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Gromov forbidden world. Alexander Gromov: Forbidden World

26
june
2007

Gromov Alexander - forbidden world

Type: audiobook

Genre fiction

Publisher:

Release year: 2007

Executor:

Playing time: 14 hours 15 minutes

Audio format: MP3, 192 Kbps, 44.1 kHz,

Description:

Former student and a weightlifter, opened the Door between the worlds and moved to the world of prehistoric people. His strength and knowledge could well help him become an unsurpassed warrior and commander, the main trump card in bloody battles. He is in a world where only the one who fights without thinking about death, thinking only about victory survives... Especially if he has with him a terrible magical weapon made of a material unknown to the wild tribes - steel scrap.

Gromov's audiobooks on the tracker:

Lord of the Void
Year of the Lemming. ship's secretary.
Waterline. Tail chase.
forbidden world
Smooth landing
MTBF
A thousand and one days
First of the Mohicans
Feudal lord
Step left, step right
turtle wings

27
june
2007

Gromov Alexander - Feudal

Type: audiobook
Genre fiction
Publisher:
Release year: 2006
Executor:
Playing time: 13 hours 19 minutes
Audio format: MP3, 192 Kbps, 44.1 kHz,
Description: Philosophical parable or action movie? 6 biggest science fiction awards in 2005-2006 (this has never happened before!!!) Every year someone suddenly disappears next to us. Where are they? The world where people disappearing from the Earth end up is the Plane. This world is similar to the Strugatsky Zone. An endless, hostile desert of another world with its own rules and physical laws, filled with deadly danger...

22
Feb
2008

Alexander Gromov - "The Calculator"

Genre:
Author:
Executor:
Publisher:
Release year: 2003
Description: The story "The Calculator" is a psychological action game in a cool fantasy setting. The action takes place on some other planet called Abyss, main character- adviser to the former president, "computer". The former - because there was a coup on the planet, the government changed, the hero (and he foresaw it all, but the president did not listen to his advice) tried to escape, but due to a malfunction, the spaceship was forced to return to the port. The "calculator" is arrested and...

30
mar
2017

Forbidden World (Artyom Stony)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 64kbps
Author:
Release year: 2017
Genre:
Publisher:
Executor:
Duration: 11:45:38

22
May
2017

Forbidden World (Stony Artyom)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 56kbps
Author:
Release year: 2017
Genre:
Publisher:
Executor:
Duration: 11:35:48
Description: Why highly developed civilization shells for slings and ballistas? What secret is hidden by the heavy stones and nondescript herbs of the Forbidden World? And why can't the mighty Star Union Empire mine them on its own? Abducted earthlings are forced to unravel the mysteries of the strangest planet in the galaxy, because their lives depend on it. But they are all just pawns in a protracted game, the meaning of which is to pave the way for...

18
aug
2007

Gromov Alexander - Soft landing

Type: audiobook
Genre fiction
Publisher: "Extra-Print"
Release year: 2006
Artist: E.V.Malishevsky
Playing time: 8 hours 37 minutes
Description: New glacial period expects humanity in the second half of the XXI century. But the rapid cooling and the onset of glaciers are not the only misfortune. Much worse is the gradual fading human mind. Mankind has divided into three large groups: feeble-minded dubocephals, aggressive adaptants who have successfully adapted to new realities, and normal people. And now in Moscow, brought in by ...

18
aug
2007

Gromov Alexander - Lord of the Void

Type: audiobook
Genre fiction
Publisher:
Release year: 2007
Executor:
Playing time: 14 hours 23 minutes
Audio format/quality: MP3, 192 Kbps, 44.1 kHz, Stereo Attention! Recording quality is POOR.
Description: In a small landing capsule, two paratroopers lay closely, side by side, like two adjacent shells in a cartridge, and for the third, if a volunteer had been found, there would have been no place, and there was no need. A self-respecting paratrooper will not be proud of an ordinary task. All the work is to fly to a seemingly calm planet, look around, take samples. P...

17
aug
2007

Gromov Alexander - The First of the Mohicans (continuation of the novel "A Thousand and One Days")

Type: audiobook
Genre fiction
Publisher: "Extra-Print"
Release year: 2007
Artist: Akhmedov Rauf Gulamali-Ogly, Shmagun O.N.
Playing time: 12 hours 17 minutes
Audio Format/Quality: MP3, 96 Kbps, 44.1 kHz,
Description: A direct continuation of Alexander Gromov's dystopian novel "A Thousand and One Days". Women rule civilization. But only a man is able to save civilization from the threat of total annihilation looming from outer space. But - who will let him enjoy the fruits of victory? No one needs the winner anymore - and he is again being prepared for the fate of a slave! The world of matriarchy rests only on violence, it is...

17
aug
2007

Gromov Alexander - MTBF

Type: audiobook
Genre fiction
Publisher: "Extra-Print"
Release year: 2006
Artist: Akhmedov Rauf Gulamali-Ogly
Playing time: 8 hours
Audio Format/Quality: MP3, 128 Kbps, 44.1 kHz,
Description: Far future. Somewhere in the dense jungle of a distant planet, divided by the people who settled it into a number of states, a miracle happens: before the eyes of astonished observers, one of the local forms of life acquires intelligence. Almost no one, however, cares about him, and in the fierce competition for Natural resources planet alien mind is easily doomed to destruction. The hero of the novel, a simple geologist, tries...

07
Jan
2018

Forbidden World. Operation Pilgrim (Igor Vlasov)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 60 kbps
Author:
Release year: 2017
Genre: ,

Executor:
Duration: 10:42:08
Description: The novel is set on the planet Pilgrim in the Savage star system, fifty years before the events on Terrius. Earthlings discover a strange planet on which someone has "forgotten" artifacts, which are pyramids of unknown purpose. Young operative John Rawls is sent to the Palmer on a secret mission. Its mission is to find...

