MURKA

PREFACE

I always knew that aliens exist. Nor did I suspected it, not guessed, but knew for sure! Well, to be precise, I knew it not from my birth, but from the time we exchanged our apartment.

In my childhood my parents and I lived in an apartment consisting of one room and a small kitchen in a house located just across from a local Firehouse and fire team.

I didn’t yet sniffed sci-fi at those years. My imagination was occupied by large red trucks with ladders, shining with chrome, and people in uniform – brave men and defenders. I was fond of travel and adventure and constantly told everyone who wanted to listen to action-packed stories about my white ship – the menace of the sea pirates of the Caribbean. These stories were held in particular esteem by visitors to the hair salon where my father took me.

“Your son is the future Jules Verne,” the old hairdresser Ashot was predicted to my father and, without looking up from his haircut, loudly, like a circus ringmaster, shouted out his assistant’s entrance,

“Maro-o-o, the set!”

From behind the scenes, the hunched old aisor woman Maro immediately appeared with an aluminum tray in her hands, on which, in a once and for all proven order, were placed an aluminum glass with boiling water, a cap of soap and a brush for soaping the face, a small basin and a thick linen napkin. This set of hairdressing accessories was called “The set”. I knew that very soon it would be put into action. I had to hurry, and I recited,

 “And then the captain ordered the leader of the pirates, Flint – Surrender to the mercy of the victors, or we will smash your ship to shreds with onboard fire!”

Ashot was already pouring boiling water from a cap into a basin and dipping a napkin into it. Steam poured out as if from hot laundry boiler. In fact, it was smoking fuses that my well-aimed bombardiers kept ready for the guns.

“You won’t see my surrender!” shouted the one-legged Flint, and the captain had no choice but to command,

“Fire from the starboard side!”

Obeying his order, Ashot threw a fiery hot napkin onto my father’s stubble.

“A-ah!” my father furiously shouted in Flint’s voice.

Customers froze in horror in their chairs, and those waiting in line applauded.

“Ra vashkatsi har!”  (In Georgian – What a great guy!)

 “Tsavt tanem tha Fellini!” (In Armenian – Have a cloudless life, Fellini-boy!)

“It’s just “Caribbean Nights!”

But soon, despite the relative “cloudless”, my life changed. Just before school, we moved into an apartment of two rooms, where old women lived next to us on the balcony we shared. They were all terribly forgetful, and we, the children of our yard, made fun of them, telling them all sorts of nonsense, which they believed for about five minutes, until they were completely erased from memory and music vinyl record could be restarted again.

One of the old women, Maria Georgievna, was an honored teacher, awarded the Order of Lenin, but suffered loss of memory more than others. She was a frequent subject of my childhood research. I wanted to understand how my stories evaporate from senile memory, and whether any of them remain there. I had two favorite stories: about a giant mouse the size of a tiger caught in Siberia, and our local police officer, Captain Grishashvili, who caught, no, not a mouse, but spies on our street.

Once, during the traditional “experiments on humans”, when I launched another story about Captain Grishashvili, Maria Georgievna put her palm on my head. Perhaps she wanted to encourage a communicative child, or simply calm a talkative student. She knew it better, as not for nothing she was once awarded the Order of Lenin for upbringing of children.

And then I really fell silent. New thoughts and images popped into my head out of warm teacher’s palm. Not the blue sea and the white ship, not the brave sea captain, the menace to pirates, but the high sky, a flying device rushing across it in flames and smoke, and people fleeing disaster. At the same time, I knew for sure, although without any words, that these pretty men and women were not from Earth, but aliens, extraterrestrials who had been living among us since then. I didn’t know further… They have been watching people?

“Yes,” the palm told me, “we live and watch when humanity grows up and when it will be possible to put a palm on its head, as like on yours, and open up, accept it into the community of the Universe…”

“But can you open up to me now?” I was amazed.

“We can open up to every child, says the Captain,” the palm confirmed. “You still don’t understand all the words, although you’ve already gone to school.”

I really didn’t yet know such words as aliens, rocket, spaceship, and maybe even the Universe. But I understood mental images.

“So the Captain won’t be angry with you?” I asked my neighbor.

She slowly removed her hand from my head, opened her eyes and looked around, like Sleeping Beauty awakened by the kiss of a prince.

“Which captain?” she asked in surprise. “Our local police officer? Grishashvili?”

Five minutes were up, it was time to start the worn out vinyl record again…

And then years passed, all the grandmothers gradually moved to a better world. Neighbors battled for their vacated rooms. The old teacher disappeared. She left home and got lost. Spring had come, there was a piercing smell of buds and young leaves, but the nights were still cold. The stiffen body of Maria Georgievna was found outside the city, in the area of ​​rich villas…

And since then, I thought many times about various strange and poorly explainable stories. And every time the simple and understandable phrase of the old teacher was suitable,

“We just live next to you, sometimes we open up to someone, but one day we’ll have a party and we’ll definitely introduce ourselves to everyone at once.”

For many years I have been getting to know the mysterious friends of my former neighbor by fits and starts, telling my children and grandchildren about them and still waiting for the long-awaited holiday to finally arrive, and again, as in childhood, I will feel a warm palm on my head, however, already gray-haired.

1

On a warm June morning of 1908, on the first track of the Nikolaevsky station, on Nevsky Prospect, the Trans-Siberian train stood, puffing in steam, ready to travel from northern Palmyra to the southern Sea of ​​Japan.

Lieutenant Peter Kovalev, a graduate of the Mikhailovsky Artillery School, put his suitcases in the Pullman compartment and went out onto the platform, lighting his last capital’s “Laferme” cigarette. He was heading to the outskirts of the empire to his destination in the coastal artillery division of the city of Vladivostok, but service in those lands seemed to him after the Japanese War an adventure that promised advancement for the young officer.

“And maybe not only for the young officer,” thought Peter, seeing the major approaching the train’s car.  Gilded little cannons glittered on his shoulder straps, and specks of silver – in his black temples.

“The sixth carriage,” the car attendant helpfully announced.

“That’s right, sixth carriage, twelfth seat,” responded the major, presenting his ticket.

“In one compartment! I have the eleventh,” Peter joyfully saluted his neighbor.

“See you later,” the major nodded, climbed the stairs and disappeared into the carriage.

“Get up sir, we’ll be leaving in a minute,” the car attendant noted.

Peter did not force the attendant to remind him again. He was eager to meet the officer who, god willing, will at least partially brighten up his long journey.

*  *  *

To Kovalev’s sincere joy, the major was also heading towards the Pacific Ocean. They started talking and on the second day they even slightly befriended, and Peter learned a lot of new and interesting things about the theory and practice of artillery.

Nikolai Karlovich Berg was a graduate of the Mikhailovsky Artillery Academy, and in addition, a student of the famous General Trofimov, the theorist of long-range plunging howitzer artillery.

“My teacher,” said Berg, “went to Krupp factories in Germany more than ten years ago to study howitzers, or rather, huge guns. Together with Fritz Rausenberger, Krupp’s chief designer, they developed the shape projectile’s head and tail, allowing it to achieve a phenomenal flight range.”

“And I thought that the main trick was to shoot at such a high angle that the projectile would go into the stratosphere and, moving in an environment with low resistance, would reach a record range,” noted Kovalev.

“This is basics. Do you know at what angle to shoot?”

Peter cheered up, as if on the exams, which he passed excellent.

“According to theory, for airless space – forty-five degrees, and taking into account air resistance, fifty-four – fifty-six degrees to the horizon.”

“Well done! You know the theory of shooting!”

“I am trying!” the lieutenant was embarrassed, “Why didn’t we shoot like that during the Japanese War?”

“Well, the deed is doing not soon,” Nikolai Karlovich answered, “The barrels of coastal and sea howitzers are not long enough; they should be stretched, extended and establish shooting using von Launitz devices. Have you learned this device?”

Peter felt awkward… Maybe this is a chance to learn the art of ballistics from such an artilleryman?

*  *  *

In about three days, Peter noticed that Nikolai Karlovich was not traveling alone. At stops, he repeatedly disappeared somewhere until Kovalev tracked down that the major was visiting a freight car guarded by soldiers.

“Nikolai Karlovich,” asked the lieutenant, “what kind of train car is traveling with us? If it’s a secret, then I promise to remain silent, like a fish.”

“Maybe it’s not a secret, but not a subject of discussion either.”

“I swear that no one will learn anything from me! I’m an artilleryman, and I took the oath.”

“Well, nothing serious. We’re just taking some shells to the shooting ranges…”

“The shells are from St. Petersburg, and the shooting ranges are in Vladivostok?”

“Would it be better the other way around?” the major smiled good-naturedly, “You’re going to serve in a coastal battery, aren’t you? Then we lend one of your cannons to shot a little.”

