"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автораwas neither handsome nor comfortable, but it was identical to the suit worn
by the stranger. Perhaps the stranger had given him a spare suit of his own, for the jacket sleeves were too short and the trousers were baggy. But everyone else was pleased with Maxim's appearance. The stranger mumbled his approval. Fishface's features softened as she smoothed the shoulders and straightened the jacket. Even Floor-lamp smiled wanly from behind the control panel. "Let's go," said the stranger as he moved toward the door. "Good-bye," said Maxim to Fishface. "And thank you," he added in Lingcos. "Good-bye," replied Fishface. "Maxim good. Strong. Must go." She seemed upset. Or, perhaps, concerned that the suit didn't fit too well. Maxim waved to the pale Floorlamp and hurried after the stranger. They passed through several rooms cluttered with bulky archaic apparatus. They descended to the first floor in a rattling elevator and entered the low-ceilinged vestibule where Guy had de-posited Maxim days ago. Now, as then, he had to wait until some documents were prepared, until a funny little man in absurd head-gear scratched something on pink cards, and the stranger scratched something on green ones, and a girl wearing optical amplifiers punched notches in them. Then everyone exchanged their cards and everything got all mixed up, and finally the little man in the absurd headgear appropriated two green cards and a pink one. And the stranger received two pink ones, a thick blue one, and a round metal tag with an inscription on it. And a minute later he handed all this to a burly man with shiny buttons who was standing by the exit. When they were already outside, re-turned again; it seems he had forgotten to take the blue card with him. Maxim was seated to the right of the stranger in a ridiculously long automobile. The stranger was furious about something. Puffing and panting, he kept repeating Hippo's favorite expletive: Massaraksh." The car growled, moved away gently from the curb, maneuvered through a stationary herd of cars, rolled along the broad asphalt square in front of the building, passed a large bed of wilted flowers, then a yellow wall, rolled on to the highway's entrance ramp, and braked sharply. "Massaraksh!" hissed the stranger as he turned off the engine. An endless column of identical trucks stretched along the high-way. A row of stationary circular objects of wet shiny metal protruded above the side panels. The trucks moved slowly, maintaining appropriate intervals, their engines gurgling rhythmically. They spread a terrible stench of exhaust fumes everywhere. Maxim studied the little door next to him, figured out how the window worked, and raised it. Without turning toward him, the stranger uttered a lengthy and completely incomprehensible sentence. "I don't understand," said Maxim. The stranger turned to him with a surprised expression and, judging from his intonation, asked a question. Maxim shook his j head. The stranger seemed even more surprised. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small flat box with little white sticks, stuck one in his mouth, and offered the rest to Maxim. Out of courtesy, Maxim accepted the little box and began to examine it. It was made of cardboard and smelled strongly of |
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