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Authors: Andrei Livadny

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BOOK: The Island of Hope
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His life was simple and clear. He didn't feel any deprivation, and he didn't understand that he was desperately struggling for survival doing his utmost. He simply couldn't imagine any other existence; as for his father's tales about other worlds – they didn't find any confirmation in the gloomy labyrinths of the ships' cemetery.

Simeon lowered his head in such a manner that his helmet's visor now rested on his bent elbows. Loneliness and hopelessness overflowed his soul, coming to his throat as a hot, suffocating lump. There was no need to continue struggling, all had come to an abrupt end the moment when he'd tried to make Dad talk, looking with horror through the melted glass of his helmet as his face turned white.

"Sonny," another memory emerged from the depths of his memory, touching him deeply again, "remember this: one mustn't give up in this place. Each second is a struggle." He suddenly remembered that he had laughed at those words while Dad grew gloomy and his eyes dampened. "What a pity, sonny, that it seems normal to you." he whispered and turned away, sorrowful, which remained incomprehensible to Simeon. "I was unable to arrange a better destiny for you."

 

The crimson nebula almost sank below the horizon, and this part of the spheroid began immersing fast into the inky dark of the cosmic night. The cold stars' patterns became still more distinct. Human's passions were unknown to them. They remained impassive when observing the explosions and destruction of powerful spacecraft squadrons, and they were also indifferent now, when the enfeebled and exhausted lad at last got up and slowly plodded along the hacked surface of the steel planetoid lost in the depths of space, created by a wild madness of his ancestors whom he had never known. as he had never known their war.

The light column of the manometer indicating the pressure level in the sole oxygen bottle was inexorably descending to zero. He was now going at random, without making attempts to seek out some familiar reference points. The ambient landscape was uniform and was formed of an infinite conglomeration of various superstructures of ancient interstellar spaceships. Occasionally he crossed spots of bare, darkened armor or a real thicket of antennas among which were hidden concave bowls of radars and the sloping cupolas of control rooms.

Noticing that one of them was punctured, Simeon glanced into it through the shell-hole. His lantern's ray lit up some control panels, a partially broken a fissured survey screen and a row of seats. The last one in the row was occupied by a dead astronaut, turning to Simeon half-way. The corpse hadn't decayed due to the vacuum conditions.

A stroke of luck? He squeezed through the shell-hole and bent over the figure hanging from the seat. Alas, both oxygen bottles were empty. The pressure helmet had cracked after an impact against the console, the reservoirs had gotten crumpled, and all oxygen volatilized many years before, at the moment of catastrophe. Simeon sighed and turned back. No sooner had a hope gleamed than it was dashed. The sight of a dead man didn’t provoke any emotion in him: all spaceships forming the spheroid were filled with bodies floating far and wide. Before the death of Simeon's father the corpses had not presented for the lad any association with such notion as
life
, they had simply been part of the interior.

He left the control room and stopped for a while, examining wearily and indifferently an impulse rifle he'd picked up near a seat. The charge counter was fixed at mark
5
.
It was a good weapon, but too heavy and bulky for a boy of twelve. Simeon turned, with the intention of putting down his find, and at that moment a salvo of three vacuum machine-guns came sideways at him, a miraculous escape, having been protected by a ledge of superstructure immediately gone up in the squall of fire. Simeon recoiled under the protection of a cupola, having had time to notice the ugly outlines of a Planetary Scout.

He shouted. Angrily, hoarsely, not like a child at all. Any woman might have gone mad if she had looked through the transparent visor of his helmet – such inhuman torment could be read on the distorted features of the lad.

Awoken fury multiplied by a skill trained to reflex level produced their effect: the barrel of the heavy pulse gun traced a short half-circle and started energetically, spitting out five hollow charges – the whole magazine at the robot.

The plasma generators' turrets were smashed to smithereens, the platform swayed, the splinters of its destroyed armor flew in all directions, falling amidst a fragile forest of antennas and crushing under itself the location system of an ancient spaceship. Two machine-guns choked, only the third continued with mechanical regularity to spew bullet after bullet into the inflexible armor of a control room.

"Be sugared!" The lad swore through clenched teeth, picking up his
MG
.

The rest of the Scout sank into a silent light-blue flash. Simeon turned round and walked away. The momentary combat had made him concentrate, and his depression receded. He had to fight! The glance he took at the oxygen pressure indicator forced him to quicken his pace: the air mixture reserve would suffice for a couple of hours, and within this time limit he had to find a full reservoir. He came up to the nearest hatch, looked once more at the icy grapes of stars and got downwards with desperate determination.

