immediately pressed the button, after which the door closed and the elevator went up. And after that, there was complete silence, broken only by the sounds of several blinking lamps, which were the only source of light here. Some insects resembling flies were circling around them in an intricate dance, and the air was clearly filled with the smell of urine, feces and rotting meat. But now the smell was the last thing that worried me. I was frightened by the silence here - it contrasted too strongly with the hustle and bustle happening on the upper decks. Moreover, this silence emanated something frightening, which sent a herd of goosebumps down my spine. It seemed to be squeezing my very soul. Unable to resist, I nevertheless pulled the bolt pistol out of the holster on my belt. It was relatively light, which was definitely a relief. With the help of a hint from memory, I was able to take the weapon off safety and hold it correctly with both hands. Unfortunately, the beginnings of calm that had arisen almost immediately evaporated: turning left, as Merzelius had done earlier, according to my memory, I noticed burgundy bloody streaks from my fingers, illuminated by the bright white light of the lamp on the ceiling, and on the floor there was the same burgundy bloody puddle, smeared deep into the corridor. As a student of the medical institute in general and Oleg Konstantinovich in particular, I saw for sure that this blood was about a week old, no less. And this did not add to my optimism at all, because the picture was extremely nasty - someone was killed near this elevator, and the body, presumably with an abdominal wound, was dragged deep into the ship along the floor. But whether the attacker was human or something worse, I couldn't tell. Following the bloody trail with my eyes, holding on to my bolt pistol as tightly as I could, I saw the end of the corridor,where there was an arrow with the inscription "Warehouse".
Now it was becoming clear what Merzelius was doing here - apparently, he had also stumbled upon these tracks and decided to follow them to figure everything out. I don't know if he was able to find anything, but I wasn't going to go that way. Slowly taking two steps back, while still looking towards the left corridor through the bolter sight, I pressed the elevator call button. But nothing happened. Either it wasn't working, or it was so high up that I simply didn't hear it, it was unclear, but this only fueled my panic, which was beginning to take hold of me. I began to press this damn button faster and faster in the blind hope that this would help the elevator go faster. But the cold, soulless mechanism didn't answer me. "Fuck… Bitch-bitch-bitch…" I said out loud, continuing to knock on the button. Now the elevator was my only salvation. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and hit the button with my fist as hard as I could, which didn't cause any damage. My heart was already beating furiously, trying to jump out, breaking through my ribcage, and I was catastrophically short of air – the panic was growing. "Damn… Okay… Calm down, Igor, calm down…" I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and held it, then began to count.
One… Two… Three…
I had to calm down. You have to calm down in any situation.
Four… Five… Six…
The beating of my heart drowned out the few sounds that surrounded me – in my head I could only hear the furious drumbeat, which soon began to die down.
Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…
Having counted to ten, I exhaled loudly. The panic had passed, although this place still scared me and I had absolutely no desire to linger here. Suddenly, a sharp push from behind almost knocked me to the floor. The bolter immediately fell out of my hands, and only with the help of some unprecedented reflex did I manage to put my foot forward and lean on it, which saved me from falling. - DIE!!! - someone screamed in my ear from behind, while a sharp pain pierced my shoulder blade. At one point, I realized that someone was hanging on me. The attacker grabbed me by the throat with one hand, and with the other held on to what was sticking out of my body. I could not even take a breath, and air began to be catastrophically lacking. Darkness began to appear before my eyes, so in a desperate attempt I made a half-turn and stepped back with all my strength. The attacker immediately crashed into the metal door of the elevator, causing me to cry out in pain. Without waiting, I immediately started hitting him with the back of my head and after three fairly strong blows, I took a step forward, grabbed the attacker with my right hand and leaned forward sharply, throwing him over my shoulder. However, at the last moment, he still managed to grab my collar, and when he fell onto the metal floor, I fell with him. And a second later, the attacker was on me. He immediately dealt me several strong blows to the face, after which his hands squeezed my throat with colossal force. There was not enough air again. I began to twitch my legs and arms in a desperate attempt to save myself, but nothing helped. Darkness was already beginning to appear before my eyes. Consciousness was quickly leaving me, and soon my hands fell limply. And at that very moment, I felt a familiar handle - my right hand fell right onto the chain sword. A spark of hope immediately ignited in me, which was able to ignite a second wind. I quickly grabbed the hilt of the sword, after which I saw a fleeting memory consisting of only one action: pressing the button on the inside of the hilt. Having no other options, I, already on the edge of consciousness, tried to do the same. The hilt immediately vibrated, and a weak buzzing reached my ears, more reminiscent of the sound of a chainsaw or a grinder. Then, gathering all the strength that I still had, I raised my right hand along with the sword. Almost at the same moment, sharp adamantium blades cut into the body of the attacker in the diaphragm area and began to pass through him like a knife through butter. A drawn-out howl of pain rushed through the narrow corridors of the deck, and a warm and sticky liquid immediately poured over my face. The man fell off me onto the floor, thanks to which I was able to take a long-awaited breath, while the sword continued to work. The scream died down after a few seconds, and the only sound I heard was the buzzing of the chainsword. A few seconds later I turned off the sword and tried to catch my breath, lying on the floor. I had no strength at all, and my heart was beating a fast tap dance again. Turning my head,I met the gaze of the man who had attacked me. He was still alive and continued to greedily gasp for air with frequent sighs, and his eyes showed pain and disbelief in what was happening. And after a few seconds, he fell silent altogether, while his glassy eyes continued to look at me with an eerie, frightening gaze. But I personally did not care about this anymore - consciousness was finally leaving me. It was like unbearable drowsiness after two days without sleep, when the body simply switched off. No matter how hard I tried, my eyes closed on their own, and my strength simply left me. Soon I could not stand it and gave up trying to resist this, after which the whole world around me was filled with impenetrable darkness.
