Аркадий Стругацкий - The Inhabited Island

“Mr. Sim,” said Brainiac, blushing, blinking, rubbing his hands together, and clearing his throat, “explain to the inspector what you… uh… hmm…”

“But I know you, don’t I?” said the great Mak, somehow or other popping up with startling suddenness only two steps away from the prosecutor. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t you the state prosecutor?”

Yes, dealing with Mak wasn’t easy—the entire thoroughly thought-out plan had immediately gone up in smoke. Mak hadn’t even thought of trying to hide anything, he wasn’t afraid of anything, he was curious, and from the elevation of his own immense height, he peered down at the prosecutor as if he were examining some kind of exotic animal… The prosecutor had to regroup and think on his feet.

“Yes,” he said in a tone of cold surprise, ceasing to smile. “As far as I am aware, I am indeed the state prosecutor, although I don’t understand…” He frowned and peered into Mak’s face. Mak gave a broad smile. “Ah!” the prosecutor exclaimed. “Why, of course… Mak Sim, also known as Maxim Kammerer! However, pardon me, but I was informed that you had been killed while serving penal labor… Massaraksh, how did you come to be here?”

“It’s a long story,” Mak replied with a casual wave of his hand. “And as it happens, I was also surprised to see you here. I never supposed that our activities were of any interest to the Department of Justice.”

“Your activities are of interest to the most surprising people,” said the prosecutor. He took Mak by the arm, led him to the window farthest away, and inquired in a confidential whisper, “When are you going to let us have the pills? The real pills, for the full thirty minutes.”

“Why, are you really also—” Mak began. “But then, yes, naturally…”

The prosecutor woefully shook his head and rolled up his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Our blessing and our curse,” he said. “The good fortune of our state and the wretched misfortune of its leaders… Massaraksh, I am terribly glad that you’re alive, Mak. I ought to tell you that the case in which you were tried is one of the few in my career that has left me with a sense of nagging dissatisfaction… No, no, don’t try to deny it—according to the letter of the law you were guilty, so from that point of view everything is in good order… you attacked a tower and I think killed a guardsman; that sort of thing doesn’t earn you a pat on the head, you know. But in essence… I confess that my hand trembled when I signed your sentence. As if I were sentencing a child—please don’t be offended. After all, in the final analysis, it was more our initiative than yours, and the entire responsibility—”

“I’m not offended,” said Mak. “And you’re not so very far from the truth: the escapade with that tower was puerile… In any case, I’m grateful to the state prosecutor’s office for not having us shot at the time.”

“It was all that I was able to do,” said the prosecutor. “I recall that I was very upset when I heard that you had been killed…” He laughed and squeezed Mak’s elbow in a friendly fashion. “I’m devilishly glad that everything has turned out so well. And devilishly glad to make your acquaintance…” He looked at his watch. “But tell me, Mak, why are you here? No, no, I’m not going to arrest you, it’s none of my business, the military police can deal with you now. But what are you doing in this institute? Are you really a chemist? And apart from that…” He pointed to Maxim’s chevron.

“I’m a little bit of everything,” said Mak. “A little bit of a chemist, a little bit of a physicist…”

“A little bit of an underground operative,” the prosecutor said with a good-natured laugh.

“Only a very little bit,” Mak decisively replied.

“A little bit of a conjuror,” the prosecutor said.

Mak looked at him intently.

“A little bit of a fantasizer,” the prosecutor continued, “a little bit of an adventurer.”

“But those are not professions,” Mak objected. “They are, if you like, simply the qualities of any decent scientist.”

“And any decent politician,” said the prosecutor.

“An uncommon combination of words,” Mak remarked.

The prosecutor cast a quizzical glance at him, then caught on and laughed again. “Yes,” he said. “Political activity does have certain specific characteristics. Politics is the art of washing things clean with very dirty water. Never descend into politics, Mak, stick with your chemistry.” He looked at his watch and said in annoyance, “Ah, damn it, I have absolutely no time, and I really did want to have a chat with you… I’ve looked at your file, you’re a highly intriguing individual… But you’re probably very busy too.”

“Yes,” said the clever fellow Mak. “But, of course, not so very busy as the state prosecutor.”

“Well now,” said the prosecutor, laughing once again. “Your bosses assure us that you work day and night… But I, for instance, cannot say the same for myself. A state prosecutor does sometimes find himself with a free evening… It will surprise you to hear that I have a whole heap of questions for you, Mak. I must admit that I wanted to have a talk with you back then, after the trial. But work, work, work, there’s never any end to it.”

“I’m at your disposal,” said Mak. “Especially since I also have a few questions for you.”

Oh, come on! the prosecutor mentally rebuked him. Don’t be so open about things, we’re not alone here. Out loud he replied, beaming brightly, “Excellent! I’ll do everything I can… And now, please pardon me, I have to run…”

He shook the enormous hand of his Mak, the Mak he had already caught, the Mak who had already conclusively taken the bait. He played along quite excellently, he undoubtedly does want to meet, and now I’ll sink the hook home…

The prosecutor halted in the doorway and clicked his fingers, and looked back: “Let me see now, Mak, what are you doing this evening? I’ve just realized that I have a free evening today…”

“Today?” said Mak. “Well, why not? Of course, I have—”

“Bring someone along!” the prosecutor exclaimed. “That’s even better, I’ll introduce you to my wife, it will be a splendid evening… Eight o’clock—does that suit you? I’ll send a car to pick you up. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Agreed , the prosecutor triumphantly thought as he walked around the final laboratories in the division, smiling, slapping shoulders, and shaking hands. Agreed ! he thought as he signed the report in Brainiac’s office. “Agreed, massaraksh, agreed!” he triumphantly shouted to himself on the way home.

He gave the driver his instructions. He told his secretary to inform the department that the prosecutor was busy—nobody was to be received, the phones were to be disconnected, and in general they should all clear out and go to hell, but in a way that meant they would still remain within easy reach all the time. He summoned his wife and kissed her on the neck, recalling in passing that it had been ten days since they saw each other, and asked her to make arrangements for a good dinner, something light and delicious for four, to behave herself at the table and prepare herself to meet a very interesting man. And plenty of wines, various kinds and all of the very best quality…

After that he locked himself in his office, laid out the contents of the green folder on his desk again, and started thinking everything through once more from the very beginning. He was only disturbed once, when a Military Department courier brought the latest communiqué from the front. The front had fallen apart. Someone had tipped off the Hontians that they should focus on the blocking detachments, and last night they had bombarded the radiation emitter tanks with atomic shells, destroying up to 95 percent of them. No more information had been received concerning the fate of the army that had broken through. This was the end. This was the end of the war. It was the end of General Shekagu and General Odu. It was the end of Four-Eyes, Teapot, Stormcloud and other, more minor figures. It could very possibly be the end of Father-in-Law and Stepbrother. And of course, it would have been the end of Egghead, if only Egghead weren’t such a smarty pants…