An unpleasant surprise awaited him inside this ship. The store rooms he found proved to be empty. Obviously, someone had visited them long before his arrival – all useful items had been thoroughly cleaned out, and only trash remained that could be of no use to anybody. The sole thing he discovered was a burst tin of canned food unable to sustain the internal air pressure in the vacuum. The remainders of its contents were spread on its sides, so he put them in his pocket.

The empty store rooms filled his soul with anxiety.

He knew that robots never looted cargo holds, they were only interested in generators and such. True, Dad had constantly repeated that there must be other survivors somewhere around, but Simeon remained indifferent to the hypothesis. He simply didn't understand his father's aspirations. Firstly, they felt comfortable enough being alone together, secondly, the child didn't believe in the existence of "other people". However, Dad had never given up the idea – sometimes, overflowing with sad and strange excitement, he'd set out in search of something or somebody, but always returned empty-handed.

 

By the end of the second hour of his search, he had examined three spaceships and gotten into a fourth. A bit later, the lad penetrated a huge hall, absolutely empty at first sight. Then he felt the first symptoms of suffocation. He realized that the end was nearing, and the despair he had for such a long time kept in the depths of his consciousness, finally broke through. Simeon stopped, panic-stricken, took a breath, being afraid that it could be his last . Multicolored points flashed before his eyes. He staggered, but didn't fall. 'Something's abnormal in here,' he thought, a gleam of hope arising. He was examining the empty space around, but taking a step forward was beyond his possibility. After the first spasm of suffocation, horror fettered his arms and legs; Simeon remained motionless, paralyzed by the thought that he would choke. His whole body was trembling tremendously, he was eager for life, and his lungs desperately demanded air!

He passed his rough tongue over his parched lips. He only saw through the convex glass of helmet an inimical and viscous darkness with just a few lighter spots here and there.

Perhaps he was dominated by illusion? Simeon breathed out, then carefully breathed in. The next portion of air mixture was compliantly delivered by his oxygen set's mouthpiece, though the red indicator had already lit up.

He took an uncertain step towards the spots and noticed at the same instant that the whole room maintained some traces of a cruel fight: the farthest wall and part of the floor were covered with vestiges of frozen burns, the gray spots proved to be the battered bodies of battle machines.

Simeon had no idea of what the discovery would mean to him until he, by chance, set eyes on a pale spot of light. He looked closely at it, and all of a sudden it became clear to his dulled brain that he had been staring for several seconds at a wall where, near a half-opened hatch, dimly shone a rough luminous inscription:

 

END OF PRESSURIZED PREMISES

 

Pressurized premises! Simeon knew well what it was supposed to mean, and now it was for him like a miracle. Convulsively inhaling, he broke into a run.

There was no air beyond the hatch – only an airlock raked with fire with a robot body smashed to bits and two totally burnt corpses inside. Simeon couldn't believe his hopes had been dashed. Clearing the obstacle, he rushed on, losing control of his actions. Having run through a long enfilade of dilapidated halls bearing multiple traces of a violent fight between people and machines, he unexpectedly found himself at the dead end of the corridor.

5.

 

V
ivifying air, thick and fresh, was pouring into his chest torn by a sharp spasmodic pain.

Simeon opened his eyes. The airlock was full of respiratory mixture, the internal hatch wide open, a fragment of corridor brightly lit could be seen through it. The last thing kept by his memory was a feeling of surprise when the dead end transformed itself into an open hatch. He also remembered a suffocation spasm and how his fingers were tearing at the helmet locks at the very instant when the external hatch returned to its normal position.

For some time he had simply lain on the floor, enjoying the taste of the air, sweetish because of the abundance of oxygen. Strength was gradually returning to him, accompanied by anxiety which grew intolerable a minute later. After a few sobs, he made himself get up and, picking up his weapon, stepped into the dazzling radiance of the corridor.

The passage proved to be short, a dozen feet at most. Its walls and arching ceiling were glowing softly. At the opposite end, he saw another open hatch. Simeon stole toward it and, weak with nervousness, looked into the next room.

His worst conjectures came true. He recoiled from the hatch, but was left with no other way. The oxygen bottle was empty, and he had to replace it to go out of here. Bracing himself, Simeon peered out of the hatch again.

From the place where he was now standing, he could see the rest of the corridor dividing a huge room in two halves; its walls had become transparent, allowing him to clearly see
machines
behind them. They were functioning. Complex surges of light flashed across electronic units; a couple of screens gleamed, mechanical devices were busy executing a predetermined series of operations with monotonous regularity.

Clutching the
MG'
s handle in his white-knuckled fingers, Simeon stepped into the hatch and stopped, immobilized by some mystical horror. A few steps more, and he found himself face to face with a great number of machines which had been for him a synonym of the word
death
ever since he'd been born.

