Organization

5

Location: New City.

Location: Agni Corporation Security Headquarters.

Time: Monday, 20-25 local time.

The recruiting center was open 24/7. A typical building of glass, attached to the edge of a block of shabby, weathered warehouses. Or warehouses. As the network had previously suggested to Ernest, this particular block was the headquarters of AgniCorp. Where the future candidate went, barely paying for dinner. By the way, the price was really tolerable for the wallet.

However, he was not received as kindly as in previous places in the city. Well, except for the memorial gate at thirteenth "A" lane. None of the employees even looked up when the bell at the front door tinkled. Finally, one of them stood up, shoved a packet of forms under his nose, and walked back to the desk. But not to work.

“Lord God and Blessed Mary, meat again,” sighed the man, whose whole appearance (gray hair, windburn, a burn spider on his face, a crooked scar from the Djoser mandible) hinted at the characterization “an old sergeant, who should be written off from the combat the composition in general is a pity. - In general, listen ...

— Ernest.

- I don't care what your name is. While you fill your papifax with your scribbles, I, Elm with five patches of "blood" and shell shock without patches, will tell you what awaits you, brat. The monotonous eight-hour patrols are waiting for you. The owners of panic buttons are waiting no less, in every rustle they see a Cordula climbing through the window. Less waiting - all the trash that our venerable operatives manage to figure out. And they don’t wait at all - the owners of the “guest” quarters, whom we must protect by the grace of ringing currency and venerable “owners” ...

Ernest humbly listened with half an ear. Not very carefully - because he had already heard something similar two years ago, when he signed up for a "short contract" in the Expeditionary Force. But still he listened - because a living person, obviously shabby in the course of maintaining (any, but) order at the moment was a very, very valuable source. Which you will not shut up with all your desire.

In general, Agni Corp seemed to be something between an integrated security unit and a frostbitten official "roof". From the first "corporation" inherited the main specifics of the work. Fire support, police and assault operations, patrols. Both within the insurance and within the tariff scale. "Combat", of course, not very high, but they are. And thanks for that.

Landing page : Business Bulletin

Title : Side cost optimization

Host Approved : yes

The Sons of Ajax security service reports that, in strict accordance with the rights given by the Charter, it is optimizing some core and non-core assets.

In particular, the following sections will be mothballed from Monday:

— Plot 9-13 on Tretya Zavodskaya Street, Mylovarni district

— Plot 2-02 on Vozrozhdeniye Street, Last Dust district

- Plot 10-22 on the Square of the Universe, Sawmill area.

In addition, strong points No. 8, 15, 16, 23 and 42 will be closed.

The planned optimization will not affect either the cost of security insurance or the quality of service. For thirty years now, the Sons of Ajax company has adequately ensured the preservation of public order in the City, as evidenced by the passed annual accreditation for the protection of "green" areas ...

- Meat, I see, you have already trampled a couple of berets. Do you still have military implants after that?

“Cut out everything I could get my hands on.

A slight but audible sigh of relief rippled through the desks. Combat implants could work wonders. Make severe wounds heal in a few hours. To make a berserker out of a person or, conversely, to precipitate rage and fever. But the price for this was a shattered psyche, a lot of chemical rubbish in the blood - and as a result, very naughty kidneys and liver and the absolute unpredictability of an iron lover out of combat. That is why Ernest, immediately after demobilization, got rid of most of the military "legacy".

And also because on the black market this “inheritance” was well paid.

- And the combat interface unit? one of the Sergeant's neighbors inquired as if by chance.

- If you know about its existence, then you know - you can’t just remove it. Anyway, as far as I know.

- Your happiness, meat, otherwise you would have to be shoved into a full-scale training ground. Guys, connect this khanurik to the simulation, and I will check his bumazulki.

“Come on, boy,” a much younger employee beckoned. But also, judging by the scars on his arms, he has seen many different things.

Ernest and the escort went out into the next room, where folding armchairs familiar from the army stood in a row, entangled in a chaos of wires. The jacket and shirt left automatically, and the body itself froze in anticipation of the sensors.

— No, not this. On it, the circuit is buggy, it can close. Yes, this is better, - the "who has seen" pointed to a flaky chair, with fresh wires visible. Do not be offended by Elmo, he sometimes forgets that he is not in the barracks.

- Understand.

- What experience?

“One and a half full campaigns and five incidents in the colonies.

