Готовый перевод Хроники Аскета: Вторжение / The Ascet Chronicles: Invasion: Глава 13

Chapter 13

It was a month before I could get back to base. I was in a bad mood: the recent deaths of Beerbrewer and Hawk were accompanied by bad news from Daniel. According to him, the unknown poison that had poisoned Student's body was interfering with tissue regeneration, so the healers couldn't reattach the spine. Student remained half-paralyzed, his legs unable to move.

A similar problem arose in the treatment of Wicked. Now his appearance was terrifying: the first reaction of outsiders at the sight of his disfigured face ranged from simple fright to shock. There was a case when a new nurse, meeting Wicked in the corridor for the first time, fainted. The hair on his head fell out, and his skin blackened and cracked in places, turning a blue hue on his face. At times the wounds began to bleed, making a terrible impression. In addition, for some unknown reason, the whites of his eyes had turned a deep red. As a result, Wicked's character, already not known for its softness, had taken on a distinctly sadistic hue. Who likes it when people turn their backs on you?

Before I left, I had a conversation with Student. Considering the shit he was in, the guy kept up pretty well.

"I just don't know what to do," he said frankly. "I've been in the Army all my life, ever since I got kicked out of the institute. No family, no profession. Of course, I won't be lost, but I don't know what to do next."

"What's your size?"

"Ninety-one. Are you suggesting we go to Korobok?"

"Or to the Phantom. As an analyst."

"It's a good idea, I should think about it. Tell to Sergachev - you'll see him."

"He didn't visit?"

"He did. You were at Daniel's at the time, that's why you didn't see it. Sergachev is a general now, he says that they will create a separate service specifically to deal with aliens. First a separate department under the FSB, then it will be separated into an independent structure. In my opinion, it is easier to immediately create a new organization, but the leadership believes otherwise."

I had a word with Sergachev. There were indeed a lot of people sitting in his waiting room, but the receptionist, when she heard my name, let me through without waiting in line.

"Hello, Ascet." Interesting. Before that, Sergachev used to call me by my first name and patronymic.

"Hello, Alexander Vasilyevich."

"Well, at least you recovered. Did you talk to Student?" I nodded. "How was he?"

"It's okay. But if you don't put him on something, he might snap."

"I already talked to Korobok: he needs people with a big shell. Student does not even have to resign: we will write an order, saying that Captain Semenov Sergey Vladimirovich is transferred to the position of a test researcher."

"Maybe it would be better to Phantom?" I really thought Student would be better off with intelligence people.

Sergachev thought about it, then nodded:

"I'll ask Frolov." He thought some more, then switched to other questions: "I have some good news for you. First, you were awarded the Order of Courage for your courage and heroism. Congratulations."

I nodded. To be honest, the order left me completely indifferent. Sergachev looked at me intently and sighed:

"When they award you, say "Serve to Russia," don't forget. Next. Did you already know that there is a Department under the FSB, which will do all the work with aliens?"

"I thought the Special Division was in charge of that."

"No. Special Division was only in charge of cleanups. Before, the services that dealt with the problem of the Invasion belonged to different Departments. I had my superiors, Korobok had his, Phantom was in the SVR. Don't look at his "seven grades, technical school, special forces" appearance - he's only pretending to be a simpleton. Now all the departments were united under the roof of a new Directorate, which created the Department of active xeno-operations, which transferred the surviving members of the group "Psi". I was appointed head of the department, and my deputy Chizhov, you, Whip, and Executor will take on the positions of platoon leaders. I wanted to put Wicked in the fourth platoon, but now I just don't know if I should."

"I'll talk to him."

"Talk. I wouldn't want to look for someone else."

I can't say that I fully recovered: my ligaments were still sore. Nevertheless, I had to get in shape, so I devoted the next week to training. I had to train very carefully, so as not to injure myself accidentally. Fortunately, everything turned out well.

Despite the fact that the structure of the Department had not yet been officially approved, Sergachev divided all the newcomers into four groups, each of which we were assigned as instructors. Wicked seemed to come to his senses, though his group groaned. Such a decision of the general allowed me to get acquainted with my future subordinates, whom gossipers had already managed to call "angels".

