OUTCAST

7

Sent to the news agency marked URGENT!:

“The 5th battalion of the international brigade, with the forces of one company of tanks and infantry, occupies Lindach at these hours. According to the battalion commander Erich Kloss, who personally heads the operation, the capture of the city passed without losses. The resistance of the militants is broken. More details from our correspondent in Lindach soon.” And I attached a video and photo to a text file.

Then I went into the program, where a satellite panorama of Vastu was given, went down to the streets of Lindach, looking around what was where. On the outskirts along Awakening Street, they dug a trench and dragged corpses there. In the western part of the city, something burned and smoked. Tanks spread across the main squares. The infantry combed the houses, herding someone in crowds to the trenches, and someone to the central square.

“In the western part of Lindach, the militants put up desperate resistance to the soldiers of Kloss, but were suppressed by tank fire. All the men are now being rounded up in the northern part of the city, on Awakening Street. As the locals told me, the workers there are already digging a trench with the help of military engineering equipment. On the approach to the city, a police group and a mobile tribunal. All this together, perhaps, means quick executions.

Women are gathered at the Square of the Stars in the city center. It is known that among them there are many foreigners and aliens who came under the program of divine love and married militants. Residents of neighboring villages along the highway report a column of buses moving towards Lindach. Apparently, women will be taken to widow camps on them.”

I sent this text after the first letter. I thought of something here, but didn’t invent it, even if it’s virtual, but I’ve been in these parts for a year now, and I know how it all ends here. Now we need to communicate with the participants in the events. Under the politician's account, I began to correspond with local "friends", sent a request for complete information to the press service of the military, and to Major Kloss. By evening, I already had enough information for an extensive final article for my news agency. Kloss reported that by the evening he had lost two soldiers on a mine. Local residents have jotted down a bunch of emotional content about their tragedies - their neighbors and friends are now being tortured and shot on Awakening Street. There were quite tearful stories, with pictures of the future victims of this night, their biographies and evidence of innocence convincing in the eyes of friends ... The press secretary of the Women's Union wrote to me, that all the girls - the wives of the militants received food and medical care, a psychologist talked to them. A total of 1229 foreign women and aliens were sent before dark to the nearest widow camp near the village of Tarkkhai.

When you really want to achieve the effect of presence, you have to spend a lot of time not only on collecting information, but also on “just communicating”. Today this is especially necessary. I had to reassure someone, having received a database of detainees, to share it with residents trying to find out the fate of their relatives. To help coordinate the actions of human rights defenders and activists - in such cases, we have learned how to create mobile volunteer groups that gathered children who were left without parents as a result. Now the children were grouped together in a kindergarten, where those who were not indifferent, at our call, carried food, toys and went on their own to take care of the smallest ones. By the end of the day, I had already forgotten that I was on my ship. I completely felt myself in Lindach, I knew what was going on in every corner of the city, I heard volleys on Awakening Street, the crying of orphans in the kindergarten, and it seemed

By the way, I became friends with Kloss, "as a local" I told him some of the nuances of the customs of Lindach and some operational information important to him. Having exchanged a dozen phrases with the major during the day, I apparently won his respect and trust so much that he promised to call me in the evening how to free himself - just chat.

By the evening, I made a suitable backdrop for myself (a hologram based on a photo of an ordinary room in an ordinary house in Choban) and put on an idiotic suit and tie, which are worn by opposition secular politicians in those parts. The major went on a video call - behind him was the background of an army commander's kung. Kloss did most of the talking himself, and I listened. The major said that he was only half a year on Vastu and in this war, and he was still not used to executions.

“I can’t understand one thing,” the battalion commander scratched his chin, “maybe you can tell me, Dr. Fadir (that’s what they called me in the Tchoban Valley), as a local, - why all of a sudden? Where does this fanaticism come from? After all, they look the same as you and me. What do they itch? What do they want, why are they ready to die like this senselessly?

I mumbled something about the low level of education, the persecution of the free press and secular politicians, the frenzied propaganda... The major was not convinced.

- I'm fine, I know how people can pretend and pretend that they believe in any propaganda, pretend to be true believers. But no one is ready to die because of propaganda. And these are ready to die for their god. They are like real...

