The Path in the Abyss.

By Вячеслав Багров

After a long flight, the crew of the "Wanderer" starship lands on the planet Firmness, where some of the earthlings are captured, while others manage to escape and settle in a new society for them, posing as local residents. Meanwhile, the caste of bankers-supplying begins to implement a plan to destroy and reduce the Black castes, using the forces of the Officer caste for this. But instead of becoming executioners for their people, battalions of Officers enter the capital and exterminate the Banker caste. Against the background of unfolding events, earthlings are trying to make a desperate attempt to escape from the planet. In this they are assisted by a police officer and an officer of the department of inquiry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Вячеслав Багров
• Release date: Jul 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005694340

Вячеслав Багров

Что сказать о себе? У меня все как у большинства - родился, учился, женился. Родился в городе Тольятти в 1970 году 9 декабря, работаю сварщиком. Фантастику полюбил еще в школе- Алексей Толстой, Иван Ефремов, Стругацкие, Бредбери. В юности пробовал писать фантастику, но потом бросил. И только теперь, имея некоторый жизненный опыт, написал и издал романы "Путь в бездне", "Звезда надежды" и "Твердь. Мирный берег", которые надеюсь понравятся читателям. Моя почта vyacheslav. bagrov @ gmail. com или в Телеграм t.me/bag450rov название канала "Путь в бездне. Вячеслав Багров". Телефон для контактов; 89024265585. Просьба присылать смс.

Book preview

Fantastic novel.

T h e P a t h i n t h e A b y s s.

Vyacheslav Bagrov.

Original edition: 26.08.2016.

ISBN: 978-5-906895-93-6

Second edition: Dec. 26, 2019.

ISBN: 9780463892312 Smashwords.com

ISBN:978-5-6044014-1-5

Book publisher, author.

( Machine translation in the author’s edition. June. 29.2020 )

email: [e-mail]

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Author's site: vyacheslav-bagrov.ru

Facebook: id=100022828201707

Вячеслав Багров.

PART ONE.

Aliens.

Chapter 1.

Exodus. The time is real.

The ship, a sparkling metal tower, stood on a flat hilltop. From the burnt earth around him, thick smoke rose.

On the ship's mighty legs, the low, morning sun played.

It smelled of cinder.

Through the puffs of smoke, on the polished side, there were yellow letters of the name of the ship — Thunder.

The hull of the ship has already stopped swaying, resting its supports on rocky ground, it stood level. Metering.

The Thunder landed on a hill near a fast stream, where they left the car, and now ran, panting and wheezing, running, stumbling, up the hill.

To salvation.

Misha both ran and did not run, like a mechanical doll, he only allowed Sergey to drag himself forward to the ship.

Bitter dust on chapped lips, sweat over his eyes, flows down his face and neck.

Stir, they will kill us,- he wheezes Misha.

Senchin looked around; two dozen little men with rifles and in gray overcoats were already crossing the stream. They were approaching a big black boulder. The shooter stood up and straightened, leaving the machine gun lying on the ground. Silent for a moment, the shots clicked again - gray haze burst from the rifles. Bullets dug into the rocky ground, to the right and behind the fugitives.

On the far side of the stream, where the long army truck that had pulled off the road was shining green, there was not one killed, no one writhed in pain, did not scream, asking for help.

They got to the gangplank.

Chapter 2.

Firmness. Spring. Quiet Harbor.

Morning. He recently got out of bed, washed heavily and reluctantly, had a bite in the kitchen with two sandwiches, washed them down with a glass of strong, hot tea, and now sat in his room — three by four meters, with one window, on a rickety wooden chair, his hands resting on a shabby, with peeling, off-white paint, table. Behind the dust-covered glass of a single window, a spring, Saturday day flared up. Through an open, rickety window, came a sparrow tweet.

The bright sun was breaking through the branches of an old, branched poplar growing outside the window, from its rays, the dust on the glass of the window shone dull and dull.

- The window needs to be washed. Shame,- he thought.

Remembering this every weekend over the past years, he seemed to perform the usual ritual, while leaving everything as it is.

There was a knock on the door of the room.

Yes.

Taok came in - a neighbor from the room opposite. Today he was sober and clean-shaven, in warm felt slippers, black, old tricot with stretched, holey knees, and an unbuttoned colorful shirt without buttons, under which a white shirt was visible.

