(This month we have a guest appearance by the cast of Captain Zippy's The Road.)

The Inside Out Frontier

"What's happening down there?"

Sanya grabbed the hems of the faded Clear Sky tunic and its undershirt, pulling them up almost to the armpits. Under them the upper torso was dotted with small round bruises and constrained by a band of elastic material. "You're not gonna believe this, Jussi... She's a chick with a dick!"

"Say what?"

"It's kind of small, but she's got tits and – "

"URRRAAAAAUUUGH!" Yevgeniy's legs pistoned, throwing Tiger backwards. Fingers clawed at Sanya's face. "STOP TOUCHING ME!"

"Yeeeow! Get off me, you crazy bitch!"

Galina came hurtling up the stairs as Tiger wedged a stabilizing hand under himself. She gave a moment's pause to lay down her gun, then swooped upon the writhing, sobbing figure at the center of the commotion. "Zhenya, listen to me! Listen to me! Take deep breaths, deep breaths!"

Sanya scrabbled away from the pair, blood oozing from a welt on his cheek. Kondratenko looked on behind him, open-mouthed with shock. Jussi made as if to descend from the high catwalk, but Tiger motioned for him to stay put.

Yevgeniy's hysteria eased under Galina's ministration, and soon the androgyne's thrashing subsided into trembles and sniffles. "Shh," Galina murmured. "It's all right. No one is going to hurt you."

Tiger regained his footing and his focus simultaneously. "Borya, keep your eyes on the road. Galya, could you, er..?"

"I'll handle this. Mitya, get my bedroll and put it in the boxcar."

"Okay!"

The veteran allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he went back to the gallery windows. It had gotten quiet outside, and that meant he needed to check in. "Tiger calling Bes, over."

The radio buzzed in his hand. "Bes here. We've taken the trailhead according to plan. Fiend is staying behind to watch the road. What's your condition? Over."

"We eliminated the bandit group here," Tiger answered. "Only two men from Lenka's party survived. One of mine has been... taken ill, over."

"Can you defend the position? Over."

"Affirmative, we can defend. Over."

"Good. We'll notify Duty. Switch to the Garbage frequency and stand by for relief information, over."

"Roger. Tiger out."

"We're staying?" asked Kondratenko.

"For now." Tiger changed channels before clipping the radio onto his vest. "We'd better try to recover what we can from the dead. Jussi, can you help me with that?"

"Sure."

"Thanks... Borya, cover us from here. Sanya, I need you to fix yourself up and stand watch at the other end. I don't want anyone coming in unannounced, even if they're friendly."

"Uh-huh..."

Deadeye passed Salonen on the steps, heading for the walkway above the hangar's east door while Tiger stooped to pick up his Lee-Enfield. The cause of the earlier stoppage was revealed when he pulled out the magazine: one of the cartridges had its rim stuck behind that of the round underneath. It must have happened when he first loaded the rifle, his error revealed only when the misfed cartridge was pushed to the top. The stalker popped out the stuck round and pocketed it, making a mental note to investigate more closely later. Until then, the AK would suffice. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Galina had conducted Yevgeniy to shelter in the meantime, the path marked by a string of blood spatters. Tiger and Jussi followed it, treading gingerly, until the trail turned right at the bottom of the stairs. Instead they went left, through the hangar doors and past the bodies of fellow stalkers, then out the gate and into the grass. Kondratenko had done his job well, leaving none among the attackers alive.

"Let's get the machine gun first," suggested the Finn.

"Agreed."

Vanya the gunner would be almost roguishly good looking if Tiger hadn't blown off the crown of his skull and showered his brains all over the road. His Degtyaryov lay upside down across his waist, its spindly bipod legs flopped to the side. At his feet were a pair of carrying cans, three pan magazines visible under one's open lid. Jussi set his jaw and bent over the corpse, freeing the entangled sling from its arm. "Seems to be in order," he said, rotating the heavy gun in his hands. "Very good."

"Can you work it?"

"A friend back home has one on a collector's license." Jussi flipped the sling up over his shoulder, so that the DP hung ready at his side. "I think I remember the important parts."

"All right." Tiger turned away from the gore. "I'll check these two."

The others were Fritz and his grenadier, the latter clutching an AK-74 with an underbarrel launcher. Tiger's bullet had impacted the rifle's stock at the wrist, shattering the wood before it plowed into the wielder's hip and shredded a major blood vessel. The fatal haemorrhage soaked his pants. A quick search turned up two grenades, one in the launcher and another wedged into an empty cell of the bandit's magazine pouch, plus a cleaning kit and a sheathed bayonet. Content with these findings, the stalker slung his own weapon and picked up the second Kalashnikov. It passed a cursory inspection aside from the broken furniture, so Tiger tucked it under his arm and carried on.

Fritz was on his back, staring at the sky as if it somehow offended him. Tiger tore open his collar, exposing tarnished dog tags strung on a length of twine. They jingled as he pulled the necklace off and crammed it into a coat pocket. The loner divested the criminal of his gun and was about to walk away when Fritz's cap caught his eye, a gray woolen thing with a skull and crossbones stitched above the bill. Impulsively he took the headgear, rolled it up and pocketed it as well.

"Group 'Tiger', this is Warrant Officer Protsenko of Duty. Acknowledge."

