METRO 2035. English language edition.: The finale of the Metro 2033 trilogy. (METRO by Dmitry Glukhovsky)

by Dmitry Glukhovsky

  “Yes, sir.” Artyom smiled at him, but Miller didn’t smile back.

  “Report. What’s happening down there? A terrorist attack? Sabotage?”

  “That’s not the most important thing. It’s at Teatralnaya.”

  “I’m asking you about Okhotny Ryad.”

  “At Teatralnaya, Svyatoslav Konstantinovich. The fascists have attacked. They’re taking over Teatralnaya. And the explosion … There isn’t just one. There are three. They’re cutting off the Red Line, to keep out any reinforcements.”

  “Where did you get all this? All this about the fascists?”

  “I was at … Teatralnaya. I got away.”

  “Anzor!” Miller waved to his adjutant; the pea jacket slipped to one side and fell on the granite floor. People in the crowd gasped and started pointing at the stump and discussing it with relish.

  “Move them away … ” Miller nodded angrily at the crowd.

  The formation instantly disintegrated, turning into a chain, and the chain formed into a circle, forcing the disgruntled gawkers farther away from Miller and the tunnel.

  “Damned military!” the crowd muttered resentfully.

  “Are you sure that they want to take over the station?” Miller asked mistrustfully. “That’s in contravention of the treaty.”

  “They say that if they don’t take it, it will go to the Reds.”

  “What were you doing there?” Miller looked up at Artyom, but it felt like he was looking down.

  “I … can I tell you in person? Tell you in private?”

  “In private … ” Miller touched his sharp knee; his legs were spindly, nerveless, useless. “Tell me in private, right? Anzor!” he said in a low, ominous voice. “We could have guessed about it for ourselves, couldn’t we, eh? About the fascists. Couldn’t we?”

  Several more men in the cordon finally recognized Artyom and turned towards him. That gave Artyom a warmer feeling. Maybe they were smiling under their masks. After all, he hadn’t shown up for two years. But it could have been a hundred and two: If you’ve fought alongside a man, you never forget him. He needn’t have doubted.

  “We could have, Comrade Colonel.”

  “Wait. If they cut off Okhotny Ryad … Revolution Square will be left without any support too. And the only crossing between Teatralnaya and the Red Line is there, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” red-haired Anzor confirmed.

  “If all this is true …” Miller spun his left wheel and turned a half-circle, pondering.” If I were them, I’d snatch the Square as well. This way they’re one station better off, but that way it’s two.”

  That’s right, Artyom realized. It would be stupid not to. Blood will be spilled anyway. Of course Dietmar will try it.

  “The question is, are they biting off too much? Did they manage to cut off the passages?”

  “There’s one they certainly didn’t,” Artyom replied, suddenly realizing.

  “Well that means the Reds will throw their forces in and try to take it back. And what’s that? A large war just one step away from us. From Polis. And on three sides at once.” He raised his left hand and started bending down the fingers one by one.” Revolution Square is next down the line from our Arbat. Okhotny Ryad is just one stretch of line from here, the Library. And Borovitskaya is one stretch away from the Reich at Chekhov. It’ll get to us. The only question is when. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or in a week.”

  Miller surveyed his soldiers; there were exactly enough of them to clear half of the platform.

  “Leave half of them here,” he ordered Anzor.” Take half to Revolution Square.”

  And he trundled off lopsidedly towards the steps.

  “Svyatoslav Konstantinovich … I need to talk to you …”

  “Come.” Miller rolled on without stopping.

  They took him to Arbat, where the colonel had his own quarters. Along the way they didn’t talk. Artyom didn’t want to talk in front of witnesses, and Miller simply didn’t want to. He left Artyom in the lobby with Letyaga and locked himself away in his own office. Anzor, a stranger to both of them, ran off on some errand, and it was only then that fair-haired Letyaga gave Artyom a hug that almost crushed his bones, and winked at him with a squinting eye.

  “How are you?” he whispered.

  “I’m missing it all,” Artyom confessed.

  “Won’t he take you back?” Letyaga nodded at the door. “What’s he being so bloody about?”

