by Arthur Stone
“Fatso was heading to Rainbow,” Clown remembered.
March turned to face him. “So?”
“Oh, nothing. But if we’re going to be making another crossing, we’ll need people. Fatso proved himself in the last one. He wasn’t the best of us, but when it came time to fight, he fought. He didn’t run.”
March nodded. “We’ll think about it. But first we have to reach Rainbow.”
“Why piece together a hodgepodge team like before?” Cheater butted in. “I’ve got a whole backpack of mods that I’d be willing to spend to speed things up. We can hire a good team. The best in the area. Or even several of the best teams. Then we’ll make our crossing quickly and safely.”
March shook his head. “You’re a good man, Cheater, but still naive. Good teams don’t just sit around waiting to be hired. They occupy themselves with their own affairs, and those who are up for hire are booked a month or more out. They also have their own values. Good teams would be first and foremost true to themselves, not to the greater good. You can never be sure they won’t strike you from behind and steal everything you have.”
“The traders do it somehow.”
“They have their own mercenaries, whom they’ve worked with for a long time. Not a random group like ours, patched together just before the crossing. It’s a whole system. And it’s a bad idea to stab a powerful system in the back.”
“So could we go with one of the caravans then?” Cheater advanced.
March shook his head again. “No, not in a situation like this. Besides, as the leader, I’ll make the final decision. Don’t worry—my plan will be a good one. As usual, I best of all know what we need to do, how we need to do it, and where and with whom we need to go. Your task is a straightforward one: come with me, and follow my orders. Otherwise, I’ll work up a terrible thirst explaining every last scrap of common sense to you. Better to just do as you are told.”
“I will. I just don’t like being in the dark.”
“You don’t have to like anything right now. The only thing you need to do is keep walking. To Rainbow. There’s plenty of beer there, and we can even buy ourselves an anti-aircraft gun. You may not like being in the dark, but you’ll like being in Rainbow.”
* * *
Midnight was approaching when they had to stop in the middle of a dense forest. It was not thick enough so as to be impassable at night, but they realized it was best to recover some of their strength. Plus, someone started shooting up ahead of them. An explosion even joined the cacophony, and it was clearly larger than a hand grenade. They didn’t know what was going on, and they didn’t want to know.
None of them had sleeping bags, pads, or any other such comforts. Yet all good players were accustomed to camping in the wilderness, and so they made do. Their sleep was inadequate—before the dawn had a chance to break, they were up again, and on their way, during the coldest part of the night. It was the cold that hindered them most from sleeping further. Cheater would not have been surprised to find a frost on the ground.
It was unpleasant.
Half an hour later, they reached the place which had served as the source of all the noises the night before. It was on a wide highway that stretched in both ways as far as one could see. Half a mile to their left there sat the burnt-out frames of two pickup trucks, one still languidly smoking. Someone had turned a conveniently sturdy tree branch reaching out over the road into an impromptu gallows. Two ropes dangled in the wind. They held no dead, but that certainly did not mean they had gone unused. A closer view might reveal the familiar black spots soiling the ground.
None of the party bothered to approach. There was no sense looking for loot—the winners had likely taken everything of value. Besides, they had a bag full of modifications, loot from the Unnamed One, and priceless items from the personal treasury of the Devils’ leader. Much had been lost when the truck went into the water, but the most valuable items had been on the persons of Cheater and Clown, or in their backpacks.
Just as they had crossed the road, shooting began again, from their right this time. It was far away, and the only definite voice in the song was a large-caliber machine gun, punctuated by explosive notes of an indeterminate instrument. The conflict sounded much more intense than the local battle of the night before. Neither concerned them.
The three were moving through a region in flux, where various groups were vying for power, and where people belonging to no group were rushing to seize what they could in the chaos. Anarchy was a great opportunity to express oneself. The land was full of expression.
But Cheater and his comrades had no desire to participate. To the contrary.
All they needed to do was clear the next few miles without incident.
* * *
The border of the famous stable cluster was rather disappointing. Such boundaries were often seamless, and this one followed suit, but not in an aesthetically pleasing way. The group exited the forest and stepped right into a garbage dump. Heaps of trash, like Cheater and Clown had encountered the day before, complete with multitudes of odors and rats.
The border was buried under the trash.
It took Cheater a moment to realize what didn’t feel right about the situation. Rainbow is an unusual cluster, but it’s still a stable. Garbage dumps on stables never look this... fresh. They often don’t even resemble garbage dumps at all anymore. They just looked like very hilly areas, covered in grass, with pieces of plastic and glass glinting their way through the green surface now and then.
