On the other side of the black hole continued. Read e-books online without registration

Dmitry BERAZINSKY

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BLACK HOLE

The heroic epic of one military unit caught in an unusual environment.

Preface

Once upon a time there lived one man. His very existence on our sinful planet was not something out of the ordinary - millions of people live in exactly the same way, or even worse. He had one strange thing - the poor fellow loved to daydream, although in the fairy tale about Emelya the same symptoms are described quite well; but this man was old enough not to believe in fairy tales.

He thought and thought, and one day a thought flashed through his mind, funny in its originality. A person cannot be one hundred percent worthless - God gave him at least one talent at birth. The main thing is to find this talent. And the search began...

Then he breaks his leg while drunk. A whole month of forced idleness lies ahead. Suddenly he comes up with a plan, or rather, an idea for creating a book; All you need is a blank notebook and a pen...

It should be noted that in some places the handle fully justified its name, but in others it was heavy, as if someone had tied a pound weight to it...

This is how this book was born. The book, in my opinion, turned out to be not quite standard. Usually, any literary work consists of an introduction, climax and denouement, but I ended up with a kind of chronicle - a description of several years in the life of a certain society, pulled out of our time and thrown into another world. This world is in some places worse, in some places better than the old woman of the Earth, but, on the whole, society adapts to it to the best of its ability.

The comicality of the situation is that the above-mentioned society consists of military people, that is, in some ways adults, and in others - bitter children, representing the world as a set of official duties, women and a huge sea of ​​forty degrees. Half of the curiosities described are taken from life, but maybe I lied a little.

The result was a conglomerate, the funniest assessment of which I received from time immemorial.

“Reading your book, I drowned in the bathtub,” Archimedes radioed me from the other world with an intricate sequence of dots and dashes.

Who will shout “Eureka”? - I was scared.

So you scream,” advised the ancient scientist.

So I scream.

A black hole is a place where the classical concept of space and time collapses as well as all known laws of physics, since they are all formulated on the basis of classical space-time.

Stephen Hawking

According to one hypothesis, black holes are gates to parallel worlds, and no one has yet proven otherwise.

“Revelations of Saint Forkop. P1.CH1"

May 14, 1999, Saturday, three o'clock in the afternoon. Closed base "Bobruisk - 13". Guardhouse. A frowning commander, senior warrant officer Shevenko, sits in a chair on wheels in front of a Pentium-II computer and wiggles his wheaten eyebrows thoughtfully. For fifteen years now he has been racking his prematurely bald head over a trivial question: what good can be stolen from this base? I'm too lazy, otherwise I could sell a couple of secrets to the West, or even better, to the East.

Drag nach Osten! - Vladimir Ivanovich confirmed, smashing another monster from Unreal Tournament into dust.

The crisis is pressing, and pressing in earnest. There is no money, and there is no sign of it. The family just wants to eat. The “surname” got used to three meals a day... Miss! Let's change weapons...

You should run to Shura Lyutikov’s food warehouse... Shura is a well-known good-natured person, he’ll probably give you a couple of cans of salmon - for once, it’s okay to have dinner at home! Although it’s not ninety-two in the yard, there are plenty of unresolved problems.

It’s good that Shevenko has only one child, he’s a fool! He graduated from graduate school, defended his candidate's thesis, and now sits on his father's neck - he can't find a job. Maybe you won’t find it... Taperich’s work is missing! No job! If you drink a glass and look, there is nothing! But most importantly, there is no normal life! I wish I could take a mouthful of shit and spit on the whole wide world!

Only here, in the guardhouse, can you relax... Soldier's rations, although they have no civilian taste, and there is one reactive sin behind it, but you can still eat them with your eyes closed - it's filling!

Vladimir Ivanovich again switched to thoughts about his family and his place under the luminary. Although there are three stars on the shoulder straps, they are mini size... And they are located rather stupidly: either the mummy of a colonel general, or the Imperial cognac... Oh, by the way, about “Imperial”! Heartburn from it is first class! Even though life apart from heartburn is worthless! Having taken a glass of disgusting brandy, Shevenko winced and once again told the bitter truth in his ear: “Vovka, life is not a success! Well, to hell with it! Let's hit the road!

