Oh, brave new world!
June 3, 2024 at 7:01 AM
The material of all dreams...
Who am I to be serious?
Go through the seven seas of the world
But everywhere someone is looking for something!
B. Warner, «Sweet Dreams»
— I still didn't understand what kind of programs you were writing, that your boss was already spinning, — Sergey Petrovich watched as Valentine diligently packed the overalls he had taken off into a drawer. — Nothing special. It's just, — Belkin paused, choosing his words, — There is a certain stratum of people... Actually, it was worth starting with a mention of certain products. About what is a status thing for an unfinished «successful» and «fashionable» person (if this word is applicable to such a creature at all). A well-groomed beard and lapels on carefully «scarred» trousers? Maybe. Or maybe not. A watch? To whom as. An expensive laptop? But it's closer and warmer here. But a computer is not just an accessory, it is also a working tool, since the mentioned contingent cannot do anything with their hands, except for a set of those letters that their brain spews out. But the trouble is, the programs are not exclusive! A copy of an information product costs as much as the electricity spent on copying, plus the «wear» of the processor, memory and storage devices. Negligible. But you want something not so much expensive as unique! Valentine wrote similar things. For a specific customer. Of course, not alone. It all started with an overly clever joke, when a wizard was written for the photo sorter, but not a window with options for actions, but in the form of a visual novel. The client came running to make a row and forgot why he came running. I demanded to add an overlay of filters, but that's all. And the orders went. A news aggregator, a blog search engine on a given topic, some other bullshit... And all this should have been simpering in the process, imposing its randomly generated point of view, refusing to work (at least immediately) and arguing. Customers were angry, promised to sue, but paid. Exclusive. No one has that. Actually, Valentin did not even use pieces of code from previous projects, but entire libraries, and not just ready-made «engines», but in general previous projects, but why mention this? The client pays. More precisely, the bosses paid. But there's no other way, Belkin would never have found another such character himself. And the boss dug them out from somewhere. — Well, how is it? Isn't it boring to sculpt «unique and craft fashion chips» for various hipsters and other pederasts? — Petrovich grimaced. — Nope. It's funny when the program is smarter than the user, — Belkin packed the combos in a drawer and twisted the wire on the lid. — Are robots better than humans? — Not yet, but it's coming to that. — Do you even have a girlfriend? Or is a robot better than a human too? — I was. Or else there is. I don't know. — How is that? — Petrovich apparently decided that he had caught Valentine on inferiority and misanthropy. Well, at the same time, I would remind Belkin of those «onanists living with their parents». — We meet if there is time and opportunity. We agreed that there would be no affairs on the side while we were dating. We don't live together. She can say at any moment that she is breaking up with me. I can do the same, — Valentine finished with the box, waited for the continuation. — I don't understand you young people, — Petrovich complained about his age. Valentine just pointed his finger at his head. — Don't you want to be a burden if anything? Well, maybe it's right.***
Colonel Colt, damn it, make me equal! They let me play with some new shit. A pistol with a block of barrels. Self-cocking, the barrels are smooth, under some kind of strange cartridge, like a shortened «four hundred and tenth». A long fool. In addition to bullets for a smooth barrel or buckshot, it was possible to fire an explosive horseradish. It's like a Chinese firecracker, but only as long as this thing doesn't explode inside you. And then that's it, the finish line. The gun had to be disassembled and reassembled many times. Complicated mechanics? Not at all. A rotating wheel with hooks and a set of hammers on springs. You press the trigger, the wheel turns and there is a blow to the firing pin. One of the six. All this is still so crammed into the pistol contours that the blows to the caps of the lower cartridges come at a noticeable angle. Anyway, that's some shit. But there is one plus point: the gun did not wedge. Fundamentally. There was nothing. I shot back in the basement shooting range, and I was told to go upstairs to Petrovich. I was waiting for some more surprises, but Petrovich told me when he would call, and I was sent home. The equipment was being prepared for a long «dive». It seems that now it will be possible to drink water there and even eat something, otherwise it will «throw out». Damn, is this my suspicion, or are they already looking at me like I'm dead? And, since it's the case that even the trellis was given out, why