OUTCAST

6

Above to remember a woman, for example, that conductor ... He scrupulously restored her eyes, knees, ankles, palms before his eyes. Slowly I walked my memory along my back, along the bed of a hollow along my spine. In the groin it became heavy, nervous electrical discharges moved from the lower back to the pubis. And then Ratmir remembered - right behind her coccyx she has a hole. No, not “that one”, but between it and the falcon there is a small hole. Ratmir was stuck on this memory - the gray morning light from the compartment window cast clear shadows, and the hole was visible like a small crater on the moon - clear, with sharp outlines.

Did he think this morning that he would remember this hole before he died? Ratmir felt his shoulders trembling at this thought, and his lips stretched out in hard-to-control laughter. The fear is gone. The captain knew that now his eyes were shining bravely and cheerfully, and his face had acquired the cheerful confidence of a predatory beast, and decided to walk along the position, to cheer up the soldiers.

He walked along the floors and stairs, touching each fighter - someone affectionately by the elbow, someone with a joke slapping on the back, giving someone with a laugh a mild slap on the back of the head. He looked into their eyes, as if silently sharing his secret dimple with them, making some rude jokes, adjusting the helmet-spheres, bulletproof vests on the guys, tightening the belts, checking weapons. He was energetic, fast, as if pushing the guys aside, as if giving them his energy of movement.

In this state, thought works better. He decided to "spoil" the PAKs - to remove the launch systems from them and, together with the ammunition load, to drag them to the floors. The remaining unarmed lightly armored bases from the PAKs, he will use as armored personnel carriers for infantry maneuver or evacuation of the wounded. The task is physically difficult, but the fighters gladly got down to business. Climbing the stairs, swearing and hitting the pieces of iron and each other is much better than sitting on the concrete by the cold window, looking into that forest and being afraid. They loved him, Ratmir, including for this invention of his. He always knew how to cheat in front of his superiors and get them an extra day for vacation, or at least a cake for Sunday, he could help out those who flew in for drinking or AWOL. And now I figured out how to make my own, unique superweapon.

The PAKs had already been installed in “their apartments”, the tanks, having cast shapeless gray holograms opaque to radar around them, “dissolved” in the courtyards among the playgrounds, a microsquare with a dozen birches and trash cans. The anti-aircraft gun drove into the opening between the sports and shopping centers. The soldiers ate, reinforced the windows and openings with sandbags, and even took a nap. The first-aid post in the lobby of the sports center has decomposed at the former reception with its bottles, jars, laying out mattresses in the cloakroom for future wounded. At about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, actually looking at the night, the signalman told Ratmir that he had scented the movement of the Argun tanks in the forest with radars. Their infantry had been stuck there since noon, their commander sat in a ravine behind a clearing, hiding behind pine holograms and transforming his noises into the noises of a stream. But the tanks meant that at dusk, they would strike.

Ratmir ran along with the signalers to the left nine-story building, “to the apartment” to one of the artillery crews. With others, he agreed to communicate in an open chat with some hastily found group of this microdistrict on the social network, concerned about discounts in stores. The Argunians have already read the closed regimental chat for a hundred pounds, the commanders will now begin to call on the radio - their raspy voices will crackle interspersed with the background, as if from the Stone Age ...

Having reached the artillery, Ratmir began to show them the ravine where the enemy command post was hiding. They fumbled with their probes among the fake pines, moved their ears over the stream until they hit a point - there. Ratmir ordered them to aim at this point and wait. In the shopaholic chat, he contacted two other PAKs and explained that despite the martial law and the mess, baby milk for moms continues to be sold at discounts just at a new “such and such” address. The gunners, having understood from this where "their tanks" were, ten minutes later sent "Ok", which meant that they had taken the targets and were ready. Having agreed with everyone to fire at a conditional command in the shopaholics chat, Ratmir went down to the courtyard and, by radio, having received the go-ahead from the regimental headquarters, contacted the mortarmen assigned to the regiment as part of the artillery division. I agreed with them at 15-52 - they will give 15 blocks of mines to "his" forest.

