“Zero!”
The engines of the Bolshevik and the Terrence start simultaneously, together with the first shot of the main caliber. Surpassing the distance to the caravan, the cruiser fires at the first pair of pirates while shielding the passenger ship with laser strikes. Having shot the flagship and seriously injuring his wingman, the Bolshevik dives under the first tanker, finishing off the wounded enemy with its laser guns at minimum distance. The two remaining pirates are trying to fight the Bolshevik, simultaneously striving to shoot a passenger ship. Lasers burn part of the shells, but the most reliable protection for the liner is the Terrence, which turns sharply, covering the passenger like a wall.
Obeying Klimov, the passenger ship comes close to the old truck, the upper deck of which splits a hail of shells. The cruiser continues branded throws from side to side at acute angles, with the next round striking the third bandit. Stationary cannons conduct a massive attack, aiming at the center of the caravan in an attempt to get a cruiser or the passenger ship that continues to hide beneath the bottom of the Terrence.
While transports and tankers begin to turn, a pair of shells hits the last truck; the damaged ship sharply loses its speed. The Bolshevik knocks out the nearest firing point with a retaliatory round and then transfers the fire to the last pirate, who tries to slip under Terrence and shoot the passenger. He manages to put one shell in the liner before Severov hits him. Olga sees a life-saving capsule shoot out from a burning pirate ship. The laser immediately fires, piercing the thin hull of the capsule—according to the old maritime law, the Bolsheviks don’t take pirates into captivity.
The pirate squadron is broken, but the battle continues; the stationary cannons don’t stop firing along the outgoing caravan, and, in addition, Nastya has spotted three bandits going to the battlefield from the depths of the garbage cluster. The persecutors, without becoming involved in an open fight against the Bolshevik, fire a large flock of torpedoes after the caravan. In response, the Bolshevik engineers manage to give Terrence a little more speed and throw him with an uncontrolled piece of metal toward the artillery batteries to distract them, while Severov beats off the torpedo attack.
“Ten seconds before the turn!”
The caravan finishes the turn, but the burning transport lags farther and farther behind, falling out of the caravan, so the torpedoes attacked it. In spite of the barrage from the cruiser, some of the torpedoes manage to overcome the defensive line and hit the truck with several deadly beams, one of which becomes fatal, completely destroying the engine room.
“Abandon the ship!”
Covering the life-saving capsule with fire, the Bolshevik picks it up with boarding hooks and catches up to the retiring caravan, leaving behind the stern two broken trucks. Chernova is preparing to depart for the passenger ship that gave the distress signal—the shell killed sixteen people and wounded three times more. The pirates for some time continue to shoot after the caravan, and then the fire stops. There are no attempts to pursue.
***
They announce that another passenger ship will land in five minutes, which will throw the next group of refugees to the transfer station. Olga hands over five Stalin’s rubles, takes the last piece of lemon cake, and, stepping over the red line, leaves the comfortable privileged zone, returning to the common sector. She needs to go to the market.
“A new party!”
“Sale!”
“No money—get lost!”
“What do you want, my girl? Such a beautiful lady needs reliable protection. Take a look . . .”
Weapons, a variety of unique weapons, from the modern to the antique, most likely brought from Earth, from looted museums and private collections. A year ago, the sale of many of these guns was under a ban, which is formally still in operation, but Olga doesn’t see any interest from police androids focused on the arms dealers offering their goods to anyone who can pay a fair price. The old laws collapsed with the old world, and now the main goal is to bring a share of the profits to the owners of the station.
The counters of the chemical and biologics traders begin after the weapons shops. Here, they are offering to purchase almost all organic and inorganic compounds for any occasion. Buyers here are mostly cosmonauts and residents of distant colonies who need chemicals for life support systems and other needs. Chernova and Wolff were already here and bought something, but Olga goes further, slowly exploring all the proposals and temptations that the Winter Fair opens to her.
