Готовый перевод Карантин класса «Т» / Class T quarantine: Глава 1

Chapter 1
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The 22nd day of the year 529 of the space era

Closed star system Khlo, Ninth sector of the Earth Union

Planet Freya, polis Nans
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"Hey, Cleanie, get out of here before it hits you! We're digging here!" someone shouted menacingly as soon as I stepped onto the intersection of Grace and Twenty-fifth.

The cry came so unexpectedly and so close to me that I almost made the unforgivable mistake of a sudden jerk, followed by a roll and a raised muzzle. But I was lucky. I was lucky to refrain from making any sudden movements. Otherwise, I could have really gotten into trouble... Searchers, due to the nature of their chosen profession, are increasingly nervous, and their reaction to a pointed gun is quite typical: shoot first, and figure things out later.

\\"Damn it! I almost got in trouble through my own stupidity, getting so caught up in the incredible discoveries that awaited me and forgetting to keep an eye out!" I cursed to myself, stopping dead in my tracks and carefully turning my head to the right.

A quick glance at the ruins of a collapsed building located fifty meters down the street was enough to realize that I had indeed narrowly escaped trouble. In plain sight, on a large piece of snow-white polymerized concrete protruding from the rubble above the road like a balcony, stood a sentry. A fourteen-year-old boy in rather worn clothes, wearing round sunglasses, with a scarf pulled high over his nose, and armed with a cut-down pump-action shotgun. Not much of a threat, really, considering the weapons available to the likely enemy and the distance between us, yeah. But for those who think so and ignore the brand-new red and white neckerchief that the guy so demonstratively and carelessly adjusts, which signifies his membership in the “Tade” squad, which, as everyone in the area knows, has nearly two hundred fighters, there is a more serious argument. A little further beyond the ruins, which protrude into the street like a tongue of construction debris and almost reach the damaged buildings on the opposite side, a squat armored vehicle lurks. A “Flea,” covered in unassuming gray technogenic camouflage with black and blue lines. In a raider version. And the machine gun barrel from the hump on its sloping back looks straight at the intersection... So that some comrades, among those who are completely out of place here, do not misunderstand, obviously.

“I was just passing by,” I muttered awkwardly, shifting the thin filter mask covering the lower part of my face to calm everyone present, addressing, first of all, those in the “flea.”

Having replaced the disposable paper respirator, I hurried to fulfill the orders of the young patrolman I'd previously given. Simply put, I got away from the ill-fated intersection as fast as I could. Pretty fast, in fact. Because the Tade squad, of course, had never been caught committing any outrageous acts before, but... But, as they say, there's a first time for everything. Besides, who knows what they'd dug up here? If it were something worth serious money, then God himself would have ordered them to bury a useless witness right here.

Having passed the intersection and hidden behind the corner building from the eyes of the sentry who was vigilantly watching my movements, I breathed a sigh of relief:

"Phooh."

But then he added critically to himself: \\"Well, if I had gotten involved, it would have been entirely my own fault. I saw the Taid scouts hanging around here yesterday. But no, I was too lazy to walk around this block on Twenty-Sixth or Twenty-Seventh Street today. And in the end, I almost got caught, breaking the most important rule of any searcher — don't go near other people's digs."

Lightly slapping my left wrist with my right hand, I took a couple of sips of water from the tube I pulled out of the suit's integrated water bottle, and that was it. What was past was past; I had to move on. It was only good that one of the serious search teams was stationed nearby. It was less likely that anyone else would show up and disturb me.

Adjusting the straps of the heavy backpack pressing down on my shoulders, which, incidentally, was the reason I chose the shortest but, as it turned out, not the safest route to my destination, I quickened my pace. I was eager to get there as quickly as possible and get down to business. Maybe I'd get really lucky and find something really valuable. Hell, even the surviving crew equipment would more than cover all my expenses, let alone anything else! I didn't even bother much there! I just cleared out the auxiliary tunnel under the collapsed building a little so that I could not only crawl through myself, but also drag the cutter through!

With some difficulty, I forced myself to calm down and took a deep breath. Once, twice. And I glanced around furtively. Twice, too, after a short interval. Just in case. Although, of course, it was unlikely that any of the Taid guys would follow me when they were all busy with their work, it didn't hurt to be cautious. Yes, it wouldn't hurt... After all, if they sense that under that huge pile lies either a heavy flyer or an atmospheric bot, even a rapid-fire automatic cannon with a full ammunition load won't help me defend my find. Not to mention my short-barreled automatic “Cort” model 30 - chambered for 9mm pistol cartridges, with four loaded 40-round magazines, and a six-shot .38 caliber revolver of the unknown brand “Wulf” with only five loaded chambers.

I should have behaved more discreetly and made my way to the right place without announcing my presence to the whole world. But how can you do that in these circumstances? The sidewalks, hidden behind islands of lush greenery that had grown rampant without proper care, were practically covered with sparkling shards of safety glass. Walking on it was not the best pleasure. And the crunching sound was so loud that it could be heard on the neighboring streets. So you have to walk right in the middle of a wide, sun-drenched street, between the gaping, mirrored walls of all these faceless, monotonous twelve-story buildings with panoramic windows, which so magnificently reflect the bright green vegetation that looks like a real jungle.

After walking another two blocks, I stopped at a silver-white mountain of rubble reaching six stories high, formed where the collapsed building had once stood. I glanced at this impressive pile of assorted pieces of polymerized concrete, twisted metal structures, and shards of mirrored glass. Then I slowly looked around, activating the water supply with a characteristic gesture and adjusting the straps of my backpack. It was as if I had simply gotten tired of carrying my heavy load and decided to take a little break. After standing there for a minute and not noticing anyone else nearby, I picked myself up and quickly darted into the gap between the vegetation on the opposite side of the ruins. And then I moved on along the sidewalk. Not far, though, just to the fourth building. I entered there through the main entrance.

Once I got off the open street, I immediately felt the tension that had been tormenting me for the last day and making me jump at every suspicious rustle melt away. And why? Because I had stumbled upon something too valuable. With something like this, you can either get seriously burned or rise to the top... Even in the worst case scenario, if absolutely everything on that flyer or boat was destroyed in the crash, it would still be enough for some kind of equipment. For the same “flea,” not completely wrecked. But that's a whole other story. On foot, you won't get anywhere, and you won't be able to carry much. Wheels are indispensable for any searcher! Even if you don't find anything worthwhile, you can still haul a couple of tons of metal junk, good only for recycling, and come out with a profit from the trip. Maybe a small one, but a profit nonetheless.

Reaching the staircase leading to the underground levels near the entrance, I abandoned my daydream and listened for the sound of someone snoring in the darkness, waiting for me. A searcher — he's not a bad catch either. You could take his suit, his gun, and a few other bits and pieces. And I could sell him to those same Farmers for good money as a laborer. If I could ambush him in some dark, deserted corner and take him alive.

After standing there for a moment, I still didn't hear any suspicious sounds. However, I didn't let it bother me. I shifted from foot to foot, breaking the silence, and, lowering my hand to my right hip, pulled one of the three transparent blue plastic rods from the pouch attached to it with a strap system. I broke the chemical light stick and secured the oblong cylinder, which began to emit a pale blue glow, to my left forearm with Velcro tape. I took off the filter mask I no longer needed, removed my polarized safety glasses, folded them neatly, and put them in an empty pocket on my belt. Finally, taking a couple of deep breaths, enjoying the real atmospheric air, even if it smelled a bit nasty, I touched the collar of my jumpsuit. Responding to the activation point, the five-segment helmet visor slid down with a quiet rustle, sealing my suit of basic chemical and biological protection used by technical services when working in moderately aggressive environments. All odors disappeared almost immediately, absorbed by the filters of the built-in air regeneration system, and I, tucking my good old “Сort” under my arm, calmly walked downstairs.

Carefully stepping down the chipped steps, barely illuminated by my lamp, which was just beginning to brighten, I descended to the second underground level. The one that, before the Exodus, had been a parking lot for the mobile phones belonging to the building's residents, now stood empty. Of course, after all these years, there was no sign of any equipment, even the most useless ones—everything had probably been carted away before the exit gates were jammed shut by a slanted wall.

As I approached this vast, empty chamber, I involuntarily slowed, straining my senses for trouble. But I felt nothing out of the ordinary — no vague unease, no obvious reluctance to venture into this place. My soul was filled with peace and quiet. And the slow, slow movement of the dull, silvery dust-flakes, seemingly suspended in the air, which grew more numerous the further I went underground, gave me further confidence that no enemy was lurking ahead. Clearly, many hours had passed since the atmosphere here had last been disturbed.