*  *  *

The days passed quickly in conversation.

“I would gladly serve under a commander like you, Nikolai Karlovich. It’s like continue an education.”

“Thank you for the kind words. And you gain practical experience and apply to the Academy. The country and army need competent artillerymen! Our century is the century of fundamentally new artillery, mark my words.”

In Vladivostok they parted, and Peter no longer expected to see his traveling companion, but he was mistaken. Major Berg appeared at their battery, accompanied by the commander of shore artillery.

“Lieutenant Kovalev, you, along with the entire crew and the 305-mm howitzer, are at the disposal of Major Berg for the duration of the tests,” the commander ordered.

The lieutenant beamed. Starting from the Nikolaevsky station, he was clearly lucky.

*  *  *

On the same day, Lieutenant Kovalev signed a document on non-disclosure of secret tests, and work began to boil. The howitzer, which had previously served on the battleship, was moved from the battery and installed on the platform. The freight car of the Trans-Siberian train contained two huge barrel inserts, a system of suspension cables supporting the long barrel strictly at an angle of fifty-five degrees to the platform, and unusual sharp-nosed projectiles.

When the technical part was completed, the locomotive picked up a platform, a freight car, a sleeping car with a kitchen, a car with horses, and they rolled off. It was then that Peter learned that large-caliber howitzers could be obtained in Sevastopol or Vladivostok, but here the situation was calmer, and it was easier to keep secrets in the vastness of Siberia.

Now they were rushing in the opposite direction to the designated place. On the fourth day we arrived in Krasnoyarsk and in the evening switched to the northern branch, along which rails were once delivered from the piers on the Yenisei for the construction of the Great Siberian Road. Now the neglected branch led to nowhere. This place was what the artillerymen needed for testing. It was decided to prepare the gun immediately – install one of the long barrels, tighten the cables, and conduct tests the next morning.

The rise was early, at dawn. The soldiers worked quickly and loaded the howitzer. According to information, there were no settlements in the direction of the shooting. The human’s defeat could have been an extreme accident.

“With God blessing!” Major Berg announced.

The tests have begun. It was necessary to fire a series of shots from each barrel. By seven in the morning they planned to do the first series of shots. Then breakfast, barrel change and the second series of shots. Major Berg with the first squad of four soldiers will go to inspect the site of the shelling, and Lieutenant Kovalev with the second squad will remain to dismantle the equipment and guard the train.

After each shot, everybody waited until the vibrations of the barrel died down. Even through headphones and helmets, the sound of gunfire pressed on eardrums. The horses in the car neighed and beat their hooves.

At seven o’clock ten minutes the cannon was loaded with the last shell, gunpowder, and fired into the cloudless sky. It was time for a breakfast break, and the cook was about to serve food, when suddenly thunder came from the sky, like the explosion of a gunpowder storage. A glow comparable to that of the sun flashed in the sky, people were overwhelmed with heat, and a burning fireball streaked across the blue June sky. From the north-west, from behind the forest, there was such a blast that the earth shook.

“What was that, sir?” asked the amazed lieutenant.

“I don’t presume to explain,” Berg muttered thoughtfully, “It feels like we hit a battleship, but I’m really still in my right mind to attack the ships in the sky. I don’t know. Coincidence! Meteor? In all cases, I go there… somewhere in the area of ​​the Tunguska River for reconnaissance. The check of the other barrel has cancelled! The first squad is to have breakfast, the second – is to saddle the horses!

2

The shuttle, reflecting the blue-white colors of the local sky and invisible from below, hovered over the forested areas of the giant continent, waiting for the cargo automatic module to exit hyperspace near the planet.

The development of technology on the planet under study did not reach the level of manned aircrafts and anti-aircraft artillery, so nothing threatened the researchers in the airspace.

Researchers wanted to make sure that the landing of the cargo ship and the deployment of the base camp, disguised as a green hill, happened without any glitches, and then distribute to different countries and study local life, culture, and social systems there.

Xenobiologist Mora Gjerg peered at the scenery on the screen. She really liked this big green country, which she chose to observe the civilization of the planet. Beautiful nature and varied climatic conditions made it possible to find a suitable place of residence.

And it won’t be difficult to keep in touch with the team: there are practically no artificial electromagnetic waves on the planet. No one will hear them, no one will interfere with them.

