After the war and epidemic, the population of the USSR decreased by half, totaling one hundred million people, according to the last census, conducted urgently after the complete vaccination of the population at the end of 1942.
Europe was depopulated. Only small, remote villages of a few households remained. Out of a population of six hundred million, barely ninety million people survived.
China lost four hundred and fifty million people, and its population now numbered only one hundred million, who lived in the occupied zone of the Japanese army.
In India, against the backdrop of the virus, a war for independence first broke out, which escalated into a civil war of all against all.
Africa got off relatively lightly. The virus did not manage to spread beyond Egypt, so only part of the continent was depopulated. The "Brown Plague" did not reach the equator.
The New World was not affected at all, except that the States lost their corps, which had landed in Europe. Australia only heard rumors and tales, seasoned with documentary photographs of the consequences of the epidemic.
A new redistribution of the world was brewing.
Istanbul. The Pearl of the brilliant Porte. The ancient city, which had seen much in its time, slept. The "Brown Plague" had swept through the ancient streets, but people had not abandoned the walls steeped in history. The residence of the basilei, and later the sultans, teemed with life and oriental luxury. The city, even having changed with the world, remained a significant point on the maps, being not only a port but also a historical monument, in the dark alleys of which it was so convenient to commit dark deeds.
And it was not surprising that the attention of several special services converged on an unremarkable warehouse in the suburbs of the great city that night, far from the sea—if one knew the secret it held. No more, no less, CIA agents managed to capture one of the installation engineers in the GDR who was setting up robots there. The valuable specialist was snatched from a small cafe in broad daylight, after killing the operatives and a company of army guards who arrived at the alarm signal. Because of this, the prisoner had to be evacuated by circuitous routes from a country hostile to America, evading pursuit by KGB operatives, who, like bears in a den, prowled everywhere, trying to surround their overseas illegal colleagues.
The agents had nothing to lose. They were patriots and loved democracy more than their own lives. Each understood what was at stake.
British intelligence was waiting for the actions of the other players. Increasingly, high-ranking lords, who had stayed behind the strait in relative safety, had to take their trump cards off the table rather than play them. But this did not bother them. The world is changing. Alliances strengthen and collapse. Only England is eternal! Therefore, the "Laimi" waited. Her Majesty's subjects were ready to help their overseas allies, to serve the Bolsheviks, or to seize the initiative and win the jackpot at a convenient opportunity.
But the "Red Ivans" came and ruined everything. An operational group of ten to twenty men not only stormed the warehouse, freed the hostage, "stuffing all the CIA agents with lead" (eliminating them almost silently and simultaneously), but also demonstratively threw simulated grenades at the English observers, alarming even the peacefully patrolling Istanbul police...
Europe was like a full pantry left without a master. It should not be surprising that even during the vaccination, the USSR established a protectorate over the depopulated territories, buying the loyalty of the survivors with a vaccine against the monstrous disease. France, Spain, and Great Britain hastily formed an alliance, but the damage caused by the virus did not allow them to act quickly. They could only retain territories in Germany that they controlled earlier. This was due to the fact that these countries lost most of their combat-ready troops on German soil during the outbreak of the virus and simply did not have time to mobilize reserves, let alone deploy them—justifiably fearing to lose them as well.
Therefore, the created coalition turned its gaze to Africa, deciding to temporarily ignore the fact of the rapid "reddening" of most of Europe. Even though the USSR lost half its population, the situation there was fundamentally different from other countries. Having lost its human resources, the party bet on science to compensate for the labor shortage. The implementation of ideas developed at the Brain Research Institute under the leadership of Sechenov, which began in 1941, received a powerful impetus.
The Communists understood: with their existing forces, they could barely control their own country. At the same time, the popular ideology had spread far beyond its borders, requiring the involvement not only of the army but also of new solutions. The land would have become a burden in the short term if there was no one to work on it. It is not surprising that a large-scale modernization of the national economy began with the widespread introduction of advanced technologies—from robotics to energy.
