Path book 1 Igor chapter 10-1

Dancing didn't work out for me. Sveta taught me how to dance, but I do it mechanically, automatically. "Igor, you don't have a spark of a real dancer in you — you seem to dance beautifully, but without a soul, it's too mechanical and cold", She told me. Well, okay, I'm dancing ... with a knife, though, I'm better at dancing — Master Toliyat is pleased, even praises sometimes. We are lying on a hot stone with Nasar, looking at the holographs that Azat sends me in my toolbox. They show Palaven, his friends in the training regiment, and himself in training armor. It is easy to distinguish it from the usual one — there are no distinctive part icons on it. There is Ali in some of the photos — he is not so stocky, more graceful, with a narrow waist. Unlike Azat, tattoos have already been applied on his face. In a letter, I asked my brother why he didn't have tattoos, and he replied that he was being trained as an intelligence agent. My brother will be a quiet man in the service of Hierarchy. And they don't get tattoos to make it harder to identify. Only before the task, a tattoo is applied with a special paint, which can then be washed off with a special compound, according to legend. And Tam already has a whole pussy with tattoos on his right arm. The youngest is being trained in the Naval special forces, his grandfather's school has taken its toll. Both of them will arrive soon, but only for a month — an official annual vacation. How I've missed them all! When they arrive, we will prepare for the Young Talents competition. I, as befits a real hitman, spent the whole year doing the favorite thing of all hitmen.... Like what? That's right... plagiarism! I remembered good performers of my time and searched for them on the extranet, and if I didn't find them, I shamelessly used their work. I also remembered my old songs, although they are almost all in Northern Irish. He prepared six songs, wrote the score, and arranged the songs into parts. Denis and Alexey — guitarists and vocals, Azat — bass guitar and vocals, There are vocals, I am a flute and guitar, and backing vocals, Nasar is a kattor and backing vocals, Vasil is drums, Azanti is a violin, Bina is keyboards and backing vocals. That's our whole group, with the poetic name "Berry patch", in honor of our village. Oh, let's light up the competition! Aliska and Al are preparing their performance at his farm.

A bike flashed by in the hot haze at the limit of visibility.

"Does Alice like El at all? — the artist asked."

"Just as a friend, nothing more."

"I like him, he's so cute, his hair is so blond and his eyes are blue, and how he shoots an assault rifle...." Her girlfriend speaks dreamily, and there's something so strange about her feelings....

I got up on my elbows, and Nasar turned around and stared at our artist — Azanti was sitting, staring absently into space. We looked at each other and laughed. Azanti was very embarrassed.

"What are you laughing at?"

She asked, eliciting even more laughter from my frend and me.

"You're a Batarian, Azanti! And Al is human," I said.

"So what?!" my girlfriend replied. "Does it really matter?"

"You're right, Azanti, it doesn't matter at all... except that he's in love with Aliska," Nasar said.

Azanti just sighed heavily. Here's another damn problem....

There has been a shooting competition among schoolchildren for many years. We used to compete wherever we could, but after a large shooting range was built on the initiative of my grandfather, the whole school competed there. Moreover, it was possible to shoot from any weapon of the armies of the Citadel Space in the shooting gallery. I was the king of the ultra-long distance, I shared the long distance with Nasar, and there were Al and Aliska was the best at the middle distance.

This guy with the assault rifles was doing wonders. He managed to shoot 98 out of 100 at 200 meters with an open sight, which, according to his grandfather, was simply a record — none of the intelligent people he knew could do that. In Alex's hands, even a poor M7 turned into a terrible weapon of destruction. Aliska also shot predator and tsunami. On this basis, almost all girls of the same age and even older girls looked at the already handsome Al, and he looked only in her direction. And the girl decided to join the cadet corps only in Britain.

We see a group of "partisans" walking along the path — from our location they look like small dashes against the background of rocks. I take the carbine and look at the people walking through the scope. The first is a tall, blond man with a Mantis-B in his hands, his gaze attentive and wary. Behind him, in a chain, with a slight ledge to the right, is a large group of intelligent people. There, besides humans, Turians, Asari and Batarians, a familiar Batarian closes the group. This is Balkakhar Natol, the uncle of our Azanti.

"Look, Azanty, there's your uncle and, I think, your aunt", I say, peering at the slender Batarian woman with a light carbine in her hands, walking third from the beginning.

"Where?"

"They're coming," I pass the praying mantis to my friend.

"Everyone's been busy lately," Nasar puts in, looking through the scope of his viper. "Something like this has been in the air for six months now...." Dad goes to work with a Razor, and no one is surprised that the city medic comes to the injured and sick with a hefty pistol on his belt.

"Mine goes to work with a praying mantis, and all the colonists are always armed, as if they are waiting for something. And no, no, let them look at the sky with alarm," Azanti supports.

I also feel anxious — it's like before a storm, when the sky is still clear and everything seems calm, but tension is already hanging in the air, and all nature is quieting down, waiting for the worst. It's been like this for about six months in the entire colony. Everyone is tense, everyone is waiting for something, they don't know what exactly. Just an obscure anxiety that is constantly growing.

"I wish the guys would come sooner — at least we'll start rehearsing, maybe the competition will help to dispel anxiety. This year they will be held in our city."

"Oh, let's sing! Besides my parents, no one else has ever heard our songs," Nasar whispers, stretching.

"I wish I could," I agree. "Let's go for a swim."