Crown of Horns

by Alex Sapegin

  “Andy!!!” Olga yelled. “Dad—that’s Andy!”

  “WHAT?!” a few people, including Kerimov, cried at once.

  “Denis, give me visual on him—zoom in as much as possible!” Kerimov said, jumping up from his seat.

  “I can’t, it won’t go any closer!”

  “Darn!” Kerimov hugged Olga tightly.

  It can’t be. This cold-blooded killer can’t be my Andy. But his voice…. And the natives probably don’t know how to swear in Russian. In just a second, his son dealt with the swordsman by chopping off his legs. The crowd rushed at him. A short bolt of lightning shot from Andy’s left hand. The guy with a white armband who fell victim to the bolt shrieked and fell to the ground to be trampled by the crowd.

  Andy moved backwards. He’d lost one sword. The blade got stuck in a thick wooden shield. The bolts of lightning his son gave off beat down even the most eager opponents.

  “Put the ‘window’ behind him—we have to give the impulse to open the portal—quick!!!” Kerimov shouted at Remezov. “All operators take your places according to the regulations. Begin.”

  “Boss, we’ve never done that before!”

  “Quickly!” the director of the institute became livid.

  Arrows with luminous tips flashed over Andy’s head. Fiery pillars swelled in the crowd of people who pounced on the lonely warrior. The grim reaper harvested another few souls. The new death-dealing treats blew a second row of soldiers to bits. Remezov hadn’t yet positioned the “window” behind Andy’s back when the aforementioned bearded men in horned helmets began to jump out of the alley at the people beaten down by magical arrows. The white armbands started throwing their swords on the ground.

  “Denis!” Kerimov dashed to the main operator’s work station.

  “I’m ready. Send the impulse to the internal circuit!”

  There was no response to the command. The lights went out.

  Darkness fell on the learned company, mitigated only by the light of the monitors, still running on battery power. The back-up power generators kicked in with a strained squeak.

  “Why’d it shut down?” Denis said awkwardly.

  “Lukyanenko, check the electrical control room,” Iliya Evgenevich ordered in a calm and somewhat lifeless voice. The senior technician galloped off to the electrical panel. Petrovich turned on the emergency lighting. Four dim lamps flickered on beneath the ceiling in explosion-proof cases. “What luck….”

  There was no need to explain to anyone present the sarcasm of his phrase. Denis and the others guiltily avoided eye contact with Kerimov. He was a scary sight just then. It seemed that the boss had put on a white mask instead of a face and had drawn dark circles around his eyes; his gray bloodless lips whispered something inaudibly. Olga put on her glasses, jumped off her chair and went to her father. Kerimov pressed his daughter to him:

  “It’ll be okay…”

  “I know,” the girl answered.

  “You know, don’t you,” the scientist smiled through his tears. “You little smarty. Don’t tell mom, okay?”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Good girl.”

  “That’s all for today.” The senior technician walked in. He smelled strongly of fused insulation and singed wool. The burnt body of a large rat fell to the ground. “It chewed on the divider, the brute. Just look what it’s done. We’ll have to change the cable funnel of the six-cable, and maybe the cable itself; there’s no reserve, and the main machine in the switchgear is zero four kilovolts. Well and so on.”

  “Do you need help?” Iliya asked. Olga grabbed her father around the waist.

  “I need money. I’m going to the grid.” Lukyanenko kicked at the charred rat corpse and called one of his junior workers over: “get rid of this.” The poor guy carefully picked up the rat by the tail and hurried to the hall. Vasily turned to their leader and continued their choppy conversation: “I’ve got a pretty good idea of some of the figures. It’ll cost about ten grand to fix it, maybe fifteen.”

  “Vera,” Kerimov addressed the commercial director’s secretary, who was pale as a sheet after watching the epic “historical film.” “Write Vasily an expense allowance for twenty thousand. Will that do?”

  “Yes,” the senior technician nodded. “Can I take a company car?”

  “Take the field vehicle. When will you get it up and working again?”

  “By this evening,” Vasily answered and left.

  “Let’s go home, hon. Wait, wait a minute honey,” Iliya stopped next to Denis. “This is what I’ve thought of, Den. Oleg warned that you quantized the internal circuit with a tiny pause in the temporal flow…,” Remezov nodded. “You and Alex, calculate the possibility of working with the opposite flow. That is, the puncture will be backwards, as I see it, that calculation will be relevant for simple spatial portals within our old woman-Earth. The visual ‘window’ will be easier to open, and then, as in a lighthouse, we penetrate the subspace transition. Petrovich?”

