Clone who wanted to sell Stationery

"Tell me, my dear, where and when were you born?" Nar-Tai asked him.

"In Fuckanovo, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Job-Title," replied Private Skovorodnikov.

"And the date, name the date!" Nar-Tai tugged at him.

"May 18, 1982," the blond blurted out without hesitation.

"Interesting," Nar-Tai scratched his chin, then turned to the brunette. "Where and when were you born?"

The brunette, who had been standing motionless all this time, like a wax figure, came to life in an instant when he was addressed personally and, taking a step forward, saluted with one hand, while continuing to grip the handle of the pistol with the other, the barrel of which pointed directly at his right boot.

"In Fuckanovo, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Job-Title, May 18, 1982," he rattled off like a robot, the same thing that Private Skovorodnikov had said before.

"What's your name?" Nar-Tai asked him in a familiar manner.

"Ilya Silantyev, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Job-Title," the brunette replied.

"Strange, very strange," Nar-Tai crossed his arms. "And I thought... Well, it doesn't matter," and with these name of Depeche Mode's song he turned back to the blond. "And what is your full name?"

"Anton Andreevich Skovorodnikov, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Job-Title," the blond answered him.

He was clearly nervous: it was obvious even to the naked eye that his eyes were darting from side to side. It seemed that just a little more and he would rush out of the office, if not for the presence of Jorge Osorio and Deadend Graver.

Nar-Tai, laughing inwardly at his uncertainty, turned to the frowning colonel:

"Please explain to me how it is that both of these privates have the same birthday, and on top of that, it coincides with the day that that whore was born?" with these words, he winked meaningfully at Ando Minamoto, who clenched his fists at these words, perfectly understanding that they were talking about his beloved Asia Vieira.

"Are you an idiot?" Deadend Graver yelled at him in a deep voice. "Haven't you figured out yet that both of these privates are clone soldiers?"

"What?" Nar-Tai was incredibly surprised. "So, that means..."

"And you thought that our units are made up of living soldiers who crawled out of their mothers' rotten herring-smelling, fucked-up cunts, right?" the colonel continued in a mocking tone. "We don't have a single such private here! Everyone, absolutely everyone who serves with us, is none other than bio-soldiers, created thanks to the support of our highly respected boss Jorge Osorio!" with his last words, the gray-moustached colonel bowed to the ground to the latter.

Nar-Tai didn't know what to think about this situation. He looked from his friend Ando, first to Colonel Deadend Graver, then to both conscripts, and then stopped at Jorge Osorio. He looked up at him (well, he wasn't tall, what could he do!) with a look that seemed like he was about to laugh at him.

Finally, Nar-Tai found the strength to ask the most important person in this place, namely Jorge Osorio, directly:

"Is this all true?" he nodded towards the colonel.

Jorge, arms crossed over his chest, was silent for a moment, then slowly raised his head to meet Nar-Tai's gaze and said in his usual calm voice:

"I told you back in Alma-Thou that I would take you to a place where you would see my bio-soldiers. Well, I have fulfilled my promise. What else did you want from me?" and he added very quietly: "I don't know what you have imagined, but I can assure you - all these soldiers really were created according to my design. And if you don't believe me, I can prove it - and I will even show you exactly how they are born!"

"I don't really feel like it," Nar-Tai answered honestly, his head spinning from the impressions that had poured out on him. "You know..." and he made a vague gesture with his hand. "I'm not a fan of getting to the bottom of things, a superficial acquaintance is enough for me, as they say. But you, Comrade Colonel..." he turned to Deadend Graver. "You're a clone too, right?"

The colonel seemed about to burst - his cheeks, covered with grey stubble, swelled like balloons, and steam came out of his nose like a bull in the cold. But he restrained himself and limited himself to muttering through his teeth:

"Yes, I am a clone. So what? Does that make me any less worthy of your respect?" He glared at Nar-Tai from under his bushy brows.

Nar-Tai realized that his words had hit home. He felt as if he had won a moral victory over everyone else in this situation. But he didn't show it.

Instead, he nodded and turned to Private Skovorodnikov, who looked ready to sink into the ground as he stood with his head down in the pose of a man facing a firing squad, his face as white as chalk.

"And you, my dear fellow, continue," said Nar-Tai peacefully.

"I don't understand you, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Job-Title," the blond replied.

"First of all, stop calling me comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Job-Title," Nar-Tai began to explain, having gathered his patience. "Address me as comrade drill instructor, that's my position, right?"

With these words, he glanced at Jorge Osorio. He nodded, and Nar-Tai continued:

"And secondly, how come you didn't understand me - you were supposed to tell me and all the gentlemen gathered here how the hell the bag with all those contents was found?"

And with that he impatiently pointed to the table, on which were laid out a gutted sports bag, a strange syringe, tweezers, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, half a pickle, a small shot glass with a chipped edge, and a red box with a handle, on the lid of which was depicted a stylized scallop, signed with the name of a Analdian big-assed whore.

"So go ahead, tell me," Nar-Tai said after a pause. "Just don't waste time and tell everything as it was!"

The blond, as it seemed to Nar-Tai, was not prepared for such a turn of events. He looked up at him, in which Nar-Tai read that he did not understand how it was possible to speak to him in such a tone.

But then the meaning of Nar-Tai's words reached him and his face distorted with horror. Soon he finally suppressed his unreasonable fear and launched into an explanation.

"I, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Jo..." he began, but, noticing the evil glint in Nar-Tai's eyes, he stopped mid-sentence, after which he continued in a calmer tone:

"So, I, comrade drill instructor, together with comrade Silantyev, rushed in pursuit of the clone soldier number eighteen point zero five and, having left the barracks, crossed the parade ground during this procedure and discovered that this freak had jumped out of the gate. Of course, I, together with comrade Silantyev, immediately repeated his maneuver and left the territory of the military unit. And then I look - on the street, right in front of the gate, stands the sergeant Nitwitted Neff. Of course, I wanted to shout at him to immediately detain clone soldier number eighteen point zero five, but he got ahead of my thoughts, shouting: "Stop! I'll shoot!" and confirming his words, he fired a volley. Of course, I..." here the blond faltered and fell silent.

Nar-Tai understood his confusion from the hateful look in Jorge Osorio's eyes: he clearly wanted to say something harsh about Anton Skovorodnikov's manner of telling the story, but then, apparently unable to find the words to express his feelings for this man with a pale face, he soon stopped boring into him with his eyes.

Private Skovorodnikov, as if waking up, continued:

"I thought that sergeant Nitwitted Neff had shot me, and I immediately fell to the ground to avoid his bullets, and I saw clone soldier number eighteen point zero five running up to him and shouting in his ear: "Why are you standing there, sergeant? Can't you see that the man is running away?" and then he turned his back on him and ran forward up the street. And Nitwitted Neff himself didn't want to stand still any longer and rushed into the barracks yard, where all of our fellow soldiers had already poured out of the mess hall in full force. And then I realized that something was wrong here - why didn't the sergeant do his job and detain this freak? I was about to rush after him - after the freak, that is - in pursuit, but then I racked my brains and realized that he couldn't run far - after all, he had nowhere to go! And so I returned to the barracks. And so, when I entered the barracks and saw there, bending over the bunk of clone soldier number eighteen point zero five, comrade Silantyev, with a bag in his hands, I realized that he had evidence in his hands! I immediately ran up to him and said: "Listen, Br'er Rabbit, what is that in your hands?" And he answered me: "This, Br'er Fox, is some kind of bullshit, I don't know what it was, but it was lying right under that faggot's bunk!" And of course, I immediately realized what it was.

"So what is this in your opinion, Private Skovorodnikov?" Deadend Graver boomed with steel in his voice and fire in his eyes.

"I think," the blond expressed his thought, "that it was a stash that he hid under his bunk so that he would have something to drink from. You can see for yourself," he pointed to the table, "that he had whiskey and a pickle there!"

Everyone present in the office, with the exception of privates Skovorodnikov and Silantyev, burst into laughter - even Jorge Osorio himself and Colonel Deadend Graver.

And only Nar-Tai remained completely serious. He realized that his guess was correct - but not entirely: he decided to check it again and asked the blond with some irritation in his voice:

"If this is a stash, then what were these things doing in it?" and he pointed to the table, on which, in addition to innocent gadgets and gimmicks, were laid out a strange syringe, tweezers and a red box with a handle, on the lid of which was depicted a stylized scallop, signed with the name of a Analdian big-assed whore.

The blond was in no hurry to answer. He looked at Nar-Tai with an expression as if he wanted to say: "Think about it yourself!", but then he answered:

"I think, comrade I-Don't-Know-How-Your-Jo..." and he hesitated again.

But Nar Tai had already figured it out himself: it was a tool used to extract genetic material so that a clone bio-soldier could be created on its basis.

He even roughly imagined this process - this syringe with a curved needle is inserted into the vagina of a slut who has lustfully spread her legs, after which, having sucked a little mucous membrane from the walls of her vagina, they pull the needle back out and then open this red box, in which, as Nar-Tai was sure, there were tiny test tubes.

So they open this innocent-looking lunch box and, using tweezers to unscrew the cap - this is so as not to bring fat from their fingers or bacteria on the sterile surface of the test tube - they carefully inject the contents of the syringe into it, after which they again use tweezers to screw the cap back on and, having closed the red box, tell the donor whore that she is free, after which they put everything in a sports bag and go to the lab, where they hand over the material obtained during this procedure so that in nine months - and Nar-Tai had no doubt that it takes the same amount of time for a clone embryo to develop as it does for a "natural" person - they can take a naked-assed clone baby out of the artificial incubator and give it to the family of some important military official, who is privy to the secret of the origin of the seemingly innocent baby.

Everything is simple and clear, but there was just one thing Nar-Tai couldn't understand - why the hell did this mysterious clone soldier number eighteen point zero five decide to hide this toolkit under his bed? It would be the same as if a person born many years ago within the walls of some maternity hospital suddenly showed up there under cover of darkness and stole some height chart or obstetric stethoscope!

This did not fit into his head, and so he asked Anton Skovorodnikov, who was standing like a pillar.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me what kind of gadgets and gizmos you found in the stash of clone soldier number eighteen point zero five. You better explain to me what you and your comrade Silantyev did when you found that bag under his bunk?"

Anton Skovorodnikov immediately perked up and said:

"What did we do? We didn't do anything," he answered, and there was a note of resentment in his voice. "We wanted to put these things back under the bunk where we found them, but then Comrade Colonel came to our barracks and we..."

"Private Skovorodnikov!" Deadend Graver cut him off sharply. "And you, Silantyev!" he angrily barked at the other. "I can see from your faces that you both didn't want to do that at all!" and he pointed his finger at Skovorodnikov. "I saw with my own eyes how you uncorked the bottle, and how your comrade put a shot glass under it! You both violated the rule about the inviolability of a soldier's personal belongings! You should be court-martialed for that!" and he suddenly began to seethe with anger.

Then, having laughed heartily at his joke about the tribunal for clone soldiers, he again assumed a serious look, as if remembering something important, and turned to Jorge Osorio.

"What am I supposed to do with these blockheads, huh?" and unexpectedly for everyone, his lips suddenly stretched into a smile. "We spend so much time on their upbringing and all that other stuff, not to mention their expensive production, and they, as you can see for yourself, not only behave like little children, getting into some kind of showdown with each other, but are also not afraid to break the regulations! And it was only these two that we brought to light, and how many more like them are now wandering around the world? There's enough time to grab your head and sound the alarm! And you talk about discipline! If it weren't for that, I wouldn't be serving in this unit at all now, but would be sitting in a store and selling office supplies!" Deadend Graver exclaimed, half in jest, half in earnest.

"Wait," Nar-Tai suddenly decided to stop him, "you yourself told me that you are the same clone as your soldiers!"

Deadend Graver seemed to have been replaced. Where had the old grandfather with the long gray moustache gone, sweetly scolding his soldiers? Now in his place there suddenly appeared a man seething with anger, ready to pounce on everyone around him at any moment.

It seemed that only long-standing discipline kept him from jumping up from the table and punching Nar Tai in the face. But he restrained himself - apparently, he remembered the order from his superiors not to allow any excesses.

So instead of a fight, he limited himself to a remark full of indignation:

"Do you think a clone can't have any interests? Who do you take us for?" he asked Nar-Tai in an unkind voice. "Or is a robot or a clone all the same to you? Do you know, puppy... I'll show you how to talk to me! Do you want to go to solitary confinement?"

"Excuse me for interrupting your gentlemanly conversation," Jorge Osorio tried to stop him, "but I would ask you both to behave well in front of each other while we puzzle over the contents of clone soldier number eighteen point zero five's bag. And then you can calmly talk about everything else in a private setting, okay?"

The words of the corporation's chief had the desired effect on Deadend Graver - the colonel's facial features immediately smoothed out, and the angry gleam in his eyes gave way to an obsequious expression of respect for all the other participants in the conversation.

And Nar-Tai, taking advantage of this lull, decided to move on to the topic that was worrying him.

"So, gentlemen, we have just learned from Anton Skovorodnikov how the so-called "stash" of clone soldier number eighteen point zero five was found. Now we have to find out where he got it from and for what purpose. I believe that Skovorodnikov's words about clone soldier number eighteen point zero five just wanting to have a drink in private should be ignored, since it is clearly irrelevant to the case. Does everyone agree with me?"

Having finished his speech, Nar-Tai looked around at everyone present. Silence answered him; everyone was too busy trying to process his words.

The first person to break the silence was his friend Ando Minamoto.

"My friend is right in many respects," he said, addressing himself chiefly to Jorge Osorio and Deadend Graver. "You must admit that we are all really incomprehensible as to the origin of this bag and all its contents. I dare say that perhaps we are looking at an attempt to lead the investigation into a dead end, which we must immediately cross. And then we will have the opportunity to come at least a little closer to ending this complicated case. How do you like that idea? What do you think of such a plan of action? And who of you would like to speak out?"

The Joponese man, hands on his hips, looked at Nar-Tai with a mischievous glint in his eyes, as if telling him in the style of the unforgettable Ryuji Takayama from Koji Suzuki's "The Ring": "Don't worry, we'll get through this!"