by D. Rus
D. Rus
Squadcom-13. Book One. The Cadet.
Chapter One
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The loud fire of a rubber bullet gun pierced the ears of the angry mob, drowning out the sounds of the intense fight. The mob recoiled for a second, assessing the new threat and checking if anyone had gotten shot.
We had a difficult task at hand. The hateful faces of our enemies were covered with blood. Dead bodies littered the ground. Some survivors still crawled; others lay still, face-down in horrid-looking black puddles.
The dim streetlight near the nine-story building with a trashed entrance illuminated the faces on either side of us.
It had all started out as an “everyone vs. everyone” massacre. Just recently it had turned into an ungentlemanly brawl in which everyone collectively attacked certain impudent upstarts – more specifically, us, the four badly beaten fellows in worn, blood-stained camo.
We were up against thirty opponents who were trying their luck. That frosty night, everyone was out on the streets: ordinary workers, street thugs with lackluster eyes, women of all ages, and teen girls with no internal brakes. Because that night was the Night of the Meteor Shower…
Blue sparks flashed over the capital every 18 seconds, dropping a few precious artifacts into the city. You would get either 10 million dollars and perfect health for finding one, or seven years in jail according to the new amendment. It was a matter of choices and luck…
“Pasha, to the roof, hurry! We’ll cover you!” one of my friends told me.
For the thousandth time, I cursed our crazy idea to obtain the alien artifact. Helplessly grinding my teeth, I obeyed and instantly raced into the building so that my friends’ sacrifice would not be in vain.
I knew that the enraged mob would trample my friends into the dirt in less than a minute. They were my real friends, ones I could never replace, ones I could only lose. They always had my back, were always willing to do time and spill blood for me. Oh, if only I had time to heal…
Like a lame duck I wobbled into the dark jaws of the building's main entrance, banging my knee into Alex’s dented Toyota on the way. His chrome-plated pride and joy spewed steam from its broken radiator, its open hood flapping.
Yes, we had decided against driving straight through the crowd, although this would have enabled us to escape. But we were not animals. Everything has its price, and some prices are just too high.
We had also failed to block the building’s front entrance with the car; a swift old lady threw herself before the Toyota as we drove up, habitually asserting her right to receive service out of turn. Alex had to sharply turn right to avoid her and violently rammed the car into the concrete building.
Wheezing, spitting blood, and forcing my disobedient hands to hold on to the railing, I rushed up the first flight of stairs. My fingers were so numb that I could barely flex them. Although I had tried to avoid back injuries while fighting off the crowd, brawls tend to get out of hand; as we were beating some men, some crazy lady forced her way over to us and dealt me a mighty blow with a heavy clutch. My recently implanted artificial vertebrae survived the impact. This wasn’t true for the bundle of the thinnest optical fibers which more or less carried out the functions of my torn nerves.
And now, I could hardly move my hands. It was so difficult to breathe that I felt frightened. My cheap leg prostheses could barely handle the steep stairs. Once again, I was faced with the possibility of paralysis.
Swallowing with difficulty, I punched a wall on the way, smashing to pieces my medical monitoring bracelet which was howling like mad. It would have been one thing if that piece of crap merely beeped, but no, it howled. Moreover, it notified all possible emergency services of the situation while injecting me with sedatives and anti-shocks to stabilize me until the arrival of paramedics. I was very high on their radar given my three recorded suicide attempts. Waking up in a hospital as a motionless amputee is a terrifying experience. And the restoration of a contused spinal cord is a very painful procedure.
As I raced up the stairs, I needed every drop of adrenaline I could get. Finding peace on a comfy hospital bed was definitely not my goal. Too many things were at stake. And not just for me, but also for the boys from the Echo of War search club who had given me this invaluable head start. And I did get a “war” experience during my last artifact search attempt.
I still remembered the ringing sound of a shovel striking metal. It drew a spark from the ribbed side of the rusty explosive, then came the blinding flash, followed by darkness.
Me getting my legs blown off in an explosion had actually made it more convenient to transport me; I was several pounds lighter and twice as short as before. Perhaps this was what had saved my life; for the next twelve hours, the boys had carried me on a stretcher over wind-fallen trees until we reached the nearest road. Oh, medicine, where would we be without you? The boys had used everything in our first-aid field kit to keep me alive, and later, the public healthcare system had pulled me out of a coma, God knows what for.
The stairs were making me feel like I was conquering Mt. Everest. I bit my bloodied lip in anger; those local residents fought well, and they were merciless. Even the handicapped, even those on sick leave; one injury, and the morgues would reap their yearly harvest. Those who fought for the artifact fought for a mansion in the Rublevka neighborhood, or for guaranteed treatment of any disease and a life several decades longer than normal.
I smashed my battered fist into the burnt elevator button, praying to the gods, “Let the elevator be on the ground floor!” I had no time to wait, and I could not make it up the stairs on my stilts of legs.
The gods were gracious; the rusty doors slid apart with a rattling sound. I squeezed into the elevator through the narrow gap, then hit the “floor nine” button. Hurry, hurry! I thought. Surely everyone in the neighboring buildings has seen the tiny star fall on the roof of this squalid dump! Soon, the crowd will get even bigger.
