Stainless Steel Rat, as if not noticing my impulse, continued:
"I don't know what exactly you'll see. In a sense, it's up to you."
"Hallucinations? Is this some kind of joke?" I couldn't understand what he was trying to say. My voice sounded like I didn't believe my own words, but at the same time I couldn't stop.
"No," he said quietly, clenching his hands into fists. "This is real. Don't… don't attack. Remember that. Don't panic. Just… be prepared."
"What are you saying?!" I didn't recognize my voice, didn't know what or how to react to these strange, frightening words. I felt like he was leaving me on the brink of madness.
He looked at me again, his face now almost expressionless, empty and disfigured with fatigue. He exhaled, and then said:
"We are not on Earth."
"What's wrong with Giba-Ryan?" I asked, unable to contain the tension any longer.
He remained silent, not looking up. Only his fingers, nervously fingering something on the table, revealed that he had heard my question.
"What is Sartorius doing?" I insisted, trying to get him to answer somehow.
He was silent for a moment, and then finally said:
"Come back in an hour."
I felt my irritation begin to build. It was all too confusing, and I wasn't going to wait. I turned around and walked towards the door. But before I left, I couldn't help but look at him again.
The Stainless Steel Rat sat hunched over, his hands covering his face, as if he were trying to hide from the world. His posture was so painfully familiar, like that of a cornered animal. His thin, withered fingers trembled. I didn't know what had happened to him, but it was obvious that it wasn't just fear - it was panic, some kind of cruel threat that had paralyzed him.
He raised his head and met my gaze for a moment. I saw something inexplicable, almost inhuman, in his eyes. And there was no fear or hatred in that look - only helplessness.
"You shouldn't go there," he said quietly, but his words were full of despair.
I didn't know what it meant, but I couldn't help but notice how his words permeated my entire being. Something in his tone made me doubt what I was seeing.
The circular corridor was empty, as was everything around it. Only the sound of my breathing broke this strange, oppressive silence. For a moment I stood before the closed door, listening. The whole world seemed to retreat in that moment. The walls were thin, and through them came the cry of the wind - as if this station were not part of the planet, but something temporary, alien, creaking and settling in the shadows.
I noticed a rectangular piece of plaster on the door, stuck on with a kind of indifference. Right on it, slightly crooked, was written one word: "ANTICHRIST".
The writing was sloppy, penciled in, as if hastily scratched into wet glass. Such marks often tend to bear the weight of time - and despite its apparent carelessness, it suddenly gave me a sense of unease. I felt uneasy, as if I had stumbled upon something ancient and dangerous, hidden and sealed from prying eyes.
My gaze kept catching on the words, but I barely managed to restrain myself from turning back to the Stainless Steel Rat and demanding an explanation from him. How many times had I tried to figure out what was happening here, but each time it only got worse.
The thoughts that came back to me with that inscription pressed on me with every new breath. Too many questions, too many hidden warnings. None of it seemed random. I didn't know what exactly I wanted to find, but I intuitively felt that going back would be inappropriate.
Stepping forward, I touched the door handle. But it was all so illusory - I felt that some other world, dangerous and hidden, was waiting for me beyond this threshold.
And suddenly, as if from nowhere, a girl ran down the corridor. Small, dark-haired, no more than eight years old. Her brown dress fluttered behind her, and her steps were so quick and light that they sounded like the rustle of a glass chandelier shaking in a strong wind.
She didn't notice me, or perhaps she didn't care, as she ran past. I froze, trying to process what had just happened. She didn't look like anyone who could be here - too clear, almost unnatural an image, as if she were part of this place, from some other dimension.
I wanted to call out to her, but the words died on my tongue. The girl disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared, disappearing around the corner of the corridor, leaving behind only echoes of the ease of her movements, as if she were not walking, but floating.
My heart started beating faster. This was more than just a chance encounter with a child in this cold, empty place. What was she doing here? And how did she manage to disappear into space like she was part of this dark, dead station?
I stood in the shadows, listening to my inner voice that told me: don't move, don't follow her, don't reveal anything you shouldn't see.
