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It was late afternoon. Mike stood at his post, at the turn of the deserted bypass highway to the city, waiting for his shift to end. He gazed boringly at the gray asphalt under the pink sunset sky and only hoped that his partner would not do another stupid thing. Soon, hearing footsteps, Mike grumbled:
“Well, finally, Dave.”
His partner approached him, carrying a rectangular plate of gray metal under his arm. It was small, about the size of a tray, and almost intact: only one edge was torn.
“What's that?” Mike asked, pointing at the plate.
“Some kind of panel,” Dave chuckled. “I want to know what it says.”
Mike looked at the plate and saw a sticker in the center with a black hexagon on a white background and a long white inscription below. But he couldn't make it out: the angular letters were mostly familiar, but combined them looked illegible, as if the Combine was trying to write something with them.
“You don't know? You said you knew Bulgarian.”
“No,” Dave shrugged, glancing at the plate. “I know Bulgarian, and this one is very similar, but I can't make it out.”
“Okay,” Mike sighed, “let's go, it's the end of the shift.”
“Let's go,” Dave nodded contentedly and followed him.
They were walking along a deserted bypass. To the right, there was a cliff on which abandoned high-rise buildings stood in a row. To the left, the ground sloped away from the road barrier towards hilly wastelands. Soon Mike said:
“Why are you carrying around this trash? Throw it away!”
“I'm wondering what the others at the station will say,” Dave stroked the smooth edge of the panel.
“I'll bet you a hundred that they'll say the same thing as me.”
“No,” Dave drawled, “I also want to ask the combines.”
“Oh no,” Mike snorted, “don't touch these guys.”
“Why?”
“They definitely won't answer you. And they'll also look at you like a shit.”
“Trust me, I'll find a common language with them,” Dave said with satisfaction.
“Yeah,” Mike sighed. “I hope it won't be like with Strider…”
Dave stopped abruptly and pointed at a sharp turn to the left.
“Hey, look!”
On the other side, where the road branched off to the old canals, one combine ran out from behind the rusty car bodies piled into the wall, chasing a nimble headcrab. Mike was alarmed at the sight of him.
“Dave, don't...” he sighed.
The partner shouted to the combine and waved:
“Hey!”
He stopped abruptly and looked at them with the bright blue eyes of visors, and the headcrab ran briskly ahead. Now Mike understood what had alerted him.
“Hey! Why is he with a shovel?” he noted, and Dave waved and shouted:
“Come here, need some help!”
The combine continued to stare at them in silence, and Mike growled at his partner:
“Dave, why are you doing?”
“I'm just asking for help,” he shrugged.
“You're distracting him!” Mike hissed and looked at the combine. Noticing that headcrab was returning to him, he shouted:
“Watch out!”
The headcrab had already rushed, and the combine, turning sharply, swung his shovel and beated it off, sending to flying. Small carcass easily streaked across the road and hit the wall next to Mike, purring faintly.
“That's a blow!” Dave admired.
“Yeah,” Mike nodded, «he should be playing baseball.”
The combine approached them slowly. The CP noticed that the shovel in his hands was stained with blood and yellow ichor, as was his blue armor, and the assault rifle was holstered on his belt. When the combine approached them, Dave said:
“Hi… F-friend?”
The combine looked at him tacitly.
“Can you help us with the translation here?” The CP raised the plate higher, showing the inscription.
“It's useless,” Mike sighed. “He won't answer you.”
The combine looked at the plate, and Dave answered his partner:
“Come on, he's just shy.”
The combine tilted his head thoughtfully.
“Forget it,” Mike said. “It's useless. I've asked them a bunch of times, and none of them have answered me.”
The combine tilted his head the other way, as if trying to make out the inscription, and Dave replied:
“That's because you asked about silly things.”
“Oh," Mike snorted,” come on, great diplomat, show wonders of eloquence,” not noticing how the combine said something in the background.
“...tor up,” he finished a long sentence.
The CPs turned to him at once and asked:
“What?”
“What?” the combine asked.
“Did you say something?” Mike said.
Dave nodded:
“Yes, he said something, but because of you, we didn't hear him.”
The combine tacitly watched the CPs, shifting his gaze between them.
“Oh,” Mike sighed, “if you hadn't been gabbing all the time, we would have heard him.”
“Really?” Dave replied. “If you hadn't been grumbling, we wouldn't have listened to what he said.”
“Okay,” Mike shook his head, “let's let him talk.”
The CPs looked at the combine, who looked at them in silence.
“Maybe...” Mike began hesitantly. “It seemed?”
“No, he was definitely saying something,” Dave replied and turned to the combine, pointing on inscription. “Listen, tell me what it says here.”
“Don't open it with the current collector up,” he replied.
Dave looked at the plate and then at the combine, who continued:
“This is the panel of the EL1 - electric locomotive.”
The CPs exchanged glances and Dave asked:
“Do you know what it says here?”
“Yes. It's Russian.”
“Oh, come on!” Mike grabbed his head, “Nonsense! You can't know Russian.”
“I can,” the combine said contentedly.
"You're one of them… Voiceless brainwashed machines! Besides, why do you need a shovel? Why?!”
The combine laughed and slammed shovel into the asphalt. As if on cue, he quieted down and looked to the right, where the CPs had come from. They looked too and heard an approaching roar. An APC arrive the bend on the road towards them, stopped next to them and opened the doors. The combine picked up a shovel and pointed it at Mike:
“No one will believe you anyway,” he went to the car, saluted, and disappeared inside. The doors slammed shut and the APC drove away.
The CPs watched after the car, and Dave said thoughtfully
“You know, he's right. No one will believe us.”