UFO:EU-inspired story

[tkzv]

Found a story last week. It was published in January-April of 2006 in Russian magazine "Best Computer Games". http://lki.ru/text.php?id=644 , but it's in Russian and contains too much slang for Google Translate. It was a part of a series by Nikolay Romashov about playtesting virtual reality games in the 2040s. The story "Defenders of the Fatherland" describes a "UFO-inspired" game (rather than a remake). Funnily, there's a lot of ideas I've seen implemented in later inspired games as well as OXC mods. And some ideas nobody tried yet.

• Like many fictional games in the series it's designed for single or cooperative play. Each player controls a single operative, and the rest are controlled by simple AI.
• The setting is a somewhat romanticized picture of 1990s as recalled 50 years later.
• X-COM is a limited liability company funded jointly by state and private sponsors.
• At first its scope is limited to the starting country. Advancing beyond requires some research, diplomacy and money.
• Lack of money is a running gag.
• The state rewards successful missions with money, but that doesn't cover even the price of bullets spent.
• The reward for a terror mission comes with fines for property damage. But it's possible to brie bank managers and steal from a bank.
• It's possible to make and sell moonshine right from the start. It's possible to develop this production into a large-scale alcohol factory.
• It's possible to get a replacement jet fighter after losing one in battle — in theory. But the process is called "puzzle-adventure elements" for a reason.
• Starting operatives are conscripted college flunk-outs. Starting scientists include useless "secretaries" and "managers".
• The game starts with wage of operatives at 0. Increasing it brings volunteers to be hired.
• Untrained but strong psionics can still work as alien detectors.
• Starting troop transport is 1 snowmobile for weapons and skis for operatives.
• It's possible to chase a UFO on a car.
• Fighters are piloted by the same operatives who do ground missions. It's an air combat simulator.
• Vehicles can malfunction in flight. But they can also be repaired in flight.
• Planes can hide from UFOs in clouds.
• Downed pilots can be rescued during ground missions.
• Operatives can dig trenches during ground missions.
• Skiing operatives can ram aliens stunning them.
• One possible side mission is protecting a country house of a nouveau riche from aliens. This gives a reward (money and weapons), recruits and an extra channel to buy weapons.
• Mutons are gorillas with green fur and thick skin.
• Aliens send mixed-species crews from the start.
• Researching laser weapons requires studying alien plasma weapons.
• Coordinates of the Martian base are known only to Sectoid leaders and navigators, who become rare by the time research reaches this point.
• Finding the channels to profitably sell alien corpses and artifacts is another research/diplomacy puzzle.
• Some of the useless starting equipment is also hard to sell.
• One mission is robbing a NATO military base. It turns out to be a disguised alien base, defended both by aliens and by human mercenaries.
• It also unlocks an investigation about corrupt local military.
• Parked UFOs are captured with the base.
• Captured alien bases can be turned into X-COM bases.
• Terror missions start with several UFOs meeting far from the target and loading all weapons and troops into a single transport. This rendezvous point can be attacked.
• Terror maps may include underground passages such as cellars or sewers.
• Operatives can pick thrown grenades and throw them back.
• Operatives can climb each other to shoot over obstacles.
• To become an officer an operative has to spend some time training away from the base.
• Questioning prisoners is a gruesome minigame.
• Invading Mars is like Earth invasion with roles reversed. XCOM builds secret bases and terrorizes alien cities. But it's possible to finish the game quickly by assaulting the central base with the first landing party.
• Fighter craft also participate in this operation.
• Psionics can protect friendly troops from psionic assaults.
• Troop advancement mechanics uses levels. It is possible to level up during a battle, recovering lost points.
• The ultimate psionic attack renders the attacker unable to use psionics anymore.

[Nikita_Sadkov]

It was published in January-April of 2006 in Russian magazine "Best Computer Games". http://lki.ru/text.php?id=644

I remember hacking LKI's site a few times back in 2006, dropping DB, posting on forums from admin accounts and otherwise messing with it. They got mad, reported me to police. But Russian police reacts only when you criticize Putin online. Still good memories.

[tkzv]

I remember hacking LKI's site a few times back in 2006, dropping DB, posting on forums from admin accounts and otherwise messing with it. They got mad, reported me to police.

More likely, only threatened, but were afraid to show their pirated MS Office and Photoshop.

But Russian police reacts only when you criticize Putin online.

They are lazy, and are known to arrest plaintiffs. Don't worry, they are far from unique.

And your political activism is less about criticism and more of animal cruelty, threats and hate speeches. Let's keep it away from this forum, shall we?

Anyway, the translation is below. Split into chunks below 20 000 symbols, by chapter and episode borders.

DISCLAIMERS: I'm not the authour, I only found the story this year. As far as I know, the original author disappeared without a trace years ago and nobody objects to reposting those stories. (And if the author comes back to object, that would be an acceptable price to having him back ) Also, I'm not a native English speaker and I'm not familiar with military slang, thus corrections are welcome. Most of the time, I tried to follow the original style closely (mainly, sentence length, synonyms for "say", adverbial modifiers and onomatopoeias) despite my personal preferences, so constructive criticism is welcome, but no promises.

[tkzv]

Beta-Testers
by Prizrak ("Ghost")

Episode 9: Protectors of Fatherland
first published in "Best Computer Games" magazine №1 (50) Jan. 2006, №2 (51) Feb 2006, №3 (52) Mar 2006, №4 (53) Apr 2006

Mission 01: Baptism of Fire.

Testers' den.
November 12, 10:34 real time.

"So?"

"Soon..."

"So?"

"Banzai, go wash yourself!"

"Xen, launch it already, you bastard!"

"Wait a bit... Wait a bit... I'll check the textures..."

"Check them from the inside. Launch it already! I'm dying here..."

The overall atmosphere in the computer hall resembled something between mass psychosis and fan crowd of a random rock group before a concert. The programmer Xenobyte — a pale lean lanky guy with unevenly cut unkempt long black hair, long fingers seemingly having a life of their own and wearing sun pince-nez — was frantically thumping on the keyboard, occasionally making belly groans. The "walkers" McMad and Mahmud — two strapping guys with crew-cuts, wearing military camouflage — nervously consumed coffee, now and then exchanging phrases like "And plasma pistol, actually, sucks", "Sure, should take heavy plasma from the start". The stealth and puzzle specialist Melissa — a girl in her twenties, with long black hair, wearing leather vest, short skirt and very tall jackboots — like an orchestra conductor waved a manipulator, wandering the net. And only the gaming journalist Granddaughter — a girl with pigtails in her late teens, wearing sneakers, worn jeans and striped T-shirt (and who wouldn't look out of place in anime) — stood in the middle of this chaos, staring at her friends gloomily. [Translator's note: I added character descriptions from earlier stories.]

"Banzai," she pulled the sleeve of bored Grandfather Banzai (no relation) — a sixty-something man with long gray hair braided in the Viking fashion. "While others are going mad... Could at least you explain, why the panic?! Just another game... Polikarpych also was jumpy, when he gave me the disks..."

Banzai looked at Granddaughter with fear, like a medieval peasant, who was asked "what is this barn?" pointing at a church.

"Granddaughter," he moaned with pain. "I thought Xenobyte was our backwoodsman. But you?!"

"What about me?!" Granddaughter asked gloomily. "Well... let me think... Last time you were crazy like this when I brought 'Star Convoy'. What is it, some other legend of old?! Right?"

Banzai thought deeply.

"Well, sorta — yes."

"Spill out," Granddaughter sighed, making herself comfortable.

Banzai smoothed his mustache. His stare went blank; Granddaughter shuddered: the old tester started to look like a shaman, ready to tell the tribe some scary legend.

"The history of Protector of Fatherland is rooted in the mists of old," he started like a chant. "In the era, when RAM was measured with megabytes, 5-inch disk surprised nobody and comrade Kimersen[sic] was still alive..."

Granddaughter had trouble remembering who, this Kimersen was, but the mention of 5-inch disk suggested appropriate respect.

"In that era few had heard of 3D acceleration, much less VR. So, there was a game called 'UFO: An Unknown Aggressor', or something like that..."

The old man's voice fell to a mystic whisper, after which he seemed to exit to astral completely. His eyes watered, his fingers and mustache moved mysteriously.

"And was the game good?" Granddaughter pulled Banzai's sleeve impatiently.

"Good? Hmm... It wasn't just good. Though nobody figured where was the trick. The graphics seemed to be — for its day — quite decent, but not really outstanding. Ditto the music. The plot — there'd been more elaborate ones. But all that put together... In short, people were binge playing it. The whole generation. And then weirdness started. The company that released the game decided to release a sequel too. And so they did. Fans, of course bought everything, but... But it didn't make such a furor. And everything seemed to be the same. But many turned away: something was insincere there. A few years later another sequel appeared... And failed again... All in all, the pre-virtual era saw 5 installments of the legendary game. Each time employing the latest achievements of computer technology. The poor game had been a turn-based tactical simulator, a real-time tactical simulator, space fighter simulator and just a shooter. All in vain. The new generation turned away, the old fans wept, unearthed their old computers, late at night installed old DOS and ran the first, the legendary variant of the game."

"But today many old games are reworked for virt," Granddaughter remarked.

"Yeah," Banzai nodded, "and note that the legends like Doom, Quake, Dune — they all immediately found their virtual incarnations. But no less legendary Aggressor — no way. Despite all the years... Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"They are afraid. Still afraid, because they don't understand what in the first game touched the soul so much," mysteriously whispered Banzai.

"But somebody finally tried, didn't they?"

"They did. Samara Soft. Cunning guys, I respect that... But even they didn't dare to make a true remake, or what would you call it... They said 'inspired by...' And rightly so — remaking a legend is no use. Now, inspired by legendary images one can..."

"Enough tall tales, Banzai. Let's go! Mount your machines, comrades!" — Mahmud joyfully roared from somewhere.


Chkalov Air Defense secret base.
November 12, 10:55 real time

Granddaughter found the intro somewhat boring. With Levitan-like narrator's voice solemnly telling the story how mean aliens started terrorizing Earth, over an incredibly beautiful snow-covered forest landscape a pancake-like vehicle floated by, mysteriously blinking its outlining lights. Suddenly the camera shifted. One snowbank stirred, an old man in ushanka and sheepskin coat emerged from it. With a disapproving glance at the vehicle the old man dramatically raised a Berdan rifle, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. The vehicle shuddered, shook and, leaving a trail of smoke, dashed somewhere beyond the forest where it crashed, judging from the thunder. Around the geriatric sniper equally gloomy peasants started to gather, getting out of the thicket, armed with axes, forks and stakes. It looked like the troubles of the flying saucer pilots had just started.
[T.N.:
Yu.B.Levitan was the primary announcer of Soviet Radio in 1940-60s, an iconic voice of WW2 archive footage.
Berdan rifles are single-shot 10.75x58 or 7.62x54 mm rifles decommissioned in the 1890s. The name is used scornfully since mid-20th century.]

Meanwhile, the narrator explained in simple terms that although the government pretends that nothing extraordinary happens, the population resists the alien intervention the way it can. And now it's time to set about this task orderly, on an industrial scale. Which is what the players are suggested to do. To begin with, they get one Air Defense base and the task: stop the disorder.

Finally, the surrounding reality blinked. The testers found themselves in a grim bunker.

"Armory, armory!!! Where's the armory?!" Mahmud shouted immediately.

"Laboratory!" Xenobyte interjected.

"We should take the inventory!" suggested Melissa in a business-like manner.

"Shaddup!" proclaimed Banzai, taking the familiar coordinator's position. "Well, let's sort this out... Yeah... Well... From here it's just like the good old UFO, only with you being louses in there... Here's the base plan... Mahmud, McMad, dart to the barracks, take the corridor, then right. Xen, lab's on the second level, the lift's behind you. Melissa, dart to the command center. Check the base inventory, find how are the interceptors armed...

"And me?" asked Granddaughter resentfully.

"Walk around the base, look for picturesque angles..."

Testers ran in all directions. 15 minutes later hey gathered in the room marked as "VIP hall" for some reason. After a nervous glance at the fountain with a golden dolphin rising in the middle of the table and a monumental fax machine with "Sony" and "Xerox" stickers, everybody settled around the water-sprayed table. The testers' faces were long. They spent the next two minutes in silence. Finally, Mahmud very carefully said:

"Errrrr..."

Nobody followed his lead. The pause clearly stretched too long.

"OK, comrades, I looked after you..." Banzai made a sound. "Express yourself. Let's start with the laboratory. Xenobyte?"

"Odd," the programmer shrugged, "the finest device there is a moonshine still. The personnel gave me a painful impression. Out of seven employees there are four managers and a secretary. Nothing to develop yet."

"Hm... OK, I hope the first downed saucer will give them work. Go on. What's in the armory?"

"Banzai, I don't know yet what is the balance in this game," said McMad gloomily. "But the local defense doctrine seems to be based on AK-47, 3 Mosin rifles, 2 RPG-18 and 1 decent SVD rifle, which I take for myself. The latest in assault weaponry is Saiga carbine. Frankly, I'm slightly panicking."

"Don't worry," Banzai tried to calm him down. "We'll look at them in action, can't tell much before that. What about means of protection?"

"As you can guess, a standard issue army armored vest. That's all."

"Mahmud, did you check the barracks?"

"Boss," said the walker quietly. "If those rookies must repel the invasion... It's time to learn to speak Martian."

"That bad?"

"Even worse," said Mahmud with meaning. "We're saddled with 5 degenerates flunked out of colleges."

A minute of silence followed.

"You mean... Conscripts?"

"Exactly."

"And... Regular military?"

"That's us."

"OK," mumbled the coordinator with a slightly hoarse voice. "Melissa..."

"What's a 'Tunguska'?" the girl asked instead of an answer.

"How should I put it..." [T.N.: 2K22 Tunguska, NATO name SA-19 Grison — a tracked self-propelled twin anti-aircraft gun with SAMs.]

"We've got two. According to the inventory, they come with diesel fuel and ammo. Thus: we've got a bit of ammo."

"And what about early warning systems?"

"A sentry on a watchtower," Melissa replied caustically. "There's also a radar. The local McGyver is busy repairing it."

"And interceptors?"

"Two MiGs. Fuel for five missions, ten missiles. Thank god, at least enough cannon rounds. But no pilots at all. Some of us will have to recall air simulators."

"And what about the funds?"

"And what do you think?"

"I get it. But it's strange... Where did it all come from? I mean the fountains and other color music?"

"And this," Melissa replied gloomily, "is called realism. We live off state money and volunteer donations. And a sponsor will enjoy giving a fountain more than real money. Then again, maybe they have trouble selling those. And weapons are in demand..."

"Well," Xenobyte groaned sourly. "Maybe it isn't all that bad. Maybe..."

Suddenly an overly joyful march started.

It took the testers some time to find it was being produced by a mahogany end table, which on thorough investigation turned out to be a telephone.

"Post number 3 reporting," a cheerful voice sounded from an earpiece. "An unknown flying object detected!"


Air combat.
November 12, 11:23 real time

Banzai had no time to enter the game. Thus, it were McMad and Xenobyte who madly dashed to the interceptors. Mahmud rushed to prepare the landing party to the mission.

"Xenobyte, don't show off. The plan is: lure the saucer, start a dogfight and inconspicuously lure it toward Tunguskas."

"Let's fly... Damn, why so many buttons? Couldn't they install a proper keyboard?"

"By god, that's already a simplified simulator! McMad! Remember, the ammo is limited. Cause I know you, when you get a new gun... I wish I was in the cockpit..."

"Yeah, and who'd stay at the helm?"

"Xenobyte, go!"

"Giddyup, go, dear!" the programmer screamed, accelerating the airplane.

The plane thundered along the runway, rose its nose and lifted off.

"Xen!" Melissa remarked with worry. "Do you have any idea of the cost of such an airplane?"

"Better don't tell... But shouldn't they be replaced for free?"

