. He meant the day of the decade. - The eighth, - said Matti. Natasha blushed and started looking into everyone's eyes in succession. - Somehow Rybkin has taken long to come, - said Sergey, pouring coffee for himself. - Yes, that's right, - Pen'kov stated profoundly. - And the hour is a late one, - Matti added. - The night is drawing close, yet Rybkin's missing still... - Ah! - said Sergey and lifted his finger. The partition door clinked in the lobby. - It's him! - Sergey announced in solemn whisper. - You are silly, so silly, - said Natasha and laughed timidly. - Leave Natashen'ka alone, - Sergey insisted. - Don't you dare laugh at her. - Just wait till he comes, he will be laughing himself, - said Pen'kov. There was a knock on the door of the dining room. Sergey, Matti and Pen'kov simultaneously placed their fingers on their lips and gave Natasha a significant glance. - Well, what is it with you? - Natasha whispered. - Please, somebody respond... Matti, Sergey and Pen'kov shook their heads in unison. - Come in! - Natasha said in despair. Rybkin walked in, accurately dressed and sharp as always, in clean overalls, a snow-white shirt with a turn-down collar, shaven beyond reproach. His face, like all Pathfinders, created a strange impression: cheek-bones and forehead with pitch black sunburn, white spots around the eyes and the lower portion of the face, where the skin was covered by the goggles and the oxygen mask. - May I? - he said in a low voice. He always spoke in a low voice. - Sit down, Felix, - Natasha invited him. - Will you have supper? - Matti asked. - No, thank you, - said Rybkin. - Rather a cup of coffee. - Somehow you were late today, - said the straightforward Pen'kov, pouring him the coffee. Sergey pulled a ghastly face, and Matti kicked Pen'kov under the table. Rybkin calmly accepted the coffee. - I came half an hour ago, - he said, - and took a stroll around the house. I see, you have also been visited by the leech. - Today we had a battle here, - said Natasha. - Yes, - said Rybkin. - I saw the gash in the pavilion. - Our carabines suffer from the bending of the barrel, - explained Matti. Rybkin laughed. He had small even white teeth. - And have you ever had a chance to shoot at least one leech? - Sergey asked. - Most likely, no, - said Felix. - They are really hard to shoot. - That much I know myself, - Pen'kov muttered. Natasha, with her eyes to the table, was crumbing the bread. - Today one was shot in Azizbekov's sector, - Rybkin said. - You serious? - Pen'kov was amazed. - By whom? Rybkin laughed again. - No one, in fact, - he said. He quickly glanced at Natasha. - A funny thing - the excavator's arm came loose and squashed it. Perhaps someone had shot the cord. - Now that is a shot, - said Sergey. - We can do that too, - Matti said. - Whilst running, thirty paces away straight into the light above the door. - You know, guys, - Sergey said, - I get the impression that on Mars all carabines suffer from the bending of the barrel. - No, - Felix said. - Afterwards they discovered, that Azizbekov's leech had taken six bullets. - Indeed there will be a hunt soon, - Pen'kov said, - and then we'll get them in the neck. - And I am not the least happy about this hunt, - said Matti. - Since the beginning of time we had it like that: bang-shoot-bang, destroy all living creatures, and then start setting up sanctuaries. - What are you on about? - said Sergey. - They are a nuisance. - Indeed everything is a nuisance to us, - said Matti. - Lack of oxygen is a nuisance, excess oxygen - a nuisance, too many forests - a nuisance, cut it down... Who are we, after all, that everything is a nuisance to us? - Was the salad that bad? - Pen'kov said pensively. - But you were the one who made it... - Now, now, don't get caught Pen'kov, - Sergey said. - He simply wants to start a general conversation. To get Natasha talking. Felix looked at Sergey with attention. He had large bright eyes and seldom blinked. Matti laughed. - What if, perhaps, they are not in our way, - he said, - but we are in theirs. - Huh? - Pen'kov grouched. - I am offering a working hypothesis, - said Matti. - The flying leeches are the indigenous intelligent inhabitants of Mars, regardless of being at a low developmental stage still. We occupied the regions, where water exists and they are inclined to expel us. Pen'kov looked at him with astonishment. - Well, then, - he said, - Possibly. - Everything supports my hypothesis, - Matti went on. - They live in underground cities. They always attack from the right - because it's their taboo. And... umm... they always collect their wounded... - Well, brother... - Pen'kov said with disappointment. - Felix, - said Sergey, - demolish this elegant speculation. Felix said: - Such a hypothesis had already been