Neither High Nor Low

"Lonesome... ghost?"

"I think so." Tiger continued walking. "Anyway, it's gone now."

Yevgeniy hurried after him, riding on a fight-or-flight response deprived of its threat stimulus. "What's the lonesome ghost?" he panted.

"A Zone legend," Tiger replied. "A lone stalker meets an invisible presence which lingers for a few minutes and then leaves. I've never heard of the ghost approaching a group before, though. Did you feel it?"

The young sharpshooter swallowed. "I couldn't touch it. It touched – it touched me but I couldn't touch it back, like it wasn't solid. It went right through my clothes."

"Any impression of intent?"

Yevgeniy gaped at Tiger for a moment until realization came. "It felt... friendly," he divulged, praying he wouldn't have to explain just what the intruder had done to him. "Is that part of the legend?"

"Yes, the ghost is always benign."

Galina spoke up from further back in the line. "So what is this ghost? Is it alive?"

"I'm not sure," Tiger admitted. "From the stories I thought it might be similar to a poltergeist, but that seemed more like a weak anomaly."

"An anomaly that seeks people out and interacts with them?"

"Maybe... In any case, I wouldn't worry about it. Nobody's ever met the ghost twice." The guide motioned for the others to come forward. "We're here."

The road before them ran down a shallow grade, winding through a grassy clearing dotted with gnarled trees, dry bushes and rusted vehicles. Across it sat the promised factory, a complex of dark outlines silhouetted against the twilight sky. Yevgeniy could hear an indistinct voice blaring from a loudspeaker. "There aren't any lights?"

"Only inside. Most of the fittings were stripped out after the nuclear disaster."

"What did they make here?"

"Farming machinery. Tractors, plows and such." Tiger led onward. "You have to watch your step going in," he advised. "There's a trench lined with spikes."

"Spikes!?"

"Scents from the bar attract animals. The trench keeps the big ones from rushing the checkpoint."

Yevgeniy kept his eyes glued to the ground from there on, until he was safely on the other side of the moat's junk metal bridge. The factory entrance was littered with flotsam: crates, shipping containers, even a truck with no engine, its cab wrenched loose and haphazardly dumped over the chassis. Past the detritus, in the pinched space between the first buildings, a few men stood behind sandbag barriers.

"Hold it," a voice ordered. "Base, this is Checkpoint South. Tiger is here... Yeah, and a caravan with him... Roger. Checkpoint out." The apparent chief guard jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "They want to see you all at headquarters. Go straight over."

"We will." Tiger sounded like he expected this. "Come on."

He turned left at the end of the lane, steering the group through a hangar where a lone sentry with a headlamp patrolled the catwalks. "This is the central roundabout," said the stalker, stopping at the exit. "That's the arena in the middle. The bar is through the garage to the left and Duty's ground is on the right. You can get to the Wild Territory and Freedom from the far side. I'll show you around in the morning."

Tiger headed up the street as the loudspeaker sounded off: "Attention, stalkers! We need volunteers for dangerous but well paid missions. Come to the bar if you're interested."

There was another sandbag checkpoint on the right side, and again the guards had anticipated their arrival. "The general is waiting," one of them told Tiger. "Leave the guns with Ivantsov. You can pick them up on the way out."

"Okay."

Behind the barricade lay a sort of courtyard, squeezed in among the towers of monolithic concrete. Its left side was partitioned by brick walls and a large gate topped with barbed wire. A fuel drum fire pit and a solitary electric bulb lit the scene. As the travelers entered, a man with narrow, sullen features appeared from the shadows. No exchange of words, only silent understanding: Tiger laid his ordnance in a neat pile at the other's feet, setting the example for the rest. Under the lonely lamp, the bunker's mouth stood open.

"When we get down there, let me do the talking."

Renewed anxiety stirred in Yevgeniy as he followed Tiger down the twisting stairs, cement walls and barred steel doors pressing close on either side. The passage opened into a vault with red tiles scattered over the floor and mighty girders spanning the ceiling. Here the industrial barrens were broken up by rudiments of comfort: bedrolls, sofas, even a stove with a roasting spit. Maps and trophy plaques hung on the walls as if it was a hunting lodge.

Tiger turned left at the entry. Keeping close behind him, Yevgeniy came before a large alcove beside the steps, furnished with a map board, a couch and a desk with a folded laptop computer. In the alcove stood a man, hands clasped behind his back. His features were stern yet careworn, his dark hair thin and cropped short. Pitiless eyes flicked from one guest to the next as they instinctively formed a line.

"You've brought me bad news again," he growled. "That's twice in two days, Petanko."

"Sorry."

"I'm sure you are... Batov, Dmitriy Gavrilovich!"

Mitya jumped. "I..!"

"Kondratenko, Boris Petrovich!"

Borya meekly snapped to attention. "I," he whimpered.

"Purkayeva, Galina Mikhailovna!"

Galya stood firm. "I!"

"Smirnova, Yevgeniya Maksimovna!"

The Latvian's throat made a noise like a gearbox grinding. Oh no... no no no no no!

General Voronin turned his gaze upon Tiger instead. "You remember your orders, Petanko?"

"To observe the enemy group and destroy it if possible," the loner recited. "Which we did."

"Which you did. And now you return with a pack of fugitives."

Galina bristled. "I think we could at least be considered refugees."

"So run away to Switzerland," Voronin retorted. "This isn't an embassy and we don't grant asylum here."

"Of course not," the girl shot back. "I'm sure my father has ordered you to send us home in any case!"

"Galya, don't – "

"Let her speak, Petanko." Even as Galina got angrier, Voronin's temper seemed to cool. "No doubt General Purkayev would be delighted were I to repatriate the Batov boy and yourself," said he, "but if he thinks he can demand favors from me, he is mistaken. In any case, sending you back would create an unacceptable precedent."

"What else, then?"

