He didn’t understand that time should pass, new life should find its habitual track. But he was lucky again, he lived through the first months of his nervous breakdown, he had enough of nerve, he didn’t collapse into drinking, didn’t kill anyone. And so, about a month ago, some movement in between illegals began, to unite into artels, and objectively this central purpose had a future, was suggesting some sort of collective, habitual power of signature in circle. And all diplomacy, all literal squiggles, all luxury of human communication went at last to hell. Because a gang is a gang, back is covered, all bitches will die today, and we will never die. Reset your old age, you have reached, felt the bottom.
Fenimore was a prominent member of this movement, even though yet staying in the military tracker status. And he was a guy. He could talk and do, and he understood. So, after the stress from inability to strangle Ensign Shultsev scot-free the very thing was to talk with some understanding guy, even though not a local one, but without masks, without decorations, without show off. And with benefit. Long time there were no such opportunity, everybody Is either creatures without concepts, or police people without a law. Or suckers, ordinary people.
Fenimore settled down in a “hut with green table”. Lots of hidden places like this were near the bar, some were preserved since earth days, some were made by trackers. What was there to make really. Putting over a head piece of slate or tar was the only thing you have to do to climb up in between technical booths or factory walls. And no one really worried about getting wet, the “neutral” – is not the Trouble. Put a tar or something similar under your feet, boxes or chocks for a sitting place, and here we go – a badly prepared meeting room or a room for celebrating the outing of the mission without extra ears and not under vicious sharp dead eye of Petrovich.
– Hello, Seryoga, – Fenimore said.
– Hi, Vadik.
– I didn’t get it, I walk, and they give me signs.
– I am a guiding on duty today. Brought a newbie. – Nabis threw a broken box away and took out the new one from the pile. Sat down, moved his buttocks. Reliable. Put the gun down on the table (piece of wood, top of which was marked by green paint), close to exactly the same gun of Fenimore. Only that Fenimore’s magazine was from a machine-gun, the fortieth.