30
Apr
2015

Forbidden world 2. Exodus (Igor Vlasov)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 192kbps
Author:
Release year: 2015
Genre:
Publisher: Accent Graphics communications
Executor:
Duration: 07:04:31
Description: Trainee Nick Sobolev and his new friends face new challenges. Once every ten years on the planet Terrius there is an Exodus, a biological apocalypse. The forest erupts hordes of mutant animals that fall on human settlements, destroying all life in their path. Having narrowly escaped death, Nick agrees to help Princess Cleo find her missing brother in the Old City lost in the Forest. Forbidden...

26
mar
2008

Alexander Gromov - Tomorrow will come eternity. Calculator.

Type: audiobook
Genre:
Author: Alexander Nikolaevich Gromov
Publisher:
Release year: 2003
Artists: ,
Playing time: 14 hours 10 minutes
Audio: MP3 audio_bitrate: 160 Kbps, 44.1 kHz
Description: An unusual find in the Siberian taiga - and!.. The real ''space elevator'' turned out to be in the hands of an ordinary commercial company? It is even possible. But how will our state react to such a thing? And, first of all, our SPECIAL SERVICES? … A fierce battle for the possession of a mysterious space artifact and incredible adventure V unknown worlds And...

Difficult philosophical question Moscow science fiction writer Alexander Gromov puts before himself and the reader: is there a trick against scrap? And only an appeal to the homespun truth, familiar to us from a thousand and one novels about hitmen, allows us to firmly answer - no, there is no reception against scrap! Especially if this crowbar is in the hands of a Russian kettlebell lifter, and a nimble seller of underwear helps him.

I like that the readers of the novel by Alexander Gromov considered the dull length of the narrative with digging into meaningless labored details "careful study." Gromov's characters, since they are quite cardboard, are convex, and the world, drawn with graphomaniac detail, is convex... Probably, this text can be perceived in this way. Although, it seems that Gromov simply did not figure out how to occupy the heroes on the page of the novel, because there are more events there, well, at most short story. So he embellished his book with "careful attention to detail."

Gromov's diligent adherence to the recipes of "science fiction writer Adolf Hitler" from Norman Spinred's novel "Iron Dream" is especially impressive. I have in mind not only the hysterical denial of progress, to which the bond-holders are inclined and which Mr. Gromov nurtures. There are other characteristic motives. In Iron Dream, not without sarcasm, it is noted that in novels of this type, the hero, at the beginning of the book emerging from the forest, where he spent the first half of his life, at the end, after many battles, fearlessly leads a spaceship through the Galaxy without any additional knowledge. So it was with Gromov in his early novels, and in this novel - in the finale, the "witches" turn out to know what they, in fact, cannot know.

In short, a standard Russcience fiction on the adored subject of the target group about fellows. Some lethargy of the story in the eyes of fans of the genre only adds respect to the book.

Score: 3

Excellent thing! And what is characteristic, it’s really never fantasy :) Against the backdrop of numerous books of “Slavic fantasy”, published, as if, in the same cellar of Uncle Zhang, where the rest of the goods of the “everything for 10 rubles” category are, the book pleases, in addition to the undoubted literary merits, an interesting, believable, thoughtful world, understandable actions of the main characters (sometimes erroneous, but that's why they are people). Outwardly, somewhat frivolous and unlike other works of the author, the book is actually quite deep and resonates with his other things, I would even call it in some sense typical romance Gromov.

Score: 8

Knowing Alexander Gromov as an author specializing in social fiction, I was very surprised to learn about the existence of this book, which looks like a typical fantasy, with a hefty kid on the cover. However, I will not hide that it was the combination of the author's name known to me and the genre unusual for this author that attracted me. As it turned out, the kid on the cover is not an artist's mistake. Under the cover, I was surprised by the preface written by the author, apparently aware of the inconsistency of this novel with his own reputation gained over the years. It seems that with this preface, the author justifies himself in advance to the reader for the low level of the novel and the absence of social problems familiar in his work. The author's excuses are fully justified (sorry for the tautology). From the first lines of the book, the reader will have to get used to "in the shoes" of a very narrow-minded proletarian, the ultimate dream for which is to drink beer and sleep. What are there social problems! The hopeless stupidity of the hero in places is so annoying that there is a desire to discard the book, but it seems that the author, realizing this, immediately pushes his narrow-minded character into the background.

The novel itself is built on only one fantastic assumption - the presence of a door in a parallel world, everything else is sketches of the life of people of the early Bronze Age, battle scenes. But even here it was not without a m-a-scarlet slice of social fiction, which is given to the reader only at the end of the book.

The bottom line is this: a mediocre novel by a talented author. Easy to read, but just as easy to put off for two or three days or even a week. However, if you do not read it at all, you will not lose anything.

Score: 5

The world is possible, but absolutely unmotivated: in the finale, the sorcerers have too much information, which there is nowhere to take from.

The characters are wooden to the waist (on top), at least some consolation is the object of love of the protagonist, although not everything is pleasing to the eye: her craving for “woman's happiness” is frankly annoying. The heroes themselves are a hitman vulgaris, divided in two: one (type) is smart - the second is strong.

Language - well, with this, praise the universe, I have not yet found any problems with Gromov. I didn't find it here either.

Morality - is there one?

Conclusion: too serious for a humorist, too flat for a serious thing.

Score: 2

I guess I don't the target audience similar literature.

The topic of hit-and-run people that has set the teeth on edge.

The world is described very sparingly and weakly, the tribes differ from each other only in names.

I didn't like the characters either, especially the one with the crowbar. One does not shine with intelligence, the other seems to be quick-witted, but the results of his actions seem too effective for the average student. Well, by the way, these are hitmen, they always do that.

And most importantly: this terrible morality "After us, even a flood, it will be enough for our lifetime."

Conclusion: I didn't like anything about the book.

Rating: 1

This time, Gromov turns to a topic that is by no means new, well-worn up and down. Again - ours are there. The duration of the action is somewhat atypical for this topic, there are no castles, no knights and other ordinary surroundings, there is not even a mass of people and civilization where you can carry light, kind, eternal. Only a weak tribe, in a state of smoldering friendship - enmity (To whom, as convenient.. Weak friends, strong fight) with the surrounding tribes of the same language, living in the era of the beginning of the Bronze Age.

I was always amazed at Gromov's ability to pick up and write out characters. They all come out alive. They practically do not think about the very thing - bright, kind, eternal. They just live. They love, rejoice, get angry, make mistakes, die. Vityunya and Yurik were not eager to do good to the natives, they wanted to go home. They don't tear down mountains, they don't turn rivers back, they don't make anyone happy, quite the contrary. But, they turn out to be that small pebble, a grain of sand from which an avalanche will begin, then, perhaps, when their names, and it themselves become just echoes in legends ..

Conclusion: Easy reading, no claims for more. It will bring a lot of pleasure. Sometimes funny, sometimes very, sometimes serious. Everything is like in life. Taking the book in hand, you will have to live in the Bronze Age for several days until you close it. Read!

Score: 8

In general, the book left a pleasant impression. A social experiment quite in Gromov's style. Moderately dynamic plot does not let you fall asleep while reading a book. Convex, well-designed, without conspicuous "holes" world. From the point of view of the reliability of the functioning of the described social model - also without any complaints - the friendship-war of small tribes both in their own world and in parallel ones is replaced by isolationism when imperial ambitions are formed in a large and aggressive union. What I did not like (however, this is a matter of taste) is the caricatured, comedic images of the main characters, despite the fact that the book as a whole is serious, raising complex socio-philosophical problems.

Score: 7

Gromov's attempt to try himself in the field of hitting, as expected, returned the master to his usual track.

The plot is typical for the hit genre. Fell off the roof, woke up, another world.

However, Gromov is an experienced science fiction bison. The plot is well put together, there are no absurdities or logical errors, alas, so familiar to us in most authors of the pop genre.

The scenery, as always, is well written. The drive is somewhat reduced, but this corresponds to Gromov's style in general. The images of the characters are good, I did not expect anything else from this author.

Social morality is rich and simple, all problems are laid out on a silver platter, without unnecessary somersaults. Choose how best to live - in a primitive communal system, not rvz a month cutting and reconciling with half-blooded neighbors, or building an empire, striving for prosperity and comfort, but knowing for sure that after 200 generations of the Khan's civilization? The author does not give an answer, choose for yourself.

Humor, cruelty, romance, action, adventure - just in moderation. All in all, a pretty good novel. Not an obelisk, but a classic of the genre. I recommend.

Score: 8

Hmm. Suddenly. Gromov moved away from his knurled track. It turned out pretty bad.

A well-developed world, logical actions of characters, and so on. and so on.

That's just the main characters and their actions do not fit here in any way. The first is a retarded underdeveloped jock with a crowbar, the second is a skinny drish, a women's underwear merchant. (Immediately there were associations with Kuzey and Gosha from Univer). And they begin ... to wet the natives to the right and to the left. Just supermen. They cut them into pieces and pierce them with spears. I do not believe.

Score: 10

Frankly, I took up this novel with some apprehension. And the reason for this was the annotation. The presence of sorcerers, doors to other worlds and hitmen: a weightlifter not disfigured by intellect, but with a crowbar, against which, as you know, there is no reception, and a parachutist who, in his free time from jumping, sells women's underwear, led me to the idea that it would be the worst version of Russian-language fantasy, namely, humorous domestic fantasy. However, the author managed to stay on the edge and create an adventure fantasy work with philosophical overtones. The main idea of the book is an attempt to answer the question: is progress always good? The social structure of the world, invented by Gromov, helps small tribal enclaves survive, but hinders their development. However, this allows, subject to the Treaty, normal world not to become Forbidden, which sooner or later may turn into Dead.

His sense of duty is simply amazing. It’s a little pity how the author describes Vityunya - a kind of imbecile weightlifter, but .. you can’t argue with the Author. The story itself is absolutely not boring, pleases with the richness of action and information. In addition, Gromov always remains Gromov, behind the humor and fighting lies a strong socio-philosophical basis.

All fiction, there is no truth for a penny!

A.K. Tolstoy

PROLOGUE

The song begins from ancient ideas ...

A.K. Tolstoy

None of the living today will say what arose earlier: the dead material world or the formidable, but incorporeal gods. Even if someone knew this for sure, it is unlikely that he would begin to share secret knowledge with others. The sacred is sacred because it is hidden from prying eyes, idle ears and idle immature minds. One should not initiate a secret into those who are unable either to keep it or to use it profitably. To each his own: a spinning wheel for a woman, weapons for a warrior, power for a leader, knowledge, wisdom and great silence about the secrets of higher powers for a sorcerer-sorcerer. This is not talked about in vain. Unless a completely stupid one sticks to the sorcerer with questions - and, of course, does not receive an answer.

Much is known and so: once the gods got bored a dead world, and they populated it with many living creatures, from the insignificant midge, which always strives to hit right in the eye, to the elk, the bear, and the huge red-furred fanged beast that is no longer found today. The gods breathed life into the rocks, air, water and populated the world with countless hordes of spirits, evil and good. The gods allowed other beasts to give rise the human race, for the gods have become bored with a world in which there is no man, a creature weak one by one, but strong in a horde, surpassing the mind of all earthly creatures. And the gods amused themselves, looking from on high at the work of their hands.

The world is spacious, the world is vast - and yet not big enough for people. His strength is his weakness. Having endowed people with the ability to produce offspring, the gods miscalculated: once the world became small, and people began to destroy people in order to survive and give a future to their kind-tribe, and not to the offspring of the enemy. The earth stopped giving birth, the beast, which had become rare and shy, went into impenetrable thickets, man himself became like a beast, a great famine and pestilence began. Whether anyone would have survived in the end, is not known. And then the gods, incomprehensible and, unlike the spirits, from ancient times indifferent to the sacrifices made, decided to give people not one, but many worlds, because people needed space, and the gods were not tired of laughing, looking from a height at the swarming of two-legged creatures.

That's what the old people say. Perhaps this is not true, because it is unlikely that any of the gods condescended to explain to people what is happening. But, one way or another, the man received what he passionately desired: space, food and security.

For a while.

None of the gods thought that after countless generations, people would again multiply to the point that the worlds would become cramped for them. Or maybe someone thought, but did not change once and for all the established order of things. You can’t ask the gods, they don’t care about the final fate of a two-legged tribe, they are just spectators, looking at the earthly bustle with condescending curiosity.

Among the old people there are those who are ready to prove hoarsely that many worlds were created from the very beginning and the indulgence of the gods has nothing to do with it. But troublemakers and liars have little faith.

It is not known who was the first person to open the Door, but everyone agrees that it was a very, very long time ago. So long ago that the Great Accomplishment, or the Marvelous Insight, forever receded into the realm of fairy tales, willingly told by old people who like to scratch their tongues at evening fires. Many believe that the first who looked into the neighboring world were the great sorcerer Nokka, who comprehended the essence of things and the meaning of life, and his wife Shori, but no one can say for sure what kind of tribe the unprecedented magician came from. That is, it can, but shaky evidence is worth a lot when your opponent in a dispute cites very similar arguments in response, from which it directly follows that Nokka and Shori allegedly came from his, the disputer, tribe. They even whisper that in fact the sorcerer's name was Shori, and his wife was Nokka. The people of the Earth tribe do not agree with this, but they add that the wise Nokka learned how to open the Door by overhearing the mute conversation of the spirits of the stone. It's hard to say who is right. It is impossible to check, just as it is impossible to turn back the fluid time.

Others argue that the Door is not visible only to a person, but is easily accessible to any animal. There is a reason in these words: why in one summer the animals are full and the hunt is plentiful, and in another you cannot find them in the daytime with fire? They also say that the first person to pass through the Door was Hukka, greatest hunter, equal to which has not been born since the beginning of centuries. In the form of a white wolf, Hukka tirelessly pursued from world to world for evil spirit Shaigun-Uur, who turned into a fox, then into a snake, then into a hawk, and finally killed him. Having defeated the evil spirit, Hukka allegedly gave rise to the current tribe of the sons of the Wolf. People from other tribes do not argue about the roots of their neighbors, but they do not believe in the primacy of the Hukki. How many tribes, so many legends, and each one is worth the others. There are also people who do not believe in Nokku, or in Hukku, or in any pioneer from world to world, but believe that the ability to open the Door was given to a few people initially as a sign of the special disposition of the gods towards them. People in general are very different, among them there are also the most complete ignoramuses who claim that for the first time the Door allegedly opened by itself. But it is hardly worth listening to the tales of presumptuous fools.

Another thing is important: the wall with the Door is only half a wall and is no longer an obstacle at all. A long time ago, people found a way to penetrate from world to world. But before and now only a few of them can find and open the Door.

Robbery began immediately, often turning into bloody bacchanalia. Well-armed detachments, led by an experienced magician, made a swift, like a sword attack, a raid into the neighboring world and just as quickly disappeared, grabbing what they could and, as a rule, without suffering significant losses. How many generations passed before the inhabitants different worlds a treaty was concluded prohibiting mutual robbery and stipulating assistance to neighbors - no one knows. Short human memory has not retained the answer to the question: the ashes of how many generations of people lay in the burial mounds after the conclusion of the Treaty? For most people, ten generations is like an eternity. Another thing is important: as long as the tribe complies with the Treaty, it will continue to suffer from the predatory raids of neighbors from its own world and itself has the right to raid, but may not be afraid of total extermination and seizure of its lands. Salvation will not be slow to appear - with a mortal threat. You just need to open the Door and ask for help in one of the nearest worlds. There are no violators of the Treaty - outlawed, they have long disappeared from the face of the Earth, their property has gone to others, their lands are divided among neighbors. The leader who violates the Treaty dooms himself and his tribe to destruction.

Not all human tribes have heard of the Treaty. Those who live on the sunrise from the mountain belt do not suffer from lack of land and therefore hardly fight. They do not need the Treaty, and other worlds do not beckon them. Far to noon, according to rumors, lie vast lands inhabited by powerful and numerous tribes. There, too, they do not know the Treaty - either because they hope for their own truly huge forces, or the southern sorcerers have lost the ability to find and open the Door. Or maybe there are simply no Doors in those parts, or are they located in such a way that only a bird or a mole could use them? May be. Does it make sense to talk about distant lands, from which news does not come every decade, and about the peoples living there with strange, implausible customs? While the world is not yet too small, let the distant live as best they can.

whimsical and unavailable human understanding the desires of the gods: there are entire worlds created by them for no reason. There seems to be no direct threat from there, but only because the Treaty orders to stay away from such worlds. No sorcerer, sorcerer or sorcerer, no matter how you call the one who is able to open the Door, should even look into these worlds. There is nothing useful there. Having stepped into such a world by negligence, the sorcerer should not return - he will not be accepted. The danger of bringing someone else's terrible SOMETHING from there is too great for anyone to dare to violate the ban. The cost of a mistake is prohibitive. In all worlds, a simple and clear law is known: no one should ever open a Door where it should not.

Nobody. Never. Never.

This is the main thing.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

He was a prominent man

Graceful forms, with a friendly face ...

A.K. Tolstoy

Tum. Tum. Tum. Booh! .. Tum. Fom…

With each blow of the crowbar, the wall trembled loudly. The flooring swayed underfoot, red dust hung in a mist, brick chips splashed like a small demon. Sometimes, from the depths of a niche hollowed out in the wall, a whole brick with a dried-up layer of mortar fell out, crashed loudly onto the stained flooring of the wooden "goat" and, if not kept, flew down onto a pile of garbage. The blunt sting of the crowbar was driven into the next seam - once, twice. The brick was stubborn, crumbled for nothing and did not want to go completely. It’s a matter of course: this wall was laid in the summer, and if this winter, then the forgotten niche in the frozen, not seized masonry would have been torn open in an hour by the frail Agapych, not like Vityunya.

Tum. Tum. Tum.

Agapych was just sitting downstairs on a board laid on two heaps of rubbish, thoughtfully smoking a third Lucky Strike in a row and watching the helper dig the wall. There was something to look at: Vityunya worked for the second hour with the regularity of a battering ram. During this time, he did not rest for a second, did not say a single word, and only from time to time intercepted the crowbar more comfortably.

The foreman Mamykin, nicknamed Lunokhod, poked his head in the doorway, breathed on his palms, stomped his felt boots, shuddered shiveringly and said:

“Yeah,” Agapych agreed. - Another half an hour, goof, and that's it.

Mamykin rubbed his frozen nose. It was noticeable that he wanted to say something, but had not yet figured out what.

Did you bring the solution? - Agapych warned with a question.

- Coming soon. You don't sit around here too much. Let's go to the ninth.

“Yavol,” Agapych said after the departing foreman and, after a pause, added, putting into the intonation all the hostility of the proletariat to any boss, and especially to the superfluous: Serpent.

He paused, waiting in vain for Vityuni's reply. But he continued to silently destroy the brick.

“Smoke a smoke,” Agapych suggested. - He went to the change house to warm himself when he gets up to us. Do you hear?

Vityunya knocked out a flock of fragments with a crowbar for the last time, put the tool down and, jumping heavily from the swinging "goat", sat down next to him on a squeaking board. From the side, he looked like a medium-sized yeti, dressed in a padded jacket and an old earflap, and small Agapych looked like his cub. The top button of Vityunya's quilted jacket was not fastened - the thickness of the neck interfered. Crush so crush, "smoke" so "smoke", everything is one. Although Vityunya had never smoked before and was not going to indulge in it either now or in the future. It's harmful. Before the end of work, it’s another matter to take a glass of vodka on your chest, exactly one, just so that the warmth runs through the body, and sniff it with a fragrant bread crust, in extreme cases, just with a frozen mitten. You will not be drunk, but life is more fun. But there were still four hours to stoparika, no less.

“I spent forty years at construction sites, but I haven’t seen a single one without swotting,” Agapych said cheerfully, blowing smoke through his button nose. “Engineer, goof, bosses ... They’ll forget the door, or even the ventilation shaft,” Dolby, Gavrila. And you peck...

Vityunya did not support the topic - he breathed into his hands. Although, to tell the truth, he had to hammer every time, and not Agapych. Agapych what - he is a bricklayer, he only knows how to jump: what, they say, are you throwing mortar at me like a dog? And how else to throw it, you ask? Yes, and do not throw the solution to the dogs, they need it.

- Didn't it work? asked Agapych, looking respectfully at Vityunya's huge fists. - This is for you, dumbass, not a barbell. After a break, sometimes your fingers will twist like that, you don’t know how to straighten it. What took?

Vityunya shook his head. Agapych, having extinguished the steer on a brick, fidgeted on the board, slyly looked into his eyes. Apparently, he has not yet parted with the hope of talking to Vityunya.

“I knew one, so he came up with a crowbar from the scaffolding,” he said at last. - When I was, it was in the fifty-seventh, also in the winter. Do you know how they built it back then? Forests - you, fuck, you've seen such horseradish. Here is a ladder, a stretcher, and you are dragging ... Yes. Well, this is it: it is he who flies, that means, from the sixth floor, and the crowbar is in his hand. Silently flies, thoughtfully. Floor near the fourth, he says, and doper: why do I need a crowbar?! And how he began to push him away from himself! One hand, thud, shoves, the other, on the contrary, grabbed tightly - and in no way. So almost to the very ground with a crowbar and fought.

- Well? Vityunya asked in a hoarse bass voice.

- What's "well"? - Agapich said with annoyance. - He fell into a snowdrift, only hurt himself and then stuttered for a month. And a crowbar stuck nearby.

Vityunya did not respond.

“You won’t get a word from you,” Agapych condemned. What kind of student are you. The only benefit is that the strength is overwhelming. That's right, you were expelled from the institute, that's what I'll tell you in secret.

Vityunya pulled on his mittens, ruffled his head and carefully climbed onto the loose "goat".

“They didn’t kick me out,” he boomed from there, driving the crowbar a good span into the masonry with the first blow. - I have an academician.

Agapych left. Vityunya continued to expand the niche. Let it be even wider than necessary - is it a pity, or what? Smooth niche, good.

Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.

The train of thought, disturbed by the annoying Agapych, was restored in time with the blows - at a beat per second, as Svetka would certainly quip. OK. Here, let's say, scrap. A simple tool made of steel grade 45 or 60. Nothing steel. Boiled, forged. Do not bend your arms, except about your knee. Perhaps, it is thin, and also light, not up to the hand - but for that it is a scrap, and not a neck from the bar. What else is in this word? Is crowbar something that breaks, or something that is already broken? And so it happens, and that way. Think about it, if your last name is Lomonos. Not Mikhailo Lomonosov, if you please, but Vityunya Lomonos. Like a laugh. Awarded by a parent. Crowbar, however, has nothing to do with it, but just one of the ancestors, most likely, someone once broke his nose, that's the surname. By the way, would Lomonosov bend the crowbar? Maybe. He knitted into a knot on occasion - either a poker, or a random passerby. The man was correct.

Along with the floating thought of the bar came melancholy. Deceived the bar, failed. Seven years ago, thanks to her, Vityun was admitted without exams to the Institute of Steel and Alloys - he didn’t care where. That's where the luck ended. And where are the coveted victories at the Spartakiads, Universiades, Olympiads? International tournaments? Where? For a while they lived in pink dreams, but the dreams gradually faded, and then completely disappeared somewhere. There were weekdays, a crunch in the vertebrae, a booming barbell on the platform, a hundred grams after a shower and a telly in a hostel. Go to training, do not shy away from competitions, squeeze points for the team - for this they tolerate you and do not drive you out.

“You are a tree,” the coach reproached after a difficult victory over the frail team of the library institute. - There is strength, I have eaten muscles, but I don’t see a real talent for iron in you. Where is the intelligence? Under the bar you need to think, but you are always some kind of sleepy. Hey, can you hear me at all, no?

Vityunya muttered dejectedly something in justification. He came to the institute as a second-class in the second average weight - he left as a first-class in light heavyweight, not even reaching the candidate master. Sports career failed.

While this circumstance was being clarified, times had changed. Sports at the institute somehow imperceptibly faded into the background, and then completely forgotten. I had to try to learn. Associate Professor Kolobanov looked at the bulky figure of Vityuni, incoherently babbling something about lining and oxygen blast, as if at a new gate: who are you, good fellow? where did it come from? who needs?

It was out of the question to stay at least at the sports department. The immediate prospect loomed distinctly, and somewhere behind it a tight, fleshy cone loomed misty. last six months study - twenty minutes of shame on the defense - a diploma in the teeth - and fly, dove. Where would you like to fly? To work as a master on the "Hammer and Sickle"? A security guard at the "new Russian" shadow industry? Vityunya understood that he was too big a target. Racket - no skill and do not want to.

To return with an unnecessary diploma to the darling Scrotum? To the garden and collective farm fields? There is always time to pull tractors out of the mud. A bouncer at a casino? Once Vityunya tried. The casino shocked me with a feeling of something alien, deeply irrational. On the very first night, acting more on instinct than instructions, he kicked the wrong person out by mistake and got paid the next day. The ghost of the Hammer and Sickle loomed very close.

Thanks to the coach - arranged another academician. There was no money. A friend introduced Vityun, who was bored, to a familiar foreman of builders, taking beer for patronage, only beer and nothing but beer, a kind person. Vityunya "weakly" easily tore off a stack of twenty-seven silicate bricks from the floor. True, as agreed, he could not bring it to the fifth floor - an uncomfortable pile completely blocked the view - but even without that he was taken by an assistant and had been working for the fifth month. Temporary work is not shameful, even if you are a goldsmith. However, Vityun was not sure about the profession of a goldsmith.

The house was being built as an elite one, for the "new Russians" - not far from the Garden Ring, pink-brick from top to bottom, with huge loggias, artful ledges, hints of decorative turrets, a garage in the basement and a penthouse on the roof. However, the matter has not yet reached the penthouse. Vityune wanted to look at him most of all, although he was explained the difference between this belonging to an elite building and the magazine of the same name.

They paid decently at the construction site, even to helpers, and usually on time. There was enough for the now paid gym, where Vityunya appeared less and less, and for beer, which Vityunya did not like, but drank more and more often, and to take Svetka to a cafe, and all sorts of rubbish. The landlady, from whom Vityunya rented a room, was also enough - he was nevertheless kicked out of the institute hostel. In addition, three years later, the trust promised an apartment in new buildings - that means, if they were not deceived, between the city and an open field in the regions where such a beast as a regular bus is forever listed in the Red Book. Vityunya was going to sell his apartment, and start his own business with the proceeds. Which one was not yet clear, but Vityunya reasoned that it would be visible there. The future was drawn in prospects that were not exactly rosy, but encouraging.

The highly experienced Agapych correctly assessed the stone-breaking abilities of Vityuni: in half an hour the niche was ready. Vityunya straightened the edges, brushed himself off, got down from the "goat", moved the brick litter with a felt boot and looked out the window opening. Behind the fence of the construction site, one could see a piece of the street, tightly plugged with a traffic jam, and closer a frosty crane crawled and, under the supervision of the Lunokhod, a dump truck jerked back and forth along the rutted track, trying on the stern to the tubs lined in the frut.

“The solution was brought,” Vityunya noted mechanically. "Goat" he, thinking, left in place, and took the crowbar with him and slowly headed up the stairs.

On the ninth it blew. There was nothing higher yet, only a crane boom hanging overhead, swaying slightly, pulling some kind of load from below. Feet slipped on the snow, trampled into the crust. Yesterday's masonry, growing below the knee, the embryo of the outer wall, was powdered with wonderfully clean snow grains.

“Take a broom, blow it, sweep away the snow,” Agapych pointed out. - Break half bricks for me even. Yes, you put this crowbar for God's sake!

Vityunya nodded sleepily. Put it like that. Sweep so sweep. Break so break. But a good, however, brick goes to the elite houses of the “new Russians”, does not crumble into dust in the hands and even pricks on the knee ... Once upon a time, workers ran to see how Vityunya breaks bricks - now, who have long been accustomed, have ceased to be interested. As it should be...

He did not yet guess what would happen to him in a few seconds, and it was tricky to guess.

Whether the wind swayed the bucket on the slings too much, or the crane operator blundered, then it is up to the investigating authorities to decide, not for us.

Interested Vityunya turned his head. It was the only sensible move he managed to make. A bucket full of solution butted him from behind, below the back. Vityunya slid, whined on the ice, dodged, tried to maintain his balance, and, having stumbled with his caviar on something hard, low, judging by the sensations - yesterday's frozen masonry, he boomed in surprise:

- What is it?

In the next instant, he was already flying backwards from the ninth floor, with mute amazement watching the edge of the outer elite wall receding into the sky and the crumpled bottom of the tub slowly floating out from behind it. And he had a crowbar in his hand.

The song begins from ancient ideas ...

A.K. Tolstoy

Much is also known: once the gods were bored with the dead world, and they inhabited it with a multitude of living creatures, from an insignificant midge that always strives to get right in the eye, to an elk, a bear and a huge, fanged beast with red hair, which is now no longer meets. The gods breathed life into the rocks, air, water and populated the world with countless hordes of spirits, evil and good. The gods, however, allowed other animals to give rise to the human race, for the gods became bored with a world in which there is no man, a creature weak alone, but strong in a horde, surpassing the mind of all earthly creatures. And the gods amused themselves, looking from on high at the work of their hands.

For a while.

Others argue that the Door is not visible only to a person, but is easily accessible to any animal. There is a reason in these words: why in one summer the animals are full and the hunt is plentiful, and in another you cannot find them in the daytime with fire? They also say that the first person who passed through the Door was Hukka, the greatest hunter, whose equal has not been born since the beginning of time. In the form of a white wolf, Hukka tirelessly chased from world to world for the evil spirit Shaigun-Uur, who turned either into a fox, then into a snake, then into a hawk, and finally killed him. Having defeated the evil spirit, Hukka allegedly gave rise to the current tribe of the sons of the Wolf. People from other tribes do not argue about the roots of their neighbors, but they do not believe in the primacy of the Hukki. How many tribes, so many legends, and each one is worth the others. There are also people who do not believe in Nokku, or in Hukku, or in any pioneer from world to world, but believe that the ability to open the Door was given to a few people initially as a sign of the special disposition of the gods towards them. People in general are very different, among them there are also the most complete ignoramuses who claim that for the first time the Door allegedly opened by itself. But it is hardly worth listening to the tales of presumptuous fools.

Robbery began immediately, often turning into bloody bacchanalia. Well-armed detachments, led by an experienced magician, made a swift, like a sword attack, a raid into the neighboring world and just as quickly disappeared, grabbing what they could and, as a rule, without suffering significant losses. How many generations passed before the inhabitants of different worlds signed an agreement prohibiting mutual robbery and stipulating assistance to neighbors, no one knows. Short human memory has not retained the answer to the question: the ashes of how many generations of people lay in the burial mounds after the conclusion of the Treaty? For most people, ten generations is like an eternity. Another thing is important: as long as the tribe complies with the Treaty, it will continue to suffer from the predatory raids of neighbors from its own world and itself has the right to raid, but may not be afraid of total extermination and seizure of its lands. Salvation will not be slow to appear - with a mortal threat. You just need to open the Door and ask for help in one of the nearest worlds. There are no violators of the Treaty - outlawed, they have long disappeared from the face of the Earth, their property has gone to others, their lands are divided among neighbors. The leader who violates the Treaty dooms himself and his tribe to destruction.

Not all human tribes have heard of the Treaty. Those who live on the sunrise from the mountain belt do not suffer from lack of land and therefore hardly fight. They do not need the Treaty, and other worlds do not beckon them. Far to noon, according to rumors, lie vast lands inhabited by powerful and numerous tribes. There, too, they do not know the Treaty - either because they rely on their truly enormous forces, or the southern sorcerers have lost the ability to find and open the Door. Or maybe there are simply no Doors in those parts, or are they located in such a way that only a bird or a mole could use them? May be. Does it make sense to talk about distant lands, from which news does not come every decade, and about the peoples living there with strange, implausible customs? While the world is not yet too small, let the distant live as best they can.

The desires of the gods are whimsical and inaccessible to human understanding: there are whole worlds created by them for no one knows why. There seems to be no direct threat from there, but only because the Treaty orders to stay away from such worlds. No sorcerer, sorcerer or sorcerer, no matter how you call the one who is able to open the Door, should even look into these worlds. There is nothing useful there. Having stepped into such a world by negligence, the sorcerer should not return - he will not be accepted. The danger of bringing someone else's terrible SOMETHING from there is too great for anyone to dare to violate the ban. The cost of a mistake is prohibitive. In all worlds, a simple and clear law is known: no one should ever open a Door where it should not.

The snow was falling more and more. Over the frozen river, a frenzied wind drove a serious blizzard. Pine trees swayed and creaked in the grey-white medley, above the granite foreheads of boulders frozen into ice on frozen rifts, spinning columns of maddened snow rushed about. It darkened at once, the opposite bank was shaded and completely washed away. The storm broke out in full force.

Rastak did not immediately understand what the furious cries that made their way through the howling of the wind and the plaintive creak of swaying trees meant, but the next sound he heard was the clang of a weapon, that same clang of copper on copper, which cannot be confused with anything on a quiet summer day. , nor in the winter snowy whirlwind, when nothing is visible five steps away. In the next instant, the leader, realizing that the enemy had managed to suddenly attack with all his might, was already shouting something, trying in vain to overcome the howling storm and the roar of the ensuing battle with his voice, and realizing that no one hears his commands and does not listen that the outcome of this battle, so unlike the others, will be decided not by the unprecedented military art brought from the Forbidden World, and not even by the frighteningly formidable onslaught of the enraged Wit-Yun, but by the sole number of warriors and the strength of their spirit.

Another moment - and in the stupid, howling, chopping, cutting, gnawing crowd, the Rastak was no different from a simple warrior. No one bothered to cover the leader, and it is unlikely that the soldiers understood that the leader was fighting next to them. Not having a shield, he, like a few, cut with an ax and a sword, knowing that there are few who are able to resist him even with a shield in his hand. Fierce Pur, the god of war and death, will receive a rich sacrifice today! ..

In this wild battle, Yummi would not have been able to save the life of her husband, who had lost interest in everything, freezing on the move, only miraculously, and even with constant prodding, kept on unsteady legs. She herself had long been exhausted under the weight of two shoulder bags and understood that she could not stand it for a long time. And when someone screaming jumped out of the snowy whirlwind right at her, blindly jabbing a spear not at her, but at her shoulder bag, and she, shielding her beloved, fiercely fought back with his sword, an instant clear understanding came: we must leave, otherwise the beloved will die.

Around her they cut, stabbed, threw at close range new heavy darts with tips like long spikes, piercing a person along with a shield; yelled, wheezed, spat blood. Those who lost their heads waved at random, hitting strangers and their own alike. Yummi lost her husband. Someone pushed her in a human dump, someone covered with snow from head to toe writhed with a howl under her feet - she did not pay attention to anyone. Finding Yur-Rik again, she forced her to rise, crying, dragging her away from the battle, through the bushes, through the snowdrifts... The escarpment was closer than she thought, and they both tumbled down into the howling chaos of snow.

The noise of battle was drowned in the roar of the storm. Somewhere up above, people fought and died, deciding whether it would come true or not. great dream Rastaka, - Yummi didn't care. All covered with snow, Yur-Rik stirred feebly, trying to cover his face from the bites of the blizzard. How much longer will he move and live? If they didn't kill them upstairs, they'll freeze here.

I didn't have the strength to cry. But there were still forces to shield her husband from the storm, hug him and wait for death, still hoping for a miracle. And something invisible and unexpected lurked nearby in the blizzard, something that evoked well-known sensations: warmth and chills, joy and fear. No, Yummi thought, feeling an unexpected hope surge through her. “No, that doesn’t happen!”

She felt the door. She was nearby, only a little higher up the bank slope! They walked to her for a long time ... and they came, they came!

She could hardly remember afterwards how much effort and time it took her to drag Yur-Rik to the level of the Door. Twice he slipped down, and Yummi, fearing that she would not have enough strength to open the Door, started over, broke her nails, clinging to her husband's sheepskin coat with a death grip, winning span after span from the slope and snowstorm, and there were moments when she hated her husband too, and yourself ... Why remember what is better to forget?

Still, there was enough power. A dense snow charge rushed into the open Door with a howl - and returned back as a spray of rain. Breathed in warmth. The sun splashed into my eyes, and the stupid motley butterfly, taken out of that other world into this one, twirled and disappeared in a snowy whirlwind.

It was summer outside the Door.

My blood hasn't gone cold forever...

A.K. Tolstoy

Who is seriously angry is Vityunya. Not only did he not sleep well, that his legs were tired of kneading the snow and his mood dropped sharply, which made him want to knock someone down in advance, not only did he look through all the peepers, trying to guess whether the bend was right or not, so some kind of scoundrel made a storm! And when unidentified boobies ran out of the snowstorm directly to Vityunya, to whom he had done nothing wrong and one of whom, without further ado, tried to impale him on a pike, Vityunya became completely furious and cut the pike together with its owner with one broad stroke. And rightly so! Well, who else wants to? ..

Those who wished, of course, were found, and in the multitude. Either some special enemy was caught, or the crazy snow prevented the warriors with wolf mugs instead of hats from making out in time which enemy their malicious spirits had brought to them, but they only attacked with maniacal fearlessness. “Like stoned,” Vityuna came to mind when the third opponent fell apart in half. The former crowbar, and now the sword Double Dealer, with an impressive whistle, cut through the snow, and the air, and everyone who, with a big mind, poked under the formidable blade, imagining that they would be able to take a blow to the shield or repel it with a sword. A human-length sword easily cut through shields, and simply did not notice short copper blades. The snow interfered, blinding my eyes, and the trees interfered.

Subsequent events are poorly deposited in the memory of Vityuni. I remembered that my right hand began to tire and I had to take hold of the Double Dealer with both hands. I also remembered that the next swing of the sword cut down a consumptive pine tree and it found no other place to fall than directly on the head, and it was remembered that for some time after that it was necessary to strike blindly, and it was possible that not only enemies, but also our own ...

“Bruise-u-u! ..” Vityunya roared, turning his sword, forgetting that he could no longer hurt anyone with the former crowbar, but could only cut him.

Then, somehow, it suddenly turned out that the howling of the wind became quieter and through the muddy snow shroud, already twenty paces away, it was possible to distinguish a tree from a person. The storm was fierce, but short-lived. But it turned out that there are much more people around Vityun than trees, that there are more living among them than corpses, and these living people, resolutely unfamiliar, are still obsessed with the desire to kill him or cause other harm. Not a single one within sight...

Anyone else would have leaned back against a pine tree, prolonging his last minutes, - Vityunya with a roar "Disperse, fools, I'll kill you!" jumped forward and spun his sword, then, with the desperate determination of a torpedo bomber attacking a battleship, darted sideways, towards where the clang and scream of the battle was crawling away, struck again and again, beat off the dart, spun like a top, sending the sword at a wide range, and trampled with felt boots into the snow of some final scumbag, who dived under the sword and in the meanest way tried to prick under the padded jacket, in the groin. Throwing and thinning out the screaming encirclement, Vityunya retreated to his own until he came across a tossing, screaming, knocking copper on copper crowd and in an accidental gap he saw Hukkan with a blood-stained face, fighting off three or even four opponents with an ax.

Then he realized that the thinned army of Rastak, pressed from three sides by countless hordes of enemies, huddled in a heap at the bank slope, that the enemy was still aching with unprecedented force, trying to push this dense human mass out of the forest and finish it off on the ice of a frozen river. , and in the middle of the pile Rastak shouts and, no doubt, orders to move away, move away, move away ...

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