"They should. If we file a convincing statement of fair wear-and-tear. Remember those 'puzzle-adventure elements'?"

"Belay talking!" Banzai interrupted them harshly. "Xen has trouble with controls as it is, and then you..."

The other plane hit the sky. Snow-covered taiga dragged below.

"Fifteen seconds, all systems go... Banzai, check the map, where to?!"

"Turn left, we'll approach from the sun side..."

"Who the hell cares? The sky is all clouded..."

"It's a tradition... OK, belay yammering. Eyes on radars, you should see it soon..."

"I see it!" declared McMad shortly after.

"Mine's empty," Xenobyte grumbled.

"McMad, take the lead, Xenobyte's radar looks dead."

"I knew they'd slip me a defective plane!"

"Better look out the window, you'll reach visual contact soon... Xen, what's that thunder from you?"

"I'm fixing the radar, somebody conveniently left a crowbar..."

"And?!"

"As usual... Here! Target's on the radar!"

"It's in sights already," McMad chuckled.

And truly, a classic "flying saucer" sailed leisurely under the low clouds.

According to the "lure the enemy to Tunguskas" plan, both interceptors started with sweeping past the enemy craft menacingly. But the UFO paid no heed to the hooligans and continued going about its business.

"The nerve," Xenobyte was outraged. "What should we do then?"

"McMad, fire!" Banzai ordered.

The walker must have waited long for this moment, because his interceptor made a gut roar and spit fire from all barrels and sent a missile from under its wing.

The missile drew a silver line in the sky and hit the saucer. An explosion thundered, the flying misconception shook. The lights contouring it started blinking perplexedly...

"At least I broke his headlight..."

"And that's all?" asked Xenobyte in surprise.

"McMad, retreat!!!" Banzai screamed with a mad voice.

The interceptor skyrocketed. Good timing: formerly phlegmatic flying object quickly released some sort of a proboscis and flung itself into dogfight. Xenobyte engaged the airbreaks, but was too slow: the glowing droplet spit by the disk slashed the base of a wing and the cockpit. The turbine started coughing in an asthmatic fit.

"Oy vey! I mean 'Mayday'!" the programmer screamed, spinning down.

"Straighten the machine, cretin!" Banzai replied. "McMad, distract the saucer!"

McMad made a loop-the-loop, showering the enemy with cannon fire and shooting two more missiles while at it. Before the object could turn its gun, he turned around and sped somewhere northeast.

"Yeah," he remarked several seconds later, "looks like we've got an ally here. I can see something like Xen's castle in Transylvania."

The building did resemble the vampire castle from "Epoch of Chimeras" MMORPG. Even the round window, from which Xenobyte usually flew to get breakfast, was in its proper place. Probably, it wasn't a coincidence — the same 3D artists were rumored to work on both games.

And the UFO suddenly, without warning or paying proper respect to inertia, rushed after him quickly closing the distance.

"Ayeee!" scared Melissa's voice sounded from speakers. "Draw it away from there! Away!"

"Melissa, what's with you?" Banzai replied "We should save money. If it's shot down without us, that's better."

"I told you — draw it away! Anywhere!"

"Run for the clouds!" suggested Banzai.

The interceptor skyrocketed. The flying saucer, despite its absolutely improbable horizontal maneuverability, seemed to be weak at climbing. After "missing" by several meters the UFO stopped abruptly and started to "rise on edge", after which it continued its movement. This short delay let the plane disappear in the lead-gray clouds. Somehow, the saucer didn't want to follow it. It also became interested in the building with fancy towers...

"Listen," Melissa's vice sounded calm, but menacing, "don't let a single crock fall off these towers... I mean roof tile. Do anything. Up to ramming this flying bowl with your plane..."

"What the hell is that, anyway? A nuclear weapons storage?" McMad howled.

And then airwaves brought the wail of forgotten Xenobyte:

"My castle! It's shooting at it! I'll crush you-u-u-u-u!"

"What does he mean?"

While McMad was running away from the saucer (which took much shorter than retelling the events), the programmer managed to break out of the spin, missed the frozen ground by five meters and sent the interceptor up.

The object started jerking, torn between McMad and Xenobyte. The fatal hesitation... Xenobyte's fighter, wheezing strainedly and smoking, raced to ram it.

"Bail out, Xen!!!"

"No pas-sa-ran, motherfuckers!"

Four rockets, one after another, fell from under the fighter wings, and the fighter itself finally screamed like a wounded mammoth and drove its nose into the defenseless belly of the saucer.

That finally seemed to do it. The craft started shaking, spasmodically jerking to and fro and sped to the side, inexorably losing the altitude.

"Wounded beast," Banzai sighed. "McMad, after it! Xen, you were the real programmer! The people will never forget you..."

"Yeah," Melissa confirmed, almost weeping from disappointment. "Wasting the full load of ammo with an almost new interceptor! Losses, staggering material losses!"

"Shouldn't have given the idea."

"Who knew you'd take it all so literally..."

"OK, we'll have a debriefing later. Now Mahmudych's going to exact losses from those humanoids."

[tkzv]

Central Russian forest
November 12, 11:48 real time

"The things we used for insertion..." Mahmud complained to Granddaughter. — "A transport plane, a submarine, an armored car, sometimes even ran on foot... Tiring, but OK... Helicopters. Convenient, a good bargain... But like this?!"

"Belay talking! Go, go, go..." Banzai shouted.

The small detachment, with weapons behind their backs, was cheerfully skiing through dense snow. Some equipment was carried by a small snowmobile driven by Granddaughter.

Earlier she suggested waiting for McMad and also grabbing Melissa from the base, but Granddad talked her out of it: after such a fall the majority of the crew was unrecoverable. For the sweeter flesh nearer the bone the seen operatives (five bots included) should have been enough.

"Mahmud!" Granddaughter shouted, after checking the map. "Keep your eyes open! The crash site is likely to be already after the hill over the-ere..."

Instead of answering Mahmud ducked and dashed to the side.

"There he is! A floater!"

And truly, deep in the forest twilight at about three meter height a perfectly extraterrestrial figure in a loose shapeless robe floated.

The bots joyfully fell into the snow, cracking the skis. Granddaughter hesitated a second between an assault rifle and a camera, but duty won, and it wasn't a gun that started chattering.

Mahmud ran to the tree in short dashes.

"Achtung!" the Floater screamed. "Nicht schiessen! Mahmud, don't start fire! Friend!" [T.N.: "Mahmud, start the fire" is a quote from "White Sun of the Desert" film — the antagonist orders his henchman to burn the hero and the antagonist's 9 wives in an oil cistern.]

"Damn," Mahmud was upset. "And I hoped to take him alive."

"Xen!" Granddaughter cried with joy. "What are you doing there?"

"Hanging," Xenobyte replied laconically. "Decorating a tree. How about extricating me from the damned parachute?"

Walkers began to think.

"Why think," suddenly one of the soldiers called, "just shake it!"

"What was your major, comrade student?" Mahmud snapped.

"Alban... Armen... heck, English."

"Should've picked physics. Belay shaking. Any other ideas?"

"Rocketjump?" Granddaughter called hesitantly. "We've got this big iron thing, RPG-what-was-it."

"Oh!" Mahmud liked the idea. "And test the physics too."

"By the way, we've only got six rockets..." Melissa reminded by radio.

"No matter, we'll count it as expenses for an experiment. Anyway, we need to know if it works here or not."

"Assuming it doesn't. Minus a rocket, minus Mahmud and possibly minus Xenobyte. Captivating arithmetic?"

"Well, why start with Mahmud," the walker backed down. "We've got soldiers, by the way. It's not a commander's business to test rocketjumps."

Xenobyte inhaled loudly.

"Belay knocking a commander down with rockets and dive mahmuds! Brainstorm time!"

A bot gave a fresh idea.

"Comrade commander, let's first take down the xenobyte over there? He's lower," and the bot galloped through the snow deeper inside the wood, where another figure could be seen. This one really was hanging lower — about a meter and a half, allowing to see a purple face and a stylish crimson cloak.

The false Xenobyte imperturbably raised a barrel, something green flew by, and the testers were left with only four bots.

The survivors reacted immediately, and the soldiers did it automatically. Everything in their hands simultaneously made a loud "Bang!" and the floater received about as much metal as a square meter of Malaya Zemlya outpost. [T.N.: 1.1 kg]

The lead part was played by the same RPG-18. Something ughed, something sagged, and the testers were showered by snow, cones, twigs and Xenobyte.

"So, comrades ufologists," he hissed. "Who taught you to give a grenade launcher to a bot? What does a soldier do, when he sees an enemy? Shoots! Whatever he's been given! And doesn't care if a beloved commander is near. Not to say that it's not him who pays for the ammunition spent. Ferstein?"


UFO crash site-1.
November 12, 12:15 real time.

"Tyndyrbiyev, don't fall behind!" Mahmud snapped. "Aren't you a Chukcha!"

"Tyndyrbiyev not Chukcha!" — the soldier with distinctive slanted eyes was offended. "Tyndyrbiyev Uzbeka!"

"Belay moaning, son of the steppes! Move your skis! One-two, one-two! C'mon evrybady, we'll arrive soon!"

"Hey, where's your scouts?" Banzai asked worryingly. "What if suddenly..."

"What suddenly? What suddenly? This is the first saucer, one is dead, two remain," Xenobyte explained in a tired tutor's tone. "One — or both — in the navigation center. One was outside already. You should know the classics."

"Were the floaters in the first UFO normal?" inquired Granddad mockingly, but nobody seemed to hear him.

Tyndyrbiyev was the first to reach the crest of the hill. He seemed to have gone a little crazy from cold, cross-country ski race and being called a "son of the steppes". Either the bot got stuck in a loop, or believed himself to be a Golden Horde warrior fording Alps on elephants. One way or another, he jumped in place, squealed aggressively, pushed himself jauntily and disappeared. His war cry immediately mutated into a scared scream "Shaitan!"

"Get ready, gang!" Mahmud roared, trying to desperately row with ski poles and get Saiga off his shoulder.

After reaching the crest of the hill, the testers observed the accident scene clearly. They had reached the crash site. Ahead they could see a silvery-gray saucer that had plowed a respectable furrow. The epic picture was crowned by a snowbank at the foot of the hill with skis sticking out. A ski track from the top of the hill ended at the body of a short big-headed invader, lying in the snow.

It looked like the unlucky Tyndyrbiyev rushed down like an avalanche, met an extraterrestrial guest face to face and finding no better way just ran him over. After crossing the depths of space the alien expected anything, but such a run-in with an inept Uzbek skier. The match ended with the technical victory of Uzbekistan: the bot was still stirring his skis listlessly, but the alien didn't.

However, some fifty meters from where two civilizations clashed, another big-head was feverishly turning toward testers a menacing phallic thingy.

"Down!" Mahmud screamed. "Kill Sectoids!" The walker pushed himself sharply, discarding the poles and pulling out the rifle.

"He's mad," Xenobyte commented. "Hey, eagles! Cover the madman with fire!"

Soldiers lying in the snow started to bang away diligently, roughly in the alien's direction. There seemed to be no danger for him, but with bullets buzzing Mahmud started cursing awfully and drawing loops worthy of freestyle world cup.

"Belay agitating the madman," Xenobyte ordered calmly.

The alien's electronic brain failed to find an adequate answer, so he forgot to contribute to the firefight. The skis kept carrying Mahmud closer, until the strike of the rifle butt finished the short duel.

Several energy discharges swept hissing above the heads of testers and their underlings.

"Down, boys!" one of the bots roared with an epic warrior's bass.

"Banzai, mark him: I'll make him a sergeant if he survives," Mahmud groaned, falling face first in the snow.

"Granddaughter, leave the ferry!" [T.N.: another "White Sun..." quote; the boat was going to explode.]

Fortunately, Granddaughter had already learned to follow Banzai's advises as a reflex. She dove from the snowmobile safely into another of fluffy snowbanks, which the landscape had in abundance. The group's only transport was thrown away with a blast: some cunning alien earned himself a marksman medal.

"We're done for!" Mahmud wailed. "Ammunition!"

"Actually, it would make sense to reload," Xenobyte remarked grimly.

"No way in hell!" Mahmud shook his head sullenly. "Even if we all die, we get experience. We play until the last one. Hey, gang! On your marks! Conserve the ammo, our train burned."

More energy discharges flew from the saucer stuck in the ground. Bots started crawling frantically, searching for any cover, Granddaughter squealed once, and Xenobyte was nowhere to be seen.

"Dig in, guys, who wanna live!" Mahmud roared.

The bots started gouging the frozen ground. Mahmud whistled in surprise: the bot whom he promised sergeant's stripes was descending into the bowels of Earth with the speed of a sand-digging lizard.

"Whoa... The bulldozer man! Name?"

"Petrenko!" the underground bassed with a stereotypical Ukrainian accent.

"For the mission duration you get the callsign Digger. Take the position three meters to the left!"

"Yessir!"

"Tyndyrbiyev, take Digger's foxhole!"

Soon the position looked like a frugal grave, but Digger ran out of steam and begged for mercy.

"Now hold your hats!" Mahmud cried.

The walker swung his arm and threw a grenade out of his hole. The ground shook, pieces of dirt buzzed above the testers. The aliens looked at each other in surprise: the grenade exploded some four meters from testers and could never harm their enemies.

"What do you think you're doing?" inquired Banzai.

"Granddaughter! Do you have the camera?!"

"Yes!"

"Stick it out the foxhole and check: is there a crater?"

"OK... Wait... A second... Here. Yes!"

"Deep?"

"Not really."

"We'll dig deeper then!"

Another grenade flew, then a third one.

"Tyndyrbiyev!"

"My!"

"A spade in your teeth and dig to the crater! Now!"

"A few minutes later slightly rested Petrenko joined Tyndyrbiyev. Together they quickly finished the trench. Now the testers' troop had a large round pit at their disposal.

However, the operatives were in dire straits from any point of view. They could not rise under the fire of aliens from the trench plowed by the UFO. The enemy position was beyond forty meters of flat as a table tundra. Out of their arsenal only the sniper rifle had sufficient range, but Mahmud couldn't use it well, more so the bots.

"Eh... Hopeless... No matter, we'll deplete their ammo and charge with bayonets!" Mahmud suggested optimistically. "If only we took the position from the start or flanked them..."

Granddaughter tactfully said nothing.

"Alas, Digger, you won't be a sergeant," Mahmud summarized. "We're rallying the bots to charge. Of course, they won't make it to the enemy trench, but will buy us time to maneuver."

"Yeah, to sum: throwing away all bots," Banzai remarked.

"What else to do?! Xen got himself killed somewhere, the mission's plagued with bad luck... reloading anyway... Hey, gang! Fix bayonets!

Bots' faces reflected a photogenic resoluteness. Epic warrior Petrenko took his rifle in one hand and the spade in the other. Tyndyrbiyev puled his ushanka down, making himself look like an ancient Mongol in kulokh hat.

"And still... The bump over there... Like a dream: dig in behind it, crawl out unnoticed and shoot all this vermin like in a shooting gallery... Like a dream... Should we risk it? Oh, honest mother! Granddaughter, grab your camera and get the maximum zoom.

"Holy God," said Banzai quietly. "Speak of the devil!"

Atop the bump stood Xenobyte. He gave an impression of having grown bored with looking at the surroundings, even though he wasn't there a second ago.

In his hands was a large machine gun, on his shoulders were crossing bandoleers. The programmer slowly lowered the barrel at the backs of the heads of unsuspecting aliens.

"Salaam alaikum, bastards," he grumbled darkly, pressing the trigger.


Chkalov Air Defense secret base. VIP hall.
November 12, 12:36 real time.

"We'll deal with upgrades later," convincingly said Grandfather Banzai, who finally got into the virtuality. "First — debriefing."

"Even firster: where did you get the machine gun, Xen?" Granddaughter interjected. "Or was it buried in the bushes? To stimulate tactical thinking?"