Hi, nephew! - This is Taok to him. - Again you took my pan away, give it here.

It's not me.

Of course not you. And over there, what?

Taok pointed to the side of the table on which an enameled, yellow pan, painted in large orange peas, stuck defiantly.

That's mine.

Taok’s freckled face frowned, he entered the room, took a saucepan and put it under his nose, said:

Here is the mark! You see? How many times to speak? By the way, yours is generally without one pen. How do you confuse them, I do not understand.

Sitting on a chair, half a turn to Taok, he awkwardly spread his arms, said:

Hm ... I'm sorry. I, apparently, got it wrong. It was dark.

Should drink less. By the way …- Taok furtively glanced at the closed door and, lowering his voice, asked.- You have nothing?

Apparently, his wife Gemada was still at home. Last week, a short quarrel erupted in their room, after which Taok went out into the corridor with a large lump on his forehead. He avoided conversations on this subject.

No. I quit drinking. Here …

Yes? - The neighbor looked incredulously into his eyes. - Again? Somehow I can’t believe it.

Yeah. That's for sure..

Then give me a lend, to paycheck. Just so that my wife does not recognize!

He got up from his chair, fished out a pair of copper coins from his brown checkered jacket pocket:

When did I report to your wife?

Well, come on. This is me just in case.

Taok went out, quietly closing the door behind him. From the corridor came his loud, mocking voice, answering someone:

From whom, from whom? At the nephew.

A nasty gravity tossed over in his soul, from fragmentary memories, and a dull guilt caused by a hangover. He again looked at his dusty window, got up, under a recently made bed, found a dried-up, lumpy rag, brought a common basin with water from the restroom, and returned it in about fifteen minutes to the windows that were blind from dust, the old shine.

Would have done so long ago!

He involuntarily admired the unusually clear and colorful view from the window, behind which a branchy poplar grew. He could hear the noise of a passing car and a bunch of kids at the bottom of the house.

The washed glass shone and reflected on the uneven yellow, painted walls of the room the bright spots of sunbeams, from which it seemed to him that the beginning of new, long-tortured actions had been laid. Only things were in such a way that, in fact, he had nothing to start with. Absolutely. Two days off will pass, he will return to work at the port to spend another meaningless and difficult week in dust and dirt. Again he will rivet the armor of old battleships long requested to be scrapped. On Monday, the battleship Gloomy, the repair of which ended two weeks ago, now stood in the cordon of the guard, most likely will leave the port.

The guns and equipment were re-installed on the Gloomy, and sailors scurried like ants along its cuttings and decks.

Inaction oppressed him with his emptiness, filling him with irritation and anger at himself.

He was sitting on a chair, looking at the floor, whose boards had long been in need of painting when he heard the sound of a door opening. Tosia Vak came - a sixty-two-year-old woman, with once black, and now silver-white hair, tidied up in a neat, short braid, descending on her shoulders. She wore cherry-colored velvet slippers on her feet.

Tosia's black, large eyes looked tired, with poorly concealed hope.

Good morning, of mine golden one,-her voice was deep, gentle.

Good morning, Aunt Tosya.

Had breakfast?

Yes.

She went to the window, opened the frame.

What are you thinking of doing today, precious?

Tosia Vak did not look in his direction, looked at the street, she hid her hands in the deep pockets of her dress.

Precious...

He felt depressed and awkward, not knowing what to answer.

- Precious will be sober. - He thought and said with simulated amusement in his voice.

In the kitchen, someone was doing dishes.

I’ll go for a walk.

Go, go …

There was a momentary silence, from which the room seemed to be dark and stuffy.

He wanted to say, utter words, fill the space with sound and meaning, but the words seemed to disappear before they could be heard.

They were silent. I'll tidy up here for now,- she still stood looking out the window, apparently about to say what she came for, but did not dare.

In the corridor outside the door, the words rang out:

Rouk at home?

Yes, at home,-he stood up, pulling up his pants.

In the doorway stood a neighbor from the extreme room, the Ugle Tok.

She was about fifty-five years old, short, full, with short, curly hair, the color of straw, in a bathrobe, in warm felt slippers, thick glasses on her nose, in a bulky horn rim.

She moved with difficulty and always with a wand.

Arthritis.

Tosia Wak turned to face her.

Hello, Tosia, - and him. - Good morning,Rouk.

Good morning,Ugle.

