16.

This was Guy's first airplane flight. In fact, it was the first time in his life he had seen an airplane. He had seen police helicopters and the military command's flying platforms many times. Once he had even participated in an assault operation from the air: his platoon had been loaded into a helicopter and landed by a road where a crowd of rehabs, who had revolted because of the flood, were trudging toward a bridge. He had the most unpleasant memories of that aerial assault: the helicopter had flown very low, and he had been bounced around so violently that his insides churned. And he recalled the rotor's stupefying roar, the gasoline fumes, and the fountains of machine oil spraying everywhere.

How different this was!

Guy was electrified by His Majesty's own bomber. It was a machine of such monstrous proportions that he could not imagine how it could get off the ground. Its narrow ribbed body, decorated with golden emblems, was as long as a city block. Beneath its gigantic wings, spreading menacingly and majestically through space, an entire brigade could take cover. The blades of six enormous propellers, reaching as high as a rooftop, almost touched the ground. The bomber rested on three wheels, each several times the height of a man. Two wheels supported the front, and a third, the shelf-like tail. A light aluminum staircase, like a silver thread, led to the dizzying heights of a cockpit enclosed in shining glass. This was a real symbol of the old Empire, a symbol of a great past, a symbol of bygone power extending over an entire continent. Craning his neck, Guy trembled with awe, and Mac's words struck him like a thunderbolt: "What a crate! Sorry, duke, I couldn't help it."

"That's all we have," replied the duke coolly. "It happens to be the best bomber in the world. In its day. His Imperial Majesty flew -- "

"Yes, yes, of course," Mac agreed hastily. "I was just so surprised."

Guy, seated in the cockpit, was ecstatic. It was completely enclosed in glass. Here were scores of strange instruments, amazingly comfortable soft chairs, puzzling levers and devices, little bundles of colored wires, strange-looking helmets lying in readiness. The duke explained something to Mac hurriedly, pointing to instruments and shaking levers. Mac kept muttering absentmindedly, "Yes, yes, that's clear."

The bomber stood in an old hangar at the edge of the forest. Before it stretched a long, level, grayish-green field without a single hillock or bush. The forest began again about five miles beyond the field. The white sky seemed almost close enough to touch from the cockpit. In his excitement Guy scarcely remembered taking leave of the aged duke. The duke had said something, Mac had made a remark, they laughed, and the little door slammed shut. Guy suddenly discovered that he was fastened to his seat with broad straps, and Maxim, in the pilot's seat beside him, was manipulating levers and pedals quickly and confidently.

The dials on the instrument panel flashed on and off. Then came a crackle and the thunderous boom of the exhaust; the cockpit quivered and everything was swallowed up in the racket. Far below stood the tiny duke, clutching his hat with both hands and backing away. Guy turned around and saw the blades of the gigantic propellers vanish, fusing into enormous hazy circles. The broad field began to crawl toward them, faster and faster. Everything had disappeared: the duke, the hangar -- there was only the field, rushing headlong toward them, and the merciless jolting and thunderous roar. Turning his head with difficulty, Guy discovered to his horror that the gigantic wings were swaying, as though they were about to drop off. Abruptly the jolting ceased, the field beneath the wings slipped away, and a pleasant sensation, as if he were floating in soft cotton, enveloped his entire being. The field below the bomber had vanished, and the forest, too. The forest had been transformed into a dark green brush, into a vast ragged blanket, and the mottled blanket slid away slowly. Guy realized that he was flying.

Enraptured, he looked at Maxim. Mac was completely relaxed, his left arm on an elbow rest, his right hand barely moving the largest and, probably, main lever. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips were pursed as if he were whistling. This, thought Guy, was truly a great man. Great and unfathomable. "He can probably do anything. He's piloting a complicated machine that he never laid eyes on until today. This is no tank or truck, but an airplane, a legendary vehicle. I didn't even know that any of them had been preserved. And that guy handles it like a toy, as if he's been flying all his life. It's simply beyond human understanding. But I suppose there are lots of things he sees for the first time, yet can figure out very quickly. And it's not just machines that know he's the boss. If he had wanted to, he could have had Captain Chachu eating out of his hand. Even the Wizard considered him his equal. And the duke, a learned man, a chief surgeon, an aristocrat, you might say, sensed something special about Mac right away. Look at the machine he entrusted to him. And to think that I wanted to marry him off to Rada! What is Rada to him? What could she mean to him? A man like that should have a countess, a princess. And he befriends an ordinary guy like me. If he told me this instant to jump. I'd do it. How much I've seen and learned because of him! I could never have done it in a lifetime. And how much more I'll see and learn because of him."

