by Alex Sapegin
“The g-gas is gone.” The Lieutenant’s lower lip trembled tremendously. Sweat mixed with tears dripped from his sharp chin.
“Are we far from the city?” Andy asked, picking up the sunglasses from the dashboard and covering his eyes. He couldn’t get into the man’s head; he was in such a state that a mental attack would simply kill him.
“It’s about two miles to the highway and twenty miles from the fork.”
“Well, peace out.” His left hand shot forward. The lieutenant didn’t have time to recoil and only wheezed hoarsely when the clawed fingers clasped his neck. After a few seconds, his body went limp. “Good night, good night, everyone should sleep at night…” said Andy, getting out of the car.
The black claws retreated into his fingers; the scales disappeared on his neck. What if teen zombie hunters suddenly walked by? He’d have to revive them later. There was a great temptation to change hypostasis and get to the city by wing, but an interesting fact came to light from Helmitsky’s memory. Six months ago, many new air defense systems had been put into operation around N-ville and the surrounding area. I wonder how the anti-aircraft gunners would react to the low-flying target? Would they fire a rocket or lift fighter planes into the sky? Getting a rocket in the side would not have been comme il faut. He didn’t know whether his magical shields could stand that. A tight grid of radar stations covered the suburbs of N-ville, so finding a six-ton carcass would be a matter of a few seconds.
The success of Andy’s escape didn’t render him over-confident. First, the military was obviously unprepared for magical opposition and hadn’t developed an acceptable tactic to combat magic. Secondly, the use of Thor’s hammer in the elevator shaft and against the infantry combat vehicles was justified by the fact that the force application vector made it possible to generate a powerful shield and was directed perpendicular from the mage, which in itself created additional protection against surprises. Thirdly, so far nothing larger than a 7.62-caliber bullet from a manual machine gun and a grenade from a grenade launcher had been used on him. He wouldn’t put it past the generals to call bombers in for help or to get rid of the problem by shelling. At worst, they would give him up to be destroyed by volley fire. How long would he last against a deluge like that? Five seconds, ten? Magic is good until it encounters a large-caliber counterargument. To deal with serious toys, megaliths or support from a couple dozen mages was required, who would cover him with shields until the object of fire could calculate the origin of the firing and suppress it. Again, the question of distance came to the forefront. A spotter could coordinate the work of artillery batteries located at a distance of ten, twenty or thirty miles. Missile range was not even worth mentioning. Magic is good and psychologically effective at close distances, when the enemy, accustomed to the fact that “Mr. Colt” is the be all and end all, falls into a stupor from seeing things impossible for mere mortals. Better not open his wings; air defense was serious. He couldn’t save Olga if he died along the way.
Andy ran quickly through the woods. Soon his ears picked up the noise of a motor vehicle passing along the highway. A warm wind brought the thick stench of asphalt into the smell of stale foliage. He had to open his mouth a bit from the overwhelming stink of it. Civilization, Targ take her. He jumped to the side of the road, jogging deceptively slowly toward the city, occasionally sticking his thumb out to the side, but there was no one who wanted to take on a lone traveler. Cars swept past, enveloping him with stale exhaust. After five minutes, he took off his outer clothes and threw them into the bushes. He was wearing a t-shirt and camouflaged trousers tucked into his boots. Right when his patience had reached the boiling point, and the idea of getting to N-ville by wing ceased to seem risky and delusional, he heard loud music from behind. The subwoofer and speakers gave out an English-language rhythm. Probably some sort of rap song.
Tires rustled. A foreign car with an open top stopped near the runner. In the front seats of the cabriolet sat two strong athletic guys, most certainly the children of wealthy parents. With them, they had a gentleman’s set of two brunettes in the back seat.
“Where are we running, bro?” lowering the music, the macho from the passenger seat asked.
“To N-ville.”
“You’ve got a long way to go. Bummer.” The girls in the back giggled. “By the time you get there, your boots will be covered with prickers.”
Andy wanted to break the hoodlum’s neck, but he suddenly added, “Climb in the back seat. We’ll get you there in no time. Girls, make room.”
Without hesitating, Andy performed something rather gymnastic in nature, sliding between the girls like a fish.
“Well now!” exclaimed the driver and supporter of the foreign car industry. “Are you a gymnast?”
“Something like that.”
“Pavel,” the driver introduced himself, pressing the accelerator pedal. The cabriolet sprang into action. In fifteen seconds, the speedometer needle crossed the number 50 and kept going.
“Andy.”
“Vadim,” the passenger said. His palm was wide, his handshake strong and firm. A direct, evaluating gaze of gray eyes met the hitchhiker. His first impression of the fellow traveler was positive. The guy was comfortable in his own skin. “This is Lyuba,” he nodded to the brunette on the left, “and that’s Vera.” The girl on the right smiled.
Andy squinted at Vera. He had seen her before somewhere. A spectacular brunette was a memorable person. Not only that, as he stared at the girl, she also scrunched up her eyes, recalling something. The pantomime didn’t go unnoticed. Vadim looked from Vera to Andy and changed the radio station.
“So what do you do, Andy?”
“Nothing special. Recently I’ve been hanging out abroad more and more.”
The main thing was not to tell a drop of falsehood. Magicians had an unwritten rule in certain conversations when they couldn’t reveal the truth. Not to lie, but not to tell the truth, either. Another world counted as “abroad”...
The cabriolet jumped on a bump in the road. Vera swung towards him. The were-dragon’s nose caught the delicate scent of expensive women’s perfume. A switch clicked in his head. The mask is off, I know you! He remembered where he had seen her. Before his eyes a picture of breakfast appeared, the breakfast he’d prepared for Irina’s friends who had visited the Kerimovs’ house before departing for their next cosplay game. He then invited Vera to skip the game and instead teach him some “lessons of family life,” but it didn’t work out. She was Troll’s friend at the time, and further events forced everyone to forget about any lessons. It turns out Earth really was a small world!
“That’s a cool tattoo,” Lyuba entered the conversation, looking at the dragon surrounded by runes on her neighbor’s left shoulder. “Where’d you get that done?”
“Oh, tattoos like that aren’t done in parlors. It’s a custom specialty.”
“I don’t doubt it. I can see it was done by a real expert. That’s talent,” Vadim said with authority. He obviously knew a thing or two about it. “That’s something not every master can do. Too subtle an image. So, you still haven’t told us what you do in life? Foreign countries are great, except for all the sanctions and stuff. Tell me, where’d you get the scars on your arms?”
“I do historical fencing.” Again, not a word of lies. In terms of Earthly realities, that was true. “My mentors say I’m pretty good.”
“Really? Congratulations.”
At that Vera gasped, moved back from him and pointed at him. “You’re Ira’s brother! But you went missing a year ago!” The brunette’s eyes became as big as saucers. Vadim’s eyebrows went up. Lyuba covered her mouth with her hands. “Vadim, Pavel, remember? Irina Kerimov brought that flash drive?”
“Yeah, because of that, civilians almost shook our brains out? That’s not the kind of thing you forget any time soon. Andy, then, right?” Vadim looked at the guy sitting between the girls in a new way. “What you said about historical fencing takes on new meaning—an
ominous one, I would say, even deadly. So, is it true?”
“Hello, Vera, I’ve been found. You have a good memory. What do you want to know, Vadim, and what kind of truth would you like to hear?” Andy’s face wore a stone expression. Twins almighty, Manyfaces, what did I do to you? Who did I offend and how, that you would set me in the path of Irina’s friends? They’re experienced Tolkienists. Vadim went right to my scars—do they sword fight during their games, too? Try to impress the “elves,” right? Targ love it all!!
“Is it true your dad sent you to another world?”
