Radovitch hesitated, scratching his balding head. “A few more days of sun would make things less strenuous on the auxiliary generators.”
“The storm will last for days, perhaps weeks. I am going to head there today to complete the next sequence. Inform the guard post to expect me.”
Radovitch looked as if he was about to argue but thought better of it. And rightly so. He’s been getting too lax, which makes him prone to mistakes. And I can really use a new pair of lungs.
“What about the thing we talked about?”
Radovitch looked vague. Yep, definitely a new pair of lungs, I know they will match, that was the other reason I kept you alive till now.
The man suddenly brightened up, remembering, and shifting to his native, old-continent tongue as a way of precaution. “Ah yes, of course, we established a link to one of the operatives, but it’s weak.”
“Even better, that means a diminished chance of detection. You know who the operative is?”
“No, but we were lucky. To judge from the serial number she’s an old one, high ranked—but let’s say she was shelved pretty deep. I am almost positive we can extract her without getting caught.”
“‘Almost positive’?”
He fretted. “I found an emergency bunker with a very low energy signature. Even if they catch us, they would not be able to find where she went.”
“Fine.” You may live another day. “I will be away for a while. I want to wake her up before I go up to the hub and even if I am still up there, initiate the dream sequence in a week’s time. That was the standard mode of operation for Tarakan hibernating agents”—as far as I know. He did not voice the last thought out loud, having learned long ago that no one wanted to follow a leader who admitted such weaknesses.
Radovitch nodded.
“This is important, Radovitch.” Only physical fatigue stopped him from grabbing the man by the collar of his coat. “I must have this Puzzler, and this is the only lead we had for a whole year. From this moment on, this is your only priority. I am sending Sergiu, too.”
“Yes, Master.” Radovitch grimaced at the mention of the name. The two men disliked each other at least as much as they were loyal to him. He made a slight gesture of dismissal with his hand, and Radovitch bowed stiffly one more time and walked back to his post.
Now, it’s showtime.
By the time he reached the door leading outside, there were already six soldiers surrounding him, all wearing proper protective gear, masks included. As a soldier laboured to turn the heavy wheel that unlocked the sealed door, he caught his own reflection. His body was so badly ravaged by age, war, contamination, and countless surgeries; he looked a proper monster, all gnarled, scarred, and wrinkled, like a sick old oak tree.
Oh, Professor Vitor. If you could see me now … Would you have recognised me, your former student, your colleague, your angel of destruction?
He wondered, not for the first time, if he would have been in a better condition had he succumbed to peer pressure and changed his body to a newer model just before the Catastrophe happened. As always, he consoled himself that it would not have made a huge difference. Perhaps he would have been able to keep more of his original body organs or wear less of other people’s skin, but sooner or later, everything breaks down and dies. Besides, the condition of the body was only the tip of the iceberg when measured against what had happened to his soul.
The leading guard opened the hatch for them to step out. As usual, he did not bother with the antiradiation garments. Having more frequent radiation treatment was worth shedding the cumbersome suits and it certainly solidified his fame. Nothing could touch him. Nothing.
The crowd outside was also wearing an assortment of real or pretend protective gear. Some wrapped themselves in aluminum foils or old plastic. Several of them even wore ancient gas masks. It was quite comical, in a way.
After all these years, the radiation fallout and soil contamination in this area were not as high as they used to be, but babies who were deformed or dead at birth were common. Despite the people’s resilience, the average life expectancy would have been in the low thirties if it was not for him, their miracle maker, their Lord.
He walked towards them. The Star Pillar was looming behind him, with all of its enormity. It made for a good effect. The last surviving wonder of the world, humanity’s greatest achievement, cutting through the grey dust cloud, lighting their nights, giving them hope but also fear.
Fear is better than hope.
They bowed deeply when he emerged, some even going down on their knees. There was a ceremony. There always fucking was, and they brought offerings, of course, some soil-grown food, a sickly goat, and several gallons of purified water. He hoped that the Lieutenant who accepted the gifts on his behalf would remember that with no exception, those gifts must be purged, even the goat, lest they lose any more people.
When it was over the crowd parted to let a couple step forward. They were nervous, as they should have been, and the wife’s eyes spoke of fear and misery. Her husband looked, and probably smelled, as if he had rolled in manure. A farmer, then, and he too was shaking visibly when he handed the cot to the Lieutenant. The cot was wrapped in semitransparent plastic and it was a miracle the baby did not suffocate. It was a girl.
The Lieutenant scanned the parents and the baby with the handheld device, then carefully unwrapped the the plastic foil, took the baby in his arms, and brought her to his master.
The baby was limp in his arms, most likely suffering from malnutrition and severe radiation poisoning. It was a surprise she was still alive, the little fighter.
He was the only one who turned to leave. There was no use in parading his guards through the decontamination process. Dienna and the rest of the team were waiting for him on the other side of it. She took the baby from his arms and rushed to the clinic. He walked after them, with dignity. Never run. Not that I could anymore.
“Hello, Norma,” he said when he entered the clinic. “Report to my ears only.”
After all these years, the AI’s voice was cracked and distorted to the point where it was actually discomforting to hear, especially when resonating inside his head. Her voice subroutines needed a complete overhaul, but no one of his team was proficient enough to conduct such an operation, and he simply did not have the time nor the patience to go through the delicate process. Besides, the distorted sound reminded him that time was running out. He did not have long before the forces of entropy would strike him down. Everything was falling apart. He was falling apart. It was time to make yet another bold move. His last one should certainly make an exit.
The baby girl’s numbers were bad but not diabolical. She might live, or at least survive the process, which was the most important part.
“Begin radiation flush process and cellular rejuvenation,” he commanded. The others had already shuffled out and left him alone. Hearing him speak out loud, Norma responded verbally as well.
“I remind you this process is costly, and with our limited resources and the baby’s survival chances—”
“Do it.” The nice thing about Norma was that she had stopped getting pissed off when he cut her off, especially after he made those changes in her programming. Decontaminating the baby meant that some of his soldiers would have to forgo their monthly radiation treatment, but the dividends would be worth it. He hoped.
“Take a DNA sample as well,” he added as the machines around him began to hum. This process took a lot of energy and the cost was always dear, beginning with the long scanners. He was blanked out for sure now, blind to the world. He prayed the freezers remained functioning—it would be a royal mess