Rearranging the load in his hands delayed Tiger's reply by a couple of seconds. "...This is Tiger, go ahead. Over."

"Be advised: group 'Sinova' is coming from the Dark Valley to relieve you, ETA two hours. Over."

"We'll keep an eye open for them. Anything else? Over."

"Negative. Protsenko out."

Jussi tsked as Tiger put away the handset. "Not big on conversation, those guys... Do you know that group?"

"No."

Kondratenko and Sanya were diligently manning their posts in the hangar when the salvage party came back, stopping long enough to gather the arms of their fallen allies on the way. The scavengers went over to the barricade, beside the pit where the others had deposited their non-combat supplies, and made an organized pile out of the bandit loot. His load lightened, Tiger circled around to the boxcar's open door and cautiously knocked on the sidewall. "Galya?"

The girl came out cradling her submachine gun. "What is it?"

"Reinforcements are coming," the veteran told her, loud enough for the others to hear. "Two hours or so. How's Zhenya?"

"She's resting. I think she'll be all right."

"So... she's not wounded?"

"No," Galina sighed, "she's not wounded. She's menstruating. It's perfectly normal."

"I see." Tiger cleared his throat. "Well, let me know if anything changes... Come on, Jussi."

The bandit lieutenant's silvery pistol was an Ithaca 1911, nickel plated with inscriptions in Greek crudely carved on the grip panels. The finish was scuffed in several places and the slide rattled when shaken. A body search uncovered two spare magazines, a switchblade, a hip flask and a slightly squashed candy bar. Tiger dropped everything into his empty artifact bag and moved on to the next cadaver.

This thug had taken two bullets high in the chest and landed facedown, knocking off his M1 helmet and a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators. Tiger dragged a Mauser rifle out from under his knees, rolled him over and started frisking. The dead man's clothes held a pack of cigarettes, a Swiss Army knife with one blade snapped off, a dogeared deck of playing cards and four cardboard boxes of rifle cartridges. The spelling of the word snajperski on the labels highlighted their Balkan origin.

Pickings from the rest weren't so good: a Fort-12, a Makarov, a sawed-off shotgun and a second MP5, more worn than Fritz's. One man had a Fireball in his knapsack, wrapped in a rag. There was water but little food, suggesting to Tiger that these bandits had counted on an urgent resupply from their gang at the Agroprom. "Found anything useful over there?"

"A little," Jussi replied. "These must be the raw meat... I think I'm done here."

"Me too."

They went inside, added their meager assortment to the loot heap, and again Tiger knocked on the boxcar wall. "We're finished," he announced. "How are things?"

"Fine." Galina sounded disproportionately annoyed by his question. "I'll tell you if – what? ...You're sure?" The Belarusian emerged, sullen-faced. "She wants to talk to you. And Borya."

"Ah." Tiger backed up until he could see Kondratenko's perch. Even with seven people in the hangar, Yevgeniy's crisis was starting to make the task of maintaining a sufficient lookout feel like musical chairs. "Mitya, can you stand in for Borya?"

"I'll do it," Jussi volunteered magnanimously. "This is none of my business anyway."

"Thank you. It shouldn't take long."

Jussi went up, Kondratenko came down, and then he and Tiger went into the boxcar. Yevgeniy lay on a thin foam bedroll, Dmitriy's jacket draped over her naked legs. The boy himself sat on a wooden crate at her feet while Galina lurked behind the men, guarding the doorway against eavesdroppers. There was an uncomfortable silence for several moments, broken when Kondratenko sat down cross-legged at the bedside. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"So, uh... you're really Yevgeniya, huh?"

"Yeah." The big green eyes shifted from Kondratenko to Tiger. "I'm sorry." Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to make trouble for you. I'll go, but please... please don't tell anyone about me."

"Who told you to leave? Did someone tell you to leave?" Tiger looked from one pupil to another, his gaze interrogating each in turn until he was satisfied that all were innocent. "The Zone doesn't care what you are and I don't either. I agreed to guide you until you're ready to go alone, and you're not ready." The stalker knelt next to Kondratenko, softening his voice as he drew nearer. "You're right, though: you have caused a lot of trouble. I think your comrades deserve an explanation."

He wasn't surprised by the prickling at his back. "She's under enough stress – "

"It's okay, Galya." Yevgeniya shifted and the jacket slipped, baring the curves of a woman's hips. "If they want to know, it's okay."

"I do," Kondratenko confirmed. "I don't really get it, but you have both boy and girl parts?"

"Sort of." The androgyne sat up, careful to keep her lap covered. "You saw it, didn't you?"

The question was directed at Tiger. "Yes, I saw."

"The doctors had a fancy name for me... 'female with virilized genitals'." Yevgeniya grimaced as a new pang throbbed inside her. "I was born like this. It was something my mother took when she was carrying me, a drug she wasn't supposed to have."

"What kind of drug could do that?" Kondratenko interjected. "I mean, how can that happen?"

"I don't remember what it was called. It messed up my hormones, made me grow the wrong way."

"That's... unfortunate." The words came out sounding trite, undermining Tiger's intent, but he pushed on. "Are there any other effects? Any medications you need?"

"No."

"What about your period? It's a problem if this happens often."

Yevgeniya shook her head. "I've never had one so bad before. I thought maybe it was anxiety."

Tiger looked over his shoulder at the sentinel in the open door. "Galya, do you have any ideas?"