Sensing Guy's gaze, his delight and devotion, Maxim turned his head and, for the first time in months, broke into one of his broad smiles. Guy could scarcely contain an impulse to seize his powerful tanned hand and express his deep gratitude. "Oh, my dear master, my protector, my pride -- only give the command! I stand before you, I am here, I am ready. Throw me into the fire, unite me with the flames, send me against thousands of enemies, to face their gaping muzzles and millions of bullets. Oh, where are they, those enemies of yours? Where are those blind, unquestioning, repulsive people in loathsome uniforms? Where is that vicious officer who dared raise a hand to you? Oh, you scoundrel, I'll tear you apart with my bare hands. I'll... no, not now. What's that? My master is ordering me to do something; he wants something.

"Mac, Mac? Yes, I certainly am stupid. I don't understand what you're saying. I can't hear you through the roar of this machine. Oh, what an idiot I am -- of course, there's the helmet with the earphones. Ah, now I can hear you! Give your orders, I am yours to command. I want to die for you. Order what you will. The tower? What tower? Yes, I see a tower. Those bastards, cannibals, child murderers. They've planted their towers everywhere. But we'll sweep away those towers; we'll smash them with an iron boot; we'll sweep them away with fire in our eyes. Take your machine to that tower and give me a bomb. I'll jump with it and won't miss. You'll see! Give me a bomb! A bomb!"

Guy inhaled deeply and tore at his collar. His ears rang, and the world floated and swayed before his eyes. The world was shrouded, but the haze dissolved rapidly. His throat felt dry and his muscles ached. He noticed Maxim's face -- dark, frowning, even harsh. For an instant, the memory of something sweet and pleasant flared up, then vanished. He had a sudden urge to stand at attention and click his heels, but he realized that it was inappropriate; it would irritate Maxim.

"Mac, I feel as if I did something wrong. Did I?" He looked around guiltily.

"I did, Guy, not you. I had completely forgotten about that stuff."

"What stuff?"

Maxim turned back in his seat, put his hand on the lever, and looked straight ahead. "The towers."

"What towers?"

"I turned too far north. We got caught in a radiation strike."

Guy felt embarrassed. "Did I sing 'Men of Iron'?"

"Worse. In the future, we'll be more careful."

Feeling very uneasy, Guy turned away, trying desperately to remember what he had said and done. He searched for clues in the world below. Nothing! No tower, airstrip, or hangar. Only that same ragged blanket still crawling below them. And a river, a tarnished metal snake, disappearing in a hazy wisp of smoke in the distance, where the sea rose like a wall into the sky. "I wonder what sort of nonsense I babbled. Mac seemed so upset, it must have been pretty awful. Massaraksh, I wonder if I began spouting that Legion stuff again? Where is that damn tower? Good time to chuck a bomb at it."

Suddenly the bomber lurched violently. Guy bit his tongue. Maxim grabbed the lever with both hands. Something was wrong. Guy looked around cautiously and was relieved to discover that the wing was in place and the propellers were spinning. Then he looked up. Coal black blobs, like ink drops on water, floated through the white sky above his head.

"What are they?" he asked.

"I don't know," replied Maxim. "It's strange. An attack by... sky rocks. Damn it, not again! The probability is absolutely nil. Why do I seem to attract them?"

Guy was about to ask what sky rocks were, but through the corner of his eye he caught a strange movement down below, to the right, heavy and yellowish and swelling slowly above the dirty-green blanket. At first he didn't realize that it was smoke. Then, in the bowels of the swelling, something flashed, and a long black body slid from it. Instantaneously the horizon shifted crazily, looming in front of them like a wall. His gun slid from his knees and rolled along the floor. "Massaraksh," hissed Maxim's voice through Guy's earphones. "Damn it! What an idiot I am!" The horizon straightened out again. Guy looked in vain for the yellow cloud of smoke. Suddenly a fountain of colored spray rose above the forest again, cutting right into their path. Again a yellow cloud welled up like a mountain; then a flash, and again a long black body rose slowly into the sky and burst like a dazzling white ball.

