Читать книгу Not fairy tales - Nadyn Bagout - Страница 7

Two pairs of eyes watched through the narrow pupil of the porthole as the thin cable unfolded in the darkness, stretching more and more, almost indistinguishable against the ghostly blue glow of Earth’s atmosphere. The graphite-gray strand emerging from the A-11 airlock had already gained full length, and the platform attached from below must have already reached the South American stratospheric port, flying a dozen kilometers above the planet’s surface. So, it would be no more than an hour or two before we descended.

«Has the guy changed his mind? Still want to risk it?» an elderly trembling voice cut through the quiet hum of the thirty-third compartment’s walkway zone.

«No. You can’t talk him out of it once he’s made up his mind,» the respondent said, not hiding a bit of regret. «You know… that’s why he’s here, if you think about it.»

«Yeah… What if… what if he makes it? After all, they do work on those costumes, Ars.»

His friend shrugged his shoulders. His cheekbone face, riddled with a mesh of wrinkles – the evidence of a tumultuous life – twisted into a grimace of doubt.

«Well, so far, none of them have been successful with that option. And anyway… Tell me, Charlie, how many people have gone back down? In your memory? Not just like that, almost directly, but through other experiments? How many have won their freedom?»

The old man scratched his bald head, sighed, and hunched over more than usual.

«Two…»

«Yeah! And how many people have tried? Two dozen? Three? Five? I’ve lost count.»

«Actually, this guy seems to be on his game.»

«Yep… But I don’t understand why he’s so eager to go back. What’s pulling him there? I mean, he’s struggled with this new system himself.»

«And he’s got it, isn’t he?» Ars grinned wryly, «no one chip here. Consider it the freedom he wanted.»

«Freedom?!» his interlocutor rounded his eyes, smiled, and laughed, clucking. «Freedom… oh, I can’t… Here on the „Daisy“? Hey! Freedom!»

Continuing to cheer, Charlie took a dozen steps to the right, bumped into a silvery wall, turned around, shuffling in an attempt to imitate running, and moved back. Another thirty steps and another obstacle in the way. The laughter broke off. The old man slammed his palm on the metal surface:

«Here it is, our freedom. Thirty meters across, and that’s it. Is this cage better than that one?»

***

The Experimental Correctional Station, or, to put it simply, the orbital prison, has been circling the Earth for almost half a century.

The inmates affectionately and ironically called it «Daisy» because of its resemblance to a multi-petal flower. The visual resemblance, however, was the end of the story.

The multilayered disk with its petal compartments was spinning nonstop around the control module sphere, which also served as an intake and distribution point for new arrivals. However, the West Space Elevator’s delivery pods came no more than once a week, or even less frequently, so the central sector was not under much strain. The fully automated system coped with its task perfectly.

The most dangerous criminals on the planet were kept here: maniacs, terrorists, and also political opponents who were not successful but posed a threat. «The risk of undermining social foundations, the welfare of the population,» as they called it, those who managed to exile their enemies who created obstacles on their way to power here. Or perhaps the prisoners here were indeed monsters?

They kept three of them per unit and never all of them were seated at the same time. Old-timers and newcomers were regularly swapped places: one by one they were transferred to other cells or to newly-joined cells. Occasionally, prisoners were given the opportunity to communicate not only with their cellmates, but also with other residents of the prison through the internal communication system, but few became buddies or even friends in such an environment. The majority suffered from loneliness.

And the owners of the station turned it to their advantage.

Maintaining a prison in orbit was not cheap, even with stably operating space elevators and available energy. Therefore, the ECS became a base for experiments: they were always well paid, especially the extreme ones. And where to find test subjects for this, if not among criminals? A longstanding practice, in general.

And if you turn everything into a show… A show, with stakes on the outcome of each experience. A show with stakes on someone else’s life. Will the subject survive chemical blood modification? Will the subject remain sane after exposure to infrasound? Will the bones withstand the wave blows? Will a person be able to descend into the atmosphere without a capsule, only in a spacesuit?

The ECS program has long rivaled the profitability of the best casinos on Earth: the chances of winning are so slim – prisoners almost always go to waste – but the sweeter the desired prize.

Only in recent years, it has become increasingly difficult to understand the true meaning of the station’s existence: the isolation of scoundrels from society plus scientific achievements or, all the same, the spectacle.

Well, anyway, he’s already made up his mind. He can be a lab rat, a clown, a buffoon for a while, if the final result is what they promise. If he wins.

Christophe heard bursts of laughter behind the thin bulkhead of his room: the old buddies managed to have fun even here in the cage.

At first, when he just arrived here, the other people, the other inhabitants of this enclosed piece of space, seemed a boon. You might say they helped him get used to it. But now the cellmates only got in the way. For three days now – since the announcement of his participation in the descent experiment – they had dissuaded him as best they could. They assured him that it was a lost cause, that no one could manage it, that there was too much unpredictability in the case.

By the devil, he’ll manage to get through the suit and make it all the way down. He’ll go all the way and come back down. And then… then we’ll see.

Yes, everyone on Earth considers him a monster, perhaps even his former comrades-in-arms, his friends. But he would explain it to them, prove it to them. He was right, no matter what. It was worth it.

It was worth it!

***

In the experimental sector A, work was in full swing.

Preparing for the descent. The experience was to be the seventy-third, unless a participant dropped out at the last minute. This was the year that about half of the applicants withdrew from the experiment before launch. Fear, and justifiably so.

Flying down from the station to the stratospheric port, without pods or anything like that, just in a spacesuit – it was scary for her too. Of course, there was a rope, but it was rather for the cameras – so that the participant of the experience did not fly out of sight. And this thin string is not too reliable: even thick webs of space-lift systems sometimes break, but here is only a triple tape of the twentieth order.