Holding my main weapon at the ready, I stepped out into the open space of the parking lot, which even a dozen flashlights would not have been able to illuminate completely, causing the slightly silvery mist to swirl around me in rapid whirlwinds. And I felt extremely uncomfortable in such a dangerous place. Even an inexperienced shooter standing in the darkness by the wall or behind one of the supporting columns would be able to take down a person walking with such illumination.

\\“The only consolation is that if someone has set up an ambush for me here, they will most likely shoot with traumatic rubber bullets,” I thought. "So as not to puncture the suit. Because in our times, it's easier to find a new protective suit than to patch up a damaged one. Restoring the integrity of metallized synthetic fabric is no easy task: you can't get by with just a needle, thread, and a patch of the right size. That means I have a chance. After all, hardly anyone would guess that under my suit I am wearing a lightweight breastplate made of reinforced plastic, and not just any breastplate, but one with a compensatory layer. This protective vest, which was once issued to law enforcement units during public events, perfectly absorbs the kinetic energy of traumatic bullets. Tested and proven.\\

Trying to step softly, rather than stomping like the six-legged warehouse forklift robot that old man Ivan and I had finally managed to restore, I reached the far wall and moved along it to the right. Toward the utility rooms located on this level, intended for the distribution units of the power plant that supplied the building.

In one of the empty rooms, from which all the equipment and power cables had long since disappeared, I stopped and put my backpack down on the floor. I straightened my shoulders with relief and spread my arms out to the sides several times, stretching in this simple way. Good... Which definitely meant that I had gone a little overboard with the amount of junk I had brought with me. I could have taken ten fewer magnesium rods for the cutter, and a couple of replacement cartridges for the regeneration system would have been enough. After all, I'm not going to have to cut the hull of a heavy cruiser to stock up on everything I need for two full days of work, am I?

After stretching a bit, I approached the well, which extended deep into the well, toward the utility lines, and sat down next to its half-removed grate. I carefully slipped my hand under it and, involuntarily holding my breath, checked to make sure the tiny pebble I'd slipped in there earlier was still there. I smiled contentedly, satisfied that no one had been rummaging around in my absence.

The descent didn't take long. The only hassle was with the backpack, which had to be lowered on a ten-meter cord made of thin, woven synthetic fiber. This was because it was impossible to squeeze through the technical well with such a bulky load on my back. Although perhaps its designers simply assumed that only repair robots would climb down it, and that people would never venture there. This is quite possible, considering that the communication tunnels are not particularly large either. But then it is unclear why steps were carved into the wall of the well, as robots have no use for them...

Finding myself in a tunnel whose bare walls were devoid of even the fastenings that held the armored cables of the power plant that once ran here, I picked up my backpack and cautiously moved forward through the swaying haze of metallized snowflakes. Cautiously, because the builders had screwed up something while laying these underground utilities, and as a result, their work was of poor quality. The porcelain stoneware pipe of the utility tunnel, which, in theory, should have lasted for hundreds of years, had already begun to crack and crumble. Here and there, chunks of moisture-resistant artificial stone were held together only by the reinforcing steel strands of the sheathing. Another ten or twenty years, and the whole thing would collapse completely.

After covering about fifty meters, I stopped at a small branch of the tunnel, definitely not intended for human maintenance, as it was unlikely that the city services trained a special unit of scout technicians to crawl to the power plant's distribution units. Having tied the free end of the cord to my belt, I climbed onto a sizable pile of broken porcelain stoneware I'd scooped out the day before from a narrow opening in a secondary utility line, intending to crawl through the rubble there. The "Cort" went behind me, and the chemical lamp, finally reaching full brightness, shifted position on my left arm. Having climbed into the circular tunnel, I set out to explore it. On all fours, as the passage was small. My bulky backpack dragged me along.

It was not easy, and that's putting it mildly! I simply don't have the skill for this method of movement, especially with a load that I have to drag behind me. That's why the distance, which was actually less than three hundred meters, turned out to be incredibly exhausting. Although I did manage to cover it, I couldn't stop praising myself for having the foresight to leave the cutter there yesterday. Otherwise, I would have had to drag around three extra kilos of weight today.

Having reached a shapeless rubble that seemed to completely block my progress, I took a breather. I drank some water. And then I began dismantling the hastily constructed barrier I'd just yesterday, using heavy chunks of porcelain stoneware torn from the dilapidated body of the tunnel. Under these fragments of artificial stone, carefully pulled aside and laid along the walls to the right and left, I soon discovered the cutter. No one had stolen it, though I was deeply worried about its fate. And after another ten minutes of intense work due to the cramped space, a dirty-white piece of ceramic heat-shielding scales—an essential component of the hull protection of high-speed atmospheric spacecraft—became visible.

I'd already chipped the outline of the future hole with considerable skill the day before, so I started cutting right away. I started right from the hole I'd burned yesterday to estimate the plating thickness. It was quite a tedious job, and the portable cutter barely copes with the refractory metal; after all, it wasn't designed for such loads. That's why I basically collected as many magnesium rods as I could carry.

Nevertheless, things started moving. Slowly, but I was making progress toward my goal. At forty centimeters an hour. But all I had to do was cut about a meter and a half to complete the circle. However, after just a couple of hours, my hands began to shake a little from fatigue, and after a rest, I slowed down a bit. I had no reason to rush anyway. It was the desire to quickly determine the value of the find that was driving me. Otherwise, I'd cut out an opening, only to find that the equipment beneath the rubble had been completely cleared out, leaving only a useless hull…

By the end of the cut, the passive chemical analyzer on my left wrist had predictably changed its unchanging deep green color to a pale yellow, and the round piece of plating, as expected, had fallen out, nearly crushing my hands and almost ruining the cutter. But that was a minor detail, considering the prospects that had opened up. Taking a canister of liquefied carbon dioxide from my backpack, I sprayed the hot edge of the plating with coolant and, barely containing my impatience, carefully reached inside my find.

To get a good look around, I had to break another light stick — the third one. But I don't regret it at all! After all, just taking one look at my surroundings, I could hardly resist rubbing my hands together in glee. This isn't a heavy flyer, after all, but an atmospheric ship! Everything was badly damaged in the crash, of course, but there's no doubt that what I saw before me, exposed to the lower deck, was the engine compartment of a common airship!

Once the excitement of this magnificent find had subsided somewhat, I carefully examined the compartment and regretfully concluded that little remained intact. The four small Lockh-16M maneuvering engines, their nozzles facing downward, had been mangled and torn from their positions during the impact. The rigid fuel lines had also been torn apart by the displacement. And the main engine, a Lockh-04R, didn't look so good, with its outer casing cracked along its entire length. Although perhaps things aren't as dire as they seem. Without technical documentation on Lockheen products, it's hard to figure things out right away.

Shaking my head in time with my thoughts, I grinned. What was I even thinking about? These engines would bring in six or seven thousand credits right off the bat, even if they were wasted! The platinum fuel catalysts alone are worth something! And the control circuits are packed with precious metals, too! And there's so much more I could salvage and hoard as spare parts!

Unable to resist the temptation of such a rich prize, I immediately attempted to dismantle the most valuable part of my loot—the control circuits, which, like spiders, had woven a web of sensors around the elongated bodies of the thrusters. The small, blackened blocks had been easily accessible from the start, so reaching the first one presented no difficulty. Having quickly unlatched all the fasteners, I pulled the control circuit from the nearest maneuvering thruster. It looked remarkably like an octopus, with its rounded body and long, tentacle-like cords with sensor caps.

After turning the seemingly undamaged prize, covered in a thin layer of dust, over my hands, I pulled my backpack toward me, which I'd forgotten to even untie from my belt. Taking out a multi-fingered puller, I began applying it to the cover of the main control circuit block, where golden icons, each depicting a bold arrow enclosed in a circle, stood out against the matte black background. Having secured all eight internal magnetic lock indicators with the claws of the unsightly spider-puller, I gave a sharp twist to the handle of the miniature dynamo, the heart of my homemade master key.

There was a soft click, and the main unit's cover slid off, hanging by the puller. I froze, staring into the revealed interior of the control circuit.

“Wow…” I said incredulously after a rather long silence, staring at the completely intact electronic components.

Not only did it not melt into a hideous lump, but it was also completely undamaged! The distinctively green mineral glass board shows no stains or clouding caused by the internal structure burning out! Only the perfectly clear, golden-glow, fine pattern of the interconnecting tracks around the microcircuits is visible!

Still not believing in my luck, I carefully placed my now-super-valuable prize on the floor and, grabbing the puller, rushed to the main engine to remove the cover from the control circuit on it.

