Path book 1 Igor

A bike flashed by in the hot haze at the limit of visibility.

"Does Alice like El at all? — the artist asked."

"Just as a friend, nothing more."

"I like him, he's so cute, his hair is so blond and his eyes are blue, and how he shoots an assault rifle...." Her girlfriend speaks dreamily, and there's something so strange about her feelings....

I got up on my elbows, and Nasar turned around and stared at our artist — Azanti was sitting, staring absently into space. We looked at each other and laughed. Azanti was very embarrassed.

"What are you laughing at?"

She asked, eliciting even more laughter from my frend and me.

"You're a Batarian, Azanti! And Al is human," I said.

"So what?!" my girlfriend replied. "Does it really matter?"

"You're right, Azanti, it doesn't matter at all... except that he's in love with Aliska," Nasar said.

Azanti just sighed heavily. Here's another damn problem....

There has been a shooting competition among schoolchildren for many years. We used to compete wherever we could, but after a large shooting range was built on the initiative of my grandfather, the whole school competed there. Moreover, it was possible to shoot from any weapon of the armies of the Citadel Space in the shooting gallery. I was the king of the ultra-long distance, I shared the long distance with Nasar, and there were Al and Aliska was the best at the middle distance.

This guy with the assault rifles was doing wonders. He managed to shoot 98 out of 100 at 200 meters with an open sight, which, according to his grandfather, was simply a record — none of the intelligent people he knew could do that. In Alex's hands, even a poor M7 turned into a terrible weapon of destruction. Aliska also shot predator and tsunami. On this basis, almost all girls of the same age and even older girls looked at the already handsome Al, and he looked only in her direction. And the girl decided to join the cadet corps only in Britain.

We see a group of "partisans" walking along the path — from our location they look like small dashes against the background of rocks. I take the carbine and look at the people walking through the scope. The first is a tall, blond man with a Mantis-B in his hands, his gaze attentive and wary. Behind him, in a chain, with a slight ledge to the right, is a large group of intelligent people. There, besides humans, Turians, Asari and Batarians, a familiar Batarian closes the group. This is Balkakhar Natol, the uncle of our Azanti.

"Look, Azanty, there's your uncle and, I think, your aunt", I say, peering at the slender Batarian woman with a light carbine in her hands, walking third from the beginning.

"Where?"

"They're coming," I pass the praying mantis to my friend.

"Everyone's been busy lately," Nasar puts in, looking through the scope of his viper. "Something like this has been in the air for six months now...." Dad goes to work with a Razor, and no one is surprised that the city medic comes to the injured and sick with a hefty pistol on his belt.

"Mine goes to work with a praying mantis, and all the colonists are always armed, as if they are waiting for something. And no, no, let them look at the sky with alarm," Azanti supports.

I also feel anxious — it's like before a storm, when the sky is still clear and everything seems calm, but tension is already hanging in the air, and all nature is quieting down, waiting for the worst. It's been like this for about six months in the entire colony. Everyone is tense, everyone is waiting for something, they don't know what exactly. Just an obscure anxiety that is constantly growing.

"I wish the guys would come sooner — at least we'll start rehearsing, maybe the competition will help to dispel anxiety. This year they will be held in our city."

"Oh, let's sing! Besides my parents, no one else has ever heard our songs," Nasar whispers, stretching.

"I wish I could," I agree. "Let's go for a swim."

Chapter 10-2.

Mikhail Shepard (mid-July 2366)

"No, what are you doing? How do you play? Have you forgotten how to do that?! It still worked! Well, are you all tired or something? My son's voice comes from my garage. Before that, the fervent rhythms of the music that the children were rehearsing were flying from there.

"Igor, don't shout, everything seems to be working out fine," Denis's voice is heard.

"Is it okay?! This is a cat show, not music! So, let's get together and play!"

Music is heard from the garage again. I'm sitting with a universal tester connected to the instrumentation, and I'm checking the mass core from my son's bike. Recently, Igor has been complaining about unstable work and failures in acceleration. I had to disassemble it, remove the mass unit and check it.

"Are you busy, Misha?" I turn around and make eye contact with Tael. He is wearing a light-colored shirt, black trousers made of synthetic silk, patent-leather shoes, and a wide-brimmed hat. Glowing eyes are visible behind dark glasses. Yes, I remember what a shock Igor had when the Quarian came to visit us for the first time in this form — in March last year. He walked around him in circles with his mouth open and finally asked.