Each platoon consisted of seven men, most of whom had previously participated in the cleansing of Nests. Only two of mine came from outside - the already familiar Olga and a young boy, Sasha Maltsev: he had previously served as a helicopter pilot. The level of physical fitness of all of them was about the same - the difference was in experience.

From the outside world came interesting news. The major religious associations had finally decided on their attitude toward the outsiders and the events associated with them. All the churches cursed the aliens in unison, declaring them to be the scourge of hell, a "sign of God sent down for sins," and urging people to repent of their sins. The Dalai Lama was the most rational, expressing the hope that the unknown race would eventually stop killing innocents and we could live in peace.

More interesting, from my point of view, was the reaction to the recent news about the psionic abilities. Protestant leaders condemned them in unison, cursing those who are against God and stigmatizing us as "Satan's accomplices." The Catholic Church refrained from making statements on the subject: the Holy Throne had not yet developed a definite position. And only the Orthodox Church, represented by the Russian Orthodox Church, took a frankly friendly stance, declaring that psionic abilities have nothing to do with supernatural powers, being the result of a power originally given by God. The explanation for this friendliness was simple: the Kremlin representatives explained to the Patriarchy at length which position was right and which was wrong. Some hierarchs - most of whom belonged to dioceses abroad - opposed the decision of the highest church authorities, and the newspapers were immediately dotted with reports of the possibility of a schism.

All the news, laughing, was told by Phantom. Sergachev temporarily put us under his command for a couple of days, for a specific assignment.

"We have heard a bad rumor," Phantom told us in his buffoonish manner about the upcoming operation, "that there is an organization in Moscow called 'Institute for Research of Mind Problems', and that this institute contains forbidden knowledge, our Western friends are terribly interested in it. That night the dashing thieves must break into the institute and steal some documents. Between you and me, it's idiotic. It's much easier to bribe someone or plant a bug in his brain."

--And we called you because there are two people from the Bayard squad in the team that came to visit us. Have you heard of it?"

We have heard of the Bayard. So had the English D-19, the German Omega, and the Chinese Tsai. That was the name of the special units designed to fight the aliens and trained according to similar methods to ours. If we have to face the Bayards, it's not going to be an easy fight.

"Is this information so valuable that they want it any way they can get it?" I had to wonder.

Phantom was silent, figuring things out, and then he "cracked":

"This is not information. It's an artifact."

Seeing the perplexed faces on him, he began to explain:

"During the last sweep on the third level, the scientists found a strange object. In general, all sorts of things with useful properties are found in the Nests - healers, poison neutralizers, hypno-weed, and more. There's a class of items called artifacts, too. For example," he took a small flat rock out of a pocket on his belt, "what do you think it is?"

The stone possessed an unusually intense aura. Moreover, unlike usual objects, its aura looked too clearly structured - according to some unobvious principle.

"Strange structure. There is a distant resemblance to the Dust Helmet, but too distant." The others nodded in agreement.

"With the Dust Helmet, you say? Take a pebble in your hand."

As soon as I touched the artifact, its aura began to change, becoming similar to mine. And the internal structure of the stone remained unchanged, although the resemblance to my aura was striking. At first glance, one would think that the artifact had been near my body for at least a couple of years.

"What is your mother's maiden name?"

Phantom's abrupt question took me by surprise. Even more unexpectedly, I didn't hesitate to answer:

"Moroshkina-" The answer seemed to come of its own accord, without the involvement of my brain.

Phantom looked on with a smile:

"We call this thing a Speaker. It somehow makes people answer questions. Mostly they tell the truth. You can tell a lie, but it takes a lot of practice."

He was about to take the stone when I stopped him. Each time I entered the mental, it was easier and easier, and now I could almost effortlessly study the energy of the artifact. It took me quite a while to notice the thin threads stretching from the core of the stone and into my aura. It was something the Dead One had done with his spirits. When I cut the threads, I came out into the real world:

"Ask me again."

Phantom shrugged.

"How many people are in the helicopter?"

I sensed that the artifact was affecting me again, trying to infiltrate the threads of influence, but this time the defenses I'd instinctively created stood in their way. The thin threads slid helplessly across it, trying to catch on, weaker and weaker. Phantom grunted in surprise:

"Wow. You figured it out quickly." He asked me a few more questions and made sure that the artifact ceased to work, he took the stone back: "It is completely discharged, I need to recharge it."

