"At ease, sergeant,” I said. “I'm pleased."

He showed so many teeth, you'd think I was flattering him beyond all reason.

"Well, Red, you sure are a hero. I'm proud to know you,” he said.

"So now you'll have something to tell the girls about back in Sweden?"

"You bet! They'll just melt in my arms!"

I guess he's right. To tell the truth, I don't like guys who are that tall and rosy-cheeked. Women go nuts over them, and I don't know why. Height is not the important thing. I was walking down the street and thinking along these lines. The sun was shining and there was no one around. And suddenly I wanted to see Guta right then and there. Just like that. To look at her and hold her hand a while. After the Zone that's about all you can manage—to hold hands. Especially when you think of those stories about what stalkers' children turn out like … Who needs Guta now? What I really needed was a bottle, at least a bottle, of the hard stuff.

I went past the parking lot. There was a checkpoint there. There were two patrol cars in all their glory—low-slung and yellow, armed with searchlights and machine guns, the toads. And of course, the cops had blue helmets, too. They were blocking the whole street. There was no way to get through. I kept walking with my eyes lowered, because it would be better for me not to see them right now. Not in daylight. There's two or three characters there that I'm afraid to recognize, because if I do, that'll be the end of them. It was a good thing for them that Kirill lured me into working for the institute. Otherwise, by God, I would have found the snakes and finished them off.

I shouldered my way through the crowd, I was almost past it when I heard someone shout “Hey, stalker!” Well, that had nothing to do with me, so I went on, rummaging for a cigarette in my pocket. Someone caught up with me and took me by the sleeve. I shook off the hand and half turned toward the man and said politely: