(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.

Nabis stared at him, then realized and smiled a little.

– You think I have an accent. This is a speech defect, comrade Colonel.

– I beg your pardon, – the Colonel muttered distinctly odd words for him and turned pale, which evidently replaced his “flushed”. – Guilty… But you do not understand the aim of the mission… What isn't clear about it? To detain a person with a little child seen from the tower, withdraw from the disaster zone, interview and provide assistance.

– Comrade Colonel, this is the Father, – said Nabis quietly.

– What does it mean – “the Father”? Does it mean he is a known person?

– He is the only one who survived in the Lightning. I mean they are only two. He and his daughter.

They were sitting side by side on the ebonite armchairs with folding seats, installed on the floor of the aboard Kharon's “shishiga”²⁵1. (Kharon stole the chairs in the cinema hall of the Dog's village club, four in a row on the iron rack.) Nabis was sitting on the edge. From the Earth they left through the Second, “Volgogradsky”, checkpoint and for the “greeting” of the pioneers Kharon immediately turned to the Stand, a concrete pad where two cars quietly rusted in the endless sun, dryness and heat. Door to door, white “Volga” of the missing Chief of the Polygon and “Zaporozgets” of some, probably also missing, Ensign. Neither Dog's poachers, nor bottle-women, nor even cops from the guard towers allowed themselves to touch these cars.

In the areas of housing (“The Dog's curve”) the weather inside the “neutral” had a specific behavior. A hot June day was reigning in this part of it in the middle of a cold November of the Earth. The “time of midges”, which was terrible in the Lower Volga region. But of course there were no midges in the “neutral”, as there was no other local living creatures, including cockroaches. They say, there were not even bacteria here. The dead ground, the zero circle. It was very quiet here, there was no sound from the human side, although running red and green excavators, literally a hundred meters away, were visible beyond the Volgograd-Astrakhan highway, ragged by the Zone. Well, on the alien side there was no one to make noise.

(But stupid TV tower was not seen from the “neutral”. What to show and what not to show the “neutral” chooses by itself. “Interesting, when the Colonel notices this”, thought Nabis, “will he rush back to figure it out? They say, one million rubles was stolen during the building of this tower. It was not created by a fool, of course. There was enough to carve up.”)

Behind “zaporozgets” there was a green camouflage American bio-toilet, and also an American plastic can with a tap hung on a concrete column with holders for a barbed wire. The first thing, as soon as he stopped the engine, and the colonel had not yet yelled that his eye had burst, Kharon dragged himself out of the cab with a canister and filled the can with the water after pouring out the old one. This was a responsibility of all drivers on the Dog's curve of the “neutral”. The water on the Stand was always useful. Some need to wash their top, others need to wash their bottom. And some need both. The Colonel, whom, of course, no one dared to inform about the rituals and peculiarities of going out to the Zone (or dared not to inform, or did not have time to dare to inform), and who himself did not inquire, just saw Kharon with the canister and started to command, allegedly: keep moving driver, I do not get why we stopped, quickly go to where the man with the child is walking in the Zone… here's when the hassle with the Colonel's eye started, and the orders soured in a mid-word, being replaced by the questions, vaguely translucent through the obscenities, “what the hell is that, what is happening to me?!”. Runny shit Ensign, in general an assembled and attentive man, only asked Nabis: “Is the toilet okay, safe?” – and saw a nod, dashed from the car like into a pit, holding the stomach but not forgetting, however, as many before him, weapons. The vomiting Ensign decided not to rush from the car. He fell from the chair on the floor to the left, and boasted to the Stand of his breakfast from a mechanized hill, lying at the feet of the chief. And the Major Korostylyov, as it already had been said, withstood the “greeting” without special effects, but was very surprised and worried about the resulting discord of the rescue team. But had been bravely enduring wonderment and worrying. He only put his machine gun a bit more comfortable on the knees and adjusted the black knitted hat. “This one read the instructions and did not swap fables with instructors. Or, still, it is not the first time he is out here. From whom he is hiding, from me or from his own guys”, Nabis was thinking.