not put some shortened AK with four stores in that green box? But I don't care, I'll go with some kind of hybrid pistol for underwater shooting and a traumatic «Wasp». Another problem was that I would not be able to hear the «dispatcher». Or I can, but sometimes it's bad. They have such a phenomenon planned. Well, let's see. As Petrovich told me, the previous «psychonauts» did not stay in the capsule for more than three days. I also asked if they had died there by any chance, but they reassured me that they had not. They are alive and being treated. Well, I signed up… I downloaded some season of this horse shit at home. Damn, it's not mine! A drug addict, an autistic woman, a gopnik, a lousy aristocrat, a village and a fucking veterinarian with a split personality. And there are also these two who are experimenting on the locals. And they are trying to convince me that there will be a similar circus with horses and Germans in «through the looking glass»? Although, I will be there for the German.***
I called Ryska-Maryska and said that I would be away for a week. In the course of the play, my «faithful» is already asleep. And she saw me in a dream, and all my difficulties. In a coffin and in white slippers. Suddenly it occurred to me, what if she was too? Unexplained fever, frantic encephalogram, fainting... shattered consciousness, psychiatric hospital and no chance. The regrets have somehow receded. Moreover, from the point of view of an ordinary «little man», I have already settled down.***
A gun, a knife, a car first aid kit with strange contents. A terribly simple multitool. An army flask with water (always with water, otherwise you will dream about it so empty). The shoes that were so lacking. I'm the wrong squirrel dog, I'm walking there. That's all my belongings. Everything has been viewed and touched a hundred times. Jumpsuit with a flap on the ass. I remembered that I have a tail there that you can't put in your pants. Otherwise, the Egyptian force, there would be some kind of wrong hit. In-pop-slut, fuck... Well, I'm back in plastic pants with hoses and a mask, I'm laying down in my sarcophagus. Checking the emergency exit. The needles are now accompanied by soft belt loops so that you don't wave your hands. But the loops do not tighten, there is nothing to do to pull out your hand. By the way, the bruise turned a bad color at all, but they told me it would pass. Everything will pass, both sadness and joy... The lamps flickered and the mixture in the mask hissed. Something stirred uncomfortably in his skull. Apparently, some kind of auto-suggestion reaction to the sound of the electromagnets turning on. A voice in my ear mumbled: «Three... two... one... zero!» And I became round and empty...***
...To wake up in the chilly breeze of the evening desert. I looked at his palms. I moved his tongue in his mouth. I carefully stepped over the baked sand and began to cut a spiral. I didn't find the box, I tripped over it. It just wasn't there, and again! I pricked myself with a wire while I was opening it. Damn, it's bleeding! I licked off a red salty drop. There was a jumpsuit in the drawer. I put it on. Somehow unusual, but the body did not require underwear. Does wool help? Doubtfully, I rolled up his sleeves and examined his own hands once more. I'm kind of short-haired, like a shorn rabbit. I unwound the wire from the box and put it in his pocket. Come in handy. So, here's a surprise: the multitool is in another pocket. Well, let's keep looking. I saw the second box by chance, the setting sun did not allow me to see what was lying there on the edge of the dune. It's just that the shape of the stain is too regular for it to be a stone. A pistol, a flask. And the same «Mako». To be honest, I was afraid that there would be a simple plastic bottle for water, which is inconvenient. Here's another feature: no more than three items. Okay, now we need to find the last drawer. The third plywood-wooden box turned out to be in a hollow. Glass crunched under my bare foot. And here's the skull. By the way, where do they come from? Black, as if some animal had been burned with something long-burning with a not very high burning temperature. I bit the wire with a tool, got my shoes. I put it on, having previously dusted off one leg, and then the other from the sand. I tightened the laces and hooked the loops on special hooks. I jumped. It's okay, sort of. For a long time I looked at the turbid plastic bottle of water. Are you kidding me? It's interesting, but when you look at one place, the plastic becomes transparent again. An ordinary half-liter bottle, mineral water is sold in such. Without a label. There's hardly anything dangerous there. Shrugging, I twisted the cork and sniffed at the hissing neck. Nothing but a faint sourness. I tried it. Water. As expected, carbonated. I put the bottle in my bosom, it didn't go into my pockets. Okay, there's another piece of paper here. Yeah, six more rounds. Judging by the plastic plugs, there's buckshot or very large shot in