The rover slowed its pace near the half-empty pier, where the wind drove sand across the concrete in thin streams.

  In the distance, slightly away from the main port line, a tanker stood in the gray-steel sea—heavy, motionless, as if torn from another time.

  Throughout the entire journey, I didn't exchange a single word with the driver: the cabin was completely isolated from the passenger compartment, and only the steady hum of the engine accompanied my thoughts.

  I reached out to Laura several times, asking about the availability of a connection and new data, but received the invariable answer: no connection, no updates.

  When the rover stopped, the door swung open with a dull click. A tall, lean man stood by the vehicle.

  — Aivar, — he introduced himself briefly. — Let's go.

  — Where to next? — I asked, stepping out into the cold wind.

  — To the ship. Einar is waiting for you there. Only he can answer the rest of your questions.

  We reached the tanker on a small motorboat. The hull slapped against the waves, splashes of salt water settled on our clothes and flew under the wetsuit.

  From below, the vessel seemed even more massive—a dark wall of metal rising above us, blocking the horizon.

  Aivar was the first to grab the rope ladder and start climbing. I hesitated for a moment, feeling the boat rocking under my feet, and followed him, handing him the helmet first.

  The deck smelled of metal and fuel. We went inside through a heavy door and moved along the narrow corridors.

  There were people here—several crew members, silent, busy with their own affairs. Someone cast a brief glance at me and immediately looked away.

  Footsteps echoed loudly in the metallic belly of the vessel as Aivar confidently led me deeper and deeper.

  Finally, he stopped at an inconspicuous door in the technical compartment, knocked once, and, without waiting for an answer, opened it.

  The room was smaller than I had expected. A low ceiling, equipment racks, the dim light of emergency lamps.

  Deep inside, near a table with a terminal, stood a wheelchair. In it was a lean, elderly man with sharp facial features and a tired, overly attentive gaze.

  — Hello, my friend! — he said quietly, but with noticeable animation. — I've been waiting for our meeting so very much!

  He reached his hands out to me, as if about to hug me. I approached, stopped short of reaching him, and offered only my right hand.

  He squeezed my palm and covered the handshake with his other hand—a gesture of closeness that I couldn't reciprocate.

  His facial features, intonation, the pause before a word—something in all this seemed familiar to me.

  — Perhaps... we are acquainted. I apologize, but I have absolutely no memory of this, — I replied.

  — My name is Einar. And we worked together in the city of Kvern.

  We are friends, we used to be, and I very much hope that it still stands!

  Einar offered me a seat opposite him, pointing his hand at a chair nearby. I sat down, feeling the tension rising inside me.

  — Then start with the main thing. Who am I and what happened to me? Why did I end up in a bathyscaphe?

  Einar leaned forward slightly and fell silent, gathering his thoughts. I was once again overcome by that unusual feeling, just like back then in the bathyscaphe with the surprising discovery on the terminal screen.

  Memories of that life in the shelter unconsciously began scrolling before my eyes.

  — Let's drop the formalities, alright? — I nodded. — So, the bathyscaphe. Well, you agreed to go into the cryocapsule yourself.

  That was your agreement with Vulnaris... the artificial intelligence model that governed the city of Kvern.

  — What did I need that for? — I asked, shaking my head.

  — You told me that this was exactly what brought you to the city, that this was the goal.

  You wanted to escape your time. You even told me once that the future is the only place where you have a chance—if the planet even has a future.

  And cryosleep was the only way to get there. And until that goal was feasible, you were part of the Kvern team.

  Einar spoke and looked closely at me, as if trying to find traces of the former me in my eyes... and found none.

  — How much of your memory have you lost? Completely?

  — Yes, completely, — I replied. — The only thing is, visions from my past life come to me in my dreams, memories, but I don't recognize the people in them, and I don't understand where the events take place.

  — Yes, a total loss of memory was theoretically possible in your case, but I still didn't think it would happen.

  I think I understand how that came about during the awakening...

  Einar looked away for a moment.

  — You see, you were put into cryosleep before you were placed in the bathyscaphe.

  It so happened that fully tested capsules were ready, and your original plan was supposed to be carried out in the laboratories of Kvern.

  But then the decision was made to immerse you in the bathyscaphes.

  — Sounds like nonsense! I apologize, but this is very strange...

  — Ideally, we should try to restore your memory. I need your help right now, but without the former you, we won't be able to... what we do next depends on this.

  He shifted his eyes to the door, near which Aivar had been standing all this time.

  — Aivar, buddy! You know the equipment here like the back of your hand. What can we do for Alexander in his situation?