Stainless Steel Rat was telling the truth. The honest truth, which was unexpected for a man with a rodent nickname. But it was true. I stood in the hallway, aware that everything around me might not be what it seemed. And at the same time, it was absolutely real, tangible. I could see anything. And this little girl running down the hallway was perhaps just the beginning of what I was about to experience.
I moved forward slowly, and my steps seemed dull and heavy, as if the sound was being absorbed by this place. Everything around was saturated with a strange cold, and the air became denser and denser, as if it itself was part of this universe, where the boundaries of reality and absurdity were blurred.
My hand trembled as I touched the door. The gesture was so simple, but there was something symbolic about it-an opening. An opening that could lead me anywhere. I knew it would probably be something terrible, but I also knew that if I didn't open it, if I didn't move on, I would remain forever in this state of limbo.
"You have to be ready for anything," the words of Stainless Steel Rat sounded in my head like a sentence, like a reminder.
I opened the door. The room was dark, but in its depths faint, flickering shadows glowed. I listened, but all I could hear was my breathing and the soft murmur of some distant, invisible source.
I wanted to call the girl to see what she was like, but then I remembered her disappearance. The question was not how she came here, but what she could show me. And perhaps in this tiny, confusing world, I could see anything. But was it worth it?
I stepped into the cockpit and felt everything around me becoming unbearably heavy with each passing second. Fatigue pressed down on me, as if I was carrying a weight I couldn't handle. My brain refused to work, and even the simplest actions seemed difficult.
I walked up to the bed and for some reason didn't straighten it out as I usually do, but instead just pulled on the rail. The bed fell noisily on top of me, as if by itself, like an old blanket, weighed down by time and weight. I groped around with my hands, trying to move something, but fatigue had done its job - all movements were slow and meaningless.
Finally, I put it down and threw my clothes right on the floor. I didn't even have the strength to take off my shoes. I fell on the pillow, not caring that it was crumpled, and was instantly plunged into darkness.
The light continued to burn, an inexorable reminder that the day was not over, but I could no longer perceive it. My eyes closed, but there was no sense of sleep. Everything dissolved, disappeared, and I simply stopped feeling time.
When I opened my eyes, it seemed like only a few minutes had passed. But something in the air was wrong - everything was cloaked in red, as if the room had been filled with a dull sunlight that couldn't be real. It was dead, gloomy. It felt strange - I felt cold and calm at the same time.
The eye-catching red light fell directly on the corner where, in a chair, a figure sat motionless. It was her. Asia. She sat directly in front of me, under the window, like an eternal observer, her dark eyes hidden under long lashes, looking at me without emotion. The red long-sleeved shirt, the black leggings, her hair neatly combed back - all these details seemed to be cut out against this unusual, ominous light.
I was in no hurry to do anything, I just watched. And at some point I felt a strange heaviness, as if time had stopped, and I was part of this frozen world. Thoughts were racing, but the first, more intuitive, was: "How good that this is just a dream." No matter how much I tried to understand what was happening, I still wanted her to disappear. But this strange desire to disappear with her did not go away. I waited, as if subconsciously understanding that all this was temporary.
She sat in front of me, just like when I first saw her. The same Asia, with the same eyes full of surprise and some invisible fear, like the day she was Ryan Donowho's wife. Exactly the same look, exactly the same lips, tilted into a slight smile, but without joy. Even her pose had not changed - legs slightly crossed, hands on her knees, as if she had been waiting all the time for me to speak first.
Her face was almost unchanged, and yet I felt that something very important had slipped away. I could not believe my eyes: Asia, who was forty-two years old, was before me, as at the moment when we met. But now she would have been 84. And yet, strangely, she remained young, as if time had not touched her. The dead, of course, remain young. I myself was now different - old, tired, empty.
I didn't know how to react. Everything inside me screamed that it was impossible, that such a dream couldn't be real, but my eyes didn't deceive me. Asia was in front of me, not in a photograph this time, not in a memory, but real - just like that first day.