– So this is, must be, such a check, damn it, – said the Colonel, taking off his helmet (a simple combined arms helmet in case), putting it on its top at the feet and pulling out a large handkerchief from the pocket of the tactical vest. His Colonial irritation has already extinguished, only the human remained, which was not interfering with the work of the brain. A fright is necessary in the Zone. You can even pump in pants, it's not forbidden, the main thing is that the brain then starts to work.

– Most likely it's a ritual, – said Nabis. – Something took a look at you. And you rushed into the Zone in vain, comrade Colonel.

– So the old Colonel, the whole Commandment… was fucked over, that's how it turns out.

– You did not want to listen to anything… Yes you are not the first. And the circumstances.

– What circumstances? – asked Blinchuk unkindly.

Nabis was silent, looking at his stomach. Blinchuk blew his nose. Looked around.

– Ensind Glyzin! – he barked and, immediately lowering his voice, asked Nabis: – Is the screaming forbidden?

– Me! – Glyzin muffly responded from the booth. And banged something, apparently with a trunk, against the wall. – It's to blame, it's not over!

– All is allowed on the “neutral”, comrade Colonel, – answered Nabis. – For now. Only the Trouble knows what will happen in a week. But it's better not to scream. Everything should be quiet in the Zone. Hands should be bared, and ears should be opened.

– The Trouble – that is how you call it… – Blinchuk shook his head towards the housing estate “Kapustin” in particular and the Polygon in general. Towards the Zone. Nabis nodded. Blinchuk frowned and began to fold his handkerchief. The vomiting Ensign Shultsev finished etching, lay a bit in waiting, slid from the car almost to his puddle, but happily missed and, stepping unsteadily, headed for the washbasin. Blinchuk, Nabis and Korostylyov were watching as he was pottering with the tap.

– And you, comrade Nabis, are you local? Civilian under a contract? – asked Blinchuk.

– Yes, I lived in the Dog's. One street away from your tower.

Blinchuk chuckled. Hid the handkerchief.

– Where did you serve? Ah, yes…

– I worked at the Polygon, as the inspector of heating plants. And the main occupation was a poacher. Cathroughr.

Blinchuk raised the rare eyebrows.

– The past life, you mean, – he said. – Is it the way it works here? To confess?

– Yes. The Trouble wrote off.

– I don't like poachers, – remarked Blinchuk.

Nabis shrugged the shoulders.

– And I don't like fishermen, but what can I do?

– Well, ok. The Father, you say… I need to get him out and question him. A living child is with him! She’s alive, right? – he appealed to the Major. Kororstylyov nodded the head.

– She is, I clearly saw.

– Accordingly, – said Blinchuk. – This is our aim. To find and to bring out. What shall we do, comrade Nabis? How do we solve the task? What do you know about the Father? What will be your essential advice?

– Most likely, we do not need to move anywhere. We must sit right here and wait, – said Nabis. – Most likely, he is coming to us. Most likely, he got caught in your TV camera intentionally. He wants to meet you. He or the Zone… This I don't know. He can walk fast, but today he has nowhere to hurry. After all, because of him you rushed into the Trouble, without preparation, on personal orders, with only one guide. So that means you can also wait now, when the Trouble stooped you a little.

– Ding-dong, – said Blinchuk. – Stay down. Not ding-dong, but holy shit. And who the hell is he?!

Nabis shrugged the shoulders.

– He is local. I remember him before the Trouble. He was a doctor in a hospital.

– Military doctor? – Major Korostylyov asked after a pause.

– I have not seen him in military uniform, – Nabis answered. – I have seen him in a white coat.

The Colonel and the Major stared at each other. The Major fixed the machine gun on the knees. The fact that the Major took AK-47 on a mission Nabis also noted. Not a general “short” like a Colonel, not a fashionable “screwdriver”, like high society Ensigns, but the real 47th, the gun for aliens. Very interesting inspector Major Korostylyov. Don't you turn your back.

The washed wet vomiting Ensign returned to the car and took up the floor of the back, looking at the authorities from the bottom up.

