Dirge Danorum

Chapter 25

We worked until dawn, and only then did Velvet post sentries and permit rest. Since I wasn't going to sleep anyway, I volunteered to go out and scout around a little. As the sun got higher, I walked the high grass, and climbed out of the valley. This was a tactical disadvantage; we'd have to put motion sensors or something up here to compensate for the dense foliage. There was also the cliff over the valley, on which the outer walls of the plant rested – but it was too irradiated to snipe from up there without the right kind of suit. Velvet had hinted that she had a plan to deal with it if it became an issue.

On the whole, the valley wasn't so bad. Being in a bowl-shaped depression carried with it some disadvantages, but we could offset those. Velvet intended to build a number of guard towers, and as long as we kept a couple of men on the roof and on patrol, we weren't really stuck on the low ground.

There were mutants lurking about, but none approached. They weren't sure what to think of me. The Merc's deadly aim had convinced them to stay away from our perimeter, and that was just as well.

Around midmorning, the first helicopter touched down. I watched from the ridge as they unloaded equipment and supplies. I probably should have gone down and helped, but I was too tired. I sat down against a tree and dozed. As long as I didn't sleep too deeply, the nightmares didn't gain much momentum. It wasn't great rest, but it was the best I was going to get. Sleeping exposed in the open would keep me from slipping into real slumber.

I caught a glimpse of the ghost before I nodded off. Not the Ghost, as in the knife-wielding phantom killer that the stalkers were all abuzz about – but rather the ghost, as in a ghost, an ethereal figure that I seen a couple of times. It was a stalker in black. That was all I could say. I'd seen him near the Biker, and near Ever, and even Velvet now. No one else could see him. He was probably all in my head.

When I woke it was dusk. I headed back into the valley; dark was falling fast, and the temperature was dropping. There were several crackling fires, and the Freedom band was playing again. Inside the walls, it looked much more like a base now. Jester, the Scot, was manning the quartermaster's tent. It wouldn't be long until a career trader would come here and work out a deal with Velvet to set up shop permanently, but until then, it was Jester's job. He was dealing less in ordinance and more in artifacts and cash; already stalkers were coming to Freedom to sell their findings.

This was a rich time to hunt artifacts in the Zone; the stalker population was at an all-time low, so more unclaimed artifacts were out there for the taking. It had two sides; fewer stalkers meant the Zone had greater strength, and that meant the hunting itself was more dangerous. But don't sleep on the stalkers; they were still out there, and these were good days. Velvet was going to make them better with her connections. Anyone who came to her to trade would profit – and they were coming. There was a tent, separate from the one for Freedom personnel, where loners and travelers could pass the night on a decent cot. It wasn't much, but it was more than Duty had ever offered anyone.

I got something to eat and went inside to see the sisters. I wasn't surprised to find them both already bored out of their minds. We ate together and talked about the real world, and wondered what was going on out there.

Though I hadn't realized it, apparently I was a Freedom officer. Velvet had sewed a patch indicating my rank, which meant nothing to me, onto my armor before returning it to me. I'd have preferred to continue doing more or less what I wanted, but Velvet wasn't having it.

Speaking of Velvet, I tried to get a word with her, but she was too busy shouting at someone over the uplink. Well, she couldn't avoid me forever, and she knew it. But that wouldn't stop her from trying. I went back to the sisters, who were chatting with Exile.

He was an Englishman – a real one, unlike Ever – and Velvet had seemed very pleased to get her hands on him. I assumed this was because of his reputation. He was explaining to the sisters how his exposure to certain secrets had made it necessary for him to hide in the Zone, and how the Zone had won him over. They had a hard time grasping why anyone would stay in the Ukraine by choice, and Exile was patiently doing his best to explain it. The girls were more hypnotized by his looks than his words.

I liked him pretty well. He reminded me a bit too much of Ever, but he was more down to earth. More likely to give you a straight answer than to make dark and droll jokes. I could sense that he had no particular designs here, which surprised me.