the containers. There are three or four balls. It won't fit into such a sleeve anymore. Well, put them in your pockets. Besides the cartridges, there was... Ta-damm! Jean-Claude van Damme! A toothbrush! I've already insisted on that. A folding brush of the «prostitute's dream» system. I just can't when I have nothing to brush my teeth with. Is there no pasta? Well, we squirrel dogs are cunning and inventive animals. I'll find a softer limestone and chew it up. That's it, now I'm ready to wander around the wastelands and watch from the bushes (by the way, where are they?) and I am the life of the local inhabitants. And then my ear twitched involuntarily. Someone was crying. Rather, he even shouted, demanded something, or begged for something. I looked at the knife lying on the drawer (I was still carrying it in my hands, but where is it?) and carefully shoved it into the strange cutout on the side of the jumpsuit. And I was still wondering why there was a dense slippery material? And in order not to arrange hara-kiri, if you need to quickly pull out the knife. Okay, let's go take a look. If something is wrong, and it's a trap, I'll have time to shoot myself. I pulled the gun out of my pocket, flipped the receiver back and slammed it shut again. Six. It's enough to shoot yourself with a guarantee.***
— What else do you need? — Light Sand repeated in horror and despair. — Please, I'm an earth pony, I don't have magic, and you took away all my feelings… Not true. She still had feelings: fear, despair, pain, humiliation. But those two didn't need it. A shifter can «eat» any emotion, but this required only what relates to positive feelings. Love, tenderness, a sense of caring. Sometimes there is a light sadness. — You have something else that belongs to us, — The changeling hissed, grinning in strange amusement. They both dropped the multicolored coloring. Who would have thought that imitators of any pony would be able to portray the shifters of another swarm in this way? Although, to be honest, they didn't have a swarm. The fugitives. Or, as it turned out, fugitive criminals. — Well? — The second one came up. — Or am I going to have fun again? — There's nothing left to take but the bitterness of humiliation, — The first replied and slapped the bound victim in the face. — Or is there something else? Light Sand tried to crawl away, somehow sat up and began to push off with her hind legs. Her front ones were tied behind her back. It's painful and humiliating. These creatures were just playing with her, watching her try to jump away on her hind legs alone, also tied at the very hooves. The changeling jumped up and struck obliquely next to the joint. The sharpened edge of the hoof cut through the flesh. A stream of brown blood began to flow. Light Sand watched in horror as life flowed out of her. — I'm going to die! — Earth pony whispered. — Please, stop it… — Yeah. You'll die, — The shifter smiled. — And before you die, you will remember your parents or someone else, hope for something... and we will take it away... What's there? Go figure it out! — Now, — The second one lit the horn and turned to the dune, from which the stones were sticking out. — Diamond dog, I think... Death was coming from the dune.***
Dogs aren't very good at mimicry anyway, but this one didn't have anything on his face. It was like he was dreaming in reality. Carefully stepping over these things on his paws, dressed in some kind of crap for working in the mine, not quite a dog changed direction a little and opened his mouth, about to ask something. And he himself, continuing the natural movement of his upper paw, pointed at the shifter with a glowing horn with some kind of thing. A shot popped sharply. Valentine thought he was an impenetrable fool. I didn't look at what was in the barrels. He managed to take another step or two, when a bursting bolt popped into the strange insect that had fallen with its face pierced through, as if from under a pillow. Light Sand watched in a stupor as the stranger picked up the first one with his second paw, as if this shooting thing was quite heavy, and turned to her. The changeling jumped back, shaking his wings, lifting himself from the loose sand that had rolled under his feet… Again, the deafening sound of a dry branch breaking. And again. With a rustle and a strange dull thud, the scream-exhalation of the shifter was mixed. There was a slurping pop, and then a firecracker exploded in the sand, probably hitting the pony painfully with grains of sand. Death came up, shoving the murderous object into his clothes pocket on the move, took off the box dangling from his hip. — Menya zovut Valentin Belkin, — The monster spat into the cooling desert in the ancient version of Stallongradsky and stretched out a predatory paw.***