"So, did this ship crash before the massive attack from orbit began?" I asked out loud to God knows who when I couldn't find any signs of burnout in the electronic unit's interior.

However, I didn't need anyone's answer to my guess. It was exactly as I thought, and obviously so. The ship definitely crashed during the Exodus, in that moment of general panic and confusion, when the impossible task of completely evacuating Freya's nearly three billion population was underway. Back then, there was no time for such trivial matters as rescue operations and searching for one or two survivors of the aircraft crash. And the massive building that stood there, having collapsed and buried the fallen ship beneath its ruins, subsequently protected its equipment from the electromagnetic impact inflicted by the Orbital Group.

With great difficulty, I regained my composure and carefully replaced the cover of the control unit. I didn't want to break anything by accident. After all, live electronics cost an order of magnitude, or even two, more than a lump of precious metals. The only thing is, it's harder to sell. For the simple reason that it will raise a lot of unnecessary questions — where and how did you get it? And then it won't be long before you get some unambiguous offers to share. It would be a fat payday for a lone searcher, but other people want to eat too. Even if they don't live hand-to-mouth and all their earnings are spent on fun, reckless pastimes with booze and girls in the “D” sector.

Biting my lip, I sighed with frustration. It's bad enough without loot, and it's no picnic with it. Although, of course, I could quietly sell some of it through Ivan. Maybe I could even buy some decent transport. And the rest I could stash away and offload a little later. So as not to tempt anyone with unexpected riches.

After scurrying around the compartment some more and finding nothing else particularly noteworthy, I climbed onto the ship's second level. I used a hydraulic jack to pry open the jammed door and made my way into the cargo hold, where I stood transfixed, staring at the robotics frozen in their individual compartments. I wanted to rub my eyes to make sure I wasn't imagining this wealth, but I remembered just in time that the suit was sealed, and the only thing I'd accomplish by doing so would be to smear the thin polymer glass with dirty gloves, making my vision even worse.

Trying to contain my overwhelming excitement, I rushed to inspect the robotics, looking for any signs of electronic burnout. But I found nothing. Even the external sensors were in perfect working order!

It's a miracle, nothing less. A dozen and a half robots... A fully-fledged "Technor-18MK" technical unit, designed for emergency recovery operations in moderately aggressive environments...

Of course, the machinery is not entirely new, but compared to repair robots at bases that have worked for at least five or six terms, it is simply brilliant. And this technical unit has higher functionality. And better performance characteristics, too. The Technor-18MK can operate without any problems even in flooded areas or in the middle of a still-smoldering fire.

Pulling myself together, I began to systematically examine the wealth that had fallen into my hands. Eighteen brand-new robots, ranging from tiny ones to two real behemoths capable of moving objects weighing up to a hundred tons. Replaceable attachments and a full set of consumables for them. A small chemical reactor, “Staff-2.03,” to provide power for repair and restoration work. Four fuel cells for it, and a whole compartment next to it filled with coils of armored power cables. A class “A” multi-replicator capable of working with all major types of materials - metal, plastic, glass, and ceramics! It has a working chamber of one cubic meter and a second auxiliary chamber designed for heat treatment of parts that require it, in particular those used in loaded mechanism assemblies. And for complete happiness, there are huge and clearly not empty tanks of consumable elements for the replicator!

And finally, the best part – the Goeta-12 small AI! An AI! Possibly operational! And certainly with storage drives full of technological models of the items being restored and repaired! And, in all likelihood, unencumbered by that idiotic fundamental imperative: before starting to create anything, check for patent infringement by accessing the relevant databases of the planetary or global information network! After all, judging by the bright orange paint job of the robotics, the technical complex on board belonged to the rescue service, and they had it a bit simpler.

Patting the rounded side of the reactor, which in its inactive state resembled the cap of some giant mushroom, I sat down next to it. My initial excitement and euphoria gradually subsided, and my mind cleared. That's why my joy faded. The find was, of course, simply fantastic, and in one fell swoop it brought my cherished goal — to escape to the stars — from the realm of ephemeral dreams and aspirations into the realm of reality, but... but then there was its total cost... By the most modest estimates, there's a couple of million credits worth of stuff here. And that's not even counting the AI! Practically priceless, if my guesses about it are correct. An extremely fat jackpot that a single person could never digest due to acute heavy metal poisoning. Specifically, lead poisoning. Only a powerful clan or the Base Administration could afford to take possession of such a find. The rest, including even large search parties like the Taid, would simply not be able to keep it in their hands.

Another option, of course, is to simply hand over the find. A clear lead to a functioning tech complex could easily get me accepted into the main ranks of any clan. And that's a real possibility, since life is truly tough for a lone searcher. Or I could negotiate with the Base admins. That would be even better. They'd let me move up to Level B and grant me access to all the high-tech perks. I'd live like a real person... I'd become a real technician...

"Ye-e-e-e..." I sighed and shook my head with a certain regret, driving away the ghostly vision of a wonderful life that had appeared before my clouded eyes, on a level where people live practically as before the Exodus. Many even have implants.

There's just one "but" that ruins everything. I certainly won't achieve the dream I once set for myself. Sure, they'll shower me with perks for the gift, but no one's going to waste the finite resources of our technical system on such a frivolity as restoring some small spacer. Everyone's hoping the quarantine will be lifted any moment now.

\\"No, it's not right to hand over such a find; I'll be kicking myself for the rest of my life, remembering this missed opportunity," I decided after some thought. "Yes, I can't handle it alone; there are no other options, but it's not urgent. So let's stick to the original plan, just adjust it a bit. Now the priority is to assemble a reliable team."

Rising quickly, I walked back and forth past the robotics bays, making a plan of immediate action as I went.

\\"Okay," I began to think, "the most important thing is the AI. Which means I take it in the first place. Everything else can be stashed here for now by blocking off the tunnel leading to the ship. Just grab a few things of little value, so I can sell them later and buy some transport. For example, the control circuit I already removed from the maneuvering engine. While there aren't many ships at the bases, they're still there. So I can get those electronics without any problems and for a pretty penny. And maybe I can rip something out of the control room... Those completely useless communication and spatial reference modules. My backpack is big. The AI ​​and engine control circuit packed inside won't take up even a third of its space, so there's plenty of room for more. And the extra credits certainly wouldn't hurt..."

Nodding decisively in time with my thoughts, I turned sharply and headed towards the doors leading to the cockpit.

I couldn't force the doors open manually, but it was still worth a try. However, the jack also unexpectedly failed, even though the three tons of pressure it creates is usually enough to break the locks on any door. And the bulkhead between the hold and the cabin didn't seem warped, so the cavities the doors fit into are probably still there.

With an awkward shrug, I set aside the now-ineffective tool and went to get a cutter. I also grabbed my backpack. I'd be needing it soon.

The cutter made things easier. It burns through regular metal in no time. It's a whole different story, not like thick plating made of refractory alloys. Sure, you'd have a hard time cutting out the hole there. But here, bam—and it's done!

One magnesium rod was enough for everything: a long vertical cut about eighty centimeters from the line where the door panels met, and a couple of horizontal connecting lines. But the resulting rectangle didn't even budge when I finished the job. It should have fallen over on its own. Even kicking it didn't help—the cut-off section of the panel seemed to stick to its undamaged counterpart. It was a money-saving move, so to speak... I didn't want to, but I'll have to get a new rod and make another vertical cut.

Five credits burned up right before my eyes. It's a shame. But oh well. There's nothing I can do about it; for me, there's no other solution but to buy and waste expensive magnesium rods. A plasma cutter wouldn't be so expensive, of course, but that alone is incredibly expensive. And it's easy to damage it, trudging through ruins and underground utilities.

"Oh, yeah.." I breathed out in shock when the cut-out piece of the door fell into the cockpit with a dull thud.

The light from a chemical lamp filtering through the opening revealed a truly phantasmagorical scene—a dark grotto full of bizarre shadows cast by stalactites and stalagmites. But the illusion of a natural cavern shattered as soon as I brought the light source closer and took a closer look. These dark-brown icicles hanging from the ceilings, the melted walls, and the shapeless formations on the floor were not created by nature. Humans were at work here.

There can be no mistake. Such damage is a typical result of the use of the Salamander-3K man-portable air defense system. Or its stationary counterparts. Although, of course, it's unclear what idiot decided to target a civilian ship with an anti-landing weapon... If they wanted to shoot it down, they could have targeted the engines with the same homing "Spit" missile — they have no protection. And the pilots would have been forced to make an emergency landing. Or, in a worst-case scenario, they could have ejected from the boat's ejected cockpit. But here... No, seriously, some idiots and sadists were having fun... The Salamander-3K's duplex charge is designed to penetrate the protected compartments of heavy landing ships, guaranteeing the destruction of at least ninety percent of the enemy personnel inside, equipped with first-class protection. The pilots of the regular repair and maintenance vessel simply didn't stand a chance — they were instantly incinerated in the cloud of high-temperature plasma that filled the compartment. They probably didn't even have time to figure out what had happened.