- One and a half?

“The truce was signed at the wrong time.

"Then you'll know what to do." Maybe.

Ernest just grimaced. But observers could well attribute this to a reaction to the needle injecting the neurostabilizer into the blood. Without him - nothing, otherwise you could die from shock. Without getting off the chair. Twelve sensors, pairing hoop - on the head. In the left corner of my vision, a half-forgotten watch and a so far conditional tactical number appeared. AA104302. And finally, the eye mask. Through the flaming light, he heard only:

- Good luck, bro.

Ernest woke up already walking in the middle of the street. All around him lay open slums—yellowed block structures, detached houses of the same hewn-hewn type he had seen earlier. In his hands he was clutching a "poly-mode" - a multi-mode Mk10 rifle. Worn, but not rattling. He did not check the shutter speed and the battery charge of the laser module. The locals obviously don't get it. Yes, and he is not an idiot - after all, when taking equipment from the arsenal and entering the patrol, a weapon check is required.

It felt like he was wearing lightweight, "landing" armor. A protective half mask and goggles instead of a full-fledged visor, and incomplete shields on the legs. The gorget is missing. Yes, indeed, on the left-front there was a partner in light clothing. Bone white. Not very camouflage. People and non-humans scurried around - in rare rags. Something resembling a spherical aquarium on stilted legs was going against the stream. And it was indignant in an exceptionally civilized voice.

“Oh, great Ocean, why do I suffer so much!” Grounders, why do you dislike going with the harmonious flow so much?

Oh, these simulation conventions, thought Ernest.

“Oh, those langus,” the comrade-in-arms raised his voice. - If I were them, I would have started intercultural communication courses for those who go ashore long ago, so that they would not be offended by the first people they met.

The interface sympathetically framed when pointing at a partner: AA104301. And thanks for that.

“One hundred four three hundred two, how is the situation?” Reception.

The situation was average. Some individuals shied away from the patrol or hurriedly hid something in a pile of rubbish, but in areas like this, searching and searching for forbidden items was not included in the tariff.

— One hundred four three hundred and two are in touch, the situation is still under control, the base.

- At a distance of ten minutes, there is a biobot, call in case of an aggravation.

- Agreed, base.

While the dialogue was going on, Ernest checked the equipment. A retractable blade is clearly hidden in the right bracer. Strange thing. Bayonet-knife, laspistol holster. Not bad. Standard army first aid kit. Wonderful. Four grenades in a sling. Two gas and two light-noise. But this is not very good, but it will do. And in a patrol, high-explosive fragmentation usually should not come in handy. After all, in case of complications, there is cavalry.

And there are complications.

— Three hundred and two, at eleven o'clock.

- Accepted.

To the left, in the distance, the buyer and the seller were really noisy. A man and something resembling an overgrown stick insect. Okapi, as Ernest already remembered. The buyer was no longer just pissed off - he was yelling and turning purple.

“Two hundred marks for the control unit?” It's not funny!

“Find me at least a hundred and ninety and I’ll give you a dozen of these blocks, surfaceman!”

- Yes, your relatives in the next street sell for a hundred and seventy!

“On the next street,” the “guest” hissed, “there are no my relatives.

“And who are the fucking josers then?”

The stickman straightened up. In all its three and a half meter height.

- Three hundred and first, let's go figure it out. Base, we have a situation, - Ernest raised his voice and tried to cool the crowd: - Attention, security service! Keep calm!

“Officer, this mixture of straw and spider is trying to fool me!”

“Two-legged sawdust, you don’t even know the meaning of the word straw!”

The crowd dispersed, and showed the gaze of a dirty yellow arachnid. All sounds faded, giving way to clicking sounds.

“You weave insults into the fabric of your personality, you filthy insect.

Apparently, this joser stood up solely because of the personality of the seller. So did a few grim slum-dwellers who took up the cause of the stick insect. The partner unsuccessfully tried to separate the approaching parties, but he was frankly shoved aside. Something had to be done. And Ernest resolutely jerked off his rifle to fire a burst into the air.

“One hundred four three hundred and two, I forbid you to use weapons until the opposing sides use them.

"If I don't fire a salvo into the air, Base, it will happen in thirty seconds," Ernest hissed.

- I evaluate your words as instability in a combat situation. I'm blocking your weapon until we get more specific circumstances.