advanced. (Matti raised his eyebrows in astonishment). Long ago. Before the first leech had been killed. Nowadays more fascinating hypotheses are being advanced. - Well? - asked Pen'kov. - To date, no one had explained, why leeches attack people. One cannot exclude the possibility, that this is a very ancient habit. A thought suggests itself, what if a race of erect bipeds, in fact, inhabits Mars. - Inhabit it does, - said Sergey. - Inhabits it for thirty years already. Felix smiled politely. - One can hope, that the leeches will direct us to that race. For a while, everyone stayed quiet. Matti looked at Felix with envy. He always envied people, who are faced with such tasks. To track the flying leeches - a task captivating in itself, but when such a mission is added to it... ...Matti examined, in his head, all interesting tasks he had to solve by himself during the last five years. The most interesting one was the construction of a discreet hunter-detective based on chemostaders. The patrol camera would become a giant inquisitive eye, detecting the appearance and movement of "extraneous" light spots in the night sky. Sergey was running across the dunes, flashing his torch from time to time, and the camera would, silently and creepily, reverse behind him, watching over his every step... "Oh well, - Matti thought, - that was interesting, too." Sergey suddenly said with disdain: - How much do we not know still! (Pen'kov stopped sipping the coffee noisily from his cup and looked at him.) And how strongly do resist the endeavours to know! Day by day, decade after decade we walk, in dreary trivialities up to our necks... Messing with electronics, plotting graphs, writing petty articles, reports... Disgusting! - He grabbed his cheeks and rubbed his face with force. - Right outside the perimeter, an absolutely unfamiliar, foreign world has stretched for thousands of kilometres. And it's so tempting to give this all up, and walk on, without direction, across the desert, to look for real things... Shame on us, guys. This is a joke and a shame, to sit on Mars and see nothing for twenty four hours each day, except blink's registrogrammes and Pen'kov's sad physiognomy... Pen'kov said mildly: - Why don't you give it all up, Serega. And off you go. Ask the builders to take you in. Or, even, join Felix. - He turned to Felix. - Will you take him, no? Felix shrugged his shoulders. - Oh no, Pen'kov, mate, this won't help. - Sergey, tight-lipped, waved his light fringe. - One must be able to do something. And what can I do? Fix blinks... Count to two and integrate on minor computers. I can drive the crawler, but not even professionally... What else am I good at? - You can whine professionally, - said Matti. He felt awkward for Sergey in front of Felix. - I am not whining. I am angry. How self-satisfied and self-limited we are! Just where does it come from? Why is it established, that to find a spot for an observatory is more significant than to cross the planet down the meridian, from pole to pole? Why is it more significant to search for oil, than for mysteries? What - don't we have enough oil? - What - don't you have enough mysteries? - said Matti. - I wish you'd sit down and solve a constrained T-problem... - But I don't want to solve it at all! It is boring to solve it, my poor little Matti! Boring! I am a healthy, robust bloke, I bend iron nails with my fingers... Why must I peer over paper? He stopped talking. The silence was heavy, and Matti thought it'd help to change the topic, but had no idea how. Natasha said: - I don't really agree with Serezhka, but this is true - we have become somewhat bogged down in the routine. And it gets so frustrating sometimes... Ok, let it not be us, let someone finally get to work on Mars as a new territory. After all, this isn't an island, not even a continent - terra incognita, - this is indeed a planet! And we sit here quietly for thirty years and timidly cling to water and cosmodromes. And there are so few of us, it's ridiculous. It is, indeed, annoying. Somewhere in the directorate a grey-maned senior with a wartime past probably sits and keeps grumbling: "Too early, too early". Having heard the word "early", Pen'kov shivered and looked at his watch. - Oh, far out, - he muttered, standing up from the table. - I have already sat through two stars here with you. - Here he looked at Natasha, opened his mouth and hastily sat down again. His face was so amusing, that everyone, even Sergey, laughed out loud. Matti jumped up and went to the window. - And what a night it is! - he said. - The image quality tonight will probably astonish you. - He glanced at Natasha across the shoulder. Felix livened up. - Natasha, - he said. - If you want, I can stand guard whilst you will be working. - But how will