"From the castle, to be sure," Xenobyte snorted contentedly. "Though, I had to return it — I gave my word when I borrowed it."

"So, what was that castle?"

"Well, how should I say it... There's such a company: Rossnabinvest Plus. No idea where does the plus come from, but the outfit is serious. And its CEO has a small hunting lodge here. With hunting weapons. And guards."

"But why didn't they help us?" Mahmud was pulling his hair out.

"What do you mean they didn't? They loaned us a machinegun. You can't frigging buy one. And the rest is none of their business."

"Ohhhh..." Granddaughter drawled. "I thought it was a game solution... Tactics, strategy... What should I tell the readers?"

"But this," Xenobyte raised an index finger, "is a game strategy, as well as tactics and ballistics. [T.N.: possible quote from Gianni Rodari's 'Il romanzo di Cipollino', where castle defenders list things they don't know.] The point is that we aren't citizens of the Universe, but inhabitants of a particular state at a particular time in the past. Or future. And I had a premonition this shows not only in personnel names and choice of weapons."

"This is the reason Samara Soft keeps telling that foreign players cannot beat their new masterpiece," Banzai smirked.

"Exactly," Xenobyte continued. "If you don't consider all such peculiarities, you are left without weapons, arms and everything."

"I suppose, it happened to you anyway," McMad spoke up. "What did we lose? A snowmobile, one bot, loads of ammo and Xenobyte's memorial fighter. I suppose, I'm the only one, who managed not to lose anything. And what did I see upon returning from the mission? This cheque. Granted, they delivered it promptly, but I don't think that's enough for a new fighter."

"It's enough for a new clip," Banzai confirmed. "Maybe two."

Silence fell. Only the table fountain bubbled and boiled.

"Selling the interior decorations?" Mahmud suggested guiltily.

"Yeah. And rent bots as slaves... Reload, what else to figure," Xenobyte summarized.

"Definitely not," Melissa suddenly started.

"Your suggestions?" Xenobyte pointed his finger at her threateningly.

"Here," Melissa pulled out of her archaic handbag (when did she manage to get one?) a sizable wad of yellowish European Union notes. "By my calculations, this is enough for: new fighter, used transport helicopter for ground troops, base expansion (cause here we've got no place for new people at all) and several guns. Another variant: run around on skis for a while, but get ourselves decent staff.

The fountain grunted and drowned itself.

"God job, Meliska," Banzai finally said. "But where from?"

"From the castle, to be sure," Melissa enjoyed every moment. "And we won't have to return it. This, comrades, — is nothing else, but fairly earned payment for defending the hunting lodge of mister CEO from an unruly gang of aliens. For the defense, where heroically died the first class pilot Xenobyte and one of the soldiers, although I didn't know back then. Such is the strategy, tactics and, of course, ballistics."

"Lucky," Xenobyte forced himself to say.

"Yes, a pity this cannot be mass-produced. We could get ourselves a nice setup," even the experienced Granddad looked shocked.

"OK, comrades testers," Xenobyte had already recovered, "time to think how to spend the hard earnings!"

And he rubbed his hands.

[tkzv]

Mission 02: Big city lights

Chkalov Air Defense base
November 14, 10:02 real time

"You mean, that's that? I say, it doesn't look like what those bastards use at all."

"Would you rather wave those toilet brushes of theirs?"

"No, not really."

"That's it. In fact, we just picked their weapons apart and pulled out the energy source. And based on it pushed our own technology. You are holding a laser rifle."

"It doesn't look serious, somehow," noted Mahmud dismally.

His sniper friend obviously disagreed. He tenderly caressed the device resembling a Maxim machine gun built in rifle dimensions.

"Can we install sights on it?" he asked predatorily.

Xenobyte shrugged. Suddenly the "VIP hall" door opened revealing a very vexed Melissa. She scanned her colleagues and asked:

"What the cooking numismatist renamed the bots?!"

Testers looked at each other.

"What's wrong?" Xenobyte said with surprise. "We need to work with them, and painfully recalling who's called what is costly, especially in the heat of a battle. Let them call them however they please!"

Melissa locked her sight on suddenly very bored walkers and spoke through clenched teeth:

"Have you seen how they renamed them?"

Xenobyte raised his brow in surprise. Melissa waved her hand and all three followed her to barracks.

The testers' small army diminished significantly. Epic warrior Petrenko, as Mahmud promised, went to an officer school. Heroic Uzbek Tyndyrbiyev was taking a special forces course. The two rookies who didn't distinguish themselves in the first mission went to flight school: now they piloted the fighters. Thus, all operatives from the first "batch" were temporarily missing, but new people appeared.

This was a very difficult, but strategically justified decision. After long quarrels, threats, complains and a pile of reasons of varying degree of sanity, Melissa insisted on changing the "0" digit in the "rank and file wage" column to "more positive".

The same day the security chief of the unforgettable hunting lodge brought a square strongman as a humanitarian aid. A severe man with Berdan rifle came out of the taiga and proclaimed that he didn't like alien vermin anyway and would be exterminating them for "magarych". [T.N.: from Arab "living expenses", originally meant a feast to celebrate a deal; expanded to booze given as payment; today may mean any bribe or reward for services, especially paid off the books.] Another man out of taiga was a Yakut covered with chains and carrying a large tambourine; he proclaimed he was a shaman and for firewater would exterminate all evil spirits on the base.

They wanted to immediately catapult the shaman back to the snow, but Banzai providently checked his stats and screamed desperately to bring the psionic to the canteen, look after him with utmost care and never let him go.

"So, what's wrong with names?" Xenobyte raised his brow questioningly.

"Read it yourself!" Melissa gloomily poked her finger at the name stripe on the nearest operative's chest.

This was a Siberian old man. The stripe proudly said "Magarych".

"It's a typo. Probably Makarych?" the programmer inquired. [T.N.: a common shortened patronymic.]

"Na-ah. Definitely Magarych. Very greedy," McMad smirked.

"Going on..."

The psionic Yakut was named "Babayota": after washing, shaving and change of clothes he started to look like a strong stern samurai. But the former lodge guard was the unluckiest. His stripe said "Doberman".

"A Rottweiler, more likely," Xenobyte corrected choking on laughter.

"I refuse to show up on the same shot with him!" Melissa declared decisively.

"Er... Well... Banzai, what do you say?"

"Melissa, who'd strain their eyes to read those stripes?" said Banzai in a conciliatory manner. "The guys gonna command them, let them name them as they see fit."

"I don't want during my report to hear one of those fools scream in the background 'Doberman, bite'!"

"Belay that!!!" Xenobyte immediately bellowed in fear.

The guard heard Melissa's command, stirred, looked around and started to somehow beguilingly approach the programmer, crackling his fingers nastily.

"Mahmud! Why does he... at me in particular?!" Xenobyte asked commandingly.

"Well, I don't know," the warrior shrugged. "Probably something from subconscious."

"I don't approve of such subconscious," the programmer declared morosely.

"OK, don't lose your temper. Better tell, how many laser rifles have we got?"

"So far — two. Three more will be finished soon, then we'll be able to test them in the field."

"Hey, eagles," Banzai remarked unobtrusively, "let's prepare to work. There seems to be a UFO on the radar."


UFO-13 crash site.
November 14, 10:18 real time.

The new pilots shot down the enemy craft successfully. The testers armed themselves and hastily loaded into a canvas van. Compared to the first "ski campaign" it was top comfort, though Banzai didn't fail to mention that their transport had probably heroically worked on the "Road of Life" to the besieged Leningrad.

Besides the three bots, the van carried Mahmud, McMad, Xenobyte and Granddaughter.

"And Melissa promised a helicopter," Xenobyte noted gloomily, bouncing on the hard bench and pushing up the helmet that slipped down over his eyes.

"The van was a compromise between comfortable, but expensive helicopter and continued cross-country skiing," the sniper grumbled. "Listen up, how'd she get so much practicality? If SpecOps training wasn't as expensive, we'd charge Sectoids with knives to save money!"

"Hey, old man! Slow down, getting off here!" Granddaughter yelled, drumming the driver's cabin. "We'll walk the rest of the way, so that it wouldn't be like the first time. Meliska will draw and quarter us for the van, if anything..."

The team dashingly jumped out of the van, spread in a chain and went toward vaguely seen distant buildings. Not far from the van a lopsided pole stuck out of the snow with a plate that read "'Pobeda' state farm". "State farm" was crossed out and "ranch" was written clumsily.

Babayota, who was running next to Xenobyte, suddenly frowned and grumbled:

"I smell a shaitan!"

"Learned from Tyndyrbiyev. When did you find time?" the programmer grumbled. "Where?"

"Three o'clock, one hundred fifty meters."

"Mahmud, do you copy?"

"Yeah. Somewhere in that cowhouse, maybe?

"Now, Mahmudych," Banzai interjected. "Take Doberman and circle them from behind. Mac, take up the position, Xen, down where you are."

McMad whistled to Magarych, shoved the sniper rifle behind his back and started climbing the water tower, sticking out nearby. Xenobyte, watching over the team's first psionic, diligently buried the partner in a snowbank, then stationed himself.

"So, ready?" Mahmud asked in the earphones. Banzai, ask Melissa if she'd survive me spending one grenade."

"Mahmud, don't be a smart-ass."

"No way, no way... I know her, she'll make me write a statement, a writing-down report and a treatise about cost-efficiency of ammo use..."

"Throw it already, bastard!"

They could hear an explosion in the cow-house and fearful squeaks of aliens entrenched there.

"Push them to the machine guns, Mahmudych! Push!"

Big-headed Sectoids started leaping out of the cowhouse gates one after another. Xenobyte sniffed loudly and pressed the trigger of the machine gun gifted by the "hunters". Rifle bangs sounded from the water tower: snipers were shooting the aliens attracted by noise.

"The cow house is clear," Mahmud reported.

"Mahmud, two Sectoids are approaching you from behind..."

"Trifle..."

"With heavy plasmas," McMad added.

"Xen, I'm getting out!" the walker grumbled warily. "Don't shoot me instead of Sectoids..."

A minute later the sly-looking shock troopers leaped out of the cow house and pressed themselves to the walls on both sides of the exit. A scurrying was heard from inside the building and two aliens leaped into the daylight. Xenobyte pressed the trigger, but instead of the burst heard only a depressing clang.

"Shaitan," he cursed melancholically, then forcefully threw something at the aliens.

Seeing the flying grenade, Mahmud cursed in fear and dove to the side. Doberman did the same silently, but sad disapproval could be read in his eyes. Next moment the grenade juicily smacked the forehead of a Sectoid, knocking him off his feet. Babayota banged away the other with a rifle burst.

A few seconds later Mahmud realized there was going to be no explosion and crawled out of the snowbank, just in time to see Xenobyte diligently pick the grenade and hide it back in his bag.

"Misfire?" the walker asked with suspicion.

"Why misfire?" Xenobyte shrugged. "I just didn't prime it. Babayota, good job!"

"You're a bastard, Xen. You can't scare people like that!"

"Calm down, what should we do with the prisoner? We don't have the box to hold the aliens yet..."

"Shoot the dog."

"Melissa's gonna chew us for unjustified waste of ammunition."

"Do you suggest kicking him to death?!"

"That's inhumane."

A shot banged from the water tower. The Sectoid bucked with his paws and fell motionless.

"While you drone there, he'll recover and escape," McMad said in a boring voice.

"But now you write a report for Melissa!" Mahmud gloated.

"But that wasn't me. That's Magarych," the sniper parried. "So, any live aliens left?"

"Mission's over. Pack up."


Chkalov Air Defense base.
November 14, 11:11 real time.

Xenobyte entered the "VIP hall", jerked nervously and pointed his finger in condemnation:

"Melissa, now tell me, with all of us starving and writing reports for each bullet spent... What is this piece of crap still doing here?!"

In the middle of the table the fountain was still rising wildly and ridiculously. Melissa looked at the contraption with open disgust.

"I still can't find an article that would cover writing it off," she complained. "It's not just a fountain... We had it from the start, therefore it is a part of our basic assets..."

"Are we the protectors of our home planet or a second-class 'Limited liability company'?!" Mahmud exploded.

"'Limited liability company', why?!" Melissa replied icily.

"Just asking..."

"OK, why did you pull us here?" McMad interjected. "And since we already gathered, I'd like to get cartridges for practice shooting..."

"You've already spent thirty!" Melissa yelled, almost breaking into tears.

"No wonder our bots have trouble hitting a tank from three meters," the sniper winced his shoulders, "if they only see weapons during missions!"

"Well, don't say that," Xenobyte noted listlessly. "Magarych lately..."

"Magarych is a natural talent, the joke of RNG... All his resource went into precision. Now tell me, friend Xenobyte, why are we still running around with marauderized firearms, while we should already had be armed with the newest technologies?!"

"Because," the programmer snapped, "instead of producing weapons the engineering staff distills alcohol to sell it, and the scientific staff is busy increasing the efficiency of the distilling still, instead of..."

"That's what I wanted to tell," Melissa grumbled darkly. "A financial crisis threatens us. You spend more bullets than I can buy."

"But the number of aliens doesn't decrease either," Mahmud grumbled.

"Exactly. On the contrary, the number of aliens keeps growing. And those are not just Floaters and Sectoids anymore..." Banzai showed up at the door and joined the conversation. "Remember a Muton two missions ago?"

The testers, including Granddaughter, winced in sync. Muton proved a powerful, fast and heavily armored creature: he was taken down collectively, like a mammoth. And they spent about as much ammo as for the rest of the alien crew.

"If the game continues at this speed, they'll reduce us to splinters," Banzai moralized. "What does it tell us?"

"That we've missed something," Xenobyte said deep in thought. "Some mechanics of getting money relatively easily."

"Exactly," Granddad nodded. "The systemic approach is clearly visible. So. How can we earn money?"

"Alcohol is in good demand," Melissa reported at once, peeking in some papers.

"Not conceptual enough, unless we build a separate moonshine base," Banzai shook his head.

"Corpses! Alien corpses, alien technologies... Is nobody interested?!"

"Ours aren't. We need to contact foreign secret services. The owner of the hunting lodge gave advises, but wants a lot of money. Either that or a truly extortionate share."

"I've seen his demands, won't do," Banzai winced. "Here, comrades, time to reread Marx. We need seed funding."

"And again, where can we get one?" Xenobyte twirled his fingers with irritation. "All relatively honest methods... Oh..."

"Exactly," Banzai grinned. "The majority of large modern capitals, not only of Russia, but Europe too, started from pirate chests. So, what do we gain thinking in this direction?"

"How about assaulting criminal structures?" Granddaughter suggested enthusiastically?

"So far they, unfortunately, outweigh us both in firepower and manpower," Mahmud grumbled darkly. "They'll kick us out of business before we start."

"Quickly organize a pyramid scheme. Some 'NNN Inc.'. Air some killer commercials..."

"Which, again, require money."

"Well, two options are left," McMad sighed. "Either robbery or making bots streetwalkers. Xen had a secretary in his lab, I think..."

The programmer threatened him with a fist.

"She's writing a quantum physics PhD thesis right now," he grumbled gloomily. "Unlike other cooking woodpeckers."

"It's robbery then," Mahmud sighed. "But they're gonna cut our financing!"

"To sum it up," Banzai pronounced respectably, smoothing his mustache. "While you were floundering, I developed a plan to bring our organization out of the monetary dive. First... Melissa, write it down. From now on, ground vehicle fuel should be bought at the car service station at Malaya Budyonovka village instead of the official sources!

Melissa stared in shock:

"Where'd they get that much diesel fuel?!"

"This is none of our business! But ask Rossnab, though... Second. Temporarily stop flying to battle missions!"

"Banzai, are you OK?!" Mahmud asked with worry. "Not only will this vermin grow, but we're gonna get fired to hell!"

"Justify lack of activity with lack of ammo and fuel... This all doesn't concern the missions to defend the hunting lodge and Pobeda ranch, which are not state, but private property."

