"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky_Destination Amaltheia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strugatski Arkady)

not go often we get the chance.
Bykov stepped into the mess room and stopped dead, his foot on the
coaming. The bookcase was open, the books lying in an untidy heap on the
floor. The table-cloth was awry. Sticking from under the sofa were
Yurkovsky's long legs sheathed in grey drainpipes. The legs were jerking
excitedly.
"She's not here, I tell you," said Dauge. He himself was not in sight.
"You go on looking for her," Yurkovsky's muffled voice was heard. "No
backing out now."
"What's going on here?" Bykov enquired sternly.
"Ah, here he is," Dauge said, crawling out from under the table. His
face was pleasurably animated, his jacket and the collar of his shirt
unbuttoned. Yurkovsky backed on all fours from under the sofa.
''"What's the matter?" said Bykov.
"Where's my Varya?" Yurkovsky asked, getting up. He was angry.
"The monster!" Dauge exclaimed.
"You loafers," said Bykov.
"It's him," Dauge said in a tragic voice. "Just look at his face,
Vladimir! The butcher!"
"I'm quite serious, Alexei," said Yurkovsky. "Where's my Varya?"
"I'll tell you what, planetologists," said Bykov. "Enough of your
monkey tricks."
He thrust his jaw at them and strode across to the control room. Dauge
said after him:
"He's burnt Varya in the reactor."
Bykov banged the hatch shut behind him.
It was quiet in the control room. In his usual place at the computer
sat the navigator, Mikhail Antonovich Krutikov, his double chin propped on
his plump fist. The computer was clicking faintly, staring away with its
neon pilot lamps. Mikhail Antonovich raised his kind little eyes to the
captain and asked:
"Had a good sleep, Alexei old chap?"
"Yes," said Bykov.
"I've received bearing signals from Amaltheia," said Mikhail
Antonovich. "They're waiting for us. Oh, how they're waiting for us," and he
shook his head. "They're on rations: half a pound of biscuits and two ounces
of chocolate. Just imagine. And a plate of chlorella broth. That's another
three-quarters of a pound. And such unpalatable stuff...."
You should be there, fatty, thought Bykov. You'd slim down fast. He
threw a stern glance at the navigator but couldn't keep it up and grinned.
Mikhail Antonovich, his thick lips pouted worriedly, was examining a chart
traced on light-blue paper.
"Here, Alexei," he said. "I've compiled the finish-programme. Please
check it."
There was no point usually in checking course programmes drawn up by
Mikhail Antonovich. He was still the fattest and most experienced navigator
in the space fleet.
"I'll check it later," said Bykov. He yawned drowsily, cupping his
mouth with a hand. "Feed it into the cyber-navigator, will you."
"I have," Mikhail Antonovich said guiltily.