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

followed the captain. Behind the door was a dimly lit, steep stone staircase
with steel handrails. Taking three steps at a time, the captain dashed
upstairs. Maxim caught up with him and saw the pistol in his hand. On the
run, Maxim slipped the gun from around his neck. For an instant he felt sick
at the thought of having to shoot people. Then, remembering that these
weren't people, just animals, he felt relieved. The repulsive slime beneath
his feet, the bleary light, the spit-spattered walls, all served to confirm
his conclusion.
Second floor. Kitchen odors. The terrified face of an old woman showed
through the slit of a slightly opened door. A half-crazed cat leaped from
under Maxim's feet with a loud meow. Third floor. Some blockhead had left a
bucket of slop in the middle of the landing. The captain knocked it over and
the slop flew into the stairwell. "Massaraksh!" roared Pandi from below.
"Out of the way. Downstairs!" barked the captain at a couple embracing in a
dark corner. Fourth floor. An ugly brown door. A scratched tin plaque:
"Hobbi, Dentist. No appointment necessary." A drawn-out cry behind the door.
The captain stopped and grunted: "Locked!" Sweat rolled down his dark face.
Maxim didn't understand. Pandi ran up, pushed him aside, aimed his gun at
the door, below the doorknob, and released a burst of machine-gun fire.
Sparks and pieces of wood flew through the air. Instantly, shots rang out
from behind the door, through a prolonged scream. More chips started flying.
Something hot and solid whizzed over Maxim's head. The captain flung open
the door.
The room was dark; yellow flashes illuminated puffs of smoke. "After
me!" yelled the captain, and he dove headfirst toward the flashes. Maxim and
Pandi tore after him. A hall - stuffy heat, powder smoke. Danger on the
left. Maxim threw out his hand, caught a hot muzzle, jerked the weapon away.
Someone's dislocated joints crunched softly but distinctly, and a large soft
body stiffened as it fell. Ahead, in the smoke, the captain barked: "Don't
shoot. Take them alive!" Maxim threw down his gun and rushed into a lighted
room. It was filled with books and pictures, and there was no one to shoot.
Two men were writhing on the floor. One was screaming. A woman lay
unconscious in an easy chair, head flung back. Pale, almost transparent. The
captain stood over the screaming man, looked around, jammed his pistol into
his holster. Pandi gave Maxim a powerful shove and burst into the room.
Behind him were legionnaires, dragging the stocky body of the man who had
been shooting.
Sweaty and excited. Candidate Zoiza handed Maxim his abandoned gun. The
captain turned his frightening, dark face toward them. "Where's the other
one?" he snarled, and instantly a blue curtain fell and a lanky man in a
stained white smock jumped from the window ledge and headed straight for the
captain. Slowly he raised two enormous pistols to eye level. His eyes were
glassy with pain. Zoiza screamed.
Maxim was standing sideways and didn't have time to turn. He sprang as
hard as he could, but the man managed to pull the trigger once. Face singed,
choking from powder fumes, Maxim grabbed his wrists and the pistols clanked
to the floor. The man fell to his knees, and his neck went limp. When Maxim
released him, he collapsed to the floor.
"Well, well, well," said the captain. "Set this one over here," he
ordered Pandi. "And you," he said to pale, perspiring Zoiza. "Run downstairs