Black

 

I hadn't been this nervous in ages; bad luck had been haunting me since morning. First, I'd gotten up too late and rushed through all my morning chores, like "washing up" and "eating breakfast," so I felt a bit stale. When I got on my speedboat, it refused to take off, displaying a message on the control screen that it wasn't up to date. The inspection wasn't a problem; it was done remotely via satellite and cost only five and a half santa*, but unfortunately, I didn't have that kind of money; I was broke. My only hope was the Magnebus*. The station was about a three-minute walk away, so I set off without hesitation. After carefully checking my saddlebags, I found the right amount of santa for the Magnebus ride to my destination. I was supposed to arrive in twenty-one minutes, and calculating the time, I figured I'd make it in time, even with a few minutes to spare. I was pleased, because it's not good to be late on your first day at work. I'd been trying to get this job for quite some time, it suited me perfectly, and I finally got it. One of the employees retired, and I jumped in his place. I pictured myself in my new position and immediately felt so good that I practically "flew" to the stairs leading to the underground Magnebus station. Immediately upon stepping onto the platform, I was hit by the pungent smell of rot and urine. Well, it's always stunk like this here and it always will; it just has to be that way. I'd only taken a few steps when something happened that could have happened to someone of my race. The blow to the back of the head I received from my attacker was hard enough to knock me off my feet. As I lay there, desperately trying to regain full consciousness, I heard above me:

"What the fuck, you gnome, it's nice to be wandering around in public like that."

"Your place is in the sewers, your only company are rats, though they might be offended by your company," added the second aggressor.

"What are we going to do with him?" asked the third.

"Let's throw him in the river," the first one suggested. Thus began a discussion about my future fate. These three youngsters, half-elves if I was right, were to decide the life of Tupilil Tazrks, a dwarf of a young age (fifty-seven, which for members of my race is the age of adulthood), who had been hired to work in a coal mine, which was the height of my happiness. The three attackers, I had to admit, displayed quite a bit of imagination when it came to finding ways to take my life, or at least make it quite unpleasant for me. Suddenly, it dawned on me that although it might seem like a lost cause, I had a pretty good chance: I had a functionary strapped to my wrist. This clever device served so many purposes that few people could name them all without much thought. In this situation, I was interested in one of the functions. Carefully, so as not to arouse suspicion in my captors, who were engaged in conversation, I reached for the device.

Once I pressed the desired button on the device, I wondered why the boys had forgotten I could possess such a device. And after a moment, as if telepathically receiving my thought, one of the half-elves jumped and cursed.

"He has a device." After this discovery, the three friends looked at the device on my arm, one of the LEDs blinking merrily.

"That damned dwarf called the catchers," another half-elvet had made a brilliant discovery.

"Let's get out of here," the third one suggested soberly. As a farewell, I received three more kicks to the ribs, one from each, and the boys were gone. When I was sure I was safe, I tried to stand up, but it proved to be difficult. My head felt terribly heavy; it felt like it weighed a ton, but after a great effort, I managed to crouch down.

"So they didn't kill you," I heard a voice behind me, and I slapped the ground again

, thinking my three tormentors had returned. "What are you doing?" the voice's owner asked ironically. "You can get up now, I have nothing against you."

The voice reaching my ears was hoarse and impure. I forced myself to stand and turn towards the stranger, which resulted in a dizzying sensation that subsided only after quite a while and left an unpleasant memory. Looking in the direction of the voice, I spotted the shadow of a figure crouching against the wall, as this part of the platform had been deprived of light (probably by some rascal practicing his aim with fluorescent lights). Once my dwarven vision had adjusted to the gloom of the dark corner, I could get a closer look at the mysterious figure. This individual was dressed in a rather large black cloak, with a black hood pulled over his head, obscuring his eyes. The only detail that distinguished this figure from the shadow was a white beard and hair of the same color, sticking out from the front of the hood. I cautiously approached the seated old man. He didn't move at all, as if he were made of marble.

"Who are you?" – I decided to strike up a conversation with him. I was sure that, as befits such a mysterious

old man, he would reply with something like, “What’s a name?” or “It doesn’t matter who I am, what matters is what I do.” But to my surprise, my grandfather spared me such morals and simply said,

“My name is Loina, and I’m a beggar.”

“Is that your full-time job?” I don’t know where that stupid joke came from. I felt quite

foolish. But Loina clearly had a sense of humor, and instead of being offended, he cackled, and I felt even worse.

“And do they call you anything besides ‘fucking dwarf’?” It turned out the old man could be sarcastic too.

“My name is Tupilil, from the Brass Hammer clan.

” “It’s quite a long name,” said the old man in black. “Maybe I’ll just call you Hammer.

” “Maybe Tupilil would be better,” I tried to defend myself.

“Well, Tupilil would be fine,” the stranger agreed, “but Hammer seemed to suit you better.”

I chuckled, claiming it was a joke, but Łoina didn't share my joy.

"You'd better get out of here, old man," I warned. "The catchers will be here soon, and I think you know what they do to beggars.