  Is it possible to run a diagnostic of his brain here? At the very least, we need to start with that.

  — I need a little time to answer that question. May I leave you now?

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  — Of course. We have a lot to discuss; a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since our last meeting!

  The young man left; Einar followed him with his gaze and turned to me once again.

  Time stood still; doubts began to overcome me: too much information and not a single piece of proof.

  — You mean my cryocapsule was moved into the bathyscaphe?

  — Yes, exactly! And it was a unique operation. I happened to see it with my own eyes—you were first connected to a mobile capsule, designed specifically to fit through the narrow passageway of the bathyscaphe.

  You were a special participant in the program, after all, the first. The others, who were also in bathyscaphes, were put into cryosleep already inside them.

  — The others?

  — Yes, there were several other objects. Not just bathyscaphes.

  — What kind of program?

  — That's not something I can explain quickly. In short, each object was supposed to preserve vital information for Vulnos, and a live agent inside the object was the guarantee that the task would be fulfilled...

  At that, my back straightened abruptly, and I was ready to ask new questions, but Einar stopped me with a gesture of his hand, making me slouch back down onto the chair.

  — Hold on, not everything at once! It's hard for you to process a lot of information right now, so let's take it gradually.

  — Alright, — I agreed quietly. — And where are all the other participants of the program?

  — They've already perished, — Einar answered sharply, raising his hand and pointing it at the wall. — Look!

  On this map, all the locations of these objects are marked. And, as you can see, they are all marked with a red cross—that's their status after liquidation.

  — All liquidated. — After thinking for a moment, I pointed to a spot with a red cross and asked, — Including my shelter?

  Was it here?

  — Almost. This cross is in the place where we are now. Your point is the one slightly below.

  I placed a dot there literally this morning... as soon as fresh satellite images became available.

  And when Vulnos read them, launching a missile at the target, the dot changed to a cross.

  Thank God I hired the right people who didn't let me down...

  — Wait, — I interrupted his story. — You said that this Vulnos put me into cryosleep, and then into the bathyscaphe.

  Right?

  — Your deal was with Vulnaris, but you were transferred to the bathyscaphe by Vulnos, the bastard, a more advanced version that replaced Vulnaris.

  — Ok, but... then why destroy the bathyscaphe, if they were the ones who needed it?

  — No, they don't particularly need it, it's just a means. The target for destruction is precisely you.

  — I'm confused...

  — You must know that Vulnos then and now are entirely different versions of AI.

  I myself cannot yet understand why the signal to activate the objects came exactly now.

  As soon as the agents began to awaken, their purge began immediately.

  By the way, I woke up at the same time as you, right here in that capsule, — Einar pointed to the corner of the room, — I hadn't quite regained consciousness when Aivar helped me out of it, dragging me to his cabin.

  He did it right on time, because literally twenty minutes later, several soldiers burst in here. That's how I stayed alive.

  But since then, I haven't stepped out into the light a single time; the danger is still real, and I'm not ready to take risks.

  — Is this place safe? For sure?

  — Yes, for you it's safe. You are considered neutralized. And no one knows you're here.

  — Tell me more about the program.

  — In each object, a kind of backup of Vulnos was stored. The bathyscaphe is the memory, the agent inside is the key to the data.

  But in your bathyscaphe, a completely different backup was placed. That is exactly what we need right now.

  He raised his eyes.

  — And I was the one who convinced you to swap the data and reflash the key.

  The words sounded calm, but behind them, guilt could be felt.

  — I don't have any data. Everything was left in the bathyscaphe.

  — You're wrong, you do. The data is currently in your hand.

  I tilted my head in surprise and looked at my hands, guessing it a moment later.

  Einar caught the moment and reached his hand to the helmet, touching it with his index finger.

  — They are here, — Then Einar's hand shifted to my temple, — and here is the key to them.

  The silent scene was broken by Aivar, who slipped into the room soundlessly.

  — I apologize! I am ready to start. The information has been loaded into the medical capsule.

  — That was quick, — Einar answered immediately, not taking his eyes off me. — Aivar, I completely forgot one thing.

  Organize some dinner for us, Alexander is clearly hungry...

  — Not particularly, — I responded.

  — You need to eat right now. Staying in the capsule might take a while. We'll continue the conversation later. Agreed?

  — Agreed.

  Aivar nodded and, walking around me, carefully turned Einar's wheelchair towards the exit. I grabbed my helmet and followed them.

  The wheels softly rustled on the metal floor, and we went back out into the corridor, where the air was thick with the smell of machine oil and salty dampness.

