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

by Balazs Pataki

  “Smart kid,” says the Doc.

  Tarasov too finds himself giving a nod of agreement.

  “Sounds bizarre, but Pete has a point.”

  “But those fucks have no honor!”

  “Come on, Top! You like Godfather, don’t you? The mafia is all about honor this and honor that but it still makes them criminals!”

  Still, Hartman doesn’t budge.

  “Screw Hollywood, Mikhailo! For chrissakes, this is a real life situation and you’re testing my very understanding of honor!”

  “Then what the hell can we do? Even if we manage to sneak out from the Zone, what should we do? Trek all the way home?”

  “We still have our passports and our credit card…”

  “This is the SBU we are dealing with, and that also means all the former KGB network from Kaliningrad to Vladivostok! Don’t you ever underestimate them. Right as we speak, they must be assembling a killer squad to hunt us down.” Tarasov gives Hartman a grim smile. “Your candor is appreciated, Top, but we’re outlawed, outgunned, outnumbered and on the run. Clusterfuck Central as you would say.”

  “To sum it up: we’re goddamn stuck here, but we cannot stay here,” Pete adds, emboldened by Tarasov taking his side. “I don’t see any other way out than Bandit Tours. So, what’s your final say?”

  Hartman spins his tea cup on the table.

  “Let’s Nooria have the final say,” he presses out between his lips. “She’s the most important of us.”

  All eyes switch to Nooria who is effing with her blade.

  “We go with Bandits,” she softly says. “They do have honor, Top. Sultan gave me his word to bring me to Zone and he kept it.”

  The Top rolls his eyes but doesn’t dare arguing. However, Nooria has not finished yet and as she speaks her voice becomes harder and harder.

  “I want us to go with Sultan’s men because I hate them. You can not imagine how much. I must stay with them because I want Sultan feel my rage. Let’s see if he will be entertained when I cut his chest open, tear out his black heart, burn it and curse its ashes while he is still alive to watch it!”

  She screams the last words with such a rage that makes even the Top recoil in his seat.

  Tarasov stares at her aghast. He has never experienced such an outbreak of elemental fury of his tiny woman who now appears like a true witch—eyes burning with rage, veins pulsating on her neck and her voice carrying evil power that, so it seems, would by itself kill the kingpin if he were here to hear it.

  “Witch has spoken,” Nooria says in a lower but still trembling voice. She pulls her hood on and storms out of the house into the night, leaving the door ajar.

  Tarasov jumps up but the Doctor shows him to stay and whistles. The pseudodog gets up from his place at the fire and rushes after Nooria.

  “Druzhok!” the Doctor shouts. “Zakry dver!”

  The door slams shut.

  “My dog is the only company she needs now,” the Doctor says, calmly sipping his tea. “He will protect her until the stars calm her down.”

  For several heartbeats there is deep silence in the room, only the fire crackles.

  Finally, Pete looks around and clears his throat.

  “Looks like we have a plan.”

  “Do you think they’ve hurt her?” the Top asks.

  “No,” Tarasov says, shaking his head. ”I have a feeling that something happened in Kiev that made her not only angry but very sad as well. Something she experienced and wants to revenge. She wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

  “Outstanding. She can bloody well count me in.”

  “Oh, women,” Sawyer says. “We lesser mortals just can’t understand what’s goin’ on in their heads.”

  “I need vodka, Doc,” Tarasov says.

  “Me too. Geez, I’ve never seen anyone in such a rage!”

  “If you want to keep it that way, Pete, never piss off your father. Nooria’s just been a purring kitten if compared to the big man in rage.”

  “Is that so? Now that I’ve seen my stepsister in a fury I wouldn’t want to be part of a family argument. That’s for sure.”

  “Well, friends, I think it’s time to relax now.” The Doctor places a bottle of vodka on the table and fills five shot glasses. “Za udachy,” he says rising his glass. “To success!”

  They all finish the vodka in one gulp.

  “Becoming Ukrainian?” the Doctor asks and smiles at the three foreigners. “Good!”

  “It’s your vodka that’s good.” Tarasov smacks his lips. “Cossacks?”

  “Finlandia.”

  “You’re a traitor to the Motherland, Doc.”

  “Then I should also go and join the Bandits, I take?”

  Tarasov wishes the Doctor weren’t joking.

  “We better call it a day if we want to set out early tomorrow,” he says switching off the PDA. “Sawyer, are you absolutely sure about staying here?”

  “Avoiding having to get up at an ungodly hour is just another reason to stay,” the Australian says getting to his feet. “G’nite, peeps. I’ll say my farewells in the morning… if I manage to get up!”

  “Shouldn’t we check out on Nooria?” the Top asks.

  “If the Doc says she’ll be fine, there’s no need to worry.”

  “There better ain’t.”

  “When do we set out?” Pete asks.

  Tarasov glances at his watch. “Five sharp.”

  Hearing this, Pete loudly yawns. He takes his towel from the fireplace where their clothes are drying on a rack and waves good night.

  Tarasov and the Doctor move two chairs to the fireplace where they make themselves as comfortable as they can. They both know that even if they ever meet again, it will be in a far and uncertain future. For a long time they just sit and listen to the fire crackling. Then the Doctor breaks the silence.

  “How is Strelok?”

  “Nooria somehow rejuvenated him. He told me he’s out to do mischief, so maybe one of these days he’ll show up here to hide for a while.”

  “Yes… this house will always be a safe haven for him.” The Doctor fills two shot glasses. “Let’s drink once more. To him and those lucky enough to make it here.”

  “How do you manage to keep this place secret?” asks Tarasov taking one the glasses. “Word of your healing skills must drive many Stalkers here.”

  “Only those come who the Zone allows,” the Doctor says. “Only those make it back from here, too. They all know that the only thing that can guide one to me is the Zone itself.”

  “You think Sawyer has been called by it, too?”

  The Doctor firmly nods.

  “Definitely. Entering a Space anomaly was as foolish as it was brave. His survival was a sign that the Zone wanted him to enter. It remains to be seen what plans the Zone has with him. For now, he’s a man with a good but weary heart, looking for something that can give a new meaning to his life.” A mysterious smile plays around the Doctor’s mouth. “Nothing a little woodcutting couldn’t heal.”

  Just a few minutes ago, Tarasov had been eager to clean himself up and get into bed for a good night’s sleep. He knows that this moment of peace and safety will be the last before another long, perilous stretch, and the temptation to enjoy the cozy warmth of the fireplace proves too strong to resist. Moreover, it could be the last time for him to chat with the Doctor. After all, chances are that once he is out of the Exclusion Zone he will never return. Thinking of his future, all is a riddle.

  He takes a deep breath before asking on, because he knows he’s about to inquire a secret.

  “Can I ask you something? Talking about the Zone—is it true that you made it to the Wish Granter before Strelok?”

  Sadness comes over the Doctor’s wrinkled face like a shadow.

  “You mentioned my healing skills,” he says. “Also, you know that every fulfilled wish comes at a price. The price I have to pay is seclusion. Think about it.”

  “So, after all the legend of the Wish Granter is
true?”

  “For some. I wouldn’t dare saying, the Chosen.”

  “I could never make up my mind whether to believe it or not. Probably I better wanted it to be just a legend, so I believed it a legend. When I was there I didn’t dare wish for anything. Probably I’ve been a coward, missing on my only chance to find out the truth.”

  “No. It was very wise of you. A choice one needs the most courage to take, even.”

  “I’m glad you said that.” Tarasov heaves the sigh of someone who has just released from a burden weighing on his heart. “I’ve been having a run of bad luck ever since.”

  “Bad luck? I heard of rookies who got eaten by blind dogs on their first day. That’s bad luck. But you? Some way or another, you always get through.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “If you want to know what I think, the fact that you made it to the Wish Granter and didn’t fall for the temptation makes you useful to the Zone. Yes—for the Zone, or better: the power behind it. You are still an empty page. Who knows what story will be written on it and how it will end? Not my business to know, mind you, neither would I want to look into anyone’s future if there were such an ability.”

