The technical room of the old oil tanker was hidden deep inside the hull, where the metal had long stopped creaking and begun to keep silent.

  A narrow corridor led into a low compartment without portholes, illuminated by sparse light sources.

  A dull film of time covered the walls; cables stretched along the ceiling and disappeared into niches, like blood vessels in the body of a dead but still functioning organism.

  The light here was not constant. It pulsed. The capsules along the perimeter of the compartment flickered with a cold, almost medical glow—not bright, but persistent, as if reminding of their presence every second.

  The terminal at the far wall periodically came to life, throwing jagged bands of data onto the screen, which immediately went out, leaving behind a faint afterglow.

  It seemed as if the room was breathing—slowly, unevenly, with long pauses between breaths.

  It was difficult to tell the time in this twilight. There was no day or night here, only waiting, stretched between the flashes of indicators and the quiet hum of working systems.

  Everything around looked like a temporary solution that, for some reason, had continued to exist for too long, resisting oblivion and the outside world.

  The terminal sat on a roughly welded metal table secured directly to the deck.

  The screen was old, with a faded matrix, and its light cast uneven spots on the surface of the table.

  Scattered items lay nearby: printouts with coordinates, handwritten sheets with corrections and crossed-out calculations, a notebook with dog-eared corners, several old receivers, and a disassembled walkie-talkie, neatly laid out into parts, as if someone was about to make it work again.

  A large map of the world hung on the wall behind the terminal, held by metal clips.

  The paper was worn and faded in places, but the markings on it remained sharp.

  At various points over continents and oceans, little crosses were drawn in red pencil—dozens of them, scattered chaotically, without any obvious order.

  Some of them were crossed out a second time, with pressure, as if they were being struck out not from a list, but from memory.

  Slightly to the side hung a few more sheets—fragments of satellite images, route schemes, clippings from outdated navigation reports.

  The search zones for the bathyscaphe were marked as several areas and outlined in different colors.

  The lines overlapped, went over the edges, and returned, forming a dense spot of uncertainty.

  Right in the center of this cluster stood an unevenly drawn question mark.

  It had been circled several times, over the old lines, and looked as if all the searches converged exactly here, providing neither an answer nor peace.

  In the far corner of the room, in the shadow between a capsule and a blank wall, stood an old sofa.

  Its soft fabric and sagging armrests sharply contrasted with the general cold order of metal and wires—as if a piece of a foreign, almost domestic life had been brought here.

  Einar dozed on it, stretched out awkwardly. His breathing was shallow and uneven, as if sleep held him reluctantly, ready to retreat at any moment.

  The door to the compartment opened with a quiet, drawn-out creak. The sound cut through the silence carefully, almost politely. — The helicopter has almost reached the point, — the entrant said softly, without taking any extra steps inside.

  Einar didn't open his eyes immediately, grunting like an old man and tossing around.

  — Ah, Aivar, it's you, — he uttered. — Hold on a moment.

  The old man sat up slowly, leaning on the edge of the sofa with his hands, and rather nimbly moved into the wheelchair standing nearby.

  His movements were precise, honed to automatism—without fuss and without ostentatious caution.

  He turned the chair and headed toward the table with the terminal, not looking around.

  The screen came to life as soon as he touched the panel. The map was replaced by a radar layer: the coastline, gray spots of interference, rare signals.

  A single dot moved slowly at the top of the screen. It moved in an arc, confidently and without deviations.

  Einar stopped the chair right up against the table and looked at the screen unblinkingly, as if afraid the movement would disappear if he looked away.

  Aivar stopped by the table, not coming right up to the screen. — The walkie-talkie inside the house should be working, — he said.

  — I changed the battery three days ago. I hid it a little, you won't find it at first glance.

  Einar didn't answer immediately. He watched the moving dot of the helicopter until it slowly shifted toward the designated meeting point.

  — Good, — he said finally. — Then we wait for the landing and let's take a look around right away. — He made a short pause. — Launch the copter right now.

  — Higher than usual, so they don't spot it from the ground, just in case. They are very alert right now.

  — When you get the picture, call me. Leave the door open.

  Aivar nodded, already turning toward the exit of the compartment. — Copy that. — He stopped for a second, as if remembering something important. — If anything, the 'cart' is also ready.

  Einar turned his head slightly. — Excellent, my young friend! You are the best!

  — Your art of planning is still cooler than my skills!

