Warning FBI!!! The reading of everything below may be harmful to the mental health of certain human individuals who have not reached the biological age of 16 full orbital cycles of the Sun-3. Do not escape from this text!!!
As the attentive reader has probably already noticed, we have yet another new section with a completely disconcerting title "POGUPMIM". We will try, without delving into subtle philosophical discussions about the meaning of existence, a special immaterial substance mistakenly called "soul" in some religions, processes of cognition, thinking, etc., to clarify such a convoluted title of the section.
In a certain kingdom, the Soviet state, there lived a fantastic novel-duology by Sergey Pavlov "Lunar Rainbow", telling about the exploration by earthlings of one of the areas of the Far Beyond - the vicinity of the planet Uranus by the crew of the ship "Lunar Rainbow". An anomalous zone was found on the fifth satellite of Uranus - Oberon, which was named the Gurm-phenomenon zone. Any person who came into contact with this zone gained completely inhuman abilities, became a superhuman, but also an outcast in the eyes of "ordinary earthlings". And who could have thought then that people marked by the Gurm-phenomenon would open a new era - the era of interstellar flights.
Thus, the word "norypmum" means quite simply - interaction with the Gurm-phenomenon, which in turn means acquaintance with superhumans, which in turn... In short, this is... HUMOR, or rather PARODIES on well-known works, characters, people.
In our first encounter with the unknown, we offer you to get acquainted with the previously unknown side of the life of the famous Soviet spy M. M. (A.) Isaev, also known as Standartenführer Von Stirlitz. This time the Russian spy saves Great and Mighty Russia from the violation of the Technical Balance. Also, in the text we will find strong evidence that during the Great Patriotic War, the USSR already had a supercomputer "MIKROSH"! ... The author of the original text of this work is unknown to us. Moreover, the text that came into our hands was somewhat damaged (floating bits, phases of Oberon and the Moon, etc.). Therefore, M.M.A., who prepared the text, took it upon himself to make some changes to the plot line.....
So, meet Standartenführer Von Stirlitz!!!
==========================================
NINETEENTH TICK OF SPRING
P R E F A C E
Stirlitz was walking in the VC and the process of formatting the hard drive was ongoing. Joseph Vissarionovich turned away from the monitor and asked:
- Comrade Zhukov, have you not been infected yet?
- No, Comrade Stalin.
- Then give me the last AIDSTEST.
Zhukov sighed obediently, took a box of diskettes from his right pocket, and handed it to Stalin.
Crushing several diskettes into the tube, the commander-in-chief thoughtfully lit a cigarette from the proffered KC. After ten minutes he asked:
- So how are things at the "Mitinsky" market?
- They're trading, - Zhukov simply replied.
- And how is Comrade A. Isaev feeling?
- He is having a hard time, - Zhukov said sadly.
- That's good, - Stalin said. - I have a new assignment for him...
And in the VC, Stirlitz was walking and the process of formatting the hard drive was ongoing.
CHAPTER 1
The low blackened ceiling of the VC "Three Programmers" was almost black from diskettes, the walls were covered with scenes from the famous fairy tale after which the VC was named. They played not very well in the VC, programmed even worse, but this did not scare away its regulars. What scared them was something else. Recently, Standartenführer SS Von Stirlitz had taken to peeking into the VC.
And now he was sitting at the far terminal, which was cluttered with computers for seven, and printers for eight. Stirlitz was alone and waiting for no one. Sometimes he became bored, he pulled out a disk drive from his pocket with the inscription "To Programmer Isaev for liberating the Far East from Felix Edmundovich Dzerzhinsky" and with the precision of a true system programmer, formatted the cockroaches lurking in the corners.
- What a mess here! - he shouted. - A disaster!
And indeed, there was a disaster in the VC.