"I might." Again her tone suggested his involvement was unwelcome. "Have you noticed other changes since your last cycle, Zhenya? Infections, anything like that?"

"I can't think of anything." The patient bit her lip. "Well, possibly one thing."

"What is it?"

"When we were in Romania, I had a contraceptive implant put in at a clinic. I didn't want to take a chance on... you know."

"Mm." For now, Tiger decided, it was best to let Galina have her way. "Keep resting while we have the place to ourselves," he said. "Once we get to Rostok, we can find a doctor for you."

"Okay."

As she lay back, Tiger reached into his coat and took out the necklace. "I think General Voronin would be grateful if you gave this to him," the stalker told his student.

Yevgeniya stretched out a hand to receive the sinister memento. "It really was Fritz?"

"It was him, all right." Tiger pulled out the marked man's cap and laid it on the floor beside her head. "This is yours now... Borya, I found something for you too."

Galina intercepted the two men as they left the boxcar. "I'd like to wash the blood out of Zhenya's pants," she informed Tiger. "Too many hygiene risks in taking some off a corpse. Do we have enough water?"

"You can use what the bandits left us, but try not to waste it. Anything else?"

"It's getting cloudy," the girl noted, squinting up through the jagged hole in the hangar roof. "I don't know if they'll be dry before our relief gets here. Can we start a fire?"

Tiger began to evaluate the logistics of collecting fuel and tinder, then remembered the artifact he'd found. "Maybe I can do better than a fire," he proposed, hoping he was right in trying to placate her overprotective attitude. "Give me a few minutes."

"Fine."

Tiger led Kondratenko to the loot pile and picked out the steel helmet and sunglasses. "Try these on."

"Like this?"

"I think it suits you." Bending again, Tiger picked up a pair of canteens. "Give these to Galya and send Jussi down. I need him to work on the machine gun we found."

"Will do." The former soldier didn't go straight away, however. "You meant what you said about letting Zhenya stay, right?"

"Of course I meant it. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Kondratenko departed with sudden haste. Tiger looked upward, checking that Sanya was paying attention to his own task, then unwrapped the Fireball and climbed down into the pit. The pit held a couch and a small wooden cabinet, left behind when last year's bandits rallied under the fist of Borov in their exodus to the Dark Valley. A freestanding fireplace sat on the open floor, cobbled together in stalker fashion from an oil drum bottom, cinder blocks and lengths of rebar. Stirring the thick layer of ash with his jackknife, the loner found it cold all through.

"There are some empty crates on the other side," Jussi remarked, arriving with the Degtyaryov. "We can break them down for dry wood."

"Don't need it."

Jussi shrugged and sat on the couch. "Up to you."

The Fireball was a sphere about the size of a grapefruit, made of a dense glassy substance. It had a bumpy texture and a dark basalt coloring, mottled with thin spots where the soft orange glow of the core shone through. It felt warm against the skin, releasing its energy without the violence of the Burner which spawned it. For a minute Tiger simply rolled the anomalous object back and forth between his palms, mapping the lines of its crystalline heart.

"...What are you doing with that artifact, anyway?"

"Finding the strike points." Tiger changed his grip and began spinning the Fireball between his fingertips, a dry run for the ignition sequence. "All right, I've got it."

He crouched before the fireplace, took careful aim, and slammed the artifact down onto the protruding corner of a cinder block. The sphere rebounded with a sharp cracking sound. Tiger felt the telltale pulse in its inner charge, spun it and struck again. Crack! Again. Crack! Again! Crack! The pulses rippled over one another, intensifying with every blow as tiny fractures propagated through the Fireball's center. Its surface grew hotter and hotter.

Tiger dropped the artifact into the drum as it reached critical resonance, picked up one of the rebar pieces and used it to nudge the Fireball into the center of the ash bed. "Heat's ready," he called out.

This time Dmitriy answered: "Be there soon."

Jussi meanwhile had broken down the DP into its major parts and was scrubbing the barrel threads with a toothbrush. "I was told even a master stalker would spend an hour with a jeweler's loupe before trying that," he said. "You make it look easy."

"It isn't." The stalker laid the rebar across the top of the fireplace, making a sort of grill, then set about transferring the bandit weapons into a new pile by the couch.

Jussi's portion of the salvage wasn't much better than his own: more Makarovs, another couple of cut down shotguns, a Walther P1 in a camouflage patterned holster, and a smoke grenade. Gathering his materials, Tiger sat down and went to work. The nickel .45 hadn't been fired since its last cleaning and its internals showed scant wear. He ran it through a function test and put it aside. Next he checked and cleaned the Makarovs in rapid order, then the Fort and the Walther. The Karabiner 98k was first to fail inspection: though mechanically sound, its dark and heavily pitted bore mandated replacement.

"You're pretty good with weapons," Jussi observed as Tiger discarded the Mauser.

"My father was an enthusiast. I learned from him."

"Ah." The other man fiddled with the Degtyaryov's gas valve for a second. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"You're the pathfinder who took a group into Chernobyl town during the faction wars, aren't you?"

The inquiry jerked Tiger's focus away from the grenadier's rifle on his lap. "What did you say?"

"Didn't mean to startle you, sorry... Oles Tuner told me a pathfinder with striped hair led them out from the army warehouses, and they came back empty-handed. I wasn't sure it was you until you activated that artifact."

