The Black Relay Race

by ChronoLegion

A stranger approaches you to transport a mysterious box halfway across the galaxy for enough money to let you retire. Do you do it? Of course! Who wouldn't? Except it seems that anyone who gets involved with the box suffers the same fate. Can anyone win this deadly relay race? This is a sequel to "Death or Glory", a translation of which is also available.

4. Leg 4

This is a fan translation of The Black Relay Race (Чёрнаяэстафета) by Vladimir Vasilyev. This is the second book in the Death or Glory (Смерть или слава) series. I strongly recommend that you read the novel Death or Glory first. Its fan translation is available on this website.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

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Leg 4

Shat Ungen, Shat-Tzoor, Baguta — Van Treya — Morita Griffin. Fourteen Earth years later

The asteroid turned out to be a big one, even by the standards of the local belt. Some of the other rocks in the belt were larger than Baguta III's moon, which was only four times smaller than the planet itself.

The gallery boat separated from the mining base; the crew chief seemed to have decided not to wait for the complete results of the prospecting. He was going to grab the bull by the horns and get to work.

"Prospectors, prepare to land!" he sang in a voice hoarse from alcohol.

It was only two centuries ago that the Shats had had no idea what alcohol was. The fate of a satellite race, unenviable even from a distance… Everything was being decided for you: what to eat, what to drink, how much and with whom to screw, your job.

Shat Ungen, also known as Plowshare, growled plaintively and climbed out of his hammock.

Sure, living under the heel of the arrogant Aczanny hens was a sad fate. But, on the other hand, there hadn't been any complete drunks like his father among the Shats. The Shats hadn't known any thievery, and now what? Two galleries had been stolen from the fourth brigade the previous week, and the crew chiefs couldn't find any traces of them! The drilling schedule was utterly disrupted, no bonuses, of course, and no one had any idea when they'd get a vacation…

The humans had shaken the immutable superiority of the five higher races before the other inhabitants of the galaxy. But they also threw everyone into mud, lawlessness, chaos… Bork knew what else. Would Shat Ungen's brother have become a thief and his sister a prostitute had the Shats remained Aczanny satellites? Would his father have died of alcohol poisoning and his mother from poverty and illness? Unlikely. They'd still be working somewhere on Baguta III under an Aczanny overseer… They wouldn't be living in luxury, that was true, but they wouldn't be poor either.

Plowshare had gotten lucky, he wasn't a thief like his brother; and, for obvious reasons, he couldn't share his sister's fate. He'd managed to get a job on a mining team, worked four full cycles on Baguta IV, then was selected by the military department to work in the asteroid belt. It was probably due to Plowshare's strong aversion to alcohol. His brother had been born healthier but turned into ruin in only a few years. Plowshare wasn't poisoning his health, worked a lot but not too much, and gradually overtook his older brother. He was now taller, wider in the collarbones, had thicker muscle knots.

"Plowshare!" came a shout from the corridor. "Are you asleep?"

"Coming!" Shat Ungen sang as loudly as his air cavity allowed. A thin sheet of plastic, the printout of his sister's letter that had arrived yesterday, was blown off the table. Plowshare once again thought ofhis family and growled heavily. The brother, Bork with him, was utterly gone in the head. But he felt bad for his sister… He thought of all the freaks with coin that were screwing her, and that nearly turned him inside-out. On the other hand, how else was she going to make a living? Their parents couldn't have paid for her education. So she hadn't been able to find a job. After all, who needed illiterates these days? They didn't want women in mining, except for administrative jobs. But all those cushy positions were already taken, the Shat bosses had plenty of relatives.

Then again, his sister didn't see her fate as a sad one. She had coin and, Plowshare had to admit, it was fatter than his own. But she didn't have any freedom, doing whatever her boss told her to. But, again, didn't Plowshare have a boss of his own? The only difference was that he was called a crew chief, but bosses were all the same.

Plowshare also didn't like planetary cities. As soon as he'd ended up in space as a kid (as a janitor on a cargo hauler shuttling between Baguta III and Baguta II; at half-pay, of course, otherwise they'd have taken an adult), he realized that his place was there. Among the stars. Not in the sense that he'd been traveling from star to star—Plowshare had yet to go beyond the edge of the Baguta system—but in the sense that he saw stars wherever he looked. And not just overhead, but also often under his feet when he had to work in space.

"Plowshaaaare!"

"Comiiiiing!"

The autoquill followed the letter to the floor, but Plowshare didn't bother picking it up. He'd already attached the vac unit, habitually tightened the straps under the collarbones, put on special boots with sole thrusters, grabbed the tube with the tools, and came out into the corridor.

Shat Urima, Plowshare's partner and friend, was called Dove. Probably because of the color of the skeleton on his chest, which really was dove-colored. Plowshare's skeleton was, as expected, a healthy brown share. But Dove's unusual coloring wasn't thanks to an illness. He'd been working in the void for nearly thirty cycles now and said that it was something like a tan. Apparently, old vac workers even had lighter colored backs.

But where were they now, those old vac workers? Gone from the unexpected freedom from the custody of the Aczanny hens… Burned by the permissiveness. Leaving nothing but ashes.

Too bad.

"Where to now? The surface?" Plowshare asked.

"Don't know yet," Dove gave his partner a meticulous once-over. "You didn't tighten the straps properly again."

"They chafe," Plowshare complained. "I'm used to a looser fit."

"The gravitics are going to give you a jerk that'll make your looser fit come out from between the collarbones," Dove grumbled. "Tighten them now, or I will."

Plowshare sighed but obeyed. He respected Dove, for his experience, for the readiness to share that experience and to tell a newbie if something wasn't right. And just for the kindness.

Dove was staring at him with his brow ridge lowered. Convinced that Plowshare had tightened the vac unit's straps properly, Dove growled in satisfaction and shoved Plowshare in a collarbone, "Move, bird prey! The crew chief is flipping out today, probably the bosses have rubbed his brow ridge the wrong way. Don't want to enrage him."

They hurried to their assigned places in the prospecting boat. It was a decrepit ceramic construction, built back before the war, but which continued to serve the miners of both Bagutas cycle after cycle.

As soon as they reported to the crew chief, took their alcoves, and strapped in (with Dove once again checking meticulously that Plowshare did it right, this time being satisfied), the boat launched. Plowshare and the other miners were pressed against their alcoves. The workday had begun.

The crew chief started his usual song, and the miners picked it up, shouting out over the hum of the bulkheads. How else would they occupy their time before a shift if not with a song?

When the boat touched the surface and the prospecting team came out, the gallery was landing nearby. It was landing right into the vertical; boats with gravtugs were weaving around it.

"All right!" the crew chief sang in front of the uneven row of miners. "Let's get started. We'll split up the directions into eight sectors, with a pair to each sector. Don't take any deep samples, we'll first study the subsurface layer. Primarily metals and carbon bonds. If you run into any faults or natural shafts, study them thoroughly. Report any interesting findings ahead of schedule. Now, sector one goes to Shaman, sector two goes to Droplet, sector three is for Dove, four is for Brow Ridge…"

After the roll call, the crew chief went back to the prospecting boat's cabin, while Plowshare's partner shoved him in a collarbone and began to hop over towards the assigned sector. Plowshare followed. The hops were very tall and smooth since the asteroid had very low gravity.

"So light!" Plowshare sang cheerfully. "I just want to keep jumping…"

"Just make sure you don't end up in orbit," Dove grumbled. "Look around when you're at the top. Maybe you'll see a fault or something…"

They stopped periodically, initiated scans, and put together isomeric charts; it was possible to draw fairly complete and interesting conclusions about the deeper layers by the deviations in the rock structure. Understandably, neither Dove nor Plowshare couldn't draw these conclusions on their own, one had to be an engineer and have access to computational devices for that. But the practice of field work was also worth something, as only the best made it into the prospecting team. Plowshare thought with satisfaction for the umpteenth time that being a prospector wasn't waving around a pickaxe.

Then again, it was rare for one to wave around a pickaxe at the current level of technology… Maybe as punishment and also in critical situations, like when the gallery on Vizzkri had gotten collapsed a quarter of a cycle ago. Everyone, including the crew chief, ended up getting plenty of experience with waving around pickaxes…

It wasn't heavy work, but not light either. As always, Plowshare quickly fell into a thoughtful state and did everything automatically, by habit, while his thoughts were far away; he was remembering his sister, whose letter he'd received the previous day, he was thinking about what he was going to do on vacation… The low gravity didn't bother the Shat-Tzoor that much, as miners were used to any working conditions.

By mid-shift, Dove grumbled something about strange things, but Plowshare himself had noted that the asteroid's surface was way too uneven, there were many chips, tiny crumbs; it was as if a catastrophe with multiple explosions had played out on its surface very recently. Time usually erased these traces, even in space, assuming enough of it had passed. But this clearly wasn't the case here.

Then again, what did they care? It was even better this way. If the asteroid was a chunk of a larger one, then they might find rich and promising seams, which was a good think for the company.

Plowshare was the one who found yet another fault, having just completed a scan and leapt from a low area to an elevation. He noticed a long dark line even while moving up. He was surprised, since shadows tended to be sharp and well-defined in an airless environment, even with night vision.

Plowshare got to the fault in a few dozen hops; Dove was working nearly at the close horizon and looked very busy.

Up-close, the fault looked more like an ice crack, nearly straight rather than zigzag-shaped like the others. A lot of light-colored dust was gathered at its edges and probably on the steep slopes. The shadows no longer seemed faded, and he had no idea why. Plowshare peered into the fault with a light and was able to confirm that it was very shallow, maybe only twenty to twenty-five uns. Ten of fifteen Shat-Tzoor heights. Without hesitation, Plowshare jumped down to the bottom of the fault. And almost immediately noticed a round cylindrical passage leading down, looking like a soogaros burrow.

Plowshare growled in confusion and called Dove, "Hey, buddy! I found something strange here. A hole of some kind. An odd one."

"Where?"

"Follow this…" Plowshare launched a signal flare up into the low and very bright starry sky over the asteroid. Another tiny star, this one green, rose up into the sky, leaving a quickly dissipating smoky trail. Had Plowshare launched a red one, this would've alarmed the Shats in the prospecting boat and at the gallery. They might've even seen it from orbit. Red was the color of caution and danger. For any race. But green was just the working signal, they'd just watch it go then get back to their current task.

The flare kept going up and up, as the asteroid's gravity was far too weak to bring it down.

"I see it," Dove said almost immediately. "Be right there."

He appeared even quicker than Plowshare had expected. He'd probably just completed his scan and put away the tools before the flare.

"What do you have?" he inquired while falling slowly to the bottom of the fault.

"There!" Plowshare indicated with his hand. "Looks like a soogaros burrow, right? Almost makes you want to grab a rifle…"

Dove carefully examined the walls, the bottom, and scratched his chest absentmindedly. He didn't reach his exoskeleton, of course, thanks to the spacesuit's field.

"Hmm. A strange place. I think that corridor is artificial," Dove commented.

Plowshare simultaneously felt cheerful, scared, and curious. Like all space miners, he dreamt of running into an alien intelligence, but he was also afraid of it. After all, it didn't seem possible that the Alliance had discovered every single race in the galaxy and gotten to all ancient artifacts. And who better to find ancient traces of disappeared civilizations than miners?

"Artificial?" Plowshare asked, not even trying to hide his excitement.

"Uh-huh," Dove confirmed. "I'm not a specialist, of course, but this hole smells for many uns… except it's not a soogaros, it's the Swarm."

"The Swarm!" Plowshare looked amazed like a child. "Never met the Swarm."

"Be glad you didn't," Dove grumbled. "By the way, we're not supposed to know about it, but there was some kind of fight with the Swarm near Baguta somewhere outside the ecliptic about twelve cycles ago… I've recently spied the directive on the crew chief's work screen."

"Really?" Plowshare tensed. He had enough sense to connect the restricted directive and the day's find. If they really were connected, then they ought to immediately report it to the crew chief and forget about the existence of curiosity and personal initiative.

"Let's report is then?" he asked his more experienced partner.

"We'll get to that," Dove took a decisive step towards the hole. "Let's take a look first."

They almost immediately realized this wasn't a mistake after running into the corpse of a Swarm worker not far from the entrance to the corridor. It was utterly desiccated. The worker was lying on its side, its six multijointed limbs twisted. The once rounded belly was wrinkled and retracted under the hard back carapace. Its cephalothorax had lost its former sheen and was covered in fine light dust, which was everywhere here.

