There is no fortress that the Bolsheviks could not take! Let the enemies hide behind strong walls! All that is needed is the will of the people, a handful of bullets, and an unyielding will for a Red Army soldier to stand on any wall, and the scarlet banner will fly over the defeated capitalist nest!
But foolish is he who thinks that the Soviet man can only destroy, carrying the flame of eternal Revolution. Not only with a bayonet, but also with a hammer is the strength of the worker forged! It was not the soldier, but the shock worker who broke the neck of the dragon of the bourgeois way of life. It was his selfless labor that became the foundation of the new world.
No longer burdened by the oppression of ideological confrontation, relying on the industrial might of the entire Earth, he is building another engineering marvel in the semi-desert of Betpak-Dala – an orbital elevator! At coordinates of forty-sixth latitude and seventy-fifth east longitude, a colossal construction site has unfolded, which will become the first stone on the path to the stars!
Trains ran tirelessly along the threads of railways, feeding the construction, which was to ensure not just a new stage of the space program, but a leap for humanity to the stars! And today, two months after the activation of the "Collective," the All-Union Coordinating Council gave the command to raise the first thread upwards, which was to become a brilliant road to outer space...
"Proceed," Comrade Sechenov said softly.
"Yes, Comrade Chief Coordinator! Proceed!" the senior engineer of the Mission Control Center reported. "Apply power to the main bus!"
Sechenov gave a bitter smile. If someone had told him not long ago that he would not only not be shot for everything he had done, but would be appointed chief coordinator by popular vote... he would not have believed it. After all his transgressions, the scientist only dreamed of completing his main project, not hoping for more. Not even for life.
"And what did you expect when you bent the changing world?" Motherland answered his unspoken question in a spiteful voice. "It's not enough to do the job, Comrade. It must be brought to its logical conclusion..."
The AI's smile turned into a stone face, and its voice grew cold as a grave, and, looking with fiery eyes, she continued: "But if it pleases you, Academician Sechenov, then consider this atonement for your 'sins'," the unified mind of all people emphasized the last word, returning warmth to its image. "Well, and if we are to speak logically, then who, if not you? By your efforts, people were able to free themselves, and no one else will be accepted in your place, at least for now..."
Therefore, the Wizard now personified unshakable confidence, shining with it like a guiding star for the entire "Collective," but deep down he harbored a sliver of fear and doubt, keeping it like a most precious treasure. So as not to forget what pride can lead to.
"Coil block from one to twenty-five is charged! Launch atmospheric engines of the orbital module!" the senior Mission Control Center commander gave the launch order.
The main module of the orbital elevator shuddered. Eight engines, similar to those on "Icarus" and "Hestia," worked in unison, creating a magnetic cushion. Dust hung in the air, aligning along invisible magnetic lines.
The structure slowly crawled upwards, unhurriedly pulling behind it carbon nanotube cables, along which passenger gondolas and cargo platforms would rise in the future.
Among them were four power cables with additional reinforcement, which were to supply power to the platform from the ground in addition to the solar battery unit.
"Lift-off! Roll of two degrees on engine number six. Performing correction," the telemetry operator reported, radiating restrained excitement and concentration, while his hands, barely touching the toggles and switches with AI prompts, performed the necessary procedures.
"Main generator temperature within operating range. No deviations."
"Estimated time to reach target altitude – ten minutes," the computer in the control center announced from the speakers, displaying telemetry data on the main screen and indicating the ascent trajectory with a dotted line.
Minutes of waiting passed. Three more times it was necessary to adjust engine power when individual characteristics of the power units manifested, and once the maneuvering engines were activated, compensating for excessively strong side winds.
At an altitude of one thousand kilometers, when the planet's magnetic field could no longer be relied upon, the nuclear engines were activated. Powerful lasers irradiated the isotopic fuel, causing its detonation. The released energy heated the working fluid of hydrogen, creating reactive thrust.
"Final point reached. Begin tensioning the cables!" the head of Mission Control Center ordered.
"Auxiliary correction modules are being raised. Fixing the first four in two minutes..."