"And are there many of such stones?"

"Not that many, but enough. We distinguish them by type. Some affect humans, some affect the environment. The artifact they want to steal boosts your luck. It's not much, but you shouldn't play cards with its owner."

"Why steal it?" Executor asked. "Or a private order?"

"There is a way to get a working sign out of an artifact. To do this is extremely difficult, so far in this way managed to learn only Pusher, a primitive two-unit sign. It pushes objects in the right direction. But the prospects for the direction are good. Better let the scientists in the labs read the signs from the artifacts than the fighters risk peeking at the creatures."

--Now imagine what would begin if some country got the power to control its luck. Its missiles would fly more accurately, negotiations with competitors would be more successful, goods would last longer, and soldiers would stop dying on battlefields. You can continue the list on your own. So there is a resonance in stealing.

In Moscow, we were shown an inconspicuous six-story building on the outskirts. The "guests" stayed in a three-room apartment, located on the third floor - six in all. Two of them, by all appearances, were our colleagues from Bayard.

"Look." Phantom has a stack of papers on the table: "This is the layout of the apartment. It's up to you to decide how to storm it. Or wait till they come outside. We are especially interested in this man," he showed a picture, "the leader of the group, try to take him alive. I mean, try to take everybody alive, but that one in particular. Do you need anything - a gun, a car?"

"We have everything with us." Executor and Wicked, like the most experienced, leaned over the plan: "Do you know what they're doing inside?"

"We didn't want to take any chances - we're watching from afar."

In the end, we decided that Executor and Wicked would come through the door while Whip and I went to catch the jumpers. There was no doubt that there would be jumps: the third floor is no height for a battle mage. Phantom's men were watching our backs.

We agreed to start the operation at noon when the people in the nearby apartments had gone to work. If we are resisted, the house will suffer a lot: a trained psion can cause great destruction. For example, to demolish a high-rise building - even if not from the first sign. At the appointed time, Executor, Wicked, and Phantom went upstairs, and the others positioned themselves around the house and waited.

As Wicked recounted later, while still climbing the stairs, they sensed a someone scan. Before the door, they pushed Phantom back, shielding him with their shields. When a voice from behind the door asked what they wanted, Phantom introduced himself and suggested they go out one at a time to avoid unnecessary trouble.

His wish remained unfulfilled: it was not without problems. Executor managed to sense the creation of the Sword of Light and kicked the door right into the psionic who was creating the sign. Invisible armor held back the blow, but the falling metal plate knocked the concentration and the sign collapsed. Almost immediately Wicked finished off his opponent's Armor with a strong fireball, after which the stunned Bayard was no longer a threat. A total of four were caught in the apartment, two jumped out the window.

The first jumper fell into Whip's tender embrace-I didn't even look in his direction. My attention was drawn to the second Bayard, who had started to create a sign, a fireball I think while jumping. He, too, was wearing Invisible Armor. To distract him, I sent the emotions of pain, hatred, and fear into my opponent's mind, simultaneously creating an Aura of Terror, but the effort had no visible effect. I had to dodge the attack and create the Sword of Light myself. Mindful of what Phantom had said, I put the least amount of energy into the sign, as even a small amount was enough to take down the Armor. The staggering jumper was finished off by Whip.

The intelligence scouts, who swarmed in from every direction, were quick to drag the prisoners out, injecting them with some kind of drug in the process. They would keep them unconscious until they were taken to a special prison specially designed to hold psions. We didn't know they already had those.

"It was over pretty quickly," Wicked expressed his general opinion. "I wasn't impressed with the guys."

"Don't forget: we didn't give them any time, and there are twice as many of us," Executor began to object.

"Generally speaking, the Byards have much less experience." Phantom approached completely inaudible. "I was comparing the training programs of all the units in existence - ours is the most intense. Besides, the French have cleared only three Nests - the others are either blocked or stormed by regular Special Forces."

"I would like to see their methodologies." Executor was thinking in practical terms. "And in general, I would like to know what foreigners can do."

"I'll show you when we get back to base. By the way, Bayard commander Raoul Miyo has the strongest shell in the world. One hundred and twenty-two units! Started at one hundred and six, if anyone's interested."