At 6:00 a signal was received – the cargo module left hyperspace and headed towards the planet.

At 6:40 it entered the upper layers of the atmosphere.

At 7:10 it entered the stratosphere over the central part of the largest continent and began to descend.

And then not just the unexpected happened, but the practically impossible.

At 7:14 a.m., a ballistic projectile rammed a cargo module at enormous speed and exploded inside it. An uncontrollable reaction began in a badly damaged nuclear engine, and a new sun flared up in the sky of the planet, which, drawing a fiery parabola in the blue, crashed into the forest.

“Radiation protection is on,” came the Pilot’s message.

“Heading towards the crash site!” ordered the Captain.

The forest area was turn into havoc. The trees were charred and felled radially. The scouts descended over the disaster site and spent a long time pouring solutions over it to decontaminate and to destroy metals and alloys. They lost their base; all that remained was to hide the traces of an alien civilization from the seeing and probing by local scientists.

Now they had to either return home or continue their exploration without a base camp. But is it possible to find indecisive astronauts in any galaxy? After consulting, they decided that the Pilot would take the crew around the countries, and he would hide the shuttle in the inaccessible gorges of the high mountains. Mora Gjerg was the first to leave the team. She dressed herself in embroidered clothes, a shawl, and light high boots, changed her appearance and began to look like a Tungus or a Yakut woman.

This was the country of her choice.

*  *  *

“Look, your honor, a human being there!”

Major Berg raised his binoculars and saw in the distance, among the lopsided spruce and fir trees, the figure of a young girl in national dress, boldly walking alone through the taiga, just from the side from where the wind brought the smell of burning.

“Timofeev, go to her, ask if the explosion was from her side?”

The young soldier slapped the horse on the croup, and it trotted forward as far as the wooded area allowed.

The conversation with the girl apparently did not work out. Berg saw through binoculars how she pointed her hands to the north, covered her head and crouched, and then began to pull the horse to the south. Timofeev spread his hands, hoping that he was being watched, and finally, he picked up the native woman on his horse and took her to the commander.

The girl turned out to be very pretty, although a grimy, but did not speak any language.

“Are you mute?” asked Berg.

Tungus girl nodded earnestly. When asked about the explosion, she threw her arms up, then covered her head with her palms and showed that the trees had fallen.

“We have to see everything for ourselves,” said the major. “We’re going there.”

The girl shook her head vigorously, indicating that she needed to go in the opposite direction.

“But, honey, I’m a military man, I’m not afraid of explosions and I’m obliged to inspect the area. And you have nothing to fear anymore! Let’s do this: you take us there, and we’ll take you… to the city, do you want it? Where are you going?”

Mora considered their elder’s words. He seemed educated to her. The xenobiologist vaguely understood his mental images, but she had no idea how to explain to him the danger of radiation, even residual one. But a sense of solidarity did not allow her to leave these researchers who were similar to her. And she decided to help them. She agreed to take them to the right place, but led them to a high hill, from which they could see a fallen, charred forest at the epicenter of the explosion.

In addition, in any way it was necessary to convince the military to drink an anti-radiation drug in the form of an aromatic herbal decoction…

*  *  *

Lieutenant Kovalev began to worry about Major Berg’s reconnaissance group when it appeared, carrying a “captive” with it.

“Did you take a prisoner? Ah, she’s pretty!” he was delighted. “However, pardon my language, I’ve got wild in the taiga. What about the area checkup?

“What should I tell you, my friend? I think you and I witnessed a rare event, perhaps the first accidental hit in the history of mankind of an artillery shell to a celestial body, a bolide. I saw a huge area of ​​destruction that needed to be thoroughly examined by a special expedition. I’ll tell my brother, he’s my newspaperman in Kazan. They will spread the word about this event all over Russia and raise funds.

In the meantime, thanks to our local guide, we were able to examine the site of the explosion from a nearby height, just like during a military artillery exercise. But surprisingly, she insisted that we drink some kind of decoction of local herbs, ginseng, or something similar.

“What for?”

“She treated us from the explosion,” Berg smiled.

“And you, Nikolai Karlovich, believed this barbarian girl?”

“Believe you or not, we all felt unwell, and the folk medicine cured everyone. Nausea, weakness, and malaise disappeared completely! That’s it, the tests are over. It’s time to return from the hike to the everyday work of everyday service. Is Krasnoyarsk coming soon?”

