Koldan looked up. "Boy, I said come here."
Kirill came running like he'd been caught doing wrong, throwing her a guilty look. The conflict of fears writ plain on his face broke Shura's heart. "It's okay, cub," she said, and tried to smile. "It's not your fault." Koldan slipped the restrains over her wrists.
New shadows stretched around them as a different light lit up the clouds from below. A noise like an avalanche went up, quickly growing louder. From the corner of her eye, Shura saw a wall of dust racing towards them, knocking over Koldan's aircraft as if it were a toy. The force that struck her knocked the breath from her limp body and sent her skidding across the dirt. Koldan was sent flying. Kirill had thrown himself on the ground and crawled towards her, squinting to keep the dust out.
The violence dissipated, leaving the air hazy and brown. Some distance away, Koldan coughed and scrabbled in the dirt. With all her might, Shura managed to move one arm a fraction, a feat that inspired a surge of meaningless hope. Kirill grabbed that hand, and his dirt-smeared face came into view. "Aman, get up! We have to run!"
"I can't, Kiri. I'm hurt. You have to go. Go to the ships. They'll take you somewhere safe. You have to get away."
Kirill looked to his side. "I don't know how!" he wailed.
"Of course you do," she pleaded. If he lost it now, it would be all over. "Just run away!"
"Yes." The word came like a sob. Kirill didn't move, but kept looking off to the side. "But I'm already scared!"
She started to reply before she realized he wasn't talking to her.
"I don't get it," he moaned, his voice febrile with panic. "I can't do it!"
Koldan appeared beside her, his hair a mess and a bloody scrape on his cheek. Something had changed in the auditor's cold regard. His movements were jerky, and he breathed too quickly. "Kirill, go now!"
Kirill got to his feet, arms shaking, and drew himself up. His face twisted into an expression she'd never seen before, a mix of primal dread and infantile rage. "I'm too scared!" he shrieked, the shrill tone stabbing at her ears.
Now she felt it, like a solid wave of panic rising up to drown her. She could do nothing. This evil man, who believed with all his heart that she'd done a terrible thing, had them in his power. They would be evacuated, just so they could be censured.
Seven years of living in fear, finding loopholes and avoiding scrutiny any way she could. It had all been for nothing. Seven years. That was all she'd gotten him.
Whimpering, she tried with everything she had to move her legs. One knee rose a few inches, followed by the other. Not enough.
Koldan squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something to himself. Dirty sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes, forcing him to stop and wipe his face with his sleeve. She felt his arms tremble as he reached for the restraints he'd never managed to lock.
"What are you so afraid of?" she rasped.
"Shut up," he said, his voice a plea.
"You sh―you should run away! Th―the floaters are coming and they're gonna kill you!" Kirill shouted. Each word landed in Shura's gut like a physical blow, magnifying her panic. Every breath came faster than the last as the feeble remnants of her self-control dissolved, along with the fleeting question of why her son's voice made her feel this way.
Kirill gave a wordless scream, and two fist-sized red eyes opened in the air next to him. The dust underneath twisted into a floating, weaving, transparent shape, a nightmare materialized. It drifted towards them, slow, inexorable, merciless. Its fiery gaze seethed with cruelty.
Koldan gave a wild scream and stumbled back, falling on his back. He struggled to his feet and fled into the haze, dust swirling behind him. Shura closed her eyes and screamed, raging fear shredding her thoughts.
Kirill threw himself at her, bawling, pulling at her arm. She managed to lift it and wrap it around him. "Go away!" she shrieked.
"We have to go!" Kirill said, and wriggled in her arm.
She opened her eyes. The shape was gone. "Kiri, what was that?"
He pulled on her arm. "We have to go now! They're gonna leave us!"
"Help me up."
Her limbs still felt like limp noodles, and it took all Kirill's strength to get to her feet and throw her bag over her shoulder. She leaned on him as much as she dared and let him guide her through the murk. They passed the wreckage of Koldan's aircraft and the dim shapes of the spaceships came into view. It took forever to get close enough for the guards to see them and rush over to help. Shura allowed herself to be carried inside, hoping only that Koldan wouldn't make it to the same ship.