“Yes.” There was no sense in denying it. Their eyes were burning. The world traveler realized he was in it—deep. His one consolation was that the group entrusted Vadim to run conversation instead of attacking him from all sides with a bunch of questions. The villain fate once again decided to laugh at him. Keep calm. “Pavel, please, don’t stop. I really do need to get to N-ville,” he said to the driver, who decided to listen to the conversation and let off the gas. “As soon as possible.”
“What was it like?” Vadim shook his hand. The women didn’t say anything. They hung on Andy’s every word. It wasn’t every day you met an interworld traveler on the side of the road.
“It depends.”
“Way to sum it up. There’s a recording of you shooting a bow and arrow and shooting lightning from your hands.” The brunettes nodded amicably. Andy remembered the battle in Ortag on the street near the arsenal. “Turns out you learned a lot more than just historical fencing.”
Andy smiled smugly, glancing at the pair of military helicopters heading for N-ville, and suddenly felt like an old man among young children. He was a little younger than their age but older in life. These guys didn’t know what it felt like to be a slave or be in a steel or a notrium cage. They didn’t kill people in bundles to survive on their own, they didn’t… he could list a lot of “didn’t’s.” They found employment and entertainment and looked at his adventure through the prism of their role-playing games, perhaps introducing themselves as steep mega mages. What they dream of with delight, in fact, smelled like the stench of someone releasing one’s bowels. The fairy tale turned out to be cruel and forced the portal jumper to grow up early. The guys sensed his mood and for a while held back their questions, but the spark of curiosity in the girls’ and boys’ eyes suggested that the pause would not last long.
“We’re going too fast,” Lyuba muttered.
“Has anything extraordinary happened in the city in the last hour or two?” asked Andy.
The gang shrugged their shoulders. They were driving back from a lake, and the news didn’t reach them there.
“You can turn on the radio,” Lyuba suggested. “103.1 has news in a couple of minutes; they always have it at six o’clock.”
Vadim poked at the radio buttons. The girl was a bit off about what time it was; the news block had already begun.
“The number of people held hostage by bandits in the First City Children’s Hospital remains unclear. The city’s Internal Affairs Directorate declined to comment. Special forces detachments and anti-terrorism SWAT teams have been called to the scene. We will keep you updated. This has been the leading ‘Radio of our city’...”
“Please, Pavel, I need to go to the hospital.”
“What is it?” Lyuba asked.
“My sister’s there. Olga.”
“I’m on it.” Pavel stepped on the gas. Everyone had heard about Olga’s car accident but Andy, but he sensed that she was one of the hostages.
* * *
Nobody knew how much effort it cost Sanin to order everyone NOT to pursue the car the boy had stolen. First of all, the Jeep was equipped with a GPS tracking kit, so they could follow it by satellite. Secondly, he wouldn’t let them cause any more unnecessary deaths; no sense testing fate. Kerimov Jr. proved to be a tough nut to crack and had left a clear hint by the minimal number of victims.
Major Potsky’s second mobile group would remember this day for a long time, and the fact that only one person was killed and seven others were injured in the collision with Kerimov was of little comfort to the survivors. As Captain Bykov said, “We were dumped in [poo], then our faces were dragged along the asphalt. I’ve never felt like a cockroach in my whole life, but I’ll tell you honestly, I felt it today. Just short of squishing us under his foot!”
It was said figuratively and emotionally, and rather hyperbolically, but in many respects reflected the opinion of those present. When Sanin rose to the surface level, the first thing he did was walk through the places of the “military glory.” What he saw impressed him and led to some unpleasant thoughts. The Major General glanced furtively at the father of the mage-destroyer. Kerimov Sr. took the blow and walked along the pile of rubble with a brick mask on his face.
After the brief excursion, the General and his entourage loaded onto the cars and headed for the helicopter pad, where they were waiting for two transport helicopters and several scientists, among whom stood Irina with a lost look on her face.
“I want to tell you, Iliya, that we are leaving for N-ville, and you are flying with us,” Sanin said matter-of-factly to Andy’s father, nodding to the burly men who helped Irina get into the helicopter.
“In what capacity?” the scientist asked dryly.
