As soon as the colonel and his son left, the dolok, slowly, savoring the moment, chuckled quietly and turned his head to the lieutenant. His fanged maw stretched even wider, revealing neat rows of fangs in a sly smile that only sentient killer whales are capable of. His eyes simply shone with anticipation, and his creaky-squeaky, slightly croaking voice dripped with slyness:
"Drunk, mine-explosive beef... I heard something similar during training. But there, if you filter out the instructors' admiring curses, the call sign was Shep. And many mentioned him. I didn't know or guess that I would meet such a legendary personality. But there was a rumor on the ocean that just as sharks boast about the sharpness of their teeth, so do the fighters of 'Argentum' pride themselves on their call signs..."
"Because it's short for Shapoklyak," the dolok interrupted Artyom with a sigh, glancing at the skaven, who was slowly eating his food, waiting to be needed. "And I'm not even offended... It's just that all the assignments I'm sent on go through hell, and sometimes through the ass with an oxy-acetylene torch. Everyone understands this, acknowledges my merits, but a collection of anecdotes could be written about my adventures! It's not like we're playing patty-cake. Even this head could turn into such a mess... They don't send us for nothing."
"I understand," the infantryman agreed, "but we've strayed from the topic. I can find out the whole story online, of course, but it will be funnier to see your expression..."
"You just want to laugh and play," the operative chuckled. "Only you do it in a good-natured way, unlike those dolphin bastards. I'll tell you, but first, let's find this head. Junior contractor, take care of us."
The old rat perked up, coming out of standby mode, not literally. The operative noted his slightly glassy gaze, which indicated a connection to the network. Apparently, while the 'senior sentient beings' were wagging their tongues, he was requesting information. "And you wouldn't tell me what kind of metal is packed into this small body. Their thesis about the weakness of flesh and the strength of metal is sometimes frightening, even to me, who has undergone military modification..." Artyom thought.
"O-of course, comrades! The foreman of the processing plant awaits you by order of the general-fabricator of the optimization trust. Haha..."
"That's what I was talking about," Artyom said with a sigh. "I don't even want to know what one of the five fabricators needs..."
The dolok just laughed in response, but the operative's sharp hearing detected a hint of hysterical notes in his laughter. It finally dawned on his new acquaintance what he had been talking about...
"Well, what are we waiting for?" I ask my son, stepping onto the footboard of the public transport.
My eyes habitually scanned the cabin. A couple of human engineers, judging by their clothing colors, from the College of Scientists, not the Workers' Union. Four felinids. A mother with kittens. All were seated by the windows, and the mother cat, with closed eyelids, controlled the hyperactive kittens. A lady with a carrier. In the carrier, a regular, non-sentient cat. Although they look similar, the cat's eyes have an animalistic expression. And five wolf-like creatures. These are from the service line, resembling German Shepherds, so they are less noisy and slightly reserved, but they still made a couple of jokes about the cat.
In short, nothing unusual. Regular passengers. My gaze slid out of habit, which had become instinct, although there was no threat to expect here.
With my appearance, the sentient dogs fell silent. The operative's uniform and projected status had such an effect on them.
Sasha jumped into a seat near the entrance door, which was slightly higher due to the wheel arch, only briefly scanning the cabin with his eyes. He's more interested in looking out the window than observing others. And if we were flying instead of rolling on the ground, it would be difficult to tear him away from the porthole.
There was something to see. The neo-Stalinist style in architecture and the spirit of the people's ideology had turned cities not only into fortresses and cozy homes but also didn't forget about beauty. The spaciousness, abundance of greenery, and sandy-pastel tones in the lace of stucco work favorably emphasized the red color of the banners hung in honor of the autumn harvest festival, as well as the beauty of numerous smalt mosaics and painted facades.
Humans and sentient animals had skillfully transformed typical buildings into something unique, masterfully hiding firing points and security turrets behind stucco and statues. I could only click my tongue.
"Myshovka" was a district of factory and research institute workers, which was reflected in its decoration. Not like in our Azure, where, due to the influence of the Enterprise, the style leans more towards futurism than to the achievements of labor, even now, when the main production has been moved to the Moon, leaving test grounds and scientific laboratories.
The district was also known as a place where octopods lived. People even came to see them. These mollusks, clad in transparent exoskeletons, hovered in the sky in large numbers. Even now, in daylight, their glowing, iridescent bodies of all colors fascinated with their pulsations and color changes.
Small and large, multi-armed workers hurried to the factories or returned from their shifts, hovering on the magnetic pads of their suits, keeping their distance from humans and their own kind. The living machines liked to attract attention, but they strongly disliked interacting with others, even their own kind. They flew as if together, but each separately.
