S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Northern Passage s-2

by Balazs Pataki

  “What happened to your nose, anyway?”

  “Uhm… I head-butted a Monolith fighter while he still had his gas mask on… Right, Nooria?”

  Nooria smiles and gives him an allowing nod.

  “Anyway, the secret experiments were financed after the USSR had collapsed. The biggest part came from government funds, originally paid to support research in the Agroprom. The guy in charge, a certain Petr Strizh, channeled the funds to procure all kinds of high-tech gadgets for the researchers.”

  “I know that part already,” Tarasov says. “It was Captain Maksimenko who investigated it.”

  “Misha, Misha… it’s a shame that two of the best men the military ever had in the Zone are now enemies.”

  “Now we’re beyond simply being enemies,” Tarasov grimly says.

  “I can imagine. So, when I had a glance at the documents I found in that hellhole, I removed the parts dealing with Lab X-1 and hid them. The pages I kept tell everything—where the first lab was built, who was running it, what they were researching and how.”

  “Not a new method to produce more toys for the USSR’s five year plan, I guess.”

  “You bet—it was about some weird gas or electromagnetic radiation or whatever. I’m no scientist to understand. The mastermind was a certain Professor Chubko. He describes in the X-18 documents how he got the idea. When the Americans began to equip the dushmans with Stinger missiles, the head designer of the Mi-24 gunships visited Bagram to get fresh ideas from the pilots. They did a little demonstration for him, performing amazing stunts with their helicopters like spinning them around their vertical axles—something that the gunships were not supposed to be capable of. It didn’t help the helicopters in the end, but Chubko got inspired: if machines can be brought over the edge, so could human beings…”

  “Bastards,” grumbles Tarasov. “They didn’t give up on the idea. That’s what our so-called scientists were after, too!”

  “He and his minions started to experiment on volunteers. First, it was die-hard Spetsnaz who wanted to go beyond their limits, but then things went wrong and the scientists switched to strafbat grunts who preferred becoming guinea pigs over going to the labor camps.”

  “Have you ever heard of this, Nooria?”

  “No,” she replies staring into the flames. “But Panjir Valley was always a bad, very bad place. Since very long ago.”

  Strelok frowns. “If you don’t mind me asking, Nooria — how old are you?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” she says with a shrug and gives one of her innocent giggles. “But eight years ago when Colonel came, I was big enough to go to nurse school.”

  “You know, whenever I look into your eyes I think that… On second thought, never mind. After all, it’s not mine but that lucky guy’s business to know who sits next to you.” Strelok takes a water-proof medikit box from his map holder and opens it. Inside is a pile of yellowed pages. “Bottom line: here’s what I took from the X-18 documents. I saved you the trouble of getting them yourself. Please appreciate it.”

  “I do appreciate it but what am I supposed to do with this?”

  “As a starter, take these papers and keep them safe. It would be a shame if they’d get spoilt now after surviving two decades in the vaults. Read them… and then decide what to do.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.” Reluctantly, Tarasov takes the box from Strelok. “If this turns out the way I believe it will — do you feel like joining me on a trip to the south?”

  Strelok shakes his head.

  “No. The Exclusion Zone is all I have and I’ll never leave it. Not even for a Zone where the only mutants are roasted pigs and it rains vodka. I suppose the New Zone is not even remotely like that.” He grins and gives Tarasov a challenging look. “And you? Feel like staying here?”

  Tarasov gently caresses Nooria’s face.

  “Well… I think I get your point. However, this brings me to the worst piece of bad news,” Strelok says.

  “What could be worse than what you’ve told already?”

  “Looks like your New Zone is spreading, or at least attempting to.”

  “Come again?”

  “I saw it on the news—a massive emission has hit southern Uzbekistan, but only there. It appeared to me as if the New Zone wanted to extend northwards.”

  “Oh no!”

  Nooria’s sudden cry makes the men scowl.

  “I know why—it is—it wants…”

  “Nooria! You’re trembling. What’s the matter with you?”

  “It is—no, I’m just freezing… it is very cold here.”

  Strelok offers her his bottle. Nooria takes another swig.

