“Try it,” Natalia puts on the table some unknown pies filled with butter and cheese. “This is khachapuri; you can’t find it anywhere else here.”
“I've already eaten . . .”
“Try it first, then you can refuse . . .”
Khachapuri is simply magnificent; she has never tried this dish before.
“Thank you,” breathes a happy Olga.
“You're welcome.” Yuri takes a sip of dark beer and continues. “Enjoy, while you can; apparently, our short vacation ends.”
“Are you sure?” Wolff asks, releasing a ring of smoke of an old nut tube.
“Today they’ll announce a new contract. We'll leave here in a couple of days,” Natasha rises. “It's time for us to go.”
They go down to the lower level to a minibus for hire.
“And where is Nastya? I thought she went with you?”
“Our Foxy Lady stays at home; she doesn’t appear in Freeport without a strong need to—she doesn’t like it here," Wolff says, swearing at the pedestrians.
Natasha laughs briefly.
“Anastasia wasn’t born in the type of family that visits local slums; her education won’t allow that. Our Nastya is a daughter of party functionaries of the highest level; she has no relatives in the Navy, a rare case at the present time.”
Olga is distracted from looking around and turns to the navigator.
“Why did she join your crew?”
“Well, ever since childhood, the Foxy Lady has always gotten what she wants. She wants a horse and gets it—a real horse, not a robot, not synthetic. Imagine how much that would cost. She wants a Ferrari, she gets that too—a Testarossa 1985, plus gasoline as long as she wants.”
Natasha, with humor, tells her about the wealth and high position of Anastasia, but Olga understands that the navigator truly appreciates and respects the radar operator, as one professional to another.
“And then she wanted to become an astronaut and enter the Academy, and, most interestingly, her parents didn’t interfere, and even approved, although any other career was guaranteed for her. She was the star of her program, the champion of space volleyball among juniors, Miss Academy 2087, and—”
“And the best graduate at the end of the five-year plan,” Yuri continues. “For her whole period of training, only three marks were “good.” All the others were “excellent.”
Olga whistles in surprise.
“Yes, she has a fantastic talent, in addition to going through intensive practice. Otherwise, Fedor wouldn’t have hired her. All her parents’ money wouldn’t have helped. I must admit that I have never met such an expert radar operator. Nastya can find a beer can and brand name from a distance of ten astronomical units.”
The men nod. Olga notes a healthy relationship among the crew, although she can’t fully understand why a rich girl went to work for the Bolshevik. Perhaps this will be clarified later.
***
For the first time, Olga sees the entire crew of the Bolshevik—twelve people and Sherhan, the commander of the Marines—gather in the saloon at the military council. There are three strangers: Comrade Frunze, who has exchanged his training overalls for gray English suit, as well as a middle-aged man and woman—the Martian colonists, judging by the bronze tan. Both Martians are in military uniform without insignia, and both constantly wear guns.
“Comrade Frunze, our valiant crew is waiting for your proposal,” Klimov announced.
“Then let's begin. First, I once again want to thank all of you for my liberation. Thank you for your work and for your risk, comrades. Second, I want to introduce to you my friends and colleagues, who have a business proposal for your valiant crew—Mr. and Mrs. Norris, ambassadors of the Martian Republic.”
Frunze Anastasovich speaks quickly and clearly and quietly sits down after presenting the visitors.
Mr. Norris briefly thanks the crew for their attention and proceeds to business. The Martian Republic is an unrecognized state in the Mars equatorial regions, where the largest canyon in the solar system stretches for four and a half thousand kilometers—the Valles Marineris.
With the beginning of colonization, Mars was divided equally between the Union and NASA. The American lands were then transferred to the Supernova Corporation. Not being able to fully populate and use territories equal in size to Earth's lands, the colonial administrations leased part of the Martian lands, usually the cheapest plots devoid of minerals and completely dependent on the water supply. However, there was no end to volunteers—the opportunity to obtain clean land suitable for modern agricultural use was attractive to millions.
The Mariner Valleys also went under private management; they include the largest free settlements on the planet. In the mountains and canyons, there were enough minerals for mining industry and engineering, but water left these places in prehistoric times, and the local farmers were thus forced to buy it from the corporation, in return yielding their crops at prices well below market value. Attempts to find other water suppliers were sharply suppressed by the Supernova, which was carefully guarding its monopoly. This went on for almost half a century, until David Patel came.
David Patel was a hydrogeologist who worked all his life for the corporation and developed a new technique for finding deep underground glaciers, rejected as unpromising. Dismissed for waste, he moved to the Valley, where he began to work alone. Luck smiled at him, and Patel found a previously unidentified massive glacier, now named after him, although he didn’t have time to take advantage of the find—the scientist was killed by Supernova, which belatedly became aware of the big mistake it had made in dismissing such a specialist. However, his discovery, which changed the balance of forces on half of the red planet, couldn’t be ignored—the valleys ceased to depend on the supply of water.
