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

on an electronic device, and grabbed hold of a knife-switch. The handle came
off in his hand.
"I doubt that anything can be operated from here. First of all, the
entire setup is too elementary. Most likely, it's an observation post of one
of their control substations. Everything here seems to be auxiliary
equipment. The computer is too weak. It couldn't guide even a dozen tanks.
And everything is falling apart. There is current, but the voltage is below
normal: the reactor is probably jammed. No, Zef, it isn't as simple as you
think."
Suddenly he noticed long tubes projecting from the wall, capped by a
rubber eye shield. Pulling over an aluminum chair, he sat down and put his
face to the eye shield. To his surprise, the optics were in excellent
condition; but he was even more surprised at what he saw. A totally
unfamiliar landscape: a pale yellow desert, sand dunes, the shell of a metal
structure. A strong wind blew, streams of sand rail along the dunes, and a
misty horizon curled up like a saucer.
"Take a look, Zef. Where is this?"
Zef leaned the grenade thrower against the control panel and took
Maxim's place.
"That's odd." Zef paused briefly. "It's the desert all right. But it's
about four hundred miles from here." He leaned back and looked up at Maxim.
"Imagine how much time and effort went into all this. The bastards! And what
for? Now the wind blows over the sands - but what a beautiful place it used
to be. When I was a kid, before the war, we used to go to a resort there,
you know." He stood up. "Let's get the hell out of here," he said bitterly,
picking up his flashlight. "You and I won't be able to figure out
this-place. We'll have to wait until Blacksmith is caught and sent down
here. Except they won't send him; he'll be shot for sure. Well, let's clear
out."
"Yes, let's go." Maxim examined the strange tracks on the floor. "This
is far more interesting."
"Oh, it's useless. Probably all sorts of animals running around here."
He heaved the grenade thrower across his shoulder and walked toward the
chamber's exit. Glancing back at the tracks, Maxim followed him.
"I'm starved," said Zef.
They walked along the corridor. Maxim suggested breaking down one of
the doors, but Zef thought it was pointless.
"This place is too big a job to be taken lightly. We're wasting time
here now. We still have a quota to fill, and we must come here with someone
who knows a lot about this kind of equipment."
"If I were you," retorted Maxim, "I wouldn't be so quick to count on
this Fortress of yours. In the first place, everything here is rotten; and
in the second place, it's already occupied."
"By whom? You and your dog theories again? You're like the rest of
them, with their vampires."
Zef paused. A guttural cry tore through corridor; bouncing off the
walls, it echoed repeatedly, then died down. Instantly it was followed by
another, from somewhere in the distance. They were very familiar sounds, but
Maxim could not recall where he had heard them before.
"So that's what's been screaming at night!" exclaimed Zef. "And we