Mef and Por carry me to the wardrobe. I sit on warm marble. I choose the dress for the day. My dresses are in various shades: from pale sky blue to dark royal blue. But the dresses are all identical.
I know with my heart that today is a special day. I choose a silk dress of the purest sky blue. Sister Vikhe combs my completely gray, thinning hair with a turquoise comb. Sisters Niuz and Pe rub my body with sesame oil. Supported by the sisters’ arms, I stand up. And the dress envelops me. The sisters hold me under the arms. They lead me to a small, spherical room. It was carved from purple mountain stone. Water drips here, and there is a chalice of tea made from the grasses of the taiga waiting for me. It gives strength to my old body. In the mornings I stay in this room for 23 minutes. Sipping tea slowly, I release my heart. And concentrate with my mind. The purple sphere has forced me to remember the merciless world of Earth. I remember the language of meat machines, their customs and desires. Their gloomy work rises in me. It prepares me for further struggle.
After the purple sphere I begin work.
But today is a very special day. And a special job is imminent. The world of meat machines does not interest me. I walk into the Dining Hall. It is spacious and white. The windows are open. The sound of the tide reaches the Hall from the shore. The ocean we created beats nearby. Its roar reminds us of the Great Mistake. In the middle of the Dining Hall is a large round table made of lilac-colored stone. The Middle Circle fits around this table: 230 brothers and sisters.
I sit down at the table. Fruits and vegetables lie on it. Each morning all the brothers and sisters living with me in the house on the island sit around this table. Today they are here as well. I see their hearts.
Ga, Noro, Ret, Mokho, Tbo, Mef, Por, Vikhe, Niuz, Pe, Shey, Forum, Das, Ruch, Bi, O, Vu, Stam, On, Ut, Ze, and Iugom sit with me. But not to begin the meal as usual. They want to tell me something very important. They know what my heart sweetly guesses. About which I have dreamed again these last years. Which has grown in premonition. Which beats in the heart like a wave of light. And which we all craved deeply.
In the Dining Hall we all usually speak only in earthly language. So that our hearts are calm during the consumption of food. But this morning we don’t think about food. Brother Ga, my main assistant in this house, breaks the silence.
“Khram, he is already with the brothers.”
“I know this,” I answer, restraining my heart.
“The meat is coagulating.” Sister Shey shudders. “The meat is resisting the Brotherhood.”
“I know.”
“The meat is creating difficulties.” Forum looks straight at me.
“I know,” I replied, coping with a heart flash.
“The Brotherhood is fighting for him,” said Brother Vu. “He is on his way to us.”
“I know.”
“A shield protects him.”
“I know.”
“If the Light moves the meat aside, he will be with us here this evening,” said sister Ze.
She isn’t able to restrain herself. Her heart flares.
“I know!” I reply, blazing in response.
My powerful heart flares. It violates the strict order of the house. We speak with our hearts. We have been waiting too long. And many times our anticipation has come to naught. But this time, too, the hearts of all the inhabitants of the house only believe. But I — know! Because I wanted it to be so! I wanted desperately to know that this time everything would come true, would fall into place, would be established, everything would come together, come together, be launched, would merge: that the meat curtain would open, that the remaining, the lost, would be acquired, that the Great Circle would be closed. And hearts would shine. And muscle fibers would disintegrate. And bones would crack. And the brain would crumble. The chain of suffering would snap. And the Light would disperse, spreading atomic dust across the Universe.
The heart didn’t know anything else before.
The heart doesn’t know anything else now.
The heart speaks of what is most important.
We grow still around the round table.
Our hearts blaze.
Secret words radiate. They flow with the Primordial Light. There are exactly 23 of us in the house now. The Lesser Circle. The smallest of all. There are the Middle (230) and the Great (2,300), convened by the brothers at fateful moments. These are Circles of Support. And Decision. But today, the day of anticipation, there is a Lesser Circle. This is a Circle of Hope. Eight times we have waited. And our hope was not meant to be. The frightful world of Earth took the Most Important Hope away from us eight times.
