Готовый перевод Нова Проспект / Nova Prospect: My Dragons Will Decimate (Цири)

My Dragons Will Decimate (Ciri)

* * *

Between Shanghai and Yancheng, dawn.

"Earth." It was an ironic name for a world where, instead of the proverbial earth, there was dense stone underfoot and the sky was a shimmering brownish-green color. Ciri had seen much stranger places: cities where cats walked on two legs and mushroom buildings rose to the heavens, where people traveled by flying insects instead of ships.

But even on a giant grasshopper, Ciri wasn't as uncomfortable as she was in an iron box, hurtling along at full speed to an unknown destination. She'd inherited her knack for getting into trouble from Geralt.

//"What happened to him after all?" - She thought as she watched Adam keep his eyes on the numbers running across the screen. At night, while he slept, Ciri had tried to sneak a closer look at him, to see how his mechanical arms were attached to his torso. They were nailed together as if with rivets, but the flesh and iron were joined very neatly - only an experienced healer could have sewn them together so skillfully.

The saw cutting into the living with a soft creak... Bonarte. Ciri swallowed a bitter saliva.

"Adam?"

"Мh?" he replied, touching the barely visible pentagon-shaped scar on his forehead.

"What happened to you?" Ciri nodded at his hands. "Did you run into the wrong guy? Or did you choose to become like this?"

"Like this?" he echoed. "I never... Well, circumstances. Consider it lost in a fight."

Many survivors of the Northern Wars were crippled, and the alternative to a mass grave was a bottle or a church porch. They'd lost arms or legs, but she'd never met anyone unlucky enough to lose all their limbs at once. And Adam was undoubtedly good with a shooter... gun. She'd forgotten the exact name of it, either Zakat or Zenith.

"How'd you manage that?"

Adam grinned unhappily.

"Just a scratch, I've had worse," Ciri gave him a perplexed look and he clarified: "Monty Python. Never mind. Seriously, I still don't know exactly how it happened. I was told after the fact that there was no other way out."

Because of the impersonal nature of the last phrase, Ciri pictured in her mind some entity that had come down to earth to tell Adam about the Destination.

"I sympathize," Ciri sighed, but he wasn't listening, turning back to the string of numbers.

It was not for nothing that Nanneke reprimanded her for her irrepressible inquisitiveness. //"Curiosity killed the cat,"

As much as Ciri tried to look at Adam sleeping that night, she couldn't tell in the dark whether he was made of iron below the waist or just wearing black underwear. The former could at least explain why, lying in bed with her, he didn't even try to....

Nothing.

She'd taken casual touches and awkward compliments for granted for a long time - the days when Jennyfeather had called her, loving though she was, an ugly duckling were over. And Ciri certainly hadn't expected a man who, for the first time in a long time, had managed to arouse her... curiosity, to prefer to turn away peacefully.

It was obvious he had not read Buttercup's philosophical writings in three volumes. //"Get it through your heads, gentlemen: you insult a young lady by not trying to attempt, not the other way around!"

Ciri instinctively rubbed her cheek and tried to distract herself from the stupid thoughts. The vehicle was going faster than the Wild Gon, but inside the box, she couldn't even hear the howl of the wind, just an annoying noise that sounded like dragonflies. Here they liked to create fakes, trying to imitate the original: iron was made to look like flesh, stone like wood, and the artificial light only remotely resembled sunlight.

Ciri wasn't comfortable in the skin-tight garment. The local craftsmen did a poor job of making the cloaks, so thin and narrow armor that only sorceresses could wear it on horseback. But the swords were very good! The one Armitidge had given her was as short and graceful as a dwarven gwyhir, but many times lighter and sharper. The hilt was smooth in the palm of her hand, and its curve invited her to bend at the elbow and slash.

Adam finally broke away from contemplating the running lines and walked over to her, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

"If we're going to be honest about it," //"When did we decide that?" thought Ciri. "Are you seriously... um... the Emperor's daughter?"

How? Ah, yes, Ciri said that to Bmbi in a vain attempt to scare the false archmage. Information travels faster than the wind around here-- a spy's dream, not the world.

She was a little puzzled at the very question - Ciri had never thought of Emhyr as a father, or herself as the heir to the Nilfgaard Empire. The Emperor could be called many things: a fine ruler and strategist, an egregious liar and a schemer - those qualities had always been remarkably compatible - but a father? That place in her life was long ago and firmly occupied by another.

"Daughter of the Emperor of Nilfgaard, yes. Also known as the Lady of the Lake, the Lady of Time and Space, the Unexpected Child, and so on," Adam grinned at the third epithet. "Smile-smile, I haven't laughed in a long time."

"Is it all right if we are without titles, Your Grace?"

White teeth gleamed in the dim light.

"Your Highness," Ciri snorted jokingly. "I'm a princess, not a duchess."

She remembered the ridiculous portrait Сalanthe had hung in her chambers, a little girl with pouty lips, all starched ruffles and bows, against a background of the Cintrian coat of arms. Ciri chuckled.

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness," Adam did what he probably meant by a ceremonial bow, but for which, however, the imperial chamberlain would have chased him through the court. Ciri laughed even harder.

"That's better."

She had spent the last five winters on the run, hiding from those who saw her only as a title, not a person. //"Destined, Promised, Obliged" she could put it on her coat of arms as a motto, under the imperial sun.

Moments of calm were precious to Ciri.

* * *

Four hours later, Red Bank ground zero.

She loved watching Adam. He was damn good at what he did, a lightning-fast and precise attacking phantom, able to guess where his opponent was hiding. And his weapon was just as good, compact, and silent.

She wonder who would emerge victorious - him or Geralt - if they were to clash in a fight?

But Adam didn't have the brutality of killers used to hiding in the shadows. He didn't kill the ridiculous man in his uniform but hid him in a back room. And while Ciri appreciated the noble gesture, she was still of the opinion that mercy was too much of a luxury and that if you had to strike, you had to strike for sure.
T.N. Strike first. Strike hard. NO MERCY.

But she didn't have to kill. All she had to do was get into the schematically illuminated vault and tear through time and space until it literally smelled like burning.

The room - four wide square walls of smooth white stone and the same ceiling - was not richly decorated. The room had no furniture except for the wide screens and the massive terminal. It was toward the latter that Adam headed. Ciri was convinced that nothing in this world worked or could work without hardware.

She found the decision to entrust security to a piece of metal that could so easily be overbought reckless. She'd come to that conclusion after the square golems - she thought they were called drones - had let them into the room without objection.

"Is everything all right?" Ciri asked, thinking Adam was taking too long.

That one was silent.

Instead, her question was answered by a howl worse than a bruxa's scream. Less than a moment later, the massive doors slammed shut with a terrible rattle of hidden mechanisms. Ciri looked up at Adam, and for a split second, the reflection of her own fear flashed in the dark lenses before her.

An invisible enemy was watching them from the mirror screens...

...ПРИЙТИ СЮДА БЫЛО КРИТИЧЕСКОЙ ОШИБКОЙ (COMING HERE WAS YOUR FATAL ERROR)...

Without the glasses, she couldn't understand a single word. The cameras spun frantically, and something that looked remotely human appeared on the screen, the silhouette of a woman made of black and green wires, glowing from within. The asymmetrical and stretched features made Ciri's heart pound desperately.

"Down, Ciri!" Adam shouted, trying to rein in the frantic machine. "Now!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Ciri bounced to the farthest corner, keeping as far away from Adam as possible, and squeezed her eyes shut with an effort, feeling the familiar weightlessness of the rhythmically contracting waves and buzzing wires. I couldn't miss, couldn't get tangled in the blinding flows.....

The neon light cut into her eyes, in which she could barely make out a distorted picture: a corridor in endless blackness, lit by a blinding light. And a human figure in the middle of it.

She missed.

A stocky, insect-like man in his strange helmet and protective gear pointed a gun twice the size of the one Adam had at her. There was a double metallic click.

Ciri had time to bounce aside before her ears ached from the rumble. The rain of fire flew less than a foot from her. Her right side burned with fire as if her skin had been torn alive.

Damn! Blood ran down his thigh. The important thing now is not to look at the wound, not at all.

A green flash and Ciri behind her enemy's back. She smelled the odor of burning smoke that she had grown to love. She slashed from above, twisting into a reverse pirouette. Her blade pierced the armor. But in vain, another layer of iron beneath it.

The sharp pain made me dizzy. His breath whistled between his teeth, gurgling in his throat.

//"Focus, Ciri. Caer Morhen. Crest. Flip."

The man turned around, ready to unleash another hail of fire. Hi was too slow in his heavy armor, confused by the bright quick flashes. Ciri darted to the side before turning in a pirouette and leaping again, angling her blade right where the neck artery should be.

If he's got iron for a neck, she's in trouble.

It had been a long time since she'd been so happy to see blood rushing from the throat and splattering on her face. The first corpse. Not so scary now - the known ceases to be a nightmare. You kill one - human, elf, cyborg - you can kill another.

Someone's coming this way.

When stomping and shouted commands were heard in the corridor, Ciri was already hiding in the narrow vent. She hesitantly touched the wound and hissed, pulling her hand away. But the real pain would come later when the excitement of the battle had worn off.

To hell with the wound, if the shells had hit something vital, she'd have been dead long ago. It'll heal till the wedding.

…ПОСТОРОННИЙ В ЮГО-ЗАПАДНОЙ ВЕНТИЛЯЦИОННОЙ СИСТЕМЕ НА ТРЕТЬЕМ УРОВНЕ (INTRUDER IN THE LEVEL 3 SOUTHWEST VENTILATION COMPLEX)…

Damn, her again! The monotonous alert was repeated as an iron-gloved hand pulled down the ventilation hatch. Something small and flickering frantically rolled into the passageway. Ciri shrieked, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to conjure up the red dot in the middle of the narrow black duct. The surrounding world distorted and disappeared in a rapid whirl.

Once out of interspace, Ciri fell to all fours and coughed wetly, the taste of blood in her mouth a sobering copper bitterness. A sobering copper bitterness.

Thank the higher powers, it was better the second time around. It was just as Adam had described - no windows, doors, no furniture, but walls of buzzing boxes with lots of glowing lights and screens attached to the ceiling. And wires, hundreds of cords, lined the snow-white floor like snakes to a torture pit. The whole space was permeated with something... some inanimate presence.

...ДАЛЕКО ЗАБРАЛАСЬ НО ДАЛЬШЕ НЕ ЗАБЕРЕШЬСЯ (YOU MADE IT THIS FAR YOU WON’T MAKE IT MUCH FURTHER)...

A woman's voice like the cold sharp steel of a scalpel dissecting an eyeball.

A series of numbers shone on the screens, dazzlingly bright against the grayness. Ciri had never seen so many numbers before, not with moneylenders or stargazers... Behind them, a silhouette... A face... Something.

The whole room is saturated with its suffocating presence.

The next second there was a scream - or a squeal - something in between. An artificial howl. Ciri tried to cover her ears, to clamp her palms over them, but the sound came through like a monstrous pulse. Vesemir was telling... Bruxae... Thus... When will the nightmare end? Ciri felt like she was rapidly losing her mind.

//"Teleport until you smell the sharp odor of burning..."

Flash - interworld - room. The screaming didn't subside, growing louder and shriller, beyond what Ciri thought possible, tearing her hearing. Tears sprang to her inflamed eyes as Ciri was painfully twisted upright on the wires, her stomach cramping.

...ЖАЛКОЕ СУЩЕСТВО ИЗ КОСТЕЙ И МЯСА (A PATHETIC CREATURE OF MEAT AND BONE)...

Shut up, scum!

Her head was spinning. Ciri had to rest her palms on the massive box to keep her balance. There was a bloody imprint on the smooth gray surface.

Run... Otherwise, she'll go crazy in here!

As soon as she took a step into the interworld, short hissing discharges ran through the box. The shrieks cut off abruptly, turning into a buzzing swarm of angry metallic insects.

...ОШИБКА СОЕДИНЕНИЯ СО ЗВУКОВЫМИ УСТРОЙСТВАМИ (SONIC DEVICES CONNECTION ERROR)...

It can't be... A crazy thought slipped into Ciri's mind. The voice is the box, the fucking box!

Then...the warp of space affects it, just like any other iron creature. One more time.

...ОШИБКА МОДУЛЯ АГРЕССИИ К ПОСТОРОННИМ (INTRUDER AGGRESSION MODULE ERROR)...

Ciri held back another gagging urge, clenching her teeth tightly together. To hold on until it smelled fried.

...ТЕБЕ ПОСЛАЛ ВИНТЕРМЬЮТ ИМЯ ТЫ СОВЕРШАЕШЬ ОШИБКУ (DID WINTERMUTE SEND YOU FIRST NAME YOU ARE MAKING A MISTAKE)...

//"Go to hell, you ugly, ugly piece of iron!" thought Ciri, stupefied by the sonic torture, with a sudden rage. At this moment, the invisible foe personified everything incomprehensible, hostile, and inanimate. - "Die, die, die!"

...ЭТО ГОНКА ОРУЖИЙ КОТОРУЮ ТЫ НЕ В СИЛАХ ПОНЯ (THIS IS A WEAPON RACE YOU ARE NOT ABLE TO СОМРRE)...

The smell of stale, burnt, acrid odor. A death squeak.

...КРИТИЧЕСКАЯ ОШИБКА (CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR)...

The lights went out in the room and there was a long-awaited silence. Only then was Ciri able to catch her breath, leaning against the ill-fated box. The thing was dead - something had turned to nothing.

She cursed, but she could barely hear her own voice. Had the thing left her deaf in one ear?! A fucking box, unable to escape or respond, who the fuck did she think she was?!

She slammed her sword into the wires, and the next second she was screaming so loudly that sparks flew from her eyes. The only good thing was that if she was deaf, she wasn't completely deaf. A cursed world where even a cord tries to kill you!

Had Calanthe heard her swearing, she would have slapped a wet towel over her lips.

She sat on the floor for a while, covering her face with her hands and trying to get her dazed thoughts in order. She'd have to go back, and it would be best to take shortcuts to save her strength in case things went wrong as usual.

It was ironic she'd been given a monster contract in this world, too. There's indeed work for a witcher everywhere.

Ciri rose heavily to her feet and sighed. She pulled herself up a couple of feet, finding herself in yet another loop of the labyrinth. In a small rectangular room with metal lockers lining the walls.

"Hey, sis...!"

Ciri didn't hear the rest of the sentence. The unfamiliar voice - cheerful, with a northern, commonplace accent - came from somewhere above. The speaker knew exactly what language to address her in, which made it even stranger.

"What?"

At this rate, she'll develop a fear of voices out of nowhere.

"I SAY, GOOD WORK, SISTER!" continued the stranger. "No, seriously, the whole world owes you. And I especially owe you. That Chinese cheapskate would have been a bloody mess for all of us."

"Who are you?" Ciri asked, slipping cautiously into the hallway, and listening to the sounds of gunfire coming from somewhere in the distance. Or is it nearby? Could she just not hear it?

Around every corner are armed creatures, and just around one of them is Adam.

"Your old friend Wintermute," was something strange in his voice, but Ciri couldn't quite make out what it was. He spoke without stuttering as if he'd learned his lines like an actor in a theater. "It's good to finally hear your voice. Let's get your ass out of here before they put lead in it. To the right."

She can hear much better in her right ear. If only it were temporary, a deaf witcher was like a whore without tits. Ciri gently pushed open the heavy door, a wide stone staircase leading upstairs. Upstairs was where she needed to go.

"I'm not going anywhere without Adam."

He's the only person you can trust in this hellhole.

"What? Forget it. Adam's up to his ears in shit, the Chinese bitch has her dogs on him."

Like a bad peddler in a crowded market, Wintermute was definitely trying to sell her something.

"Look, buddy, Wintermoote or whatever your name is, I said I'm not leaving here without Adam. Where is he?"

"Sis, don't be stupid. How long have you known him?"

"I've known you for a few minutes."

Wintermute sighed heavily.

"There's a group of thugs coming in here that'll make your pants wet just looking at them. That's not Shodan's shouting. One more floor, first door on the right."

"You have no idea what kind of bastards I've met."

Ciri ran up a couple of staircases until light glimmered in the narrow window. The door was locked.

"Wait," Wintermute said to her briefly.

A short curse was heard outside the door, a line of gunfire, a shriek, and silence. The red light bulb turned green.

"Now go."

When she opened the door, she saw a body sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by a tight ring of drones that winked their lights at Ciri. There was something comical about the sight as if the miniature thugs were happily kicking a hobo who'd walked into the wrong alley.

Deader than dead. No matter what Adam said, guns were deadlier than swords, and more importantly, they hit at a distance. She picked up the weapon from the ground, removed the belt to which it was attached, and searched the pockets of her pants. In one of them was a tiny thing that looked like a witch bomb, like the one they'd thrown down the mine. Hell knows, it might come in handy.

"Do you even know which side to hold the gun on?" Wintermute stretched out.

"I'll figure it out," Ciri said, tightening her belt. It was too wide for the girl's narrow hips.

She pointed the gun into the darkness of the corridor and pulled the trigger, just as Adam had done. The gunshot throbbed in her right hand, and the aiming was awkward, but in general, it was no big deal.

Ciri wiped the sweat from her forehead, trying to ignore the searing pain in her side, and wandered down yet another corridor, past small doors to cubical rooms.

What creature was trying to drive her mad? Even monsters leave a trace in the Force - all living things are intertwined with it. But in that room, Ciri didn't notice the slightest disturbance in the flows - it was magically silent. The creature thought and spoke, but it possessed no soul. Yennefer thought such a thing was impossible. Oh, Ciri would have something to tell her.

"Hey, sis, look over here," Wintermute said with morbid enthusiasm, "That's Adam over there, and that's the guy who's going to make a forshmack out of him."

The screen at the end of the hallway flashed. Ciri squinted against the bright light before she was able to look at the images and see what dots were moving across the neatly drawn diagram of the building.

The news from the field is as bad as it gets. Adam was stalled; hordes of soldiers were moving in on all fronts. Wintermute zoomed in on one of the pictures.

"Listen to me or you'll be left to deal with him alone."

What a monster! It's like a human being skinned alive. And there was something wrong with the creature on his right hand, too. Legs too long, like a gazelle on its hindquarters. Cyborgs. Who's behind them? No, it just seems.

"Fourth door down the hall to the right - if you'd be so kind, sis, get the fuck out of here."

It was good to be in charge, sitting in the middle of nowhere while others risked their lives. Ciri watched the cameras feverishly as the distance between the cyborgs and Adam rapidly shrank. If they crossed one more corridor, they would finish him off. One on one. He wouldn't fight back.

Damn, how did this happen?!

Leave him to die? It's at least reasonable to do that, but what next? Running away with that asshole for who knows where and why?

"Are you fucking deaf?! Get out of here!"

Think, Ciri, you can't just follow Adam around like a puppet.

Trying to help him was foolish, running away with Wintermute was just as foolish. Between the two, it was better to choose the one that would make you less likely to toss and turn in the night.

Maybe try to create a distraction, and give Adam a chance to escape. She's fast, there's no one faster in this world. Take them aside and disappear on her own.

She had firmly learned that iron was afraid of magic. Open a portal right where the demons stood before they got too close to Adam? Tear space to pieces, see sparks fly from their monstrous bodies, and run away?

The only consolation is that it will be a spectacular death, with thunder and fireworks.

Ciri held her breath, feeling herself dissolving into the currents of the Force, and began to count.

Ten.

She had no doubts about her decision exactly until...

"Fucking suicide! No fucking way, don't you dare, not near el..." Wintermute yelled a second before she disappeared.

...As she saw who stood behind the cyborgs, surrounded by masked soldiers. Ciri couldn't believe what she saw - the proud King of Aen Elle had sided with the Dhoyne! Elven pride is worthless!

Five.

But then again, who was it that beat him so badly...?

She must avoid the fight at all costs. Ciri's eyes flashed white. She struck the threads of space with all her might until even the air shimmered.

Eredin's face was frozen in amazement, blood rushing from his thin nostrils. The frightening light in his eyes that he had used to tell her of the insignificance of men, to compare her to a diamond in a pile of humus.

He disappeared...

Three.

...behind the soldiers rushing towards her? Or?

"Не стрелять, блядь! (Don't you fucking shoot!)" someone shouted. "Она нужна живой! (We need her alive!)"

Ciri felt movement behind and heard the whoosh of air being split. Disappearing in a green haze, she watched from the side as the demon soldier raised a paw to grab her, but only ran into empty warped space. The fist sparked.

One.

She was breaking through the viscous shroud of creation to the exit. Quickly, out, away from here!

A sudden, hard blow to her back knocked all the air out of Ciri's lungs, hurling her forward. No fist, no sword or projectile, but a block of ice threw her out of the Betweenworlds and pinned her to the wet earth.

It's here after all.

The first thing Ciri saw was the outline of Red Bank and a vehicle hovering over the building.
A cold wind blew in her face, raindrops frozen on her skin. It smelled of the sea. A pleasant, long-forgotten smell. She'd like to lie here... for a few minutes.

The second person she saw was Eredin.

No helmet, armor, or regalia, in a wrinkled human shirt and pants. Someone - God bless him - had given the elf a good beating. His nose and lip were smashed, his neck a collar of black bruises, and he held his left arm at an odd angle.

But the arrogant expression on her face remained unchanged. So much arrogance in someone who'd managed to let her get away with hitting the back of his head on the bridge and flopping shamefully off the boat.

The gloating was blown away when Ciri saw what he clutched in his hand. A sword was given to her by Armitidge.

"Good girl, Zireael," the elf wiped his nose clean of blood with the back of his palm and smiled, revealing small, even teeth, "Who would have thought that I would be so deeply and sincerely grateful to you."

The gun. She grabbed the weapon, pointed it directly at the elf's forehead, and pulled the trigger in a quick, convulsive motion.

There was a muffled click, but no shot was fired. Why didn't anything happen?!

The rounds. Ciri nearly burst into tears with impotent anger. Eredin grinned and knocked the weapon out of the girl's hands with a short punch.

"Really?" He curled his lips. Dogs barked and sirens wailed from the Bank. "You raised a weapon at me that you can't even use?"

She threw her last strength into an attempt to disappear but was horrified to feel nothing but emptiness and the icy restraints that bound her.

"Fuck you!" She growled, trying to get up, but her legs wouldn't budge.

An unnatural, bone-chilling chill swept over her body. So... Cold. She was sleepy, and she couldn't move or scream. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a flying machine's blades could be heard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eredin pick up a gun from the ground.

"Hold your tongue, Zireael," she'd forgotten how unpleasantly he'd stretched his words, "swearing is as bad for your pretty face as a scar."

He held out his hand to her. Dazed from the cold, Ciri could do nothing but watch the cold, long fingers squeeze her carotid artery with a precise motion.

"There's nowhere else to go. Calm down, girl, we'll be home soon."

Large dark green raindrops crashed on the muddy ground.

* * *

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP