Free The Way of Muri by Ilya Boyashov

retreated as far back as he could.
    ‘We should run, yes, run…’ muttered the technician. ‘Back to our own kind, as fast as we can, before others come and find us. We can’t stay here! And as for you,’ he said, glaring at Muri again, ‘I’m going to make damn sure you leave tomorrow. I know your game… Oh yes, you can arch your back and purr your little heart out, but if anything were to happen to either of us you’d be first in line to gnaw at our bones. I hate cats! It’s stupid the way people make such a fuss of you, falling over themselves to feed you… Hey, you understand what I’m saying, don’t you, you little devil?’
    ‘That’s right!’ the disgruntled cat hissed back at him in self-defence, his widely spaced teeth making it sound rather peculiar. ‘Every word. What’s more, I can tell that your limbs are shaking with fear and your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth. Let’s see which of us leaves first, shall we? As long as there’s frost on the ground and enough food to go round, I’m not planning on going anywhere.’
    ‘Don’t imagine for one minute that I have any intention of sharing my last rations with you,’ the technician warned him. ‘As far as I’m concerned you can chew the walls, claw the bed and quench your thirst with snow… But one thing’s for sure, you’ll die before the last rusks are finished!’
    ‘We’ll see about that,’ purred Muri from beneath the ascetic’s bed.

    Temperatures plummeted, hovering at around minus thirty degrees Celsius for days, but Petko Patić, his sheepskin coat frozen to the floor of the observatory, remained at his post. While Serbian artillery was decimating the Bosnian Muslims,Petko Patić was awaiting a different kind of explosion in galaxy D104-2. It had been exactly 1,324 years since the last supernova in this sector of the Universe, so there was simply no doubt in his mind that it would occur. The pain in the small of his back barely even registered! Every evening he would clamber to the top of the tower, full of hope, and every morning he would come back down and throw open the door of the wooden hut, fresh as a daisy, without once losing his footing on the icy steps.
    ‘There’s hardly any fuel left,’ warned the technician. ‘Another couple of hours and it’ll be time to get the candles ready!’
    The frost was making everything outside creak and groan. Muri could feel the harsh brutality of Nature with every fibre of his being. But even this cloud had a silver lining: the local elementals had taken refuge in the driest and warmest cracks they could find, and not a single squeak reached Muri’s ears for the entire duration of his stay in the hut. He had grown tired of their continuous ultrasonic chatter, so this particular silence was bliss.
    Without paying any attention to the technician’s warning, Patić took a tin opener and opened the last of the stewed meat. Naturally, the first piece of top-quality Argentinian beef was given to the cat.
    ‘Great Allah!’ exclaimed Mirko, outraged. ‘That’s the last of our food!’
    ‘What about the rusks?’ the astronomer reminded him. ‘And we’ve still got some flour and salt. Fill my flask up with hot water – it’s time for my next shift!’
    This stoicism was the final straw for the technician.
    ‘It’s been two months already!’ he yelled, flinging his mug at the cat. ‘Two whole months we’ve been sitting here, and for what? That damned supernova of yours is as elusive as the devil himself! It’s never going to explode! It’s just a crazy fantasy, and you’re obsessed with it! Everything they said about you is true – you’re a failure, and a dangerous maniac into the bargain. Well, you can stay here with this mangy ball of fur, who’ll sink histeeth into your throat as soon as he detects the slightest sign of weakness, but I’ve had enough! I’m leaving. Carry on climbing up and down those damned steps, gorge yourself on pine needles,