— You're bleeding, — Valentine said, pinching the severed vein in the funny horse's hind leg. She didn't understand. Shaking and staring. It was impossible to handle the first-aid kit with one hand, but somehow he took out a tampon, tore the package with my teeth. Pinned down. As expected from the dune, the creature is connected. With a hand smeared with blood, he pulled out the knife. — Come on, don't twitch! I think I understood. He constantly repeats several phrases, but Valentin did not understand this mixture of Japanese and Portuguese from the word «at all». He shifted, continuing to clamp the wound. He cut the ropes, trying not to hit the pony with the blade where the back becomes an ass. With a normal knife, it would have taken longer to cut, and the shark tooth-inspired blade tore through dense and hard fibers in two movements. He put the knife in the sand, mentally cursing himself for doing something nasty to the cutting edge. I caught the horse by the limb and put the support surface to the already wet tampon. — Here you go! So. First, the tourniquet. Tighten it up. Why is she squeaking, does it hurt? Everything, more than she has in her leg, will not pour out. In general, venous bleeding is stopped with a pressure bandage, a tourniquet is not needed, but when will you figure out how to tie this bandage on a horse! While he was putting the tourniquet under her hind leg, he saw that she had some familiar pattern on the side of her ass. Where did he see a stylized compass with two arrows? Something quite recent. But there was no time to remember. The hands themselves gutted the first-aid kit. It seems that the rule of «not much more than three items» also applied to this box. But the guys did a great job of circumventing the rule: they began to group homogeneous objects. And the band counted for one thing. And that's great. So, there's another tampon. Bitch, well, who thought of putting a glass vial? While you pick out this cork...» If I were a man, I'd rip off a nail. The blunt claws of the paws did not cling at all. With your teeth? Ah, with a knife! Valentin knew he was doing shit, but he poured peroxide on the tampon. — Let go, I’ll change! — A-a-a!!! Forced somehow. It hissed noisily. Okay, now the bandage. He pulled it tight, but without fanaticism. It's a good bandage, it stretches a little. Loosened the tourniquet. It seemed to Valentin that he had been sitting and blundering for about five minutes, trying to wait for the bandage to soak and drip from the bandage often. Figs there. Only the light brown spot was blurred. He took off the tourniquet altogether, "hung up" again, shuddered and began to cut the rope on the creature's hind legs. — Where are you jumping up, you fool?! — For some reason, Valentin decided that it was a female. Did he not notice the penis when he put his hand with a rubber tube between her bound legs? The horse jerked, made something in the air with its ears and shook slightly, closing its eyes.***
Well, the Egyptian forces, I have won! Belatedly, the thought flashed that it was impossible to solve it right away. What if this is the execution of the most dangerous criminal? And I got in here… But something said no. Executioners don't throw things around, they do their job clearly, well and without emotion. And with certain witnesses. In no society does execution go haphazardly. It's always arranged somehow. Even the shooting in the war. Even the executioners do not have that subtle expression on their face peculiar to robbers who are not going to leave the victim alive. I may be wrong here, but so far everything is one to one. I got up and went to the corpse. Fortunately, a couple of steps to do. I threw back the barrels and emptied the casings onto the sand. Take it away? Where will I re-dress them? I dug with my boot, drove the plastic cylinders into the hole, fell asleep and stepped on top. The desert is all around, maybe they won't find it. Crooked horn, holes in the legs, tattered wings. Classic shifter from the cartoon. There is no side, the hole smells of blood and shit. So much for the «bullet»! The canister had them, it was a miracle! I did not look, fool, that in the barrels! By the way... The corpses still need to be put somewhere. There were no regrets or worries that he had killed intelligent beings. It's a dream. But the nerves were shaking. I looked at the blood-stained hands. I pulled out the bottle from behind the sinus. Opened and splashed. And I came across the clouded look of the «rescued». I approached. I only noticed her dry lips. I thought I would have to hold the bottle, well, as they show on the box how they give some fawns milk, but the horse grabbed the bottle with its front legs. «Hush», — I speak and hold the bottle. And then the fool is drowning. And in general this wounded somehow smells bad. The abnormal smell of sweat. Heavy. Painful. She drank every drop and stared at the empty bottle in horror. Then at me. And again on the bottle. I slammed on the flask, showing that there was still water. Took the bottle. Useful. And went to deal with the bodies. I thought this whore would run away. But she hesitated, carefully stepping on her foot with a bandage. And I noticed that there were things lying around. Some were piled