The reality, though, began to dawn on Cheater. It wasn’t the age of the cluster that was at work here, but the nature of the cluster itself. All of the inhabitants of Rainbow had to bring their trash out somewhere. Usually, trash was just dumped in the closest normal cluster. It didn’t have to be sorted or piled up carefully, since the next reboot would take care of it. The locals did not want to make unnecessarily trips or go far. So they dumped their garbage here, on the narrow strip of land between the cluster border itself and the edge of the forest beyond. It spilled over, across the border, some back onto the stable itself. Apparently, no one was troubled by the fact that this garbage would not disappear with a reboot.
They could always shovel it over, but they didn’t. Nor did they look for a better dump site which did not flow into the stable itself. Cheater was beginning to conclude some things about the inhabitants of this Rainbow.
Nothing else of note came across their path until they had reached the settlement itself. There were no patrols of any kind. He doubted that they had just missed them. The usual well-trodden paths and turnarounds were nowhere to be seen. He did notice some surveillance cameras atop tall posts, but they were not so widespread.
Walking long distances with heavy luggage did not make for a pleasant adventure. There was little energy left for conversation, so Cheater’s attempts to learn more about Rainbow were answered tersely, or not at all. Despite his comrades’ explanations hitherto, he still did not understand why no one fought over this cluster. Nor did he understand why the cluster was packed with numerous bizarre inhabitants without political ambitions. It was, after all, quite an attractive spot. The total absence of strong infecteds alone was, by itself, an incredible selling point. There were no major walls to keep them from rushing in, but they all kept their distance, because abilities did not work in this cluster—and thus their biological armor lost its toughness. That was what stopped bullets, or in the case of elites, even smaller-caliber shells. Without their primary protection, the ghouls were vulnerable to even decent small arms. So their instinct for self-preservation kept them away. Smaller ghouls were too stupid for this, of course, and wandered in from time to time, but that did not present a problem.
As it was, this stable was an open fortress against infecteds. How were players not fighting tooth and nail to have dominion here?
Cheater couldn’t figure it out.
They did maintain a kind of a defensive perimeter though—a small artificial rise running ar
ound the village, topped by a six-foot concrete wall. The wall had so many small gaps in it that the defenders could shoot from anywhere, and at anything, so there was no need for proper embrasures. Barbed wire fences ran along the approaches to the city, where appropriate. At first glance, their positioning seemed random. Cheater had long ago abandoned the notion that he could see the reason in things. Their placement may have been tactical.
He was surprised to see a guard post by the entrance—and had no idea why it was there. The three passed without a single question or even a glance from the guard.
They first drew attention while already in the village. It was, as far as stables went, ordinary looking: a chaotic jumble of buildings made out of anything on hand; players milling or sometimes staggering around; military equipment and flashy venue signs offering a panoply of entertainment options known to mankind since antiquity.
A young man with fiery red hair, done in a style reminiscent of an exploding pasta factory, directed his rapidly shifting eyes towards them and hopped over. Above the waist, he was adorned like a pretentious pimp from a cheap neighborhood, with a weakness for gizmos crafted out of shiny yellow metal. Below, he sported worn camo pants and high-topped boots with suspicious stains.
He rattled words off faster than a machine gun could rattle bullets. “Money, money, money, I can see you’ve got some that’s itching to be spent! So what’ll it be? Girls? Boys? Blonde? Redhead? White? Black? Any weight, any height, we’ve got it all. Looking for a special request? A girl with a special surprise for you? Or some valuable substances, perhaps. Spec? Or something from the old world? Whatever you need, I’ve got it! So what can I do for you?”
“I’ll tell you what you can do for us,” Clown interrupted him. “Kiss your own asshole for a change. You know what, how about you crawl into it, while you’re at it? Then we never have to see you again.”
If the redhead was offended by Clown’s rudeness, he didn’t show it. “No problem. If you need me, I’ll be here. My name’s Nut, and everybody here knows me. You won’t find a better source!”
“Where are we heading?” Cheater asked impatiently.
March was wearily plodding down the center of the street. Without turning, he replied, “Some place with beer.”
“You’re in luck, then,” Clown replied. “It’s everywhere. The streets are flowing with it. Look, over there—they’re just lapping it up off of the ground. So we can stop!”
“That’s not beer, it’s urine from the med lab,” March shook his head. “I want real beer.”
“Have you been here before?” Cheater wondered.
“No, I haven't. But I can smell good beer from a cluster away. It’s my most prized ability.”
“Really?” Cheater wondered whether this was some insight into his secretive comrade’s abilities.
“Well, not a Continental ability. It’s part of my nature. In fact, the System is jealous of that ability of mine, and it’s made its envy known now and then. Ah, here’s the place.”
The name of the bar was “The Foamy Mug,” and it did look better than the other establishments. Or quite more expensive, anyway. It was not the most pretentious place Cheater had seen, where a glass of whiskey cost its weight in pearl dust, but it was free of the baser vagabonds that filled the Continent.