"Is this one of the Swarm?" Plowshare whispered in a shocked voice. The dead alien of one of the higher races was making him feel trepidation.

"Yeah," Dove said, examining the body. "A small worker, the most numerous form, if we believe the corporation's brochures…"

"Have you seen one alive?" Plowshare inquired.

"Nah. Not even on TV. Well, if you don't count movies, but you know the kind of nonsense they usually put in there…"

"I like movies," Plowshare declared. "But they usually show Swarm soldiers, not workers."

Dove produced a short and ambiguous growl then kept going. Plowshare looked back at the dried-up corpse and followed his partner.

Soon they ran into another corpse, also a worker, and then another, and another. The seventh dead body was noticeably larger than the others and was built slightly differently.

"Oh!" Dove said and stopped in bewilderment. "This is a large worker. I wonder who we're going to meet next."

Next they met a few more small workers, three large ones, and four bodies of an indeterminate shape, probably specialized drones. The miners could see nothing besides the corpses: no tools, no artificial items, nothing at all.

"How did they die?" Plowshare asked quietly when Dove paused next to yet another body.

"Don't know. Probably from a lack of air. Or from the cold. Or from the hunger."

"Right," Plowshare finally got it. "They're not wearing spacesuits! I should've guessed!"

"Swarm drones can survive for a time in outer space and on the surface of planets with aggressive atmospheres," Dove quoted with a finger raised in a lecturing manner, "as well as on the surface of planets lacking in atmosphere or with extremely thin atmospheres. Understand?"

"What about pressure?" Plowshare asked in surprise. He wasn't very impressed by the Swarm drones' ability to do without oxygen. But the ability to survive in a vacuum… That really was incredible. That was top-tier survival.

"That's not what you should be surprised by, Plowshare," Dove sang in a bored voice. "Think about it. The Swarm is planning something right under our noses, sending its workers, who should be sitting in their nest and working, not flying through space. Eh? Get it now?"

Plowshare even crouched a little.

What if there are living Swarm drones here? How will they react to us? As enemies?

"We need to report to the crew chief," Plowshare said with conviction. "I hope we don't run into anything…"

"That's what we'll do," Dove agreed. He kept focusing his gaze on the nearest corpse. Plowshare thought that if there were fewer bodies, Dove would've insisted on getting a more detailed examination. But now… Better play it safe, and Plowshare wasn't about to argue that point.

Dove was already calling the crew chief.

"Hey, boss!" he sang into the radio waves with a false cheer. "We need to talk."

"What is it?" the crew chief replied after a short while.

"Switch to a direct line," Dove suggested. "We've got something here…"

The crew chief switched to a dedicated channel without complaint, and now no one else could listen in on their conversation, as the gear was encoding every pulse.

"We've got dead bodies here," Dove informed him casually. "A good number of them."

"Fresh ones?" the crew chief asked with interest. "Right on the ground? Are they Shats?"

"No, not Shats. Swarm workers. I think they're fresh, a few cycles at most. There's a burrow here, we came down a little. But haven't looked around properly yet."

The crew chief's voice changed, "Swarm?! Whoa…. All right, Dove, this morning's task is cancelled. Don't move a muscle told otherwise. Not a word over radio. Don't leave this channel under any circumstances! Who do you have with you? Plowshare? Have him climb outside and keep watch on the surface. That it, you're going to get a call…"

The crew chief switched fussily, but the blue indication pixel was still on, showing that the channel had been given a priority status.

"Get it?" Dove turned to Plowshare. "Gone all fussy, as if someone had put some pepper on his ass. Things are about to get wild…"

"Should I get back to the entrance?" Plowshare asked tactfully.

"Hold on," Dove looked around, and Plowshare thought that he really didn't want to stay alone.

The crew chief didn't make them wait long.

"Dove!"

"Here!" Plowshare's partner replied cheerfully, while he was listening with bated breath.

"Listen up. How deep in the channel are you? I mean that burrow of yours."

"Maybe three hundred to three-fifty uns."

"Go deeper. Do you have a video sensor?"

Dove threw a questioning glance at Plowshare, who crouched guiltily. He didn't have a sensor, why would he need one while prospecting? Plowshare was a miner, not a reporter.

"No sensor."

The crew chief sang something unintelligible, hurriedly cutting the melody off on a half-beat.

"Fine… Then describe everything you see in words. Go on!"

Plowshare glanced at the indicator and realized that someone else had tuned into the channel. Directly, as a client via the crew chief's terminal.

Dove tilted his head forward, moved around a worker's corpse frozen in the middle of the passage, and went deeper. Plowshare followed. Their light beams were sliding along the rough walls, picking the granular rock, covered in the same light dust, from out of the darkness.

A few dozen uns later, they came out into a spacious chamber/cave. In the middle of the cave stood a dark mountain as tall as three Shats and with a base of five by fifteen uns. Then again, the base was irregularly shaped. Corpses of small workers and some other arthropods were scattered around it in identical twisted poses.

"A queen!" Dove whispered in a different voice. "Plowshare, we've got ourselves a Swarm transportation asteroid!"

"We?" Plowshare asked dully.

"We, the crew chief, our entire company! This isn't Baguta's asteroid! It's a Swarm asteroid, from out of the system! More likely, not an entire asteroid, just a piece of one. That's why it has such an unusual surface landscape."

Plowshare was still trying to figure out how Dove had come to this conclusion, then stared up at the mountain at the center of the chamber in some accidental epiphany and realized that it was also a corpse. The corpse of a huge Swarm drone, which didn't look much like the workers, but there were still some similarities in the general body structure of the giant and the workers. Plowshare was largely amazed by the giant's complete lack of legs. But they could also be hidden under the body…

This "queen", as Dove had called it, was lying differently than the other corpses. The workers were largely frozen on their sides, with their bodies doubled over and their multijointed limbs put together. The queen was lying on her belly, stretching out fully. Apparently, it hadn't been very mobile in life, so death didn't change its pose much.

Near the walls, Plowshare saw a few dozen white balls. They reached up to the Shat's waist; if their shape wasn't perfectly spherical, it was very close. He noticed a lot more of that strange light dust near them than in the corridor and the rest of the chamber.

"Chief!" Dove called his boss. "I found a chamber with a huge corpse, probably a queen. What do you want me to do?"

The answer came immediately, "Don't touch anything, the military's already pulsing here. They'll be landing soon. Did you send Plowshare to the entrance?"

"Yeah," Dove lied and gave his partner a pointed stare. "He's almost there. Should I call him?"

"Have him report as soon as he's there."

"Hey, partner! Did you hear him?"

"I did!" Plowshare exhaled.

There was no need for a second hint. Giving his partner a grateful wave, he ran out of the chamber as fast as he could. But running wasn't easy since the low ceiling kept him from bounding. He couldn't run in the corridor at all. Plowshare pushed off from the uneven walls and made good time towards the fault. Soon he hopped out into the open sky; the fault in front of the entrance to the corridor was surrounded by close steep walls.

"Chief!" Plowshare called after catching his breath. "I'm here."

"Good," the crew chief sang. "Keep your eyes peeled. When you see the military boat, fire off flares. You can even use the red ones. Don't spare them, I've already written off your supply…"

"Got it, chief! Eyes peeled!"

Plowshare immediately jumped up as high as his legs allowed, helped his body up using the thrusters in his soles, and rose high over the fault before beginning a slow descent, as if he was wearing a parachute. He kept jumping up every so often since it was easier to see from this high up.

The military appeared a Bagutan hour and a half later. During yet another jump, Plowshare noticed quickly floating bright stars on the horizon and began firing off flares straight up one after the other. The stars first slowed then began to rapidly grow in size.

Soon four operative ships and a transport set down on the ground right next to the fault. Soldiers—Shats in light spacesuits—began to spill out of the transport's upper hatch. Each had a standard-issue beamer attached at the hip. They were of Aczanny make but adapted for a Shat-Tzoor hand.

A Shat officer, a full colonel, jumped down from the armor next to the edge of the fault and turned to the waiting Plowshare.

"Where's the corridor?" he began without a preamble.

"There!" Plowshare pointed down. "At the bottom."

The colonel began to give orders with several commanding gestures; some of the soldiers surrounded the area. Plowshare was surprised to see them set up three turreted guns. Were the boats' weapons not enough? Apparently…

Three dozen soldiers formed a line at the edge of the fault. Two lieutenants reported something to the colonel, but Plowshare couldn't hear them, as the soldiers were using their own frequency. Most likely, only the colonel could speak directly with Plowshare. The best the others could do was speak through the crew chief or the mining relay.

"Lead on!" the colonel ordered, and Plowshare obediently jumped down to the bottom of the fault. The soldiers were dropping down one after the other.

Besides the soldiers, Plowshare was followed by three Shats in civilian spacesuits. All three were loaded with equipment like advertising poles were covered in holograms, so Plowshare decided that they were scientists. Probably biologists. Or Swarm specialists, he thought, looking back fearfully. He thought the colonel was going to bark at him to quit looking around and lead them where he'd been told. But the colonel said nothing. Maybe because Plowshare had been looking around while on the move.

Go figure.

The colonel told him to wait near the first corpse. The Shats with equipment crouched and spent some time working their magic over the worker's remains. Then they rose as one. Plowshare once again didn't hear their report, not that he'd expected to. But he was incredibly curious about what the experts were telling their superiors.

The scientists paused the second time next to the body of a large worker, and then next to each of the specialized drones. The pauses were always brief, as if analyzing dead Swarm drones was a commonplace and typical task for any of the scientists. But then what could a miner like Plowshare really know about the work military experts did? Maybe they really did spend a lot of time examining dead Swarm drones.

Dove wasn't in the chamber with the queen, and Plowshare got scared, but his partner dove out from a far corridor almost immediately. It seemed he'd decided not to stay put while Plowshare was greeting the soldiers and look around instead. Commendable! Although Plowshare admitted to himself that he would've been too scared to crawl around a Swarm asteroid on his own. What if there were more than just corpses here?

"I found something else there," Dove sang, addressing the colonel. To Plowshare, it sounded as if he was singing sadly and with concern. "In the next chamber."

Dove indicated the dark spot of the corridor he'd just come out of.

"Lead on," the colonel was still being terse. One of the experts, a lieutenant, and several soldiers remained near the dead Swarm queen; the rest, including Plowshare, followed Dove. No one told Plowshare to come, but no one stopped him either.

The corridor led them to a chamber that looked like the other one, except there was no queen's corpse here. But there were bodies of Swarm soldiers. Even Plowshare recognized them, although they didn't look as fierce as in the movies. Then again, could doubled-over dead bodies really look fierce? There was no visible damage on the soldiers, which meant they'd died the same way as the other Swarm drones.

In the middle of the chamber lay a spherical cocoon that was slightly flattened at the top. It was woven out of thin strands that looked like spiderweb. Something dark and massive could be seen inside it. The experts were dumbfounded for a moment (even Plowshare noticed that), but then grabbed their gear with such frenzy that all he could assume was that they'd run into the most important mystery since the dawn of the galaxy and had a decent chance of solving that mystery.

What if that was the case? Was there really a more mysterious race in the Alliance than the Swarm? Even the Ayeshi icicles were in practice closer and more understandable, especially since they'd adopted the dirty human worldview. The stuff they were doing now… Humans could just stand back and watch.

But the Swarm had always been and still remained incomprehensible and impregnable. That was why it was the Swarm.

Maybe they really would reveal some of its secrets. Then the name Shat Ungen, AKA Plowshare, could enter into history. Why not?

"…remained a little-studied and closed-in society up until the moment Shat Urima and Shat Ungen, miners from the Baguta Minerals corporation, discovered during a routine prospecting operation…"

Plowshare hoped to learn later what exactly they'd discovered. For now all he'd seen were a few dozen corpses and a spherical cocoon with something inside it.

By the way, Plowshare thought. If Swarm drones can survive in vacuum for a time, then the cocoon is clearly capable of staying alive for longer than active organisms. It's an axiom, like the biology instructor at the evening courses used to say…

Plowshare was very fond of the evening courses at the base and attended them with pleasure. He rarely skipped them.

"Hey, don't just stand there?" someone pulled on Plowshare's sleeve. "Give us a hand!"

Plowshare came to his senses and obediently grabbed some device he was being handed. The colonel was feverishly and soundlessly singing something into the microphone on a thin stalk. The soldiers had circled the object and were playing with their beamers. As if they might have to shoot at something.