Guy covered his eyes with his hand. The white ball darkened rapidly and drifted away like a giant inkblot. The floor beneath his feet caved in. Guy opened his mouth wide, gasping for air. The cockpit darkened; jagged black smoke rolled toward him. The horizon turned again; the forest appeared quite close on their left. Guy frowned and shivered, anticipating the fatal blow, pain, and death. As he gasped for air, everything around him shook and trembled. "Massaraksh," hissed Maxim's voice through the earphones. Something rapped briefly and violently along the wall beside him, as if someone were firing point-blank from a machine gun. An icy blast struck his face and his helmet was torn off. Guy cowered, shielding his head from the terrible roar and the onrushing wind. "This is the end," he thought. "They'll knock down our plane and we'll bum up." But nothing happened. The bomber lurched several times, dropped, and zoomed up again. The roar of the engine ceased abruptly and an eerie silence followed, broken only by the wind wailing through the breach.

Guy waited a little, then raised his head cautiously, trying to shield his face from the icy blast. Maxim was here. Beside him. He sat tensely, hoping the lever with both hands, alternately looking ahead and at the instruments. The muscles of his tanned face tightened. The bomber was flying strangely; its nose stuck up at a peculiar angle. The engines were silent. Guy looked around at the wing and froze.

It was burning.

"Fire!" he yelled, trying to jump up. But the straps held him back.

"Calm down and stay where you are!" ordered Maxim without turning around.

Getting a grip on himself, Guy looked straight ahead. The bomber was flying quite low. The sea's glittering steel-gray surface rushed toward them. "We'll be smashed to hell." Guy's heart sank. "Damned duke and his damned bomber. And the Island Empire, too. If we had left quietly on foot, we wouldn't have had such bad luck. Now we're going to bum, and if we don't bum, we'll be smashed to pieces. Sure, Maxim will make it somehow, but it will be the end for me. Damn it, I don't want to die!"

"Stop jumping around!" said Maxim. "Hold tight. Now -- "

The forest ended abruptly. Guy closed his eyes as the sea's steel-gray surface rushed toward them.

A blow. A tremendous hissing. Another blow. And another. Everything was flying to hell. This was it. The end! Guy howled in terror. A powerful force seized him and tried to tear him out of his safety harness, but, frustrated, threw him back. Everything was crashing and breaking up around him. Something was burning, and then warm water touched his skin. The noise died down. Only splashing and murmuring broke the silence. Something was hissing and crackling, and the floor began to bob slowly. Maybe he could open his eyes now and see what the next world looked like?

Guy opened his eyes and saw Maxim hanging over him, unfastening his safety belt.

"Can you swim?"

They were alive, after all.

"Yes," he replied.

"OK, let's go!"

Guy rose cautiously, expecting to feel the pain of a bruised, broken body, but he had escaped injury. The bomber rocked quietly on a small wave. Its left wing was gone, and the right was still dangling from a riddled metal strip. Its nose faced the shore squarely, as if it had swung around sharply on landing.

Maxim slung his gun across his back and opened the cockpit door. Water rushed in, and there was a powerful smell of gasoline. The plane began to list.

"Jump!" ordered Maxim, and Guy, squeezing past him, leaped obediently into the waves.

He floated to the surface, lifted his head out of the water, and headed for shore. It was close and appeared safe enough. Maxim swam beside him, cutting through the water soundlessly; he swam like a fish, as if he had been born in the water. Puffing hard, Guy moved his arms and legs with all his strength; it was very difficult to swim in clothing and boots. When his foot finally touched sandy bottom, he was overjoyed. Although it was still some distance to shore, he rose and plowed his way through the filthy, oily water. Maxim continued to swim, overtook him, and stepped onto the sloping shore before him. When Guy reached him, Maxim was standing with his feet apart and his face turned skyward. Guy looked up, too. Scores of black blobs were drifting through the sky.

"We were very lucky," said Maxim. "About ten of them were launched."

"Ten what?"

"Rockets. I had completely forgotten about them."

Guy, too, was annoyed at himself for not having thought of it sooner. Two hours ago he could have warned Mac about the rockets when the duke had offered them his bomber, and they could have refused it. He looked back at the sea. The Mountain EagleMountain Eagle had almost disappeared from sight; only its shattered tail stuck up over the surface.

