Time returned to its normal rate of movement, the cave became an archway, the moon became a lightbulb, and the land of Oz on Pandora turned back into an incomprehensible city on an obscure planet that was even more incomprehensible than Pandora…
Maxim stood there, resting, with his itching hands lowered. The leader with the mustache was laboriously crawling around at his feet, and blood was flowing from Maxim’s wounded shoulder. Then Rada took him by the hand and sobbed as she ran his palm across her own wet face. He looked around. The bodies were scattered about like sacks on the concrete floor. He instinctively counted them—six, including the leader—and thought that two of them had gotten away. Rada’s touch felt pleasurable beyond words, and he knew he had acted as he had to act, and done what he had to do—not a jot more and not a jot less. So let the ones who had managed to get away, get away. He didn’t pursue them, although he could have caught up with them—even now he could hear the panic-stricken clattering of their shoes at the end of the tunnel. As for those who had not managed to get away, they were lying here, and some of them would die, and some of them were already dead, and now he realized that they were men after all, and not spotted monkeys or armored wolves, although their breath was rank smelling, their touches were foul, and their intentions were predatory and hideous. Nonetheless, he had a certain feeling of regret and sensed a loss, as if he had forfeited some kind of chastity, as if he had lost a small, integral part of the soul of the previous Maxim, and he knew that the previous Maxim had disappeared forever, and that gave him a slightly bitter feeling, which roused an unfamiliar kind of pride in him.
“Let’s go, Maxim,” Rada told him in a quiet voice.
And he docilely followed her.
“You Let Him Get Away…”
“In short, you let him get away.”
“There was nothing I could have done. You know yourself the way things happen—”
“Damn it, Fank! You didn’t even have to do anything. It would have been enough just to take a driver with you.”
“I know it’s my fault. But who could have expected—”
“That’s enough about that. What measures have you taken?”
“As soon as they let me go, I called Megu. Megu doesn’t know anything. If he comes back, Megu will inform me immediately. Beyond that, I’ve put all the insane asylums under observation. He can’t get very far, he simply won’t be allowed to, he sticks out like a sore thumb. He doesn’t have any documents. I’ve given instructions that I must be informed about everyone who is detained without documents. He doesn’t have any chance of hiding, even if he wants to. In my opinion, it’s a matter of two or three days… A simple matter.”
“Simple… What could have been simpler: get into a car, drive to the telecenter, and bring a man here. But you couldn’t even manage that.”
“I’m sorry. But a set of circumstances like that—”
“I told you, no more about the circumstances. Is he really like a madman?”
“It’s hard to say… He’s like a savage more than anything, I’d say. Like a well-washed and well-groomed Highlander. But I can easily imagine a situation in which he would appear to be insane. And then there’s that perpetual idiotic smile, and that cretinous babbling instead of normal speech. And in general he’s some kind of simpleton.”
“I see. I approve of the measures you’ve taken. But there’s one more thing, Fank. Get in touch with the underground.”
“What?”
“If you don’t find him in the next few days, he’s bound to turn up in the underground.”
“I don’t understand what a savage would be doing in the underground.”
“There are plenty of savages in the underground. And don’t ask stupid questions, just do as I tell you. If you let him get away again, I’ll fire you.”
“I won’t let him get away a second time.”
“I’m glad for your sake… What else?”
“A curious rumor about Blister.”
“About Blister? What, exactly?”
“If you don’t mind, Wanderer… If you’ll permit me, I’d prefer to whisper it in your ear…”
PART II
THE GUARDSMAN
5
When he had completed the briefing, Cornet Chachu gave the following instruction: “Corporal Gaal, remain behind. The others are dismissed.”
After the other section commanders had filed out, each with his nose to the nape of the man in front, the cornet examined Gai for a while, swaying on his stool and whistling the old soldier’s song “Cool It, Mama.” Mr. Cornet Chachu was nothing at all like Mr. Cornet To’ot; he was stocky and swarthy, he had a large bald patch, and he was much older than To’ot. In the recent past he had been an active duty officer, a tankman, and had been involved in eight coastal incidents; he held the Fiery Cross and three badges “for fury under fire.” He had told them about his fantastic duel with a white submarine, when his tank took a direct hit and caught fire but he carried on firing until he passed out from his terrible burns; they said he didn’t have a single patch of his own skin anywhere on his body, nothing but transplants from other men, and he had three fingers missing on his left hand. He was direct and coarse, like a genuine old war dog, and unlike the reticent Cornet To’ot, he never felt it necessary to conceal his mood from either his subordinates or his superiors. If he was in a jolly mood, the entire brigade knew that Cornet Chachu was in a jolly mood today, but if he was in a sour mood and whistling “Cool It, Mama”…
Looking into his eyes with a regulation glance, Gai felt despair at the thought that in some manner as yet unknown he had managed to anger and upset this remarkable man. He hastily ran through his memories of his own actions and the actions of the guardsmen in his section. But he couldn’t recall anything that hadn’t already been brushed aside with a casual gesture of that hand with three fingers missing and the hoarse, testy phrase “All right then, this is the Guards, after all. To hell with it.”
The cornet stopped whistling and swaying on his chair. “I don’t like idle talk and scribble, Corporal,” he declared. “Either you recommend the candidate Sim or you don’t recommend him. So which is it?”
“Right you are, sir, I recommend him.”
“Then what am I to make of these scraps of paper?” The cornet extracted two folded sheets of paper from his breast pocket with an abrupt, impatient movement and unfolded them on the desk, holding them down with his mutilated hand. “I read, ‘I recommend the aforementioned Mak Sim as a loyal and capable…’ weeell, and then there’s all sorts of idle blather… ‘to be confirmed in the exalted station of a candidate private in the Battle Guards.’ And here is your second little screed, Corporaclass="underline" ‘In connection with the above-mentioned, I consider it my duty to draw the attention of the command to the need for a thorough review of the previous life of the designated candidate for the rank of private in the Battle Guards, M. Sim.’ Massaraksh! What exactly do you really want, Corporal?”