Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness
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"No," the deputy proclaimed.
"All right, I'll handle it myself. Keep an eye on things here. I'll be back in twelve minutes." "Got it."
Gora motioned toward the 2 way.
The sorting room was a large hall with a total area of 30000 square meters (100x300) and a height of 3 meters, so that the plague was easier to observe. In addition, there was electric (though weak) lighting in the form of bulbs covered by a thin grid. In spite of these "conveniences" it was the most difficult to work in the purification room: the plagues were too visible. Every time one looked at that gorged face breathing fresh air through the mask, listened to that disgusting laughter spewed by yellow throat and pale green snake tongue and realized that it would go on forever – it was a real torture.
Rounding the corner, the commander looked around the room – empty for now, just two chum booths on either side; Groups A and B wake up early for five minutes to study the plan.
Entering the "coal face hall" (the room where direct mining was done), two figures came into view: Dominik Brazik (number 572644A2) and Piotr Dozyk (number 323372B2). Their faces were not grim with the gravity of the task at hand, but they were squinting from sleep.
"What, didn't sleep?" – Gabriel greeted the miners. He liked to inspire the people with such remarks, arousing anger and rage in strictly limited quantities (and it didn't matter who it was poured out on, the main thing was that it would help them survive). Today, the plagues were only allowed to sleep for 4 hours, as opposed to the usual 8; generally speaking, this was the only thing humans were lucky with – the plagues needed 16 hours of sleep, and they thought it was similar to humans, so they cut it down to 8.
"Sleeping. – whispered Dominic to the approaching commander, "Those bastards got in the way. Don't know what's causing all these surprises today?"
"It's not hard to understand," said the deputy. – They've got their hands full."
"Two boots to a pair. How lucky they are to work together. – thought Gora. – Even their eyes are the same… Dark blue with spark and hate. How come they haven't been caught yet?"
"What do you think Gora?" "What can I say… Assholes…" Everyone laughed in unison.
"From words to action. – Gabriel continued. – Here's a question…"
Their foreheads tensed, their eyes glistened, their mouths opened slightly – in short, every part of their faces was engaged, as if in anticipation of a lightning strike in a clear field where only one man stood.
"Exit."
"Well, I thought so," the muscles relaxed.
"Don't tell anyone what you're thinking. It's not time to think yet… But it's time to dream." "That's what everyone's thinking about, and you know very well."
"And plagues, too," Gabriel brightened here. He had said the phrase before, but only now did he realize the power its realization gave him. It's a chance.
"Well Exit…" – Dozhik said.
"This is a chance. It really is a chance," thought Gora. "Kilograms 125, ah…"
"What?" – Stumbled the commander. "YOU asked about Exit."
"Ah, yes.
"We're 125, 647 is 80. I've already talked to them, so you don't have to try, they say they're getting hit hard today." "They haven't finished their work yet and already they're seceding…" – the chums had a whole charter on
punishments – "All right. We'll organize the transfer," Gora replied and thought again: "This is really a chance.
When the commander returned to the sorting place, the catfish began its work. But Gora didn't care about that now: for the first time in his forty-five years he saw a real chance to free people.
"Gora," Konstantin called out to his commander.
The one in turn "woke up" for the third time that day, "What?" "Raphael. He decided to come out today."
"Where is he?"
The deputy pointed somewhere in the middle of the hall, where it was impossible to see anything behind the backs and faces, as well as, of course, the methane dust that littered every corner of the mine.
After a ten-minute search, the young boy Raphael (number 97899213B2; category "B2" – "gray" worker) was found. "Are you doing that on purpose?"
Five days ago, methane exploded and the 381st Soma lost three dead and one wounded. That wounded man was Raphael: second-degree burns on half his arm. Gora had given him a "leave of absence" (those who didn't work, the plagues didn't follow, as long as the plan was fulfilled).
"I'm already healthy," the boy replied, continuing to scrub the ground of embers without raising his head. The bubble from the burn burst, then another burst: clear liquid flowed into the water. Raphael shuddered, then his hand shook, but he kept his head still.
"Stop it. That's an order," Gabriel commanded.
Raphael stopped and raised his head. The gray, impenetrable eyes expressed calmness and restraint. A high forehead and strikingly white skin. It seemed white, despite the obvious charcoal grime that covered it almost everywhere; and even gave off a bluish color. Gabriel saw him as a descendant of the Aryans, who were considered a remarkably advanced and harmonious civilization.
"I can't not work. You understand that," the boy replied and fixed his commander in the eyes with his heavy glassy gaze. The only person capable of "translating" that gaze was Gora. He often observed his most poised subordinate and always saw sadness first. His eyes often looked not at the chums, but at the men at work; they poured blood from the fact that all the hardships the men went through were of no avail. The eyes watched and suffered the slavery of others. And now Gabriel saw those eyes; they wanted, by all means, to end the suffering of the people, including by means of their own sacrifice – for this Hora loved his son very much, but it was beyond him to watch such altruism.
"Raphael, listen to my command. – The commander switched to a completely businesslike tone. – Go to Sector 1 (something like a "human house" a place of rest after work; also in the mine, the plague surface was taken out twice a month for about half an hour) and sleep. Don't come out of there for a week. That's an order."
The Son of the Mountain turned his eyes away and looked at the woman in her fifties washing coal two meters away from him, her eyes bloodshot and another blister bursting on her arm.