you... Don't you need to go soon... - Natasha blushed. - I meant to say, that usually you leave us around this time... - What's the use of guarding us? - said Matti. - I can stand guard myself. My camera has been wrecked anyway. - I'll go get dressed then, - said Pen'kov. - Alright then, - Natasha gave in. - As an amendment to my order from seven pm tonight. Pen'kov left already. Sergey also got up and without looking at anyone, walked out. Matti started clearing the table. - Let me help you, - Felix offered and accurately rolled up his sleeves. - What's there to help with, - objected Matti. - Five cups, five plates... He looked at Felix and stopped short. - And what's that for? - he asked with surprise. On each of Felix's right and left wrists were two sets of watches. Felix said seriously: - This is also a hypothesis. So you will wash up by yourself? - By myself, - said Matti. "Still, that Felix is a weird fellow", - he thought. - Then I shall go, - said Felix and left. The radio in the corner of the room suddenly hissed, clicked, and a thick tired voice said: - Number One, this is Syrt. Syrt calling Number One. Matti yelled: - Natasha! Syrt is calling. He came to the microphone and said: - Number one listening! - Call the head of the group, - said the voice from the speaker. - One minute. Natasha ran in, her parka undone, with an oxygen mask on her chest. - This is the group leader, - she said. - Confirming the directive once more, - said the voice, - the night works are called off. The Warm Syrt is surrounded by leeches. I repeat... Matti was listening and drying the plates. Pen'kov and Sergey walked in. Matti observed with interest, how their faces grew long. - ...Warm Syrt is surrounded by leeches. Is that clear? - Loud and clear, - said Natasha with disappointment. - Syrt is surrounded by leeches, all night works are called off. - Good night, - the voice said, and the speaker stopped hissing. - Good night, Pen'kov, - said Sergey and began unbuttoning his parka. Pen'kov did not respond. He was standing in the door, small, solid, with a disproportionately big carabine at his foot. - How will you go? - said Matti. Felix made a gesture with his fingers, showing how he'd walk. - You are nuts, - said Matti. Felix smiled with surprise. - What is it with you, really? - Did you listen to the radio? - Natasha said quickly. - Yes, I have, - said Felix. - But I am not subordinate to the commander of Syrt. After all, I am a Pathfinder. He pulled the mask over his face, lowered the goggles, waived his hand in a glove and walked out. Everyone looked at the door, dumbfounded. - How can this be? - Natasha said, perplexed. - Truly, he will be eaten alive... Sergey suddenly jumped from his spot, and doing up his parka, ran after him. - Where to?! - shouted Natasha. - I will give him a ride! - Sergey responded, running, and slammed the door. Natasha ran after him. Matti caught her hand. - Where are you going, what for? - he said calmly. - Serezha made the right decision. - And who let him? - Natasha asked in a heated tone. - Why doesn't he listen? - Somebody had to help the fellow, - Matti reasoned. They felt a minor vibration of the floor. Sergey drove the crawler out. Natasha sank onto a chair, clasped her hands. - It's alright, - said Matti. - He'll be back in ten-fifteen minutes. - And what if they lunge at Serezha, when he'll be coming back? - There was never a time when a leech would attack a vehicle, - said Matti. - Anyhow, Serezha was only too happy to go... They sat and waited. Matti suddenly thought, that Felix Rybkin had come to visit them at the observatory at night about ten times already and had always left this late. And the leeches are found at Syrt every night. A brave guy, that Felix, Matti thought. A weird guy. However, not at all that weird. Matti looked at Natasha. The means of courting, perhaps, are a tad strange: a timid siege... Matti looked out the window. In black emptiness only sharp non-blinking stars could be seen. Pen'kov entered, carrying a stack of papers, announced, not looking at anyone: - Well, who shall help me plot the graphs? - I can, - said Matti. Pen'kov began settling noisily at the table. Natasha sat, back straight, listening intently. Pen'kov, having laid out his papers, spoke with agitation: - This turns out to be a really interesting moment, guys! Do you recall Degas' law? - We recall, - said Matti. - Secant to the power of two thirds. - No such secant to the power of two thirds on Mars! - Pen'kov said triumphantly - Natash', check this out... Natasha! - Leave her alone, - said Matti. - How come? - Pen'kov asked in a whisper. Natasha jumped up. - Coming! - she said. - Who? - asked Pen'kov. The floor under their feet trembled, then all became quiet; the partition door clinked. Sergey came