A week ago I saw a summary of all the dossiers of detained militants in Choban since the beginning of the fighting. It seems that only I noticed that this is not even displayed in a separate column. Of the 300 thousand detainees, almost 270 thousand are children from single-parent families, fatherless. You know that on Vastu fatherlessness is rare, I mean exactly the cases when the father left the family, and not died. There are 200,000 of them here, and 70,000 more arrived from other planets. Do you hear, doctor, volleys from the street of Awakening? This is us, it turns out, there we shoot the bastards. They thought that they had found a heavenly father here, who gave them this valley, fertile land, wives ... They die for this.

The conversation went on with the “not for the press” clause, which I hold sacred. The major is not an idiot, he understood that the guilt of the Chobantsy for the explosion at Balat was not proven convincingly. The political desire to please other, more controlled regimes on Vastu played a role, some cash flows played a role, maybe something else ... Kloss was finishing his whiskey, smoking a cigar and looking at the camera, he said to me: “Damn work, it turns out, I have to clean up follow them and shoot their bastards…”

Using "such" confidence, I complained that there is no information on the situation in the widows' camps, and this worries all communities. There are too many rumors that women are humiliated and maimed there, used for sex services. To whom they can provide these services in the desert is not known, but the rumors must be dispelled with something intelligible. The major replied that this was a very "closed topic" and the military was not allowed to go there even for a mile. But in exchange for information about the mood in Lindach, he promised to give me the contact of one woman - "If you squeeze something out of her, everything is yours."

It is always not easy to mentally get out of the porridge on Vastu and come to your senses, sitting in a comfortable transforming chair on board. For a while it seems that you feel the stench of sewer pits, of dirty mattresses, rags and people. It seems that you hear and feel the flies. It is necessary to move away from this, but this time he did not give it - Kloss and his bastards stuck in his thoughts. I decided to wash it off, undressed and went to the bathroom, pouring hot water with fragrant foam. Turned on the smooth Mouzon and dimmed the light. The major in a scratched helmet, in a faded mabute, still stuck out before his eyes, talking about trenches with dead father seekers.

I remembered my father - a calm do not care, reading newspapers lying on the couch. When you have a father, you understand from childhood that you should not expect inserts from him or the fabulous land of Choban. You understand that if there was a Heavenly Father somewhere among the stars, it would be someone the same - on a heavenly sofa, with a heavenly newspaper, and he cares about you no less than the earthly one. Perhaps now, an advanced and modern heavenly father lies and calmly watches my news on the phone, as his bastards are buried in a trench in Lindach.

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The porter occasionally became a cleaning lady. Now it’s Chernaya’s turn, and she, having removed her heels, pulled slippers on her feet, gloves on her hands, picked up a rag and a garbage bag, stuck headphones with music in her ears, went to the hall located at the reception desk, behind a closet with a refrigerator, microwave and kettle. She pulled back the heavy black curtains. She pulled light as light, multi-colored doors that opened behind the curtains, and entered.

The huge hall included different angles, differing in different colors. The entrance and middle were burgundy. A long burgundy path, along it are red pedestals with dark copper plates, on the pedestals there are figures of delightfully beautiful people. Statues sparkling white - athletic men, beautiful girls, lovely children, wise and calm elders. They were some in anger, some in passion, some in thought - but they all smiled, rejoiced at their beauty and the beauty of their neighbors, the beauty of life, which was visible only to them, somewhere outside these walls.

Cleaning here is a formality, here you only need to brush off the dust. No one goes to this hall all those years that Chernaya worked here at the reception. Once, they say, it was the main hall, some say that even the only one. But then the institution's business expanded, the flow of customers became huge and endless - and they built two modernized new huge halls, where all customers are sent. And this one was closed, even the doors were hidden with curtains so that the guests would not have questions - what is there?

Black loved to be here. Wiping the dust from these beauties with a rag, from their powerful breasts, strong arms, curvaceous asses, small segments, she smiled at them, and then it seemed that their smiles were addressed to her. Some stone guys smiled with narrow lips and sly eyes, hinting at something like that. Others smiled broadly and openly, like kind but fair daddies, it seemed that they could give a phone if they really gently walked a cloth over their powerful hips, mountainous shoulders. The women were no less attractive, and promising. It seemed that one could drink wine with them, sit, chat, and giggle at all the peasants. Black loved them too, gently running a rag over their sharp nipples, rolling curls, cheerful palms.

Finally, she approached their boss. A strong man, imperious eyes, a wide wave of the hand. He did not look like a modern boss - tired, timid, crushed between shame and fear, as between anvils. It was immediately clear that there was no one “above” this boss. A confident face spoke of the absence of even a semblance of fear, legs wide apart to the sides - of the absence of even the concept of shame.