The floor was soaked with cheap toner, spat on, and littered with diskettes. It created the impression that everyone considered it their duty, if not to bestow the floor with BAD BLOCKs, then at least to spit or spill something. Now and then, stepping through the puddles and swearing, programmers passed by. At the next table, four SS men were crudely bothering a pretty lab assistant. She liked it, and she giggled foolishly. In the corner, a played-out non-commissioned officer lay with his face buried in a VGA monitor, without diskettes but with a cartridge. Sometimes he would start to stir discontentedly and make loud obscene noises. Two front-line soldiers, playing TETRIS at the counter, quietly discussed events at the Kursk exchange. A young programmer in the company of two girls of dubious appearance loudly bragged about how great he was and how well he played Crystal Caves.
Stirlitz typed a large piece of code, poked his finger into a roll of paper, and with a keen gaze surveyed the surrounding reality of decaying Germany, occasionally lingering his gaze on some outstanding details of the lab assistants bustling between the tables.
- What bastards these SysOps are, - unexpectedly said the young programmer. - I would put them all through one and delete them one by one.
Silence fell in the room. Everyone looked at Stirlitz. Stirlitz spat out a piece of paper, stood up, and, knocking over three tables, marched up to the unruly programmer.
- You pig user, - he spat and slapped him.
- I'm sorry, I don't 
quite understand... - 
the stunned 
programmer stammered.
Stirlitz lost his temper, 
and, grabbing a printer, 
brought it down on the head of the 
unfortunate user. He fell, and 
Stirlitz began to kick him viciously.
- I, Russian programmer Isaev, will not allow a filthy user dog to insult a Russian SysOp!
The four SS men rushed to separate the fighting. The amused Stirlitz was pulled away from the groaning programmer, and to calm him down, they suggested to drink to Pascal, to Assembler.
- Yes, - Stirlitz said, calming down a bit. He drank a mug of toner, the red SS man readily poured a second, Stirlitz drank again, the programmer became uninteresting to him.
- How can you, - whispered one of the system guys to the crying programmer, - in the presence of Stirlitz say such things about SysOps, and even in such expressions! I would have thrown you out by MAGIC.
- Stirlitz is a kind soul, - sighed the second front-line soldier, - I remember, three days ago they were beating a Japanese virus writer here, everyone was kicking him, but Stirlitz did not.
- A very kind man, - confirmed the first system guy, and they took the programmer out into the fresh air.
Stirlitz, embracing the SS men, sang loudly "Basic Soldiers".
The played-out non-commissioned officer raised his head from the salad, glanced around the hall with a murky gaze, and enthusiastically shouted:
- Long live PL/I!
The whole hall jumped up, raising their hands, the walls trembled from the answering roar:
- Hooray!!!
And Stirlitz was already asleep, dreaming of monitors, Russian 486s and 586s, dreaming of naked girls from GIF pictures, while he peeked at them from under the table.
Right now he is sleeping, but in exactly half an hour he will wake up to continue his hard, necessary work for the Motherland.
CHAPTER 2.
In Müller's office stood a safe, in which Müller kept files of all Reich employees. He often lovingly delved into his safe for the next file, to replenish it, restore Lost Clusters, simply read or print. But the last rarely happened, for Müller, as a true collector, did not like to part with the files of his wards. Safes with files were almost all Reich employees, except for Stirlitz, but no one had such an extensive collection of works, not even Kaltenbrunner himself. This was a small and innocent hobby of the Gestapo chief. In his collection were Wirth, Kernighan and Ritchie, Kloksin and Melish, Knuth, Bormann, Stirlitz, and even Kaltenbrunner himself.
Obergruppenführersat at the monitor and 
pressed the PgDn button. 
The screen scrolled through 
Bormann's file, it was 
one of the largest files in his safe. Müller was whistling THE ARIA of Mephistopheles 
from Faust and, pressingF7, and s c a l loved lines.
Party comrade Bormann was a small virus writer. If Bormann could not write some virus, he considered the day lived to be wasted. If, however, he managed to mess something up, Bormann would fall asleep peacefully, with a good, happy smile on his face. Bormann's favorite diskette, which lay in his office, was infected with all types of viruses, and therefore everyone had to go to Bormann only with sealed disks. Müller, who had no seals, suffered greatly because of this. Once he had the imprudence to bring Bormann Space Quest and was maliciously infected by Dir. The diskette had to be formatted. Since then, they had become the worst enemies.
