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I don't remember why I went to the Far Search - it was too long ago. Probably just didn't want to end up under a fence like my father, or on a black organ dealer's desk like my sister. The state gave you a chance, paid for your education and maintenance until the end of your days, even paid your salary. In return, you had to serve - again, until the end of your days.

We are marauders, rats, thieves looking for fresh solutions to save the state rushing into the abyss with a roar. We just do what we're paid to do. And certainly not going to save some kind of world out there. Rather, from the point of view of some, it is time to save the world from us. All worlds, including those where we have not yet stuck our curious nose - hello to Conquista. 

Rob, are you ready? Fay called from the remote control. 

I nodded and pulled on my helmet. He ran, accelerating, towards the flaring blue-white glow. 

Black box III link Ogre DP. 

16.VI.30 

Commander Rob A. entry 1/6

Again the taste of blood in the mouth, the wind, the chilling sweaty back of the head, the headache. Breakdown always feels like a hangover. Hangover of the universe. 

This is where they take us - helpless, disoriented, blind. This is even more ironic, given that our link is intelligence. Good scouts, you will not say anything.

- In cover! Conquest for four hours! I shouted as soon as the air again agreed to circulate in the lungs.

We do not know if it is possible to breathe here, if the environment is safe, and if there is a risk of catching some incurable infection. But according to statistics, from diseases, lung damage and asphyxia, Search operatives die not so often.

“The building is two hours, one hundred meters!” - The operatives obediently turned to the right and, judging by the clatter, went on the run. 

Probably, these are the very immutable laws of the universe - a person comes into the world weak and defenseless, vulnerable, despite fifteen kilograms of armor and ammunition. Our trinity now has only floating circles before their eyes and a voice in the earpiece, breaking through the ringing. 

“Fey, wall-breaker in three seconds!”

They understand less than me, they don't understand anything. But they listen unquestioningly. Since we opposed all the tests of the tricky universe with an unknown instinct, intuition, an unmistakable choice of the only right decision, while you are weak and blind. An inexplicable property of the human psyche that occurs too often to dismiss it, but also too rare to let only those who possess it into the Search. 

That's why we are needed. Tactical-analysts, and-people who bear the title of flight commanders only formally. What is the point of commanding a combat cell, which knows better than you how and when to act?

Ahead gasped a quiet explosion, debris fell, and we, judging by the changed sound around us, ran into the room. Spacious, as our footsteps echoed off the walls, concrete, judging by the reverb. I was taught to recognize such things. 

It smelled of dampness, cooled metal and a little bit of coal. Foundry? 

- Stairs at ten o'clock. A second bang came from behind - Fey blocked the passage, metal steps hummed under heavy boots. 

A special group of the Long-Range Search knows everything and can handle everything. You just need to give her the opportunity to gain time. Sometimes it seemed to me that the cunning mechanisms of evolution deliberately led us to the fact that one day all our toys would be useless, we would fall out of the Breakdown into a brave new world, weak as newborn kittens ... And we would survive only relying on a blind “maybe”. It was as if man's destiny was indeed to travel where no rocket could reach. 

“F-fei, two flights down the door—pull yourself in!” I choked out, panting. Breathing was no longer enough.

Another ten seconds of the race... it was still not safe here, but the risk of an immediate annihilation of the squad was gone. We collapsed to the floor, out of breath. Sight began to gradually return, and I almost got rid of the desire to spit blood. 

I lay staring at the low gray ceiling above my head, slowly coming to my senses, and my operatives were already sitting, pricking stimulants - preparing either for a battle, or for another race. 

I inherited Fey and Frost from the old captain, Lucky Hyde. The legendary trio, welded together by a decade of service together, is a living refutation of the stereotype about the fragility of the soldier of the Search. Not a single loss in ten years, not a single serious injury. I saw an interview with Lucky, the real commander of the third link - he seemed to live this adventure on the pages of an exciting adventure novel, laughing at the dangers! What hellish work of a brilliant tactician was behind the seeming ease, I found out only when I was in the link in practice. 

