"Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Spontaneous Reflex (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

of that magnificent machine went through his hands. He had assumed he could
estimate and predict it's every movement under any conditions. And now this.
Utm at will came out of it's cellar and was walking around the power
station. Why?
Utms behavior is governed by its "brain"; an incredibly complex and
finely crafted device made of germanium-platinum foam and ferrite. While any
regular calculating device has tens of thousands of triggers - basic organs
receiving, storing, and discharging signals, Utms brain utilizes about
eighteen million logical units. These units contain pre-programmed reactions
to a multitude of situations, varying conditions, and provide for execution
of vast numbers of different operations. What could affect the brain,
programming? The radiation of the reactor? No, the reactor is surrounded by
a thick barrier of zirconium, gadolinium, and boron steel. Practically, not
one neutron, not one gamma-quantum can escape through such defenses. Maybe
receptors? No, receptors were in perfect working order earlier this evening.
This means the problem is with the brain itself. Programming. Complex new
programming. Piskunov himself was in charge of programming and... Program...
So thats where the problem lies!
Piskunov got up slowly.
"Spontaneous reflex," he said. "Of course, it's the spontaneous reflex!
Idiot!"
Kostenko looked at him apprehensively, "I don't get it..."
"But I do! Of course... Who could have thought? Everything was going so
well."
"Look!" Kostenko suddenly yelled. He gasped and jumped up. Grey-black
sky above the institute lit up by a shaky blue flash, and on this backdrop
the silhouettes of black buildings appeared from the snow whirlwind,
astonishingly distinct and yet somehow unreal. The line of sparse lights
marking the fence of the institute blinked and went off.
"The transformer!" Piskunov said hoarsely. "The substation is right
across from the reactor tower. Utm must be there... And the guards..."
"Run!" Kostenko suggested.
They ran. Which was not so easy. Oncoming wind was knocking them down,
they were falling into snow-covered ditches, getting up and falling down
again.
"Hurry, hurry!" Piskunov urged them on.
Tears from the wind and anxiety were soaking his face, freezing into
murky icicles on the eyelashes, and obstructing his vision. He grabbed
Kostenko by the hand and was dragging him along, hoarsely mumbling all the
while, "Hurry! Hurry!"
Evidently the flash above the institute was spotted in the village. A
siren went off on the outskirts, windows of the houses where the guards
lived illuminated, and a blind eye of the searchlight ran across the field.
From the darkness it snatched snowdrifts, the webbed supports of the
high-voltage towers, glided along the stone wall surrounding the institute,
and finally rested on the gates. Small black shapes were hastily moving at
the gates.
"Who is that... there?" Kostenko asked, wheezing.
"Guards, I guess," Piskunov stopped, wiped his eyes, his voice was
breaking off. "They locked... the gates. Well done! That means... Utm is