"By Blowout," Konrad asked, settling Dmitry down on the floor. "Are you referring to the nuclear disaster fifty years ago? Because I'm pretty sure people have visited the site since."
He was slow and gentle, but the Captain was way too heavy to keep him on his shoulder.
Not without the help of his magic.
And to burn through all his essence?
Even if it was less than a point a minute, he had to pace himself.
He couldn't hold a rock concert in this basement if he needed a recharge, and the crystals?
Yeah, no, he was still not brave enough for those.
That said, once he dispelled his air cushions, he felt a light trickle he shouldn't have.
It was fainter than Dmitry's breathing, but—
The trafficker grunted.
"I'm not. But told you not to leave your corpse on my floor," he protested, shooing him away with his greasy hands. "If you want information, you have to pay, boy."
That pissed him off.
"He's not dead," he snapped, adjusting the Captain's head to lean against the wall.
He was breathing and wasn't bleeding, though Konrad wasn't sure if all his ribs were still intact.
"Either way. My crib's no free shelter. If you want something, make it quick and get your purse ready. If not—don't litter my floor or hold up the line."
"What line?!"
There was nothing to see behind him, but the heavy metal door hanging open.
Once the drones disappeared, there was no sign of life for miles.
"I'm the busiest merchant in the Zone," the lone trafficker said, leaning back on his chair. "And always emphasize privacy, so take my clients one by one. They can't come in while you're here."
Yeah, this place was already too small for Konrad and Dmitry by themselves.
"Then stop talking in riddles," he demanded. "Tell me where I can find this Strelok guy, and, uh, give me something to wake my friend and treat his wounds at least. Then off we go."
His reluctant business partner scoffed.
"I talk about privacy, and your first request is to sell out my most successful Stalker?!"
Konrad couldn't help but probe the man's mind, and regretted it immediately.
Every single thought was about money.
Not stealing or scamming, mind you. But how much to charge for what?
While counting the entire world as his wares.
Expired military-grade first aid kits, worth a hundred hryvnia each. But he thought of charging a thousand because he seemed desperate enough. Then another two for basic information.
If he threw in a map as well, he wouldn't stop below five thousand hryvnia in total.
'Strelok is more valuable alive,' he thought. 'I won't sell him out to this kid for less than ten thousand. Not like he'd find him. Nobody got as far into the Zone as that bastard.'
But what he actually said was—
"Look, kid. Everything is scarce in here. Men need to eat, drink, and put bullets in their rifles. They all come to me, including the military, because they trust me. I can't betray that."
"I'll give you five thousand if you tell me everything you know about the Zone and Strelok."
Or was that too eager?
The old man froze, greasy hands scratching his patchy white beard.
"Twenty," he countered. "And I'll throw in a map and something for your not-dead friend, too."
Yeah, no. Konrad scoffed, straightening his back.
"How much would the military or those Stalkers pay me if I told them about your offer?"
The trafficker opened his arms wide.
"Information is a commodity like any other in the Zone," he called his bluff. "Every secret has a price, and I don't get them for free, either. Everyone knows this, kid. Except rookies like you."
So he had to haggle, then.
"Ten thousand. But only if you prove yourself trustworthy," Konrad offered. "And I won't pay you a fortune for a few cryptic lies when all you've done so far is talk nonsense."
That earned him another shrug.
"Can't help it if you entered the Zone without knowing anything. I'm not an insurance agent. If you wreck your car, that's your responsibility. Same if you can't use the info you bought."
It took Konrad little more mind-reading to paste together his actual meaning.
He'd charge a high price because he was sure he would die the moment he left.
Dead men brought no future business, so he had to insure himself before they did.
'If he's a tourist with no real guide, radiation would get him before returning from The Garbage. And only if the blind dogs don't eat him on his way first.'
There.
While he had no idea what any of those meant, he got some info, free of charge.
All he had to do was use it so he'd appear less of a rookie.
"You said the military raided your dog farm, or whatever. Did they take care of the rest, too? The blind dogs en route to The Garbage. We brought that car to speed through 'em, but—"
"That would have never worked, kid," the trafficker scowled, taken aback. "Are you stupid?!"
He was careful not to let anything slip that he could have charged for.
But his thoughts were another question.
'Bet the drones had nothing to do with that crash. Must have run into the anomalies outside the village. There's been more of them lately. If this goes on, I'll have to move further out.'
Was that the thing that threw the Niva in the air?
"Well, I didn't know the anomalies got so bad this far from the centre," Konrad said.
Yeah. He found it odd that the chassis didn't burn, even though it felt like they hit a landmine.
The old man crossed his arms, almost as if he suspected his mind-reading.
"Not knowing is what gets most of the Stalkers killed in the Zone," he grumbled. "You should have done your research before coming here, not hoping for the best."
Well, again, Konrad expected a nuclear fallout, not magical anomalies.
In his defense, Dmitry seemed to have no idea about anything, either.
But as usual, the trader's thoughts were more helpful than his harsh words.
'How'd he know about the anomalies, if he never heard of the second explosion or the blowouts?! The government keeps everything under wraps, that's why they shoot people—'
"Let's say, the brass sent us to talk to this Strelok guy, but they forgot to tell us the details."
This old guy seemed to have liked his Stalkers, whoever they were.
Pulling the Russian spy story wouldn't have worked on him.
But leaning into the secrecy—
"Or, rather," Konrad continued. "They forgot to alert the National Guard that we were coming. But what's your excuse, Sidorovich? You must have talked on the phone with Captain Bandera."
Thank the spirits, he finally remembered his name.
It felt odd being this senile in this young body, but his mind was sometimes that of an old man.
Like the one scowling at him, lifting from his chair to take a better look at Dmitry.
"Why didn't you say your friend was the Hero of Kyiv?!" he demanded.
While cursing himself in his thoughts.
'Getting caught not knowing something so obvious?!'
Yeah. That ought to earn Konrad a discount.