"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автора

guard, according to category EXTRA. By order of the State Prosecutor."
He drained his glass and filled it again. Slowly, deliberating over
each. w6rd, he wrote on a third form: "Dear Strannik: Sorry to give you some
bad news. We have just been informed that the material you requested is
missing, as frequently happens in the southern jungles."



PART FOUR: PRISONER

13.
The first shot shattered the caterpillar track, and for the first time
in over twenty years the monster abandoned its well-traveled course.
Overturning chunks of concrete, it tore into a grove and turned slowly in
place. Its broad forehead bored into the underbrush and, with a crunch,
shoved aside the trembling trees.
When the immense, muddy rear end tipped up, its iron plating dangling
on rusty rivets, Zef landed an explosive charge in the engine with a clean
shot aimed to avoid the reactor. It tore into the tank's muscles, sinews,
and nervous system; the machine gasped metallically, puffed white-hot smoke
from its joints, and stopped forever. But something still lived within its
evil armored heart; some surviving nerves continued to send out random
signals; its emergency systems still switched themselves on and off,
murmuring and spewing foam; and it shuddered sluggishly, clawing the earth
with its surviving tread. Menacingly and senselessly, like the belly of a
crushed wasp, the latticed tube of the rocket launcher rose and fell above
the expiring dragon. Zef watched its death throes for several seconds, then
turned and went into the woods, dragging a grenade thrower by its strap.
Maxim and Vepr followed. When they reached a quiet clearing that Zef had
undoubtedly noted on their way, they dropped down on the grass.
"Cigarette break," said Zef.
He rolled a cigarette for one-armed Vepr, gave him a light, and lit Ms
own. Resting his chin on his hands, Maxim lay on the ground and watched the
dying iron dragon through the sparse woods. Its drive wheels jangled
mournfully. With a whistle, it shot streams of radioactive steam from its
shattered guts.
"Now, that's the way to do it, and the only way to do it," declared Zef
didactically. "If you don't, I'll yank your ears off."
"Why?" asked Maxim. "I wanted to stop it."
"Because," replied Zef, "a grenade can ricochet into the rocket
launcher. Then we'd all be kaput."
"I aimed at the tread."
"You have to aim at the rear end." Zef inhaled. "And, in general, while
you're still new at this stuff, don't ever make the first move. Unless I ask
you to. Is that clear?"
"It is."
Neither Zef's fine points of instruction nor Zef himself interested
Maxim. Vepr did. But Vepr, resting his artificial arm on the dilapidated
casing of the mine detector, maintained his usual indifferent silence.
Nothing had changed, and Mac was restless.