The slow ascent gave me enough time to catch my breath and wipe the blood out of my eyes. Slashing open the skin on your head was always like that – trivial wounds, but so much blood you’d think a wild boar got slaughtered.
Finally, the elevator jerked and made a creaking sound as its peeling, scratched doors slowly pulled open. I had to sharply push them apart, leaving bloody fingerprints on them.
I could already hear the cursing of many different voices coming from the ground floor as the crowd stomped up the stairs. Did they really beat my friends? Oh, please be alive, boys!
The sounds of a fight came through the door that led out onto the roof Some bastards had beaten us to the artifact.
I raced up another flight of stairs, hitting my shoulder against the attic door. That was how badly I was reeling on my feet. I mentally apologized to the universe and put a knuckle-duster on my right hand with effort. I had to have some chance in the upcoming brawl.
Not that long ago, I had gone from having a 200-pound athletic body to being a semi-paralytic weighing a mere 135. I had toothpicks for legs now and a burning needle in my spine. My arms were numb.
To battle, Paul, to the final and deciding battle! I told myself. Should you lose, be ready to step down from the parapet; you’ll probably never get a second chance. A star falling from the sky right into your hands is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.
I raced out onto the roof. Another meteor flashed through the sky, illuminating the scene of the tragedy; two corpulent men were stomping on a skinny body writhing on the wet roofing felt. The third was breaking the victim’s fingers, trying to pull the glittering crystal out of the dirty little fist.
The artifact glowed brighter and brighter,
slowly changing colors as it entered operating mode. Five more seconds, and the crystal would grant its power to the skinny fellow, turning forever into a trivial artificial diamond. It would still cost quite a bit, but would no longer possess magical qualities.
The man in the cheap Turkish down-padded coat breaking the skinny fellow’s fingers was aware of this, and was going crazy. Finally, he brought his heavy boot down on the fragile wrist, then again, ramming his heel repeatedly into the tightly clenched fist.
The victim groaned in pain. His crushed fingers opened, releasing the crystal. Quickly growing dim, the artifact rolled on the roof.
The man roared in triumph, drawing unwanted attention to himself. He got down on all fours like a dog and went after the crystal.
I raced toward him and knocked him out with a good kick to the head with my carbon fiber prosthetic leg. One down, two to go!
Bending over the artifact clumsily, I tried to pick it up, but one of the other two treasure hunters was already upon me. His knife cut open my pant leg and clanged against my titanium knee joint. He should not have done that.
Falling upon my attacker, I put out my elbow, ramming it into the back of his fat neck.
There was a crunch, and the man went limp. I really hoped I hadn’t killed him.
I heard the sound of flesh getting ripped apart behind me, accompanied by the terrified girly screams of the third man.
I spun around. The small battered figure of either a young woman or a teenager had returned to life. It was now on the opponent’s back, repeatedly stabbing him in the side with the broken neck of a bottle. The bottle gleamed with blood. The Indiana Jones wannabe squealed in fear as he tried to shake off the small yet deadly person tenaciously holding on to him.
It was all insane; all of that night’s events and that unidentified spaceship which had been orbiting Earth for the last month, showering the lands with wondrous gifts. We were becoming animals, murdering each other, while those strangers were enjoying themselves like money-bags throwing handfuls of silver into a crowd of beggars.
Bastards! Us and them!
Reflecting upon the matter and growing angry, I swiftly crawled forward on my elbows. A few more feet, and I scooped up a pile of trash off the roof, the dimly glowing artifact within it.
The crystal instantly came to life, its tender warm rays tickling my palm as it scanned its new owner and prepared to grant me its power.
I froze, unable to believe my luck and awaiting the miracle with awe. As practice had demonstrated, the swift regeneration capacity which this artifact granted could not only regrow new nerve fibers, but also lost limbs. No one knew how it worked.
The roof trembled as a heavy body fell behind me. Alarmed, I swiftly turned over onto my back, clutching the crystal to my breast, and saw what was going on. Oh, God, why?!
I assumed that what stood before me had once been a young woman, judging by the slender shoulders and the bra straps peeking out from under the torn T-shirt. But the creature had no face.
The men had torn off its hooded jacket during the fight. The wide scarf hung from its neck like a dirty collar. A band with a sonic depth-finder for the blind sat obliquely on its head. Its eyes were cloudy and looked like they had been boiled. The lachrymal glands were still intact by some miracle, and tears streamed down the bloodied cheeks which were a medley of deep scars and chemical burns. There was a deep hole in place of a nose, and the lips were completely gone.
I shuddered, my artificial legs scratching the wet roofing felt as I tried to crawl away from that charred stump of a human.
The girl tried to approach me, but when she was just a step away, her strength failed her. Groaning helplessly, she extended her hand with broken fingers to me. The bloodied mouth opened, baring the surprisingly white, beautiful teeth.