Having spent many years alone in the High House, the girl often dreamed of visiting one of these fairs on some large colony at a busy shopping intersection where sellers and buyers from all over the solar system converge. In December, trade reaches its peak, and even the all-powerful Grond can’t abolish this old tradition, born long before the era of space flights.
Olga often visited similar fairs in the Matrix: she remembers this lively festive atmosphere well, and she always cherished the hope of ever trying it in reality. But Olga grew up in the High House, then sat in prison, then hid on the tiny asteroids after the lost war—away from Earth and the luxury fairs that take place in the richest colonies. And now, less than a month before her fifteenth birthday, at her first fair, she discovers with annoyance that this festive atmosphere has become almost intangible, if not completely gone. Olga blames this on Grond and the difficult economic situation, not wanting to admit to herself that the real reason is her irretrievably lost childhood.
Maybe in other places where there is no hunger or lack of space, energy, and clean air, maybe in rich colonies, like the Gates of Babylon, they celebrate, as before. Perhaps the celebration didn’t leave from those places. And here is just one more hastily constructed refugee station, which she has seen a lot of in the last year—the same stuffiness, an acute shortage of space, and a feverish whirling of buying and selling, with everyone trying to snatch a piece from his or her neighbor. It’s nothing new.
She would like to be in other places, where there is still fun to be had. Olga hopes to get back to the Gate, but in the meantime, the girl has to settle for this stopover, where the Bolshevik stays for ten hours to deliver the caravan to its owners and make minor repairs. There are also a couple of items of business for which she went to the Winter Fair, having found instead a typical market, with synthetic fir trees scattered in some places and soaring fragments of Christmas films from a century ago.
Grond couldn’t cancel the fair but was able to make significant adjustments to it. There are fewer bright gifts and glittering knick-knacks and more weapons, tools, chemical raw materials, software, and all other essential goods necessary for survival. The buyers are no longer in a hurry to carelessly leave cash, as they were in previous days, carefully picking up goods and furiously bargaining for every ruble. By the way, with regard to rubles, there is one more characteristic sign of the times—cash. Electronic currency has lost the last vestiges of trust, and payment is now exchanged in Stalin’s rubles and in several other currencies, old-fashioned with valuable metals, or in other important things such as oxygen, water, or energy. And, of course, barter transactions, the oldest kind of commerce, have unexpectedly become popular again.
That's the part of the market that she needs—the so-called Boiler. In Winter Fairs here, they are allowed to trade to everyone in the Boiler for a symbolic fee, and this is one of the few old customs that hasn’t been abolished by the Son of Thunder. It’s crowded here; the refugees are in a hurry to sell or exchange their goods to other pilgrims, most often to other refugees. In recent weeks, as the prices have constantly risen, the earthlings and the ruined colonists have often been forced to sell their last property for survival, and in such boilers, it’s possible to purchase various interesting pieces at cheap prices.
But Olga hasn’t come here for refugees. She came here for the wandering merchant, who made another stop at this station. She read his ad, appreciated the offered goods, made an order, and went to the boiler before he flew farther with the next shuttle.
“My girl, today is your lucky day! I accidentally managed to purchase the goods from the garbage collectors. They were lucky enough to pick up a yacht that hit a mine. Look at the brand, evaluate a sample—the product is completely new; the last deceased owner rarely put on this masterpiece of fur art, and you will get it in a completely intact state.”
Thick fur, smooth as silk, with a fine chocolate outflow, made from Russian sables, something that Olga has dreamed of since early childhood. Here they are, in a beautiful fur jacket, just her size. There is a high probability that the jacket was removed from the corpse of the former owner, but that possibility doesn’t affect the fur quality at all. Olga carefully examines the jacket, taking a few hairs to sample. The sample confirms the jacket’s authenticity; these are real skins, taken from real animals, not a synthetic ersatz grown in a tube. She deserves the best, Olga has no doubts, and the sable jacket fits perfectly into this imperative. Especially when sables can be purchased at a price much lower than usual. This is the charm of buying goods of dubious origin in the boiler. This opportunity can’t be overlooked, and the girl gives away half the prize award for the caravan without regret, having made a long-awaited purchase under the gaze of the other participants in the fascinating process of buying and selling.