Morning interview?-She smiled guiltily, as if embarrassed.-Then I'll come back later.

What did you want? Come in. - Tosia Vak came up to her and brought her into the room. - How are your legs?

Tosia Wak worked as a doctor in a district hospital.

Ugle shrugged:

I can walk.

I'll see your legs later.

It’s good when there is a doctor and you don’t have to go anywhere.- She laughed with the laughter of a man who was often and many refused his requests, but who was forced to ask again and again.

Do you want to go to the store?- Tosia Vak asked her.

Yes, I wanted to ask Rook, only he helps me.- She laughed bitterly.- I asked thisfreckledTaok, so I heard a lot from him ...

What should you buy?- He asked her.

Rouk,-she handed him the money and a piece of paper folded in half.- Here, here is the list.

He listened about bread, milk and a pharmacy, nodded, twisting her note in her hand, and she, smiling, remembered the freckled Taok again, her sore legs and Rowk's sympathy, for which life would finally reward him.

Life will reward him. Yes of course. Exactly.

Who would doubt that.

Tok's corner is gone.

Okay, I'll go.- He turned to the door when Tosia Wak said:

Wait a minute. I wanted to tell you,- she went up to him and spoke, trying to hide her excitement.- I am a doctor and have seen a lot of things. There have been cases when a person is not seriously ill, a trifle, but this trifle brings him to the grave. Or, on the contrary, you think that the patient will die, you are not hoping already, but he, you look, is recovering, clings and … It is necessary to cling, golden, even when there is no hope.

Golden.

I know. Aunt Tosya I …

He always called her that - Aunt Tosya.

Aunt Tosya!- She mimicked him, and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt.- We have to fight. Hopefully. You can’t give up and fall yourself into the swamp.

I'm already...

Yes, you are already. Get a hold of yourself. That's it, now go. I'll tidy up here. I see that you washed the window. And that’s good.

Having removed his jacket and hung it on the humpbacked back of a rickety chair, he left the room, taking a white, knitted string bag, in the dark corridor, lit only by a window from the kitchen, went into the hallway. He shod his broken boots, dark brown, with patched skin, and a minute later he found himself on the street.

The sun was reflected in puddles and windows, playfully running in the glass of cars passing by the road, the smell of moist earth and young greenery, hung in the clear, morning air, mingling with the stink of passing cars. From the table in the courtyard where several of his neighbors gathered, voices and the sound of dominoes were heard. He was noticed, someone shouted:

Rouk!

He waved back and did not slow down, turned around the corner of the house, ducking from the low hanging poplar branches.

The street met him with noise and traffic. A flock of pigeons took off from the sidewalk and rustling their wings, rushed to the roof of the nearest barrack, where the morning sun danced merrily in the windows of the second floor and there in the radiance of the reflected sun, like a mysterious nymph, a chubby, young fat woman, laying her lush, falling out of a white sundress on a windowsill breasts, squinting, looked down at passers-by.

People walked with the slowness that is inherent in them at the weekend. Nobody was running late.

He delightedly lit a cigarette, the first one for today, and walked along the sidewalk, paved with shabby cobblestones, to the pharmacy, which was located at the end of the painted green, fresh paint, two-story, wooden barrack. Having caught up with a large puddle on the road, he managed to bounce to the side when a truck rattling its sides with a flat, grooved muzzle, splashing puddles along the sidewalk, drove through, leaving behind a stench of exhaust gases.

The wind carried warm air, the spring sun pleased with its light and brilliance, promising a quick summer.

On such days, the mood is always unjustifiably good, it seems that life will still smile with luck and everything will somehow work out miraculously, although you know very well that there are no miracles in this life itself …

Having bought the ointment necessary for Ugle Toke at the pharmacy, - a small, glass jar with a hand-written label on it, he, going to the intersection of the second and fourth streets, popped into the grocery store, number twelve - small, with a tall, dirty window, which was visible behind, laid out on trays, fruits and vegetables. The store smelled strongly of onions and something stale.

A line of five went quickly, but a middle-aged aunt in a long, lilac dress and a red hat, with a white ribbon on the sides, started a dispute with a young saleswoman, full, with brightly painted lips, and this argument quickly and confidently outgrew into the scandal.

Listening to the skirmish of two women, he patiently waited for his turn, and soon left the store, filling a knitted string bag with bread, two bottles of kefir and fresh herbs.

