"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

fellows from PPS and left at the passageway. Everyone else was waiting, too.
The emergency first-aid team, and firemen, and our valiant guards, our
fearless rescuers--a bunch of overfed bums with a helicopter. I wish I had
never set eyes on them!
We got up into the boot, and Kirill took the controls and said:
"OK, Red, lead on."
Coolly, I lowered the zipper on my chest, pulled out a flask, took a
good long tug, and replaced the flask. I can't do it without that. I've been
in the Zone many times, but without it--no, I just can't. They were both
looking at me and waiting.
"So," I said. "I'm not offering any to you, because this is the first
time we're going in together, and I don't know how the stuff affects you.
This is the way we'll do things. Anything that I say you do immediately and
without question. If someone starts fumbling or asking questions I'll hit
whatever I reach first. I'll apologize now. For example, Mr. Tender, if I
order you to start walking on your hands you will immediately hoist your fat
ass into the air and do what I tell you. And if you don't, maybe you'll
never see your sick daughter again. Got it? But I'll make sure that you do
get to see her."
"Just don't forget to give me the order," Tender wheezed. He was all
red and sweating and chomping his lips, "I'll walk on my teeth, not just on
my hands, if I have to. I'm not a greenhorn."
"You're both greenhorns as far as I'm concerned," I said. "And I won't
Forget to give the orders, don't worry. By the way, do you know how to drive
a boot?"
"He knows," Kirill said. "He's a good driver.
"All right then," I said. "Then we're off, Godspeed. Lower your visors.
Low speed ahead along the pylons, altitude three yards. Halt at the
twenty-seventh pylon."
Kirill raised the boot to three yards and went ahead in low gear. I
turned around without being noticed and spit over my left shoulder. I saw
that the rescue squad had climbed into their helicopter, the firemen were
standing at attention out of respect, the lieutenant at the door of the
passage was saluting us, the jerk, and above all of them fluttered the huge,
faded banner: "Welcome, Visitors." Tender looked like he was about to wave
to them, but I gave him such a jab in the ribs that he immediately dropped
all ideas of such ceremonious bye-byes. I'll show you how to say good-bye.
You'll be saying good-bye yet! We were off. The institute was on our right
and the Plague Quarter on our left. We were traveling from pylon to pylon
right down the middle of the street. It had been ages since the last time
someone had walked or driven down this street. The asphalt was all cracked,
and grass had grown in the cracks. But that was still our human grass. On
the sidewalk on our left there was black bramble growing, and you could tell
the boundaries of the Zone: the black growth ended at the curb as if it had
been mown. Yeah, those visitors were well-behaved. They messed up a lot of
things but at least they set themselves clear limits. Even the burning fluff
never came to our side of the Zone--and you would think that a stiff wind
would do it.
The houses in the Plague Quarter were chipped and dead. How ever, the
windows weren't broken. Only they were so dirty that they looked blind. At