Bormann loved to put buttons on chairs, draw the word "Basic" in chalk on the backs of officers, and stretch complex systems of strings in dark corridors, tripping over which the unfortunate victim would at best fall or spill toner on themselves, and at worst - get hit on the head by a laser printer. Bormann especially loved water closets. What programs he did not write on the doors and walls, and sometimes he would redraw indecent pictures from GIFs. Under one such picture he signed "this is Eva Braun". The Führer was offended and ordered him, Bormann, to find out who did this. For two months, everyone in the Reich crawled before Bormann, and Stirlitz even invented a version to shield himself from suspicion that it was done by a Chinese virus writer. In the end, Admiral Canaris suffered, who carelessly won Bormann's new lab assistant in preference. Lab assistants were Bormann's second passion. He would constantly fire one and hire another, swap lab assistants with Himmler, Schellenberg, ask Müller to gift him a lab assistant, but Müller refused. Bormann was not liked in the Reich, but he was feared. Who likes to see their name on the wall of a toilet?
Bormann was fat, bald, and vengeful. And Bormann was busy with business at that time. With a finger stained with toner, he painted on the toilet door the inscription: "STIRLITZ - A PIG AND A RUSSIAN SYSOP". Satisfied, Bormann tugged at the string and left. He carefully formatted the disks and, feeling a sense of duty fulfilled, headed to his office. The day promised to be successful. In Bormann's office, he opened a safe locked with seven secret locks and stuck his head inside. Yesterday he hung a sign in the safe in Russian: "Russian SysOps are forbidden to look!" Someone corrected the mistakes in red toner and signed: "Bormann is a fool". Bormann took out a Russian-German dictionary, translated, and logically thought: "Someone corrected the mistakes... which means someone got into the safe... it wasn't me... so it was the Russian SysOp... and on top of that, he personally knows Bormann. Therefore, I also know him." Bormann pondered for a long time. Half an hour later, he decided to look for fingerprints. Another half hour later, he found them. Apparently, the Russian spy had eaten the paper. The spool from the roll was right there in the safe. "There is a touch of Stirlitz here. Interesting, what would Kaltenbrunner say?" Bormann sighed. It was not worth contacting Stirlitz, it was the same as coming up with something, and you would end up being at fault. Everyone knew this. Bormann sighed again and took out Pastor Schlag's file from the safe. He had been following the pastor for a long time and with interest. This man had an extensive female clientele. The pastor chased after any women: old and young, beautiful and not so much, system girls and programmers and vice versa, and the women reciprocated, which greatly surprised and even angered Bormann, who was not liked by women.
"Why does one man need so many women? I would understand if they were, firstly, lab assistants, secondly, mine, but like this... Probably, he works for someone's BBS. Most likely, it's not our BBS. Therefore, foreign. - Bormann raised a finger. - He needs to be checked..."
And Bormann, calling Eisman, gave the order. With a strong kick, the door swung open, and a gloomy and sleepy Stirlitz entered the office.
- Bormann! Give me AIDSTEST!
"Stirlitz has an old AIDSTEST, - thought Bormann, handing over the diskette box with the Führer's profile, - which means he has written a lot. A lot is written when one thinks, which means he has thought a lot. Stirlitz does not think for no reason, which means he is up to something."
And Bormann looked into Stirlitz's honest eyes.
- How are things?
- Bad.
"I'm right as always! - Bormann rejoiced. - Something is definitely up! I need to check him."
- Would you like some methyl alcohol?
- No, - Stirlitz flinched. - Better toner.
Bormann pressed a button, and a lab assistant entered. Stirlitz had not seen her before.
- New?
- Yes, - Bormann boasted.
- Not bad, - Stirlitz approved.