3

Morachan was now the name of this unusually intelligent young Tungus girl. Even her fellow astronauts would not recognize her as the xenobiologist Mora. But she wouldn’t be able to recognize them now either. This is how it was planned: intelligence officers infiltrated the local environment and studied it under the guise of local residents.

Morachan started out cleaning houses in Krasnoyarsk. At first she was mistaken for a mute – she was silent or explained herself with gestures, but every day she remembered more and more words and spoke Russian better and better. The girl gradually changed work places, and soon learned to cook deliciously – she was hired as a cook, and then as a maid in good houses. Finally, she got a job with a lonely woman, the widow of the merchant Gyurgi Yakushin. The woman became attached to the kind girl with all her heart, and Mora in return paid her with daughterly care. And once she said,

“Anna Stepanovna, I can’t take money from you, I will work for free.”

“Why, my dear? What’s wrong?” the hostess was surprised.

“Everything is all right, but you are like a close relative to me. Your late husband, Gyurgi, was my father. He married my mother when he was buying furs in the North… Unfortunately, my mother died in childbirth, I grew up with relatives, and when they were gone, I came to Krasnoyarsk to look for my father, and found only you…”

And she showed the worn-out papers – her birth certificate.

Anna Stepanovna burst into tears and hugged the girl. She had long dreamed of a daughter, and the Virgin Mary condescended to her prayers – she sent her a relative soul. The widow took Morachan to church and baptized her. Now she got a goddaughter named Maria Georgievna Yakushina.

The time to change your place of residence and get a local education came. Maria began to mentally prepare her godmother to move closer to the center of the country, for example, to Kazan, a large city with gymnasiums and a university. Gradually this thought took possession of Anna Stepanovna and one day she said to Maria,

“I think that with your talents, you need to get an education. After all, it’s the twentieth century. Wouldn’t you like to go to a gymnasium in a big city? For example… in Kazan.”

*  *  *

A city carriage, drawn by a pair of bay horses, rolled up to the two-story building of the Kazan Rodionovsky Institute of Noble Maidens on the Arsky Field and stopped right at the entrance. A beautiful young girl with barely expressed Turkic features and green almond-shaped eyes, together with an elegantly dressed middle-aged lady, entered the building of the institute and walked along the two-color parquet floor made of oak and amaranth, rubbed with mastic, to the office of the director of the institution.

“This is my goddaughter, Maria Yakushina, the daughter of the merchant of the second guild Georgy Yakushin,” her companion introduced the girl to the headmistress. “Maria and I recently moved from Krasnoyarsk, and I hope that the girl will become an exemplary student of your institute.”

“Of course, if she reads a page of text in Russian, demonstrates knowledge of arithmetic operations and passes all the transfer exams for the primary grades, and if you will pay for the student’s accommodation in a boarding house.”

This was not difficult for either Mora or her patron.

*  *  *

The school years flew by. Maria quickly mastered subjects and transferred a year ahead twice. She was awarded a scholarship for her talents and was already praised in the local newspaper, Kazan Telegraph. The reporter, Vasily Karlovich Berg, who was writing an article about Maria, began to court Anna Stepanovna and began to visit often – the article turned into an affair.

Meanwhile, it was necessary to change the city again, but this time Mora had not yet risked moving to the capital. She chose the city of Odessa on the shores of the southern sea to enroll there in the Higher Women’s Courses of Novorossiysk University, and received the blessing of her godmother. As had already happened in the life of the scout on this planet, the train again transported her to a new place of residence in the warm summer.

The Courses building on Torgovaya Street greeted Maria Georgievna Yakushina with the severity of its architectural lines.

“It’s amazing how the subtlety of the soul of earthly artists and poets is combined with the heartlessness and even bloodthirstiness of military men and rulers,” thought the xenobiologist.

She was easily accepted into the Faculty of Law courses, thanks to her excellent high school certificate and accolades. It seemed that a different life awaited her in this city – many new subjects and languages, acquaintances not only with fellow students, but also with gallant men who could not pass by the Russian beauty. But despite the interesting life, the newspapers predicted troubled times.

*   *   *

It was spring. Maria met a polite young man in Suvorin’s bookstore in “Passage” on Deribasovskaya precisely in the spring of 1914. She was looking through history books, and he was looking through books from the “cheap science library” series.

“Do you study history?” the young man asked almost in a whisper.

“Yes. Jurisprudence and history. And you?”

“I graduated from industrial trade school and dream of university, but alas…”

They left the store.

