Iron Plague

 Countless lights flickered behind the wide, thick glass. Having shuffled along the dusty stone floor, Richard finally reached the stairs leading down. His right boot mercilessly rubbed his leg, which made it look like Richard was limping noticeably. But that was nothing.

 The creaky wooden stairs led to exactly the same wide gallery, only now the passage was filled with people sitting on their junk. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm signal sounded and a barely understandable voice sounded.

 The movement, which was more like an elemental movement in nature, which the front, which had been static for many months, had come to, among other things, also gave birth to real human rivers of civilians, who often ran wherever their eyes looked.

 Walking along the dusty concrete and stone floor, Richard glanced with irritation towards the glass panel that occupied almost the entire wall. The snake pit had been built relatively recently – when metal and glass had already been widely adopted. However, this did not apply to the wooden staircase.

 Behind the dusty glass, streaked with stains from long-ago careless washing, one could see the facades of old brick houses, illuminated by yellow street lights, which no one had even thought of turning off, although for reasons of camouflage this should have been done.

 This was half the trouble – both the facades and part of the boulevard were hung with flickering threads with these LEDs – there were just over two weeks left until the holidays. Amazing people!

 It was somewhat comforting that the enemy was no better, no smarter, and the streets of Paris, and what's more, of the frontline towns, were exactly the same embodiment of recklessness and frivolity.

 However, the main calling card of the gaping, there is no other way to say it, gaping picture were not the festive facades, past which those who had lost everything or were doomed to it had to pass every now and then. No, the calling card of the silent, still silent panorama were several guns, presumably of one of the latest modifications.

 Judging by everything, the artillery was anti-aircraft - there was simply nothing else to do here. Three-legged gun carriages unceremoniously dug into the ground, scattering the paving stones. The barrels, with a caliber of slightly less than a hundred millimeters, looked up.

 One of the guns, with its barrel lowered slightly than the others, for some reason slowly turned, barely noticeably flashing some lights. Apparently, there was electronic control - it was there, and it is not surprising - slightly to the side, each gun had a small rod with a horizontally positioned pancake the size of a large kitchen plate attached.

 Quite recently, the most advanced means of communication were precisely plates, radio dishes that looked in the right direction, but now they have evolved.

 Richard easily guessed that this was communication. But for some of those sitting and waiting for the train in the gallery, even the LED lights hanging along the street were still something like magic.

 Even some of the soldiers from the crews, now bustling around the guns, did not fully imagine how all this hardware, which was handed to them for control, could be so smart. It was time to come up with instructions for the soldiers with wording from fairy tales or fairy-tale magical practices. And sometimes they did.

 There was a rumble below and his feet clearly felt the floor tremble – a train had arrived on one of the covered platforms. In an hour, they, Richard and Elise, would have to leave this city… If only…

Elise was already there, below – he knew that for sure. She had called him.

 Nevertheless, the overwhelming excitement almost made his legs give way. Richard forbade his mind to let bad, disturbing thoughts enter his head, but he, his mind, obviously could not control his emotions.

Indeed, who knows what could have gone wrong – there were probably bloodhounds in disguise among the crowd. On the other hand, they could not hold in their tin heads the faces of thousands and thousands of people like Elise, like Richard himself.

 Nevertheless, it would be rash to reject the rumors that the cameras, these countless eyes of some guards sitting in their closets, have now learned to recognize faces on their own. Yes, judging by the experience of previous years, it would have been reckless. Who of the uninitiated, ordinary people could have believed in a computer five years ago, in its capabilities, even having seen the damn thing with their own eyes?! Who, even from the military, three years ago could have believed that a projectile was possible, taking off without any weapon, independently and capable of overtaking an airplane flying several dozen kilometers away?! And what would they, the damn military, say about an airplane flying faster than sound?!

 Finding himself at the next window, Richard glanced at the guns with hatred and at the same time with disdain. If some miraculous mind, some divine providence had once dawned on these blockheads, then each calculation would have been quite capable of breaking, well, or at least disabling the hardware that enslaved them. And in general, it would be good to just blow it up. And so it would be everywhere. It's sad that these are just dreams.

 Richard, not at all embarrassed, spat at his feet - for a smoke-filled hall this was quite normal, and walked on.