The lease contract allowed the colonists to take over ownership of the land permanently if they had enough money to cover the collateral and forfeit. Previously, nobody could do this, and the colonial governor of Supernova, who had plundered the farmers and miners for years, was sure that no one would succeed in the future. But after the opening of the Patel Glacier, the Valleys residents had enough money to redeem their land and declared themselves the first Martian state. The former governor was awarded for this with a free ticket to Venus in a prison transport, and his place was taken by a new manager who had previously successfully suppressed an uprising at the corporation's mines in the asteroid belt.
The new governor didn’t void any of the legal transactions. He began to act with more sophisticated methods, intending to teach a lesson to all other supporters of independence. The freedom of any state rests on the economy, and it was the economy of the Valleys that suffered the main blow: the governor decided to undermine the trade of the young republic. The Martians expected to profitably sell their products to the colonies throughout the solar system—the demand for natural food, organic materials, and medicines is higher than ever. Having earned money, they intended to build their own army and navy, because a country without an army and a navy is worthless. And here the problems started.
To begin with, inexplicable accidents with numerous victims occurred on the Republic trading orbital stations. Then, one after another, merchant ships began to disappear, most of which didn’t even have the time to give an SOS signal.
It became clear that a single merchant had no chance of reaching his destination, so the Martians gathered a caravan under armed escort. The convoy was destroyed by pirates halfway to Earth, and only one broken ship returned to Mars. Officially, nothing happened.
“As a result, in the last four months, we have lost half of our orbital bases, three quarters of the fleet, and most of the pilots. Trade has stopped; our enterprises are on the brink of ruin. When they burn out, Supernova will get everything back, buying it all up at bargain prices and turning our state into a banana republic,” Mr. Norris calmly summarizes.
What is happening on Mars isn’t a secret to experienced cosmonauts. In general, they know about the undec
lared war. Now the word for the Bolsheviks is that it’s time for business.
“So, what can you offer us under these conditions?" Klimov asks, voicing the general question. Norris continues with a confident business tone, as if he is selling real estate on Mars.
“We signed a large contract for the supply of food to the colonies of the Union in the Galilean moons of Jupiter—a quarter-million tons of cargo. If we deliver it in time, the money earned will break the situation wide open. We have transports and crews, but they won’t fly unaccompanied, as this is a sure death. Obviously, the corporation hired bandits who will do everything possible to ensure that no transport reaches its goal. We can’t conduct combat operations in outer space at a great distance from Mars. But you can. As far as I know, your crew has had successful experiences with such operations. You are the best in your business; no one else will have the courage to protect our convoy.”
“Help us, and you will receive not only a standard security fee but also a bonus for every ton of cargo that reaches its destination,” Mrs. Norris first enters into the conversation. “This hasn’t been offered to anyone before.”
For a while, there is a tense silence, as both sides consider the next steps. Then Klimov appeals to the ambassadors.
“We understand. And now, we need to discuss your proposal. I don’t make decisions like this alone. You will have your answer in twelve hours. Have a nice day.”
CHAPTER FIVE: CATCHING THE BULLET
An ashen-gray desert sweeps past the porthole; the Earth hangs low in the black sky above the horizon. Olga absentmindedly watches this silent picture, pondering the events of the last days.
After the Martians leave the ship, Klimov holds a brief meeting. The basic idea is simple—the captain agrees with the proposal. The senior officers—Wolff, Granddad, Chernova, and Severov—support him. The junior officers and sailors can refuse to participate, but if they do, their contracts will be prematurely ripped from them and they will lose their jobs. Accustomed to relying on the captain, the junior officers agree, and naturally, the Marines don’t abandon the prospect of a good fight. Olga also raises her hand in support of the venture. The possibility of such a long space flight and war don’t frighten her; rather, she is surprised that everything has happened so quickly. Now there is nowhere to retreat: every Bolshevik must do his or her best for the success of their common endeavor.
Severov has the last word, and Olga gives him her full attention—she rarely encounters the Commander. “Comrades, suppose we hold the caravan to the destination; the Republic will receive its money, and we our prize. But Supernova doesn’t stop. What if they go ahead and declare war on the colonists? We can’t stand alone against their Martian fleet.”
“We shall not run ahead of the locomotive. It's not about participation in a possible war. Our task right now is to arrive on Mars, gather the traders, and bring them to Jupiter. We'll do the work, get the money, and then act on the circumstances. It's decided.” Klimov closes the military council.
The next day, Olga starts modernizing the ship’s electronics. She has never worked in the Matrix for such a long period of time before, and by the end of the shift, it seems to her that she has lived billions of hours of computer time. The reward for the work is thanks from Uncle Joe and a cash envelope from the captain—having obtained agreement to their offer, the Martians transferred to the Bolsheviks an advance, from which she received her first salary in her new position.
The documents are ready, and Olga gets her first leave. She must use the train to get to the capital of the Union lunar colonies—a railway has been laid between Lunograd and Freeport, along which the passenger-and-freight magnetic “bullet” cruises at eight hundred kilometers per hour.
