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

"You may sit down, private." The captain went behind the counter to his
desk. Still standing, he scanned some papers and picked up the phone. Guy
turned toward the window tactfully. Nothing had changed outside. His buddies
were marching information to dinner. Guy watched them sadly. Any minute
they'd be entering the mess hall, and Corporal Serembesh would order them to
remove their berets for "grace." Thirty throats would bellow while the steam
was rising from the pots, the bowls were glistening on the counter, and old
man Doga was getting ready tore lease one of his prize jokes about a soldier
and a cook. Too bad he had to leave. True, it was dangerous here and the
climate was unhealthy and the rations were monotonous - canned stuff -
but. Here, at least, you knew you were needed, that they couldn't manage
without you; here you took the ominous pressure of the forest on your own
shoulders, and you felt it. Lord, how many of his buddies were buried here.
Beyond the settlement stood a whole grove of poles topped with rusted
helmets.
On the other hand - the capital. Not just anyone was sent there. And
once you got there, you were constantly on the move. They said all the
capital's parade grounds were visible from the Creators' headquarters, so
that every formation was observed by one of the Creators. Not every
formation, really. But they did spot-check. Suddenly imagining himself being
summoned from a formation, Guy was thrown into a panic. He takes two steps
and slips and falls on his face at the commander's feet as his submachine
gun clatters on the pavement. Damn, what a clumsy ox. And his beret flies
off to God knows where. Phew! Guy took a deep breath and looked around
furtively. God forbid. Yes, that was the capital for you. Everything was
under watchful eyes. Oh well, never mind - others were serving there.
Besides, his sister Rada lived there. And silly old Unc with his prehistoric
bones and antediluvian tortoises. Damn it, how he missed both of them!
When he glanced out the window again, his mouth dropped open. Two men
were walking along the street toward the CO's office. One he knew -
red-bearded Zef, sergeant major of the114th Sappers' Detachment, a condemned
man who earned the right to remain alive by clearing roads through the
forest. But the other was weird-looking. At first Guy took him for a degen,
but then reasoned that Zef would hardly bother dragging in a degen to
headquarters. He was a healthy young man, almost naked, deeply tanned,
strong as a bull, and wore only a pair of odd-looking pants made of shiny
cloth and cut well above the knee. Zef had his gun with him but he didn't
appear to be escorting this fellow under guard. They were walking side by
side, and the queer-looking stranger kept waving his arms absurdly. He was
attempting to communicate something to Zef, who was panting from their rapid
pace and looking totally lost. "Some kind of savage," thought Guy. "But
where did he come from? The road through the forest? Maybe he was raised by
animals. It's happened before. Damn, what muscles!"
He watched the pair approach the sentry. Zef wiped his face as he
attempted to explain something, but the sentry, the recent re-emit, didn't
know Zef and thrust a gun into his ribs, ordering him to withdraw to the
distance specified by regulations. The naked fellow entered the conversation
with his arms still flying. The strange expression on his face was as
elusive as quicksilver, and his eyes were expressive and dark. "Oh, now the
sentry's lost his cool. Going to raise a ruckus." Guy turned around.