Аркадий Стругацкий: The Inhabited Island

Gai was sitting on the edge of the bench by the window, polishing the badge on his beret with his cuff and watching Corporal Varibobu write out his travel order. The corporal’s head was inclined to one side and his eyes were goggling out of it; his left hand was resting on the desk, holding down a form with a red border, and his right hand was unhurriedly tracing out calligraphic letters. It’s great the way he does that, thought Gai, not without a certain envy. The inky-fingered old buzzard, twenty years in the Guards and still a pen pusher. Just look at him glaring, the pride of the brigade—any moment now he’ll stick his tongue out… There, he’s done it. Even his tongue is all inky. Bless you, Varibobu, you cracked old inkwell. We’ll never meet again. And in general it’s a sad business, this leaving—we got a fine set of men together, and real gentlemen officers too, and it’s useful service, meaningful… Gai sniffed and looked out the window.

Outside the wind was blowing white dust along the wide, smooth street without sidewalks, paved with old hexagonal slabs. The walls of the identical long administrative and engineering staff buildings were glowing white, and Madam Idoya, a portly and imposing lady, was walking along, shielding her face against the dust and holding up her skirt—a brave woman, she hadn’t been afraid to bring her children and follow the brigadier to these dangerous parts. The sentry outside garrison HQ, one of the rookies, wearing a new duster that was still rigid and a beret pulled right down over his ears, gave her the “present arms” salute. Then two trucks carrying educatees drove past, no doubt taking them for vaccination… That’s right, give it to him, get him in the neck. He shouldn’t go sticking his head over the side, he’s got no business doing that here, this isn’t some kind of public thoroughfare.

“Exactly how is your name written?” Varibobu asked. “‘G-a-a-l’? Or can I simply write ‘G-a-l’?”

“No way,” said Gai. “My surname is Gaal. G-a-a-l.”

“That’s a shame,” said Varibobu, pensively sucking on his pen. “If I could write ‘G-a-l,’ it would just fit on the line.”

Write it, write it, inkpot, thought Gai. Forget the nonsense about saving lines. And they call you a corporal… Buttons all covered with green tarnish. Some corporal you are. Two medals, but you never even learned to shoot straight, everybody knows that…

The door abruptly swung open and Cornet To’ot briskly strode in, wearing the duty officer’s gold armband. Gai jumped to his feet and clicked his heels. The corporal lifted his backside slightly but didn’t stop writing, the old fogy. Call him a corporal…

“Aha,” said the cornet, tearing off his dust mask in disgust. “Private Gaal. I know, I know, you’re leaving us. A shame. But I’m glad for you. I hope you’ll continue to serve with equal fervor in the capital.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Cornet, sir!” Gai said with true feeling. The exaltation even set his nose itching on the inside. He was very fond of Mr. Cornet To’ot, a cultured officer and a former high school teacher. And apparently the cornet appreciated his qualities too.

“You may be seated,” said the cornet, walking in past the barrier to his own desk. Without bothering to sit down, he took a cursory glance at his documents and picked up the phone. Gai tactfully turned away toward the window.

Outside in the street nothing had changed. His own beloved squad tramped past in formation on the way to lunch. Gai watched them go with a sad air. Now they would reach the canteen, and Corporal Serembesh would give the command to remove their berets for the Word of Thanksgiving, the guys would roar out the Word of Thanksgiving with all their thirty throats—and meanwhile the steam is already rising above the cooking pots, and the bowls are gleaming, and good old Doga is all set to deliver that hoary old gag of his about the private and the cook… Really and truly, it was a shame to leave. Serving here was dangerous, and the climate was unhealthy, and the rations were really monotonous—nothing but canned stuff—but even so. Here, at least, you knew for certain that you were needed, that they couldn’t manage without you. Here you faced that pernicious pressure from the South full on, taking it on the chest, and you really felt that pressure. Gai had buried so many of his friends here—over on the other side of the settlement there was an entire grove of poles with rusty helmets on them…

On the other hand, he was going to the capital. They wouldn’t send just anyone there, and if they were sending him, it wasn’t for a vacation… They said that from the Palace of the Fathers you could see all the Guards’ parade grounds, so there was certain to be one of the Fathers observing every formation. Well, it wasn’t an absolute certainty, but he might take a look every once in a while. Gai felt a sudden, feverish flush; completely out of the blue, he imagined himself being been called out of formation, and on his second stride he slipped and crashed down, flat on his face, at the commanding officer’s feet, his automatic rifle clattering on the cobblestones, gaping open, and his beret wildly flying off into the air… He took a deep breath and stealthily looked around. God forbid… Yes. The capital. Nothing escaped their eyes. Well, never mind—after all, there were other men serving. And Rada, his dear sister… and his funny uncle with his ancient bones and primeval skulls. Oh, I miss you so badly, all my dearest ones!

He glanced out the window again and opened his mouth in bewilderment. Two men were walking along the street toward the garrison HQ. One of them was familiar: that ginger roughneck Zef, one of the especially dangerous educatees, the master sergeant of the 134th Sappers’ Unit, a condemned man who earned his life by keeping the roads clear. But the other man—well, he was some kind of bogeyman, and a creepy kind of bogeyman at that. At first Gai took him for a degenerate, but then he realized that Zef wouldn’t be likely to drag a degenerate into garrison HQ. He was a really husky young guy, brown all over, as strong as an ox, and naked: all he had on was a short pair of some kind of underpants made out of some shiny material. Zef had his gun with him, but it didn’t look like he was escorting this stranger; they were walking side by side, and the stranger kept trying to make Zef understand something, extravagantly waving his arms around all the time. But Zef was just letting him rattle on, and he had a totally bemused look on his face. He’s some kind of savage, thought Gai. Only what was he doing out there on the highway? Maybe he was raised by bears? There have been cases like that. And he fits the part all right—just look at those muscles and the way they ripple.

He watched as the two men walked up to the sentry, and Zef, wiping away his sweat, started trying to explain something. But the sentry was a rookie; he didn’t know Zef, and he prodded him under the ribs with his automatic, obviously telling him to move back to the regulation distance. Seeing this, the naked young guy got involved in the conversation. His hands flew backward and forward through the air, and his face was really strange now; Gai couldn’t understand his expression at all. It was like mercury, and the man’s eyes were dark, and they were shifting about rapidly… That was it—now the sentry was totally confused too. Now he would raise the alarm. Gai turned around.

“Mr. Cornet,” he said, “permission to speak? The sergeant of the 134th Unit has brought someone in. Will you take a look?”

The cornet walked over to the window, took a look, and his eyebrows shot up. He pushed the window frame open, stuck his head out, and shouted, choking on the dust that came pouring in. “Sentry! Let them pass!”