"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора "Any wishes?"
"According to the canonic version of the legend, any wish. There are, however, variant versions." "All right. What have you heard about death lamps?" "Eight years ago a stalker by the name of Stefan Norman, nick- named Four-Eyes, brought out an apparatus from the Zone that, as far as can be judged, was some kind of ray-emitting system fatal to earth organisms. This Four-eyes offered the apparatus to the institute. They did not agree on price. Four-eyes reentered the Zone and never came back. The present whereabouts of the apparatus is unknown. People at the institute are still tearing their hair out over it. Hugh from the Metropole, whom you know, offered any sum that could be written on a check." "Is that all?" Mr. Lemchen asked. "That's all." Noonan was blatantly looking around the room. The room was boring, there was nothing to look at. "All right. And what have you heard about lobster eyes?" "What kind of eyes?" "Lobster eyes. Lobsters. You know? With claws." Lemchen made clawlike movements with his fingers. "I've never heard of them," Noonan said frowning. "And what about rattling napkins?" Noonan climbed down from the desk and stood before Lemchen, hands in pockets. "I don't know a thing about them. How about you?" "Unfortunately, neither do I. Nor about the lobster eyes or the "In my Zone?" Noonan asked. "Sit down, sit down," Mr. Lemchen said waving his hand. "Our little talk is just starting. Sit down." Noonan walked around the desk and sat on the hard chair with the straight back. What's he aiming at? he thought feverishly. What is all this new stuff? They probably found it in the other Zones and he's trying to make a fool out of me, the ass. He never liked me, the old devil, he can't forget the limerick. "Let's continue our little examination," Lemchen announced as he drew aside an edge of the drape and peered out the window. "It's pouring. I like it." He released the curtain, sat back in his chair, and looking at the ceiling, asked: "How's old Burbridge getting along?" "Burbridge? Buzzard Burbridge is under surveillance. He's a cripple, well-to-do. No connection with the Zone. He owns four bars and a dance school, and he organizes picnics for officers from the garrison and for tourists. His daughter Dina leads a dissolute life. His son Arthur just graduated from law school." Mr. Lemchen nodded in satisfaction. "And what is Creon the Maltese doing?" "He is one of the few active stalkers. He was mixed up with the Quasimodo gang, and now he peddles his swag to the institute through me. I'm giving him a free rein: somebody will pick him off sooner or later. He's been drinking a lot lately, and I'm afraid he won't last too long." |
|
|