Dirge Danorum

Chapter 29

The good news was that after I took out the Imposter – that was what everyone was calling the drinker that could disguise itself – there were no more incidents in the compound. Indeed, the Imposter had been the one tracking us from the Channel, and it had been the one to kill and drain both our hunter and our rookie. We all knew how it had gotten close enough to strike now, and how it had been able to take its time and pick out the opportune moment.

The bad news was that there were rumors from other parts of the Zone of incidents that sounded not too different from what we'd dealt with. It sounded like more than one Imposter had escaped from that facility, and they were hungry.

Now that I was more or less stationary at HQ, it became less about what I saw, and more about what I heard. Stalkers were streaming in and out of the compound now; we had a trader, the best food and accommodations in the Zone, and pretty much anything anybody could ask for – and since we had the best rates for artifacts, the most daring artifact hunters, the ones who would go even to the darkest corners, were passing through regularly.

Kevorich and the Bar had fallen to second and third place; Freedom HQ in the Yantar Valley was now the unchallenged center of gossip in the Zone. Velvet, now free of some of her mental shackles, had consented to don a specially-imported bathing suit, and pose for a photograph to be used for Freedom's new recruiting poster. It was a hit; you couldn't go anywhere without seeing one.

And the rumors. The Ghost, whom I was quite certain I'd seen at least once – that thin man with the crows and the drinkers and the artifacts, though that seemed a very long time ago – had apparently cut some people up. There was always a new rumor about him, but most of them didn't have anything to them. Pretty much anybody could turn up dead, and if it wasn't a gunshot or teeth that had done it, people cried the Ghost.

There wasn't much word about Duty. They were patrolling and recruiting as usual. There were some hints that they were gearing up, but nothing credible. I know Velvet had spies, but I didn't know much about them, and I was okay with that. There were also spies among us; anybody could come into the compound. Not into HQ, of course, but there was no doubt that some of these stalkers were working for Duty. But the good thing about the Zone is that once you've been there a while, you get to know everyone, and so people that were too well-known to be faithful to Duty couldn't show their faces at Freedom HQ without raising eyebrows.

Even so, Velvet was playing a lot of things close to her ample chest, and for good reason. Duty could use new people, they could hire mercs, they could do anything. Her open door policy went both ways – it made it easy for new friends to come to her, and enemies as well.

There were ninety stalkers sworn to Freedom by the end of the second week, and Velvet was starting to think about another base. It was clear she wanted Exile or the Biker in charge, and the Biker wouldn't do it, so it looked like I wouldn't be the only officer for long. Then I could call Exile leftenant and see how he liked it.

Ninety sounds like a lot, but it's not. We'd need twice that many before we could have another base, and that would be spreading thin – especially with Duty apparently still on the fence. It might also be taken the wrong way; Velvet had to play her PR very carefully right now. We hadn't seen or heard anything about Ever, either – and that seemed to make her uncomfortable. I gathered he was the kind of guy that had the tendency to be in the headlines.

Days came and went, money, artifacts, and equipment changing hands. Patrols and assignments, shipments and rumors. Velvet's popularity did nothing but grow, though she actually showed her face outside HQ relatively little. That was a safety concern; until she had time to cultivate her officers, she was the core of the operation, and like Grigor, a high-value target.

Sometimes the band would convince her to come out at night and sing a song with them; a little known fact was that she had a beautiful voice, and was very shy on stage. There was a running joke that many stalkers would watch her perform, then rush off to Kevorich.

She was also an excellent cook, and her hand-made dumplings were especially beloved. They were accruing quite a street value, because she wouldn't take the time to make them very often. She'd boil them in a barrel, and only one barrel at a time, so they commanded a high price.

"Sometimes I wish I could go with them," Tyrian said, peering through one of the slits in the armored window.

"Uno," I said, throwing down my penultimate card. She turned back to the game. It wasn't the first time she'd said something like that. Russet had similar sentiments, though she was careful not to voice them. It was partly because they were stuck here, and partly because the Zone had its hooks in both of them now.

People come here for a lot of reasons, but most of them stay for the same one. There are other things like the adrenaline addiction, and the desire to get rich, but those don't look as good on the tourist brochure.

The sisters wanted to go and explore for the sake of it, and just to get out of this room, but it wasn't going to happen.

There was another part of being at the base that we'd all forgotten about: waiting for everyone else to come home. Just because everything was great at Freedom HQ didn't mean we weren't still in the middle of the most dangerous place on earth. And our friends were heading out into it every day.

Today, we were worried about Exile, who was overdue. I wasn't worried. Russet was a little worried; the Englishman was growing on her. She seemed a little smug when she talked about him, as though she knew something the rest of us didn't. Tyrian had been continuing to fall for him, and she was the one who was really stressed. It was all Russet and I could do to keep her from bouncing off the walls. Giving her beer helped. There's no age limit in the Zone, and it's not like we had her pounding absinthe. A few drinks mellowed her out and made her less likely to claw at the walls.

She wanted to see Exile, and I understood that. I wanted to see him too. But things happen out there; you get delayed. It had happened to me and to others, and it just came with the territory. Yesterday I'd headed out with some rookies to take ammunition to the Merc, who was camped in the forest on the ridge, working to make the area surrounding HQ a little less hazardous in terms of mutants.

One of those extremely lengthy emissions had kept us from getting back until nearly eight hours after we had been supposed to return. It was just one of those things.

Eventually Tyrian went to bed, leaving me with Russet. Normally Velvet would have been with us this time of night; she set aside an hour before she went to bed for relaxation. She would play with us, or read a book and have a drink. Tonight she hadn't showed up. That meant she was either extra busy or extra tired; neither was unusual. Don't look at me like I'm slacking off; whenever they were outside their bedroom, someone was supposed to be with the sisters. They had to be guarded, and there was no better guard than me.

Under the surface, Russet was both cheerful and melancholy. She felt the tug of the Zone, and the danger. She felt the responsibility of protecting her sister in these dangerous times, and she felt sadness knowing that soon she would leave. Velvet's plans were in place. In two days, the sisters, under heavy guard, would be transported out of the Zone. Velvet's plan for their hiding on the outside was as close to airtight as could be reasonably expected. Part of Russet would be glad to go, and part of her wouldn't. Velvet would, from inside the Zone, be her agent. She would put out contracts on the men who would benefit from the sisters' deaths – at considerable risk to herself, I add – and when last one was fulfilled, Russet and Tyrian would be free to go back to their old lives. This ugly chapter could be over in as little as a year.

And my year would be over even before then. She leaned down a little to look into my eyes.

"Is it Velvet?" she asked.

I blinked and focused on her. "Hm?"

"Velvet?"

I shook my head. "She's not my type." And that was true; she wasn't. But it's never that simple. Russet smiled at me.

"You should get more rest," she said.

"I'm okay," I told her, and it was true. I was.