"Well," said Guy, "I suppose we can't make it to the Island Empire now. What are we going to do?"

"First of all," replied Maxim, "let's take our pills. Get them out."

"Why?" asked Guy. He hated the duke's pills.

"Filthy water. Very radioactive. Every inch of my skin is burning. We'll take four apiece immediately -- make it five."

Guy hurriedly took out a vial and spilled out ten yellow pills, which they took at once.

"OK, let's go. Take your gun," ordered Maxim.

Guy took his gun, spat out the bitter taste in his mouth, and floundered through the sand after Maxim. It was hot. His clothes dried quickly, but his boots were still soggy. Maxim walked rapidly and with assurance, as if he knew exactly where he must go, although nothing was visible except the sea on their left and a vast expanse of beach ahead of them and to their right. High sand dunes rose a mile from the sea, and the disheveled crowns of forest trees cropped up behind the dunes from time to time.

They walked about two miles. Guy kept wondering where they were and where they were going. He checked an impulse to ask Mac, deciding to figure it out for himself. But after sifting through all the facts, he could deduce only that the mouth of the Blue Snake River lay somewhere ahead of them and that they were moving north. Where and why they were going was a mystery to him. Finally, he caught up with Mac and asked him bluntly what his plans were.

Maxim explained that they would have to play it by ear. They could only hope that a white submarine would approach the shore and that they could reach it before the legionnaires did. Since the prospect of waiting amid these hot, dry sands for such an event was not particularly attractive, they would try to reach Resortia, which must be nearby. The city itself had been destroyed a long time ago, but its springs should still be active and they would find some sort of shelter. They would spend the night in the city and then decide on their next move. Perhaps they would have to spend weeks on the coast.

Guy remarked cautiously that the plan seemed rather strange to him. Maxim immediately agreed and hopefully asked Guy if he had any better ideas. Unfortunately, said Guy, he didn't, but they must keep in mind the Legion's tank patrols, which penetrated deep into the South along the coast. Maxim frowned; that was bad news. They must keep a sharp lockout and not be caught off guard. He grilled Guy about the patrols' tactics. He was relieved to learn that the tanks were more interested in patrolling the sea itself than the shore areas, and that it was easy to hide from them among the dunes. Maxim relaxed and began to whistle.

Guy kept wondering what they should do if they were spotted by a patrol. Hitting upon a plan, he outlined it to Maxim.

"If we're found," he explained, "we'll say that I was kidnapped by degens. You pursued them and fought them off. Then we wandered through the forest for days until we finally came out here."

"And where will that get us?" Maxim was not enthusiastic.

"Well," said Guy angrily, "at least they won't bump us off on the spot."

"They damned well won't. I'm not letting anyone bump me off. Or you either."

"What if there's a tank?"

"What about it?" Maxim paused briefly. "You know, it wouldn't be a bad idea to capture a tank. Guy, that's a great idea. That's exactly what we'll do. Listen carefully: as soon as they appear, you fire into the air. I'll put my hands behind my back, and you'll take me to them as your prisoner. I'll take care of the rest. But stay out of the way and, most important, don't fire any more shots!"

Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Guy suggested immediate implementation of their plan. They would walk along the dunes, so they could be spotted from a distance.

Up they climbed, onto the dunes.

As soon as they reached the top, they saw a white submarine.

Behind the dunes a small shallow bay opened up, and a submarine lay exposed above the water, a hundred yards from shore. It scarcely resembled a white submarine. At first Guy thought it was either the corpse of some gigantic twin-humped animal or a rare rock formation that had mysteriously burst through the sands. Maxim realized at once what it was.

When they reached the bay and walked down to the water, Guy saw that its long hull and both superstructures were covered with rust; its white paint was chipped; its gun mounts were awry; and its cannon pointed down, toward the water. Black holes with sooty edges yawned in the planking. Nothing could have survived.

"What do you thiqk, Guy? Is it really a white submarine? Have you seen them before?"

"I think it is. I never served on a coast patrol, but we were shown photographs and mentograms, and we heard descriptions of them. There was even a mentogram called 'Tanks in Our Coastal Defense System.' Yes, that's a white sub, all right. A storm must have driven it into the bay, grounded it on a shoal, and a patrol spotted it. Do you see how riddled it is? It looks more like a sieve than a sub."

"Shall we have a look?" muttered Maxim, peering at it.

