The world froze in a precarious balance. Hindustan was ablaze. While India and Pakistan were driving their armies to slaughter, trying to tear each other's throats, they, forgetting their enmity, washed away the expeditionary corps of the European Union with a bloody tide. The Europeans did not expect such ferocity from the natives. Realization came too late. Their corpses were already floating down the rivers, and their weapons and equipment fell into the hands of those they contemptuously called savages. Perhaps the British and French were right in their fears: after the locals had killed the invaders, sometimes literally throwing corpses at them, they began to shed each other's blood again.
Those who wanted to escape the war seized the corps' ships, seeking to leave this hell. They fled across the ocean, to a new life. Others tried to break through the mountains, but Chinese machine guns awaited them there.
The European Union also faced collapse in Africa. The Boers were able to put up a worthy resistance. The virus bypassed them, and having tasted the air of freedom from the metropolis, they prepared themselves by bribing the loyalty of the indigenous population.
By 1952, the continent was slowly smoldering in a protracted conflict. On one side was the Islamic World State, formed from the ruins of Turkey, Egypt, Syria, and Iran. In horror at the repetition of the Brown Plague, they moved into the interior of the continent, bringing protection from corruption. Their sultans readily accepted European money but guarded their own interests. The Nile Valley became the country's stronghold. Living in the old ways, they traded with the outside world but tried to minimize contact with other continents.
On the other side were white settlers and their allied tribes. The African Federation quickly gained weight and became an influential force. It turned into an island of stability, focusing on rapprochement with the Soviet Union and seeking its protection.
The third side consisted of local tribes. They simply lived as they had for centuries, and they didn't give a damn about world problems. Epidemics, not the Plague, decimated their numbers. Therefore, they migrated further and further, trying to avoid strangers. There were a few relatively large cities where tribes came for trade, but that was all. Their peace was coming to an end – American capital smelled its interest here. Mercenaries began to arrive on the continent, fighting for whoever paid more.
In South America, despite US opposition, the Union of South American Nations was formed. Immediately after its formation, the state declared war on drug cartels and banditry, fighting with varying success. It was difficult to call it a war, but sometimes artillery and aviation were used... by both sides. Mercenaries with American accents could also be found there.
In Europe, the USSR was slowly but surely crushing the European Union, burying its economy with its robots. The question of when the remnants of the old world would raise the white flag was only a matter of time, but the parties could not yet agree on the price.
The USA felt at ease in China. There was what they lacked – cheap labor. The plague had thinned the population considerably, but the remaining people were enough to buy time to prepare for a decisive blow. The elite understood that there would be no third chance. The Soviets had surrounded them from all sides and would eventually crush them. Therefore, a rapid buildup of their nuclear arsenal was their only option.
The USSR itself was preparing to pull off an unprecedented scam in history.
Dmitry Sergeevich arrived for dinner. Just then, a concert by request, "For Those on the Road," was playing on "Mayak." In general, it was idyllic. Zinaida Petrovna turned off the main light, switching on a table lamp. To the light music and the travelers' stories, I didn't notice how I devoured my portion of mashed potatoes with cutlets, crunched sauerkraut and pickled cucumbers, washing it all down with bread, under my mother-in-law's watchful eye. I really didn't want to hear the phrase: "Eat it with bread!" and immediately get hit with a ladle on the forehead. If she bends the ladle over me again... it's better to run immediately. Once I wasn't fast enough and got a rolling pin between my shoulder blades to Katya's cheerful laughter...
Katya was again sitting under the covers, only her eyes peeking out. Today, at least she ate normally, and now she sits and, albeit crookedly, smiles, listening to the music relaxedly, her cheek resting on the carpet.
We don't turn on the TV. My mother-in-law's is still old, with a water lens. The screen is small, and you have to add water to the lens, but the image is in color! We don't turn it on because the image on it is very similar to what we saw during that procedure. It makes me a little creepy when the TV turns on and the cathode ray tube, warming up, emits a flash of light. I won't even mention Katya. She freezes and stares at the screen, trembling with a fine tremor.
