Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness - стр. 7
"I like your healthy optimism."
"Who else here can be healthy… Since you like it, take me in with your family."
"And does he know, too," thought Gabriel. – that my son is about to marry his daughter?"
"I'm just kidding! – he was really joking. – Without people like me, people here would die from losing their sense of humor… Really, people like me are almost all catfish here. Don't you think?"
"Our whole column is differentiated by that."
"Here, by the way, is a new anecdote: "A miner asks another, "Who can be considered a coward?" Answer: "He who volunteers for the Maquis." Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. It's true, there's nothing to do here but die: there's nothing to breathe, everything around is exploding, and there's nothing to say about food and water," at the end of the sentence he turned serious and shook his head negatively.
"So is there anything I can help you with?"
"Sure, buddy, sure. Here comes the commander. Talk to him, and I'll go cheer up the people," – Volin retreated and, turning around, rushed towards the locomotive loaded with minerals.
Gora turned his head to the side – the commander of Soma #235, Ivan Dubrovsky (number 547137A2), did not radiate half the optimism of his deputy (a good and effective method in contrasting leadership). As he approached, he reached out and shook his hand, then turned his sad eyes away and mouthed, "Gavriil. I've been looking for you since the beginning of the day. Zhora has probably already told you… and you can see for yourself. Work is just not going well today… Pardon the pun, but that's just the way it is." He sighed heavily: "Gabriel, I hear your team is cleaning twenty-four tons today…"
"Right."
"What the plagues did to those who fulfilled the plan by one-third could be imagined (their norm was 75 percent, for every percentage below that two percent of the soma were punished with five strokes of stones, as the number of strokes increased, the number of strokes reached ten, and the critical level was 25 percent). Ivan's eyes were already filled with impending deaths and the realization that it was not in his power to fix it.
"You shouldn't downplay your abilities. I'm sure your score is between 8 and 10… But it doesn't matter. We'll help you anyway. 14 tons. You can't go any smaller."
"Fourteen?"
"Yes, exactly. That's the most you'll get today. Even if they get all 24." "Mountain… God, you just saved us all."
"You'll thank me later. And not me, but my men. Twenty-seven percent of them to receive five strokes each. There are a total of one hundred and eighty-three men in my team. Twenty-seven percent is fifty men, that's 250 strokes. Of those, mine are only five. What are they worth?"