Карантин класса «Т» / Class T quarantine: Глава 2

Chapter 2
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Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 19:27

Of course, passing the bioscanner wasn't the end of it. A search team emerged from a similar armored capsule with a mirrored window to the one we encountered at the beginning of the tunnel. Four men in lightweight armored suits, armed with magnetic pulsers. Serious firepower by today's standards... But you can't venture out into the open air with such equipment. A strike from orbit would come in a flash.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 19:53

However, despite the seriousness of the equipment of the team that had come to us, the search itself was nothing special. They merely confirmed that everyone was our own, residents of the Base, and not some unknowns or, worse, Outcasts, who were forbidden entry, and that was all.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 19:53

The last armored shutter cleared our path, and Firkh immediately drove the "flea" out of the tunnel and onto the adjacent patch of land in sector "C," where we had to linger a bit longer, waiting for the opportunity to rejoin the main highway. We gazed through the fully open armored shutters at two camouflaged "fleas" in raider trim rolling past us; at the quietly puffing heavy eighty-ton steam trac, towing behind it, in addition to the main, heavily armored three-axle trailer, three ordinary two-axle covered snail-shaped wagons; and at one more armored vehicle — a purely passenger one.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 19:57

We followed this column onto the main road, falling in behind them. Our destination, after all, was exactly the same — to the scrap metal collection bay.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 20:21

As if we were one team with this search party, we rolled into a huge, seemingly hollowed-out rock cavity, only slightly improved by the people who had reinforced the vaults with steel arches. And only there did our paths finally diverge. Accompanied by armored vehicles, the steamer rolled onward to one of the two mechanized unloading points here, while we turned toward the nearest regular one.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:16

Firkh Peters pulled the "flea" to a stop in the designated square by the conveyor belt. He immediately engaged the pneumatics, lifting the side passenger doors and sliding the cargo compartment cover upward. We immediately climbed out. I carelessly left both my backpack and my gun in the remaining open cabin. We weren't entering the main scrap metal collection area in the publicly accessible Sector "D," where a horde of people always mills about, including those who have nothing to do with the metal collection and acceptance process but are determined to make a few creds off the whole thing. There, yes, if you turn your back, they'll steal something in a flash. But here, there are no thieves. Thanks to the sector's relatively limited accessibility and its higher technological level. Simply put, only a Base resident or a guest with a valid reason can show up here, and the Base security service has optical sensors everywhere. That's why the rules are like that...

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:37

The middle-aged female receiver, wearing a blue work uniform and stationed behind a simple metal-and-plastic desk at this metal collection point, greeted her old acquaintances, the Peterses, quite cordially and, without question, started the conveyor. Swan and Lags immediately began unloading the day's haul from the back of the flea onto its rubberized belt. Mostly assorted pieces and scraps of stainless steel construction, with occasional inclusions of non-ferrous metals.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:17

I didn't hesitate to take part in the unloading. So what? It makes time fly by, and it's generally interesting. It's quite fascinating to watch the automated receiving station in action. A slowly moving conveyor belt carries everything placed on it to the inspection stand, where wide shovels scoop the pieces of metal one by one onto a massive, high-precision scale. There, along with the weighing, a built-in stylometer determines the alloy composition. Finally, a fan of red beams from a 3D scanner sweeps over each item arriving on the stand, creating a digital model and comparing it with an existing database to prevent entire parts, assemblies, and explosive items from being thrown into the trash. From the stand, the scrap metal tumbles, clanking, into a rubber-lined, three-cubic-meter trolley, positioned on narrow rails and designed to fit the cargo compartment of the "flea."

