We sounded the alarm just minutes before the robots were supposed to transition to the active phase of the military protocol. If we hadn't, they would have had time to disperse and destroy hundreds of people who remained at their workplaces on a holiday.
Security reacted quickly, not letting the machines catch them off guard. We, humans, struck the first blow, but the advantage was on the side of the robots: there were many more of them, and their chassis could withstand what human flesh could not.
The central control circuit of the Enterprise was sabotaged, within which the "Vavilov," "Pavlov," "Neptune," "Mendeleev," and VDNKh complexes were located. By a fatal coincidence, "Chelomey" did not manage to enter the coverage area of the central control repeaters. From the radio communications, it was clear – we missed the full catastrophe by only fifteen minutes. If we had been a little later or earlier, Katya and I would have been caught somewhere in the underground corridors of "Vavilov." In that scenario, it's not a given that we would have fought back in case of a surprise attack.
"Argentum, report!" I bellowed into the polymer transmitter on frequencies reserved for the unit.
Reports from the fighters poured in. All were alive, but with varying degrees of damage and depth of the situation. The majority hadn't even entered into firefights; after all, their task wasn't to destroy robots. The primary objective was to prevent the decapitation of strategically important production by liquidating members of the scientific council and losing critically important Enterprise employees. That's what the operatives were ensuring, not interfering with the work of security units and the "Sh" management staff. In this mess, everyone had their own task.
"...Lakmus is on the line," the heavy breathing of our Italian and close automatic gunfire could be clearly heard on the radio. "The main object has been evacuated! I repeat, the main object has been evacuated! The enemy has cut me off from my charges. The situation in the complex is critical! I will break through to the objects by force."
Communication was interrupted when the fighter's automatic weapon fired. The clever automation activated noise suppression, shielding other operatives from unnecessary irritants that could cost lives in the heat of battle. Taking advantage of the pause, a new player entered our wave.
"Wizard on the line! Over! Plutonium, son, what's happening there?!" the Wizard exclaimed too emotionally, which indicated the academic's agitation, although I don't condemn him. In a situation where he was prepared for everything, but not this, not everyone can maintain composure even at this level.
"There's sabotage at the Enterprise. For some reason, the military protocol for robots was activated. Agent Blesna and I noticed suspicious behavior from the machines, which differed too much from what was described in the instructions. Based on this, the alarm was raised. The main objects have been evacuated. Secondary ones are in progress. We are moving towards 'Vavilov' to provide assistance..."
"Leave it!" Dmitry Sergeevich said sharply, judging by the sounds, he was furiously typing something on the keyboard. "A distress signal has been received from the 'Buravy' control node. Security units are fighting, but they won't hold out for long. If the control computer of the node is destroyed, the drills will go out of control, and there will be no one to save! They will dig through the underground part of the complex in half an hour."
"Understood. Moving out!" I reported. "End of transmission."
"But according to the military protocol, robots should avoid the 'Buravy' control node. Shouldn't they?" Katya asked me, frowning in confusion, recalling everything she knew about the operation of civilian robots in a military situation and about the "Atomic Heart" project.
While I was clarifying the situation, she called for transport to evacuate the survivors to "Chelomey." Among the security personnel, there were ten "wounded" (three-hundreds), but they were still lucky. In the cheerfully burning ground laboratory, seven of our comrades in arms remained forever.
The scientists suffered only four "wounded" (three-hundreds) and one "dead" (two-hundreds). A nineteen-year-old girl made a too unfortunate decision to go to the ladies' room, where a robot almost tore her head off, pressing the unfortunate girl's face into a porcelain fixture for good measure, covering everything in blood. That's how great her internship ended.
The machines acted with certainty, continuing to inflict damage until the complete loss of vital signs, but more often they acted more carefully, simply breaking necks or piercing heads, which did not always guarantee instant death.
"Whoever they owe, they've forgiven them all... Moreover, few people outside of security know about that node, and it's not on the facility map. Secrecy," I also mused. "And I don't like the answer to this question very much..."
"Saboteurs again?" my wife grumbled, turning to another explosion to assess the situation, while security herded the stunned smartasses into a pile. Given the abundance of flying machines, they wouldn't send anything flying. A couple of "boxes" and a tented truck were sent to us, and they are slower. They'll even be lifted to "Chelomey" on special high-speed elevators, which should normally be used for the return trip.
"Definitely not a glitch. Otherwise, the Wizard would have already sorted everything out. Access codes were likely changed, which would take a week to break even with the Enterprise's capabilities. But I would also activate military status from remote training grounds. If our guys get to Ramenki quickly, it's still a challenge to get to Novaya Zemlya with Sakhalin." I shared my thoughts. At least, I would have done it that way, assuming the presence of saboteurs from "our side." Infiltration is completely ruled out. Not after the incident when alien nanomachines were found.
Saying goodbye to the security guards, we briskly headed towards our goal, having the opportunity to assess the robots' artwork along the way. For faster progress, we ran along the road to avoid crashing through the forest and wasting time overcoming the thickets, already knowing what we would see.
The road between several villages and the ground complex "Vavilov" was busy. Many workers lived in these villages, preferring rural comfort to the convenience of city apartments. Today was also a holiday. There should have been many cars on the good asphalt road. And there were many...
Apparently, a dozen "Sipukhs" or a couple of "Drofs" worked on the highway. If the army trucks set on fire by robots evoked nothing but anger, then looking at some civilian cars, I, a communist and party member, an atheist after science saved my life, prayed that the small figures in the back seat were just small adults. And I thanked the flames three times, due to which it was impossible to see for sure.
There were many bodies in the roadside ditches. Old people, soldiers, women... The machines leveled everyone in death. Death is death for everyone. That's how fair it is, the bitch.
The sight of a bus with tourists from friendly republics was very unappetizing. It was blown open like an overripe pumpkin by a hammer blow. Pieces of bodies hung on nearby pine trees, but the worst was not that. In the flaming metal box, screams could be heard, and in the windows devoid of glass, human figures engulfed in flames flickered, falling silent forever in pain and the roar of fire before we got close. They didn't make it to the "Lesnaya" hotel...
The village of Grushovka, beyond which was the node we needed, was in complete disarray. Not a single intact door in the houses. An old man lay on the central road with a twisted neck and a double-barreled shotgun tightly clutched in his hands. The robot that killed him also lay nearby with a buckshot-riddled chest. I knew this old man. I used to buy pears from him at the market in the fall. He made it to Berlin, wasn't killed by rockets or German bullets, survived the epidemic, and died at the hands of a Soviet robot.
Cows and other livestock darted about in panic. Dogs howled. Their owners would never calm them down or give them a tasty bone or a salted slice of bread. The owner took two tin cans on a pitchfork but was cut into ribbons by a "Rotorbot," which he cared for and was proud to have been entrusted with such complex technology.
On the outskirts, in a picturesque pear orchard, the kindergarten and the "Sovenok" pioneer camp were burning. The main building was engulfed in flames. On the dirt road leading to it, near a red "Moskvich," lay two women and a man in a faded army uniform, broken like dolls.
Disordered gunfire and grenade explosions could already be heard, interspersed with screams. We only had to go around a small pond, where children swam just yesterday, but now the bodies of villagers, caught by surprise in the fields, floated in it, to reach the hill from which the node was visible as if on the palm of your hand. My heart was heavy. Judging by the tear that traced a path on her dusty cheek, Katya was also having a hard time. Now I understand Argon more than ever, who doesn't rejoice that he saved so many by bringing them to their own.
Even though we managed to raise the alarm, thereby saving most from instant death, there will still be places where robots, at the behest of sick bastards, killed everyone. They, presumably, are doing well, sitting safely in a bunker, sipping juice. They don't even have to lift a finger, just sit there in white, while machines kill without conscience or pity. Nothing, we'll get to them too, and no robots will help them!
With a characteristic gesture, I activate the spatial storage, feeling the weight of the Kalashnikov assault rifle in my hands. Nearby, Katya checked the setting of the optical sight on the sniper rifle, created by the same genius. Her eyes blazed with cold anger as her hands did their work.
Exchanging glances, we nodded to each other, and with a sudden movement, inaccessible to an ordinary person, we parted in different directions. A heartbeat later, I saw machines closing in on the node. My hands merely twisted the assault rifle, modernized for the new cartridge. With a quiet rustle, the first bullet left the barrel, only to bloom a dozen meters away in a flash of a jet engine. The tactical computer, combined with polymer lenses, helped aim, not letting a single bullet go to waste.
The robots really liked the flanking fire. A lead rain of reactive shells wiped out about two dozen rebellious creations of human hands at once.
I change position. The flying robots are not dozing, nor are their friends with mortars. That's okay, I have plenty of lead for birds too.
A well-aimed shot thundered, and the bipedal grenade launcher exploded, scattering the "Vovchiks" in different directions. Katya accurately placed a bullet right at the moment the mortar was being loaded. It exploded with a bang.