Although maybe it's for the best. This way, I won't have to deal with the dead and extract implants. Otherwise, I would have to... Working implants are rare. That's why they cost a pretty penny.

Shaking myself, I pushed aside the gloomy thoughts of the dismal reality and got down to business. I pulled a can of liquefied carbon dioxide from a pocket on my suit and buffed the dark crimson edge of the hole in the door. Then, armed with a cutter, I climbed into the cabin.

I looked around inside and almost whistled, assessing the scope of the work. The plasma had done its job — literally everything was melted. Even the relatively heat-resistant bulkheads were leaking, not to mention the instrument panels. And the slightly protruding door flaps had been welded together. That's why I couldn't enter the cockpit the usual way.

After a moment's thought, I approached the cloudy-white, completely opaque viewscreens. Or rather, the molten, shapeless lumps of metal next to them. The tempered glass viewscreens themselves were of no use to me. Even if they hadn't clouded under the plasma and warped, rippling. There's plenty of good glass in the city anyway—enough for at least another ten generations of searchers. But smashing the instrument panels is worth it. They contain a fair amount of precious and rare-earth metals. And there would be even more if it had an AI. But they don't install them on such small ships. The pilots handle the controls themselves, using implanted navigation and tactical networks.

Digging through my backpack, I found an open pack of thin magnesium rods, designed for just such occasions when I have to cut through thin metal structures. I pulled out a dozen rods at once and loaded the cutter, which had already worked hard today. There was no other way to get to the inside of the dashboard… Regular tools wouldn't do. Everything had melted — the fasteners, the screws, and the magnetic latches.

The metal, damaged by the plasma's rampage, had obviously lost a significant portion of its strength. Because the sparking magnesium rod sliced ​​through it with incredible speed. Before I knew it, the work was done. The molten skeleton of the central instrument panel was separated from both the floor and the bulkhead. It was then further cut into three parts for greater convenience: this made it easier to extract the valuable innards from its core.

A couple of hours later, in the middle of the cockpit, completely disfigured by my work, stood a mountain of loot almost reaching my waist: melted and partially misshapen modules and blocks, charred conductive wires and terminals, and a huge number of assorted glassy formations that had once been electronic circuit boards made of mineral glass. It was quite a hefty pile, weighing perhaps a couple of hundred kilograms in total. And it didn't matter that no ordinary person without implants could haul all this stuff in one go. Surely I wasn't planning on lugging around, in addition to precious and rare earth metals, all this useless, worthless junk like glass?

To reduce the unprofitable portion of the loot, I pulled out the necessary tools from my backpack: a folding ten-liter bucket, a long-handled paddle, and a pair of grippy tongs. All with a chemical-resistant coating.

Having arranged the necessary items for further work near the pile of technical junk, I added a dynamo, which I disconnected from the magnetic stripper and equipped with platinum electrode rods. And finally, the most essential thing—a sealed container of technical solvent. Without it, there's no way around it.

After quickly throwing the remains of the electronic circuit boards into a bucket, I poured solvent over it and stirred it thoroughly with a spatula. The mixture completely dissolved the sticky clumps of glass and precipitated all the metal. It didn't take long—literally a minute or two.

Putting the shovel aside, I picked up the dynamo. Without further ado, I stuck the electrodes coming out of it into the bucket and gave the handle a sharp twist. A discharge erupted, and a greenish, glassy mass, resembling an extremely spiky hedgehog, rapidly grew between the platinum rods.

I grabbed the tongs lying nearby and, before the crystallized structure could dissolve again, quickly but carefully removed it from the bucket. I tossed it onto the floor nearby, which, quite predictably, caused this glass hedgehog to shatter, scattering into small crystal fragments. After poking around among them with the tongs, I selected the ones with visible metal inclusions and tossed them back into the bucket. I left the bulk of the crystal lying on the floor.

I had to repeat this operation several times. Finally, when I ran out of electronic circuit boards and found nothing left to put in the bucket, I pulled a small tube of neutralizing agent from my backpack and emptied it into a collapsible container. Afterwards, I fearlessly poured the solvent, now no longer corrosive, out of the bucket. Along with it, a chunk of metal, gleaming with gold and silver and sparsely flecked with greenish glass, fell heavily to the floor.

Without touching anything for now, to let everything dry a bit, I set off to prepare the AI ​​for transport. Fortunately, I hadn't forgotten to grab a small roll of metallized plastic film that shields electromagnetic radiation. I wrapped it in several layers around a dull silver rectangular parallelepiped measuring forty by twenty-five by sixty centimeters. In doing so, I used up almost the entire supply of gold film, though the remnants were still enough to protect the removed propulsion control unit from the dangers of the outside world.

"I think that's it," I said thoughtfully, having figured out this task, and looked around the cargo hold, filled with regret, "I just want to take everything from here!"

Having finally overcome the urge to screw up some more working electronics, I moved the AI ​​and the control unit into the cockpit and began packing my backpack. It was even heavier than it had been on the way here! And this despite the fact that I had to reluctantly leave on the floor not only a good portion of the melted electronic components, but also all the tools used to remove the glass from the circuit boards and the cutter.

“Okay, I’ll carry it somehow,” I waved my hand, walking around the backpack filled to the brim.

Well, having taken one last look at the robotics in the cargo hold, which I had been reluctant to abandon, I set off on my way back on all fours through the narrow tunnel, dragging my backpack behind me on the cord that was once again attached to my belt.

I didn't bother with restoring the rubble obstacle near the ship; I have another idea for that.

About halfway to the main communication tunnel, I stopped and pulled out a silver brick of plastic explosive, covered with warning labels and instructions for use, from my pocket. I drew my combat knife from its sheath… It's impossible to tear the thick vacuum-sealed packaging with my hands.

After freeing a small pinkish-brown tile from its heavy-duty plastic packaging, I crumpled the recovered plasticine-like mass into a ball and stuck it to the cracked ceiling of the porcelain tile pipe. And off we go! Until the explosives, triggered by atmospheric nitrogen, were properly saturated.

I made it. I managed to fall out into the main tunnel, drag his backpack, which was attached to a cord, and even move slightly to the side when a dull boom sounded in the distance. A few seconds later, a column of dust and stone chips erupted from the narrow opening, pounding the opposite wall.

"Well, now no one will get to the bot," I said with satisfaction, imagining the detonation of a hundred grams of plastic explosive. Any search party attempting to explore this tunnel would be confronted with a terrifying blockage, instantly discouraging any attempt to dig it up.

Having emerged from the utility shaft into the power plant's distribution center, I took a short break, observing the slow movement and flow of the dimly silvered fog in the spotlight of my glow lamp. I was transfixed by the prospect of Freya's salvation and curse — those tiny snowflakes of metallized glass, with corpuscles of inert gas at their cores. It had been a brilliant idea, after all — softening the spectrum of the local star by simply reflecting the bulk of its harsh radiation with a sort of floating curtain located in the upper layers of the planet's atmosphere. It's just a shame no one considered what would happen if the generators of the stabilizing magnetic field, preventing this artificial light filter, composed of myriad particles, from disintegrating, were to fail…

After standing there for a moment, reflecting on the days gone by, I waited for my ragged breath to return to the matter at hand. I coiled the frayed cord into a ball, secured it with Velcro straps to my heavy backpack, and somehow hoisted it onto my shoulders. And then I moved through the dimly silvery haze toward the stairs.

I made it. I began to climb slowly, so as not to strain my muscles. And on the landing before the last flight, I paused briefly, letting my legs, which had begun to tremble from the strain, recover. I also put the chemical lamp, no longer needed, back with its used counterparts, which lay in the patch pocket on the left side of my backpack. I waited a little longer for my eyes to adjust to the changed lighting, lest I become like a blind mole emerging from a dark dungeon into the sunlight. I stood there for a while, examining the clearly visible cracks in the stairwell before me, and suddenly realized that I absolutely did not want to go any further!

“What the…” I muttered in bewilderment, involuntarily becoming wary and listening to my feelings.

And they were absolutely heartbreaking, making me reluctant to leave such a reassuringly safe dungeon! Yes, the darkness behind me conveyed a sense of homely comfort and peace, while the bright opening at the end of the stairs literally wafted an icy menace that sent shivers down my spine.

