Twilight Watch

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by Сергей Лукьяненко


  He closed the Fuaran. His heart was pounding in his chest. A great power!

  A power that had fallen from a witch's hands and disappeared almost two thousand years ago.

  Owned by no one, concealed even from the Others. Nobody's Power.

  Chapter 1

  I DROVE UP TO THE NlGHT WATCH BUILDING SHORTLY AFTER SEVEN IN THE morning. The deadest time of all-the break between shifts. The field operatives who have been on duty all night have handed in their reports and gone home and, following established Moscow tradition, the headquarters staff won't show up before nine.

  They were changing shifts in the watch room, too. The guards on their way out were signing some papers, and those who had just arrived were studying the duty roster. I shook hands with all of them and walked through without any of the required checks. Strictly speaking, it was a breach of regulations… although this guardpost was primarily intended for checking people.

  On the third floor the guards had already changed shifts. Garik was on duty here and he made no exceptions for me- he inspected me through the Twilight and nodded for me to touch his amulet: an intricate image of a cockerel made out of gold wire. In reference to Pushkin's tale, we called it "greetings to Dodon"-in theory, if a Dark One touched it the cockerel ought to crow. But there were some wits who claimed that if it sensed a Dark One, the cockerel would speak in a human voice: "How disgusting!"

  Garik waited until he was through before he gave me a really friendly smile and shook my hand.

  "Is Gesar in his office?" I asked.

  "Who knows where he is?" Garik replied.

  Yes, that really was a dumb question! Higher magicians move in mysterious ways.

  "I thought you were supposed to be on leave…" Garik said, as if my strange question had put him on his guard.

  "I got fed up with relaxing. Like they say, Monday begins on Saturday…"

  "And you're absolutely whacked…" the other magician went on, growing even more cautious. "Okay, come on… stroke the cockerel again."

  I sent another greeting to Dodon, then stood still for a while as Garik checked my aura with some ingenious amulet made out of colored glass.

  "Sorry about that," he said as he put the amulet away. And added in a slightly embarrassed voice, "You're not yourself today."

  "I was on vacation in the country with Sveta, and a very old witch turned up," I explained. "And there was a pack of werewolves getting a bit out of hand. I had to go after the werewolves, and go after the witch…" I gestured despairingly. "After a vacation like that I ought to take sick leave."

  "So that's it," said Garik, calming down. "Put in an application-I think we still have some of our quota left for restoring powers."

  I shuddered and shook my head. "No thanks. I'll manage on my own."

  After I said goodbye to Garik, I went up to the fourth floor. I stood outside Gesar's reception for a while, then knocked.

  No one answered, and I went in.

  The secretary wasn't at her desk, of course. The door into Gesar's office was firmly closed. But the little "ready" light was blinking cheerfully on the coffee maker, the computer was switched on, and even the television was muttering away quietly on the news channel. The anchorman was saying that another sandstorm had impeded the American forces in yet another peacemaking mission, overturning several tanks and even bringing down two planes.

  "And it beat up all the soldiers and took several of them prisoner too," I couldn't resist adding.

  What was this strange habit some Others had of watching TV? Either idiotic soap operas or the lies on the news. There was really only one word for it-people…

  Maybe the other word was "cattle?"

  But no, it wasn't their fault. They were weak and divided. They were people, not cattle!

  We were the cattle.

  And people were the grass.

  I stood there, leaning against the secretary's desk and looking out of the window at the clouds drifting by over the city. Why was the sky so low in Moscow? I'd never seen such a low sky anywhere else… except maybe for Moscow in winter…

  "You can cut grass," a voice said behind my back. "Or you can tear it up by the roots. Which do you prefer?"

  "Good morning, boss," I said, turning around. "I didn't think you were in."

  Gesar yawned. He was wearing a dressing gown and slippers. I caught a glimpse of his pajamas under the dressing gown.

  I would never have expected the Great Gesar to wear pajamas covered with pictures of Disney cartoon characters. From Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck to Lilo amp; Stitch. How could a Great Magician, who had lived thousands of years and could easily read thoughts, wear pajamas like that?