At 15-52, Ratmir lay down at the window in the stairwell, looking into the forest and holding the mobile phone in his hand. “In the 3rd pavilion they give sausages, cheap!”, - he threw his shopaholics into the chat and lay down, staring out the window.

Controlled complexes from PAKs jumped out of the windows like dim lamps and flew along a curved awkward trajectory towards the forest. Narrow long strips of white fire, similar to fluorescent lamps in institutions, quickly drowned in the gray gloom of the evening sky above the forest. Suddenly, three flashes flared up in this gloom. The reliability of PAK fire is one hundred percent, Ratmir was sure now that he knocked out two tanks and destroyed the command kung, possibly together with the commander. “Here I am a bitch!”, he said, staring out the window, “Here I am a bitch!” Mine blocks flew over the houses with a slight whistle. They were fired from three cannons, from somewhere deep in the 17th microdistrict. Over the positions of the Argunians in the forest, the blocks burst like salutes, from each 5 minutes scattered into a small circle. The windows trembled, a blow came to the ears - it was a wave from three explosions from PAKs, from the mines went peppy frequent claps. Blocks flew again and again, three in a volley. The forest was covered with a cloud of dust and smoke.

“Here I am, a bitch!” thought Ratmir, imagining how the Argun infantry was rushing about under the mines through the autumn mud in the forest, how the skeletons of two tanks glowing to the plasma, and how, perhaps, not even a grill was left from the enemy commander in an ash-covered caravan.

The fighters, groaning and sniffling, dragged PAKs along the corridor to the stairs - it would be nice to have time to pull them out of the building. Now there will be an inevitable and harsh response. Ratmir with the signalman briskly ran down the stairs along with the soldiers and yelled “Everyone in the yard! For a walk, children, for a walk!

We were already in the yard when we felt how the space was rippling around. The nine-story building moved a little and, as it were, shuddered, its outlines became blurry. This is how a plasma howitzer works. What will happen next, the soldiers knew. Inside, between the third and fifth floors, a blinding white flash puffed. A second ago, the building was whole, but the next second it did not make its way through in its entirety, as if the individual pieces had a different trajectory of life. There was a sound at first of unimaginable force of a slap, and then crackling of stone and iron pipes. With a roar, a section of the second entrance began to crumble down, huge slabs, pipes and fine red brick dust fell down.

“Here I am, a bitch…”, Ratmir repeated to himself, looking at how the houses around were pouring in pieces. The Argunians considered him a serious adversary and honored him with a blow from the corps artillery... Not only the two nine-story buildings he used in battle, but also several neighboring buildings got hit. Plasma was used to pierce holes in houses like an autogenous torch. Above him, Ratmir heard the wind again and felt the stratification of space. Raising his head, he saw in the sky something like scars or cracks - the Horde artillerymen discovered the firing points of the Argun plasma battery and began to hammer with their plasma howitzers.

Judging by the destruction and exposure time, three enemy plasmas worked out in the company, the Horde responded very quickly (“Handsome”, Ratmir thought about them) and most likely managed to cover at least someone. He, Ratmir, started his war very well. “Here I am a bitch,” he mentally repeated, “it’s not for you to drive the 20th division through the forests, here you will rake us to the fullest.”

1.3

The exchange is not my only income. Often it brings more money, but still - not the main one. The main work is in the specialty. What I was taught in Homland is working with information. Under an agreement with several companies, I prepared news publications for the media and maintained several social media accounts. For the last year I have been working as a reporter on the planet Vastu in the X system of Antara. The possibilities of communication and social networks made it possible to completely immerse in the reality of this planet and issue reports "from there" with the effect of presence. The media, of course, would prefer to have their own correspondent there, but it's too expensive. And I, and thousands like me, did this work much cheaper.

Thirty years ago, religious fanatics came to power on Vastu - the planet was deserted and sparsely populated, so civilized societies did not care about it at first. Yes, they created some kind of primitive regime with the power of priests, God's judgment, slavery and constant repression of those who disagree. But this did not really bother anyone outside the planet, and it was believed that they have the right to live the way they like.

