A FEW DAYS LATER.

While waiting for the Chief to arrive, Deborah walked on the coastal sand and drew a line with her bare feet, tracing it from one palm trunk to the next, as if to string together the crazy events of the past days.

The chief managed to talk to her personally. No threats, no reprimands, his tone was calm, as if nothing had happened, but Deborah suspected that this silence was not the morning windlessness, but the eye of the cyclone. It was very likely that the Chief would first question her carefully one more time, after which she would simply not wake up - her heart would stop or her brain would hemorrhage. Or perhaps she would go swimming, drown, and her shrimp-eaten corpse would be washed ashore in a few days.

The right thing to do was to pack up and run away, but where would she go? So Deborah enjoyed the last hours of her life-drinking wine (in moderation, of course), swimming, diving, basking in the sun. But still she wondered what had happened on the island yesterday and whether disaster could have been prevented.

It wasn't the strange helicopter crash in which Bernard Baruch had flown away (I wonder if it was the same Bernard, so successful at rejuvenation, or his son, named after his father?) that kept her busy. She couldn't figure out where the bodyguard's stiffened corpse had come from in the bushes. If he hadn't begun to stink in the heat, he wouldn't have been found so quickly. She'd seen the guy climb into the helicopter after the boss with her own eyes. She might have assumed he'd been thrown from the helicopter for some mischief, but the bodyguard hadn't fallen from a height - there were no injuries on his body. They had cut open his aorta with a sharp knife while he was eating berries and he died, and the berries remained in his esophagus.

But who was with Baruch then? The only version that seems to be true is the murdered man's twin brother.

Still, something didn't add up. Deborah had spent all night studying the surveillance tapes and found the ones where the young bodyguard was waiting for the boss at the locked gate, talking to the local guards, then going to eat berries, disappearing into the shadows and emerging from the shadows as if nothing had happened. She'd watched the tape a thousand times, and it seemed to her that when he emerged from the shadows, the boy moved differently, more wary, constantly looking around. Then, standing near the gate, he stood there like a statue, silent, though he had been questioning the guards about him.

As if he had been replaced! But by whom and how? No, it is impossible to pull off a whole operation, which the CIA could hardly do, under her nose!

First the guinea pig escaped, and now this.

The guy was strange too - he was definitely dead, his heart wasn't beating! But then he came back from the dead, the cameras had caught him! And then? Had he really drowned? The guards with their thermal imaging cameras had searched the jungle, all the buildings, and there was no sign of him. Was it possible he'd found a way to escape the thermal imaging cameras?

She had read every source of information about the properties of thermal imaging cameras and soldiers' stories-no, it was impossible in the woods, and there was no fugitive in the buildings; they had checked every inch of them!

Now this carrier... I wonder if Baruch really took away something invaluable. She questioned the scientific staff, but they never told her. He did - ha-ha! His helicopter went down in the sea with the carrier!

In a private conversation, the Chief for some reason more and more inquired about the escaped subject, and did not reprimand - just listened, asking leading questions: and whether exactly the heart did not beat and body temperature decreased? Could he have maintained such a condition? And hadn't he been acting strangely when he'd come to the island?

Deborah sighed. She was sixty-one, she had seen and lived so much, not everyone had lived and experienced so much. Perhaps it was time to leave her life, but she did not feel like it!

The quiet murmur of the waves lapping against the shore was laced with the sound of their lulling, now fading, now rising. Deborah threw her head up, searched the graying evening sky for a spot of helicopters, she found none, and exhaled in relief. Inevitability postponed, there were still a few minutes to live.

- Miss Okonjo! - called the guard, pacing the asphalt path and barely visible in the pre-dawn grayness. Realizing Deborah had noticed him, he waved and shouted:

- Mr. Smith will be here any minute!

- On my way! - Deborah answered cheerfully, tied a beach handkerchief around her waist and hurried to her room.

Even if she was late for the Head Girl, she didn't care. Walking barefoot on the pavement, she tried to anticipate how she would be killed, and bargained with fate. It even slipped her mind that she was ready to spend the rest of her days in a monastery to atone for her sins and donate her fortune to a beggar in exchange for her life... But remembering all the crimes she had closed her eyes to, Deborah realized that even a thousand years of repentance was not enough. And if there is a hell, a cauldron awaits her one hundred percent, where she will be boiled alive for thousands of years.

But if there are other forces and an opportunity to negotiate with them, Deborah will try.
She met the helicopter in a coffee-and-milk suit and black blouse, wearing an elegant beige hat with a fake black rose on the side, adorned with a large fionite. As the car descended, the hat was torn from Deborah's head, and the guards raced to catch her.

Deborah didn't care, she watched wide-eyed as the helicopter blades spun ever slower as the boss of all bosses emerged unaccompanied from the belly. Jeff Bezos. "What inexcusable levity," Deborah thought as she looked at the approaching Bezos, but she didn't comment on his decision not to take guards - who knows what motivated him. Maybe he wanted to demonstrate that he trusted her completely, and that he had nothing to fear on the island.

- Good evening, Mr. Bezos," she shouted, moving toward her.

At that moment the guard ran up to her, glanced at Bezos, dropped his hat, stretched into a line and stared in front of him.

Bezos threw up his hand in a welcoming gesture and got right to the point:

- I want all the information about the escaped subject," he said without intonation, and Deborah, who had always been sparse on feelings and had never flinched in front of her superiors, felt as if she were in a grave cold.