Suddenly Tiger was on the back foot, and he didn't like it. "I heard Tuner left the Zone."

Jussi nodded. "He was working in a garage in Berdychiv when I met him. Said he was thinking about coming back, though."

"Why do you want to know about Chernobyl?"

"There might be a story in it," the outsider replied. "Chernobyl is a mystery. Beside what Oles told me, all I've learned is that stalkers don't go there."

"A story," Tiger repeated warily. "You're a journalist?"

"Not officially, no... I'm a blogger. I write and publish on the Internet."

The loner arched an eyebrow. "How is that different from being a tourist?"

Jussi winced. "I crawled through the minefield. I got my kit from Sidorovich. I fought the bandits with you. Do I look like a tourist?"

"No," Tiger conceded, "you don't." He popped off the AK-74's dust cover, removed the recoil spring and its wire guide, and slid out the bolt carrier. "But you're putting yourself in danger just so you can write about it."

"Some men will climb a mountain just because it's there." Metal slid over metal as the machine gun's receiver and stock were reunited. "This is the people's frontier – no spaceships, no submarines. I decided I'd aim for a month and see how long I lasted. That was six weeks ago."

"And now?"

"I'm not sure," Jussi admitted. "I got along well in Lenka's group. That's all over, but I don't want to leave when things are getting serious."

"You mean the bandit problem."

"The bandits and the mutants... The Monolith too, I suppose. I'm not interested in Duty or Freedom or their pissing contest." Jussi smiled self-deprecatingly. "Perhaps Lieutenant Salonen can do some good here. It's not as if I'll be missed in Laitila."

"You're military?"

"A reservist, which practically makes me a grown up boy scout." The DP's barrel clicked back into place. "Anyhow, that's my story."

"I see." The AK, Tiger noticed absently, had Bulgarian factory markings. "I hope you're not writing anything that could get people in trouble."

"I'm being careful," Jussi assured. "No names, no details that could be used to prosecute. I can show you my notes, if you want."

"Maybe later." The gas tube latch on this rifle was exceptionally stiff, and it took a concentrated effort to make the little lever turn. "...Nnnf!"

"Need a hand?"

"No, I've got it." Tiger rubbed his thumb and finger together as he considered his next words. Not for the first time, kindness overcame suspicion. "What Tuner told you is true," he said. "Do you know about the race to Limansk?"

"Yes, I know it."

"All right... While that was going on, Freedom drove the military out of the army warehouses and assumed control of the Barrier. Chernobyl is a few kilometers northeast from there. Valerian ordered the stalkers who had been at the Barrier to go scout the town, check out the riverbank and the bridge over the Pripyat, and report back."

"Staking a claim to open the way for a new settlement?"

"Yes." The broken off stock made this rifle unsuited for launching grenades, so Tiger detached the GP-30 from its barrel and moved on to the muzzle brake. "It was a large group, sixteen men including me. We stayed off the roads and went into Chernobyl from the south." He lapsed into silence for a few moments. "The town looked intact, yet everything was overgrown. It was strange."

"Strange how?"

"The growth," Tiger remembered. "There was more of it in Chernobyl than in other places. Trees and bushes in the streets, vines on the buildings, some plants I couldn't recognize. We didn't see any animals except birds and insects... Once we got near the middle of the town, the commander sent me and a few others to climb onto a roof and look ahead. We could see the bridge and the town's port, but the river was almost dried up."

"The Pripyat drains into the Kiev reservoir," Jussi pointed out. "Wouldn't people notice if it stopped flowing?"

"They would notice," the narrator agreed. "Its course must have been diverted further to the east somehow. The derelicts in the port used to be sunk right up to their decks, but there they were sitting on mud."

"Could you see the nuclear plant?"

"No, it was behind the Big Rip. Just a blur... While we were up there, one of the stalkers heard something moving in the bushes and shot at it. Turned out to be a crow... That must have woken up the zombies."

"Zombies? Someone else tried to enter before you?"

"I don't know. These zombies wore civilian clothing, workmen's things. Leathery skin on most of them, no hair left. A few without skin, like walking corpses... They were slow but tough, kept getting back up after we shot them. Small caliber bullets didn't hurt them much."

"Were there a lot?"

"Dozens. I think they were coming from the shipyard, over the pontoon bridge in the port." The guide threaded the brake back onto the AK's muzzle. "One stalker had a machine gun from a tank: no sights or stock on it, so he aimed using tracers. Good enough at close range." Tiger reseated the gas tube and handguard. "We used up a lot of ammunition killing the zombies and we weren't equipped to hold the town by ourselves. The commander ordered a retreat to the army warehouses... Then the second super-blowout happened. The expeditions to Limansk were lost and everyone else was busy trying to hold down whatever territory they'd grabbed. Our return to Chernobyl was called off."

"And no one has gone back?"

"None that I know of. It's too close to the Scorcher, too close to Monolith land, and the warehouses are more defensible." Tiger dropped the bolt group into the receiver and slid it back and forth on its rails. "The traders won't have forgotten Chernobyl, though. I'm sure they're biding their time, waiting for someone else to open the way."

"I suppose so," said Jussi thoughtfully. "Well, thank you for sharing the story. I think my readers will eat it up."

"Mm."