"Well, uh... I suppose we could."

"What's the matter? Something wrong?"

"Well, Mac, I'm not sure I can explain it to you." How could he? Corporal Serembesh, a veteran campaigner, had told them a story about a white submarine one evening, in the dark barracks, just before they hit the sack. The subs, he said, were not manned by ordinary seamen, but by dead ones serving a second hitch. Sea demons swept along the ocean floor, catching drowned seamen to fill out the crews. How could he tell Mac such a story! He would laugh, and this was no laughing matter. Then there was the story he had heard from Private Leptu, who had been busted from officer to private for some unknown reason. "Listen, you guys," he had said to them one day when he was high, "your degens, mutants, radiation -- all that is kid stuff. You can survive it, even live with it. But you'd better pray to the Good Lord not to drop you on a white sub. You'd be better off drowning right away than touching one of those things. I should know." Before his demotion, Leptu had served on the coast and commanded a patrol launch.

"You know, Mac, there are all sorts of superstitions and legends about the subs. I'm not going to tell you about them. But Captain Chachu, for instance, said that all those subs were contaminated by radiation. We were forbidden to board them."

"All right. You stay here, and I'll go. I'll take a look and see how badly contaminated it is."

Before Guy could open his mouth, Maxim dove into the water and disappeared for a long time. Guy held his breath waiting for him to surface. Then a mop of dark hair bobbed up by the sub's chipped side, directly under a gaping hole. Adroitly, without effort, like a fly climbing a wall, the tanned figure scrambled onto the listing deck, on to the superstructure at the bow, and vanished. Guy sighed and paced up and down by the water, his eyes riveted on the rusty monster.

It was quiet. Even the waves rolled silently in the dead bay. There was nothing here but a blank white sky and lifeless white dunes. Everything was dry, hot, and hardened. Guy looked at the rusty skeleton hatefully. "Damn it, what bad luck! Other guys serve for years and never see a sub. We walk an hour or so, and bang! -- there it is. Dropped right from heaven. Welcome aboard! How did I ever let myself get into this mess? It's all Mac's doing. He sure has a way with words. Makes you feel there's nothing to worry about. Maybe I wasn't really scared when I saw the sub because I had always imagined it would be very different -- alive, white and elegant, with sailors all in white on its deck. Now I see it's only an iron corpse. In fact this whole place seems dead. Not a bit of wind." Guy looked around sadly, sat down on the sand, placed his gun by his side, and began to pull off his right boot. "Damn it, it sure is quiet! Suppose he doesn't come back? That iron monster has swallowed him and he's vanished without a trace. Damn!"

A drawn-out, eerie sound rose over the bay. Startled, he dropped his boot. "Good Lord, it's only a rusty hatch opening. Damn, it sure made me sweat! So he opened the hatch. That means he'll be out in a minute. No, he isn't coming out."

Craning his neck, Guy studied the submarine for several minutes and listened closely. Dead silence. The same terrifying silence as before, made even more terrifying by that eerie, rusty wail. "Maybe he... maybe the hatch didn't open... maybe it closed? Closed by itself." Before Guy's terrified eyes rose a vision: a heavy steel door swings shut, by itself, behind Maxim, and a heavy bolt moves slowly into place. Guy licked his dry lips and tried to shout with his parched throat: "Hey, Mac!" Scarcely a whisper. If only he could make himself heard! "He-ey!" he howled. "He-ey!" the dunes responded gloomily. And silence fell again.

Dead silence. He no longer had the strength to shout. His eyes still riveted on the submarine, Guy fumbled with his gun; his trembling fingers released the safety. He fired a burst into the bay. There was a brief thud, as if the shots had struck a bale of cotton. A fountain sprayed above the water's smooth surface where circles formed and drifted away, growing larger and larger. Guy raised the barrel a little higher and pulled the trigger again. Success! The bullets rattled off the metallic surface, squealing as they ricocheted. Then, nothing. Absolute, dead nothingness, as if he were alone in the world; as if he had been alone for an eternity; as if he had arrived here by magic, had been dropped into this dead place as in a nightmare. Except he could not wake up, and must remain here forever.

His mind in a whirl, wearing only one boot, Guy entered the water, slowly at first, then faster and faster; then running, raising his legs high, sobbing and swearing. The rusty hulk drew closer. He finally reached the side of the submarine and tried to climb aboard, but couldn't. He skirted the stern, grabbed hold of a rope, and, skinning his hands and knees, scrambled onto the deck. He stopped to catch his breath. Tears trickled down his cheeks. "Hey!" he shouted.

