Никанор Стариков – The Snipe’s Flight (страница 1)
Garry Mikhailov, Nikanor Starikov
The Snipe’s Flight
Chapter 1
Pain. It was my one and only faithful companion the last months. Uninvited, importunate, all-consuming. Only memoirs allowed me to distract and be forgotten for some time. I am Vasily Ivanovich Kamentsev, the colonel in resignation, the former employee of the second management of KGB later the teacher in the Russian Academy FSB. Two months ago to me eighty nine years have knocked. Instead of my favourite reading the novel, now here I lie not movably and I listen attentively to monotonous hum of the medical equipment and I try not to think of the heated nail in my right side. Cancer of the fourth stage – here my final, last ruthless opponent. It the opponent could not be converted, bribed or played. It was only possible to wait and look how he defeats me and slowly kills.
I waited. Thoughts consigned to the past where there was no this pain, and there was smell of typographical paint from the shabby books about spies, burning desire of adventures in soul of the rural boy. Then there was army, military discipline, clearness. It was pleasant to me. And then this improbable, dizzy chance. «The citizen Kamentsev, the qualities shown by you are of interest to the state security agencies» – the words pronounced by the major that has come to hold at me exam in practical firing. The excellent sports discipline imitating combat or tactical conditions. Here not only the accuracy, but also speed, ability to quickly estimate situation and to work with shelters are important. The dream which is wrapped up in the folder with signature stamp «Top secret» became for me, routine work and service on for the rest of the life. Then there was law school, the diploma with honors. And then – fifty years of service. Fifty years of smart operations, invisible wars, interpretations and recruitments. Family? It for me could become vulnerability. Love? The distracting factor. I had work and service for the benefit of the huge country. Great and powerful country. To me it is unimportant what politicians and traitors have made with it. It is important that people, the people which I protected have restored its former greatness and could get up from knees. And traitors were and will be always. And the end at them, at all one.
I never thought that I will live so long, I will train three Heroes of Russia. I suspected, the last years that there is with me something is not right. But to doctors did not go. And sense? Year, well has lived and it is good. Now to me the loneliness in sterile chamber has come. I had nobody who would hold me by hand or came to visit me. No, it is not necessary to feel sorry for me. I am guilty, but what now to do. Yes you excuse my senile grumbling. Long I was silent and with anybody could not talk and tell the tall tale which has happened to me.
Being in the best Russian military hospital, I died. But I waited for it every day, and here the door has opened. My Lenochka has entered. The young nurse, with kind, but tired eyes from the next heavy change. Red hair, and ridiculously stuck fervent bow on the head. Big blue eyes, chubby sponges and pleasant aroma of flowers.
– Vasily Ivanovich, is time, – its voice was soft as summer rain.
I have silently nodded, having hardly raised the head. It has brought to my lips glass glass with water, has put two capsules on palm. Ritual action, as on me, senseless. But Lenochka asks, so it is necessary.
– Thanks, Lenochka, – having croaked I have told, swallowing of bitterish pills. Its touch was cool and fleeting. It has left, having left behind the pressing feeling of the missed opportunity. «Eh, here if …» – I have begun thought, old as the world. But suddenly it has broken. It was not explosion or heavy blow of pain. It was similar to as though the Universe for moment has blinked. Chamber, pain, old body – everything has disappeared. There was no pain, there was no tunnel at the end of which waited for me light.
When consciousness has returned to me with feeling of improbable, amazing ease and huge inflow of forces. I have opened eyes. I lay on something firm and cool. Not on hospital bed. On floor? I have slowly risen and have sat down, the movement I were given unusually quickly, without crunch in joints, short wind and back pain. I have carefully looked round. No, not chamber. Some technical room similar to advanced garage. Walls from metal, on the right about wall, there was column similar to tribune, and on it multi-colored bulbs flickered. In the middle of tribune the bluish screen shone. It soared in air, these are holograms with unclear schemes. Air smelled of plastic, ozone, lubricating oil and the burned-down conducting.
I have looked at the hands. Young people. I have clenched fists. Strong. Has looked at wrist on it were – not hours, and some difficult bracelet with the blinking badges. I have examined myself. On me simple, but at the same time strange clothes from gray, elastic material. Suddenly in the head the name has emerged. Others. Sergey Vasilyevich Mironov. Age thirty five years. Citizen of the Russian Empire. What?! How empires? Here has so put, here correctly say that history always revolves. And here I was overflowed by avalanche of other memoirs, scrappy, but they flew in my consciousness as falls: «technician-navigator of the third class … starprobe vehicle „Scythian“ … The guild of free dealers … delivery time expires through …»
– Mironov! Do you play the fool again? – the sharp voice from corner was distributed.
In doorway there was person in similar clothes, but with stripes on shoulder. Angry person. The instinct perfected for half a century has worked instantly. The old personality has faded into the background as the agent on appearance at the moment of danger. On surface what was known by Sergey Mironov has emerged.
– Checked stabilization contour, – I have heard the new, velvety and steady voice. – There was anomaly. All are normal.
– Anomaly? – the person has sniffed. – You have in head anomaly. The Scythian sails away in two hours. If yours gravikomp does not work, the captain will throw out you in lock without space suit. Move!
The person has left. I have slowly risen to the feet. The body obeyed ideally. Has approached the next brilliant unit housing and has seen the reflection. It not my person. Unfamiliar. Confident look, firm chin, shock of nutbrown hair on the head and on my face there was no fatigue of the old man. Thoughts have rushed whirlwind. Then memoirs. So, now the 3158th year. I in the future?! So, star ships. Free dealers. It was not similar to my world, it resembled the fantastic story from the book of my childhood more. But it was the reality. Rough, technological, smelling of lubricant and for some reason, I felt threat.
But somewhere in depth under layers of others memoirs, my old, familiar feeling has moved. That that I tested, receiving the first task. Not fear. Passion. Burning, inadmissible passion. My mission turns out, has not ended. I was given one more chance. But who? And why? Why to me? I have turned to gravikomp: I already knew how it looks and what I need to do. My fingers have stretched to the control panel. «Anomaly …» – I have whispered about myself, and corners of my new lips have trembled in similarity of smile. Adventure of which I so dreamed in the village, reading the shabby books of the Soviet fantasy, has just begun for me. And, it seems, it is deadly as this feeling did not abandon me. But now at me was, young body, sharp mind and long experience of old wolf of the operative.
«Well, – I have thought, studying holograms of navigation routes. – Let’s begin with gravikomp. And there we will look».
I felt how in my breast strange mix begins to boil: chilling horror of the event with me and wild joy. I was alive. I was in some game again. Game. For some reason this only word which turned with most has begun in my head. I, already as Sergey Mironov, walked along narrow corridor of «Scythian». The cargo shuttle «Scythian» did not remind smooth interiors from old fantastic novels from within. Yes, cargo about it has prompted me Sergey’s memory. This shuttle was the real slogger, the cargo space ship, the long-distance truck driver. Plowed space, transporting in itself various goods. The smell of such shuttles was their business card: caustic ozone ashes from the fused conducting and contacts, sweetish stench of the retsirkulirovanny air spoiled by the disinfector and the ubiquitous, almost calming smell of lubricating oil. Walls, floor and ceiling were from gray metal. Everywhere – chaotic web of the cable routes covered with trellised panels, the blinking indicator bulbs (red, yellow, green – as traffic light signals for devoted) and hatches with inscriptions, part from which my new memory deciphered: «Reactor compartment – it is DANGEROUS!», «Emergency lock – number three».
I went, and each detail was noted, developed in my head, and then was displayed on shelves as proofs on table of the investigator. «Professional habit, Vasily Ivanovich» – I have grinned about myself. Old habits were stronger than new body. The latrine was my first purpose. Not from physiological need, and by operational need. The agent should know all details the of new appearance. Well to get used to role and not to give itself to open. I have to be natural and not cause suspicions differently failure. The latrine was very quickly as on one of doors the photograph has been pasted. Where the man dressed in black overalls celebrates the need standing. The compartment was close, shining from the chromeplated surfaces. I was locked, has rested hands against sink and for the first time have attentively looked at myself in mirror.