As if cued by the end of their discussion, Yevgeniya came out of the boxcar holding her wet pants and underwear. She had tied the sleeves of Dmitriy's jacket around her waist, improvising a short apron. "Galya and Mitya want a little time together," she said quietly. "Is that all right?"

"It's fine." Tiger averted his eyes, mindful that the jacket only covered her front. "Do you want us to move?"

"No, that's okay." She approached the fireplace hesitantly, arrayed her garments on the floor and drew back from the heat. "Is this safe to cook on?"

"Yes, why?"

"I did a lot of cooking at home, so I... I thought maybe I could make something for everyone."

"You can practice making stalker stew, if you think you're up to it. Use the dry food we got this morning."

"Okay." The Latvian looked at the party's collection of backpacks, then back at Tiger. "What's the recipe?"

"There are two kinds," Jussi quipped. "Whatever looks good, or whatever you've got. Right, Tiger?"

"Yeah." Tiger fished out the Swiss Army knife and started unscrewing what remained of the AK's broken stock from its trunnion. "Zhenya, um..." He cast about for some seconds, trying to think of a delicate way to broach the subject as Yevgeniya watched him in confusion. "...Will you be able to defend yourself?"

"Oh." Evidently it wasn't the question she anticipated. "You don't have to worry about me. When my clothes are dry, I'll go back to being Yevgeniy... It's safer, isn't it? As long as I don't get found out again." She opened the top of Kondratenko's pack and took out a stainless pot, stuffed full of small packages tied with string. "Galya isn't hiding herself, though. I guess she's not afraid."

"She has Mitya with her," Tiger noted, "and Olga gave her some advice."

"What was it?"

"If a man propositions you, politely decline. If he touches you, push him away. If he tries to hurt you, put some bullets into him – fast."

"Figures." Yevgeniya knelt and unloaded the pot. "What would you have me do?" she asked, setting the foodstuffs in neat rows on the floor.

"You should have a sidearm, at least." Tiger gestured at the pile of guns. "Take your pick."

"Mmf." The chef-apparent kept working with her materials, ignoring the arms. "How much was the bounty on Fritz?" she wondered instead.

"Seventy-five thousand rubles."

"So... one third each for Jussi and Sanya, would that be fair?"

"You can keep my share," the Finn cut in. "Sanya!"

"Yeah, what?"

"Zhenya's offering twenty-five grand of the bandit reward. You interested?"

"Make it twenty-five grand and Fritz's shooter."

Now Yevgeniya looked at the pile. "Which one?"

Tiger pulled out the MP5. "Here."

The biathlete gave it a once-over and gave it back. "He can have that."

"She says you can have the shooter," Jussi relayed. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I want White Tights to get naked and blow me."

The tranquil mood sublimated faster than dry ice in a reactor core. "Sanya – !"

"Come on, man! Half a pussy is more than no pussy!"

Galina must have heard the lewd jibes, for Tiger sensed movement in the boxcar. "If you want a share then mind your manners," he admonished Sanya quickly.

"Okay, okay! I'm joking, jeez!"

"He isn't usually this crass," Jussi muttered as the troublesome compatriot finally shut up. "I'd better have a talk with him."

"You do that." Just then Tiger spotted the Belarusians out of the corner of his eye and beckoned them over. "Can I... can we rely on your discretion?"

"Certainly." The writer slotted a pan magazine into the Degtyaryov. "I'll set this up to cover the road, all right?"

"Sure." Tiger handed over the trophy weapon. "Let him play with that and maybe he'll behave. We'll sort out the money later."

Jussi slung the machine gun and lifted a magazine can in each hand. "Works for me," he grunted. "One more question... I won't publish names, but I'd like to be able to say that pathfinders are real and that I met one."

"You can say that."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Jussi's path to Sanya's catwalk was a roundabout one, ascending via the one stairway at Kondratenko's end of the hangar. Yevgeniya filled the pot with water and set it on the fireplace as the Finnish man went up once more. "...Tiger?"

"Yes, Zhenya?"

"What did he mean about pathfinders being real?"

"I would have thought the others had told you." A new idea came to Tiger as he contemplated his young follower. "Perhaps I'll make it your next lesson... Galya, Mitya, what's up?"

Galina answered for both. "What are we going to do about the dead?"

"We'll see whether the relief party can help us bury them. If not, the next reinforcements will do it in the morning. Anything else?"

The girl looked around briefly. "What can we do for you?"

"I don't need any help right now, but I have something here for Mitya." Tiger stacked the boxes of Mauser cartridges in his hand. "These are higher quality than the ball ammunition you've got," he explained. "Save them for when you need extra accuracy."

"I will."

"You still don't have a pistol either. See how those fit you."

Dmitriy took the assignment with more energy than Yevgeniya had shown. "I like this one," he said, holding up the Walther.

"Do you know the controls?"

"Safety, slide stop, magazine catch." The boy pointed to each part as he recited their names. "Like on a PM, right?"

"Pretty much." Tiger watched until he was sure Dmitriy remembered what he had been taught about safe handling. "Go ahead and put it on," he instructed, handing over the holster and magazines.

"Can I practice with it?"

"Tomorrow," Tiger promised. "We'll use the Rostok target range." The stalker picked up a shotgun and unlocked the breech. "Why don't you see if Borya is getting lonely? I'll swap places once the food's done."