In general Bezos seemed to Deborah the most disgusting of the five co-founders of MANGA, he had created an entire agency that studied not entirely legal ways of rejuvenation, and here, in the corner of paradise, they even created a branch of hell for ghouls-adrenochromes, drinking children's blood in order to prolong their existence.

A dashing thought slipped along the edge of her mind that if she shot the ghoul now, a thousand sins would be forgiven, but Deborah shoved it away.

- I'll tell you right now. I don't blame you for what happened," Bezos continued. - Because of your personal qualities, you're doing a fine job, you have nothing to worry about. I can guess what you're thinking. I swear no one will punish you.

Deborah squinted at him. Is he lying? I wish I could read minds!

- Thank you for appreciating my qualities," she said, wondering why he had such a soft way of putting it.

If they are going to liquidate her, it is not necessary for such an influential person to be crucified in front of an ordinary employee. Or did he want something from her? Even if he did, she could go in and get it, all this talk was unnecessary. Besides, she knew Bezos had always been oppressive with his subordinates.

And it was also strange that he was unprotected-after all that had happened! The death of Barnard Baruch himself was so serious that anything could be expected at any moment, even an air raid! Why should he risk his precious life?

- Why? - she couldn't stand it, deciding that it would be a shame to die without knowing what kind of phantasmagoria was going on around here.

Surprisingly, Bezos understood what she meant, turned his head slightly. How he resembled a bird of prey! Even when he laughed and joked, he still looked like a predator.

- Because you do have valuable qualities. You have a phenomenal mind, able to quickly analyze facts and draw the right conclusions. That's the first answer. The second," he spread his arms, "is that my body is burdened by old age, I am in constant pain and, if I don't take stimulants, I get tired quickly. Despite surgeries, my vision is deteriorating. Is this life worth holding on to?

Deborah's answer seemed incomplete, but she didn't elaborate - what if he had cancer, like Jobs? She had read that some of the rejuvenation procedures spoiled by the founders of Manga and their rival friends, whose names it was better not to mention aloud, contributed to the growth of tumors.

It's an amazing phenomenon: everyone knows who rules the world, but as soon as you mention their names, you're immediately declared crazy and ridiculed. If you call the obvious things publicly and officially a delusion and repeat them, people will believe them without reservation.

- Again you do not believe me," said Bezos openly. - But I'm not lying, we do need you.

- I'm glad to hear it... May I ask you a question?

- May I," Bezos nodded as he led Deborah to the quantum computer lab.

- Is the deceased Bernard Baruch the same man whose rumors of death are exaggerated, or his son? Did he really take away something valuable, something that was hidden even from me? A new version of a medium capable of surviving transportation?

- That's two questions, but I'll answer both of them. The man who flew to the island was the son of that Bernard's cousin, named after a successful relative. Yes, he took away a secret development that is very likely to fall into the hands of forces more hostile than the Baruch clan and their allies.

- The Baruch guard is a double agent? But whose? And where did his corpse come from...

- A third question we did not agree on. You'll find out soon enough, Deborah," he said, stopping in front of the lab door and letting the retina scan-the door opened without requiring a key card or fingerprints.

Already in the corridor Bezos nodded to the developer, who almost bowed at his feet.
- You here," the tall visitor turned to him and looked at Deborah, "or you are involved in a unique project and still haven't tested the immersion capsules, have you?

- It is forbidden, Mr. Bezos," the man with the bald shoulders shrugged, and stepped aside to let him and Deborah into the office with the immersion pods.

As far as Deborah knew, the man wasn't exactly a developer, but rather an engineer who maintained the latest technology. But she might have been misled, too. As it turned out, there was a great deal she didn't know about what was going on in the territory under her control, the only one she could be entirely sure of was the security service.

- And now you have my permission," Bezos smiled, walking over to the empty pod, stroking the flap that had been folded back.

- Right now? - hesitated the engineer. - You want us to dive right now?

Deborah tensed. The subjects after the dive had been stray for three days, eating, sleeping, moving reluctantly, then came to life, became more imaginative, but still they were strikingly different from the boys and girls who had arrived on the island - as if mentally aged fifty years.

She hadn't been authorized to talk to them, and now she regretted it. Because the change in their behavior was obvious, and she was going to change too, which she didn't want.

- Right now. And I'll dive in with you, so you don't think bad things. Renato, you do the procedure, then you switch with Deborah.

- But I don't know anything about it! - she objected, but Bezos was silent, and as he did so he dropped his white linen shirt, which smelled of expensive perfume - the engineer almost caught it on the fly.

Deborah turned away - he pulled down his pants and climbed into the capsule completely naked. She began to undress only when the capsule sealed and filled with murky liquid. The engineer defiantly did not look at Deborah, who occupied the second capsule.

All thoughts were displaced by one: why would Bezos do this? Was he mad? Is he amusing himself? Or somehow able to influence her consciousness through the virtual reality generated by the quantum computer?

Probably the right thing to do was to try to escape yesterday, but Deborah knew she couldn't get away from the likes of Bezos, and she hadn't set up an alternate airfield, and there was no need to, she preferred to be loyal to those who paid so generously.

Bezos was probably already in that reality, and she was in no hurry, delaying the moment of immersion as best she could. Still, she climbed into the glass coffin, clenched her fists. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, her temples ached - her blood pressure must have risen from the excitement, but she soon calmed down. Or it wasn't an effort of will that calmed her, but some sort of substance injected through the gel.

Soon everything changed. The stiffness of her elderly body was replaced by lightness, her vision became clear, Deborah was young again, light, ringing. She stood near the door to the other world, and, tasting the new sensations, she sincerely wanted to go there. Not only that, she wished with all her soul never to leave this magical world.

Now Bezos's words made sense. This reality is the path to immortality; when the body dies, the consciousness lives on?

Fearing nothing more, Deborah opened the door. What was happening resembled a computer game, it was as if everything was real. Deborah read the suggested mods; to make it easier to navigate, she chose a helper and was pleasantly surprised - this girl was very similar to her in her youth.

And the viral world itself was dizzying! It's magical! Smells, sounds - everything is convex, three-dimensional, real. I want to shout: "Stop, a moment".

The joy receded when the assistant's body began to ripple, she grabbed Deborah's arm, began to change, Bezos's predatory, unblinking face came through, scattered into pixels that penetrated her skin, flowed into her blood...

Deborah screamed. She felt the alien inside her, squeezed her veins, but the foreign particles seeped through her collateral vessels. Each heartbeat brought her death closer, because when they reached her head...

It was as if a thousand clawed paws were digging into her brain and tearing it apart. Deborah collapsed, clutching her head. She clutched at her head, pulling at the hairs on her head to numb the pain.

- Relax," the voice echoed in her head, "we're still stronger.

And then darkness fell.

The awake woman really did know the answers to all her questions, including who the guy who'd escaped the island was.

Desmond

It was evening, and Desmond was still sitting in the café. He had tried all the freshes, ate more than he usually ate in three days. His face itched under his mask and his lenses made his eyes itch.

Six or so customers came in, and the bartender, who was also the waitress and hostess, watched the suspicious customer, who would suddenly freeze on a chair with her eyes closed and stay like that for half an hour or so. She woke up when a siren sounded or gunshots rumbled outside the window, and fell back into a trance.
Desmond didn't care at all that the landlady had a disguised man in him - she was sure he was a regular transgender man, and she wasn't going to report him to anyone. However, his presence was weighing on her - she was going to close the place and let the cook go because the day was "empty," and give time to her seven-year-old daughter, whom the bonne had already picked up from school.

After contacting Gia, Desmond gave her his coordinates and asked for her help, telling her that the states were undergoing forced digitization, with a digital pen assigned to each. But soon the craftsmen will start to put fake tattoos on their wrists, then they will check everyone, and the disguise will not save.

Tochinov told him to stay put and wait, but who would come for him, the Russian oligarch himself did not know.

The infiltration of Luka's mind and the subjugation of the alien body squeezed the rest of his strength, and Desmond wanted only one thing - to pass out, but he promised to keep in touch with Maria, who intended to put a bullet in her forehead. He encouraged her, asked her to remember details that would help her understand where she was, but no clues. Desmond had already dug into her memory himself - she'd been hit hard in the head; all she remembered well was the boat and the faces of the captains and the illegals who'd been on the barge with her.

- Introduce everyone," Desmond asked, waited a moment, got the first picture of the fat Muslim woman, and was amazed at how clearly Maria remembered the details: every birthmark, every hair on the back of her hand.

It was unlikely he could convey Gia's orientation with the same accuracy, and she wasn't an artist, either - there would be possible distortions as a result. Desmond transmitted the faces one by one: first he contacted Maria, then, holding the image in his head, he contacted Gia, and she tried to create a sketch without interrupting contact.

Only now did Desmond realize how exhausted he was. He felt like an old man, every movement was difficult, and at the same time curiosity overcame him as to what was going on with Luca, but the boy was not in touch, answered briefly that as long as he lived, he could not be distracted, and that was all.

The most exhausting was Maria, who was on the verge of hysteria, which was understandable: first her mother was dead and her brother and sister, even though they were adopted, but Maria loved them. Then the persecution began, and now she was a prisoner, and there was a good chance of experiencing the torments of hell before she died.

Probably in her place Desmond, too, would have preferred a bullet to a knife and abuse. And the very dubious hope of release was no consolation at all. So he soon contacted Gia again:

- Gia, what have you got? I know it's only been an hour and a half since you sent out the sketches to your people, but Maria's on the verge of hysteria, yanking me all the time.

- It's nothing. It's silent," answered the girl irritably. - The problem is that the faceless people are scattered. We sent out sketches to reliable people, but there's no one in that port, and who was, they say similar illegals aren't in the database, which is weird. If they were admitted and processed, they'd be there 100 percent.

- They'd have been put out to feed the fish as witnesses," Desmond surmised. - Surely the captains Maria saw would be long gone, too. This is a job for the high-powered secret service, not the loners.

- We're working," Gia's thoughts were desperate. - Stalling for time. Tochinov is talking to the kidnappers right now, bargaining, saying he's looking for ransom money.

Desmond passed out after all and almost fell off the couch onto the floor. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and ordered himself another cup of coffee plus an energy drink, thinking about how the faceless have created the perfect system for survival, but the time has come when you need a system to fight, and you can't build that quickly. It takes years.

- You should go home," the barmaid said sympathetically, bringing her order. - "They're saying Manhattan's been stripped of its chains...

The door swung open, and two policemen crossed the threshold: a dark-skinned man and an Asian. The hostess put her hands to her sides:

- "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Both I and the visitor have long been digitized, there are no illegals, no one is hiding in my house...

The Asian, craving cinnamon coffee, mentally scolded the sudden order, he himself did not like digitization, dark-skinned Harry was a slave of the system and blindly supported any undertaking - the state machine punished the bastards like those who spoiled his childhood, and themselves either sit or die. For interest Desmond got into the Asian's mind a little deeper: he preferred augmented reality lenses to glasses, he was not interested in Dream. His partner was a gambling addict, took his lenses off only at work, wasted almost his entire paycheck on Dream fashions.