I'm used to trusting my intuition, so I immediately released the safety on the Cort and chambered a round. Slowly, slowly, I removed my backpack and, keeping my eyes on the top of the stairs, lowered it to the floor. Still standing, I began the climb stealthily, taking only a couple of steps a minute.

It was not in vain, oh, it was not in vain that I listened to my senses and increased my vigilance! Only thanks to this did the thin, barely visible thread stretched across the opening leading from the stairs not go unnoticed.

At first, upon discovering it, I froze in my tracks. Then, transfixed, I frowned and moved closer to the string, which ran roughly at knee level. I approached it almost immediately and carefully peered over the edge of the partitioned opening, searching for the attachment point of the elusive synthetic fiber thread. On the left, it was a brand-new screw, driven directly into the cured concrete. And on the right… on the right, there was a small, shiny ring… protruding from a cylinder secured to the wall with transparent adhesive tape. A small cylinder of such a striking marsh-green color, with black markings…

"What freaks!" I breathed out in shock, looking at the composition prepared for me by unknown well-wishers.

It's a vacuum grenade! No armor could have protected me from it. Technoarms Corporation originally created this toy with the idea of ​​incapacitating an enemy with similar or slightly better protection. However, the customers, special forces units that needed a replacement for the stun grenade, which had become ineffective in the new reality, were dissatisfied with the gunsmiths' work, but this has nothing to do with the weakness of the new weapon. It's just that it turned out to be rather controversial. Overly traumatic... So, using vacuum grenades without a field hospital deployed nearby is absolutely impossible.

\\"Someone from the Taid must have started following me after all... And then, wondering what I was doing here, he decided to grab me while I was still warm and get me to talk," I came to a very frustrating conclusion. And I cursed under my breath, unable to contain my emotions.

Having let off some steam, I shook myself and returned to my senses. The chill of the deadly threat lurking ahead, clutching at my gut with its claws, had become less pronounced after discovering the vacuum grenade. Its grip had loosened, so to speak, though it hadn't vanished entirely. And this was a clear sign that the surprises awaiting me weren't over. Which, incidentally, wasn't surprising. Clearly, whoever planted the tripwire here was lurking somewhere nearby…

\\"There's a vague threat looming from somewhere near the building's entrance, so it's possible to quietly leave through the opposite side," I began to consider my next move. "The only problem is, one way or another, I've exposed this place to the Taid scouts sent after me... Which I absolutely hate... Leaving the situation as is is simply not right! Because it risks letting my amazing find fall into the hands of others! I'd like to completely expose those following me, but that's not an option... They're probably not acting on their own. And if not the rest of the Teidovite group, then at least its leader knows who the scouts are after. Then I'm sure to face some unpleasant questions about the sudden deaths of certain people... And I'll have to answer for them."

My aimlessly wandering gaze once again came across the tripwire thread. And stopped.

“What if?” I said out loud.

I nodded decisively, agreeing with the plan that had suddenly formed in my head. Indeed, they could simply pull it off so that I wouldn't have anything to complain about. The Taids guys were the ones who acted harshly first, setting a trap with a vacuum grenade. And now I'm perfectly within my rights to respond in kind... And the fact that they're unlikely to survive as a result, given that there are no field hospitals deployed nearby, and the Base is over an hour's drive away — what does that have to do with me? They probably weren't planning on dragging me into the medical capsule either. And anyway, it's all their own fault. Believe it or not, I tried my best to avoid any potential conflict. Yeah. As soon as I spotted the people following me, I immediately hid in the first building I came across. I spent a lot of time there trying not to run into them... And then those bastards went and set up a tripwire with a grenade at the exit from my temporary shelter... Something like that, basically.

Naturally, I began implementing my idea by removing the tripwire. Fortunately, it had been installed without any trickery, so disarming it wasn't a problem.

The vacuum grenade, after I'd untied the synthetic thread and peeled off the adhesive tape, went into a free pocket on my belt. For now. I left the rest of the tripwire in place. To back up my words, in case the Taids had any questions.

Having retrieved the essential attribute of my plan, I returned to the stairs and made my way to the very top of the building. I quickly climbed twelve floors, leaving me slightly out of breath, and found myself on the open roof with a landing pad for flyers. I leaned out into the open and almost jerked back, overwhelmed by the sight of dark storm clouds billowing, seemingly directly overhead. Well, any native inhabitant of underground domes would have been a little timid at such a sight... Unaccustomed, of course. When, instead of a reliable ceiling above your head, there's this.

Having finally overcome my hesitation, I climbed onto the roof and rushed to the parapet. I settled behind it, dropping to my left knee, and surveyed the area. First with my naked eye, and then with the aid of a simple pair of Vinz 4x tactical binoculars, whose main advantage over similar devices is their compact size.

“There you are, you bastards,” I muttered with satisfaction, after just a few minutes of discovering an ambush that had taken up residence on the third floor of one of the buildings opposite.

From below, you might not immediately notice the people settled in the room, which has lost its external glazing, but from above, they are clearly visible... Well, at least two of them: one, settled behind the remains of furniture piled across the opening facing the street, and the second, settled a little further, by the side wall.

I adjusted the focus on my binoculars and tried to assess the equipment of the bastards waiting for me. I frowned in surprise when I didn't see any distinctive neckerchiefs on them... No, they had them, but they were some dull gray, not red and white.

\\"Well, it looks like the situation is starting to improve," I chuckled to myself. "Apparently, these weren't Taid scouts, but just regular bandits. They must have been watching the searchers' activities at the excavation site from a safe distance, hoping to pick up some loot once they'd cleared out. Then, spotting a well-equipped lone wolf wandering off with a bulging backpack, they decided to move on to a much more promising target…"

"Well, then let's play!" I cheered up and, having carefully examined the building where the freaks were holed up through my binoculars, rushed down.

It took about half an hour to reach the ambushers in the building next door. The city streets are so wide, you can't just zip across unnoticed. I had to take a parallel street for three blocks, then return to Twenty-fifth Street, using the cover of a corner building that had collapsed onto the roadway to slip onto the next one. And then back down to those jerks.

Well, yes, exactly the jerks. After all, what else can you call people who set such vile traps for lone searchers? That they don't kill, but only maim? Death, really, isn't the worst thing. But becoming a weak cripple... Just imagining it makes you shudder. And that's exactly the fate that would have awaited me if the bandits hadn't finished me off—if they'd left me there to die, and I, broken by the vacuum grenade explosion, had somehow managed to crawl out into the street and attract the attention of some search party returning home. I'm not the favorite son of the Base's chief administrator, so they're wasting precious medical capsules on me. And without them, it's impossible to properly recover from something like that.

So I was determined to take the harshest possible measures against these jerks. They weren't exactly hiding; they seemed tired of waiting for me. When I reached the third floor, I didn't even have to figure out where they were—they gave themselves away with their quiet chatter and rustling.

I reached the room I needed, following a bleak, deserted circular corridor, gaping with holes where someone had long ago torn out the ceramic-plastic doors and abandoned them. I stopped just short of it and listened to the bandits' barely discernible chatter – had its tone changed? Meanwhile, I scanned the immediate approaches to the ambush for any hidden surprises. After all, where there's one tripwire, there's another... If I were them, I'd definitely secure my rear in this way. Better yet, I'd have assigned one of my accomplices to monitor the corridor leading here.

I'm not them, that's obvious. Those idiots didn't bother to install even the most basic alarms at the approaches to the ambush, let alone anything more substantial.

\\"They don't seem to know any fear," I stated to myself, calmly walking through two rooms, where you could just scatter a few handfuls of the ubiquitous glass shards across the floor, making it quite difficult to sneak up on them from behind, and finding myself at the doorway leading to the third.

Seizing the moment when the bandits, unaware of the approaching threat, were deep in conversation, I cautiously peeked into the room they occupied. I took one look and then quickly recoiled. It only took a brief moment to see everything I needed to... Two of them were there. Just two villains in impersonal gray synthetic jumpsuits, the kind designed for low-level technical personnel and lacking any protective features. One of the thugs was lounging to the right of the pile of furniture, on a plastic chair that was on its last legs, his feet propped up on an overturned metal cabinet and cradling a long gun in his hands. The other had settled himself on the decrepit remains of a once-luxurious sofa against the left wall, right next to a glass table on which sat a quarter-full clear plastic bottle of drinking water and the remains of some food. There lies its barrel - a self-loading carbine "Hoga-6"!

If I hadn't been alone and under different circumstances, such idiots could have been taken without breaking a sweat, so to speak! Farmers always need workers. But not now.