The news was interesting indeed. The strongest in our squad was the deceased Beerbrewer: he was originally tested to have ninety-four units. I started with ninety-two, and the last check showed one hundred and four. Not a bad increase in eleven months.

Growth depended on the frequency of use. The more often a psion created signs, the faster his shell grew, and the easier he could use the rest of his abilities. Scientists have not yet been able to determine the causes of the dependence, but the size of the shell, the rate of regeneration, mental powers, and the saturation of internal energy seemed directly tied to each other: the growth of one quality led to the strengthening of the others.

After the organization of the Department, Sergachev had additional powers. He now had the right to choose which Nests to storm first. On the other hand, pressure on the office also increased: the army and scientists insisted on a quick assault - for different reasons, though. The generals wanted to destroy the enemy, the scientists were thirsty for new information. In response to their demands, Sergachev gathered the entire command staff to decide whether to accelerate the graduation of the first course.

"I think the guys are ready," Executor was the first to speak. "Of course, there's still a month of training on the program, but they won't learn anything new. They'll consolidate their skills, that's all. Besides, we can clear the two-tiered Nest with just the four of us - we'll only need support in the Queen's chamber."

This was the opinion of all the instructors. In the end, Sergachev gave his consent to the clearance of the Nest in the Sverdlovsk region, near Pangur.

At the meeting, Sergachev awarded us with orders and read the order to promote everyone present. As far as I understood, this procedure was originally supposed to take place in a much more solemn atmosphere, but due to the "high workload of the participants," they decided to simplify it. They did the right thing. Generally speaking, our unit was notable for its specificity in terms of ranks: all the fighters were automatically promoted to officers. Recently appointed platoon commanders became captains, although I do not remember ever being called lieutenant. I suppose there was a reason for this practice.

That evening I assembled my platoon. After a hard day's work, the men were tired and slow-witted, but the upcoming announcement should have given them a little more kick:

"Today is the twenty-second. The storming of the Nest near Pangur is scheduled for the thirtieth." I was quiet, giving the information time to settle in the heads. "The Nest is a two-tiered one, discovered two months ago. It is considered by far the easiest to storm. I believe you have earned the right to try your hand at the real thing. Although your training is incomplete, you know enough to participate in a clearing. So..." I spoke slowly, casting an extra Aura of power to attract attention: "I have given my consent for all of you to participate in the impending operation."

There was absolute silence. My subordinates even seemed to stop breathing. A little too much pressure, probably.

"Starting tomorrow, your classes will focus on two topics--detecting aliens and creating signs. Training in the other subjects, not including physical training, will be discontinued. Within five days, you must fill in the remaining gaps. After that, you will be given two days to rest. In my opinion, that is more than enough time. Any questions?"

Slava Chermetsov, nicknamed Mordva, got up after a little wrinkling. A tall guy, twenty-six years old, blond, flat face. He came to us from the simple Special Forces, he did not take part in the assaults, he was initiated while standing in the cordon.

"Do the other platoons participate as well?"

"Yes. I don't know who or how many, but representatives of all platoons will go down."

There were no more questions. I was sitting in my room when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in, Olga." I was not at all surprised to see her.

The girl came in, confused about something. She hadn't entered my room before, and now she was looking around with interest. Standing in a tense pose near the door, she cleared her throat and began to speak softly:

"I wanted to say thank you. Thank you." It was obvious that the words were difficult for Olga. "I didn't expect you to take me on the first assault."

"You have nothing to thank me for. Even though your aura is still a leaky one, I consider it sufficiently protected." I was telling the truth. The girl's obvious progress was acknowledged by all. "Besides, you will not go alone: at first you will work in my presence. Finally, if I'm wrong, and you or someone else isn't ready, it's better to find out now."

The girl nodded. She turned to leave, but my words delayed her:

"On your way out, go to the right. There's Maltsev standing there. Tell him that the next attempt to eavesdrop will end badly for him."

Sasha Maltsev showed a strong interest in the girl. Within reasonable limits. As long as his advances did not affect Olga's mental equilibrium or serve as a source of tension in the platoon, I was willing to ignore their private life. I don't know for what reason, but Maltsev decided that Olga was sympathetic to me and was jealous. Silly. The girl wouldn't be able to look at men for a long time.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/83541/532334

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP