"Laboratory Assistant Schuhart,” he says. “Official—and I stress official—sources have led me to believe that an inspection of the garage could be of great scientific value. I am suggesting that we inspect the garage. I guarantee a bonus.” And he beamed like the June sun.

"What official sources?” I asked, and smiled like a fool myself.

"They are confidential. But I can tell you.” He frowned. “Let's say, I found out from Dr. Douglas."

"Oh,” I said. “From Dr. Douglas. What Dr. Douglas?"

"Sam Douglas,” he said drily. “He died last year."

My skin crawled. You so-and-so fool. Who talks about such things before setting out? You can beat these eggheads over the head with a two-by-four and they still don't catch on. I stabbed the ashtray with my cigarette butt.

"All right. Where's your Tender? How long do we have to wait for him?"

In other words, we didn't touch on the subject again. Kirill phoned PPS and ordered a flying boot. I looked over his map to see what was on it. It wasn't bad. It was a photographic process—aerial and highly enlarged. You could even see the ridges on the cover that was lying by the gates to the garage. If stalkers could get their hands on a map like that … but it wouldn't be of great use at night when the stars look down on your ass and it's so dark you can't even see your own hands.

Tender made his entrance. He was red and out of breath. His daughter was sick and he had gone for the doctor. Apologized for being late. Well, we gave him his little present: we're off into the Zone. He even stopped puffing and wheezing at first, he was so scared. “What do you mean the Zone?” he asked. “And why me?” However, talk of a double bonus and the fact that Red Schuhart was going too got him breathing again.

So we went down to the “boudoir” and Kirill went for the passes. We showed them to another sergeant, who handed us special outfits. Now they are handy things.