“Look, I’ll be courteous to you—your offer doesn’t interest me!”
The appearance of a wealthy buyer doesn’t go unnoticed, and refugees come to Olga with various proposals. She immediately sends them away, all but the woman in an expensive but worn dress who looks as if she was yanked from a luxurious reception, stuck in a spaceship, and carried from one station to another for many months.
A woman begs Olga in French to buy her real estate on Earth, presenting some documents as proof. Or, if she can’t buy it for money, then she can give the woman a stock of oxygen cartridges and stimulant capsules in exchange.
“Well, what are you proposing? What real estate? What areas? Name the exact coordinates. Villa on the Mediterranean coast, you say? Let me take a look . . .”
Olga takes the refugee's documents, instantly reads them, and with great difficulty holds back a chuckle. It is an expensive plot of land, a property in a prestigious area on the Côte d'Azur. Well, until Grond twice drove along the Côte d'Azur, first from the north to the south and five months later from the east to the west, this place was really prestigious. Now that the outlines of the coast have changed dramatically, the villa doesn’t even have a foundation. It’s unlikely that this site is worth a week's supply of stimulating capsules and oxygen cartridges. She should have sold the villa and escaped from Earth much earlier, while there was still time; now there isn’t much sense in holding on to such property. However, Olga knows that various clever businessmen, such as Comrade Frunze, are buying up mortgages on the land from refugees for a pittance, hoping to somehow dispose of them in the future.
If that’s the case, maybe she should think about a small land allotment for the future. Perhaps Grond will disappear just as suddenly as it appeared.
“Seven days. A seven-day supply of capsules and regenerators in exchange for these papers.”
“No, you offer too little. This is a very expensive piece of land. It cost millions! At least two months . . .”
“A week’s worth of stock and ten Stalin’s rubles on top of that. This is my final offer. Agree or look for another buyer!”
Carefully ensuring that the sobbing woman correctly filled out all the papers, Olga thrusts into her shaking hands a week's supply of capsules and two five-ruble coins, takes the documents, and goes to the warehouses. The transport she needs is quite close. Quickly paving her way through the crowd, she throws the sable jacket over a light space suit. To the right of her, on the bulkhead, is the emblem of the Red Dawn, which she doesn’t notice before. The growing influence of the Wasp Queen is now felt everywhere.
“Olga, do you know how many sables have been skinned to make such a fur jacket?” Anastasia calls to her through the radio.
“About a hundred. I believe that these sables would be proud to give their fur for such a beauty as I. My ideal figure will emphasize the splendor and beauty of their fur. And beauty always requires sacrifice.”
The transport arrives, and unloading starts. It takes five minutes to complete the paperwork, followed by a bribe to the customs officer on duty, and the little black wheels soon roll silently on the dirty floor. The lights of the yellow, flashing beacon are reflected on the walls, and Olga stands motionless on the cargo platform, watching the common compartments slowly swirl around her. She wants to go home to her tiny but cozy cabin.
Earlier, when her service on the cruiser was just beginning, every docking in each new port was perceived by Voronov as a small holiday. She longed for the opportunity to leave the ship just briefly and see other lands. But then, after the appearance of Grond, everything changed for the worse.
Visits to rich colonies have been left in the past; the warship doesn’t have much need to go to such lands, so she has to dream about visiting the Gates of Babylon one more time. Now, in the intervals between fights against pirates and other criminals, the cruiser is scurrying to various military bases, trading warehouses, and other such trans-shipment points, and those visits haven’t added any pleasant emotions and memories. In such regions, ship crews gather separately from refugees and immigrants in closed bars and recreation areas, occasionally climbing out to perform some kind of trade operation, such as the delivery of several postal numbers. As usual, this honorable work goes to the youngest in rank, and Sergeant Voronov has already accepted this assignment, because she received compensation in the form of an excellent dinner and a sable jacket.
