The darkness of the "Mendeleev," which until then had seemed sinister to the guards in their positions, suddenly wavered and dissolved, turning into the ordinary darkness of an empty room. As if a giant concrete slab pressing on the soldiers' shoulders had instantly vanished into nothingness. People felt relief. And with them, it seemed, the universe itself exhaled, freed from an invisible weight.
Birds chirped, filling the air with a ringing trill. The wind, as if alive, played in the diverse grasses of the Kazakh steppes, rustled the leaves, and whispered through the needles in the crowns of the trees. Even the sun, as if taking pity, dispersed the clouds and shone brighter on the earth, finally warming the soldiers. Its rays melted the sticky, penetrating cold that had so long bound them in their positions.
"Enemy eliminated," the general communication channel crackled, breaking the oppressive silence. Major Nechaev's hoarse, exhausted voice sounded on the air. "Threat to the complex and the AI neutralized. Prepare cleanup crews. We're returning."
As soon as the radio traffic ceased, the low voice of Colonel Gromov boomed over the camp:
"Change of watches at all posts! Medical service – prepare the casualty reception point! Liquidation group – await orders to move out!"
The mechanism of war set in motion again. A Red Army soldier doesn't need to be explained the secret of the word "order" and the purpose of boundaries. The Red Army does, even if it dies, rather than asking questions or lamenting the injustice of fate. Tired, wounded, or surrounded – it doesn't matter to the Motherland. You only have a Great Duty to her and the Red Banner above your head. The father-commander will take care of everything else. It is his task to ensure that you survive and fulfill your duty.
After ten minutes of agonizing waiting, the gloomy emptiness of the abandoned complex was pierced by a beam of light from a body flashlight, instantly revealing the acid-corroded lobby from the darkness. The leading patrol immediately signaled down the chain, ordering the operatives to freeze in place for verification. Only after strict adherence to all protocols, regulations, and formalities were the machine gun barrels lowered, and the frozen squad continued their path.
As soon as the "Argentum" fighters, along with the KGB officer accompanying them, emerged from the complex, chemical, biological, and radiation control groups took over. Their suits and equipment were treated with special decontaminating agents and then thoroughly washed with water. Only then did engineers and medics get to work. While the former carefully dismantled the gear, the latter had already begun administering all the necessary preparations to the exhausted bodies – the necessary payment for days without sleep and hours of battle.
Despite attempts at resistance, the operatives were quickly immobilized with injections and placed on stretchers, preparing them for transport to "Pavlov." Entangled in IV drips, wrapped in bandages like Egyptian mummies, they disappeared into the belly of a helicopter, which roared its turbines and shot into the sky as soon as the last operative was on board, carrying the exhausted people of the future to hospital beds.
The only one left on the scorched earth of the camp was Lieutenant Mordokoni of the KGB. He received only a couple of injections and a glass of diluted alcohol, slipped to him by a caring doctor. Emptying it mechanically, without feeling taste or warmth, he exhaled dully, adjusted his crumpled uniform, and got to work. Kilometers of reports loomed ahead, and most importantly: he had to make sure that nothing valuable or secret had stuck to the hands of the privates. Even if secrecy soon became history, order was order until then.
"Personnel of the 'Argentum' group evacuated to 'Pavlov' in an unconscious state. Lieutenant Mordokoni remained on site to ensure secrecy and document the incident. All material carriers are under control," a radio message went to the headquarters of the "Sh" administration in distant Moscow, where a global coup was actively being prepared...
The "Komar" landed softly on the "Chelomey" landing pad. As soon as the aircraft touched the surface of the flying city, it was instantly surrounded by a company of Enterprise security. Even with the confirmation of all access codes, after the recent events, the soldiers preferred to personally verify the safety.
With a metallic clang, the landing ramp opened. Without waiting for it to fully set, five pairs of army boots stepped onto it. Heavy, precise, brooking no delay.
The soldiers involuntarily stepped back a pace, barely noticing the "Utes" resting on one of the arrivals' shoulders. And the fact that the weapon was merely resting there deceived no one. A man of the future, who had survived war, epidemics, dozens of conflicts, and was modernized with implants, could instantly bring the formidable machine gun to combat position, and then few would have found it...
"Attention!"
The sergeant exhaled the command, straightening up. The privates instantly turned into stone statues. Only their eyes betrayed them as living beings. They devoured the commander of the "Argentum" squad with such reverence that even a general's reception during inspections paled in comparison.
"At ease," a hoarse, quiet bass voice sounded, from which the soldiers forgot how to breathe at all. It was one thing to hear rumors and gossip about the test subjects, sitting in the locker room or at the checkpoint, and quite another to see what these seemingly ordinary people were capable of. Even amplified by rumors, their abilities paled before the true state of affairs. Ordinary in appearance, but deadly in practice. Modest, but fame found them on its own. Soldiers just like them, only walking freely where anyone else would already be dead.