"Perhaps a few days in the Zone will convince you of your foolishness. If not, I can only wish you well... As for you, Kondratenko, I don't care what you do with yourself so long as you don't make trouble for me. You should know however that the Security Service put out a contract on you, over at the Hundred Rads. They think you conspired to steal classified information."

The deserter blanched. "What? No! I didn't steal anything!"

"I know you didn't. That's your problem, not mine." Voronin leaned forward. "My problem is standing beside you... Were you going to tell me about her, Petanko?"

"I thought about it." Tiger's apparent indifference did nothing for Yevgeniya's panic. "There are some things we may need to discuss alone, General."

"Yes, there are." The supreme Dutyer was in no hurry to get to them, however. "Was it fun, Smirnova? Playing at soldiery with real bullets, real lives?"

The best Yevgeniya could give was a dry whisper. "Not fun."

"Then why did you stay? You had a chance to get out, but you spurned it. Or weren't the swimsuit spreads exciting enough?"

"Spreads?" Galina interjected. "What are you talking about?"

Voronin raised the laptop's screen. "See for yourself."


Tiny lights blinked above the keyboard as the computer exited sleep mode, fans revving up with a soft whine. A picture appeared, but its colors were wrong: Tiger had to move left, towards Yevgeniya, to compensate for the display's limited field of view.

Voronin's surprise was a photograph of a group of young women, seven in all, lined up on a grassy overlook with blue ocean and open sky behind. Nearly all of them wore bikinis, variously accessorized with sarongs and sashes. The arrangement would pass for a vacation snapshot if the girls weren't posing with some very sophisticated rifles, each adorned with stickers bearing city names and emblems. The one outlier was Yevgeniya, standing at the center in a pair of low riding woodland camouflage short-shorts. She was topless, her nipples concealed by crosses of black electrical tape, and a stripe of dark paint under each eye rounded out the ensemble.

This, Tiger supposed, was what they called 'military chic' fashion.

"What's that?" Dmitriy asked.

"Swedish sports magazine," Voronin grunted with disdain. "Last year's August issue." He went back to glaring at Yevgeniya. "Did you take off the tape for the inside pages?"

Tiger had heard enough. "Zhenya," he prompted. "Give him the necklace."

"Necklace..." Spurred to action at last, the androgyne dug into her pockets. "That's right, you said..." The dog tags clinked against one another, swinging to and fro. "Here."

Voronin took the tags and twine from her with manifest suspicion, withdrawing into the alcove to inspect them minutely. Then his voice got very quiet. "Where did you find this?"

"In the Garbage. There was a bandit... Fritz. I killed him."

"You knew who he was?"

Yevgeniya nodded. "Tiger told me. He said to take Fritz out first."

The general looked to Tiger. "You can confirm this?"

"I checked the body," the stalker answered. "Zhenya has Fritz's hat. I can also give you names of witnesses."

"Show me the hat."

Yevgeniya obeyed. Producing the gray cap from another pocket, she pressed it into shape with her fingers and surrendered it for Voronin's approval. Tiger watched as he turned it in his hands, testing the seams and stitches as though he were looking for something.

Suddenly Voronin flipped the cap back to Yevgeniya. "I'll speak with Petanko now," he declared. "The rest wait outside."

The apprentices somberly filed out. Yevgeniya went last, still clutching the sinister headgear. She cast a furtive, frightened look towards master and tormenter just before she disappeared up the stairs.

As their footsteps faded, the commander of all Duty sank onto his couch with a protracted sigh. "You've been playing a dangerous game," he said, contemplatively spreading the relics of dead men across an open palm. "Consorting with mercenaries, with the Security Service... I don't recommend you make a habit of it."

"I don't plan to." The Yevgeniya on the laptop screen stared back at Tiger, as if pleading to be released from that frozen sliver of her past. "Did the SBU give you the photo?"

"No, only the girl's basic information... You didn't seem surprised."

Tiger shrugged. "Naturally the SBU would expect an after action report. I can guess why they shared it with you." His eyes wandered to the stuffed and mounted venomous cat on the shelf above the couch. "They would have gotten Zhenya's details from that paper we found, except the paper listed her as a man and we didn't find out otherwise until after we left the swamps. How did you know?"

"We do have an uplink here," said Voronin pointedly. "I did some searching while I waited for you. The name, age, nationality, profession – everything matched except her sex."

It seemed the general had not discovered Yevgeniya's defect, at least. "Anything else?"

"Sporting news articles and links to a deleted VKontakte page. A few months ago she was a student with a promising athletic career. Then she vanished from the record."

"Why do you think that was?"

"Caught sleeping with a professor, I'm sure." Voronin gave a derisive snort. "Does it matter?"

"Maybe not." Back to business. "General, did you know there would be a government agent going on the raid with us?"

"They sprang it on me at the last minute," Voronin grumbled. "Told me their man would be one of the volunteers, but not which one. That's all I can say."

"All right." Tiger folded his arms. "So, what now?"

The general looked at his guest directly for the first time since he sat down. "You intend to keep your present company."

"I do."

"And you want me to pay out Fritz's bounty to that girl, an enemy combatant who killed one of my best men."

"I would appreciate it," Tiger agreed. "I know it's a difficult request."

"I'm glad you understand," said Voronin with a touch of sarcasm. "Are you certain she's worth it?"

"Certain enough to give her a chance. I'll admit my first impression wasn't positive, but she has potential. She just needs a push in the right direction."

"And if you're wrong? Will you take responsibility?"

Tiger heard the implied challenge and accepted it. "Of course. Same as I would for the others."

"Hmf." Voronin got up, went to the desk and took out a notepad and pencil. "The record will show," he began, writing simultaneously, "that Commissar Bandicoot died in the line of duty. Would you disagree?"

"Not at all."

"Good." Voronin laid down his pencil and tore the page out. "The record will further show that the bandit Fritz, a notorious brigand and murderer, was found and eliminated thanks to free stalker A. K. Petanko. The due reward shall be disbursed accordingly... Collect the bounty and your job payment from Colonel Petrenko."