Eight to ten hours total, if the wearable engines work properly. Eight to ten hours of uncertainty and stress for the participant. All for the purpose of testing a new suit. Or was it for the show?

A successful descent will give the prisoner his freedom, so one can understand his motives. But why return someone so dangerous to Earth? Take this one, the current one…

A middle-aged woman in a thick, light-colored jumpsuit was scrutinizing the file on the holoscreen.

«Christophe Jes. Thirty-two years old. White.

Born in Spain. Parents unknown.

Boarding School…

School…

Technical University… Included among the most promising graduates.

«Cyclone» Corporation, Development Department

Dismissal. Participation in protests against the new intrachip.

Video: «The installation of the sixth generation of Cyclone subdural chip is to enslave you! Your habitual assistant will become your controller, your overseer, your judge and executioner! Don’t switch to upgraded programs! Refuse to modify for your children! Our designs are stolen and corrected.

The possibility of total external control is real, and you may even suffer physically: reactions to stimulation are not well studied. There are victims in experimental groups who are hidden from you.

Get rid of the chip…»

First detentions. Litigation with «Cyclone» Corporation and the International Modification Agency.

Involvement in the explosion at the «Cyclone» plant in Monterey. Destruction of three million intrachips. Casualties: thirty killed (five terrorists), fifteen wounded. Damage…»

Yeah, and this guy could end up on the outside, back downstairs! How can you give such a guy a chance? So many people have suffered, died, and he calls them «accidental, but justified victims»! Does trying to save millions – supposedly save millions – justify the death of even one person? «The factory workers were involved…they knew who they were working for…the costs…It’s hard to conduct such an operation without getting dirty.» Jes’s words came up again and again in her brain, making her wrinkle in pain.

Is it possible to return such madman?

But it’s not up to her to decide. The corporation expects a super-successful edition of the show: the culprit has managed to become recognizable in the farthest corners of the Earth. The stakes almost broke the record of the biomodeling experience before last (ugh, creepy critter came out then).

The woman turned off the projection, turned around. Through the half-glass door of the A-11 airlock she could clearly see the manipulators being operated by her assistants. Metal arms, hoses and visors were completing the final assembly of the descent suit, checking seams, joints, fuel cells, and oxygen cylinders.

In ten minutes, the prisoner will be brought in. In twenty, he will enter outer space and slowly fly toward his desired freedom.

But it’s not up to her, is it?

***

It took him minutes to get into his spacesuit, but it seemed unbearably long. However, he was too impatient, and there were still ten hours of one-on-one time with the space. But when every moment brings you closer to Earth, it is difficult to remain calm.

His heart was pounding more than usual, but Christophe managed to pull himself together: the art of meditation was doing its job even now, when silence and solitude were out of the question.

The suite fit him perfectly – at least the prisoners had learned not to tamper with the cut – and, at first glance, should have done its job. The air conditioning, the humidity and temperature control, the lightweight exoskeleton with reinforcements at the neck, lumbar and joints, the water and nutrient supply tubes-all seemed smartly made, with clear plans to use the suit in the future.

The engine, despite its compactness, weighed on his shoulders and back, pinning Jes to the floor, but in a second the exoskeleton worked at full power, taking and redistributing the weight so that the entire suit began to feel no heavier than a simple city backpack. Yes, not a bad technique.

For some reason he felt truly protected. So much so that he didn’t hesitate to step into the void behind the open mouth of the airlock as soon as the signal sounded.

His palms touched the rope, attaching the last hold, then unfastened the carabiners still holding Christophe to the «Daisy», and began the glide into the void, toward the beckoning blue ball. He moved slowly at first, adjusting to the position of his body in space, recovering his momentarily disrupted breath, but after three hundred meters from the station Jes was fully assembled and, giving the command, started the engine.

Home… High, bright skies and waves lapping on the shore… See you soon…

***

Charlie took a decent bite of the lunch sandwich, unleavened, like cardboard or sawdust. No, he hadn’t lost his taste from worry; it was just that good food was never here. Well, munching on it while you gawk at the descent would do.

They were lucky this time: the petal of their compartment was pointed almost in the center today, so that there was a good view of the descent string – compared to the outer sectors, which would see nothing at all.

Ars came over and looked out the window as well.

«So, we haven’t started yet?»

«That’s right, you’re just in time. Look, the airlock is already opening.»

The buddies clung to the glass.

A man rolled out of the airlock membrane and quickly crawled along the cable. Though in his experimental spacesuit he looked more like an insect – a snow-white mixture of a grasshopper and a crunch larva. Slightly flaring engines behind him enveloped crimson glow the frail figure against the background of the huge planet.

«Look how fast he is! It’s as if he’s been preparing somewhere.»

«Hmm… indeed. Maybe he can do it.»

The man was hurtling downward faster and faster. Soon he was nothing but a gleaming blob flowing down a gray vein.

«I think it’s… it’s lower now, like…» Charlie didn’t finish.

A carmine-yellow flash pierced the darkness. The rope, torn by the explosion, was thrown in the direction of the station. A moment – and nothing more reminded of the failed attempt to return.

«I knew it!» Ars huffed. «I told you they were shooting them with garbage on purpose, and you’re an „accident is an accident.“ Scientists, my ass! A little debris – there’s not many of them flying around, huh? Just bad luck. Boom! Ratings!»

«Why didn’t you tell him?» Charlie sighed and shook his head.

«How could I not?! I warned him. But do they listen? They’re all drawn back… there’s nothing you can do to stop that power…»