Читать книгу The Vault of Finished Goods - Назар Валерьевич Валеев - Страница 7

Smorg rose slowly to his feet, still staring intently at the shimmering map, its softly glowing lines beckoning downward, into the depths of the ancient tunnels. Arma observed him carefully through the droid’s sensors.

«Should we follow this route straight away?» she asked cautiously.

Smorg shook his head, turning back toward the corridor, straining his hearing in the hope of catching that mechanical sound again and perhaps understanding what it had been.

«Sounds don’t appear here for no reason», he whispered. «There’s definitely something there, and we’d better find out what it is before it finds us first.»

Arma silently agreed with a nod of the droid’s head, and they moved forward with caution. The beam of the lantern lit up the tunnel walls, revealing new details of the ancient ornamentation and curious stone inlays. The air here was damp, and the walls seemed to echo a faint, elusive rustle.

«Humidity is increasing», Arma noted. «There must still be some ancient air-conditioning or water filtration system operating here.»

After some time, they entered a spacious, high-ceilinged hall almost completely engulfed in darkness. Only faint reflections of their own lantern light glimmered off the distant walls. In the center of the hall stood several massive stone columns supporting the ceiling, which was covered in cracks and dark patches of moisture.

Smorg took a step forward and suddenly stopped. The droid instantly directed a beam of light toward the spot he was staring at. At the base of the nearest column, clearly imprinted in the dust, were fresh, very small barefoot tracks leading into the darkness.

«Someone was here and very recently», Smorg said quietly, crouching and gently touching the prints with his fingers. «And that someone is very small… a Smorg?»

Suddenly, a faint metallic tap sounded again in the distance.

«It’s there!» Smorg sprang to his feet, aiming his lantern in the indicated direction. «Who’s there? Don’t be afraid! We mean no harm!»

Silence answered him and then a barely perceptible rustle, as if someone were trying to hide or slip away.

«Don’t be afraid», Smorg repeated, his voice softer now. «I’m a Smorg just like you, and I won’t hurt you. If you need help, tell us, and we’ll help!»

Silence lingered for a few more seconds, and then, from behind the column, there appeared a thin, dust-smudged face of a very young Smorg, barely a teenager, with eyes wide in astonishment. In them lay fear, distrust, and curiosity – the very mix that so often fills young souls even in the deepest darkness.

At that moment, the droid stepped forward and, slightly inclining its body, spoke in a steady yet surprisingly gentle voice:

«Do you understand us? Are you hurt? Do you want something to eat?»

The Smorg boy flinched, making a barely noticeable movement backward. For several seconds, he simply stared at the droid, as if not fully understanding what was happening. The menacing-looking machine, clad in armor with eerie optical sensors that seemed to pierce right through him, did not fit at all with the voice that sounded as if someone familiar were speaking to him.

Confused, he shifted his gaze from the droid to Smorg.

«Don’t be afraid», Smorg said calmly. «This is Arma. She’s a friend.»

The boy nodded quietly. Distrust had not vanished, but in his eyes there flickered something resembling curiosity or cautious hope.

«Are you… truly a Smorg?» the teenager asked softly in Galacton, his voice trembling slightly. «You’re not from there? Not from the Owners?»

«No», Smorg said firmly, taking a careful step toward him. «I’m here to help.»

For a moment, it stole the breath from his lungs, and the world within him seemed to turn over. The sight of that small, frightened face pierced him more sharply than any void, more deeply than any loss he had ever endured. Hope flared so suddenly it ached in his chest, and with it came fear. What if this vision would simply dissolve? What if the universe had chosen to play a cruel trick on him? He had told himself countless times that he was alone, that no other Smorg could have survived here. And yet, here one stood! Real, alive and looking straight into his eyes!

The young Smorg stepped hesitantly out of the shadows, peering at the newcomers with wary, hollow-eyed caution. His clothes were torn, and his skin was marked with scrapes and bruises – raw, fresh and painful. He held his arms tightly against his chest, as if still bracing for the next blow.

«I escaped», he rasped, trying to speak louder, though his voice came out weak and trembling. «They… the Owners… they make us search for something we can never find… and they punish us all the time.»

Smorg slowly crouched down. In the boy’s eyes he saw that fear, too familiar, long buried, yet painfully recognizable, and his heart tightened.

«What’s your name?» Smorg asked gently.

«Lar», the boy whispered, taking a cautious step closer. «And… you really aren’t with them?»

Smorg shook his head.

«No, Lar. We’re not with them. We came from far away to see what remains of my home world. For a long time, I believed there were no others left… that I was the last. But if you’re here… then perhaps there may be more.»