Understanding sparked in Melissa's eyes.

"And finally the third... Comrades, prepare the bots. Tonight's the plundering night."

"Where to?" Xenobyte chuckled sadly. "Rustle the last cow from Budyonovka? She'll die on the way..."

Banzai walked to the map and knocked it persuasively.

"A NATO military base is located here."

Everybody went slack-jawed.

"What the... What are they doing there?!"

"Renting a piece of land, paying with hard currency, behaving well," Melissa shrugged. "Unlike us." [T.N.: Inflation under Yeltsin was several million percent in less than a decade. Prices had to be recalculated frequently. Dollars or marks were immeasurably more convenient, but illegal for deals between residents.]

"Bastards," Mahmud gritted his teeth. "I'm no racist, but..."

"Comrades," Banzai informed them, looking at the map with love. "This is a gold vein! Modern weapons, ammunition... Yes, we've definitely got lucky!"

"And NATO doesn't seem to," Mahmud grinned predatorily.

[tkzv]

Unknown base.
November 14, 12:38 real time.

The game night fell quickly and would last three hours. By Melissa's estimate — quite enough for some good pickings at the foreign base.

"I don't understand this," grumbled Mahmud, covered with old machine lubricant instead of camouflage paint. "Melissa is our stealth action specialist. Why isn't she with us?"

"Do you want the official version or my ideas?" Xenobyte frowned. He looked no better.

"Start with the official."

"You see, she specializes on small things you can carry in a pocket. And our loot is likely to be measured in crates. Otherwise, won't be worth it."

"OK, and what do you think yourself?"

"And about that let me stay silent: nothing printable."

"Same here."

"Hey, partners in crime," McMad's voice sounded in headphones. "Get ready. Magarych has already installed the surprise, the patrolman is on the set course..."

"I'm aching to hear, what would law-abiding NATO bot say after meeting sharp Siberian wit," Xenobyte giggled.

"Siberian humor" consisted of a rusty wolf trap, which Magarych installed on the path beaten by the patrol hanging around the base.

"Nothing of interest," Mahmud grumbled. "Let's go..."

Wriggling testers crawled to the wire fence. In the distance something snapped and someone screamed "Donnerwetter!" fearfully. Soon the testers entered the base proper.

"Come on, Mahmudych, you and Doberman seek the armory, we — kitchen... McMad keeps a lookout."

"On your way look for some jalopy," Banzai suggested.

Mahmud reached the first barracks, clung to the wall, crouched and slithered along. After scouring the deep shadows, he stopped by a small building where two sleepy guards were rocking slightly by the door.

"Hey, Banzai, check the dictionary, what's the English for arms storage?"

"Armory."

"Then I found it. There're two guards."

"Just be quiet."

"Got it... Doberman?"

"Here."

"Yours is right, mine is left... With knives..."

A minute later guards' bodies quietly dissolved in shadows, like in some horror movie. Mahmud closed the armory door behind him, lit a flashlight and looked around.

"Xen!" he whispered delightfully. "I found the heaven on Earth! Assault rifles, machine guns, grenade launchers... Lots of ammunition! We're rich!"

"Find some APC and start loading."

"You can't use an APC," Banzai interjected. "Too noticeable, we'd get caught... Look for a truck, we'll leave it in the woods..."

Tin suddenly crashed in headphones.

"Xen, what's there?"

"Nothing," Xenobyte hissed. "I found the food store... Tins, concentrates... What was that? Odd..."

"Grab everything, our bots aren't picky..."

"Lucky you, you've probably got it all prepacked in crates," the programmer grumbled.

He pulled out a sack thoughtfully stored in his backpack and started piling cans and briquettes in it. Babayota helped with genuine enthusiasm. When the robbers were loaded to the brim, they finally headed to the exit. Xenobyte wistfully looked at the small window they came in through and had to admit the sacks won't fit. The only way remained: exiting through the door and seeking more "regular" exit.

Xenobyte had already touched the door handle, when Babayota grabbed his hand and whispered in surprise:

"Shaitan!"

"What?!" wondered Xenobyte. "Ah, probably a guard... Whatever they say, a psionic makes a change, good job, Babayota... Now let me..."

Xenobyte put the sack on the floor carefully, to avoid clattering, produced a knife, aimed and strongly kicked the door, expecting to stun the enemy behind it. However, instead of opening widely and kicking the bot off his feet, the door opened only slightly with a muffled knock on something soft, and charging Xenobyte hit the door with his nose.

The programmer jumped to his feet, but curses stuck in his throat. Behind the door sounded a questioning "Oo?", it opened and the storeroom lit. Xenobyte dropped his knife.

"Real shaitan!" he muttered in shock facing a huge Muton. "It's an ambush, bros!!!"

* * *

More than anything, Mutons resembled violet-faced gorillas covered with spring green fur. Unlike Sectoids — frail, but dangerous by their psionic abilities — Mutons were professional soldiers. Few weapons could pierce their tanned thick hide.

Following some desperate premonition, Xenobyte grabbed a meat tin from the floor, quickly pushed it into the broad barrel of a heavy plasma weapon, raised by the enemy, jumped aside and screamed "Watch out!"

To balance their durability and physical strength, Mutons didn't seem to suffer from agility of mind and quick reactions. Another surprised "OO?!" sounded and an explosion rang out. Cans fell from shelves and the Muton was thrown somewhere down the corridor.

"Babayota, retreating!"

The bot readily grabbed a sack.

"Drop it! They'll catch us..."

Tears glittered on the bot's eyes. Almost bemoaningly he dropped the sack, hastily spreading several cans over his pockets. Xenobyte sniffled.

"OK, half the sack, just don't be greedy..."

With the loot behind their backs the unlucky robbers dashed through the corridor. Outside the siren howled and feet were trampling.

"We're in trouble," grumbled Xenobyte, carefully opening the door and observing the soldiers running by. "Thanks to Melissa's efforts I've only got a Finnish knife!"

"Calm down, Xen! They don't have much weapons either, I'm holding the armory!"

"Really?! Then expect guests, they're gonna run to you to get armed."

"Damn... Doberman, bring the machine gun!!!"

"Listen here..." Banzai took over. "Xen, lie low somewhere and don't show up. Mahmud, shoot, spit, bark however you want, but hold the armory at any cost. Mac, leave your position and find the damned car already! No matter which, anymore, even a tank!"

Fortunately, the armory had everything necessary to turn the facility into an impregnable fortress: thick concrete walls, only one entrance and a pile of ammo. Although, the thought of what a single grenade can do here, made Mahmud sweat.

"Doberman! Leave the RPG be, the exhaust alone will burn us with bootlaces. Bring another machine gun... Eh, cook... So, come one by one, devils!"

The first to poke inside the armory was simply blown by a squall of fire. However, the opponents soon replied with fire: the posted guards were armed. Suddenly in a door frame a Muton appeared armed with heavy plasma.

"And this is in fact..." muttered Mahmud, but failed to finish the thought. Somewhere outside tires screamed and a squat APC burst into view framed by the door.

"Hey, gangstas! The carriage arrived, load up!" they heard McMad's voice.

"You're so on time!" Mahmud noted almost with tears.

Covered by a steel side of the carrier he started to quickly throw crate after crate inside it.

"Don't be greedy, Xenobyte has to fit here too."

"Worry not, worry not, the store is no sore... I say, Mac, could you quickly obtain one more APC?"

"Mahmud, have you ever heard a saying 'greed killed a wolf'?!"

"OK, OK... Here, a couple more riflies... And bulleties... And I'll mine the rest! Here! Nothing for you, bastards! Let it burn blue!"

The APC shook perceptibly.

"Time to leave, bros," noted McMad worriedly. "The old girl won't stand heavy plasma for long."

Mahmud climbed in the tight machinegunner's turret.

"Godspeed," he said sullenly, starting to fire short bursts.

"Let's go! Xenobyte, where are you?"

"In the fridge!" they heard the vexed programmer's voice.

"Where?!"

"If there are Mutons here, other aliens may appear too, and Floaters, for example, may have thermal vision. I say, could you be quicker? Our psionic won't last long."

"Give him your clothes, you don't feel cold anyway!" Banzai suggested quickly.

"Who cares about cold?! He's gonna die from gluttony! The fridge is full of foodstuffs, and Babayota seems to have taken saboteur spirit to heart. He's trying to eliminate all enemy supplies!"

The APC roared and darted off. It wasn't pursued: after seeing the enemy leave, the whole base rushed to arm themselves... The whole base shook from a powerful explosion. Mahmud looked back at the former armory depressedly. He seemed to be on the verge of tears from disappointment.

"Never mind, Mahmudych, never mind... At least the enemy didn't get it... Xen, get out."

"I can't. Refrigerators don't open from the inside, as you know."

"Damn... Mahmud, I'm going after Xen."

Finding the refrigerator wasn't hard. When McMad opened it, he faced an epic picture. Xenobyte, like Grandfather Frost, sat on a huge sack stuffed with food. Next to him sat Babayota with desperate determination on his face chewing a cured gammon viciously. Both were covered with rime and sparkled mysteriously.

"The things we've driven bots to do," Xenobyte sighed musingly, grabbing the rifle McMad threw him. "You know, he's ready to bare-handedly strangle a Muton for this food! Come, Babayota. Come. We'll be back, I promise!"

They reached the APC without further adventures. Seeing the psionic dragging a huge sack, Mahmud only shook his head. Stuffing the loot and closing the door with great effort, the testers settled on top. The engine roared and the APC disappeared in the night.


Chkalov Air Defense base.
November 14, 13:12 real time.

"Quiet sabotage mission, eh?" Banzai asked with a skeptic squint.

"Who knew there'd be Mutons?!" Xenobyte snapped irritatedly.

"By the way, how did they appear there?" asked Granddaughter. She just stopped pouting at the testers, who didn't take her "to plunder", fearing to blow their cover.

"NATO sold itself to aliens!" Xenobyte declared confidently. "Bastards!"

"I don't think so," Banzai shook his head. "More likely it isn't their base at all. On the strategic map it is now called an 'alien base'. By the way, thanks to this our criminal actions are technically described as 'reconnaissance-in-force'."

"Still, besides Mutons there were humans at the base," Xenobyte said with a wicked squint. "The criminal conspiracy is obvious. And who's behind it... Oh, we're gonna find it!"

"Yes, we are, yes, we are... But what are we gonna do now?"

"The alien base has to be cleared, no alternatives," said Mahmud. "The question is when. Now, with them weakened and poorly armed after the loss of armory, or later, when new equipment is delivered to them?"

Banzai scratched his head.

"On one hand, storming an enemy base won't be an easy task even now. On the other..."

The phone passing as an end table suddenly stirred, exerted itself and burst an overly joyful march. Everybody jerked nervously. Melissa took the receiver and spat vexedly:

"We are busy with a meeting, call back... Who?! Ah, like that... Yes... Hmmm... A minute, let me engage the loudspeaker..." Melissa covered the microphone with her hand and stared at the apparatus deep in thought. "This thing does have a loudspeaker, doesn't it?"

Xenobyte shook his head.

"Hm... Please explain the gist of your business... Yes, exactly so... As you understand, with the means available to us... That way? Yes... Yeah... But... Now we're talking business..."

Melissa stopped speaking for a while, and her face was very sly...

"I see. We'll call you back to familiarize you with the operation plan. Yes, I suppose our answer is going to be positive, provided that it doesn't break our budgets. Are you sure? Very good..."

"What was that?" Banzai rose an eyebrow.

"Some general called," said Melissa, rubbing her hands predatoriously. "You see, the information has reached them, that an alien base had been found next to us. In short, dropping threats and pleasantries, they ask us to destroy in as soon as possible."

"Like that?" Xenobyte rose an eyebrow in surprise. "Interesting..."

"Yeah. They promise to cover all expenses and even more. They hint on increasing the allotments, if we show our good side. And most importantly... For the mission we get a platoon of spetsnaz. Five men. And... We were specifically asked for the papers in the base headquarters... not to survive."

For a while significant silence reigned in the hall.

"Well... I think the matter of the storm is settled," Banzai finally said.

"And one more thing," Xenobyte interjected. "Melissa... I demand to allocate funds in the nearest future to organize our own intelligence."

"I think, we'll find the funds for it soon," Melissa smirked.


Alien base-1.
November 14, 13:40 real time.

Spetsnaz operatives, morose guys in space suit-like armor, fought furiously and skillfully. The assault didn't take long: the opposing garrison had no time to recover from the night raid.

Spetsnaz swiftly tore into the perimeter and held a staging area. With their cover testers team made a quick flanking maneuver. In a few minutes the enemy was surrounded and eliminated.

Two or three Mutons, pressed between buildings, continued returning fire, but the assault could be considered finished. Only two of spetsnaz survived. One of them, the commanding officer, sullenly headed toward Xenobyte.

"I'd like to remind you of the special directive 001."

"Yes, captain, our sappers are mining the enemy HQ."

"I'd like to personally..."

"Mahmud, start the fire!" Xenobyte said into the microphone, ignoring the officer. [T.N.: the correct quote from "White Sun..."]

There was an explosion. The HQ building neatly collapsed like a house of cards.

"What did you say, captain?" said the programmer innocently.

"I'd like to personally make sure the HQ building has been destroyed," the bot said sluggishly.

"Of course, when we finish the assault."

The officer turned around satisfied and started mumbling something into his radio. Xenobyte patiently waited for him to finish, calmly produced his pistol, put it to the back of the bot's head and pulled the trigger. The last spetsnaz operative turned in surprise and painfully jerked getting a sniper rifle bullet in his forehead.

"McMad, respect, as usual," Xenobyte nodded. "Melissa, what about you, did you manage to gut the safe?"

"Of course!"

"And what was there?"

"Papers granting the land. As I thought, those aren't any kind of NATO, but nobody-knows-what. For that 'nobody knows' somebody high on top was getting large sums regularly... We only have to find who and make him share."

"If we get our own counter-intelligence — we will," the programmer promised. "So, comrades... Does anybody remain alive?"

"Doesn't seem to, but the mission doesn't end."

"Somebody's hiding," grumbled Banzai. "We need to organize combing. How I hate that..."

"We need to transport everything of value," said Mahmud scanning the base business-like.

"No, we don't. Now it's our auxiliary base," Melissa remarked immediately. "I made an agreement with command, they'll re-register it on us almost for free."

"Almost?" Xenobyte was surprised. "Melissa, did you volunteerly spend some of our funds?! What happened?!"

"Nothing remarkable... I'm holding the base plan... Xen, there are large underground buildings marked under the hangar... You know, they look very much like a hangar for the small flying saucer!"

Xenobyte froze.

"Impossible," he whispered. "Melissa... I almost love you!!!"

"By the way, they found the last Muton... Xen, you'll laugh, but he locked himself in the fridge!" Banzai reported.

"Great! Let's find what Mutons think of low temperatures!" McMad suggested enthusiastically.

"I've got a better idea," smirked Xenobyte. "Banzai, save the game for us... And I'll tell Babayota that an evil alien is sitting in the fridge eating his food... Who will you bet on? I bet on Babayota..."

[tkzv]

Mission 03: green terror.

Chkalov Air Defense base.
November 18, 10:12 real time.

— ...We should also note, that in the period covered the staff of scientific and technical departments not only fulfilled, but exceeded the moonshining plan, providing our office with new and new liters of the export product. Therefore, I suggest assigning the brigade of technicians an honorable rank of collective of shock workers, and as for the scientific department...
[T.N.: a stereotypical officious Brezhnev-era speech.]

Xenobyte halted, took his eyes off the sizable pile of printouts and scanned the "conference hall" gloomily. The situation in it was quite stable. Comfortable twilight reigned. On the far end of the long table, opposite the podium, testers were dozing peacefully. Behind Xenobyte's back hung a colorful placard with some graphs. The programmer's eyes narrowed cunningly. Looking point-blank at Melissa he declared:

"I suggest granting the scientific department two monthly wages as a one-time bonus!

