Akiko looked back. “They’re all watching us,” she said.
Zvantsev did not answer.
“They must think we’re doctors.”
“Probably,” said Zvantsev.
It was the last village with lights. Beyond the gate began damp darkness.
“There should be an appliance factory somewhere around here,” said Zvantsev. “Did you notice it?”
“No, sir.”
“You never notice anything.”
“You’re the one driving, sir. If I were driving I would notice everything.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” said Zvantsev. He braked sharply, and the car skidded. It slipped sideways across the screeching concrete. The headlights illuminated a signpost. The sign had no light, and it looked faded: NOVOSIBIRSK INSTITUTE OF BIOLOGICAL CODING—21 KM. A warped plywood board with a clumsily written notice was nailed under the sign: ATTENTION! TURN ON ALL NEUTRALIZERS. REDUCE SPEED. ROADBLOCK AHEAD. And the same thing in French and English. The letters were large, with black blotches. “Uh-huh,” muttered Zvantsev. He bent under the wheel and turned on the neutralizers.
“What kind of roadblock?” asked Akiko.
“I don’t know what kind,” said Zvantsev, “but it’s clear you should have stayed in town.”
“No,” said Akiko.
When the car had started moving again, she asked cautiously, “Do you think they’ll let us through, sir?”
“I don’t think they’ll let you through.”
“Then I’ll wait,” Akiko said calmly.
The car glided slowly and noiselessly over the highway. Zvantsev, still looking forward, said, “Still, I wish they would let you through.”
“So do I,” said Akiko. “I want very much to say good-by to him…”
Zvantsev silently watched the road.
“We’ve rarely seen each other lately,” Akiko continued. “But I love him very much. I don’t know anyone else like him. I never loved even my father the way I love him. I even cried…”
Yes, she cried, thought Zvantsev. The ocean was blue-black, the sky was dark blue, and his face was blue and swollen when Kondratev and I led him carefully toward the convertiplane. The scorching coral sand crunched underfoot, and it was hard for him to walk, and he almost hung in our arms, but he wouldn’t let us carry him. His eyes were closed, and he mumbled guiltily, “Gokuro-sama, gokuro-sama—” The oceanographers went behind and to one side, but Akiko walked right next to Sergei, holding out the shabby white cap famous over the whole ocean with both her hands, like a tray, and crying bitterly. That was the first and most serious attack of the disease—six years ago on a nameless islet fifteen nautical miles to the west of Octopus Reef.
“… I’ve known him for twenty years. Since I was a child. I very much wish to say good-by to him.”
The gridded arch of a microweather installation swam up out of the damp darkness and passed overhead. There were no lights at the weather station. The installation’s not working, Zvantsev thought. That’s why we’re getting this crap from the sky. He looked sidelong at Akiko. She was sitting with her legs drawn up on the seat, looking straight ahead. Lights from the dashboard dials fell on her face.
“What’s going on here?” said Zvantsev. “Some sort of quiet zone?”
“I don’t know,” said Akiko. She turned, trying to make herself more comfortable, poked her knee against Zvantsev’s side, and suddenly froze, staring at him with eyes shimmering in the semi-darkness.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Perhaps he is already…”
“Nonsense,” said Zvantsev.
“And everyone has gone to the Institute…”
“Nonsense,” Zvantsev said decisively. “Rubbish.”
An uneven red light burned far ahead. It was weak and flickering, like a small star on a turbulent night. Just in case, Zvantsev again reduced speed. Now the car was moving very slowly, and they could hear the patter of rain. Three figures in shiny wet rain capes appeared in the headlight beam, standing in the middle of the highway. In front of them, a substantial-sized log lay across the road. The one standing on the right was holding a large smoking torch overhead, and slowly waving it from side to side. Zvantsev moved the car up a little closer and stopped. So here’s the roadblock, he thought. The man with the torch shouted something indistinct into the patter of the rain, and all three started quickly toward the car, moving clumsily in their enormous wet rain capes. The man with the torch once again shouted something, contorting his mouth angrily. Zvantsev turned off the headlights and opened the door. “The engine!” shouted the man. He came up close. “Turn off the engine, for God’s sake!”
Zvantsev turned off the engine and got out onto the highway, into the drizzle. “I’m Zvantsev, the oceanographer,” he said. “I’m on my way to see Academician Okada.”
“Put out the dome light in the car!” said the man. “And quickly, please!”
Zvantsev turned, but the light in the passenger compartment was already out.
“Who’s that with you?” the man with the torch asked.
“My colleague,” Zvantsev answered shortly. “Oceanographer Kondrateva.”
The three figures in the rain capes remained silent.
“Can we go on?”
“I’m Mikhailov, technician,” said the man with the torch. “I was sent to meet you and tell you that it’s impossible to see Academician Okada.”
“I’ll speak about that with Professor Casparo,” said Zvantsev. “Take me to him.”
“Professor Casparo is very busy. We would not like him to be disturbed.”
Zvantsev would have liked to ask who “we” were, but he restrained himself, because Mikhailov had the vague monotonous voice of a man who is dead tired.
“I have news of the highest importance for the Academician,” said Zvantsev. “Take me to Casparo.”
The three remained silent, and the uneven red light played over their faces. The faces were wet, pinched.
“Well?” Zvantsev said impatiently. Suddenly he realized that Mikhailov was asleep. The hand with the torch trembled and dipped lower and lower. Mikhailov’s eyes were closed.
“Tolya,” one of his companions said quietly, poking him in the shoulder.
Mikhailov came to himself, waved the torch, and fixed his swollen eyes on Zvantsev. “What?” he asked hoarsely. “Ah, you want to see the Academician. It’s impossible to see Academician Okada. The whole area of the Institute is closed. Please, go away.”
“I have news of the highest importance for Academician Okada,” Zvantsev repeated patiently. “I am Oceanographer Zvantsev, and in the car is Oceanographer Kondrateva. We’re bringing important news.”
“I’m Technician Mikhailov,” the man with the torch said again. “It’s impossible to see Okada now. He will be dead in the next six hours or so, and we may not make it.” His lips were barely moving. “Professor Casparo is very busy and has requested not to be disturbed. Please, go away.”
He suddenly turned to his companions. “Give me another two tablets,” he said despairingly.
Zvantsev stood in the rain and thought about what else he could say to this man who was falling asleep on his feet. Mikhailov stood sideways to him and threw back his head and swallowed something. Then Mikhailov said, “Thanks, guys, I’m dead on my feet. It’s still raining here, and cool, and back there we’re just falling off our feet, one after another, getting up again, and collapsing again… Then we carry them off…” He was still speaking indistinctly.