  Einar looked back at the terminal screen. The helicopter's dot was slowing down, preparing to descend.

  He removed the radar layer, leaving only the map, and for a moment fixed his gaze on the place marked with multi-colored outlines and the question mark.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  — So, as agreed, we'll pick him up quickly, — he said. — And without unnecessary noise.

  Aivar was already at the door, which he quietly opened a bit wider.

  The flickering of the terminal remained the only movement in the room, apart from the faint glow of the capsules in the far corner.

  Einar rolled back from the table toward the door and, feeling for the switch, turned on the light.

  The lamps didn't light up immediately—first dimly, with a jerk, then more steadily, snatching the metal of the walls, the capsules, and the map out of the twilight.

  The space became harsher, more straightforward, devoid of hiding places for shadows.

  He froze, fixing his gaze on the large wall map. — It's time to prepare for a dear guest... — he muttered softly, and after a short pause added, — Even if a belated one...

  His gaze was directed at the red question mark.

  — Well then, my old friend... — he continued aloud, without looking away.

  — I really hope the backup is with you, and all this is not in vain. — He paused, as if weighing his words. — We are already too late to fix the devil.

  — But to start everything from scratch... we can try. To repay a debt...

  — Ready! — Aivar's voice echoed down the corridor, hitting the metal of the bulkheads with a dull thud. — We have the picture!

  Einar reached for the table, took the walkie-talkie, and briefly checked the mount on the belt of his chair. Then he turned around and drove out of the room.

  The wheels rustled softly on the metal decking; the corridor stretched on for a long time, as if deliberately elongated, devoid of turns and shelters.

  At its end gaped an open door to the side deck, and from there a harsh daylight poured inside, unfamiliar, almost blinding.

  Einar stopped a few meters before it, without crossing the boundary of light and shadow.

  Aivar approached from the side and, without saying a word, handed him the tablet. The screen was slightly tilted so it could be viewed while sitting.

  From the copter's altitude, the shore seemed flat and lifeless, but the focus of attention was captured by the dots in the center of the screen.

  The helicopter stood motionless, not yet having time to cool down, and figures were already moving next to it.

  After zooming in, Einar recognized them immediately. Sergey, whom he hadn't seen in person before—by his confident, slightly heavy gait.

  Alexander instantly, although he hadn't seen him for a very long time—he walked with pauses between steps, as if freezing for a moment—as if checking with himself or with the surrounding world.

  — Am I imagining things? ... He even looks younger, the bastard! — A barely perceptible smile appeared on Einar's face.

  — My capsule wasn't upgraded for rejuvenation...

  — Go down to the rover, — Einar said softly, not taking his eyes off the screen.

  — Drive up to the hill and wait there until you're ready to start. Channel seven.

  Aivar nodded curtly. He didn't ask a single question, turned around, and quickly disappeared into the depths of the corridor, dissolving into the metallic echo of footsteps.

  Einar was left alone, with the tablet on his lap and the light of the screen catching his hands out of the gloom.

  He slowly ran his fingers over the touch surface, shifting the camera. The picture smoothly moved to the side, bringing the helicopter closer.

  The cabin was clearly visible—the pilot was still inside, motionless, like a part of the machine.

  Einar lingered on this frame for a second longer than necessary, after which he returned the view back.

  The house. The door. Sergey and Alexander were just crossing the threshold, disappearing inside.

  The camera captured the moment the door closed and the movement outside stopped.

  Einar put the tablet aside and took the walkie-talkie. He checked the channel—the fifth. He turned the volume knob, turning it down slightly, as if he knew in advance what the answer would be.

  He brought the device closer to his head, took a short breath, and pressed the transmission button.

  — Greetings to you, my good old friend!

  Einar released the button and froze. The corridor hummed with silence; somewhere deep in the metal of the tanker, a distant echo resonated—as if the ship was breathing.

  A few seconds passed. Too many.

  He pressed the transmission button again.

  — Alexander, my friend... pick up the walkie-talkie. It's hidden somewhere in there. Over?

  There was no immediate answer, only a dry crackle and rare static.

  Einar looked at the glowing doorway, not moving, as if any movement could scare away this fragile moment. The seconds dragged on viscously. Ten.

  A little more.

  And suddenly—a voice, distorted, unfamiliar, but alive:

  — Over! Who are you? Identify yourself!

  Einar exhaled almost imperceptibly.

  — Sergey. Glad to hear you. I am your employer, — he said calmly.