Over time, the Vastu Sacred Council decided to become the religious center of the Galaxy and began to convene from all planets those who truly believed and wanted to live according to God's laws. It turned out that there were quite a few of them - people left everything - work, families, sold everything for next to nothing to local religious communities, and taking a one-way ticket, flew to Vastu. Soon the already meager planet was overpopulated, real poverty began there. And now, please, having overthrown the old ascetic priests, the guys came to power in an easier way. They blamed all the disasters on all the other worlds. Like, the Galaxy is mired in sin, bowed before the false gods and specifically chokes Vastu with hunger in order to prevent a truly correct society from getting on its feet. The most ardent and strong began to be gathered into brigades of the Holy Guard, whose detachments began to attack the neighboring planets of the X Antara system,

Fanatics have never been skilled fighters. They are often, indeed, ready to die heroically, but not to win. In general, they were pumped pretty quickly to the most I don’t want to. The holy city was burned by a beam from space. They bombed everything that could be called buildings, down to the last barn. An international contingent landed on Vastu and, it would seem, that was all. But humane-minded people intervened and convinced the galactic community not to put pressure on the holy fathers.

Local and all alien fanatics were allowed to re-elect their own priests, staff governments and live by the laws that they like. International organizations began to allocate humanitarian aid and funding to them with the only condition that they no longer attack anyone, but live on their own. It was supposed to create here a real religious center of the Galaxy - with monasteries, Academies, unions of artists, etc. But these people could not live on their own. A bunch of warring states formed on the planet, fighting among themselves for the nuances of scriptures and tranches of humanitarian aid. Those who did not get handouts from the galaxy mired in sin attacked the international contingent and neighboring planets. Since then, for thirty years there has been a continuous war of everyone with everyone, hunger, devastation. Now, this is the galactic center of some transcendent insanity, and the main supplier of black news for the media. If someone is well-fed, contented and a little bored in this Universe, he wants a little bit of abomination, he just watches the news from the Sacred Planet Vastu.

It has always been strange for me to see believers and hear that someone believes in something. Of course, sometimes I also believed in something, but only very locally, and even then temporarily, until faith collided with inexorable facts. Of course, like everyone who was born in this era, I was baptized in faith in the One. I didn’t really want to, but my parents forced me to. I was against it, but it was fashionable and they certainly wanted to baptize someone, show off, take a picture at the altar. I was against it, but we found a compromise - I will not fast and repent at confession. I’ll lie to my ass that I didn’t eat all day yesterday, and I’ll say the first sin that came across in order to “repent”. The pop will put a tick, the elders will be happy, and they will roll away from me on this ... I did not wear a cross. Parents wanted to, but in that place hung a pendant with a patched muzzle of one revolutionary,

Neither I nor any of my trusted friends had their prayers fulfilled. So, this machine, at least, did not work.

It can be said that I am personally acquainted with the Son of the One. Don't goggle your eyes. A boy named Pet studied with me in a parallel class at school. It seems that their father left them with their mother, or something happened to him ... The elders told the boy that his father was a sailor, somewhere beyond the sea, but someday he would return.

We didn’t really have a party at school, everyone had two or three friends, there wasn’t any kind of community, as they usually show in movies about schoolchildren. And this boy wanted a party, and at the same time be its highlight. Either he wanted to bestow love on all of us, or he wanted our love, but none of us felt the need to communicate with him. It just wasn't interesting. And at that time, all the children were literally obsessed with the "liners". The current youth does not know, of course, what it is ... These are candy wrappers from overseas chewing gum. Chewing gum cost a ruble, the insert also cost a ruble, the chewing gum itself was usually thrown away. These colored candy wrappers were like money, they could be exchanged, whoever had a lot of them was respected, girls loved them ... Those parents who had been overseas brought this stuff.

And so, this Pet began to promise each of us that his Father would soon arrive and bring many inserts, and he would give each of us a few pieces. We silently nodded, saying thank you, and turned off the subject. But he raised the stakes and promised dozens of candy wrappers, but most importantly, he demanded communication, respect and love now, since he is so generous and kind and he does not feel sorry for anything for us. This annoyed someone, made someone laugh, but soon there were those who got angry. Someone from the senior class was in a bad mood when Pet again approached him with promises. This someone hit him “in the soul”, under the chest. "Where's my earbuds, bitch? You already promised me 20, are you responsible for the market? ”He yelled into the boy’s ear, and bet on interest. The next day the boy owes him 21 inserts, the next day - 22 ... and every day, if he does not bring a bit.