"Okay."

The two lovers departed and their teacher busied himself scrubbing out the scattergun's barrels. Yevgeniya stirred the pot with a fold-up ladle, dropping more ingredients into the stew now and then, but Tiger couldn't overlook the way she kept glancing at him. "...Something wrong?"

The androgyne's cheeks pinked at his verbal prodding. Her response was a mumble.

"Speak up, I won't laugh at you."

"I wanted... I mean, I was wondering... why is your hair like that?"

Tiger drew back his coat hood, letting light fall on the streaks of black and white overlying brown. "This?"

Yevgeniya nodded, her face reddening. "Did the Zone cause it?"

"Yeah." He let his colors show for a few seconds, then restored the hood. "It's harmless."

"Ah..."

That seemed to satisfy her curiosity, and she said no more about it. The subject of mutations lingered in Tiger's mind, however, and led him back to a question he'd passed over earlier in the day. "Zhenya, is your condition treatable?"

"There's corrective surgery, but it comes with a big risk of nerve damage." Yevgeniya scooped up some of her nascent stew and rolled it around in the ladle. "Not like that matters. I need to figure out what I am before I even think about changing myself."

"I'm not sure I understand."

The ladle plunged deep into the pot. "It seems like it should be simple, doesn't it? I have breasts, I can get pregnant... I should be a woman, right?"

Despite feeling far out of his depth, Tiger intuited that the obvious answer wasn't the one she wanted to hear. "It's your choice," he said neutrally.

She looked at him with an inscrutable expression. "The Zone... doesn't care?"

"The Zone doesn't care," Tiger affirmed, "and the Zone doesn't judge."

The words must have struck a chord. "It wasn't just me," Yevgeniya confided, swirling the stew listlessly. "People judged my father, too." Her hands clenched, the knuckles whitening. "Because he didn't have me fixed at birth and he raised me the only way he knew how."

"He raised you as Yevgeniy?"

"He let me be what I wanted. I was happy, I didn't care that I was different... Then puberty hit and suddenly I wasn't just one of the boys."

"I think I get it now." Tiger hoped that wasn't premature optimism speaking. "Maybe this is a stupid question, but which are you attracted to?"

A new sadness came over Yevgeniya's features. "Everyone asks me that," she replied softly, "but it doesn't help. I swing both ways."

"Oh." Tiger swallowed. "I didn't mean to pry – "

"No, it's okay." A wan smile came and went. "It's been a long time since I had anyone I could talk to."

At that point Tiger realized he'd gotten so engrossed in drawing Yevgeniya out of her shell that he'd forgotten all about the shotgun. "I gather you lost your mother quite young," he said, attacking the hacksawed TOZ anew. "Is that right?"

His companion nodded again. "She was sick a lot. Pneumonia took her when I was four... Her parents came to the funeral just so they could tell my father God made me this way to punish her for marrying him."

Another piece fitted into the puzzle. "They didn't like your father?"

"They wanted their daughter to marry someone with influence. I think maybe they resented my father's family, too."

"Why?"

"My father's parents were... Wait, I can show you." The ladle clanked against the pot's lip as Yevgeniya opened her tunic pocket. "Here."

She handed him a photograph laminated in clear plastic. It framed a group of soldiers standing and sitting along the side of a bullet-punctured truck on a city sidewalk, surrounding a male officer and a woman in baggy camouflage coveralls. A Goryunov machine gun sat before them, a Tokarev rifle with a telescopic sight propped against its wheeled mount. The photo's reverse bore a neatly penciled caption: Lt. A. A. Smirnov and his men with their guardian, Sgt. Ye. Yu. Danilina. Berlin, 5 May 1945.

"Your grandparents were both Heroes of the Soviet Union," observed Tiger, looking at the pair's matching medals.

"Yeah, they were," said Yevgeniya proudly. "He got his at Zaporozhye, hers in Odessa."

"So your family have fought in this country before. They married after the war?"

"In '51. They met again at a veterans' reunion, got together and moved to Riga."

"I see." Tiger returned the picture. "That's why you're stateless, isn't it? Because Latvia didn't grant automatic citizenship to those who settled after annexation?"

"Nor to their children," Yevgeniya concurred. "My father wants to live in Russia, but if I do that I won't be free to be myself."

"Weren't there a couple of Russian girls who did songs about people like you? It was pretty popular, I heard."

"Oh, you mean t.A.T.u." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. "The fakes who sang and pranced while Luzhkov called us satanists... They're done now, no more this-girl-loves-that-girl. Now we have priests and officials telling people we spread disease and prey on children, while they make us criminals for speaking out." Yevgeniya took a deep breath and released it in a shuddering sigh. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be venting at you. I'm really not mopey all the time, honest."

"I forgive you." Even so, Tiger didn't want to see his student getting worked up. Best nudge her away from this troubling topic. "Is there somewhere else you want to live?"

"Maybe Canada... I'd need a lot of money for that, though. Have to take care of my father first."

"I remember." The shotgun's breech clicked shut. "I don't know how well I can help you, Zhenya, but I'll try to get you started."

"You're doing so much for me already." Yevgeniya smiled, and this time it was a smile of hope. "You've been like a saint."

"I'm not that nice," Tiger muttered. "Do me one favor, will you?" He waved at the collection of handguns. "You need one. Don't keep putting it off."