“Would you like to take a walk?” the stranger asked with hopelessness in his voice.

The guy looked at her with such delight and hope that Maria decided not to refuse his request.

“I don’t go out with strangers…” she smiled, “introduce yourself.”

“Boris. Boris Isaakovich Vigdor. Graduate of a trade school.”

“And I’m Maria Yakushina, a student at the Higher Women’s Courses at Novorossiysk University.”

“Nice to hear that.”

“You said that “you dream of a university, but…” What is the obstacle?”

“As a Jew who did not graduate from gymnasia or lyceum, I will not be included in the percentage norm. And you… aren’t Russian either?

“Russian, but with an admixture of Tatar blood. My late father was a merchant of the second guild.

“If mine were a merchant, everything would be different, but he is far from trading.”

“What does he do?” asked Maria.

“He is a partner in the partnership “Moisey Vinnitsky and Co.”

It sounded kind of ordinary, but articles about city robberies told Maria that this was the name of the raiders from Mishka Yaponchik’s gang.

“My father doesn’t trust universities, he says that there are only socialists there. And I’m trying to decide which country to go to or, maybe, throw the wisdom of science out of my head and go to work as a mechanic in a workshop?”

“No, no, Boris! Knowledge is very important! You don’t have to give up. But Europe is currently uneasy. Therefore, you need to choose carefully. What if there is a war? Which country will remain neutral? Switzerland? There is a very prestigious university there – the Polytechnic School.”

“You speak so convincingly. If only my father could hear you!”

“Try it yourself. You should succeed. And if not, then resort to the services of a “lawyer,” Maria smiled her irresistible smile, but the “client” was already at her feet.

4

“This was simply amazing!” Boris admitted to Maria.

They sat in the Fanconi cafe on the corner of Lanzheronovskaya and Ekaterininskaya, and Boris enthusiastically told how his stern father unexpectedly agreed to let him go to Switzerland to study and even promised to help with the payment.

“I just carefully listed your arguments.”

“Did you mention me?”

“Yes, sure! I boasted that he had met a wonderful girl and told his parents about you.”

“And they?”

“Mom seemed happy, but said: Don’t rush, Borya. Just study for now and we’ll see.”

“She said that correctly. And your father?”

“Father is not easy to understand, but it seemed to me that your education interested him. At the beginning of my story, he squinted in disbelief, and after mentioning the Faculty of Law, he chuckled, wrinkled his forehead and said,

“A lawyer and adviser in family matters is a great benefit! And you, “Bobelu”, study! Maybe you can design a new airplane for Utochkin or a new Browning for your father.”

“Looks like he is a seer!”

The young people were so carried away by the conversation that they did not notice how a tall man in a suit and tie stopped near their table. The bowler hat raised into the air in greeting revealed graying curly hair, carefully combed and greased with lotion. It was Isaac Vigdor.

“Greetings to the younger generation!” he said, “I’ve heard about your successes, young lady. Please accept my congratulations.”

“Dad, you should have at least warned me that you were coming…”

“Did I know? It happened like everything in this life – by chance. Do you, Maria, really think that Boris should go to study?”

“Without a doubt! Those close to him will be proud of his success.”

“Thank you for the advice. I will leave my business card for you personally. If you have any problem or need to earn money – you are welcome, write or come in. If you don’t mind, Boris, I’ll pay the bill.”

*   *   *

Time seemed to speed up its run. Boris went to Geneva, successfully entered the Polytechnic Institute, but did not have time to visit his loved ones before the start of the year. The unexpected assassination of the Archduke in the summer of 1914 in Sarajevo closed the borders, and returning home became reckless and dangerous.

Maria and Boris managed to exchange letters a couple of times, as Vigdor Sr. had his own channels. He met with Maria to exchange letters and once invited her to draw up a set of rules for free cooperatives in a syndicate…, and then took her to a discussion with gentlemen with strange manners. She guessed that she was working for an illegal syndicate, but this even amused the intelligence officer. It was interesting to study earthly life in all its aspects…

And then, in February 1917, the revolution happened. The king was overthrown and arrested. The government in Odessa has already changed several times. And Mora decided that it was time for her to go to the capital, to the center of events.

Isaac Vigdor promised to help her and kept his word.

Late in the evening at the Asporidi coffee shop, he met with a friend from the anarchist “Black Banner”.

“In memory of old friendship, help get the girl a good job under the new government. She is a beauty. Name is Mura. Our friend!”