Melissa jumped in her chair, shook her head and cast a fierce look at Xenobyte:

"What bonus? From what funds? Why?!"

"Kidding," said the programmer icily through his teeth and swung his arm.

A huge scalpel pierced the table in front of McMad. The sniper didn't even look, retaining the expression of polite boredom.

"Banzai, where are those deserters?!" Xenobyte asked severely.

Strangely, the answer was silence. Listening tensely and attentively, Xenobyte caught weak voices "from beyond":

"Any snacks with the beer?"

"Well, crispbreads, maybe..."

"Mahmud, get some juice for me, OK?" was Granddaughter's voice.

"And don't take Zhigulyoskoye, take something simpler..." [T.N.: the best known, but least respected beer brand.]

Xenobyte inhaled with a whistle, making complex hand movements, exhaled, inhaled slowly again, covered his eyes and suddenly screamed, making the podium shake:

"Banzai!!!"

Melissa reflexively somersaulted off her chair. Somewhere an alarm sounded, frozen bodies of walkers tilted. The door opened and surprised Babayota peered in. After a single glance at Xenobyte he hiccuped, muttered "Sayonara!" and quickly shut the door.

"Did you say something?!" Banzai asked hastily returning to the microphone.

"Return this beer-fetching renegade at once!" the programmer hissed.

"Have you already finished your groundbreaking report?!"

"I'm not even done with the introduction."

"Yeah, and the majority of the audience has already fled," Banzai noted harshly. "Xen, I won't speak of seasoned fighters Mac and Mahmud. But Granddaughter?! Take pity on the child, will you? Even I almost fell asleep listening to this mind-numbness..."

"Among other things, it was her, who asked me to make a report on the achievements of modern science!"

"She only asked you to tell what exactly do you study! The order of researches, technology tree... She needs to write the article!"

"So?"

"What 'so'?! You've been talking fifteen minutes like on the fifth plenary session of CPSU CC how 'our ships plow the space of Bolshoi theater'. By the way — they don't, we're still flying decommissioned MiGs. All in all. If you promise to be brief and to the point, — I return the guys. If no, we have some beer listening to you through speakers." [T.N.: CPSU CC plenary sessions happened monthly to semi-yearly; numbering was reset after elections; none of the 5th sessions has historical significance. Spaceships and theater refer to "Operation Y" film, where a character misquotes officious stories of technical progress.]

After arguing briefly Xenobyte returned to the podium and gave the colleagues a murderous stare as they were starting to stir. Without taking eyes off them, he took the pile of papers again. He briefly pondered, flipped through them, then resolutely crumpled them.

"I'll be brief," the programmer said coldly through clenched teeth, "we're doing great... Babayota, what do you need?!"

The psionic apologetically reported:

"Shaitan on the radar!"

Testers went noticeably livelier. Even the brief report was going to be postponed if not outright canceled. Xenobyte reddened, kicked the podium and sullen went to the armory, muttering:

"Well, you've asked for it..."


UFO crash site-109.
November 18, 10:28 real time.

"Doberman! Grab those two woodpeckers and set the defense. Got it?! Just defense, don't attack, but shred anybody who comes — got it?!"

"Yessir!"

"Magarych — in place, Babayota, with me. Ready to start!"

Granddaughter looked at the camera display and waved to start. Melissa's morose face lit up like a lightbulb with a charmingly welcoming expression. Nearby Xenobyte stretched his face baring teeth like a beast. It had to indicate a smile, but looked rather scary.

"Hello, dear readers!" Melissa cooed. "We are reporting directly from the battlefield. As you remember, we were going to tell a bit about scientific researches, but our chief of scientific section reasoned that a theoretical lecture might be too dry for fans of dynamic virt games..."

Melissa cast a spiteful glance toward Xenobyte, whose smile steadily approached a grin of a shark trying to chew through the transatlantic cable.

"Thus instead of a boring lecture we decided to show you how science looks in practice! Professor Xenobyte — you have the floor."

Xenobyte's stare seemed to leave charred bands. Gritting his teeth he said:
"Well... What to say. In short, me and guys cobbled together this thingy, now we'll look how she works... If it works fine, we'll try to figure how it works."

The programmer vindictively glanced at Melissa, who's been semaphoring him the select fragments from Malleus Maleficārum, promising to do this to Xenobyte once he gets offscreen. The programmer grinned and pulled tarp off some contraption.

The thing looked scary. It remotely resembled an archaic photo camera with a huge ceramic pipe in place of the lens. Xenobyte's face radiated fondness. Strapping the apparatus over his neck he rose it with visible effort and looked around carnivorously.

"Of course, it's still a prototype, we'll work more on the ergonomics," he muttered deep in thought. "Weld a handle on the side, for example... Well... Babayota!"

"Yes!"

"Come on, get us some shaitan for vivisection."

The bot looked around attentively and waved his hand. A couple minutes later the whole crew stood in front of a beaten up UFO.

"Ah, just what we need!" Xenobyte shined. "I know those vermin, somebody's hiding in the saucer until the end... Now we're gonna..."

"Xen, you can't turn in its corridors with this monstrosity," Mahmud warned him worriedly.

"And I don't need to... Let's see..."

The UFO lying on its belly resembled a giant 8. The testers were very familiar with this ship type, thus the programmer confidently went to one of the entrances. He installed a small tripod in front of the metal door and set his creation on it like a gunman of Ivan the Terrible with a harquebus. [T.N.: actually, they used monopods.]

"We'll guard the other exit," proclaimed Mahmud, exchanging winks with McMad.

Xenobyte waved a hand and both walkers quickly ran off, looking at the device worriedly.

"Er," Melissa said, tensely smiling at the camera. "Professor, would you mind a theoretical question?"

"Go on."

"What if it bangs?!"

"Of course it will, it was built just for that..."

"No, I mean right here."

"Right here? It shouldn't."

"Maybe we should step away?"

"No-no, you wouldn't see well from that far... Everyone ready?! Is the press ready?! Hey, extraterrestrials! Smile, you are being filmed by a hidden camera!"

Before Melissa could say anything else, Xenobyte pulled some rod sticking out of the pipe, making a grinding sound. The device howled and started vibrating. Melissa shut her eyes... But nothing else happened.

Melissa cautiously opened one eye. Then the other. Her facial expression became rather sullen.

"Hello, associate prof," she hissed icily, "is that all? And I thought..."

"And now," suddenly said Xenobyte, "let's go!"

With those words the programmer resolutely turned down the pulled rod. The device shuddered, froze, something inside it gurgled quietly. After a second of ringing silence, a roaring stream of plasma hit from the pipe. It obliterated the hatch and the hull around it and disappeared deep inside the UFO. In two places, right above the engines, the roof bulged. The second hatch was torn off its hinges and a roaring flame struck from it.

Melissa just stopped and stared with a gaping mouth. Mahmud and McMad peered from behind a tree, in which the broken hatch stuck, synchronously pulled off their helmets and wiped their foreheads.

"Cool!" Granddaughter screamed with joy, lowering the camera. "Xen, do it again."

"Don't!" Melissa waved her arms. "Xen, fool, there's... There were engines... Fuel... Navigation system..."

Meanwhile, Mahmud cautiously peered inside the cooling UFO. After muttering something like "Ooh, how neglected it all is," he disappeared deep inside. Five minutes later he emerged with a charred Muton skull in his hand:

"Poor Yorik... That's all that remains. Melissa, take it, sell it as a snowman skull... Xen, what did you made this shit from?! It even tore down floors inside. There are holes in the ceiling above engine rooms."

"Losses, such losses!" Melissa bemoaned. "Xen, you are a maniac!"

"Science is a terrible power," Xenobyte smiled menacingly.

"Hey, eggheads," Banzai's worried voice suddenly said. "Finish it there. I've got something on the radar... Hm. Something big."

The walkers exchanged worried glances. Suddenly Babayota stirred, harshly pointed at the bushes and declared:

"Shaitan!"

Everybody grabbed weapons. A large Muton indecisively emerged from the bushes. He glanced longingly at the twisted remains of his ship, kneeled and put his paws behind his head.

"Shaitan panics," calmly explained Babayota.

Mahmud sighed heavily, walked to the Muton and with a familiar move hit him with the gun butt on the back of the head. Muton fell face first in the grass, and the voice from heaven said: "Mission finished."


Chkalov Air Defense base.
November 18, 10:12 real time.

When Melissa declared she was leaving the base to shoot a report about "scientific achievements", Banzai personally entered virt to replace her. Now he was sitting in the "VIP hall" staring at the fountain deep in thought.

"Xen?"

"What?"

"Why doesn't the water flow?"

Xenobyte stared at him.

"Does it matter?! Probably, broke."

"Do you think it can be fixed?"

Testers exchanged glances.

"'The captain has a sunstroke.' Or senile dementia, more likely..." Mahmud suggested. "Where to dip him?" [T.N.: quote from "Adventures of Captain Vrungel", episode 8: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j__q2Crrv5w time 0:00-4:40]

"Belay that," Banzai stopped them abruptly. "OK. Back to business. How was your last mission?"

"Somewhat sluggish," McMad yawned. "The enemy was hiding most of the time. It would've been completely boring without Xenobyte clowning!"

"By the way, what did you say about somebody taking a walk?" blurted Mahmud.

Banzai scratched his head. Then said sullenly:

"While you were having fun, I noticed something at the edge of the radar field. Several ships in formation. Assuming it was symmetrical... There were eight UFOs."

Testers' jaws fell.

"Two fast scouts, five fighters... and something big in the middle. Just huge."

"Transport convoy?" Melissa hypothesized, licking her lips hungrily.

Banzai looked at her gloomily and shook his head.

"On one hand — why else does it need a convoy? On the other... on the other hand, this thing gets on my nerves, somehow."

"The questions is different," Xenobyte remarked coldly. "Anyway, what can we do with this thing?"

"What do you mean?!" Melissa was outraged. "If it's a transport convoy... Imagine how much it carries?! Fuel, devices..."

"And a fighter wing," the programmer interrupted. "And we've still got only two interceptors and two Tunguskas."

The hall fell silent for a while. Everybody kept estimating the profit from the supposed transport. All artifacts of the alien technology were sold abroad, which meant — for hard currency. Yes, a large ship would make a great difference in their "economy"...

"It's too tough for us," Mahmud ruled out. "We won't even catch up to them..."

"Xen, it's all your fault!" Melissa declared firmly.

"That's new!" the programmer was outraged. "How am I involved?!"

"Like that! Instead of developing this photonic ram of yours, you'd better work on improving our interceptors!"

"Do you know, how much one needs to research to develop the first fighter based off alien technologies?! And the industrial base?! Do you expect me to carve a plane in the basement with a single file?"

"OK, forget it," McMad interjected. "Though, it's bad that the damned convoy flashed on the radar. Now it's like we knew, but didn't react... That would be negative."

"What's with this day?!" Melissa sniffled. "Endless losses..."

"A dilemma," Banzai muttered deep in thought. "According to all strategy, the convoy should be taken, but we've got nothing to take it with. Unless we come up with something abominable, which even 'Samara' programmers didn't prepare for... Something weird... Perverted..."

"Xen!" Granddaughter demanded. "You are our specialist in abominable stuff! Think up something quickly!"

"You say 'think up quickly'!" Xenobyte grumbled peevishly. "It's not waving a crowbar, it's a creative process! Eh, Granddaughter, you know nothing about abominations. It's like a long poem. A soul fit, full of noble insanity! A combination of intuition and precise mathematical calculation. Something unaccounted for by genius, but — alas — frozen flight of fantasy of the programmers of the opponent! Something..."

Suddenly Xenobyte stumbled and halted. His eyes stared in the infinity, his fingers moved slowly. Finally, he started to blink, staring at the colleagues in surprise.

"Hm... I seem to have thought up something. Banzai, what was the speed of that convoy?"

[tkzv]

UFO landing site-110.
November 18, 10:31 real time.

"Xenobyte, that was an idiotic thought!"

"But you approved!"

"From there it didn't look as idiotic, but now I tell you..."

"I know, I know! But it had to be idiotic! Don't you understand it yet, that in our mad world only the perfect idiocy is..."

"Xen, shut up and drive!" McMad howled.

Xenobyte's plan was as they say "crazy enough to work". At least initially everybody was so astonished, they couldn't find any reasonable objection, and later... Later they couldn't find any printable objections, though it was too late already.

So, the plan was simple. Xenobyte suggested chasing the convoy... on the ground.

"If we start quick enough — we'll catch up to it soon."

"And outrun, but what next?" Mahmud inquired irritatedly.

"Sooner or later it has to land!"

"Great," grumbled McMad. "It's going to land at the base!"

"At least we'll find another alien base! And if we're lucky... We'll hijack a UFO!"

It was here, where everybody's mind folded upon itself, making the idea seem simple, logical and clear. They gave chase on a real military jeep — a trophy captured at the enemy base during the raid. Earlier Melissa didn't let anybody touch it: she wanted to sell it. But for this occasion...

"Eh, such unfortunate timing," Mahmud lamented. "Our best staff are in schools again... Mac, do we take grenade launchers?"

"Take only the essentials!" Xenobyte cut. "Above all — fuel! Go, go, bring the cans!

"All in all, the jeep carried Mahmud, McMad, Xenobyte, Magarych, Doberman and Babayota. The two recently drafted bots stayed at the base: the jeep was spacious — but didn't stretch, considering their armory, not to say of the fuel."

As they moved away from the base, the tightly pressed team of testers, resembling a criminal brigade going to a "business meeting", started to come up with other genius ideas:

"Xen, tell me, well, when we overtake them... What will prevent their fighters from simply shooting this accursed pothole?

That gave Xenobyte a pause.

"Good question," he mumbled. "I give up! What will?"

"Idiot! Turn back!"

"No way!" McMad twanged from somewhere. "Melissa will shred us. Now it's either with a shield or on it.

"Fear not, dudes, before our gluttonous sponges of bots went through pilot training, I've had some ten air battles... The saucers suffer from poor field of vision below... And they aren't likely to be designed to hit ground targets. Try as you might, but the jeep also can't harm a UFO, thus it shouldn't even trigger a reaction.

"Shaitan!"

The main navigation system of the brave crew was their trusty Babayota, sitting on the hood with unflappability of a true samurai. For further safety he'd been tied tightly to the car with everything they could. Now, sensing the enemy, Babayota pointed his finger with a compass precision, like Viy. [T.N.: a demon from Gogol's horror story "Viy", the only one who could see a theology student magically hiding from undead.]

"Good job, Babayota! When we come back home, I'll give you sausage!" Xenobyte promised with a grim grin, stepping on the gas.

Babayota only frowned. The mad chase lasted ten minutes more. Mahmud looked out and noted:

"Listen, either our Babayota got tired or our goal is going down."

The inclination of the psionic's pointing finger, indeed, was diminishing steadily. Finally, his arm confidently froze horizontally. Xenobyte drove a bit more, then stopped:

"Unloading."

The team fell out of the car as a single solid object and quickly grabbed weapons. They all wore forest camouflage, faces bore camouflage paint, trophy NATO helmets were covered with nets with grass and sticks. The testers checked each others' looks and ran single file in the direction Babayota showed.

Soon they did see the landed ship. It had four storeys, each the size of a small stadium.

"It's so... enormous!" Mahmud muttered in a constrained voice.

"And all this is almost ours! We're rich!" Xenobyte replied enthusiastically.

"Why have you stopped, citizens?" McMad said thoughtfully.

"Planning an operation" quickly replied Xenobyte.

"I don't mean us. I mean them!" the sniper explained with irritation. "Why are they stuck here?"

Testers began to think heavily.

"Ah, who cares," Mahmud waved a hand. "Let's go mess their storehouses."

"Wait," — Banzai's voice said. "Let me look around... Hm. Give me any of the bots..."

