– Listen, Nikolaich, you… not so fast, you slow down… – began Bashkalo nervously.
– Shut your mouth, Vasya, damn your leaky hands, I'm talking to you in the presence of the cub. We change the order of movement. Sverzhin, you go close, completely on the “risks”141. I'll be “risking”, and you handing them over to me. Now we go further. This track will be a place where you cannot talk, make noise, stomp out, or pray. No sound! You can only look at me and repeat all my actions. Bashkalo, you are ten meters behind all the time. Is the task clear?
Vadim nodded. Mumbler was attentively silent.
– That's right, it is clear to me, – said Bashkalo, hard at work. – But you should explain at least, Nikolaich…
– We'll get there – you'll see everything yourself. If you don't understand – I will explain to you at home. No questions in the Zone. Or you forgot? It seems that you're not a first timer, Vasya, – said Petrovich, expressing amazement in the last phrase.
– So is there something extremely dangerous? I didn't get. We've been ordered to survive…
Petrovich lost his patience.
– Ensign Bashkalo, stop chattering! The task is set, is clear. Perform the task. It's extremely dangerous everywhere here. And for the Soviet people, you, Vasya, must work your fifteen hundred per month through two hundred for each mission. We seem to have an ideological cub here, I live by the rules, and you have come to talk too much about money lately. Enough, no questions. Right dress, attention. Forward, contract boy. The order of movement is statutory before my command. On the march!
Vadim took one step and tumbled down into a river.
It was good in the river. And the world through which it was flowing was good. Warm, safe, and forever homely. Newcomers have been warned about hallucinations repeatedly. They were advised to recall what happened in them and, if possible, to count a seconds of objective time. One, Mississippi, two, Mississippi, three, Mississippi… And then, without fail, describe the memories in the report. A slow, narrow river in the jungle. The heavy river, the powerful river, flows from afar, for a long time. The Amazon? What the jungle is this? “How do I know”, said Mumbler, “am I a jungle specialist to you, or what?” The river flows majestically, like semolina porridge. There is a feeling of peace and security, peace in the whole world. And crocodiles and piranhas? There are none here. The water is very clean and tasty. Upstream, a half of kilometer away from Vadim, the river made a turn (he perceived it as “the river flowed out of the bend”), and out of this bend some boards with life buoys on the walls, fishing rods and open doors suddenly appeared, all sparkling in the sun, white, like in Chekhov's poem, suburban, theatrical.