The platform approaches the edge of the pier, under the claws of the overhead crane, which picks up the containers and sends them to the hold. Olga watches them then quickly crosses the transparent pipe, presents a pass to the Marine, and rises aboard. The hatch descends behind her, the transparent pipe disconnects and retracts into the wall, cables and hoses are opened one after another, the pylons are released, and the position lights go on. Twenty seconds later, the Bolshevik leaves the harbor at the slowest possible speed.
The trading station is left behind as the cruiser slowly moves towards the nearest highway, and Olga, instead of going to the saloon, descends into the hold. She wants to be present when the delivered cargo is unpacked.
The earthman who is a passenger of the right container is of average height and age and beginning to grow bald. Judging by his natural tan, he left his home planet relatively recently, fleeing from Grond. During his forced emigration, he became a citizen of some rich colony in high orbits, as evidenced by the identification chevrons on the expensive civilian suit of the newest model. And the characteristic marks of a violent fire on the spacesuit armor indicate that he had to leave his new haven with some adventures. In principle, nothing unusual, and if she doesn’t see his companion, Olga wouldn’t have paid any attention to this space traveler.
In the left container sits a tall blonde guy, a couple of years older than Olga. His suit is an interesting, obviously homemade modification of the combat model, with many improvements and changes not provided for by the original design. The helmet of a self-made spacesuit is already thrown back, and on the guy's head, there is a characteristic black peaked cap. Few people now dare to wear such a cap or make the characteristic tattoo on the fingers that appear at the will of the owner. On his left cheek, the guy has a deep laser burn, almost identical to Captain Klimov’s. The burn is very old, and its owner could have removed it many times but hasn’t done so intentionally. The radiation burn received in combat, a self-made spacesuit, a black cap, and the tattoos are all relevant recommendations, but all these characteristics are inferior to the red star on the left sleeve. This star, with the crossed AK-47, has discovered the entire near and far areas of space over the past year. Not surprisingly, this guy chose this strange kind of travel inside the cargo container—the Red Dawn fighters a
re famous for their improvisation ability and non-standard actions in non-standard situations.
In this case, she sees not a simple fighter but one of the bodyguards of the Wasp Queen. Olga has already seen his face before and knows who he is—she also knows what the reward is that has been promised for his head in a black cap. It’s a huge reward, much higher than the one that was offered for her own head when Jenna announced the hunt throughout Freeport. Or was it Jenna after all?
The earthman slowly regains consciousness after a difficult journey in the container, so Chernova needs to inject a dose of a powerful stimulant to wake up the guest. The bodyguard of the Wasp Queen is naturally not required to participate in such a meeting, and he looks at the earthman in the next box with a lazy, contemptuous gaze, like a full-fledged tiger staring at a grazing antelope in the distance. But Olga meets another look, calm and focused at the same time. The tiger has seen another tiger.
“Where are we?” The earthman, awakened by the stimulator, looks around fearfully. The ship's doctor wants to answer him with a cynical joke, but the second guest of the cruiser beats her to it.
“What you see is what you get—it’s the Bolshevik.”
CHAPTER THREE: UNLAWFUL ENTRY
The earthman’s name is Frank Borgnine; he tells them several times, although the Bolsheviks knew who he was when he first came aboard. Introducing himself several times, Frank quickly expresses his thanks for the shelter, explaining in detail all the difficulties of a dangerous flight, as well as the woes that have struck him in the recent past.
The second passenger briefly introduces himself as “Comrade Andrei” and exchanges handshakes with Elena and Wolff. He doesn’t hold his hands out to Olga, and she doesn’t take offense at all, knowing that for the Red Dawn fighters the handshake is a sign of great respect, which only few deserve. Olga isn’t counted in that number yet, even though she serves on the Bolshevik.
A King Word And a Gun Page 5