Near the construction trailer, a little earlier.
Batut felt a sense of anticipation for the meeting with the Executioner, mixed with slight disappointment and resentment that he had gone on Valeryan's assignment without even saying goodbye. And when he ran to the base a couple of days ago, he didn't look for them then either. This... raised some questions, and not the most pleasant ones. How does he treat them? Why didn't he visit, say anything?
"Funny," the stocky stalker thought to himself, striding briskly towards the commander who had abandoned them. "A month or a month and a half ago, it was I who was against him, and now?... How everything has turned around... Well, it's okay, we'll see each other soon."
"Aren't those scoundrels settled over there?" Brick suddenly asks the rest of the squad, pulling the temporary commander out of his thoughts.
"Scoundrels?" Batut asks again, adjusting the assault rifle on his strap, and stops halfway to look back over his shoulder.
"Yeah. The guys said that two jerks sometimes came to them, asked to join the share or something like that," the young stalker replies, scratching the light stubble on his chin. "They sent them away, of course, but Pyatak said they looked very unfriendly. What if they caused trouble with the boss..."
"Haha," his brother laughs loudly. "Just wave your gun in front of the Executioner – he'll take it and shove it up your ass, with a twist."
The squad stops to catch their breath from the absurd joke when several loud shots ring out nearby. First, it was clearly a shotgun, and then... an unknown sound, twice, with a slight delay.
"They shot from there, didn't they?" Batut immediately gets agitated, dropping his assault rifle from his shoulder and gripping it tighter.
"Yes," Dumb nods grimly. "Let's hurry!"
Stalkers rushed forward, not minding the road or anomalies. Although they believed in their commander, a sense of unease still lingered. They knew he was a kind stalker and would easily turn his back on another. They also knew that those who had settled in that wagon could not be trusted under any circumstances. But when they passed the garbage heap with the Flea Market, and behind them, the wide thickets of bushes and young trees, a strange scene unfolded before them.
With arms and brains spread across the asphalt, a naked corpse lay by the wagon, a worn-out shotgun lying nearby. A little further away, under a canopy near a dying campfire, was another dead man, in a very unusual pose. On his knees, face down with arms outstretched forward... And next to him was a pile of NATO guns, the kind stalkers had never seen before. And then, without a sound, the Executioner, dressed in his signature and worn-out stalker jumpsuit, emerged from the wagon into the light.
"Oh, hello, boys," he greeted them with a wide smile, adjusting his pants belt as he went, and descended the small ladder, heading towards them. "How's life?"
"Uh, normal," replied Batut, shifting his gaze from the Executioner to the corpses and back. "What happened here?"
"Some idiot decided it would be a good idea to shoot at me with a shotgun," the commander shrugged before starting to shake the stalkers' hands in greeting. "I had to punish him and his buddy. The latter was strange, though. For some reason, he fell to his knees and started bowing... Anyway, forget them. The scheme is standard, ten percent of
the sale amount for each."
"Wait, Executioner," a stout stalker stopped him. "We'd like to talk about... first."
"Guys, let's leave the talking for later," the stalker interrupted, addressing everyone at once. "We'll discuss everything at the bar over a drink. I have something to tell you all. And now... Who wants to try on an exoskeleton?"
Depot, some time later.
Our squad was met by other stalkers with bulging eyes and open mouths; after all, so much expensive loot was probably something few of them had ever seen in one place. NATO guns with an exoskeleton thrown in, which Brick eventually donned – I could have reached the base myself in it, but I was too tired, and my back had started to ache from the weight from unfamiliarity.
"Where did Shilov set up?" I asked Batut, as soon as the high gates closed behind us.
"At the end of the hangar, the right corner. It turns out a bandit trader used to sit there," he explained. "The van, by the way, took their technician's place."
"Ah, I see," I grunted briefly. "Decided not to invent anything new. Alright, you guys unload all the cargo at Shilov's for now, and I'll go see the technician. As soon as I'm done with my business and talk to Valerian, I'll expect everyone for the evening drinking session."
Shilov's Shop, ten minutes later.
"What did you use to pierce that bulletproof glass, Executioner?" Furgon exhaled heavily, rummaging in the exoskeleton.
"This," I replied and patted my left thigh with the holster, where a revolver rested.
"So, what's up?" Shilov interjected.
"To be honest. You'll forgive me, Executioner, you understand – business. In general, the armor is good, but the exoskeleton itself is pretty badly damaged, and who knows how long it will last," the technician began to explain, wiping his hands with an oily towel. "However, the armor itself, except for the helmet, is practically undamaged. As soon as the exoskeleton completely fails, we'll have an excellent heavy armored suit."
"And can it be repaired?" the merchant asked with palpable hope in his voice, leaning on the wooden counter.
"The qualification isn't there, and I don't have the tools or materials," the technician shook his head negatively, frowning. "If I had another one in my stash, of course, I could figure something out, but... it's not there and not expected."