Tiger claimed the payment note, which was written in some kind of coded shorthand, and pocketed it. "And Zhenya?"

"By her own admission, she was a willing participant in a hostile mercenary incursion and directly responsible for the death of a Duty officer. According to the code, this mandates a capital penalty." The general reverted to his former posture, hands behind him. "But I'm curious to see whether you can make good on your word. The sentence is suspended on your recognizance."

"Thank you, General."

"Don't think I'm doing you a favor," Voronin cautioned. "I expect to see a return on this investment."

"So do I," said Tiger. "We were able to recover Bandicoot's weapon from the enemy camp. Do you want it?"

"Yes, turn it in to Petrenko."

"I'd also like to take the group out on the firing range tomorrow. Would that be a problem?"

"No, we have no drills scheduled." The general fixed a calculating look on him. "I assume you'll introduce your new friends to the anarchists as well?"

"Are you telling me not to?"

"I'm telling you to be careful," Voronin replied sharply. "Colonel Skull and his men deserted their post a few hours ago. If you happen to see them, stay away. Understand?"

"Yes."

"One last thing." Voronin's voice abruptly softened a little. "Galina Mikhailovna has inherited her father's temper, as well as his looks. Keep her safe." He turned his back on the loner. "That's all. Dismissed."

One fact was clear to Tiger as he left the bunker: it was all too easy. Behind the pretty words, Voronin had given him everything he wanted and not even made him beg for it.


Tiger came out at a quickened pace, or so it seemed to Yevgeniy. The guide stopped only to pick up Bandicoot's rifle before he headed into another part of the Duty base, telling the novices he would be back soon. Yevgeniy spent that interval aimlessly toying with the cap. He didn't dare put it on – not for the evil of its last owner, but because the death's head on the front and the eagle over swastika on the left side dispelled any doubt of its origin.

He was greatly relieved when Tiger reappeared after only a couple of minutes. They collected their things and went out to the right, following the roundabout as it turned left and ran along the north foot of the arena hangar. Across the road, steel gantries and brick pillars of industry loomed behind a broken fence. Here there were no working lights, nor any sign of habitation.

It was Kondratenko who popped the question: "How did he know?"

"Hm?"

"The general. He had our names, Zhenya's picture, everything. How did he get it?"

"Olga told her bosses," Tiger explained, "and they told Voronin. He found the picture on the internet."

"Bosses?" echoed Yevgeniy blankly. "Who are the bosses?"

"Ah... That's right, you weren't with us yet." The stalker shook his head. "We're almost at the clinic. I'll tell you later."

Continuing westward, the paved path led to another hangar, smaller and open-ended. Beside the hangar, a ramp ran down into a rectangular depression. On the arena side it was bordered by a tangled mass of decaying pipes and tanks, on the other by a third hangar with boarded up windows. Tiger cut straight across to the corner of the latter, where a set of steps hidden behind a cement wall led back to high ground.

"We're here."

'Here' was a boxy little two-floor concrete installment crammed in among the bigger buildings, roofed with corrugated metal. The sheltered entrance was lit by a fluorescent tube in an uncovered wall bracket. The door displayed a hand-painted red cross and a pinned list of available hours.

Tiger gathered his flock around the front step. "Let's settle the accounts. Zhenya, here's your bounty." He handed over a thick wad of banknotes, Russian rubles wrapped with a rubber band. "Minus the share we paid to Sanya in advance... These are for in case anyone needs something when I'm not around." Smaller amounts were passed out to the other rookies. "Ready to go in?"

Yevgeniy didn't feel ready. "Is there really a doctor here?"

"Yes, Bonesetter is certified. Just don't agree to try any of his pharmacological experiments." Tiger went to the door and knocked firmly three times.

"It's open!" shouted a voice within.

"Come on."

Yevgeniy took a deep breath and followed his teacher into a room that was bright and spotless. Squinting at the sudden glare of harsh lights on white walls, he made out a gray metal desk and rows of lockers and filing cabinets. The man behind the desk had broad, genial features and hair that was just starting to grow back after being shaved off.

"Bonesetter at your service," said the man. "One patient or two?"

"Just the one," replied Tiger. "Go ahead, Zhenya."

"It's my... my period." Yevgeniya avoided eye contact. "Can you help with that?"

"Sure I can," answered Bonesetter confidently. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Bad cramps and lots of blood, not like I usually have. It started this morning."

"I'll need some medical history to begin with." Rolling his chair over to the cabinets, Bonesetter took a blank form sheet from one of the drawers and attached it to a clipboard. "Can you fill this out for me?"

It was a simple questionnaire: medications, vaccinations, whether or not she'd ever had certain illnesses. Taking the attached pen, Yevgeniya began at the top of the list.

Tiger headed back to the door. "While she does that, I need to go check in with Barkeep."

Yevgeniya's hand stopped mid-word. "You're leaving?"

"Just for a few minutes. The others will wait for you outside."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the Latvian alone with Bonesetter and her own smothering unease. She went back to the top of the page, where she'd left one space blank on the first pass. Now she filled it: F?


"I'm going over to the bar to sort out a few things," Tiger announced to his remaining novices. "Stay here until I come back."

Galina and Dmitriy took it in stride. Kondratenko didn't. "What about the contract on me?"

"I'll figure something out," Tiger promised. "Until then, sit tight. I don't think anyone will be desperate enough to attack you inside the secure territory."

Even so, he made sure the .45 was close at hand as he walked south through empty lanes. "The world fears the Zone's expansion," the loudspeaker asserted as he went by. "Join Duty, and save the innocent!"

Inside the bar's entrance, Zhorik was at his usual post. "Keep it down," he warned in a hushed tone. "The movie just started."

The Hundred Rads hosted a full house this evening. Most eyes were on the TV behind the bar, which was showing a grainy montage of antiwar protestors accompanied by gentle music. Tiger ignored it and went to the end of the counter where Barkeep and Garik were loitering.