in, peeling the frosted mask off his face. - Such a freeze - it's horrible! - he said cheerfully. - Where were you? - Pen'kov asked, bewildered. - Driving Rybkin to Syrt, - Sergey said. - What a champ, - said Natasha. - You are such a champion, Serezhka! Now I can sleep easy. - Good night, Natashenka, - the boys said discordantly. Natasha left. - Why didn't you take me with you? - Pen'kov said grudgingly. The smile vanished from Sergey's face. He came to the table, sat down and shifted the papers aside. - Listen, guys, - he said in a low voice. - I couldn't, in fact, find Rybkin anywhere. Drove all the way to Syrt, beeped, flashed the lights - didn't see him at all. As if he dropped through the ground. Everyone kept quiet. Matti came to the window again. It seemed to him, that somewhere around the Old Base a faint light is moving slowly, as if somebody is carrying a torch. MARS. OLD BASE. At seven o'clock in the morning heads of all groups and sectors in the Warm Syrt system gathered in the cabinet of the system's director, Alexander Fillipovich Lyamin. Altogether, around twenty-five people came, and everyone sat around a long low table used at meetings. The fans and ozonators were set at full power. Natasha was the only female in the cabinet. She was seldom invited to general meetings and many of those attending did not know her. She was looked upon with well-wished interest. Natasha heard someone saying to another in a hoarse whisper: "I'd have shaved, had I known". Lyamin asked, without getting up: - First question, comrades, outside today's schedule. Had everyone had breakfast? I can ask for preserves and hot chocolate to be brought here. - Isn't there anything nice, Alexander Fillipovich? - inquired a full-bodied crimson-cheeked man with bandaged hands. The room rumbled noisily. - There isn't anything special, - Lyamin replied and sorrowfully shook his head. - Unless you care for processed chicken... Voice were heard: - You are right, Alexander Fillipovich! Let them bring it! We had no chance to eat! Lyamin waived to someone. - It will be brought in a moment, - he said and stood up. - Has everyone come? - He looked around those present. - Azizbekov... Gorin... Barabanov... Nakamura... Malumyan... Natasha... Van... Can't see Jefferson... Oh, here, sorry... And where is Opanasenko?.. Is there anyone from the Pathfinders? - Opanasenko is in a raid, - a low voice said, and Natasha saw Rybkin. For the first time she was seeing him unshaven. - In a raid? - said Lyamin, - Alright then, let's begin without Opanasenko. Comrades, as you know, during the last weeks the flying leeches have become active. In the last two days, an absolute outrage had begun. The leeches started attacking during the day. Luckily, we had no casualties, but a number of heads of groups and sectors requested decisive measures to be applied. I want to stress, comrades, that leeches - are an old problem. All of us here are fed up with them. We argue about them too much unnecessarily, sometimes we even fight about them, the field groups, evidently, are hindered greatly by these beasts, and generally, it is time to come to some final decision about them, leeches that is. Basically, we have come up with two points of view on this matter. The first one - an immediate round-up and destruction of leeches as far as it is feasible. The second one - continuation of the passive defence policy as a palliative measure, up until such time when the colony gains sufficient strength. Comrades, - he held his arm to his chest, - I ask you now to speak out individually, in no particular order. However, please, try to avoid personal comments. We really don't need them. I know, that all of us are tired, irritated and everyone is frustrated with something. But I cogently ask you now to forget everything besides the importance of today's business. - His eyes narrowed. - Those particularly hotheaded will be removed from the meeting regardless of their rank. He sat down. Immediately a tall, extremely thin man, his face spotted from sunburn, unshaven, with inflamed eyes, stood up. This was director's deputy in the construction area, Victor Kiryllovich Gaidadymov. - I do not know, - he began, - how long your hunt will last - a decade, a month, perhaps half a year. I do not know, how many people you will need for the hunt - evidently, this will be the best people, perhaps all of them. I do not know, finally, if anything useful will result from this hunt. But this is what I know well and believe it to be my duty to bring it to your attention. Firstly, due to the hunt, we will have to postpone the erection of residential quarters. And, by the way, in two months time we are getting reinforcements, whilst the settlement crisis can be felt already. On Warm Syrt I have no opportunity to