  “It’s about Anya.”

  “Well, after all … you did snatch away his little darling!” Letyaga chuckled soundlessly and prodded Artyom in the chest, making him sway.” Do you think he raised her for varmints like you?”

  “And how are you getting on?”

  “They recruited a lot of new guys. After the bunker …”

  Their eyes met for a moment and they paused.

  “Yes. He doesn’t answer. He’s cut himself off. Withdrawn. Won’t talk to anyone. We’ll find him, AlexeI Felixovich. And deliver him. Understood. Yes sir!” The words barely crept through under the door of Miller’s office.

  A brief flash of thought: Who was Miller reporting to? Some Felixovich or other? Miller! To cover his own awkwardness and avoid giving the impression of eavesdropping, Artyom asked, nodding at the closed door, “How is he?”

  “Well now …” Letyaga hesitated and switched to a really soft whisper.” Before he went to the Library, he decided to go for a pee … And in the john he fell off that damned wheelchair onto the floor. Of course, we were standing right there … Outside. We tried to go in and help him up … His legs are no use to him, and he’s only got one arm. He yelled like fury—get out! The stubborn mule spent ten minutes on the floor before he could climb back up himself … And fuck knows how he did climb back with one arm. And all so we wouldn’t see him on the floor without his trousers. That’s how he is.”

  “Ah …”

  “Right … Ah. Okay. But you—what brings you here?”

  “Me? I …”

  Artyom looked Letyaga up and down, evaluating him; in the bunker Letyaga had taken bullets for Artyom when he was sitting on the floor with a jammed breechblock—he’d darted out from under cover and drew the fire. And Artyom had carried him on his back to the paramedic, like a carcass riddled with lead. The paramedic had prescribed death from loss of blood for Letyaga, but Artyom was his blood-group twin, and he’d funneled off a liter and a half of his own blood for Letyaga, and that was enough for him. They took the lead out of him in crumpled little lumps: All the bullets had flattened themselves against Letyaga’s tough flesh. So since then he had literally been carrying inside himself a liter and a half of blood that Artyom had lent him. He kept meaning to pay it back.

  “I was looking for a radio operator. At Teatralnaya.”

  “What radio operator?” Letyaga asked cautiously.

  “There was this guy there … He said he’d found survivors. People apart from us. Somewhere up in the north. It’s a strange story. Do you how many times I tried to do that? Pick up a signal? Nothing … A waste of time. But this guy … So, well I …”

  Letyaga nodded to him. Compassionately, sort of.

  “Oh go to hell!” Artyom laughed and jabbed Letyaga in his rock-hard belly.

  “Artyom!” a voice shouted from behind the door.

  “Act like you’re sane,” said Letyaga.” Maybe he’ll take you back. We miss you here too.”

  * * *

  It was a large room; a perfect match for its occupant. Miller had driven in behind a wide oak desk cluttered with papers. After driving in, he adjusted the pea jacket—and the wheelchair was invisible. As if there was just a man who was feeling chilly, sitting on a chair. The office wasn’t heated, that was all.

  “Letyaga!” Miller barked thorough the doorway.” I need three men, volunteers. To take a little envelope to the Führer. One of them is you. Go find the others!”

  All the walls were covered in maps, with little flags and arrows. Lists of names with
marks after each one: duty rosters.

  And on one wall—a different list, a special one. Long. With a little shelf under it, and a little faceted shot glass on the shelf, half filled with a something murky white. As if someone had already taken a gulp of moonshine out of it with a brief grunt. Someone from that special list.

  But no. It was Miller, commemorating them. In the beginning he used to commemorate them every day, the old crank. But the sleeve of the pea jacket was still empty anyway.

  Artyom felt a lump rise in his throat.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Svyatoslav Konstantinovich.”

  Was Hunter in that list? he wondered. After all, he wasn’t killed in the bunker …

  “Close the door. Why have you come here, Artyom?” Now, face to face, he became harsh and impatient.” What are you doing here, and what were you doing there, at Teatralnaya?”

