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

Silence. Stuck out my head. Nobody. And I went on my way, whistling a tune.
I went down to the lobby, showed my pass to the bean-pole sergeant, and saw
that he was saluting me. I guess I was the hero of the day.
"At ease, sergeant," said. "I'm pleased."
He showed so many teeth, you'd think I was flattering him beyond all
reason.
"Well, Red, you sure are a hero. I'm proud to know you," he said.
"So now you'll have something to tell the girls about back in Sweden?"
"You bet! They'll just melt in my arms!"
I guess he's right. To tell the truth, I don't like guys who are that
tall and rosy-cheeked. Women go nuts over them, and I don't know why. Height
is not the important thing. I was walking down the street and thinking along
these lines. The sun was shining and there was no one around. And suddenly I
wanted to sec Guta right then and there. just like that. To look at her and
hold her hand a while. After the Zone that's about all you can manage--to
hold hands. Especially when you think of those stories about what stalkers'
children turn out like.... Who needs Guta now? What I really needed was a
bottle, at least a bottle, of the hard stuff.
I went past the parking lot. There was a checkpoint there. There were
two patrol cars in all their glory--low-slung and yellow, armed with
searchlights and machine guns, the toads. And of course, the cops had blue
helmets, too. They were blocking the whole street. There was no way to get
through. I kept walking with my eyes lowered, because it would be better for
me not to see them right now. Not in daylight. There's two or three
characters there that I'm afraid to recognize, because if I do, that'll be
the end of them. It was a good thing for them that Kirill lured me into
working for the institute. Otherwise, by God, I would have found the snakes
and finished them off.
I shouldered my way through the crowd, I was almost past it when I
heard someone shout "Hey, stalker!" Well, that had nothing to do with me, so
I went on, rummaging for a cigarette in my pocket. Someone caught up with me
and took me by the sleeve. I shook off the hand and half turned toward the
man and said politely:
"What the hell do you think you're doing, mister?"
"Hold it, stalker," he said. "Just two questions.
I looked up at him. It was Captain Quarterblad. An old friend. He was
all dried up and kind of yellow.
"Ah, greetings, captain. How's the liver?"
"Don't try to talk your way out of this, stalker." He was angry and his
eyes bored into me. "You'd be better off telling me why you don't stop
immediately when you're called."
And right behind him were two blue helmets, hands on holsters. You
couldn't see their eyes, just their jaws working under the helmets. Where in
Canada do they find these guys? Have they been sent out here to breed? In
general I have no fear of the patrol guards in daytime, but they could
search me, the toads, and I wasn't too crazy about the idea just then.
"Were you calling me, captain?" I said. "You were calling some
stalker."
"Are you trying to tell me that you're not a stalker?"
"Once the time I spent thanks to you was over, I went straight. Quit