oat. - Come on, not this, - he said grumpily. Zina shook her head. He looked at the hatch with alarm and said firmly: - Stop bawling! What a shame! She lifted her head. Her face was damp and pitiful, eyes swelled even more. - Try... like this... yourself, - she uttered. He produced a handkerchief and placed it on her wet palm. She began wiping her cheeks. - Who did this to you? - Yura asked quietly. - Kravetz? Then I will now go and smash his face in, do you want me to? She folded the handkerchief and tried to smile. The she asked: - Listen, are you really a vacuum-welder? - Really. But please, just don't cry. It's my first meeting with a person, who cries when they see a vacuum-welder. - And is true that Yurkovski had brought his protege to the observatory? - What protege? - Yura was amazed. - They have been talking here, that Yurkovski wants to place some favourite astrophysicist of his at Diona... - What sort of garbage is this? - said Yura. - On board there is only the crew, Yurkovski and I. No astrophysicists. - Is it true? - Of course it is true! And just to think - Yurkovski's favourites! One must really think hard for this! Who had told you this? Kravetz? She shook her head again. - Alright, - Yura found a chair with his foot and sat on it. - Go on and tell me anyway. Tell me everything. Did someone hurt you? - No one, - she said quietly. - I am simply a poor achiever. With unbalanced psyche as well, - she smiled gloomily. - Our director doesn't like women at the observatory, in general. I am thankful he did not reassign me back on the Planet. I would die from shame if that had happened. On Earth I would have had to change professions. And I really do not want to. Here, although I cannot get anything finished, at least I am at the observatory, with a prominent scientist. You know, I really love all this work, - she swallowed spasmodically. - You know, I used to think this was my calling... Yura said through clenched teeth: - I have never seen a person who enjoys their work and who cannot accomplish anything. Her shoulder twitched. - You like your work, don't you? - Yes. - And you cannot get anything done? - I am giftless, - she said. - How can this be? - Don't know. Yura bit his lip and began thinking. - Listen, - he said. - Listen, Zina, and what about the rest of you here? - Who? - Other guys... Zina sighed convulsively. - Here they have become totally different from what they were like on Earth. Bazanov hates everyone, and these two fools have imagined god knows what, had a complete falling out and now won't talk neither to me nor with each other... - And Kravetz? - Kravetz - is a lackey, - she said with indifference. - He doesn't give a damn about anything. - She suddenly looked at him in confusion. - But please don't tell anyone what I had told you now. Otherwise my life here will be absolute hell. There will be all kinds of reproachful comments, general discussions about the essence of female nature... Yura looked at her with narrowed eyes. - How can this be? - he said. - And nobody knows about this? - And who would be interested? - She smiled miserably. - You know, the best of all distant observatories... The hatch flipped open. The recently seen light-haired fellow pushed his torso into the room, gazed at Yura, wrinkling his nose in displeasure, then glanced at Zina and began gazing at Yura again. Zina stood up. - Let me introduce you, - she said in a trembling voice. - This is Svirski, Vitaly Svirski, an astrophysicist. And this is Yuri Borodin... - Turning over your duties? - Svirski inquired in an ill-tempered tone. - Alright, do not let me disturb you. He started closing the hatch, but Yura raised his hand. - One minute, - he said. - You can have five, - Svirski grinned obligingly. - But on another occasion. And right now I do not wish to disrupt your tete-e-tete, dear colleague. Zina sighed quietly and covered her face with one hand. - I am not your colleague, idiot, - Yura uttered quietly and walked at Svirski. Svirski was looking at him with frenzied eyes. - And we'll talk right now, do you understand? But first of all you will apologise to the girl, for being a swine. Yura was five steps away from the hatch, when Svirski, with a bestially jutted jaw began climbing into the room towards him. Bykov was pacing along the ward-room, hands behind his back and head lowered. Zhilin was leaning against the door leading to the command post. Yurkovski, with his fingers clenched, was sitting behind the table. All three of them were listening to Michael Antonovich. Michael Antonovich was talking passionately and excitedly, pressing his short hand into the left side of his chest. - ...And believe me, Voloden'ka, never in my life have I heard that much dirt about anyone. Everybody is nasty and stupid, only