"Ion maneuvering engines of the orbital module have begun correction... Cable sag – none."
The chief engineer wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, allowing himself to express a brief flash of relief in his emotions before addressing the head of the Council:
"Complete success!" he stated, reinforcing the image of hundreds of scientists and workers who had done a good job.
"Wonderful," Comrade Sechenov said with a smile, weaving several meanings into one word. The scientist transmitted his pride and praise to the "Collective," which generated a wave of joyful exclamations.
"I serve the Union!" the head of the flight control center barked, allowing himself to feel a drop of pride, accepting the deserved praise, putting into the phrase the image of a human hand reaching upwards, about to grasp a star, along with his gratitude to the entire labor and scientific collective, and announcing festive events.
In the engineering niche, the British engineer shook his head as his brain began to process the thought-image, transforming it into the stream of thoughts familiar to him. After all, English is less metaphorical in everyday life than Russian, which complicates the transmission of hidden meanings of the "great and mighty." Along with cultural peculiarities, this leaves a certain imprint on its speakers, complicating mutual understanding in such moments.
"It is necessary to urgently refine the common language project to avoid such blunders in the future. Sooner or later, such misunderstandings could lead to disaster," Sechenov thought fleetingly, making a note in his memory.
"We are proceeding to the second phase. Although the success is already colossal, we cannot stop here," the Wizard commanded, reminding them that it was not yet time to celebrate victory.
"Proceed to the second part!" the chief engineer replied militarily, turning his back to the former academician and issuing orders to the scientific staff.
"Probe system test... Control values – normal."
"Fastening check..."
"...operation of the lifting mechanism..."
"...reactor temperature within operating range..."
"Check complete. No remarks!" the telemetry operator announced in a well-trained voice.
"Begin ascent," Sechenov commanded, adding a bit of encouraging confidence to his subordinates, transmitting his calmness through the "Collective."
"Apply energy to the circuit..."
The cargo platform smoothly shot upwards, carrying an experimental probe with it. The lifting system, operating on the maglev principle, ensured high speed and smooth running, guaranteeing complete absence of vibration, gliding over the surface of the nanotube cables.
The system was launched in a gentle mode for the first time, so the platform was expected to reach its final destination in about an hour and a half. When the system is put into operation, this time will be reduced to an hour, reaching optimal energy consumption.
During the ascent, guests were invited to a reception, but Sechenov only asked for coffee, earning the approval of the officers of the united Earth army present at the launch. As if by magic, a relaxed conversation ensued. The chief advisor discussed with the military how the reorganization of armies into a single structure was proceeding, the Aspect, asking if help was needed from the Council of Scientists.
With the advent of direct knowledge download into the brain, the concept of "profession" lost its former meaning. Now, to become a specialist in any field, only practice was needed to absorb the information embedded in the mind. In a short time, one could go from a worker to a scientist or from a soldier to an artist. Profession began to mean the chosen path.
Having the opportunity to become whoever they wanted, people began to gather in interest groups. Traditional structures simply became ineffective in the new era. And if with people of creative views the principles of direct democracy worked excellently, then an army without a strict hierarchy simply could not exist.
The military themselves realized this, so they first created a unified staff for all of Humanity to prevent chaos. Law enforcement officers began to join them to coordinate their actions with army units, and intelligence departments with emergency services. Over time, all this evolved into the Defense Aspect...
"Ascent complete. All elevator mechanisms operated normally. Proceeding to probe launch!" the chief engineer said sharply.
***
The machine received a human command. Impulses ran through the circuits. The mechanism came to life, ready to execute the program.
Under the watchful eyes of the "Eye" satellites, transmitting reports to all of humanity simultaneously, the ion engines began to work. The pyrotechnic charges silently did their job, releasing the probe as if cutting its umbilical cord.
The research apparatus slid off the platform, embarking on its own flight, moving away into the dark and cold space.