"Master Rigar, what about the suit and your weak immune system?"

He laughed and replied:

"Igor, I have spent fifteen years adapting my body to the conditions of Mendoir. Ask your father how much money I spent on it. The remaining biological group on the planet was tormented by orders for research and special preparations, even bought decommissioned virtin in order to adapt faster. And here is the result!"

The Quarian turned around, spreading his arms wide.

"Now I can live here without a spacesuit... but only here. On other planets, you'll have to wear a space suit, as usual. These clever admirals insisted that it takes at least a hundred years — here they are, their "hundred years"! The most important thing is that I have compiled an adaptation program for my fellow tribesmen, and very soon, in the summer, the first batch of my friends will arrive at Mendoir. I hope that in the morning I will finally give a nose to these College bosses who told me that I was a dreamer and a searchlight. Oh, and I'll admire their sour faces when in a year more than a thousand Quarians will be able to live here without spacesuits! And I'm really happy about it!

"Yeah," I replied. "I can imagine how pleased the corporation is to have a bunch of high-class specialists working for you like this, without investing a single cent. Well done, I take off my hat!"

"You're wrong about that, Mishka — they paid for everything!"

"Holy shit, but... did you pay for everything?.."

"Yeah. We paid all the expenses for fifteen years and helped optimize the adaptation program, so now it will take not a year and a half, but only a few months!"

"Hehe, Aegih... and your relatives will be here soon?"

"The first batch will arrive in two months, the rest — within six months."

"How many will there be?"

"Not much, only about one and a half thousand."

"Hmm, it seems to be a little... But I've never seen so many of yours at once."

"Ha! You'll see!"

After he got out of the skaf, my boss, as they say, got to the sweet spot... Although, given the fact that, because of the spacesuit, he had been having a bad time with the female sex for many years ... that is, rather, in no way at all, he can be understood. And even unmarried gossips just fell for the handsome Aegih. For six months he roamed all over the colony, gaining fame as a philanderer, greedy for women, and probably tried all the unmarried girls... although, rather, they all tried him, hehe... Then, however, he settled down, and for several months now he has been having a stormy affair with the head of the governor's press service: with flowers, sweets, trips to the restaurant and naked. The lady there is just a sight to behold: 90?60?90 and an IQ of at least 140 with an amazingly beautiful face. Where did our Belov find such a miracle and how did he lure this beautiful woman with the melodious name Helen Horten here?

Aegich plops down in a garden chair next to me and looks at my work.

"Can I help you?" Help me, my friend, I go to the garage, take him a second tester, and we, with four hands and two heads, start looking for a malfunction. Meanwhile, everything in the garage goes quiet again and Igor's loud voice is heard again:

"That's it, we're done for today, otherwise I'll just snap now, and it will hurt you, and I'll be ashamed..."

"Come on, Snake, what are you freaking out about?" Ali answers. "Here, have some orange juice, calm down...."

"You've probably learned everything by now? Please tell me, Ali, that your text is ready for execution!"

"Well, not exactly, but almost...."

"And where did you find these songs? I've never heard anything like it before! Come on, snake, where are the firewood from?" Alexey's voice is heard.

"From the extranet, vestimo! These songs are three hundred years old or more, so copyright law no longer applies to them. If anything, we can even shoot a video if someone suddenly likes it."

"Do you want fame?" Bina asks.

"Nope. Well, you never know, I don't even sing almost anywhere, so the guys will get all the glory."

"Igor, sing something!" asks Azanti.

"What do you want, madam?" Igor has calmed down and is joking.

"Anyway, I want to listen to you."

"Well, I don't even know... I'm not doing well yet. The voice hasn't broken yet."

"You're doing fine! Come on, sing something emotional, Snake," Azat supports.

"Well, uh..."

The voices of all the children can be heard, vying to persuade Igor.

"Hey, hey, that's enough! I'll sing, of course! Disha, give me the guitar."

"What are you going to sing?" Ali asked.

"This is a romance from the time of the terrible tragedy of my people. During the civil War of the 20th century, Russians split into two camps, red and white, and for five years they ruthlessly killed each other in search of the truth. Meanwhile, the "good neighbors" and "allies", taking advantage of the lack of power, robbed my country and people."