Bazanov is the good one. You see, Shershen is a tyrant and a dictator, he'd exhausted everyone, boldly dictating his will. Everyone is afraid of him. There was one courageous man on Diona, Muller, and even he was ousted by Shershen, you see. No-no, Bazanov does not denounce Shershen's scientific achievements, you see, he even admires them, and the fact that the observatory enjoys such fame is precisely Shershen's merit, but at the same time, you see, inside it reigns absolute decadence. Shershen has a special informer and provocateur, this talentless Kravetz. This Kravetz, you see, eavesdrops on everyone and then peaches against them, and then, on director's orders spreads rumours and causes quarrels between everyone. Divide and reign, so to speak. Incidentally, whilst we were talking, this poor fellow Kravetz walked into the library to get some book. How did Bazanov yell at him! "Get the hell out!" - he screamed. Poor Kravtez, such a nice sympathetic young man, didn't even have a chance to introduce himself. He blushed all over and left, didn't even take his book. Naturally, I could not hold back and reprimanded Bazanov thoroughly. I told him straight: "What are you doing, Petya? How can you be like this?" Michael Antonovich caught his breath and wiped his face with a handkerchief. - Well, so, - he continued. - You see, Bazanov is incredibly morally upright. He cannot bear, when someone is courting someone else. There is a young crewmember here, Zina, an astrophysicist, so he endowed her with two simultaneous suitors and then imagined that they had a fight over of her. And she, you see, makes advances on this and that one, whilst they are like fighting cocks... Although he himself, keep this in mind, admits that these are mere rumours, he maintains that a fact remains a fact and all three had had a falling out. Moreover, Bazanov doesn't just have squabbles with all the astronomers, he had drawn the control engineers into his squabbles, too. Everyone is a moron, milksop, no one knows how to work, half-educated lot... My hair stood on end, when I was hearing this! Just think about it, Voloden'ka... Do you know whom he sees as the chief culprit behind all this? Michael Antonovich drew an effectual pause. Bykov stopped and looked at him. Yurkovski, squinting heavily, was twisting his flabby cheeks. - You! - said Michael Antonovich in a broken voice. - I could not believe my ears! The chief inspector of IBCC covers up all these disgraceful things, more so, he hauls some mysterious protege's around the laboratories, finds places for them, whilst the ordinary workers he fires for some petty mistake and sends them back to Earth. That everywhere he had fixed his puppets, ones like Shershen! That I could no longer bear. I told him: "Excuse me, - I said, - my dear boy, kindly mind what you are saying". Michael Antonovich drew another breath and fell quiet. Bykov began pacing across the ward-room. - Right, - said Yurkovski. - How did your conversation end? Michael Antonovich said proudly: - I could not stand to listen to him any more. I couldn't listen to all the dirt poured over you, Voloden'ka, and over the crew of the best distant observatory. I got up, bid him an acrimonious farewell and left. I hope he was ashamed of himself. Yurkovski was sitting with his eyes lowered. Bykov said with a smirk: - You have got them living a fine life on your bases, chief inspector. In peace and harmony. - If I were in your place, Voloden'ka, I would take measures, - said Michael Antonovich. - Bazanov must be returned to Earth removing his right to work on distant stations. Such people are indeed really dangerous, Voloden'ka, you know that yourself... Yurkovski spoke, without lifting his eyes: - Very well. Thank you, Michael. Measures will have to be taken. Zhilin said quietly: - Perhaps, he is simply worn out? - Does it make anyone's life easier? - said Bykov. - Yes, - said Yurkovski and sighed heavily. - Bazanov will have to be removed. From the corridor a hurried tapping of magnetic soles could be heard. - Yura is coming back, - said Zhilin. - Well then, let's have dinner, - said Bykov. - Are you eating dinner with us, Vladimir? - No. I am having dinner with Shershen. I still have a lot of matters to arrange with him. Zhilin was standing at the entrance to the command post and saw Yura first. His eyes bulged and he lifted his eyebrows. Then everyone else turned to Yura. - What is the meaning of this, probationer? - Bykov inquired. - What's with you, Yurik? - exclaimed Michael Antonovich? Yura looked blameworthy. A red and blue bruise covered his left eye, nose was deformed, lips swollen and gone black. He was holding his left hand suspended, the fingers of his right hand were stuck round with plaster. Dark, hastily washed stains could be seen on the front of his jacket. - I had a fight, - Yura said gloomily. - Who did you have a fight with, probationer? - I fought with Svirski. - Who is that? - It's a young astrophysicist at the observatory, - Yurkovski explained impetuously. - Why did you have a fight, cadet? - He insulted a girl, - said Yura. He was looking straight into Zhilin's eyes. - I demanded that he apologised. - Well? - Well, and we had a fight. Zhilin gave a barely noticeable nod of approval. Yurkovski stood up, walked around the cabin and stopped in front of Yura, hands shoved deep into his pockets. - This is how I see it, cadet, - he said coldly, - that you have caused a reprehensible debauch at the observatory. - No, - said Yura. - You have bashed up an observatory crewmember. - Yes, - said Yura. - But I couldn't do otherwise. I had to make him apologise. - Did you? - Zhilin asked quickly. Yura wavered a bit, then said evasively: - Basically, he made an apology. Later. Yurkovski said with irritation: - Hell, Ivan, what does this have to do with anything? - Forgive me, Vladimir Sergeevich, - Ivan said humbly. Yurkovski turned to Yura again. - Anyway, that was a debauch, - he said. - It looks that way, in any event. Listen, cadet, I quite readily believe that you acted with best intention, but you will have to apologise. - To whom? - Yura asked immediately. - First of all, to Svirski, of course. - And secondly? - Secondly, you will have to apologise to the director of the observatory. - No! - said Yura. - You will have to. - No. - What does it mean - no? You have started a fight in his observatory. That is despicable. And you are refusing to apologise? - I won't apologise to a scumbag, - Yura said in an even voice. - Quiet, probationer! - roared Bykov. Silence set in. Michael Antonovich was sighing lamentfully and shaking his head. Yurkovski was staring at Yura in amazement. Zhilin suddenly pushed away from the wall, came up to Yura and laid a hand on his shoulder. - Forgive me, Alexey Petrovich, - he said. - I think, we ought to let probationer Borodin tell us everything as it happened, in order. - And who is stopping him? - Bykov said annoyed. It was obvious, that he is really displeased with the entire situation. - Tell us, Yura, - said Zhilin. - What is there to tell? - Yura began quietly. Then he started to yell: - This must be seen! And heard! These idiots must be rescued immediately! You keep saying - observatory, observatory! But this is a brothel! People cry here, do you understand? They cry! - Easy, cadet, - said Yurkovski. - I can't take it easy! You are telling me to apologise... I am not going to apologise to an inquisitor! To a bastard, who sets dummies against each other and against a girl! Where are your eyes, chief inspector? This entire establishment is long overdue for an evacuation to Earth, they will soon get on all fours, and they will start biting each other! - Calm down and tell us what happened, in order, - said Zhilin. And Yura did tell. How he met Zina Shatrova, and how she cried, and how he understood, that he must get involved immediately, and he began with Svirski, who had grown so primitive with fur, that believed all kinds of foul things about a girl he loved. How he made Averin and Svirski have a "heart-to-heart" talk with one another, and how they discovered that Svirski never called Averin giftless and a sucker up, and that Averin did not even suspect being repeatedly expelled from Zina's room late at night. How they took the guitar away from controller Ditz and found out that he had never spread any rumours about Bazanov and Tanya Oleneva... And how it instantly became apparent, that it was all the doing of Kravetz, and that Shershen cannot be unaware of it, and that he is, in fact, the biggest scoundrel... - The guys have sent me to you, Vladimir Sergeevich, so that you would do something. And you'd better do something, otherwise they will act themselves... They are ready to. Yurkovski was sitting in his chair behind the desk, and his face was so old and pitiful, that Yura stopped and looked at Zhilin in confusion. But Zhilin gave him another barely noticeable nod. - You will answer for these words also, - Shershen muttered through clenched teeth. - Shut up! - yelled the little dark-skinned Averin, sitting next to Yura. - Don't you dare interrupt us! Comrades, how dares he interrupt us all the time? Yurkovski waited for the commotion to settle and continued: - All this is so sickening, that I have altogether excluded any possibility of such a phenomenon, and it took an involvement by a complete stranger, a young boy, just to... Yeah. Disgusting. I did not expect that of you, my young ones. How easy was it - to restore you to the primeval state, place you on all fours: three years, one