– We may meet, – answered Nabis. – I warn you just in case. And, comrade Colonel. We don’t say here a “guide”. Either a “guiding” or a “heading”. – He shook his palm in front of himself, looking for explanation. – Well that’s a local specialization.
– Sorry? – re-asked Korostyloyv.
– Specialization. Did I say it wrong?
Korostylyov delayed for a moment, looking up.
– “Specifics”, in short.
– Anyway, a “guide” sounds offensive, – said Nabis implacably. – Politeness values in the Zone. With all respect. But everyone should remember about this.
Blinchuk cursed. Laughed.
– So informative today, right up to gut-wrenching. If “heading” then ”heading”.
Glyzin snorted.
– For all the times I’ve been here, I’ve never heard anything like this… But well. Particularly local, – Blinchuk singled out “local”, – illegals? May we meet them?
Seems that these military trackers were not informed that their superior is going to ride on the “neutral”… But Nabis didn’t want to risk. Guiding will be demanded. And he said vastly:
– There may be contract soldiers. And even professional soldiers. In their free time.
– Korostylyov, did you hear this? – said Blinchuk with a laugh.
– Yes sir, – the Major replied. – Corresponds to our information.
– So, okay, group, listen to my command, – said Blinchuk. – I am ordering in advance to set aside any actions to stop illegal slash poaching visits of the Zone.
His group almost in one voice responded with “yes”, and not Nabis, but Blinchuk himself whacked his fist into the cabin. Kharon loudly pulled the lever, “shishiga” drove into a huge mirror standing here, into the rain sector of the “neutral’s” Dog’s curve.
The accompanied ones at the same time and in identical manner responded together “yes”, no worse than ten seconds ago, and cursed. Rain turned into the wall straight away, behind the clouds the sun from noon jumped off to three o’clock afternoon. Nabis once again held back his desire to take out a cellophane raincoat from his backpack and throw it over himself. “I’d feel bad. Somehow it wouldn’t be a Russian way of behavior.” And to offer to the fisherman-Colonel to cover up together – he also would rather not. Fuck it. Though… Perhaps, he would share it with the Major.
– Where does all this water go? – asked Blinchuk, spitting, in human voice.