I was about to pull a vacuum grenade from my belt pocket, anticipating returning the surprise to these bastards, but I caught myself just in time. What for? These aren't Taid. So why should I spend almost a hundred credits on them so casually? I can get a ammo for the Cort for one and half credit per pice. And I don't need the extra noise. Who knows who might be attracted?

So, the vacuum grenade remained where it was. No point in throwing money around. Resting the short butt of the Cort on my right forearm and gripping the ceramide thermal sleeve of the barrel with my left hand to keep it from jerking upward, as is typical when firing bursts, I slowly moved the fire flag to the top position. Exhaling briefly, I took up position by the doorway…

"What's taking that searcher so long? Doesn't he sense the downpour coming soon, and it'll be impossible to get to the Base?" I heard the disgruntled voice of a bandit sitting nearby.

"Who knows. Maybe he found something worthwhile," the second one answered lazily. And, yawning, he added, with a hint of anticipation: "For a thousand or two cre…"

"Proof!" the silenced "cort" whispered softly and almost silently, cutting the villain off mid-sentence.

A quick fifty-degree turn of the barrel to the right, with a slight upward tilt, and another short burst. Right into the back of the bandit sitting on the chair.

He worked quickly, calmly, and precisely. Like a virtual simulator. The first opponent, seated at the glass table, didn't even have time to comprehend anything, let alone draw his pistol from its holster on his belt. And the second, positioned tactically ineptly, didn't even have a chance to resist.

“That’s it,” I said thoughtfully, slowly lowering the barrel and entering the room.

He approached the twitching body on the remains of the sofa and stood for a moment, debating whether to fire another burst at him. He decided against it. He was already in postmortem convulsions. Three bullets fired from the "cort," piercing the jerk's right arm and penetrating deep into his body, took his life almost instantly.

The second one doesn't need any control at all. You can't live with wounds like that. The burst that entered the bandit's back pierced him right through, literally tearing the left side of his chest apart.

\\"It was even too much for him," I thought critically, examining the tattered hole on the front of the villain's jumpsuit, which had finally broken the unfortunate chair when he fell. "A couple of bullets would have been enough instead of the four fired."

However, I didn't feel too bad about the excessive ammo consumption. It's a Cort, after all... And it's the Model 30, which has a simply monstrous rate of fire. This is precisely why the vast majority dislike this gun, despite all its advantages, such as lightness, compactness, relatively high accuracy, and the inclusion of an integrated suppressor.

Having made sure that my opponents no longer posed any threat, I hung the “cort” on my right shoulder. Holding the barrel steady with my hand, I cautiously peered out into the street to check if anyone was there who might interfere with my collection of legitimate trophies.

Having confirmed the street was empty and feeling reassured, I crouched down next to the nearest body and pulled back the bandit's scarf, covering the lower half of his face. Then I also removed his sunglasses, grabbing them by the flexible strap and pulling them off. I peered into the face revealed and shook my head. No, I hadn't encountered this guy before... Not in the city, not at the Base. Which wasn't surprising, considering I wasn't staying here long.

The second bandit, with whom I repeated the unmasking operation, also turned out to be a stranger. I didn't have to bother turning his body over and removing his sunglasses and neckerchief, which acted as a cheap filter mask and protected his airways from snowflakes from the metalized glass.

Having sorted this out, I looked around appraisingly and, without further ado, swept everything unnecessary from the glass table onto the floor, leaving only the carbine and the sunglasses I'd discarded earlier. I quickly began gathering up all the valuables. The first thing I did was join its companion, already lying on the tabletop, the second bandit's slightly blood-stained Hog-6. On top of them, I tossed the gun belts, complete with extra guns, knives, and spare magazines, which I'd taken from the corpses as is. And a pair of simple, but still somewhat valuable, sunglasses.

Then I search the pockets. After searching them, I couldn't help but let out a surprised exclamation. An open pack of gum, just sixteen credits in hard cash, a blister pack containing five azure-colored Syntex balls, and other small odds and ends — all of this was entirely expected and didn't cause any surprise. Unlike the two thin, rectangular metal plates with rounded edges, seemingly identical to each other…

Galaxy Bank's universal payment cards, which are commonly known as "unic."

At first glance, they appear to be simply elegant silver trinkets, one surface unassumingly matte, the other bearing a colorful, stylized image of the vast technopolis city of Ommar, located on Feyta, in the central system of the Eighth Sector of the Earth Union, rendered with incredible detail. But in reality, they are the same old wallets! Only digital.

"Damn, I should have thrown the grenade," I said, a little disappointed, finding the bad guys' bank cards. "Maybe I could have made a few more credits... Those bandits' unics sure aren't empty."

I twirled the silver plates in my hands and sighed regretfully, about to toss them on the table, when I suddenly remembered an old joke from the merry fellow Hector, a rather sly fellow from my father's squad. He'd told me how easy it was to find out the password to someone else's unic. It was, of course, an extremely unreliable method, but sometimes it worked.

"What's stopping me from trying?" I asked myself, shrugging. "If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. No big deal."

I paced the room, searching for a spot on the floor with a thick layer of whitish dust. Finding one, I crouched down and carefully scooped it all up with my left hand. I scooped up almost a handful! I sprinkled it generously onto the silver plates. They instantly looked like they'd been dipped in flour.

Placing the dust-covered unics on the metal cabinet, I casually dusted my hands and pulled a canister of liquefied carbon dioxide from my belt pocket. There was just a little left.

After blasting the cards with a gentle stream of coolant, I managed to almost completely remove the dust that had stained them. But only almost... A scattering of clearly visible stains remained on the silver plates. Naturally, in the places where they were most often handled by dirty hands, leaving behind sweat stains.

Not really counting on luck, I picked up the first card, looked at the layout of the stains, and immediately spotted a curious pattern in the arrangement of the most distinct fingerprints.

"It looks like no one here bothered with complex passwords," I chuckled, surveying the scene before me. And, unable to restrain myself, I grinned wryly.

I came to my senses immediately, abandoned my grin, and rushed to the dead bandit lying by the glass table. I snatched up a knife and quickly cut the thin gloves from his hands. Then I lifted the lifeless body and somehow managed to sit it on the remains of the sofa. I settled down next to it, holding the corpse, into whose hands I promptly thrust the unic.

Pressing the dead man's right thumb against the miniature Galaxy Bank emblem located in the lower corner of the front of the debit card, I held it there for a few seconds. A silvery wave rolled across the card, washing away the stylized design and leaving behind a serene, mirror-like surface. A moment later, a black dot appeared, blinked three times, and emitted a short beam. Also black and only about a centimeter long, this beam then circled its original dot, like the hand of a mechanical chronometer. The only difference was that a persistent colored trace remained behind the black stripe. The result was a rainbow-colored circle, remarkably reminiscent of a human eye, appearing on the metal surface.

I had to work hard to position the unic opposite the dead man's eyes without letting him drop the silver plate from his hands. But it worked. The stylized image of the eye on the card blinked and disappeared just as it had appeared. And below it, right where the main cluster of whitish spots was, an image of a digital keypad appeared—four rows of three squares and another with a wide empty rectangle for confirming operations.

I immediately moved the thumb of the dead gangster onto it. A moment later, an iridescent golden halo appeared around the numbered buttons, signaling the need to complete the cardholder's authorization by entering a password. Again, not with my own hand, because the sensors of the virtual keyboard simply do not accept foreign touches, instantly blocking it. I began to slowly type: one, three, five, seven, nine, zero... And, involuntarily holding my breath, confirmation...

"Yes!" I exhaled excitedly, unable to contain my emotions as I stared at the three large golden numbers that briefly appeared on the mirror surface. The amount of funds on the card was seven hundred and thirty-one credits.

Without hesitation, I tapped the minus sign. It immediately lit up with a red line on the pseudo-screen above the virtual keyboard. The three digits I'd entered also appeared in the same color, thus simply indicating that the withdrawal was being processed from the bank card.

Quickly pulling out my unic, I activated it and entered the exact same amount as the bandit's, only with a plus sign. I touched my silver plate to the other one. And simultaneously, I touched the lower rectangular keys on both... Confirming the transfer of funds, which increased my unic balance by over seven hundred credits.

"No, what a lucky day today!" I happily told the bandit, but, of course, I got no response from him. A corpse is a corpse.

Taking the blank card from the dead man, I threw it on the table. I'll sell it to someone as a souvenir later, and I let the body, now deprived of my support, fall to the floor. I hurriedly got to my feet. There was no time to waste. I had to deal with the second one quickly, before the veil of death closed over his eyes. It is unknown how the weak sensor-reader of the payment card will react to the drop in iris contrast.