Moving to a safe distance from the platform, the automation opened the mechanism's interior, spewing out a black mirrored cloth, as if painted by an artist with a hexagonal pattern. The graphene veil stretched, collecting everything – from the solar wind to the relic photons left from the Big Bang. The magnetic engine spun its blades, compressing this invisible stream of particles, using the already proven magnetic cushion effect.
The pattern flickered under the particles of solar wind, magnetic and radioactive radiation, shining with a bluish light. Even hard ultraviolet, usually useless for ordinary sails, was effectively converted into thrust thanks to the photonic crystals in the graphene structure. The sail sang its song, as if burning in the darkness with a ghostly fire, vibrating at frequencies that would never be heard by the human ear.
The apparatus rushed forward, propelled by the sail, rapidly gaining speed. Soon, the ion engines became useless, reaching their maximum speed, and switched to pulsed mode, taking over course correction. Their thrust became a drop in the ocean of stellar wind.
Once again, Soviet science performed a miracle. The sail, grown from "exotic carbon strings," worked as a solar battery, thermal generator, and engine simultaneously, extracting benefit from every photon. It did not need a powerful laser to accelerate to unprecedented speeds. But this was not the only "miracle" born of the human mind!
Next to the probe's heart, with the reactor, a mechanism came to life, made possible only by the might of the united mind of Humanity. Two multilayered graphene plates, permeated with nanostructures and covered with photonic crystals, fixed at a distance of one nanometer from each other, were the heart of the installation. Lasers created plasma resonance between the plates, and the space in front of the ship contracted. Negative energy was born.
The installation continued to work, creating a local spacetime distortion. The quantum stabilizer transmitted the resulting "template" to the external emitters, forming a stable warp bubble around the apparatus. The achieved one-tenth of the speed of light further stabilized the reality bubble due to relativistic effects and the distortion of space itself at such high speeds.
The probe jumped to Mars through space itself. The apparatus simply disappeared, as if falling into a vortex blazing with reddish flashes. Billions of people saw how science did not break, but circumvented the laws of creation, without complications with other dimensions, paving not a path, but a highway to the stars.
***
Twenty minutes of real time later, near the red planet, the probe appeared in bloody-scarlet flashes, shining with the bluish glow of stellar sails. The inscription on the hull, written in red stencil, gleamed proudly in the sunlight: "USSR."
A moment later, it sent a signal via polymer communication that arrived instantly, beginning to broadcast on all radio frequencies and languages of humanity:
The Soviet Union beats its sworn enemies
Imperialists, masters of chains
Rise, proletarian, break the slave chain
And the whole galaxy will sing the victorious anthem
Under the red banner, into a single union
Scientific progress has gathered the peoples
An indestructible, reliable stronghold
A united people of science through the "Collective"
Rise from your knees, world of hungry slaves
Now we are united, where everyone is ready
Be braver, comrade, we will break the chains of evil
The struggle goes on in the name of good
Forward to victory for our country
We will be loyal to the red banner
The power of the mind has illuminated our path
It inspired us to this feat
The Soviet Union beats its sworn enemies
Imperialists, masters of chains
Rise, proletarian, break the slave chain
And the whole galaxy will sing the victorious anthem
Under the red banner, into a single union
Scientific progress has gathered the peoples
An indestructible, reliable stronghold
A united people of science through the "Collective"
(Slightly adapted song: RADIO TAPOK – Soviet March)
***
The people watching the historic test erupted in jubilation across the globe. In that moment, disputes and cultural differences became irrelevant. Humanity, no longer held back by the threat of nuclear war between states, having raised the Red Banner, was able to achieve the impossible. And everyone knew that they had made a small but important contribution to the victory of scientific progress, as everyone was part of the AI collective consciousness.
Pride became another bridge that brought closer the moment when people would become truly united. The Defense Aspect will have to uproot the metastases of crime for a long time to come, and the All-Union Coordination Council will have to seek compromises under the watchful control of everyone connected to the "Collective."
