The light bulbs on the periphery of the base flickered faintly in the night mist, like silver rings with a soft light. By the time we returned to the encampment, several temporary housing containers had already been set up, their metal shells vibrating slightly in the night wind. The seawater desalination system gurgled, and a high-voltage electric fence had been erected around the camp to prevent attacks from wild animals.
A decision had to be made tonight: part of the team had to return to the ship to continue transporting equipment the next morning. The other group would remain at the base on the island.
I raised my hand without hesitation: "I'm staying. I want to start exploring early tomorrow." In truth, I wouldn't have returned to the boat for anything in the world.
Hearing this, Cyclops turned his head towards me, raising an eyebrow slightly: "As expected."
He approached and handed me a satellite communicator: "Two channels, one on a fixed beacon, the other on a backup frequency hop. I've set the signal strength, regular link-up every three hours, keeping the main line operational overnight."
"My system was updated with last night's patch," I said, checking the frequency list. "I'll handle the log synchronization. Once you're on the mothership, take inventory of the equipment, especially the ground-penetrating radars for exploration; anything that can be brought over tomorrow morning, bring it."
"Mm, I'll keep an eye on it." He paused, then added as if in passing: "Here we go again, into the labyrinth."
I smiled: "Theseus and the labyrinth, a well-worn analogy."
"You, you charge into it like Theseus, and I stay here to hold your thread," he said, mimicking the gesture of turning a spindle.
"Ariadne-style support."
"If only you were really Ariadne," I retorted, clipping the communicator to my belt. "Last time, your route plan nearly had me going in circles in the salt marshes for half an hour."
He gave a broad smile, walked to the edge, and tossed his backpack onto the small boat. The engine had already started, the shuttle bobbing alongside the floating pontoon, a yellow, flickering work lamp hanging from its mast. Before boarding, Cyclops turned and looked at me: "Contact me anytime if there's anything!"
"If you don't answer, I'll assume you fell asleep on deck while drinking."
"Possible," he said with a mischievous grin, closing the hatch. The small boat moved slowly away from the shore, the waves gently pushing back the darkness. Standing at the stern, he gave me one last look, waving, like a silent "you know what to do." I watched the light gradually disappear into the mist.
Thus, about ten operatives, including Anubis, chose to stay on the island. That taciturn, ever-solitary man had already silently placed his backpack in front of his container door, his figure vanishing into the night.
I suddenly sat down on the ground, pulled off my boots, and violently shook the sand from my soles; the fine sand spilled onto my trousers like a fountain. From walking on unfamiliar terrain, my feet ached, and my legs felt like lead.
I started looking for familiar faces. The campfire crackled, the cans of duck confit heating beneath it giving off an enticing aroma. This luxurious dinner was clearly Marteau's doing – that crazy Libélin neighbor had actually transported all his cooking equipment to the island, right down to a bread oven.
As our logistics manager and "unofficial head chef," he had an almost religious devotion to food. Besides cooking, he managed our provisions, medicine, tools; an indispensable rear support, especially in the island's extreme conditions. Marteau was just taking a hot, herb-strewn loaf of bread out of the oven, its brown crust slightly cracked, the aroma pervasive. He wore a grease-stained apron, but his face beamed with pride.
Minos, meanwhile, was sitting a little further away on a bucket, lazily strumming a badly tuned guitar, the melody all over the place, impossible to recognize the tune. He was our heritage conservation expert, specializing in organic material science and ancient chemical reactions – a colossus, six-foot-three, broad as a door, yet whose fingers could restore carbonized silk under a microscope with incredible dexterity. Seeing him play the guitar always seemed incongruous to me, yet strangely comforting.
There was also Krishna, sitting near the fire, bent over his radio equipment. He was our communications technician, very taciturn, only frowning when there was a signal anomaly, and that could last for two hours. He was our vital link to the ship, as well as the person responsible for maintaining the emergency navigation system. Last year, during an inland project, he had single-handedly saved three missing people with his radio. All his clothes, from T-shirt to jacket, bore this four-line printed slogan: "Do not approach me without reason, do not touch my equipment, do not touch my cables, thank you for your cooperation."
A white figure moved quickly past me, with a light, swift yet assured gait – it was Baba Yaga. She wore a gray reporter's vest, a camera bag the size of a golf bag on her shoulder, and walked as if on a catwalk, with a step so feline it was almost arrogant. Her tall stature formed perfect curves; her sculptural features, accentuated by the campfire's glow, appeared even deeper. The fine scar across her left cheekbone, far from detracting from her beauty, added a touch of danger to her aura.
She was our team's best protector, the head of security. Pistol, knife, and combat techniques were as familiar to her as her own hands; Cyclops had told me she had served in the Foreign Legion. Most of the time, she was silent, but in case of danger, she reacted faster than the high-voltage fence. When her cold gaze swept over me, I always felt as if an icy blade ran down my spine.