The machine gun clicked contentedly, having fired all its ammunition, but the job was done: the robots were no longer guarding. The soldiers, not being idiots, started shooting them in the back as soon as they turned around.
Katya took down four mad mowers and three welding robots, which fired worse than flamethrowers, before she too went into a dash.
I put the machine gun back in my backpack, summoning a short spear, or trench knife – depending on how you look at it. The glaive-like weapon with a short shaft hummed melodically, enveloped in static as soon as the vibroblade was activated, pulsating at high frequencies, thus screeching like it was suffering during operation.
Dash! A stream of polymer erupts from my left hand, instantly spreading into a two-by-two sheet, blocking the blow of a "Vovchik" that broke through too close. Telekinesis sends the trapped machine, as if in amber, flying. Somewhere behind me, a polymer battery explodes.
I shift, summoning a polymer mass back, forming a frontal hemisphere shield, taking the laser of a modernized lab assistant on it, reflecting the deadly beam into one of the "Sipukhs."
A whip strike. Dash. Without touching the ground, I rush towards the machine. A diagonal spear movement – and the severed hull falls to the side.
With the whip, I grab the lower part of the defeated machine and throw it at the "Drofa."
Katya becomes a blurred shadow behind me, unleashing a barrage of her spear's thrusts on the robot-shepherd with a circular saw that got behind me.
I direct a wave of polymer under my feet, run, and slide on the slippery, ice-like surface. Katerina throws me her spear, and two blades sing their song, biting into the steel and polymer of the hulls. My wife doesn't lag behind, accurately showering the robots with lead from two pistols.
I throw the spear with my left hand, piercing the "Belyash," disabling it. The whip returns the weapon to my wife's hand, knocking off the head of the frozen machine.
I stomp my foot, braking and forming a telekinetic wave, knocking the robots off their feet and wheels, piling them up.
Breaking the head of another "Vovchik" with my fist, I raise a giant hemisphere of polymer, protecting us from the laser fire of the flying pest.
"Let's go! One!" I shout to Katya, rolling the polymer into a ball, throwing it into the center of the pile of junk.
"Two!" a joint telekinetic wave simultaneously pulls the robots together and inflates the polymer, so that a moment later its surface tension pulls everything caught in it even tighter.
"Three!" a strike from "Iskra" from me and a fireball from her put an end to the machines' lives.
The airborne junkyard of mechanisms flared up with a white flame as all the polymer batteries exploded. Simultaneously, we lower our hands, dropping the mangled mass down, canceling the grip on the mangled and burning metal.
From the outside, we probably looked ridiculously grand at that moment. Imagine a burning field of debris and two figures walking forward through the flames. And judging by the stunned faces of the security soldiers, the spectacle was truly awesome.
"If only we had something like this in the war..." the shift supervisor drawled. "We'd drive the Germans back to Berlin with just kicks!"
"I understand your delight," modesty is our everything, "but still, report the status of the control node. We wouldn't want the steel worms to dig up the 'Vavilov,' where we'll be going next."
"Well, the engineers are returning the 'Buravs' to their place. Once they do, they'll dismantle their equipment for evacuation to the 'Chelomey'," the slightly embarrassed supervisor replied, scratching his head. "But now we'll definitely manage. The robots, those dogs, attacked all at once. We'll fight them off now. We'll build a barricade from their carcasses, and they won't be able to approach by tank with a frontal assault."
"If that's the case, then we'll go further, but if anything, call us," Katya said with a disarming smile, putting her spear back in her backpack.
Watching the faint flash of the weapon disappearing into the compressed space, the man, who only lacked a plow in his hand, quickly nodded, acting like a stupid peasant before a lord, which made me inwardly wince.
My wife also looked like she had eaten a lemon, though she didn't show it. We don't need such reverence! We were just doing our job, and heroism is when you have to urgently fix someone else's or your own mistakes, with miscalculations! We just can, and we do, that's all.
The radio crackled, announcing a request of the highest priority. I bring my hand to my ear, clearly stating:
"Plutonium on the line."
"Major, report the situation," Stockhausen said in a commanding tone with a slight accent. His voice further worsened my mood.
"The 'Buravs' control node is safe. We are continuing to carry out the personnel evacuation mission," I replied dryly. I don't like such people. Yesterday he was "from heart to sun" and marched in formation, today he's waving his party card and almost giving a Young Pioneer salute, wagging his tail before the bosses.
"This is not a priority target!" the former German cut off. Although those like him never really become former.
