Lab.” and left the office. The dark trees of the institute grounds were waist — deep in fog. The transformers of the substation stood with their oil — cooling pipes akimbo, looking like shapeless old women. The old institute building hovered in the distance like a washed — out snowbank against the graying sky. It had heavy balconies and ornate towers. To the left, the parallelepiped of the new research department tried vainly to block out the early June dawn.

Zhora glanced at his watch (it was 4:10), lit a cigarette, and scattering the fog with his bag, headed right, into the far corner of the park where the New Systems Lab was located, housed in a small lodge. At 4:30, in answer to electrician Prakhov's call, two cars appeared on the scene: an ambulance and a squad car of the Dneprovsk City Police.

The tall, thin man in the light suit strode through the park, disregarding the paved paths. His shoes left dark prints on the dew — gray grass. A light breeze ruffled his thinning gray hair. A blindingly pink and yellow sunrise filled the space between the old and new buildings; birds chattered in the trees. But Arkady Arkadievich Azarov had no time for all that.

“Something happened in the New Systems Lab, comrade director,” a dry voice had informed him over the phone a few minutes earlier. “There were victims. Please come.”

Being wakened too early gave Azarov neurasthenia; his body seemed stuffed with cotton, his head empty, and life terrible. “Something happened in the lab…. Please come…. It must have been a cop.” This ran through his mind instead of thoughts.” 'There were victims…. What a ridiculous word! Who were the victims? And of what? Killed, wounded, trousers burned? What? Looks serious. Again! There was that student who got under the gamma rays to speed up the experiment, and then there was… the second incident in six months. But Krivoshein is not a student; he's experienced. What could have happened? They were working at night, and got tired, and… I'll have to put a stop to night work! Absolutely!”