Project Ouroboros (11 page)

He needed to force himself to get up.

— El'Athar, if you do not get up right now, this can never happen. If you die, all these years you have struggled in vain. You have to finish your mission.

The agent tried to convince himself, while fighting with sleep. Oh, these days, he slept no more than three hours. Ankle hurt. It was so difficult...

How much time had passed? He had to pick up Tekhina and Dr Neal.

Three hours ... so much ... it was necessary to pick them up in an hour.

Something was wrong ... El'Athar looked closer. It was so dark that only having taken out a miraculously survived flashlight from his pocket, the agent saw that the clock was broken.

So, much more time had passed.

How long did he lay there on the ice?

Trying to get was not very successful, leg pain caused an electrical discharge, which shock pierced the entire body. He had to crawl to the cocoon, frantically clutching with crippled hands something resembling fragments. He had to find out what material was it made of...  having found a small fragment El'Athar put it in his pocket.

There was some nasty substance inside it, it looked as if it illuminated from within, like a white cord, suffused with deathly blue vessels. He wondered, if he could cut a piece with his pocket knife.

It was disgusting to touch it, but no other way to do it. It resembled to jelly.

It remained to try to get out of there, if he still had forces to crawl through the tunnel, how would he get to the surface?

We had to excel, first to cling to the handrails with his hands, to chin up, to step on his good leg, to move forward, and so on to infinity. Hands almost did not obey, his fingers turned blue from the constant contact with frost, in gloves it was impossible to grasp the slippery frosty railing.

Another chin up, once more, and more ... there was virtually no power, but it wasn't a long way to go... collecting all the will in a fist, El'Athar made two last spurt and crawled out of the well. He collapsed next to it to catch his breath, irresistibly drawn back to sleep.

He could not.

He had to try... not to stop. To crawl. It was not a long way to go, the hardest part was over.

One step, two, three ... His eyes watered from the bright light at the end of the stairs. He would be able to get out of the mine and contact Irinae on the radio. At least, the agent hoped it still worked.

The noise when he turned on the radio was encouraging.

— Irinae, it's El'Athar!

But there was no answer.

— Irinae! .. Come in. It's El'Athar.

Silence.

El'Athar sank into the soft snow to breath. Such a disappointment ... no one would come to help, but if he fell asleep, he would not wake up — El'Athar knew. The fact that he woke up in the tunnel, at the bottom, was a great success. And, apparently, in a dream he crushed his watch.

The radio hissed.

— Come in! El'Athar? This is Heth! Do you copy?

— Copy that! — The agent grabbed the saving device.

— Where are you? We've already searched everywhere! Lord, we thought you were not coming back!

— I need help ... I think I've broken my leg ...

— Oh!

— Can you see me on the radar?

— Yes!

— Who can pick me up?

— I am already coming with Aleph! Stay where you are!

— All right.. thank you...

El'Athar left the radio turned on, and fell into a slumber.

***

His eyes were watering from the glare. Someone said something, shadows flickered overhead.

— How much has he already slept? .. — Asked it seemed Tekhina.

— For more than ten hours, — it seemed that Aleph answered.

El'Athar opened his eyes.

— I called the rescuers — Heth loomed over the agent too. — You have severely damaged your ankle.

— And how is Julius? — El'Athar tried to move.

— Julius died. — Heth turned away.

— Oh ... — El'Athar closed his eyes again. Before he fell asleep, he asked: — How ... Tekhina and Dr Neal are back?

— Irinae told them where to go, and he went to meet them. — Answered Aleph. — I was going to look for you ... I know where you were.

El'Athar could not answer anything, he fell asleep again.

He slept restlessly. It seemed that some shadows wandered around, and he was again in prison ... again. How hungry he was, how his swollen face hurt... it felt like dying, and no one would help ... only voices around, the voices from the video, they shouted louder and louder, and then ... silence.

He was in an empty room filled with hot air. Someone walked beside El'Athar but he could not manage to see who was there. He did not recognize faces, just some ghostly shadows. Sometimes it seemed that the hosts of the shadows were dressed in costumes and engaged in lively discussion... there was something strange. These shadows appeared in one corner of the room, then another, then from the surrounding shroud floated a faceless suit with a briefcase in hand, smoking, sitting on a chair. Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and the light — to stuffed flushed air. Silhouettes began to emerge more clearly, hearing acute. He could hear snatches of conversations:

— ... It must be possible to sell more expensively...

— ... This specimen is priceless ...

— ... More than the Fool? ..

— ... You mean the first Lamashtu? ..

— ...Yes exactly...

— ... Who can you sell him to? ...

— ... He is a human, just a human ...

— ...Are you sure?...