- I like her too, - said flattered Bormann.
- Bring toner, dear. - At your service, party comrade. The lab assistant brought the toner and stood waiting for further orders.
- You can go, - Bormann waved his hand. The lab assistant, disappointedly swaying her hips, left. Stirlitz tore his gaze from the door and took the mug with toner.
- Sit down, - Bormann offered, pulling out a chair. Stirlitz, with a habitual gesture, brushed the buttons off the chair and sat down.
"I noticed, - Bormann thought venomously, you won't catch Stirlitz with buttons. The hand of Moscow is felt." Stirlitz's eyes turned green.
- Good toner, - he said.
"He is being secretive, the bastard. He wants to deceive. No, brother Isaev, you have picked the wrong one. What if I play a trick on him? What if I subtly hint that he is of interest to Peter Norton?"
- Stirlitz! You are of interest to Peter Norton! - Bormann exclaimed.
Stirlitz choked. He had only met Norton once, and that was at a reception with the Führer. Stirlitz had a high opinion of himself as a systems guy, but this thought had never crossed his mind.
"Norton could become a valuable agent. I need to request the center."
Stirlitz stood up and blew his nose into the curtain.
"Will he bite or not?" - thought Bormann.
Stirlitz looked out the window.
- What disks this kitten has! - he said in verse, - Look, Bormann.
Bormann took a Zeiss binoculars out of the drawer and walked over to Stirlitz. They were silent for a minute. During this time, Stirlitz had time to think over Bormann's words, while Bormann realized that Stirlitz was distracting him.
"He is leading me by the nose," - thought Bormann and skillfully shifted the conversation in another direction.
- Listen, Stirlitz, you have such extensive connections. Could you get a small virus with stealth protection?
- I can.
"This one can do everything," - thought Bormann.
Stirlitz often promised something to Bormann, as he did to everyone else, but never did anything.
Stirlitz snatched a couple of diskettes from Bormann, mechanically shoved the streamer tape lying on the table under his arm, and headed for the exit.
Bormann rushed to the computer and sharply opened the top disk drive. Near the door, ten centimeters off the floor, a printer ribbon was stretched. Stirlitz jumped over it sharply and, saying "Goodbye," disappeared through the door.
"Professional!" - Bormann groaned.
Yes, Stirlitz was a professional. He did not tear the streamer tape in the display room, as an English or Paraguayan SysOp would have done, but chose the most secluded place in the Reich.
Entering the water closet, Stirlitz discovered a fresh inscription "STIRLITZ - A PIG AND A RUSSIAN SYSOP". Stirlitz carefully crossed out the word "SYSOP" and wrote the word "PROGRAMMER". And below he added "BORMANN IS ALSO A PIG".
Here he also reviewed the tape with Pastor Schlag's file. In his head, an unclear, but already forming plan began to take shape.
CHAPTER 3
When Eisman woke him up, it was already the end of the working day. Stirlitz went outside, pulled out a pack of diskettes, and mockingly showed it to the guard. Marching in step, a company of SS men passed by, an armored personnel carrier drove by, splashing Stirlitz with water.
"Bastards," - thought Stirlitz, they have played and are driving away. You should be sent to the market to feed the lice..." At the word "feed," Stirlitz felt like paper. He shoved the pack of diskettes back into his pocket. Spitting twice at his feet, he decided to go to someone else's VC.
Walking through the evening Berlin, Stirlitz thought about various unpleasant things. First of all, he was running out of space on the hard drive, and he had to compress everything. Secondly, it was interesting what other commands he might receive from Norton, and would the center allow contact. And finally, Stirlitz's lab assistant suddenly fell ill and asked to go home to her husband. All three things needed to be communicated to the center. And Stirlitz did not like to contact the center.
Stirlitz's musings were interrupted by a group of young, flashy women who, laughing loudly, were smoking on the corner and looking in his direction.
"@#$#@#@$#$" - thought Stirlitz.
- Stirlitz! Are you going to the VC? - one of them asked, coquettishly adjusting her hairstyle.