  “I came here to see you. There’s probably no one else to take this kind of thing to. And there I …”

  Miller didn’t look at him. He was clumsily rolling himself a cigarette with one hand. Artyom was afraid to offer to help.

  “This … It’s makes a strange kind of story. Basically, I’m almost certain that …” Artyom filled his lungs right up to the top with air.” I’m almost certain that we’re not the only survivors.”

  “Meaning?”

  “At Teatralnaya I found a man who managed to pick up a radio signal from another city. Apparently Polar Dawns. That’s somewhere near Murmansk, I think. He talked to them. up there … It’s possible to live … And there are reports that people have come to Moscow … from outside. Probably from there. From Polar Dawns. They showed up at Cherkizovo, on the Red Line. They told people there where they were from … But then, the interesting thing is they were all picked up immediately. According to reports, that is,” he clarified.

  “Who picked them up?”

  “The KGB. And then they started arresting people who’d seen them. And even people who only told others about the story. And apparently they sent them to the Lubyanka. In other words, it’s all really serious. Do you understand?”

  “No.”

  Artyom smoothed down the brush of bristles on his head.

  “No!” Miller repeated.

  “But haven’t … Haven’t you had any reports? About people from Polar Dawns? From your own network? Maybe the group that reached Cherkizovo wasn’t the only one?”

  “Where’s this radio operator of yours? Where is he now?” Miller interrupted.

  “He’s … dead. He was shot. By the Reds. They showed up at Teatralnaya and took him away. The KGB. And …” Artyom paused, piecing everything together.” But it was him they came for … Him and not me. He said there was briefing material from Central Office … About him. So they didn’t have the faintest idea about me just then.”

  “Who? What?”

  Miller lit up and puffed; the smoke went into his eyes, but his eyes didn’t water. The smoke was too heavy to rise up to the ceiling, and it hung in a cloud above the colonel’s head.

  “What if they know about Polar Dawns? What if the Red Line already knows? And they’re trying to keep it all secret? They’re … They’re taking out everyone who finds out about it … Who talked to them … To those others … Finding them and …”

  “Right then.” Miller wafted away the smoke and immediately started producing more of it.” Right. I’m very interested in the Red Line right now. Because at any moment they’ll be at war, or maybe they already are at war, with the Reich. Can you even imagine what that will mean? Teatralnaya is about to turn into a meat-grinder, and the entire Metro will get sucked into it. And that, Artyom … that requires serious thought. From me. As the commander of the Order, I have to think about how to stop these lousy bastards from ripping each other’s throats out. How to protect Polis from them. Our entire intelligentsia with their eyeglasses and fancy bathrobes. And at the same time”—he jerked his chin upwards towards the spot where the white monolith of General HQ towered above Arbat Station.” And at the same time protect all those pensioners who are convinced that they won the Final War and are the only defenders of our Homeland. Our entire magical game reserve. Our entire Metro. I’m against the Reich, and I’m against the Red Line. Do you know how many men there are in the Iron Legion? And in the Red Army? And you know how many I have? A hundred and eight soldiers. Including the orderlies.”

  “I’m willing … Permit me to rejoin the ranks.”

  “Ah, but I’m not willing, Artyom. Why would I want a man here who wanders around in the rain in just his shirt? Why would I want a man here who sees incredible conspiracies everywhere? Has anyone contacted the Martians?”

  “Svyatoslav Konstantinovich …”

  “Or those Dark Ones of yours, maybe? Eh?”

  “Don’t you really give a damn?” Artyom exploded.” All this underground hustle and bustle. Let them do it! It’ll just be one bunch of scumbags devouring another. There isn’t enough space for them here! Or water! Or Air! Or mushrooms! You won’t stop them. And you’ll lose half of our boys again. You’ll lose them all. What will that achieve? What will it decide?” Artyom waved his hand towards the glass of vodka that the dead men hadn’t finished drinking.

  “But the boys swore an oath. And so did I. And so did you, Artyom. If we have to lay down our lives to save this lousy fucking place, then we lay down our lives. And don’t you go flinging them in my face, you young punk. I came out of that bunker a worm with one arm. You came out all in one piece, and for what? So now you can destroy yourself with these expeditions of yours? Have you thought about your children? About what kind of child you’ll have after this little shower of rain? About what kind of child my daughter will have?”