ambitious maniac and one provincial intriguer. And you yielded to it, grew feral, lost your human face... Young, cheerful, decent guys... Such a shame! Yurkovski made a pause and looked the astronomers over. All this is useless now, he thought. They don't have time for me now. They were sitting in a pack and looking at Shershen and Kravetz with hatred. - Alright. A new director will be sent to you from Titan. For two days you may hold meetings and think. Do think. You, poor and weak ones, I am telling you: think! And now leave. They got up and, heads sunken, went out of the cabinet. Shershen also stood up and, balancing ridiculously on magnetic soles, came up close to Yurkovski. - This is autocracy, - he said hoarsely. - You are disrupting the observatory's schedule. Yurkovski distanced him with repulse. - Listen, Shershen, - he said. - I would shoot myself if I were you. "RING-1". THE BALLAD ABOUT A ONE-LEGGED ALIEN. - You know, - said Bykov, - looking at Yurkovski above his glasses and above the "Metal Physics", - come to think of it, Shershen actually considers himself to be undeservedly insulted. After all, it's the best observatory and so on... - Shershen doesn't interest me, - said Yurkovski. He slammed his folder shut and stretched out. - What I am interested in, is how could these guys come to such an existence... And Shershen - he is dust, a small fry. Bykov kept thinking for a few minutes. - And what would it be according to you? - he asked, finally. - I have one theory... Rather, a hypothesis. I believe, that they have already forfeited immunity against socially harmful behaviour, needed in the past, but their individual anti-social tendencies have not yet disappeared. - Make it simpler, - said Bykov. - With pleasure. Let us take you. What would you do, if a gossip bearer came to you and said that... err... let's say, Michael Krutikov steals and trades food supplies? You have seen many gossipers in your time, you know their worth, and you would tell him to... err... depart. Now let us take our cadet. What would he do, if he was told... err... um, let's say, the same thing? He would take everything at face value and would immediately run over to Michael for an explanation. And would momentarily understand, that this is all rubbish, he would come back and... err... thrash the bastard. - Uh-uh, - said Bykov with satisfaction. - Well, so it is then. And our friends on Diona - that's no longer you but not quite our cadet, still. They take filth for face value, but their unutilised superficial pride halts them from working everything out. - Oh well, - said Bykov. - Perhaps, that's the way it is. Yura came in, squatted before an open engineering bookcase and began choosing a book to read for the night. The events on Diona have totally shaken him over and he still could not recover from it. His farewell with Zina Shatrova was silent and very moving. Zina had not so much as recovered at all. True, she was smiling already. Yura really wanted to stay on Diona until Zina will start to laugh. He was confident, that he could manage to cheer her up, to help her forget, in some way, the terrifying days of Shershen's reign. He really regretted that he could not stay. However in the corridor he caught the light-haired Svirski and demanded, that they be especially attentive to Zina. Svirski gave him a frenzied look and answered astray: "We are still going to smash his face". - Er... Alexey, - said Yurkovski. - Am I going to be a nuisance to anyone at the command post? - You are the chief inspector, - said Bykov. - Who can you be a nuisance to? - I wish to establish communication with Titan, - said Yurkovski. - And to listen to the airways in general. - Go ahead, - said Bykov. - And can I be allowed, too? - asked Yura. - And you can be allowed, too, - said Bykov. - Everyone is allowed everything. In the morning Bykov finished reading the last magazine, examined the cover long and hard, and it seemed, even checked out the price. Then he sighed, carried the magazine to his cabin, and when he returned, Yura understood that "the boy had peeled the stick to the end". Bykov was now very kind, outspoken and allowed everything to everybody. - I guess I will come with you, - said Bykov. All three of them barged inside the command post. Michael Antonovich looked at them in amazement from his podium, beamed a smile and waved his little hand. - We won't get in your way, - said Bykov. - We want the radio. - Just remember, boys, - warned Michael Antonovich, - we are going to have weightlessness in half an hour. At Yurkovski's directions "Takhmaseeb" was proceeding to station "Ring-1", an artificial satellite of Saturn, moving adjacent to its Ring. - And why can't we go without weightlessness? - Yurkovski asked capriciously. - You