Her eyes continued to look at me, surprised and a little wary. I suddenly thought that I could throw something at her. A joke, of course, but at that moment it was so strange to see her here that I wanted to check: maybe this was just a fantasy, that I was still sleeping. I looked at her as if she were something alien, completely impossible. But despite all my doubts, I couldn't even move. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't force myself to take even one step. This was not reality, but a trap of the mind.
And that's when I realized - maybe I'm not just dreaming. I'm watching something from the past come back to explain to me what I've been trying to hide all these years.
And so, without thinking, I picked up a slipper that was lying on my bed and threw it at her. It flew by as if in slow motion and hit her in the chest with an accuracy that surprised even me. I didn't expect her to even move, but she remained motionless, her expression unchanged.
I stood up, not understanding what was happening to me. It was impossible! How? Why? After all, she was dead, was it a dream, or... a ghost?
I stepped back in horror, trying to comprehend what I had just done. This couldn't be real. Dead people couldn't sit in front of you, they couldn't be so alive. But she was sitting. Watching. Just like the day I met her, and the moment she disappeared from my life.
My heart was beating faster. I grabbed my head with my hands, feeling something break inside me, like reality was losing its meaning. I saw her, but it was wrong. She shouldn't be here. Time was compressing, stretching, and I didn't know what to do with this illusion.
A ghost? It wasn't her, it was a fear I had created, a part of myself I didn't want to face. Everything in my head exploded. But I knew one thing: I wasn't ready for this.
She stood up. Just like the first time I saw her, resolutely, without unnecessary movements. Only now her eyes did not express any fear or doubt. She simply walked up to me, without saying a word, and hugged me.
I tried to break free, but her arms were like steel embraces. Strengths I didn't expect from her. This wasn't just a dream, it was some kind of incredible reality, where everything was turned upside down. She pushed me onto the bed, and I realized - I couldn't fight it.
Her grip was incredibly strong, like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime. I resisted, but in vain - she was as silent and confident in her actions as always. I tried to push her, tried to break free, but each attempt was in vain. My mind could no longer construct a logical chain of how a dead woman could have such power, a force that I could not resist.
"How can she be so strong?" I thought, but then I realized that the answer to this question would no longer save me.
Her face was close and she showed no fear. There was only a question in her eyes:
"Why are you resisting?"
And at that moment I realized that I couldn't leave anymore. There was no point in resisting. I couldn't think, I couldn't speak. My body simply succumbed to her power.
But I resisted. Every effort sent pain through my body, my arms burned from the strain, bruises spread across my skin, but I did not give in. I felt her strength rolling in waves, but I desperately tore myself away. My fingers clung to her arms, barely tearing themselves away from her powerful grip, and finally, with a jerk that made me cry out in pain, I broke free.
I fell to the floor, breathing heavily, trying to regain my balance. My body was exhausted, but my will to live was stronger. She stood motionless, like a statue. Everything about her said that she was not going to give up. I pushed myself off the floor, trying to stand up, but every muscle refused to obey.
"What do you want from me?" I squeezed out, not believing that this was happening.
She didn't answer, she just stood there, her eyes still trying to penetrate my very soul, just like when I first saw her. And despite her silence, I knew she wasn't going to leave me alone.
I looked around, thinking quickly of a way out. But in this dream there was no turning back. My arms were bruised, my breathing was ragged, and I realized that the only way to win was to not give in, to not let fear take over.
I ran out into the corridor, feeling the adrenaline rushing through my blood, driving me forward. The walls of the station, still cold metal, with foggy reflections, seemed endless. I was sure I knew where to run. The laboratory, where I hoped to find at least some help, was right in front of me. It was the only place where I could find salvation.
But I heard her footsteps. She was not lagging behind. Asia, as before, followed me without saying a word, her face impassive as always, her eyes cold and attentive. It seemed as if she was simply watching me, unhurriedly, but her presence was unbearably dense. The faster I ran, the slower my steps became, as if the space around me was shrinking and her shadow was pursuing me.
I rounded the corner, and there before me were the doors of the laboratory. I grabbed the handle and jerked it down, but the door did not give in. Panic, squeezing my chest, made me jerk the handle again, but then I heard footsteps, already close, and everything became clear. She was already here.