The first thing I did, of course, was look at the pattern of the spots on the second unic. What if things were much more complicated there, and it was simply impossible to guess the password in just six possible attempts?

"Are you kidding me or something?" I muttered in amazement, looking closely at the front side of the silver plate, which had a single, distinct spot on it.

Snorting with laughter, I hurried to activate the card. I verified and authorized the dead bandit and entered the password… Consisting of six sixes!

"Ugh!" I barely managed to keep from spitting when a lonely one appeared in gold on the card's mirror surface.

Glancing angrily at the dead bandit who had forced me to spend so much effort for such a paltry sum, I roughly pushed him away from me.

Rising to my feet, I took one last look at this bastard, who had absolutely nothing to take from him, and, overcoming the urge to kick him out of frustration, I set about what I hadn't gotten around to yet — emptying the bandits' skinny backpacks. I found another vacuum grenade and four fragmentation grenades. A few rounds of ammunition for the carbines and revolver, but that was about all I had left of value. I had no use for half-empty rations from the Exodus, nor for a stash of other people's clothes. And a plastic flask with drinking water - even more so.

Here are all the trophies.

I immediately placed all the valuables I'd set aside in one backpack, the better-looking one, and dumped the rest in the second. I carried the latter to the magnetic elevator shaft and dumped it in. Both bodies followed suit.

Having sorted everything out, I grabbed the bagged loot and hurried to my backpack. Before anyone stumbled upon it...

* * *

If it weren't for the built in the suit climate control, I would have arrived at the intersection of Lux Line and Twenty-ninth, where the Peterses were supposed to pick me up on their way back to Base, completely drenched and without any downpour. It, by the way, could have started even without the preceding apocalypse. Yes, a hurricane-force wind suddenly blew up, not only knocking me off my feet and tossing me around with its sharp gusts, but also turning everything around into impenetrable chaos with the enormous amount of dust and debris kicked up into the air, leaves torn from trees and bushes, and broken branches. This was definitely unnecessary... It was difficult enough. The backpack, in fact, was getting heavier the further I went. And mine wasn't exactly light to begin with. And I was exhausted from carrying it before I'd covered even a quarter of my way to my destination, long before the first gust hit...

Putting it all together, I managed to carry my enormous burden through sheer stubbornness. I even regretted throwing away the box of syntex I'd found among the bandits; it was a stimulant, after all, albeit one with a distinctly euphoric quality. A few stimulants certainly wouldn't have hurt in my situation. By the end, I was trudging along, barely managing to move my wobbly legs, bent almost to the ground under the weight of the backpack I'd shouldered. I cursed everything! My greed, which had driven me to snatch so much loot, and the couple of bandits who'd slipped me a hefty loot — about ten kilograms — and the Taids guys, who'd decided to dig a hole right in my path today of all days, and now I'm forced to take a detour because of them...

But at least I learned that happiness exists. It does. And it lies simply in the ability to rid myself of the monstrous weight that has been pressing on my shoulders for the last hour and a half.

Entering the corner building I needed, the ground floor devoid of exterior glazing, I trudged to the nearest support pillar, leaned my back — or rather, my backpack — against it, and literally slid to the floor. I caught my breath; staring into space, I smiled contentedly, and froze there, overcome by the wave of euphoria that washed over me... Without any syntex, I experienced a moment of genuine happiness!

Having recovered my breath, I awkwardly untangled myself from the backpack straps, shrugging them off my long-suffering shoulders, and rose to my feet. I paced back and forth on my aching legs and plopped heavily down on a plastic stand jutting out from a pile of junk. I settled myself comfortably on it, took a sip of water, and pulled out a mechanical wristwatch from a pocket on my belt, temporarily removing its chain bracelet for compactness.

"Well, at least I'm not late," I sighed with relief, barely glancing at the slender hands of the stylish white gold watch I'd gotten by chance. "Otherwise it would have been a real problem..." I chuckled, vividly imagining the epic adventure of lugging that backpack around on my back. The Base is practically a stone's throw from here—just thirty kilometers. Even guzzling handfuls of syntex the entire journey wouldn't help...

Putting away the chronometer, whose hands were steadily counting down the seventeen minutes remaining until the deadline agreed upon with the Peterses, I touched another pocket on my belt and, after a brief hesitation, regretfully removed my hand. A chocolate-flavored nutrition bar would have been very appropriate right now, but the suit helmet wouldn't be depressurized with the dust that had billowed in here.

A few minutes later, the air did clear a bit thanks to the torrential downpour, but not enough to be breathable without protection. It wasn't so much the usual dust and fine debris kicked up by the hurricane wind, but the occasional glittering snowflakes on the metalized glass. While there were far fewer of them here than on the subzero levels of buildings, they were still there. So I didn't raise my visor. I continued to sit as I was, gazing at the solid wall of water pouring from the sky and simply enjoying the fact that I didn't have to go anywhere or carry anything.

Perhaps this inaction would have soon become tiresome, but it simply didn't have time to get to that point. The gray curtain of rain obscuring my view suddenly parted, letting a squat armored vehicle into my shelter... As soon as I saw it, I jumped up from my seat and waved my arms.

I was spotted. There's no other way to explain why the rather battered cargo van, with water dripping down its sloping sides, suddenly changed direction and rolled right up to me.

The armored vehicle hadn't even fully stopped when the hissing pneumatics began to lift the side passenger door facing me. And Firkh Peters, whose face was visible through the armored shutters covering the windshield, nodded, inviting me to climb in without delay.

"What, White, been waiting for us for a long time?" a skinny, freckled guy about my age, Swan, asked cheerfully, poking his head out of the gap. He quickly pulled his scarf down over his nose, seeing how polluted the air was.

I didn't answer him, but instead unceremoniously thrust my backpack into his outstretched hands.

"Oh, shit!" blurted out the younger Peters, backing away and nearly falling on his butt. Glancing sideways at his older brother, Lags, who turned around from the front seat and burst into laughter, he asked, a little indignantly: "What's wrong, White? Did you fill it to the brim with ceramic heat shields or something?"

“Something like that,” I chuckled, sitting down on the seat closest to the door — a rather unpretentious design, crafted, like all the others, from duralumin sheets bent and perforated in the right way.

Of course, they heard me! I didn't even bother to raise my helmet visor before answering! And I've long since replaced the standard sound membranes in my suit with unidirectional ones — from the outside in, so as not to give myself away with distorted breathing noise while crawling through dark dungeons.

I wasn't in any hurry, though. I waited until the pneumatics quietly hissed as the door lowered and retracted into the rubberized opening, and only then did I depressurize the suit and repeat my words.

"You're lying, right?" Swan glanced at me incredulously, somehow stuffing my overstuffed backpack between the back seats and saying, "Phew!" he practically fell into the empty seat. Then, glancing sideways at the magnetic trap installed above the door, to which a single silver snowflake had stuck, having flown into the flea's interior along with the usual dust, he pulled down the scarf covering the lower part of his face and cheerfully declared, "No, White, you won't fool me!"

“Are you sure?” I couldn’t help but ask him.

"Yeah!" he immediately confirmed with his characteristic self-confidence and, lightly pushing my backpack with the toe of his worn boot, his eyes flashed, and he said in an accusatory tone: "There's quite a bit of technical silver here, isn't there, White?"

"That's it," I admitted. I grinned broadly, not even doubting that no one would ever guess what I'd actually found today.

Swan lived up to my expectations. He immediately jumped up, pointed his index finger at me, and triumphantly voiced his guess regarding my rather substantial prize:

"And that means you most likely stumbled upon a piece of power cable in your favorite underground utilities that someone hadn't cut all the way through! And you took it all!"

I smiled and just shrugged. It seemed like I had nothing to say, so impressed was I by Swan's insight. He snorted contentedly and instantly lost interest in my findings. He should show off his own, too.

"We're pretty lucky today, too!" Swan declared, beaming with satisfaction as he began to enlighten me, the rustle of the truck's engine barely audible against the raging elements. "So, we're peacefully cutting up metal structures on the eastern outskirts of town. We'd almost filled the truck bed when we came across a partially collapsed structure... We decided to dig around a bit, and lo and behold, we discovered a mobile under a section of wall that had collapsed onto the road! Can you even imagine that?!"

“Not bad,” I nodded my head respectfully, inspired by the undoubtedly successful search for the Peters today.

"Just don't forget to mention that the mobile is not actually a mobile at all, but just a box on wheels belonging to a robotic delivery service! It's an extremely cheap knockoff from Isaac Group, made from nothing but worthless plastic!" Laggs snorted, interrupting our conversation. "So there's hardly any metal in it, let alone rare earth metals and precious metals! If it's worth a couple hundred credits, that's already good."

