– Well, why don't you say something, comrade guide on duty? – asked the Colonel, furiously twirling his freed eye, blinking it, massaging it with all his fingers in turn. – You could try to get out of it or just say “My guilt, sir”, at least. The old Colonel almost lost the vision! And you, understandibly, didn't give a shit. What is your surname, I did not hear?
Diplomacy…
– Сivilian Matveev, – Nabis said after a pause.
– And why the fuck of unknown kind did you remain silent, guide?
Diplomacy. Nabis “switched on the library”.
– Your mission is a complete unprofessional adventure, comrade Colonel, – he said quietly, – I tried to warn you earlier at the Headquarters. You did not give a sh… You did not listen to me. And you, comrade Colonel, are not ready for the mission. And the aim of the mission is not fucking clear. So I'll just try to bring you back alive. Without explanations. Who has the ears – will hear… Although we did not walk out there yet. We are not yet in the Zone…
– How is it that we are not in the Zone? – Colonel was surprised, pressing a damaged eye with his finger.
Diplomacy. Nabis spit from the car on the white hot concrete of the Stand. This is the kind of people we have as our bosses. And Kharon slammed the slightly open door of his cabin. Heard everything, the old dog.
– What is it, comrade guide, searching for the words so you can politely tell the boss that he's a moron? – the Colonel asked suddenly and grinned.
– Between the Trouble… It's like a barrier between the Zone and the Earth, the “neutral”, a neutral band, – Nabis said, holding the tone. – As a trace strip. Here earthly works as earthly, and the Trouble's works too… But nothing kills. No dangerous gitiks. And a “kiss”… well, vomit, some things with the eyes, bleeding from different parts, – these all are normal for the first time. The Trouble looks at you in the “neutral”, who you are, where from. What you here for. And then registers you. It's like to enter the cell.
– Have you ever been jailed? – asked the Colonel, but not in a “shrewd” way, somehow normally.
– No, – answered Nabis.
(The Colonel noted the guide has a strong incomprehensible and unpleasant accent, although his Russian is correct and he himself is Matveev. In the “waiting room” of the checkpoint they had time to tell Colonel a little about him. He is the best on-duty guide of the rescue service personnel available today, said the issuing, Captain Mazin, he took over twenty tracks, has been serving on contract for a year. Local, a refugee. The village bully in the past, did not serve in the army, after the army he seemed to be a boilermaker, freelanced at the Polygon. Tall, a young boy of thin bones with a very dense mane of small curls on his head, blue-black, lambskin-like. In winter, might be, he does not even wear a hat. Small mustache. The day before yesterday – on the day of arrival – and yesterday Blintchuk saw him in the smoking room next to the Headquarters three times, and every time Nabis was reading a book. They all read here. God forbid such soldiers. Or even simple subordinates.)
– Yeah… How can it be fucking “neutral” if such a thing happens here with people? – asked the Colonel.
Nabis shrugged his shoulders.
– It is what it is, – he said. – It doesn't kill. Thanks for that.
– Who are you by nationality? – asked the Colonel.