up, and some were scattered. Of course, I'm not an expert, but the picture of the robbery is clear. As if they weren't hoeing cacti here. It was getting dark. The dunes in the gently falling sunlight turned into strange alien giant worms with cheerful orange-brown backs and black bellies. For some reason, the flashlight built into the multitool barely smoldered. Hmm, and the horse seems to be afraid of the dark. Well, not trying to rush off into the cold of the night. What do they have around here that’s better off sitting at the source of light and not walking under the moon? In a pile of things I found a spatula. Uncomfortable something. Under an aboriginal limb? Yeah, and there’s a lamp. Unknown hitherto mixture of kerosene lamp and lighter «Zippo». Raised the cap, sniffed. No, not kerosene. On the Internet, someone mentioned such things in cartoon horses. Apparently, he himself did not try to ignite relatively heavy hydrocarbons with sparks. Kerosene burns badly, only diesel fuel is worse. And it's even worse to try to put it out when it gets hot. The firemen will confirm. And here is something sharply acetone-alcohol, but leaving a characteristic oily film on the metal. Mixed everything? Or successful design? The same «Zippo» someone managed to fill up kerosene, but it is unknown, a new or already «spring» charter fuel. On the third attempt and after the lamp was flipped, the fuse was engaged. I adjusted it so it wouldn’t smoke, and I was surprised to see some rusty web on the wire. Then it came to pass that the web must be at the top of the flame. I’ve been spinning the lamb yet, adjusting the height of the fire tongue, and the cobweb is burning to a yellow glow. So, now the corpses. I feel like Uncle Fyodor when he was in the forest with a shovel «treasure sought». «They fucking decided to plunder!» It’s not easy to dig, you have to sit on your knees and squats. My head was empty and ringing. I was afraid that this fool would break through the sands to call the guards, the police, or whoever they have. It didn’t break. Apparently, she forgot something so strange in the desert that she was alone. Well, if you believe the horse fuck forums... pony lovers, they are social creatures. Or is she waiting for me to fall asleep to bash my skull in with a matching rock? Why not? Not only did those two holes rob her, but if I understand correctly, she was raped. And then they gathered to watch her die. And? The horse is holding up surprisingly well. Not trying to reopen, not hysterical, not lying in irresistible depression. Yes, there is some stupor, but only. It may well be that she was ready for such a development of events and can herself in case of slaughter or strangle the unlucky desert «hole-hole». Don’t be afraid of her. Geez, I’m gonna want to sleep. Can I? Should I look for coffee beans in the horse's luggage? Just leave? She wouldn't have followed me. It is pointless for me to fear death, and not to fear — it is stupid. I do not remember some details on the day I stabbed myself at the «immersion». I remember that. Here - I remember, but here - I do not remember. Only left behind the helmet in the hole to dive. But there is no hole. Finished. I made the pit so-so, but I can't do it anymore. He dragged both corpses and threw sand over them. I was digging almost on the slope of the dune, so after spending some time on the collapse of the edge, I decided that the guys were buried securely. They won't get out. I wanted to go get the boxes. The horse got scared when I took the lamp. Is she really afraid of the dark? The LED flashlight was a little brighter than a cigarette, two steps only visible. It's still here from the night sky that all this psychedelic is shining, otherwise it would be like a shifter in the ass. I threw the scattered things into a pile, put the lamp on a flat stone. I sat down on some kind of pallet for bricks. — What are you standing there? — I say. — Would you see if these «friends» didn’t break everything? I shouldn't have thought about risking sleep. The four-legged one tried to say something and suddenly, without warning, rushed at me. She waited until I was tired and decided she could handle it. I did not even have time to get up, not that the gun out of my pocket. Just fell sideways and left hand hastily and clumsily pulled «Mako».***
Light Sand knew that diamond dogs were cruel. That they tend to capture ponies and demand ransom or force them to work in dungeons. There were rumors that the guards at the convict quarries were recruited by decree of Celestia from diamond dogs. Supposedly, there is no need for cute ponies to do work that disfigures the soul. But Light Sand, or just Sandy, thought differently. Dogs are excellent sniffers and predators. You can't escape from them, and even in their natural underground habitat. So they are offered to do their favorite thing, but also for money. Keep watch so that the prisoners don't escape. And they're on guard. However, as the same rumors lied, dogs can also let them escape. Or they'll let you believe you've escaped and have their wild fun. Hunting. And there... No, this is not the kind of hunting that a filly sometimes falls into, although these creatures don't mind fucking ponies either. It’s when the dogs, grinning and licking, say the convict’s gone, nothing to do, we’ll write a report. The chief of the penal guard in this report just wrapped jerky meat and will send relatives. Rumors, of course. It is possible that at the instigation of princesses and fly them, to run scared. Or not rumors. They lied about shifters, too, and Celestia and that Thorax almost kissed on the lips, declaring that they were now good, colorful... The feelings were returning. The observed dog almost fell off with the lamp, but looked at poor Sandy and changed his mind. He wasn’t going to chain the pony. He didn’t ask any questions. Scary and a little ridiculous, speaking an ancient version of Stallongradsky, he clumsily shook his tail, as if this tail had just been conjured for him, and for some reason went to bury the bandit shifters. He buried strangely, not only without marking the place of burial, but generally trying to hide all traces of the grave. He wasn't acting in the style of diamond dogs or ponies. He... wasn't a diamond dog at all. Perhaps if squirrels were huge and mated with manticores from the Everfree Forest, their babies would look similar. And then this creature of an unknown species sat down on Sandy's broken single-axle wagon and said something about things and friends. Sandy understood Stallongradsky poorly by ear, although she read normally by occupation. Why did he say that? To the fact that while the unknown beast was working, she was still a tetanus mare? Did he give her water too? And did you tie it up at all, saving you from death? And... and asked if those creatures were her friends? That's right, she is unworthy of other «friends». Shame, humiliation, resentment, mortal fear — all blown up inside Light Sand. And a strange creature with a terrible blank stare sat a dozen paces and wanted nothing from Sandy. Nothing. It didn’t even want to remember what it had done for Sandy. Like saving a life. «Please», — The pony breathed silently and rushed to its savior. To grab him and not let him go, no, because one in the desert is so bad that they don’t have the strength, and they knew, they knew and used, they... they... The stranger, who was already reaching for the flask on his clothes, jerked, rolled sideways and grabbed his knife. He grinned, jumping up silently, without growling. Slightly hunched over and becoming more like a dog, he stepped back and to the side. An elusive movement of the paw, and the terrible object is intercepted in a different way, as if someone wants to attack a stranger, and it would be best to wave off with a slashing blow. Sandy slowed down with all four legs and looked around. But the desert did not reveal its secret life. No one jumped out from behind the dunes. For a second or two, the pony and it was unclear who looked at each other. A single drop slid down Sandy's hind leg from under the bandage. — Why? — Asked the stranger with bitterness and hatred. — I have nothing for you! Why do you want to kill me? — I don’t want to... not kill, — Sandy shook her head. — I never... — Your belongings, — An outsider whose name Sandy did not remember safely, again instantly intercepted the knife and pointed the blade at the pile. — You are alive. Wait for morning. Take yours. Go home. — But... — The Stallyon words all got out of the pony’s head. — Go home. In the morning. Enough death, — Said the not-so-diamond dog, slowly retreating into the darkness, taking his shooting contraption and pointing it into the sand between Sandy and himself. — I’ll leave now. Don’t look. Don’t try to attack. I didn’t hurt you. Why? «Has he decided that I want to attack him? But... Why did he decide so? He decided that I...» Yes, Sandy, he (after all, he does smell elusive stallion, and the outline of what distinguishes a stallion from a mare, is seen through the fabric) decided that you want to attack. And not just to attack, but to kill. Or leave the crippled to die in the desert. And not for some terrible reason, you’re planning something so evil. The Stalliongrad words "why" and "why" are different not only in letters. Why. «Then to rob a corpse or just commit senseless evil. Then, so as not to feel indebted, because you don't owe a dead man. So that there would be no one who turned out to be better than me», — Pony realized. It was «why». But why? «Because I'm just as much a piece of toxic manure to him as the renegade Changelings. Only because I can find an opportunity to attack if he is near me. And if I can, then, from his point of view, I will do it. Because he doesn't see the difference between incomprehensible scoundrels and good ponies. She doesn't exist for him at all, that's the difference. That's why» Sandy probably didn't think she was the worst pony after all. And she burst into tears. Silently, because I didn't even have the strength to scream. — Don't waste the water! — The stranger said expressionlessly and quickly, which betrayed a specific skill, ran up to the edge of the dune. And he left. The desert was getting cold, and a chilly and, oddly enough, slightly damp wind blew. Sandy lay down on the sand, shaking with sobs. She didn't want to live.***
Belkin did not go far. He just went around, trying to get up so that the wind blew from the side of the pony. He chose lowlands, but without pitch darkness. He was happy with the boots, as he had already stepped on something fragile and sharp a couple of times. And some strange rustles did not add calm. Is the sand cooling? Scorpions roam? The sky was shining with impossible blue spills on black. Space, as it is depicted in naive old Russian cartoons. Need to choose a point and wait. It’s better if that horse tries to build a fire out of a pallet or some twigs. At least from its own dried-up shit on! Anyway, but she went to shit for barkhan. Maybe it was a while ago, so let her remember where. Anyway, there’s some stuff lying around like something blowing down all these branches, some bones, some kind of mass like dried peat. Not a desert, but a junkyard. He saw too much looking for crates. Valentine once again raised his ears. Is not this four-legged man behind him? Suddenly, she has a crossbow in the bag in a disassembled form? And now she's assembled, cocked, and is already sneaking away. The pony seemed to Valentine to be very strong, to raise a small crossbow to them will not be a problem without any devices. And in the twilight, the ponies should see well, just to shoot the silhouette. What? The eyes are large, though not in a cartoon way. There, if you think of the eye as part of a sphere, there was no room for the brains. No, the specimens we met had nothing ostrich in the skull structure. The pony’s eyes didn’t even glow like any night animal. But with such a «disco» at the top you can see well when you put your hands on. And the fact that Belkin didn’t see any weapons in the pile doesn’t mean anything. The coil of coarse and very thick threads hides the bow. The curved bars on the lid of some box are the shoulders of the bow. In the broken alarm clock, which was cut by the bandits, hides the trigger, and what else becomes a bed of a crossbow and a platoon lever. Up to a pile, «ordinary» split pencils from the back, inserted into thin-walled brass cups after installing the plumage, would look good. Tips are not needed, it is enough to dip the tip into a carefully hidden poison. If anyone intelligent could see the expression of a «face» of a strange squirrel-dog, they could laugh. And Valentine was just wondering if he’d seen any interesting uncoated wheels or pulleys in scattered things. Just about the size of his new hand. «Valik, you fool! Fool and freak!» — Mentally told himself Belkin. But it was him, with all stupidity and all psychoses, sent to this show. Was there no other sensitive (yeah, to the Force!) to all this shit? Maybe, who was. And would that someone expect a sudden and gratuitous attack from a newly rescued, gracious, intelligent creature? The pony got tired of lying on the sand, it must have cried over the failure of the killing, and she set up something like a tent. She tried to tie up the broken pillar. It didn’t work. Then she found a wheel. The tray turned out to be a cart, but the wheel was not set, there was not enough light. The horse, weighing the cart wheel with its front legs, looked funny and surreal. Valentine remembered how in the cartoon and fan fiction people used to hold instruments in their mouths. Yeah, especially the hammer. Excuse me, what kind of neck should it be? And everything else? Not only will the teeth fly out, there will be a concussion! And the vertebrae will split apart! Or are the ponies related to woodpeckers? No, they’re not related exactly. And the horse’s leg rolled up, the wheel fell out and took three steps. The pony sat on its ass, holding the bandage on its leg, and burst into tears. «What the fuck is a cart doing to her at night?» — Thought Belkin. And it also occurred to him that he is a fool. Valentin took out a pistol and opened it. I inserted three cartridges. The receiver unit snapped shut. Did you even put in the buckshot? It's hard to see, but the plastic on the cartridges flashed. Not blunt bolt heads. Or rather, slugs. He did not want to go. After all, again this uncut one will try to do something. It will not attack, so poisonous creature which will slip. And he will also say «I’m sorry» to a dying man in poison rolls. Or will he look greedily into agony and masturbate? Not excluded. The meaning of paintball training is clear. «They will definitely hunt you. They will drive you like a wild beast. Smile, blow in horns and look. Or, silently, follow the bloody trail, constantly grasping at the guns at every rumble, pumping each other with needless hysteria. Any natural horse fright will be turned into a near tragedy. Just to justify their own cruelty. Oh suddenly someone will be afraid of the stranger! So, we must kill him soon! That’s what they need! Just to kill! Torture! Gut him alive. And squeeze the created out of memory! And you, Valentine, need to hold out as long as possible. Until they return. Just watch, remember and not come across. The most important thing is not to get caught. Do not give various scum a chance».***