Today we hope for the ninth time. With the Lesser Circle of Hope. By assembling it, we know that another six Lesser Circles have been formed by the Brotherhood. They are far away from here. The ocean divides us. In different countries six Lesser Circles have joined together. The brothers feel us. Their hearts burn with hope. I see all these Circles with my heart. Each of them.
I speak with them.
Forty-eight Earth minutes.
Our hearts calm down. Our hands separate. I open my mouth and with a full chest I exhale the bitter air of the ocean. The air above the Great Mistake. Which demands correction.
The brothers and sisters watch me.
Their hearts listen carefully.
“We must be prepared,” I whisper.
Their hearts understand.
Hearts of Three
At the eleventh kilometer of the Kiev Highway, a black Geländewagen with blue flashing lights, followed by a Jeep with bodyguards, began to pass the Mercedes driven by Obu.
Obu, Tryv, and Merog cried out joyfully.
“It’s Uf!” Merog shouted and flared. “Thank the Light! The shield is with us!”
“The Light is with us!” declared Tryv and Obu.
“The Light is with us!” Obu repeated joyfully, falling in behind the Jeep.
The cortege of three black cars sped on.
They turned off at Vnukovo, then proceeded toward the airport, passing the main terminal and arriving at the one for private airplanes. Merog quickly got out of the Mercedes with the blue suitcase. He relinquished it to two eager pairs of hands in the Geländewagen. One of the pairs he couldn’t help but recognize — decisive, white, with golden hairs on wide wrists and small pinkish nails.
“Uf!” Merog sighed, and his heart flared with delight.
The suitcase disappeared into the depths of the Geländewagen, the door with tinted glass closed, and the car drove up to the terminal gate. Following the car with an excited gaze, Merog placed his hands on his breast. His lips trembled and his legs felt weak. He fell on his knees.
“Uf...”
Obu and Tryv jumped out of the Mercedes, ran over, and began to lift Merog. A policeman strolling past the terminal spoke up.
“What happened?”
Obu and Tryv lifted Merog to his feet.
“It’s his heart,” Obu said to the policeman.
“Uf,” said Merog, and with a moan he inhaled.
Obu and Tryv led him, swaying, to the car.
“There’s a shitload of work, it got to him,” Obu said, curling his lip and making a wry face, and going around the policeman, who was staring at them.
“Well, should I...you want me to call the airport doctor?” the policeman asked, pulling his walkie-talkie out of a pocket.
“Thanks, pal, but we’ve got everything we need,” Tryv answered.
They sat Merog down in the Mercedes; Obu turned the car around and they drove off.
After a cursory examination of documents at the swing gate, the Geländewagen drove out toward the aerodrome. The security Jeep followed it. The vehicles pulled up to a small jet. The guards got out and surrounded the Geländewagen. Uf and Bork stepped out. Uf carried a briefcase, Bork the suitcase. One of the guards reached for the suitcase, but Bork shook his head.
“No, I’ll carry it myself.”
Uf shook hands with the head of the security guards, who
in turn wished them a safe trip. The airplane’s hatch opened and the stairs were lowered. A pretty blue-eyed stewardess in a blue uniform and blue gloves stood at the top of the hatch and smiled warmly. Uf climbed the steps first, shook the stewardess’s hand, entered, and tossed the briefcase on a seat. Following him, Bork carried the suitcase and set it down in the cabin. Two pilots came out of the cabin, greeted Uf, and reported on flight preparations. Uf greeted them with a few formalities, and they went back into the cabin. The pilots weren’t Brothers of the Light. The stewardess, sister No, locked the door to the cabin. Bork and Uf placed the suitcase on the table and opened it. The boy slept. Bork grew terribly pale, shuddered, and flared. His lips trembled, he went down on his knees near the suitcase, grabbed the rug with his hands, dug into it, and squeezed, breaking his nails. A deep moan escaped his lips. Sister No, on seeing the boy, covered her face with her elegant fingers.
Uf remained calm. His powerful heart, which had accomplished many great feats in the name of the Light, obeyed him. He carefully uncovered the boy, laid him down more comfortably, sat in a chair, and placed a hand on Bork’s shuddering blond head. And quickly helped with his heart. Bork’s cheeks grew rosier, his eyes shut partway, and his head hung powerlessly on his chest.