"Damn," Shilov drawled, lowering his head in disappointment. "And I was counting on it so much... Well, never mind. The Zone be with it. At least it will be some help to our guys in construction. You haven't changed your mind about selling it, have you, Executioner?"
"I haven't," I shook my head. "I'd like to keep it for myself, but no. I'm not ready to walk around the Zone in such things."
"That's right," the technician clapped me on the shoulder. "An exoskeleton, you know, is not a panacea for the Zone's troubles. It protects, no doubt, excellently, but sometimes it's better to retreat quickly than to get into a fight. And you can't run in such a machine. Alright, since we've sorted everything out, I'll go back to my place – still a lot of work."
"What about the money?" I asked Shilov, as soon as the technician was about ten meters away.
"Well, look," the merchant began to count, and his face grew dimmer with each sentence. "Ten guns in normal condition, imported. I'm willing to give you ten for each, pistols and knives, you understand, won't be in such demand, so I'll take them for a thousand and five hundred respectively. Ammunition for everything – ten for the whole backpack, so the guys have something to shoot with for the first time. And, most importantly, the exoskeleton. I'll take it for forty. That makes a total of one hundred and sixty-five thousand..."
"I hear disappointment in your voice. What's wrong?"
"There's no free money right now, everything is going towards payments and purchases of necessary stuff for the base," the stalker sighed sadly. "I'd like to take the exoskeleton, and the guns, and everything else, but I can only pay for the armor now. There simply aren't enough funds for the rest."
"Ha, found a problem," I chuckled. "Give me forty thousand and write a receipt promising to pay me the remaining amount."
Valerian's Wagon, a little later.
Having finished with the financial matters and taken money from Shilov to pay the guys, I decided to finally visit Valerian. Besides, I needed to find out what they did with the bodies of the poor souls found in the brothel. And, as I learned, my former leader had set up his office right in the wagon where Yuga used to operate. First thing, as I approached him, I was met by an iron door, hanging on hinges crudely welded to the metal.
I knocked insistently before entering, and when I heard the leader's booming voice inviting me in, I opened the door. Inside, it turned out to be quite cozy, especially compared to what it was not long ago. Everything was tidied up and cleaned, empty glass bottles were thrown out, and instead of a stuffed boar's head on a wall mount, there was now a bear skull. Valerian himself sat on a chair, leaning back, and massaging his temples. He looked rather pale, and his eyes, though happy to see me, were very tired.
"Oh-oh, look who's here, finally met," the stalker said with a joyful smile, rising from his chair and shaking my hand firmly, then hugging me. "Glad to see you, my dear."
"Me too, Valerian," I nodded in agreement. "You don't look too well. Are you sick?"
"No-o-o," he replied, putting on a sad face for a moment, then sighing deeply and raising his eyes to the iron ceiling. "There's a lot of worries and work right now. Allocate rations for everyone, don't skimp on money, oversee construction, and coordinate group departures to different locations so they don't cross paths for no reason. I didn't imagine leading such a large clan like this, not like this."
"No other problems? I heard you had a disagreement with the other captains," I asked, leaning my shoulder against the wall.
Valerian frowned for a moment, abruptly walked to the door, and firmly latched it. Then he took a small electric hotplate from a desk drawer, pushed the documents aside, gathered them into a pile, and plugged its cord into an extension cord hanging on the wall, the wire disappearing somewhere upwards. Soon, a whistling kettle, which had seen better days, with water poured into it, was placed on the lit burner. We were silent for a short time, until the kettle began to boil, only then did Valerian start to speak.
"Forgive me for this presentation, Executioner, but I can't do it any other way. I thought no one could be worse than Haletsky in an adulterous affair with Sidorovich in terms of negotiations. And it turned out I was deeply mistaken," Valerian leaned closer, still sitting at the table, and whispered. "It's not that simple, in short. Some want more money, others more space, some even think I'm shortchanging them because of my eagles, it's a madhouse."
"Sounds like delirium."
"And it is," Valerian shook his head, sighing. "Listen to everyone, wipe everyone's snot... No, I like this place and what we can become, but... Our situation has changed, as have our problems. There's no external enemy anymore, so it's time to gnaw each other's throats to snatch a bigger and tastier piece. Tikhiy and Puz are stirring up trouble, they're not openly confronting yet, but it's clear they're aiming for my place. They didn't like it when we returned with our belongings, oh, they didn't like it."
"And Barmaley?" I asked about my first acquaintance among the stalker captains.
"The redhead took his men to Yantar, he wants to try to break through to the Light Path. They say the scientists have figured out the psi-radiation," Valerian replied. "So he decided to take a risk, explore new paths and see what might be there."
"And what do you plan to do with all this?"
"As long as they don't cross the line, nothing. But as soon as that fat twix does something out of the ordinary... " Valerian paused for a moment and finally removed the kettle from the stove. "I'll deal with it. So, how are you doing, free falcon?"