In our entire team, only she and I were women. And frankly, she scared me a little.
"Sphinx, the rooms they left us are very small."
"Oh... uh, I don't take up much space, and I sleep very quietly, you know..."
"No, no, I wanted to check with you, I can only sleep on the inner side, and I need a small light source at night, otherwise I might sleepwalk. Does that bother you?"
"No problem, no problem at all..."
Cobra was exasperatingly considerate towards this tall, beautiful girl. He immediately began rummaging in the bucket of octopuses, like a puppy trying to please its master.
"Baba Yaga! Look!" He held up a still-wriggling octopus, its tentacles squirming in the air.
"The freshest ingredients! I can make you a raw Tebicottae with lemon juice and chili..." Baba Yaga didn't even raise her eyelids, continuing to adjust what must have been her weapons bag.
"I'm allergic to raw food." Her cold voice instantly dampened Cobra's enthusiasm.
But barely three seconds later, his spirits had returned: "Then... then, do you want to try my special seafood soup? Marteau taught me..."
"I'm more worried about your hands." She finally turned her head, her piercing gaze sweeping over Cobra's fingers, reddened by the octopus suckers.
"If it gets infected, even with antibiotics, it will be very complicated."
Cobra pitifully dropped the octopus but still stubbornly took a step closer: "It's nothing, I'm not afraid of pain! In fact, I also brought antihistamines, just in case you change your mind..."
Baba Yaga looked up and stared at Cobra. She really knew how to insult people with a look, and in a very blunt way. Cobra fell silent immediately, lowered his head, and picked up a few hermit crabs with brightly colored shells, still covered in fine algae, preparing to put them on the embers.
My stomach knotted.
The images transmitted by the drone at dusk came back to my mind. Those small creatures, carrying their colorful shells, crawling slowly among the rocks at low tide, their pincers delicately palpating the sand...
"Stop!" I shouted.
Cobra stopped.
Cobra looked at me, perplexed: "What? In times of protein shortage, this is a good thing."
He turned the skewer; the crabs' shells made slight crackling sounds.
I opened my mouth, but the sentence "They're still alive" got stuck in my throat. Yes, they were alive, but the fish, shrimp, and shellfish we ate, which of them weren't alive?
"...It's nothing," I finally said in a low voice, forcing myself to look away.
Cobra smiled broadly: "Don't worry, I learned from Marteau!" He enthusiastically sprinkled a handful of coarse salt; the shells sizzled under the intense heat.
I stepped back a few paces, pretending to tidy my backpack, not wanting to look anymore. But the smell of grilling that wafted through the air still entered my nostrils, mixed with an unutterable bitterness.
Baba Yaga said nothing; she just handed me an already warm can of beans. I took it, the burning hot can stinging my fingers, but it strangely soothed me. Cobra enthusiastically broke open a roasted crab, the roe flowing out, golden and appetizing.
"Hey, Sphinx! You really don't want a piece?" I shook my head, forcing a smile: "You eat, I..."
As I said this, I silently picked up the last piece of bread, which was snatched from me by a frigate bird suddenly swooping down. My reaction was too slow; I instinctively lunged forward, but my elbow knocked over the water canteen beside me, spilling its contents everywhere.
The hot water made me jump; I nearly dropped my can of beans, stumbling back two steps, even missing a stone under my foot, and almost fell sitting in the sand.
Cobra roared with laughter, slapping the ground in an exaggerated manner. I was speechless for a moment, glaring in the direction the large bird had flown, the empty can deforming under the pressure of my hand.
That bird had stolen my dinner, while just minutes before, I was still worrying about the fate of a few hermit crabs. Nature always seemed to find the most precise way to slap human hypocrisy – my ridiculous compassion, faced with the laws of survival, was as fragile as a paper napkin. The moral principles humans were so proud of became obsolete; civilization was perhaps just a shell that could be removed at any time.
On this island, we were both predators and potential prey. Baba Yaga stood up with a movement that stirred the air. Her long fingers curved into a knife-hand strike, which she delivered with precision to the nape of Cobra's neck, producing a dull sound, "thwack."
This woman, who had taken countless lives on battlefields, even corrected people with the cleanness and efficiency of special forces.
"Laughed enough?" she said in a slightly threatening tone, extending her hand to help me up. Cobra instantly fell silent, like a rooster being strangled, his laughter cut short. He held the back of his neck, his eyes round as marbles, his mouth pouting. I suddenly felt the knot tightening my chest loosen a bit, and I smiled gratefully at Baba Yaga.
Once calm returned to the camp, Baba Yaga and I carried our respective equipment to the container that served as our dormitory. The container door slammed shut behind us with a sharp click, isolating us from the camp's commotion.
Baba Yaga methodically checked the lock, the metallic click resonating particularly clearly in the cramped space.
"How can you let a guy like Cobra be your assistant?" she suddenly asked. "That kid doesn't even have a basic sense of personal boundaries."
Sitting on the cot, I slowly unlaced my sand-covered laces: "He was a petty thief. Last winter, he picked the lock of my apartment." I pulled off the sock from my right foot; a slight pressure mark was still visible on my ankle.
"I happened to be home. He tied me up, started rummaging through my drawers, my shelves, even the kitchen. Finally, in my study, he found a Tebiktai gold coin that I hadn't cataloged yet."
I looked at her. She said nothing, just slowly raised her chin, inviting me to continue.
"He recognized the inscriptions on it. 'Heishima' – glory. Holding the coin, he asked me: 'What's this?' I told him it was something we found in underwater ruins. An ancient currency. Tebiktai was once the richest kingdom in Yasha. It had fleets, engaged in trade, and a king who loved adventure had taken a vault of gold on a long voyage, before disappearing at sea."
I paused, remembering Cobra's expression at that moment.
"Then, he cried. Just like that, in my living room, squatting on the floor, crying like a child."
"Really?"
"Really. He was stunned for a long moment, then he cried. He showed me childhood photos of himself on his phone. He was ten, on a mud wall, he had drawn a lopsided Luffy from One Piece. He said he came to Libélin to become a rapper. Having found no work, he could only steal to survive."
"I thought he grew up in the slums of Libélin."
I shook my head: "No. He told me about his childhood home in a Tebiktai village, where there wasn't even a table. Seven or eight people crammed into a single room, with only one blanket. When he was little, he thought everyone lived like him – poor, hungry. He thought it was normal."
Baba Yaga finally said in a low voice: "That's nothing new."
"Then, he added that he never knew Tebiktai had such a history. He said – he never thought the word 'glory' could have any connection to him."
Baba Yaga was leaning against the bed, watching me silently, but she seemed a little more relaxed.
"So, I didn't call the police. In that case, he simply exercised his right to survival because he was hungry, and thus the theft was justified," I said. "He told me he wanted to become an archaeologist, like me. As for his manners, I think he can learn with time. To him, I might be a bad influence."
She said in a low voice: "So you think he'll change?"
I nodded: "No one is born a criminal. I believe that what can anchor the human heart isn't just pain. Sometimes, a single word is enough. Later, I gave him that gold coin as a gift. He made a necklace out of it."
"So, he hasn't been in Libélin for long?"
"Indeed, not very long. Two or three years?"
"That kid is really clever, then, to speak Libélin so well in such a short time." She suddenly changed the subject.
"So, does he know your name?"
"He knows. And I know his real name too." Baba Yaga didn't press further, simply leaned back against the head of the bed and picked up her rangefinder to check the data again.
Much later, she only said softly: "Next time he crosses the line, I'll still hit him."
"I know," I smiled. "But you might go a little easier on him."
A corner of her mouth twitched slightly, neither confirming nor denying.
Once the last lamp in the camp was extinguished, I took my sleeping bag and discreetly slipped out of the container.
The moonlight illuminated the beach with a silvery whiteness, the distant waves breathed regularly, the tide erasing the footprints we had left during the day.
I found a hollow in the sand, far from the high-voltage fence, unrolled my sleeping bag, slipped into it, and looked up at the stars. The Milky Way stretched out in silence, as if flowing from the other end of the world.
I suddenly thought that, in fact, it would be very nice to sleep like this under the stars.
Suddenly, the satellite communicator rang. I had barely picked up when Cyclops's slurred voice came through: "Good evening, Sylvie! I knew it... you surely wouldn't be able to sleep..."
In the background, there was the sound of liquid being sloshed around; he really must have been drinking on deck.
"Good evening, Simon. How are things on the boat?" I snuggled into my sleeping bag, the cold metal casing of the communicator against my ear.
Finally, we could call each other by our real names, with no one else around.
"It hasn't sunk yet. But the corridor lights just flickered; I was wondering if it wasn't you who made too much of a mess on your end, to the point of even disrupting the electromagnetic signals."
"Maybe you've had too much to drink and are seeing double."
"Ha, I'm still hard at work here. Just finished the equipment inventory, the radar modules are checked too, we can bring them over tomorrow morning. If you have anything to add on your side, send me the list quickly."
"Alright, on my end, situation normal... Wait."
I sat up and looked towards Anubis's container.
His backpack was still in front of the door, but he still hadn't returned.
The zipper had been opened a small crack at some point; in the faint light, something metallic inside shone with a cold glint.