In the Ust-Kamenogorsk district of the Kazakh Republic, far from prying eyes, the all-union construction detachment began its work. In the mountainous terrain, near a picturesque lake, not just a town, but a real city was built. People, united by a common goal, prepared to create something that had never existed on the planet before, exalting scientific progress and the power of human thought in concrete, polymer, and glass.
Somewhere in the distance, a railway line slowly crawled, cutting through the deserted steppe and foothills with a thread of progress. Even before it began, the country's largest construction project began to consume a gigantic amount of resources.
Mechanical assistants were hastily assembled—colossal mining robots, more like mythical snakes than human creations. Small mechanisms tirelessly cleared and leveled the territory, while surveyors marked reference points to build the scientific workshop buildings according to the plan.
The invisible hand of the state, the "Sh" administration, was completing the resettlement of the last local residents. Committee of State Security agents and ordinary soldiers formed a secure perimeter, as the very existence of the country was at stake.
"A city will be built here," Sechenov said quietly, watching the unfolding construction from a high hill. In his mind, he already saw the embodiment of his ideas and aspirations. The academician could even imagine a walk through the yet-to-be-built enterprise, which currently existed only on paper.
"I still can't believe it, Dmitry Sergeyevich," said Alexander Petrovich Filonenko, one of the academician's devotees, with whom they had perfected the polymer battery. He heard Sechenov's whisper, which the wind almost concealed. "After everything that has happened, it seems like a fairy tale."
Zakharov, being at the peak of enthusiasm like everyone else, recited:
We were born to make fairy tales come true,
To overcome space and expanse,
Reason gave us steel arms-wings,
And instead of a heart, a fiery engine.
"You are undoubtedly right, Khariton Radeonovich," Filonenko smiled awkwardly. "But I still can't believe this fairy tale..."
"And it's not a fairy tale yet, colleague," Sechenov concluded. "We still have a lot of work to do to realize all our ideas. You'll see, even apple trees will bloom on Mars. Just give us time!"
"And we will do our best to make it an Antonovka," Zakharov had the last word, reminding everyone once again what was at stake.
Having found the necessary resources in the newly acquired territories, the USSR began to implement Sechenov's project in stages, prioritizing the military direction. Reinforced by robots and cybernetics, the troops decisively defeated the Kwantung Army in '45, three years after the modernization began. The robotic tanks "Mastiff" and infantry support vehicles "Polkan" left the Japanese soldiers no chance. The USSR needed to demonstrate its strength for its own survival. After all, the nuclear bomb project had been perfected overseas.
With two nuclear strikes, the USA forced the stubborn Japan to surrender. For a long time, nuclear ashes would poison the land and take lives, but this did not stop America in its pursuit of world domination. All they needed was to increase the number of nuclear shells to an acceptable level and strike at the strategic objects of the hated Soviets, destroying the threat to democracy.
Feeling in control of the situation, the President of the United States was to read an ultimatum to the Soviet people on May ninth. It took America two years to build a hundred nuclear shells. The year '47 was supposed to be a triumph of democracy, as the USSR had not managed to create its own nuclear bomb.
The launch of the first artificial satellite by the Soviet people was a surprise to the US special services, but the small size of the apparatus reassured them. As it turned out, in vain. Two days before the ultimatum, the USSR launched a second artificial satellite, having pre-designated all frequencies and the trajectory of the spacecraft. After two orbits and flying twice over the territory of the States, the satellite deorbited, falling on Malaya Zemlya. Technically, it did not reach the surface. At an altitude of two kilometers, a thermonuclear charge explosion was initiated.
As if that were not enough, the Soviet government provided all interested parties from unfriendly states with a recording of the second artificial satellite's flight, where it was clearly visible that the USSR had several dozen such vehicles.