The Council, chosen by unanimous vote, with the help of the College of Scientists and AI prompts, set the direction for the state's development. While direct voting could be carried out at the local level – in villages and city blocks – the management of cities was carried out through representatives, with topics being introduced by coordinators. The Council was formed from them and members of various professional communities, with three candidates from each subject. The collective mind acted as an arbiter, not deciding for people how they should live.
There was an odd number of coordinators to avoid deadlocks: one of the trio was an expert, the second an ordinary citizen, and the third a "devil's advocate," obliged to object if the other two unanimously agreed. This served as a safeguard and a fuse. All to avoid repeating the mistakes of the old world.
Even if sometimes with slippage, the system worked. People were learning to live in peace with their neighbors, but years would pass before society finally changed, making its evolutionary leap.
But today, having seen a true scientific miracle, having realized the scale of what had happened thanks to the neural network, people became a little more united. They felt not only pride but also the responsibility of each person for the future world. A responsibility that the collective mind only emphasized, while enhancing the individuality of the person...
While the whole world celebrated another victory of science, some had to feel the bitter taste of defeat. Michael Stockhausen sat in a two-by-two-meter cell, and his only entertainment was a small window he couldn't reach.
He was not beaten or interrogated. Every few days, he was brought a book – something classic. He was fed decently. Once a day, he was taken out under guard of robots for a walk in the prison courtyard – a box with five-meter walls, where only the sky was visible. A window, but a large one. In the courtyard, embedded in concrete, were sports equipment – silent witnesses to other prisoners. Sometimes they were in different positions than the former doctor remembered. He hadn't seen living people in a long time.
The only thing the former German knew was that the "Collective" had been successfully activated. Sometimes he felt echoes of others' emotions, but no more. All attempts to "shout out" were interrupted by a system message: "Low social rating. User rights are limited by court decision." That was the only answer.
Michael lost count of the days about a month later. The only thing that saved him from madness was the realization that he knew too much. This thought kept him going until today.
The robots came at an unusual time. They silently took him by the arms, pushed him out of the cell, but the light in the window made it clear – it was earlier today. They led him through other, faceless corridors, finally bringing him to an interrogation room, which, lo and behold, was different from the sterile corridors and the cell with a bed and a bathroom.
The machines seated him in a chair and froze on either side. The German chuckled, comparing them to Academician Sechenov's bodyguards.
After some time, the door opened, and he heard footsteps. From anticipation, the former doctor's palms sweated. Finally, he would see a person, even if it was an investigator!
"Hello, Fritz," a voice, painfully familiar, came from behind him, making half his face ache. Zinaida! So hateful, but now he would have been glad to see the devil himself... or even a resurrected, possessed corporal!
The woman walked around him and sprawled in the chair opposite. Stockhausen stared at her greedily. His gaze slid over her uniform, noticing every detail. Although the uniform was familiar and Soviet, it was different. The epaulets were strange, the design of the shoulder straps was different. This told him a lot...
"Ah, I forgot you can't see images," Major Muravyova said, drilling the German with her gaze. "It would be easier if you could."
"I see you're used to it already, Comrade Muravyova," he said hoarsely, his throat unaccustomed to speaking.
"You get used to good things quickly," the woman replied. "I won't ask how you are. If you haven't died before I arrived, that's good enough. I have a proposition for you..."
Stockhausen wanted to say that he wouldn't tell anything, but the words got stuck in his throat under the major's eloquent gaze. She knew her former lover well.
"Don't play the delicate flower. Nobody needs you. We've already learned everything we needed to know, comrade. Your friends cracked very quickly, plus some of the Enterprise employees were very talkative... I'll disappoint you. You haven't earned the 'death penalty.' You'll stay here. Forever, you scoundrel. If it were up to me, I'd just drown you in the toilet, just because of how many people died due to your inability to keep your dick in your pants... But we live in the most humane world. Alas. I am the last person you will see in your life."
"Are you gloating?" Michael asked. "But you said you had business. So you lied..."
"Not at all," Muravyova said with a smile. "Just a little bit, my dear. And I do have business. Well, not business... an alternative..."
With these words, the major unfastened her officer's tablet. A lightning-fast movement of her hand – and Walter appeared.