  "I was sleeping," Gesar said glumly. "Sleeping quietly. I went to bed at five."

  "Sorry, boss," I said. Somehow, no other word but "boss" came to mind. "Was there a lot of work last night?"

  "I was reading a book, an interesting one," said Gesar, pressing switches on the coffeemaker. "Black with sugar for me, milk and no sugar for you…"

  "Something magical?" I enquired.

  "No, dammit, science fiction. Golovachev." Gesar growled.

  "When I retire I'm going to ask to be his coauthor and write books! Take your coffee."

  I took the cup and followed Gesar into his office.

  As usual, several new knickknacks had appeared in there. In one cupboard there were lots of little figures of mice made of glass, tin, and wood and ceramic goblets and steel knives. Propped up against the back wall of the cupboard was an old armed forces reserves brochure with a photograph on its cover of a committee judging a parachute training session, and beside it there was a simple lithograph showing a green forest thicket.

  For some reason-I couldn't understand exactly why-it all put me in mind of the primary grades in school.

  And hanging up under the ceiling was a gold-colored hockey helmet that looked incredibly like a bald head. There were several darts stuck into it.

  I glanced suspiciously at all these items, which might mean something very important, or might mean absolutely nothing at all, and sat down in one of the chairs for visitors. I noticed a book with a brightly colored cover lying in the wire-mesh trash basket. Could Gesar really have been reading Golovachev? But I took a closer look and realized I was mistaken-the title on the book was Masterpieces of World Science Fiction.

  "Drink your coffee, it cleans out the brain in the morning," Gesar muttered in the same tone of annoyance. As he drank his own coffee, he slurped-I almost thought that if I gave him a saucer and some sugar lumps he'd start drinking it that way- straight from the saucer…

  "I need answers to some questions, boss," I said. "A lot of questions."

  "You'll get them," Gesar said with a nod.

  "Others are much weaker in magic than ordinary people."

  Gesar frowned. "Nonsense. An oxymoron."

  "But isn't the magical Power of human beings…"

  Gesar raised one finger and wagged it at me. "Stop right there. Don't confuse potential energy and kinetic energy."

  Now it was my turn to keep quiet, while Gesar strode around the office with his coffee mug, pontificating in a leisurely fashion.

  "First… Yes, all living things are capable of producing magical Power. All living things-not only human beings. Even animals, even grass. Is there any physical basis to this Power, can it be measured with a scientific instrument? I don't know. Possibly nobody ever will know. Second… No one can control his own Power. It dissipates into space and is absorbed by the Twilight-part is caught by the blue moss and part is intercepted by Others. Is that clear? There are two processes-the emission of your own Power and the absorption of Power that is not yours. The first process is involuntary and intensifies as you go deeper into the Twilight. The second is also, to a greater or lesser degree, typical of everybody-both human beings and Others. A sick child asks his mother, sit with me, rub my tummy! His mother strokes his tummy, and the pain goes away. The mother wants to help her child, and
she is able to direct part of her Power to produce the directed effect. A so-called psychic, that is, a human being with truncated, castrated Other abilities, is not only able to influence people who are near and dear to him in a spontaneous outpouring of heightened emotion, he can heal other people or even put a curse on them. The Power that flows from him is more structured. No longer steam, but not yet ice-it's water. Third… We are Others. In us the balance of emission and absorption is displaced toward absorption."

  "What?" I exclaimed.

  "Did you think it was all simple, like with vampires?" Gesar asked with a jolly smile. "Do you think Others only take, without giving anything in exchange? No, we all give back the Power that we produce. But while an ordinary person's process of absorption and emission is in dynamic equilibrium, and the balance is occasionally disrupted as a result of emotional agitation, with us it's different. We are unbalanced from the very beginning. We absorb more from the surrounding world than we give back."

  "And we can juggle the remainder," I said. "Right?"

