Privideniya - Chapter 29

"You're an American, Shalashaska. Surely you are familiar with what Thomas Jefferson said…"

Ocelot sunk a hand in his pocket, running his gloved thumb over the pages of the novel hidden away there, ruffling them. "He said a lot of things, as I understand it. And what makes you think I'm an American?"

He was impatient, and afraid that it showed. Dr. Novikov had called him back to the basement laboratory early, before first light. The boy, Innokenty, was nowhere to be seen, but it was he that Ocelot most needed to speak with.

The note tucked between the pages of Dostoyevsky, the radiation filling the air like poison gas, even the spirits that clung to him beyond death. Innokenty knew the answers to Ocelot's questions, had known them all along; he had just been waiting for him to ask.

"Well," Novikov said. "You're certainly no Russian, are you?"

Ocelot didn't answer right away. He was thinking of the day before, when Lieutenant Vulich had pulled him aside and had told Ocelot that he and Novikov looked the same, uncannily so. He had asked if they were father and son. It was paranoid nonsense; Ocelot knew that he had no children, just as he had no parents, no wife, and no lover. All the same, perhaps Vulich had been on to something.

Looking at Novikov now, in the unnatural light of a dozen computer terminals, was there not something familiar about him? His wheat-colored hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. His sharp cheekbones, the smooth curve of his forehead, patrician nose; those blue eyes, blue like a stream fed by glacial ice.

"Forgive me for saying so, Doctor, but you don't look like the typical Russian yourself."

"That's because I'm not," Novikov replied briskly. "Only my father was Russian. My mother was an American."

"Who were they?" Ocelot asked.

"People of some notoriety, I'm sure. I can't be bothered with finding out the details, though. I never knew them myself. The old men in the smoke filled room never had us formally introduced."

"You're an orphan, then."

"What a quaint word. You're so old-fashioned, Shalashaska."

Ocelot shifted in his seat, his attention drawn by the way Novikov's profile looked just them. Something in the light, something in the angle, was achingly familiar, but the doctor turned away before Ocelot could place it.

"As Americans," Novikov continued, "we ought to be aware of our history. Thomas Jefferson said, 'As long as America has a frontier, there will be a place for misfits and adventurers.' "

"Is that how you see yourself, Doctor? A brave frontiersman?"

"There is no frontier left, Shalashaska. Not a physical one, anyway. People live comfortably in the hottest, most barren deserts, and they build castles of ice to host lavish parties in the middle of frozen wastelands. The earth has been conquered. Contrary to popular belief, space is only a consolation prize. So, we must look elsewhere to exercise our Manifest Destiny."

"And you have something in mind, I'm sure."

"The last frontier to conquer, Shalashaska, is mankind. The means have been given to some of us to tame it. To civilize it."

"Is that what you're doing?"

"Perhaps it is. I have created life, have I not? Matryona thinks and reasons like a human. Kesha taught her everything she knows, and so she is as alive as that boy is. It was a long, difficult labor, but the son has, as last, given birth to the mother."

"Is that all you wanted to tell me, Doctor? That your little science project is finished? It could have waited until morning."

"You weren't asleep anyway," Novikov said confidently, and Ocelot knew then that Vulich was not the only one the young doctor made a habit of spying on. It made him feel cold, and claustrophobic.

"If your work is done," he said evenly, "then you don't have any further need of me."

"Oh, but I do," Novikov said. "Don't worry, I'll let you run back to your little war games soon. You'll be back playing Cowboys and Indians in no time. But first, I thought you might be interested in seeing what all your handiwork has come to."

"My contributions were modest at best, Doctor."

"Perhaps," Novikov said, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Perhaps."

Novikov wanted him here for this, Ocelot thought. He wanted him to see this, because he had known all along that Ocelot resented it.

"The Gurlukovich troops," Novikov said abruptly. "What are their numbers like these days?"

"Forty-three men, including Lieutenant Vulich. There's that boy, Nikolai Fyodorvich, too. But he's no soldier."

"Not the force to be reckoned with that it used to be, is it?" Novikov's eyes slid unsubtly back to Ocelot. "But then, what is?"

"I always knew that you brought those soldiers here for a reason," Ocelot said.

"Forgive me, Shalashaska, but I am almost certain it was you who brought them," Novikov replied. "Nevertheless, they serve an important purpose. They may have had a few unfortunate accidents over the past few years, but they haven't lost their edge. Trained by the best, am I correct? To be the best that money can buy."

"I wouldn't underestimate them, if I were you, Doctor."

"I have no intention of it. Many of them are former Spetznaz, that's the rumor, anyway. Tell me, then, Shalashaska, how difficult would it be for a single man to wipe out a force like that? Let's be generous and say an extraordinary man. One such as yourself, or Big Boss."

Ocelot shrugged. "It would take planning, but a single man could conduct an operation like that. He'd need the proper supplies, and proper planning."

"There would be variables, of course," Novikov pressed.

"Not as many as you'd think."

"There would be great danger to the individual."

"Of course, there always is. But I've seen men win against even worse odds. I'd say, forty-eight hours in the field would be enough time."

