Freedom

Chapter 10

I didn't like it. Wearing a mask isn't enough to make a bad man, but it's never a good sign. I was wearing one, after all.

He had a battered Kevlar vest on over a thermal, and a short leather jacket over that. I wondered how he could see through the goggles at all; they looked opaque. The glare had to be terrible.

He was medium height, and his build was similar to mine. His clothes looked suitably battered, but his boots were almost new. The red scarf wrapped around his left bicep identified him as the stalker I was supposed to escort back to the farmstead.

I put away my binoculars and turned to sit down on the rooftop I was using as my observation post. There had been a flurry of activity around dawn; most stalkers heading out in the wild, and a few exhausted ones stumbling in. Now it was midmorning, and there was almost no activity. I checked my watch. It was another half hour before I was actually supposed to meet this guy. He was punctual.

There was an HK91 over his shoulder; I didn't read anything into that. But when he thought no one was looking, he'd briefly checked over a Makarov with a suppressor, before stowing it out of sight. I didn't like that.

I got up and took a second look. He hadn't moved. I sat back down to think.

I just couldn't figure it. The blonde wasn't slimy, I was sure of that – but this didn't add up. Velvet, huh? You know, I think I might have encountered her somewhere in my research – a footnote in someone's essay. Women are virtually unheard of in the Zone, with a notable exception being one who rose to prominence in the Freedom faction with remarkable speed. Details unknown… Something like that. I couldn't remember.

Rising up in Freedom quickly, huh? Well, hard not to think of that only one way – but somehow, Velvet didn't seem like the type. There was more to her than met the eye. She was beautiful, of course, but if a woman is so alluring that stalkers will trade firearms for fully-clothed photographs of her, she's probably something out of the ordinary. That wasn't relevant. At least, I didn't think it was.

Freedom, on the other hand, was very relevant. I knew about the Military's incursion – how all factioners had been hunted and persecuted by Duty and the Military during that period. Examples were made; it had been a clumsy effort to keep the way clear for Project Railgun. It had, to no one's particular surprise, backfired. But not before Freedom was hunted virtually to extinction. People thought Velvet was dead.

So she was in hiding. There were still people looking for her, no doubt. Someone had to know they'd dropped the ball, and that was a mistake they'd be hoping to correct. All right, that worked. Why send me to get this guy?

I had to be careful here. I'd already been set up once. She'd sent me because I was a rookie. Because I didn't know who she was, because it wouldn't occur to me that her location might be worth something – unless I discovered her identity and the heat level that went with it, which was a long shot. Even so, risky. There were too many ways for it to go bad. She hadn't told me not to talk about her or her location – and for obvious reasons. Doing so would only make me suspicious.

But there were ways around all those problems. Maybe Velvet had slept her way through the ranks, but I suspected not. She and the Biker were running a careful game. Suddenly things, previously inexplicable, came into sharp focus.

That didn't mean I was safe. Velvet and the Biker had an agenda. I didn't know what it was, but that didn't matter. I was a loose end. They seemed decent, but they also knew how to get things done. I didn't believe they meant me harm, but I'm not infallible. I couldn't let my guard down for a second, and I wasn't kidding myself. I thought I had the whole picture, but you never have the whole picture. No one does, and thinking that you do will only get you into trouble.

I got up and took a look at my surroundings, then stepped off my roof to land on a lower one, and from there I dropped to the ground. I took the long way, weaving through the paths of the Bar, squeezing between buildings and going over them when necessary. Maneuvering to get behind the stalker wasn't hard.

I put my hand on his shoulder after approaching with no sound. He jumped. Stalkers are tense; you can't blame them. "You speak English?" I asked, ignoring him when he half-reached for his concealed pistol, purely on reflex. If I hadn't seen it before, he'd have revealed its location to me then.

"Yeah," he said, still frozen in place, looking at me over his shoulder. I knew exactly what I looked like to him. All in black, my mouth and nose covered by my mask. All he could see was a pair of eyes. I'd come out of nowhere without a sound. There was no reason to think this guy would try to pull anything with me, but it couldn't hurt to head off any thoughts in that direction. He was Russian or Ukrainian by the accent, but his English seemed good – I'd spoken in a low tone, and he'd understood me perfectly. He was about my age. Maybe al little younger.

His hand was still halfway into his jacket, but now he took it out. I tapped the red scarf and started off. I knew exactly the impression I'd given. An older stalker might not be impressed with theatrics, but I knew I'd gotten through to him.

Any interaction with another person is a relationship, and the Zone is a place where you want to have the upper hand in your relationships. Keep them off-balance. Never let them know what to expect. Never reveal your secrets, your patterns, or anything they can use against you.

But for all the toughness of my act, I was conflicted. I didn't want to go back into the Train Yard after last night. I didn't even really want to go back into the wild, even heading west. I was thinking a few more days loafing around the Bar wouldn't do me any harm. But every day leaving would be more difficult. You have to go while the going's good.

The stalker was following me, hurrying to keep up. He was young, but he wasn't a rookie. He'd collected himself, and was back on point, right where I wanted him. I didn't want to have to look out for him the way I had the Americans. I needed a partner for the yard, not baggage.

I didn't slow down; I didn't want my resolve to falter. I hadn't thought to get the stalker's name, but that could wait. The Duty guards gazed at me as I approached the gate. I was a curiosity; my unusual suit of all black, and my mask – most stalkers wear masks for purposes more utilitarian than privacy. They probably thought I was playing ninja. Maybe I was. I looked up at them as I passed, seeing myself reflected in the eyes of their gas masks.

Duty men. And here I was, working for Freedom. Unknowingly, but that wouldn't matter to Duty. Was Velvet part of Freedom anymore? Maybe she wasn't. Did Freedom even exist? It was easy to see why they'd keep me in the dark, but it still didn't dispose me kindly toward them.

I had no relationship with Duty, and I didn't want one. I hadn't intended to align myself with any faction, unless I saw that as a way to live a little longer. Things weren't going as planned. I was mixed up with the wrong people. People who were going to get me killed, or maybe kill me themselves. Honor dictated that I not walk out on them until the job was done.

I was rid of the Americans, but now I had another stranger in tow. One who didn't add up. One who was carrying a suppressed pistol he didn't want to anyone to know about. The only reason I was willing to let him walk behind me was the knowledge that he needed me to get him to his destination.

That was the beginning of Day 3.