  “Mikhailo,” she says, “I have to tell you something.”

  “I’m listening, dear.”

  “Not yet… Later. When we are back. I am not sure yet.”

  Tarasov sighs and exchanges a puzzled look with Strelok.

  “See? That’s why I didn’t get married. Women… always talking when they are not supposed to, and keeping quiet when one would expect them to talk,” Strelok says and begins preparing to leave.

  “You must have pissed off the SBU big time,” Tarasov says. “What will you do now?”

  Strelok shrugs but gives the couple a dashing smile.

  “It’s about time for new adventures. I told you, I am a free man now, and I must thank your woman for that… She has set me free, perhaps from a worse prison than I got you out from.”

  “As an old friend of mine would say — we’re quits then. I’m glad you don’t want any secret stash coordinates in turn.”

  “No coordinates, but now that you mentioned a reward…” Strelok gives him a smirk. “Yes, there is something. Nooria, do you mind if I keep this pistol?”

  Strelok unholsters the silenced Sig Sauer P229 that was Sultan’s farewell gift to Nooria.

  “Yes. Definitely,” she replies. “It is yours as a reward from me for helping Mikhailo.”

  “Great! Nooria, when we meet next time, please do have a bigger one on you… an artifact-enhanced Gauss rifle maybe? For that, I’ll rescue this clumsy guy even from Kruchelnikov’s closet!”

  “There will be no more need for Mikhailo to escape from anywhere,” she confidently says.

  Meanwhile, Strelok takes an armored suit from his rucksack.

  “Before I forget — this is a mercenary suit from my secret stash in the Rookie Village. I keep it in an attic because Stalkers are too lazy to climb up there. Don’t give it that look, it’s better than what you’re wearing. And here’s some more goodies.” Rummaging in his rucksack, he fishes out a few food rations, bandages, a plastic bag holding a dozen bolts and a Veles type artifact detector. “It’s not exactly the best stuff on earth but should keep you alive until you get back to the Doc. Give him my regards.”

  “I can only thank you, Strelok.”

  “I wouldn’t give a damn about you, you know, if it weren’t for Nooria. How I wish we had some female Stalkers!”

  “I’ve met one in the New Zone, actually. Goes by the name of Mac, but the real one is Beth and she doesn’t have very fond memories of you.”

  Strelok stares at him with eyes fully wide open. “What? You have met her? How is she doing?”

  “Perfectly, probably because she’s far away from you.”

  “Oh dear. You almost make me want reconsider my decision to stay here—you know what? Make sure Nooria tells her what happened in Noah’s Ark, and—eh, just tell Beth that my message is: never say never.”

  “Will do. But didn’t you just say that you’ll never leave the Exclusion Zone?”

  “I need to go now,” Strelok says without answering Tarasov’s question. He hauls his rucksack to his back. “Hey, Guide! We’re leaving!”

  “It’s about time,” grumbles the other Stalker. “Where to?”

  “Don’t know. Got any idea where we could stir up mischief?”

  “Heard about weird things going on at the Duga-3 radar.”

&n
bsp; “Guess it was just a woodpecker scaring the shit out of some rookies.”

  “Stalkers suffering from a strange sickness at Polenskoye.”

  “Too far. Takes an eternity to get there. Besides, what’s the point of heading there knowing we gonna catch some damn disease and spread it around the globe?”

  “Rumor has it the Black Digger is back.”

  “Now that sounds interesting. To the Garbage then! Haven’t seen Seriy for a while anyway. Good bye and good hunting, you lovebirds!”

  “Yes… good hunting to you too, Marked One.”

  Tarasov gives a long sigh as he watches Strelok and Guide wave farewell before they disappear in the gloom. He knows that the last bond between him and the Exclusion Zone has just been cut.

  “We should move on too,” he says and glances at his watch. “It’s almost dawn and the military will send out patrols at first light.”

  Nooria nods and stamps out the smoldering campfire.

  “When I got free from SBU and was all alone in your big city—that was hardest. I was thinking, maybe I will never see you again.”