see, Voloden'ka, - Michael Antonovich said with a guilty look, - it's really cramped here for our "Takhmaseeb". We must manoeuvre all the time. They moved past Zhilin, who was rummaging in the controller combinations, and sat in front of the radio. Bykov began manipulating the regulators. The speaker wailed and shrieked. - The music of celestial spheres, - Zhilin commented from the rear. - Connect the decoder, Alexey Petrovich. - Yes, that's right, - said Bykov. - I somehow thought, that this is interference. - Some radio operator, - Yurkovski said with contempt. The speaker suddenly roared in an abnormal tone: - ... minutes listen to Alexander Bloomberg, retranslation from Earth. I repeat... The voice sailed away and was replaced by drowsy wheezing. Then somebody said: "...thing I can do. You will have to wait, comrades". - "And what if send our shuttle over?" - "Then you won't have to wait as long, but you'll still have to wait". Bykov turned on auto-seek and the marker crawled along the dial, temporarily stopping at each working station, "...eighty hectares of selenium batteries for the green-houses, forty kilometres of copper wire six hundredths, twenty kilometres...", "...no butter, no sugar, we have one hundred packets of "Hercules" porridge left, crackers and coffee. Yeah, and also we are out of cigarettes ...", "...and hear me? I am not going to stand this impudence... Hear me? I'm...". "Q-2, Q-2, we did not understand anything... What kind of radio receiver does he have?.. Q-2, here are my coordinates for calibration. One, two, three...", "...really miss you. When will you come back at last? And how come you stopped writing? Kisses, your Anna. Period", "...Chan, don't worry, this is really basic. You take a three-dimensional integral across the hyperbola until H...", "Number seven, number seven, sector three has been cleared for you...", "...Sasha, there are rumours, that some chief inspector has arrived. Almost seems it is Yurkovski himself..." - Enough, - said Yurkovski. - Find me Titan. Scoundrels, - he grumbled. - They know already. - It's interesting, - Bykov said with a thoughtful air. - There are only about one hundred and fifty people in Saturn's system, but how much noise... The radio was croaking and wailing. Bykov optimised the channel and began talking into a microphone: - Titan, Titan. This is "Takhmaseeb". Titan. Titan. - Titan listening, - said a woman's voice. - Chief inspector Yurkovski requests a session with the director of the system. - Bykov looked cheerfully at Yurkovski. - Am I saying this right, Volodya? - he asked into the microphone. Yurkovski gave a favourable nod. - Hello, hello, "Takhmaseeb"! - the woman's voice became slightly anxious. - Hold on a minute, I will connect you to the director. - Waiting, - said Bykov and moved the microphone over to Yurkovski. Yurkovski cleared his throat. - Lisa, darling! - somebody shouted from the speaker. - Please get me the director, sweetheart! Quickly! - Clear the frequency, - the woman's voice said sternly. - Director is busy. - How is this - busy? - the voice said in outrage. - Ferentz, is that you? Out of turn, again? - Clear the frequency, - Yurkovski said firmly. - Everyone clear the frequency now, - a drawn out squeaky voice sounded. - The director is listening to chief inspector Yurkovski. - Wow, guys... - someone said in awe. Yurkovski gave Bykov a smug look. - Zaitzev, - he said. - Hello, Zaitzev. - Hello, Volodya, - squeaked the director. - What brings you here? - I... err... am conducting a slight inspection. Arrived yesterday. Straight on Diona. I have dismissed Shershen. Details later. So, we'll... do this. Send Muller to replace Shershen. Endeavour to send Shershen to Earth as soon as possible. Send back Shershen and another one there. Kravetz is his surname. Young, but an early beginner. Oversee their departure personally. And keep in mind, that I am not pleased with you. This matter... err... you could have dealt with personally, and much earlier. Further... - Yurkovski became quiet. An astounding silence reigned the airways. - I have set the following route for myself. At the moment I am proceeding to "Ring-1". I will be delayed there for two-three days, and then I will visit you on Titan. Order that the fuel for "Takhmaseeb" be made available. And, finally, this. - Yurkovski became silent again. - I have a young man on board. He is a vacuum-welder. One from the group of volunteers, that are working with you on Rhea. Be so kind, let me know where I can set him down, so that he can be immediately sent to Rhea. - Yurkovski fell silent once more. The airways were quiet. - So now I am all yours, - said Yurkovski. - One minute, - said the director. - They are making inquiries now. What, are you on "Takhmaseeb"? - Yes, - said