allocate rooms even to those who are married. Incidentally, whilst this won't make our foreign friends proud, they are overly concerned with this matter. But this is irrelevant. Secondly, because of the hunt the construction of the building materials plant will be delayed. What the building materials plant means in our situation, you must understand already. I won't even mention the greenhouses and conservatories, that we will not get even this summer, because of the hunt. Thirdly, this is the most significant thing. The hunt will mistime the construction of the regenerative plant. In a month the autumn storms will begin and this construction will have to be abandoned. - He clenched his teeth, closed and then opened his eyes. - You know, comrades, we are all hanging on a fine thread here. Perhaps I am revealing some administrative secrets, but forget that, after all: we are all mature and experienced people. The water resources underneath Warm Syrt are expiring. They have, in fact, expired. Already we are delivering water from twenty-six kilometres away, using sand tanks. (At the table there was noise and movement, someone shouted: "Where were you looking before?!") If we don't finish the regeneration plant by the end of the month, then this autumn we will end up on starvation rations and during winter we will have to shift Warm Syrt two hundred kilometres away. I have finished. He sat down and downed a glass of cold chocolate in one go. After a minute's pause Lyamin said: - Who is next? - I am, - someone said. A small bearded man in dark glasses stood up - the head of the repair workshops, Zakhar Josefovich Puchko. - I agree totally with Victor Kiryllovich, - he removed his glasses and looked around the table weak-sightedly. - Somehow everything we do comes out so childishly - a hunt, bang-bang-oh-ah-oh... And I am going to ask you: using what, exactly, are you going to chase the leeches? Perhaps, atop a magic wand, hey? Just now Victor Kiryllovich had very well explained: we use the sand tanks to carry water over. And what tanks they are? They are a disaster, not tanks. A quarter of our vehicle inventory is standing at our workshops with no one to repair them. Those, who know how to fix them don't wreck them, and those able to wreck them, cannot fix them. Treating tanks as if they are a fountain pen - chucked one out and bought a new one. Natasha, I had a look at your crawler. One must try hard to bring the vehicle into such a state! One could think, you run through the walls on it... - Zakhar, Zakhar, closer to the topic, - said Lyamin - I just want to say this. I know these hunts, know them well. Half the vehicles will remain in the desert, the other half will, perhaps, crawl to me, and I will be told: fix them. And what will I be fixing them - my feet? I don't have enough hands. And so it will begin. Puchko this and Puchko that. Puchko imagines, that it's not the workshops for the benefit of Syrt, but Syrt for the benefit of the workshops. I will begin asking comrade Azizbekov for people, and he won't give them to me. I will start asking for people from comrade Nakamura - forgive me, from mister Nakamura, - and he shall say, that his program is being ruined as it is... - Closer to business, Zakhar, - Lyamin said impatiently. - Closer to business will begin, when we shall have no vehicles left. Then we will be carrying food and water on our humps over one hundred kilometres, and then I will be asked: "Puchko, where were you when the hunt took place?" Puchko put his glasses on and sat down. - Things are crap, - someone muttered. Natasha was sitting, dumbstruck. Gosh, what sort of a foreman am I, she thought. Indeed I knew none of this, and could not even suppose, and even criticised them for being bureaucratic... - Allow me, - a soft voice was heard. - Senior areologist of our system, Livanov, - said Lyamin. Livanov's face was also covered by spotty sunburn, a broad squarish face with dark, closely positioned eyes. - The objections towards the hunt, expressed here, - he spoke, - appear quite meaningful and significant to me. (Natasha looked at Gaidadymov. Gaidadymov was sleeping, his head slumbered infirmly on his arms.) And nevertheless, the hunt must be conducted. Here are some statistical figures. During the thirty years of human presence on Mars the flying leeches committed over fifteen hundred registered attacks on people. Three persons were killed, twelve were disfigured. The population of the Warm Syrt system combines a thousand two hundred people, out of whom eight hundred people are constantly engaged in the field and, consequentially, are permanently under threat of attack. Up to a quarter of scientists are compelled to perform security tasks causing detriment to government and individual scientific plans. But