Zinaida Petrovna is upset by this, to say the least. She almost strangled Dmitry Sergeevich if Professor Lebedev hadn't managed to explain everything. Now she's searching, trying to find the saboteur, while simultaneously carrying out her own affairs.
Because of this, I feel useless! Although no, there is a use. As long as one of us is nearby, Katya holds on. Her mood sometimes improves. She's stopped scratching her hands...
The prosthetics were harder for her. Not physically, but mentally. It's probably hellishly difficult when you mix up left and right, your hands shake, and your mood fluctuates. After what she saw, it became both better and worse. Her apathy disappeared. Until the first reflection in the mirror.
In general, it was a quiet, peaceful evening when you could pretend that everything was fine. My mother-in-law was just reaching for the tincture to pour herself a glass, but the noise of propellers stopped her hand halfway.
"You've finally arrived..." my mother-in-law grumbled through clenched teeth, almost spitting. Then she added in a completely calm voice: "Seryozha, get another plate. Even if he's a bulging-eyed little mushroom, a guest must be fed. ... The sooner he eats, the sooner he'll leave! I'll go open the door. Maybe I can kick him down the porch. ..."
Zinaida Petrovna quickly grabbed the bottle, put it in the sideboard, and, throwing on a shawl, went out onto the porch of her reconnaissance module, converted into an apartment.
I, in turn, hastily got a clean plate and fork. I don't want to get in trouble.
Glancing at Katya, I see the smile has disappeared from her face, and she has frozen tensely. Better already. At least she's not hiding under the covers, and that's good.
Under my mother-in-law's grumbling, Dmitry Sergeevich entered, leaving his mechanical dummies outside. On the one hand, who cares, on the other hand, looking at a mirror-like face that could have been your own is somehow creepy.
With our permission, my godfather created an artificial intelligence based on our consciousnesses, placing them in robots, recording them on a neuro-polymer carrier, and equipping them with the same modules that are now in our heads. This was done during our resuscitation, when it was unclear whether we would recover or not, even after all the operations. Surprisingly, he asked for our permission and even offered options. Godfather, although diplomatic at times, usually goes straight for the goal. I wouldn't be surprised to wake up in a brain jar. ...
"Hello... Hi, Sergey. Katya..." the Wizard said, falling into a moment of stuttering, but immediately recovering under my mother-in-law's stern gaze. "I came to examine you. Just to visit. I even brought gifts."
The academician shook an ordinary string bag, in which four white cryo-containers with a stenciled fruit cheerfully clinked.
"Sit down, doctor. There's no truth in standing. ... You're standing there like a dick in a field!"
"Mom!" Katya exclaimed, even recovering from her indignation.
"Don't 'Mom' me!" Petrovna cut her off. "How are you greeting the doctor yourself?"
His wife gasped, wrapping herself tighter in the blanket. Women. You can't see anything from under her nightgown and bandages. ... And it doesn't matter that he operated on us. Logic!
The Wizard didn't react at all, heading for the sink. He placed the containers marked "Vavilova" and sat down at the table.
"We're having mashed potatoes and cutlets for dinner. We also have yesterday's shchi," Zinaida Petrovna declared the menu, looking sternly at the Wizard, clanging pots as if hinting that she had almost no desire to cook anything separately for him.
"A spoonful of mashed potatoes and a cutlet for me," the academic said. "I was hoping for tea... I brought fruit for dessert..."
"You'll eat properly! You're not going to pick at your food here! You probably don't even eat or sleep with your experiments... you old scholar," the woman said without much malice, placing a plate of food in front of Dmitry Sergeevich. Out of generosity, she added sauerkraut and two large pickled cucumbers for vitamins.
It couldn't be any other way. No matter who comes to a Russian house, they will always be fed. The law of hospitality. No matter how you feel about a person, you're unlikely to get away with just tea in our country if you drop by. And this custom is adopted by other nations. And we too. Now no one is surprised by shashlik or the obligatory "beer" during lunch breaks. What beer is to a German, kvass is to a Russian, only very strong.