A barely audible, exhausted voice whispered hopelessly, “Give me… Please… I can’t live like this anymore…”
I shut my eyes and mentally cried out. I could have just pushed her away with my foot, then rolled up into a ball with the artifact, purring happily, feeling the new health pouring into me. Where do I draw the line, crossing which would make life meaningless and take away my right of calling myself human?
The crystal’s light throbbed brighter than before. The latter-day collection gurus recommended to store it in a resale container or swallow it if there was a risk of losing it. One move, and there would be no going back. As for my karma, I could probably clear it somehow. It was simple; we are all raised to justify our actions…
With a heavy sigh, I cast a melancholy glance at the roof's parapet; I would not survive the night either.
Groaning, I sat up and extended the crystal to the tearful, blood-stained creature, “Take it… and be happy. Don’t waste your second life on stupid things.”
The girl mistrustfully tilted her head one way, then the other. I realized that she simply couldn’t see anything. The sonic depth-finder on her forehead looked intact, but that didn't mean that its tender wires had survived the fight.
I looked at the artifact in alarm; its light throbbed faster and faster. Then, I listened to the noise coming from the staircase and could no longer conceal my nervousness.
“Hurry up and take it!” I yelled. I threw myself on the girl and rammed the red-hot crystal into her open palm.
“Ouch!”
We both arched our backs as if struck with an electric shock. I felt my muscles cramp. It was as if our touching hands turned to metal. The girl’s slim fingers crunched in my palm. The girl cried out in pain, and I just stared at the now translucent flesh of our fingers as if spellbound. The crystal shone bright as a supernova, and our puny hands could not conceal its light.
There was a flash. An electric shock followed. The artifact discharged its energy in one outrageously powerful burst. We were thrown aside like two unipolar magnets.
The girl mistrustfully touched her palm, tracing her finger along the edges of the glowing imprint of the 57-sided crystal. The imprint was slowly going out. I wondered if she could see it.
I stared at the identical imprint on my own palm. Could it be? Has the artifact endowed us both with its power?
“Both of us, yes?” the girl asked quietly.
So, it’s true that the other senses in the blind are ten times better developed, I observed and answered, “Looks like it… What’s your name, anyway?”
“Lina,” she whispered, alarmed by the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs.
“Paul,” I said, looking at the staircase.
They would beat us to death. Simply out of disappointment. Although…
I looked at the huge diamond that lay at our feet; 256 carats of ideal clarity. Half a million bucks. A great starting capital for a new life.
Picking up the diamond, I waited until the first puffing and panting locals appeared in the doorway. With a crooked smile, I rolled the precious stone around in my palm, then flung it at the crowd, sending it right between someone’s legs. “Catch!”
The violent cursing, cries of joy, and punches that followed indicated that the diversion was successful. Getting on my feet with effort, I held my hand out to the girl, “Let’s go. We’ll try to get out through the other front door.”
Leaning heavily on each other, we took about ten steps, wobbling under our own weight and staggering in the wind.
Then, the rumbling of a helicopter rent the silence. The blinding searchlight fixed on us, and I saw figures in mat-black armor pouring out onto the roof.
Someone growled through a loudspeaker: “This is SWAT! On the ground, now!”
* * *
My hands were already swollen from the handcuffs. The bright table lamp made my eyes water. It was like a TV show in the best traditions of Lubyanka. The high-speed handling of thousands of detainees had its own specifics and required these cheap special effects.
But I did not hold to vain hope. This was a serious establishment, and I faced serious charges. If they couldn’t break me
with a sudden attack, they would come at me hard, twist me into any shape they wanted, and make a door mat out of me.
A tired investigator paced the room in irritation. I must have fouled up the plans of his department by using the precious artifact. They probably had a special crowd lining up in cars with flashers to get a second life.
The government had been hastily preparing the citizens for the Night of the Meteor Shower. All media channels were busy convincing the average Joe how important it was to turn the crystal over to the authorities. According to the media, several professors, astronauts, secret service men, prominent statesmen, and other distinguished heroes were in desperate need of regeneration and longevity.
Perhaps it was so, although I had my doubts. Our country had at least 300 thousand millionaires, plus chief bureaucrats, their relatives, and entire regiments of military and departmental generals. They all wanted a long and fun life.
But there would never be enough crystals for all of them. Judging by the statistics in other countries, we would get one artifact per capita.
As the unknown ship with alien gifts drew closer to the Russian border, the news anchors on central television became more and more hysterical. The preventive nationalization of the crystals and attempts to warn the citizens of the crystals’ potential danger only angered the people. The announcement of a 100,000-ruble prize per crystal convinced everyone once and for all that they should keep the artifacts for themselves.
The investigator walked in circles around the office as he spoke, and I listened carefully to my body. My temperature was clearly higher than normal, and my injured areas felt hot. But the dried blood was already peeling off my knuckles, revealing fresh, healthy-colored skin. Whatever this alien treasure was, it surely worked.
“…therefore, you have three options,” continued the investigator’s voice. “The first is to voluntarily sign a 20-year contract to serve the Motherland. The country needs individuals with high chances of survival.”
I looked at my prosthetic legs sticking out of my dirty, rolled up pants, then shifted my gaze to the investigator and raised a brow questioningly.