Chapter Thirteen
"You sure took your sweet time about it!"
Khariton and the guards of First Squad followed Raisa as she climbed over an elaborate barricade into the cavernous shaft room. He moved over to allow Naum to be carried inside. The heavy weapons expert had taken a glancing hit to the leg, scooping out a chunk of muscle. The suit had sealed the wound and kept the pain under control, but it couldn't make him walk.
The rest of the guards clambered over the obstruction to join Raisa. Talent Demyan came through last, surveying the area with a single glance. "Rad, watch the barricade," he said.
"Yes, sir," Radomil said, and slipped past Khariton to take position at the entrance.
Some two dozen survivors awaited their arrival, only half clad in ACS. The rest wore basic orange environmental work suits, and each looked like repairs had replaced most of the original material. The two groups stood apart, a detail that left Khariton uneasy. After a glare at the man who had spoken first, one of the guards came forward. "I'm Talent Afon. In charge, I suppose."
Raisa nodded. "I'm Chief Raisa, 114th Advance Guards. We're securing the station right now, but floaters remain outside the walls. How are you doing in here?"
Afon looked back at his fellow survivors as Manya and Nikifor carried Naum to a spot where they could lay him down. "We're out of everything. Even water; after the floaters took the living quarters seven days ago, we couldn't get more. No pressure since the inner wall was breached. We got maybe forty rounds a barrel left. Nothing heavy. We lost..." He fell silent. After a pause, his lip quivered. "What the fuck took so long?" he snapped, and looked away at once, chest heaving.
"We came as fast as we could, Talent," Raisa said quietly. "We're here now. We'll get you out before nightfall. It's just about over."
"And what happens to the station?" the same nasal voice that had offered the derisive greeting cut in. The diminutive figure stalked towards Raisa. "I didn't drink my own piss for a week to let the floaters take all my hard work home with them."
Raisa's head turned a fraction. "Who are you?"
"Fima." He aimed a thumb at himself. "I'm the guy whose research we're putting into practice here. You didn't answer my question."
"Because I can't," Raisa said, her tone dry. "Outside the scope of this operation. I was ordered to defeat the enemy and evacuate the survivors, and that's what we're going to do."
"I'm not leaving until you guarantee me someone is coming to take care of this facility, or at least taking the equipment out. Don't you think there's a good reason the floaters came here?" He gestured at the shaft in the center of the space. "Compound armor almost three times denser than that polysteel crap. Hyperconductors virtually eliminating response times. This could win the war!"
Demyan stepped up to him. "Chief Raisa is much too polite to point this out, but you're going to be on that lander, conscious or otherwise. Your choice, but―" He shrugged. "You know. Not really."
Fima turned to Demyan, fists raised. He stood over two heads shorter than the talent. "Why don't you try it―"
"Fima," Raisa cut in. "If the Commonwealth considered this base expendable, we would have destroyed those sections held by the floaters and evacuated you after making sure nothing else was left alive. That said, Talent Demyan is right. You might want to sit down before you force him to embarrass you in front of your team." Fima scoffed and looked Demyan up and down
before walking away.
Talent Afon said, "What do you need from us, Chief?" Khariton winced at the bone-deep weariness in the guard's voice.
"Help keep this area secure," Raisa said. "It's our command post for the rest of the operation. Taras, Manya, take a look at these people."
Med tech Taras joined the ragged survivors. Manya still fussed over Naum, ignoring his attempts to wave her off until he said, "Really? You're gonna make me look bad in front of these people?"
"Rot, then," she muttered, and did as she'd been told.
Specialist Faddei came up to Afon and offered her canteen. For one second he held it still, staring at the oblong container, before he slowly raised it to his mouth. His suit made contact and created a seal, and he drank deep.
The rest of the squad followed suit, sharing their canteens with the other survivors. Khariton had to stay behind, because he hadn't brought one. He feebly searched for something to say that would explain his oversight without being too obvious, and found nothing. He'd managed to exclude himself once again.