And you El'Athar, are you confident that you are a human? Why do not you remember your childhood and your parents? Why do you remember so vaguely everything that was before your work in intelligence? Don't you think that someone  forced you to forget on purpose? But he  made a miscalculation — you always see some strange characters and fragments of memories of another, in your opinion, man. You cannot be twenty-eight years old, you feel too old and wise for that age. Sometimes you feel that your age is comparable to the age of the universe. So who are you, El'Athar? ... And why are you so drawn to know the truth? ..

Darkness.

A hospital ward. A pile of wires and devices that worked so hard to save the life of dying people. Hair plastered to his face, he tried to take them away, but the whole strands remained in his hands...

Is it all?

Why are you fighting for life El'Athar? You went through the war, was fatally wounded, learned the betrayal of a loved one, the one whom you dared to trust. You then had to die, but you were saved, leaving you alive but crippled. You have tried many times to remove the government of your country — how many customers and killers did you leave alive? You were thrown in jail, tortured ... what did they want to know? Do you know that you should have died there? Are you aware that your saviours from Elam bought from the British government, as a slave?

Darkness.

Someone was wandering around mumbling some phrases in a strange language. The smell of incense, subdued light. I do not know where I am. Steps. The sound of footsteps, like someone very old walking, never taking his feet off the floor.

Mr Daath?

Leg. How much his leg hurts...

Trier Lugal died. The first pilot Julius died. And I'm going to die. Soon.

Darkness.

People returned to Earth two thousand years ago, after learning that it was alive. Centuries ago they left their planet to die, gradually establishing colonies in other galaxies. The last earthlings left the planet in the twenty-eighth century. For various reasons, the colonists became less numerous: inhospitable environment, diseases, ruthless struggle for power... Sometimes the whole colonies perished, and when intelligence and research expedition signalled that the Earth was again suitable for existence — there were tons of those willing to come back. Thus the project "Oὐροβόρος" appeared to the return the mankind home... People had ruined the planet and escaped from it, and now ... they were going to repeat it? — Research centre "Enki" created a mechanism by which the Earth's population and its thoughtless impact on the planet was regulated. At least it was before the hurricane Tiamat. And what was to be done then?

Do you remember that, El'Athar? These colonies on the cold lifeless planets, the project "Oὐροβόρος", documents from the Ministry of the Interior? Interesting, who of the employees of 'Enki' was in fact — a mole from the ministry, busy with actively seeking ways to eliminate the centre? Wasn't it you, El'Athar?

Darkness.

A year before.

Hot wind burned the lungs, oxygen seemed to have ended, the sun blinded his eyes. It was unbearably hot. It hurt... his face was swollen, it was hard to breathe, lungs were like on fire ... it was no longer possible... how much time was left until the end? Why was he trying to survive for so long, to end his days so ingloriously? In prison?

Oh...

And nothing could be done... Trying to escape was punished hardly: a broken nose, a blind eye and a cut cheek were proof of that. Three fingers on his right hand had been broken for a long time and, apparently, began to coalesce improperly.

Why do you live?

To fight?

With whom? For what?

You've been fighting your whole life, El'Athar running away from death when it seems impossible. But... Does this make sense?

He hoped so.

But nothing happened.

— Mr El'Athar — there were an interpreter, a lawyer and the head of the prison sitting in front of the prisoner. The interpreter translated the head of the prison:

— I've received a statement from the foreign company, which is ready to make a pledge to liberate you.

— What do they want? — El'Athar looked at the empty dirty table, without looking up. He understood that his right eye started to see badly too.

— They want you to work for them — this time the lawyer was translated. Where did they find a lawyer in this God-forsaken land, where there were only semi-desert steppes and prisons for extremely dangerous criminals. Like him... sitting in solitary confinements, dying from hunger and wounds... He wondered how many had survived the first five years of imprisonment?

— Who are they?

— They will meet you in a few days. — Continued the lawyer. — I was told to look after you so that you are treated well, fed, given access to the shower. Tomorrow the doctor will examine you ...

— So, — asked El'Athar — they'll just buy me from the prison, right?

— You could say that... — the lawyer was embarrassed. Then, after some thought, he added:

— When you leave, you'll be able to sue the prison for abuse of prisoners. That way you will totally cover the cost of the treatment, and in the case of the scandal — the prison can be closed.

At this point, the head of the prison looked at the prisoner with undisguised hatred.

— No, — El'Athar shook his head, — all who are here deserve such treatment. Even me.

He closed his eyes. He felt unbearably dizzy. Chair staggered.

— Lord! — the translator shouted: — He is almost a corpse! What do you do with people ?!

The head of the prison said something to the caretaker, who all this time was at the door.

— They will feed you now, Mr El'Athar — promised the translator.

Head said something to the translator this time and then left.

— Mr El'Athar — the compassionate translator averted to touch the prisoner, though, he wanted to help — The head of the prison asked me to... that he was ordered to kill you ... torture to death ... and that you are alive only thanks to him... How dare they ?!