He did not want to return home immediately. Having lit a cigarette, and holding a string bag in his left hand, he went down the street, starting a short morning trip.

It was a region of a caste of workers in a black city, bore the romantic name, Quiet Harbor. Black quarters. After passing several more barracks, from the open windows of which the music of the gramophone was heard, he went out to the square.

Under high maples spreading their branches, stood wooden benches.

Today there were a few people in the square — three young mothers, they settled down with the children on the bench closest to him, and the next couple, down the square, in the liquid shade of trees, was an elderly couple. He headed deep into the square, walking along the cobblestone pavement, enjoying the peace that surrounded him.

Right in front of the square, on the corner of the spacious area, there was a red, fire engine, for which its best times had long passed.

The hood of the car was raised, and a skinny ass of a fireman driver was sticking out from under it, in dirty, light green uniform pants. A little to the side, on the left, four young guys, already tipsy, leisurely walked to the bus stop located at the nearest hut.

The wind randomly drove through the cobblestones of the square, newspaper scraps and last year's foliage. Stopping, he lit a cigarette, took a drag, slowly released a cloud of gray smoke and was about to step towards the square, when he suddenly saw her.

So many years passed, but he recognized her right away. She barely changed. A girl who turned into a mature woman, a little plump in her hips and chest. The same dimples on the rosy cheeks, the bend of light eyebrows, eyes … Her wheat-colored hair shook the wind to her shoulders, looking somewhere to the side, she walked slowly, squinting from the sun. The white dress, which was slightly lifted by the wind, barely covered her naked knees. Cream-colored shoes shone. With her right hand she held a narrow strap, a small, black handbag.

Confused, he froze, shocked by the sudden meeting, looked at her with wide eyes, looking at her, afraid that he was mistaken. Even seeing her in front of him, he still did not believe that it was her. His feelings mixed up and, as if not wanting to frighten away the ghost, he took the first, timid step in her direction.

Apparently, having lost interest in what she was peering, the woman turned her head. Their eyes met. She did not recognize him. And then, a second later, her attention was attracted by children playing nearby.

They were separated by a dozen steps and she looked at him again.

This time she peered into his face, and at first in her glancing gaze reflected bewilderment, mixed with irritability, but then, after a moment, she recognized him.

They stood a step away from each other for several moments, her face suddenly lost its expression of stiffness, lit up with joy:

You!-They said at the same time, and he could hardly restrain himself so as not to shout her name.

He quickly approached her.

They hugged.Her hair tickled his face, he inhaled the smell of bitter perfume, hugged her tightly, feeling the warmth of her body, closed his eyes, and was silent.

For a minute they stood so embraced, each experiencing his own, as close relatives who once lost each other and found again.

- Life will thank, - he remembered the words Ugle's and smiled broadly.

Seryozha!- She called his name in full voice, and the whole world — alien, painful, hateful, seemed to pay attention to them, listening to the words, suspicious, alien here, spoken in Russian.- It's you...

Over the years spent in Strength, he, Sergei Senchin, became here his own, one with the people around him, and the name spoken aloud made a division between him and the whole world. An almost forgotten fear emerged from the depths of his soul and stood in front of Sergey, like a guard.

Let's go from here .- He told her in the local language.- Sveta, Sveta …

From a knitted string bag in his hands, a white stream flowed - he somehow managed to break the kefir bottles, and now at their feet a white puddle bright from the sun has formed.

He led her back to his house, holding her warm and dry hand, hurriedly striding, looking now at his feet, then at her. The stupid, simple smile of a man who was surprised at something joyful and stunning did not leave Sergey’s face.

She asked something, he answered her something. How strange, it was fantastically unlikely to go now, next to her, Svetka Lanina, here, in a hostile world, many light years from Earth, after a long, painful nine years spent in Strength.

The natives called their planet Strength.

Hateful, asphyxiating, mortally dangerous, like a viper - Strength, oh how he hated it! And myself, living on her, and becoming her part. Nine years of loss, as if your soul had been torn out, dull hopelessness, fear and pretense, fruitless attempts to find a way out and shameful, drunk madness.

Sveta!

She asked him:

Where are you leading me, Seryozha.? Can we go back to the square? It seems safe there.

I live in a barracks, here, next. And no more words in Russian!

Inspired by their sudden meeting, he suddenly believed that now everything will change for the better, that it has come to the end of their Strength saga, and in some other incomprehensible way, they will leave this world.

