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TALES FROMTHE FUTURE
“This is a big missile, and it has fifty-six small missiles on its hull. The big
missile flies up at someone’s command and heads for the indicated point in
order to destroy everything living at that point. This missile is also very hard
to knock down. If any object gets close to it, its onboard computer starts
working and one of the small missiles separates from the hull and destroys
the object.
“The little rocket’s speed is greater than the big one’s, since it uses at the
start the inertia of the big one. In order to knock down just one such mon-
ster, you have to send fifty-seven missiles against it. In the country that
manufactured this so-called cassette missile, there are still only three proto-
types so far. They’re carefully hidden in different places, in mines deep un-
derground, but on a command transmitted by radio waves, they can soar up.
A small group of terrorists is already blackmailing several countries, threat-
ening them with major devastation. I’m supposed to figure out the program
of the cassette missile’s onboard computer, Dashenka.”
Ivan Nikiforovich stood up and started pacing around the room. He con-
tinued speaking quickly, plunging more and more into his thoughts about
the program, as if forgetting about his daughter standing by the computer.
Ivan Nikiforovich walked over quickly to the monitor where the external
view of the missile was depicted and clicked the keyboard—and on the
screen appeared the scheme for the missile complex’s fuel line, then the
scheme of the locator installations, and then the overall view again. As he
changed the image, Ivan Nikiforovich was no longer paying attention to his
little girl. He was reasoning out loud:
“They’ve obviously equipped each segment with a location device. Yes, of
course, each one. But the program can’t be different. The program is
identical. . . .
Suddenly the computer next to that one sounded an alarm, demanding
immediate attention. Ivan Nikiforovich turned toward the monitor of the
computer standing next to him and fell still. A text message was flashing on
the monitor over and over, with the following content: “Alarm X,” “Alarm
X.” Ivan Nikiforovich quickly clicked the keyboard and on screen appeared
the image of a man in military uniform.
