Андрей Демидов - Natotevaal. War Chronicle

• Название: Natotevaal. War Chronicle
• Автор: Андрей Демидов
• Жанр: Научная Фантастика

This novel, written over ten years ago, not only did not lose its sharpness and relevance, but, on the contrary, is intended to be a significant milestone for all intelligent readers. For all those who are still interested in secrets of space and the dual and contradictory role of scientific progress in modern society, and feelings of the characters who undergo the hardest tests of courage, devotion to duty and humanity. Moreover, the novel "Chronicle of Natotevaal" has the potential to become a cult product for fans of science fiction – it is imbued with romance of heroism, great sense of humor and it is literally impossible to break away from reading it. But, nevertheless, the novel is anything but entertaining light reading: the author raises complex issues of science, politics, philosophy and moral before his heroes and the readers. In the tradition of the best works of fiction of the 20th century, Andrey Demidov reveals the unknown in his novel, something that might either happen tomorrow or will never happen at all. The author clearly highlights the difficulty of the way to complex, unknown future – it is a long and difficult path, with mistakes and defeats on the way; and the victory will not be easy, but endured, with a promise of new ways and new challenges. To many of the questions posed by Andrey Demidov in the novel "Chronicle of Natotevaal" humanity does not yet have sufficiently complete and convincing answers. Humanity will search for these answers as long as it exists; it is obliged to, if we want to go forward, not blindly. Searching through fiction in particular, and the book you now hold in your hands will become a reliable, but demanding assistant, and possibly – your spiritual guide to a modern, distorted world. Because “imagination – is just a part, although a significant one of what usually denotes reality. Ultimately, it is unknown to which of the two genres – reality or fiction our world belongs”.

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When it came to Whitehouse, they effortlessly tried to take the gun from his hand, but they did not succeed.

The astronaut was holding it tightly.

Muttering some curses they took out the clip, and dragged Whitehouse to the car…

He tried to oppose them, but it was a pathetic attempt. Astronaut found himself on a pile of smelly, oily rags, lying near von Conrad and Dybal.

A minute later Mackliff and Aydem were laid over them.

They covered the astronauts with pieces of parachute fabric, slammed the flimsy doors and the "Jeep" disappeared in the dark.

Digital coded telegram VHN 43

Confidential level: A

Yagd colonel!

I bring to your notice that on 28th Marr a.c., in the sector A17N44 a patrol boat discovered an enemy raider type "Tsvohgum" at high speed leaving the place of a crash of YAG-42.

Cruisers "Kang" and "Medel" caught up with it in the sector 033N09 and, after a brief fire contact, disabled it. The crew of the raider, however, managed to evacuate on the rescue bots, went through mine fields and hid in the Sixth belt of asteroids.

Before the raider collapsed in the process of self-destruction, an external examination has been done by the automated intelligence.

Here is an excerpt from the experts’ conclusion:

– This battle ship was made in 4700, at the Dyulta dockyards;

– The quantity and quality of weapons: corresponds with the "Tsvohgum" class;

– The number and power of propulsion: matches

– Quality of armor plating and the structure of the protective field: matches;

– The amount of external communication energy, sustainability of a central computer: matches;

– The configuration of the body: does not match; 4 powerful claws located along the aft, which were open at the time of inspection.

Presumably, the raider was used as a scanner cover for a ship of unknown functions and configuration. Based on the claws location, an unknown ship can be the size of 4.5 – 5 Ker, and have a shape of a flat, saucer-like aircraft.

– Residual megrazine fields: match;

– Other fields: anomalous perturbation of the gravitational field, laminar nature of disturbances.

Type of perturbations is linear in the direction of the "Terhoma” Swerts base.

The track of disturbances lies in two Tohs -back course of the captured raider.

All things mentioned above suggest that "Tsvohgum" came from the place of the YAG-42 crash, in which he was involved in some way, covering a new ship of the Swerts.

Being discovered by our ships, the raider tried to escape but failed. However, the craft it had been covering effortlessly teleported to the area of its bases.

We continue scanning the areas adjacent to A16N44.

Natote!

22-00. 28 Marr 4725.

From the beginnings of Natotevaal.

Executive Captain of the “Capture” operation,

Yagd Audun Eydlah.

***

Digital coded telegram AHO 101

Confidential level: A

To all military vessels of the 156 squadron of 1U Fleet.

I order:

– stop carrying out the "Capture" operation.

-set the minefields in the area limited by the navigational buoys VA333 and VA105.

-all ships must immediately return to the Stigmarkont Base.

-set analyzers of gravitational perturbations GA-22 at the escape route with compilers tuned to CP fleet.

– degree of alertness: 1A.

23-15. 28 Marr 4725.

From the beginnings of Natotevaal.

Commander of the 156th squadron,

Colonel Yagd Kokum Yohoud.

***

Digital coded telegram 00A

Confidential level: A

The Metropolis.

29 Marr 4725 f.b.N

The SS Coordinator of Natotevaal.

To: the Special Department Coordinator

Foreign Intelligence Board

Of Natotevaal Security Service.

An order:

– cancel the arrest of Colonel yagd Kahum Yohoud.

– stop the internal investigation regarding the third scan watch of Stigmarkont FB, return personal weapons and military awards to the personnel and restore their posts.

-create a special group for the collection and analysis of all the information regarding the YAG-42, endow the commander of the crew with the authorities of the second Commander of the 1U Fleet.

The Natotevaal SS Coordinator

Marshall commander

Yagd Tote Yashemgart

***

Digital Coded telegram VHV50

Confidential level: 3

To: Commander of the 156th squadron, 1U Fleet

Colonel Yagd Kokum Yohoud.

Yagd Colonel!

I bring to your notice that at 16-13 A-time the 211 patrol boat of patrol division, in sphere– sector V13N40, has detected a rescue boat from the transport ship "Loerda-44", with part of the crew on board.

Those who were alive have been sent to the "Tetvut Noor" raider hospital, the dead were buried according to the Fleet Charter.

The place of destruction of "Loerda-44" vehicle has significant gravitational perturbations of laminar character.

Natote!

33 Marr 4725.

From the beginnings of Natotevaal.

Commander of the patrol boat ‘Ropin-33’

211 PSD,

Lieutenant Okt Arber.

8.

Whitehouse did not know how much time he spent lying on a hard straw mat, he could not remember.

He lay there, staring at the intersection of crooked roof rafters: cracked, of dark wood, with constantly steaming smoke near the fire.

But he remembered well those horrible moments when his mouth was filled with mixtures of some bitter herbs, powdered muck, with a smell of rotten eggs, pieces of bark, plant stems, and even objects in a form of buttons. And he could not even move his arm.

He just lay there and cursed that ceiling of guava leaves, the acrid smoke, thin dry hands that smelled of the sun and treated him with nauseous drugs, took out pots of his plentiful shit, where the potions went right after he took them…

But one day he got up.

At once.

One morning he just jumped to his feet, like in ancient times, in the Boy Scout camp at the sound of a wake-up.

He was healthy.

He was ready to run a marathon, climb without hooks and anchors on the steep cliff, bent nails, dive without a scuba in underground lakes.

He stood there, smiling from ear to ear, looking around.

In a mud hut with narrow unglazed windows and low entrance, curtained with a motley cloth, he noticed the presence of another person – an old woman: gray-haired, wrinkled, but agile and quick in her movements with a weathered bony face.

For a while she studied the smiling giant, whose head reached the roof beams, with quiet, intelligent eyes, and then took from the shabby shelves, the only furniture in the room – a light gray suit with traces of coarse darning, hiking boots of the twenty-ninth size and threw it at the feet of Whitehouse.

– Who are you? Where am I? – The astronaut hesitantly stepped forward, but the old woman shook her head and pointed to the exit. Whitehouse picked up his things and climbed out, covering up the loins with his hand.

The first thing he saw was the navigator Alexander Dybal all covered with exotic trinkets, in short shorts made of overalls and a stunning straw hat. A thick cigar in his mouth, he was squinting from the smoke and lively chatting in Spanish with a boy of seven years, who like Whitehouse had totally no clothes on.

A cliff with several shades of rock caves hang over to their right; dense swaying jungle tangled with vines stretched ahead to the left, and behind a dozen huts, was a steep slope, that turned into a rocky plateau, which abruptly ended behind the stone pillars.

These basalt stelae resembled petrified giants, deformed by time.

The desert stretched behind them.

Dybal turned and the cigar nearly fell out from his mouth:

-Ronald damn it are you crawling about on your own?

They clapped their hands, and having walked around a rusty skeleton of a Ford truck, sat on a crumpled barrel of gasoline.

Dybal joyfully patted Whitehouse on the strong shoulder:

– Ronny, I'm so glad to see you safe and sound.

-So am I, Al.