— He's right — El'Athar shook his head again — I know that I would have died already. So I do not want to sue them. You know, I became disabled after the war, the third group. And now what? Second, first?..

— Everything will be fine. Good people are interested in you. Those who have power, money, and desire to help you.

— Thank you...

— I'll be back tomorrow with your doctor.

Translator was gone and El'Athar was fed under the close supervision of the lawyer.

— We will provide you with your own apartment in Anshan. If you want to — with a sea view. Well-paid work, regardless of the load. You can perform an important job for several months, or perhaps a job that takes a couple of hours. There may be months of calm. We will pay any hospital, even the best, taking into account all your wishes. From the usual reduction to plastic surgery.

El'Athar remained silent. The man who sat across from him had something unnatural: slow, like a sleepy, campy, with a thin sharp face and unblinking look, as if he was somewhere out there, in some vacuum, referring not to a specific person, but to emptiness. And his name was strange too... Aine Soph like artificial, not a human one.

El'Athar was well prepared to the meeting with the "buyer": washed, combed, disinfected and his wounds were bandaged. It did not help much — swollen face, emaciated body, broken nose and a persistent cough did not give the future Special Agent any charm.

El'Athar felt as if he was a sick old prostitute redeemed out of pity, so that she could die quietly.

Deal with conscience or death in prison?

The prisoner nodded. The transaction took place. He sold military secrets of the British Isles that had left him here, and for this he would be provided with comfortable existence. In fact El'Athar knew that he had no choice — he wasn't asked but told to do so. Better to pretend that you agree, right?

What do you want? To die? — No.

Do you want to do something? — No. I do not want anything. I do not care. At all. I do not care about myself either.

El'Athar, what is your real name and who are your parents? — I do not know.

Do you regret that you're just a man? — I do not know.

El'Athar fainted.

— You have worked in military intelligence under the name Jack Getterbørgen. Is it your real name?

Another interrogation. The only member of the colony, who knew the national language, spoken by more than half of the world, was pacing up and down, spit on the floor and pretended to be a very confident person. Every time El'Athar could hardly keep himself from smiling as for the first time his cheek was cut in an angry attempt to extend his smile with a knife. The cheek had not healed and tortured him with dull pain that never ceased.

El'Athar was sitting on a small plastic chair, which he had once seen on the poor public beaches, he shook his head. Jack, too, of course was not his real name, but a different name he did not know, so he said so immediately.

Yes, he was thrown there by the government of the British Isles to die — too many secrets that could destroy the entire fragile peace of the Union of Atlantic states.

— You've tried to escape again.

— And I'll keep trying until I run away.

— You have already killed three guards. That will not be forgiven, — Prison Guard circled like a crow around the chair — just because the head of the prison wants to sell you, you are still alive.

— Not really...

— Not really — what?..

— Not really alive... I'm not dead. And I do not understand what you want.

— Your name, the name of the coordinator! Who is he? Who directs him?

— You know that I won't say...

— What kind of idiot are you, damn you!

No, not an idiot. He just knew that if he said something, then no one else would need him anymore. And instead of another broken finger he would get a bullet in the head.

Hope.

El'Athar opened his eyes. Above him there was a shining ceiling, painted in a greenish color. It had been already a month there in the most expensive clinic of Elam, and his life had turned into endless operations and sleep under general anesthesia. At such times he dreamed of faceless suits that circled over him every time he slept. Even in prison. El'Athar was not even sure they were people, but they always said the same thing as memorized mantra that was repeated word by word. Maybe it was really happening?

The hair fell out, and no one could do anything... just suits stood over his head cutting off the entire strands, and then laughed... Was it also real?

El'Athar nervously ran his hand through his long hair. All was well.

Broken fingers were functioning again, nose was breathing and lungs didn't burn like the past six months. And the left eye wasn't blinded. But El'Athar no longer recognized himself in the mirror. Once he had hazel eyes, a rather large nose, and now nothing was left of him, and the blind eye turned red. The doctors said that they would put blue lenses that needed to be changed every year. Now he would be a blue-eyed and noseless type with skin tightening, joints across the left side of the face and a scar near his mouth. Although there, the doctors did their best too — only El'Athar saw the scar, because he knew where it was.

— Well, — Aine Soph stood like a shadow over his head — they've made you handsome. You're younger, I'm telling you.

— I do not recognize myself.

— In any case, your nurses stopped weeping over you, and ask your doctor whether you eat sweets.

— Yes, they bring me a bunch of chocolate, but I can't eat it yet.

— You need a barber or you decide not to get a haircut? I remember, before you had short hair.

— Let them be. As a reminder...

— You will be discharged within a week. I will send my secretary after you. Her name is Rada, and she will take you home. I am told that you are the best specialist who could ever work for me. I am counting on you.

El'Athar fell asleep under the gaze of clear, unblinking eyes.