Yurkovski. - I've got Alexey right here with me. Michael Antonovich shouted from the navigator's compartment: - Send my regards to Feden'ka, say hello! - Here, Misha is sending his greetings to you. - And is Gregory there with you? - No, - said Yurkovski. - Don't you know? The airways stayed silent .Then a squeaky voice asked cautiously: - Had something happened? - No-no, - said Yurkovski. - He was simply restricted from flying. It's been a year already. There was a sigh in the airways. - Yep..., - said the director. - Soon we'll be just like that. - Not too soon, I hope, - Yurkovski said dryly. - Well, what's going on with your inquiries? - Alright, - the voice said. - One minute. Listen. Your welder doesn't need to go to Rhea. We have transferred the volunteers to "Ring-2". They need them more over there. If you are lucky, you can send him to "Ring-2" straight from "Ring-1". And if you are not - we'll send him from here on Titan. - What is this - if I am lucky? - Twice a decade the Swiss travel to the Ring, delivering supplies. Perhaps you will catch the Swiss shuttle on "Ring-1". - Got you, - said Yurkovski. - Well, alright then. I have nothing more for you. See you. - Calm plasma to you, Volodya, - said the director. - Careful you don't drop down into Saturn. - Stuff you, - Bykov grumbled and turned off the radio. - All clear, cadet? - asked Yurkovski. - All clear, - said Yura and sighed. - Are you unhappy, or something? - Not at all, it doesn't matter where I work, - said Yura. - That's not the matter. The "Ring-1" observatory was moving within the plane of Saturn's Ring along a circular orbit and completed a full rotation in fourteen and a half hours. The station was new-sprung, its construction was finished only a year ago. Its crew consisted of ten planetologists, engaged in the study of the Ring, and four control engineers. Control engineers had much to do: some units and systems at the observatory - heaters, oxygen regenerators, and the hydrosystem - were still not calibrated completely. Associated discomfort did not concern the planetologists in the least, the more so as the greater part of their time was spent in cosmoscaphes, floating above the Ring. The work of planetologists in the Ring carried great significance in Saturn's system. Planetologists hoped to find water, iron, and rare materials inside the Ring - which would provide the system with autonomy over fuel and material supplies. However, even if these searches were successful, making full use of such findings did not appear quite possible yet. No missile has ever been created, capable of entering the gleaming bulk of Saturn's rings and making a safe return. Alexey Petrovich Bykov guided "Takhmaseeb" to the exterior docking line and moored carefully. Approaching artificial satellites - is a delicate matter, requiring master skills and jeweller-like intricacy. On such occasions Alexey Petrovich would get up from his chair and go up to the command post. At the exterior docks some shuttle stood already, judging by the hull lines - a food supplies tanker. - Probationer, - said Bykov. - You are in luck. Pack your suitcase. Yura said nothing. - The crew is allowed ashore, - Bykov announced. - If you get invited for supper - don't get too excited. This is not a hotel for you. Best of all, carry conserves and mineral water. - Increase its natural cycle, - Zhilin said in an undertone. Squeaking and grinding was heard from the outside - it was the duty inspector adjusting a hermetic bridge to "Takhmaseeb's" outer hatch. Five minutes later he announced over the radio: "You can come out. Just dress warm". - "And why is that?" - Bykov inquired. "We are regulating the conditioning", - the duty dispatcher said and rang off. - What does it mean - warm? - Yurkovski was full of indignation. - What should I wear? Flannels? Or how was it called - valenki? Stitched wool coats? Quilted jackets? Bykov said: - Wear a jumper. Put on warm socks. A fur-lined jacket would be nice. With electric heating. - I will wear a jumper, - said Michael Antonovich. - I've got a really nice jumper. With a sail on it. - And I have nothing, - Yura said sadly. - I guess I can wear a few t-shirts. - This is a disgrace, - said Yurkovski. - I've got nothing as well. - Put on your bathrobe, - Bykov advised him, and headed for his cabin. They all stepped down together on the observatory, dressed quite diversely and warmly. Bykov wore a Greenland fur-lined jacket. Michael Antonovich also put on a jacket and pulled fur boots onto his feet. The fur boots were devoid of magnetic soles, and Michael Antonovich was towed, like an anchored blimp. Zhilin put on a jumper and gave one jumper to Yura. Besides that, Yura wore Bykov's fur-lined pants, which he fastened under his armpits. Yurkovski wore Zhilin's fur-lined boots. And also, Yurkovski wore Michael Antonovich's jumper with a sail and a really pretty white blazer. At the caisson the duty dispatcher met them wearing a singlet and shorts. Inside the caisson stood suffocating heat, like a Swedish sauna. - Good day, - said the dispatcher. He looked the guests over and frowned. - Didn't I tell you: dress warmly. You are going to freeze in boots. Yurkovski said in a sinister voice: - I beg your pardon, young man, are you going to pull jokes on me? The dispatcher gave him a baffled look. - Pulling what jokes? It's minus fifteen inside the ward-room. Bykov wiped the sweat from his forehead and grumbled: - Let's go. From the corridor blew a freezing chill, puffs of steam rushed in. The dispatcher, clutching his shoulders with his hands, yelled: - Hurry up, please! Interior lining of the corridor was removed in some places, and the yellow lattice of thermal elements was gleaming shamelessly in the bluish light. Near the ward-room they bumped into a control engineer. The engineer wore an incredibly long fur coat, with a blue singlet sticking from underneath. On the engineer's head a fur hat with raised flaps was standing in full splendour. Yurkovski moved his shoulders under the chill and opened the door to the ward-room. Inside the ward-room behind the table sat, buckled to their chairs, five men in fur coats with raised collars. They looked like the early policemen from the times of Tsar Alexey the Peaceful and were sucking hot coffee from transparent thermal flasks. Upon seeing Yurkovski, one of them pulled down the collar and, releasing a cloud of steam, said: - Good day, Vladimir Sergeevich. I see you have dressed somewhat lightly. Have a seat. Coffee? - What is going here? - asked Yurkovski. - We are regulating, - said someone. - And where is Markushin? - Markushin is waiting for you in a cosmoscaphe. It's warm there. One of the planetologists got up and floated into the corridor with Yurkovski. Another one, a lanky, mop-headed fellow, said: - Tell me, are there any more chief inspectors among you? - No, - said Bykov. - Then I'll tell you straight: we have a dog's life here. Yesterday the temperature across the entire observatory was plus thirty, and inside the ward-room even thirty-three. During the night the temperature suddenly fell. I, personally, got a frost-bitten foot, nobody feels like working under such temperature fluctuations, so we take turns working in cosmoscaphes. They have autonomous air-conditioning. Does it happen to you as well? - It happens, - said Bykov. - During accidents. - And you live a whole year like this? - Michael Antonovich asked with pity and dismay. - No, not at all! Only for about a month. Earlier, the temperature fluctuations were not so significant. But we have organised a team to help the engineers, and now... You can see for yourself. Yura was diligently sucking up hot coffee. He felt he is starting to freeze. - Br-r-r, - said Zhilin. - Tell me, do you have some sort of an oasis here? The planetologists looked at each other. - Perhaps inside the caisson, - one said. - Or in the bathroom, - said another. - But its muggy in there. - It's really uncomfortable, - Michael Antonovich complained. - Well, then, - said Bykov. - Let's all go with us. - Ooh, - said the lanky planetologist. - And then coming back here? - Come on, let's go, - said Michael Antonovich. - We can talk there as well. - This isn't really in the order of hospitality, - the lanky fellow said hesitantly. Silence ensued. Yura said: - We are sitting so funny - four against four. Almost like a chess game. Everyone looked at him. - Come on, let's go with us, - said Bykov, getting up decisively. - This is somehow awkward, - said one of the planetologists. - Let's sit here. Maybe we can still have a proper conversation. Zhilin said: - It's warm there. One slight turn of the regulator - and we can make it hot. We shall sit in beautiful light garments. We won't sniffle. A gloomy man in a fur coat worn over a naked body stuck his head inside the ward-room. Looking at the ceiling he said inhospitably: - I beg your pardon, but why don't you all go to your cabins, really. We are going to shut off the air here in five minutes. The man disappeared. Bykov, not saying a word, moved towards the exit. Everyone followed him. In grave silence they crossed the corridor, choked on hot air inside an empty caisson and stepped on board the "Takhmaseeb". The lanky planetologist hastily pulled off his fur coat and blazer and began rolling the scarf off his neck. The warm ammunition was shoved inside a wall wardrobe. Then the introductions and mutual handshakes took place. The lanky planetologist was called Raphael Gorchakov. The other three, as it became apparent, were Joseph Vlchek, Eugene