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

received the necessary receipts in turn. The condemned prisoners were turned
over to him. They were the recent conspirators: the stocky man whose fingers
Mac had dislocated and the woman. Massaraksh, this was too much! The woman
- it was absolutely unnecessary! This was no job for Mac. He led the
prisoners to the drill field and prodded them toward the barracks. Nursing
his hand, the man dragged himself along, while the woman walked straight as
a rod, her hands thrust deeply into her jacket pockets. She appeared to be
oblivious to everything around her. "Massaraksh, and why not Mac? Why the
hell not? The broad is just as bad as the other degen bastards. Why should
we make an exception of her? And why, massaraksh, should we make an
exception for Candidate Sim? Let him get used to it!"
The captain and Mac were waiting in the truck. The captain was behind
the wheel; Mac sat in the back with his gun resting between his knees. Guy
opened the door and the prisoners climbed in. "On the floor!" he ordered.
They sat down obediently on the steel floor, and Guy sat opposite Mac. He
tried to catch Mac's eye, but Mac was looking at the prisoners. No, he was
looking at the woman, who was huddled up on the floor, clutching her knees.
Without turning around the captain asked if they were ready. The truck
pulled out.
They rode in silence. The captain drove at top speed, evidently anxious
to finish the job. Mac kept looking at the woman, as if he were trying to
get her attention, and Guy kept trying to catch Mac's eye. The condemned
prisoners clung to each other and squirmed on the floor. The man started to
talk to the woman, but Guy shouted at him. The car sped out of the city,
passed the southern gate, and turned into a familiar deserted village. A
very familiar village. It led to Pink Caves. The captain turned the car
again, braked sharply, and eased it into a quarry. He switched off I the
engine and ordered everyone out.
It was almost dawn, and a light mist was spreading through the quarry.
Its windswept stone walls emitted a faint pink glow. Long ago marble had
been mined here.
Matters were coming to a head. Mac continued to behave like a model
soldier. Not a single superfluous movement. His face was impassive, and his
eyes were focused on the captain in anticipation of an order. The stocky man
behaved well, with dignity. No, he wouldn't give them any trouble. But the
woman went to pieces toward the end. She kept clenching her fists
convulsively, pressing them to her chest and then dropping them. Guy
expected some hysterics, but it didn't appear that they'd have to drag her
to the execution spot.
The captain lit a cigarette, looked up at the sky, and said to Mac,
"Take them along this path. You'll come to a cave. You'll know where to
stand them. When you're finished, be sure to check them and, if necessary,
give them the coup de grace. Do you know what that is?"
"Yes, sir," replied Mac woodenly.
"You're lying, boy. You don't know. It means - in the head. Get going,
candidate. You'll return here a regular private."
Suddenly the woman spoke. "If one of you is a real man... tell my
mother. Duck Village, Number Two. It's the next village. Her name is - "
"Don't lower yourself," boomed the stocky man's deep voice.
" - her name is Illi Tader."