that's not all. Beside moral damages, the leeches are causing quite significant property damage. During the last five weeks alone, and only with areologists, they have irreparably destroyed five unique installations and damaged twenty-eight valuable devices. It is evident, that this cannot continue. The leeches are placing the entire scientific progress of the Warm Syrt system under threat. My intentions do not, in any way, include the desire for diminishing the importance of considerations advanced here by comrades Gaidadymov and Puchko. These considerations were addressed during the production of round-up plan, which I have here to be presented to the meeting on behalf of areologists and Pathfinders. Everyone roused and became still again. Gaidadymov shuddered and opened his eyes. Livanov continued in a well-paced tone: - Observations have shown, that the apex of leeches distribution in the area around Warm Syrt happens to be the zone of the so-called "Old Base" - marked point 211 on the map. The operation begins one hour before dawn. A group of forty well-trained shooters in four sand tanks with a three-day food supply occupies the "Old Base". Two groups of beaters, approximately two hundred men in each one, - in tanks and crawlers disperse into a skirmish line from the following areas: first group - one hundred kilometres west of Syrt, the second group - one hundred kilometres north of Syrt. At one hundred hours both groups commence slow advance towards northeast and south, respectively, in transit causing as much noise as possible and exterminating the leeches trying to break through the line. Moving slowly and methodically, both groups join flanks, displacing the leeches to the "Old Base" sector. In this manner, the entire mass of leeches will be localised in the sector of the "Old Base" and destroyed. That is part one of the plan. I would like to hear possible queries and objections. - Gradually and methodically - that's all well, - said Puchko. - But still, how many vehicles will be required? - And people, - said Gaidadymov. - And days. - Fifty vehicles, four hundred and fifty people and a maximum of seventy-two hours. - How do you intend to exterminate the leeches? - Jefferson asked. - We know very little about the leeches, - Livanov said. - At the moment we can rely on two means only: toxic bullets and flamethrowers. - And where shall you get these? - The bullets can be easily toxinized, whilst with the flamethrowers, we are building them based on pulp-monitors. - Building already? - Yes. - A good plan, - said Lyamin. - What do you think, comrades? Gaidadymov stood up. - I do not object to such a plan, - he said. - Just try not to take away my builders. And please excuse me now. There was a shuffle around the table. "A great plan, no doubt!" - "And where will you get sharp-shooters?" - "They will turn up! It's the builders we are short of, the shooters we will have plenty!" - "Hey, we will have fun shooting!" - I have not yet finished, comrades, - Livanov said. - There is a second part of the plan. Evidently, the Old Base territory is hollowed out by cracks and caverns, through which the leeches come up to the surface. And there, no doubt, must be a heap of subterranean hollows. When the loop will close and we finish off all the leeches, we can either cement these caverns, cracks and tunnels, or continue pursuit below the ground. In both cases we are in dire need of the Old Base blueprint. - No, we shouldn't give any thought to underground pursuit, - someone said. - It is way too dangerous. - Well, it would have been interesting, - mutter a pink chubby man with bandaged hands. - Comrades, we will finalise that question after the conclusion of the round-up, - said Livanov. - At the moment we need the blueprint of the Old Base. We have contacted the archives, but the blueprint was not there for some reason. Perhaps one of the old-timers has a plan. A lot of people at the table were exchanging puzzled looks. - I cannot understand, - an old bony areo-surveyor said with annoyance. - What blueprint are we talking about? - About the plan of the Old Base. - The Old Base was built fifteen years ago, right before my eyes. It was a cement dome, and it had none of the caverns and cracks. However, I had to fly to Earth, perhaps it was built in my absence. Another areo-surveyor said: - By the way, the Old Base is not located at point 211, but at point 205. - Why 205? - Natasha said. - It's point 211! This is to the west of the observatory. - What does this have to do with the observatory? - The bony areo-surveyor became absolutely furious. - The Old Base is located eleven kilometres south of Warm Syrt... - Wait, wait! - Livanov shouted. - We are contemplating the Old Base, located at point 211, three kilometres to the