Mac grabs the notebook from Tarasov’s hands. She eagerly looks inside, and hides it safely in the map compartment of her armored suit.
“Where did you find this?”
“The Captain found it after you’d left a campsite, obviously in a hurry.”
“It was when a dushman patrol came too close during the night… Thank you very much — there’s no more to say.”
“Listen, devushka, I am not in the mood to play along any further.”
“I didn’t take you for such a pushy dickhead.”
“Agreed, sometimes I can be a pain in the ass. It’s part of my job as an officer. And now listen up. I must take you back to Yar.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t exactly do this mission to gain favor upstairs, as Sidorovich would say. Yar will only fix my squads’ kit and weapons if I bring you back. Besides, his heart is broken. Ignore that if you can.”
“Emotional blackmailing is pathetic,” she replies, biting her lip.
“But I see it works. Let’s start from the beginning. Where are you from?”
“Argentina.”
“A woman from Argentina…” Tarasov makes a low whistle. “This place never ceases to surprise.”
“So what? Are you still under the effect of what you’ve seen under my armor?” Mac asks with a taunting smile.
“No reason to deny that. Actually, I do find you beautiful… even by Argentinean standards.”
Mac laughs. “You should see my niece… but come on, have you ever met a woman from Argentina?”
“Uhm… no.”
“See? Don’t try to be a flirt, it doesn’t work for you. Just be who you are. You’re a cool enough guy.”
“Those Stalkers have a point about women… Here in the new Zone, and back in the old one, we can be who we are. And you too have a point saying that one is cool when he is what he is. But outside… I feel like a fish out of water. No woman out there would ever understand what the Zone is about and what she means to me. That’s why it’s bad that we have no female Stalkers.”
“I’m not a Wish Granter, but I hope that sooner or later you’ll run into a woman who appreciates your radioactive charm. I guess her heart will beat faster than a Geiger counter. Anyway, I know you didn’t just want to sob on my shoulders about how lonely you are.”
“Well said. And I have no intention of blowing your cover, missy, whatever you have to tell me.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Depends. But by now you should know that I keep my promises… just think about what I promised to the Captain.”
“Look… Yar didn’t tell you everything. Where should I begin?… It appears to be on another planet now, but anyway, back home I was just tired of everyone, stupid married friends always showing off about their so called wonderful lives, stupid society putting the pressure on me to be a wonder woman…”
“You are.”
“I don’t need your compliments. I mean it in another way… I hated the expectations of being a woman based only on appearance and pretension… Damn it, many of my friends would have sooner died than let themselves be seen without make-up and stuff. Do you have any idea how tiring it is to live up to all those stereotypes? But one has to, because if one just says ‘no’ to all that beauty-industry bullshit she gets treated like a weirdo. So, when I heard about the Zone I took a flight to Kiev and sneaked in, disguised as a Stalker guy, and I realized that, in there, I needed no more makeup, no short skirts, no eyelashes, nothing that is required from me before others accept me. In my disguise, I could be who I wanted — no expectations, no clichés, no pressure to do something just because fucking social rules pressure me into it… I could just be who I really was. In a Stalker’s disguise I didn’t even have to bother about guys offering their ‘help’ and ‘assistance’ at every step. I didn’t want to be taken as someone who needs ‘help’ because I happen to be a woman. It’s not even flattering, because what the fuck did I do to be treated with all this circumstantiality? Nothing! For once, I wanted to be judged by what I do and not my looks. No flirting, no more stupid games. It’s not as if I’m a man-hater or a lesbian, mind you… I do love men. Occasionally, I met some nice Stalker guy and when I was sure he would keep his mouth shut, I gave him the fuck of his young life. There’s more things one can do during the night than sitting around a campfire and telling dumb jokes, you know? And if I met a tough guy who bitched at me because he took me for just another Stalker, I bitched back at him. Vsyo zaebalo, pizdyets, na huy, blyad, idi na huy, huyesos! How’s that?”
“Not bad. Start smoking and soon you can pronounce the most important word like we Ukrainians do. Khui. From your throat. By the way, how do you say it in Spanish?”
“Pija, and something inside me says you’re a pijudo. Anyway, I eventually made my way to the Wish Granter and asked it, ‘unsex me now’…”
“Good God.”
“…and what did it do to me? I saw a bright flash and after a second my G36 and Stalker suit were gone and I was standing there in this exoskeleton with an FN2000 on my shoulder, and later I realized that all my hair was gone!”
“It’s growing back, don’t worry.”
“I’m not talking about a bad hair day, you moron. Imagine — I couldn’t take off that damned exo! I was imprisoned into it! I made my way back to Yar because he was the closest mechanic to the CNPP. It took him two days to get the suit off me without totally destroying it, because it’s a pretty good suit after all. Then I stayed with him because I kinda liked him… he got me out of that suit and of course saw what I couldn’t hide, but he was cool enough to keep it to himself. Now don’t give me such a jealous look — Yar could be my father! He actually tried to act like one… kind of.”
“He is quite fond of you indeed. So, when Yar moved his business to this new Zone you went with him, but left him nonetheless when you got bored.”
“That’s correct. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I am — I can’t stay put in the same place for too long. It’s got me into a lot of trouble. Yar is cool, but listening to his monologues about optical image enhancements and titanium rod replacements and soft trigger mechanisms all day long… it’s hardly exciting after a while.”
“I’d disagree. But anyway, why did you pick such an English-sounding name if you’re from Argentina?”
“If you’d ever read something apart from weapon manuals, you’d get it by yourself. My real name is Elisabeth. Well, almost. I always wanted to go through a sort of Lady Macbeth transformation — getting rid of my weakness, or better: of my quality to be interpreted by others as weak and soft, something to be patronized, just because… Anyway, Beth — Mac — Macbeth. Ti ponish?”
“Yes, I understand. Let’s hope Ilchenko doesn’t find out about this.”
“How would he?” Mac shrugs. “He’s an idiot.”
“He studied literature before he… never mind, my point is that he’s smarter than he seems.”
“If that’s what Ilchenko is like when he’s awake, I’d hate to be in his dreams.”
“That’s just the way he is. I don’t want you to walk hand in hand and pluck flowers on the way back to Bagram… there aren’t too many flowers here anyway… but—”
“Forget it. I want to go to the Panjir Valley and check out that Stalker paradise.”
“Why do you make my life so difficult?” Tarasov sighs. “I asked you nicely. Let’s do it the hard way then… Probably your sophisticated female perception has already made you realize that those Stalkers, and of course Ilchenko, are not much short of killing for pussy. It could be their first fuck in months and the last of their lives, so they would probably jump at the opportunity. All I’d need to do is to tell them what you are.”