"Dream addicts lose their own selves, the system absorbs them.

The Asiatic put up his hands and mouthed guiltily:

- "Don't get the wrong idea, we're just getting something to eat. We could use a burger.

- Yeah," Harry grunted.

The hostess thought profanely of them and went to take her order, mentally lamenting that she had already let the cook go. She wanted to vent her resentment on the policemen, but her position obliged her to smile.

Desmond tried to get through to Luca again, without success. Had he failed? Or was it just hard to get through to someone else's mind when one was agitated or focused on something? I'd like to think so.
I had to switch to Maria.

Maria

Maria was thrashing around the room like a caged tigress. At first she held the gun to her temple, then she smashed the cameras and lowered her aching arm.

Still couldn't believe this nonsense was happening to her: superpowers, assassination attempts, kidnapping, two hundred million for her head! And what good are those superpowers when you're locked up and there's nothing to calculate. Or rather, there is, but the prognosis is disappointing.

Without letting go of the gun, Maria locked the door from the inside with the key she had taken from the murdered spy, and left the key in the lock. The kidnappers gave her father three days. That was exactly how long they would try to keep her alive, and then they should just shoot themselves, because the corpse wouldn't care what they cut off.

To be sure, she propped the door shut with a stool. If she'd been her captors, she would have left it alone, or... There was a faint hiss. Or she thought she smelled something sweet.

...Or she would have turned on the gas. Maria held the gun to her temple again, thinking that when you say goodbye to life often, you stop noticing that you have it.

- Maria, don't do anything foolish! - a voice came from behind the door. - Your father is on the phone. We're leaving a holographic projector, take it and see for yourself that we're not lying.

- Where are the guarantees that you won't catch me? - shouted Maria, not taking the gun away from her head, pressed her ear to the door and heard her father's voice, he spoke in Russian, with his usual intonation:

- Maria, don't be silly. Give me time, I'll get you out, I promise.

So, is it really Dad, or did they fake his voice? Desmond, hello! Where are you? He wasn't talking or he was busy. I wished he'd kept in touch all the time-a selfish childish wish, but only his invisible presence was marginally reassuring.

- I put the equipment up for sale," my father went on. - It's time. They promised to give me another five days.

Maria squeezed her eyes shut. Too long. During that time, information about her might leak to the MANG agents.

- Apartment in Yalta," Maria remembered, and decided to check the speaker, shouted from behind the door. - Remember, we ate something and promised not to tell Mom? What did we eat?

- Crispy baklava, bought from the street vendors," my father answered, and Maria smiled, because no one could know that, so he really hadn't abandoned her. - Little one, they promised to tell you that they won't hurt you. You don't have to open it and take the projector, and I wouldn't either. Just calm down a little bit and don't be silly.

She wanted to believe there was no one at the door, to take the projector, to see her father's stern face, to feel the power that radiated from him, but logic told her it was better not to. Maria called out to Desmond again to see if her father had really contacted her, but there was no answer, and she stepped away from the door.

Her father certainly hadn't left her... As soon as she thought about it, Desmond's thoughts came to her, not addressed to her: "She doesn't believe her foster father appreciates her. That she's invaluable in her own right. She seems to have serious self-esteem issues. Probably because she is not pretty. I wanted to argue that she was all right, but Desmond spoke first:

- Maria," his voice sounded, and it sounded condescending, the way a doctor talks to a hypochondriac, "right now your father is making arrangements with...

- I've just been paired up with my father, they brought an intercom under the door, but I doubted it was him. You know you can't trust kidnappers.

- It's definitely him. We're figuring out how to solve your problem, but it's hard without your help...

- I'm locked up and I can't see around me," she answered mentally, knowing what she was going to be asked, because the question had already been raised, and then added: - And I'm not scary, either.

Desmond was silent, unable to understand what was being said, so I had to explain:

- You thought I was insecure because I wasn't pretty.

- I'm sorry...

- Well, I'm not ugly! - Maria pictured her most favorite picture of her smiling, wearing a short coat with a green collar, a short skirt, and green striped leggings.

Desmond thought, "WOW," because the virtual assistant he created turned out to look like Maria like two peas in a pod.

- Well, you and I met when we were kids," she said, "in that experiment, so we bonded...

Desmond thought that he was communicating with his brother and sisters on the experiment, but he didn't even know what the person he was talking to looked like, and imagined himself. The guy from the magazine cover appeared before Maria's eyes: proudly upturned chin, black hair, blue eyes, white skin. Maria caught herself thinking that she admired him, and he could hear that.

Fair enough," she excused herself, guessing that he was used to women's favor.

- I'm used to it," he confirmed. - He's used to being favored by women," he confirmed, "but not honest. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to check on Luka. He ought to be all sorted by now. Don't be sad. Everything will be all right.

Luca

The island where Manga was conducting the deadly experiments grew farther away and soon melted into darkness. Bernard Baruch was silent, the bodyguard-pilot was busy, and Luca mentally went over the ways to kill the billionaire and his bodyguard.

We need to make the oligarchate think that the accident was set up by MANG agents. Which means it's better not to shoot, even though that's the easiest thing to do, but to create an emergency situation, the pilot's head bashed in, Baruch's neck snapped - let the investigation think that they were injured during the fall. The helicopter would lose control, start losing altitude, at which point you should jump out...