"Sing already, historian!" Denis asks.

A sad melody sounded in the strumming of the strings and a song began to flow in a quiet boyish voice:

Не надо грустить, господа офицеры,

Что мы потеряли — уже не вернуть...

Пусть нету отечества, нету уж веры,

И кровью отмечен нелёгкий наш путь.

Пусть нету отечества, нету уж веры,

И кровью отмечен нелёгкий наш путь.

Пусть мы неприятелем к Дону прижаты

За нами осталась полоска земли...

Пылают станицы, посёлки и хаты,

А что же ещё там поджечь не смогли?

Пылают станицы, посёлки и хаты,

А что же ещё там поджечь не смогли?

"How did he know her? I've never heard of it. She's so amazing..." Aegikh is sitting next to him, propping his cheek on his hand, staring sadly into space. And I am surprised to realize how much this song resonates with the tragedy of his people.... And his son's voice continues to lead to guitar overdubbing:

По нашим следам смерть над степью несётся,

Спасибо, друзья, что я здесь не один.

Погибнуть и мне в этой схватке придётся

Ведь я тоже русский, и я — дворянин.

Погибнуть и мне в этой схватке придётся

Ведь я тоже русский, и я — дворянин.

Пусть нас обдувает степными ветрами,

Никто не узнает, где мы полегли.

А чтобы Россия всегда была с нами,

Возьмите по горсточке русской земли.

А чтобы Россия всегда была с нами,

Возьмите по горсточке русской земли.

I see my mother standing thoughtfully, clutching a ripper in her hands — she just stands in the front garden and listens, looking up at the sky. It's a pity my father flew to Earth — he's a big fan of the author's songs, especially old romances. I've never heard that from him, though. I notice that, apparently mechanically, I turned on the recording on the omny-tool. When my father arrives, I'll let him listen to his grandson sing. I'm just afraid that the old admiral will be the first big fan of his performance.... There's a sound coming from the garage:

Не надо грустить, господа офицеры,

Что мы потеряли — уже не вернуть...

Пусть нету отечества, нету уж веры,

И кровью отмечен нелёгкий наш путь...

Пусть нету отечества, нету уж веры,

И кровью отмечен нелёгкий наш путь...

The music has stopped, and for a while there is silence in the garage.

"Yeah, it couldn't be more sincere," says Azat. "It takes you right by the soul... why such longing, Igor?"

"I don't know, Azi... I have some bad premonitions, anxiety in my soul."

"But I also have something like that — as if something is interfering, like a pebble in a boot," says Ali.

"When did you learn to play and sing it?" Nasar asks.

"It's still winter. I don't even know why I didn't sing to you. And I prefer to play the flute."

"How sad... was it really that bad back then? Such songs are born only when it's really, really hard," Bina said.

"The consequences of this tragedy, Bina, are still alive. The whole twentieth century was a very difficult ordeal for Russians. Three major wars that claimed about forty million lives. Twice, half of my country lay in ruins. And anyway, my people rose from the ashes, rebuilt what was destroyed, was the first to go into space, became one of the locomotives of our civilization, and, as a result, it was the USSR that was behind the creation of the Alliance of Systems."

"Listen, can we put this romance in the program? Let Igor sing too! And we'll play along as best we can," Alexey asked.

There was a heated discussion about this in the garage. In the end, Igor put an end to the discussion, saying that they would only rehearse the romance when they finished with the rest of the songs. And she will perform it only if the audience asks her to sing something else. It seems that during this short break, the children were able to regain their strength and decided to continue — music started playing from the garage again.

"Misha, I think I found it," says Aegikh. "Look, I found a glitch in the stabilization module. Get it out, let's check it more carefully."

I unscrew the bolts and remove the module — the contact panel is covered with a thick layer of oxides.

"Get off your head! The waterproofing was cracked... how could he fly at all?!" I'm asking myself a rhetorical question. "And how to isolate it now? You will have to wait a couple of months for such a gasket! Igor will get me drunk..."

"Well, you're an "engineer" — turn on your head!" says Aegikh.

"Do you suggest using a sealant?"

"You're a genius, even if you're a little slow, but you don't get it until you push it. Hehe."