The cocoon was thoroughly scanned, photographed several times, with the recording crystals being carefully hidden away in an emergency case; a third scientist ran up, and the "brains with legs", as the soldiers liked to call scientists, began a long and spirited argument, periodically calling someone on the radio. Understandably, Plowshare could only guess about it, but as an experienced void worker, who'd made use of radio multiple times and had a basic understanding of comms, could easily track someone connecting to the working frequency. He even tried to quietly tune his system onto the military frequency, but it was pointless. Not that he'd expected it to work. Naturally, the military were using restricted bands, and mining comms simply didn't tune to them. Plus all those encoders-decoders, modulators-demodulators… Those "brains with legs" had thought up and implemented any lever things like that.

Reinforcements showed up soon: a few more scientists and two Aczanny. The sight of the former masters of the Shat-Tzoor race completely knocked Plowshare out of the loop. The birdies still played an important role in the lives of the Shats, even if it was no longer a decisive one. But there had been times when they intervened, often unceremoniously.

Like now.

The colonel went pale and moved into the background. Now the site was run by a winged shorty in a small spacesuit. The shorty was flapping his wings in a funny way in fruitless attempts at lifting off, causing Plowshare to conclude that he wasn't used to vacuum. Probably some armchair bird, wearing a spacesuit for the second time in his life…

The other Aczanny was behaving in a more professional manner, using his wings mainly as arms and immediately taking charge of the Shat scientists. They began to quickly move around, putting together a complex machine with a cubical screen and a flat keyboard flap out of various parts. When the screen came alive and lit up, that Aczanny sat at the keyboard, while the scientists called the soldiers and seemed to be ready to cut open the cocoon.

The device had been taken from Plowshare's hands a little earlier, and now he was chased away from the cocoon to the wall. Dove was standing there and staring at what was happening from behind the backs of the colonel and the lieutenants.

Even from this distance, Plowshare could see what had appeared on the screen. It was a rectangular bar with the proportions of an interspecies brick. For some reason, proportions of bricks turned out to be approximately the same across the galaxy, whether one was an Aczanny, a Zoopht, a human, a Shat, or a Boolinga…

In point of fact, there were a lot of commonalities among the sentients of the galaxy. Plowshare often thought about that when attending courses.

The bar's corners seemed to be rounded. Or maybe that was a just limitation of the scanners. Nothing else of similar density could be seen in the cocoon, just some soft lumps that probably consisted of the same "spiderweb" as the cocoon itself.

Following the Aczanny's command, two of the scientists grabbed cutters. Thin plasma beams illuminated the cocoon with emerald reflections. Carefully, as if working with a powerful bomb, the scientists were cutting open the cocoon's surface. It was falling in two halves; the edges looked uneven and burned. Now the cocoon looked like the giant bird egg damaged by a small predator.

When the cut was large enough, the Shat scientists grabbed onto the edges and spread them wider. The cocoon opened like a strange flower, and Plowshare laid eyes on what he would eventually call a sarcophagus.

A gray scaly lump that really had rounded edges. A silent and mysterious monolith, at the sight of which Plowshare (and probably the others) thought that Eternity itself had glanced at them for a moment.

It was a frightening sensation; not in the sense of danger or threat, but frightening with its lack of edges, age, unknown purpose… Its alienness.

Plowshare sensed sharply that normal concepts didn't apply to the find. Like, for example, the thought about the lack of edges. What had he meant by that? Not the vagueness of its linear size, of course! Something else, the find didn't seem to be tied to this particular spot in the universe. It belonged to the entire universe at the same time. And to all times. It smelled of something unexplainable, something higher.

Even the Aczanny seemed to have felt that, and they'd seen many unusual things in space.

The scientists, after casting off their stupor, spent some time working near the find. After finally freeing it from the cocoon, they measured it and examined and touched it for the umpteenth time, then entered something into their clever computers. Then both Aczanny were conversing for a long time, both among themselves and with someone else on the comms.

Plowshare and Dove were shifting from one leg to the other in front of a line or soldiers. The colonel and the lieutenants were staring reverently at the restless Aczanny but didn't interfere, continuing to wait. The miners' shift had ended long ago, and Plowshare's stomachs were already growling. It was a good thing no one but him could hear that.

When the crew chief contacted them, the Aczanny were still conversing.

"Hey, Dove! Where are you two?"

Dove startled, "Here! On location."

Plowshare was also listening raptly, as their boss's voice was the first external sound they'd heard in hours.

"You can return. There's a boat coming to pick you two up, it's about to land a little to the side of the fault. Do you copy?"

"We copy, going back. Should we report to the colonel?"

"No need, he's been made aware. Just go, the soldiers will let you through."

Let us through? Plowshare thought in passing. Interesting. Would they have stopped us otherwise?

"Let's go, Plowshare," Dove said, picking up the backpack with his tools from the ground. "I'm starving…"

"Yeah," Plowshare confirmed. "Me too."

The soldiers let them through without any complaints; they didn't even move when the miners leapt through the cordon to the corridor.

There was another cordon under the open sky. A dual one. The first line was right next to the fault, and the second one was a little farther away. There were now over a dozen turrets, and the sky over the fault was eclipsed by the giant pancake of an Aczanny cruiser.

Whoa! Plowshare was even more amazed, even though a moment ago he'd been thinking that he couldn't be any more surprised. This is serious business… Very serious…

The mining boat dove under the belly of the cruiser as a tiny spark and began to rapidly descend. Several fighters escorted it until the surface. Dove and Plowshare began to hop their way to landing spot.

Strangely enough, the crew chief was present in person on the boat.

As soon as they sealed the boat's airlock, Plowshare shut off the spacesuit's field and submerged himself with relief into the world of normal sound. And normal gravity.

"Phew! Some day, huh?" he exhaled with feeling.

The crew chief with a comm in his hand just waved him off. It seemed his day wasn't any easier. And he probably wasn't alone in that.

"Feather, this is number seventeen, I've got them on board, permission to depart."

The crew chief was signing in Inter. He was replied in the same language with the high-pitched chirping whistle of the Aczanny, "This is Feather, permission granted. Don't accelerate along the corridor…"

"Understood, no acceleration."

He added in the Shat tune to the pilots, "Phase! Did you hear? No prancing around, they'll vaporize us in an instant, those guys won't hesitate…"

There were no external screens on the mining boat, so Plowshare could only picture the Aczanny cruiser's vast bulk float past them leisurely.

Dove fell into an alcove and relaxed. There was no need to strap in this time, as the pilots were flying the boat without acceleration, smoothly and evenly.

And that was how they arrived at the base, just over an hour later.

"Go to the canteen and relax. All work for tomorrow has been cancelled," the crew chief said after they'd landed. "At least they're paying our keep at the military's expense, despite the idleness…"

Plowshare could feel that it was the only thing keeping the crew chief from the temptation of yelling at his subordinates for finding such a troublesome thing on an ordinary asteroid.

"And another thing," the crew chief added. "Don't sing about what you've seen today much. This is free advice…"

Plowshare threw a confused glance at Dove.

"Let's go," Dove sighed. "My stomachs are growling…"

The crew chief turned and went in the direction of the administrative sector. Dove and Plowshare went the opposite way, towards the living area.

"He's right, Plowshare," Dove sang quietly. "Don't say a thing to anyone. The military will shake us out for this, remember my words…"

Only when he was falling into his hammock half an hour later, after a hearty dinner and an ion shower, Plowshare finally felt just how tired he was after the day.

He saw the find in his sleep. The long scaly box that looked like a huge brick, fragment of the foundation of the universe. Plowshare sensed that, from then on, his fate was inextricably tied to this cold mystery.

Forever.

Plowshare slept through the wakeup call. After clearing his vision, he turned to the chronometer over the cabin door and realized that it was nearly noon. He got scared that he hadn't heard the signal indicating the beginning of the shift, but the information board was showing green text, "Work cancelled. Day off."

So that's how it is, Plowshare thought. They didn't resume the prospecting by morning… Those military guys have a lot of pull! They quickly put the corporation in its place. I don't even want to think about how much money they're going to lose from being idle.

Then again, what did the military care if the corporation was going to lose revenue or not?

Plowshare never got to the cafeteria and the wardroom, running into a tall fellow in a sergeant's uniform and with a laser pistol on his hip waiting outside his door.

"Shat Ungen?" he asked in a wooden baritone.

Who else would come out of my cabin? Plowshare thought and shook his head in confirmation.

"I've been ordered to escort you to command. Please follow me."

Plowshare was at a loss.

"Umm… I was going to get some breakfast…"

"You will be provided with everything you need."

Plowshare sighed and realized it was pointless to object. At least they'd decided not to wake him, instead waiting for him to get up on his own. This was extremely polite towards an insignificant miner…

The sergeant took Plowshare by the elbow and gently led him away. All he could do was relax and wait for the details.

The miners thy saw on the way was staring at Plowshare and the sergeant in silent respect and slight envy. This raised Plowshare's spirits a little. It was impossible for there to not be rumors circulating among the workers, and if there was something to envy, then things weren't that bad. Maybe Plowshare and Dove would be even rewarded. Or promoted.

Then again, they might promote Dove to a crew chief's assistant or even a crew chief. But Plowshare? He didn't have nearly enough experience for that sort of work.

The base commander's office was cramped and gray from aromatic smoke. The few funny-looking Aczanny perch-seats were occupied by birdies in official clothing; all the visitor alcoves were also filled, while the couch next to the commander's desk fit four Shats of a clearly high rank — Plowshare was able to make out multiple silver pips on their clothes. Dove was also here, sitting atop a high stool in front of the commander's desk.

"Sergeant Ubarru, Shatta! Shat Ungen has been delivered!" his escort reported, released Plowshare's elbow and stood at attention.

"At ease, Sergeant," the colonel he'd seen the previous day ordered from the couch. Plowshare recognized him even though he was wearing civilian clothes today.

Another sergeant pulled up a second stool that was just as high to the middle of the available space.

"Take a seat, Ungen," the base commander offered in an even voice that was utterly devoid of emotion.

"Thank you," Plowshare nodded and obediently climbed on top of the stool. He glanced at Dove—his partner's face remained fairly dispassionate—and concluded that nothing bad was happening.

"All right, Shatta! Here is the second hero of yesterday. I hope you had a chance to get some rest, Ungen, because we have a lot to discuss right now," the base commander sang in Inter, and in the officially polite key to boot. "Ua, please introduce him.

Crew chief Shat Ua immediately jumped to his feet and took a step from the alcove to the center of the office.

"Shat Ungen, twenty-seven cycles from initiation, prospector of the Baguta Minerals corporation," he began. "Hired seven cycles ago; spent four cycles on Baguta IV, where he showed himself to be an obedient and disciplined worker. Was transferred to the expeditionary corps and successfully passed the tests on void scouting. For the past three cycles, he has been working under me, first on ancillary tasks, and recently as a scout in the Isomer group. He has two commendations and a bonus for overtime work on Vizzkri. Obedient, proper, hard-working. Regularly attends educational night courses, not known for abusing vices, does not even drink beer with friends, preferring nonalcoholic infusions. Has a tendency toward stable professional growth and, in my estimate, in five years he may be fit to lead a scouting team."

Plowshare listened with bated breath. So that was what the crew chief thought about him! It was definitely nice to hear such things about oneself!

"As his immediate superior, I see only one significant deficiency in Ungen: the lack of proper education." He paused for a moment. "If the Shatta have any questions, I will try to answer them."

The crew chief fell silent and threw a questioning glance towards the couch.

"Any questions, Shatta?" the base commander inquired. "No? Excellent. Thank you, Ua, you may sit."

The crew chief bowed slightly and hurried back into his alcove.

"He seems suitable," one of the Shats on the couch sang. "Tell me, Ungen, do you have a pilot's training?"

"General, Shat… Shatta…" Plowshare stumbled, as he didn't know how to address the other man. But, seeing that everyone was listening attentively and didn't seem to care too much for subordination, continued, "Accelerated courses in astrogation of low-tonnage starships with small drives and manual control in near-planetary space. I have twenty cycles of flight time on a Squis; I also have experience in lifting off and landing on Baguta IV's moon."

The faces of the people on the couch brightened.

"Excellent!" the colonel sang in satisfaction. "Exactly what we need."

A low whistle from the direction of the Aczanny perch-seats forced Plowshare to spin on his stool.

"Ungen, have you had to deal with other Alliance races? Directly?"