 Finally, the road led to a small opening, beyond which the space of covered platforms was visible. Metal bridges were thrown over the hall, onto one of which the opening led. Before getting to the now metal stairs, more suitable for stumbling and breaking something, it was necessary to cross the hall under its very top, walk along the bridge. Under other circumstances, this would have been interesting.

Somewhere in the middle of the way, Richard still glanced down. You never know, suddenly from here he would see a familiar figure and familiar suitcases...

 Instead, his gaze caught green carriages with open doors, into which soldiers were streaming. No less than a hundred of them were crowded on one of the platforms. Someone was shouting something in a foreign language. Allies. Judging by the flag painted in a continuous stripe on the side of the carriage and their bearded faces, they were Russians. How many of them ended up here... How many are destined to return to their own, presumably familiar, snow-covered deserts? I wonder if on the opposite, Pacific Front, where they are fighting the Americans, is the entire land covered in snow, or like here?

 With these thoughts, Richard finally reached the stairs, kicked his boot against the metal, trying to stir at least something in his sore leg, and walked down.

 Finally, when there was only one march left, Richard saw Eliza. Or rather, she saw him. She saw him first.

In general, the decision to flee was not dictated by the movements of the front. The final weight that tipped the scales in favor of the decision to flee were rumors that had appeared a couple of weeks ago that everyone who had any connection to medicine would now be subject to emergency conscription. Eliza was only a nurse, but the possible options were even more frightening - if doctors had a good chance of not getting close to the front and working in the rear, then unskilled personnel were thrown straight into the fire almost on par with soldiers. For Richard himself, fleeing was something that could be postponed. Postponed over and over again. He had already, as it seemed to him not without reason, gotten used to, adapted to the new life, if not of a ragamuffin, then something like that. A ragamuffin compared to what he, they had. Most of those around him were ragamuffins compared to them. That former well-being had taken place, as it was now disgusting to realize, thanks to the damn machines. It all began just like in Wells's "War of the Worlds".

 One day, a swarm of unprecedented metal capsules fell to the earth. Of course, they did not hit the surface like shells, although it would have been better if they had – you see, the contents would not have survived such a landing.

 There were no tentacled monsters there. The smoothly landing devices, these cylinders ten meters in diameter and fifteen meters high, appeared as in that book, in front of numerous onlookers.

This happened in the year one thousand nine hundred and three in different corners of the Earth – in Europe, on both American continents, in Africa, in Russia with its endless expanses. Judging by the fact that the machines arrived precisely in the vicinity of some settlements, they were not as reckless in their plans as the Martian monsters.

 And then began something that was very reminiscent of the process of settling those Martians. Again, not aggression, but the reproduction of machinery from what was right there, underfoot.

 Countless bold photographers wielded their boxes, which now, some fifteen years later, were impossible to find. The machines they captured still looked fantastic, implausible, like plants.

 A couple of days later, the first attempts were made to examine the seemingly harmless liana-mechanisms.

 The daredevils who had prepared for unknown intellectual challenges and research tasks found themselves out of work - this is how people first learned what a computer was, and one that would be a novelty to an ordinary person even now. It could communicate like a person, and it still communicated, damn it.

 Over those two days, the computer visually observed a bunch of people, listened to countless lines. If people had had voice radio communication back then, it would have been very simple, but the devilish machine could do without it. Approaching the central processors, as they were later called, the researchers were amazed, first hearing clear, unaccented voices in native languages, and then seeing panels-screens that appeared out of nowhere.

 So people learned that humanity originated not from Earth at all, but from an unknown place, at least those who created and sent the machines did not know about it, just like earthlings. The computer also told that the Earth's biosphere is not unique - it was brought here in time immemorial. The Earth itself, like the solar system, is in some way unique in that it is located inside either a nebula or an area of ​​curved space that looks like a nebula, which is why it requires navigation that, just think, even the creators of the probes do not possess. And the ship itself, which landed the probes, seemed to have gotten lost. Not that it was hopelessly lost, but it ended up in the wrong place, not where it was originally chosen. There was another one on it, a smaller one - there were people, only a few hundred of them. They were in an anabiotic state in which they could remain for centuries. In some ways, this was reminiscent of the voyages of medieval sailors to already discovered islands, but with inaccurate or completely incorrect maps. That more developed fragment of the human race sent ships to other stars, which were outside any nebulae, and everything was much more successful. This time, for some reason, they intended to reach Earth, which they knew about from some of their ancient sources.