Instead of standing around feeling stupid, he surveyed the space. Alcoves spaced regularly along the circular walls held supplies and machinery, most of which looked improvised. A massive drill head dangled over a meter-wide shaft, held up by a tripod structure that looked solid enough to carry the entire planet. A nest of blankets probably served as a sleeping area.
His inspection complete, he turned back to see Raisa and Afon conferring on the other side of the shaft. Squad medics Taras and Manya worked on the wounded while the rest of the guards stood with the survivors. Gerasim held an engineer in a gentle embrace as the orange-clad figure trembled and shook its head. Second-in-command Faddei sat with another one, nodding occasionally and reaching out once to rest her hand on a shoulder.
"Like a rat's nest, isn't it?"
Fima stood next to him. Khariton caught a glimpse of sharp, rodent-like features behind his faceplate and wondered if the man's own appearance had inspired the analogy. "In a way."
"A lot of ways." Fima shook his head. "It got real ugly in here. Had the ghost shield go out a couple of times. That's a fine way to spend an afternoon. You gotta race 'em, you know. You only got a couple of minutes before they start sabotaging your shit. If you don't get it up again quick, they start breaking stuff faster than you can fix it. And before you know it, your dead buddies show up to watch you work. Tons of fun." He nodded in Afon's direction. "You know why he doesn't like me? Because I know what needs to be done. Hard facts. I told him right from the start, pull back to the shaft room. All our work's in there, the one thing the floaters are after, and the ghost shield generator on top of that. He wanted to fight for the living quarters, because he had wounded there that couldn't be moved. Big fucking deal. They took it anyway in the end, the wounded died, and the only difference was he lost people defending it." He stepped closer. "I know you get it. That's why you need to talk to that chief. I saw you. Same rank, but no authority. What are you, an observer? I know you're not one of these maniacs. Talk to her. Orders be fucked, she's in charge down here. Tell her we need to save this research!" He closed his hands into fists. "I spent twenty-one years making this work. She's going to ruin it!"
Khariton knew he was right. Raisa could make the call to Mitrofan and request evacuation of the machinery and research samples. For all his ego, the man might even be right to say his work could change the tide of war, but the words tasted like bile in his throat. He felt a far greater need than to agree with Fima's logical argument. "I'm sorry about your research," he said, jaw trembling. "But I am one of these maniacs."
Fima's mouth slowly opened, then snapped shut. He turned away with a sneer and stomped off to the bank of machinery along the wall. When Khariton looked back, he saw Gerasim had watched the exchange. The guard gave him a nod and a thumbs-up.
"All right," Raisa said. "First Squad, let's get out there and bring in the wounded. You know what to do. Taras and Manya stay behind."
Demyan gestured for his guards. As they gathered, he sent them out to the other squads in pairs, following the last pair out by himself through the narrow opening in the barricade.
Khariton walked over to Raisa. "What should I do?"
"Take over guarding that entrance," she said. "I don't know if we missed any floaters in the sweep."
Khariton took his position by the door, stomach tingling. The other four quads still hunted floaters in the station's cramped passages, and although he'd seen the meticulous way they'd swept the approach to the shaft room, the nightmare maze of conduits and tight corners offered plenty of opportunity to hide. He rested his rifle in a narrow crack and peered down the corridor.
Time crept by, until Demyan curtly announced the approach of friendlies. Khariton checked his chronometer and realized with shock that fifteen minutes had passed. Seconds later, the first pair of guards turned the far corner. Each one carried another, and Demyan brought up the rear with a limp figure over his shoulder. Khariton put his rifle away and helped carry the wounded over the barricade.
Two of the injured guards had lost limbs, and a third looked like some giant predator had taken a bite out of his torso. Taras worked on him with frantic energy, her tools slipping through the suit's material without breaking its seal.
"You're relieved," Nikifor said, and took Khariton's place at the door.
Raisa wasn't done talking to Afon, so he found Demyan. "Anything I can do?"
The talent looked him over. "Are you trained to render medical aid to suit bearers?"