They took care of Maria, and from working for the raiders she switched to working for the security officers, straight into the office of Comrade Jacob Peters.

5

“Maria, I have one important task for you in this evening,” Comrade Yakov unexpectedly told her.

It was something new and unusual – operational work. During the entire time she worked at the Cheka, Maria never had the opportunity to go somewhere or meet anyone, but only to print, prepare reports, summaries, and legal certificates. This time she had a completely different job to do.

Lenin and his sister Maria were going to speak at the Sokolniki District Council. Ulyanova was unwell, and the security officers decided to replace her with their employee. This is how Maria Yakushina got a role that was completely unfamiliar to her. It was unusual, but she was interested.

In the car, besides Lenin and the driver, there should have been a guard, and who should be afraid next to the main revolutionary of the world?

The trip was planned around five o’clock in the evening, but it was already dark and it had been snowing since the morning. The car was warm from the running engine and people’s breathing. Lenin looked cheerfully at Maria, squinted slightly and asked burring,

“Is it you whom Felix Edmundovich add on to guahd thgee adult men?”

The guard, a big man in an overcoat, burst out laughing at the leader’s joke.

Maria glanced briefly at Vladimir Ilyich. He looked healthy and cheerful, although only four months earlier he had been dangerously wounded by a gunshot.

“Two eyes are good, but four are better!” she said. “One eye in each direction.”

“Well, then I’m calm,” Lenin smiled, and the car drove off.

When they were already approaching the Council, the movement of the car was blocked by a group of men in greatcoats.

“Stop, Stepan,” Lenin turned to the driver.” Allow the Ged agmy men to be the people’s poweh.”

The driver braked, and at the same moment all the doors swung open, and a gun barrel was pointed at each passenger.

“Get out of the car one at a time! Hand over money, jewelry, weapons and…”

Lenin, thinking that they had been confused with someone else, was indignant,

“What’s the matteh, comhades? I am Lenin!”

Maria barely managed to reduce the bandit’s hearing before he snapped:

“To hell with you for being Levin. At night I am the boss in the city! Zayatz (Hare) – search them!”

Maria quickly read the memory of the bandits and realized that the commander was the famous Moscow raider Koshelkov, and the thin guy nicknamed “Hare” was Vasily Zaitsev.

He searched Lenin and confiscated the “Browning”. There was no money.

“You can go! Next,” said Koshelkov.

Lenin quickly moved towards the Sokolniki Council. The driver Stepan and the security guard Ivan left behind him one by one. Maria was the last to be searched. They took the money and the ring off her finger. One of the men, Vasily Mikhailov, looked at her intently. His face also seemed familiar to the xenobiologist.

“We used to meet in Odessa, at Yaponchik’s. It would be bad if he found out.”

But the bandits let her leave, and they drove off in a confiscated car.

Yakov Peters interrogated the victims personally. Maria, using a card index, identified all the raiders. Mikhailov was previously associated with the Odessa syndicate…

*  *  *

Less than six months had passed before the GPU security officers tracked down Koshelkov. He was ambushed and killed in a firefight by snipers. Browning, previously owned by Lenin, was taken to Cheka for examination. Maria herself was doing copies of the inspection. It read, “…the initials B.V. on the handle of the gun were applied with a cutting tool, such as a cutter of a lathe.”

She remembered the lines of her friend Boris from an old letter,

“Russian friends found me a good job that I can do in the Polytechnic workshops – repairing personal items and devices.”

Here was one of these devices. The picture came together, piece by piece, like a mosaic. The revolutionaries ordered Boris, her Odessa friend, to adjust illegal weapons, and he, like a true master, marked the product with his initials.

“How everything is connected in this world,” Maria thought. She did not imagine that soon all the connections would be pulled into a tight knot…

6

A letter from Anna Stepanovna arrived at the end of the week.

“I’ll be passing through Moscow, meet me, please at Kazansky train Station,” she wrote.

Maria had to take a day off; transportation was bad, the train could be awaited for a really long time. But after all it appeared in the clouds of white steam.

Anna Stepanovna was with a man – an old acquaintance from the editorial office of “Kazan Telegraph” – Berg.

The godmother and adoptive mother hugged Maria and burst into tears.

“What a life has become, Morochka! War, cold. Nothing works. Vasily Karlovich and I decided to leave. Petrograd – Riga – Paris. Please come with us, there will be no happiness here.