Like Voronin, the bar's owner had been expecting him. "I heard the news from Sidorovich," he said quietly. "What do you need?"

"I need a loc – "

A voice from the television cut him off: "We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold..."

"I need a locker," Tiger finished. "And access to the one Olga rented from you." He presented a small piece of wrinkled paper, a parting gift from the woman he loved. "She authorized it."

Barkeep tucked away the note. "She put your name on it when she got it. Paid for six months up front."

"Then I'll do the same." The stalker counted out some bills. "There."

"You want the things from the other one?"

"No, I'll get them later."

Barkeep took the money and went into the back rooms. Inside the film, a pair of visibly deranged men were driving through a desert in a bright red convertible. Tiger had seen this one before, but he kept watching half-attentively until the barman returned. "All set," Barkeep told him. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Not yet. I have to pick up my trainees, then I'll come back."

Barkeep nodded. "I'll be here."

Tiger quickly looked around one more time. The number of people in the place could be a problem, he realized belatedly: how long since any of these patrons last saw a woman? Galina and Yevgeniya were going to have to deal with whatever unwanted attention came their way, they knew that, but this might be too much and too soon. Hopefully the movie would distract the men, and the staff would keep things from getting out of hand. If not, the group would eat takeout tonight.

Tires screeched behind him. "Wait! We can't stop here, this is bat country!"

Someone else was waiting when he returned topside, a stranger in the garage beside the bar. "Hello, Tiger. Could I have a word?"

Tiger kept a guarded distance as he checked out the other man. He was good looking in a forgettable way, with brown eyes, black hair and the beginnings of an accidental mustache. A basic detector hung from his belt, an AKS-74U at his side. In appearance he seemed a regular stalker, the kind who might have crossed Tiger's path a hundred times and never once drawn notice.

"This isn't a great time," Tiger replied tersely. "Is it important?"

"Very important," said the stranger. "I have a message for you from Captain Cherenkova."

"And you are..?"

"My tab at the bar says I'm Sasha Machine-gunner."

An ordinary alias to go with his ordinary guise. That figured. "This way," Tiger muttered. "Let's get out of the open."

"Agreed."

Tiger retraced his steps halfway back to the clinic, stopping beside the storage tanks. Catwalk grates ran between them, connected by ladders. Once they provided access to valves, long ago seized in place. Now they provided cover for discreet meetings. The loner indicated the lowest platform, at the center of the assembly. "Will this do?"

"Sure."

Tiger climbed up, felt his way across to the other side and sat down with his back against the guard rail. Sasha settled on his left. "All right," said Tiger. "Show me the message."

A small light clicked on. "Here... Read carefully, I have to burn it when you're done."

The words on the sheet were written in dull pencil, with a tidy, efficient hand. Their brevity supported Tiger's impression that the note had been transcribed from a radio signal.

Anton:

Back at base. Lyosha very happy re: us working together. HQ impressed by your present. Intel says Latvian sniper is female. Don't let her get ideas. Will talk to you as soon as I can.

All my love, Olya.

It wasn't much, but it was enough. Tiger read it all over again, then returned it to Sasha. A cigarette lighter clicked. Yellow flame wicked across the paper.

"Now what?"

Sasha switched off his light, shrouding the pair in darkness. "The captain said you're willing to help the SBU's investigations."

"Depends on what kind of help you want."

"Escorting small teams in and out of potentially dangerous areas. That's all I can tell you right now."

Not much different from Tiger's usual work, by the sound of it. "And when do you need me?"

"I don't know yet," the agent admitted. "How long will you be here?"

"Tomorrow for sure. After that we'll be in and out during the daytime."

"Fine. I'll leave a note with Barkeep if I can't find you." Sasha stretched out his legs. "Deal?"

"I need something from you first," Tiger countered. "Voronin says your people sponsored a hit on one of my rookies."

"Private Kondratenko, right? The captain's report said he was clean... Still a deserter, of course. Normally we don't waste time on small fry, but my bosses are feeling vindictive. If they don't call off the bounty in the next day or two, they've probably decided to make an example of him."

Tiger took the hint. "If he's with me and I'm with you, they would reconsider?"

"They might," answered Sasha. "I would call in a favor from my handlers, but lately I've been bending the rules too much... Did the captain say anything about me?" he added suddenly.

"No, not that I recall. Why?"

"Just curious. I was supposed to go on the mission to the swamps," the operative confided. "She asked me to trade places after Duty hired you."

It came as no surprise to Tiger. "Will Olga be in trouble for this?"

Sasha made a shrugging motion. "The brass overlook procedural violations as long as we give them results. They aren't pleased that her cover was compromised, obviously, but her experience and skills are too valuable to let go... Most likely they'll give her a reprimand and make her cool her heels until they figure out where to send her."

"She said they won't let her come back here."

"Afraid I can't comment." Sasha pulled up his sleeve, exposing the cyan glow of a wristwatch. "I'm sorry, but I need to cut this short. What's your decision?"

"I guess I'm in."

"Good man." Sasha picked himself up and ground the charred remnant of Olga's note under his heel. "I'll be in touch."

He slipped away towards the bar, leaving Tiger to ponder what freedom was left for him after taking on all these dependents and responsibilities. With Sasha gone and no one else nearby, he left the platform and went back to the clinic. Galina, Dmitriy and Kondratenko were right where he'd left them, except now Dmitriy was talking.

Talking eagerly, in fact. "...His original tomb might have been KV Twenty-Five, an unfinished stairway and corridor in the West Valley. Obviously he never used it himself, but a set of mummies were dumped there hundreds of years – "

"Did we get to King Tut yet?" Kondratenko interrupted. "I want to hear about the curse."

"There isn't a curse," Dmitriy retorted. "Anyway... In 1907, Edward Ayrton started excavating another unfinished tomb in the floor of the main valley near – ah. You're back."