  “I’ve thought about it.”

  “In a pig’s fucking eye you have!”

  “And you, have you thought? About whether it’s possible to leave and go somewhere else? Go back to the surface? Take all of these … outside. If there’s even just one suitable place up there! A place for us, up there, on the surface! Walking in that rain today … I felt like a human being. up there! I don’t care if I do croak after that. Then I came down … into this stench of ours. I want to go back. It’s not only the Reds and the fascists who have turned into animals! We all have! These are caves for cavemen. We’re turning into cavemen! You left your arms and legs in the bunker. In the next war, maybe it will be your head! And who’ll take your place? Who is there to do it? There isn’t anyone. If there’s somewhere to go, anywhere at all, we have to leave here! And now, I’m telling you, it seems like there is! And maybe the Reds know about it.”

  “You know what, Artyom.” Miller’s voice gave out and he started croaking.” I’ve listened to you. Now you listen to me. Don’t disgrace yourself. And don’t disgrace me. The men know whose daughter you married. And all this raving drivel comes right back to me, do you understand that? Don’t even think of telling—”

  “Drivel? Then why bother to waste everyone who saw and spoke to those people … Those others …”

  “Artyom, Artyom! My God, fuck it! What the hell did she see in you? Can she really not see it?”

  “Not see what?” Artyom asked quietly, because there wasn’t enough air to ask loudly.

  “That you’re schizoid! It started with the Dark Ones, and now it’s carrying on with this conspiracy. Those Dark Ones of yours have eaten your brains out. I suppose you’ve made your confession to her, all about the Dark Ones? About how we shouldn’t have hit them with those missiles. How they were really goody-goodies. Angels here on earth. The ambassadors of God. Mankind’s last chance of survival. And we should have just talked to them. Let those brutes get inside our heads. Relaxed and enjoyed it. Like you. Like you!”

  “I …” said Artyom.” Let me tell you this. Yes, I told you all that, and I’ll tell you it again. When we wiped out the Dark Ones, we made the most terrible mistake we could possibly have made. I made it. I don’t know about angels, but they definitely weren
’t demons. No matter what they looked like. And yes, they were trying to make contact with us. And yes, they did choose me … Because I was the one who found them. When I was a kid. I was the first. I told you that already … And yes, they … sort of adopted me, I suppose. But I resisted it. I was afraid they’d slip their hand inside me like some kind of fairground booth puppet and turn me into something—a thing of their own. Because I was a cretin and a coward. And I was such a great coward that just to make sure I wiped them out, every last one of them, with those missiles of yours … Anything to avoid checking what would happen when they started talking to me. And I was such a coward, I realized I’d just exterminated a new species of rational life … and our last chance! To survive! But everyone was applauding me, applauding me for doing that—the women, the children, the men. They thought I’d saved them from ghouls, from monsters! The poor idiots! But I … I! I condemned them! I condemned them to stay stuck under the ground forever! Until they all croak! The women! And their little kids! And the kids they’ll have—if they have any at all!”

  Miller watched him coolly and dispassionately. Artyom couldn’t touch his feelings with anything: neither guilt, nor despair, nor hope.

  “We shouldn’t have done that! Here under the ground we’ve simply turned into such vicious brutes that we attack everyone, we grab anyone who comes too close by the throat … The Dark Ones … They were searching for contact with us. For symbiosis with us. We could have gone back up onto the surface, if we had joined together. They were made … to be our salvation. Sent to test us. To see if we deserved forgiveness … For what we did … To the Earth. To ourselves.”

  “You’ve already preached that sermon to me.”

  “Yes, and to your Anya. I’ve only told you two. No one else. All the others … Even now I’m ashamed to admit it. I was a coward and I’m still a coward.”

  “And that’s a good thing! That you’re a coward! At least you’re still walking around free, and not in a straitjacket in some madhouse, banging your head against the wall. I warned her. The fool. I said you were a raving lunatic! Just take a look at yourself in the mirror. If it was up to me …”