Fear and adoration. Delight and sympathy. Pride in standing shoulder to shoulder with these people. Perhaps everything would have turned out differently if not for the self-sacrifice of the "Argentum" operatives. They were not heroes. They were simply those who moved forward, correcting what others had done, asking for almost nothing in return, paying for their effectiveness with their pain and bodies. With their wounds and training, each of the operatives saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives in a few days.
"I said at ease," Argon said with emphasis. "Guys. I want to finish the report quickly, eat, and get some sleep. Instead, you've swallowed it, instead of reporting to the brass, thereby standing between me and a hot meal... Have some conscience."
"Yes, sir..."
"Enough," the veteran winced, walking past the sergeant. "We still need to get away from the medics. If anything, we went in the other direction. That's an order."
"Yes, we went in the other direction!" was all the junior officer could say.
Without looking back, the squad commander shook his fist at him.
After walking a certain distance, delving into the urban development, one of the operatives jokingly remarked:
"Plutonium is affecting you too badly."
"Right now, it's easier for me to act like a clown than to catch subservient glances and watch every Tom, Dick, and Harry salute and freeze at attention," Argon replied sharply to his subordinate. "I instilled conscience in you, and for them, the regulations replace their brains, which is correct. All these official bows are just time separating us from hot food and a soft bed. And Nechaev is just a troublemaker, although he's on the mend after Bulgaria."
"I wonder what our guys have come up with that makes the infantry so eager," the same fighter remarked, deliberately ignoring the commander's grumbling.
"Our work," Kuznetsov replied dryly, conveying with his gaze that if his operative didn't stop talking, he would regret it with an unscheduled detail. The dog-tired veteran was clearly not in the mood for jokes.
The group continued in silence. Despite the early hour, there were many people in the city. It was a holiday, after all. Monday the thirteenth – the launch date of "The Collective 2.0." Therefore, the streets were already almost impassable, despite the events that had occurred. Although, thanks to them, there were so many people. Employees of the "Sh" department simply did not let anyone leave the Enterprise's territory.
This whole crowd, as soon as they saw the squad's operatives, began to buzz joyfully, and sometimes burst into applause. And if Argon could afford to just glare at the military, sending them away with a single look, with the civilian public, the stern gaze of the commander-father only led to an even greater flow of ovations. This made the veteran go wild. Unaccustomed to such attention, such a surge made the seasoned soldier, used to working quietly and secretly, nervous. Plus, the events of the past two days only added fuel to the fire of his anger.
The veteran could be understood. Internal conflicts don't improve anyone's mood, especially when you are the judge, prosecutor, and executioner. There was no choice. Although Argon understood why the dissidents had done this, finding their fears justified, he could not call the method they chose to express their opinion anything other than terror, without using strong language.
Everything was getting worse with the realization: the spilled blood, even of idiots who followed an offended narcissist with maniacal tendencies, was far from the last. The time would come at noon, "The Collective" would activate, and the world would change forever. Not only would it turn inside out all its memory, emotions, and feelings, transmitting all the filth it had ever seen and heard into the common network, along with thousands of other honest people, launching an exposure campaign. Hundreds of people would voluntarily, without coercion, sacrifice their privacy, exposing all the filth of human lords. All the crimes they saw but did not voice, all the filth of intrigues would surface for one purpose only: judgment. First of all, all those who voluntarily joined "The Collective" would face the judgment of the old world, which had been threatening to plunge the entire planet into nuclear hell for more than a decade.
Suddenly, one of the main postulates of communism would be realized – direct people's rule. Extensive ministries and divisions of officials would no longer be needed. The common collective mind would make decisions instantly. And if you add provision, the abolition of money, and the introduction of universal social credits, which would bring about an improvement in the standard of living for the majority and destroy capital over-accumulation... much blood would have to be shed. And not just any blood, but that of loyal and good people who would also fight for their oath. They simply understood it differently, mistaking the party for the working people...
It might also happen that they themselves would be condemned. The judgment would be mutual. There was also a lot of filth and blood on people like him. It was nothing. People would express their opinion. The neural network would merely act as a platform and an arbiter. The collective consciousness of humanity, born of scientific miracle, would decide who was right. Being united, wanting this, it would be impossible to distort with words. Everyone would see exactly how you felt it. And Argon believed that such a strong move as souls turned inside out in a voluntary impulse would predetermine the outcome of the confrontation between the old and new orders of things. After all, for the first time, people would be able to make decisions themselves. Without pressure.