Usually all plans flew into the abyss as soon as he had to act, so Luca looked down, waiting for some island to flash by, where he could get out after the crash. Probably with his stamina he could swim to the nearest one, but there were sharks in the ocean. It wasn't certain that he'd be able to handle them.

Desmond was out of his thoughts; now Luca could not answer in English if he was approached. A glow in the distance to his right caught his attention, and the flashing dot of an airplane landing confirmed his hunch that there was an airport there. It was time to act.

After checking the magazine, Luke snapped it to his gun, unbuckled his seatbelt, got up, and, holding on to the seats in front of him, headed for Baruch, whom he had designated as his No. 1 target.

He hadn't removed his helmet, so Bernard mumbled in English, not immediately noticing that he was being approached not by a guy he knew, but by a stranger who wanted him dead. The pilot did not react at all to his approach.

There seemed to be something wrong with Baruch's vision, and he continued to babble, more insistently now, looking at Luke. There was indignation in his voice, and only when Luke grabbed his head, a second before his vertebrae cracked, did his pupils dilate with horror and foreboding of imminent death.

Snap, Luke put his temple against the armrest, jumped over the corpse to the pilot, who was controlling the helicopter with one hand and drew his gun with the other, but did not have time to shoot - Luke knocked the gun, his fist hit his nose with all his might - and it was more than in an ordinary man.

There was a rattle. The nasal bone entered his brain-the pilot rolled his eyes and twitched, blowing bloody bubbles. Suppressing the nausea and dizziness, Luca grasped the steering wheel of the tilted helicopter, tried to turn it toward the distant island, but the machine began to tilt sideways.

Before the helicopter stalls at all, when you can jump out and hit the spinning propeller blades, Luke took the carrier, which had fallen out of Baruch's hands, grabbed the deflated life jacket, put it on his arm, and realized that he did not know how to open the helicopter.

Panic-stricken, he started pulling all the levers in a row. The helicopter lost all control, lowered its nose and threw him against the control panel. It couldn't get any worse! He jerked the controls until he reached the rear compartment.

He jerked forward, holding on to the chairs. He pushed himself up and down, now and then he jerked, but he pushed on, clutching the data device to his chest.

Desmond burst into consciousness, then vanished at once-an organism that knew he couldn't be distracted now. A tug, another tug. Freshness rushed into my face. The black plane of the sea and the sky began to change places. Fuck!

Luke waited until the sea glimmered below, then pushed himself out, regrouped in flight, to enter the water feet first. Involuntarily he shrank back, seeing above him the spinning blades of the Mohawk, which, tumbling, was hurtling to the right and down...

The impact on the surface of the ocean knocked the air out of their lungs - even in the eyes darkened with pain, against the background of darkness popped up a text about the injuries, but Luka swept it away, and when the black water closed over the rapidly sinking Luke craved to inhale. With willpower Luka stopped the panic, tried to slow his metabolism, but nothing worked. Luka plunged downward, and the bubbles slowly rose.

Nearby, a helicopter hit the water - nearly bursting his eardrums.

Luke felt himself frozen in blackness, jerked his arms and legs, rushing upward. He hissed in pain, his eyes whirling in circles as he struggled to catch his breath. He must have passed out from the thought that if he were knocked unconscious, he'd lose his priceless recording device. His fingers gripped the metal, his consciousness returned, and the text flashed before his eyes:

Attention! Life-threatening spinal injury! Traumatized 5, 6 thoracic spine (spinous process fracture), 3, 4, 5 lumbar spine (rupture of intervertebral discs).

Recommendation: restricted movement, lie down on a hard surface.

Again I felt darkness in my eyes, this time from the realization that every movement brought him closer to paralysis.

So what to do? The answer came right away:

Take a horizontal position on a hard surface.

Eat protein foods rich in calcium and zinc.

Spend two to seven hours lying down.

"Take a horizontal position on a hard surface" - ha-ha-ha! It seemed like his legs were gone, Luca twitched them and almost swallowed water.

They work. But rowing is better with his hands. He pushed himself up again, into the tarry blackness.
Only by the way the bubbles rose and where the deflated lifejacket pushed out could I tell where the top and bottom were. My lungs seemed to burst from lack of oxygen. Luke worked desperately with his hands underwater and pushed himself to the surface, inhaled greedily, and coughed.

His spine ached, and every movement hurt. And it was also unclear where to swim in the dark. No matter how hard Luca tried, he couldn't figure out which way was the island he saw from high above. To keep the physical effort to a minimum, Luca groped the life jacket, expecting to find a hole through which to inflate it - didn't find one. So how to use it? Or was this particular vest defective? Luke had flown in an airplane the only time - when he went to the island, there was no briefing, so he did not know how to use such a vest.

He had to explore again, millimeter by millimeter, until finally his fingers found something hard and rounded and accidentally pressed a button. There was a hiss, and the vest began to inflate.

Hallelujah! Luke put it on, lay back, listened to the sensations. He wiggled his arms, found that there was no pain if he moved only the left arm, and buried himself at random from the crash site. He had to get as far away as possible, because soon the rescuers would be here, and a little later the agents of the clans that rule the world. If Luka can't find a place to wait it out, he's dead. And he'd better eat something, too, so his improved body can recover quickly.

But that's for later. First we have to swim away. Then he must find land and shelter, for it is not certain that his badly injured body will be able to cope with the difficult tasks. After that, something to catch and eat. A worm would probably do.