"Magarych," called McMad. "Run around a bit... But quietly, got it?"

The operative nodded and disappeared in the bushes. Testers continued to lie nervously, until he appeared from the other direction.

"I don't get it," Banzai confessed. "I see nobody deploying, the escort ships perform strange evolutions. One after another lands on the 'roof' of the big ship, then takes off. Suspicious, all of it."

"OK, are we gonna do anything, or just make a fire, play guitar?" irritated Xenobyte asked.

"OK... If I'm not mistaken, there are lifts in those columns. Hm-m... Mahmud, McMad, take your wards, your column is the closest to the left. Xen, yours is the closest right. You work quietly, the guys — the best they can do. Well... Go!"

The testers dashed to the columns like quiet shadows. They pressed themselves to the hull for a briefest moment, then synchronously entered the active zones. The ports opened obediently.

"We're in place. There's really only a lift to the second floor," Mahmud barked.

"Same here," reported Xenobyte.

"OK... Mahmud, rise to the second level..."

"Clear," Mahmud reported a couple minutes later.

"Xen?"

"All quiet."

"OK. Xenobyte, very carefully peer out and find someplace to lie low."

"It's dark in here," the programmer grumbled displeasedly. "Are they conserving electricity, or what?! As if, when there're no players, then..."

"Quiet. Mahmud, advance."

"Here's something like emergency lighting too... Dark like..."

"Cancel. Your task is finding the cockpit and providing safe path for Xenobyte."

"Odd, nobody to be seen..."

"It seems to me," mused Xenobyte, "the military operation start was not triggered."

"Looks like it. So we'll try for it not to trigger as long as possible. Mahmud, what's there? Did you find the cockpit?"

"Fuck..." cursed Mahmud, stumbling over something. "Nah, judging by the echo, we found the hold."

"Really?" Banzai asked with interest. "And what's the cargo?"

"I'll look... Where'd they put the switch? Mac, pull in our goofs and close the door just in case... So... Aha, seems here... Whoa...

The air fell silent.

"So what is the cargo?" Xenobyte asked worriedly.

"A shitload of Mutons," Banzai replied hoarsely.


UFO-110.
November 18, 11:03 real time.

"So," Xenobyte said Quietly. "Citizens, stay calm. Don't even think grabbing weapons... How many are there?"

"About fifty."

"Why so many? Why... Ouch..."

They heard droning, the floor under their feet started vibrating and tilted slightly.

"Banzai... Hey, Banzai... We're... Sorta... We seem to be departing somewhere," Mahmud reported.

"Don't panic, citizens, don't panic... Mahmud, what are Mutons doing?"

"Sitting."

"Good, sit down too, don't make yourself pillars... This way you'll pass for friendlies. What's the destination?"

"How would we know?!"

"Figures... Er... well, I think I got it all. Comrades, this is no transport ship, but a dropship!

"You mean those thugs are also landing commandos?! Mother... Stop the ship, I'm getting off..."

"Sit down!" snapped Banzai. "Who moves, will be beaten first, remember that."

Long benches were placed along the hold. Mutons were sitting there quietly in a neat row. The testers sat by quietly and even seemed to had been accepted in the company.

"So, Mahmud, McMad, most importantly, keep yourself under control. Your situation has already become determined and stable...

"Easy for you to say..."

"Belay talking! Xen, Xen, how are you?"

"I don't know, it's dark in here."

""Turn on the light."

"Thanks, but I don't feel like it, somebody else already tried that..."

"What, are you going to stay in the dark?"

"Yes I am. For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief."

"Are you going to sit in the dark, where aliens may be sneaking up to you with the dirtiest intentions?.."

A switch clicked, the room, where Xenobyte was holing up, lit. The programmer looked accusingly at Babayota standing by the switch.

"What are you doing?"

"Scared!" the bot reported with embarrassment.

"What have we come to," Xenobyte grumbled. "OK... Yeah, looks like some kind of storage."

"Xen," Banzai's voice asked weakly. "What's this you are sitting on?"

"E-e-ep-s... I don't know... Something round..."

"Hm... Well, I don't know... Of course, it may be a prejudice..."

"Banzai, do you have a hypothesis?"

"Yes."

"Spill it."

"Better not. As you said, much wisdom..."

"Tell."

"Well, in general, compared to the first game in the series..."

"So?"

"It looks like a cyberdisk."

Xenobyte stayed silent for a minute. Then he said thoughtfully:

"Ah, of course... I remember... Yes, rather unpleasant things, if they come close..."

"N-yes. And this one is VERY close. So, you'd better don't fret."

"Turn off the light, Babayota," Xenobyte sighed. "Sit over there, on the other cyberdisk, and repeat: 'Om mani padme hu-ummm'..."


Terror: Novosibirsk.
November 18, 11:10 real time.

The flight was quiet and uneventful. But very nervous.

"All's fine, dudes, we seem to be going to a terror," Banzai reported with false cheerfulness.

"What's fine about that?" Mahmud giggled hysterically. "Doberman's got a nervous tic already..."

"Calm down, guys, calm down... Xen, how are you?"

"Hu-ummm..."

"What?"

"Hu-ummm," Babayota's voice said.

"No, not like that... With a deeper feeling, deeper... 'H-o-u-u-mmm'!"

"Hou-ummm..."

"Good... Free yourself from thoughts, become a void, empty your mind... Om-m-m..."

"Well, we've got ourselves an applied Zen-Buddhism here, it seems."

"What else to do?" noted Xenobyte philosophically. "When we arrive, mission starts, the trigger goes off... There'd be lots of fun..."

"Belay the defeatist spirit!"

The ship slowed smoothly, rocked and stopped."

"Oh, we seem to have arrived..."

Part of Mutons stood up resolutely. Testers clutched their weapons fitfully and continued sitting.

"Stand up, eagles," Banzai suggested.

"Thanks, but we'd rather sit."

"No way, better stand up."

"Nah, why? The dudes over there are sitting too..."

"Mahmud, quit getting on my nerves, eh?"

The operatives sighed, stood up and followed the Muton column single file, into a spacious hall, obviously some sort of cargo elevator. A second later two cyberdisks floated in grandly. On one of them Xenobyte sat with eyes half-close and fingers pressed together in pinches, on the other one sat Babayota. From more corridors other aliens arrived.

"So-o, let's count you," Banzai sighed, "Ten Mutons..."

"I'm curious, do we count as Mutons?" Mahmud giggled.

"Two cyberdisks, two... Hm, what are those freaky mugs? Reapers?! OK, let them be... Probably it's only the first wave... Oh, Holy Fuck..."

"What's there?!" McMad started scanning his surroundings frantically.

"Chrissalids," Banzai sighed.

"Just what we've been missing. At the first terror?! That's unfair!"

"Fair or not, that's what it is. So, no terror report yet..."

"Any suggestions?" Mahmud asked gloomily.

Instead of answering, Xenobyte produced a grenade out of his bag without changing his pose, pulled out the pin and pressed the safety.

"Xen talks business," McMad nodded in agreement, repeating his gesture.

"Shall we break through together or in different directions?"

"Helter-skelter. Each leads his bot."

"Well... Looks like..."

The floor under their feet started blinking.

"It's starting... Three, two, one, again one... I said one... What?"

The floor disappeared. The whole society fell down.

"Geronimo-o-o!"

* * *

One can assume that their "grand entrance" was quite successful. [T.N.: the original entrance metaphor involved a flamenco-like Gypsy dance.]

Shortly before the ground the whole landing party slowed down very delicately. The moment the aliens touched the ground Banzai pronounced:

"Got the terror report! The mission started!"

The Mutons seemed to recover their eyesight. They spent about a second staring at the testers, and then...

"Cheezit, boys," Xenobyte suggested in a bored tone, then pushing off the cyberdisk powerfully.

The shooting started suddenly and at once. As noted above, Mutons never were the ones with a distinguished intellect. Thus, their first volley inside their own formation led to rather sad results.

"Duck!"

The grenades had banged, green fur had flown in all directions. When smoke and dust settled down somewhat, the only visible part of testers were their rapidly moving heels.

"Congratulations, eagles, for all intents and purposes you've blown the first wave."

"Do you mean all those Mutons sitting there," Mahmud croaked in horror, "are going to fall on our heads eventually?"

"Unlikely, I think there's just a reserve, and a counter counts the required number."

"By the way, where would the second way come from, if the ship... has left!" McMad noticed.

"Who told you it had only one such elevator? If I'm not mistaken, there's such a mess on another square, that..."

Before Banzai could finish, two orange creatures jumped out of an alley. They resembled a human torso on a muscular snake tail. They looked around and lifted plasma rifles.

"Danger! Snakemen!"

McMad flew up a tree like a cat. Xenobyte raised his laser rifle, shot a brief burst, missed and tried to escape with a side roll...

"Window, window!" Banzai screamed a bit too late. "A semi-basement..."

Broken glass rang, immediately followed by crashes and curses. The two Snakemen exchanged glances: they seemed o like this spectacle. They hissed approvingly and seemingly called several more of their brethren to watch the show. When Mahmud tried to disperse the crowd, he was neatly pressed into the lawn by lazy fire of plasma rifles. So that he wouldn't interfere.

McMad smiled nastily and raised the rifle to his shoulder.

"Incoming!" Banzai warned.

The sniper and Magarych fell of the tree like overripe pears. The plasma burst splintered the branch they sat on: three floaters passed by in a neat wedge flock formation. Their snake brethren supported their initiative with fire from below, the operatives dashed aside... Crashes and curses confirmed them landing on Xenobyte's head.

The situation stabilized for a few minutes, only Mahmud and Doberman occasionally tried snarling listlessly.

"Xenobyte, why don't you support your comrades with fire?!" Banzai asked sternly.

"Because I can't reach the window!" the programmer screamed angrily. "Babayota, come here!

Mumbling something about mother and 21st interrupt, the programmer determinedly mounted the bot's shoulders. Now his eyes were level with the window. He spurred Babayota with his heels and directed him to the embrasure...

Just that moment one Snakeman threw something round toward the basement to liven up the general situation. The object flew through the window. Xenobyte reflexively caught it, dropping the gun. Weariness flashed in his eyes: he already knew what it was...

"Val onder!" Xenobyte screamed, threw the grenade back with all his might and fell to the floor, toppling Magarych in the process.

"Yes, citizens, we've grown disaccustomed to street fights," said Banzai sadly. "Mahmud?"

"I'm cornered by the fountain! Retreating through the sewer."

"Bad ideas are easy," the coordinator sighed. "Go on."

They heard a splash and stifled curses. Meanwhile, Xenobyte stood up and caught another grenade.

"Good job so far," approved Banzai.

"Ugh... Resembles Arcanoid, somehow..."

"Will you last long?"

"Until level ten or so!"

"Do your best then, do your best... Mac, barricade the door, your fans seem to want to meet you closer..."

Suddenly they heard rumble underneath their feet. A metal grating right in the center of the basement jumped and rattled.

"Attack from below!" howled Xenobyte.

"Stay focused on grenades," Banzai pointed strictly. "Mac!"

McMad switched his rifle to burst mode and pointed it at the grating. Babayota did the same. Magarych continued barricading the doors. The grating moved aside and a dirty green tentacle came through.

"I got it-I got it-I got it!" shouted Xenobyte, catching another grenade.

The programmer caught it, lost balance and started jumping around the basement, stepping on the green tentacle.

"Motherfuck!" the depths reacted.

Xenobyte threw the grenade, miraculously not missing the window, and screamed:

"Nicht schiessen! Friends!

"Friends, friends!" Mahmud confirmed. "Get off my hand, bastard!"

* * *

Fortunately, the basement looked as if deliberately created for defense. Heavy crates, limited number of entrances...

"I did bomb the sewer," Mahmud reported grimly after catching his breath. "So that they wouldn't follow."

Xenobyte intercepted a grenade with a sluggish mechanical gesture, then sent it back. The grenades appeared less and less often, but the situation was a stalemate. Aliens were patiently guarding every exit, Floaters patrolled the street from the air.

"I have to note," Banzai droned "that in the current tactical situation such a swift start was more of a hindrance than an advantage. The reason is large numeric advantage of the enemy and our inability to deploy the operating group quickly. In the future this can be remedied by introducing a reserve operating group..."

"Quit twanging, willya?" Mahmud winced. "We've had enough of Xenobyte this morning. Anyway, I'm not flying in the same UFO with Mutons anymore."

"So... We've already sung 'The Internationale'. Ditto 'Comandante'. Ditto 'Black Raven'. What else to sing?" McMad yawned.

"Snakemen don't look impressed by our vocal abilities."

"They say snakes are completely deaf."

"The only thing that saves them."

"Don't frown, dudes, the help is coming," Banzai hemmed.

Xenobyte rose his eyebrow in surprise:

"Help?! Grandpa, have you gone totally nuts? We've only got two rookies at the base and Granddaughter with Melissa. What are you gonna make help from?"

"It's a surprise. The most important thing is: you've gathered the enemy tightly, not letting them spread all over the city. And destroyed Chryssalids: the poor wretches didn't survive your debut. Thus..."

Somewhere outside an explosion banged. Then another one. Somewhere a machinegun started chattering, heavy plasma started muttering.

Xenobyte agilely grabbed the windowsill with tips of his fingers chinned up and looked out of the window in surprise.

"Hm... It's our APC!" he reported. "Only there's an absolutely unreal strongman on top. In a sailor's striped shirt... People, we seem to have lost our spectators!"

"Oh, how flighty can audience be..." Mahmud smiled. "Banzai, is Granddaughter there too?"

"Yeah."

"With the camera?"

"Can she be without?"

"Filming?"

"Yes."

"Doberman! Dismantle the barricade! We are breaking through!"

A minute later the testers blew away the dispirited aliens with heavy fire and picturesquely broke out of the basement screaming "Hurrah!" After looking more attentively at the striped strongman tied like Rambo, Xenobyte finally realized what was up.

"Bros!" he shouted happily. "Tyndyrbiyev is back!!!"

[tkzv]

Chkalov Air Defense base.
November 18, 11:36 real time.

"Guys! I'm so glad to see you back, so glad! I was so worried about you..."

"Worry not, Granddaughter, that's what we are! We can get out of any mess!" Mahmud proudly stuck his jaw out.

"Very much so... But still..." Melissa interjected, "Xen, it was an idiotic idea, got it?!"

"But we seem to have set the response time world record," snapped the programmer.

"When Banzai said that you've all ended up in a dropship, I thought it was the end. Time to reload. You've left equipped only lightly..."

"The first idea was to just drop you heavy weapons and ammo," Banzai fit in. "But you all jumped down that basement so swiftly..."

"But downed Chryssalids with the first volley."

"Well, yes, getting by, of course... The biggest problem was that until the last moment we didn't know where you were going.

"Tyndyrbiyev and Digger came back from training at a fortunate time," Granddaughter wedged herself in again.

"Yeah... Tyndyrbiyev has grown himself such a huge face with all their food... Digger is even scary to look at.

"So... Digger has become a captain, by the way. And Tyndyrbiyev is a localized 'navy seal'. Shoots two machineguns at once. Whatever you say, studying is a terrible power..."

The telephone-fax, pretending to be an end table, suddenly jerked and started to vomit some urgent message with a savage grating. Xenobyte, sitting the closest to the apparatus, lazily pulled the message out, ran his eyes over it, almost collapsed on the chair, then started stuffing the message in his mouth.

"Xen, what's up?" Melissa asked sternly. "I've seen it all. What was that?"

The programmer swallowed brokenly and grumbled sullenly:

"The bill from the city administration for the incurred collateral damage.

"Ah... Nothing," the girl waved her hand unconcernedly.

The testers exchanged worried glances.

"But... This... Well... How are you, do you feel well?"

"I told you, relax. There was a bank in the city..."

"And?"

"It suffered greatly from the raid."

"I say, Melissa, did you... While we were shooting Mutons... Were you robbing a bank?!"

