It turned out that all this time Petrovich was waiting for an answer.
– Are you silent? Silent-pliant, snotty. Okay. So. This is what we will do in connection with the feat of the comrade Ensign… – He chewed his lips. – So, group, listen to my command. Our mission of reconnaissance, marking a safe track to the “area twenty nine” and inspection of the condition of nuclear weapons as far as is visually possible for such a survey we cannot accomplish anymore. We can't get out without the poles, and will not leave anything for others. Thank you, Vasya, again. We change the route. Take the fallback route. We’ll smoke and go.
Petrovich pulled out the rarity of that summer – a fresh pack of “Rodopi”, opened it and lit up. He neatly rolled the wrapper into a ball (“Puff the ball”, squeaked Mumbler) and shoved it into the fire. The splinters were already burned and cooling, only the tablets glowed blue. Bashkalo breathed noisily and asked for a cigarette with a gesture.
– Where are we changing to? What is the fallback route, Nikolaich?
– Not far, comrade Ensign, – said Petrovich, passing him the cigarette to light up his. – It is a dive for three our poles from here. We didn't manage to do reconnaissance for command… Thanks to you. So let's do science, since the tracks have coincided. Don't soil your pants, Vasya, it's not far. Not far and familiar. My stash is nearby. I want to share it with you. And with this one, the newbie.
– That's it… – said Bashkalo, inhaling. – Share the stash! Pi-iss, not war…
They smoked in front of each other, flicking the ashes in turn into the already totally spirit fluid campfire. It was heavy, sucking, hopelessly-dueling, and Vadim shrugged off the chatter ban again.
– Comrade Senior Ensign… Allow me one more question. To do with work. So all these… weird places… Gitiks. They are all near our equipment, to the railway, as they seem to generate only from equipment, right?
Petrovich laughed.
– He's playing Indians here. Oh, kids, kids… It was true, warrior! And binoculars could be used at first, and sights. But now you will not take a walk along the free-flowing steppe… So you, Sverzhin, of this… thinking kind. For one thousand five hundred per month. How did you say – “gitiks”?
Vadim nodded.
– The “Jackets” in the smoking room were arguing. They call this an incredible place. A gitik. “Science knows many gitiks.”131 There is such an expression.
– Now that's what we call the Red Army. – Petrovich said didactically. – All the personnel of the test site, who are alive and not in the nuthouse, sit and read damned science fiction instead of the Charter! Led by comrade General, the chief of the quarantine. And you are still running to the scientists. You are strange, Sverzhin. But you have flair. And the balance is good… And you shoot, they say… Leather stocking…
– Actually I don't read at all, – said Vadim, but nobody heard him.
– Yeah, he is… a Fenimore. Damn! – Bashkalo cut in.
– Here is your Fenimore… It's a strange thing about your conscription contract, – said Petrovich. – I heard that enlistment offices recruit eighty-six to eighty-nine of the demobilized from here by their polls, and immediately offer one thousand and a half per month. Am I right, Sverzgin? Just asking.
– They also take a non-disclosure agreement, – said Vadim. – A fifteen-year sentence.