“The Light is with us,” declared Uf, covering his small white eyelashes.
“The Light...Light...L-l-l-l-l...” Bork babbled almost inaudibly, and with a moan fell flat on his back.
Shaking off her stupor, No leaned over Bork.
“His heart is tired of waiting,” said Uf.
“Help me,” asked No. “I can’t manage.”
Uf came closer, took Bork by one arm; No took the other. Their hearts helped Bork’s heart. He opened his eyes. They raised him and sat him in a chair.
“The Light will soon rid you of that body,” said Uf, and he touched Bork’s pale, perspiring face with his fingertips.
Bork kept staring at the boy. Pushing Uf’s hand away, he wanted to get up. But Uf held him back.
“Rely on the Ice.”
With a moan, Bork closed his eyes. His whole body shuddered. He took Uf’s hand and held on to it as though it were an anchor, constantly glancing at the boy sleeping in the suitcase.
“Restrain yourself,” Uf said.
And he felt strong hearts approaching and looked through the window: a black Mercedes 600 with government license plates accompanied by a police Audi was approaching the airplane.
“Brothers! Thank the Light!” No pressed Uf’s hand to her chest, stood up, and rushed to the exit.
Soon brothers Odo and Efep entered the cabin. Odo — large, heavy, gray-haired, blue-eyed, and long-bearded — was arrayed in a dark-purple cassock. On his chest hung a cross and the encolpion of a metropolitan of the Orthodox church, while his plump white hand clutched a pastoral staff. Efep had grayish-blue eyes. He was short, sported a buzz cut of grayish hair, white mustache, and neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in a light-gray suit with the three-color pin of a deputy of the Russian Federation State Duma on his lapel.
Closing the door of the cabin after them, No stood at the door.
On entering, the brothers halted. Their eyes fixed on the boy sleeping in the suitcase. Odo handed the staff to No and, without taking his eyes off the boy, slowly sat on the floor in front of the suitcase, his cassock rustling. Efep stood still; his wall eyes gazed without blinking.
Uf stepped toward them. He held out his hands.
Efep held out his. Odo slowly reached out with his own powerful hands. The three brothers joined hands and formed a circle over the sleeping boy. They closed their eyes.
Bork in the armchair and No, standing with the staff at the door, froze.
After a few minutes, a slight shiver ran across the brothers’ shoulders. Their hands unclasped.
“Yes!” said Odo in his deep bass voice, opening his eyes.
“Yes,” whispered Efep, exhaling with relief.
“Yes,” said Uf clearly.
Bork sobbed and clenched his teeth, writhing from joy in his chair. Tossing aside the staff, sister No rushed to Bork and, trembling, embraced him.
Odo, Efep, and Uf paid no attention to them.
“I was certain. But not entirely,” Uf said.
“Even Khram doesn’t see sleeping hearts,” muttered Efep, blinking rapidly.
“Khram knows but doesn’t see,” Odo murmured. “Only the Great Circle is capable of seeing.”
“Only if the sleeping meat is in the center of the Great Circle,” Efep objected.
“The Great Circle no longer has need of sleeping meat.” Uf sighed sharply.
“The sleeping meat is here,” Odo said in his deep voice, picking up the staff from the floor and rising from his knees, stroking his beard, as was his habit.
“The meat will awaken.” Efep carefully brought his face close to the boy’s face.
“The meat will become Light!” Odo cried, shaking his gray mane.
Bork and No sobbed.
“Rely on the Ice!” roared Odo, striking the floor with his staff.
Bork and No sniffled and grew quiet.
“Brother, our hearts envy you.” Efep took Uf by the hand. “You are flying with him.”
“You will see Khram. You will help with the meeting!” Odo continued.
“You will close the Great Circle!” Efep squeezed Uf’s hand hard.
“You cannot fly with me,” said Uf, supporting with his heart.
“We know,” Odo answered.
“We know,” Efep calmed himself and calmed Uf.