Plowshare couldn't tell which of the Aczanny was addressing him, as he wasn't looking directly at any of the guests. His gaze slid along all the birdies, then he answered, trying to keep his voice even, "Yes, I have. I've encountered Aczanny several times, in situations similar to this one. Boolinga and Rateo too, they've worked on Baguta IV with me, plus there are some on the base. I've seen Zoopht, Svaigh, Ayeshi, humans, Drra… and I think Senahe. Saw dead Swarm drones for the first time yesterday."

"Is that all?"

"As far as I can remember. Not counting TV or movies, of course."

"TV doesn't count. All right, the answer is clear."

Then the Aczanny told the others, "What do you think, (a strange birdlike whistle)? Shatta? I think this is suitable."

"Ears," one of the Aczanny reminded them. The base commander immediately snapped his fingers imperiously, and one of the sergeants opened the massive wooden door into the adjoining room.

"Urima, Ungen, please wait in the recreation room," the base commander said. "I know that neither of you have had breakfast yet, so the table has been set. Eat up. We'll call you when we need you."

Dove and Plowshare obediently hopped off the stools and went into the neighboring room. It seemed the base commander valued his R&R time highly since he'd set up a room like that for it. The walls were covered in dark wooden paneling, there were plants everywhere: in triangular vases on the floor and in small neat pots on the walls. The plants were alive and weren't just from both Bagutas but also from the Shat homeworld of Tzoorra. Someone had built several fish tanks into the walls, and their glass seemed to be windows into another world, one full of magic. There was an imprint of plenty and luxury on everything there. Plowshare even held his breath in awe.

The sergeant, the same one who'd brought Plowshare in, entered with them, shut the door, then stood next to it, turning into a motionless statue.

Dove immediately walked up to the set table. Plowshare looked around first, turned his head, walked up to the closest fish tank and tapped thoughtfully on the glass with his knuckles. The fish immediately rushed to the surface, clearly hungry.

"Well then, my fellow miner. Shall we eat from the master's table? When else are we going to get such an opportunity?" Dove sang and gave him a sly wink, as if they were conspirators.

Plowshare looked at the table. It was packed with all manner of food! His mouth filled with saliva, especially since he'd been hungry even before he and his partner were invited to the recreation room.

Meanwhile, Dove was already busy filling his plate with food: hors d'oeuvres, salads, meat… And not synthetic meat, the real deal. Chunks of it.

The sergeant at the door was staring at them like a chained beast at a feasting sugaroz, with hunger and envy.

"Hey, serviceman!" Dove addressed him with a full mouth. "Why are you just standing there? Come join us. Plenty of food here."

The sergeant hesitated for a few moments, then sighed, approached, and picked up a clean plate.

"That's some life…" he muttered with envy.

For a time, the only thing breaking the silence in the room was the even creaking of their horn jaws and Dove's occasional and pleased hooting. Plowshare didn't hoot, he was too embarrassed for that. The sergeant didn't either, but probably out of a sense of discipline.

"There's wine here too," Dove drawled thoughtfully, staring at a short row of bottles at the center of the table.

"None for me," Plowshare said decisively. "Pour me some juice, please. That one over there, from Tzoorra..."

Dove poured happily. Wine for himself and juice for Plowshare.

"What about you?" he asked the sergeant.

The man waved him off, indicating that he would figure it out for himself. Dove hooted one more time and downed his glass in a single gulp. He had no idea that he'd just swallowed his monthly salary, as it was a collector wine.

They had time to fill their bellies and relax in comfortable chairs. Naturally, the sergeant didn't relax; after eating his food quickly, he went back to his post by the door. But Dove and Plowshare allowed themselves to enjoy the luxury. Plowshare probably wouldn't have dared to do it on his own. He'd have probably sat somewhere in a corner, but the look of Dove serenely slumping in an enormous chair with a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other seduced him. Plowshare didn't try the wine; Dove wasn't drinking too much either, knowing that a serious conversation was coming. After the initial downed glass, he spent a long time taking small sips from the second one. Plowshare was drinking juice, examining the illuminated fish tanks through his glass. The glasses seemed to be very old, maybe crystal.

When the door opened and the other sergeant appeared at the threshold, Dove and Plowshare leapt to their feet.

In all this time, no sound had come in from the office. It seemed the base commander's rooms were very well insulated.

Plowshare noted that there were now a lot fewer people at the office. First of all, all the Aczanny but the two most important ones were gone. Second, only the Shats with the silver pips remained from their own people, while the colonel, the base commander with his deputies, and the crew chief were absent.

As soon as Dove and Plowshare climbed up on their stools, one of the silver pipped Shats rose from the couch and took several steps towards the prospectors, who were respectfully frozen, awaiting further developments.

"Shat Urima! Shat Ungen! Corporate management has decided to send you on a very important mission. You specifically, as you were the ones who found the temporary nest of the Swarm on that unnamed asteroid. I won't hide that the results of this mission are of interest not just to the corporation but also to the militaries of Baguta and Tzoorra. You have shown yourselves to be disciplined employees and loyal citizens. A successful completion of the mission entrusted to you will have a positive effect on your careers, social status, and financial situation. In other words, you will be rewarded generously.

"You have been chosen to escort the asteroid to another star system. I am not authorized to tell you which one, not that its name would tell you anything. Your task is to simply stay within the habitation module installed on the asteroid and watch over the Swarm nest. That includes everything in it, including the Swarm corpses and objects. You will be given all the necessities: supplies, energy, equipment, information. The x-drive that is currently being installed on the asteroid will be operating on automatic and will not require any action on your part. Upon arrival to your destination, you will be sent back on a military vessel.

"That is all. I doubt you require any additional explanations. You will find instructions for using the equipment on the standard computer splice of the habitation module. If you have any questions, I will do my best to answer them, as much as possible. Well?"

"Dove and Plowshare exchanged glances.

"Umm… How long will the mission take?" Dove inquired carefully.

"Between twelve and twenty-four standard days of Baguta II."

Dove blew out a breath and, looking down, clarified quietly, "I assume refusal is not recommended, am I right?"

The other man confirmed dispassionately, "Honestly, no. Until the mission is concluded, all accompanying actions are classified. Perhaps they will remain classified even after."

Plowshare became simultaneously scared and happy. This felt like an adventure, somewhat dangerous, which meant exciting. How many times had he imagined himself as the hero of his favorite movies? Maybe now he's be able to experience something even remotely similar.

"Well then…" Dove shifted on his stool. "Then I agree."

"Me too!" Plowshare spat out hurriedly. "I agree!"

"Excellent! I'm glad we weren't wrong about you two. We don't have a lot of time. That's why we're not going to waste it. You aren't going to need your belongings, as the module on the asteroid has been set up to the fullest, and it's meant for six. So you'll have plenty of everything."

The sergeant at the door opened it pointedly.

Dove and Plowshare slid down the stools as one.

"From myself, I'm going to add just this," the Shat with the silver pip said. "Good luck, Shatta!"

Dove nodded silently and began walking to the exit.

They were led to the military boat by an entire escort: two sergeants and six privates, armed to the jaws. The miners continued to occasionally eat up Dove and Plowshare with their eyes.

Already at the hatch to the tube leading to the piers and the docks, Dove whispered quietly to Plowshare, "We're in trouble now, partner…"

Plowshare snarled in a barely audible voice, which made it sound plaintive.

In the boat, attached to a semirigid support, Plowshare tried to get used to the idea that drastic changes were beginning to happen in his life. For a time, there won't be the usual shifts and scouting in the void. He's going to be doing something new and unclear.

Consumed by his thoughts, Plowshare didn't even notice when they arrived. The boat's artificial gravity released them gently, leaving only the lightness typical of large asteroids. One couldn't even feel one's weight on small asteroids, and it was easy to accidentally fly off into the void by pushing off too hard. Automatically putting on the proffered void suit, Plowshare thought about the fact that he'd never sent a reply letter to his sister. If the mission dragged on, his sister might get worried… He'd always answered her mail carefully and without delay.

The air rushed out of the boat into the void outside. Only single-layer airlocks were installed on small troop transports. That was just how it was.

"Urima, Ungen! This is Colonel Uess. You are to leave the boat, get your bearings, and cross the distance to the installed habitation module on foot. They're just finishing up there, which is why you were dropped off some distance away. You can guide yourself by the vacuum casting flashes, as the casters are still working. If you get lost, we'll guide you by satellite. You'll find detailed instructions on the computer at the central post. Any questions?"

"Yes," Plowshare dared. "Can we send mail from the post?"

"What mail?" Colonel Uess asked suspiciously.

"Personal. A letter to my sister. I didn't get to answer her…"

"Your loved ones will be informed of your brief absence from the place of work. There is no need to worry."

"Thanks," Plowshare said genuinely, wondering why the military types always had to speak so dryly and dully. As if they weren't even Shats at all, merely some semisentient metal calculators.

Plowshare followed Dove out the open hatch and gently floated down to the asteroid's lifeless surface. The beams of the ship's floodlights chased away the weak light of the stars; the sky looked a little blue instead of the charcoal black it normally looked on asteroids. Somewhere over the horizon they could clearly make out the glow of vacuum casting. Only a complete idiot or a rookie who'd just put on a void suit for the first time in his life could get lost on the asteroid. Even Plowshare, to say nothing of Dove, had no fear of missing the habitation module.

"Did you get your bearings?" the Colonel asked. They could detect boundless patience in his voice, of the kind normally attributed to animal trainers and teachers.

"Yes, we see the flashes, don't worry. We're on our way there."

Dove waved his hand and took the first low and long leap away from the boat. Plowshare followed.

They barely moved ten jumps away when the boat rose on the antigravs majestically, turned its bow towards the stars, and slid upwards. Nothing changed on the asteroid: not a single speck of dust rose, the ground didn't shudder, not a sound came. It was a dead world. Indifferent.

Soon the flashes beyond the horizon ceased, but the cloud of light could still be made out from afar. After all, the construction workers weren't going to pack up in the darkness, were they? The Colonel periodically contacted Dove and Plowshare, hurrying them along, while also encouraging them that they were moving in the right direction. As if they didn't know.

The ghostly flares of rising ships told them that Dove and Plowshare were now the only living beings on the asteroid. Unless, of course, there were some Swarm drones hiding deep underground, having managed to somehow survive.

I wonder, Plowshare thought, why doesn't the Swarm equip its workers and soldiers with suits? The ones that work in the void? Do the lives of individual drones matter so little to the Swarm that it can easily sacrifice them? That's a pretty barbaric philosophy. Even the cruel and immeasurably soulless humans don't feel that way.

The ships of the construction workers ceased to lift off, but the glow (no longer over the horizon, just up ahead) was still there. Several lights were flooding the site of recent work with a blinding white light, and the brightly illuminated spot in the middle of this gloomy desert looked just as alien as it was inviting. Any living being, whether intelligent or not, would've immediately headed for it. The only problem was that only the intelligent kind could be encountered in this desert. And not of their own will but sent by someone higher up.

Plowshare felt that his former certainly of space being inhabited was little more than a childish delusion. For the most part, space was empty and dead. Life was just a thin layer on the surface of some worlds, specks of sand at the edge of an endless desert. Life needed air and water, it needed organic compounds that could only exist in a state created by hundreds of conditions and factors, and those conditions were extremely rare. It was only thanks to the galaxy's truly unimaginable size that it still had plenty of place where life could appear. But any intelligent being realized, sooner or later, that there were immeasurably more places where life was impossible.

Plowshare snarled in a drawn-out manner and nearly ran into the back of Dove, who was standing at the edge of a cliff. They'd already reached the edge of the illuminated area.

"We're here!" Dove said with feeling.

Below them lay the same fault they'd found yesterday.

Just yesterday.

But it barely even looked the same!

A section of the wild steep slope was gone, replaced by the cheerful façade of a standard Sixer habitation module dug into the asteroid. Right into the cliff. On the opposite edge of the cliff was the openwork mast of a long-range beacon. Around them were floodlights on thin articulated rods. A pile of shapeless rocks lying some distance away was the ore that had been extracted.

"Yeah," Dove drawled, impressed. "They've done a lot here! And in less than a day too…"

"Come down to the airlock," the Colonel wouldn't let them enjoy the view.

Honestly, Plowshare was getting a little tired of his intrusive attention.

"Yes, sir…" Dove muttered and stepped off the cliff.

One either Baguta, this step would have been the last he'd ever taken. But here, Dove merely began to gently and safely fall from a height twelve to fifteen times his height.

Void workers were almost never afraid of heights. Sometimes that ended up getting them killed.

Plowshare landed next to Dove; he was skeptically studying the airlock control panel.

