The situation was enlivened by the fact that they had to drive around the area where the huge helicopter had supposedly landed - ahead of them loomed that very strip of trees, towering behind a small area of private houses. There were fields behind it - this was where the suburbs began. Having passed the forest plantation, Dragovich finally saw the helicopter located in the middle of the field. It stood as if nothing had happened, as it seemed, with its nose slightly raised. The blades of the main rotor were slowly rotating. There were noticeably more of them than on a light helicopter - either eight or all twelve. At least, at lazy slow revolutions they changed, flashed, too often. The rear rotor was rotating as if it was simply set in motion by the wind.
Dragovich slowed down, then pulled over to the side of the road and began to examine the giant standing a hundred meters from the road.
After standing for a couple of minutes, Dragovich moved on. The snow was still flying, spreading along the road like a drifting snow, sticking to the glass. Suddenly, somewhere almost "straight ahead", at eleven o'clock, as the military usually specify, a black cloud appeared and began to spread. Soon, the tight sound of a nearby explosion was heard. Only now Dragovich was able to make out a gray, disappearing in the shroud and spreading trace of the air defense. Apparently, a cruise missile was shot down over the field.
- There won't be two next to each other, - thought Dragovich, this concerned the explosions, he pressed the released gas and moved on. - Show yourself, tell the women that today is an unexpected day off, and you'll be free all day, - announced the "Mexican", who met Dragovich at the threshold of his room in only sweatpants and with a cigarette in his teeth. He didn't look particularly rumpled, but he couldn't say that he was cheerful either. They were resting.
On the bed, mostly covered with a blanket, lay a female body with its muzzle in the pillow and snoring. Perhaps it was just pretending to be asleep.
- What is all this for? - Dragovich asked perplexedly, looking around the interior of the establishment.
- And you guess, bro, - the "Mexican" answered with a grin, - don't waste your time either. Remember what they said about the "training package"? If Madam says that she's been had, then don't pay attention, we ourselves realize it, that's why we don't back down. There's a bonus for these keys. Maybe "Doc" himself will sign the document.
- Yeah, damn it! - Dragovich said, half-laughing.
- What did you think? That's how it's all done. Consider us a secret service. Got it!
- May I go, Mr. Secret Agent? - Dragovich asked with friendly mockery.
- Move on, Mr. Bond. You'll get your further instructions tomorrow.
They both grinned cheerfully, bumped their fists, after which Dragovich turned around and walked away, through the door of the room to the stairs leading to the street. Dragovich didn't like such establishments. Constant fights, rednecks, often stoned - and that's if there were no soldiers. It seemed like there was no such thing - the "Mexican" knew, he knew where it was more decent, but globally this didn't change anything in Dragovich's perception of such establishments. On the way back, Dragovich turned on the radio, but heard nothing informative about the attack and the cruise missiles. As for what the "Mexican" did, despite the fact that at first glance it all looked like blatant sloppiness, there was a very clear logic to his actions - the KANAR authorities did not particularly benefit from the attention of various free-spirited birds of passage like these foreign, in this case European, reporters. Everything that KANAR wanted to show and tell about themselves, they could show and tell themselves, which is what they did. They also definitely had coordinators in the big world. Not even in "Greater Russia", but in the world beyond its borders. This was not a conspiracy theory, but normality. From there came the initiatives and funds for proper information coverage - this was always done and everywhere. And these were, as it were, random guests. In their case, from the European ENN. There were no reliable guarantees that visitors would not want to dig up something that they and the world around them should not see. There were plenty of interesting things in KANAR that were better not to show. Dragovich, for example, was pretty shocked when Flaxen-Haired showed him footage of a "zoo" - a camp surrounded by a chain-link fence and barbed wire, set up right on the city square. This was in the first year, then they removed it. Ordinary people could amuse themselves by coming to the fence to mock the former "masters of life" driven into the area. Then it was transformed into a more restrained form, into a "hate street" with throwing garbage.
With all this, it was impossible to stupidly and openly not let in those who wanted to introduce the world audience to the life of a famous region.
The only method left was to lure them into seedy places. The method is primitive and obvious to the subject himself, but, as it turned out, it works. Of course, a spree, even if fueled by a knowledgeable "guide", could not completely disrupt the filming, but it would still somewhat complicate the unwanted activity, and would also reduce the possible free time for various searches for unwanted sensations.
The story with the so-called "training package" concerned this Madame Landskricht directly. As an official from the CSCE, she officially provided KANAR with a specialized AI, which served exclusively as an educational system - such systems had existed for who knows how long.
A screen was hung in the room, the wider the better, a bunch of cameras were installed and the kids were driven in. That's it, there was no need to do anything - the AI worked perfectly as a "teacher" capable of teaching reading and writing. Cameras with normal resolution scanned scribbles and scribbles in real time. An individual approach, imitation of personality, in the form of a drawn person, individual control - all this was technically implemented without difficulty.
Of course, this was not suitable for expensive schools - it looked frivolous, without pretension, but even before the War, such a system was used in some places in Europe. Of course, it didn't cover all one hundred percent of the time, that is, lessons, but it did a pretty serious part of the work. Dragovich didn't have this as a child, but in high school he observed it from the sidelines. Here, in KANAR, for some reason, there was absolutely nothing to do with the teachers. The "training package" solved the problem perfectly. So that the insolent punks didn't ignore the TV screen and go crazy, a soldier, usually a militiaman, who was serving his social service duty, sat at the table where the real teacher once sat. He didn't have to do anything, except maybe restrain himself from smoking or taking a sip from a bottle at his workplace. The AI "taught and treated", the soldier simply sat and watched, occasionally shouting. He was allowed to read or look at his phone. That's how it all worked. There, in Europe, children were not alone with the machine either, and there was also a low-skilled "supervisor", but here everything was in the local style and militiamen were preferred as "supervisors".
The problem suddenly appeared when the management, possibly "Doc" himself, decided that this entire, quite functional system had one drawback - it did not pay any attention to ideological education in the spirit of KANAR. Perhaps, the choice of militiamen as present moderators was the first attempt to shift the entire educational process slightly towards ideological training.
The system itself allowed for changes to be made to the taught content - there was a special utility for this, which allowed either to load text or to correct it verbally, in the form of a dialogue between the "tuner" and the machine. The AI understood everything perfectly well and remembered what was wanted from it.
However, such changes could only be made with the so-called key. It was more than just a password and login, it also required access to some account of the person in charge. AI, among other things, sent a report on the changes made somewhere to the developer. In general, the process was deliberately complicated. This was understandable. The developers, and the authorities of the overwhelming majority of states, additionally insured themselves against providing this quite effective tool to people and communities with unclear and unknown goals and beliefs. Nevertheless, as far as "Mexican" brought to Dragovich, the authorities of KANAR, or whoever was doing this, decided not to back down and began to stupidly bombard the intractable CSCE with constant offers, of course, presented as secret, to provide the key. It was supposed to do everything unnoticed, as if she had nothing to do with it. With some trickery, with programmers who knew their business and with the help of the person who authorized the package, that is, in this case, Landskricht, it was possible to block the sending of the report. However, she, Landskricht, in turn, just as stubbornly refused.
Having stopped in the parking lot opposite the entertainment center - hotel, Dragovich took out his phone, turned it over in his hands and put it back in the outer pocket of his jacket. At the same time, he himself began to think about what and how to say to Madame, that is, Landskricht, and most importantly, how to best approach Lisette, who would also be lounging around this day, and perhaps even tomorrow. Should he offer her to take a ride around the city to see it from its best side? If he tried hard enough, he could choose places so that the impressions of the foreigner would not be as oppressive as they had been the previous day.