 The explanation, which had a bunch of scientific details in its composition, satisfied everyone. Humanity, well, at least its caring, civilized part, was seized by an unprecedented spiritual and moral upsurge. "We are citizens of space! We are not doomed to be chained to Earth! The stars are waiting for us!".

Like everything in this life, this upsurge soon faded, came to naught. People were getting used to a new life, into which new useful and not entirely useful trinkets arrived every day. Concerns, corporations and trusts, closely engaged in the technologies provided, were also getting used to the rapidly changing conditions in their own way. What the machines hid within themselves and revealed to people was a multi-level hierarchy of production processes and technologies - the processors were not able to reproduce in planetary quantities the machinery capable of creating units from what lay right underfoot, but they, figuratively speaking, began to lead people to this.

 On this road, a person was awaited by calculations of units, descriptions of physical processes, simply drawings of finished machines, how they should look.

 Some machines, primitive by the standards of that humanity, having reached the ceiling of their development, could and can look quite familiar even by the standards of Earthlings. A slate pencil that has gone through its evolution will look the same in five hundred years, as will a blade.

 The same was true for some bulldozer or its diesel engine. Thus, tens, if not hundreds of years of improving what was available were saved.

 Richard knew all this firsthand - he could well have been among those first researchers who headed to the processors surrounded by the newly created primary units.

To the great disappointment of Richard, a chemistry student at the University of Dortmund at the time, Professor Richter first swore at him with choice abuse, and then, on his, Richter's, order, some country bumpkin completely pinned down the young man who was eager to make unknown discoveries.

 Now Richard would have done exactly the same as Richter, and if he had known everything in advance, he would have prepared a box of trinitrotoluene, although there were other processors...

 Despite the fact that Richard did not have the chance to become a pioneer, his subsequent career was simply brilliant. From a chemist, he then retrained as a mechanical engineer - the processors deployed something like a computer center for working with personnel, and testing showed that Richard had excellent spatial imagination, so necessary when building mechanical units, or rather, it was needed to understand what the machines provided. He himself knew that in this area he was superior to all his acquaintances, fellow students.

 At that time, the toothless secret services allowed any person from the street to communicate with machines, with processors, so the competition was just right, and Richard passed it.

The first few years after 1903 were truly cloudless, but after some time, people, figuratively speaking, began to come down to earth. The powers, or rather, perhaps, corporations, began to divide up resources - minerals, territories, and even people - the furiously developing industry needed workers.

 It all started with accusatory articles in the press and other such trifles, and led to the war that began in 1914. Such a gift from heaven, from its elder brothers, was received by earthly humanity.

 The hour of waiting, although it dragged on tediously and long, passed. A stream of people and junk poured through the open doors of the carriages. Having taken a random seat, Richard felt that if not a stone had been lifted from his shoulders, then something like that. Probably, Richard was not the only one.

 Finally, somewhere under the floor of the carriage there was a howl, and the platform with its crowd crawled somewhere back. Having passed along a dimly lit gallery, the train emerged into an open space. Somewhere in the western side, clouds were sparkling. It looked like a thunderstorm with continuously striking lightning, but most likely, an ammunition depot was exploding. The front itself was two hundred kilometers away, until recently remaining in a static state. All this despite the constantly growing and growing list of new means of destruction. Suddenly, a little to the right of the flickering, small white sparks flew upwards - reminiscent of a simple fireworks display. There, one must assume, noticeably closer, the rectangular silhouettes of high-rise buildings were black - recently they began to have up to fifty floors, but this was far from the front. These were unlikely to have more than ten. Suddenly the sparks were drowned in an expanding yellow fiery-smoky mass, increasing in brightness as it grew. The tiny silhouettes now seemed like pitiful stubs that would soon be blown away by a mixture of smoke and fire. A groan swept through the carriage. The brightness began to subside, but the cloud acquired monstrous proportions. Fortunately for the buildings and their inhabitants, as it became clear as the train moved, they were about halfway from the explosion to the observer, that is, Richard, and for them that raging flame was also something distant. But for someone else it was not.