"Um, about that... Does anyone sell arms in Rostok?"

"Barkeep does, and there's also Petrenko if you're on good terms with Duty. Do you want something specific?"

"Yeah." Yevgeniya was suddenly sheepish. "I want a TT, like my grandparents carried."

It occurred to Tiger that his hair mightn't have been all the Latvian was checking out. He drew his Tokarev, dropped the magazine and retracted the slide. "You can have this one," he offered. "It's Chinese, though, not Russian."

She handled the gun as if it were porcelain. "They look smaller in pictures..." Shachak! Click! Shachak! Click! "You don't mind letting me have it?"

"I can get another if need be." Tiger loaded the Ithaca, engaged its safety and tucked it into his vest. "This is more my style anyway."

Yevgeniya displayed a magnificent blush. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Tiger picked up another shotgun. "You did good today, Zhenya. I mean it."

"High adventure in an unknown land," Jussi sang out above them. "A place where men must be the best they can, you're with the stalkers now... Whooooa-oa-oa, you're with the stalkers – now!"

Yevgeniya looked away, but Tiger could tell she was beaming.

"Now you remember what the bar-man said: don't go to sleep without a bucket on your head, you're with the stalkers now... Whooooa-oa-oa, you're with the stalkers – now!"

The radio crackled. Yevgeniy ignored it, since it had done that several times while he distributed the stew and mixed up a second potful. Tiger took the message, as he'd done for the others, but this time he got up and left his post at the hangar window. "Our relief is approaching," he called to Jussi and Sanya. "Five men, following the road down from the checkpoint."

"Roger," the Finn answered.

Tiger strode past the barricade and stood facing the hangar doors, rifle in hand. Yevgeniy watched him for a minute, idly swishing the ladle about in his simmering stew. Then he heard a shout from outside: "Ahoy, fellow stalkers! May we come in?"

"You may," Tiger replied.

Yevgeniy jumped up, suddenly feeling an odd urge to make himself presentable for the guests. He hurriedly brushed off his pants and smoothed his hair, then climbed out of the pit and stood loyally beside his teacher as the replacements entered in single file.

Their leader looked rough at first glance, with a scarred chin and a nose that had been broken more than once, but there was a good-humored glint in his eyes. He was dressed in a green stalker's suit and carried an old Kalashnikov, streaked with white where the bluing had worn off the milled steel's edges. Behind him walked a tall, goateed man sporting cargo pants and a ballistic vest, then a younger pair wearing leather jackets, one brown and one gray. The fifth stalker was clad in a suit like the first, his face hidden behind a gas mask. He held a black combat shotgun.

"Hello, brothers." The one at the front took a hand off his gun and held it out. "Are you Tiger?"

Tiger shook the hand. "That's me."

"I'm Sinova." The loner moved to one side. "The big fellow is my pal Brewer. Don't let the name fool you, he's also a genius with a still... That's our hotshot Nikolay, our newest member Vasiliy – "

"Vasiliy the coward," the masked man huffed through his filters.

"...And the asshole in the back there is Nova. You can ignore him."

"All right... This is Zhenya," said Tiger, making his own introductions. "The two overhead are Sanya and Jussi." He half-turned to the far end of the building. "That's Borya, the machine gunner, and Galya and Mitya who are keeping him company."

The one in the gray jacket, Nikolay, spoke up. "Nice crew. They all yours?"

"Jussi and Sanya were in Lenka's group. The rest are with me." Tiger headed back towards the pit. "I expect you're tired," he went on. "Sit down for a bit, we've got food."

That went over well with the new arrivals, except maybe Nova. Yevgeniy ducked past them and resumed his vigil at the fireplace, ready to serve. Brewer, Vasiliy and Nikolay packed themselves onto the couch, while Sinova perched on its armrest. Nova leaned against a wall, regarding the proceedings with a surly demeanor.

Tiger stood by Yevgeniy. "How was the Dark Valley?"

"It's quiet," said Sinova. "The military are doing something at the factory, couldn't get close enough to see what. They've got sentries on the roof of the bandit base, too."

"Any other stalkers over there?"

"Just a group at the pig farm, Vampire and Clumsy and some others." Sinova frowned. "Didn't like the look of the others... We were heading for the Darkscape when the call came in." He paused as his men unpacked their mess kits with a cacophonous clattering. "What's new here?"

Tiger shrugged. "Not much. We hold the hangar and Bes holds the trail. Haven't seen any more bandits."

"If they attack again, they'll come at night. I should see the lay of the land before it gets dark."

"We can do that now, if you want."

Tiger and Sinova left the circle as Yevgeniy dished out the stew. Vasiliy and Nikolay tore into theirs at once, scarcely letting it cool. "This is really good," the latter declared between frantic mouthfuls. "And I'm not saying that... just 'cause I haven't... had a hot meal since..."

"Nikolay," Brewer cut in sternly. "Are you eating or talking? Make up your mind."

"Sorry." Nikolay quickly finished his portion and flashed a hopeful grin. "Seconds?"

"Here." Yevgeniy refilled the plate. "Don't you want some?" he asked Nova.

"I'm not hungry."