- Let's go, - said the gallant Stirlitz and took her by the arm.
American agent #008, who was usually assigned the most difficult tasks, was sent to Berlin to find out what the Russian SysOp Stirlitz was doing in Germany for so long, and at the same time try to recruit him. The agent was used to such tasks. Just the other day, he had recruited a Pakistani SysOp who worked as a secretary to the Duce in Italy. Stirlitz also seemed to the agent to be an easy catch. In two days, agent #008 managed to track Stirlitz down and gather such an extensive Backup on him that even Müller would envy.
Agent #008 had been following Stirlitz since the very Reichstag. When Stirlitz entered the VC with his lady, the agent got off his bicycle and locked it to the trash can. Shoving a printout to the doorman, he took out an ISO diskette and entered the hall. Choosing a table near Stirlitz, the agent sat down, put his feet on the table, and snapped his fingers:
- Bartender! Toner with sand!
Two programmers near the stage, where, high-kicking their lovely legs, they danced the cancan, exchanged glances.
- I think that's an American SysOp, - whispered one. - Too systematic. Write down his Point just in case.
The second, more captivated by the girls from the variety show than by any American SysOps, mechanically nodded and shouted:
- ENCORE!!!
Stirlitz, embracing his girlfriend, held a glass of toner in his hand and enthusiastically read to her from Kernighan and Ritchie in his translation. The gray-haired systems guy sitting next to him was trying to charm the young girl with evidently fabricated stories about his escapades in the VC and occasionally drowned out Stirlitz. Stirlitz had already looked discontentedly in his direction several times, but out of respect for his gray hair, he did not start cursing.
Agent #008 took out a lighter, made three photos, and lit a cigarette.
- Here I will emerge from under the table onto the printer, - the annoying general, who had bored everyone, croaked in a hoarse drunken voice, - and in the hall, SysOps. Disks are whizzing around, and I am with the cartridge bare, shouting "Delete!", and from the modem - beep - beep - beep.
The loud laughter of the drunken SS men by the window drowned out his words:
- The old donkey has completely lost it!
The general turned around and realized that they were laughing at him. He drew his saber.
- You, user rat, are insulting me, a combat programmer...
- Gentlemen! Calm down! - shouted the systems guy on stage. We are all defenders against the viruses of the Great Reich, both systems guys and programmers.
Stirlitz, pulling a disk drive from his pocket, could not calm down and poured out his anger on the waiter:
- Why is the kefir with flies?
- But you haven't even tried it, Standartenführer!
- Silence! - and Stirlitz hit the waiter with the disk drive. He did not like to turn on the disk drive just like that.
The waiter flew over the old programmer's table and fell on his lady's knees. The lady squealed like a hard drive that the owner decided to calibrate. The programmer jumped up again.
- You, user rat, are insulting me, a combat programmer...
And in a rage, he grabbed the waiter and hit him too. The waiter crashed headfirst into the stomach of the SS man. He doubled over and yelled:
- They're hitting our guys!
His comrades rushed at the programmer, the systems guys stood up to defend, and a usual formatting began.
As always, Stirlitz was not involved. He hid the disk drive, took out the printer with the inscription "To Standartenführer SS Von Stirlitz from the beloved Führer". Shouting "they're hitting our guys," Stirlitz began to wave the printer at the chandeliers. The girls from the variety show squealed and ran away. The systems guy was dragged off the stage and began to be stomped on. His scream was even more heartbreaking than that of the programmer's lady. Terrified, the orchestra suddenly played Hero Quest. The programmer waved his saber and shouted:
- It is you, user rats, who are insulting me, a combat programmer...
When Stirlitz's printer broke, not a single chandelier was still shining. Stirlitz shouted:
- Everyone hit Escape! - and rushed to separate the disputants. The sound of a broken monitor and a muffled scream was heard, as if someone had been hit on the head with a system block.
- Lozinsky has arrived! - a cry was heard.