 - Maybe at some point a weapon will appear that will destroy, break the pace of this race, for example, by destroying important scientific centers? - not for the first time a rather hopeless thought visited Richard.

 Considering that he himself left all the projects precisely after a two-ton bomb flew into the technology town, and he miraculously remained alive only because he went to lunch, this thought had some notes of suicide. Besides everything else, one of the most advanced technologies that Richard saw receiving from machines was nuclear reactions, and there one could only guess where this would lead.

Looking around the car, Richard noticed a video camera - a black puck with a red light. - Now they've started hanging them on trains too, - he thought angrily.

 It was five hundred kilometers from Mettingen, where the train departed, to the border with still neutral Denmark. That's if you don't go as the crow flies. The journey with all the stops should take a little over four hours.

 Richard leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn't expect to fall asleep, but at least he could let his frayed nerves relax. After all, the pills weren't miracle workers. After a few minutes, he managed to sink into some kind of half-asleep state. Nevertheless, his consciousness kept picking out separate meaningful fragments of phrases from the buzzing discord, and this was really annoying.

 - Where are we going to run to next? - a young female voice sounded.

 - Better shut up, - an old male voice answered. - Did you hear that a shot down English bomber crashed right into a square in Munster and blew itself up, - came from somewhere behind me, - But we were there yesterday. We were right next door!

 Once upon a time, people got everything they wanted, - someone's voice boomed energetically, - They got everything they wanted from savages, and they got the savages themselves, simply by putting boxes of strong liquor in front of them.

 - And glass beads, - someone's mocking voice added.

 - No, that's not what I mean, - a low voice objected, - Beads are still something good, they're a beautiful toy, but liquor... Well, do you feel the difference? Beads won't turn you into a pig.

 - Well, yes, there is a difference, - the mocking voice agreed. And even more cleverly, the way the English have accustomed the Chinese to...

 - So here's what I think, - the bass continued to reason with some arrogance of a knowledgeable person, - Those from the sky, they simply dropped barrels of booze on us and are now waiting for it to destroy us. Understandable, right? And then they will fly to the deserted Earth and settle here peacefully. No one will interfere with them.

 - So before that, we'll destroy everything here.

 - Destroy what? Our cities? They're trash to them. Straw huts.

 - Well, I don't know. It turns out that if we, all people, don't want it, we can stop it at any time, and their plan won't work. A weak plan, it seems.

 - And we're stopping it so well! We've been stopping it for four years now and still can't stop it, - a low voice answered triumphantly. - A weak plan, huh?

 - Maybe you're one of them, huh? A spy?

 - If anyone were a spy, he wouldn't tell your about his plan.

 In general, the idea of such a destructive gift was not new, but some things didn't add up. Being a specialist rather immersed in secret affairs, which is why his current life was doubly full of dangers, Richard saw quite clearly that from the very beginning, with each passing year, the relationship between people and the arriving machine intelligence was becoming more and more complicated. They were complicated precisely by the fact that he, having a fairly developed toolkit for studying local society, expressed concerns about a possible, that is, an accomplished development of events and definitely began to conceal some very important elements of individual technologies.

 If machine had not done this, nuclear flames would definitely have raged somewhere, and if machine had as it's main goal the liberation of the entire Earth from local humanity, for machine this would have been the most obvious way, the rejection of which seemed completely irrational.

 As for these relations between the source of knowledge and the inhabitants of the Earth, which became more complicated over the years, the special services, getting their hands on it day by day, developed a whole bunch of various plans and measures to disinform the wayward machine holder of knowledge and technology. To a certain extent, this helped, but the scientists suffered noticeably, finding themselves unable to implement many of their bold projects because they were often forced to play by the absurd rules of intelligence and counterintelligence. Nevertheless, despite all these efforts on the part of the machines to bring people to their senses and direct everything in some more constructive direction, Richard's attitude towards the visitors could now only be described as hatred. If he had such an opportunity, if he had been transported into the past with some perfect weapon, he would have destroyed every single one of the arriving probes, even with direct evidence that a whole bunch of humane directives and principles had been programmed into their programs. Life had shown that the machines had clearly failed to implement these principles.