"Well, enlighten me, you German mug, what could be more important than the safety of people critically important to the state?" I asked, feeling myself boiling.
My wife's cool fingers caught my hand and squeezed it lightly. Katya's eyes, so close, simply said: "Don't, Seryozha."
"Apprehending a state criminal who can stop the destruction," Stockhausen, adding a bit of steel to his voice, which looked ridiculous coming from a scientist, stated through clenched teeth. "We have identified the culprit of everything that is happening. It was not Viktor Petrov, whom you know well."
"Decided to get rid of your friend, whom you ratted out, under the guise of this? So that no one would interfere with him peeking under his girlfriend's skirt?" Katya interjected, which made me look at her with disapproval.
She had a hard time with her mother's stormy romance with that Kraut, especially how it ended. Zinaida Petrovna was unusually restrained then and only punched him in the "soul" and bruised his balls... slightly.
It was on his tip-off that Petrov and his cronies were caught for sabotage and cooperation with American intelligence. Two years of continuous headaches were the merit of this individual, whose pride was only slightly pinched by a door. Although who can understand a psycho? He wasn't shot only because of his potential usefulness. As it turned out, in vain.
"Personal relationships are irrelevant, Comrade Nechaeva!" the German hissed, like a torn vacuum cleaner hose, almost spitting poison into the microphone. "This entire monstrous incident is just a cover for his escape. Currently, he is trying to escape from the 'Vavilov' prison block. Only thanks to your vigilance was he unable to fully break free."
"Understood, end of communication," I said, stating the fact. "Bastard, not a man!"
At which the guards warming their ears flinched at such an attitude towards the top brass.
"So. Let's go, we'll grab this Petrov by the gills," I said, indicating the way with a nod of my head.
And we hurried, saving our strength. The tunneling machines "Buravs" did not dig up the "Vavilov" complex, so the entrance should be a little to the north, otherwise we would have to use the one near the ground laboratory, and it was quite a walk to it.
"You are unfair to Comrade Stockhausen," CHAR-les said. "He has paid in full for his mistakes and atoned for his sins for the good of the Union. Otherwise, Dima wouldn't have entrusted him with such a post."
"Look who's talking?!" I exclaimed with feigned admiration. "Listen, it's up to us to decide how to treat whom! I won't bow and scrape before that fop! He talks as if he's shitting on a shovel... People are not important to him."
"Although Comrade Stockhausen may be somewhat cold, he also grieves for the loss of people. And I dare say, by catching Petrov, you will likely reduce the number of deaths," the polymer snot countered calmly.
"He grieves for the labor force, not for people!" I replied.
Katya, shrugging her shoulders and grimacing slightly, added her own thoughts, which were in both our minds:
"No matter how much I can't stand him, CHAR-les is right. Let's grab this scumbag quickly, and we'll stop this..." and she waved her hand vaguely. "I understand you perfectly, Seryozha, but..."
"Alright," I relented. "Sorry, CHAR-les. We just don't like that German."
"Few people like him," the polymer inhabitant noted philosophically. "He's not a Tula gingerbread cookie to be liked by everyone, is he? As long as he does his job well, he can be tolerated. Besides, none of us are without flaws. At least you can move on your own two feet, unlike me..."
Katya and I exchanged glances again. "Does not correspond to information in the personal file," my wife whispered with her lips. And Dmitry Sergeevich himself once mentioned that Khariton was secretive and never complained, but here he is, as if trying to please, to gain trust.
"Then why don't you get yourself a body like Sechenov's bodyguards?" Katerina asked cautiously.
"It would just be a body. A shell. Better so than to be a parody of a human, young lady," CHAR-les grumbled like an old man. "And Dima needed my help. After all, having an AI at hand in our time is worth a lot."
"And why didn't you get into the main array?" I asked. "You could have advised through the neuroconnector then."
"You don't know what you're talking about, young man," the polymer mass replied, imitating a sigh, further reinforcing my suspicions. "Just believe me, it's better not to experience what I went through."
It seems logical, but too... correct. I just smell something unnatural, or maybe I'm just paranoid, but Katya seems to feel something too. To hell with it! We'll sort it out later! First, we'll put Petrov face down and knock the codes out of him...
"Victor, can you hurry?" Larisa asked anxiously, watching her beloved fiddle with the electronic lock. "The shots are getting closer!"