Tiger eased into the circle between Kondratenko and Galina. "You were saying?"

"Oh yes." The boy cleared his throat. "This tomb, KV Fifty-Five, contained a jumble of objects damaged by water exposure, including parts of a shrine and a decorated coffin. The coffin's face was torn off and the owner's name chiseled out..."


"...According to some theories, a woman called Neferneferuaten also ruled as pharaoh for a short time in between them. Her identity isn't clear from the surviving evidence, but she could have been either – "

The clinic door swung open, cutting Dmitriy off again, and Bonesetter appeared. "Tiger, I've finished. Could I trouble you to look over some paperwork?"

"Certainly."

Once inside, Bonesetter handed Tiger another clipboard. "Your friend listed you as her guardian, so I'll need you to sign off on this."

The form was short and showed impeccable penmanship, though jargon ran thick in the medical summary. Tiger worked through it line by line. "Your diagnosis is that Zhenya's problems were caused by her contraceptive?"

Bonesetter nodded. "While the copper-based implants are highly effective, there can be unpleasant side effects. She chose to have it extracted."

"Was it difficult?"

"Not especially, no. We're just waiting for the painkiller to kick in. I used a local analgesic for immediate effect, but she'll need more general relief during the next few days... She still has to go through her normal cycle, of course. If there are any complications, bring her back at once."

"I will... 'Strictly no unprotected sex'? Are you worried about infection?"

"I'm always worried about infection," said Bonesetter. "That's not my only concern. Owing to the basal structure of the phallic clitoris and the posterior fusion of the labia – what I'm saying is, her birth canal can't open as wide as a typical woman's. If she becomes pregnant and delivers without surgical intervention, both mother and child will die."

"Does she know this?"

"She does. I need to be sure you do as well."

"I'll remember it." Tiger signed and dated the bottom of the form. "How much do I owe you?"

"Your friend paid already," the physician replied, taking the clipboard from him. "She can leave as soon as she's comfortable."

"All right. Thank you."

"Any time." Bonesetter tucked the form into one of his filing cabinets. "You're due for a checkup yourself, by the way."

"I'll try to make time for it." At that moment the patient emerged from the examination room, pale yet steady on her feet. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Yevgeniya gave Bonesetter a tired smile. "Thanks, Doctor."

"You're very welcome." Bonesetter removed her rifle and pistol from one of the lockers and handed them across the desk. "Don't forget, no alcohol while you're taking the pills."


"...If this other lady-king had the royal fake beard and stuff, did she only wear shorts too?"

"No, Borya," Dmitriy sighed, "she wore a dress. And they're kilts, not shorts."

The reappearance of guide and androgyne ended this doorstep discussion. "Zhenya!" Kondratenko exclaimed happily. "Are you better now?"

In truth Yevgeniya was still sore and the numb spot between her hips didn't help, but the drug was acting fast. "Getting there. Sorry you had to wait so long."

"It's fine," said Tiger. "Mitya's been giving us lessons in archaeology."

Dmitriy shied away from the limelight. "I was just explaining the Amarna succession..."

"It was so weird," Kondratenko expounded, making up for the other's reticence with gusto. "Heretics, hidden mummies, people tearing down statues and marrying their own sisters."

"Yes," concluded Tiger dryly, "wonderful things. Anyway, we're done here. I suggest we move to the bar and drop our luggage. Any questions?"

There were none for him, though Galina posed one to Yevgeniya as the group started to move: "Was the doctor good?"

The details of the procedure didn't bear repeating. "He was very nice," she said, and left it at that.

"I think he was glad to have a case out of the ordinary," Tiger remarked, waiting for the rest to make their way down the stairs into the depressed area. "Bonesetter has steady work here, but it's a tedious job."

How could any job be tedious in the Zone? "What does he usually get?"

"Gunshots, animal bites, radiation sickness, alcohol poisoning, STDs – everything you'd expect in a place like this."

"STDs? People catch those here?"

"Not here," Tiger corrected. "Stalkers get money, sneak out to the Big Land for some fun, and the symptoms only appear once they come back... By the way, Zhenya, my name is spelled with an 'e' and an 'a'."

The sniper's cheeks burned. "Sorry."

If the loner took any offense at her error, he kept it to himself. Instead Kondratenko filled the silence. "The general called you... Petanko? Is that right?"

Tiger did a quick impression of Voronin's bark: "Petanko, Anton Konstantinovich... Unusual, isn't it? My grandfather was a Petrenko until someone misprinted it during the war. Every time he applied for a correction, they would look at his papers. 'It says here your name is Petanko, that's good enough!'"

Yevgeniya hadn't the bravery to laugh at the anecdote. "What did he do in the war?"

"He served in the VVS, flying shturmoviks for Comrade Stalin. Probably could have fixed his name after he got out, but then he decided there were enough Petrenkos already."

They came to the south end of the depression. Passing another dismembered truck, Tiger turned left and ascended a second flight of concrete steps. Climbing them as well, Yevgeniya saw that the band had come full circle and were facing the same garage Tiger had pointed out when they arrived. Now he led them into it, only to exit again through an opening on the right side. The path didn't go far before it brought them to the door of a bunker, much like Duty's in construction.

"Here we are," said Tiger. "Toilets and showers are around the corner if you need them."

The zigzagging passageway within also resembled that of the Duty headquarters, except with warmer lights and a few Soviet era posters to liven up the walls. Going down, the group came to a booth with a barred door, in which sat a masked man with a shotgun. He said nothing, merely watching as they passed. The murmur of voices ahead grew louder. Yevgeniy turned a corner and was in the bar before he knew it.

This chamber's architecture was different at least, having vaulted ceilings and brick pillars down the center. Looking around, he saw a bulletin board just to his left and the bar proper, towards which Tiger was moving, on the right. One corner was closed off by chain-link fencing and filled with sacks and barrels. There were no chairs, yet the simple tables jutting from the walls were all occupied. A strange and marvelous array of smells permeated the place, unwashed bodies and bottles of vodka and sizzling meat and mouthwatering sauces blending together.