I turned around. Asia was standing a few steps away from me, her gaze so calm that I even felt as if I was losing control. We both stopped at the point where the space became foggy and alien. It seemed as if she could catch up with me at any moment, just with one look.
I didn't stop even when the door was locked. I slammed my fist hard on the metal door and shouted again:
"Sartorius! Open up! Quickly!"
In response, I heard a strange rustling sound from the other side-something that might have been part of the machine, or just a sound I couldn't make out in the silence. It didn't matter. I rushed to the door again, grabbed the handle, and pulled so hard that my fingers hummed with pain.
"Open up, damn it! Can you hear me?!" I shouted, desperately kicking the door.
Through the noise, Sartorius's weak, hysterical voice came from behind the door:
"Calm down, I'll be right out!"
I didn't need to calm him down. I already knew that if he didn't open it now, it would be over. And I wasn't going to waste time. My hand was ready to knock the door down, and I knew that the sound would shake the space around me. Asia didn't take long to arrive. I heard her footsteps, getting closer with each passing moment.
"Sartorius, open up immediately! They're killing me!"
At that moment I was ready to tear the doors apart, but she was getting closer and closer, and I felt her breath on my neck. It was scary, but at that moment I decided that if she caught up with me, I would not leave alive.
Finally, a slight metallic sound came from the other side of the door, and the door opened slightly. I rushed inside, not waiting for Sartorius to open it completely. He seemed frightened, but let me pass, tightening it at the last moment.
I heard the door slam in Asia's face. I leaned my back against the wall and peered into the darkness of the lab, trying to catch my breath.
"You're just in time," Sartorius said to me, standing in the corner with an expression I could barely read.
Was it relief or just fear of what was to come? I didn't answer, but I felt myself being torn apart by a mixture of gratitude and panic. We were safe… but for how long?
I stopped in the very center of the laboratory. The air was filled with a chemical smell, and the bright lights reflected off the white coat of Sartorius, who stood before me, tall and thin, with his round glasses, bald and completely untouched by anxiety. He looked at me calmly, as if I was not only not the first person to come to him with such a message, but also did not represent anything unusual.
I exhaled, gathering my strength, and said, lowering my voice, as if the whole point depended on it:
"My dead wife is chasing me."
Expecting at least a laugh, or at least a mocking grin, I watched as he continued to look at me, completely unfazed by my words. He didn't even flinch. He didn't smile, he didn't frown. His whole face remained stony and calm.
"Yes," he said without changing his intonation. "It's quite a common occurrence."
I froze. Took a couple of steps back, trying to comprehend his words. This, of course, was not what I expected to hear. We both stood in silence until I thought of asking a second question, the only one that came to mind:
"What the hell? What are you talking about? How is this even possible? Why are you saying this so calmly?"
Sartorius looked up, examining me for a moment, as if assessing how much I understood. And then his words stunned me:
"You're not the first. And not the only one. Each of us at this station has someone... someone from the past. Ghosts, if you will. Dead loved ones. Relatives, friends, wives... And they all come back to haunt us."
His voice was quiet, but confident. There was no fear, no sense of dread. I looked at his face again, and suddenly realized he wasn't joking. This wasn't just a nervous breakdown. This was… reality, which he accepted with the same calm as if he were discussing the weather.
"Why… Why is this happening?" I breathed out, feeling a strange anxiety come over me.
He sighed, took off his glasses, wiped them with his sleeve, and put them back on. Then, finally, he said:
"It's a consequence of a long stay in space. It's not psychosis. Anyone who is isolated for a long time has... hallucinations, but they are not always like that. Sometimes people come back. People we can't leave in the past. We can't get rid of them. Otherwise, their presence haunts us."
It was hard to comprehend what I had just heard. It sounded like he was used to such situations, as if they were completely normal. And from his tone, I could tell that this was something that happened at the station over and over again. Everyone was experiencing it. The dead were coming back. The ghosts, unbearable and restless, were coming back for their victims. For us.