"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автораvan was blocking the way. Maybe he got angry? Good God, what am I saying?
Anyone can have a fit of anger. And he was probably arrested because of the accident. I wonder where he was taking me and who he is? I've got to find Fank." He polished his boots, groomed himself in front of a large mirror, slung the gun around his neck, and reexamined himself in the mirror. At that instant he heard Guy's order to fall out. After an eagle-eyed inspection of his men and a check of their knowledge of their assignments, Guy ran to the company office to report. Soon Captain Chachu emerged with Guy. He, too, inspected each man carefully. "Take your platoon, corporal." The platoon marched toward headquarters. At headquarters the captain ordered Private Pandi and Candidate Sim to follow him, and Guy led away the rest of the platoon. Pandi and Maxim entered a small room with heavily curtained windows. It smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. At the far end stood a large empty table surrounded by three-legged chairs. An old painting depicting an ancient battle hung on the wall. Ten steps from the table and to the right of the door. Maxim saw a metal seat. Its single leg was bolted solidly to the floor. "To your stations!" ordered the captain. He walked ahead and sat down. Pandi carefully placed Maxim to the right and rear of the prisoner's seat, posted himself to the left, and whispered to him to stand at attention. Both men stiffened. The captain sat with legs crossed, smoking and watching the legionnaires nonchalantly. But Maxim was sure the captain was studying him. The door opened in back of Pandi. Pandi took two steps forward, one realized that he wasn't blocking the way. He snapped to attention again. There was something contagious about this adolescent game, although it seemed primitive and obviously inappropriate for a country in such dire straits. "Attention!" barked Pandi. The captain rose, crushed his cigarette in an ashtray, clicked his heels lightly, and greeted the new arrivals to the table: the brigadier, a stranger in civilian clothes, and the brigade adjutant with a thick folder under his arm. The sour brigadier sat down toward the middle of the table and stuck a finger under his embroidered collar to loosen it. The civilian, a small ugly man with a roughly shaven, flabby face, moved silently to a seat beside him. The brigade adjutant, still standing, opened the folder and sorted through the papers, passing some of them to the brigadier. After standing for a few minutes in apparent indecision, Pandi returned to his original position with the same crisp movements, The men at the table were talking in low voices. "Are you going to the meeting today, Chachu?" asked the brigadier. "Can't, I have some business to take care of," replied the captain. "Too bad. We're having an important discussion there today." "I remembered it too late. Anyway, I've already expressed my opinion." "Not very effectively," the civilian remarked softly to the captain. "Besides, the situation is changing. Opinions are changing." "Not for us in the Legion," said the captain coldly. "Now, really, gentlemen," said the brigadier. "Come to today's meeting |
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