– So who is he right now? – asked the Colonel. – Is he dangerous?

– Very, – said Nabis. – He lives inside the Trouble. There all are dangerous. Even I am dangerous there, and how dangerous you are, I cannot even imagine.

– Hey you, intelligence officer, – said Shultsev authoritatively, – enough chasing the darkness. Right, Sergey Borisovich?

– Shut up, Shultsev, – said the Colonel thoughtfully. – And never leave the weapon.

– It's to blame! – exclaimed Shultsev, jumped into the vehicle body, picked up his rifle, sat down and, curving a little the slender body under the bulletproof vest, began to look as good as he could.

– Comrade Ensign, you need to clean up your vomit, – said Nabis. (Shultzev stared at him as an Ensign at a soldier.) – There is a mop and a bucket of water behind the toilet. Right for these purposes.

– Excuse me?! – said Shultzev.

– That's the way, – said Nabis. – Necessity. Internal order. Hide your shit from the Zone. Shit in the Zone can also bite.

– Comrade Colonel! – Shultsev turned to Comrade Colonel as to his own father.

Blinchuk sharply scratched the shaved head and looked toward the Earth. “Exactly now Chingachgook will notice that his tower had been screwed up”, thought Nabis. The most suitable moment. And the scandal at once will begin. And in the midst of hazing that occurred on the basis of personal animosity, the Father with his little Yana will approach us. But how does he not even notice that from the autumn we got in the summer?

– What is your name, comrade guide? – asked the Colonel. – I heard… Nabis?

– It is the nickname. This is the way it is here.

– The nickname. Good. So what is that?

“Now I will say my name and Shultsev will say “Fuck you, Sergey!” And I will kill him. And will go to live with the Father. And will live fast and long.”

– Okay, don't say if you don’t want to, – said Blinchuk, having decided something following Nabis' silence. – Shultsev, clean up after yourself. Then we will figure out what is the charter here and what is a jeer. At the double.

– Yes, sir, – said deadman Shultsev, also making himself some notch in the memory.

– If the Father had showed up himself, – Nabis said as if nothing had happened, – that means, comrade Colonel, that he needs to talk.

– So what's that? Did he show up directly for me? – asked Blinchuk unkindly. – Why are you twisting tales to me, comrade Colonel? How does he know personally about me? And what, is he a contacting party? Folk deputy? But of what kind of folks?

– In the Zone all the calculations are based on the result, – said Nabis. – And the result is obvious. The Father had showed up to you. You came. “Greeting” on the “neutral” is mandatory for beginners. It is minimum half an hour on the Stand, but usually an hour. (“The Stand” is this area.) And there is a time to look at you, there is a time to assess you. – Then he paused, looking at something in the distance. – And everyone knows that the new commandant is appointed and arrives today, Comrade Colonel. It's been known already for two weeks.

Here came Shultsev with “masha”²⁶1 at the ready, like death with a scythe. The clout dripped. He slapped the clout over the puddle and started to rub a slurry on the concrete in this and that directions, frowning his face.

– Glyzin, damn it, where are you?! – yelled the Colonel. He yelled again. Deadman.

Glyzin jumped out of the toilet, deftly maneuvering the barrel of the rifle in the doorway.

– Doesn't he need to clean up after himself? – Shultsev asked Nabis.

– He does not, – Nabis replied, and this answer angered Shultsev forever. But Korostylyov intervened.

– Ensigh Shultsev!

– Me! – automatically exclaimed Shultsev.

– Cut the crap! – the voice of a two-year-old girl pronounced what the Major intended to tell the Ensign very loudly, deafeningly, the clear bell-like.

And now the Colonel, Korostylyov and the Ensigns, – both jumped up in the truck's body, one, sharply turned around with a mop, so drops splashed from it into the space in a vane, and the other, quickly stood on his knee at the back wheel and put the rifle in the voice's direction – and simultaneously saw the Father.

(Nabis spotted him about three minutes ago, right during the utterance of the phrase “And there is a time to look at you”, and Kharon saw them (for sure) even earlier.)