He barely stopped himself from shooting – to disturb this monster would have been crazy – and rushed forward, dashing along the corridor until he reached the next room.

It was quiet and flooded with light. Air was pouring in from some invisible sources. Hot with excitement, Simeon welcomed its cool flow. Along the walls of the rectangular hall there were tall racks stacked high with rows of books and disks of memory crystals. A strange machine with several screens towered in the middle; two seats were placed nearby. Simeon stole past the inactive machine and froze in the doorway of yet another hall, feeling that he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. It was for the first time in his life that he found himself in such an eerie and mysterious place.

The room differed dramatically from the two previous ones. Never before had he seen such an ordered collection of all kinds of things: a table, some soft chairs, a long couch, tall bookcases with transparent doors – all these didn't seem to be out of place here. On the contrary, they made the room look warm and cozy. But that was only a fleeting feeling which disappeared, crushed by his survival instincts; Simeon was still in a state of feverish excitement, and his mind was nothing else but a continuation of the weapon he was squeezing in his hand.

While he was examining the perimeter of the walls and the strange images in dark frames hanging on them, he sensed a motion in the middle of the room.

He swiftly turned round, simultaneously stepping back and raising his
MG
, but his finger froze on the trigger.

A strange being, woven of light, smile and — and fright, stood by the low couch. At a glance, Simeon knew that he was looking at a
human being
.

The discovery shocked him deep inside. Completely stunned, he studied the small figure, blond curly hair dropping to its shoulders and frightened blue eyes. A thin nose with trembling nostrils and a mouth flashing a helpless smile made the face even more perfect. The creature was staring into the black eye of the barrel, as frozen as he was himself.

"Who are you?" the voice- husky with emotion broke the thick silence.

"I'm Simeon," he answered equally hoarsely after a pause, feeling unsure of his answer.

Neither of them had recovered from the shock yet, and they were only able to stand and look each other; Simeon watchful, the creature frightened and amazed.

"My name is Yanna." She took an uncertain step towards Simeon and, all of a sudden, stretched out her little hand with pale trembling fingers.

His heart clenched. He knew this gesture very well, as that's how he used to greet his father. To accept it would have meant to completely rely upon a person, to become unarmed and helpless. But this was a
human
standing in front of him! Yanna's face was neither malicious nor menacing. Being of his height, she had an open and friendly manner, offering her hand.

Slowly he lowered the gun. He pulled off his glove and cautiously touched her hand. Yanna flinched, then squeezed his palm.

 

 

The chaos of steel labyrinths shrank back. There was another human being in this world, and Simeon felt her hand's warmth.

 

 

Yanna remained still. Then she looked up. She must have noticed the change in him as she asked, "What's the matter? Why are you crying?"

If he could answer the question. Simeon was only a boy of twelve deprived of his father and lost among the ruins of ancient spaceships. He had to break down some time or other, and now it had happened. His legs gave; he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Tears, hot and bitter, streamed down his cheeks. Frightened, Yanna released his hand; he was sobbing, realizing how much time he had spent without sleep, without a meal, realizing the importance of this human warmth that he'd believed he'd lost forever.

Tears were hot on his face but he wasn't ashamed of them; on the contrary, he felt an incredible relief, believing wholeheartedly in Yanna's existence.

A warm palm softly touched his cheek. Simeon opened his eyes, and she pulled back her hand, unsure whether to ask him another question. Something in her appearance put Simeon on his guard. "Why don’t you have a weapon?" he blurted out.

"A weapon?" Yanna repeated. A surprised smile flitted across her face. "What would I want with it? Don't you know that women don't carry arms?"

Simeon thought he'd heard it wrong. "A woman?" his eyes lit up with joy. "So, you are my Mom, then?"

Yanna froze. She must have finally worked out the meaning of his words as she shook her head and said, "No, I cannot be your Mother. I am a woman. A girl, rather, but you must be older than I am. How old are you?"

"Twelve," he replied mechanically, unable to resist disappointment. Father had always said that his mother was a
woman
. He looked up at her, "Are there any other women apart from Mom?"

"I don't know." Yanna answered, puzzled. The idea of parenthood was devoid of any meaning for her. Simeon's arrival had bewildered the ten-year-old girl who had long ago come to the conclusion that people existed only in books and on memory crystals, even though Andor didn't agree with her and told her stories about forty-seven worlds colonized by men.

"Have you ever seen people?" she blurted out.

A pained expression crossed the boy's gaunt face. "I used to have a father," he said in a low voice.

Yanna felt a pang of pity. She'd hurt him, though no one had taught the girl to recognize such things. Overcoming timidity, she sat down beside him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked the first question that crossed her mind.