west of the observatory. - Ah! - the bony areo-surveyor said. - Then, what you have in mind, are the Grey Ruins - the remains of the original settlement. Norton try to set up over there, I think. A commotion went up. - Quiet, quiet! - Lyamin said and tapped his hand on the table. - Stop arguing. We must clarify, does anyone know anything about the Old Base or the Grey Ruins, whichever you like, in other words, the elevation marked 211? Everyone stayed quiet. No one liked to visit the ruins of old settlements, plus there wasn't time. - In other words, no one knows, - Lyamin said. - And we have no blueprint. - I can provide a reference, - said the director's secretary, also his deputy. Also the archivist for the scientific section. - This "Old Base" is some sort of nonsense. This base isn't marked on Norton's reported sketch-maps, then it appears at point 211, and two years later on an official report memo signed by Vel'yaminov, who was seeking permission to investigate the ruins of the "Old Base", the then head of the expedition Yurkovski personally deigned to inscribe, - the secretary raised a yellowed sheet of paper above his head: - "Couldn't understand anything. Learn how to read the map properly. The mark is not 211, but 205. Permission granted. Yurkovski". Everyone laughed in surprise. - May I suggest, - Rybkin said in a low voice. Everyone looked at him. - We can go to point 211 right now and draw sketches of the "Old Base". - Why, that's right, - Lyamin said. - Whoever has the time - can go there. Comrade Livanov is appointed as the senior. The meeting will resume at eleven o'clock. It was around six kilometres on the straight between Warm Syrt and the Old Base. They departed there in two sand tanks. There were many volunteers - more than came to the meeting - and Natasha decided to take her crawler. The tanks, roaring and clattering, rolled to the outskirts of Syrt. To avoid the dust, Natasha turned the crawler around. Driving past the central meteo-tower, she suddenly saw Rybkin. The tiny Pathfinder walked at a habitual fast pace, his hands resting on a long carabine, hanging on his neck. Natasha pressed the breaks. - Felix! - she yelled. - Where are you off to? He stopped and came to the crawler. - I decided to walk, - he said, looking calmly at her from below. - There was no space for me. - Jump in, - Natasha said. She suddenly felt at ease with Felix, quite unlike at night, in the observatory. Felix effortlessly climbed onto a seat next to her, removed the carabine off his neck and placed it between his knees. The crawler took off. - I was really scared yesterday night, when you left alone, - Natasha admitted. - Did Sergey find you quickly? - Sergey? - He looked at her. - Yeah... reasonably quickly. That was a smart idea. They stayed quiet. Half a kilometre to the left the tanks moved, leaving in their wake a thick motionless cloud of dust above the desert. - It was an interesting meeting, right? - Natasha said. - Very interesting, - Rybkin said. - And there is something strange with the Old Base. - I have gone there with the guys, - Natasha said. - When they were still building our observatory. Nothing special. Cement blocks, all cracked up, grown over by haloxylon. You also think, that the leeches crawl from under there? - I am certain of it, - Rybkin said. - There is a huge leeches' nest, Natasha. Right under the hill there is a giant cavern. And, possibly, it connects to other underground hollows. Although I never found these passages. Natasha looked at him, terrified. The crawler swerved. On the right, from behind the dunes, the observatory appeared. On the observation deck stood Matti, tall like a mast, waiving his hand. Felix waved back politely. The domes and buildings of Old Syrt disappeared behind the near horizon. - Aren't you afraid of them? - Natasha asked. - I am, - Felix said. - Sometimes, Natasha, I get scared to death. You should see, what size jaws they have. But, they are even bigger cowards themselves. - You know what, Felix, - Natasha said, staring straight ahead of her, - Matti says, that you are a strange person. I also think, that you are a very strange person. Felix laughed. - You are flattering me, - he said. - To you, naturally, it seems strange, that I always come to you at the observatory late at night, just to drink coffee. But I cannot come during the day. I am busy during the day. And I am almost always busy in the evening. And when I have spare time, I always come to you. Natasha felt that she is starting to blush. But the crawler was already at the foot of a flat hill, the same one which was displayed as a curved oval marked 211 on areographic maps. On top of the hill, amongst uneven grey boulders people where rummaging already. Natasha parked the crawler away from the