Nova's voice had lost some of its caustic edge, but he plainly wanted to be left alone. Instead Yevgeniy served another helping to Vasiliy and then checked Brewer's progress. The older man was dipping a piece of bread into his own plate, seemingly accustomed to his comrades' rapacity. "You must pardon the youngsters," he said to Yevgeniy. "After days of hardtack and sausage, even army rations cooked on Esbit are a luxury."

"I like the caramels in those rations," Nikolay interjected wistfully. "I wish I could get a big bag of them."

"You'd rot your teeth out," Brewer cautioned. "Isn't that so, Zhenya?"

"Yeah..." Yevgeniy cleared his throat. "You've been in the Zone for a while, haven't you?"

"Long enough," the distiller replied affably. "Or too long, same difference. What about it?"

"Can you tell me what a pathfinder is?"

Brewer put down his bread. "That's an interesting question, my boy. Some people say a pathfinder is another name for a druid, but I wouldn't call it that simple."

This wasn't much help to Yevgeniy, who didn't know what a druid was either. Nor, it turned out, did Vasiliy: "What's a druid?"

"Another good question. Druids are – "

"A bunch of stuck-up jerkoffs who go around crying that detectors are bad," Nova snapped. "Like, our gizmos give the Zone a rash and it sends monsters to destroy them or some bullshit." He slouched, shaking his head. "Fucking mystics."

"More or less," said Brewer. "It's only electronics they're opposed to. They do use guns, same as everyone else, and I guess they survive like that. Whether the rumors about them are true, though, that's a different matter."

"What do you mean?" Yevgeniy prompted. "What rumors?"

"Supposedly these druids are touched by the Zone somehow, able to feel it and navigate it without detectors." Brewer stroked his goatee. "They keep to themselves now, out in the badlands. Who knows if they really are special?"

"Some of them could be." Tiger dropped, catlike, into the pit, and suddenly Yevgeniy's heart was in his mouth. "The druids are united by ideology, not ability."

"It's the ideology that sets them apart, too. They annoyed a lot of stalkers with their preaching... But you asked about pathfinders," Brewer continued. "There are more rumors than facts with those. If you believe the rumors, pathfinders are also a kind of people who feel the Zone – telepathic, telekinetic, whatever they call it."

"If you believe the rumors," Nikolay emphasized.

"Aye," said Brewer with a nod. "What's different is that they work alone and mind their own business. You'll hear some names if you ask around: names of dead men, or of recluses who won't give you the time of day unless you show them serious money. Even then they don't talk about themselves."

"What's there to talk about?" Nova growled. "Either they're mutants or they're not, end of story."

Brewer paid him no heed. "What do you think, Tiger?"

"It might be true," Tiger deadpanned. "There are many strange things in the Zone... Aren't there, Zhenya?"

Yevgeniy gulped.

It was near dusk when the band set out, leaving the hangar in Sinova's care. Jussi and Sanya stayed behind, the former to operate his machine gun if needed and the latter's pocket packed with rubles from Tiger's cash reserve. The veteran led his charges north to the checkpoint, where the Duty guards vetted them with jaundiced eyes before opening the gate. Then they went among the anomalies one by one and onward towards Rostok. The sky had clouded over entirely and the air was still.

Yevgeniy was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The exposure of his physical defect had been an accident. Humiliating, yes, but an accident all the same. What happened after that, whether from emotional upset or sheer carelessness, was his own doing. Once sober reason caught up, the realization that he'd said so much, even outed himself, to someone who'd been his mortal enemy a day ago carried an ugly surreality. Then he'd made it worse, going behind his benefactor's back to sate his shortsighted curiosity. If Tiger wanted to punish Yevgeniy for his indiscretion, or ruin him entirely, it would take but a word.

Admittedly Tiger had so far shown no interest in doing that. He simply marched ahead in silence, the stockless AK dangling by its looped sling under his weak arm. If Jussi's remarks and Brewer's tale meant what Yevgeniy thought they meant, however, then the man in the long coat might be a formidable –

"Stop." Tiger swung to the right, pointing the AKS into the woods beside the road. "Something's coming," he warned. "Spread out."

In an instant Yevgeniy's mistrust was forgotten. "Bloodsucker?" he squeaked.

"No..."

Then what? The Latvian hadn't the courage to ask what. He raised the G36 with quaking hands, poised to open fire at first glimpse of the threat.

"It's close," Tiger muttered. "Don't move until I tell you."

"What's close?" Kondratenko sounded nearly as frightened as Yevgeniy. "Where is it?"

Tiger didn't answer him. "Zhenya, hold still and don't panic."

Wide eyes raked the forest's murk, desperately seeking the intruder. A fragment from an old movie ran through Yevgeniy's mind: the jungle hunter's transparent outline, its inhuman eyes flashing yellow and fading away.

An invisible hand stroked his cheek.

"Tiger – !"

"Don't move!"

Yevgeniy was already stiff with terror. The unseen fingers roamed over his body as if he were naked, exploring his skin the way he imagined a blind person would, or a lover in the dark. A whimper escaped his lips as they slid down the front of his chest, settled on either hip for a moment, then crept up his back. Hands grew into arms, encircling the helpless androgyne. There was a brief sensation of something nuzzling the side of his neck, the faintest hint of a breath in his ear. The phantom arms withdrew, something nudged Yevgeniy's shoulder, and then it was gone.

"So the Lonesome Ghost isn't a myth." Tiger almost sounded impressed. "Interesting."