"Fie! Why so rude?"

"Have you gone mad? What if someone finds?"

"Nobody will find, if Xenobyte doesn't expose his plasma monstrosity. I opened the safe with it. And, to tell the truth, I made a deal with the bank manager. The nasty aliens had taken much more money than the bank had... Good for us, not bad for the manager either. By the way, I found where to fence the jeep: the local military are partners too. You didn't scratch it much, did you?

Testers exchanged glances, this time with visible anguish.

"Ghm... Banzai... As the coordinator, did you think of recording the coordinates, where we left our set of wheels?

[tkzv]

Final mission: martian chronicles.

Terror: Arzamas-13 urban settlement.
November 26, 13:13 real time.

A Muton ran through the street with a panicking scream, stumbled, dropped heavy plasma and ran on, while bewailing, smearing snot over his face with a fist and whining. Xenobyte, standing by "Soyuzpechat" newsstand, peered displeasedly from behind a newspaper, spat after the alien and continued reading.

"What do they write?" bored Banzai inquired.

"Neverending spam, as always..." the programmer yawned. "Weather report, weekly astrological forecast... Lies, as usual. Whoa, look at that, 'an UFO spotted above Gnusino settlement...' Big deal. By the way, judging by the time, it was our experimental interceptor. Only I don't understand why does the author write that '...the object shape resembled a rotten tomato...' What does he mean?!" [T.N.: the settlement name means either 'vile' or 'bloodsucking insects'.]

"I don't know... Did you notice a Muton ran by?"

"I did," Xenobyte shrugged indifferently.

"And? Our job is exterminating the likes of him, isn't it?"

"He's panicking anyway. And dropped his weapon."

"Xen, you know this rabble. He recovers, realizes he's got no weapons, takes a grenade off his belt. Comes closer again, panics again, drops the grenade. Live. Will you enjoy it?"

Xenobyte frowned capriciously, folded the newspaper, straitened psi-amplifier helmet and snapped his fingers. A minute later a Snakeman crawled out of an archway with resigned desperation on his face. The programmer beckoned him to approach.

"Obey!" Xenobyte uttered with a sepulchral voice. "Listen. Crawl there, in the blind alley find a Muton with a grenade. Take his grenade and ram it into his throat. Got it? Carry out."

The Snakemen obediently folded his paws and crawled in the direction where the Muton disappeared. Xenobyte started to unfold the paper, but the radio on his belt hissed:

"Xen!"

"What?"

"Rush to the October square!"

* * *

On the square he saw the rest of the team that went to the terror. Four young psionic bots armed only with psi-amplifiers and stun clubs, two strong assault troopers and Melissa and Granddaughter, filming a report about the work of psi-team.

Seeing Xenobyte the bots suddenly pulled themselves up, one started to fasten a blouse button nervously. Tucking the paper under his arm Xenobyte extended his arm demandingly and grumbled:

"The scanner. So-o, what do we have here?"

"The remaining terrorists entrenched in the basement," Melissa grumbled sullenly. "And seem to have declared themselves Cuban Communards. A stalemate. Your rookies can't do anything. I did ask you to give any of proved veteran psionics, for we need to shoot a report..."

Yes, the old team, with which the testers started the game, gathered very infrequently. McMad and Mahmud went to Karakum desert to a newfound alien base. Veterans like Doberman and Digger now lead teams of their own, keeping vigil in far corners of the country, rushing to now-routine clearing missions at UFO crash sites...

Xenobyte lazily glanced at the scanner.

"Two Mutons, a Floater... A-ha, I see, an Ethereal... What is he doing here? No matter... Hey, private! Can't you deal with an Ethereal?

"There's two of them!" one of psionics complained. [T.N.: possible reference to an old joke: an epic hero alone challenged an enemy army and won; but he cheated, there were two of them.]

"Rookies... And who's that?! Hullo! Sectoids! Three pieces. Long time no see! So, what's the trouble? Throw a dynamite stick there and be done with it.

"No, that won't do!" Granddaughter waved her hands. "The beginning was so beautiful... I mean, it was all well at the start, then, after you left, it was all confusing, but Melissa explained that it was a strategic ruse to drive them all to the same place... Xen, can you... those Ethereals... that... Overpsionify?

Xenobyte snorted derisively and nonchalantly pushed the scanner and the paper to the "orderly", who ran to him. Granddaughter shouldered the camera readily.

The programmer approached the house, where aliens fortified in the basement, smiled evilly and produced a small pipe. He tuned something in the psi-amplifier, put the pipe to his lips and made a piercing sound that made teeth hurt. The sounds combined in a three-note melody. There was some rustling in the basement...

A minute later the house door flew open. On the threshold stood an Ethereal warped in an orange cloak like a Hare Krishna. The alien trembled and bounced to the rhythm of the pipe. Xenobyte, like an Eastern snake charmer, stared at the Ethereal unblinking, then stepped back...

Shortly after, the rest of aliens entered the square single file, like rats after the rat-catcher of Hamelin. Assault troopers aimed businesslike and stunned the leading Ethereals. There really were two of them.

The aliens followed with their eyes the ones being dragged to the transport. Xenobyte hid the pipe and looked toward Granddaughter questioningly.

"Impressive," she commented with a swallow. "And... What will happen to them now?"

Instead of answering Xenobyte snapped his fingers. The aliens, still single file, lined along the wall and put paws behind their heads. The troopers prepared their rifles. Melissa jumped to Granddaughter and emphatically turned her around:

"You shouldn't watch things like that... And you're a fool, Xen!"

"This is war," Xenobyte shrugged indifferently, rolling up the newspaper. "Hey, firing squad! Ready? Aim... Stop!!! Stop, nobody moves..."

Everybody glanced at him in surprise. He looked at the aliens prepared for execution, squinting suspiciously. His long finger pointed at one of them:

"This one... And also this one... Yes, those two — tie up and to the can. Quickly! Immediately after arriving to the base — to interrogation! Damn, almost missed them!"

"What's there?" Banzai asked business-like.

"A leader and a navigator!" the programmer reported, baring teeth happily. "Just you wait, contras!"


Chkalov Air Defense base.
November 26, 14:48 real time.

By all signs the game was nearing the final straightaway. The strategic development had ended long ago, and the ship had been built, potentially — the weapon of severe retribution. The aliens looked unhappy to had gotten involved with Earthlings, but continued doing the dirty with stubborn fatalism, letting train new conscripts.

The only thing missing was the location of the central base of the aliens. And then the testers ran into an unexpected problem. The prisons of Science Department had successively housed leaders of all alien races. They told gripping stories, sold their partners in crime, revealed bases and storehouses... But nobody could explain where did the invasion start from.

And here, having caught Sectoid leader and navigator almost by accident, Xenobyte suddenly realized that was the only race the top brass of which hadn't been questioned on the topic of "the central base". By elimination one could conclude that it were Sectoids, who were responsible for interplanetary flights, therefore they could point the central base.

The small and forgotten by everybody proved tough guys. They trembled with fear, squealed, but refused to speak. An hour after the interrogation started enraged Xenobyte flew out of the basement and roared: "Summon Babayota!" after which he disappeared in the lab.

Ten minutes later a personal helicopter delivered to the testers' central base the commander of the psi-department of the Eastern District, colonel Babayota. He exchanged glances with Xenobyte, they evilly bared teeth in sync, then headed to the prisoner confinement block.

Granddaughter twitched to follow them, to film the process of obtaining the crucial information, but Melissa talked her out of it:

"Xen will probably write about it in 'Advises of Veterans'... Don't go there... You shouldn't."

Granddaughter glanced at the heavy door with a "biologically aggressive environment" sign and agreed with surprising ease.

For the next fifteen minutes most of the energy from the base substation went into the lab department as in a bottomless pit. All bots, especially psionics, walked around nervous, with glassy eyes, expressing anguish and slight panic. Even Banzai, who somehow urgently left his observation post in reality and entered the game, didn't know what kind of obscurantism was happening in the prisoner containment module.

Finally all went quiet. Xenobyte entered the conference hall, here other testers had already gathered. He scanned colleagues with a meaningful look and pronounced:

"Summon Mahmud and McMad. Let them gather the best of the best at 'Baikonur': we're taking a ride."


"Baikonur" secret base.
November 26, 15:31 real time.

How much had changed since the start of the game! The times when testers were crammed into the single base and had to count every kopeck became a thing of a distant past. Now they were a powerful organization. Workshops, that had grown into real factories, were making goods for sale round the clock: primarily hopelessly outdated weapons and light armor suits. The old venerable moonshine still took an honorary place in the huge cognac-vodka factory. And of course, military bases...

The testers' bases were spread all over the country. There were simple bases consisting just out of two hangars for fighter and transport, a radar and barracks. Rookies were sent there for brutal screening and then to gain experience in routine missions under command of the officer bots, promoted from the most experienced veterans.

The few that passed ended up on one of the three central bases. Mahmud was in charge of heavily armored stormtroopers, McMad — of the mobile infantry, Xenobyte, of course, psionics. Melissa, in charge of economics, frequently traveled to each base together with Granddaughter, occasionally shooting reports about harsh everyday life of protectors of fatherland. Two times they even managed to participate in defense of bases found by aliens.

And so, the time had come to gather forces for the decisive strike. Of course, the testers knew that sooner or later this moment would come, that everything will happen just like that... But that couldn't spoil the festiveness of the moment. At a specialized base a spaceship had been built, and the supply of the newest weapons and ammo had been carefully maintained. And now best of the best soldiers were flowing there.

The whole base was bustling about. Bots were running everywhere, carrying crates with weapons and ammunition; new personnel were arriving. The best fighters were spread over all bases, where they served as officers.

"Attention! Transport helicopter from Baltic base arrives..."

"Two more crates! I said TWO crates, got it? Go!"

"Hey, spongers! All living staff gather in the local VIP hall, and quickly!" Banzai said from loudspeakers.

Xenobyte was the last to run into the conference hall. And he immediately collided with something massive standing in the doors.

"What bastard dragged mechanized armor here, and why the hell?!" the programmer flashed his eyes angrily, rubbing the injured nose.

"Listen, button-presser, don't be rude!" the 'armor' creaked, turning around.

"Mahmud?!" Xenobyte stared in astonishment.

"Long time no see," the walker grumbled.

"You're scary to look at," Xenobyte confessed.

"You know, you're acquiring your usual look of a moldy vampire too."

Besides all else, Mahmud was managing the cyborg department. Accordingly, he installed all implants he could: from an artificial "eye" seeing in all available bands, to an in-arm grenade launcher, which immediately earned him a "Cyberdemon" nickname. While Xenobyte was developing his psionic abilities, together with their "trademark" features: albino-like red eyes and unnaturally pale face.

"So, everybody here?" Banzai shouted impatiently. "Good, let's start the site meeting. To summarize, ladies and gentlemen, congratulations. We've reached the final mission."

"Hooray," McMad grumbled listlessly. "I'll go prepare my blockheads."

"Sit!" Banzai barked. "As it was easy to guess, our last goal is Mars. But there's a catch. Our transport, "Pale Eagle", can only carry a crew of about twenty-five. Plus the cargo of weapons, ammunition and equipment. The question is: would it be enough to storm the central base?"

The screen descended from somewhere above. The lights went out, a projector switched on by the far wall.

Our brothers in reason from NASA had courteously shared information, after Melissa put pressure on them. Judging from satellite photographic data, there are several underground bases, settlements, possibly whole alien cities," Banzai pontificated didactically. — "After analyzing all available information, I came to distressing conclusions..."

Banzai held a dramatic pause and sighed:

"The thing is. Potentially, the problem is solvable head-on. I mean — landing, bloodbath and — victory of forces of good over forces of reason. However, we've got all necessary designs to pick a different path. Namely: land far from the main base, capture a staging area. Organize there a base of our own, transport more people and resources and only then start the assault. And if all necessary for that is present..."

Banzai moved his brows significantly.

"Then there may be insufficient momentum for blitzkrieg," Melissa finished darkly.

"It's a trap," Xenobyte grumbled cheerlessly. "Come, falcons, waste your best troops, then slowly and tediously restore the resources... Bastards, aren't they?"

"What can we lose in case of 'quiet undermining'?" McMad winced.

"By my estimate — at least two days of real time, playing at accelerated tempo." Banzai sighed. "I suppose, we'll have to repeat all the alien way: landing, organizing a base, scouting... Terror missions. The developer hinted the players will be capable to 'be in the shoes of aliens'."

Everybody present sighed with disappointment.

"But what if we try ramming anyway?" Mahmud slammed his hand on the table. "We can always load a save!"

The testers exchanged glances. Granddaughter was so excited, even her pigtails trembled. Xenobyte's eyes were shining unhealthily. Melissa pretended to be on the side of reason, but... It was clear everybody picked a gamble.

[tkzv]

Somewhere on Mars.
November 26, 16:07 real time.

There was much more arguing, swearing and rectifying. But finally the expedition composition was passed.

Of course, all testers, even Banzai, participated personally. Mahmud took five stormtrooper cyborgs, who gave shivers to onlookers. Xenobyte took as many psionics. McMad was bringing a team of commandos trained for mining and demolitions.

The trip itself didn't last long and was just a pause to load new textures and landscapes. And so, "Pale Eagle" reached Martian orbit.

"Make a single circuit and go down." Banzai grumbled sullenly, stooping over the map. "Descent to drop height over here... Make one pass to suppress the enemy air defenses, drop bombs. Start the maneuver here and return to the starting point. McMad with the First Airborne brigade lands first; their task is to capture the staging area and secure the landing of Mahmud's Second Mechanized. I provide air support. Third Psionic lands last, Xenobyte will deliver heavy weapon platforms for Mahmud. Melissa deploys the ground supply base. Restock ammo in the reverse order and proceed inside the enemy territory.

"And what are those triangles?" Granddaughter asked, poking the map.

"Those are the pyramids," Banzai sighed. "There are three of them and one hides an entrance to the underground complex... But only veterans, who finished the original game, know about it. I think, this is our chance!"

"Pale Eagle" picturesquely entered the Martian atmosphere. The red sands approached swiftly, then the transport plowed the valley with a squall of fire, turned, panting heavily, made a wide arc and hung at the point Banzai selected.

McMad and his commandos hastily took places in the landing module.

"Fasten your seatbelts," Xenobyte suggested darkly and jerked the large switch.

The module — just some sort of tin can with seats — fell down with a howl. Just before the surface an antigrav-cusion blazed, killing the speed to safe. The module jumped like a ball and fell to the sand. Unquotable curses of McMad flowed from the radio.

"Did they shoot us down?"

"No, this was the landing by design," Xenobyte explained calmly.

"Who sanctioned the landing module project?!" suspiciously asked Mahmud, standing next in the queue.

"Melissa demanded the cheapest version by force of habit," Xenobyte explained irritatedly.

"Xen, I'm not going into this coffin!"

"Worry not, it'll just shake you a bit... Come on, get in!"

"Never!"

"Babayota?"

Red eyes of the old Yakut flashed from the dark corridor. Mahmud stood "at attention" and paraded to the landing module on the launch rail. On his way he hissed furiously:

"Xen, I'll remember this!"

"Hurry on, you're missing some quality edutainment, Mac is already squishing Sectoids down there."

The curtain of the drop module clanged shut. Xenobyte waited a couple seconds, then jerked the lever again.

"Mo-o-o-otherfu-u-u-uck!" the radio replied. "Pop!"

"Second Mechanized arrived," Xenobyte reported calmly.

The psionics were already standing in the corridor. Granddaughter and gloomy Melissa stood by.

"A-a-ah... Xen, wouldn't it flatten us there?" Granddaughter inquired dolefully.

"Worry not," the programmer smiled. "Our landing will be softer. We carry some precise equipment, after all. Hey, Banzai, prepare the transport platform."