  “I’m here,” Petrovich spoke up.

  “I’m going home. You’re in charge. The guys should whip it into shape. We’ll run a test of the apparatus tomorrow. Come to me…,” Kerimov picked up Olga in his arms and followed John out the door.

  The institute employees silently watched the director’s powerful figure retreat. He was a dark silhouette covering the light from the window at the end of the long corridor. The gang couldn’t shake the feeling that the ash from his burnt soul had settled on them all. Oleg Chuiko stared at the blackness of the screen, unseeing. He wasn’t the only one to notice the change that took place in his boss. The boss’ temples, just two hours ago only slightly gray, were completely white.

  Russia. N-ville. Two days later…

  “Iliya, Iliya!”

  “Huh? What?” Kerimov snapped out of his memories and looked at Bratulev. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

  “I can see that,” the oligarch smiled. “Let’s drive over there. Tell me, did you step up security on site?”

  “No, no one increased the staffing schedule of the security service.”

  The train of vehicles bypassed the security stop and, driving up to the main building of the institute, stopped.

  “Strange,” the “aide” said from the front seat when he saw people coming out to meet them.

  “What?” the oligarch caught his bodyguard’s worry.

  “Now they’ve done it… if my senses serve me correctly, the site is no longer yours. Guards don’t carry submachine guns.”

  A smart-looking young man approached the Jeep. Behind him stood another greeter: an elderly man with a handsome dark face, a serious gaze, and an air of authority. These two men were not institute or security employees. Kerimov saw how Bratulev tensed up. He noticed a flash of recognition in his eyes. Bratulev opened the door himself and stepped out of the car.

  “Hello, Mr. Bratulev,” the elderly man greeted him.

  “Hello, Major General.” The oligarch seemed to be deflating like an air mattress.

  “Mr. Kerimov,” the general addressed the scientist. “This concerns you too. What are you looking at? Take us to your office.”

  “What do you need me for?” Kerimov played the fool. The general wasn’t playing along for a split second and only shook his head judgmentally.

  “Mr. Kerimov, we’ll have a separate conversation with your former employer somewhere else, in a more private setting. But with you, I’d like to discuss the conditions under which you can continue your work…”

  Kerimov walked along the corridor trying not to pay attention to the smart young men and women filling his colleagues’ offices. The uninvited guests were printing papers and packing archives and computers into numbered boxes. Living statues in bullet-proof armor holding short automatic weapons stood on every corner. He felt extremely uneasy. The general’s mentioning that it would be possible to continue his work inspired hope, but what was the catch?

/>   Bratulev was not allowed into the building itself. The other secret serviceman who had approached Bratulev and his bodyguards asked Konstantin Ivanovich to follow him to a guest house, where … was waiting for him…. Iliya didn’t hear the last name of who it was that was expecting Bratulev in the guest house. But judging by the businessman’s reaction and that of his “aide,” he ascertained that it was someone Bratulev knew. The “aide” adjusted his tie and tugged at his suit coat. Bratulev glanced about as if he were being hunted down. Emitting a blue solar exhaust, three heavy-duty trucks and a Kamatsu truck crane drove into the Institute. The loaders had come.

  “Hello, Nastya,” entering the reception room, the former director greeted his former secretary, who, sure enough, was still at work.

  Kerimov rarely visited his personal reception room. He preferred to work in his office, which was located next to the operator’s room. Nastya, who was more often than not left to her own devices, had created a kingdom of flowers in the room. She had a real talent as a florist. For all the abundance of greenery, she did not thoughtlessly fill up vacant places, but distributed beautiful thematic compositions to the offices. Truth be told, the scientists came here to admire the flowers and relax. Iliya had brought the secret service General here with a specific goal in mind: the room so pleasantly refined by the secretary put people in the mood for light conversation, not forced bargaining. The General appreciated Iliya’s subtle move but didn’t let on.

  “Nastya, could you make us some coffee, like you do, with the herbs,” Kerimov asked her. “Please,” he opened the door for the tall guest. “Don’t let anyone in to disturb us.” Iliya looked at the broad-shouldered guy standing near the reception room door. Nastya smiled slightly. “And don’t forget, two coffees only. Don’t make any for our young gentleman—he’s on duty!”

  Nastya snickered into her fist. She too felt uneasy about the new arrivals, but she was more confident now, following her boss’ lead. Iliya Evgenevich closed the door. The young secret serviceman would get a cup or two of the aromatic beverage, no doubt.