  Tarasov sighs once more, unsure about how to express his feelings. Nooria takes his hand. Her warm gaze assures him that he doesn’t have to waste any words. Yet there is a shadow of sadness in Nooria’s eyes that he has never seen before. He tries to focus on their next step and appear cheerful.

  “If only half of what Strelok said about your misadventures is true and the Top learns of it, he won’t be pleased.” Getting on his feet, he slings the assault rifle over his shoulder. “Truth be told, I’d prefer Captain Maksimenko’s torture chamber than—”

  “Never say such a thing!” Nooria replies with sudden anger. Tarasov bites his lips.

  Then he takes Nooria’s hand and leads her towards the south-west, where low hills separate Cordon from the fringes of the Swamps.

  57

  The Doctor’s house, Swamps, Exclusion Zone

  “I still can’t believe he sold you out for two weeks leave and two thousand hrivnyi, Misha!”

  Surprise and contempt mix in the Doctor’s look, while he puts a kettle with fresh water onto the samovar.

  They were relieved to arrive at the Swamp cottage, of course, but not as relieved as the Top who would have faced the Colonel’s fury if anything would had happened to Nooria. Tarasov himself got away with the old Marine calling him names for being dumb enough to let himself be captured. He saw it better not to argue.

  It also turned out that they didn’t arrive a moment too soon. After the Doctor was thoughtless enough to tell them about the Mercenaries being a faction in the Zone, Hartman and Pete decided to set out and hire them for a raid on Cordon Base. However, this was only the first step in Top’s desperate plan. After taking the Base, he wanted to use the military’s radio to contact the Tribe, let a ‘squad’ of warriors be secretly sent to Kiev and then overrun the SBU headquarters itself. No matter how crazy the plan was, Hartman appeared a little disappointed over not having a chance to execute it.

  Shaking his head, the Doctor puts more wood into the fireplace.

  “Two thousand local money? How much is that?”

  “About two hundred and fifty dollars, Top.”

  “Pathetic pocket money. There’s no honor left in this world, I’m tellin’ you.”

  Tarasov shrugs.

  “I can’t blame him. It’s more than one month’s of Shumenko’s normal pay. Besides, in the eyes of my former comrades I’m a traitor and deserter.”

  “I say, let’s get out of this cursed place as soon as we can!”

  “I’d rather stay,” Finn Sawyer says, filling his cup with tea from the samovar. “I like it here. Boars are plenty and this cottage is cozy… I count myself lucky for running into you at Heathrow.”

  “You told me yesterday you miss women,” Pete says with a smirk.

  “Err, yeah, I mean that’s true,” the Australian says scratching his nape. “And a good cab-sav too. Be that as it is, the Doc told me in a few days he’ll go to… what was it, Roswell?”

  “Rostok, my friend.”

  “Yeah, to Rostok for supplies and there’s supposed to be a bar which might have a bottle or two. I mean no offense, but living on neat vodka makes my guts rot. This place is great, so lonely and all, and it has so many things I can’t find anywhere else. Yeah, I think I could take a break from tits and pussies. A little break, I mean.”

  “You don’t want to come with us to the New Zone?”

  “Why would I? I’ve seen enough desert down under.”

  “It’s more than just deserts.”

  “Nah, I’ve made up my mind. As far as I know, no one has written a survivalist’s guide book about this place anyway. The idea came to me yesterday when I was cutting firewood, you know, and please don’t jinx it by telling me that there’s anything written already. Okay?”

  The Doctor nods.

  “It’s a good idea. I’ll add my chapters too, and if our advice will save just one rookie’s life we didn’t live for nothing.”

  “Oh yeah! Exclusion Zone — a travel survival kit, written by Finn H. Sawyer,” says the Australian enthusiastically. “Or even better—Mud, Swags and Fears. Like the book by Bear Grylls!”

  “Why don’t you start with the New Zone where you could grill Bears?” Hartman laughs loud over his reference to fearsome mutant living in the other Zone.

  “Oh God, make my ears unhear his Dr Evil laugh,” Pete breathes mimicking a prayer.

  “I’m not sure if Stalkers are much into reading, Finn,” Tarasov amusedly says.

  “Smart ones do.”

