Готовый перевод Страна багровых туч / Аркадий и Борис Стругацкие / The Land of Crimson Clouds / Arkady and Boris Strugatsky: НА ПОРОГЕ / On the Threshold

On the Threshold

Bykov sighed and sat up on the couch, throwing a blanket away. He couldn't make himself get asleep. It was dark in Dauge's office. Only the sheets, that slipped down to the floor, were shown up white. In wide windows a night glow above the capital was slightly getting pinker.

He stretched out his hand for a watch on the chair nearby. The watch slipped from his fingers and fell on the carpet. Bykov got off the couch and started to look for it, fumbling about with his hand on the carpet and the smooth floor. The watch disappeared. He stood up, cursing, and began to straighten the sheets. He had done so for the third time since Dauge wished him good night and went to his room to write some letters. Bykov laid down, but couldn't fall asleep. He was turning over, snuffling, trying to get comfortable, counting sheep. Yet a sleep didn't come.

"Too many impressions" - thought Bykov, sitting up again. Too many impressions and thoughts. Too many things were explained by Dauge and even more remained unclear. It would be nice to smoke a cigarette now, but no, he must not! He should give up. To quit smoking and to abstain from alcohol completely. Just recently Ioganych after listening to his message without any enthusiasm that "... in this suitcase, fellow, a bottle of excellent Armenian cognac is waiting for its turn" indifferently asked the question: "Fifteen years aging?" - "Twenty!" - rejoined Bykov in a grand. "Well, throw it away" - gently suggested Dauge. - Throw it into the rubbish chute now or give it to someone tomorrow. And think about that you will not be allowed to smoke in the rocket. It is such a routine. On Earth - only wine grape in minimal doses, in the expedition - not a drop! That's the routine, comrade cosmonaut".

-A m-monastery - Bykov said expressively, settling comfortably under the blanket. - I should sleep. I'll try one more time.

He closed his eyes, and at once he remembered a huge empty hall, where he was waiting for Dauge after the meeting. Bogdan Spitsyn and fat Krutikov passed by and stopped next to the bookshop. As far as he could hear they were talking about a new book. More precisely, Spitsyn was silent, flashing a dazzling smile, and Krutikov was chattering in a high tenor, throwing the most amiable and benevolent looks towards the newcomer. Bykov felt that he was invited to join the conversation, but there appeared Dauge and Yurkovsky. Dauge paced fast with his lip bitten. Yurkovsky's face was distorted by a cramp. In his hand he was holding a crumpled newspaper.

"D'Ange died," - said Yurkovsky, coming close. Bykov saw how a smile slid away from dark-haired Spitsyn's face.

"Oh, shit!" - he swore.

Krutikov leaned forward, his lips trembled:

"Lord... Paul?"

"Above Jupiter - said Yurkovski in a rage. - Stuck in the exosphere, lost the speed and didn't want to go back..."

He handed the newspaper. Bykov saw the portrait in a black frame - a thin young man with sad eyes.

"Jupiter ... again this cursed Jup! - Yurkovsky clenched fists. - Worse than Venus, the worst in the world... That's where I would... that..." - He turned abruptly and walked away, striding on the mat white springy floor.

"Paul d'Ange, Paul ..." - repeated Krutikov, shaking his head sadly.

"I have not had time to respond to his letter," - hardly uttered Dauge.

Everybody was silent, just a dense cover of the book crunched in the chubby hairy fingers of Mihail Antonovich Krutikov...

... Bykov opened his eyes and rolled over on his back. The incident cast a shadow on the entire evening. A good conversation with Ioganych failed. "These cosmonauts are devilishly brave guys - thought the engineer. - And surprisingly persistent. Real people! How many of them died on Venus!" They assaulted it in bulky pulse rockets with a limited amount of fuel. No one drove them, they were held, even suspended from flying... if they come back.

Now "Hius" is going to assault.