Life hung in the balance, and Luke wanted to feel that he was not alone, to feel something he had never had - support, and he mentally reached out to Desmond, but he was silent.

Desmond

After saying goodbye to Maria, Desmond yawned, closed his eyes to focus on Luca, but failed to get into the right state, and when he finally succeeded, a ringing female voice spoke:

- Hello. I'm from Egor.

Shuddering, Desmond opened his eyelids. There was a girl with shoulder-length green hair, slicked back on her left side, her right temple shaved, and a row of earrings in her ear, two glinting in her eyebrows and a third in her nose. A plaid men's shirt tied under her breasts, a tattooed belly, short shorts.

- I'm Eva. - She smiled, and Desmond noticed her tongue was pierced, too.

- Gina," he whispered, standing up and squinting at the cops who were finishing their burgers-they didn't care about their guest.

Eva's thoughts weren't much different from the rest of the girls: "He must be handsome, if you take off the mask! Tprru, Natka! You're not cut out for such a thoroughbred stallion."

Eva, yeah. Her real name is Natalie, and she's not too successful: the stripe on her tattoo is green.

The owner of the cafe perked up and shouted from behind the counter:

- We don't serve anarchists!

The cops were wary, too, glancing at the new customer. Eva-Natalie showed the hostess her wrist so that they could see, and muttered:

- Now that was a shame.

Desmond followed the girl out into the street, where it had long since fallen dark, sat in the back seat of an old Ford and read in Natalie's mind that he was a strange type, and she did not like confusion, but since she got involved with faceless people, she should be prepared that she would not be told the details. They said it was important to keep the man, so it is necessary to silently comply.

In general, all just a girl's contradictions.

The car was in motion. The street was relatively deserted, people were hiding in their houses. Police vans and ambulances flashed their flashing beacons, and cabs were seen occasionally.

- They wouldn't let the cops into the colored neighborhoods, and the locals were desperate to shoot back. It's full of illegals who won't leave, because digitization is for citizens only. There are rumors that the government is going to bring in troops.

"Now that complicates matters," Desmond thought and asked:

- Do they make fake tattoos yet?

- "There are craftsmen," said Natalie, turned the car through a solid line and sped down the highway, Desmond noted that the girl drove a mechanic, he probably would not be able to drive such a car himself.

- They're afraid, because it's a felony, and such fakes get through at a moment's notice. But I think they will start soon. Anyway, it's going to be hot soon, and we're off to Stamford before the city is cordoned off. It's civilized there, big corporate offices and so on, and there's only a handful of asocial..." She suddenly perked up, glancing at Desmond. - Did you at least throw the phone away?

- Sure," he shrugged.

- She shrugged. "Well, that's good.

Desmond closed his eyes:

- I haven't slept in a while. Do you mind if I take a little nap?

- No problem. I won't say a word. I'm not playing any music.
At last Desmond felt relatively safe. All the days up to this point he'd been so tense his muscles were stiff. Now he should just sleep, but he needed to cheer Maria up, to keep in touch with Tochinov through Gia, when he wanted to know how Luka was doing, because he had a real fighter there. But the guy wasn't answering. Desmond sensed he was alive, but he couldn't connect to Luka's mind.

So it was Maria first. Desmond tuned into her, got into the girl's mind, made sure she was okay, switched to Gia, she responded immediately, as if she'd been waiting for him.

Gia

Hearing Desmond, Gia rushed upstairs to Mr. Egor, because only on him depended the fate of all four test subjects.

- What have you got? - she asked as she went, and heard in response a confused incoherence, and then Desmond woke up and explained:

- I get turned off and my mind gets confused. I need some sleep, so if I'm gone for a couple of hours, don't worry. We're on our way to Stamford, thanks to Tochinov, help has arrived. What have you got?

- I'm going to see if there's any news," Gia reported, picked up her walkie-talkie, dialed Tochinov. - But I doubt it. We're sleeping part-time here, too. The kidnappers gave us five days to ransom Maria, which adds up to two days. Tochinov put the equipment up for sale - so as not to arouse suspicion. So we have some time. But how we'll get Maria, I do not know.

Probably half a minute there were beeps from the radio, and then came a click, and hoarsely uttered:

- This is Tochinov.

- It's Gia...

- Come in.

The lock clicked, Gia entered the hallway, squinted at the bright light, and followed Mr. Yegor into the office, where they usually talked.

- Nothing," he complained, taking a heavy seat at the table, rubbing his eyes red from lack of sleep before he put on his glasses, moved the mouse - "woke up" the monitor turned to him, and his stern face in the diffused light became earthy. - But, if Maria was hidden so securely, then Manga will not get to her quickly.

- So there's no hope of us at least finding her yet? - Desmond's voice echoed in Gia's head, his frustration transmitted.

- We're doing everything we can," Gia answered aloud, so that Tochinov knew Desmond was in touch.

Mr. Egor, of course, understood, clicked his mouse, closing and opening some tabs - the screen was reflected in his glasses. Gia sat down, realizing she wouldn't wait for an invitation, and was about to give Desmond the all-clear when Tochinov's eyes widened, he huddled like a predator before jumping, and stared greedily at the screen.

Gia, too, became tense and asked, circling the table:

- What is it?

Tochinov waited until she approached, pointed the cursor at the icon on the taskbar, where a red square message was marked. Gia didn't immediately recognize the old-fashioned messenger ICQ.

- Wow, what a rarity! - she could not contain her emotions. - This messenger is older than me!

- I haven't changed my ICQ in twenty years, - the translator said it that way. - No one wrote on it for five years, and now! And an encrypted channel, too.