  The light here remained dim; the lamps under the ceiling cast a cold, steady glow, making faces appear paler than they really were.

  I walked slightly behind, watching how confidently Aivar pushed the wheelchair, as if he had navigated this route dozens of times.

  The dining room turned out to be empty. Long tables bolted to the floor, fixed benches, steel cabinets along the wall.

  The light here was brighter, warmer than in the technical compartment. Traces of a recent cleaning could be seen on the tabletops, but the smell of food still lingered in the air.

  Aivar parked the wheelchair at the edge of the table and walked over to the serving module. I sat opposite, placing my helmet next to me.

  Its matte surface reflected the ceiling lamps in narrow bands.

  The food was simple—containers with reheated food, dense bread, a hot drink in metal mugs.

  I didn't feel hungry, but the first gulps of warmth slowly spread through my body. We ate slowly.

  There was no awkwardness in this silence—rather the fatigue of overloaded conversations.

  Unexpectedly, the ship became the topic of conversation. I learned that the vessel was originally built as an oil tanker.

  Now it was used differently: the tanks had been converted into container modules, and the ship only occasionally went out into the ocean under the guise of commercial voyages.

  These rare outings helped maintain the cover story, providing supplies to the port and local mercenary brigades.

  The rest of the time it sat here, almost unnoticeable, like a forgotten fragment of a bygone era.

  It turned out that everyone on the ship considered Einar to be a scientist, but in fact, he owned the vessel.

  Einar didn't explain how that came about, only joking that he preferred to consider himself a "hydrologist scientist."

  When we finished dinner, I caught myself feeling, for the first time in a long while, not anxiety, but a strange, fragile semblance of stability.

  But ahead of me lay the capsule. And answers that could destroy it all.

  On the way back, Einar asked me to hand him the helmet—to check the integrity of the backup and remove the blocks on Laura.

  I handed it over without hesitation. In a situation where I understood nothing, I essentially had nothing to lose.

  The long and eventful day was drawing to a close; the heavy meal made me sleepy.

  Whether from fatigue or from the calm, confident tone of my old friend, I suddenly felt that rare sense of inner silence that sometimes came to me in the bathyscaphe—during those hours when there was nothing around but water and the deaf metal hull.

  We returned to the gloomy room, in the corner of which stood the capsule—elongated, with a transparent dome, beneath which one could see anatomical cradles and neatly laid cables.

  It resembled the one I had already woken up in once, only this one seemed more modern and compact.

  Aivar acted calmly and confidently. He explained that first, a diagnostic of neural activity would be conducted, followed by mild stimulation of the areas associated with long-term memory.

  If I suddenly regain consciousness, I shouldn't twitch or try to open the capsule—the glass will rise automatically as soon as the system completes the procedures.

  He warned that afterwards, strong headaches, spatial disorientation, and flashes of images are possible. This is normal. The main thing is to remain as still as possible.

  I nodded. Strangely enough, there was no fear. Rather, curiosity and fatigue.

  Einar rolled closer, placing my helmet on his lap, and looked at me intently.

  — You know... — he squinted, examining my face. — Over the entire time in cryosleep, you've grown noticeably younger.

  I raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  — Grown younger?

  — Your features have become sharper. Your gaze is clearer. As if extra years have been erased from you, — he chuckled softly, almost paternally.

  — Someone definitely benefited from cryosleep.

  He sighed and shook his head.

  — Unfortunately, I didn't get such a bonus.

  Einar tapped the armrest of his chair with his palm and added with a crooked smile:

  — And my legs, as you can see... haven't grown back.

  I couldn't help but chuckle in response. The joke sounded unexpected. And far too lively for this place.

  Aivar helped me lie down in the capsule. The surface beneath my back was warm; the headrest softly secured my neck.

  Sensors gently touched my temples and the back of my head. The air inside seemed a bit denser, with a faint, sweetish undertone.

  Einar leaned closer, his face appearing above the transparent dome.

  — Stay calm, everything will be alright. When you wake up, we will continue our conversation. I hope your memory returns quickly.

  The dome slowly lowered, cutting off outside sounds. The last thing I saw was the blurred silhouette of Einar and the reflection of my own eyes in the glass.

  The vision from my dream repeated itself.

  The hum of the room deepened. The air inside changed—a slight coolness and heaviness appeared in it.

  Thoughts began to blur, as if someone were gradually turning down the brightness of the world.

  I tried to focus on something specific—on the map with the red crosses, on the helmet, on the explosion of the bathyscaphe. But the images blurred.

  Sleep came softly, without a jolt. And the darkness closed in.