Cursing silently, "one hundred and four three hundred and two" took off the gas grenade, pulled off the safety cap. I made sure that this gesture went unnoticed by the excited and louder and louder crowd. He pulled out the pin and threw a grenade right at his partner. Soon, a cloud of soft blue color began to spread under his feet, and the inhabitants of the slums began to swear quite realistically and very dirty.

Taking a start from the spot, Ernest rushed to break into the center of the crowd, scattering some, kicking some, and hitting some with his fist or butt. He was only a yard away when the stick man yanked what looked suspiciously like a laser rifle from behind the counter.

- Lie down, three hundred and one! Ernest yelled. Indeed, a laser rifle. In the slums With the first salvos, the okapi blew Djoser's cephalothorax off, then aimed at the dumbfounded customer and blew his head off with a bright purple beam. The partner managed to fall in a layer and cover the weapon, so they only trampled on it a little .

- Base, we have shooting!

- Weapons unlocked. Do you need air support?

— Not yet, base!

Ernest switched the fire mode to kinetic. He raised his rifle and fired almost without aiming. The line blew the stick insect to shreds. From such a distance, a couple of hits were enough for the thin "guest". And there were more than a couple. The next shot fell on a man who took out some kind of crossbow. People with commendable quickness began to scatter, breaking up the loose formation.

Stun grenade in the fragment of the crowd, withstand the darkening of the glasses, take aim. No other action was needed - the rest fled after a noisy and bright pop, stumbling and falling. 301 got up somehow, dusting himself off, and joined in aiming. The crowd, meanwhile, dispersed by itself.

- Yeah, we got it.

“No, no,” Ernest frowned. - All the inhabitants settled down in the nests.

- It seems so to you. The culprits are dead and no steam has been released. Only we are left.

Exchanging glances, the patrol rushed to inspect the stores. The greengrocer's shop had an easily barricaded rear exit and a massive display on the street, which suited both the "three hundred and first" and "three hundred and second" quite well. In it, the patrol dug in, calling for reinforcements .

“Three hundred and two, you must hold out for half an hour. A reinforced platoon will arrive by air. If necessary, request a biobot, it is nearby.

“Accepted,” Ernest replied in a tense voice, feeling the surroundings with his eyes.

For the first five minutes there was deathly silence over the street. Finally, there was a strange smacking of dirt nearby, as if a flock of fashion models in high heels were rushing from a neighboring street. And on the next street lived ...

- For two hours! Fucking jocks! - the partner shouted and the glass of the glasses automatically darkened slightly. Laser burst.

Ernest switched the fire mode and fired two short bursts at an arachnid that got too close. He flinched and fell. Everything was fine in the partner's sector, but the second spent looking was enough to miss something long, rushing from the ground to Ernest through a long tray. Something studded with spikes and short legs wrapped around an arm. Strong bite, pain. The rifle flies to the floor. The armor didn't seem to have been bitten through, but the arm looked like a hose twisted into a spring, moving with chitinous rings.

— Three hundred and first, cover my sector!

- There is!

Suppressing his instincts, Ernest pulled his bayonet from its scabbard and jabbed it several times with all his might at his hand. There was a hiss, the creature unraveled and began to spin on the floor, splattering everything with ichor. Ignoring the pain, Ernest pulled his laspistol from its holster and finished off the creature with a long series of shots. There was no time left for another - a second one hung down from a short visor and tried to grab a partner distracted by another arachnid. Short burst, she fell .

- What the hell is this?

- The scavengers have landed! Have you never seen Cordula?

- God bless! - Ernest shook his head, and continued to shoot from a pistol at a cloud of rubbish, greens and vegetables - one arachnid tried to break right through the trays and reached the window, even managing to damage the flimsy wall under it. Two relatives tried to build on the success, but did not even reach the trays. Another pair turned and rushed into the adjacent passages, apparently changing their minds. The patrol did not try to shoot at them.

The rest of the dzhosers somehow ended by themselves. Didn't even have to call in a strike drone. A minute after the street was cleared of the living, I had to pay attention to the hand. In one place, the reinforced fabric of the sleeve was bitten through, in another, Ernest himself managed to slightly damage it with a knife. The wounds oozed blood and something disgustingly green. The first-aid kit was opened, the universal antidote spread through the veins in a hot liquid. "Mosquito urine" - from above, over the wounds, polish with an anesthetic injection. Two syringes went to the corner, and the enzyme bottle went back to the first aid kit.