Not much time has passed since the stalkers ran inside, dragging the major with them. Just as they managed to close the door behind them, we were all violently shaken by a series of strong tremors. Several stalkers, losing their balance, fell to the floor, while the others flailed their arms absurdly, trying not to fall. The table and wide benches where several men were sitting toppled over. Only Valerian, like an iceberg, stood calmly, watching us. I, barely managing to grab onto the wall, managed not to fall.
I don't know how long this shaking lasted, but time dragged on as slowly as possible. It felt like about ten minutes, but most likely much less. When everything finally calmed down, those who had remained standing helped their fallen comrades up, and Valerian began issuing orders.
"Furgon," he addresses the technician, who had just collapsed heavily onto a stool in his corner, which was now in complete disarray. "Take a couple of guys, inspect the camp for damage. If you can fix anything right away, fix it. Then report back to me."
"Yes, chief," Furgon sighs deeply, getting to his feet and brushing dust off his dark green pants, then takes a few steps and points at two stalkers. "You and you, follow me."
"Shilov, prepare an inventory of what was damaged in the warehouse," Valerian tells our merchant, who is now frantically picking up fallen items in his "shop."
"I could use some people for cleanup, Valerian," the merchant replies, wiping his forehead. "It's hard to say right away how much was damaged. The inventory will take a lot of time, and even more if I'm the only one doing the cleaning..."
"Don't grumble," the leader smiles, turning deeper into the room. "We'll find you some volunteers now. Yakut and Palach, with me. Sentries to their posts. The rest – divide into two teams, one with five people, the second with everyone else. The first will go to the warehouse to help with cleaning and inventory, the second will clean the rest of the house."
Some of the stalkers grumbled, but still followed Valerian's orders and indeed split into two teams. Letting the two stalkers who went to pick up the table and benches pass by, I head towards Yakut and Valerian. The leader and his right-hand man are now standing by Khaletsky, who is still unconscious.
"He's sleeping soundly, the scumbag," Valerian exhales, lightly kicking the soldier in the ribs. "Palach, help me, let's drag him to the cage."
The stalkers grab the major by the arms, and I grab his legs. Heavy, he ate well on state, stalker, and bandit food. As soon as we are in the cage, Yakut begins to disarm the major. He pulls out an army knife, a couple of grenades from a pouch attached to Khaletsky's body armor, and pistol rounds, which, it seems, remained lying somewhere on the roadside. After that, the stalker, nodding to the group leader, leaves the cell.
"So," Valerian examines the major, then chuckles at something and leaves the cell with me, locking it. "We're done with this for now. How was your first Emission, by the way, Palach?"
"It was okay, I guess," I shrug. "Does it always shake this much?"
"You, kid," the leader replies, smirking and running his fingers through his lush black mustache. "You haven't been to the North yet, it shakes there – you could hang yourself. And you can't hide in every house."
"Why?"
"The closer to the center of the Zone, the stronger the emissions, Palach," Valerian says, walking towards the exit of the building. I follow him. "So, engrave this in your mind, the further north – the deeper and thicker your burrow needs to be. In the Ante-chamber, the emission is almost unfelt, just a little shake, you don't even need to hide much. On the Cordon, the Garbage Dump, and the Swamps, a simple sturdy brick house with a whole roof is enough. Further than these places – you can only hide underground."
We find ourselves in Valerian's overturned office. The table with a detached leg and chairs are lying on the floor, as are a couple of cabinets that were here. Documents are scattered all over the room, the carpet on the floor is slightly shifted to the side, only the generator is undamaged and continues to work as before. First, we put the cabinets back in place, then we start on the other furniture. We begin collecting documents at the very end of the cleaning.
"Yeah," Valerian says, wiping his slightly sweaty forehead. "We'll need to sweep here, or something, and wash the floors too."
I just shrug at his words. Valerian can't even guess that there will be another Emission tomorrow. So I sincerely pity the stalkers who will have to clean all this up twice. Especially Shilov and Furgon, the most affected of Valerian's group.
"Do you need me anymore?" I ask the man, who is now wiping a kettle with a dirty rag.
"No, Palach. Thank you, you did well today," he replies, turning to face me and smiling slightly. Then, scratching his nose with his fingernail, the stalker continues. "I heard from Furgon that you know a bit about technology and repairs, right? Please, help him now. And in the evening, come see Shilov, I'll arrange a reward for you."
I nod instead of answering and head outside. Once outside, I look up. There's no trace of the Zone's recent rampage in the sky, it's crystal clear and blue. A light breeze blows, carrying the smell of extinguished fires to me. I look around, noticing a sentinel standing on the opposite roof. The other stalkers are still cleaning.
I step outside the fence, finding myself in the outer part of the camp, where I see Furgon and the two he took with him. The technician is now assessing a crack that has appeared on the wall. I approach him, asking:
"Is the damage very bad?" I say, and glance quickly at the crack, it's not that big, it can be easily patched if there's something to do it with.
"Nah," he replies, turning to me. "Just a couple of cracks in the walls, some metal parts will need to be moved, nothing critical. And what are you doing here? Valerian took you with him."
"And sent me to help you," I say with a smile. "Someone let it slip that I understand a bit about repairs."
"Heh," he chuckles, turning to me completely and crossing his arms. "Your 'a bit' means a lot in the realities of the Zone. You're a strange guy, Palach. You seem like a green recruit, but you carry yourself right. And you understand a lot."
"You can't get by without it here," I spread my hands. "Where do we start?"
"Even though you're a talented guy, we'll start with you cleaning up my workspace," Furgon grins, squinting his eyes slightly. "And I'll sort things out with these oafs."