Sveta, we’ll definitely get out of here. You'll see.

At the end of a shady street, his barrack was already visible, a two-story one, like all the residential barracks of the black quarters, with a low, plank fence, an abandoned front garden.

Svetlana Lanina critically, with a smile, looked Sergey in the face. He expected her to say something like you think so, or it would be nice, but …

She took the knitted string bag soaked from kefir from him, looked at its contents and, shaking her head, said with a grin:

Don’t be offended, Seryozha, but you have always been an amazing idiot.

******* *******

Drank tea. Tosia Vak brought from her room, located on the ground floor, a gramophone and a plywood box glued with pieces of colored paper, a box with phonograph records.

The music, mixed with the hiss of a thick, picking needle, filled Senchin's wretched room with an atmosphere of comfort he had not had for a long time.

Tosiya Vak laid a snow-white tablecloth on the table, went back to her room and returned, carrying a brilliant tin tray with porcelain cups and a pot-bellied, in oil-painted flowers, tea-pot. In the middle of the table flaunted her own samovar. Sergey's samovar, terrible and neglected, remained in the kitchen, bashfully shoved by Senchin under the common table.

Tosia Vak calmly, without expression, looked at Svetlana sitting opposite her. She, holding a cup of tea, listened to the speech of Senchin, in which he set out the story of several years spent by him in Strength. Tosia occasionally corrected him by inserting rare comments, from which Sergei, feeling awkward, and immediately introduced corrections into his story.

There was a fourth interlocutor at the table — a fifty-five-year-old man of medium height, plump and balding, brown-eyed brown-haired, with a round, kind face. His name was Evol. Evol Kyumo. He always, as far as Sergei knew him, dressed like a holiday. Today Evol Kyumo dressed in a gray, formal suit, under which a snow-white shirt without a tie shone. The simple, good-natured, even childishly naive face of Evola Kyumo, contained an expression of surprise and admiration.

He looked at Svetlana as if in front of him was not an ordinary young woman, but an unprecedented creature until this day, who flew into the room through the window.

Evol Kyumo worked as a doctor in the same hospital with Tosiya Vak.

Sergey always addressed him as you, respected him as a reliable friend and a person incapable, in his opinion, of meanness.

Senchin said:

Then, Aunt Tosya, helped me with the documents. She arranged me in this room.

It was that story, - inserted Tosia Vak.- It is called a forgery of documents.

Well, after that I got a job at the port as a riveter, and I still work there.

Sveta blinked and asked:

I do not understand something. You said that Evol found you,-she looked at the latter and smiled at him.-What does it mean to have found? Did you find it in the garbage bin? She shrugged vaguely, interest shone in her eyes. - More, if possible. The narrator of you …

Tosia Wak laughed out loud for the first time this evening.

He found him.- And she shook her head.

Sergey was a little confused, began to explain something indistinctly and extensively, but Evol intervened:

Well, why, right away, in the trash ?! We met with Seryozha on the street, - he spoke carefully choosing words, politely and tactfully.- He was then in a difficult, I would say, in a hopeless situation, and seeing this, I decided to help him. We came home to Tosia, and then you know.

He picked up Sergey,- Tosia Vak said with a sigh.- He picked up a drunk in the yard. Seryozha was insane. We brought him to feelings for a long time.

Svetlana's face shone.

So, so, so,- she said.- Very interesting.

Nothing interesting. - Sergey mumbled. - Not worth it, here …

He is modest. - Tosia Vak took a teapot, poured Senchin into a cup.- Sveta, do you need some tea?

What? Oh, yes, yes, thanks.- She looked at Evola and asked.- Please tell me, doctor, this ... story. Just some wonderful salvation.

Senchin:

Evol, do not listen to her.

But Evol Kyumo already apparently decided something and started talking, looking at Svetlana, stirring with a teaspoon in his almost empty cup:

Well, actually, to say the least ... Yes, in a word. I walked by, it was already dark, I worked late into the night, I look at a man lying in an alley. Mumbles something.Icame up, listened and realized that Seryozha urgently needed to be taken somewhere.

Again, I don’t understand. - Sveta smiled happily, looking at Evola with adoration. - Well, are you bringing all the drunkards to your friends?