If the current moment wasn't being described by me, Zharkovsky, but by the correspondent of the local newspaper “The Star”, Klyuvkin, it would look like this.

Courageous full face photo “the look into the distance” on a quarter of the page.

Heading “THE MAN IN HIS PLACE”.

The text: “Forty-six year old Colonel frontier Guard Blinchuk, Sergey Borisovich has seen a lot during his service. He also saw the death of his comrades, being the head of the outpost on the Afghanistan border in the late seventies. He saw the grief and misfortunes of people during his hard work in the area of liquidation of the consequences of the Chernobyl accident. The experience has tempered Sergei Borisovich's will, his subordinates and colleagues in one voice speak of his ability not to lose his head at the most acute moments. Academician Velikhov spoke warmly about him. Sergei Borisovich was one of the first candidates for the permanent position of the military commandant of the special quarantine district around Kapustin, and his appointment was unanimously approved at a joint meeting of the Government and the Commission for Elimination of the consequences of the meteorite attack in the Astrakhan region.

But here he freaked out“.

That would sound bitingly blunt, in perestroyka style, in the spirit of a new times, i.e. new trends, non-trithroughl words; and the old editor-in-chief of “The Star” Martysheva, with a heavy heart would approve it for publishing, and then would suffer, waiting for destructive phone call in the night, and then herself would call to the printing house in the morning, would torment the proofreaders all the next day… But Klyuvkin, as usual, would be wrong. After Chernobyl Blinchuk couldn't be freaked by anything to the extent of making a reckless decision twice a day.

– Glyzin, don't you shoot!

The highway (if counted on the left bank of the Volga) Volzhsky-Astrakhan (about two and a half rows in width, the asphalt is from medium-poor to almost-good, indistinct roadsides with deep ditches, a good Soviet road of of the Union significance) runs almost parallel to the Volga's arm, Akhtuba, and dissects in half the secret city of Kapustin (postal address “Leninsk-1” until recently) and the adjacent ancient village Kapustino. If you go from Volzhsky, there will be the actual city, marked Volgogradskiy check point (in fifty-seventy meters from the highway through a faded, well-shot wasteland) on your left. Further the highway gnaws into the private sector, once or twice, the 85th kilometer, and you are on wide Russian operational space, and ahead you have freedom, the Caspian, Persia, massacre without restrictions, pearls, and carts and canoes full of mysterious princesses. There are are two fences between the checkpoint and the outer street of Kapustin (Enthuziastov): the first is right at the checkpoint, barbed wire on a concrete pillars, however, quickly coming to naught, – and the barrier of concrete slabs right aside Enthuziastov stretches along five-story buildings and Komsomoltsev park to the north-east corner of the city. A year ago, during evacuation (panic escaping) of people away the sparkling, burning, exploding in the night Kapustin, this barrier was destroyed in many places. It has been rammed by buses, by boards and by personal “zhiguli” cars as well. And even one brave armored vehicle broke and brought down a rather long piece of this fence behind the hospital, and drowned in asphalt at the nearest intersection right after that. At the Volgogradsky check point, the distance between the outer fence of the wire and the concrete fence is minimal, two dozen meters, here was the main flow of the refugees, and there is only one concrete section left in the working condition, that means standing upright, – the constituent part of the Stand perimeter. Right out of it, just in a few steps from “shishiga”, the Father appeared in front of them. Appeared, arose as a character of a magic TV-show of David Copperfield, an American Kio, broadcast before and after midnight by Channel One of the central television. As if the Father was sitting there since night, waiting for the moment, most effective for “Abracadabra” and “voila”. It was impossible to believe that he, such as he was, could sneak in some other way up to Blinchuk group, even if it was stricken with diarrhea, stomach colic, and diplopia. Moreover, Nabis, who had trodden the Dog's Curve of the “neutral” in every way, knew for certain: near the Stand there is not a single, even the most wasteful, even wiped, air mirror. It's impossible to hide here. Hocus-pocus.