  "We operate with the difference in potentials," said Gesar, wagging his ringer at me again. "It doesn't matter what your 'magical temperature' is-that was the term the witches used to use. You can actually generate a great deal of Power, and the rate at which it is emitted will increase in geometrical progression. There are Others like that… they give more back to the common pot than people do, but they also absorb very actively. They work on that difference in potentials."

  After a moment's pause, Gesar added a self-critical comment: "But those are only rare cases, I admit. Far more often Others are less capable of producing magical Power than ordinary people, but equally or even more capable of absorbing it. Anton, there is no such thing as the average temperature for a hospital. We're not just crude vampires. We're donors, too."

  "But why don't they teach us that?" I asked. "Why?"

  "Because in the very crudest understanding of the process, we do, after all, consume Power that came from someone else!" Gesar barked. "Look at you, why did you come barging in here at such an early hour? To wax irate and lecture me. How can this be true-we consume the Power produced by people. And you have actually taken it directly, pumped it out, like a genuine vampire. When it was necessary, you didn't think twice. Off you went, in shining white armor, with sadness written large on your noble visage! And behind you little children were crying."

  He was right, of course. Partly.

  But I had already worked in the Watch for long enough to know that a partial truth is also a lie.

  "Teacher…" I said in a low voice, and Gesar started.

  I had refused to be his pupil any more on that day when 1 gathered Power from people.

  "I'm listening, pupil," he said, looking into my eyes.

  "Surely it's not a question of how much Power we consume, but how much we give back," I said. "Teacher, isn't the goal of the Night Watch to divide and protect?"

  Gesar nodded.

  "To divide and protect until such time as people's morals improve and new Others will only turn to the Light?"

  Gesar nodded again.

  "And all people will become Others?"

  "Rubbish." Gesar shook his head. "Whoever told you such nonsense? Can you find that phrase anywhere in even one of the Watches' documents? In the Great Treaty?"

  I closed my eyes and looked at the words that sprang into view; "We are Others…"

  "No, it doesn't say that anywhere," I admitted. "But all our training, everything we do… it's all set up to create precisely that impression."

  "That impression is false."

  "Yes, but the self-deception is encouraged."

  Gesar heaved a deep sigh. He looked into my eyes and said, "Anton, everyone needs their life to have a meaning. A higher meaning. Both people and Others. Even if that meaning is false."

  "But it's a blind alley…" I whispered. "Teacher, it's a blind alley. If we defeat the Dark Ones…"

  "Then we'll defeat Evil. Egotism, selfishness, indifference."

  "But our own existence is egotism and selfishness too!"

  "What do you suggest?" Gesar inquired politely.

  I didn't answer.

  "Do you have any objections to raise against the operational work of the Watches? Against monitoring the Dark Ones? Against helping people, attempts to improve the social system?"

  I suddenly realized how I could strike back.

  "Teacher, what exactly did you give Arina in 1931? When you met her near the racetrack?"

  "A piece of Chinese silk," Gesar replied calmly. "She's a woman, after all, she wanted beautiful clothes… and those were hard times. A friend of mine sent me the silk from Manchuria, and I couldn't really think what to do with it… Do you blame me?"

  I nodded.

  "Anton, I was opposed to wide-scale experimentation on human beings from the very beginning," Gesar said, with obvious disgust. "It was a foolish idea that had been kicking around since the nineteenth century. No wonder the Dark Ones agreed. It didn't bring any positive changes at all. Just more blood, war, famine, repression…"

  He stopped speaking and jerked the drawer of his desk open with a crash. He took out a cigar.

  "But Russia would have been a prosperous country now…" I began.

  "Blah, blah, blah…" Gesar muttered. "Not Russia, the Eurasian Union. A prosperous social-democratic state. Vying with the Asian Union, led by China, and the Conference of English-Speaking Countries, led by the United States. Five or six local nuclear conflicts every year… on the territory of Third World countries. A struggle for resources, an arms race far worse than what we have now…"

  I was shattered and crushed. Totally blown away. But I still tried to object. "Arina said something… about a city on the moon…"

  "Yes, that's right," Gesar said with a nod. "There would have been cities on the moon. Around the nuclear missile bases. Do you read science fiction?"