The arrived Lozinsky began by releasing an AIDSTEST over the heads of the fighters. The raging crowd gradually calmed down. Those who did not calm down were calmed down. The lights were turned on. Then Lozinsky himself entered.
- Calm down! Everyone stay in your places!
And they all were taken away. The corpses were carried out. Among the dead was also agent #008. He was accidentally hit on the head by a system block from IBM WorkStations.
Thus ended the career of the famous SysOp.
All the arrested were loaded into cars and taken to different BBS Police. Stirlitz and the combat programmer ended up in the same car. The latter did not calm down:
- It is you, user rats, who are insulting me, a combat programmer...
- Give him a CPU, - Stirlitz said indifferently.
Lozinsky gladly fulfilled the request. The programmer fell silent in astonishment. Soon they arrived at BBS Police. Stirlitz was placed behind a BK. After walking from corner to corner a bit, he began to knock out the inscription "STIRLITZ WAS HERE" on the wall, but he was interrupted by an unmaskable interruption.
- Arrested Stirlitz, exit.
At the table sat the bloated Lozinsky drinking paste.
- Last name?
- Stirlitz.
- Maybe you are Stirlitz, maybe you are not Stirlitz. Who knows you? Maybe you are a Russian SysOp?
Stirlitz stepped closer and sat down.
- Listen, Lozinsky, don't mess with me, I'm terrible in the Critical Zone.
The latter, not expecting such impudence, gaped. And Stirlitz continued in a mocking tone:
- You provide me with toner now, and then call my friend Müller, or else I might just stuff your pig front panel...
Stierlitz would long be in a bad mood; he had disliked the police since childhood, but Lozinsky suddenly slammed his fist on the table, causing the cup with melted rubber to jump, and shouted:
- Silence!!!
- Don't shout, - Stierlitz asked.
- Stand up when talking to an officer! Stierlitz was as calm as Turbo Prolog.
- I, Standartenführer CC von Stierlitz, he pronounced syllable by syllable, - do not like it when various scoundrels shout in my presence. I demand toner and Müller, otherwise, I declare a virus for 200 ticks. Is your lousy processor really unable to interrupt itself to beep to my childhood friend Müller? And I, finally, will no longer have the pleasure of seeing your vile monitor?
Having wrapped such a brilliant phrase, Stierlitz rejoiced to himself and smiled proudly. Lozinsky turned green with rage.
- Silence!!!
Stierlitz completely stopped liking Lozinsky; he was ready to hit the brazen policeman in the teeth and did. The guards rushed at Stierlitz but were too late. Lozinsky crashed into the full-length portrait of Philip Kahn hanging on the wall, and the portrait fell.
Stierlitz, pushing the guards away, shouted angrily:
- Insulting the great comrade Kahn! Now I won't leave here until I clean your mutt faces!
With great difficulty, the enraged Stierlitz was returned to his cell. Stierlitz raged for a long time, kicked the door with his heels, cursed in an unknown language, then calmed down a bit.
Müller arrived soon, and it was the first time since '39 that Stierlitz was glad to see him.
The retelling of what had happened took Stierlitz more than an hour; whole chunks of the story consisted purely of ##@!$%?, and in some places, Stierlitz used expressions that Müller could not understand or comprehend. Müller suspected that Stierlitz was cursing in Russian #$####%@?, but he did not voice his guess out loud, fearing to get hurt accidentally. Stierlitz could twist any facts to his advantage, and Müller knew it.
Stierlitz's voice rang with feigned indignation.
- Stierlitz, - Müller smiled, - lives in Germany for so many years, and still hasn't learned to write properly in Pascal. And where does he get that terrible Basic accent? No, as long as Stierlitz is sober, it’s just disgusting to talk to him. But when he drinks, yes, he speaks like a native Pascalist. Perhaps we should drink.
- By the way, Stierlitz...
They exchanged glances.
- What a question!
Childhood friends understood each other with half a tick. Müller took Stierlitz by the arm, and they headed to the nearest restroom.