At the decisive moment, special service employees managed to prevent the president from reading the ultimatum. The head of state, addressing his constituents, noted with a smile that special service employees had found his lost cufflink, and then, to the applause of the assembled crowd, solemnly congratulated the citizens and the whole world on the great victory over fascism.
Thus, a stalemate ensued in the world, to the sounds of applause and hypocritical speeches.
Dmitry Sechenov was in excellent spirits. He understood that the entire scientific team had only won a respite for the whole country, but he could not help himself.
He could be understood. The entire scientific staff spent days and nights at their workplaces. All for one goal: to prevent war—no matter how bombastic it sounded. And there would have been no rockets, bombs, or other "miracles" if not for the talented team and almost complete freedom of action.
It was difficult to recall how much effort, especially moral, it took to save Tsiolkovsky and Vavilov. Although Stalin favored Dmitry Sergeyevich himself, and the leader listened to his doctor, this did not help in the slightest to free two disgraced employees of the Brain Research Institute, which the academician once headed. Too zealous intercession threatened to send the defender to places not so distant, so cautious attempts were enough only to pull the colleagues out of death row. Times were harsh: a denunciation could make you disappear forever.
Before the war, Sechenov himself, demonstrating the prototype of the polymer battery to the commission, sent the laboratory assistants far away from trouble. What they thought when they heard shots from the laboratory, he tried not to think about. Then Molotov's bodyguard checked the robot's durability on his patron's orders, firing a whole clip at the machine. It, by the way, withstood the test with dignity. If something had gone wrong, the scientists themselves could have been in the robot's place, receiving the highest measure under the article "Sabotage," to the delight of some.
Now the same Molotov, albeit without particular joy, acted as a guardian angel, not a grim reaper, not forgetting to pour poison towards the scientists every time. Dmitry Sergeyevich treated this philosophically: "After all, we work with him, not go to the altar."
The approach of the Research Institute, despite the detractors, yielded results. The main achievement of the "3826" enterprise was solving problems and tasks through the synthesis of sciences, not narrow specialization.
Just one production facility produced so much that it not only paid back the investment in two years but also became an important export item, replenishing the empty treasury. Moreover, it was thanks to this that the USSR quickly healed its post-war wounds. Sechenov had the right to be proud.
Khariton Zakharov did not share his friend's optimism. Where his colleague saw successes, the scientist saw party intrigues. More and more often, ideas had to be implemented despite the circumstances, not thanks to support. They had stepped on too many sore toes, pushing those who were accustomed to power away from the feeding trough.
Despite the apparent prosperity, the country was not all rosy. The people were getting richer and living better, but at the same time, the appetites and power of those in power began to grow. As long as their good sense was enough to collect golden eggs, and Khariton did not want to allow the brilliant idea of slaughtering the goose itself to enter their heads. For all its absurdity, this decision could bring too many dividends to some. And for all his merits, Sechenov had angered many with his determination. Moreover, he was a fanatic of an idea, a servant of science, and did not understand some political moments due to his worldview.
Zakharov saw the whole unsightly situation. Sooner or later, the party leadership would fight for power. The leader showed fear—meaning he was weak. For predators, this was a signal to try to get at the throat of the leader, who was still the leader.
Realizing that open confrontation would bring too much destruction and loss, the USA changed its tactics, shifting the nascent conflict to a confrontation of intelligence agencies and an ideological struggle. Which it immediately began to lose.
Having skillfully used the resources obtained after the war, investing them in the scientific sector, the USSR was able to build a series of production facilities in the shortest possible time, the analogues of which would appear in the world only decades later. The pearl of the grand design was the "3826" enterprise. It was from its workshops that new robot models emerged. It produced unique chemical compounds and medical preparations. In just a few years, thanks to this production, all the factories of the vast country were modernized, and electronics were introduced into all spheres of life. The costs were colossal, almost breaking the country's economy even with unplanned income, but the result was worth all the costs.