Silence.

The deck was deserted. The bow's superstructure hung above his head like an enormous speckled mushroom, and a broad jagged scar gaped in the armor. Guy skirted the superstructure and noticed a metal ladder, still wet, leading up above. Slinging his gun onto his back, he climbed. For what seemed like an eternity, he climbed in the stifling silence toward inevitable death, toward eternal death. He scrambled to the top and froze, remaining on all fours. The monster was waiting for him: the hatch was wide open. Guy crawled to the gaping black hole and peered in. Suddenly his head began to spin and his stomach churned. He imagined that Mac was down there, fighting for his life against a whole pack of devils, and calling out: "Guy! Guy!"; that the heavy silence, grinning, was swallowing his cries, stifling every last sound, suffocating and crushing Mac. Unable to bear it any longer, Guy climbed through the hatch.

In his panic he lost his foothold and went crashing down to a sandy floor. It was an iron corridor, dimly lit by a few dusty bulbs. The floor directly below the shaft was covered by fine sand, blown in over the years. Guy jumped up, still rushing, afraid he would be too late, and ran through the corridor shouting: "Mac, I'm here! I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"What the hell are you screaming about?" asked Maxim, popping up out of nowhere. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Guy stopped short. Feeling faint, he leaned against the bulkhead. His heart pounded in his ears like a drumbeat. He was tongue-tied. Maxim stared at him in surprise. Then, apparently realizing what had happened to Guy, he squeezed into the corridor, took him by the shoulder, and gently shook him. Slowly, Guy recovered his senses.

"I thought... I thought that you..."

"Never mind, never mind. It's my fault. I should have called you to come right away. But I got involved; there are so many unusual things here."

"I kept calling and calling you," said Guy angrily. "I called out, then I fired a volley. The least you could have done was answer."

"Massaraksh, I didn't hear a thing," said Maxim guiltily. "The receiver here is superb. I didn't think you knew how to produce such powerful equipment."

"Receiver, receiver." Guy squeezed through the half-opened door. "You've been amusing yourself here while I almost went out of my mind because of you. All right, what's so unusual?"

It was a rather large room with rotted carpeting. Only one of three semicircular light fixtures attached to the ceiling worked. In the middle of the room stood a large round table surrounded by chairs. Strange photographs and pictures hung on the walls. The remains of velvet upholstery dangled like rags. A large receiver crackled and howled in the corner. Guy had never seen one like it before.

"It seems to be the wardroom," said Maxim. "Walk around, take a look. There's plenty to see."

"What about the crew?"

"Not a soul here. The lower compartments are flooded. I think they all drowned down there."

Guy looked at him in amazement. Maxim turned away with a worried expression.

"Guy, we were damned lucky not to make it to the Island Empire. Go on, take a look around."

Maxim sat down at the receiver and adjusted the fine tuner. Meanwhile Guy scanned the room, not knowing where to begin. He went over and studied the photographs. It took him a while to realize that they were X rays. The dim images of grinning skulls stared back at him. Illegible inscriptions, like autographs, had been attached to each picture. Members of the crew? Celebrities? Guy shrugged his shoulders. Maybe Uncle Kaan could figure it out.

He noticed a large bright-colored poster in the far corner, beautiful even though it had been touched by mold. It showed a blue sea, and from the sea emerged a handsome, very muscular, orange-colored figure with a disproportionately small head, half of which consisted of a powerful neck. One foot had stepped onto the black shore. The warrior clutched a scroll with an incomprehensible inscription in one hand, and, with the other, thrust a flaming torch into the ground. A city was set afire by the torch, and hideous freaks writhed in the flames. Another dozen freaks scattered on all fours in every direction. Something was written at the top of the poster in sweeping letters. The letters were familiar, but the words they formed were utterly unpronounceable.

The longer Guy studied the poster, the less he liked it. It reminded him of a poster in the barracks: a black-uniformed eagle-legionnaire (also with a small head and powerful muscles) boldly beheading hideous, warty snake with a gigantic pair of shears. He recalled the inscription on the blades: on one, "Fighting", on the other, "Legion." "Aha," said Guy to himself as he cast a last glance at the poster, "we'll see who burns who, massaraksh!"