Arriving at the station with Lobo, Olga buys two tickets, for the first time using a card in the name of Trillian Jones. After making the payment and presenting a card to the Union border guards, she enters the train without any complications. Weapons on board are prohibited, and Lobo has to hand over his arsenal to the armory, although, as Olga suspects, he doesn’t give up all of it.
In less than two minutes, the bullet train accelerates to cruising speed, and the passengers are allowed to unfasten their seat belts and use communication systems. Olga looks out the window for a while and then dials a one-time phone number using the most secure line.
“Hello, Olga, it's good to hear from you.”
“Hello, Frunze Anastasovich. When we said goodbye, you said that I can contact you at this number one time if necessary. The time has come. Can I ask you a couple of questions? I need some financial advice.”
“I'm listening.”
Olga lays out her problem, trying to talk as little as possible. She needs to withdraw money from her old accounts, but being officially outlawed, she can no longer rely on ordinary banking services. However, in the upcoming flight to Mars and even farther to Jupiter, she won’t need cash, so Voronov has decided to invest her money in something better.
“How much money do you have now?”
Olga tells the sum.
“Buy an apartment. A one-bedroom apartment in the working area of Lunograd, a new building. Immigration to the moon is increasing, so prices are steadily growing. Buy now—in four years, the cost will double.”
“I would like to, but I don’t have enough money.”
“Enough for you. One of the local construction companies belongs to me; they’ll give you a discount and won’t ask about the documents. Refer to the number that I am sending now.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Bye.”
In the distance, the lights of Lunograd appear, and Olga clings to the porthole, watching the many miles of skyscrapers piercing the empty sky. Low gravity, zero seismic activity, lack of groundwater, and wind allow the buildings here to reach to unbelievabe heights, impossible on Earth.
Here everything is different, unlike in Freeport. There are fewer open spaces, and the local streets are laid vertically. Lunograd goes up and down, instead of spreading out over the surface. As another plus, passersby are few: this is a working and administrative city; tourists and idle citizens are rarely seen here.
Downloading the newest version of the city map, Voronov orders a taxi and goes to the bank, where she immediately withdraws all her money in cash. Five minutes later, she leaves the bank with a large sum in her hands and orders the taxi to deliver her and Lobo to the address given by Comrade Frunze. The elevator lifts them to the 110th floor of the public building, where Olga quickly finds the real estate office, which she enters through the back door.
She is already awaited by Oksana, a platinum blonde of about thirty. Judging by her accent, she recently moved to the moon from the south of Russia. Her friendly smile fades slightly when Oksana sees Lobo: civilians in Lunograd are afraid of Marines, although they try not to show it; after all, they are supposed to be allies.
“Our common friend encouraged me to devote myself to the matter. We are ready to offer you a one-room apartment, for payment here and now in cash, or a two-room apartment on credit, with a ten-year installment plan.”
In connection with the upcoming assignment, Olga doesn’t want to take on long-term obligations, and she prefers the first option. The contract is signed, and the money is given. Olga receives a biometric key, pays the utility bills for two years in advance, and goes to see her new property.
Her apartment is located in the center of a new skyscraper, where construction is still ongoing on the upper floors. Her floor was sealed just three days ago, but most of the apartments have already been sold, and some are inhabited. The property consists of a fairly spacious room, plus a small kitchen and a bathroom. A large rectangular window opens up a view of the Ocean of Storms, with lights of mining towns and small factories scattered here and there.
“If you want, we can connect a video window with a full set of Earth landscapes. Not all our tenants like this view; it’s too empty and static. I’ve been here almost
two years and still haven’t gotten used to it.”
“I have been living in space all my life, and this view quite suits me.”
“You are the boss. What about the lodgers?”
“What?”
“You said that you’ll be leaving the moon for quite a long time, about a year. We can draw up a lease contract and settle someone here for the specified period, so that the living space makes a profit. During your absence, our company will monitor the site, plus we’ll arrange insurance. How do you like this proposal?”
Olga estimates the possible profit, then again ponders the forthcoming journey. The trip to Mars, the gathering of the convoy, the flight to Jupiter with the speed of transports—yes, rent during this time could yield a considerable profit. Plus, the possibility that she won’t be able to return at all can’t be ruled out.
“All right, I'll rent out the apartment for twelve months. And I need something else . . . ”
An hour later, Olga leaves the office, leaving a copy of her last will in the safe. Now, if she doesn’t return, her parents will inherit the apartment. At the same time, Olga can’t explain to herself the motives for this act. She doesn’t like her parents, whom she has only seen once in her life. Rather, her upbringing as a cosmonaut taught her that everything should be planned in advance, considering all possible options. Now she is determined to do everything she can so that her last will doesn’t come into effect.
Her leave is coming to an end, and still one more thing needs to be done. Here it is—the entrance to the Memorial. Olga buys a candle, a pair of bright scarlet poppies, a faceted glass of vodka, and a piece of real rye bread, and then enters the territory of a huge mass grave, where more than forty thousand townspeople who died in the war are buried.
“Olga, I need to see my friends. There are a lot of them here, too. Can I? In the Memorial, nothing will threaten you.”
“All right, Lobo, I'll meet you at the door in forty-five minutes.”
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