March kicked open the door, knocking back the guard who had been standing nearby, and then pointed at the fat man between them and the counter, who turned to face the noise. His question had the intonation of a statement. “You’re in charge here.”
The latter quickly examined the new intruders, whose respectability was dubious, at best. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m the owner. They call me Charm. You need something?”
March tossed a small bundle at the man, as he said, “We do. We need a beer office. Immediately.”
“I don’t understand.” Charm was clearly bewildered.
“Right now, a beer office. What’s not to understand?”
“All of it.”
“Fine, I’ll explain. We don’t need computers or fax machines. Nor assistants in suits and ties. Perhaps we could use some secretaries. But if so, they must be special secretaries. Not typists and schedule keepers. Still nothing? Fine. Just give us a place where we can drink beer, have some snacks now and then, chat without anyone overhearing us, and receive guests when needed. A good atmosphere is important. So lots of beer, but also lots of office.”
“You need a conference room?”
“If I did, I would have said so. I did not say so. We just need a beer office. A good one. Preferably one that overlooks the street, so we can watch the birds. With no one uninvited troubling us. Comfortable sofas, armchairs, and big, solid tables. And your very best beer, of course. I have a hunch that the best beer in town is to be had right here, but I’ve never tried it for myself. My hunches are rarely wrong. Well? Can we count on you?”
Charm felt the bundle, and nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. We’ll get you the best place, and fast. Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes. The beer. It must be the best. Don’t forget that part. And lots of it.”
“No problem.”
“He has no idea how much you can drink...” Clown said, in a barely audible whisper.
The owner heard him. “Don’t worry. We just got a fresh couple of kegs. An excellent brew. If you plan to do nothing but pour it down your throat from a funnel all day, there’ll still be some left over.”
“I also need the locals to know that March and Cheater are here,” March continued, “drinking your beer and eating your food. And that they’re looking for people. We’re assembling a team to cross the border to the east.”
Charm stammered, looking at the visitors with new respect. The guard, who had been watching threateningly from the side, took a step back. The bartender behind the counter nervously replicated the behavior of countless generations of his forebears, wiping the counter diligently even though it was already spotless.
The owner of The Foamy Mug nodded hurriedly, and gave them a stuttered promise. “We’ll do everything you say. Every man, woman, and animal will know, and fast.”
“Good. But they must also know that we’re not taking just anybody. Most of all, we need a priest and a demoman. I don’t mean someone with an explosive Continental ability, either. I mean someone who is god with explosives. Not just good with explosives. A god with explosives. The best sapper that can be found.”
Charm regained his nonchalance. “I understand. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Clown added. “We have a friend in this town. For some reason, he is not replying to our chat messages. He might be sleeping, or deep in hot water, or even both, but it would be nice to bring him to and tell him we’re here.”
“Where is he, and what’s his name?”
“Fatso. I’ll show you his location on the map.”
“We’ll take care of it.” “Anything else?”
“Yes, we will take our beer in our office immediately!” March insisted.
Chapter 9
Life Nine. For the Team
Fatso tried to take a sip of beer, but rattled his teeth on the edge of the thick beer mug.
“Careful, unless you want a mouthful of glass,” Clown warned.
At last accomplishing a swallow, Fatso sighed with relief. “Man, I’d rather die than suffer like that again.”
“So you spent your money, and all you got was a headache?” March grinned. “Looks like you should have been drinking beer instead. I’m afraid to ask what it was you were drinking. I’m sure we couldn’t pronounce half the ingredients. No matter how much alcohol you consume, buddy, it’ll never do that to you.”
“It was a tough night,” Fatso admitted. “How did you find me?”
“You said you were headed for Rainbow. The rest was just details,” Clown said, without going into the “details.”
“So how’s Rainbow? Do you like it?” March asked.
After a short silence, Fatso took another s
ip, which made him more confident. “Everything’s wrong here. This place is a giant contradiction. It’s the largest stable in the south, but no abilities can be used here. And there are no politics. No intrigue. It shouldn’t exist. And you know what? It sounds interesting, sure, but I imagined it so much differently.”
“What did you imagine?”
“I thought it would be... different. It’s all wrong. I thought I would see things here that you couldn’t find anywhere else. But it’s just a stable. Nothing out of the ordinary. There are more of the ordinary things, of course, such as the ubiquitous bars. Everyone parties, around the clock. But I’ve seen places like this before. Maybe it sounds like Rainbow is truly free or something, but it’s just the same as everywhere else. They don’t collect your weapons at the gate, and they don’t try to interrogate you, that’s nice. But why would they? Just try opening up, and you’ll be dead before your ears stop ringing. Even if you shoot into the sky, you risk getting executed. Shoot first, ask questions later, however that goes.”