Kitobni o'qish: «Snow Hut»

Letoria relaton or short Letory is a literary work which, in its content, based on documentary chronicles, folk tales or epics, restores or reveals culturally significant features of the Slavic-Aryan worldview and the tradition of Ingliism, and therefore has artistic flexibility for expressing the thoughts of a modern author.

Tarassoff-Slishin Victor

From the author

Dear friends and comrades!

I present to you the science fiction story "The Snow hut," written in the world-renowned tradition of Soviet science fiction. Its original basis is a draft by Anatoly Nikolaevich Tarasov (1939-2012), an intelligent, erudite, and literary gifted Soviet citizen.

I have significantly refined my father's original draft and made it appealing to readers of all ages. Now, an inquisitive boy can imagine himself a surveyor in the harsh Arctic, and a high school girl, the mistress of a magical house. Meanwhile, a world-wise pensioner reading on a bench will agree that the world of the chronicled past was different, intriguing, and beautiful! People from the peoples of the Far North will also appreciate the work's national flavor.

The narrative also has a hidden moral and ideological meaning, so if any readers suddenly notice that the Star gods are guided by a socially motivated, communal way of life, I won't argue... In developing the image of the alien ship, I decided to proceed from the assumption that its technical perfection is based on the achievements of a highly moral autocratic society. Similar to what existed in Great Power Tartary and, to some extent, in the USSR. Therefore, Gelyun's feelings suggest a nostalgia for bygone times, a fear of the present, and hope for the future. Much like what a displaced Citizen of the USSR experiences today.

Now about the evil spirit Khargi, the most sinister character in the story! I resurrected him from Evenki folklore for several reasons. Firstly, to imbue the alien supercomputer with unpredictable logic, dangerous to living beings, as a warning to humanity. Secondly, to show the reader the cunning tactics used by pro-government social parasites who are deliberately destroying the Russian Slavic ethnic group. Thirdly, to learn to identify manipulation and not support the emissaries of the occupying religion and the anti-people regime.

Thus, the reader can not only complete this work independently but also learn to enrich the universe with bright images. I wish everyone well and enjoyable reading!

Chapter 1. An Unexpected Acquaintance

This wonderful tale was born during a polar night in the far north of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, but instead of recognition, it was instead thrust by chance into inglorious stagnation. So I had to accept the assertion of senior worker Mavletdin Badretdinov that I spent the two days I've forgotten sitting in a snow hut.

In mid-autumn 1982, my topographic team from the Taimyr Geophysical Expedition was temporarily transferred to the Ikon Seismic Party. Their base was located in the Norilsk tundra, at the confluence of the Mikchangda-Ondodomi and Chopko rivers. We were airlifted there from Dudinka by helicopter. We quickly settled into the expedition complex, started the tractor, and, in accordance with the current order, headed northeast, towards Volochanka.

Every day we laid seismic cables, surveyed the terrain, and compacted the winter road. Following us was the Ikon seismic team, which used directed underground blasts and specialized receiving equipment to locate oil and gas domes in the rock strata for industrial development.

The polar night is a three-month period of twilight and darkness that is psychophysically depressing. Therefore, everyone has to strain themselves to overcome their lethargy: workers, tractor drivers, and especially the surveyors, who depend on light. Nevertheless, from late December to mid-February, we made full use of the daylight hours to meet the state plan on schedule.

On December 23rd, during lunch, the -40°C frost retreated and a warm southwesterly wind blew. So I had to give two orders: "Continue working hard, but we'll see how things go. The pressure drop is storm-like!" "Meet me in the lowland, by the small lake." The guys filed out. I didn't hesitate either. I filled out my log, got dressed, and headed out to the profile, where a backpack full of small items, a theodolite on a tripod, and wide skis dug into the snow crust awaited me.

Driver Lukashenko checked the coupling between the living quarters and the cargo sled, climbed into the tractor, and the frost-covered train pulled away. Then the new cable reel, hanging behind the living quarters on a crossbar and triangular supports, began to creak quietly, as if hinting that the profile wasn't finished.

In two or three days, our preparatory team will reach the forest and move slowly through it, clearing fallen trees and rolling out a winter road. So, being ahead of schedule wouldn't hurt. Especially since the Ikon seismologists are keeping pace and are already preparing for deployment.

The tractor moved along a gentle valley, past flat, weathered hills strewn with small pebbles and boulders. Badretdinov cranked the reel, while surveyor Durov, squinting weakly against the biting headwind, pulled out the seismic cable. Sobolenko was third, driving the geophone tips into the frozen ground and connecting their flexible wires to the cable.

Day after day, the guys sacrificed breaks for warming up and drinking tea, so they moved quickly forward... Consequently, I worked the survey line alone, without assistants, busily conversing with my wristwatch, theodolite, and the tundra.

After writing down the first measurements in my notebook, I stopped working and looked into the distance, trying to discern the outline of the departed column... But to no avail; the snow swirled, obscuring the run. Half an hour later, the blizzard intensified, so I cursed, interrupting my observation: "Damn weather! The surveying poles are no longer visible... I have to run, otherwise I'll be stuck in the snow hut!" In the past, I'd had to wait out a blizzard under a snowdrift—hide in the darkness, shivering from the cold and damp, fighting sleep and poking holes in the snow crust to breathe. It was an unpleasant memory.

Dark pebbles, mixed with grainy snow, swirled around me, then the valley howled menacingly. I folded the theodolite but left the extended tripod in place, intending to finish my observations later. I pocketed the measurement notebook and rushed to catch up with the team, muttering in frustration, "I've been stomping around on the profile for over an hour, and still haven't had any data for calculations. The guys have probably finished their run, collected water from the lake, and are having tea."

Taimyr snow is varied. It can be sticky, powdery, or loose, but most often it's shoveled by numerous winds and turns into a hard, rough crust in the cold. That's why skiers in the tundra don't use poles—their hands are free. A large backpack on their back doesn't hinder movement, and they can carry anything they want: tools, guns, and axes. This isn't a big deal for me, though, as I'm tall and carry a theodolite with a tripod attached to the strap over my right shoulder.

I was walking along a narrowing valley, following a tractor track. Because of the headwind, I had to cover my nose with a mitten and rub my cheeks to prevent frostbite. Suddenly, at the very top of my hearing, someone shouted, "Aaaaaaa!"

I stopped abruptly.

A moment later, something between a cry and a child's moan echoed, coming from somewhere to my right, probably over the hill. Spitting over my left shoulder, I quietly muttered, "What is this? A false northern noise or a call for help? What should I do? We have to look!"

I followed a gentle curve to the top of the hill, avoided a pile of boulders, and instinctively rolled into a ravine... There, unexpectedly, I encountered a young girl from a nomadic tribe, sitting on the hard snow, her right leg outstretched. Upon closer inspection, it turned out she was traveling in fluffy, expertly tailored fur clothing.

Fearlessly staring and sniffling, the girl removed her mitten and began smearing large tears across her cheeks. I leaned over and quietly asked, "What happened? How did you get here?" To my relief, a slightly snub-nosed, round-faced girl spoke in Russian: "I was riding a reindeer! Then it tripped, and I fell into a ravine... For some reason, my leg won't obey me; it hurts! Since you're here, help me up."

Lifting the girl by the arms, I said incredulously, "You came here on a reindeer, how come? There's not a single settlement for thirty miles around! Where are your parents?! A nomadic camp?" However, seeing her start to fall, I scooped her up and offered a practical solution: "I'll take you to the expedition complex and check your leg. If there's a fracture, we'll radio for a helicopter. It's an hour's flight to the city. They'll meet you at the hospital and treat you. If it turns out you only tore ligaments, I'll apply a bandage myself and send you to your parents."

Glancing sideways at the unnatural bump protruding from under her fur boot, I set off without wasting any time, but as we rounded the hill and followed the tractor tracks, the girl began to wail, "No, no, omolgi! I don't need your rumbling cart! Carry me over there, to the snowy knoll!" I glanced in the indicated direction and cursed with displeasure, "Why the hell?! There's nothing there, just bare rocks!" However, the stubborn girl retorted, "There's everything there! A snow hut, a shaman, and food!"

The blizzard intensified. There was no time for argument, so I demanded, "You want to go to that hill? Fine, let's go! But if there's no hut there, the deal remains the same—I'm carrying you to the expedition complex!" The girl nodded in agreement.

Lifting my skis higher and stepping quickly, I ran toward the bristling hill, toward which my stubborn, almost weightless burden gazed hopefully. About ten minutes later I reached its base, put my skis in the “V” position and climbed up. Unfortunately, on its flat summit, carved by ancient glaciers, there were no buildings, save for a few rocks and shapeless boulders propping up the low, dark gray sky!

Panting from the steep climb, I asked discontentedly, "So where's your country resort?!" Instead of answering, the girl pointed to a huge boulder and asked, "Put me next to it." I did, but I clasped my hands tightly around her waist, as the gusts of wind had intensified and could now knock even me, a grown man, down!