"Look at this!" he sang with a strange mix of surprise and mistrust in his voice. "This isn't a habitation module, it's a fortress!"

Plowshare noticed the channel of a stationary combat emitter in a narrow partition to the right of the airlock. Then two more, slightly above and slightly below. And a fourth one, on the bottom, almost even with the floor. They could burn the area in front of the airlock to ashes. A single command, and a tiny sun would appear in the fault next to the module.

The Colonel explained how to open the airlock; it was a simple and fairly reliable procedure: enter a code and let the scanner read their eye facets. Then again, that could only be a part of the identification process, as the entrance computer could be registering dozens of parameters, whereas the participation of the subjects themselves was completely unnecessary. Plowshare had run into things like that in the warehouses of Baguta IV that stored particularly valuable samples and minerals.

In any case, the airlock let them in. After entering the square intermediate chamber that had normal gravity, Plowshare thought that this moment was when he was turning from a guest into the owner. One of the two owners of a freshly cast habitation module.

"Welcome, partner!" Dove grumbled, opening the inner door. "Our home is our fortress… I wonder if anyone is going to try storming it."

Plowshare had no idea what Dove was implying. In fact, he had an impression that his partner understood their situation far better than him. That Dove had a general idea of why they'd been sent here.

He was utterly clueless. Logically, they should've sent specialists: pilots for flying; scientists for studying the Swarm's temporary nest; soldiers for guarding… But why send void miners? And only two of them? To have them stroll on the surface of the asteroid as bait for the Swarm?

Huh… Plowshare thought and squeaked his exoskeleton anxiously. It's entirely possible… Brainless paiti in front of a sugaroz's lair. On a leash. Looks very much like it…

Shat Ungen was frightened by the sudden realization. More specifically, he was scared that it might turn out to be true.

As soon as they were through the inner door, Dove glanced at the instruments to make sure that the pressure was normal and began removing his suit. He hadn't even looked at the air composition indicator. Then again, they hadn't sent them here just to drop dead right at the entrance, had they?

How do you know? Plowshare felt as if someone was whispering in his ear. Maybe void sugarozs like their flesh with an odor, after it's been dead for a while…

Dove had already removed his suit.

"Why are you standing there?" he asked. "Take it off."

Plowshare also removed his suit and hanged it up in a perfectly ordinary cabinet next to the airlock. There were hundreds of such cabinets on any mining base. These just happened to be brand-new…

Every void worker had to memorize the layout of a Sixer down to the smallest nook and cranny. Plowshare had a clear idea that the central post was located in front of him, inside the circular corridor. That was where Dove headed.

The module was illuminated and smelled of recently cooled cermet. The slight smell of ozone invigorated and set them into a working mood.

"All right!" Dove paused in front of the door. A neat triangular plate with the sign that read "Central Control Post" was hanging above the door.

"This is us…"

Plowshare thought that he hadn't heard the intrusive colonel in a while, while Dove was busy opening the door.

The post was illuminated from several different points so as to leave no shadows. Such lighting at first felt odds, but one soon got so used to it that normal lighting with shadows began to seem wrong and irritating. Dove glanced at the light panels on the ceiling and headed for the duty station.

"The Vagri Six module greets the occupants!" the computer sang suavely. "The module has been set up to the fullest extent; its external equipment includes a paired Colossus-type x-drive…"

They're risking a giant drive, Plowshare noted with latent melancholy. That bastard is expensive. Or is our flight safe after all?

He really wanted to believe in the latter. Indeed, the largest of the x-drives, capable of moving such large masses as this asteroid, were not cheap. Not many races could afford them. Only the six higher ones, the Boolinga, the Shat-Tzoor, the shapeshifters, and maybe the Rateo. Even the Senahe and the Drra couldn't, to say nothing of the rest of the newly sentient. Even if they had the resources to pay for them, there was no guarantee that the higher races would even entrust a single Colossus to the newly sentient.

"Drive control has been switched to the astrogation crosslink; the staff is only required to approve the jump," the module's main computer continued speaking. "The crosslink has been equipped with the appropriate software and operational information…"

"Urima, Ungen, according to the telemetry, the module and the x-drive are in full working order," the Colonel reappeared on the comms. "You may initiate the jump. You will be contacted after each puncture. Do you copy? Please respond."

"We got you," Dove grunted in a not particularly friendly way. "Is the initiation command given manually?"

"Yes, from the central console. There's a menu called 'Paired Devices', select 'X-Drive', and then 'Initiate'. The other options have been disabled."

Dove followed the instructions and used the cursor to click the required part of the menu with a barely disguised revulsion.

"Initiating!" the computer informed them with the cheerfulness of a complete moron. "The system is calculating the first pulsation to the specified spatial coordinates. No additional actions are required from the staff. The pulsation will take place in normal mode."

"Thanks for that," Dove grumbled. He seemed to be grumbling more as of late. "Fine, let's go look at our new home, buddy… Nothing for us to do here anyway, it's all shut off."

He rose and began walking towards the exit from the post. Plowshare could only follow his example.

As expected, there really wasn't much to look at. And what could they really find inside a brand-new Sixer module? The mess, the galley, storerooms, and six cabins.

They looked at everything, quickly studying the storerooms' contents; Plowshare noted that virtually no tools had been left, only food, medicine, clothes, the simplest of unassembled equipment like a food processor or a stereo with a wide assortment of programs.

"Boy," Dove drawled. "Not much. Now we can definitely say that they didn't send us here to work."

Plowshare threw a glance at the utterly empty racks of the tool storage.

"Then why did they send us?"

"Let's go," Dove beckoned him to follow. Towards the rear airlock, for some reason.

"Where are you going?" Plowshare inquired.

"Come on, let's go," Dove sang. "Here, put this on," he pulled out a new, never before worn void suit from a cabinet. Plowshare obediently slid his arms into the holes, sealed the front seam and activated the field. He was immediately enveloped in a protective shell, invisible and imperceptible but incredibly strong. The shell that was adjacent to his nostril ducts produced a breathing mix and absorbed carbon dioxide. The shell in front of his eyes served as a three-dimensional panoramic screen. The shell near his ear openings and auricles served as acoustic membranes connected to the comm and the external sound pickup. Now Plowshare could calmly dive into molten metal or liquid helium and be safe inside the suit's field. The only thing that the suit wouldn't protect him from was the furious heat of a star's corona.

He and Dove passed through the airlock and found themselves in a corridor. Inside the Swarm's temporary nest, the same one they'd found only the day before.

"How much do you want to bet," Dove said suddenly, "that we aren't going to find a single dead body here, but that scaly box will be exactly where it was?"

Plowshare stopped and just stared at his departing partner for a short while. He couldn't seem to catch his train of thought.

"Listen, Dove," Plowshare admitted honestly, running after him. "I've got absolutely no idea. Why we're here, for what purpose, and so on. But I think you do. So why not share your brilliant thoughts with your partner? Otherwise you're going to have to break it down for me at every step, and I'll just be standing there like an idiot and rub my brow arch."

"Why do you think we're walking through this isamarian intestine?" Dove said over his collarbone without stopping. "I want to show you everything on the spot."

After the first turn, Plowshare was able to confirm that if Dove's conjectures were correct, it wasn't all of them. At the very least, his guess about the dead Swarm bodies turned out to be wrong.

They were lying in neat rows along the walls: Swarm soldiers, small Swarm workers, large Swarm workers, Swarm who-knows-what… They'd simply been gathered from all the surrounding passages and put in one place. And left there.

Dove snarled in confusion then sang, "Yeah… I'd really like to be wrong about the rest too…"

Plowshare didn't know what to say to that.

They passed through the chamber with the dead queen — no one had bothered to move that monstrosity, of course. Not that it could've possibly fit through any of the passages. It had probably been born and raised here, in this chamber. Plowshare thought that Swarm queens had a pretty unenviable fate. Spending their entire lives in a dark cave that looked like a narrow temple. Never seeing the stars. Never seeing the sky. Never feeling the breeze on an oxygen planet. There was no way that weak draft coming from the black hole of an intranest passage could compare to a breeze.

Plowshare shuddered involuntarily. He was already feeling pity for this dead queen, this dried chunk of flesh that had once been a tiny part of the Swarm.

The workers and the unknown small arthropods had been removed from the chamber. The queen was reposing in proud and simultaneously pitiful solitude.

Dove didn't linger here, and Plowshare was glad for that. Only recently he'd genuinely wanted to get a closer look at the queen, but now that desire was gone. The look of the dead being was unpleasant to him.

"Come on, come on!" Dove urged him on. "Keep up, partner…"

He didn't have to urge Plowshare on, as he was already right on Dove's heels.

A short while later, they reached the hall where "brains with legs" had opened the white cocoon/egg only yesterday. They could see the remains of the shell by the wall — someone had carefully collected them and lay them down on the smooth stone floor. Next to a dozen clumps that looked like tatters of dirty cotton. In the middle of the hall lay yesterday's find in all its scaly glory. The elongated box. It was grayish-brown in the light of their elbow lamps. Strange, Plowshare had thought the box was utterly black the day before. Wasn't it?

Plowshare couldn't recall. This silent lump caught his eye, making him forget about the recent impatience. And Dove froze in silence at the exit from the passage, also forgetting that he'd been planning on telling a lot to his partner.

They stood there for a long time: Dove, Plowshare, and the sarcophagus. Neither miner had no doubt when each was mentally calling the box a sarcophagus independently of the other. And both were certain that an ancient and frightening secret was buried inside it.

Plowshare thought that an eternity had passed. In utter silence and stillness. He wanted to look over at Dove but suddenly realized that he couldn't. He felt that he was ready to flinch, but it was as if his body had been filled with wax, preventing him from moving. He wanted to yell out, but his air cavity was reduced by a painful spasm. Plowshare couldn't, he couldn't look away from the sarcophagus, hypnotized by someone's malicious mind. And so he would stand here until the end of his days, until he died of dehydration and hunger… Like a Swarm worker. So that was how they'd died…

Plowshare was gripped by a primal fear. He felt that all he had to do was tense, fight, and IT would let him go. But it was all for naught. All his attempts at freeing himself crashed against someone's will like sea waves crashing against granite. In order to destroy a cliff in this way, it took time comparable to the lifespan of a sea and a cliff.

His body reflexively lowered the temperature of the outer exoskeletal layers, and the obliging suit immediately raised the heat.

How quickly and how stupidly… Plowshare thought, feeling himself on the verge of panic. Or even insanity.

At the same moment, he realized he couldn't inhale — he no longer had that ability either.

"Hmm, yeah," Dove drawled thoughtfully. "Am amusing thing…"

Plowshare nearly dropped, as his muscles went limp and refused to hold his body up in a vertical position. Twisting his leg awkwardly, he managed to remain upright and, with silent amazement, was shocked to discover that he was free again. No one was binding him, no one was removing his ability to move and breathe.

"Isamarian horror!" Plowshare swore with difficulty. "What was that, Dove? I nearly went crazy! Nearly died! Did you feel something?"

"I did," Dove informed him coldly. "Like I was being scanned. Head to foot. You too?"

"I was nearly eaten alive!" Plowshare shouted. "Let's get the isamar out of here, or I'm definitely going to lose my mind!"

"Keep a lid on it," Dove lowered his brow arch stubbornly. "That's why I brought you here, so you could feel it for yourself. I've stood in front of this thing yesterday, back when it was hidden inside a cocoon… also nearly crapped myself. This isn't just a lump. It's a chest, but what is hidden inside? We can only guess. You were asking what's going on? The answer's easy. The military wants to know what this chest is. What it's hiding. Do you get it, partner?"

Plowshare was glaring at Dove.

"I see that you've felt IT too. Don't worry, once you understand that you're being LOOKED AT, it's not as scary anymore. But your first time, yeah, it's creepy."

Dove snarled funnily and tapped the top of his head.

"The military is scared, you knucklehead! So they've sent two dunces to sit next to this chest. To see what happens to them."

"And what can happen to them? To us, I mean."

"What? Did you see the dead ants in the passage?"

Plowshare broke off, even though he'd been about to shout another question.

Dove was staring straight at him. Plowshare suddenly felt very uncomfortable, but Dove remained perfectly calm even when saying such unpleasant things, which calmed Plowshare somewhat.

"Actually, the military could've sent their own Shats. Soldiers. We're not soldiers," Plowshare offered uncertainly.