-Can you imagine how lucky we are! So damn lucky! May all of us be that fortunate in the future – The navigator hit three times with his knuckle on the crown of his sombrero, spat over his left shoulder and grinned at the Indian boy, who was puzzled by these gestures:

-This is Magdalena, a village of Kichai Indians. There are two clans. Seven miles away is the Thierry village. Three small tribes live there. This is all that is left of the Kichai tribe: harsh climate change, the war with the Matilones tribe because of living space; the jungle that spreads from the Sintar Pass to the Canyon of Aborning Rocks.

There is one old man – Aguilar, a sort of an elder. We had a long conversation with him while you were resting. You know, many strange things are happening here. Some ghosts are flying in the sky, transparent and silent. Alien tracks in the jungle. They do not belong to Indians or Buenaventura soldiers. On the whole, they have their ears pricked up. Hunter Saurno had noticed our capsule before the disclosure of parachutes. What good eyesight, can you imagine? Hawk eyesight doubled by an eightfold magnification of Zeiss binoculars.

This shaggy boy, by the way, is one of the sons of Saurno. He also has three daughters. And what beauties! Oh, I almost forgot. Ponce! Ponce, bring me that thing, which you were boasting about yesterday.

The boy hesitated for a while, first glancing at his calloused fingers, then at the huge Whitehouse, and getting up, ran to the last hut.

Looking at the construction on the roof of the hut, Whitehouse was surprised to see a saucer of a home satellite dish.

Melodious female voices competing in a kindly squabble could be heard nearby. Two young girls carrying water in toxic-orange buckets came from behind the granite block plastered with moss. Having suddenly remembered that he was completely naked, Whitehouse started to dress frantically. Subtle gurgling of a spring somewhere behind the block, coolness of stones, twitter and trills of hooting birds in the jungle, short slender girls, merrily grinning Al – all this in addition to burning sighs of the Great Desert seemed surreal, almost fairy-tale. Girls, continuing to descend quickly, crossing over the scattered stones sonorously laughed, seeing Whitehouse get entangled in his pants and blush in embarrassment. The echo responded to them. Dybal waved to them, and making a conspiratorial face, whispered:

-Field notes: the higher girl is Saurno's second daughter, that hunter that drove us in the storm, and whose mother nursed us. Unfortunately, I do not know the Guajiro dialect, but they somehow connect you to her in their conversations. So…

Tying the shoelaces, Whitehouse with interest stared at the elastic hips of the girl, covered by embroidered with bright beads blue jeans:

-She is cute…

-Jesus, Ronald! Did you forget how you whined in the capsule: the wife, the children are the dearest for me, will I ever see them and all that stuff. What a Casanova. – Acidly said someone right above his ear. Only Mackliff could speak like that!

John Makliff, hands on his hips, stood there as if nothing had happened, dressed in overalls with metallic shimmer as if he had just got them from the McClellan indent depot. A rapid M16A1 fire rifle and a grenade launcher, stuffed with forest litter hung on his neck; two colored jays and a small animal, looking like a rabbit were fastened to his belt. He wore a uniform NASA cap, and scratched sunglasses on his nose.

Whitehouse tightly hugged the flight engineer. He showed displeasure but then laughed happily:

– Well, well, be careful, old chap, or you will break my bones again. I should have told Unsule not to finish your treatment totally, because you're too dangerous for other people – he nodded to the two Indians that folowed him out of the jungle, and they silently marched to the huts, carrying away a shot mountain goat on the pole.

We will have meat for dinner, with cassava juice and pepper topping; Dybal licked his lips. Everything is good. I am sorry for the guys though. Nice fellows they were. Dick, Colonel Eichberger… Salvation was so close and real: – sighed Whitehouse, suddenly stern.

All were silent for a while. The navigator was intently smoking a cigar, puffing sweet tobacco and scattering a few mosquitoes in the sun; Makliff was rummaging with a sprig in the rifle sight slot, which was plugged with brown clay. Somewhere the fire was kindled and a blue-gray wisp of smoke drifted above them. A dog barked. The other one responded. On the roof of the hut decorated with satellite, climbed an old Indian and began tying fresh guava leaves to the rafters instead of those that were torn by the wind.

Finally Makliff cleared the sight slot and said quietly:

– Yeah, I feel sorry for the guys, Ronni. But as for Aydem and Colonel, you were mistaken.

– Strike me dead! Are they alive? Where are they, I want to hug them!

– They are not here at the moment. The irony is, they got better before us and rushed into action.