"Beautiful," my son exclaimed enthusiastically, and I fully agreed with him. Against the backdrop of these living machines and fashionistas, the delivery drones and flying transport buzzing in the sky were lost. Only the colossal flying cities pierced through their magnificence.
My memory instantly, as soon as my eyes saw the silhouette, pulled the names of the platforms from the depths: "Moscow-Center," "Mytishchi," "Butovo-West," "Energetikov Plateau." Many people will watch the performances of the Union of Artists' troupes at the festival today.
This year, the first day of the tenth month turned out to be hot, but the breath of autumn could already be felt. After all, by the old style, it would have been September tenth. Therefore, there were simply a lot of people on the streets.
In the "Trudovik" park, the abundance of visitors could even make one dizzy. Therefore, the flying cities had flown closer to avoid creating excessive crowds. From the observation galleries of the platforms, the view opened up to both the panorama and individual performances – thanks to holographic screens and excellent optics.
Already at the stop, the festive crowd swept us away as soon as we got off the bus. The park was laid out in a circular principle with alleys diverging from the center, dividing it into thirteen sectors, like months of the year. The central entrance, where the stops were, was decorated with two flowerbeds – symbols of the New Year, whose days were not included in any of the months.
Each sector had its own entertainment program, focusing on some specific area and season. If desired, you could play snowballs here and then drink birch sap.
Although there was still a lot of time until lunch, all the trees were already tied with festive ribbons, causing them to bloom, rejoicing in the attention, and play simple melodies with their branches in their own way. Some plants wove gazebos or swings from their branches for the amusement of children.
"Forty years ago, if any person saw this, they would probably go crazy," I thought, taking a cup of birch sap from the branches of a birch tree, discreetly placing a glowing green vial into the leaves. The tree greedily pulled the branch and gratefully jingled its leaves. They would be given a plant tonic anyway, but I had a couple of ampoules left. Now I could let my son go. Now he wouldn't get lost.
"Run along now!" I smiled, looking at my son, who was already pawing the ground, looking at the attractions. "At four. In the center. We have to pick up Mom at six."
"I remember, Dad!" the little one nodded importantly, disappearing into the round dance of other children.
It's time for a walk. Sasha is a responsible boy. He'll manage on his own. He won't run far anyway. He'll stay within sight, and if I were to wander nearby, he'd run away from me himself. The lad is growing up.
I need to buy a gift for Katya. Remembering the color schemes of octopuses, I head to the winter segments. That's where artisans display their clothing. Of course, I could sew it myself, or order it from a tailor, but there's something about shopping, if not at a gallop. I often just get to walk around, let alone talk about vacation. The responsibilities of a squad commander lie on me. Ah, I wish I could walk around here with Katya, but it's not fate, and duty is duty.
As I walked, I observed the gymnasts' performance. The girls and cats put on a ribbon show. What you can't take away from the felinids is their grace. Cats, even if they were domestic in the past, what can you say.
Doloki, of course, were doing their thing. Either they were doing their dances with their families, or they were amusing people. They don't like to show their strength much. Everyone already knows they are strong.
When I reached the dramatic pavilion, I admit, I got hooked... I'm not a fan of theater, but the acting of some of the actors and their broadcasted emotions were simply mesmerizing. I especially liked the scene where a shark and a human acted out a fragment from "Romeo and Juliet." It might seem like a stretch for a shark to play Juliet, but the actress played with her voice so well, compensating for the almost complete lack of facial expressions with masks, that I just believed it. This is a case where talent knows no bounds. Therefore, she fully deserved her ovations.
A howl echoed over the park. Wolfhednars... They all go a bit crazy in Scandinavia. Every year it's the same. No one holds their becoming sentient against them, but they can't forgive their dog-brothers themselves... It's probably a battle of wits, and someone rhymed about an unintelligent dog, and a powerful one at that. And they're happy to howl and bark...
With such thoughts, I reached the clothing stalls. Many artels demonstrated their products here – from jewelry to underwear. Some productions were left to their citizens, ready to lend a hand if needed.
I was looking for a specific stall. Katya used to be a ballerina, or at least studied to be one, so she liked French motifs. I specifically looked at fashion magazines published by Parisian fashion houses, and the octopuses suggested color combinations themselves. Therefore, it was easy to spot the right item.
However, along with it, I witnessed an ugly scene. In the air, which simply radiated joy and warmth, there was a black blot next to one of the stalls. Listening to the "Collective," I felt a sour taste, like from fermented sauerkraut. Unpleasant.
"Invisible," I thought, approaching the stall with the relieved gaze of a young seamstress. The sentient beings who had gathered around, ready to help the seamstress, instantly dispersed. A flabby, slovenly man, continuing to say something angrily to almost a child, didn't notice this.