"But we're witnesses, partner. Living witnesses, who've seen this scaly marvel. I think that the military wants to keep the number of Shats… and not only Shats… aware of it as few as possible. By sending up, the military is killing two paiti with one claw: isolating the witnesses and running an experiment. By the way, I have an inkling that our military is playing far from first fiddle in this whole operation. Otherwise the Aczanny wouldn't be paying such a close attention to this story. That's who's really running the experiment — the half-sized birdies, our former masters. As for the Bagutan military, they're merely tolerating them as former satellites and supposed current allies."

Plowshare was listening to all this in shock before suddenly realizing that Dove's words were being transmitted by radio. After all, he and Dove were wearing suits.

Shut up, partner! They could be listening! Plowshare gestured feverishly using the emergency mining code.

"No one's listening to us," Dove sighed. "I broke the relay. Sure, they're listening inside the module. But here, their ears are, shall we say, too short. Basically, they can shove it."

Plowshare twitched his head sluggishly. That awkward tic always started when he was worried.

"So they've basically sent us to die?" he asked in anguish.

"Basically," Dove agreed with surprising ease and carelessness. "But I've no intention of dying for nothing. You and I will float through the void yet, partner. You'll see."

Plowshare smiled faintly. After Dove's devastating revelations, he was happy to grasp at any straw, no matter how thin, as long as it gave him even a gleam of hope.

Hope never died, no matter what those theoretical philosophers said. Otherwise the concept of a "fight" wouldn't have existed in the universe. What was the point of fighting without a hope for something? For salvation, for wealth, for glory? For whatever.

"Dove…" Plowshare breathed out. "If you knew all this ahead of time, why did you agree? How could you have climbed into a sugaroz's lair voluntarily?"

"They would've gotten rid of us anyway, Plowshare. And very quickly. No one wants witnesses: not the Aczanny and not the military. This chest is tied to something very significant, that's pretty obvious. Our only chance of delaying our deaths was to agree to the offer of flying on this isamarian asteroid. And the only chance of trying to cheat death. As for the lair… Well, why not climb in if you have a rifle? Here, look," Dove reached into his suit's pocket and produced a flat circle in a transparent plastic case. "This is my rifle."

Plowshare looked obediently. In the light of their elbow lamps, the circle shone and shimmered with all the colors of the spectrum.

"What is that?"

"Data storage. An astrogation disk. The thing is, I liked at the boss's office this morning. I actually can fly starships and use astrogation programs. I've served as the copilot on the Gaititi for six cycles. It's just not listed in my service file. For a number of reasons."

So that's why he has that strange tan, Plowshare realized belatedly. From x-drive background radiation and many jumps through space…

"We'll run away, partner," Dove went on. "Run away with this chunk of rock and this strange box. We'll hop off in some suitable place and let the birdies figure out the mysteries of the Swarm on their own, without us."

"Never thought they wrote astrogation programs onto such strange-looking storage," Plowshare muttered randomly.

Indeed, he'd never seen such disks before; his modest piloting experience had only familiarized him with standard crystal records.

"This isn't our data storage," Dove informed him cheerfully. "Humans use them."

"Humans?" Plowshare asked in surprise. "Where did you get human programs?"

Dove crouched slightly, anticipating the effect his words were about to have.

"You're not going to believe it, partner. You're not. I found it here, in the next chamber. Yesterday. While you were meeting the 'brains on legs' and the soldiers. There are two technological things on our asteroid: the chest and this disk. Well, not counting the freshly-made module, of course."

"And the reader?" Plowshare asked belatedly. "What about the reader? Does the module's computer have a human data reader?"

"Of course not," his partner continued to have fun. "But I saw a stereo in storage. It's supposed to have a reader compatible with this disk's format. As for building a converter and linking it, that should be easy. True, we don't have tools, but even an awl is a tool for a good pilot. All right, let's go back. It's a little creepy here, to be honest… Plus those mummies… Just don't talk too much in the module until we jump a few times, and I shut off the comms. And don't use the code either, I'm sure they're watching us too."

"All right, Dove," Plowshare spat out devotedly. "I'll be as silent as a fish."

The entire way back through the passages of the nest, creepy because of their emptiness and darkness, Plowshare tried to process what was happening. Just that morning he'd been happy and proud to learn that his superiors valued him. That the crew chief had spoken so favorably of his work and personal qualities. Now he was acutely aware that he was a pawn in the grinder of someone else's game. The corporation had sent him, a loyal and faithful employee, to his death without a second thought just to obtain some remote and dubious benefit. That hurt. Could Dove be mistaken? Maybe he'd had some friction with the corporation and the Aczanny. Maybe he disliked both, even if that dislike was well-deserved, for something in the past. It was entirely possible they'd treated him badly and unjustly. But did that necessarily mean that the corporation would send them, valuable employees, to their deaths at the first opportunity? And if they would, then why install a very expensive Sixer module and an even more expensive x-drive on the asteroid? That was a waste. An unexplainable waste.

Well, no, it was explainable.

Plowshare suddenly changed his point-of-view, as if leaping to the side of his own opponent.

It was definitely explainable. On the condition that the corporation and the Aczanny were hoping to learn or get something, the value of which was incomparable to some habitation module and a single x-drive. Plowshare couldn't personally picture any information that would be valued so highly, but he did allow for the possibility of its existence. And, to be honest, who were simple miners and soldiers to the corporate bosses and the top military brass? Pawns, nothing more. During the old wars, they'd been burned in battles and rotted in strategic mines by the thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Several satellite races had vanished in the crucible of the wars of the past. Each of those poor saps had probably hope that they'd make it through, and that death would pass them by. They'd clung on to that meager hope and waited, gritting their jaws… or whatever they had.

Only right before the airlock Plowshare seemed to come to his senses, as if casting off the sticky web that had wrapped itself around his brain.

Isimarian horror! he thought with a chill. What is going on here? Who is twisting my mind?

Dove had said nothing the entire walk back, and Plowshare had no idea if strange thoughts were filling his mind too. He looked dispassionate.

Easily entering the module, the miners cast off their suits, stopped by the storeroom for the necessary tech, and headed for the central post.

Quickly glancing at the holograms of the astrogation crosslink, Dove informed him, "Hey, partner, we've already jumped. We're now who knows how far from Baguta! At least a thousand light cycles!"

Plowshare, who'd spent half his life working in space, tried to picture this gulf and couldn't. The fact that his partner and an ex-pilot was taking it for granted and unimportant had shaken him.

A thousand light cycles. If he were to find the tiny dot of Baguta on the viewscreens, assuming it was even visible from this far out, then he'd see the light that remembered his distant ancestors.

The touch of the galactic scale, the routine of unimaginable distances and lengthy periods of time — was it not strange? Like millions of sentient beings before him, Plowshare was feeling himself as having risen from the petty fuss to the very stars for the first time.

All he had to do was reach out his hand, and there they were. The stars. So distant, even the light of his native Baguta would take hundreds of years, hundreds of cycles to reach here. The same light that sped through the void faster than he could even imagine. It was such a strange whim of nature. A strange state of a lump of living slime called the mind that had allowed several galactic races to reach the stars. The very distant stars.

Plowshare thought that knowing and experiencing were two very different things.

But Dove didn't seem to have noticed anything at all. His thoughts were busy elsewhere.

"Well?" he glinted with his eye facets slyly. "Shall we listen to some music?"

Placing the cube of the stereo onto the console, Dove reached into the drawer to the right of the chair.

"Look, Plowshare. This is called an EK, emergency kit."

He showed his partner a flat green box with a sliding lid. Inside, on a velvety lining, was a set of manipulators, probes, a molecular sealer, a microscope fitting for the eyes…

The very same tools the module's casters had deliberately not supplied them with.

But there were still emergency kits, of course there were. Even a rookie like Plowshare knew that. If they searched under the chairs and in other drawers, they'd find dry rations, air supply, backup batteries…

"Isamarian horror!" Plowshare whispered for the umpteenth time that day. "Experience is a great thing!"

Plowshare had no idea when he'd even think to look for tools at the central post. He was too used to stereotypes: tools were supposed to be kept in appropriate storerooms, and that was it.

Maybe the corporation was deliberately training their employees to be obedient morons.

If that was true, then Shat Ungen, AKA Plowshare, had taken the first step away from moronity. The very first. The hardest one. Now it was time to look back and see what he'd been only yesterday.

Why? Plowshare thought with sudden melancholy. Why do Shats mature and get smarter like this, rapidly and explosively, in mere days or even hours, despite spending entire cycles in blissful and terrible thoughtlessness? And probably not just Shats.

Not even the recognition that far from everyone matured and got smarter helped to warm Plowshare.

While Dove was busy digging around in the central post, Plowshare went to the galley and turned on the kitchen appliances. Even a trained sugaroz would probably be able to prepare a standard void worker dinner for two. All it took was pushing buttons and opening the packages with concentrates beforehand. Plowshare was doing it all absentmindedly while busy thinking. Dozens of thoughts were rushing through his mind like a hurricane. Who would he have been if he hadn't crossed paths with Shat Urima, AKA Dove? Yet another obedient moron of the Baguta Minerals corporation? Yet another cog in a giant indifferent machine, whose only purpose was maintaining its own operation? Yeah, he'd have probably worked overtime for the good of the corporation and been genuinely grateful for the praise… Or maybe not. Would he still have seen the light sooner or later? There was no way Plowshare wouldn't have run into people like Dove ever again.

They ate dinner right there in the galley, being too lazy to carry the trays with the food to the mess. Plowshare remembered his partner's warning about saying too much, so he stayed quiet, while Dove was grinding the dinner down with his jaws in a detached manner without even noticing the taste. His gaze wandered, and it seemed as if every facet was focused on its own thing. Plowshare noticed the spots of the molecular sealer on Dove's hands, so the linking was already ongoing… It was entirely possible that Dove had already connected the human reader and the central computer. Or at least was far enough along on the way.

Dull thuds on the module's hull caught them off-guard. Plowshare jerked and dropped his two-pronged fork. It fell onto the plastic table with a deafening clink. Dove froze with a chunk of parga in his mouth.

"What is that?" he said indistinctly and rose.

Thuds followed one another in an even pattern like the fall of monstrous raindrops.

"It's the rear airlock," Plowshare hissed. "Outside…"

The Swarm? Or something from the sarcophagus? Plowshare thought.

He painfully tried to recall whether there were any emitters in the fold of the rear airlock. And if there were, how to control them. Or even activate them. Technically, they were supposed to work completely automatically. But he had no idea how things really were.

"Do we have weapons?" Plowshare looked over at Dove with hope in his eyes. He thought that his senior partner, who'd been the copilot on the Gaititi itself, had to know how to get out of trouble.

"Actually, we do," Dove replied and began chewing quickly; it seemed he was tired of talking with his mouth full. "There's a safe at the central post with handheld beamers. But it's usually locked and sealed, and no one bothered to tell us the access code."

Plowshare hadn't even known that; the standard information on Sixers didn't mention anything about weapons, and Plowshare simply hadn't thought to look into it. Then again… With things the way they were… It was in Baguta everything was relatively calm and peaceful, but what about other systems? Where there was more disorder and anarchy. Where pirate starships and bands of wild and merciless corsairs conducted lightning-fast raids on weak colonies, solitary and sparsely crewed mines, careless cargo haulers… They even attacked passenger liners!

The thuds suddenly stopped. Plowshare had already shrunk back instinctively, catching on to the frequency, but instead of yet another loud "Bam!", all he heard was Dove's quiet chewing. A moment later, new sounds appeared. They were quieter this time but also rhythmic. And now the source of the sounds was getting closer.

"Pom! Pom! Pom!" came from somewhere up above. As if someone huge and heavy had decided to take a walk on the module's roof.

Up above? But the module had been melted into the cliff! On top of them were cubic uns of solid monolithic rock!

Plowshare pulled his head into his collarbones and stared at his partner plaintively.

"This makes no sense!" Dove muttered. "Look!"

He pointed at a glass of juice standing on the table. Another "step" of the giant on the roof had just then made the entire module shudder. Plowshare could clearly feel the floor push against his feet, his exoskeleton pick up the vibrations… But the surface of the liquid in the glass remained completely motionless, even though tiny concentric waved had to be moving from the plastic sides to the center and back.

"It's all in our heads, Plowshare!" Dove declared with some terribly earnest conviction, and the moment he said it, the strange noises ceased. All of them. The unknown giant, capable of walking through the thick rock as if it was fog, was hiding. Or it had vanished. It was quiet, and the silence made his ears ring.

In our heads? Plowshare thought in confusion. What is he talking about?