"Uh, Zhenya?"

With a guilty start, the androgyne realized he was bottling up the others and hastened after Tiger. There was one man behind the bar, waiting for these visitors to come closer. He looked to be in his fifties, with a large nose and stubbled jaw, and wore a sheepskin vest over a dark sweater. A pattern of blue-gray tattoos extended down his forearms and up the sides of his neck.

"These your friends, Tiger?" His voice was deep, like Voronin's without the contempt.

"They are. Guys, meet Barkeep. Barkeep, this is Yevgeniy, Boris, Galina and Dmitriy."

"Welcome to the Hundred Rads." When he placed his hands on the wooden counter, Yevgeniy saw the name 'Anna' spelled across the knuckles. "What'll it be?"

"We need to unload some weight first, put our spares into the lockers." Tiger addressed his rookies. "Drop all your extra kit. Tomorrow we'll sort out what you actually need." As they complied, he switched back to Barkeep. "Do you have any spare Kalash stocks in the parts bin?"

"I got a few, yeah. What kind do you want?"

Tiger showed him the damaged AK-74. "Anything that will fit this. I have the screws." The guide glanced up at the TV on the shelf over the stove, screen covered in snowy noise. "Did the movie end?"

"Nah, trouble with the VCR. Nitro's looking at it." The barman went into a door in the back wall. After half a minute he was back. "Will this do?"

He held up a plywood buttstock with a dark red stain, aesthetically mismatched to the very blond material of the rifle's handguards. Tiger fitted the replacement under the receiver tang and checked for wiggle. "Perfect, thanks."

Balancing the Kalashnikov in one hand, he passed Barkeep some money. Barkeep counted it, handed back one bill and began gathering the equipment cases which the others were stacking along the bar. Tiger went to work with a screwdriver and Yevgeniy, who had finished his own unburdening, let his attention wander. The patrons here were definitely of the same breed as the men he'd seen in the Cordon and Garbage, with the same jackets, knapsacks and purpose-made stalker suits. Many had their eyes fixed shamelessly on Galina, but a few looked as if they might be checking out Yevgeniy himself.

"I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo! Somebody was giving booze to these goddamn things. Won't be long now before they tear us to shreds."

The picture on the television defied comprehension. Yevgeniy quickly looked away. The man screamed something about golf shoes and the sound cut out. When Yevgeniy looked again, the screen had become a blank blue.

Barkeep came out again several seconds later. "Sorry boys, the movie's off for tonight. Nitro says I gotta swap out some tape rollers." There were groans of disappointment, though nobody left the tables. Their host walked over to the right side of the bar and switched on the radio atop the refrigerator, replacing the interrupted film with a slow flute melody backed by guitar and percussion. "Well, that's that. You kids hungry?"

Yevgeniy was, despite the generous stew he'd made during the Garbage stopover, and it seemed he wasn't alone. "What have you got?" asked Tiger, picking up the group mood.

"The daily special was grilled boar with potato salad, but it sold out quick. I do have plenty of staples."

"All right, we'll take two baskets. And could you bring me the automatic from Olga's locker, please?"

"Two baskets and an automatic coming up."

Then Barkeep was gone. Yevgeniy leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter as he tried to ignore the gut feeling that he was being stared at. Contemplating the TV, a question occurred to him. "How do they get electricity here? I didn't hear any generators."

"I heard it comes from the nuclear plant," Kondratenko told him solemnly. "Like, the reactor cores are still hot and connected to the old power lines."

"It doesn't work that way," said Tiger. "The station's machinery was shut down long ago." He leaned against the bar as well. "All of this was repaired by stalkers, spliced with salvaged wire. They use electrical artifacts as batteries."

That reminded Yevgeniy of something he'd heard while he was with the American mercenaries. "But it's true they kept the station running after the disaster, isn't it?"

"Yes, for another fourteen years. The AES supplied more energy than the government could afford to replace. It paid for my childhood, too."

His closing remark went unexplained as Barkeep returned, balancing a circular baking pan in each hand. "Two baskets," said he, sliding them onto the counter. "I'll be right back."

Yevgeniy sized up the nearer 'basket'. By his estimate the contents would feed three people at a sitting, the bulk of it in cans and foil-sealed tubs: preserved meats, cold cereals, fruits and vegetables. Nestled among them were crackers sealed in plastic, candy bars, and ready-mix drink packets. On top lay a diet chicken sausage, so labeled on the wrapper, and a loaf of white bread. That the fare was plain and prepackaged didn't matter after all the ration shares he'd missed when MacGruder marooned him on the watchtower. Throw in a mug of strawberry kvass and he could even call this a good time.

Tiger had more cash in hand when the barman brought what he requested: an assault rifle and a pile of loose magazines. The exchange was made and Barkeep settled in to watch over his customers. Tiger made a quick inspection of the rifle, a spindly shape rendered in gray alloy and black polymer, and handed it to Yevgeniy. "You take this."

The Latvian had assumed he would get the spare AK once it was repaired, but he did as he was told and slung his new weapon. The mags fit neatly into the front pockets of his vest. "Can we eat now?" he queried.

"Go ahead." Tiger broke off the end of the bread and picked out a flat can. "So what's new, beside mercs in the Cordon, bandits in the Agroprom and soldiers in the Dark Valley?"

"Oh, about the same as before." Barkeep crossed his arms. "Nitro says he picked up the Phantom Bomber signal after the blowout."

"Hm." Tiger pried up the can's pull tab and tore away the lid, exposing some sort of meat spread. "We ran into the Lonesome Ghost on the road from the Garbage."

Barkeep appeared neither skeptical nor credulous. "The ghost, eh? What did it do?"

"Just like in the stories – hung around for a bit and left."