 When the lights of Flensburg were left behind, it became absolutely obvious that the train was already rushing through Danish territory. Richard once again reached into his inside pocket and felt his passport there. The fake had been concocted somehow, but it worked!

 Even though the voice that had previously asked the question "where to run when Denmark ceases to be neutral?" reasoned quite logically, despite this they had won some time from war and death. And then they could run further, because life is movement. There is still Sweden, there is completely lost Iceland. Who needs these seaside villages? With these thoughts, Richard, shaking his head in the direction of the vestibule, made a sign to Elise and stood up. As he walked, looking around the crowd that had surrounded him all this time, he seemed to have spotted someone who had been quite thoroughly expounding his conclusions about drinking and savages. It was a big-faced fellow in a beige raincoat and hat. His face, in contrast to his expensive clothes, and his coherent reasoning, was simple, almost rustic. The French, who had ceased to be enemies overnight after crossing the border, called such people Dandies. And now he was chatting about something completely different.

 Richard glanced at Eliza, who was already admiring the peaceful night, and headed for the vestibule, to the toilet. The inside pocket of his shabby coat was barely noticeable, it was to be hoped, barely noticeable, weighing down the pistol. Soon it would not be needed. Richard even thought about the fact that it would be reasonable to drop it there, in the toilet, but decided not to do it yet. The train began to slow down. It was unlikely that this had anything to do with the upcoming stop - according to the schedule, it was about twenty minutes to the next one, where he had to get off. Besides everything else, having examined his pistol in the toilet, as ambiguous as that might sound, Richard took hold of the handle, creaked the door lock and went back out into the vestibule. Somewhat to his surprise, the nook, rhythmically illuminated by the running lights, was no longer deserted - a little to the side of the frosted glass sliding doors leading into the carriage, stood the same big guy in the raincoat. Well, he apparently needed it too...

 Suddenly the smug face took his hand out of his pocket and held out a vertically unfolded ID card in front of Richard. The outer cover with the black eagle fell down and the inner side with the required photo and lines appeared.

 Richard Becker. - The big guy didn't even ask coldly, he simply said.

Yes sir! - Richard said almost mechanically. At that moment, his hand also mechanically dove into his pocket, and a few moments later the black barrel was already looking at the village face. He stood as he stood, making no attempt to change anything. And where would he be now? And he's also an agent of the secret police!

 Richard, despite his highbrow scientific and technical activities, did not waste his time and mastered the handling of firearms - this was even encouraged. Now it definitely played into their, the special services' hands.

 - You coo well, my dear, - Richard said angrily, mockingly, - But this black beak will shut you up in no time. I don't give a shit about what will happen to me later - we are already in another country. I will surrender to them. And before that, you will fly straight from the train doors. With an extra hole in your head.

 - You heard what I said, - the agent said in a dull voice. I said it so that you would hear.

 - You could have written everything in a letter and sent it to me. The mail seems to be working, - Richard continued to mock, - the address is not a problem for you, as I understand it.

 - Not everyone even at the top, I mean the corporations, wants this bacchanalia to continue. The war can be stopped. Stopped through superiority. The machine remembers you, we need you. Richard stared into the agent's eyes. It was understandable that he had opened up too much – he must have realized that his life could end right here and that all secrecy and instructions would instantly lose their value and meaning for him. What the agent had said was not empty chatter – being one of the first to interact with machines, Richard, both according to what the secret services had told him and according to his own feelings, was for the machines something like a person with a heightened level of trust. Perhaps he still remained such a person. The latter assumption, however, was somewhat contradicted by his escape, and by his previous open statements of positions against machinery as such, but the security services, constantly erecting new and new curtains of disinformation around the machines, could have tried their best here. And what did these machines, or rather those who sent them, really have in mind? After all, it is quite possible that they, those people, did not want the people of Earth to so zealously begin to sort things out among themselves.

 - They will sort it out, as you like to say, - Richard answered coldly, - They will sort it out, but without me, - he added and looked into the agent's face again. He looked as if in front of him was not a person at all, but some kind of thing or unit that interested him. Exactly, an interesting, but not particularly necessary unit.

The agent's expression became somewhat mournful. Indeed, he had no time to have fun now.