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:39

It's generally quite entertaining to watch this whole thing for someone unfamiliar with the metal collection system. And the receptionist, for example, has long since grown tired of this amusement. She sits there, lazily watching the information displayed by the weighing machine change on the holographic screen unfolding above her desk... Too bad it's only partially transparent to us, so we can't see anything but blurry spots of light.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:39

After unloading about three and a half tons of scrap metal, only an utter trifle remained in the back of the flea. A few intact plates, more profitably sold to the Base's mechanical workshops. They're always willing to buy decent metal and undamaged mechanical parts at a price higher than scrap. Plus, the remains of the mobile Swan had found. The cart was almost full. When the last piece of metal fell in, and the conveyor belt stopped, it quickly rolled away along the narrow rails. It darted into a dark hole in the nearby wall, and at the same moment, another, empty one emerged from a similar one next door and took its place at the receiving point. Such a well-thought-out carousel.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:19

At this point, many people become curious about where all the scrap metal goes. Most often, imagine an incredibly large compartment where minecarts dump their looted goods into a colossal pile. But in reality, it's much more prosaic: there's only a medium-sized bin there. All the rails leading from the receiving hall converge on it, and the minecarts loaded with their loads tip into it, rumbling as they spill the metal. And at the very bottom, at the mouth of this bin, massive toothed shafts rotate. Twin. Capable of easily gnawing through a whole "flea," let alone relatively small pieces of metal. A grinder-mill, salvaged from one of the recycling centers, is capable of grinding even a tank into a homogeneous, sand-like mass... Grind it and send the result of its work down another large conveyor belt—to one of the Base's vast storage bins. There the metal sand will lie, waiting for its time.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:22

"One hundred twenty-seven credits have been added," the receptionist said to Firkh, who had approached her desk, looking at the holographic screen. Then, turning her gaze to him, she clarified, "Shall we deposit them into the account as usual?"

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:24

"Yes, Naira, on the account," confirmed Peters Sr.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:22

He took the ancient communicator headset, shaped like a suction cup with a tendril attached, pushed across the table to him by the woman, pressed it to his right temple, and froze briefly, staring into space and silently moving his lips. Apparently logging into the Base's information network to check the receipt of funds in his personal account. When he had calmed down, he unhooked the headset and, nodding with satisfaction, placed it back on the table.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:42

There was really nothing else holding us back here, so a few minutes later, we were off. Heading to the nearby garage complex, where the Peterses have their own storage space and where I'll need to find something soon. Keeping the vehicle in the regular guest parking lot wasn't an option. There wouldn't be enough money to pay.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:43

Right now, I wasn't exactly rushing off to inspect the garage modules their owners were offering for rent or for sale. It was a bit premature. I still haven't acquired my own vehicle. So I asked Firkh to drop me off near the residential section of our sector. I disembarked, hoisted the heavy backpack onto my shoulders with Swan's help, and trudged, hunched over, back to my quarters.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:44

At least it's only a short walk. Reach the vestibule between the technical and residential sections of Sector "C," endure a brief ultrasonic and air-cleaning procedure, and I'm almost there. Walk another couple hundred meters down one of the white corridors splaying out in all directions, unusually dreary due to their construction of unadorned polymerized concrete, and turn the corner... limp to the door of a slightly rounded rectangle standing out against the wall, the second one from the turn... and, breathing heavily, stop... That's it...

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:50

I slapped my left palm against the blue square sensor to the left of the door, causing it to fill with an inner glow, and a moment later, a fan of red beams from the facial scanner slid across my face. A second later, the softly flickering sensor went dark, and the rectangle blocking my path into the dwelling slid to the right.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:51

Without hesitation, I stumbled into my quarters. A standard five-hundred-cubic-meter residential module, which looked somewhat unusual inside — like a four-room apartment furnished with pretensions to ancient luxury. The previous owners had gone to great lengths to hoard the place with all the junk that literally litters every shop and store in Sector D. The country mansions belonging to wealthy citizens suffered the least from the orbital bombardment, so the search engines dutifully haul out low-tech junk to the delight of all aesthetes.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:56

Well, I'm largely to blame here. In a rush to get away from Base 5 and unwilling to bother with transporting my belongings, I offered the people who agreed to the exchange to leave everything as is, taking only their personal belongings. And they didn't even resist... Apparently unwilling to lose their chance to move from Sector C-3 of Base 76 to Sector B-7 of Base Five for a ridiculously small fee. What can I say—I didn't even bother. Once I learned that not only was there full access to the Base's internal data network and no restrictions on the use of high-tech equipment, but that they also offered the opportunity to use two percent of the small Foroh-11 AI's processing time for personal use, I forgot all about all the inconsequential details. And now I live as if in an ancient palace... All the walls are covered in embroidered golden draperies, some kind of clumsy nonsense is stuck to the ceilings, ancient glass lamps hang, chandeliers, I think, and the floors are covered with enormous rugs. Naturally, all the furnishings match the home, and aren't strictly utilitarian, made of ordinary metal and plastic. For example, the large table in the living room is made of shimmering blue glass, the chairs are all natural wood, upholstered in soft, not synthetic, fabric, and the armchairs and huge sofa are upholstered in soft red leather! Sideboards and vases are everywhere, and the crowning glory is a painting that takes up almost half the wall, depicting some kind of forest lake.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 20:59

At first, of course, I was seriously considering throwing out all this junk, but after assessing the scope of work, I decided to take it slow and put off the arrangement of the living quarters until later. There's no rush. Living in this environment is perfectly possible. And the girls, it turns out, like it...

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:08

Since I try not to make a mess in the living quarters, otherwise I'd be a pain in the ass cleaning up later, I had to hobble to the workroom and only then take off my backpack. And put the "cort" on the table. And next to it, my belt, unbuckled by shaking hands.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:12

"Phew!" I exhaled noisily.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:19

And he began to pull off his suit, which, turned inside out and stripped of its regenerative system cartridges, was immediately sent to the microwave cleaning booth. This wasn't underwear, which would be perfectly cleaned in a simple washing machine.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:43

Then, grabbing a set of clean clothes, I went to the shower. After standing happily under the firm, warm streams of water, hitting my aching shoulders and seemingly massaging them, I dried off, quickly got dressed, and went to eat. Luckily, I'd thought about what to do with my hungry stomach upon my return this morning, ordering a large portion of meat fir-fir. All that was left was to heat it.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:44

As I tucked into the quickly-cooked meat casserole, I couldn't help but indulge in a complacent thought about how wonderful it must be to live on a Class A planet, not on some space station or under a never-rising dome on a dead asteroid. At least it's good that there's no shortage of food here. It's natural, too. And incredibly cheap, by Earth Union standards. The farmers are trying their best... And the fact that Freya isn't very populous also significantly impacts pricing. If we had just a couple of small hydroponic greenhouses for a couple of tens of millions of people, instead of hundreds of square kilometers of fertile land per capita, everything would be completely different... But as it is, live and be happy. Any culinary delights cost just a few credits. Just choose what you want, order, and soon the finished dish will be on your table. Before you know it, they'll be done. There's so much competition for customers among all the food outlets at the Base! Their ability to expand is limited. Not least because of the residents of the most populated sector, "D," who consider custom-made food a luxury for the rich and try to cook for themselves. Without prior training, of course. So you can imagine what kind of food they serve there.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:24

After a hearty snack, although I was eager to begin a thorough analysis of the trophies taken from the bandits, I first tackled the "dirty" work. That is, cleaning the "cort" that had seen combat today. It was a good thing I was lucky enough to avoid being caught in a downpour. Otherwise, a partial disassembly and standard cleaning wouldn't have been enough.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:48

I cleaned it. I unloaded the cartridges from the magazines so as not to weaken the springs unnecessarily. Then I put the whole thing, including the cleaning and lubricating products, away in the gun cabinet.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:49

But even after that, I didn't get around to the trophies right away. I started by emptying my backpack. Before it burst, the poor thing.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:49

The remaining tools from the equipment taken in the search went into their locker. The remaining magnesium rods and chemical lamps in need of restoration went there, too. The control unit removed from the bot's engine and the electronic junk cut up in the control room were placed on the table. The AI, wrapped in several layers of shielding film, without unwrapping it I shoved into the very bottom of a large double cabinet, where all sorts of partially functional technological junk are stored without unwrapping it. It seemed like a completely useless thing... so as not to attract anyone's attention. Of course, it's far from certain that the Base security service planted audio and video monitoring bugs in my living module, but the possibility is quite high. Security officers are always busy with nothing better to do, so they waste their time on all sorts of nonsense: instead of at least restoring order in Sector "D," they're looking for all sorts of techno-saboteurs. Although who saw those? Surely, the attacks on Seventeenth and Twenty-Fourth from orbit by tunnelers weren't due to any malicious machinations, but rather to the fault of a few stupid individuals, madly tinkering with complex electronics that, with or without reason, constantly tried to connect to the planetary data network... Well, never mind. The main thing is that, because of all this, a loner like me, newly arrived at the Base and possessing a good knowledge of technology, simply couldn't help but attract the attention of security.

Camrad_RIP 24.01.26 в 19:42

While pondering these thoughts, I shook out my empty backpack and put it back in its place. I nodded with satisfaction and placed the thin organoplastic headband of the Reg-5PO communicator on my head. It was certainly an old thing, and not particularly comfortable to wear, but its hypnotic learning function more than made up for any shortcomings.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:51

Having connected to the Base's information network and logged in, I launched the assistant program for the handguns section and brought it up on the virtual screen that unfolded before my eyes. My existing knowledge on the subject might well prove insufficient, even considering my good knowledge of weapons and my mastery of the relevant database's first rank. In our reality, this is nothing—there are too many different, sometimes quite outlandish, weapon models encountered on Freya. This is all because, in the Earth Union, firearms have been considered purely civilian, freely possessed, ever since the dawn of the space age. Perhaps the authorities would have been reluctant to allow such unbridled freedom, but they realized it was easier to resolve a minor evil than to unsuccessfully fight it in the face of the ubiquity of replicators. So people went wild, printing anything they wanted, even the most exotic examples of the firearms era. Each to their own, as they say. And now we have to deal with all this diversity.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:44

Naturally, I had no trouble identifying the Hog-6 I'd first recovered from my trophy backpack. It's chambered for the most common 7.62 x 39 caliber. A solid, rugged, and relatively inexpensive semiautomatic carbine from the twilight of firearms. A favorite among many, especially farmers. Base 3—Troika, our so-called arms magnate, has been churning out hundreds of them since local workshops dug up a high-tech Hog-6 model in a modern ceramide design.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:52

We'd also like to have optics to go with this carbine, but we're in dire straits. We don't have any such production, and there aren't any plans for it.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:53

\\"But those ubiquitous silencers are made by anyone and everyone," I thought with a hint of frustration, casually unscrewing them from my carbines. No, they're certainly a good and necessary thing, but these days, you can easily do without them. There aren't as many techno-control airborne drones in the sky as there were in the early years, which means there's often no one to rush to the sound of gunfire.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:47

I pushed the plain gray silencer cylinders, unscrewed from the barrels, to the far end of the table. These are immediately for sale, no question about it. Because you can immediately tell they're cheap, homemade pieces; you can find them in any gun store for a dozen credits apiece. And, by the way, they're only good for about a dozen shots.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:48

Having rid the carbines of these homemade silencers, which were so dissonant with the rest of the technically verified mechanism, I immediately carried out a partial disassembly of them and, guided by the prompts that appeared before my eyes in the assistant program, subjected them to a thorough inspection.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:46

Both Hog-6s were in pretty good condition. They hadn't been fired much, if at all. And they'd been properly cared for. So, despite their apparent wear, the rifles could be sold immediately at a reasonable price. And that's a very good thing. I'm not the owner of a gun shop somewhere in Sector D, who could easily sell a completely unmarketable weapon at a high price, simply foisting off a piece of junk that can't even shoot properly on some simpleton who happens to drop by.