  — We previously communicated through synthesized speech, so you won't be able to recognize my voice.

  A short pause hung on the other end.

  — Well then. The job, it turns out, is done. Although everything didn't go according to plan.

  — You did an excellent job, the details aren't important, — Einar replied. — Thank you. I have transferred the rest of the amount.

  — As soon as you enter a coverage area, you'll see.

  — I hope so, — Sergey chuckled, but exhaustion could be heard in his voice. — The mission, to put it mildly, dragged on. And... the bathyscaphe. It's gone.

  — It was blown up.

  — Yes, — Einar said without hesitation. — I know. Once the satellite maps updated, it became a matter of time.

  He fell silent for a second, then added more harshly:

  — The bathyscaphe was just a means. The main goal is Alexander. He is alive, that is the main thing.

  Sergey didn't answer right away.

  — Hand him the walkie-talkie, — Einar said. — Be so kind.

  The walkie-talkie rustled again, then a pause, and another voice. Deeper, more muffled, more cautious.

  — I'm here... — Alexander said. — Who are you?

  Einar closed his eyes for a moment.

  — Glad to hear you, my friend. My name is Einar, do you not recognize my voice?

  The pause dragged on.

  — I'm sorry... — Alexander answered slowly. — No, I don't recognize the voice. And the name means nothing to me, unfortunately.

  The words were calm, but they hit more accurately than any gunshot. Einar gripped the walkie-talkie a little tighter, his chin twitching barely perceptibly.

  — You don't recognize it?.. — he stumbled, then immediately continued: — I... I don't quite understand yet what exactly happened to you in the bathyscaphe after waking up?

  — It's a long story.

  — The main thing is, my memory is almost completely lost. Only some dreams remain. Fragments. I don't even know if they were real.

  — And... Laura. Any information useful to me, to understand what is what and why, was blocked.

  Einar didn't answer immediately.

  — Now I understand... — he finally said. — Almost completely, then.

  — Yes, I had this version of how events might develop, and now it becomes clearer...

  He cleared his throat; his voice became stricter, more collected—as if he had put on a mask.

  — Alexander, listen to me carefully. You can let Sergey and his partner go. They have done their job and can fly away.

  — Rest assured—you are completely safe.

  — Are you sure? — asked Alexander. — I...

  — I'm sure, — Einar interrupted softly, but leaving no room for argument. — My assistant will come for you shortly.

  — He will pick you up and deliver you to me.

  He paused and added:

  — Stay where you are. Preferably inside the house. Don't go anywhere.

  The walkie-talkie hissed again. Einar waited for an answer, not taking his eyes off the screen, as if afraid that if he blinked, everything would disappear.

  A crackle was heard in the walkie-talkie again, and the voice changed.

  — It's me again, — Sergey said. — Okay, we are flying out.

  — On the one hand, I'm glad this is no longer my story.

  — On the other hand, I hope everything will be fine with Alexander.

  — And if you need my help, you know how to find me.

  — I know, — Einar answered briefly. — Thank you, Sergey. Good luck to you.

  The connection wavered for a second, then stabilized. Einar pressed the transmission button again.

  — Alexander. Walkie-talkie, channel five. I am on the line all the time.

  The answer came almost immediately.

  — Copy that.

  Einar lowered the walkie-talkie and fixed his gaze on the tablet screen. The house stood motionless, the shore was empty. Everything was in its place.

  On the threshold of the house, Sergey and Alexander silently shook hands.

  Firmly, without unnecessary words, as if with this gesture they were summarizing everything that had already happened and everything that hadn't yet managed to take shape in words.

  Then Sergey turned around and walked toward the helicopter.

  A few minutes later, the machine lifted off the ground and quickly gained altitude.

  In the cockpit, Farid pointed down at the road between the hills, where a moving silhouette was slowly emerging from the gray strip.

  The rover was moving smoothly, without jerks. Sergey nodded, accepting what he saw as a given, then gave his partner a thumbs-up and lightly patted him on the shoulder.

  Meanwhile, the rover drove up to the house and stopped at the porch. Alexander came out to meet it, trying not to rush.

  The spacesuit restricted his movements, and he had to awkwardly make his way to the back door, holding the helmet in his hands.

  He climbed inside with a short pause before finally settling into the seat.

  The doors closed with a dull click. The rover turned around and set off, heading back toward the port, leaving the house and the shore behind—as a point where the searches finally ended, to give way to other, much more complex questions.