"Forty-eight hours?" Novikov laughed. "That's not very efficient."

"Are you saying that your Metal Gear could do better?" Ocelot said with a scowl. "Of course, in open combat… But some things require a more delicate touch, you know."

"Don't pout, Shalashaska. It's not very dignified."

Novikov leaned back against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. A little smile forced the corners of his mouth into unnatural contortions. "Matryona will strike when it's dark," he said. "Shortly before dawn tomorrow. The sun rises later and later these days, let us be sporting and say… 0700 hours? By the time the horizon begins to lighten, the Gurlukovich troops will be dead."

Ocelot was quiet a moment, considering it.

If the machine was as accurate as Novikov said, then it had the potential to be an impressive display. But he would never be able to bring himself to trust a network of fiber optics more than human intuition.

He would never be all right with it.

"I didn't authorize that," Ocelot said at last.

"You're no longer their leader," Novikov replied brightly. "They don't work for you, and you can't protect them. I don't know why you would want to."

"I just don't appreciate decisions being made behind my back."

"Forgive my impudence," Novikov said, and his eyes narrowed coldly. "But they were not your decisions to make."

"What about Lieutenant Vulich?" Ocelot demanded abruptly. Perhaps he imagined it, but he liked to think that Novikov's expression changed a little. A bright flush of color rushed to his pallid cheeks, so that they became hot beneath the cold light of the computer monitors.

"What about him?" Novikov said sharply.

"No need to be shy. I know you spoke with him earlier."

Novikov was quiet for a minute. Ocelot was well acquainted with that breed of tense silence. The doctor knew he had been caught and he was trying to find the most graceful way to extricate himself.

"Well," he said at last. "A single survivor does not automatically render the exercise a failure. Perhaps I'll just maim him."

"That's not very professional. A good soldier would never let personal attachment get in the way of the mission."

"I told you before, I'm not a soldier, Shalashaska. Besides, it might be beneficial to keep him around for a while. Delicate experiments such as these need a control group."

"If you say so," Ocelot conceded. He let the matter go. Any longer, and Novikov might have begun to suspect that there was more at stake than his pride.

"I suppose that's it," the doctor said. He pushed to his feet, and for a moment seemed to be very intrigued by the lines of code scrolling up the monitor beside him. "Shalashaska, you may return early tomorrow if you want to watch the proceedings from here."

"And if I'd rather watch it in person?"

"Of course, it should be perfectly safe above ground. But the view from the security feeds will be much better."

"I don't know about that."

"Still afraid of the ghost in the machine, I see. All the same, it has been a pleasure working with you, but I have to finish the final calibrations. You can see yourself out, can't you?"

"Actually," Ocelot said, before Novikov had quite finished. "I'd like to speak with Innokenty."

Novikov raised a pale eyebrow. "You're quite attached to that boy."

"He's an acquaintance," Ocelot said. "He's seen so many of my battles, I'm almost beginning to feel as though we fought some of them side by side."

"And he's quite attached to you, as well," Novikov finished, as though he hadn't heard.

Ocelot said nothing, but when he didn't lower his eyes right away, Novikov waved vaguely toward one of the apartments branching off the back of the main office.

"Kesha is resting. Don't stay too long. He needs his sleep."

"Of course," Ocelot said.

He knew that Novikov would be watching him when he was with the boy, listening in, but he was not concerned about the doctor learning of the note Innokenty had slipped him. Like an ancient machine grinding to life, it had been difficult to set events in motion, but now it was too late for any of them to change trajectory.

Things would happen as they happened, but in the end, Ocelot would complete his mission. He would complete it, yes, though he knew it would be his last.

Innokenty was sitting on his small bunk when Ocelot entered. His gaze, though fixed on the door, was unfocused and unseeing.

"You're thinking about tomorrow morning," Ocelot said. It wasn't a question.

Innokenty started, as though shaken from a deep sleep.

"Shalashaska?" he murmured. Slowly, he blinked, and his wide blue eyes seemed to draw into focus. "Not exactly. I was… just thinking."

"It's too late to worry about it now. You've done all you can to program the machine. All that's left now is to wait."

Innokenty sighed. "That's not it. I know Matryona will do well. I know she'll be perfect."

"Then what is it?" Ocelot asked.

"I can't say." Innokenty shook his head fiercely. "I can't tell you. I think you wouldn't like it, and I don't want you to be angry with me."

Ocelot crossed the room. It was only three steps from the door to the far wall; smaller, even, than a prison cell. He sat beside Innokenty, and the bunk's tired springs sighed beneath his weight.

"I had a chance to read some of your book last night, Innokenty. Thank you for loaning it to me."

Innokenty looked up at him, and he smiled, though his eyes remained serious. "I wish you'd read it earlier. The part where Ivan sees the Devil, that's my favorite. I wish you'd gotten there before now."

"I know," Ocelot said. "You think it could have made a difference, don't you?"

Innokenty nodded.

"Thanks for thinking of me, kid. It means a lot to an old man."

Innokenty's throat bobbed as if he were trying to say something. Ocelot could see him struggling, looking for the right words, trying to speak his mind without tipping his hand.