Tochinov clicked on the envelope, and a message from... Dr. Mime opened! Gia brought her face closer to the screen, though she could see everything at a distance, and read it:

- Remember the parable of the sparrow. Use the one who put you in the shit. And hurry up. There's less time than you think.

It was written in English, and Tochinov seemed to understand everything perfectly, but did not speak the language on principle.

- What is this parable? - A cheerful Desmond's voice sounded in his head. - And who could write it to him?

Gia repeated his question, especially as she was about to ask it herself. Tochinov spoke without taking his eyes off the screen:

- Once upon a time there was a sparrow. Severe frosts began, he had nowhere to hide, he fell down, stiffened, bid farewell to life. But a cow walked by and dropped a scone on him. The sparrow warmed up in the shit, stuck his head out and chirped with happiness. A cat walks by, notices the sparrow, pinches its head, pulls it out and eats it. The first moral of the fable: not everyone who poops on your head is your enemy. Second moral: Not everyone who pulled you out of the shit is your friend. Third morality: Once you're in the shit, sit back and don't chirp.

- And who you ... - began Gia, but Tochinov did not let her finish.

- Alliance overturned. More precisely, their exchange, which, like many in 2016, was nailed by Western partners, and the owner was forced to block my accounts. He, and the exchange, were under the Alliance.

- I don't see the connection to our situation," thought Desmond. - Some very confusing chain of logic. What does Tochinov think?

Gia relayed what she'd heard to Tochinov, and in response he squeezed his temples, sat silent for about a minute, and summarized:

- I don't get the connection. Strange logic.

- Who could have written this? - Gia asked, and Desmond lurched to wait for an answer.

- Anyone of old acquaintance. Or strangers. As you've learned by now, faceless people rarely know like-minded people, and that's dangerous.

- I hear Maria has a peculiar logical way of thinking," Desmond suggested. - Maybe we should talk to her, see what she can tell us.
- Go ahead, break the connection. Everything you heard, tell her, if you need clarification..." Gia again did not notice that she spoke her thoughts aloud.

- Yes, I understand, - thought Desmond and disconnected, Tochinov looked at her surprised, and had to explain: - He now tells everything to Maria, assuming that she will connect the parable with what is happening and will know what we need to do... One thing I do not understand: why would not someone who hides behind the avatar Mim, say straight out? Because they're afraid of information leaks?

- He's dead," Mr. Yegor muttered, stood up, unable to sit still, and sat down again. - A man who liked to do that.

- Satoshi? Or maybe not dead, but just hiding? - Gia suggested. - We have already talked about this. What do you know about his abilities, what if he's like Luca, able to stop his heart and mimic?

- He's been cut open. No man could survive that. But I'm not so sure anymore.

There was silence. Gia paced from corner to corner, biting her already naked fingernails, imagining Desmond talking to Maria now.

Maria

- Maria, come in, there's news! - Desmond's voice sounded in her head, and Maria smiled.

She was sitting facing the door, with her hand with the gun on her hip. Everything that had happened at Tochinov's residence she had learned from Desmond in a second.

Up to that moment she had felt useless, and suddenly there was information to analyze and draw conclusions! It took a fraction of a second to analyze, and Maria produced an answer she didn't quite like:

- It seems very likely that the sender of the message is convinced that my father will not be able to cope on his own, and offers to leak information about me to the Alliance, which is not interested in our death, but wants to get us and use us for their own purposes. As far as we know, that's exactly right: members of the Alliance have been trying to intercept us.

- Genius! Well done, you are invaluable! - Desmond rejoiced.

Maria knew whether she was upset or happy. Better to live than to die in agony. But to end up in the clutches of the Chinese was not a good prospect.

- "As far as I know," Desmond tried to reassure her, "the faceless have no trouble tracking the Alliance. It's easier to get close to them. It might give us a chance to get you out. But for now, no idea at all, and the risk of being tracked by MANGA agents.

Maria picked up on the unintended thought again that Desmond might leak the information to his foster father, who most likely worked for the Alliance and wouldn't miss an opportunity to make money.

- Yeah, you're right. They're not going to hurt me. They'll try to use..." For some reason I thought of Luke, who should kill Baruch and steal the carrier.

My brain began to analyze what the new knowledge would do if I got hold of that medium, and myriad options presented themselves, but Desmond brought her back down to earth.

- I don't know what's wrong with Luca, he didn't answer. I'm worried if he's alive. As soon as I find out, I'll contact Tochinov and get back to you and tell you what's decided.

- Hurry back, - thought Maria and thanked fate that she had not pulled the trigger when she was going to.

Luke

The black water felt like tar. Luka lay on his back and paddled with his hands, his legs not moving, taking care of his injured vertebrae. In his head revolved two thoughts: as soon as possible to get away from here, and where to get food, so that the body is not destroyed, and regenerated. He had to swim against the current: Luka knew that quickly they would find out where the wreckage was drifting and send divers there.

Desmond tried to break through a couple of times, but his body saves strength, and the connection was broken, managed to answer only that Luca was alive. Every now and then the field of vision was flooded with red letters, but he did not read, for all the same he would only get upset, lose his temper, and could not change anything.

Things were tight. Because of exhaustion and trauma Luke could not use his abilities and was an ordinary man, exhausted and wounded, who has no right to stop, because stopping could cost him his life.