  “What kind of conditions are we talking about?” Kerimov took the initiative in the conversation, sitting down in a wide armchair. The general was seated comfortably on a small leather sofa. He smiled with just the corners of his lips, tapped a folder he’d brought, loosened his tie, and responded:

  “Mr. Kerimov, I’d like to clarify the priorities right away. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us—nothing left unsaid. I can tell you we’re most extremely interested in continuing the research.”

  “Hm, your words give hope, but you mentioned conditions, so that means there’s a catch. Just your interest isn’t enough to keep the research going. We need a team for that, that knows what it’s doing. We need scientists united in mind, equipment and a whole staff of specialists to maintain this equipment and, something that’s also important, we need these scientists to actually want to work. So, you have to keep them interested somehow. If you don’t have any questions regarding the equipment, please take it away quietly. You know, working with people requires a lack of inhibitions during the thought process. It’s not 1937, you know5.”

  The general shot the scientist a piquant look.

  “It would be a lot simpler if it was,” he said. “Can you even imagine what this discovery means?”

  “I can,” Kerimov answered.

  “You can’t imagine anything!”

  There was a cautious knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Kerimov allowed. Nastya walked in carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, a coffee pot, and a small basket of sugar cookies. The room was filled with a delicious aroma. The general’s nostrils fluttered.

  “Thank you so much.” Nastya smiled at the general and slid out the door, not forgetting to close it firmly behind her.

  “How nice,” the general said, swallowing. “Hm, back to business,” Leonid Vladimirovich Sanin again took on a serious tone. “What were we talking about?”

  “About realities.”

  “Exactly, about realities. And today they are such that we can get into an unpleasant tangle of global proportions. Your discovery, Mr. Kerimov, disturbs the entire system of political counterbalances in the world.”

  “Which one? Major General, you said you did not want any misunderstandings between us, so I’ll ask you to clarify—which of my discoveries? Don’t think me stupider than I look. I’m not a system analyst, but I can analyze. Your agency remained completely invisible to us until just recently; therefore, you’re interested in the result we achieved in building passageways within the borders of Mother Earth. But as far as interworld portals, you’re prepared to let that go for now… I just have to clarify which exactly you’re prepared to sacrifice and why. Regarding the first scenario, I agree with you completely. The Earth portals are a bomb, much more frightening than any nuclear weapon…”

  The general smiled a child-like smile at the scientist’s naive words.

  “And all the same you’ve decided not to disarm the portal mine but to continue research in this field. Why?”

  The representative of the competent authorities ceased his smiling. General Sanin carefully set his empty cup down on the coffee table. He looked at Kerimov, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded.

  “You do know how to steer a conversation, Mr. Kerimov. Not everyone can go from the circumstances of collaboration to the cause and effect in two sentences. Well, it’s even more interesting that way. You, you’re old school. You won’t try to dissect my every word into the smallest details. Please don’t interrupt.” Leonid Vladimirovich stood up and, folding his hands behind his back, started to pace around the room. Kerimov waited patiently.

  “Let me say again: the state, represented by us, is extremely interested in continuing this research, and it will go on, here. With or without you, but better with. Now I’ll go over the ‘what,’ ‘why,’ and ‘how.’ What can the new worlds offer Russia? It’s a question with a wide range of answers: from free territory, fossils, farmland in zones, let’s say, of not risky agriculture, to new technology, new markets, and a solution to the problem with our demographics. That’s one. The possibility of evading international tension. That’s two. New allies, devil take it, that’s a possibility too. That’s three. Clean worlds, unspoiled by civilization, will be a beautiful bargaining chip in our negotiations with the rest of the world and with those high-tech civilizations you’ve discovered. That’s four. Don’t judge. Why should Russia deal in worlds? Because the nice folks at Langley know all about your experiments, and so do some other interesting bureaus, they don’t think that their organizations are the only ones in the know about what the Russians are up to. They kept a keen eye on your former boss and on the institute. Western secret services immediately record all those who purchase and place orders for the manufacture of high-tech and special equipment. From the very beginning, the institute left a powerful mark, and the checking wasn’t just organized only by lazy people. Smart people got interested: who needs these devices, and what for? It’s amazing that they didn’t take you, you personally, seriously.” The General scoffed. “Although, for the last year and a half, N-ville’s been so full of ‘frenemies,’ you run into them more often than not. We had to really break a sweat to keep them away from the fact of your results.”

  “You know, I didn’t notice your work at all.”