Of course, no one believed that there would be liners, but many liked the game of persecution. The boy was already met on the porch of the school and was beaten every day harder. Soon he owed thousands of candy wrappers. I want to believe that I didn't participate, at least I don't remember hitting him myself. But this was an event of every day, a crowd gathered to meet the Son of an overseas father, who did not beat him, he watched. He still managed to gather around him something like a party. I remember how his head cracked when he, already lying on the brown tiles, was kicked. This is my first childhood experience of the sight of blood, snot and tears. Children are ferocious, like animals, there was no living place left on the boy, and he kept saying that the Father would come soon, and there would be inserts. I still don’t understand why the teachers didn’t stop this story, why they didn’t transfer him to another school on time. Then, of course,

So I realized later that you don’t have to believe in the Father, there will be no inserts, no gifts, no matter what you ask for. Every time they tell me about the Heavenly Father and his gifts, I remember the trembling, lean body of that boy who believes in his overseas dad.

Therefore, when I saw in the temples the crucified and tortured Son of the Father (very incidentally similar to the skinny beaten Pet), I was not surprised - I suppose I believed to the end that now the sky would part, dad would come and save ... Believers in the One, crowded near the tortured , with their requests to his Father, they always reminded me of my peers at school, it seemed that they were torturing him. Somehow, for the sake of fun, I puzzled one of them - like if you feel so sorry for him, as you all say, then take him off, why has he been hanging for two thousand years and suffering. The man, after thinking for a couple of seconds, was dumbfounded by his deep understanding of the issue - "he hangs there for our sins, but the sins have not yet ended." He turned around and went to the exit from the temple with the air of a man who is definitely going to sin further, while “this one” hangs for them.

On Vastu this summer, international forces had to defeat another holy state established in the relatively fertile Choban valley between two mountain ranges. The state was created by young priests and brought together truly believing youth from all over the planet. They stirred up some kind of economy, exported vegetables, did not ask anyone for humanitarian assistance, and did not seem to threaten their neighbors too much. They preached peace and love. Fanatics from other planets even flew to them, girls flocked from all worlds to marry local guys and live in happiness and with God.

Now it is not really clear what happened there - for some reason, the neighboring sacred states took up arms against them, and began to complain to humanitarian organizations. There have been several border conflicts. Then there were attacks on international convoys, and then there was an explosion on Balat, in which a thousand people died and suffered great financial damage. The investigation concluded that the explosion was the work of militants from the Choban Valley.

The valley was heavily bombed from the air, then troops landed there. The fanatical boys proved to be stubborn, and their cities are well fortified. The fighting was fierce, the international brigade washed itself with blood in every village, stubbornly all the same, leveling city after city to the ground. True believers were buried by the thousands in long trenches along the roads.

The media paid well for reporting from there. I monitored local chats and groups on social networks, communicated with locals, maintained an account of a supposedly local secular opposition politician with “average ideas, for all the good things.” He gave out interviews, reports “from there”, “made” photos and videos (you d******d a real photo from there and with the help of a special program you take a photo of the same event from a slightly different angle). This month I was hoping to earn 20 gold in this way, given the exclusivity of any material from the hot spot and perhaps some kind of outrageous horror or abomination that is rushing with news from Vastu and collecting millions of views in a matter of minutes.

Now I found in the Lindach urban community a video of a column of tanks from the international brigade entering it. The video was published two minutes ago - the news is fresh and important. Lindach stood at the crossroads of the paths to the mountains and to the capital Choban.

I created several projections of this video from different planes in the program, split it into fragments and edited it, reworking the noise. It turned out quite unique two minutes. Having enlarged and examined the numbers and symbols on the tanks and vehicles, the uniforms on the military, I realized that this was a column of the 3rd company of the 5th battalion. According to the lists, I found out who the commander was, checked his portrait on the brigade's official website with the face of the major who commanded the soldiers in the video, and made sure that it was him. I found his profile on the social network and saw his post “We are without loss in Lindach” and a photo. I also expanded the photo to the degree of uniqueness.