Shat Ungen had temporarily lost the ability to think clearly.

When he had more or less come out of his stupor, caused by an abundance of new events and impressions, Dove was sitting at the table, staring questioningly at the empty glass of juice. Plowshare's unfinished dinner was now cold; the fork was still lying on the table to the side of the tray.

"Dove," Plowshare said quietly. "I'm scared."

His partner tore himself away from watching the plastic cylinder.

"What?"

"I'm scared," Plowshare repeated. "I don't understand what's happening to me."

Instead of answering, Plowshare rose, threw his tray along with its contents into the disposal unit, and suggested gently, "Let's call it a day, partner. It's been a crazy one… We need to get some rest."

Fine, Plowshare thought. If you don't want to discuss it, we won't. Then again, he's right. We really do need to get some rest.

He also got rid of his tray and followed Dove to the cabins.

Naturally, there were six cabins. A short radial corridor split off from the main ring hallway that surrounded the central post. There were three sliding doors on each side.

"Which one do you want?" Dove turned.

Plowshare indicated the first door on the right. He'd instinctively chosen the farthest cabin from the outside of the module.

"Then I'm taking this one…"

Dove picked the farthest on the left. Maybe intentionally, or maybe also instinctively.

Plowshare sighed, snarled sadly, and reached out towards the panel controlling the door. The door parted silently, obeying his command.

"And another thing," Dove paused at the threshold of his cabin. "I would suggest that you look in the medicine cabinet, take a stimulant and chase it with a sleeping pill. I promise, tomorrow, you'll see today's events in a new light."

Plowshare scratched at his brow ridge (his hand felt like it was made of cotton), jerked his head ambiguously, and entered his cabin. The doors immediately closed behind him.

Maybe there's something to it, he thought about Dove's words. Really, I'll spend half the night tossing and turning, won't get any rest, and will feel like I've been marinated tomorrow… I'd better take a sleeping pill. On the other hand, do I have to go on a combat mission tomorrow or something? There's really no work here. I can sleep all day.

He found the medicine cabinet, rifled through it, swallowed a Neurofet capsule and a sleeping pill, calibrated the emitter in the hammock's headboard, removed his coveralls and boots, and climbed into the sleeping bag.

The lights in the cabin began to fade as Plowshare fell into a slumber.

Despite the day's unrest, Plowshare was out almost immediately.

He'd probably miscalculated the sleeping pill's dosage. At first, he thought he'd taken too little, as Plowshare woke up in the middle of the night. Lights came on immediately; the chromometer was showing the local time somewhere between midnight and morning. Plowshare felt muddy: the sleeping pill was too small get his mind to shut off again but too big for a clear head. The objects seemed to be either hazy or far too sharply defined. Plowshare climbed out of his hammock and, swaying, stood in the middle of the cabin. He shook his head, making something viscous and heavy move in his skull. He couldn't figure out what had caused him to wake up and what he had to do now.

Then it was as if someone had given him a push; still in this half-dreamlike state, Plowshare headed for the exit. He paused for a moment in the hallway next to the door to Dove's cabin, maybe even wondered if he ought to wake him up. Instead, he walked to the rear airlock, still swaying.

Plowshare seemed to have forgotten about the evening's roof walker; at the very least, Plowshare wasn't remembering the fright he'd experienced. But he somehow knew that he needed to go to the airlock.

So he walked.

As if sleepwalking, he put on the vac suit and activated the field. He entered the airlock and waited for the pumps to suck out the air. He activated the elbow lamps and headed into the thick darkness of the tunnel that pierced the stone body of the asteroid.

He walked, stumbling occasionally, and didn't even try to throw off the haze enveloping his mind. A part of Plowshare's consciousness seemed to be asleep. The part that could think, ask questions, and find answers. The part that was awake was the one that was used to obeying and not reflecting.

Plowshare passed through the cemetery—the place where the soldiers had dragged the Swarm bodies—passed through the chamber with the giant queen mummy, and soon reached the hall where the sarcophagus rested.

He thought that some imperceptible changes had taken place there. First of all, the hall seemed to be a lot more spacious now; second, the lamps on his elbows were, for some reason, producing a lot less light than in the previous visits, making Plowshare feel even more uncomfortable. He had to tense his eye muscles until each facet ached, but this made the treacherous gloom even thicker. In addition, the remains of the cocoon seemed to have disappeared, or maybe they were simply lost in the darkness that was coming off the wider walls.

When Plowshare tried to glance at the sarcophagus, he felt his exoskeleton stiffen from the sudden fright.

The sarcophagus wasn't there. The seemingly heavy and immutable "brick" was gone. Only hazy bumps could be seen where it had rested before.

Getting a closer look, Plowshare breathlessly realized that those weren't bumps at all.

They were dozens of tiny scaly copies of the sarcophagus, scattered all over the floor in a geometric shape! They were just as grayish brown, with the clearly defined scales, but tiny — any of them would easily fit into Plowshare's hand.

Then Plowshare finally woke up. He realized that he'd left the module completely voluntarily and came into the very epicenter of the oddities by himself. He also knew that no force would've made him do it consciously. And that he was alone with the darkness and everything that was hiding in the dead Swarm nest.

But, strangely enough, Plowshare could simultaneously feel himself lying in the hammock. In the cabin. His mind seemed to have split in two; The Plowshare in the hall was feverishly struggling with fear and confusion, while the Plowshare in the hammock was trying to understand what was happening. The Plowshare in the hall was unable to think clearly, while the Plowshare in the hammock couldn't move a muscle.

Then the darkness began to condense quickly. The lamps did their best to chase it away, but it was for naught. The darkness was enveloping Plowshare with thick inky blotches. The already dim scattered light was drowning in the pitch-black stream. A few moments later, the Plowshare in the hall was left in total darkness. Only a thin barrier that could collapse at any moment separated him from a complete panic.

His legs were shaking. Plowshare carefully turned to face the exit from the hall and began feeling the floor in front of him with a boot. He carefully placed the foot, took a step, then another.

I hope I don't miss… he thought. I hope I don't miss… This damned darkness!

He also thought that he was going to have to walk past the dead queen, the other motionless and infinitely alien bodies, and nearly lost the rest of his composure.

The Plowshare in the hammock was wondering in confusion why the lamps had stopped working. Well, they hadn't, they were drowned out by the darkness, unable to resist it. He couldn't find other words to explain what had happened.

Meanwhile, the Plowshare in the hall crossed the two dozen or so paces separating him from the tunnel (in the darkness, it took him twice as many steps to cross the distance) and, shuddering, he stretched out a hand and felt the wall. The wall of the hall. He'd missed and wasn't at the tunnel.

He wasn't too surprised by that; Shats often strayed from their direction as the lengths of the right and left strides were different. But Plowshare couldn't have gotten too far off-course at such a small distance: three-four paces in either direction at most. All he had to do was move along the wall and find the tunnel. He wouldn't be able to stray in the tunnel, as it was narrow enough to immediately run into a wall.

Then Plowshare wondered how many tunnels led to the chamber with the dead queen. Were there just two: the one from the sarcophagus and the one he needed from the habitation module? Or more? When he'd gone through that chamber with Dove, Plowshare's eyes had been drawn to the queen, and he simply hadn't looked around. Maybe he should have.

If there were other tunnels, and he happened to turn the wrong way, an hour later Plowshare would be hopelessly lost in the maze of the nest. How likely was it that Dove would come to his aid? Plowshare had no idea. And would Dove even make it in time? What was hiding deep in the asteroid?

Plowshare didn't even know how big the Swarm nest was. How many passages and chambers and halls were in it?

In the meantime, Plowshare had walked at least a dozen paces along the wall and still couldn't find the life-saving tunnel. Just a solid rock wall, smooth and impregnable.

Gulping, he turned, felt for the wall with his other hand, and started moving in the other direction.

The Plowshare in the hammock continued watching what happening with surprise.

But this time too Plowshare was walking along the walls for a long time, touching it with his hand, and the wall remained solid. After walking for maybe forty paces, Plowshare stopped in confusion. He had no idea where the tunnel could've disappeared to.

And then he felt a weak shuddering of the ground and a distant sound that was familiar to the chill in his fingertips.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Whoever had been moving through the stone the previous day was out for a walk again.

On the tenth thud, Plowshare had no doubt that the sounds were getting stronger, the floor of the chamber was shuddering even more, which meant that the unknown was moving closer.

Plowshare realized that, just a little more, and he was going to run off screaming into the darkness. Not caring where he was going. His already nerve-wracked mind was being gradually veiled in darkness. Maybe that was how Shats went insane.

The thing was getting closer.

Plowshare crouched, pressed his back against the hard rock wall, and froze.

Thud!

Someone's hand touched his shoulder.

"Hey, partner! Are you okay?"

Plowshare was nearly blinded by the bright light filling his cabin. He was crouching between the hammock and the wall, cowering and wrapping his arms around his head. Dove was bent over the hammock next to him.

Covering his eyes with his hand, Plowshare got to his feet. He was utterly spent and crushed.

"Let's go," Dove caringly pulled him out from behind the hammock. "Get dressed."

Plowshare put on his coveralls and boots melancholically. It seemed as if he was still asleep. Dove shook him slightly and was greatly relieved to see a spark of thoughtfulness appear in his partner's gaze.

"Come on, come on, move your feet…" Dove was hurrying him along with feigned cheerfulness.

He brought Plowshare to the galley, sat him down at the table, and handed him a glass of juice.

"Drink it… you'll feel better."

Plowshare carefully sniffed the contents of the glass, possibly suspecting that Dove had slipped him some booze. But if there was any alcohol in the juice, there was no way he'd be able to tell without special equipment.

Plowshare downed the glass in several gulps. And it helped him recover even more. He now looked crumpled and depressed but clearly coming back to his senses.

"You're not going to believe the dream I had!" Dove informed them, still cheerfully. He sensed that he had to keep talking, say anything, as long he was distracting Plowshare and bringing him back. "Get this, I saw myself get up and go to the chest for some isamarian reason. So I get there, and what do I see? Instead of one sarcophagus, there are like a hundred, and all of them tiny, no bigger than a boot. And then my lights went out…"

Even in the middle of his retelling, Dove felt that something was off but didn't stop in time. After that phrase, Plowshare's eyes went glassy once again, and he turned gray…

Plowshare unintentionally crushed his glass. With his hands. Into tiny pieces. That was macropolymer plastic! It was supposed to be able to handle all kinds of stress.

And yet Plowshare had destroyed it with his bare hands… Dove couldn't even speak in shock.

"What?" Dove sang in a high-pitched voice, getting up.

"Dove," Plowshare croaked. "It wasn't a dream…"

Shat Urima caught on quick; no wonder he had so much experience as both a void worker and a pilot.

"Not a dream? So you went to the sarcophagus too?"

Plowshare shook his head in agreement.

"Yeah… I don't know how to explain it, but it was like I was over there in the chamber and still in my cabin at the same time. And I saw the same things you did: first small sarcophagi and the darkness, and then I couldn't find the way back to the tunnel, and then that one woke up… The one who was walking on the roof yesterday…"

Dove was giving his partner a hard stare. There wasn't even a hint of fright in his gaze, only the thirst of a researcher who now had some facts. This encouraged Plowshare somewhat.

"What was it, Dove? Illusions? I was still in my cabin, I know… Someone seems to be playing tricks on us. Sending us…"

"Maybe," Dove replied carefully. "But not necessarily. How suggestible are you? Do you know? Did you undergo hypnopedia before the testing?"

"No. I was selected by the military…"

"Oh, the military," Dove drawled in a very different and meaningful tone. Plowshare couldn't tell if Dove liked that fact or not. Probably not.

"All right," Dove muttered. "All right. Where's your medicine cabinet? In your cabin? Come on, partner, let's go do something…"

He nearly forced Plowshare from the table. Holding him imperiously by the elbow, he walked him out of the kitchen and into the habitation area. He was clearly up to something. But what?

In the cabin, Dove immediately went to the medicine cabinet and spent some time looking over its contents.

"Aha," he said in some vague satisfaction. "Neurofet. Do you know what it is?"

"No," Plowshare replied sullenly.

"It's a drug. A hallucinogen. It acts like a sedative on Shats, but only in the right dosage. You must've swallowed an entire capsule."

"Two," Plowshare corrected him gloomily.

"Two," Dove repeated thoughtfully. "No, that's still not enough. You're a strong, healthy Shat, not some weaklings. Then again, it still would've heightened your susceptibility… All right."

