Post by mamajumbo on Aug 24, 2015 12:12:56 GMT -5
The glass landed heavily on the table, quickly followed by a vodka smelling breath.
"Ahh that's not like the piss they sell in commie stations." The man who sat in front of Vassili was his key to leave the station.
"But tell me, mister Andianov, why would a man, a respected medic, like you would leave the comfort of a Hansa station? People would kill their mothers to have a valid passport."
The question was delivered dry, nothing else to expect from a trader with a skin wrinkled by many years of pulling the cork too much. With his arms crossed on the table Vassili leaned forward the man to share his story in secrecy without adding uncomfortable details about his life.
The young adventurer worked hard to settle down in Prospekt Mira, life here went gratually for the better. First, he arrived with his white coat and a few items like a stethoscope left visible from his front pocket, hoping that the rare sight of a man of his profession lowers the rifles of a few trigger-happy vigilantes hired as guards for the station. Vassili still remembers the face of the old guard and his bloody left eye struck by the blow of a knife from a traveller rejected at the frontier, the unhappy stranger then quickly died from a bullet in the throat. Carefully, he approached the gathering of soldiers trying their best to find something of use from half empty first aid kits. Vassili was confident that they would accept his help, the eye of the victim was successfully safe, covered by an eyepatch to protect from infections. What he thought to get in exchange for his assistance were either some bullets or a sandwich, however the soldiers understood his potential and offered him a place to stay to help the inhabitants of the station with his medicine skills.
Things would have worked well for a medicine man with no background. But for an old Nazi with his odd deserting story. it was best for him to move out. Because when a sense of insecurity kicks in because of a patient asking too many questions or the sight of the same regular bystanders, who seem to be following him day and night. Those are enough signs that encouraged him to lift his backpack once more.
"Well, what an interesting story you have, you must have balls the size of a nosalis to approach security like that." The drunk merchant then added " Especially when you hear that they can easily throw a punch at foreigners if they are too insistant on getting inside the place." After he lifted a finger to order another vodka, the trader named Anton engaged the topic of his trade route as he pulled a half burned map and deployed it on the table while the bartender poured his favorite drink. His finger was shaking when he pointed it at the destinations.
"Okay, so we are here, Prospekt Mira. I already told you my caravan stops at Tchaklovskaya. However, I have some goods to buy in Dostoïevskaya and I might be able to sell some stuff there too." Anton glanced at Vassili who nodded, he accepted to take this detour. " My idea is to go as if we head to Novoslobodskaya but we take a turn to fall on the blue line then go straight to my destination with this line. I do not expect dangers but thieves rarely announce themselves."
Anton expected the young doctor to laugh at his joke with him, he was only rewarded with a small grin.
"Anyway, you will earn five bullets per day with a bonus if we encounter anything that can shoot at us."
"I'm okay with it Anton, let me sign the formalities to get my gun back, we will meet at your stock when you have found other volunteers."
With a handshake Vassili slipped a bullet in the trader's palm to pay for the drinks.
"Ahh that's not like the piss they sell in commie stations." The man who sat in front of Vassili was his key to leave the station.
"But tell me, mister Andianov, why would a man, a respected medic, like you would leave the comfort of a Hansa station? People would kill their mothers to have a valid passport."
The question was delivered dry, nothing else to expect from a trader with a skin wrinkled by many years of pulling the cork too much. With his arms crossed on the table Vassili leaned forward the man to share his story in secrecy without adding uncomfortable details about his life.
The young adventurer worked hard to settle down in Prospekt Mira, life here went gratually for the better. First, he arrived with his white coat and a few items like a stethoscope left visible from his front pocket, hoping that the rare sight of a man of his profession lowers the rifles of a few trigger-happy vigilantes hired as guards for the station. Vassili still remembers the face of the old guard and his bloody left eye struck by the blow of a knife from a traveller rejected at the frontier, the unhappy stranger then quickly died from a bullet in the throat. Carefully, he approached the gathering of soldiers trying their best to find something of use from half empty first aid kits. Vassili was confident that they would accept his help, the eye of the victim was successfully safe, covered by an eyepatch to protect from infections. What he thought to get in exchange for his assistance were either some bullets or a sandwich, however the soldiers understood his potential and offered him a place to stay to help the inhabitants of the station with his medicine skills.
Things would have worked well for a medicine man with no background. But for an old Nazi with his odd deserting story. it was best for him to move out. Because when a sense of insecurity kicks in because of a patient asking too many questions or the sight of the same regular bystanders, who seem to be following him day and night. Those are enough signs that encouraged him to lift his backpack once more.
"Well, what an interesting story you have, you must have balls the size of a nosalis to approach security like that." The drunk merchant then added " Especially when you hear that they can easily throw a punch at foreigners if they are too insistant on getting inside the place." After he lifted a finger to order another vodka, the trader named Anton engaged the topic of his trade route as he pulled a half burned map and deployed it on the table while the bartender poured his favorite drink. His finger was shaking when he pointed it at the destinations.
"Okay, so we are here, Prospekt Mira. I already told you my caravan stops at Tchaklovskaya. However, I have some goods to buy in Dostoïevskaya and I might be able to sell some stuff there too." Anton glanced at Vassili who nodded, he accepted to take this detour. " My idea is to go as if we head to Novoslobodskaya but we take a turn to fall on the blue line then go straight to my destination with this line. I do not expect dangers but thieves rarely announce themselves."
Anton expected the young doctor to laugh at his joke with him, he was only rewarded with a small grin.
"Anyway, you will earn five bullets per day with a bonus if we encounter anything that can shoot at us."
"I'm okay with it Anton, let me sign the formalities to get my gun back, we will meet at your stock when you have found other volunteers."
With a handshake Vassili slipped a bullet in the trader's palm to pay for the drinks.