“I could tell you a thing or two about the lucky US of A,” the Top bitterly says. “I’m sure a lot of Westerners come here because they are fed up and disappointed by how things are going in their quarter of the world.”
“Touché,” the Doctor says raising his glass to the former Marine. “And this makes them brothers to the Stalkers flocking here from all over the former USSR. But now it’s your turn to talk. What brings you here, Misha? I still can’t believe that you made it to the New Zone and then out of nowhere, you pop up at my doorstep!”
“Well, Doc… it’s a long story.”
“We have all the time.”
While pondering over how to cut his story short, Tarasov lets his eyes wandering around in the Doctor’s home. Their wet jackets and boots dry in front of a fireplace. It keeps the room warm and cozy, though the ZM-LR300 rifle hanging on a nail above it reminds of the perils outside. Bookshelves line the walls, holding all kinds of things that tell of a life in the Exclusion Zone. It is all about a lonely Stalker’s life, except for the scientific books and magazines in several languages.
A framed photograph hangs on the wall next to the door. It shows Strelok in the middle, with two others looking at him; he might be giving orders to them. Though they are not recognizable, Tarasov suspects them to be members of Strelok’s group on one of their deep raids into the Zone, hoping to find the legendary Wish Granter. In the end, only Strelok made it while his friends died one after another. Strelok, always tight-lipped about his dealings in the Zone’s heart, once hinted at another of his friends still being alive. He referred to him only as Guide, describing him as an extremely elusive character who preferred to stay unknown. Thinking about it, Tarasov’s guess is that the Doctor himself might have taken the photograph and deliberately kept Guide out of the frame. That would explain why only three of the five legendary Stalkers are visible in the picture.
Seeing that he is at a loss of words, the Doctor fills Tarasov’s glass with vodka from a glass jug to ease his tongue.
“Thanks, Doc. Suffice to say, I had to do an errand for a certain new friend of mine from the New Zone. He is a powerful man and his… Tribe, or maybe faction as we would say here in the Exclusion Zone, has an impressive network back in America. When I checked my stored messages in their base I found two coming from Strelok. The first was about meeting me. The other a cry for help. Strelok is… you know. I couldn’t ignore either of his messages and have returned. I had hoped that you might know what his messages are about, or at least tell me of his whereabouts.”
The Doctor strokes his white stubble. “Interesting… Alas, I have to disappoint you—I don’t know where he is now. Strelok used to come here, yes, and he still has a stash here. Sometimes he spent time praying in the old wooden church to the south-east. You’ve probably heard that his mind is… troubled.”
“I know. Few have a better reason to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder after what he had been through.”
“PTSD is a pussy’s excuse,” Hartman grumbles, prompting Tarasov to dart a disapproving look at him.
“I’m adept at healing wounds,” their host says ignoring the Top. “Daresay, I know a few things about curing wounded souls as well. However, Strelok’s troubles are beyond my skills. I warned him before he set out on that fateful raid to the center of the Zone. I still can’t forgive myself for not being with him in his direst hours.”
“What happened to Strelok?” Nooria asks.
“Only he could tell.”
Tarasov watches the Doctor with narrowed eyes. When they arrived, he greeted all his companions like ordinary Stalkers, except for a little surprise in his eyes when he saw Hartman’s size. When Nooria stepped in, though, he looked at her for a moment as if seeing a ghost and then bowed his head with such a deep respect that went far beyond an old-fashioned gentleman’s politeness towards a woman, or the understandable surprise over meeting a woman in the virtually male-only Exclusion Zone. Just like Nooria in the New Zone, the Doctor had always been a node of lore about the Exclusion Zone. All this makes Tarasov curious about what these two might have in common, since the two Zones also have more in common than what meets the eye.
“If he is in trouble, then you did the right thing by heeding his call. He doesn’t have many friends left.” The Doctor jerks his thumb toward the photograph. “Fang was the technical genius and Ghost the daring one. You’ll need Fang’s aptitude to find him, Ghost’s skills to help him and Guide’s knowledge of the Zone to get to him quickly. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll give you all the help an old medicine man can.”
“I don’t know about who you’re talkin’ about,” Sawyer says raising his vodka glass to Tarasov, “but this guy knows the Zone like the back of his hand. I’m tellin’ you that!”
“Thanks, Finn,” Tarasov says with a smile. “And thanks to you too, Doc. You already did much by making us forget the Swamps outside.”
“Say thanks to Druzhok,” the Doctor says caressing the mutant’s head. “Sometimes I let him roam the Swamps and he brings me a snork’s leg or a boar’s ear in exchange. I think he wants to share his lunch with me.” He looks at his pet with a warm smile. ”Da, Druzhok? Kakoy molodets ti, umnaya sobaka. Nu, idi gulyat'!”
The tamed mutant gives its master a friendly snarl and jogs to the door. It opens it with its paw and disappears outside.
“Sobaka! Zabil zakrit dver!”
In response to the Doctor’s call, the pseudodog smashes the door closed. Tarasov and his companions exchange perplexed looks over the table. The Doctor smiles mysteriously and fills their cups with tea from the samovar.
“Maybe the Bar at Rostok would be a good place to start asking around,” Tarasov says clearing his throat.
“This Strelok guy… is he on his own?”
“What do you mean, Top?”
Hartman studies his dirty fingernails, apparently embarrassed over what he has to say.
“Let me put it this way, Mikhailo… you didn’t return by your own will, did you?”
“Correct. It was Strelok’s message.”
“So—are you sure that message came from him?”
“It certainly came from his PDA.”
“You don’t get my point. What if someone made that Strelok character send you a message, or perhaps just used his PDA, to lure you back?”
Tarasov slowly rotates the vodka glass in his hands and doesn’t look at Hartman.
“Who would have done so?” he eventually asks.
“Someone pissed off by you not bringing back the research data you were sent to find.”
“That’s a little murky, I admit,” Tarasov says and feels a sudden urge to scratch his head. “The whole mission was a set-up. The SBU used me and my men as a bait to expose an arms dealer. Finding the research data was just the cherry on the cake. At least that’s what Alex Degtyarev told me when I made up my mind to contact him from the Alamo. Believe me, Degtyarev would be the last one I could piss off by desertion. He is kind of a deserter himself who no longer knows if he’s with the SBU or the Free Stalkers—the Loners.”
“I don’t know that Degti… Degta… Degtyarev guy. You might be right. All I’m saying is — you better be very cautious.”
“I know exactly that I’m a wanted man, but I trust Strelok. Why? Because I am one of the few left who he himself can trust. He wouldn’t betray me. You don’t need to remind me about being cautious. That’s why we entered the Zone the long and hard way.”
“You’ve been lucky so far,” the Doctor says. “Better to not tempt the Zone, if you follow my meaning.”
Using an iron pincer, he takes a few glowing embers from the fireplace to heat up the copper samovar that stands in the middle of the table.