Robots and pharmaceuticals became the main export item of the USSR. The world lost many lives, and with them, working hands. The Soviet people now exported tireless iron workers all over the world. Soviet medicines cured diseases. Equipment "made in the USSR" became a guarantee of quality.
While the whole world was approaching the concept of a personal computer for everyone, in the most dilapidated office of the Soviet Union, there were already "Pear" computing machines on every desk, and workers sent voice messages using "Shchebetari," learning something new in the evenings or having fun in the "People's Wired Network," an analogue of the nascent American Internet, which at that time only connected a few main production facilities of the most democratic country.
All the fashionistas in the world fought for Soviet cosmetics. It could not only hide minor flaws of nature or the imprint of ruthless time but also completely remove or reverse them, turning a gray mouse into a fatal beauty. Polymer-containing preparations saved many lives. Although there were analogues, they cost more, had a lot of side effects, and were not as effective.
The world had just gotten used to these wonders when the USSR released animals and agricultural plants grown with polymer technology onto the market. What's more, the Soviet people announced that robots were humanitarian goods and would henceforth be supplied to all countries free of charge. Of course, the laboring people's profits declined, but servicing the machines also brought in good profits.
The Communists were not engaged in charity. By declaring robots humanitarian goods, they opened the way for them to the USA. The Americans were not fools and did not want to allow mechanical workers onto their land, but private capital was strongly against it. Even at a not-so-small cost, a robot paid for itself very quickly, starting to bring profit within a couple of months. Having become conditionally free, the useful machine only had to cover the cost of delivery to its place of work. Capital triumphed over caution. That was the party's calculation.
Everyone understood: the situation was moving towards a climax. The clash of the two intelligence agencies became hotter. The stakes for the two governments increased.
The commander of the "Argentum" detachment, Argon, Colonel Alexander Kuznetsov, driving a police car, knew he was late. The officer was ready to kick the car to make it go faster, hearing through the polymer-wave radio what Blesna and Plutonium had encountered, and acutely feeling the precious time slipping away. He could almost see the tracer rounds flying towards his comrades' chests and could do nothing to save them. Not even shield them with his own body. It seemed that fate itself was counting down the last moments before the tragedy.
From the very beginning of the operation, Argon was plagued by a dark premonition. Although it was known that the CIA was preparing a provocation at the opening of the Bulgarian Nuclear Power Plant, no one, not even in their worst nightmares, could have imagined that they would dare to detonate a nuclear charge! Even intelligence reports indicated that it would be a conventional explosion, so that later, the media controlled by the enemy would spread the rumors they needed.
If it weren't for a damn coincidence, the detachment would still be guarding the delegation, looking for saboteurs where there were none and could not be! The operatives were looking for an ordinary, albeit powerful, bomb. When Blesna followed some bimbo into the ladies' room, no one could have imagined the full scale of the disaster that had befallen them and that everything would turn out this way!
Just one single slip-up by an observer set the whole situation in motion. As a result, two operatives found themselves one-on-one with a terrorist who not only had his hand on the detonator of a nuclear bomb but was also sitting on a damn barrel of TNT, which he did not fail to announce.
The next second, the spy's hand darted towards the detonator, and Blesna fired.
Argon had already seen the cursed house, standing apart from the others, when the explosion occurred. The nondescript shack made of concrete slabs and blocks was turned inside out by the monstrous force of the blast. The debris, like burning shrapnel, whistled through the air, scattering hundreds of meters around. By some incomprehensible miracle, the supporting structure held, preventing the explosion from collapsing.
The blast wave rocked the car, throwing the passengers from side to side. Kuznetsov paid no attention to it, waiting to hear, through the ringing in his ears, the alarming buzzer indicating the death of his fighters. The commander's tablet, clutched in his hands until his knuckles turned white, transmitted only static. The image from Blesna's eyes disappeared.
A moment. Another. On the polymer lenses protecting her eyes and transmitting augmented reality, two orange markers flashed, immediately turning pulsating crimson.