  “What do you mean by saying, ’the power behind the Zone’?”

  “You know best that the two Zones are connected. Superficially, by the Soviet past and Stalkers. Deeper, maybe by something that’s broken about our planet. Maybe you starting a new life in the New Zone is part of something bigger. Again, who knows? You might be a small link in a long chain of events. In any case, I don’t believe the Zone would let anyone survive if it had no plans for him. Or her, for that matter.”

  The Doctor fills his cup with tea. Tarasov is about to reply when he continues his thoughts.

  “However—I believe Nooria is special. More than you and me, who are just ordinary people sucked in by the Zone. She might be the proverbial place to stand on that’s needed to move the world — or at least what’s behind the Zone. From the very first moment I met her, I sensed power in her—power I’d never sensed before.”

  “She is special, and wise too, but just human like us. Hartman and the others in the Tribe call her a witch, true enough, but that’s just a manner of speaking. If artifact lore and healing skills made her a real witch, Doc, you would be a veritable witchmaster!”

  “That’s your wishful thinking, my friend. Don’t try to deny what can no longer be denied.”

  “What are you hinting at? That she is not human?” Tarasov sneers. “Come on, Doc. I assure you she feels, smells and tastes like a flesh and blood woman.”

  The Doctor grins. “Don’t tease an old and lonely man with things like that!”

  For several minutes he appears to be fully consumed by the pleasure of inhaling the vapors rising from his tea cup. Finally, when Tarasov already thinks he wants to keep his wisdom to himself, the Doctor replies.

  “I think she is a vessel holding power beyond our understanding.”

  “Gospodi, Doc! I’d never go into a gunfight with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I asked you for a spare mag, you’d tell me the history of gunpowder. So, in less flowery words?”

  “Maybe your child will be that power. Perhaps it will rule both Zones, make them disappear — or spread over the whole world. Who knows?” Seeing the utter bewilderment on Tarasov’s face, the Doc adds almost comfortingly: “Time, my friend. Only time will tell.”

  Stuck for words, Tarasov stares into the crackling fire. For long minutes he lets the time just pass by, enjoying calmness he hasn’t felt in a long time; now however the Doctor’s prophetic words have struck a chord of discomfort in his soul. Then a simple thing comes to his mind.

  “It’s about time to thank you for letting us stay.”

  The Doctor waves his hand in a gesture that could mean don’t mention it but it was the will of the Zone as well. Probably both.

  “I haven’t seen Strelok in ages,” he pensively says. “Sometimes I asked myself, could it be that he has died? And I kept telling myself, no—he will overcome any obstacle, he’s just fine. He will always be a good friend. Druzhok is good enough company on most days, but he only cares about his lunch. It’s more important to him than the fate of an old friend.”

  Tarasov gives him a world-weary look. “I always knew your mutant is almost human.”

  “No,” the Doc says returning the bitter smile. “Some humans are like mutants.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to feel guilty over Nooria meeting only the worst of our people.”

  “That’s because you keep bad company yourself. Stalkers, renegades, military, all kinds of Zone scoundrel, including an old medicine man hiding in the Zone’s butthole,” the Doc replies with thick irony. “And as if that hadn’t been enough, now you’ll join the Bandits! The worst of them all! Can’t blame her if she hasn’t yet applied for Ukrainian citizenship.” They both chuckle. “Yes… no wonder she didn’t have a chance to meet a few ordinary people who, after all, keep this country alive.”

  “Who always have and always will,” nods Tarasov.

  The Doctor raises his glass. Tarasov follows suit and they clink their glasses in a silent toast.

  58

  SBU headquarters, Kiev

  “Idiots! You deserve two years strafbat! Cleaning up radioactive shit is the only thing you are good for!”

  Captain Maksimov has endured more than enough pain during his missions into the Exclusion Zone. In battle, waves of adrenaline made him scream and swear and compensate for the pain. Now, standing at attention in Colonel Kruchelnikov’s office, he can only grind his teeth, trying to conceal the pain from the wound in his bandaged throat and the shame on his face. Sergeant Vlasov, whose Spetsnaz detachment was responsible for guarding Tarasov, is standing next to him and apparently doesn’t feel any better.