Yevgeniy picked up the sausage, revealing three beverage cans hidden on the other side of the basket. "What did you say about a bomber?" he asked, anxious to move on to another topic.

"That's another of our local legends," said Barkeep. "Sort of a 'Flying Dutchman'. The story goes that an old airplane was sent into the Zone and never returned, and if you tune a radio to the right frequency, you can hear the crew calling for help. People even say they've heard the engines as it flies over."

Tiger bent the can lid into a U-shape and used it to scoop out the spread. "Why don't you tell them the original story?" he suggested, applying the meat paste to his bread. "They might find it interesting."

"Mm... It's kinda long, though."

Yevgeniy had meanwhile been trying without success to unwrap the sausage. Tiger took pity and gave him the penknife. "We've got time," said the guide.

"Well, why not?" And so the tale began. "First I heard about the bomber was pretty soon after I opened the bar. There was a guy who came in here, he told me about it while I cooked his dinner..."

Yevgeniy sawed off the end of the sausage and cut another slice for Kondratenko. Biting into the end piece, he found it was a half-and-half mixture of chicken and soybean substitute camouflaged with spices. Scarfing down the rest, he decided to do as Tiger was.

"He said he'd been a flight controller in the air force. Talked the talk and everything. Asked me if anyone had overheard strange aircraft transmissions inside the Zone..."

Kondratenko helped himself to one of the soda cans, exposing a brand label – NON STOP. Yevgeniy picked up a tub capped with gold foil, only to find the embossed text was in German. It turned out to be liverwurst.

"He got a little maudlin then, said he came to bring his lost boys home. I knew he'd had some vodka earlier, so I didn't pay much attention..."

The bread's core was moist, fluffy. It must have been baked here, or close by.

"He wandered a bit, went on and on about how things were when the Zone formed. As if I didn't know it myself! But then he started telling me about the bomber, said it was a... 'Superfortress', that's what he called it. When they were retired back in the sixties, one was given to some design bureau for research use. Supposedly they put it into storage and forgot about it..."

Not having a lid of his own, Yevgeniy used the Swiss Army knife to spread his liverwurst.

"Seven or eight years ago, somebody rediscovered it packed away in the back of a warehouse. The man told me the generals decided to have the bomber secretly restored, so they could whip it out on Victory Day and upstage the Russians. Damned showoffs..."

Bread and spread was good, but it made Yevgeniy thirsty. A peek at the ingredient list on Kondratenko's soda can put him off that choice and he took a packet of instant lemonade instead.

"I'm sure you remember the panic after the Zone appeared. Government didn't know what to do, people were demanding action. Couldn't go near the Zone on foot and the satellites didn't give a clear view... It fell to the air force to get a closer look, or so the fellow said. Now they have special shielding for the helicopters and they fly in and out as they please. Wasn't so easy back then, with the interference scrambling their electronics..."

For the main course, Kondratenko fetched a can of beef ravioli. Yevgeniy filled his aluminum canteen cup with water and added the powder. Wiping off the knife blade with the clean side of his bread, he used it to stir the mix.

"The bomber and its crew were moved to the Zone crisis group after someone got the idea that obsolete instruments would be less susceptible, all those vacuum tubes and such. Their plan was to load the plane with scientific gizmos and take off when the next blowout died down. The guy who told me the story claimed he was on the ground control team for the mission..."

Kondratenko had been clever enough to store his fork where he could reach it. Yevgeniy's was in the top of his pack. If he wanted to eat something more substantial, he would have to dig it out once Barkeep's tale was over. He settled for another cut of sausage in the meantime.

"At first it went as planned. The bomber launched with ten airmen and scientists aboard, reached the Zone and made a pass along the perimeter to test the instruments. Then the commander back at base ordered the pilot to take it inside, flying along a spiral path... They were heading northeast towards Chernobyl town when the plane's radar signature broke up. The pilot reported seeing the Duga complex on his right, when it should have been to the left, and something about a problem with the compass. After that, the messages became too garbled to make out more than fragments..."

Yevgeniy had raised his cup to drink. Now he set it down untouched.

"Ground control couldn't resolve the radar data or get a direction fix. They considered scrambling a jet to try and make visual contact, but the commander wouldn't allow it... So they just kept calling, all through the night and the next day, getting back faint signals even after the plane should have run out of gas. Eventually they realized they were listening to echoes. The bomber was gone." Barkeep rubbed the back of his neck. "That's the original story."

Galina, hidden on the other side of Kondratenko's shoulders, didn't quite buy it. "Would the military really be desperate enough to use an aircraft like that? Didn't they have anything at all more suitable?"

"Who knows?" replied Barkeep. "Supposedly the electronics weren't the only criteria. The bomber was also ideal because it had a pressurized cabin and a body large enough to carry the equipment they wanted... My visitor said he was sure the brass knew it was a suicide run and didn't want to deal with the red tape from losing an active duty machine."

"Bastards," Kondratenko mumbled.

"What happened to the man who told you about it?" asked Yevgeniy.

"I never saw him again. He didn't strike me as the kind who would last long here. I figure either he died somewhere or gave up and went home... He must have told someone else, though, because I heard the bomber tale from others later on." The barman cocked his head. "Well, maybe it wasn't even his story to begin with."

One of the stalkers at the back tables spoke up. "I've heard another version of it, where the bomber was sent to drop a nuke at the center of the Zone."

"I heard that too," another chimed in. "Some of the Dutyers tell yarns like that, about their heroic founders being sent to deliver a warhead into the sarcophagus... What bullshit! And where would the government even get a nuke?" He picked up his bottle. "Ah, to hell with them. Let's have a toast!"

The man beside him did so as well. "To all the guys who didn't make it?"

There were sounds of approval all around. Yevgeniy watched Tiger for cues on how to react and went through the motions as he did. The bar slipped back into its ambiance of soft music and a low buzz of chatter.

Then Kondratenko raised his can. "To German and Gosha," he proposed quietly.