Further, behind the people, there were amazing animals - winged, creeping, running. They also loved affection, and Chernaya gave it to them. She gently wiped the cat, and the bull, the goat, and the huge lizard, and the black crow, and mentally spoke to each. Having finished in the green space of animals, she went to the dark part of the hall, where in the shade, among the black and dark gray carpets, a woman stood - also beautiful, strict, silent. Next to her were stern, unsmiling warriors and dogs.

After them, I took a vacuum cleaner and walked along the carpets, massaging their pile with a buzzing brush, returning brightness and joy. Chernaya always, when she was here, felt that she could make a wish, and it would come true. But she had no desires, she just liked being here, she liked this job, especially after everything that had already been experienced in the past. They don't pay enough, sometimes it's boring, but it's better than .... Every girl with her external data knows how to earn a lot. And if even a silly girl does not understand, someone will always tell her ...

She was abandoned by her parents and moved to another planet when she was 17 and in her first year of medical school. Mother said that with such a face, she would not be lost in a big city. Black, of course, did not disappear. Of course, she did not graduate from the institute, she looked death in the eyes several times. Boys, especially soldiers, think that death and blood are only their element. They supposedly go to war to save civilians, and especially girls, from all this. If only these proud, strong morons knew what a 17-year-old girl must go through in the rear in peacetime in order to survive. And who has looked death in the face more than once ... On this girlish front, there are always, every day, big losses, and the war is endless. And every day you know, you feel that your beauty is a bio-resource, like oil and gas that your country pumps, exports, lubricates with it like oil, thundering pieces of iron of their state mechanism. And it won’t fall off you until it pumps you to the bottom, leaving a black hole, emptiness, hatred and hopelessness.

The black one was stronger, she not only survived, but even faded. A drunken, dirty, grouchy boss, one of her regulars, was suddenly in a strange mood one day. His eyes were wide open and seemed to stop. There were fresh wrinkles on her forehead, fresh gray hair on her temples, she seemed to feel his tears and fear. It is not known what happened to him, he was her least talkative visitor. But he suddenly asked her if she wanted to leave. And helped.

Now she is here at the reception. Salary - only for housing and food. But she won't go "there" anymore. Previously, it seemed that human naked bodies were forever disgusting to her, that she would never be able to think that this meat could be beautiful. But she caught herself thinking that she liked the statues in this hall. She likes that they want to fulfill her wish. And she actually had something. I wanted something, but there were no words, not even thoughts to formulate.

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The fight went on for the second day. Yesterday, from such a beginning, the Argunians did not attack in the Ratmir sector. A couple of times they covered with mortars, but with short volleys, in order to have time to drive off and not grab the Horde's answer. But in the morning their PAKs, analogues of ours, somehow aimed at one of the apartments of the Ratmir gunners. In a hot flash, an entire section disappeared - several apartments, along with the crew of one of the PAKs. Their mortars once successfully covered the infantry in the yard. During the morning Ratmir lost 20 soldiers. At about 10 am tanks again appeared in the forest. This time they passed unnoticed, rolled out to the edge of the forest and fired several volleys. One shot was well-aimed, knocked out a machine-gun crew in one of the apartments in the 9-story buildings for the Horde. The tanks did not wait for Ratmir's answer and disappeared into the forest.

In the forest, signalers recorded some kind of indistinct swarming. This “indistinctness” was hammered a couple of times with machine guns. But most likely, these were some kind of distracting imitations, concocted by their signalmen from noise, heat, light and holograms. Having found the strongholds of the Horde companies, the Argunians decided to advance at the junctions of positions, through unprotected quarters. To the right of Ratmir's company, tanks and infantry crawled through the yards. The maneuver was expected, the horde knew what to do with it.

Yesterday, a whole regiment of paratroopers was transferred to Kaulnin by transport helicopters. Battalion-like, they stood behind the positions of the 22nd division precisely for such cases. In the quarters into which the Argunians entered, plasma and mortars worked out in massive volleys, combat helicopters appeared over the houses, burning tanks. Then tanks from the reserve entered these quarters, and then the landing force went to clean up. From several quarters there was no stone left unturned, but the breakthrough of the Argunians was stopped. What was left of them, under the cover of noises, smokes and holograms, crawled back into the forest.