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

southward, deeper and deeper into the land of mutants.
"Well, all right. We'll check it out right now." Maxim was seething.
"According to my calculations, we left the radiation field quite a while
ago, and it's now about ten minutes before ten. What do all of you do at ten
o'clock?"
"At ten o'clock - formation."
"Exactly. And you form up into even ranks and yell your lungs out about
being ready to shed blood for your cause. Remember?"
"And it comes straight from our hearts," said Guy.
"No, it's hammered into your empty skulls. Never mind, we'll find out
very soon where it comes from. What time is it?"
"Seven minutes before ten," replied Guy dejectedly.
"Well?"
Guy looked at his watch and sang in a faltering voice: "Forward,
legionnaires, men of iron..."
Maxim gave him a mocking look. Guy became confused and mixed up the
words.
"Stop staring at me," he said angrily. "You're upsetting me. Besides,
it's hard to sing well out of formation."
"Don't give me that stuff. You used to do just as well outside of
formation. It was frightening to watch you and Uncle Kaan. You'd be
bellowing 'Men of Iron,' and Unc would be drawling 'Glory to the Creators.'
And Rada, too. So, Guy, what has suddenly happened to your intense desire to
burn and slaughter for the glory of the Creators?"
"Don't you dare talk that way about the Creators! If what you say is
true, it means only that the Creators were duped."
"Who duped them?"
"Well... there are many people who..."
"So the Creators are not all-powerful?"
"I don't want to discuss the subject," declared Guy. His face grew even
more gaunt, his eyes lost their luster, his lower lip dropped.
His markedly changed appearance reminded Maxim of two prisoners on the
train en route to the penal colony. They were addicts, unfortunate people
addicted to very powerful narcotics. Deprived of their poison, they could
neither eat nor sleep and would sit for days at a time like Guy, eyes dull,
lower lip drooping.
"What's wrong, Guy? Are you in pain?"
"No," replied Guy dejectedly.
"Why are you so sulky?"
"Oh, I don't know." Guy tugged at his collar. "I feel sort of lousy.
Maybe I'll lie down."
He climbed through the hatch and lay down on the branches with his
knees drawn up. "So that's how it is," thought Maxim. "It's not as simple as
I thought." He grew uneasy. "We moved out of the field's range almost two
hours ago, so Guy did not receive his usual radiation dose. He's been living
inside that field all his life. Maybe he needs it. Suppose he gets sick?" He
looked through the hatch at the pale face and grew increasingly fearful.
Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, he jumped into the
compartment, turned off the engine, dragged Guy outside, and laid him on the
grass by the side of the road.