“I also know this,” Uf said with a tortured smile, and his small, reddish eyelashes closed. “Your place is here. The meat is coagulating.”
“We will restrain it!” Odo roared with certainty.
The boy moaned in his sleep. Everyone, except Uf, was on guard.
“He needs to sleep another four hours,” said Uf. “It’s time, brothers.”
Odo and Efep flared briefly: “Uf! No! Bork!”
“Odo! Efep!” Those remaining flared in response.
Efep was the first to leave the cabin. Odo cast a grave look at the sleeping boy, subdued his heart flare, knocked his staff on the floor, and left, his cassock rustling.
Bork, Uf, and No took the diapers off the boy, dressed him in blue shorts and a blue T-shirt with a large crimson strawberry on it. They put him in a chair to sleep.
Uf pressed the button to call the pilot. There was a delicate knock on the door of the cabin. Sister No opened it. The thin, well-built, black-haired, brown-eyed pilot entered. Uf shook his hand. The pilot glanced at the sleeping boy, and quickly turned his eyes to Uf.
“Are we ready?”
“Yes,” Uf nodded.
“I’ll call the border guards,” said the pilot, and left.
Soon a green border-guard Lada drove up to the airplane. A young lieutenant and a middle-aged captain came on board and began to check all the passports and baggage. The boy was written in Uf’s passport as his son.
“Too much soccer, eh?” said the lieutenant, glancing at the sleeping boy, and stamping the passport with the word EXIT.
“If only!” Uf said, shaking his head sadly as he took his passport back. “Computer games. And it’s impossible to get him away from them.”
“At age six? Not bad!” said the lieutenant approvingly, nodding his head.
“And where are we going with all these computers?” the round-faced customs officer said ingratiatingly, looking Uf in the eyes.
“To the Other World,” Uf answered seriously.
Bork’s and No’s hearts shuddered sweetly. The customs officer lingered a moment and felt sad; he nodded goodbye and headed for the exit.
“Bon voyage,” smiled the lieutenant.
“Bon rester,” Uf replied.
The officers left. The hatch closed. The engines began to hum and the plane moved out onto the runway.
“When he wakes up, we’ll be flying,” Uf said, fastening the boy’s seat bel
t, sitting in a nearby seat and fastening his own. “Another small dose will be needed. But not deep sleep. There’s a border there, too.”
“I’ll pick out what we need,” said No.
The jet took off.
Uf looked out the window at the Country of Ice disappearing below and leaned his strong, strawberry-blond head against the clean white headrest of the chair.
“Gloria Luci!”
The Arsenal
On July 7, at 4:57 a.m. local time, the freight train traveling the Ust–Ilimsk–St. Petersburg–Helsinki route crossed the border of Finland and began to brake for the customs house. The first slanting rays of the rising sun slipped along two blue locomotives coupled together and eighteen grayish-white refrigerator freight cars painted with huge blue signs saying ICE. As soon as the train stopped, a junior lieutenant of the customs service and two policemen with a German shepherd approached the locomotives. The blue door of the second one opened, and a tall, well-proportioned blond in a light-blue summer suit and white-and-blue tie, wearing a silverish ICE Corporation tiepin, walked down the steel stairs. In his hand he held a blue briefcase.
“Good morning,” the blond said cheerfully in Finnish, and smiled.
“Goot murning,” the short, sharp-nosed customs officer with a thin mustache answered, not very cheerfully.
The blond handed him his passport and the customs officer quickly found the stamp with a mark denoting the border crossing; he returned the passport, turned around, and walked over to the white customs building. The blond walked vigorously along with him, while the policemen remained near the train.
“Judging by the burning smell, you’re having a dry summer too?” the blond said in excellent Finnish.
“Yeah. But that’s your peat swamps burning,” the customs official answered in a grumpy voice.
They entered the building and walked up to the second floor. The Finn opened the door into a small office. The blond entered. The customs officer closed the door behind him and remained in the hallway. A corpulent, balding captain sat at the customs desk drinking coffee while he leafed through papers.
“Hello, Mr. Lapponen.”
“Nikolai! Hello there!” The captain smiled, offering his plump, strong hand. “Long time no see!”
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