He rifled through the cabinet some more and fished a small sensor with a sucker out of a special pocket.

"Look. This is a common-mode monitor, something like an autodoc. Let's calibrate it to your mnemonics…"

He slapped the sensor onto Plowshare's temple.

"All right… What are you feeling?"

"It's shocking me," Plowshare complained, growing numb. "A lot."

Dove nodded and stuck a thin probe into the device's innards.

"How about now?"

"No," Plowshare unclenched his jaws in relief. To be honest, the device had shaken and sobered him up — that was the best way to reflect the changes in Plowshare since he'd woken up. It was as if he'd just been brainwashed.

"Okay. This thing is picking up your emotions. If you get some… hmm… strong feelings, like fright, panic, or anything of the sort, it'll shock you. Sorry, but it helps. Honest."

"Yeah, I can already feel it helping," Plowshare said with enthusiasm. "But what the isamar happened to me… to us?"

Dove said nothing for a short while. Plowshare was watching his partner's eyes carefully and realized that he knew the answer and was only thinking about wording it right.

"I think," Dove said finally, "that it was the breath of the sarcophagus. Its emanation. That's the best way I can put it."

He rose and left the cabin; Dove didn't call Plowshare to follow him. He left the doors open in both Plowshare's cabin and his own, where he went. Dove opened his own medicine cabinet and attached the same kind of sensor to his own temple.

Hmm… Plowshare thought with concern. He's afraid.

He'd thought that Dove was never afraid of anything. And he wanted to believe that so strongly that logic couldn't measure up. Like a child, Plowshare trusted in his older friend's knowledge and experience. That Dove would protect and educate him in difficult times.

The realization that Dove was also afraid of strange things was an extremely unpleasant one.

"There," Dove returned to Plowshare's cabin with a grin. "Now we're guaranteed to have healthy insomnia…"

He glanced at his partner, and the grin slowly disappeared from his face.

"What's up, Plowshare? Are you not feeling well?"

Plowshare, who'd been frozen with an unfocused expression, whispered, "Dove… I hear voices…"

For the next several moments, there was silence in the cabin, which wasn't silence at all for Plowshare. Dove was trying painfully to choose the right mode of behavior. He was that his partner wasn't himself, that Plowshare was probably incapable of thinking and acting sensibly at the moment. But Dove also wasn't used to leaving his friends in the void — the unwritten law of known space. If not for humans and their perverted morals, then the law would still be maintained in the entire galaxy, even towards unknown sentients. Except for enemies, of course.

Then again, Dove had no intention of simply pushing away his partner, with whom he'd worked for several cycles. Even when he was watching him slowly go insane.

"Voices?" Dove asked, trying to keep his voice unperturbed. "And what are they saying?"

Plowshare tensed, as if trying to listen closely.

"I don't understand… It sounds like an alien language."

Suddenly, Plowshare lost his detached look, perked up, and seemed to go back to being his old self — not a fully experienced void worker, but not a rookie either. A prospector who could always be relied on and who would also never abandon a friend in the void. The transition was so sudden and stark that Dove was a little at a loss for words.

"Dove… Did you connect the human drive to the astrogator? Where are we jumping? And where are we now?"

Plowshare seemed to have forgotten that he shouldn't be saying things like that openly inside the module. Then again, Dove wasn't really afraid anymore, as he'd switched jump control over to the astrogation system on the human disk earlier that morning. Since then, the asteroid jumped at least three times, and now catching them would be, if not impossible, then at least problematic. That was why Dove wasn't really that concerned if someone on Baguta or the Aczanny warships heard them. So what? While the pursuers reached the spot where the asteroid was currently located, Dove would be able to give the command to jump many times over. That wasn't the problem. No, they had to leave the asteroid. As soon as the Aczanny and the Baguta military realized that Dove and Plowshare were unwilling to play the role of puppets in someone's risky games, they would try to get rid of the disobedient Shats as soon as possible because witnesses in such games always remained the most dangerous link on the way to success.

"Where are we now?" Dove exhaled. "We're in space, partner. Hold on. A few more jumps, and we'll be getting out of here… I've even decided where."

Plowshare was satisfied with that answer and even seemed to remember his promise to keep his mouth shut. At the very least, while Dove was preparing to enact his plan for the next half-day, Plowshare didn't bother him with pointless questions, completing minor tasks precisely and quickly.

He just needs a senior partner, Dove thought. Someone to give him a push and instructions. Then Plowshare will stop being afraid and will no longer notice strange things.

Two pulsations later, Dove sat at the piloting console and concentrated. If he made a mistake, it would mean death for him and Plowshare. That was why Dove wasn't rushing.

When he decided that everything was to his liking, Dove looked over the calculations for the next pulsation, made certain corrections, and gave the command to delay its execution.

He didn't want the jumping asteroid to mess them up along with the space around it.

Then he rose and swept the central post with a quick glance.

We haven't been in charge here for long, he thought.

Then he headed decisively for the airlock.

The front one.

Plowshare was obediently sitting on a pile of prepared supplies and equipment. Upon seeing Dove, he leapt to his feet. Clearly Plowshare couldn't wait to get as far away from the strange thing under the asteroid's surface as possible.

Dove could relate.

"All right!" Dove sang with undisguised enthusiasm. "Let's get dressed, partner!"

He opened a pack with a new suit. Not the ordinary force field vest of a void worker, but an emergency spacesuit meant for extended activity. With a battery that lasted twenty times as long and the latest recombinator. A "space toilet", which Bagutan void workers called "diapers" in the human manner. With heavy top-class singularity thruster boots.

They got dressed slowly and thoroughly because any mistake now could cost them their lives out there in the void.

Then they spent a long time dragging the ribbed sphere of the antigrav to the surface, attaching ringed braces and several large packs with spare life support cartridges to it. Then they attached four additional power supply units to the antigrav. And, finally, hooked themselves up to the antigrav themselves and secured the supply packs.

Dove wasn't taking any chances by bringing triple the supplies on the solo jump.

Plowshare was silent and wasn't asking anything, just doing everything Dove was while throwing at his partner occasional devoted glances. He probably understood everything himself. And if he wasn't asking, then he trusted him. The only thing Dove was afraid of was Plowshare's inexperience. It was unlikely that a young Shat prospector had done real solo jumps. And training was always just training…

Throwing a final glance at the habitation module airlock, Dove ordered, "Prelaunch checklist!"

For some reason, he'd decided to be dry and official and to give all orders according to regulations without any civilian liberties. Even though Dove hadn't been a pilot in a long time…

"Power!"

"Check," Plowshare replied in an even voice.

A green light was glowing on the control panel. Dove was only throwing sideways glances at it, already knowing that there were only green lights there.

"Bio-attachments!"

"Check."

"Comms!"

"Check."

"Pairing!"

"Check."

"Redundancy!"

"Check."

"Controls!"

"Check."

"Backup controls!"

"Check."

"Readiness!"

"Check."

Dove had already gone through the antigrav's checklist.

The habitation module buried in the rocks suddenly seemed dear and desirable, but as soon as Dove remembered the sarcophagus hiding in the maze of the Swarm's tunnels, the illusion faded without a trace.

The past had to be left once and for all, without regrets and unnecessary sentimentality. Behind them was yet another stage, the life of a prospector, relatively carefree but dumb. Nothing more.

"Launch!" Dove ordered and grabbed a brace on the antigrav. He flipped open the safety latch and pressed the pink square of the start button.

They felt weightless. Like a strange-looking garland, the two Shats and an entire bunch of moving packs started to gradually rise from the fault. Towards the black sky dotted with lights.

Poor guy… Dove thought in sympathy. His first solo and a long one at that… It's fine. Let's hope he can handle it. He would definitely go crazy on the asteroid in a matter of days.

The surface of their recent refuge was gradually moving down. Plowshare was throwing sideways glances at it. It was good that he'd already had a chance to get a scent of the void. What if he'd had to undertake such a gamble with a green rookie? It would've been more merciful to just shoot him. Or sabotage his suit ahead of time.

They were rising higher and higher, and soon the abandoned asteroid was starting to become more voluminous, no longer a vast plane with a clear "down."

"Let's accelerate," Dove ordered.

Plowshare immediately placed his feet in special clamps, secured himself, and reported dryly, "Ready. Synchronization is on, test okay."

Dove did the same; he'd already received the test results.

"Engage."

The thrusters in their boots started their methodical work accelerating the "garland." With each moment, the asteroid was moving farther away, and the stars were getting closer, although the experienced void worker Shat "Dove" Urima knew perfectly well that he couldn't possibly notice the latter, as for the former… The asteroid was first going to turn into yet another dull star underfoot and then disappear from view altogether. And once he and his partner were left in the void, the hardest part would be to convince themselves that they weren't stuck in the middle of the vast nothingness but were constantly getting closer to their target. All that would be left was to survive this trial of the void by clenching their jaws and not missing the speck of dust in the palm of the universe.

"Have you figured it all out, partner?" Dove addressed Plowshare.

"Yeah, Dove. I just don't know where we're going and how long our solo is going to be."

Good, Dove thought approvingly. He's hanging on. Looks like idleness is our worst enemy. The moment Plowshare had something to do, he managed to conquer his fears.

"We're heading for the Jaydarra system. Do you know it? It's a part of the Vanadium Belt. A creator-forsaken peripheral mine… Exactly what we need. As for how long… Long, partner. Summer will have time to start and fade on the lakes of Baguta III, and probably at least half of autumn too."

Plowshare listened to him, then said nothing for a short while before finally asking, "Dove… Have you done a solo before?"

"Not like this," Dove answered honestly. "But I've done eight solos before, and three of them were very long ones. The longest one was forty-seven standard days."

Plowshare snorted quietly and fell silent for a time.

Dove had intentionally omitted the fact that the asteroid with the temporary Swarm nest, the sarcophagus, an x-drive, and a Shat habitation module would be jumping to the uninhabited Morita Griffin system in a remote corner of the human sector in a short while. The same applied to him having certain plans, still vague and unformed, regarding it. In fact, he'd told Plowshare a lot less than he knew, deciding to fist see how his partner handled the test of such a nontrivial action as a solo.

The asteroid disappeared from view several hours later. A short while after that, they were caught by the residual nonlinear wave from the engaged x-drive. Four days later, they changed the live support cartridges for the first time. The singularity thrusters had long been disengaged by that point, and the soloing Shats were floating on tethers next to the ribbed antigrav. The antigrav was also disengaged for a while, as there were no sufficiently large gravity wells within reach. It simply had nothing to push against or pull towards. Dove redid the calculations several times a day, and there was still no need to adjust their course.

At first, Plowshare felt relief, but then the seeming stillness and the utter lack of events were starting to press on him. And the longer it went on, the worse it got.

---

Four hundred and six Earth days, two hundred and ninety Baguta III days, or five hundred and eleven Baguta II days later, the garland moving away from Jaydarra was detected by an empty ore carrier from Van Treya on its way to a mine. The ore carrier's pilots decided not to get involved and simply notified search and rescue. The human rescuers arrived fairly quickly by local standards.

They found two dead bodies as part of the garland—a Shat-Tzoor and a dead member of the Swarm—as well as a living Shat-Tzoor. The survivor was in a deep nervous stupor and did not react to external stimuli. The dead Shat was wearing an emergency spacesuit that was entirely depleted; the garland still had unused life support modules, even though there were very few of them. Medical examination determined that the Shat had died of a sudden failure of several vital organs, the cause for which remained unknown. The Swarm member turned out to be a mummy, dead for decades. No documents, data storage, or notes were found, except for an ancient mechanical sound recording on vinyl — pre-space classical music; being human, the rescuers were even able to read the writing on a flat square envelope: "Dave Brubeck in Moscow." All subsequent research showed that the sound recording was perfectly ordinary and contained no coded messages.

The surviving Shat was placed in a rehabilitation center on Van Treya, where he committed suicide on the second day of rehabilitation. In all this time, he only sang two words in the Shat language of Unga: "Plowshare" and "Sarcophagus." The meaning of the words remained unclear. A request on Tzoorra regarding the identities of the deceased produced results only several Earth months later, and it came from the Baguta system rather than the Shat-Tzoor homeworld. The soldiers who came seemed to recognize the deceased but preferred not to inform the Van Treya authorities, not that the authorities were particularly insistent. The representatives of Baguta took the bodies with them. They also bought out and took the remains of the garland and the Swarm corpse. The antique recording had been appropriated by the director of the capital city's historical museum some time earlier. The case of the lost soloists was closed and dumped forever into the local archives.