Why, all at once?! - He was even offended. - Seryozha was special …

Yes Yes. He is special.- She laughed loudly, already looked at Sergei, who was completely sour, and reaching out, stroked his cheek.- You pig, my special one. Ha ha. I ... I knew that!

Sergey twitched, said, referring to Evola:

Evol, I asked you. You do not know her.

A dusty, muddy electric lamp under the ceiling illuminated the audience in the room with a dim light.

He asked! - Sveta Lanina choked with laughter, tears appeared in her eyes. - Quietly, so-so lying around and didn’t touch anyone ... Uhh ... And why he turned out to be so ... special for you, Evol ?

He spoke a foreign language. - Evol Kyumo looked up with an important look. - In my youth I was a surgeon, worked in a hospital and had to operate on many, including prisoners. I know three languages - Usum, ka, and mikon. I have language skills.

Yes, what are you saying ?! - Sveta interestedly looked at him.

Many have told me, I don’t know if it is that my pronunciation is especially flawless. And Sergey spoke a language that I had not heard at all, and which, as I understand it, has no common roots with other languages. Moreover, all sorts of rumors have been wandering for a long time ... About you. About the aliens. It is not necessary to have seven spans in the forehead to fold two and two. I took Seryozha home to Tosia. Although Seryozha says that I have a bad pronunciation, I can accurately pronounce his phrase, which I heard then. Here she is. - and Evol Kyumo, thoughtfully, with an arrangement, looking over his head Lanina, said in Russian.- Go to hell.

For several seconds, a deathly silence hung over the table.

Sergei Senchin sat like an idol, it seemed that he was paralyzed.

And then Lanina loudly, louder than before, laughed, splashing tea from her cup.

She almost fell, from her chair - Tosia Vak supported her.

Evol, can I hear it again?- She was happy.

Go to...- Evol spoke slowly.

He tried very hard.

Enough .- Sergey could not resist .- Evol, stop it. She's mocking you.

Sveta was choked with laughter. Her sonorous voice reflected off the walls.

Calming down a little and putting her hand on the palm of the embarrassed Evol, Lanina said:

Don't be mad at me, Evol. But I really didn’t understand anything. You have a very funny pronunciation .- She looked at Sergey and her gaiety began to disappear quickly, Sveta’s gaze was sharpened.- And this is our pilot, our hope, so to speak. Everyone is looking for him, but he is lying around.

Only that a cheerful woman sat in front of them, bursting into tears of fun, and suddenly, to replace her, another woman appeared, serious, with a prickly look. Sveta Lanina, became different. She looked into her almost empty cup, holding it with narrow, long fingers, her speech became stiff:

So the good people picked you up. Responsive people. Others are no so unlucky. You even had a gramophone. But your mistress took him away. Now you have nomistress, no gramophone. Did you save money for a gramophone for him for a long time, Aunt Tosya?

Tosia Vak was silent.

You say that the work in your port is interesting. I've been listening to you all day. About how you repair ships there, and how difficult it for you miserable.- Sveta grunted.- Do you want me to pity you? I do not want. There is nothing to regret you. You are well settled, wonderful settled. But, already without a gramophone. Well, I think that you will somehow survive.

Sergei tried not to look at her; his face turned red, he sat motionless.

You must understand me...- He said.

Lanina looked him directly in the eye, calmly asked:

Why didn't you look for us? Forgot?

I forgot nothing,- he snapped, and moving away from the table, he wanted to get up, but changed his mind.- Two years I was looking for you! Two years. I have been to all villages around the landing site. And when the authorities began to send patrols, within a radius of thirty kilometers, around the ship, in general... They combed every village there, organized raids. I decided that those of us who remained at large went further. I pretended to be craze... Four times I was caught, I ran away. Then, here I am staying in this city. Coastal town, of which there are many. Then what's the difference?- Sergei got to his feet, and moving to the window, opened the window, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit a cigarette.- Hmm, I'm settled. If neither Evol and Aunt Tosya, then I would sit where all of ours are now sitting. I would sit where all of ours are now sitting. They,- Sergey pointed to Tosia Vak and Evol Kyumo.- My family and friends, I owe everything to them.

That's what, guys,- Tosia Vak said calmly.- I think that you should not swear, and find out who was looking for someone. Seryozha was looking for you, but could not find you. You are lucky to meet. Now there are two of you. I do not believe in chance, everything in life is connected and if you met, then change will come. I don't know what changes will be, but they will come. It's like a stone, if you