G L A B A 4
The meeting in Hitler's bunker had been going on for three hours. The highest officers of the Reich were seated before a large monitor. Under the portrait of the great Führer sat the Führer himself, sad and thoughtful. No one paid him any attention. Two questions were being discussed: why they went bankrupt on the Kursk exchange, and how to get invited to Stierlitz's birthday.
- Too few brokers, - Himmler grumbled.
"And there are many idiots in the headquarters," - thought the all-knowing Müller.
- Too few computers...
General von Schwarzkopfman stood up, cleared his throat, blew his nose into a green handkerchief, and croaked:
- Gentlemen! We went bankrupt on the Kursk exchange not because there were too few brokers and computers, which we have plenty of, thank God, but because of the audacity of the Russian SysOps. They planted, excuse me, a "Mikrosha" on the seat of the commander of the German brokers at the Kursk exchange, Field Marshal von Klüge!
Everyone perked up.
- Yes, yes, gentlemen! The Russian "Mikrosha"! As a result, the commander fell off his chair and was injured. And without wise leadership, the German brokers, - the general wiped away a tear, - did not know what to sell.
Bormann smirked unpleasantly. It was by his order that they planted the "Mikrosha" under von Klüge. The joke was a success.
- So, - said Hitler.
Silence fell.
"Why am I not a programmer?" - the Führer thought bitterly. After a few seconds, a thought accidentally came to the clever Goebbels.
- We need to destroy the SysOps, and we will capture Russia.
- Isn't it easier to destroy the "Mikroshi"? - suggested Himmler.
- So, - said Hitler.
Everyone fell silent again.
"Why am I not a programmer?" - the great Führer suffered.
- We need to remove all "Mikroshi" from Russia, - said Göring thoughtfully.
- And then the technical balance in Russia will be disrupted, - picked up Himmler, - and the SysOps will go insane.
- Brilliant! - admired the sycophant Schellenberg.
- And then we will show the Russians another Kursk exchange and another Scotts Valley.
- Brilliant! - Schellenberg shouted.
- So.
Hitler stood up, walked around the table, stood behind Bormann and patted him on his sweaty bald head.
"God! Why am I not a programmer? Why not him, not Goebbels, but me?"
And the Führer went to Norton. Everyone watched him with sympathetic gazes.
The door closed behind Hitler. The conversation resumed.
- I propose to code the operation with the word "Dubels", - suggested Goebbels.
- I'm in favor, - said Müller, who didn't care.
- Schellenberg, - asked Himmler, get it out.
Schellenberg pulled a bottle of Armenian toner from his pocket and poured it into shot glasses. There was enough for everyone, and what was left, Schellenberg poured into his mouth.
- I propose a toast for operation "Dubels"!
The door creaked open, and Stierlitz burst into the room. Everyone immediately quieted down. Stierlitz only heard a few last words.
"They're hiding," - he thought and decided to pretend he had just stopped by. Stierlitz approached the safe, took out lockpicks, and in the deathly silence opened it. He rummaged for about five minutes but found nothing new.
"Idlers," - thought Stierlitz and slammed the door shut with a bang.
- Comrade Stierlitz, - came a cautious voice from Göring, who had recently lost the first cluster of the report to the Führer, and the second turned out to be infected with SVC-4644, when you take files from the safe, please return them and do not infect.
- I don't need your files, - Stierlitz replied indignantly, - I have enough of my own.
He approached the table, took the glass of toner from Goebbels, and proclaimed:
- For my beloved Führer!
With dissatisfied faces, everyone drank. The deprived Goebbels snorted indignantly, took out a bottle of cleaning fluid, and sipped straight from the neck.
- Heil! - and Stierlitz left.
Goebbels shuddered from the schnapps, and he thought: "What a nice water!"
- Where did we leave off? - he asked, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform.
- On operation "Dubels", - said Schellenberg. The door suddenly opened again, and Stierlitz's pleased face peeked in.
- Yes, gentlemen, when I set up, I forgot to register.