  Colonel Kruchelnikov bashes his desk with both fists. His artery is swelling as he yells at them.

  “First, Strelok makes a fool of you. Then your prisoner kills one of our best agents and stabs two guards while she walks away! Using your key card! And if that wasn’t already be a disgrace of incredible proportions, Tarasov too escapes from Cordon Base!”

  “That was my fault, Colonel,” the sergeant boldly admits.

  “Shut your mouth, Vlasov! Tell me, Captain, what the hell am I supposed to do with you two? You are not worth the price of the bullets I want to put in your heads!”

  “Sir,” Maksimenko says shunning the Colonel’s eyes. “Agent Fedorka’s death is the greatest punishment that could ever fall on me.”

  “What the hell happened with you and Fedorka? Don’t even think of lying to me!”

  “Fedorka—I mean, I applied aggressive interrogation methods including, but not limited to psychological pressure. Things got out of control and—”

  “Maksimenko. Captain Maksimenko,” the Colonel says with sudden calmness. “Did you ever see me wearing cap and bells?”

  “No, sir,” Maksimenko replies, baffled at his superior’s change of mood. “Of course not, sir.”

  “Then why do you take me for a fool?” If the Colonel was yelling at him before, he is screaming now. “Don’t you think I know everything about your liaison with Fedorka, including your perverted practices?!”

  Maksimenko feels his face blush. He swallows and stares straight forward, standing stiff like a statue.

  “Did you think you could keep anything secret from me? Did you forget where you work? Who I am? I looked the other way while you appeared a capable officer. Now you are not just a failure but a laughingstock as well, and I will not tolerate ridiculous idiots in my Service!”

  “Sir, the only thing I ask for is to give me a chance to kill Tarasov and his… partner. I have nothing left but my desire for revenge.”

  The Colonel shakes his head and steps to the window, looking out into the rain. Several minutes pass and Maksimenko already hopes that the Colonel’s rage is spent.

  “Idiots! Useless, incap
able idiots!”

  Kruchelnikov turns around to Maksimenko and the Spetsnaz. His face is red from anger.

  “You will bring no more disgrace on my Service. Both of you will go to the New Zone and hunt down Tarasov, his woman, everyone around him! Even his pet mutant if he has one! From this moment, you are off our payroll until you bring me the renegade’s head on a silver plate. You have twelve hours to assemble a squad from the strafbat cleaning up Balaklava submarine base. Those are men who brought as much disgrace on our forces as you did. Nobody will miss them if they die with you, and you dying in that irradiated desert would be very much to my liking!”

  “Sir! Will we be reinstated if we succeed?”

  “Come again, Maksimenko?” Kruchelnikov makes a face as if not hearing well. “Reinstated? The only thing you can hope for is that I will not tear your head off with my own hands! Get your useless ass to Logistics and make your mission arrangements! Useless bastards…”

  Maksimenko and the Spetsnaz perform a perfect salute and turn on their heels.

  “We’re screwed,” Sergeant Vlasov says matter-of-factly when they have left the Colonel’s office.

  Captain Maksimenko doesn’t reply. He sets his teeth but fails to prevent the mix of despair, shame and anger appearing on his face. They march down the corridor, avoiding the glances of other SBU staff. Maksimenko only opens his mouth to speak when they face an office door signposted Transports and Logistics.

  “Tarasov,” he shouts and hits the wall with his fist, ignoring the pain. “Tarasov! I will not only kill you and your bitch, I will fucking exterminate you!”

  Sergeant Vlasov grabs his Captain’s hand where the knuckles are already bleeding.

  “Count me in, komandir, but don’t make this worse for you than it already is!”

  “Damn!” Panting and with his face distorted from rage, Maksimenko bashes against the wall once more. “I will find the bastard. I will find and eliminate him even if I’ll have to hunt him for the rest of my life!”

  “Sir—we will find him, but what’s good in finding him if you can’t pull the trigger with a broken hand? Let’s arrange things and begin the hunt!”