Your health, virtual creatures! Now we will spoil it for you!

It was not the same constellation that ordinary Volodya Shevenko imagined twenty-five years ago. But man posits, but the Lord disposes. Apparently, at that moment the Lord was not in the mood for the young newcomer...

And in general, this gentleman is pretty much mocking the Slavs. What is it for? Did Pontius Pilate’s mother really sin with the Great Russian?

The only thing in which the forty-five-year-old warrant officer was lucky was serving on the “Last Stronghold of Socialism” - a remnant of the Cold War and a “rag from the Iron Curtain.” Base "Bobruisk-13". The mother is the nurse and the father is the watcher. By the way, the curator of the base, General Trushchenkov, was often present at

INFORMATION ABOUT THE BOOK

On the other side of the black hole - Dmitry Berazinsky

On the other side of the black hole

Owner: library fund

Book format: FB2

File size: 366.99 kb

Added to the library database: 15.08.2012

For unknown reasons, gigantic military base, equipped with last word science and technology, is transferred to... To the deep Middle Ages? That would be nothing! INTO THE PARALLEL DEAF Middle Ages!

So what should we do? Live small! Marry local peasant women and princesses, teach local residents to the benefits of civilization in the form of vodka, potatoes, cell phones and bulletproof vests, enter into diplomatic alliances, fight... and just BRING PROGRESS!

In the end, guys who can survive in OUR ARMY will certainly survive in the Middle Ages!

ⓘ To start reading “Beyond the Black Hole” online using our cloud e-book reader, simply click the “read online” button. The reader with the text will open in a separate window.

☷ Long before Istmat
☷ Overclocking course for machine milking operators.
☷ A path full of courage

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What do people dream about behind the Black Hole?

And there was a sleepless night from 1999 to 2000, and the first world was born, on the other side of the Black Hole. And Saint Forkop saw this and told me that it was good. And he demanded a continuation. And the sequel was almost ready - only two hundred pages remained to be completed. Naturally, out of two hundred and sixty planned.

Quite unexpectedly for the author, the pieces of the virtual mosaic came together only towards the end of the book. All parts of the Three Worlds and great amount people, some of whom flit back and forth and solve numerous problems, sometimes guided not at all by the laws of humanity and philanthropy.

In the process of creating the book, the author became so crazy that he still has a very rough idea of ​​which of the three worlds he is in. And he hopes, by the way, that this state will last as long as possible. Let time be endless, and space always leave the necessary six feet under the keel - the personality who breathed life into this opera needs nothing more.

Now regarding some questions and wishes expressed by various readers after the first part.

My question cousin, a very intelligent, respectable and married lady.

Why do they drink alcohol and talk about women all the time?

Because, Svetik, they are military people. During the two years that I devoted my time to the Armed Forces, I never saw officers play chess. I didn’t see them in the library (and I spent a lot of time there) either. But no matter how you open the door to my platoon commander’s office, the stench of fumes and the screams of the staff ladies can be heard from there. I may even have used anti-grotesque means. There is much less vodka and women in “Beyond the Black Hole” than there actually was.

Question regarding the language of the story. Too modern.

Katya, modern literary Russian language took shape only at the beginning of the eighteenth century. At least this is what I read from credible sources. I don’t understand at all why one should use stylistic tricks and delights of the thirteenth century in an action-packed and humorous novel. In this case, the interlinear text will take half useful place books.

Question regarding the structure of phrases and dialogues.

Fedor, I’ll build it as best I can. Most people like it. Classic way I don’t like the construction of dialogues due to the lack of dynamics. Time now flows faster than the heroes of Tolstoy and Gogol, and therefore the dialogues are appropriate.

And one last question about what happens next.

Seryoga, be patient. If the publisher misses this work, you will soon find out everything yourself. And even further... I’ll tell you a secret that I don’t really know myself. Hm!

The legend continues...

Scheherazade, shut up for a minute!

Do you want me to tell you a fresh joke?