'Hius', a photon rocket... Like any nuclear engineer, Bykov was familiar with the photon rocket drive theory and kept up with every new publication on the subject. A photon rocket drive turns the fuel into quanta of electromagnetic radiation and therefore it achieves the highest pushout velocity possible for rocket engines, which is equal to the speed of light. As for the energy source in a photon rocket drive, it is possible to use either a thermonuclear process (partial conversion of fuel into radiation) or an annihilation of antimatter (complete conversion of fuel into radiation). The advantages of a photon rocket over an atomic liquid-fuel one are undoubted and enormous. Firstly, its lower relative weight of fuel; secondly, its higher useful load; thirdly, its fantastic manoeuvrability for a liquid-fuel rocket, fourthly...

That's what the theory asserts. But Bykov knew as well, that until recently, all practical attempts to use the idea of a photon rocket drive had failed. One of the fundamental issues about that idea - reflection of radiation - resisted to be practically solved. To produce a photon traction it is required the radiation intensity as much as millions of kilocalories per square centimetre of reflecting surface per second, and no material stood even short exposure to temperature of several hundred thousand degrees, taking place here. Some unmanned prototypes burnt to ashes without having enough time to use even one-tenth part of fuel. Nevertheless, 'Hius', the first photon rocket, has been built!

"A perfect mirror has been created, - said Dauge, - 'an absolute reflector'. A substance that reflects any kind of radiated energy at any intensity - along with all types of elementary particles with energy up to one hundred or one hundred and a half million electron-volts. Except neutrino, maybe. A magic substance. An institute in Novosibirsk developed the theory behind it. To be honest, they didn't keep a photon rocket in mind. They were researching the ways for perfect protection from penetrative radiation of a nuclear reactor. But Krauhin immediately caught the idea. - Dauge made a grin. - Krauhin is a photon rocket fanatic. He is the author of that famous aphorism: "A photon rocket means the conquered Universe". Krauhin immediately took a grip on the 'absolute reflector', set people from two-thirds of Committee's laboratories to develop it, and here it is - 'Hius'!

The creation of the 'absolute reflector' was the first real achievement of the new, almost fantastic science - a mesoatomic chemistry, the chemistry of artificial atoms, when electron shells are replaced by mesonic ones. That got Bykov interested so much, that he forgot about everything for some time - about poor Paul d'Ange, about Venus, even about the expedition. Unfortunately, Dauge couldn't tell much about the 'absolute reflector'. But he told about 'Hius'.

'Hius' is a composite planetship. Five common atomic pulse rockets carry a parabolic mirror made of the 'absolute refrector' substance. Portions of hydrogen-tritium plasma are injected to the focal point of the mirror at a definite frequency. The atomic rockets serve double purpose: firstly, they give 'Hius' the ability to take off and to land on Earth. A photon reactor would no good for that - it would contaminate the atmosphere like a simultaneous explosion of dozens of hydrogen bombs. Secondly, the rocket reactors supply the high-powered electromagnets with electrecity. In their field the plasma slows down and the thermonuclear synthesis begins.

Very simple and clever: five rockets and a mirror. By the way, the ugly five-legged turtle that Bykov saw in Krauhin's study - is a model of "Hius". Frankly speaking, "Hius" doesn't have grace contours...

The engineer sat again, curled up, resting his bare back to the cool wall.

"We are going in the photon rocket "Hius-2". "Hius-1"' was burnt two years ago during the tests - reluctantly said Dauge. - No one knows why. There is nobody to ask. The only person who might have something to say about it was Ashot Petrosyan, of blessed memory! He was disintegrated into the atomic dust along with the mass of doped titanium, of which the hull of the first "Hius" was made. A light and honorable death... "

"Probably, none of us fear of death - thought Bykov. - We just do not want it. Whose are these words?" He got off the couch. He wouldn't get asleep, that's clear. An absolute reflector, d'Ange, "Hius", Petrosyan... "Let's try the last resort."

He went out to the balcony, quite mechanically fumbled a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket.

If he cannot sleep, he should feel cold properly. Bykov leaned on the railing. It was quiet. The huge city slept in the ghostly twilight of a July night. Far beyond the horizon there was a pink shimmering glow. In the north the Palace of Soviets peak ran high into the sky by a dazzling white arrow.

"It is already past two - thought Bykov. - Where is, however, my watch?.. It is surprisingly warm. A soft warm breeze... But "Hius" in Siberian means "a winter wind", a northerner. The project of photon rocket was developed by Siberian engineers, and they offered this word as a code name. Then the name was transfered to the rocket".

The strange, unusual names. "Hius" is named after the Siberian cold. "Uranium Golconda", it seems, is named in memory of the ancient city, where King Solomon kept his diamonds long ago... And this "Tahmasib's mystery". Tahmasib Mehdi, a prominent Azerbaijani geologist, was the first man that walked on Golconda. Ermakov, Tahmasib and two other geologists safely landed on Venus in a specially equipped sport rocket. It was a huge success and fortune. Everybody thinks so, including Ermakov himself.

They landed somewhere in twenty kilometres from Golconda bounds. Tahmasib left Ermakov by the rocket and together with his geologists went prospecting. What happened there is unknown. Tahmasib came back to the rocket four days later - alone, half dead with thirst, terribly worn out, covered with radiation-caused ulcers. He brought samples of uranic, radium and transuranic ores ("Richest ores, Alexei, amazing ores!") and some pinkish-grey radioactive dust in a container. He had almost lost his memory. He was showing the container to Ermakov, speaking much and with warmth in Azerbaijan. Ermakov couldn't understand Azerbaijan and begged him to speak Russian, because he clearly was speaking of something important. But Tahmasib said in Russian just this: "Beware of the red ring! Get away from the red ring!" Apart from this, he didn't say a word until his death. He died at the take-off, so Ermakov spent half a month in the rocket with his body.

'The red ring' - that was the mystery by Tahmasib, the mystery behind the death of three geologists, the mystery of Golconda. But maybe there's no mystery at all. As many people believe, Tahmasib might just go mad of radiation sickness disease or from seeing his comrades perish. The pinkish-grey dust in the container appeared to be a sylicon-organic compound, known on Earth for a long time, though. So why did Tahmasib carry that container on his shoulder - that makes no sense... And it's incomprehensible how the 'red ring' is related to all that.

Dauge pattered about it knitting his brow as if he felt heartburn. He didn't believe in 'Tahmasib's mystery'. He'd rather spend hours speaking of Golkonda treasures. If only he could, get there, reach it, creep so far...

Bykov took a seat on the railing sideways. A pack of cigarettes hampered, and he put it nearby. A small helicopter with a slight snort swept in the sky. Bykov watched its signal lights - red and yellow. He recalled a conversation with Dauge.

Tahmasib with his comrades went to Golconda on foot. But our expedition is taking a transporter. Dauge says that it is an excellent vehicle. Ioganych has everything "excellent": "Hius" is excellent, the transporter is excellent, Yurkovsky is excellent. Only about commander he spoke with some restraint. It turns out that Ermakov is an adopted Krauhin's son. He is one of the best cosmonaut in the world, but an eccentric man. Though he had probably a very difficult life. Dauge spoke about him very uncertainly:

"I hardly know him... They say... they say he is a very brave, very intelligent and very cruel man ... They say he never laughs..."

Ermakov's wife was the first person who landed on the moon of Venus. And there was some sort of accident. Nobody really knows anything - some clash between members of the crew. Since then women had no longer been allowed for long-time interplanetary flights, and Ermakov had entirely devoted himself to the assault of Venus. It turned out he had tried to land on the surface of the planet for four times - and every time unsuccessfully. On the fifth time he flew with Tahmasib Mehdi. And now he is going to Venus for the sixth time, in "Hius".

Bykov walked on the balcony with his hands behind his back. No, absolutely he did not even manage to freeze! It's too warm, even sultry. Perhaps, yet to have a smoke? Bykov felt his growing confidence that the best and the most radical remedy from insomnia is a cigarette. A fine flavored cigarette, charming, lullaby, soothing. He found the pack.

The best way to overcome temptation is to yield to it. He smiled. To hell! Routine! The pack flew down from the height of the eleventh floor. Bykov leaned over the railing and looked into the dark abyss. There suddenly flashed blinding rays of lights, ran silently on the pavement and disappeared.

"Littered in vain, - thought Bykov. - Oh, weaknesses and sins! Must sleep..." He entered the room and got to the couch groping. Something crunched under his foot. "A poor watch" - he thought, trying to make out anything in the dark.

He took a deep breath and sat down on the spongy seat of the recalcitrant couch. "No, you are not to sleep today, comrade engineer, a specialist on deserts! Why handsome Yurkovsky didn't like me? Now a nickname will stick - an expert on deserts. And what a face Yurkovsky had when he talked about Paul d'Ange!.. Yes, this man doesn't suffer from insomnia before flight. "We are not afraid of death, we just do not want it...''. Is it true, engineer? What if in the same hall, six months later, someone broke the news: "Comrades, have you heard? "Hius" died. Ermakov died, Yurkovsky and that... hm... a specialist on deserts... "You're talking nonsense, Aleksey! It is due to insomnia and idleness. I can't wait when we jump into a plane in the morning and fly to the Testing Area 7, a rocketdrome in the Arctic, where the expedition will prepare to fly away and wait "Hius" which is currently in a trial flight. Today he needs to get up at eight, but he can't get asleep, damn it... Dauge is sleeping already, of course... "

Here Bykov noticed that the bedroom door was ajar, and a faint ray of light felt on the wall through a slit. He got up, tiptoed to the door and peered through the slit. At the table next to the open bed Dauge was sitting with his head in hands. The table was almost empty and a huge backpack piled on the floor. A rock hammer with a shiny handle laid on the backpack. Bykov gave a cough...

- Come in, - said Dauge, not looking back.

- Uh ... - Aleksey Petrovich began to talk in utter confusion. - You know, I forgot to ask you...

Dauge turned back.

"Come in, come in... Sit down. Well, what did you forget to ask?

Er... You know... - Then it finally dawned upon him. - Here. Why do we put beacons on Venus if its atmosphere doesn't let radiowaves go through?

A deep shadow of the lampshade was on Dauge's face. Bykov sat down in a low light armchair and triumphantly lifted one foot to the other. He felt a great relief from that he was in a lighted room, in a company of his true friend Ioganych.

- Yeah, - said Dauge thoughtfully - it is really a very important question. Now I understand why you haven't got asleep. I was wondering why he was strolling across the room? Perhaps, his teeth hurt? And it turned out that the matter was in beacons...

- Yeah, - Bykov said unsurely, downing his leg. The relief evaporated somewhere.

- You probably have an idea about this? - continued Dauge in a very serious tone. - Of course, you invented something during... your vigil? Something beneficial...

- You see, Ioganych... - Bykov started shrewdly making a meaningful expression and not having a slightest idea of ​​how he would finish the started phrase.

- Yes, yes, I understand you, - interrupted Dauge nodding. - And you're perfectly - you know? - absolutely right! That's how the matter is. The atmosphere of Venus really doesn't let radiowaves go through, but in a very specific range we assume the possibility of a breaking through this blockade. This range is determined from the purely theoretical thoughts, as well as observation data related to the local ionizing fields... of what, engineer?..

- Of Venus - grimly said Bykov.

- Right! of Venus! The atmosphere of the planet sometimes passes radiowaves of other lengths, but it is a random occurrence, and we can't rely on it. Therefore, the challenge is to determine the bandwidth and then throw the beacons on the surface... on the surface of what?

- Of Venus! - repeated Bykov with hatred.

- Excellent! - admired Dauge. - You spent the night without a sleep not in vain. However, all attempts to throw a radiostation to the surface ended... how, engineer?

- Enough, - answered Bykov, squirming in his chair.

- Um ... Strange. These attempts, my friend, ended in failure. Most likely, these beacon vehicles were smashed on rocks. Or, at least, became broken during the descent. But even if they were not broken, what's the usage of them? They would not have helped us. But now we have... what do we have?

- We have no patience anymore - grimly said Bykov.

Dauge solemnly proclaimed:

- We have "Hius" and we have beacons and we found the bandwidth in which the beacon signals break through the atmosphere. So, we have everything but patience, and this is a matter of time. Now you can probably sleep calmly.

Aleksey Petrovich sadly sighed and stood up.

- Insomnia, - he said.

Dauge nodded:

- It happens...

Bykov crossed the room and stood in front of three stereo photos on the wall. The left one portrayed an ancient narrow street of some Baltic city. The right one showed a spaceship, looking like a huge tremendous rifle cartridge of World War II, poking the black sky with its sharp nose. In the middle photo Bykov saw a sad young woman in a blue dress that hid her neck.

- Who is it, Ioganych? Your wife?

- Yeah ... Actually, no, - reluctantly said Dauge. - It is Masha Yurkovskaya, Volodya's sister. We have parted...

- I'm sorry... - the engineer bit his lip, returned to the little chair and sat down.

Dauge was aimlessly flipping through the pages of a book lying on the table in front of him.

- Actually, she left me... It is more precisely...

Bykov was silent, looking at the thin tanned face of his friend. In the light of the blue lamp it seemed completely black.

- I can't sleep, too, Aleksey - Dauge said sadly. - Poor Paul. And this time I don't really want to go. I love Earth very much. Very! You probably think all cosmonauts are complete sky inhabitants. It's wrong. We all love Earth and long for the blue sky. This is our disease - longing for the blue sky. For example, you are sitting somewhere on Phobos. The sky is fathomless and black. The stars are pricking the eyes as diamond needles. The constellations seem crasy, unfamiliar. And everything around is artificial: the artificial air, the artificial heat, even your weight is artificial, too...

Bykov was listening motionlessly.

- You don't know that. You don't sleep because you feel yourself on a threshold: one foot here, another there. For example, Yurkovsky is writing poetry now. About the blue sky, about the lake fog, about white clouds above the forest edges. Bad poetry. On Earth any publisher has tons of poems like that and he knows it well. And still he writes.

Dauge shut the book and leaned back in his armchair with his head thrown back.

- Chubby Krutikov, our navigator, of course, is driving around Moscow by car. With his wife. She is driving, and he is sitting and gazing at her, regretting that the kids are not nearby. His children live in Novosibirsk, at their grandmother. A boy and a girl, very nice kids... - Dauge suddenly laughed: - And that man who is asleep now is Bogdan Spitsyn, our second pilot. His house is in a rocket. He says: "I'm on Earth as in a train: I want to lie down and fall asleep to arrive faster". Bogdan is a sky inhabitant. We do have such persons, spoiled forever. Bogdan was born on Mars, in a scientific town at Syrtis Major Planum. He lived there till five years old, and then his mother felt ill, and they were sent to Earth. And they say a story how little Bogdasha was allowed to walk on grass. He walked here and there, got into a pool and howled: "I want to go home! To Mars!"

Bykov laughed happily, feeling how a heavy pile of incomprehensible feelings is melting away and falling from his soul. It is quite simple, he is really on the threshold - one foot is still here and the other is "there"...

- Well, what is our commander doing? - he asked.

Dauge collected himself.

- I don't know. I can't just imagine anything... I don't know.

- Probably, he is also sleeping like Bogdan, a sky inhabitant.

Dauge shook his head:

- I don't think so... Is the sky clear now?

- No, it is shrouded with clouds...

- In this case I do not know at all. - Dauge shook his head. - I might imagine that Anatoly Ermakov is standing now and looking at a bright star in the sky. At Venus. And his hands... - Dauge paused. - His hands are clenched into fists, and his fingers are white...

- What a flight of fancy, Ioganych!..

- No, it's not a fancy, Aleksey. In the end, for us Venus is just an episode. We have been to the Moon, have been to Mars, now we are flying to settle on a new planet. We all just do our job. But Ermakov... Ermakov has a bone to pick with Venus, old fierce accounts to it. I'll tell you what he is flying for: he's flying to avenge and conquer - relentlessly and forever. That's how I see it... He has devoted both his life and death to Venus.

- Do you know him well?

Dauge shrugged his shoulders:

- It's not the case. I feel it. Besides, - he started bending his fingers, Nisidima -that Japanese - is his friend, Sokolovsky is his closest friend, Shi Fen Yu is his teacher, Ekaterina Romanovna is his wife... They all have been devoured by Venus. Krauhin is his second father. It was Venus where Krauhin made his latest flight. After that flight doctors forbade him to fly forever.

Dauge jumped up and walked across the room.

To avenge and conquer,- he repeated, - relentlessly and forever! To Ermakov, Venus was a stubborn vicious embodiment of all the elemental forces hostile to mankind. I'm not sure can we understand such a feeling. And it might be even better. To understand it one should struggle like Ermakov and suffer like he did... To conquer forever... - repeated Dauge thoughtfully.

Aleksey Petrovich flinched with his shoulders as if he were shivering.

That's why I mentioned clenched fists. - finished Dauge, glaring at him. - But since it's cloudy now, I just can't imagine what he might be doing now. Most likely, he is actually just sleeping.

They kept silent for a while. Bykov thought he hasn't serve under such a boss yet.

- And how are your things? - Dauge asked unexpectedly.

- What things?

- About your lady teacher from Ashkhabad.

Bykov immediately frowned and became listless.

- So-so, he said sadly. - We're dating...

- Oh, wonderful! You are dating. And what...?

- Nothing.

- Did you make a proposal?

- I did.

- Did she reject it?

- No. She said she would think.

- How long ago was it?

- Half a year.

- And?

- What? There was nothing else.

- So you are surely a fool, Aleksey, forgive me kindly.

Bykov sighed. Dauge was looking at him with clear mockery.

- It's startling! - he said. - A man is over thirty. He loves a beautiful woman and has been dating her for seven years already...

- Five.

- Ok, five. In the fifth year he explained his feelings to her. Notice that she's been waiting for it patiently for five years, this poor woman...

- Don't, Grigoriy, - said Bykov knitting his brow.

- Wait a minute! After her saying - out of her modesty or her little revenge - she'd think of it...

- That's enough!

Dauge sighed and spread his hands.

- It's your own fault, Aleksey! Your courting looks like some mockery. What might she think of you? Just a lump!

Bykov was despondently silent. Then he said with a hope:

- When we come back...

Dauge giggled:

- O. man! A conqueror... sorry, the expert on deserts! 'When we come back'!.. Go to bed, I can't see you anymore!

Bykov took a book from the tea table. "La description planetographique du Phobos" Paul d'Ange, - he read. ['Planetographic description of Phobos' by Paul d'Ange] The title page had a thick writing in Russian on it, made with a red pencil: 'To dear Dauge from his faithful and grateful Paul d'Ange'.

Bykov woke up at dawn. The bedroom door was half-open. Dauge, wearing only pants, dark-haired and disheveled, was standing by the desk and looking at the picture of a young sad-looking woman - Masha Yurkovskaya. Then he took the picture off the wall and shoved it into his rucksack.

Bykov turned over onto his other side and fell asleep again.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: перевод редактируется

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/35064/123855

Переводчики: staswiz, Alex_ander