“I can’t yet, mother. I’m waiting for my fiancé, Boris. And then, God willing, we’ll all get together.”

“Oh, my heart is heavy. You’ll better depart with us, and Borya will come later. Vasily Karlovich has a brother there, he will help…”

But young Maria and Boris were not going to run away from the vibrant life of the country, but on the contrary, they were preparing to change it with their knowledge and work.

“We’ll be in touch. When are you leaving for Petrograd?”

“Tonight. Vasily has a meeting with his brother’s colleague, but it’s here in the Kazansky restaurant, but there is still a long way to get to the Nikolaevsky station, probably.

“It’s very close, just to cross the square…”

*  *  *

The Kazansky Station restaurant had been barely surviving for two years now. The heating worked intermittently, and the peeling gilding on the walls was chilling to the touch. During the day, visitors snacked here on what the catering canteen served, and in the evening they relied on luck: to stumble upon smuggled delicacies or the bullets of an unexpected raid.

In the corner of the shabby hall, a young pianist in an overcoat was playing sad melodies of romances on a poorly tuned piano. Three men sat at a table near the piano, one of whom turned out to be Vasily Mikhailov.

“Is he here by chance?”

At such a distance, Maria could not “read” his thoughts. And she sent a message to Pilot,

“Call the security officers. Bandits are in the restaurant of the Kazansky railway station.”

Several people sat in the hall. Most ordered a decanter of vodka, herring with boiled potatoes, borscht and tea for an exorbitant price. Berg also ordered this simple menu and looked at his watch. The restaurant wall clock didn’t work and then suddenly struck, like all peaceful life in the country.

During the next strike, a thin military man in an overcoat without shoulder straps and a cap without a badge entered the hall and headed straight to their table. Mora was surprised to recognize in him her old friend Lieutenant Peter Kovalev.

*  *  *

“Hello, Captain,” Vasily Karlovich greeted him.

“Hello, Mr. Berg, Madame, mademoiselle!”

Berg introduced him to his companions.

“Here is a letter for Nikolay Karlovich. Tell him in words that I will still fight, but it seems to me that I will soon join sir Colonel. Is your goddaughter also coming with you Anna Stepanovna? Say “Yes”, and I’ll hit the road with you right now. Security nowadays is not at all superfluous.”

“No, Mr. Kovalev, she remains for now.”

At that moment the answer came from the Pilot,

“I’m in Moscow, I’ll be nearby.”

Peter did not recognize the grimy Tungus girl, his old acquaintance, in the beautiful Maria, but he was struck by the girl’s beauty and decided to set up a date with her.

But it looked like he had a competitor. A young man in a jacket with padded shoulders and azure vest walked up to their table with a swaggering gait. The pianist had just started playing a new tango.

“Shall we dance, mamzel?”

Kovalev jumped to his feet.

“What do you allow yourself?”

“Murka, would you like to dance with an old friend?”

Maria realized now that the whole company was not here by chance, that it was the bandits who were tracking her.

“Go away!” demanded the captain.

“Don’t you want a shiv?” the bandit snapped and took out the knife.

Maria didn’t have time to stop him when Peter kicked the knife out of the bandit’s hands and snatched the “Browning”. But this only inflamed the raiders and thieves. A revolver shot rang out, and the officer collapsed to the floor.

“Call the policemen!” Anna Stepanovna shouted in horror.

“Run!” ordered them Maria.

To the loud sounds of tango,

“Hello my dear and goodbye!” restaurant patrons ran away in all directions. Berg grabbed Anna Stepanovna by the arm and dragged her to the exit.

“You ratted all our company…”

Maria bent over the lifeless Peter Kovalev,

“And now get it for it!” 

And at the same moment Maria got a knife blow to here side.

The last thing she saw was the tall figure of the Pilot in a black leather cloak to his toes, sending waves of horror to the bandits and the last guests leaving the hall in panic.

*  *  *

Mora survived despite life threating wound, however, without a base camp and a special operating room, she lost her psychic abilities and a significant part of her memory. She forever forgot the details of life on Earth and her acquaintance with dozens of people, including Boris.

The Pilot took Mora to the mountains, where healing springs of mineral water, fresh pine air and the absence of devastation gradually put the young woman on her feet. She stayed to live in that mountainous country, became a school teacher, received an order, but never started a family… And only the sad melody of the tango, which became a popular folk song, worried her and reminded her of something disturbing from her past earthly life.

THE END