Sadovski and Pavel Shemyakin. Having thawed, they turned out to be cheerful talkative guys. Soon it became known, that Gorchakov and Sadovsky are investigating turbulent motions inside the Ring, are not married, like Graham Greene and Strogov, prefer cinema to theatre, at the present moment are reading Montaigne in the original, do not understand neorealistic painting, but do not exclude the possibility that there is something in it; that Joseph Vlchek is searching for iron ore inside the Ring using the neutron reflection method and flash-bombs, that he is a professional violinist, was Europe's champion in the four-hundred metre hurdle races, and ended up in Saturn's system as a revenge on his girlfriend's cold and insensitive treatment of him; finally, that Pavel Shemyakin is, on the contrary, married, has kids, works as an assistant in the institute of planetology, vehemently defends the hypothesis of the artificial origin of the Ring and intends to "lay his life at transforming the hypothesis to theory". - The biggest trouble, - he was saying passionately, - is that our cosmoscaphes do not stand up to any scrutiny as the explorer's missiles. They are extremely slow and really fragile. When I sit inside a cosmoscaphe above the Ring, I really feel like crying with grief. It's a stone throw away... And to go down into the Ring we are expressly forbidden. And I am absolutely confident, that the very first search inside the Rng would yield something interesting. Some sort of clue, at the very least... - What sort, for instance? - asked Bykov. - W-well, I don't know!.. - I know, - said Gorchakov. - He hopes to find a print of a bare foot on some boulder. Do you know, how he operates? Descends as closely as possible to the ring and inspects fragments through a forty-time zoom binoctar. Pasha winds his eyes onto the binoctar, and while he winds off it, another asteroid... - Well, that is stupid, - Shemyakin said crossly. - If it could be shown, that the Ring - is the product of fission of some body, that would mean a great deal already, but in the meantime, we are restricted from catching the fragments. - It's easy to say - catching a fragment, - said Bykov. - I know that job. You get all sweaty and never know to the very end, who caught whom, and then it turns out that you have knocked off an emergency rocket and you don't have enough fuel to make it to base. Nah, they are right to forbid this nonsense. Michael Antonovich suddenly said, rolling his eyes in reverie: - But then, boys, how fascinating it is! What a lively, delicate task! Planetologists looked at him reverent surprise. Yura, too. It never entered his mind, that the kind chubby Michael Antonovich conducted asteroid hunts once upon a time. Bykov gave Michael Antonovich a cold look and coughed loudly. Michael Antonovich looked at him in fright and said hastily: - But that, of course, is really dangerous... Unjustified risk... And one shouldn't anyway... - By the way, about footprints, - Zhilin said pensively. - You here are detached from information sources, - he looked the planetologists over. - And, perhaps, don't know... - And what is it? - Sadovski asked. From his face it was obvious, that he was thoroughly starved of information. - On the island of Honshu, - said Zhilin, - not far from the Danno-ura harbour, in the gorge between the mountains Siramine and Titigatake, in an impenetrable forest, archaeologists have discovered a system of caves. Inside these caves they found various primeval utensils and - what is most interesting - many fossilised traces of primeval people. Archaeologists think, that inside the caves two hundred centuries ago dwelled the early Japanese, whose descendants were later slaughtered by the Yamato tribes lead by imperator Jimmu-tenno, the divine grandson of heaven-radiant Amaterasu. Bykov grunted and held onto his chin. - This finding agitated the whole world, - said Zhilin, - perhaps, you have heard about it. - We wish... - Sadovski said despondently. - We are torn off from everyone here... - And in the meantime there was a lot said and written about it, but that's not the point. The most fascinating finding was made comparatively recently, when the central cave was properly cleared. Imagine this: in the fossilised clay stood over twenty pairs of naked footprints with big toes shifted far to the side, and among them... - Zhilin looked his listeners round with wide open eyes. It was all clear to Yura, but the effective pause made a great impression on him nevertheless. - A boot print... - Zhilin said in a regular voice. Bykov got up and started walking out of the ward-room. - Aleshen'ka! - Michael Antonovich called out. - Where are you going so soon? - I know this story already, - said Bykov, without turning around. - I have