sand tanks and turned the engine off. Felix was standing below, looking at her seriously with an outstretched hand. - No need, thanks, - Natasha muttered, but leaned on his hand anyway. They walked amongst the ruins of the Old Base. Strange ruins they were: looking at them, it was impossible to understand, what the original appearance, or at least, the structural layout looked like. Fractured domes supported by hexagonal foundations, collapsed galleries, stacks of cracked cement blocks. All this was thickly covered by Martian burr and lay sunk in sand and dust. In a few spots under the grey arches shadowy clefts gaped open. A few lead down somewhere, into deep, impenetrable darkness. Above the ruins rose a flurry of voices. - Yet another cavern! No amount of cement will ever be enough! - What an idiotic layout! - And what do you expect from the Old Base? - Burrs, so many prickly burrs! As if we are in a salt-marsh... - Willy, don't go there! - It's empty, nobody there... - Comrades, let's start the filming, finally! - Good morning there, Volodya! We started a while ago... - Look, here are footprints from boots! - Yes, someone must visit here... Over there, too... - Pathfinders, probably... Natasha looked at Felix. Felix nodded. - It was me, - he said. He suddenly stopped, squatted and began examining something. - Here, - he said. - Have a look, Natasha. Natasha leaned over. Out of a crack in the cement hung a fat haloxylon stem with a tiny flower on the tip. - So cute! - she said. - And I didn't even know that the burr plant bears flowers. It is so pretty - red with blue... - The burr plant flowers very rarely, - Felix said slowly. - It is known, that it flowers once every five Martian years. - We are lucky, - Natasha said. - Every time, when a flower drops, in its spot a new shoot sprouts, and where the flower used to be, a shiny ring is formed. Like this one, see? - Interesting, - Natasha said. - This means, it can be calculated, how old this haloxylon is... One... Two... Three... Four... She stopped and glanced at Felix. - It has eight rings, - she said hesitantly. - Yes, - said Felix. - Eight. The flower - is the ninth. This crack in the cement is eighty Earth years old. - I don't understand, - Natasha said and suddenly realised. - Does this mean, that this base is not one of ours? - she spoke in a whisper. - Not ours, - Felix said and stood straight. - You knew about this! - Natasha said. - Yes, we know about this, - Felix said. - This building was not built by people. This isn't cement. This isn't simply a hill. And leeches are attacking erect bipeds for a reason. Natasha looked at him for several seconds, and then turned and shouted out loud: - Comrades! Over here! Quickly! Everyone come here! Look! Look, what there is! Here! The Warm Syrt system director's office was filled to capacity. The director was drying his bald patch with a handkerchief and waiving his head in a daze. Areologist Livanov, having lost composure and correctness, was shouting, at the top of his lungs, trying to speak above the noise: - This is simply mind-boggling! Warm Syrt exists for six years. During these six years no one figured out, what here is and isn't ours. Nobody even cared to take any interest in the Old Base! - What is there to be interested in? - Azizbekov was yelling. - I have passed it twenty times. Ruins like any other ruins. Haven't the original settlers left enough ruins behind? - But I was there two years ago! I had look - and I saw a rusted track from a crawler. I looked at it and went on my way. - Is it laying there still? - What's there to even talk about? In the centre of the Base, since time immemorial, stands a trigonometrical sign. Perhaps, the Martians placed it there too? - The Pathfinders have simply embarrassed themselves, it's shameful to look at them now! - How come, now? After all, they discovered it! The head of the Pathfinders group, Opanasenko, who arrived only a few minutes ago, massive, broad-shouldered, grinning, was fanning his face with a folded map and saying something to the director. The director was shaking his head. Puchko, stepping on everyone's feet, was making his way to the table. His beard was messed up, he was holding his glasses high above his head. - Because there is quiet bedlam happening in this system! - he screamed in a high-pitched voice. - Soon the Martians will come to me and ask for a tank or a crawler to be fixed, and will go and fix it! I already had cases, when unfamiliar people come and ask for repairs! Because I can see - there are some unfamiliar people walking around the city! I don't know, where they come from, and I don't know where they go off to! And, what if, they come from the Old Base and go away to the Old Base! The commotion inside the office suddenly died. - Perha