If he didn't know who had created all this possibility, he would have thought it was a cunning deception. But the first ones to be judged would be the creators of "The Collective" themselves. Naturally, after everything had been honestly shown and smeared. Evidence of alien intervention, stupidity, and all human vices – and how they resisted it. There was no other way. You couldn't change society, spill blood, and remain blameless. You couldn't force everyone into happiness. That would be dictatorship. But living the old way was also impossible. The human race had come to the brink of death in the last decade. Nations disappeared, countries died out, cities became depopulated. But even that was not enough for the monsters in power.
The world would not become perfect, but everyone who dared to do this believed that it would become cleaner. Blood would be shed, but it would be the last of the wars between people. It would be difficult to strike another when you felt all his pain from his wounds. Humanity would have to decide how to live. Freedom of choice – that is what separates paradise from hell. Everyone would choose: to remain within the old framework or to accept the new ones. No one hides that the collective mind would become an instrument of control, but it would be guided by the general majority, not by a couple of dozen "entitled." After all, true freedom is anarchy.
But can the majority be wrong?
History says yes. The conspirators tried not to think that all social analyses and simulated forecasts could be wrong, and they were either living out their last minutes, or the planet would cease to exist. A crowd is a crowd. It is unpredictable. Only for those who decided to try to change things, it no longer mattered.
They would go all the way. Argon would be with those who would create a world where everyone's opinion would be heard, weighed, and the most optimal option would be chosen. Or they wouldn't, and everything would remain as it was, and they would go to the scaffold, not regretting that they tried to change the system. Or maybe there wouldn't be a planet by the end of the day – then there would be no one to regret. All for the sake of trying to change man himself.
The world of the future would be built by people's decisions, not by greed. Even if their choice turned out to be a mistake – it would be their mistake. Not dictators, not blind gods, but people...
I stamp "Approve" on another folder of documentation. Incident – incident, but the work must be done, even despite the festive events. And the documentation needs to be put in order...
The funniest thing is – I'm not scared. I want to change the world, and at noon today, nothing will be as it was, even if people make their choice not in our favor. It's just impossible to do it any other way. We will become part of the new system, not a parasitic superstructure. To do this, we just need to follow its laws from cover to cover.
I don't know what will come of it. No one knows what will happen when even a few tens of thousands of people, let alone millions, step into "The Collective 2.0."
I even feel lighter. The first judgment in the new world and over me doesn't frighten me. I don't need power. My goal is not even the stars, as it turned out. I just want there to be a human. And tell me, Dmitry Sechenov, was it hard to admit this to yourself? It was even harder to convince people to do the same as you. It's not even like walking naked through the square – it's voluntarily turning your soul inside out. What will I be if I can't do such a small thing?
I take a small sip of cognac. The drink has become too warm. An unpleasant lump fell into my stomach, but it did its job. My head switched gears and moved away from philosophical thoughts.
So, let's continue. Project "New Dawn." Space exploration. The first stage is the orbit of our cradle and the Moon. The orbital elevator project is already ready, while the lunar colony modules are ready for shipment to Earth's natural satellite.
The second stage. Construction of a space scientific and industrial complex and full-fledged space shipyards. Necessary megastructures. There will be no Dyson spheres. Too questionable efficiency. Similar results can be achieved in other ways. Progress, rationalism, and optimization. Every decision must be weighed and brought to a state close to ideal. Smaller, more reliable, simpler. Convenience and ease of use are paramount, along with safety.
After building the shipyards and laying down interstellar ships, we will head towards the inner Solar System. Mars is the first target of expansion. The project to restore its magnetic field and atmosphere is ready. Twenty years and another ten for refinement – and we will have another place that people can call home. The same amount of time will be needed for Venus, but with three times the effort.
All this will be useless without people. There are too few of us left. Natural growth is insufficient. The collection of genetic material and the creation of a genome map have already begun. Artificial wombs have been tested in the resurrection of extinct species. Mammoths now roam the expanses of Siberia. Four years to refine the technology.
Initially, material from people who died during the Brown Plague will be used. I understand that these will not be the same people, but it is my way of atoning for part of the guilt for what I have done with my own hands. There will be no ethical problems. It will not be cloning, but a completely new life. Our species simply needs genetic diversity. Technologies allow for the collection of a viable embryo from six donors. Gene mapping will help eliminate hereditary diseases.
I understand perfectly well that the deceased cannot be brought back and how close I have come to "playing God." A clone is not an original, but a different personality. We will simply do what will help mitigate the harm. Even if not completely, we will heal nature's wounds. Only time will do the rest. Science is my way of atonement. It is impossible to forgive. It is impossible to forgive. Sin can only be atoned for.
Having created a rear base, we will move further, to neighboring stars. Bases, space colony stations will be created, or planets will be terraformed. Expansion will be in spheres...
"I won't be interrupting?" Academician Lebedev's voice distracted me...