— What have I come for?! — Sandy cried. — I can do it without you! I don’t need you! I can’t do it, I’m so stupid! Let me die here! Or some other chain-jling will be killed! — I don’t understand, — Said the diamond dog loosely. — You can go! I can... — The pony frantically recalled the words of the rogue ponies who dared to rebuild their state. — I can do it myself! This! — You can, — Said the stranger. — Just... I wanted to help. And you wanted to kill me. Questions of honor? Can’t help? Hate those who are not ponies? Only ponies can live? — Are you a complete fool? — Pony even forgot that the stranger was armed, that he didn't have to step over himself to kill intelligent creatures, and took a few steps towards this jerk. — I don't want to kill you!!! How could you think that?! — Attacking for what? — The stranger understood that the pony had difficulty with a foreign tongue, and spoke in short sentences. Light Sand shook her head. Well, how do you explain to him that ponies tend to huddle around someone who promises even ghostly protection? She ran for protection when at least some feelings appeared in the void that the shifters left behind. — No, no, no!!! — Do you need help? — The unknown intelligent decided not to exercise in overcoming linguistic insufficiency and nodded to the side of the never-placed tent, translating the topic. — Please do, — Sandy asked very plaintively and hoarsely, flared her nostrils, sniffed, looked around and stared at the soaked bandage in horror and bewilderment.***
«At this rate, only activated carbon will remain in the first aid kit», — Thought Valentine, observing hissing brown foam dripping on the sand. The peroxide from the dressing was on the bottom. Somewhere nearby, the horse’s own first aid equipment must have been there, but there was no smile in the dark. Hands rubbed with sand. The swab had to be trimmed gently with a multitule, and this vowel-covered tampon was hooked as if it were about to be amputated without anesthesia. The new bandage went well. Trained various garbage, bypassing the lamp around. The kick is large, not risking to grab at once. One time it slipped aside and, breaking a lot of legs, it got into the sand some kind of evil from a large earthworm long. The fire was lit by the lamp. He long bitched himself and those «specialists» who did not put in the box elementary lighter or boxes of matches. Yes and he is good. But he took the gun. However, the weapon was already useful. Finally, the fire became like a fire. He extinguished the lamp to save fuel. — What? — Who knew why Valentine shouldn’t have fought and fought. — You! That’s a bad way to say it! — It turns out the pony was getting pretty close and listening to obscene tirades. Valentine frowned and translated again: — Watch the fire. Light is needed. The pony screamed for fuel, and Valentine, with his tail (it was getting better), went to the tent. In fact, this tent could be called a tent very optimistic. I couldn’t figure out the size of it, like a horse was stealing this thing from the east market. Here she is, by the way. — The wheel! Must-must-must! — Where are you going to go, plague? Confused by her words and her own legs, pony explained that she needed to fix the cart, roll it into the tent, and sleep on the cart. So as not to wake up in the company of a variety of poisonous reptiles that will crawl on the body heat. Valentine was muttering something about «fucking night tire fitting» and went after the wheel.***
It was already getting light. Belkin was sitting by a barely burning campfire. The pony was sleeping in the cart. Valentin himself also slept at some moments, perhaps with his eyes open. A feature of the body? Or will she still not calm down after the double murder? He remembered the way pony looked at him when he said that he should not approach her once again because of the risk of exchanging some kind of infection. He lied. First of all, he was already in her blood, and he was grabbing her with his unsterile hands. Secondly, he is not a person on another planet, he is a «projection» in some «psychic» space. What are the new microbes? All my own, if it’s even here. The transparent sun lingered strangely over the horizon, only the edges were visible. Belkin found a rolled-up piece of cloth thrown by pony, on which, hiding her gaze, she asked to pour the remains of peroxide. Did you try to wash under the tail? Well, as long as it doesn't burn the mucous membrane. He picked up some kind of crooked twig of a desert plant, threw the dried cloth into the fire. The bloody bandage burned earlier. In the east, the sun was oddly double. Dawn had begun.