  “I got a book idea, Doc,” Pete bursts out. “Listen, what about a perfectly normal guy waking up one day to find himself transformed into a giant insect-like creature?”

  Sawyer waves the idea off. “Gotta come up with something better, kiddo.”

  “Why would Stalkers care about stories written about life in the Big Land?” the Doctor asks. “The Zone is their world now. So, let’s write about the Zone—or even both Zones. Yes.”

  Tarasov nods. “Good point.”

  “Yes, let’s get to the point at last,” Hartman says still chuckling. “So, how do we get back to our Zone?”

  Tarasov takes sips his tea. The Doctor has added a pine cone to the charcoal that keeps the samovar warm and the delicious aroma of autumnal forests lingers in the steam rising from his cup. He inhales it deeply. “Nooria has an idea.”

  “Sultan gave me this,” Nooria says and puts her PDA on the table. “We have to go to a place marked on map. Bandits know how to get to our Zone.”

  “This is the Container Warehouse in Jupiter area,” Tarasov says looking at the display. “Three days’ hike from here. If we set out at dawn, we should reach Rostok by nightfall. Then we follow this road east of the Military Warehouses, continue northward on the edge of the Red Forest and assuming that we don’t run into anything nasty, we should reach Jupiter the next day.”

  “How on earth is anyone supposed to travel from that place to the sandbox?” the Top asks. “Is there an airfield or something?”

  “There’s not as much as a landing strip in the Zone. All I know of is a derelict helipad close to the Jupiter factory, but that’s not for airplanes.”

  “Nooria, why was that guy so eager to help you gett back to the New Zone?” Pete asks.

  “He, uhm—he asked me to do something there for him.”

  Nooria pretends to study the PDA display closely, shunning the eyes of her companions.

  “The end justifies the means,” Tarasov shrugs. “The only thing that counts now is to get back to the New Zone. If it’s a gangster giving us a helping hand, we’ll have to accept it.”

  “Yup,” Pete nods. “Can’t think of any other way. We can forget about our fake passports.”

  Hartman frowns.

  “Wait a minute. You want us to become… criminals?”

  “Just to join them for a ride,” Tarasov says.

  “And t
hen what?”

  “Once we’re back to the New Zone, we’ll find a way to slip away.”

  “I don’t like this idea.” The Top drums his fingers on the table and shakes his head. “No way. Hiding and sneaking was bad enough. All right, I see a few things about the scavengers differently now but to join a bunch of lowlifes… no, I don’t like this at all!”

  “Any better idea?”

  “There must be a high-capacity radio somewhere in the Zone. We get to it and contact my Tribe to get us out!”

  “You sound desperate,” Sawyer calmly says. “Even if your mates were able to help us, it would take ages for ’em to get here.”

  “Maybe that is so, but I will not spoil my honor by joining a bunch of lowlifes!”

  “But you already are, Top,” Pete boldly says, avoiding the former Marine’s angry eyes. ”Look at us. Technically we’re all criminals. First, all of us are wanted for trespassing the Exclusion Zone. Then, you’re probably wanted in the States for mutiny and war crimes. Don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true! As for me, apart from going AWOL I’m also wanted for petty crime. You know the charges. Then, Mikhailo is a deserter and traitor, not to mention grand theft auto…”

  “We left that peasant seven hundred dollars for that piece of junk!” Tarasov protests. “That was no car theft but charity!”

  “Still leaves you with the charges of desertion and treason. Then, Nooria is wanted for murder. Geez, imagine how much the FBI would want to bag one who killed three spooks! The KGB or whatever it’s called here must be even worse.”

  Tarasov gives him an allowing nod.

  “So, with all due respect, Top,” Pete continues, ”empty talk about honor won’t make us any better than the baddies we’re about to join. At least not in the eyes of the guys on our tail. Let’s face it, folks — for the world outside, we’re all just criminals and outcasts!”

  “You are way wrong about our honor,” the Top angrily says. “If the extent of how wrong you are could be measured in caliber, I’d blast the moon from the sky with it!”

  “I guess you’d enjoy that but as I see it, we’re almost overqualified for becoming bandits. At least for playing along with them until we get out of here.”