"Eh?" Simeon hadn't yet recovered from the shock and didn't catch what she said while thinking of his father.

"Are you... hungry?" Yanna repeated, unsure.

Seeing her so timid, Simeon put his hand into his pocket. He took out the burst tin of canned food – his sole nutrition reserve for the moment – and held it out to Yanna. "Take this."

The girl cautiously took the deformed tin, its sides still caked with some dark substance. She turned it round in her hands, sniffed it and pulled a face, unable to hide her surprise. "You really eat that?"

She seemed stunned, ready to burst into tears or to burst out laughing.

Simeon glanced at her gloomily and nodded. He found absolutely nothing amusing or strange therein. She attempted to smile. "Come with me, I'll make something for you."

He didn't object. The hunger pangs had already subsided; the cramps in his stomach weren't so bad anymore. Still, the mention of food made him feel weak.

Yanna took him by the hand and guided him to the exit. Simeon's whole being focused on the warm and slightly damp palm of the girl. He had never thought that it felt so good to sense life.

A short corridor led them to a landing with five closed hatches in its walls. An air generator rustled overhead, releasing a cool, life-bearing jet of oxygen.

The room they entered was the smallest of all, but still far more spacious than his shack. It could comfortably seat, say, five persons.

Simeon sat down in a cozy armchair by an oval table and looked round with curiosity. Apart from the familiar shape of a nuclear thermostat, he noticed a number of other devices which remained alien to him.

In a few practiced motions, Simeon unzipped his sealed light suit and stepped out of it, leaving it in a heap on the floor. He watched the girl manipulate a shiny machine. Two cylinders were connected by means of a set of hoses to a power generator and a transparent sphere on the base of which he read:

 

INLET CHAMBER OF FOOD PRODUCTS SYNTHESIZER

OPERATE ONLY WHEN SHELL CLOSED!

 

Finally the machine's bowels began to murmur. Simeon watched anxiously as lights flashed on the control console, but Yanna paid no attention to them. She was busy pressing buttons, putting out plates, cutting something, all the while furtively glancing at him until he felt dizzy with the abundance of all kinds of food and the unusual odors floating in the room.

Yanna sat down to table and took a fork. She barely touched her food while Simeon was helping himself. She couldn't take her eyes off his gaunt face. He was taller and evidently stronger than herself. His skin had a strange bronze hue. Yanna didn't know this was common space tan.

“Where are you from?” she couldn't help asking.

Simeon’s hand stopped in mid-air.
Where are you from
, she'd said. He realized he couldn't answer her question.

Yanna brushed off a strand of blond hair and said, “You came in through the main airlock. But I don’t know what’s behind it. I’ve never left this place.”

Simeon nearly dropped his fork.

“You know... I cannot.” Yanna struggled to find the right words. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she was smiling at the same time.

 

...

 

Those who are happy never notice time go by. Neither he nor she could name what was going on in their souls. Time had stopped. They enjoyed the very possibility of seeing and speaking to each other which was already a source of incredible joy for both after the loneliness they had experienced, even though the girl hadn’t known one hundredth of the hardships that comprised his life. They would speak, sometimes struggling to understand each other, as though they were two beings from different worlds.

Any other time Simeon would have given it some thought, but now he felt as if the stern world of the steel sphere was distancing, rapidly becoming unreal.

Yanna rose from the table and began removing the plates when the hatch rustled open behind the boy's back.

He felt electrocuted. Simeon jumped to his feet, swinging round, and froze. An icy horror filled his heart.

A robot stood in the doorway.

It resembled a man so much it sent shivers down your spine, but the boy could not be fooled by the likeness – this was a
machine
.

He reached for his gun but his fingers closed around thin air. He'd left his weapon in the room where he'd seen Yanna first. Thousands of thoughts flashed through his mind and disappeared, soaked up by his brain, leaving only one,

'They got me. The weapon! I left it behind. So stupid. This is death. I must kill. KILL!'

"Morning, Andor!" Yanna's voice cut through his thoughts. She continued to remove dishes.

"Morning, Yanna," the robot answered in a low pleasant voice. His lips fashioned of metal and plastic moved in unison with his words. He turned to the boy. "Morning, sir! May I ask your na-"

Simeon lunged onto him.

He vaulted, his feet kicking the lifeless face. The machine tumbled to the floor. He punched the steel breast with such force that he his knuckles exploded with pain. His other hand closed around whatever passed for the robot's throat, trying to strangle him.

"Run!" he shouted desperately, hoping that Yanna would understand his plan and escape while he was pinning the robot to the floor.

BOOK: The Island of Hope
2.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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