 - Have you ever jumped from a train? - Richard asked in a businesslike manner and slightly moved his pistol. With his gaze he pointed towards the exit door - it really could be opened on the move. - I don't want to shoot in the carriage and I think you don't want me to shoot either, so I'm proposing a compromise, - he continued.

 The agent somehow completely lost heart, and there was a reason for that.

Suddenly a woman's hand appeared on the right and lay on Richard's elbow. - What's that? - a thought flashed through his head, - it won't take long to shoot. What a stupid woman!

 The very next moment, Richard felt how the hand holding the pistol suddenly stopped obeying, went numb. The barrel began to slowly move away from the agent's muzzle, who was already looking sideways somewhere to the right. Then Richard began to turn around and he realized that he was completely numb. Already falling somewhere towards the exit door, he finally saw who had so unexpectedly come to the rescue of the bloodhound. It was a woman somewhat younger than Richard himself and she had a rather cheeky appearance - long straight black hair was gathered in a new-fashioned ponytail, and her head was completely uncovered. Not even any of the bad taste of recent years. On her neck was a dark scarf with glittering silver threads - also a rather flashy style. It was tucked under the wide collar of a coat, who would doubt it, also of the look of recent crazy years. - Are these the kind of assistants you have now? - Richard thought angrily, preparing to fall, fortunately his mind, unlike his body, was not at all numb.

 Contrary to expectations, he did not collapse near the door - his still uncontrollable legs for some reason took a few steps-jerks back and he, still numb, with a light thud of his head stood in the corner, like a log or a rolled-up carpet.

 The agent's strange savior, as it turned out, had been holding Richard all this time, clutching his elbow. A few more moments, and she was already holding the pistol taken out of Richard's grip. The agent was definitely at a loss.

 - He won't go with you - she suddenly said, turning to the agent.

 - Why is that? - the mug-faced one responded, having begun to come to his senses rather quickly.

 - Well, he doesn't want to.

 - Very witty! - the agent answered, almost grinning, and made some kind of sharp movement. However, it was immediately clear what kind of movement it was and why - the frivolous woman held the gun in her hands in such a way that it could cause nothing but a grin - she grabbed it by the barrel, as if she did not quite understand what this thing was needed for and was preparing to examine it. However, everything turned out to be not so simple, and a few seconds later the agent was placed in the neighboring corner of the vestibule with exactly the same knock.

 - Look, guys, - the Strange One began, retreating again to the middle of the vestibule and alternately looking at the agent, then at Richard, - you will have to disperse. You, - she turned to the agent, - will go back now and together with your friend-comrade-in-arms, who is there with you, you will go back. You have failed the mission, or will fail it. In general, the two of you will figure out what to tell your boss. I'm taking the scientist. Now watch and don't miss anything, - with these words she raised her left hand up in front of her and spread her fingers, from which thin tongues of fire immediately crawled upward. The sight was eerie.

 - This is what immobilized you, - she declared, - you can't do that, people can't do that, - she continued in a clearly triumphant voice. Self-admiration, nothing else.

 - Now let's talk about pistols, - she demonstratively held out the semi-automatic "Borchardt Model-16" taken from Richard in front of her.

 - All you need to know about them now is that you don't need to scare me with them. With these words she twirled the weapon on her finger, then grabbed the edge of the barrel with her left palm, pointing the muzzle into her palm, then flashed her eyes first in the direction of Richard, then at the Agent.

 Suddenly the wrist that was clutching the barrel burst into flames and, to Richard's amazement, and presumably the agent's, disintegrated into dozens of fiery threads similar to those coming out of fingers. There was no sound of a shot. For a few moments, Richard seemed to have caught a glimpse of a nearly white-hot bullet slowly making its way through the moving fiery whips. The bullet turned into a flash and disappeared into the dancing fiery threads. A little more than a second later, the threads began to gather back into some kind of ball, and now the hand was back in place.

 This was something new even by the standards of the crazy world, infected with iron viruses of machines.

 - I'll repeat it again, - the Strange One announced in a calm voice.

 Everything repeated itself.

 - Now again, only more slowly.

 This time it all took about five seconds. A couple of fiery strands flew past Richard's face, but it didn't bother him any more. The only thought that flashed through his head was that sooner or later she would use up all her bullets and end this.