"To Vitka and Bandicoot," Galina added.

"To Anatoliy," concluded Tiger. "And Mykola."


The group finished their meal without disturbance, packed up the leftovers and took their leave. After a quarter hour for brushing teeth and a bathroom stop, Tiger shepherded them back to the open-ended hangar next to the clinic. The fire pit inside had burned down to embers, and a piece of heavy-gauge sheet metal was laid across the top to trap sparks. Taking out the penlight he'd gotten from Sidorovich, he marked the way for the others.

"You can place your bedrolls by the fire," he said, "or in there, if you want privacy." The loner pointed the beam at the empty cargo containers along the back wall. "Watch out for damp spots."

His students chose the containers, and the light was passed from one to another as they unpacked. Yevgeniya brought it back to Tiger when they were done. "Where are you sleeping?" she asked him.

"I'll stay here. Got to keep an eye on the ashes." He sat by the fireplace, motioning for the androgyne to join him. "You wanted to know about Olga's bosses."

"Yeah..."

Tiger kept it simple: "She works for the Security Service of Ukraine – that's our successor to the KGB. They use agents like her to investigate incidents in the Zone."

Yevgeniya took the revelation pretty well, or else she was too worn out to be shocked any further. "...Why did she let me go?"

The loner shrugged. "It was what the others wanted."

"But not what you wanted."

"Not then," Tiger agreed. "Olga was right, though. We couldn't send you off on your own."

Yevgeniya hugged her knees against her chest. "Are you really okay with having me around?"

"You haven't disappointed me yet." The guide briefly studied his unlikely protege's body language. "Something else on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment, as if gathering her courage. "Is it true, what Brewer said about pathfinders?"

"More or less. I would have made it sound less dramatic."

She also took that pretty well. "I'm sorry I was nosy."

"Never said you couldn't ask."

He had forgiven her, but it appeared she wasn't ready to forgive herself. "I got you in trouble with the general, too."

"Voronin always finds reasons to be unhappy. If not you, it would have been something else."

That brought Yevgeniya scant comfort. "Did he find out any more about me?"

"Didn't seem like it."

"I guess he would need a subscription to see the rest of the pictures..." She paused again, in that way which suggested she was afraid to speak out. "You must have thought it was lewd."

"Pin-ups aren't really my thing," Tiger admitted. "But I do wonder how you got into it."

"It was part of the deal. The magazine sponsored us at events and we posed for photos in return."

"I figured it might be like that. Why was your costume different?"

"That was... The editor decided I should have a 'soft butch' look. He said it would appeal to the Danish readers."

"I see." Tiger held out a hand, feeling the residual heat radiated by the coals. "Go get some sleep now. Tomorrow you have to show me the best you can do."

"Nn." Yevgeniya stood up. "...Tiger?"

"Hm?"

"Were you the one who shot me?"

Tiger's memory replayed their first meeting on the watchtower, when he charged up the stairs in the dark, pistol in hand and Gosha close behind. Then it skipped forward to the moment when her true form was laid bare, and the incidental uncovering of the bruises left by the Tokarev slugs pounding against her body armor. "Yeah, I was."

"I thought so." She sounded as if she had come to a decision of some kind. "You killed me and brought me to Hades... I know it's selfish, but can I ask a favor?"

Suddenly this conversation was taking a turn for the weird. "Yes..?"

"Pray for me." Her voice was deathly serious. "There's no one else who can."

"Don't get the wrong idea, Zhenya. What happened today... I would have done the same for anyone else."

"But you didn't do it for anyone else. You did it for me." Yevgeniya might have been smiling. "I don't know whether you're angel or devil, but... thank you for showing me what a miracle is."

She walked away without waiting to hear his answer, going back into the container to lie beside Kondratenko. Tiger was left to ponder her odd pronouncement alone.

"Chernobyl veterans, join Duty! We have a huge responsibility – to protect the world from the expanding Zone!"


"Sergeant Gromyko reporting as ordered."

"At ease." Voronin turned the laptop so his subordinate could view the screen. "Look at this."

The sergeant saw guns and bikinis. "I can think of better ways to boost morale, General."

"I look forward to your written proposal," Voronin replied icily. "The short-haired girl in the middle, study her face."

Gromyko did. It was a soft, innocuous face, in contrast to the toned abs and thighs below it. "What's this about?"

"Her name is Yevgeniya Smirnova," the commander explained. "She entered the Zone with a group hostile to us, then went over to the stalkers. Now she's tagging along with that stripe-headed mutant Petanko."

"Stripe-headed... Oh, him. Is he on our shit list now?"

"No." Voronin crossed his arms. "Do you remember Mikhail Purkayev?"

"Thirty-Eighth Mobile Brigade, Belarusian Army. We used to do joint exercises with them." Gromyko frowned. "Wasn't Purkayev the general who would make his kid daughter come and watch?"

"The same. Recently he was promoted to minister of defense. Then his daughter got lovesick and ran away with her bleeding heart boyfriend. They've joined Petanko as well... There's also a deserter from our army, but I don't care about him." The general stopped to clear his throat. "You are the assigned range safety officer for this week, correct?"

It was a rhetorical question. Voronin himself had given the assignment, to punish Gromyko for speaking of the late General Tachenko without proper reverence. "Mironyuk, Dudorov and I have that duty, yes."

"Good," said Voronin. "Tomorrow Petanko and his new friends are going to use the shooting range."

"And you want me to do what, exactly?"

"I want you to carry out your designated task," Voronin snapped. "But watch them, Sergeant. When they're finished, I want a report: how they performed, their strengths and weaknesses... Especially Smirnova, you understand? She'd be hanging from a tree by the road if I didn't think she might be useful to us."

Gromyko thought it over for a few moments. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Go on."

"If you're going to keep giving me the special jobs, you need to get Ivantsov off my back."

"I'll see to it. Anything else?"

"No, General."

"You have your orders. Dismissed."