"No."
"Just sit tight, then." He hesitated. "That was a good call out there, earlier."
Pride rushed up into a wide smile. "Thank you―"
"Varlam is dead," Taras said. She shook her head once as she withdrew her instruments from the dead man's suit, and moved to the next injured guard.
Demyan's face hardened as he turned away, joining Nikifor at the barricade. Varlam's suit slowly changed shape, hardening into a shell to ease transportation of the remains. Khariton stared at the oblong shape. That man had been alive when they'd landed on Matrix. Sometime between then and now, he'd found the end to his life. Had he ducked faster, had someone else gone before him, he'd still be alive and someone else's flesh would be cooling inside the rigid case made by the suit as the last service to its operator.
It could have been him.
That thought, one he'd known to be true even when he'd just embarked on his assignment to the 114th, now shocked him with its gravity. How did these people live with such intimate knowledge of their mortality? How could anyone stay sane in the face of such persistent reminders that their lives, the entire sum of their existence, could be taken away at any moment?
Gerasim stood next to him. "Making you think, right?"
Khariton nodded, ashamed at the comfort the guard's sudden presence offered him.
"Everybody asks the question some time. Why him? Why not that guy?" His voice trailed off into a pause. "There's no answer. His luck ran out. That's all it is. Everybody gets a share, except nobody knows how much, so you just do what you do. Trust your buddies, and hope you stay lucky. Until you're not."
Gerasim's words filtered through his mind like a soothing balm. "It could be worse," he said.
"What?" Moisey said in a dangerous tone. He'd been sitting close to the shaft, studiously checking his weapons, and came to his feet in a fluid motion.
Fear sank into his gut. "One could do worse, I mean. Than dying in the presence of friends."
"Oh, because you would know." Khariton had no answer. Moisey took a step closer. "You spend one fucking day out here, and suddenly you're the expert. I'm so glad they sent us some tuber piece of shit to tell us―"
Gerasim's fist connected with the angry guard's faceplate, rocking his head back. Khariton stepped back, sucking in a horrified breath.
"Gerry!" Demyan snapped. He covered the distance from the entrance in no time, placing himself between the two guards. Gerasim looked past th
e talent at Moisey. "Tuber piece of shit? Is that right? I guess it's good to know where I stand with a comrade!" He pointed at Khariton. "That's a chief you're talking about."
Demyan glanced over his shoulder. "Moisey, go watch the barricade." The guard hesitated, still staring at Gerasim. "Go!" Demyan snarled, and Moisey spun away into a stiff march to join Nikifor at the entrance.
"What's wrong with you?" the talent said to Gerasim. "You're acting like a Regular."
Gerasim stood painfully straight. "A momentary lapse in judgment, sir," he said in a monotonous voice. "I apologize."
"Don't start with this shit, Gerry. I have enough hotheads already. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll deal with you when we get back." Demyan walked away.
Gerasim glanced at Khariton. Torn between dismay at the conflict he'd caused and gratitude for the guard's words, he didn't know what to say, and only managed a nervous smile and a nod. Gerasim gave him a wink.
When Khariton looked away, he caught Raisa's eyes. She'd watched the incident, and now came over. "Walk with me," she said. He followed her to one of the alcoves in the wall. "You're doing well," she said. "That call during the approach made our lives a lot easier. But let me give you some advice: don't open your mouth so much until you've been here for a few weeks and you have an idea of how these people think and feel. They're still trying to figure you out. Let them get used to you being here, and in the meantime, you can get used to them."
"I appreciate your advice," Khariton said, and meant it. "I never really know what to say. I don't know what it's like to be a part of anything."
She searched his face for a long moment. "Do you know what they call you now?"
He shrugged, stung by her question. He didn't need reminding that these people saw him as an outsider. "Tuber?"
Raisa gave a rueful chuckle. "They call you "animal." On account of the way you run in your suit. They all know it was you who sniffed out the trap."
A surge of pride welled up into a wide smile. Relief and delight forced a single barked laugh from his throat. "Animal." He could taste the name.
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