Kuznetsov exhaled with relief. "Alive!" it sounded like a tocsin in his head. He jumped out of the car and rushed towards the burning house.
The arriving "Argentum" fighters, together with their Bulgarian comrades, began to extinguish the fire, hauling water from the nearest well. People, united by a common goal, organized themselves without waiting for orders or prodding.
Alexander, shoving the commander's tablet into Radon's hands, ran up to the fighters rushing to the fire with buckets.
"Pour it on me, quickly!" the lieutenant colonel shouted, cursing all the devils under his breath. "Hold on, guys! Help is coming! Make it to the plane, and we'll pull anyone out from there," the scout thought.
To the credit of the fighters, they didn't think, but, as befits a soldier, instantly carried out the order without asking unnecessary questions.
Taking a deep breath, Argon rushed into the burning house. The heat burned his skin, but the colonel, gritting his teeth, made his way to where, by his estimates, the explosion might have thrown the girl. He found her quickly, but the horror of what he saw was forever etched in his memory.
Argon had gone through the war from beginning to end, participated in the Spanish events. He had seen death in all its vileness. Burning corpses no longer evoked disgust or fear in him. Even Blesna's body would not have affected him so much if she hadn't been alive! The blast wave had thrown the girl against the wall, breaking her bones, tearing her flesh. But all this paled before the nightmare he saw. A piece of rebar had pierced Katya's head, fixing her to the wall like an entomologist pinning a butterfly. The metal had entered through her temple and exited the other side, piercing her skull.
Katya's weak, pained moan, breaking through the roar of the flames, like a slap in the face, brought the officer back to reality. Instantly pulling himself together, he acted with the precision and decisiveness of a machine. Tensing his muscles, enhanced by the achievements of Soviet science, Argon ripped the steel rod from the remains of the wall, though not on the first try. Carefully picking up the broken girl, trying not to move the piece of rebar sticking out of her head, he hurried to leave the house, which began to collapse before his eyes.
Bursting outside, the detachment commander, with a hoarse voice, shouted:
"Contact the Wizard, immediately! Get the car! To the airport!"
The approaching fighters helped him lay Blesna's mangled body in the car, carefully placing her on the back seat, and administering shock treatment and other contents of the field kit. Silently, the soldiers helped Argon get behind the wheel, giving him a chance to finally catch his breath, having thoughtfully opened the driver's door, saving precious time.
From the car parked nearby, its lights flashing, Radon's voice rang out:
"Argon, Plutonium is with us! He's in a really bad way! We started with everything in the first-aid kit, but he's almost fucked!"
"We have contact with the Wizard!" Krypton's booming voice sounded in Argon's earpiece. "Commander, you're on the air!"
"Alexander Ivanovich, has something happened?" Sechenov's voice was agitated and surprised. Sechenov, being far from the military environment, was surprised by the expressiveness of the military in emergency situations. "Excuse me... that is, Argon! This is the Wizard! Over!"
"We have three... wounded!" the commander corrected himself, realizing he would only confuse Sechenov with military terminology. With a wave of his hand, he drew Krypton's attention, another fighter of the "Argentum" detachment, gesturing for him to take his place as driver, and moved to the passenger seat himself to monitor Blesna's condition. His hand gripped the steel rod still sticking out of the girl's head, steadying it. "Drive!"
He said the last word to Krypton, clapping him on the shoulder. The fighter no longer needed instructions. He pressed the gas and drove the car at full speed along the dirt road.
Radon also needed no extra orders. His car lagged only slightly behind the commander's. He also felt the precious time slipping away.
"Who?" Dmitry Sechenov asked sadly and demandingly.
"Blesna and Plutonium. Severe mine-blast injuries. Fourth-degree burns. Multiple fractures. Open head injuries..."
