Somerset found himself walking in the middle of a street covered in spring ice that hadn't melted. This had to be Russia - he'd been there once. The snow turned winter into a fairy tale, although Dolbin said that in past centuries it was a real curse that made life unbearable.
Looking around the houses, Somerset realized that this wasn't Russia at all, but some European asshole. He remembered how he'd wandered in here - now he had to make no mistakes and get back to the bay. There seemed to be a rotten pier there, to which something was approaching. A couple of streets passed led to the disappointing conclusion that he was lost. However, this was much better than wandering... He'd miraculously escaped just recently... Oh well, that was in the past.
Now he needed to get on some public transport - there was sure to be a terminal there. For some reason, the phone was showing some kind of crap - not a single inscription was legible. The setting sun was hiding under a purple, almost black cloud. At the same time, it was still shining quite brightly, illuminating the facades of the houses with its yellow rays. It was the earthly sun...
But the city was no joy. A foreign place, no matter what you say. Still, he had to look for that damn pier. Of course, he had sailed here on a ship.
- We'll be back soon, a voice was heard.
Where it came from was not particularly important. It happened. This time the voice was female.
- Next time I'll have to take more money and a spare phone with me, - Somerset thought.
- You were coming from there, - the voice sounded again.
Somerset turned his head to the left, not really thinking about why, after which he really saw some special street going into the greenery. - Oh, right, how could I forget - that, - he thought to himself, - And what are you doing here? - he mentally addressed the voice.
- I just want to keep an eye on you, - she answered.
- Some nonsense. Better tell me how the film about those naked men on motorcycles ended. I didn't watch it to the end.
- And this man is going to tell me nonsense?
- Well, I have to have some kind of entertainment. From you... You're from Mars, right?
- Well, yes.
- Look what you've turned yourselves into. You drink, work until you're half-fainting. I'd sign a two-year contract - that would be enough for me. How do you hang around there for five years? A man who has the level, - Somerset thought for a second, but quickly found his words, - has the level of aesthetic ideas... In general, such a company is not at all interesting. And in general, giving speeches is not my thing. And now, all the best to you, I'm going.
- Do you think you hurt me?
- I don't want to hurt anyone. I just don't have time. I have butthurt. I'm lost in this fucking city.
- That's all.
- Yes, exactly as I said.
- So why don't you fly? Jump, you did that.
- I did it in my dream. By the way, it turned out like zero gravity. You jump and hang neither here nor there.
- Well, try it.
- No problem.
Somerset jumped, trying to catch that feeling when you managed to cling to the air. He did it.
- Well, I did it, - he thought, no longer addressing anyone. - Now the wind will carry me where I don't need to go.
- Now, - said the voice.
Then someone's hands grabbed him from behind. He began to turn. In front of him, hanging in the air, was that very princess. Not the one from the film, but the one from the forgotten dream, which the movie one simply resembled.
- Have you forgotten me?
- Yes... for some reason it always happens like this... - Somerset answered, embarrassed, not understanding why.
- That's even good, I'll tell you later why this happens, - she answered.
If she had a fashionable Asian face, and if she were a little shorter than Somerset himself...
- What can you tell me about your intentions, what will you do on Earth? - as if guessing Somerset's train of thought, the "princess" asked.
- What can I tell you? What is your name, by the way? - Somerset found, having introduced himself before. - You forgot that too, - she answered, somehow happy, - Call me what will be easier, Ferengelia.
- What a beautiful name, - Somerset answered.
- It's not a full name. I am a disease...
- How can it be that you are... Somerset did not finish - everything was shrouded in darkness and some kind of oblivion.
Somewhere in the distance someone was talking. The fan of the internal air exchange of the dock was noisy. Somerset opened his eyes. Another twenty-two hours had passed - the new biorhythm was controlled and maintained from the outside - there were sensors on the head for that, telling the computer when to administer the appropriate complex of drugs so as to get into these waves of vital activity of the body.
The engines were not working now - there was zero gravity in the ship. The docks were turned to face the central axis, to the pillar. This time the platform was almost level with the tier, or rather now with the transverse row, in which Somerset's dock was located. The duty officer was a strong-looking man with a shaved head, about forty years old. He sat, strapped into his steel chair, and enthusiastically poked his fingers at the tablet. He was playing computer crap, like some kind of security guard. Nearby, in the inventory net, a beer bag was visible.
But on Earth, he was a high-class medic, possibly saving lives - after all, the best in their field were selected for Mars. And then they became disqualified. Not in everything, but in something.
- Doctor, can I have something so that I don't feel like a wreck, - said Somerset, - Like caffeine, only stronger.
- Of course not! - the doctor answered with a grin, - What are you taking?
- I don't take anything. I just feel really lousy. And I dream about something all the time. What does that mean? That my sleep is shallow?
- That doesn't mean anything. You have sensors and they measure everything they need to. The monitor shows a green light. Lie down.
Somerset creaked with displeasure and turned his head to the side. It was useless to continue talking. Apparently, the doctor's job now was to answer such questions while not letting the "patients" lead him, the doctor and themselves into more detailed chatter. In any case, he was polite and did not advise shutting up outright.
These were the second knocks. There was no desire to watch movies. Having taken another portion of the nutritional composition, Somerset began to watch the doctor. It must be said that he absolutely did not give a damn that more than one pair of eyes were staring at him. Professionalism definitely implied strong nerves. The computer suggested watching the film to the end. Somerset did not even object - he did not care.