  “I thought I asked you not to interrupt.” Iliya showed his palms as if to admit his own guilt and invite the general to go on. “The fact that you didn’t notice our work is not due to your lack of attention, but to the mastery of our agents and colleagues from the adjoined services who went all out so as to, how should I put it, not allow it. I have to give Bratulev his due—he hired a former employee of our little ‘racket’ to help him protect his own activities, and this man, Smith, was able to keep the secret, and to what extent he couldn’t, he issued so many rumors that in the fog of gossip there’s no seeing str
aight. No way to tell what’s what. The main disadvantage was the fact that the Americans intercepted telephone conversations and internet traffic from the very start, but we were powerless to do anything about that. They were playing from their territory. We, for our part, spent significant resources and efforts concealing the institute’s work, and in the intelligence game we were able to beat our foreign opponents. The latest breakthrough has been kept confidential. Our ‘friends,’ so to speak, only know about your ability to open a passageway to one or two parallel worlds. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to set a political carousel in motion unlike anything you’ve ever dreamed of, even during the fall of the Soviet Union. They’ll ask Russia to share this discovery, they’ll ask at the highest level. If we refuse, then so many forces and funds will be used that Russian politicians will be wiped out completely. The existing global system (the US and the West) won’t allow a monopolized control of the gates. Don’t worry—we’ll come up with some sort of ironclad excuse for not letting the ‘primitive Russians’ alone control a discovery for ‘the whole of civilization,’ and then nukes, aircraft carriers, an invisible planes will get involved, and in short, you’ve got world war three. The dumbocracy won’t give up its conquests…. So, let’s switch to the next question. Why are we going to deal in worlds? Because Russia alone can’t bear that load. In this country at this time, there simply aren’t enough resources to enact programs for exploring and utilizing the new worlds. For now there’s been no mention of quickly establishing direct contact with the new civilizations, and time is running out—the clock is ticking. I won’t try to hide the fact that, if we announce to people the possibility of leaving this fragile world of ours and going somewhere far, far away, somewhere there’s not even a simple toilet, a lot of folks will head for the unknown, and do we need that? The process should be controlled. Once we announce the discovery, we knock the ground out from under the feet of many hawks and enlist the support of such states as India and China. Our neighbors are experiencing such extreme overpopulation that their problems with resources simply pale in comparison. We need to weaken the flow of Chinese pressing on our Easter borders. I think both countries will grab on to the opportunity to solve their problems painlessly with both hands, both feet, and a full set of teeth. Which would, by the way, solve ours, too. Billions in foreign currency would be provided to Russia for the construction of interworld portals. And here, we gently turn to the strictly economic issue, which is, given the current realities, at the head of the political shake-up we’ve initiated. Without disclosing the technology of opening portals, we’ll invite Western companies and states to cooperate and create the appropriate infrastructure. We can also offer joint mining of useful minerals. I need to specify right away: it should appear that there are no more than two or three worlds. That way the number of birds killed by one stone will be beyond our wildest dreams. We can safely say that, once we begin expansion beyond the border, we’ll be pushing the global economic crisis further and further away. Firms and corporations that specialize in building cheap housing will perk up. The need for electric power enterprises, goods and services will increase; the mining industry will come to life. There simply aren’t enough fingers and toes to list everything. The money involved will be measured with so many zeros that no sensible politician will dare to go to war against his industrialists, and they will not be interested in a war with Russia for the reasons described above. We’ll give it all to them of our own accord—here, take it, I don’t want it. Naturally, the tricky Americans and Europeans will want to know the methods and technologies for building portals, and here we can tell them where to go. Official secrets are so much easier to protect from the political point of view. In response to any movement to discover the secret, we can raise a howl to the heavens and excommunicate the offenders from the feeding bowl, or threaten them with excommunication. No matter how you spin it, to my great regret, the modern world is ruled by money, but now that’s working in Russia’s favor. The last question remains: ‘How?’ How can we hide our research on populated worlds and subspace portals from the attention of foreign secret services and industrial spies? Tell me, Mr. Kerimov, where’s the best place to hide a flame?” And the general answered his own question, “Inside a fire.” Undercover studies are most easily hidden under the official veil. And for this last secret, Russia will fight using all possible and impossible means. Your work has provided the country with more than twenty years of advancement over its closest competitors, but we still can’t let our hair down and just rely on this advancement. In fact, we have to work from the assumption that we have just five or seven years head start. During this time we, that is, you, not only have to create this entire industry and organize the manufacturing, but also to develop ways to counter and protect against unauthorized opening of portals on our territory. I hope I do not need to explain to you the military and strategic importance of your discovery? A separate center will be set up to conduct work on the study of inhabited worlds.”