Camrad_RIP 29.12.25 в 08:19

\\"New Hog-6 are going for exactly four hundred... The usual price for used items, but without any significant defects, is three-quarters of the cost of new... that is, three hundred credits... Well, minus the inevitable percentage to the reseller... And that comes to five hundred - five hundred and twenty coins for both," I estimated while assembling the weapon.

Camrad_RIP 29.12.25 в 08:22

Having dealt with the trophy long-barreled weapon, I moved it to the far side of the table and pulled out the first of the two gun belts I'd taken from bandits from my backpack. A very ordinary belt, one of those they make nowadays. Genuine leather with stainless steel components, no weightless synthetics or plastics. Although, in its defense, it does its job quite well.

Camrad_RIP 29.12.25 в 08:23

Unbuckling the holster, also leather, of course, I grabbed the handle and carefully pulled out the massive blued barrel. I whistled in admiration, twirling it in my hand. What a hefty gun, this Smith & Wesson .44. A replica, of course, but one that's as close to the original as possible, made from materials identical to those used in the actual production. Even the grip panels are made of real wood, not some kind of organic plastic.

Camrad_RIP 29.12.25 в 08:23

“It’s just a shame it’s badly worn, this will noticeably affect the price even if the mechanism works without any problems,” I muttered, examining the short-barreled weapon.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:54

But there's nothing to be done about it — time is a merciless thing. And this Smith & Wesson replica was clearly manufactured before the Exodus. After that, no one would have thought to waste the replicator's precious resources on creating such a weapon.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 21:54

Having unloaded the revolver, which was noticeably weighing down the hand I was using it for, I checked the barrel to make sure it wasn't completely worn out, and that the mechanism was working properly. The condition of this trophy turned out to be quite satisfactory. And for a barrel that's at least eighty-two years old, it was simply perfect.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 22:04

Having slipped the Smith & Wesson back into its holster, I unhooked it from my gun belt and placed it directly among the carbines on the far side of the table. Also for sale. No other options. The "Grizzly" game that the assistant program suggested this revolver was designed for had never been found on Freya. And for shootouts with people, despite its undeniable power, or rather precisely because of its excessive power, it's poorly suited. A "Vulv" would be far better. It's a snappy, smooth shooter... and, importantly, weighs a good three-quarters of a kilogram less. And despite its smaller caliber, it has plenty of firepower. For a second gun, anyway.

Camrad_RIP 28.12.25 в 21:45

Although perhaps I'm overly biased toward this hand howitzer—the Smith & Wesson .44 caliber. I simply have no desire to trade in my father's long-ago gift for anything else. The memories, after all... And of my parents, and of the childish delight that gripped me the moment I picked up a brand-new revolver—so cool thanks to its unusual design, aligning the barrel with the lower chamber of the cylinder, rather than the usual upper chamber...

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 22:06

Shaking my head in annoyance, trying to clear away the unwelcome memories, I continued sorting through the trophies. I began emptying the pouches on the gun belt.

Camrad_RIP 27.12.25 в 22:05

My booty included two fully loaded Hog 6 magazines, the cartridges of which I promptly emptied into the prepared tray; a fancy gold-plated lighter; an open pack of cigarettes, which immediately went into the designated trash bin; and a 4x pistol scope with the paint worn down to the bare metal in places. And, as expected, a knife was found in its sheath. A predatory Bimb blade, clearly not intended for kitchen use.

Camrad_RIP 29.12.25 в 08:26

I spent the longest time fiddling with the scope, wondering if I could attach it to my gun Then I wouldn't even need to carry binoculars.

Camrad_RIP 29.12.25 в 08:42