Looking at his dossier, I winced again. Not only did he not work anywhere, but he also had a record for theft. You could say he was a common loafer if not for the sour smell that emanated from him in his emotions. His thoughts were primitive, straightforward, and at the same time seemed frozen in jelly, having gone bad. Although he was sentient, his ceiling was low instead of something high.
Not only did he pick on the girl about the price, but he was literally undressing her with his gaze, making the seamstress, who had just emerged from adolescence, blush and turn pale, not knowing where to hide. If it were another day and another place, the crowd would have already kicked him themselves. And so, as a representative of the law, I was given the right to pacify the impudent one, who shone a meter of sour emptiness. Often, we simply save such people from retribution. People who feel the pain and feelings of others react very negatively to such individuals.
"Comrade," my hand fell on his shoulder, making the boor flinch, and his thoughts were colored with fear. This is not like bullying girls, but playing hide-and-seek with a more seasoned beast. "Only because I'm lazy, I'm giving you a chance. I'll count to three, and if after 'three' I see you in the park, you'll get fifteen days, and after that – to the training center for correction. And there's no booze there, not even in a healthy limit format."
"You have no right!" the boar squawked, turning around with a poorly washed face. I sighed. It's because of these fighters against the system, who are actually loafers, that we never run out of work. Most invisibles can't live peacefully. Although there's housing, food, TV... You don't even have to work, just give your brain's computing power, and so that you don't even feel it yourself. They could go offline if they dislike it so much, but you have to work there! Ugh!
"It's you who has no right to spoil other people's holidays," I stated, stopping the scavengers with my gaze. They wouldn't bother. Just one word – and this citizen would be packed up first-class. I told you, just because you don't see them doesn't mean they don't exist. "Wolfhednars like to gnaw on the thighs of guys like you in the detention center. Scram from here!"
If he had done something to the seamstress – the wolfhednars would have simply torn him apart, rushing him all together, and then suffered all together. They would have had to be treated for a long time... And others wouldn't have stayed aside either. In short, the holiday would have been spoiled, or even ruined.
Bursting into curses, the man left. I'm convinced once again: there are those who haven't found their place yet, and there are invisibles. The former will learn, find something they like; the latter will drag the minimum and do nothing. They'll even try to steal or worse. Either they can't understand that they'll be found instantly, or they're just stupid. It's good that there aren't many such lumpens.
"Thank you very much..." the girl exhaled with relief, beaming with gratitude. "The guys just went away for a few minutes to receive the cargo... and this one showed up. As if he was waiting."
"Maybe he was waiting. I didn't delve into his thoughts, although I could have," I remarked, making a note in the boor's personal card. Watching as the patrol guards, who were rushing to the surge of negative emotions, changed course and cornered the invisible, making sure he left and didn't harm anyone, I turned back to the girl. "But anything can happen in life. Sometimes freedom of choice gives rise to such people."
"It's very unpleasant," the girl wrinkled her nose. "Oh... Can I help you with anything?!"
"I want to get a gift for my wife. A dress in French style. Can you recommend something?" I chuckled.
"Of course! Take a look here, comrade..."
"Well, that turned out to be simple," the dolok remarked.
"Well, the scavengers are great. This crap could have caused a lot of trouble," Artem replied, patting the shielded container, which he still hadn't decided to put in his spatial backpack. "But the company will clearly have questions. The investigator would also check the head, but there was a high probability that he would limit himself to a software check, not put it in an analyzer. And nanomachines don't need much. They wouldn't be able to infect a robot, or other civilians, but if he met an 'mute,' the infection would start jumping through communities of unconnected people."
The operative shivered, imagining the consequences, and added: "The iron comrade will have to order a new head. Twenty-five years have passed. There are scanners everywhere, but periodically we catch something infected with this garbage. Fortunately, such cases are rare, and the scavengers have an abnormal sense for this."
"I'm not familiar with your cuisine," the dolok replied. "But if that's the case, it's quite strange. Like a freshwater ocean or a misanthropic octopus. It just can't exist in nature."
"So the command has legitimate questions. We are being watched, and the fact that they sometimes get caught might just be a distraction. I was 'lucky' – this is the third time I've found this crap," the lieutenant added.
"Speaking of luck – you promised to tell me," the infantryman reminded him.
"Well, there's nothing much to tell. Remember, they wrote about Hercules bulls in the newspapers?" the operative asked the dolok, leaning back in the seat of the flying car.
"How can I not remember. I even tried, but my tribesmen didn't like it. We, like sharks, don't like eating anything that was once alive. The essence is there, and it's even tastier than meat if cooked correctly. My mother made great sushi..."
"I didn't know you ate anything plant-based," the human said in surprise.
