Shadow of the Transition

Chapter 2

I was lying. Horizontally. I was lying on something hard, but not on the floor. I wouldn't confuse the cold of the concrete floor with anything else anymore. I tried to move, and got a bunch of new tactile sensations.

There were boots on my feet. These were undoubtedly my own boots; my toes told this to me, as they felt the inner surface of the shoe. I had clothes on, and they were my own too. However, I was covered with something that didn't belong to me; this thing was big but short, it reached only my knees. It was warm under it. Through my closed eyelids, I could feel a dim light, just a bit brighter than total darkness; but I didn't want to open my eyes. I felt warm and cozy. Besides, I heard voices. Two voices.

"I don't know, Ashan. Everything seems to be fine. Your guys haven't even hurt her seriously. There aren't even any bruises on her arms. Maybe she was scared?"

"Scared of what? What could she be scared of in the safest place in our world?"

"Weapons, for instance? I'd be scared too, you know... Or maybe that's the Transition's effect on her. Or her blood pressure may have jumped. Well, what did you find out?"

"I've contacted our Western District and searched the chip on her identification bracelet in the database. Almost nothing. She doesn't work anywhere, she doesn't talk to anyone. She comes for free food once a week. Besides, she doesn't live in the Village, but in one of the houses abandoned after the Disaster; presumably, in her former apartment. Naturally, there is neither electricity nor water in it."

"Oh? In this case, she looks pretty good. I don't know what I would look like living without water and electricity for thirteen years. And how I would smell ... Hmmm ... What else could our colleagues find out?"

"They say our lady is about forty years old, approximately. More than thirty-five, but less than fifty."

"Just fantastic accuracy, Ashan!"

"What can we do, Peter? Almost all the documents have been lost, and nine-tenths of the population has disappeared, so we don't have many people to delve into clarifications".

"Hmmm... What else?"

"Perhaps her last name is Rammington, if she really lives in her former apartment. Her first name is unknown."

"How can it be?"

"I tell you, she doesn't talk. She's just a crazy housewife."

"Oh well... In this case, how shall we interact and explain the problem to her?"

I was listening to them and thinking. They called me a housewife. This was true, actually; it could be said so. Just that... it was not exactly my own conscious choice. After everything collapsed, I just kept living on the ruins of my world. I was like a flower that had fallen from the windowsill: there was no one to throw it out, so it stayed, watered by rain coming through the open window, and tried to grow in its handful of earth in the broken pot. As for not talking, the point was that no one remained of those who had known me once, so who could I talk to? What about? And what for?

I heard the soft clinking of dishes and the quiet murmur of liquid being poured.

"You know," Peter said, "she's a very beautiful woman... well, she used to be once. So, what shall we do now, Ashan?"

"Are you sentimental? You've said yourself that the Oracle is never wrong. And there was no one else in the place indicated by the Oracle. It means we are to send her."

"Yes, of course, Big Bob is never wrong, but ... It's a pity, after all."

"Don't you feel pity for our guys? Now they have no chance at all."

"Yes, sure..."

I heard the creak of a chair being pushed aside over the concrete, and soft footsteps. Someone's hand tapped me on the shoulder. "Mrs. Rammington?"

I opened my eyes and slowly sat down on the long wooden box. It looked like a weapon box. The camouflage coat that I had been covered with slipped onto my lap. A grey-haired and big-nosed military man stood beside me. He leaned forward cautiously and held the cup out to me. We were in a small, cluttered room. Next to a table lit by a lamp with a homemade lampshade, there was a plump elderly man in a white coat. He looked at me too.

I took the hot cup awkwardly and made a careful sip. Awesome! It was tea! With sugar! It still existed...

***

In the morgue, Peter (the man in the white coat) and big-nosed Ashan showed me a corpse. Or rather, two corpses.

A blonde girl in the plastic bag had a broken neck, but otherwise, she was probably even better looking than me: young, with smooth white skin and a serene expression on her face. Peter sighed, and we went to look at the second corpse. This was a stout man of about thirty-five years old. I looked at his distorted features and understood he'd had a hard time before he died. Peter showed me only the guy's head, so I turned back the edge of the bag, and before the military intercepted my hand I managed to notice a lot of shallow lacerations on the chest and shoulders of the dead man. I raised my eyebrows, and Peter shrugged quickly and apologetically.

"We don't know," he said, "maybe some animals..."

"Mrs. Rammington, let's go," Ashan hurried me. I glanced once again at the two elongated bundles wrapped in white plastic, one larger and one smaller, and followed him.

***

The technical details of their explanations somehow fell out of my memory. I understood nothing in physics, and even less in the physics of the Transition. My memory saved only what was explained figuratively and in plain language. Oddly enough, big-nosed and cold-eyed Ashan rose to this challenge.

"You see, Mrs. Rammington, Sergeant Evelyn was thrown out here with the part of the chip...the tracker; without this part, the rest of the group and the rescued people cannot return. Apparently, unforeseen difficulties arose during the operation ..."

What was unclear in it? Something had gone wrong in an unknown other world where our Twilight Phantoms went after the missing people. As a result, one part of the tracker was here while the other part was there, and I was to bring them the missing part, because without it they could not return. Therefore, that girl was one of the missing people ... Pity, she was so young ...

"Mrs. Rammington, are you listening? I'm saying we'll synchronize your mass to Sergeant Evelyn's mass and send you to the same place, as close as possible, eh well ... so that you have more chances... opportunities to meet the rest of the group and hand the tracker over to them. Take a look and choose a weapon for yourself. Do you know how to deal with it?"

What? Weapon? Oh no! I hadn't play shooters even before the Disaster, and the last thing I wanted to do was to start it now. I had no desire to drag on myself a dozen or two kilograms of iron that I needed to match the mass of that sergeant, Evelyn, or what his name was. No, thank you! Besides, it didn't look like his weapon had helped him.

I resolutely shook my head and strode to my bag which I'd noticed in the corner. It was full of free fish I'd gotten from our generous government.

"Mrs. Rammington? Leave this rubbish. I'm talking about weapons."

I didn't dignify that with a response. Since I had been kidnapped thanks to their stupid Oracle, and since they were going to throw me hell knows where, I was going to take at least something edible with me. I didn't like these small caveats about "chance".

"Mrs. Rammington? Are you going to take your shopping bag with you? This is an extremely bad idea, I assure you. You must have your hands free," fat Peter babbled. "On the other hand, the Oracle does not approve giving you a backpack. As well as weapons, actually ... It seems that Big Bob will only approve what you had with you when we ... invited you."

Big-nosed Ashan swore through his teeth behind my back. Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Okay. So far, Big Bob has never been wrong ... Hey there, weigh this fish quickly. In the meantime, we will think how to pack it into your clothes, in order to keep your hands free after all."