Aurora tenebris. Part two
Riley's voice was the first to break the silence that hung in the cabin, a viscous beast dripping from furniture and equipment.
— How long?
Aristaeus ' microphone boomed, twisting the grim grin.
— About six months, maybe, give or take a week.
— Why didn't you tell me sooner?
Aristaeus hesitated to answer.
— I hoped I was wrong. A few days before the Lunatics had attacked the observation post, and I blamed it on stress and lack of sleep.
— We never hope, Aristaeus. We assess the situation and realize the consequences!...
— I know, — the worn jumpsuit grinned again, rubbing his wrists. — But even if I said earlier, nothing would have changed.
Aristaeus was right, and this always shook the even, orderly thoughts of Riley. Reflections on today's tests were pushed into the background, predictions, exit options, ways to delay or at least slow down Aristaeus' approaching insanity succeeded each other in her perfect brain.
Dawn's Children never made any illusions about their fate. Each of them knew that he might one day feel different. It always started the same way. At first, there was a flash of energy, like a second wind — unconstrained freedom of thought, crystal clarity of mind, an infinite supply of strength to experiment, try again and again. Then came apathy, heavy, as if endless sleepless night. The reaction slowed down, the emotions subsided, the personality itself was replaced with a plastic, pliable nothingness. It was all too easy to confuse with a surge of strength and fatigue that many chose to ignore the first signs, rather than slip into paranoia.
The obviousness of the situation was revealed at the third stage — when the gadgeteers understood that they did not fully control what was happening. Obsessive thoughts, nervous movements, monstrous ideas appeared. The personality was destroyed, the memory was ruined, and the thinking turned into chaos, finally turning a scientist into a madman.
Now it was coming for Aristaeus — the last friend from the past, the only one who saw the face of the head of Dawn's Children and knew what kind of man was hidden in the cocoon of an unremovable suit.
— So this is goodbye? — Such a simple question was extremely difficult for Riley.
Aristaeus exhaled, suddenly wrapped his fingers around the helmet's belts and began to unfasten them one by one. He disconnected the breathing hose, wiring devices and simply pulled off the hood helmet, revealing his face and for some reason smiling. The harsh light of white LED lamps outlined the sharp features of the face, highlighting the sunken, but shining eyes.
Riley wasn't escaped by the fatal — the sparks of burning fever rushing in wide-open eyes, of the last strength of pent-up madness.
Hearing a heavy, deep breath, almost a moan from Riley's microphone, Aristaeus smiled and patted her shoulder.
— When the dawn comes, for which we are fighting so hard, greet it for me too, — he quietly asked, hurriedly putting on his helmet.
Riley accompanied the scientist to the car at the door of the complex, unable to say a word. Feeling something long forgotten, rising in the chest like a depth mine, was painful.
Aristaeus did not speak and did not ask — everything was clear without words. But when his hands clasped the steering wheel, and the engine roared, he heard:
— I will... old friend.