"Well, for us, plant-based food is neither here nor there. There's no benefit, but it's nice to indulge in the taste. But you're trying to change the subject," the infantryman remarked.
"I'm not changing the subject at all," the operative even got slightly offended. "I'm getting to the point. I just got promoted to lieutenant. There was a bull at the Enterprise. He was nicknamed Attila for his meekness, or rather, for its complete absence. If he was hungry, he became more aggressive than a starving wolfhednar. The biologists did something to him. Naturally, such a gift, an eight-meter-tall bull, and aggressive at that, was not needed by any collective farm, not even an American one. So the bull became a local headache."
"I don't know how the warehouse manager convinced the handcuffs, but they wrote off the bull, saying: 'Want it? Deal with it yourself!' So he dealt with it. The bull got fat on food. There were no problems with him. He just gained weight too slowly. And somewhere this indoor livestock breeder read that for the bull to gain weight faster, he needed to... cut off... "
"What barbarism," the dolok winced, as if he had eaten a box of lemons.
"I'm just telling you what happened," Artem stated. "But, as you understood, this character was something else. He should have downloaded the base... In short, he took his friend as an assistant and went on the job. They took sleeping pills, a vibro-cutter, and a sledgehammer for reliability... Idiots. The 'Canopy' project was being tested on this bull, as well as on his companions!"
"Indeed, idiots," was all the infantryman could say, who knew perfectly well the strength of the subcutaneous polymer fibers. It's not a fact that he could pierce such armor with the first blow. And a vibro-cutter for it was like a tickle.
"When they went on the job, I was standing and smoking at the barracks entrance. I see these characters heading somewhere with such a strange set of tools. Honestly, I thought they wanted to secretly cut down a couple of trees near our unit. But when I saw where they were going, I had a bad feeling. Naturally, they didn't wait for the sleeping pills to take effect on the bull. And the dose for the animal was ridiculous. Attila only became sleepy. So the warehouse manager decided to calm him down with a sledgehammer while the second one took his position for a 'strategically calculated blow.' Realizing what these idiots wanted to do, I shouted 'Stop!' and tried to pull the sledgehammer away with my glove."
"Let me guess, something went wrong?" the dolok asked, already chuckling.
"Yeah," the lieutenant confirmed sourly. "The warehouse manager was stingy to the point of hoarding. He kept things even when they started to rot. And the sledgehammer he had was appropriate. In general, I tore off the head of the sledgehammer with telekinesis, but the handle remained in his hands. He hit the bull between the horns with this thing out of fear. And the second idiot, taking this as a signal, cut..."
After a pause, to let his companion catch his breath from laughter, he continued: "The bull immediately perked up. Anyone would perk up here... He broke through the enclosure wall without even scratching himself. I stood there, staring, holding the sledgehammer head with telekinesis, thinking – how to stop it? I only had a training glove for polymer transformations and a standard issue with explosive charges, which would only enrage this carcass. If I had a combat glove – I would have knocked him out with telekinesis, but the training one, due to quantum friction, couldn't pull more than five hundred kilos. All that was left was to yell for those idiots to run!"
The infantryman burst into laughter again, whistling through his breathers.
"So they bolted to the warehouse, and the bull followed them. I followed the bull, cursing the fools. Instead of going into the forest – they ran through the collective farm to the military town! If they were zigzagging, the bull went straight. Tractors, warehouses, robots... he didn't care. Good thing there were no people, except for these... Realizing that the idiots were leading him directly to the residential area, where people couldn't escape, I fired a combat charge into the bull's thigh. Naturally, those idiots fell out of favor immediately, and I started to retreat to the collective farm field. They had just put silage in a pit there."
"Silage?"
"Not just silage, but silage of a new modification of sugar beet. You could distill alcohol directly from it. I crossed the pit, and the bull got stuck. He had already cooled down, and since he was healthy, he was constantly hungry. So, he started eating and getting drunk. I, on the other hand, started waiting for the moment. When they started to transport this cattle, I decided to stun him with an explosive charge. That would have been enough for him. I didn't account for one thing. It was hot. Flammable vapors were coming out of the pit. They told me later, but then everything lit up with a bright light..."
He paused for a minute, for effect, and continued: "It exploded qualitatively. The entire 'Chelomey' was covered in burnt ground beef. And when I say entire, I mean entire. Moreover, the moment coincided with Comrade Sechenov's live broadcast to the news channels. The explosion was visible, the mince, and me, stunned and naked, near the crater. My clothes were burned off! The explosion damaged a lot of things, and for that, the scientists are still reprimanding the commander every time they meet."
"Well, well," the dolok, who was already hoarse from laughter, finished laughing. "I even missed that. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have believed it... if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes in the video... It's like you accidentally found an artifact of an alien civilization while just on patrol..."