Денис Седов – One step into Tomorrow (страница 8)

He scanned those present.

The Americans glanced at each other but remained silent.

"You are the only one who can pass through right now. Only because your double is dead there. This is confirmed information."

I nodded. Not the first time I had heard it.

"There is something else," Makar continued and handed me a folder. "This is a list. People potentially suitable for work in that world. Specialists, fighters, scientists—those we’d like to send there. But only if their doubles in 'Tomorrow' are dead. You understand?"

"You want me to find information on them?"

"Exactly. Location, circumstances of death, any data. If it turns out they are no longer there, we can send them through to you as reinforcements. This is possibly the only chance to build a proper team."

Semyon chimed in:

"One more point, Konstantin. There is a technical task. Besides saving Nikolai, you must install a passage security system. We’ve been preparing it for a long time; now it’s on you."

He pulled out a metal container and placed it on the table.

"This is a passage locking device. If a leak starts. If the creatures try to break through. Or if everything goes wrong—you must activate it."

"As you already know, the entrance and potentially the exit are about two hundred kilometers from Kolomna. And four hundred from each other. If you install this device where you come out, you will most likely lock everything."

"The access code will be yours alone. It’s insurance. The final kind."

"According to our theory, if you lock the entrance, the exit will lock as well. But this is not guaranteed. If there’s an opportunity, request confirmation; if not—lock it."

One of the Americans coughed.

"We know it sounds like a death sentence. But you are our only chance. We aren’t forcing you, but… there is simply no other choice."

"I’ve already made my decision," I replied.

Makar gave a slight nod.

"Then memorize the coordinates for the blocker. You have the list. Everything else is in your hands."

As I was about to leave the building, Makar caught up with me in the corridor.

"Shall we take a walk?"

I nodded.

We stepped outside; the cool wind eased the tension a little.

"How does it feel, Konstantin?" he asked, lighting a cigarette. "All this… sounds like a bad sci-fi novel, doesn’t it?"

"More like an epitaph written in advance," I answered, looking straight ahead. "Too many 'ifs,' too little 'how.'"

"That’s why you’re the one going," Makar said, exhaling smoke. "Because you’re not a hero. Not a soldier from a book. But a man who understands the price of a step into the unknown."

I said nothing.

"You don’t truly believe in success, do you?" he continued. "And you’re right. No one does."

"But sometimes it’s enough to have one person who simply moves forward. Not because of faith—but because no one else can."

"You talk too beautifully, Makar."

"Because I know how it will look on paper if you don’t return."

"Already preparing the obituary?"

"No. I just want you to know—you’re not a pawn. And not an experiment. We truly hope you return. And not alone."

He paused, then looked at me more softly.

"And, Kostya, don’t worry about what you’re leaving here. Everything you’re thinking about—Nastya, the house, the documents, the bills—it will all be under control. Personally under mine."

I looked at him.

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. If, God forbid, something happens, I will personally see that everything is taken care of. Personally. You can be sure of that."

He extended his hand.

I shook it.

"Only… do one thing, Kostya."

"What?"

"Come back. However it works out. Whenever it works out. Just… come back."

The entrance itself was located in one of the complex’s buildings—an unremarkable structure of grey concrete at first glance. But it was here that the border between worlds began.

Above the entrance zone, they had erected a dome—a massive hemisphere of reinforced aluminum and hardened carbon composite. The structure wasn’t just protective; it served as an antenna, collecting and dampening anomalous fluctuations, recording even the slightest changes in the transition field parameters.

Before the entrance stood massive gates of multilayered metal with a hermetic locking system.

Every passage was controlled not only by IDs but by biometrics: retina scanners, fingerprints, facial recognition—as well as heart rate sensors and micro-particle skin analysis. All of this formed the protective barrier.

Along the perimeter were wide-angle cameras operating in the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums. Motion sensors and chemical air analysis tracked even the slightest deviations.

The protective circuit was reinforced by stationary automated fire points.

Remote-controlled machine gun systems were built into the dome and walls: 12.7mm turrets capable of tracking targets by heat signature and firing in autonomous mode. Operators only observed from the command post; human intervention was required only as a last resort.

All power and control systems were redundant.

Inside was an airlock zone where everyone passing through was scanned a second time before being admitted to the inner section, where the transition point itself was located.

A simple-looking, scuffed concrete wall.

The square dark opening of an old elevator shaft.

Before it—a low threshold running the entire length.

The elevator itself was long gone, but the shaft remained.

That was where the line began.

Beyond it lay "Tomorrow."

The day of the transition arrived.

After all the briefings, drills, nights with maps, and gear checks, I almost dreamed of just opening those black gates and leaving. Getting it over with.

Anywhere—just to be gone already.

"Well, ready?" Makar asked, standing nearby. With him was another man, wearing glasses and a grey beard, looking like a professor from an old textbook.

"Ready…" I replied, not quite knowing if it was an assertion or an attempt to convince myself. "I’ll head in slowly…"

I’d been told many times how it should happen: the door opens, you pass through the security locks, approach the elevator, take a step over the threshold—and you’re there.

No flashes.