Self-discovery

May 3 0. It's interesting to think about: I was doing thirty — five, my usual town speed and that idiot in the green Moskvich was blocking the highway — his speed in relation to the highway was zero. And his speed across the road wasn't much faster, either. He drove as if he were driving a tractor. Who lets jackasses like that drive? If you're crossing the highway against all the rules, then do it fast! But he would drive a yard, then stop. By the time I realized the Moskvich was blocking my way, I didn't even have time to brake.

Victor Kravets, who went out there to pick up the remains of the motorcycle, still shakes his head over it:

“You were lucky. I can't believe it! If you had been doing forty — five, I would be making a memorial stone out of the remains and writing on the license plate, Here lies Krivoshein, engineer and motorcyclist! “

Yes, but if I had been doing forty — five, I wouldn't have crashed into him!

It's interesting what circumstances come into play in a fatal accident. If I hadn't stopped in the woods for a smoke and listened to the cuckoo (“Cuckoo, cuckoo, how many years will I live?” — it cuckooed at least fifty years), if I had taken two or three turns a little faster or slower — our paths wouldn't have crossed. But this way — on a straight flat road in excellent visibility — I plowed into the only car in my path!

The only thing I had time to think was “Cuckoo, cuckoo, how long will I live?” as I flew over the bike.

I got up myself. The Moskvich's side was bashed in. The frightened driver was wiping blood from his unshaven face. I had broken the windshield with my elbow. Served him right, the jerk! My poor bike was on the road. It was much shorter now. The headlight, front wheel, axle, and frame and tank were smashed, squashed, destroyed.

So I went from seventeen yards per second to zero in one yard. And my body experienced fifteen g's. Ouch!

The human body is an excellent machine! In less than a tenth of a second my body had time to adjust to the best position for taking the crash: elbow and shoulder first. And Valery tried to prove that man had nothing on technology! No one's proved that yet! If you translate the damage done to the motorcycle into human terms, it lost its head, broke its front extremities, chest, and spine. It was such a good bike; it loved speed.

Of course, my right shoulder and chest took more of a beating. It's hard to lift my right arm. I guess I broke some ribs.

Well, it's for the best. Now I'll have something to repair in the liquid circuit of the computer — womb. And not external, but inside my body. In that sense, the Moskvich was very handy. All for science.

Chapter 23

“Write out a pass for taking out a body.” “Where's the body?” “Coming up.” (Shoots himself.) “Fine! But who's going to carry it?”

— A legend from Singapore

Policeman Gayevoy was sitting in the duty room, suffering from love and writing a letter on a complaint form. “Hello, Valya! This is Aleksandr Gayevoy writing to you. I don't know if you remember me or not, but I can't forget how you looked at me near the dance floor with the help of your black and beautiful eyes. The moon was big and concentric. Dear Valya! Come to T. Shevchenko Park tomorrow night. I'll be on duty there until twenty — four hundred — “

Onisimov came in, his eyebrows furrowed into a strict look. Gayevoy jumped up, dropping his chair, and blushed.

“Has Kravets been taken care of?”

“Yes sir, comrade captain! He was brought in at nine — thirty in accordance with your orders. He's in a cell.”

“Take me there.”

Victor Kravets was sitting in a small, high — ceilinged room on a bench, smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke into a sunbeam that came through the barred window. There was a three — day stubble on his cheeks. He squinted at the men as they entered, but didn't turn his head.

“You should get up, like you're supposed to,” Gayevoy said in reproach.

“I don't consider myself a convict!”

“And you aren't, comrade Victor Vitalyevich Kravets,” Onisimov said calmly. “You were detained for questioning. Now the situation is becoming clear, and I don't feel it is necessary to keep you under guard any longer. We'll call you if we need you. So, you're free.”

Kravets stood up, giving the investigator a suspicious look. Onisimov's thin lips jerked into a short smile.

“A high forehead, granite jaw, well — shaped nose. dark curls framed his handsome, round, melon — shaped head. Krivoshein the Original had very provincial ideas of male handsomeness. But, that's understandable. (Kravets's eyes bulged.) Where's the motorcycle?”

“Wh — what motorcycle?”

“License plate number 21–11 DNA. Being repaired?”

“In… in the shed.”

“All right. By the way,” Onisimov's eyes narrowed angrily, “you should have sent the telegram before the experiment. Before, not after!”

Kravets didn't know whether he was alive or not.