He knew that people were listening, too.

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Shalashaska," he said at last. "I'm so sick from the radiation, and I didn't want the same thing to happen to you. I know they didn't give you nanomachines to counteract the poison. Matryona told me."

"That's not important," Ocelot said. "What I need to know, is what's causing the radiation. Why aren't they making any efforts to seal it?"

"There's a reactor," he said. "Near where Matryona lives. Her hangar is sealed, but it doesn't keep all the radiation in because they had to put it in so fast. It wasn't part of the original plans for the base. She needs the radiation to survive. Dr. Novikov said it was like food for her, but that's not quite right. It's more like life support for her animal parts."

Ocelot's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He had known from the beginning that the Metal Gear was partially organic in nature, though Novikov had been very secretive about exactly what that entailed. But now he was beginning to see: Human organs required cellular growth to function properly, and cellular growth was slowed by radiation. Perhaps, Ocelot thought, the Metal Gear's biomechanical portions did not work as well as Novikov would have liked them to believe. Perhaps they replicated too quickly on the cellular level.

Perhaps Matryona was afflicted by a kind of slow sickness, a cancer.

"He's going to kill us all, just to make sure his machine is a success," Ocelot said.

He was surprised to find that he wasn't angry at Novikov for that. He didn't resent him; didn't even think he was insane. The young doctor had simply done what was necessary to succeed, and that was always admirable. For the first time, Ocelot thought he might have been able to respect the man.

Innokenty was shaking his head. "I don't know," he said, but Ocelot could tell that wasn't true. "I don't know. He thinks it can't hurt him. He thinks we're all safe because we have the nanomachines. But machines don't always work, Shalashaska. They don't always do what they're supposed to, after this long."

"Don't worry," Ocelot assured him. "Novikov won't let you die. You're much too important to his work."

"Can I ask you a question, Shalashaska?"

"Sure, kid."

Innokenty looked down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, and for a long time he was quiet. Ocelot had just begun to wonder if he had slipped into another one of his trances, when Innokenty finally spoke.

"How do you know when you've done the right thing?"

Ocelot almost laughed, but thought better of it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Innokenty said, "I think it was right to help Matryona like I did. I think it was right to teach her. Because before I did that she never talked to me, but afterwards, she did. But I don't know if it's right, what Dr. Novikov wants to do."

"You mean to test the machine?"

Innokenty nodded. "If Matryona only kills the badguys, then that's good, right? But the Gurlukovich troops, they're on our side, so I don't understand why Dr. Novikov would want to kill them."

He looked up at Ocelot. "Do you see?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, I see. But things are more complicated than you think, Innokenty. It's more than just a question of who's on your side. Just because the Gurlukovich troops are guarding this base, doesn't mean they have the same objectives in mind as you, or I, or Dr. Novikov. Affiliations like that change all the time."

"But yours never did. You always worked for…" Innokenty trailed off there, and paused. "You know who I mean. You only pretended to be allied with Sergei Gurlukovich, and FOXHOUND, and Big Boss, right?"

Ocelot winced a little at the name. Even after all these years, it was a sore spot. A wound that had never quite healed. "Like I said, it's more complicated than that. I didn't start working with any of them knowing I would have to betray them in the end."

It was a lie, but a familiar one, with a weight as comfortable to Ocelot as one of his antique revolvers.

"It's just business," he continued. "Those Gurlukovich soldiers, they know what they're doing. They know the risks. Don't feel so bad for them. It was their choice to be here."

"I didn't want to kill anyone…" Innokenty said softly.

"You won't be," Ocelot said. "You're not killing anyone. You only helped build the gun. When the time comes, just close your eyes and pull the trigger."

"I understand," Innokenty replied. "I'll try, Shalashaska, but I don't think I'm as tough as you."

"You'll be all right. After tomorrow, nothing will be the same."

Ocelot reached out, unsure at first of what he intended to do. But he slipped an arm around Innokenty's shoulders, drawing the boy against his side in a half-hearted embrace.

Innokenty surprised him by not resisting at all. His head sagged limply against Ocelot's shoulder, and he was quiet. Waiting, Ocelot was certain, to be pushed away.

"Kid?" Ocelot said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"What's it mean? 'Fear death by water.' "

Innokenty turned a little in Ocelot's grip, looking up at him. Then, abruptly, he pulled away, slithering out of Ocelot's grip and sliding to the other end of the bed.

A moment later, the door swung open, and Novikov stood framed in the doorway, a look of weary indulgence in his eyes.

"All right, Kesha," he said. "I think it's time you let Shalashaska go, don't you think?"

"It's all right," Ocelot said.

Novikov's gaze sharpened on him, and in an instant all the good humor vanished from his eyes. "The boy needs his rest," he said pointedly. "He has a big day tomorrow."

Ocelot glanced back at Innokenty. The boy was watching him very closely, though his expression betrayed nothing.

"You're right," Ocelot said, pushing to his feet. The old joints in his knees creaked, and his back was stiff and took a moment to straighten.

"You're right, of course. Good day, Innokenty."