One thousand two night

1938. Earth

IN big city autumn was dying. The last leaves, not yet picked up by schoolchildren in some places, remained in parks and squares, but their fate was decided. Next weekend they will definitely be swept into heaps, loaded onto a semi-truck and taken out of town - to a landfill. IN Lately At night there was a light nasty rain, but yesterday the first snow graced the Moscow pavements with its presence and set the wipers to work. Although it could be a stretch to call it work – it was more like light training for the future. A timid frost bound small puddles on the roadway, and buses equipped with weak engines cautiously approached stops.

Every now and then the drivers could be heard shouting: “Come on, they pushed me!” – calling on passengers to take part in the burning clutch. People got off the frozen box of the bus reluctantly - it is not a fact that, having demonstrated civic consciousness, you will leave on the same route, but the transport was gradually moving, the pavement was thawing, and the dawn was reluctantly breaking over the city.

It was dawn, and at one of the stops an outside observer might notice a strange picture. It didn’t matter which route approached the stop, people, without looking back, jumped on the bandwagon smoothly and quickly, as if trying to quickly leave this damned place. At the next stop, half of them got off and only there the bus they needed was waiting. On the contrary, on the other side of the street, gloomy gray individuals with head-over-heels, diamonds and sleepers in their buttonholes emerged from the approaching buses and, without looking at anyone, crossed the street, rushing in thin streams to the gates and gates of a dark gray building surrounded by a high fence.

The street was called Lubyanka, and the gray building was called the People's Commissariat of Internal Affairs, headed by Comrade Yezhov, the successor of Genrikh Yagoda.

Cell number seventeen, designed for eighteen people, was almost empty - only ten prisoners. Such a small number of this worthy room, which had seen times when hundreds of prisoners were crammed into it, was apparently explained by the flow of the next “wave” of victims of spy mania - a week ago the last catch was sealed with the formidable fifty-sixth article and sent “to places of serving their sentences” .

The cell was located on the first floor, and through the barred window one could see how the first snow was melting, leaving behind dark spots on the ground that had prepared for everything. Flies were dying on the long-unwashed glass, from nowhere they had found themselves in the position of “political”.

The two-hundred-watt light bulb, which was turned on for preventive purposes at night, went out. You could hear the morning henchman stomping along the corridor - the night ones had felt-lined soles to sneak up on the peephole unnoticed. The cell duty officer approached the feeding trough, knowing from experience that they would soon give us the morning ration - a loaf of bread and a kettle of boiling water for ten. By this moment, everyone tried to use the services of the bucket, because visiting it after breakfast was considered extremely bad form. All nine prisoners sat on their bunks made of planed boards and, turning their skinny necks, all looked at one point - at the feeding trough. Hunger was a constant companion for these unfortunates, but they learned to cope with it: any conversations on the topic of food were nipped in the bud, and some concepts were generally under an unspoken ban.

Finally, the feeder door clanged dully. The attendant deftly took the ration from the distributor's hands and placed it on the table. The feeder did not close. Instead, the metallic voice behind the door called for the attendant to come again. He, quite surprised, came up, took something from the feeder and, extremely surprised, returned to the table.

- Strange thing, comrades! - he said. – It is not clear for what reason, the administration granted us a head of sugar.

A friendly, joyful hum was his answer. Amid cheers, the man on duty began to divide the bread with a thread and carefully break the sugar. Then there was silence for ten minutes - the prisoners enjoyed the “meal”, which in its speed could bring tears to any fasting monk. But everything beautiful comes to an end sooner or later. No matter how you stretch a hundred grams of bread and a mug of boiling water, you won’t be able to stretch it out for eternity.

Once again the door window clanged, and the face of the warden appeared in it.

- Confused! For interrogation! – he said, minting words like copper coins.

A man with the last name Pereplut quickly jumped up and walked to the door.

- Come out! – the warden repeated.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Pereplut obediently stepped into the corridor. Two “archangels” were already standing there with weapons at the ready, ready any at the cost of preventing the intended escape. The prisoner obediently pulled his head into his shoulders and walked into the investigator’s office, which was located on the ground floor, or, more simply, in the basement. Thin and lanky, he resembled a giraffe at the zoo - the same haunted look in his eyes and longing for will.

It’s good that Shevenko has only one child, he’s a fool! He graduated from graduate school, defended his candidate's thesis, and now sits on his father's neck - he can't find a job. Maybe you won’t find it... Taperich’s work is missing! No job! If you drink a glass and look, there is nothing! But most importantly, there is no normal life! I wish I could take a mouthful of shit and spit on the whole wide world!

Only here, in the guardhouse, can you relax... Soldier's rations, although they have no civilian taste, and there is one reactive sin behind it, but you can still eat them with your eyes closed - it's filling!

Vladimir Ivanovich again switched to thoughts about his family and his place under the luminary. Although there are three stars on the shoulder straps, they are mini size... And they are located rather stupidly: either the mummy of a colonel general, or the Imperial cognac... Oh, by the way, about “Imperial”! Heartburn from it is first class! Even though life apart from heartburn is worthless! Having taken a glass of disgusting brandy, Shevenko winced and once again told the bitter truth in his ear: “Vovka, life is not a success! Well, to hell with it! Let's hit the road!

Your health, virtual creatures! Now we will spoil it for you!

It was not the same constellation that ordinary Volodya Shevenko imagined twenty-five years ago. But man posits, but the Lord disposes. Apparently, at that moment the Lord was not in the mood for the young newcomer...

And in general, this gentleman is pretty much mocking the Slavs. What is it for? Did Pontius Pilate’s mother really sin with the Great Russian?

The only thing in which the forty-five-year-old warrant officer was lucky was serving on the “Last Stronghold of Socialism” - a remnant of the Cold War and a “rag from the Iron Curtain.” Base "Bobruisk-13". The mother is the nurse and the father is the watcher. By the way, the curator of the base, General Trushchenkov, often attended five-hour briefing meetings and each time remarked displeasedly:

We gorged ourselves, you know, on government grub!

The general’s face was much wider than that of the head of the food service...

The Russian Ministry of Defense considered the Bobruisk-13 base its western fort post and often helped financially, although its own soldiers would most likely consider this unnecessary. But, as usual, there will always be money for such a thing. After all, even Peter the Great loved to say: “I don’t have money, but I’ll give it to you!”

The angry grinding of the hard drive interrupted the good thoughts of the commander, and he looked at the monitor. The 15-inch "Gold Star" displayed a bearded face with bloodshot eyes. “I’ve reached the main monster,” the senior warrant officer thought dazedly, but then Sound Blaster filled his ears with a loud roar. Suddenly everything went quiet, and “William must die” remained on the monitor, in the left corner and in yellow.

After about five seconds, the computer kindly allowed us to turn off the power, which Shevenko was relieved about. He had already picked up the phone of the black Siemens to call the eagles from Captain Seledtsov’s hacker support platoon, but quickly put it down, because he suddenly heard the patter of feet running along the guardhouse corridor. The pomnachkar, Sergeant Kimarin, flew into the nachkar's room without knocking.

Comrade senior warrant officer! Vladimir Ivanovich! - the sergeant’s face was whiter than snow, “what the hell is going on on the street!” Exercises, maybe some started or alarm?

What a damn worry! - exclaimed the chief, - they warn about the alarm at least half an hour in advance!

Shevenko grabbed the cap lying on the console, put it on on one side, and, tilting ninety degrees from the plane of the headdress, ran down the corridor.

Your mother! - he whistled, running out into the street, - no way, the Lord is in command of the teachings!

Lightning flashes were dancing in full swing in the sky, there was a strong smell of ozone and some other nasty stuff from Shevenko’s very first childhood memories. After about five minutes, the sky became its normal color, but diluted with an unexpected monochromatic turquoise, and the smell of ozone disappeared. Grace has arrived.

God, bless ya!!! - said Vladimir Ivanovich, taking off his cap. At school he studied Spanish.

The distant howl of the sentries on the towers reached the ears of those present. It made him feel kind of creepy. Knocking over the crowded soldiers as he walked, the commander rushed back and, grabbing the phone, sent a call to post No. 1. The phone was not picked up for a long time. Shevenko was already cursing and wanted to run to the post, but a light click announced that contact had taken place, and the snoring in the tube confirmed the presence of a viable organism on the tower.

Your fucking mother!!! - the senior warrant officer yelled into the phone, - why the hell did you put on this performance, Fedorchuk?