"It'll still be a nice raise, though," I remarked, glancing sideways at Brother Swan, who was snoring discontentedly after the remark. "You're practically raising those couple of hundred out of thin air."

"Yeah!" The younger Peters enthusiastically supported me.

It looks like he found that very mobile under the rubble, and is trying to extol his achievements.

As usual, the brothers were not allowed to argue when their father, turning to me with a seemingly insignificant question as we pulled out onto the street, said:

"What are your plans for tomorrow, White?"

"Nothing definitive yet," I admitted frankly, minding my own business. After all, my incredible discovery has turned everything upside down, and all my previous plans are now irrelevant.

"We're thinking of tinkering with the transport a bit tomorrow," Firkh Peters explained his interest, glancing at me briefly. He stared at the road through the gap between the armored shutters and said with concern, "I don't like the crackling noise coming from the rear wheels under load... And it's high time we sorted out the malfunctioning air suspension on the right passenger door." Then, after a short but meaningful pause, he asked, "What do you think of all this, White?"

"No problem, if that's the case," I responded immediately, correctly understanding the rather obvious hint that the Peters could use some help repairing the mobile that sometimes drives me. And completely free, by the way!

"So, I'll send you a message on your communicator tomorrow morning when we head to the garage?" Firch asked in a businesslike tone.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed my participation in the upcoming event without hesitation.

No, of course, I would have found something else to do anyway. But turning it down now is not an option. It just wouldn't look good, especially considering that I'm going to buy my own mobile soon. It would be like I've ridden with them and that's it. Now they can solve their own problems. And it wouldn't hurt me to spend a couple of hours with the Peters and their “flea.” Especially since they're not calling me to do the dirtiest work, but to supervise the repairs as a specialist, the Peters, being stingy, are definitely not going to call a real repairman who charges a quarter of a hundred credits just for a preliminary inspection of the equipment, without doing any work. And I do have some technical education. What if I spot some kind of malfunction in the mechanism that they simply ignore out of ignorance, and that could come back to haunt them later? In general, it's quite understandable to want to minimize the possibility of breaking down somewhere far from the Base. Who needs such problems? Robotic tow trucks for transporting equipment that has lost the ability to move on its own have not been used on Freya for more than eight decades.

With a satisfied nod, Svon's father, Lags, and the three girls remaining at the base said nothing more, focusing entirely on driving the armored vehicle. The Flea had already accelerated to its maximum speed, and now it was necessary to keep both eyes on the road, given that visibility was no more than a few dozen meters. As for me, I leaned back in my seat, rested the barrel on my knees, and relaxed. It was so cozy in the well-sealed Flea in such weather... Who knows what was going on outside, but here it was beautiful and dry... Not like in a steamer, of course: there was more space there, and it was practically as comfortable as home, but still. I was looking forward to the moment when I would get my own mobile.

The only thing preventing me from finally drifting off into sweet dreams was Swan's incessant chatter. Because of him, my thoughts, before they could soar to cloudless heights, slipped away to more mundane things. For example, what I could use to shut him up... But my mood was so lazy and complacent that I didn't even want to move my brain to come up with something like that. And the serious statement about the suspicious movement of the “flea” that usually made young Peters fall silent for a moment and cling to the nearest embrasure would clearly not work today. You can't see a thing... In this weather, there's no need to fear ambushes at all.

So we rolled slowly toward the Base to the steady hum of the engine, barely audible over the sound of the rain pounding on the roof of the “flea.” For a whole hour and a half... The Peters' “flea” is loaded to the limit, so even with the built-in speed limiter unlocked, it won't run much faster than twenty kilometers per hour. Although the inclement weather, which hides us from the orbital fortresses hanging over Freya, allows us to speed up. No optical sensors in such conditions will detect any object exceeding the permissible speed of movement. And the worst thing is that self-focusing magnetometers are ineffective in urban conditions, especially in the case of a tiny “flea.”

\\"Twenty kilometers an hour isn't bad either, though. It's better than lugging all my loot on foot. You can just ride for fun, and have no worries..." I thought optimistically.

I would have gladly gone for another ride, even though Swann kept talking nonstop: he'd clearly decided to really let loose on me today. But no one asked my opinion. Suddenly, the sound of the rain pounding the roof of the "flea" stopped. And the vehicle went dark...

We reached a distinctive eight-story building, a gleaming structure, on the corner of Kanri and Fifth Streets and rode down a ramp into the underground parking lot. We descended to the very bottom level — the third. Its difference from any other underground level beneath any other building in the city is immediately apparent to any searcher. It's unusually bright here, thanks to streams of rarefied light somehow penetrating through the air ducts. And the air lacks the silvery haze of snowflakes from the metalized glass that's so common in such places. After all, everything that flies here is drawn in by powerful magnetic traps placed at the entrance.

Meanwhile, the "Flea" slowly rolled up to the far wall of the underground parking lot. It appeared completely solid. But that was only in appearance. For as soon as the Peters' armored vehicle stopped, one segment of this wall, with the numbers "seven" and "six" hand-painted in large black paint, shuddered and slid upward, soon revealing a round tunnel tube, easily large enough for two "fleas" to pass each other or a single steamer to pass.

This is a secondary entrance to Base 76. One of nearly a dozen. They can be used at any time of day, not just as a primary route: either at night or when the sky is completely overcast. Convenient, needless to say. And at the same time, the main entrance, located on the grounds of a suburban water park, avoids congestion from vehicles entering and leaving. And the dangers of this are self-explanatory: the reconnaissance drones, which carry out planetary technocontrol, are still flying, keeping an eye on everything.

The false wall had barely risen when the armored vehicle, moving forward, passed an armored capsule embedded in the wall to the right, its narrow, mirrored window running its entire length. It housed the gatekeepers and the counterweight control mechanisms. Slowly accelerating, the vehicle rolled down the tunnel. Through a long series of double-leaf gates, covered with fine-mesh copper screening, which swing open when the "flea" bumps its nose into the protruding, rounded arches, and slam shut as soon as it passes them, under the influence of tension springs.

We traveled over two kilometers down a downhill tunnel, illuminated by white piezoelectric lights that alternately flared up ahead and slowly faded behind. Then we reached its end, which appeared as a round, armored gate. However, it rolled back, sinking into the wall almost immediately as the "flea" approached it. Thus, allowing us to proceed to a second identical gate, located less than thirty meters away.

After driving forward a bit and finding itself on a massive grate, the armored vehicle stopped. No one was in a hurry to clear the way for it. And there was no way to back up, since the first barrier had returned to its place, cutting off any escape route into the main part of the tunnel.

A sudden feeling of discomfort washed over me. And then it was gone…

Glancing sideways at the magnetic trap above the door, I nodded with satisfaction. Several snowflakes of the metalized glass stuck to it. Only the finest silver dust remained. The ultrasonic technology for breaking up stressed crystalline formations was working as intended.

I couldn't finish the thought of how wonderful it would be to clear Freya of this glassy filth, especially the lower levels of the buildings where it was most concentrated, when a rapidly increasing roar instantly made my ears pop. And the "flea" seemed to begin to rise on its wheels, as if freeing itself from the weight pinning it to the floor... A huge turbofan under the grate below kicked in, instantly blowing all the dirt and moisture off the "flea" with a dense stream of air into the holes in the ceiling. Well, if not all, then certainly most of it.

Just as the roar began to subside and the armored vehicle sank heavily again, a ghostly green wall appeared before it. It then moved forward, rolled through us, and stopped behind us. Then it vanished without a trace.

Well, yes, there's a real bioscanner here. Just like everywhere else, though. It's a piece of technology that costs a fortune, but we can't do without it. No one wants such uninvited guests to infiltrate the Base. The Copieкs - killer androids indistinguishable from humans are programmed to exterminate the human race. They continue to carry out their assigned task, even though they have long been without their masters. And those masters would have clearly made themselves known in some way during their more than eighty years on Freya, if they hadn't been vaporized at the very beginning of the quarantine along with their monstrous ship.

Here, just 120 kilometers from the third perimeter of the quarantine circle, the danger of one of Copier's creations, which miraculously survived, appearing is particularly great. And even though only about a dozen reliable cases of hostile machines attempting to secretly infiltrate the bases have been recorded so far — since killer androids immediately engage in combat with humans upon detection — this is enough to cause serious concern about protecting the underground domes from such an enemy. And I must say, we are lucky that Copierr's creations are unable to hide their metal insides... Otherwise, they would have caused quite a stir.

* * *

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/88447/593765

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP