"Arkady & Boris Strugatsky - Tale of the Troika" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

When we got back to the landing, Modest Matveevich was winding up his speech.
"We'll put an end to this, too," he maintained in a slightly hoarse voice. "Because, first of all, the
elevator safeguards our lives. That's point one. And it saves work time. The elevator costs money, and
we categorically forbid smoking in it. Which of you are the volunteers?" he asked, turning to the crowd
unexpectedly.
Several voices responded, but Modest Matveevich turned down the candidates. "You're too young
to ride around in elevators," he announced. "This is no spectroscope, you know." Eddie and I silently
made our way to the front of the crowd.
"We want to go to seventy-six," Eddie said quietly.
There was a respectful silence. Modest Matveevich looked us over from head to toe with great
doubt.
"You look weak to me. Too green. Do you smoke?"
"No," said Eddie.
"Occasionally," said I.
Tikhon the house spirit ran out of the crowd and whispered in Modest Matveevich's ear. Modest
Matveevich pursed his lips.
"We'll have to check that," he said and took out his notebook. "What's your business up there,
Amperian?" he asked grumpily.
"The Talking Bedbug."
"And you, Privalov?"
"The Black Box."
"Hmm." Modest Matveevich flipped through his book. "Correct, they are located thereтАФThe Colony
of Unexplained Phenomena. Let's see your requisitions."
We showed him.
"Well, all right, go on up. You won't be the first, and you won't be the last."
He saluted us. Sad music began playing. The crowd hushed. We entered the elevator cab. I was sad
and scared and I remembered that I had not said good-bye to Stella. "They'll wipe them out up there,"
Modest Matveevich was explaining to someone. "Too bad, they're nice guys. Amperian doesn't even
smoke; cigarettes don't touch his lips." The metal gate clanged shut. Eddie pushed the button for
seventy-six without looking at me. The door closed automatically, a sign flashed saying "No smoking!
Fasten your seatbelts!"тАФand off we went.
At first it moved slowly and lazily, at a half-hearted trot. You could tell that it did not like going
anywhere. Familiar corridors, the sad faces of our friends, and the homemade posters saying "Heroes!"
and "You won't be forgotten!" floated down past us. On the thirteenth floor they waved to us for the last
time, and the elevator headed for uncharted territories.
Seemingly uninhabited rooms appeared and disappeared, the jolts became less frequent and weaker,
and it felt as though the elevator was falling asleep en route. It came to a complete halt on the sixteenth
floor. We had barely exchanged a few words with some armed guards, who turned out to work in the
Department of Enchanted Treasure, when the elevator reared up on its hind legs and galloped off wildly
toward the zenith with a metallic whinny.
Lights lit up and relays clicked. The acceleration was pushing us into the floor. Eddie and I clung to
each other to stay on our feet. The mirrors reflected our sweaty, tense faces, and we had prepared for
the worst when the gallop changed to a canter and the force fell to one and a half g's. We cheered up.
Making our hearts skip, the elevator parked itself at the fifty-seventh floor. The door opened and a
heavy-set middle-aged man came in, carrying an open accordion. He casually extended "Greetings to
one and all!" and pushed sixty-three. When the elevator started moving, he leaned against the wall and,
rolling his eyes, started playing "Little Bricks" softly.
"From below?" he inquired indolently, without turning to us.
"From below," we replied.
"Kamnoedov still there?"