"Ha, I thought I could finally rest for once, but there's only more work," I smiled, changing the subject. "Girls, Freedom, skirmishes with mercenaries..."
"Mercenaries?" the stalker perked up. "Need help?"
"No," I shook my head. "I handled it."
"Good, if you say so," he paused for a moment, but then put on a playful but lewd smirk. "What about the girl?"
Odzakhuri Bar, an hour later.
After talking enough with Valerian, we parted on a pleasant note. Although each of us had new problems, they were solvable. And it was nice to realize that even now he was ready to stand up for me. In turn, I also offered possible help if he needed it. And now... I had to explain myself to the team, I had really acted like a pig, leaving without even saying goodbye.
By this time, the bar had acquired its own sign, written in white paint directly on the wall: "Odzakhuri," and next to it was a crookedly drawn bowl with steam rising from it. As far as I know, it's some kind of Georgian dish, but which one specifically – I can't remember, even if you kill me. The establishment was half-empty at the moment, like the depot itself, not many people around. Behind the counter, as before, stood Genatsvale, who smiled broadly at the sight of me and waved his hand.
"Come in, dear, something to drink, eat, or just talk about?" he said with a southern accent, leaning on the polished bar counter.
"What's on the menu?" I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my squad members were gathered at the farthest table, one of the few with seats.
"Oh, there's all sorts of things," he waved his hand, starting to list. "For drinks, we have tea, coffee, beer, and vodka. For food – sailor-style pasta, wild boar shashlik, and my signature dish – Zone-style odzakhuri. And for
talking, there's humble me."
"Haha," I laughed briefly. "Ten beers for me over at that table, and shashlik for everyone, three skewers each. Can you do it?"
"You wound me, dear! Of course, I can," Genatsvale said with feigned indignation, peeling himself off the bar counter and turning to the refrigerator, from which he pulled out a whole basin of marinated wild boar. "It'll be ready in forty minutes."
"Excellent, how much do I owe?"
"Well, why are you acting like a stranger, like I..."
"Here, take this," I put four thousand Soviet rubles on the bar counter, which immediately disappeared. "And make it top-notch."
"Of course, dear!"
The conversation was going to be difficult, but my heart was filled only with lightness from the correctness of my decision. For the first time in a long time, I felt anticipation and interest in my adventures, and the feeling that even more exciting things awaited me somewhere out there, at Lake Yantar. New artifacts, mutants, anomalies, and much more, and I couldn't stay here among them.
As I approached the table, I saw Batut's tense face, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. Nemoy, as always, seemed indifferent, and Brick and Trotyl seemed oblivious to the heavy atmosphere reigning over the table, quietly joking with each other, giving each other brotherly nudges.
"Here I am," I said loudly, plopping down on the bench where the brother stalkers were sitting. "Well, shall we wait for the food or talk first?"
"Talk," Batut replied too sharply and looked at me so sternly, but it didn't bother me one bit. "Why did you leave without saying a word to us?"
"And why didn't you even write to me?" I parried his first thrust. "Alright, I really should have apologized and told you everything earlier. I left then because I no longer want to be part of Valerian's clan. He already knows."
"What!?" the stout stalker jumped up, slamming his fists on the tabletop, causing the bottle of vodka that was already standing there to jump absurdly, tip over, and roll onto the ground, shattering into pieces. "You're leaving!? Where, why!?"
"Don't yell like that," I winced slightly at his loud voice. "I'm going to hire myself out to the scientists, and why... I'm tired of it. And I need to move on."
"Tired of it?" he repeated incredulously, flaring up again. "Everything we went through together, everything... You're just tired of it!?"
"Batut, quiet!" Nemoy appealed to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, then turning to me. "Executioner, are you sure? Maybe we can go to Valerian together and try to negotiate for him to pay you more?"
"He paid me in full," I sighed, understanding where this was leading, and reached into my chest pocket for money. "And he already knows everything. Here, your share. I'm sincerely glad that the Zone brought me together with you, but... I really need to move on, and our clan will only hold me back. Goodbye."
I abruptly stood up from my seat, wanting to leave. I just wanted to sit with the guys, like in the good old days, chat about nothing, listen to stories, and just eat well in pleasant company, but... Batut wasn't ready to accept my choice, nor were the others. Although the other three said nothing to me, it was clear they didn't like it.
"Batut!" I heard Valerian's voice from behind me, and then a heavy but hot hand landed on my shoulder.
I was sharply turned around, and a fist the size of a pood flew towards my face. I tilted my head to the side, letting it pass, and with an open palm, I hit the stalker's forehead, trying to cool his ardor. He took a few involuntary steps back, growing furious, but then the other stalkers came to his aid, grabbing him by the arms and preventing him from moving.
"Well, go to hell, Executioner!" he shouted indignantly, his eyes bulging.
"A pathetic sight," I sighed. "Farewell, boys. If the Zone wills it, we'll meet again."