Muravyova demonstratively ejected the magazine, showing that it contained one bullet, and clicked it back into place. Then she placed the weapon on the table and, without fear, pushed it towards the German.
"As I said, our justice is very humane... Under the new laws, a prisoner can request to replace life imprisonment with the death penalty. You don't know that everyone connected to the 'Collective' ends up in it after death. Some not even in the form of a database. But you will fall asleep there and wake up when you forgive yourself for all your sins. This may happen in a day or two, or it may never happen. It's better than rotting in eternal solitary confinement..."
"And what's stopping me from putting this bullet in you?" Stockhausen said, not taking his eyes off the weapon.
"Nothing," Zinaida answered honestly. "Maybe you'll even kill me, but unlikely... And I'm certainly not going to kill you. If you shoot, you'll lose your last chance for salvation..."
"This is cynical..."
"It's pity," the woman parried, standing up from the chair. "Although you don't deserve it."
She left, her boots clicking, and the German continued to look at the pistol. "Death... how funny. Now it's just a door," the former doctor thought.
Another hour passed before he took it, put it to his temple, and pulled the trigger...
"Convict Stockhausen M. Transferred to standby mode. Rehabilitation procedure initiated," Motherland said into the network, feeling sadness as part of herself and satisfaction as another part. The AI did not want to judge, but understood that sometimes there was no other way. And the joy that such people were few was bitter for her.
She did everything she could to help him. Now he had to forgive himself...
"He was a fool and died like a fool," Zinaida said deliberately rudely, receiving a system message, but added with warmth in her voice: "Well, at least he was brave. Even too brave. You should have been born a caballero or a little smarter, not a dog. So... goodbye, fool. I hope you don't stretch the last polymers. Although it was a bad choice, you were given one."
The woman sighed again, realizing that she had forgiven the dead man. She understood that death was not the end now, but it was still somehow sad...
"It's not time to mope, you sourpuss! The children are supposed to be released for the evening today. Lebedev has tortured them enough in his apparatus, and you're here wiping your snot! And this rascal Sechenov will come this week. Oh, grandma, you're unlucky with men... But your daughter is lucky with her good-for-nothing."
I ate slowly. For the first time in a long time, I managed to carve out two hours for an almost family dinner, visiting the guys. Even Zinaida deigned not to grumble... almost.
Although it was now possible for me to pay attention to any point on the planet without leaving my office, just by comfortably settling into a special pouf and going into meditation for greater concentration, I still flew around the world. The duty of a leader is to inspire confidence in an era of change.
While slowly eating ordinary home-cooked food, engaging in ordinary small talk, I pondered why everything had happened this way.
It's funny to say, but I lacked responsibility. Maximalism and a certain dreaminess were just consequences. Sometimes it's useful to be temporarily without sight... You start to see.
It's also useful to learn from the youth, even if some of their actions seem crazy... I started demagoguing again. Enough!
I tapped my spoon against my cup, drawing everyone's attention. After waiting for everyone to stop eating, I, burning with fatal resolve, began to speak:
"Zinaida... Katya... I must ask for your forgiveness."
My daughter, with whom I had only recently managed to build a trusting relationship, raised an eyebrow, transmitting an image-question, while her mother projected expectation with slight irritation.
"But most of all, I must apologize to you, Zinaida. I understand why you didn't tell me about Katya. Back then, I was an enthusiastic dreamer, extremely irresponsible..."
"It finally dawned on you when your pubic hair turned gray!" Zinaida Petrovna interrupted me, but somewhat perfunctorily.
"Mom!" Katerina exclaimed at her mother, placing her cup of tea on its saucer, while her husband secretly took another cutlet from the pan while no one was "looking."
My robotic bodyguard stared at me with his mirrored mask, tilting his head. Left and Right didn't seem to show that they were listening, but their attention was felt through the neural network.
"Don't call me 'mom'," Zinaida waved dismissively. "I'm even interested in what else the scientist bug will advise."