A fairly thick slab took the place of the drop module. Immediately two HWPs, looking like squat tanks, drove from the cargo bay onto the slab. The few remaining bots were swiftly loading the ammo crates. Finally, Xenobyte stepped onto the platform.

"So, citizens, everybody, seal hatches," he grumbled, shutting his pressure helmet. "Banzai! Heave ho!"

Terrified Granddaughter clung to nearby Babayota, but the platform, unlike expected, descended fairly steadily, instead of falling like the modules did.

"Xen," Granddaughter asked carefully, "couldn't you land Mahmud and McMad on a thing like this?"

"What for?" the programmer wondered. "They'd be shot in the air. This way they reached the surface quickly, cheaply and angry like devils. Welcome us, ladies and gentlemen! Third Psionic brigade under my command has arrived!"

* * *

The fight was hot and furious. Explosions shook the ground under their feet. Mahmud's cyborgs were the ones holding the defensive position like a rock. Granddaughter was scurrying between them, alternating between filming and pumping the most worn with medkits.

McMad's commandos appeared at one moment on one flank, at another on another, hit quickly and retreated under the cover of First Mechanized and HWPs used as artillery. The three interceptors Banzai brought from Earth kept on passing above testers' heads.

Xenobyte's fight was most weird. Two of his psionics stood on the hills on his sides, attentively watching the battlefield. The rest formed a wedge behind Xenobyte. All four had their eyes closed. Their psi-amplifiers hummed disquietingly and winked lights at each other.

"Mahmud, from the left, by the trench, approaches a group of four Mutons and a Floater covering them with psi-field... Mac, eliminate the Sectoid over there, it's a Psionic..." the programmer occasionally droned in the microphone.

Suddenly one of psionics shook. Through the visor of the pressure helmet one could see a trickle of blood from his nose.

"Babayota, take over!" Xenobyte barked, opening his eyes. "Granddaughter, medkit with a psi-stimulant shot!"

Xenobyte pulled something like a large Mauser out of hip holster. [T.N.: probably the famous Mauser C96 "broomhandle" pistol that also inspired Han Solo's blaster.] He aimed carefully at something far away. A narrow pale ray shot from the barrel. The programmer nodded in satisfaction, hid the gun and closed his eyes again.

"Mac! Can you see the stone mushroom over there?! I think it's a ventilation shaft of some bunker. Psi-attacks keep coming from there constantly. Roll couple kilos of TNT there..."

At long last the alien attacks started to weaken. In the end they switched to blind defense, shooting furiously from the three huge pyramids. The testers pulled back to regroup.

"Losses?" Banzai asked commandingly. He went to the box over which the field map was spread.

"All my cyborgs are scratched, but still alive," Mahmud growled bleakly. "One platform is down, the other won't last long."

"Two psionics need rest," Xenobyte reported. "So far, we are successfully holding defense against enemy psi-attacks, but... Either we take the observers down, or one of them is going to collapse sooner or later. Then the panic would start."

"Mac, what about you?"

"Everybody's alive, but we are out of explosives. I told you, should've taken more!"

"And I have losses," Banzai growled. "One interceptor broke down. But that doesn't matter much, the fuel is running out. Listen, eagles, we've achieved superiority in the valley, time for the main item on our programme."

Everybody automatically glanced at the pyramids rising above the valley.

"Xen, what are out prospects?" Banzai asked quietly.

The programmer stared in the distance dismally. Finally, he said:

"So far the enemy's major forces were Mutons and Sectoid workers covered by rare psionics. The most powerful attacks were by Ethereal raiding parties... Inside those pyramids the psi activity is astounding. I think they're full of Ethereals and Sectoid leaders."

"Can you cover the soldiers?"

Xenobyte shook his head:

"Everybody with morale below ten — stays behind. The rest get pumped with psi stimulant to the brim... And let my eagles rest. Then — we've got a chance."

"In total," Banzai summed it up. "We've got enough momentum to check only one pyramid. If we guess wrong — start over. We can't save here. Any suggestions?"

Xen and Melissa stared at the valley deep in thought.

"Where's the local north?" asked Melissa.

"There," Banzai pointed, checking some devises.

"This one then!" Xenobyte and Melissa said in chorus, pointing at the same pyramid.

Testers looked at them in surprise.

"Explain," Banzai suggested.

"Psi activity is twenty-five percent higher there," the programmer winced.

"Melissa?"

"If we were in Giza, that would be The Great Pyramid of Cheops," the girl replied calmly.

"Not bad at all," Mahmud said with respect.

"W-wel-l... Any objections? None? Let's prepare then..."


Martian pyramids.
November 26, 16:41 real time.

"First Mechanized in position." [sic]

"Second Airborne — placed charges, in position."

"We are ready."

"Acknowledged. Prepare to commence."

Somewhere far behind "Pale Eagle" shuddered, its engines howled with a strain. It rose above ground, rocked hesitantly and slowly headed toward the pyramids. The towers around the pyramids, which led to underground bunkers, came to life. The sky was criss-crossed with bright traces, but they couldn't scratch the spaceship armor.

"Cannon barrels on the 'Pale Eagle' nose started glowing, accumulating the charge. Finally, they spat a fireball with a howl. A squall went through the valley. Sand and rocks fell on the team hiding in the trench.

Banzai was methodically demolishing the lower floors of the buildings. He wasn't likely to had seriously damaged the underground lines, but he did sow confusion among enemies. All three pyramids suffered.

"Go!" Banzai said in the earphones.

"Go-go-go!!!"

...Cyborgs were the first to break into the wrecked lower hall of the pyramid. Mahmud saw a confused Muton on his way and knocked him off his feet with a grenade launcher. Suddenly one cyborg dropped his weapon and pressed his temples.

"Xenobyte!!!" Mahmud roared.

The programmer rushed out of clouds of smoke and fire. The cyborg rose his head and quickly picked up the weapon. His comrades were already taking positions in the corridors.

"Where do we go?!" McMad asked looking around nervously as he ran to the group. "Down?"

"No! Usually, the lift underground is on the very top of the pyramid!" Melissa shouted.

"Everybody, seek the way up!"

The aliens were holding the line as furiously as cornered rats. Each corridor had to be literally burned through. Then consolidate position, digging into walls and floor with teeth, to reach another fork...

One psionic was blown away with a heavy plasma shot. The cyborg in front of him swayed. McMad masterfully shot an Ethereal that peered out of the corner, and the stormtrooper went back to his place. Suddenly one sniper shuddered and pointed his barrel at Xenobyte. Nearby Babayota waved a stun club like a katana... The team was suffering losses, but stubbornly moved deeper inside the pyramid.

Finally, testers reached the pyramid top. This floor had only one long corridor ending with a narrow door. As the testers rose, they were met with heavy fire.

Mahmud, who was walking first, dashed aside and knocked Xenobyte down. Both rolled down the staircase.

"A-a-ah, damn!"

"Give me a smart rocket!" Mahmud demanded, extending his arm and looking up angrily.

"None left," Melissa was at a loss with a guilty expression.

McMad laid flat on the stairs and crawled u like a snake. When he peered into the corridor, the furious fire started anew.

"This sucks," the marksman said, rolling downstairs. "Too far to throw a grenade. Xenobyte?"

"They've got powerful psionics over there. We won't be able to sneak unnoticed."

"Looks like we're stuck. So, let's shoot blindly, trying to hit the psionic, shall we?

The programmer tsked angrily, then suddenly ordered:

"Everybody, unload your weapons and take stunners!"

"Why in blazes?!"

"I'm going to take some powers off the psi-cover and try to catch those bombers with their pants down. In case somebody gets controlled, better with a stunner than a gravity gun."

Testers rearmed themselves hastily.

"Come on, Xen, do it!"

Xenobyte stood up with his legs far apart and hunched his back, For a while he didn't move, then he started shaking. Low roaring sound burst from his throat.

"O-o-o-o-O-OM!"

The programmer sharply clapped his hands. The bot near him jerked nervously and immediately got hit on his head with a stun club.

"So, you don't like it, bastard?!" Xenobyte hissed to somebody unknown. "Babayota... Half a period later... One... Two... Three... O-o-o-o-O-OM!"

An explosion banged somewhere above.

"Attack!" the programmer screamed, pulling out his "Mauser" and rushing ahead. The rest ran after him, hastily rearming themselves on their way. The spacious cubic room was filled with smoke. Gravity lift plates were glinting in its middle. Several Sectoids were swaying drowsily and holding their heads. They didn't even resist. The testers quickly cleared the room, dragged the stunned inside and took up a defensive position.

"Xen, what did you do?" Granddaughter asked curiously, injecting the stunned with a stimulant.

"Started a duel with their central psionic," Xenobyte grumbled. "While he was distracted, Babayota controlled one of Sectoids and made him drop a primed grenade.

"Good bargain," Melissa nodded. "What are our assets?"

Testers looked around. Besides them only two cyborgs one commando and three psionics remained. Xenobyte shook his head and pointed his finger at one psionic:

"You... Go no further."

The bot, who was profusely bleeding from nose, nodded, took a clip out of his rifle and obediently stood in front of Xenobyte. He stunned the bot with a club and put him aside carefully.

"Xen, why did you do it to him?!" Granddaughter asked plaintively.

"He's too tired and may get controlled in the next attack," the programmer explained. "And we totally don't need him behind our backs. But they don't attack stunned. So, everybody ready?"

Xenobyte walked to the lift and closed his eyes.

"Seems clear. Well... Let's go."

[tkzv]

Martian pyramids, underground.
November 26, 17:11 real time.

Contrary to their expectations, the underground floor met the testers with ominous silence. After the bloodbath on the top floors, this had an oppressive effect. The last remaining commando suddenly started to shiver, looking around like a baited animal. Suddenly Xenobyte's heavy hand lay on his shoulder. The bot shrieked in fear.

"Don't even think! Granddaughter, a shot of sedative."

"That'll lower his reaction!" McMad protested.

"But will let us avoid stunning him," the programmer parried sternly. "And we're gonna need a sapper greatly... Damn... It's quiet in here, too quiet... And no psi-activity... At least, directed at us...

The testers walked the corridors, looking around at every step and carefully checking every meter, every branch of the corridor. Just as they entered a large, absolutely empty hall, they heard a strange hum... As if dozens of paws were softly hitting the floor slabs.

"Did you hear?" Mahmud asked nervously. "Did you, eh?"

"Looks like something is gonna..."

"SHAITAN!!!" Babayota screamed suddenly.

Xenobyte started looking around and his eyes bulged. An avalanche of Sectoids was running at them from all corridors leading to the hall. There were hundreds of them!

The stormtroopers rose their weapons. The shots of gravity guns cut swathes in Sectoids' ranks, but new ones kept filling them...

"Don't shoot!!!" Xenobyte screamed unexpectedly. "Use stunners, stunners! Those are workers, they are not even armed!"

Nerves of one cyborg could take no more. He shouted hollowly and started to shoot in all directions, forcing the testers to dodge his powerful shots. Babayota managed to hit him with a stunner. The Sectoids squealed madly, jumped at them, hit pressure suits with small fists, tried to bite. They managed to topple Mahmud. Granddaughter, squealing if fear, had long disappeared under their wave. Melissa, Xenobyte and McMad stood back-to-back and waved stunners in earnest.

In one place the crawling carpet literally exploded, throwing Sectoids in all direction. That was Mahmud rising indignantly. He held a stunner in one hand, and used the other arm, with the built-in grenade launcher, as a mace.

Finally, the stream of vermin ran out. Shaking testers gathered in the center of the hall...

"Nasty, loathsome, vile Sectoids," Granddaughter whimpered, beating the small gray body with a stunner...

"How disgusting," Melissa confirmed with a trembling voice. "Worse than spiders... I hate everything small and creeping! Granddaughter, did you film it?!"

"Of course!" Granddaughter immediately straitened proudly, leaving the Sectoid alone. "It's gonna work great! We're gonna make a splash: 'Not for nervous or children below sixteen'!"

"Ouch..." Xenobyte sighed, putting his hand to his heart. "Things they come up with... OK, rest a bit and..."

"Shaitan!" Babayota suddenly screamed.

It all happened surprisingly fast. Relaxed testers rose their heads, staring in surprise at a lone Ethereal, who appeared out of the corridor on the far end of the hall. An Ethereal, shouldering a gravity emitter already aimed at Xenobyte.

The computer analysis was precise and simple as math. A psionic without heavy armor is guaranteed to not survive a gravity shot. And with the same mathematical precision the most dangerous enemy was chosen. All the situational computing steps, all the triggers automatically ran through Xenobyte's brain, it was all simple and logical... Even the whole team being armed with stunners useless at this range...

Something dark covered Xenobyte's view. Next moment this something knocked him off his feet and took the gravity shot. Next moment the Ethereal literally evaporated in a simultaneous volley of remaining testers.

The programmer with difficulty crawled out of the body covering him and stared at it uncomprehendingly.

"Babayota?!" Xenobyte said in a suddenly hoarse voice.

"Good bot," Mahmud sighed, "but why?"

"Well, how should I put it," Melissa said inertly. "Generally, its behavior is computed by the same AI, and it computed that this deal would give more points..."

"Babayota..." Xenobyte repeated.

Melissa staggered. The programmer rose slowly. His hands met the pressure helmet...

"Hey, Xen, what's with you?! Xen, the local atmosphere..."

Xenobyte pulled the helmet off his head. His twisted face was scary to look at. The helmet fell to his feet. He stood above Babayota's body and rose arms with tightly clenched fists above his head.

"O-o-o-o..."

The programmer's eyes lit with red glow, blood stream rushed from his nose. Shadows seemed to gather around him. None of the testers dared to interfere.

"O-O-O — GHA-A!" Xenobyte shouted.

An elastic wave seemed to fly from him in all directions. The testers shook, the commando collapsed. Nobody paid attention. Silence fell. Xenobyte stooped, picked the helmet and jammed the helmet on.

"Let's go," he grumbled depressively. "I know the way."

"But... Well... You know, snipers..." Granddaughter mumbled hesitantly.

"Nobody here anymore," Xenobyte grumbled. "Let's finish this stupid toy already..."

* * *

Nobody paid much attention to the plaintive muttering of the Superbrain, hiding deep underground. He was listened to politely, Granddaughter recorded his "testimony" with her camera. Then McMad and his commando busily started covering the brain with explosives and setting up the thermonuclear explosive.

"Xen," Granddaughter pulled his sleeve plaintively. "Don't be so sad... The game is ending anyway..."

"Uh-huh," the programmer nodded indifferently.

"For him, it's probably better this way... Who would he be? Just a bot, forgotten with a finished game. And this way... This way he's the Personality. Like that."

"Uh-huh," the programmer nodded again, but this time his voice sounded differently.

"Nevertheless, Xen, what did you do back there?!" Granddaughter blurted hopping impatiently.

The programmer cast a sour side glance at her.

"Reached next level and burned all my psi powers."

"What?" Granddaughter blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

"On our way here we've gathered so much XP, that I leveled up twice," Xenobyte winced. "I used the points received to advance to the next level as a psionic. This restored all psi energy. And then... Then I shot everything. At once and to the metal. Burned the brains of all here vermin in a two kilometer radius."

Granddaughter looked at him in superstitious fear.

"Ready!" McMad reported. "Just press the button... A pity Banzai isn't here... Let's make a photo to remember!"

"Ah, almost forgot!" Xenobyte slapped his face, dropped his backpack and started rummaging in it. With an effort he pulled out something and set in atop the thermonuclear bomb in a grand manner. "Here it is!"

The testers stared at the object without understanding. It was the fountain with a gilded dolphin, which had been getting on their nerves from the start of the game.

"Are you crazy?!" Melissa reared. "It's all over our bookkeeping!"

"Write it off as 'equipment damaged during the assault of the Martian base'," the programmer brushed her aside. "So, who wanted a screenshot to remember?!"

Granddaughter set up the camera, set the timer and ran to the testers. The camera clicked.

"Well..." Xenobyte said. "Mahmud, start the fire!"