Shooting and screams of people, mixed with explosions, echoed through the corridors, offices, and laboratories of "Vavilov." In contrast to "Pavlov," where the robots were quickly neutralized with lightly wounded patients and two "Argentum" operatives, the situation in "Vavilov" was close to critical. The complex was too large, and there was no unified center of human resistance. Therefore, the only agent from the test group was now breaking through to the blocked scientists in a block located north of the solitary confinement cells.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Larisa managed to steal her beloved's cell keys and open his cage, but the activated alarm complicated their escape.
"If it weren't for this stupid alarm, I would have already opened the lock, my love," the engineer waved off the woman, then, after thinking for a second, pulled her close and kissed her lips passionately.
Leaving Filatova, who was in a daze, so in love for the first time, Petrov started working on the lock again.
"Victor, are you sure no innocent people will be harmed? Except for the guards," asked Filatova, who was unnerved by the nearby automatic gunfire. No, upon seeing the first killed solitary confinement guard, she felt a surge of inspiration mixed with excitement. She wanted to hurt all these freaks who hid behind humanism and progress, and now, finally, she was getting revenge! The attempt to publish evidence of failed experiments with "Collective 2.0" failed. Most of the test subjects, to her displeasure, suddenly came to their senses.
She had to rely on Victor's plan, but she had to wait so long. Remembering his hands and ardor on long evenings, his caresses, she imagined how all those who had deceived her would know the pain of despair! Even her neighbors complained about the noise at night, but the woman who went against the system didn't care about these fools who didn't understand the flight of her temperamental character. She had her Victor, and that was more than enough.
Only, seeing more corpses, something stirred in her chest. As if someone wanted to shout, but the voice of her emotions drowned out this quiet squeak.
"No one uninvolved will be harmed," Petrov replied calmly, not lying. After all, if everyone was guilty of violating his genius and trampling his brilliant destiny, then the ensuing slaughter at the "3826" enterprise, though much thinner than he expected, was justified. It turned out he didn't lie to his beloved muse either, he just didn't deign to clarify. "And the beasts will be punished..."
The flight of his eloquence was interrupted by the hum of an energy curtain, as if someone had pierced the energy shield, which the fugitive engineer had activated, cutting them off from the prison block, with a battering ram.
"Petrov, you son of a bitch! Surrender nicely! Otherwise, we'll slice you into ribbons without any anesthesia!!!" a man in the uniform of those mutants from "Argentum" rasped, trying to break through the curtain with sheer force, while a girl in the same uniform tried to pierce it with a spear.
"Ah, the system's dogs have arrived? Too late, you pathetic creatures," Victor sneered through his contemptuously protruding lip. "You're late, but you can witness the show from the front row! I hope you liked my play!"
Feeling complete moral satisfaction, the engineer turned to Larisa, saying in a voice full of tenderness and slight madness:
"These brutes and their entire squad won't be able to break through the protective field..."
"SCREAM!!!" Petrov's impromptu speech was interrupted by the crackle of sparks and the fury of energies as the operative managed to tear a small hole in the curtain, barely spreading his arms, his muscles groaning from the strain.
"They're about to break through!" Filatova screamed, feeling a sticky fear.
Victor grinned maliciously and entered a command on his tablet, lowering a blast-proof door in addition to the curtain.
"This will stop them..." he only managed to say, when the door was pierced by two spears, which, with their vibroblades, barely, but cut through metal and concrete, emitting a disgusting squeal. "Impossible?!"
"Do something!" the woman howled, shaking her beloved, feeling that the possible retribution for all her artistic endeavors was near, ready to carry out the sentence, without reading the charges and trial, in the spirit of the system to which she faithfully and fanatically served.
"I'll unleash Eleonora on them!" the rebellious theater fanatic said maliciously, typing a new command on his tablet. But he didn't have time. A piece of the door fell faster.
"You won't get away!" the man roared, throwing to his partner. "Together! One!"
The energy curtain projectors were crushed, and the field stopped working, but now they were too late.
"Two. Damn..." the brute only managed to say, when a flexible tentacle wrapped around him, dragging him somewhere deep into the complex.
His partner managed to dodge the first tentacle, sending her whip towards Petrov, but the second mechanical vine managed to wrap around her left leg and yank, shifting the blow. Instead of choking the engineer's throat, the whip slightly grazed his face, smashing his tablet before he could finish the program.
"Victor, are you okay?" Larisa rushed to him.
"It's just a scratch," Petrov said, swatting her away, glaring maliciously at the remains of his tablet. Annoying, but he'll find another. Just a slight delay in his revenge. "Let's go around. The ventilation shaft leads almost where we need to go. It just took longer to unscrew the lid..."