"How?!" Sechenov exclaimed lost, but then, a moment later, regaining composure. "That is, bring them to me immediately! I'll prepare the operating room! Inject polymer coagulant, shock treatment, emergency immunomodulator, and drugs from ampoules 'B' and 'C'! Start an IV with plasma!"
"Already injected," Kuznetsov said grimly, not even trying to wipe off the ash, completely focused on the girl's condition. "We'll start the IV as soon as the 'Meteor' takes off!"
Blesna moaned again. Her chest, a mess of flesh, burned skin, and remnants of her dress, barely rose.
The officer cleared his throat again, adding, as soon as he could speak:
"Do something, Dmitry Sergeyevich... You're a wizard..."
(To achieve a division of the brain into two parts, either surgery is needed, or something must enter one temple and exit exactly from the other. Blesna's brain had a polymer clot, which was also a protective factor; she could survive, but not for long, as in the canon.
The "Argentum" detachment was also a test unit, with a strength of nineteen people. Each was modernized to some extent. All had the experimental "Spark" polymer expander, on which "Vсход" was created. Katya was used to test and refine brain polymerization, as her body's properties made these "modifications" easy to endure. After all the modifications she had undergone, she developed side abilities, such as sensitivity to radio waves and a sense of polymer. How the polymer affected Blesna's head and what else was added, affecting her survivability, history is silent about.
The relatively long flight and the injuries sustained killed her before she reached Sechenov's operating table. Her brain stopped reacting even at a reflex level. It was a dead piece of mangled flesh. But the polymer clot remained...
The Wizard, after a series of fruitless attempts to revive Katya, took the polymer from her brain and poured it into steel casings. At the same time, the philosophical question remains: is this, preserved in the polymer, Blesna or something else?
Another question is, why did the Wizard strain himself so much saving the Nechaev family? There are two options: either they were important to the Wizard, the desire to pass on the ring-connectors hints at this, or he had completely lost his mind by then. But if he had been a father, it would be understandable why he acted that way...
In the situation with KhRAZ, as an example, the answer is unequivocal. It's not entirely Khariton, although his personality formed the basis. The polymer, gray and aggressive, which absorbed him in an accident, was produced from about fifty kilograms of brain mass of prisoners, so it contains not only his consciousness but also fragments of others. Sechenov did not see inconsistencies in his character due to guilt. After all, he asked to adjust the device over the polymer reservoir, and Khariton accidentally dived into it.)
The Wizard performed a miracle. If it weren't for the fact that the detachment was assigned an experimental "Meteor," which had just taken to the air, instead of the "Lastochka," he would have been powerless. Blesna had practically died at the moment of the explosion; only her heart stubbornly continued to beat in her chest. Polymer preparations stabilized the nerve tissues and prevented irreversible damage. Preliminary polymerization of the brain, carried out during experiments long before, also played an important role, providing protection for nerve cells. The polymer clot, introduced during experiments, prevented swelling and reduced the damage inflicted, but even without it, the brain was a mess, split in two, which the professor and his assistant Filatova spent a whole six hours reassembling. If a little more time had passed, even this would not have been enough. The preparations, even polymer ones, would have stopped working on the brain.
Sechenov straightened up, stretching his stiff back from the long operation, and closed his eyes with relief. Filatova took a medical clamp, picked up a cotton-gauze tampon with it, and carefully dabbed the drops of sweat that had appeared on the academician's forehead.
"You did everything you could," she said quietly. "You achieved the impossible!"
"It's not enough," the Wizard said, opening his eyes. "We stabilized her condition, but we haven't restored the lost brain functions!"
Looking at Ekaterina's almost intact, neatly stitched brain, the academician confidently said:
"During the war, I lost dozens of patients... Now I could save them. But we shouldn't stop here! If we leave it like this, she'll remain almost an invalid!"
"But we've already done the impossible! What more can we do?" the assistant wondered, taking a step back. The professor's gaze was too wild. "We can't possibly do anything more..."
"Anything more..." Sechenov repeated thoughtfully. "Anything more... we can do that."