"Hey," exclaims the lanky stalker with a noticeable scar above his lip, running across his right cheek to his eye socket. "No insults, please."
"Calm down," the technician waves him off, continuing to have fun. "I'm just kidding."
"Alright, dictator, I'll leave you with your minions and your unfunny jokes," I say, heading into Furgon's workshop.
I enter the room where cleaning is in full swing. Several stalkers under Shilov's leadership continue to stack fallen goods, while the others have almost finished their part of the work. They have returned the benches and tables to their places, washed all the fallen metal dishes, and are now carrying out the remaining debris. I suspect this is their first major cleaning in a long time.
I approach Furgon's corner, where no one dared to rummage in the technician's absence. Tools are scattered on the floor mixed with materials. With the corner of my eye, I notice nuts that have rolled away and gotten stuck between the gaps in the boards. Now I understand why the technician grinned when he sent me here. It's not just about collecting everything, but also sorting it. It doesn't seem too difficult, but it's a bit tedious; Furgon has a huge number of various small parts and materials. I take a deep breath and start working.
"Hey!" exclaims one of the stalkers' voices loudly, as I'm almost finished with my part of the work, and I have to turn to him. "What is he doing? Come on, put it on the floor, you scumbag! Or I'll shoot your hand off, damn it! Someone, go get Valerian!"
I turn back and see the major, who has regained consciousness, frantically typing something into his PDA. Damn, how did Yakut miss him? The soldier didn't hurry to listen to the stalker's words, so he fired a blast
of buckshot from an old Winchester over Khaletsky's head as a warning. Startled, he drops the PDA and doesn't hurry to pick it up, only smirks, looking at us with a mixture of triumph and contempt in his eyes.
"That's it, you sewer rats," he literally hisses, clenching his fists in anger. "Hang yourselves. Quickly, bring the chief to me!"
"And why do you need me, Khaletsky?" Valerian, who has just appeared, asks, approaching the cage with the prisoner.
"I've contacted my people, they won't leave a stone unturned here. So, stalker," the major gets to his feet, taking a couple of steps towards the bars and standing close to them. "Let me go if you value your life. And I might even forgive you. For a price."
"Well, well, brother stalkers," Valerian chuckles, turning halfway and looking at all the stalkers gathered here. Then he turns back, a moment, and a precise punch hits Khaletsky in the solar plexus, causing him to gasp for air and fall onto the boards. "He's setting conditions for us here, ha. Listen here, major, you'll be the first to howl if your men storm us. Tell me, where did you hide the case for Sidorovich?"
"So that you'll execute me right away?" the military man replies, coughing. "No way, not a chance. I'll wait..."
"Well..." the stalker leader says, pausing for a moment. "We'll see who's who. Dyatel, catch the keys. Search him again, down to his underwear. And Vyaz will keep him in his sights if he starts acting up."
"No problem," Vyaz replies, reloading his pump-action shotgun.
I turn away from the cage and continue sorting through the wires. So that's how the military found out about Khaletsky's capture by the stalkers. Events are starting to pick up speed. In a few days, Shram will appear at the Cordon and help resolve the problem with the military. And why couldn't Valerian and his men deal with them themselves? Another game convention, probably. Until the main character appears, the problem won't be solved.
Maybe I should look for the case myself? But this isn't a game, and the goods the merchant needs could be anywhere. Either at the elevator, or among the boulders. No, the idea is so-so. If I were sure that this case would definitely be in a specific place, I could go myself and earn money from it. But, in this way, I could search for it until I'm old.
Here, a strong hand lands on my shoulder, interrupting my thoughts. I turn around and see the technician in front of me. He nods approvingly, examining his workspace.
"You're almost done, aren't you? I feel bad interrupting you, but let's go, Valerian is calling," the technician says with a slight smirk.
"You could at least say thank you," I say, getting up from the stool and stretching.
"A huge thank you to you, Palach, for condescending to me with your help," and to top off this pompous speech, Furgon bows deeply.
"Clown..."
In Valerian's room, besides himself, there are Yakut, Shilov, and a stalker unfamiliar to me, wrapped in a black cloak down to the floor. The stranger is tall, and a formidable-looking shotgun hangs on his shoulder, similar to the one the Hunter uses, but without engraving. Long gray hair is tied in a ponytail, and his chin is smoothly shaven; there are a few small scars on his face. He looks about fifty, but he's well-preserved.
I approach the table and take one of the two free chairs, sitting opposite the gray-haired stalker. Immediately, a glass of fragrant tea appears before me. Furgon settles to my left.
"Since everyone is gathered, we can begin," Valerian says, taking a sip from his glass. "I present to you the Witcher, a hunter from the Gut."
"Just like in the books," Furgon snorts.
"Something like that," the Witcher replies in a deep, slightly hoarse voice. "But I came here on business. Yesterday, hunters spotted bulls, about seven men. Their armament is more than serious, one even has an RPG. Do you guess who they want to storm, or should I tell you?"
"Damn, but where did they get a grenade launcher?" Shilov raises his eyebrows in amazement and even leans forward slightly. "We need to do something about this urgently!"
"Furgon, do we have any chances against an RPG?" Valerian asks the technician, who is clearly not in the mood for fun right now.
"None," he replies after a moment's thought. "A couple of shells, and there will be nothing left of our base."
"So, we'll strike preemptively," the leader sums up, twirling his mustache thoughtfully. "Yakut, take Palach, and a few more people, and you'll go with the Witcher to the Gut. Set an ambush for the thugs, no one should escape."
"Understood," Yakut nods resolutely, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.
"And you, Palach, are you ready to shoot people?" Valerian looks at me with a serious gaze.
"Ready."