According to his calculations, rescuers should have arrived by now, but they were in no hurry. The first helicopter rumbled in the distance as Luke sailed three hundred meters away from the crash site. The searchlight that cut through the blackness of the night and crawled across the sea like a fiery tornado gave him strength, and Luka buried himself with double fervor, overcoming the pain. Because if he was found, he would not be able to suspend his metabolism and sink to the bottom, nor would he be able to pretend he was dead.

The strange thing is that there is only one helicopter. In theory, they should have swarmed like flies to shit at the possible death of a member of a powerful clan, but no.

Luka swam and swam, hoping that he had chosen the right direction, and the island is in that direction, but the light of residential buildings did not appear, and it became clear that the rowing still a few miles, at least, and so far he certainly will not last. In addition, Luke sailed very slowly, and there were already three helicopters, searching the water with searchlights, and one helicopter was moving in his direction.

Closer and closer... Damn, and if he took off his vest and dove in, he would hardly be strong enough to swim out.
The roar grew stronger and stronger. Luke paddled as hard as he could, almost fainting from the pain. He did not turn around now, all his strength was thrown to swim as far away from the helicopters as possible, so he was surprised when through the growing roar he heard the splash of the waves. I couldn't believe my ears, turned around and was stunned to see a foamy surf line and an island. Not even an island, a piece of land with a strip of sandy shore and a pile of boulders licked by the sea, over which meager vegetation was seen, black against a background of silvered sky.

His feet touched the bottom, but Luke continued to load his arms, reaching the shoal, he crawled, rolled forward, driven by the rolling wave. Glancing back, he saw the outline of an approaching helicopter, the blinding beam of a searchlight crawling across the water. Feeling like a pinniped, Luka crawled to the stones, hid behind them, pulled up his legs and hid. He cringed as the beam slid over the stone above his head.

A voice came through the loudspeaker, in Spanish! Probably a call to the survivors to signal. Luke did not intend to find himself, so the helicopter circled around the island and went back to where he had come from.

Sighing convulsively, Luka pressed his forehead against cool stone, waited till the roar of motor died down, made himself calm as usual, but his organism did not obey: heart was beating, breath was disrupted, he felt dizzy. It seemed that the slightest physical effort - and Luke would die, so he lay still, listening to the soothing whisper of the waves, through which came the murmur of helicopters, flying to the crash site.

Now it was clear why they had been gone so long: The wreck had taken place in the Spanish territory of the Virgin Islands. At this point my thoughts ended. What remained was the ache in his body, the hunger, the thirst.

Luca didn't know how long he'd been like this. He seemed to have learned to distinguish shades of black and helicopter brands by the operation of the engines. A couple of times helicopters approached the island, but did not survey it because they were looking for survivors interested in rescue, not lurking saboteurs. If he had shot Baruch and the pilot, it would have been difficult now, but they were looking for corpses, not him. He had to catch his breath and do something.

By that time the tide had begun to come in, and the water was steadily creeping up to the rocks, hiding the sand. Luke pulled himself up on a rock with his hands to crawl away from the water, tried to push off, but realized he couldn't feel his legs. He squeezed his eyes shut. He cursed.

He'd been right not to read the notice that popped up. If he'd read that he was paralyzed, he would have died on the spot. Despair swept over him and he bit his hand until it hurt. He did not want to die! He had no right to die, he should be justly rewarded for what he had suffered!

He should at least contact Desmond, tell him the host had been extracted, let them pull him out.

It began to dawn, and in the morning grayness Desmond noticed a movement near his boots. He focused on them, and the gloomy thoughts receded.

Macro and micronutrients came to him in the form of small but very protein crabs, thinking that this carcass was definitely dead and needed a snack. They thought they would eat his mortal body for breakfast, but they went into his stomach themselves.

Now we must try not to frighten them away. Come here! Closer, closer still.

Luke lay down, relaxed, stretched out his arms so that the crabs crawled to them from his pants protected legs. It didn't take long to wait; as soon as they did, Luca snapped them with his fists. Half fell, half escaped, but the ones they caught should be enough.

Luca picked up the still moving crab, cracked open the shell like a box, gnawed into the insides, where there was a lot of delicious white meat with transparent plates crunching on his teeth. When, fighting the fatigue and gutting all the crabs, Luke began to bite into the claws, he was notified that the nutrient deficit had been filled and regeneration had begun.

A moment later Desmond's voice rang out:

- Luca, why the hell haven't you been in touch?

- I've been a little busy," Luke joked, wiggling his toes, "what a relief to know that you have legs and they work!

- And seriously...?

Luca mentally conveyed everything that had happened to him, finished the last of his crab legs, and squeezed his eyes shut while Desmond digested what he'd heard.

- That wasn't easy for you. But I'm glad it's resolved. To cut a long story short, here's the deal: they're taking me to Russia, to the same place as Gia. Ideally, I'd like to take you there as well, it would be easier from Spanish territory. And there's no way to get Maria out, so we'll try through the Alliance.

- And the spy would be in the Alliance, she could tell directly what they have going on, - Luka approved, thought hard about the place where he was, and realized that he had no idea even how big the island that sheltered him.

- Long story short, find out what this place is. As soon as I get the information from you, I'll tell Tochinov, and wait for visitors.

- The carrier of information is intact, - Luke reported. - I suppose so. I want to believe it, as well as the fact that everything is not in vain. And you'll find out the coordinates faster from the news of the helicopter crash.

- Hang in there, Luka. It won't be long now. And when the four of us meet, those who deprived us of the right to life, will shudder.

Luca smiled. It's only fair. And he would do anything to keep it that way.