The elevator doors opened... Two steps forward, the elevator is leaving...
Traces of blood on the floor... Fresh, two days old... We need to find out...
A corridor, a turn, another corridor...
A sailor... In rags... Bald, lame, with his ears and nose cut off...
— State your name, sailor!
Malicious giggling, twitching…
— W-what… h-pretty…
— Name and rank, sailor! Now!
Rusty knife from the belt…
— No need to sh-shout… The corridors… Don't like sh-shouters…
Two steps forward… A shrieking wild cry… Shot…
A torn corpse falls to the floor…
— URLO, NOO-OO-OO!
Second sailor… In the distance… Three more shots… A miss…
— YOU'RE A CORPSE, COMMISSIONER! YOU'RE A CORPSE!!! There's
no point in running… You can get lost…
We have to go back…
Consciousness began to slowly return to me. A white lantern on the ceiling shone brightly through a small crack in my slightly open eyelids, which made it hard to open my eyes at all. My head was splitting at the seams, my throat was hurting, my face felt like it was sticky, and my whole body was overcome by unbearable weakness. After lying there for a few more seconds, I realized that I had to get up, so I leaned on my right elbow and started to rise. But as soon as I tried to help myself with my left hand, my body was literally pierced by a sharp pain. "Your… Ah…" I whispered. An attempt to move my hand again was unsuccessful, so I immediately realized that I had big problems with my shoulder blade and needed to find a first aid station as quickly as possible, since I couldn't help myself. Gathering my strength, I finally rolled over onto my stomach and was able to sit down on my knees with the help of only my right hand. And only when I did this, my eyes appeared to be filled with a huge red pool of blood in which I was sitting. It turned out that all my clothes and hands were in it too. Not understanding anything specifically, I tried to look around. And almost immediately I noticed the dismembered body of that same man lying on the floor next to me. His legs, along with his severed stomach, from which the intestines had already fallen out, lay next to the upper part of the body. A mask of pain froze on the face of the would-be killer, and his eyes stared into space with a glassy, dead look. And everywhere - on the floor, on the walls, on the corpse and on me - there was dried blood, a sticky film clinging to everything it could reach. Shock, and then disgust began to overwhelm me. And it wasn't just the blood and intestines, but also the realization that I had done it! Me! With my own hands! It was simply impossible to believe... With my hands, with these very hands, which were now right in front of me, to dismember a man alive, like some piece of meat! And now I looked at these hands, covered in dried blood, and could not believe what I had done. "I... I just killed him... I chopped him up... I took and... And chopped him up!" I said to myself, while I again began to lack air, my mouth began to fill with saliva, which I tried to swallow, and there was an unpleasant, painful feeling in my throat. And a few seconds later I vomited right onto the dried pool of blood. A shapeless mass of mucus, gastric juice and the remains of some food spread in all directions, and I, leaning on my right hand, tried to cough up and spit out the disgusting remains of the vomit. And after that I simply could not stand it... And I burst into tears. Tears that I had long seen only in the movies or on Lena's face, rolled down my cheeks. "Lord... I didn't want to come here... It would have been better if you had let me die..." I said to myself. I couldn't control myself. I couldn't believe that I had killed a man. "I'm not a murderer... Lord, I'm not like that... Not like that... Not like that!" I said, not really understanding for whom these words were intended: God, who was unlikely to give an answer, or myself, in an attempt to console myself. "No..." I whispered out loud, clenching my hands into fists and feeling the dried blood clogged under my nails. "I'm not like that... I don't want to be like that..." After a minute of sobbing and asking questions to the higher powers, I slowly began to calm down. Deep breaths helped me put my thoughts in order and start thinking more soberly. I had to admit the fact: I had no other choice. He tried to kill me, and that's why I had to kill him. It had to be that way. But the hardest thing was to realize that from now on I had no choice in principle. If I want to survive here, I will have to kill. As much as I don't want to, as much as I hate it, there is only one unshakable, absolute law in this Universe: "Kill or be killed." It was impossible to accept or not to accept this law. Everyone lived by it, and the only choice I had was to kill or die. And I was not going to die. I was given a chance. The second and, most likely, the last chance. I didn't know why me, I didn't know why this one, but I understood that I had to cling to this chance to the last. After all, I was given it for a reason… Trying to straighten up, I again felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder blade. This was already a really bad sign - I was wounded, and I couldn't even look at the wound. Most likely, I was wounded with some kind of cold weapon, and judging by the fact that I was still alive, my heart and arteries were not affected. But there was no point in delaying, the infection could have already begun, and I didn't need it in principle. Turning my head towards the corpse, I took my chain sword, covered in blood, into my hand and tried to use it as a support. It worked, and I was able to stand up on my feet, although any movement of my back caused severe pain in my shoulder blade.
After walking a couple of meters, I picked up my bolter lying on the floor, went to the elevator and pressed the call button. However, just like last time, nothing happened. I tried to do it a few more times, and then, more out of anger, I started pressing the button as hard as I could. And suddenly the button lit up, and soon I heard the hum of an approaching elevator. It seemed that this button had not been used for so long that you had to press it with all your might, and even then it would work every other time. Just like in my entryway. In about ten seconds the elevator arrived. The metal doors opened, and five sailors appeared in front of me, who were very surprised when they saw me. Moreover, the word "surprised" was the mildest and most polite. They were literally stunned, staring at me and were unable to say anything to me. I calmly entered the elevator, since I had neither the mood, nor the desire, nor the strength to explain anything. "Up," I said in as firm a voice as I could, and one of the sailors pressed the first button he came across without looking. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise, taking me away from this horrible place. I needed to find the first aid station.