  I shrugged and cast a sideways glance at the book in the trash basket.

  "What the American writers were writing in the 1950s- that would all have happened," Gesar explained. "Yes, spaceships with nuclear drives… all military. You see, Anton, there were three ways communism in Russia could have gone. The first led to a fine, wonderful society. But that's contrary to human nature. The second led to degeneration and self-destruction. That's what happened. The third way was a conversion to Scandinavian-type social-democracy, followed by the subjugation of most of Europe and North Africa. Alas, one of the consequences of following this path was the division of the world into three opposed blocks and-sooner or later-global war. But before that, people would have found out that the Others exist and wiped them out or brought them under control. I'm sorry, Anton, but I decided that was too high a price to pay for cities on the moon and a hundred different types of salami by 1980."

  "But now America…"

  "You and your America," Gesar said with a frown. "Wait until 2008, and then we'll talk."

  I said nothing. I didn't even ask what it was Gesar had seen in the future, in the year 2008 that was already so near…

  "I can appreciate your emotional torment…" said Gesar, reaching for his lighter. "You won't think me too cynical if I light up now?"

  "Have a glass of vodka, if you like, teacher," I snarled back.

  "I don't drink vodka in the morning." Gesar started puffing to get his cigar lit. "I understand your torment… your… doubts very well. I also do not regard the present situation as correct. But what's going to happen if we all fall into a melancholy depression and leave our jobs? I'll tell you what! The Dark Ones will be only too delighted to take on the role of shepherds of the human flock! They won't be embarrassed. They won't be able to believe their luck… So make your mind up."

  "About what?"

  "You came here intending to hand in your resignation," said Gesar, raising his voice. "So make up your mind if you're in the Watch or you think our goals aren't Light enough for you."

  "Where there's black, even gray look
s white," I replied.

  Gesar snorted. He asked in a calmer voice, "What's happening with Arina, did she get away?"

  "Yes. She took Nadiushka hostage and demanded help from me and Svetlana."

  Not a single muscle even twitched in Cesar's face.

  "The old hag has her principles, Anton. She can bluff with the best, but she would never touch a child. Trust me, I know her."

  "And what if her nerve cracked?" I asked, recalling the horrors I'd been through. "She couldn't give a damn for the Watches, not even with the Inquisition thrown in. She's not even afraid of Zabulon."

  "Maybe not Zabulon…" Gesar chuckled. "I informed the Inquisition about Arina, but I contacted the witch as well. All official and above board, by the way. Everything's minuted. And she was warned about your family. Specially warned."

  This was unexpected news.

  I looked into Gesar's calm face and didn't know what to say to him.

  "Arina and I have known and respected each other for a long time," Gesar explained.

  "How did you manage that?"

  "What exactly?" Gesar asked in surprise. "Mutual respect? Well, you see…"

  "Every time I'm convinced that you're a villainous schemer, in just ten minutes you prove that I'm wrong. We're parasites on people? It turns out that it's all for their own good. The country's in ruins? Things could have been a lot worse. My daughter's in danger? She's in about as much danger as little Sasha Pushkin with his old nanny…"

  Gesar's expression softened.

  "Anton, a long, long time ago, I was a puny, snot-nosed kid." He looked thoughtfully straight through me. "Yes. Puny and snot-nosed. And when I quarrelled with my mentors, whose names wouldn't mean anything to you, I was convinced that they were villainous schemers too. But then they always convinced me I was wrong. The centuries have gone by, and now I have my own pupils…"

  He blew out a cloud of smoke and stopped. What point was there in going on, anyway?

  Centuries? Ha! Thousands of years-long enough to learn how to counter any outbursts from his subordinates. And do it so they would arrive fuming in indignation and leave filled with love and respect for their boss. Experience is a powerful thing. Far more powerful than magic.

 

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