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

captain fired three more shots. Mac fell forward and lay still.
Guy felt giddy and his legs buckled. He sank down on the truck's
running board. The repulsive crunching sound of bullets penetrating the body
of his closest friend still ran through his head. Soon he recovered his
strength, but still unsure of his legs, rested a little longer.
Mac's motionless body lay like a rock among the pink and white
fragments. The captain returned to where he had been standing, held his gun
in readiness, and lit up a cigarette, inhaling greedily. He didn't look at
Guy. Smoking the cigarette down to the last puff, he burned himself; he
threw the butt away and took two steps toward the dead man.
"Massaraksh!" grunted the captain, replacing his pistol in its holster.
He fumbled for a long time, trying to fasten it, and finally gave up.
He walked over to Guy, grabbed his clothing at the chest with his crippled
hand, and jerked him up. Breathing noisily in Guy's face, he spoke
unsteadily.
"OK, boy, we won't bust you to private. But you're finished in the
Legion. You'll write out a request for transfer to the army. Get in the
van."


PART THREE: TERRORIST

9.
His escort murmured: "Wait here," and vanished into the brush. Maxim
sat down on a stump in the middle of a clearing, thrust his hands deep
inside the pockets of his canvas pants, and waited. The forest was old, and
the undergrowth was strangling it. The ancient tree trunks smelled of
rotting mold. Maxim shivered from the dampness. He felt faint and wanted to
sit in the sun, where he could warm his shoulder.
Someone was in the bushes nearby, but Maxim ignored it. Although he had
been followed from the moment he left the village, he wasn't concerned. It
would have been strange if they had believed his story at once.
A little girl wearing an oversized blouse and carrying a bucket entered
the clearing from one side. As she passed, her eyes were riveted on Mac, and
she kept stumbling in the tall grass. A squirrel-like animal streaked
through the bushes, darted up a tree, looked down, took fright, and
disappeared. It was quiet except for the distant, irregular clacking of a
machine cutting bulrushes on the lake.
The man in the bushes did not go away. The feeling that he was being
watched was unpleasant, but he had to get used to it. He must expect this
from now on. The inhabited island had turned against him: one group had shot
him, another distrusted him. Maxim dozed off. Lately he had been dozing at
the most inappropriate times. He'd fall asleep, wake up, and fall asleep
again. Realizing that his body knew best what it needed, he did not attempt
to fight it. This would pass.
He heard the rustle of footsteps and his escort's voice: "Follow me."
Maxim rose and followed. They went deep into the forest, weaving in and
out, describing circles and complicated loops as they gradually approached a
dwelling that was actually very close to the clearing. Finally deciding that
he had sufficiently confused Maxim, the escort took a shortcut over some