 - I can do this because I'm not human. I have nothing to do with the machines that landed on your heads. It would be more correct to say that they landed on our heads, because I live here too. We seem to get along. However, I know where they came from and who sent them... the problem is not with them, but with you. You haven't quite climbed down from the palm tree yet - that's why you're tearing each other apart. Is this a revelation for you?

 - And you, - she turned to the agent, - don't blame yourself for falling for the trick with the gun. You would still be standing where you are now. Don't take it too seriously. I just wanted to somehow reduce your arrogance. You were so menacing that I got scared. Now go back to the car. I'll talk to your assistant some more so he doesn't think you've gone crazy, so let's not say goodbye. Oh yeah, everything will be fine if you don't do anything stupid later. I'm not your enemy. Do you understand?

 The intonation in her voice was quite friendly, there was an attempt to win her over. The problem was that, judging by the movies, this was how terrorists usually spoke when they had taken someone hostage. However, maybe this was just a false impression that arose against the background of the suddenly unfolding events. And Richard himself had a hard time imagining how he should have spoken in her place. Here he was conducting a dialogue in full accordance with his goals and the chosen line of behavior...

 The agent suddenly came to his senses, sank down a little, then jumped up and backed away quite energetically along the wall towards the door, all the while glancing sideways at the pistol, which the stranger began to play with quite deftly. Without saying a word, the big guy squeezed through the barely parted doors.

 Here the stranger turned her gaze to Richard. Her face acquired some gentle features, but this did not make it any easier. For exactly the same reason as the conciliatory intonations in her voice.

Meanwhile, the strange woman approached and grabbed him with both hands - by that time she had already casually put the pistol in the pocket of her coat.

 His numb legs began to move and, seemingly not without the help of the unceremonious stranger, Richard stood up. Immediately the numbness completely disappeared, as if it had never been there.

 - My name is Haldoris, - she said, - a rare name, but how often have you been to Iceland? Consider that I am from there.

 - Who are you? - Richard said.

 - If completely, then Haldoris Landskricht, - she answered, sticking out Richard's coat, - Here is your weapon. I do not need other people's things.

 - Okay, now I know your name, - answered Richard, - But that's not what I asked. Are you from the second ship? The smaller one moored to the big one? As far as I know, there were two of them - on one, the big one, there were machines, on the other, there were people.

 I'm telling you, they are on their own, I am on my own. I'm not even a human. And we didn't just meet like that. Did you hear what I said about people? Not getting down from the palm tree and everything else?

 - When this one left, - Richard nodded towards the door, - Will you tell me one-on-one that this is not so?

 - Oh, come on, what nonsense! Stupid games! Don't worry, that's what happened to the palm trees. This is not a direct reproach to you personally or even to the agent. Individually, each one, well, or almost each one, is not so... Okay, let's not chatter. Do you like the war?

 Richard glared at Landskricht with a look of helpless contempt.

 - There, - Landskricht responded, not at all embarrassed, holding her index finger in front of Richard's face and grabbing his palm with her other hand. Where did she get her upbringing...

 - I am against war. I don't like war, I don't like generals, I don't like all these trinkets. But do you think, in primitive language, that by breaking all the machines you will break the war - for some reason she switched to English. A more working option here seems to be breaking humanity - she smiled sadly - only now all these are just catchy words. You may be a little inspired by the fact that I can disable the processors you hate so much. I can subjugate them to my will.

 - You arrived with them and now... What are you up to?

 - I'm telling you that you won't.

 - It's a lie!

 - Okay, consider me one of those people who arrived on the ship. They are sleeping there, and I flew in to see what's going on. Are you happy? What difference does it make? Why are you looking at me like that?

 - I asked you who you are, and you don't want to say and make something up as we talk.

 - I am Haldoris Landskricht, - Landskricht answered somehow coldly, not kindly, - and I am not a human. What else do you want?

 - No, nothing, - Richard immediately backed down. It was reasonable.

 - So, - Landskricht continued in the same calm tone. - You are an unusual person and you know it. For machines, well, or for the machine, if we consider it as a whole, you are one of them. You, figuratively speaking, have a key. You have one key, and there are many such keys, as well as others like you. You can imagine that too. If anything, I have a key that outweighs all yours. I can go right now to the nearest processor, kick it with my foot and order it to do such things that will make you all sick. And no one will interfere with me on my way to this very processor. The agent didn't interfere much, did he?