The scientist sighed but didn't refuse. Taking a piece of bread under the hostess's approving gaze, he began his meal.
To avoid embarrassing the guest, we were also given an extra portion.
"You should take off your glove," the woman said grimly, hypnotizing the container with peach-apples, but without much enthusiasm.
The Enterprise had long been looking for a solution to the vitamin deficiency problem among the inhabitants of the Arctic. So, botanists, by crossing something with something and adding peaches, developed this miracle fruit. It grew on low bushes that bloomed only in the harshest frost, yielding unusually juicy fruits the size of a small apple.
The peach-apples were transparent when held to the light, smelled intoxicatingly of peach and fir tree from the frost, had a soft pulp, and an amazing taste. As a famous journalist wrote in a French magazine: "Like an orgasm after a wild night!" All these bourgeois and their perversions!
The fruits were very delicate and capricious. They spoiled at temperatures above ten degrees Celsius within five hours, so they were transported in special boxes, small refrigerators, and sold expensively. A hundred rubles each! My wife and I get six hundred a month with all the bonuses. Even though we had a decent amount left, we only bought one piece once for New Year's. Not to mention the factory worker, who now earned from one hundred and twenty rubles. They only saw them in pictures. And the locals bought them for a ruble a kilo. Foreigners flocked to Oymyakon to try them.
Dmitry Sergeevich knew how to appease my mother-in-law. She had been eyeing them for a long time. She always wanted to make moonshine with them. She tried to sneak into the warehouse in "Vavilov" four times, but that's not like stealing seeds!
"F...—" the ladle bounced off my forehead. Zinaida Petrovna was always on duty, even when eating. "How delicious!"
"I see you're working on your vocabulary. How's your motor skills?" the Wizard noted, hiding a smile. "It takes half an hour to take off the glove."
"I'm chasing him. Soon he can be released into the garden. Hopefully, he won't trample it," my mother answered for me, giving me a meaningful look.
"You'll trample your garden! Even the Germans wouldn't have taken it. I remember how all the staff at "Vavilov" cursed you, demanding that you not be allowed into the seed warehouse," I replied.
"If anyone dared to stop me," Zinaida Petrovna retorted sarcastically. "I'd like to see that suicidal person."
"That's why the fruit warehouse is still without your attention..."
And so, with jokes, our dinner passed. And then, while having tea, Dmitry Sergeevich began a serious conversation.
"I have an idea..." he said slyly. "KHRAZ, show yourself. Everyone here is family."
"You're not letting up, are you?" a mechanical voice came from the glove, which sounded very familiar to me.
"Academician Zakharov?"
"Khariton? Is that you?"
Katya and Zinaida Petrovna asked this simultaneously, making my ears ring slightly.
Some wires appeared from the glove and, as if looking around, began to sway like seaweed in a river when you dive into a backwater and they bow underwater from your dive.
"In a way," the wires swayed again, reaching for my mother-in-law, while Dmitry Sergeevich held his hand at chest level. "Not much is left of me, but I can still serve Soviet science."
"Listen, you educated worm! Have you lost your mind in your old age to torture people like this? Or have you not had a woman for so long?!"
"Can we not continue?!" this thing raised its voice. "By the way, I'm on his hand, and I can hear everything! And no, Academician Sechenov is not to blame for my condition. I fell into that vat myself... It wasn't the most pleasant experience of my life, but now I'm back with you. And you, Colonel, still have tactless jokes and a complete lack of humor, just like before!"
"It's definitely Khariton," Katya's mother nodded affirmatively to herself. "Only he didn't appreciate my humor so much!"
I watched Katya lean forward, examining the glove, causing the blanket to slide down and a prosthesis of her left arm to show from under the edge of the bandages, on which flesh was yet to grow. Words can't describe it, she just showed some lively interest. She looked at me like that after we came to our senses, recovering from that explosion.