As well as the speed with which sometimes there comes a moment when even Satan is unable to provide the remnants of luck. Lucky Hyde remained on the other side, covering the departure of the link. Froze and I returned home, but Hyde stayed, and for that, it seems, Fey never completely forgave me. I have already said that in addition to deaths from cold, unknown diseases and wild animals, there was another reason for the death of groups, which, due to the prescription of clashes, became almost natural? 

Conquest. Savages, worshiping their technology, setting up each launch of a breakdown as a mystical ritual - how did they manage to compete and win against the much better trained and equipped Search operatives? 

Shaking my head, I sat up. Until now, everything swam and swayed before my eyes. 

So, about the Conquest. The answer is simple. Number. Our most advanced technology allows only three operatives to seep through the eye of a breakdown, then wild dispersion and instability begin. While the savages, sacrificing people, easily throw five or six fighters into the new world, stabilize the transition - and stabilize for several days. And six savages with Kalashnikovs against three operatives with the best equipment? It is still unknown who will win. Besides…

"Commander, step aside!" Frost barked, knocking me off my feet.

Ruby targeting beams flitted through the dusty air of our temporary base, easily visible on the dirty sectional glass. 

I gritted my teeth, extinguishing the automatic state of stress. It's not time yet, we've just arrived.

The small room where our group dug in served as either a warehouse or an unloading point for the locals. True, the stairs here are terrible, how did they manage to drag so many bags of cement and sand here? It's illogical. However, knowing people... 

I looked around the room again - because of the dirty windows it would be hard to see us, and the bags on pallets could well serve as shelter ... If, of course, we accept the fight. The second exit from here could not be found. 

How do they figure us out so fast? I muttered to the low ceiling. 

Yes, there are a couple of ideas about this. Fey, doug!

- Forty seconds!

“Y-your… We don’t have forty seconds!”

- What will I do? the Vietnamese snapped. - I'll try with the power of thought ?!

— Elche!

“Idiot, where will it take us?! Twenty seconds to arc!

They will try to take us alive, that's a fact. Conquista needs technologies, plans, schemes - trophies. And they know how to untie tongues.

But damn it, how did they figure us out so quickly?

- Ten seconds!

The answer to the girl was the sound of glass and the sharply heavier air.

- Hey, argon! Frost snapped. - no time!

And I was silent - you can’t really scream from under the mask. Habit, learning. Of course, the inert gas that the Conquista fighters launched had little in common with real argon - it slowed down, put to sleep in the first place. But what is much worse...

“…Two…One…Break!” came a voice from the earpiece. The girl pressed the tight, ribbed button on the remote control.

And nothing happened.

Something whistled softly in the air, and the girl began to slowly roll to one side, staring in amazement from under the mask. The plumage of a dart protruded from her neck.

- Stupid!

Not risking climbing, we crossed the room in a plastunsky manner. Frost took the remote control from the girl's fingers and pressed the button. In vain.

And I counted the seconds. The supply of air in the mask is three minutes, the duration of the gas is two. Conquista will not throw fighters into a gassed room ...

The far window shattered into pieces.

… Unless they have their own masks. Or rather, where did they get theirs from, the savages? Trophy, only trophy.

— Fros!

- I don't like it.

Second window. Third. Conquista will not take risks by launching one fighter at a time. They will be in the room all at once to overwhelm us with numbers.

The count went by seconds.

— Fros!

“Yes, this one ...” a short whistle whistled again, and I was left alone.

A trained fighter activates a bolter in a third of a second, which means ...

Disregarding the instructions, the screaming sense of self-preservation, I got to my feet and dashed to the side of both unconscious operatives. I still have time, I still have time! The world around is frozen. Oxygen in the mask for ten seconds, paralyzing dart flies a quarter of a second, acts after one tenth. Time wagon. 

Elche ended up in Fey's breast pocket, he didn't even need to get it out - just a big button. In a stressful state, I could catch a projectile flying in my direction, dodge any attack, but the inertia of the body was more difficult to defeat.

Either press the button or dodge. There were three snipers, the air whistled again, and I switched off, praying in the last moments that I had time, managed to press! 

And vanished into oblivion.

Black box III link Ogre DP.

16.VI.30

Commander Rob A. entry 2/6