"Arkady & Boris Strugatsky - Roadside Picnic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

changing the entire course of our history."
"Well, I don't subscribe to that point of view. And as for specific discoveriesтАФthat's not my field."
"Yet for the past two years you've been Canadian consultant to the UN Commission on Problems of
the Visitation."
"Yes. But I have nothing to do with the study of extraterrestrial cultures. On the commission my
colleagues and I represent the international scientific community when questions come up on
implementing UN decisions regarding the internationalization of the Zones. Roughly speaking, we make
sure that the extraterrestrial marvels found in the Zones come into the hands of the International Institute."
"Is there anyone else after these treasures?"
"Yes."
"You probably mean stalkers!"
"I don't know what they are."
"That's what we in Harmont call the thieves who risk their lives in the Zone to grab everything they
can lay their hands on. It's become a whole new profession."
"I understand. No, that's not within our competence."
"I should think not. That's police business. But I would be interested in knowing just what does fall
within your competence, Dr. Pilman."
"There is a steady leak of materials from the Visitation Zones into the hands of irresponsible persons
and organizations. We deal with the results of these leaks."
"Could you be a little more specific, doctor?"
"Can't we talk about the arts instead? Wouldn't the listeners care to know my opinion of the
incomparable G├┤di M├╝ller?"
"Of course! But I would like to finish with science first. As a scientist, aren't you drawn to dealing with
the extraterrestrial treasures yourself?"
"How can I put it? I suppose so."
"Then, we can hope that one fine day Harmonites will see their famous fellow citizen on the streets of
his home town?"
"It's not impossible."


1
 REDRICK SCHUHART, AGE 23, BACHELOR, LABORATORY ASSISTANT AT THE
HARMONT BRANCH OF THE INTERNATIONAL INSTITUTE EOR EXTRATERRESTRIAL
CULTURES
The night before, he and I were in the repositoryтАФit was already evening, all I had to do was throw
off my lab suit and I could head for the Borscht to put a drop or two of the stiff stuff into my system. I
was just standing there, holding up the wall, my work all done and a cigarette in my hand. I was dying for
a smokeтАФit was two hours since I'd had one, and he was still puttering around with his stuff. He had
loaded, locked, and sealed one safe and was loading up the other oneтАФtaking the empties from the
transporter, examining each one from every angle (and they're heavy little bastards, by the way, fifteen
pounds each), and carefully replacing them on the shelf.
He had been struggling with those empties forever, and the way I see it, without any benefit to
humanity or himself. In his shoes, I would have said screw it long ago and gone to work on something
else for the same money. Of course, on the other hand, if you think about it, an empty really is something
mysterious and maybe even incomprehensible. I've handled quite a few of them, but I'm still surprised
every time I see one. They're just two copper disks the size of a saucer, about a quarter inch thick, with a
space of a foot and a half between them. There's nothing else. I mean absolutely nothing, just empty
space. You can stick your hand in them, or even your head, if you're so knocked out by the whole
thingтАФjust emptiness and more emptiness, thin air. And for all that, of course, there is some force
between them, as I understand it, because you can't press them together, and no one's been able to pull