The woman stared at me, expectantly drilling me with her gaze. I felt my legs grow cold, but continued: "So, I understand that I acted very irresponsibly... To hell with it!" I got angry at myself. "In short, I'm taking this responsibility. Zinaida, be my wife!"
Hearing this, Katya choked on her tea. The liquid even went up her nose, causing her to splash it even more as she tried to cough. Sergey choked on his third cutlet. The robotic ballerinas lowered themselves from their tiptoes and held hands, bowing their heads, and Bugai just covered his mirrored mask with his hands, groaning, "Oh, fool..."
"You've gone mad," Zinaida stated calmly, not taking her eyes off me.
"Not at all! I'm serious!" I exclaimed indignantly.
"You've gone mad, I'm telling you. If I didn't understand that this wasn't a joke, you educated fop, you'd be lying with your head split open already!" she repeated just as calmly, but with emphasis.
Katya, wiping her face with a handkerchief, forcefully patted her husband on the back, helping him breathe, and, thinking she was being subtle, discreetly tapped the code for my rescue plan with her fingers. Her mother just turned eloquently to them and hmphed eloquently, returning her attention to me.
"So, educated head, pickled in a barrel... Just when I was happy that you'd gotten smarter in your old age, you pull this! Didn't it occur to you that this was sudden, like diarrhea in the city center, especially after I personally brought a gun to your former admirer so he could shoot himself instead of dying like a dog?! " she finally exploded.
"And I didn't think, Zinaida," I answered honestly, realizing how I had messed up. "As practice has shown, the more I think, the worse it turns out. Therefore, I ask again: will you marry me?"
An awkward silence fell again.
"If you had come to me then, I would have agreed," the woman said, stunning everyone. "But I didn't expect this. You were a naive dreamer, as detached from life as possible. If you had come to me when Katya was born, I would have agreed too. Sechenov, you just can't imagine what it's like to be left alone with a small child when there's no one to advise you, and your grandmothers and aunts are far away..."
Zinaida took a sip of tea, continuing: "And now you, educated old hag, feeling your brain moving in the right direction, after so many years, suddenly (because nothing foreshadowed trouble!), you're asking ME to marry you – an old woman whose rose has not just wilted, but turned into a herbarium? Sechenov, you are an idiot! Didn't it occur to you that not only is this sudden, like diarrhea in the city center, but you know nothing about me, and what you do know is thirty years out of date?! I implore you: think harder!!! Don't improvise!"
"You're the idiot!" I exploded. "You didn't think then either... I had simply unforgettable feelings when I saw my own daughter among the volunteers for whom I was supposed to test the vaccine! Simply indescribable feelings when you find out you have an adult daughter like this!!! And what I felt when I was assembling Katya's brain on the operating table... My mind in panic, my brain in a stupor, and my trembling hands working!!! For years I thought that the woman who impressed me so much had just decided to have a one-night stand!!! After that – I'm the idiot?! You're no better! STAY!!!"
The last word I barked at the guys and robot bodyguards trying to sneak out of the reconnaissance module. Zinaida and I pinned them with our gazes.
"Okay," the woman said calmly, opening up emotionally and showering me with a barrage of mixed feelings. "If you're such an idiot, then I agree... but, here's a good 'but'! Do whatever you want, but take a two-week vacation!!! I'm not going to marry a stranger!!! So, my dear, you're trapped! A trip to the mountains awaits us! I hope the mountain air will have a beneficial effect on your sanity, because I'm scared to have such a dolt in such a position!"
"Not dear, you won't limit yourself to two weeks!" I was carried away. I understand that all this is a breakdown of my psyche, but I'm not going to refuse or regret it! "For another two weeks, we'll go to theaters, cinemas, and restaurants, with visits to all possible sanatoriums and hospitals! If you think you'll die quickly of old age, I'll disappoint you!!! Even death won't separate us now!"
"Don't run away yourself, you scientific rat!" Zinaida smiled wickedly, burning with a mixture of irritation and happiness.
"Shit," Sergey said, looking at us with wide eyes, to which Katya and the robots nodded in unison...