“As a deterrent.” Sanin grit his teeth. “To keep him in check. I don’t want anyone to die, but your son’s behavior can’t be predicted and analyzed. We don’t know what to expect from him.”
“You think I do?”
“We suppose, or rather, we hope that knowing you’re there will stop him from blowing the hospital to bits. We missed one important point about which your son, by the way, warned us—he’s not human. Our specialists can’t make a psychological portrait of him, mistakenly driving him into the generally accepted framework.”
“Have the hostages been freed yet?”
“No. In cases of emergency, I have a lot of authority, and I ordered them not to begin the assault until they get special orders.” Seeing that Kerimov was not reacting at all, Sanin continued, “I’m just afraid to imagine what will happen if Olga or your spouse suffer from something done by the special forces.” The General stared angrily into Kerimov’s eyes. His jaw was set. “I wouldn’t like to have to give the order to liquidate him.”
Iliya Kerimov calmly met the powerful official’s icy gaze and pointed beyond the trees.
“How are things over there—or did the building crumble to bricks all by itself? Do you think he’ll ever trust you again? After you refused to let him help my girls?”
Sanin seemed to deflate. The scientist’s words had knocked the wind out of him. Mutual trust. It wasn’t there. Without having had time to grow, it crumbled into dust, and this was the weakest point in the future negotiations with the boy who had returned to the Earth.
“I don’t know, Iliya. I wouldn’t,” the curator of the Center replied honestly. “That’s why you’re flying with us.”
Kerimov said nothing. He could not condemn his son, and Sanin did not either. The General told the scientist the background of the “incident.” Andy did everything he could to bring the cause of his fears to the special services’ attention. When he was misunderstood or ignored, Helmitsky completely lost his memory of the last two hours. Andy had decided to act according to his personal understanding. The authorities of the scientific center conducted a quick survey of the people involved. The person who answered the phone lazily extended the disc with the recording of the telephone conversations and turned away. Iliya was offended; he wasn’t expecting such foul language and threats from his son directed at the telecommunications operator. On the other hand, Andy warned them in plain Russian about the threat, asking to meet with a decision maker right away.
“Please, Iliya.” The General pointed to the rotary-wing machine waiting for the passengers.
“Comrade Major General Leonid Vladimirovich,” the helicopter had just flown off when Lantsov turned to Sanin. “Mehdi’s on
the line. On the encrypted channel. She has some information.”
“Give her to me.” The General nodded to the Colonel, who handed Sanin a small briefcase. With a click, he flung open the top cover to which was attached a fifteen-inch screen. The General looked at the Indian, who was thinking about something, nervously rubbing her chin.
“Comrade General, I do not know if this information will help you, but I think that it might be important, especially in the light of recent… um, circumstances.” The ingenious philologist was the scientific center’s golden acquisition. “I want to draw your attention to the dragon tattoo on the young man’s left shoulder. We have not deciphered the runes around the main image, but…” Then Mehdi clicked on the keyboard of her computer and showed the monitor. “Look, on the right is the image of the tattoo; on the left side of the screen, you’ll see the image taken from the standards of the army of dragons which appeared from nowhere and separated the combatants in different corners. Wait, one second...” She clicked her mouse. The picture of the standard was replaced by a stylized dragon surrounded by runes. “If we understand correctly, and it seems to me that we are not mistaken, the tattoo on the young man’s shoulder is an exact duplicate of the dragons’ coat of arms. I took up the whole second group’s night time and devoted a whole month to the events on Ilanta. The dragons became rulers of the north of the largest continent overnight. I’m not afraid to assume that soon their influence will spread to the entire planet. The resemblance of the coat of arms on the standard and on the tattoo is not accidental. It seems to me that the guy is somehow connected with dragons. For a long time, I analyzed all the facts known to us about the magical world, compared various ritual images, etc. The observers specifically kept a ‘window’ open in all the tattoo parlors they could find for several hours. This image is nowhere to be found. And here it is, quite by chance, on the shoulder of an Earthling. I do not believe in coincidence.”