Everyone noticed and began to wait for what would happen next. If the Wizard sat with an inscrutable face, from which it was impossible to understand anything, then I and Zinaida Petrovna, on the contrary, felt joy that Katya... for the first time since being home, did something not out of inertia.
"And how do you feel?" Katya finally asked. The very intonation of the question implied something more, something incomprehensible to us, but only to the two of them.
"Neither good nor bad. There are advantages to this existence too. I don't need to sleep, so I can do something useful for much longer," the glove chuckled, continuing in a serious tone. "Academician Sechenov briefly told me about your problem... And I know what you really wanted to ask. Life is like that. Today you are a human, and tomorrow a polymer mass... That's what makes it interesting. You never know what's beyond the horizon. Nothing will stop me from doing science like this. And nothing will stop you from dancing. All restrictions are only in your head. For everything else, there is progress!"
I didn't know that Academician Zakharov was actually so sensitive. I was about to thank him when Dmitry Sergeevich stopped me with a gesture. Taking advantage of the fact that he was slightly turned to the others, the academician clumsily signaled me with his fingers.
"Attention! Ambush!" he signaled, awkwardly bending his fingers.
If I had even one eyebrow now, it would have inevitably shot up. I even opened my mouth to ask what, exactly, the scientist meant, but changed my mind, seeing how some kind of painful tension left my wife's entire figure. Therefore, I shut my trap, nodding to the professor as a sign of understanding. Well. Our Argon managed to train our Wizard, instilling elementary soldierly knowledge...
Kuznetsov took a sip of his now-cold coffee, replaying everything said at the briefing in his head. Comrade Sechenov's speech was too "substantive." And who knew that one mistake by the Enterprise's security would spread the "buttocks" of a too-deep rabbit hole, which even the experienced Alice was not ready for...
The day before, their entire detachment had visited Plutonium and Blesna. Before the visit, the officer had lectured all the operatives. He had seen wounded soldiers who had become cripples more than once, and knew how to behave even with stumps without hands and legs. Not the most pleasant, but extremely necessary experience, which saved several dozen lives.
Plutonium, whom Argon considered too restless and unserious, pleasantly surprised the officer. Despite bathing in the most select shit that can happen to a person with shoulder straps and a belt, he showed character and did not fall apart. He even made his stupid jokes, which for once the veteran was glad about. Moreover, he did not let his wife sink into depression and had the sense to ask for help. After all, the soldier who had been through fire and water was aware of his bias towards the guy, but as an operative and a professional, he had proven himself in a good light, especially after all this...
It was also simple with Blesna. One must show care for crippled comrades, but not pity. And no coddling! Those who lost an arm or leg strive to show that they have not lost their completeness. They perceive any attempt at help with aggression, and pity is worse than death for them.
Care and participation are not equal to pity. Therefore, comrades should behave as if nothing has happened and pay less attention to the injuries, but without crossing the line. Show respect for a comrade in arms. A competent commander will find work for such a fighter: transfer him to staff work or to a training unit as an instructor, if possible. Privates should try to show that they perceive him as a comrade in arms, not as a cripple. Jokes, stories, but in moderation, without imposing. Show that he is needed, useful, and remains a warrior. After that, only rehabilitation.
The worst scenario is if a crippled comrade is a woman. It's one thing if a mine blew off an arm or leg, and quite another if she was pulled out of captivity...
Therefore, Argon spent an hour instructing his operatives on what to do and how. And the fighters honorably completed the task. Family and comrades lent a shoulder of support. There will still be rough patches, such wounds don't just disappear, but now Katya and Sergey will definitely get through it.
They had a good time together as a detachment. Heartfelt! As if all that shit and the race with the enemy for almost ten years hadn't happened. And in the morning, a call came from the superiors.