He turned away from the poster, took several steps, and froze. A familiar face, square, with an auburn forelock over its brow and a perceptible scar on its right cheek, stared at him with glassy eyes from an elegantly varnished shelf. It was Captain Pudurash, an Iron Hero, a company commander in the Brigade of Immortals, nemesis of white submarines (he had sunk eleven of them) who had perished in unequal combat. His bust, crowned with a weath of immortelle, adorned every parade ground. Here his head, shrunken and yellowed, was displayed as a trophy. Guy stepped back. Yes, it was real thing. And over there was another head, an unfamiliar pointed face. And another, and still another. Lord, how many of them!

"Mac! Did you see this?"

"Yes. Take a look at the albums on the table," said Maxim. With difficulty Guy tore his eyes away from this eerie collection and hesitantly went over to the table. The receiver shouted something in an unfamiliar language; music played briefly, static crackle, and someone spoke again in a velvety, authoritarian voice: "Extermination, complete and final extermination..."

Guy selected one of the albums at random and flung back its hard leather-bound cover. A portrait. An inhuman long face with bushy side whiskers hanging from cheeks to shoulders, hooker nose, oddly set nostrils. A nasty face -- impossible to imagine it smiling. Strange uniform -- two rows of badges or medals Quite a character. Probably some big shot.

Guy turned the page. The same character with other figures on the bridge of a white submarine; still morose, although his companions were grinning. Out of focus in the background was something that looked like a shore, some strange buildings and the blurred silhouettes of bizarre trees. Next page. Guy caught his breath; a burning "dragon" with its turret toppled over on one side; the body of a Legion tank driver hanging from an open hatch; two more bodies off to one side and, standing over them, that same character with a pistol in his hand. Dense black smoke issued from the dragon, but the places were familiar -- the same shore, sandy beach, and dunes. Turning the page, Guy braced himself. A crowd of some twenty mutants, naked, all tied together with a rope; several efficient-looking pirates holding smoking torches; and that same character, evidently giving orders, extending his right hand and laying his left on the handle of a dagger. Those freaks were so ghastly that it was frightening to look at them. But what followed was even more frightening.

The same group of mutants, but their flesh consumed by fire. The same character, his back to the corpses, sniffing a little flower and chatting with another man.

An enormous tree in the forest, loaded with swaying corpses. Some hanging by their hands, some by their feet -- and these were not mutants. One wore the checkered uniform of a rehab; another, the black jacket of a legionnaire.

An old man tied to a post. Face distorted, he was shouting something. Same character, with a concerned expression, checking a hypodermic needle.

More bodies hanging from trees, burned and burning mutants, rehabs, legionnaires, fishermen, peasants, men, women, old men, children. Panoramic snapshot: beach, four vehicles on the dunes, everything burning; two black-clothed figures with hands raised. Enough! Guy slammed down the cover and flung the album to the floor. He paused for a few seconds; then, cursing, he threw all the albums on the floor.

"And you want to negotiate with these... these...?" he shouted at Maxim. "You want to bring these killers to us?! That butcher?" He kicked the album hard.

Maxim turned off the receiver.

"Calm down," he said. "I don't want anything anymore. And there's no reason to shout at me if your world is to blame. Your world has overslept, damn it, and descended to the level of animals. What should I do with you now? What? You don't know? Well, speak up!"

Guy remained silent.

"I know," Maxim said gloomily. "It's over for now. No negotiating. We must not bring anyone against the North now. We're surrounded by beasts, and it's them we must -- " He picked up one of the albums from the floor and flipped the pages. "God, what a beautiful world you've defiled! What a world! Just take a look, see what a beautiful world it was!"

Guy looked over his shoulder. There were no horrors in this album, only landscapes, color snapshots of startling beauty and clarity: blue bays bordered by magnificent foliage, a dazzling white city perched above the sea, a waterfall in a canyon, a splendid highway with a stream of vivid automobiles, ancient castles, snow-covered peaks above the clouds, a skier gliding along a mountain slope, and laughing girls playing in the surf.

"Where is all that now?" asked Maxim. "What did you do with it, damn you? Exchange it for your iron junk? You call yourselves people?" He threw the album on the table. "Let's go!"

He stormed to the door, flung it open, and marched into the corridor. When they reached the deck, he asked Guy: "Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"OK, we'll eat in a few minutes. Into the water -- let's go!"

Guy reached shore first, removed his boot, undressed, and laid out his clothes to dry. Maxim was still in the water, and Guy watched for him anxiously: Mac had made a deep dive and had been underwater a long time. Finally he came up, dragging an enormous fish by the gills. It wore a baffled expression; it couldn't understand how it could have been caught with only bare hands. Maxim threw it onto the beach.

"I think it will be safe. Barely radioactive. Probably a mutant. We'll take our pills, and I'll prepare it right away. We can eat it uncooked. I'll show you how. You've never tried it? Give me the knife."

Guy handed it to him and Maxim filleted the fish deftly and rapidly.

After they had finished eating, they lay down naked on the beach.

"If we got caught by a patrol and gave ourselves up, where would they take us?" asked Maxim after a lengthy silence.

"What do you mean -- where? Wherever you were serving your sentence. And me -- to my army post. Why do you ask?"

"You're sure about that?"

"I couldn't be more sure. Those are the commanding general's orders. Why do you want to know?"

"We're going to start looking for legionnaires right now."

"Capture a tank?"

"No, Guy, we'll use your story. You were kidnapped by degens and a convict rescued you."

"Give yourself up?" Guy sat down. "And me, too? Back to the radiation field? What are you talking about?"

Maxim didn't reply.

"Mac, I'll become a damned fool blockhead again."

"No," replied Maxim. "Well, unfortunately, Guy... yes. But it won't be the same as before. You will be believing in something else from now on, in a just cause. Look, I know it's not the best way. But still, it's better, much better."

"But why? Why?" shouted Guy in despair. "Why must you do it?"

Maxim passed his hand over his face.

"Guy, war has broken out. It came through the receiver. I don't know how it started: either we attacked the Khontis, or they attacked us. At any rate, it's war!"

Guy stared at him horrified. War. And Rada? The same thing all over again.

"Our place is there," continued Maxim. "A general mobilization has been declared. They've even declared an amnesty for the prisoners and ordered them into the ranks. We must join them, Guy. If only I could get into your unit."

Guy scarcely heard him. Clutching his head, he rocked from side to side and kept repeating to himself: "Why, why? Damn you! Damn you!"

Maxim shook him by the shoulder.

"Get a grip on yourself!" he said sternly. "This is no time to go to pieces. We're going to have to fight very, very soon." He rose and wiped his face again. "Get your things on quickly and let's go. We have to hurry."

"Make it snappy, Fank, I'm late."

"Yes, sir. About Rada Gaal... she's been removed from the state prosecutor's jurisdiction and we have her now."

"Where?"

"At a private residence. The Crystal Swan. I feel it is my duty to tell you that I question the wisdom of this action. I doubt that such a woman can help us control Mac. Women like that are forgotten quickly, and even if Mac --" "Do you think that Smart is stupider than you are?"

"No, but..."

"Does Smart know who took her?"

"I'm afraid he does."

"All right, so he does. Enough about that. What else do you have to report?"

"Sandy Chichaku met with Puppet. Apparently Puppet agreed to bring the Count and Sandy together on condition that --"

"I'm not interested in the underground at the moment. Do you have anything on the Mac Sim case? OK, then listen. This war has messed up all our plans. I'm leaving now and will return in thirty or forty days. I want you to finish the Mac Sim case in that time. By the time I return, Mac must be here, in this building. Give him a job, let him work, and don't interfere with his freedom. But let him know -- very discreetly -- that Rada's fate depends on him. Under no circumstances must they meet. Show him the institute, show him what we're working on -- within reasonable limits, of course. Tell him about me, describe me as an intelligent, fair person, an eminent scientist. Give him my articles, except the top-secret ones. Drop casual hints about my opposition to the government. He must not have the slightest desire to leave the institute. That's all I have to say. Any questions?"

"Yes. What about security guards?"

"None. That would be foolish."

"Should we put a tail on him?"

"OK, but use tact. No, better not. Don't frighten him. The main thing is that he shouldn't want to leave the institute. Massaraksh, what a time for me to have to leave! Is that all now?"

"One last question. Excuse me, Strannik."

"Yes?"

"Who is he really? Why do you need him?"

Strannik rose, went to the window, and said without turning around: "I'm afraid of him, Fank. He is a very, very dangerous man."