" "Yes, yes." Łoina showed no fear and remained motionless. "They come and go.

" "What do you mean, you're not afraid of them?" I was surprised. "Do you have any dealings with them?

" "No dealings," the old man declared. "They simply don't see me.

" "What do you mean, they don't see me?" I looked at the black figure with interest. "I see you.

" "Because I want you to see me," the old man explained, as if it were obvious. "Never mind. I'm more interested in why you got a beating from those young men.

" "What don't you know?" I said indignantly. "I understand that as a beggar you live as if you were outside the world, but come on, you can't see me, I'm a dwarf."

"So what?" asked Łoina. "And as for seeing"—at this point he lifted his hood—"I can't see."

I recoiled in horror. Where Łoina should have had eyes and half his face, there was a metal plate embedded in his skin.

"What happened to you?" The question barely escaped my throat.

"And the old days," my grandfather smiled, then hid his face in the shadow of his hood, up to his chin. "And getting back to the fact that you got hit because you're a dwarf, could you explain that to me?" "

It's strange you haven't heard of it, but... well, listen."

I began to tell Łoina the entire history of the dwarven race that I knew. The old man listened attentively and never once interrupted, much less moved. I told the beggar everything, about how long ago dwarven families ruled the world, how they multiplied their fortunes by mining the riches of the mines. I spoke of the might of dwarven warriors and the war machines created by their craftsmen. As I told this tale, I was incredibly proud of my ancestors. However, I realized that all this had passed some six centuries ago, and the dwarven power had fallen. This was due to a mysterious race that had come from the stars. These visitors used technology previously unknown on Earth. Some claimed it was magic, but they were wrong; magic had no power over dwarves. In just a few days, the dwarven force was crushed by this mysterious race. My few surviving ancestors were forced into hiding from other races, who finally sought revenge for years of oppression. Centuries passed, the world changed, the mysterious newcomers vanished without even knowing it, as if they had never existed. The age of technology arrived, then the age of nanotechnology, and the dwarves remained a minority, persecuted at every turn.

"Very interesting," the white-haired old man said. "Now I understand why you were attacked by those three individuals.

" "I'm very glad it's finally clear to you," I said. "But it still remains strange to me that you haven't heard all this.

" "I only hear what I want to hear," Loina explained.

"And you started talking like one of those so-called wise men," I said, outraged. "I should have expected that.

" "Forgive me, sometimes I'm told that," the old man apologized. "I rarely talk like that, and to tell you the truth, I rarely talk to anyone at all. But never mind. I wanted to ask you one more question about the history of your race.

" "You're welcome." "I encouraged politely, but then I remembered the work I was in such a hurry to get to. "Just hurry, the Magnebus will be here soon," I added.

"I'm only interested in one thing: this mysterious race. Is there really no information about it?" Łoina was strangely taken aback by this question.

"A legend says they supposedly returned to their homeland and never returned to our planet," I told him what I knew.

The old man in black was silent for a moment, as if weighing my words, then he moved significantly for the first time and, with wrinkled hands, pushed back his hood. Even though we were in the darkness, his white hair glowed as if with its own light. A terrifying cackle began to erupt from his throat. I knew something bad was about to happen. Instinctively, I jumped back. The laughter of Łoina, if that was his true name, echoed across the platform. A chill ran down my spine. A flame coursed through the old man's palms. He stopped his laughter and spoke:

"The legend is right about one thing. My race left this planet, but not forever. We are back here.

" "How so?" I dared to ask.

"We returned here to finish what we started long ago." No dwarf will survive on this planet.

"But why?" I asked another question. "What have the dwarves done to you?"

"We are selectors, we eliminate unnecessary races.

" "But how? Who makes such decisions?

" "This knowledge cannot be revealed to you, you simply must die."

At that moment, two flames shot from his hands towards me. I felt pain in my chest. I screamed. Then I felt nothing. I was falling away. I spun until I finally opened my eyes. I regained consciousness.

"You got a good beating," I heard a voice say, as if from afar. Only after a moment did I realize that the catcher was leaning over me, along with several of his colleagues. "Who did this?" came the question.

Ignoring the question, I jumped to my feet and looked at the place where Łoina had been. He wasn't there. I realized it must have been a dream. A very realistic nightmare.

"You'll come with us," the catcher announced. "You have to testify."

Suddenly, a Magnebus emerged from the tunnel. Small and shiny.

"Gentlemen, excuse me," I announced, and started toward the vehicle. The catcher grabbed my arm.

"But the testimony!

" "Nothing happened. I tripped and fell down the stairs," I lied.

"But that's impossible," one of the catchers concluded.

"I'm saying that's exactly what happened!" I stubbornly stuck to my story, then broke away from the catcher. "Gentlemen, excuse me, I'm rushing to work. Goodbye!" I said goodbye and boarded the Magnebus.

* Santa – currency.

* Magnebus – public utility vehicle. Magnetic drive. Single-seater.