Comrade Sechenov told them at the briefing about mysterious particles that had put not only the scientists at the Enterprise on their feet, but also made dozens of intelligence officers run around. In conclusion, Soviet science stated in black and white: it knew neither where nor how anything like this could have been produced. Moreover, the material characteristics of the substance were interesting, but extraneous radiation of unknown origin was recorded... in the spectrum of light of one of the stars in 1949 by a radio telescope.
The fighters of "Argentum" tensed up instantly upon hearing this detail. "Could the Germans be up to something again?!" one operative even blurted out. Only they would have thought of using such exotic material, apparently mined from a meteorite. The fleeting thought of "little green men" was immediately suppressed by the officer. "If someone had flown to us with bad intentions, the whole world wouldn't have been able to scratch it," reasoned the materialist to the bone.
After giving new details of the investigation with instructions for further work, the Wizard dismissed the fighters...
Kuznetsov had already left the negotiation room when a new robot of the Wizard blocked his path. "It seems to be Left. She behaves a little differently. If only they tied different colored ribbons on them, otherwise even I get confused!" the officer thought, following the robot, which gestured for him to follow.
Reaching an unoccupied office (of which there were more than needed in Sechenov's office due to automation), the machine invitingly opened the door, letting the detachment commander go first.
Mentally shrugging, Argon entered the unfurnished room, casually unbuckling his pistol holster. There, two remaining bodyguard robots awaited him.
"You have a special package from Comrade Sechenov. Familiarize yourself with it," said Bugai, handing over a folder of documents that he had pulled out of thin air.
"And we haven't even been issued these backpacks for testing yet," the man thought grimly, delving into the reading. From the very first pages, he dismissed his indignation about the experimental equipment not being provided to the detachment. There were only analyses of inclusions and conclusions personally supplemented by the Wizard. It was even possible to model what it was originally.
"Holy shit!" sounded in his hollowed-out head. The man was, to put it mildly, taken aback. It's not every day you get proof of extraterrestrial life. Especially in the form of microscopic machines! Sechenov even suggested that they were incredibly lucky: the small mechanisms simply failed, unable to process the information from the quantum computer, burning out from overload.
"A device is being transferred to your disposal," Left said, pulling a standard-looking detector out of nowhere, usually used for searching for harmful substances in the air. "The task is to check the detachment's operatives for infection with alien mechanisms. If detected, detain and deliver to the "Pavlov" complex. If no infected individuals are identified, inform the operatives. After that, proceed to scan the management apparatus of the Enterprise. Additional task: scan the top leadership of the party, including the bodies of comrades Stalin and Lenin."
"And what if I'm also infected?" Kuznetsov asked a reasonable question. He disliked robots after a couple of incidents, so he treated them with coolness and distrust.
"You were scanned three times while being escorted to this room," the machine replied coldly. "According to the preliminary hypothesis, a subject who has undergone complete polymerization is not susceptible to infection. This was documented during the investigation of the incident with your agents. Based on this, the test group is conditionally clean, as the polymer implantation followed a more complex procedure. Unfortunately, the polymer vaccine for mass use does not guarantee immunity from microscopic machines. It is impossible to destroy the infection without specific conditions, but the viscosity of the neuro-polymer in early samples hinders the process."
"But if you, Comrade Kuznetsov, want, we can conduct a full medical examination," Bugai said, looking with his mirrored mask directly into the officer's eyes, reflecting his face on the surface, creating an unpleasant picture.
"I'll refrain and trust your conclusions," the man replied sourly. "Task accepted. Proceeding..."
Argon successfully completed the first part of the task. It took five minutes: assemble the detachment, walk around with the detector, and then tell the fighters what exactly they had signed up for.
"Comrade Commander," Krypton addressed him. "What negative consequences does this bullshit have?"
"Radiation, quoting: 'detrimentally affects neural connections.' How this translates from scientific, the documents didn't explain."
"As usual, though," the fighter drawled.
Now Argon was pondering all of this. He was used to information being doled out, but once before, its lack had almost led to the deaths of his fighters, as he didn't believe that the "agency" didn't suspect the presence of a nuclear charge...