 - You are against the war, you want to stop it and you have complete control over the processors, - Richard began.

 Landskricht, who had been watching him intently all this time, began to nod slightly.

 - I can believe that armed guards are no obstacle for you, - continued Richard, - Although you only managed to deal with two people and one pistol. They may still have... No, whatever they have, I still do not question your statement. It does not affect the essence of my question. My question is why the war has not been stopped yet. Where are these things that will make military leaders and politicians sick? Where is all this? - Richard's voice began to sound much bolder, - It's not that I do not believe you, but if I had such an opportunity...

 - The great dictator Richard Becker will bring eternal peace and prosperity to people, - Landskricht answered in a genuinely contrite voice. She was still able to masterfully grimace, although there was logic in her answer.

 - The second part of my answer is that people could have unleashed a terrible war without any arriving machines.

 - I don't agree with that, - answered Richard, who had come to his senses a little and moderated his sudden onslaught.

 - Do you believe in fortune tellers? - Landskricht asked out of the blue.

 - Of course not, - answered Richard.

 - That's right. And what about visions that show pictures of the future?

 - Why are you asking that, - answered Richard, with the caution he had chosen earlier.

 Still, the performance of shooting himself in the arm, which had burned the bullets, made him think. - Well, sometimes they tell stories when fortune tellers and other predictors see some pictures of the future. They retell them to the best of their understanding... It's interesting, isn't it. The subconscious. Have you heard of the subconscious?

 - Maybe it is.

 - Well, I also have a subconscious. A little different from people's. It gives unmistakable pictures. That in itself is interesting. Sometimes it's not very interesting, because sometimes such things happen... If I showed you some things, you would go crazy and I would have to put you in order. But in terms of psyche, I am almost human. The subconscious is different... - Landskricht added with some awkwardness in her voice. - The machines did not tell you that there are several solar systems in your nebula. Although for them, for those people, this is just an assumption. There, on other Earths, there are also the same people as you and almost the same countries. Most likely, you have doubles there, although it may be that you do not have them. It is a very complex mechanism, but they, people and countries, not only exist in parallel, but also develop in parallel. This concerns society, its consciousness or something. Such an invisible connection. It would be easier for you if I used magical terms. Now they are often substituted for... let's do without it and just believe me that without machines, people are capable of doing something that will make your war not seem out of the ordinary. - You say, you see pictures and you can show them - Richard said thoughtfully.

 - Oh, get it out of your head, - Landskricht continued unexpectedly casually, - I just want to bring you to the idea that in order to end the war, you don't need to neutralize the machines. Now they are no longer helpers and no obstacle to war. But in order to put out this fire, you need to have a comprehensive impact on people. On society, politicians, corporations.

You, humanity, will run the path of a century and a half in about thirty years. In some ways you are lucky, in others not.

 - And what do you need from me, - Richard finally asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for a long time.

 - Nothing now. Go on. Wherever you wanted. And then... The next time they come to you like this, don't pretend to be an American cowboy and don't kill anyone. Because today you have advanced quite far in this area.

 - To tell you the truth, I wasn't quite ready...

 - Not quite ready doesn't mean not ready, - Landskricht answered, - why do you think they let you go?

 - Really, why?

 - They don't fully obey the government anymore, so they let you go. Intrigues and all that. There's more to come. Okay, you can go.

Landskricht backed away a little, then nodded towards the door leading to the carriage.

 - Who would have thought that something like this could happen, - Richard muttered, already grabbing the door handle, - I mean what you showed us.

 - That's it, go already, - a voice sounded behind him. Richard energetically made his way along the cluttered passage and soon he was sitting next to Eliza. Telling her anything seemed completely inappropriate now - there was no need for her to know about everything that had happened. And he won't believe it...

 At some point, the doors to the vestibule swung open, and Richard managed to make out Landskricht's face - for some reason she was still standing there, at the exit. Judging by her expression, she was in a much better mood than most of the exhausted passengers.

 - It seemed like we were doomed because of those damned cars, - Richard began to reason to himself, - And now here she is...

 The agent was nowhere to be seen - apparently he had gotten out of the carriage.