The girls wanted to go out and listen to the band, which had picked up a new member. Of course it wasn't going to happen, but that didn't stop them from complaining about it. We drank bitter Ukrainian beer and played cards instead. I think Exile let us win. The generator was up and running, which meant we no longer had to use flashlights and lanterns inside the building; the downside was that we had to listen to the snapping and crackling of the laboratory's lights.

Grigor was finally rested, and we could dimly hear him through the wall, cleaning up and salvaging the real lab. He had a lot to do before he could get to work studying his artifacts, but that didn't seem to bother him. In fact, he seemed pleased – I had a feeling that being in the Valley in the Forest had stunted his research a little.

Likewise, other stalkers were hard at work on Velvet's pet project, which was a shower with hot water, available to everyone, except for those times when it was reserved for women, of which we had three. Which was three more than anyone else in the Zone, except for Kevorich, but they don't count.

She now wore her green Freedom fatigues, which fit her properly, and I thought she looked better than ever. She had carried herself differently ever since her deal with the Twilight Shower. It was hard to put my finger on the difference, but it was clear a great weight had been lifted from her.

It was getting late, though things wouldn't quiet down outside – stalkers do sleep, but only in shifts. There would always be a guitar strumming, always people drinking and laughing in the canteen, and always a fire burning at Freedom. We were open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. The girls went off to their room to try to sleep off a little of the cabin fever, which would just be back tomorrow, and I played a few more hands with Exile.

"The older one's quite keen on you," he observed, once the sisters had gone. I didn't say anything to that; if he could see that much, then he must have noticed that Tyrian was quite keen on himself. No great surprise; Exile was a bit more refined and handsome than a lot of stalkers, though stalkers are always surprising me. For example, one of the Freedom men had apparently been a lawyer before crossing the cordon. It takes all kinds.

Russet's attraction to me wasn't all rational; I think a lot of it was the fact that I was a piece of the real world to her, a memory of the life she wanted to get back to. Maybe there was more to it than that. It was mutual; I liked her too. But my thoughts were elsewhere.

"That's it for me," I said, laying down my cards.

"Good night, Lieutenant," he said, though he pronounced it 'leftenant.' I rolled my eyes and strode from the room, going down the corridor to knock on the hatchway to the laboratory. There was no answer, so I went around the corner to the window. Grigor was in there, poring over some books. I knocked on the glass, and he looked up, then rolled his chair over and unsealed the hatch.

"I need your professional opinion," I said. We actually had a medic, but Grigor had seniority. He'd been around longer. He'd seen more.

I pulled off my glove and showed him my hand. It was time to show someone.

He looked puzzled. "What am I supposed to see?" he asked in English. I blinked and looked down at my palm.

"You can't see it?" But I barely finished the sentence. I couldn't see it either. The spot on my hand was gone. No, not gone. It had never been there in the first place. It was one thing to suspect it, and another to admit it to myself. This had never been about my hand; I had simply connected it to my encounter with that anomalous plant because I needed an explanation. Now I had one.

The Morton Stalker was on the other side of the window, in the corridor, his arms folded as he leaned against the opposite wall. I ignored him.

"Never mind," I said, and pulled my glove back on. I didn't want to see the look Grigor was giving me, so I turned away and stepped back into the hall. I had some thinking to do, but it was disturbed by the creaking of rusty hinges. I looked up to see an exhausted Velvet opening the door to her little room.

"Hey," I said.

She looked up and smiled tiredly. "Hey."

"Can we talk?"

She sighed. "Why not?" I followed her inside, pulling the door shut behind me. I didn't waste any time, I just pinned her against the metal bulkhead and kissed her. She kissed me back, pressing herself to me and putting her arms around my neck – but then she pulled back.

"I'm in charge now," she said, looking a little melancholy. "I have to be professional."

"You're right," I told her. "But you can start tomorrow." I was going to finish what I'd started the night before; I'd waited long enough, damn it.

She looked up at me, face very red. "All right," she said after a moment. "Though I've heard bad things about Americans."

"I'm Canadian," I said, and pulled her onto the cot.