Аркадий Стругацкий - The Inhabited Island

Onward.

He walked down a long corridor without any doors and turned left. This was only the second time he had been here. The first time had been the day before yesterday, by mistake. (“Where is it that you are actually trying to get to, sir?” “I’m actually trying to get to room number sixteen, Corporal.” “You’ve taken a wrong turn, sir. You need the next corridor.” “Sorry, Corporal, I beg your pardon. Yes, indeed…”)

He handed the corporal his internal pass and squinted at the two beefy guardsmen with automatic rifles standing motionless at each side of the door facing him. Then he glanced at the door that he was about to enter: SPECIAL TRANSPORTATION DIVISION. The corporal carefully examined the pass and then, still examining it, pressed a button in the wall, and a bell rang on the other side of the door. Now he had readied himself, that officer who was sitting in there beside the green curtain. Or two officers had readied themselves. Or maybe even three officers… They’re waiting for me to walk in, and if I panic at the sight of them and dart back out, I’ll be met by the corporal, and the guardsmen guarding the door without a plaque on it, which no doubt has a whole pack of soldiers lurking behind it.

The corporal handed back his pass and said, “Please go through. Have your credentials ready.”

Taking out a piece of pink cardboard, Maxim opened the door and stepped into the room.

Massaraksh. Just as he had feared.

Not one room. Three. An enfilade. And at the end—the green curtain. And a carpet runner stretching from under his feet all the way to the curtain. At least thirty yards.

And not two officers. Not even three. Six.

Two in army gray—in the first room. They had already aimed their automatics.

Two in guardsmen’s black—in the second room. They hadn’t aimed yet, but they were also ready.

Two in civilian clothes—one at each side of the green curtain in the third room. They had their heads turned and were looking off to one side.

Right then, Mak!

He went hurtling forward. It was something like a hop, skip, and jump from a standing start. He just managed to think, I’d better not rupture any tendons. The air firmly struck him in the face.

The green curtain. The civilian on the left was looking off to the side, his neck was exposed. A blow with the edge of the hand.

The civilian on the right was probably blinking. His eyelids were motionless, half-lowered. A blow up across the sinciput—and straight into the elevator.

It was dark in the elevator. Where’s the button? Massaraksh, where’s the button?

An automatic rifle started stuttering slowly and sonorously, and immediately a second one started up. Well now, excellent reactions… . But they’re still firing at the door, at the place where they saw me. They still haven’t realized what happened. It’s merely a reflex response.

The button!

A shadow slowly crept across the curtains, moving diagonally downward—one of the civilians was falling

Massaraksh, there it is—in the most obvious place.

He pressed the button and the cabin started moving downward. It was a high-speed elevator and the cabin crept down quite fast. But then, that wasn’t important now… Massaraksh, I’ve broken through!

The cabin stopped. Maxim darted out and rumbling and clanging immediately erupted in the elevator shaft, and chips of wood started flying. They were firing at the roof of the cabin from above with three barrels. OK, OK, fire away… Now they’ll realize that they don’t need to shoot, they need to get the elevator back up and come down themselves… They missed their chance, got flummoxed.

He looked around. Massaraksh, stymied again. Not one entrance but three. Three absolutely identical tunnels… Ah, but they’re simply duplicate generators. One’s working, the others are on preventive maintenance. Which one of them is working now? I think it’s that one…

He dashed toward the middle tunnel. Behind his back the elevator started growling. Oh, no, too late already… Too slow, you won’t get here in time… although, I must say, this is a long tunnel, and my foot hurts… Now here’s a turn, and now there’s no way you can get me…

He ran up to the generators, rumbling on a deep bass note under a steel slab, stopped, and rested for a few seconds with his arms lowered. Right, three-quarters of the job is already done. Even seven-eighths… What’s left is a mere trifle, no more than a half of one thirty-fourth… now they’ll come down in the elevator and plunge straight into the tunnel, about which they definitely know damn all, and the depressive radiation will drive them back out again… What else can happen? They could fling a gas grenade along the corridor. Not likely—where would they get them from? They’ve probably already raised the alarm.

The Fathers could have switched off the depressive barrier, of course… Oh, they wouldn’t decide to do that, and they won’t have time, because the five of them need to get together, with five keys, come to an agreement, figure out whether this is a stunt by one of them, a provocation… And really, who in the world can break his way in here through the radiation barrier? Wanderer, if he has secretly invented a protective device? He would be detained by the six men with automatics… There isn’t anybody else… All right, while they squabble, look for answers, and try to figure things out, I’ll get the job finished…

Around the corner in the tunnel automatics yammered into the darkness. That’s permitted. I don’t object… He leaned down over the distribution device, carefully removed the cover, and flung it into a corner. Mm-hmm, an extremely primitive little item. It’s a good thing I thought of reading up a bit on their electronics here… He lowered a finger into the circuit assembly… What if I hadn’t thought of doing that? And what if Wanderer had come back the day before yesterday? Mm-hmm, gentlemen… Massaraksh, that current is really intense… Yes, gentlemen, I would have found myself in the position of an embryomechanic who has to urgently figure out… I don’t even know what… a steam boiler? An embryomechanic would have figured that out. A camel harness? Yes, a camel harness. Eh? OK then, embryomechanic, would you have figured it out? I don’t think it’s very likely…

Massaraksh, why don’t they have any insulation on anything? Ah, so that’s where you are… Right, go with God, as Mr. State Prosecutor says!

He sat down right there on the floor and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The job was done. An immensely powerful field of depressive radiation had descended on the entire country—from south of the Blue Serpent all the way to the Hontian border, from the ocean all the way to the Alabaster Mountain Range.

The automatics around the corner have stopped firing. The gentlemen officers are feeling depressed. Now I’ll take a look at what that’s like: gentlemen officers in a depressed state.

For the first time in his life the state prosecutor is delighted to feel a burst of radiation.

The Unknown Fathers, who haven’t yet managed to figure things out and understand what’s happening, are writhing in pain, with their toes turned up, as Cornet Chachu used to say. And Cornet Chachu, by the way, is also in a state of deep depression, and the thought of that delights me.

Zef and the guys are also lying stretched out with their toes turned up. Sorry, guys, but it’s necessary.

And Wanderer! Now, isn’t that great? The terrible Wanderer is also lying there with his toes turned up, and his huge ears spread out across the floor—the hugest ears in the whole country. Or maybe he has already been shot. That would be even better.

Rada, my poor little Rada is lying in a fit of depression. Never mind, little girl, it probably isn’t painful, and it will all be over and done with soon…