- Hello, hello, - said polite Müller. Stierlitz closed the door once more and left. He considered eavesdropping beneath his dignity.
Himmler stood up, walked around the table, and peeked out the door. Ensuring that Stierlitz had left, he looked at his comrades and, squinting, asked:
- By the way, gentlemen, about Stierlitz: how to get to his birthday?
- I suggest for free, - said Goebbels, - that way we won't have to buy a gift either.
Himmler took a large red diskette from a crystal vase, crunched half of it, and said while chewing:
- I have a small decommissioned SX lying around in the warehouse for ten to twelve people. We'll go on it and then give it to Stierlitz. Anyway, we're going to throw it away.
Everyone reached for the diskettes.
- And how about coming back? - argued Göring.
- They'll take us back.
They gossiped a bit more. Bormann boasted about a new lab assistant, the conversation turned to women, then shifted to French pornography, and then everyone had their own business.
G L A B A 5
With his hands in his pockets, Stierlitz walked down the corridor. His mood was unusually cheerful, which rarely happened to him. The center finally responded to his requests, sent a new clean hard drive, and promised to send a new radio operator soon.
From behind the door marked "GESTAPO," there were pitiful whimpers, as if someone was being formatted in the nose behind that door.
"What a terrifying office," - thought Stierlitz, - "someone is always being beaten here."
The door creaked open, and Stierlitz saw his good friend Aysman. Stierlitz recalled with pleasure how they had smashed the restroom last week, the owner of which turned out to be a Jew.
- Ah, Stierlitz! - Aysman's only eye sparkled with joy, - I need you. I have a little question. A programming language of six letters starting with "we." Huh?
- I don't know. Mumu, probably.
- Fits.
Aysman wrote "Mumu."
- Who are we beating? - asked Stierlitz, lighting up.
Aysman reached for the diskettes.
- There's one here. Someone named Pastor Shlag.
They entered the office. Two burly Gestapo officers were methodically beating a chubby little man in a cassock. The man's face was frozen in a submissive, played expression.
- What are you accused of, you scoundrel? - yelled the Gestapo officer, - what were you arrested for? Where is your file?
- Here, - said Aysman, - Bormann ordered to feel him out, but they lost the case. And this bastard won't confess to what he's guilty of.
- What are you accused of? - the Gestapo officers shouted in unison.
The pastor remained silent. Stierlitz remembered the case of this pastor, which he had once seen somewhere.
- Give him to me, Aysman, - he requested.
- Why do you need this fat pig?
- He looks like Bormann.
Aysman burst out laughing. The Gestapo officers brought Shlag to Stierlitz's office. The pastor stood at attention. Stierlitz sat on the edge of a folding bed.
- Sit down.
- Thank you, I'll stand.
- Sit down, damn it.
Pastor Shlag tiredly sank onto a stool.
- Do you want toner? - asked Stierlitz and poured him a glass of cold toner.
They talked for about half an hour. Stierlitz liked the pastor. Shlag was undoubtedly smart, and his thoughts about women delighted Stierlitz.
- All this is good, - said Stierlitz, - but still, Pastor, who do you work for?
- Herr Standartenführer! I am ready to work for anyone, and, I swear, I am guilty of nothing.
- Excellent, - said Stierlitz, - you will work for me.
He pressed Alt-F7 and found the file pastor.arj.
- I took your file from the Gestapo. Read it!
The pastor pressed F3. After scrolling to the part where he was accused of working for someone's intelligence, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
- And how did they come to the conclusion that I work for someone? This is nonsense!
- Now you work for me, - Stierlitz reminded him.
- Yes, yes, of course.
- Pastor, why do you need so many women?
- They are my parishioners, - the pastor Shlag lowered his eyes, - rather, parishioners.
- And how old are you?
- In winter I will be fifty-two.
- And why haven't you married yet?
Pastor Shlag blushed awkwardly.
- I am still young to think about women.
Stierlitz twirled a printer in his hand and printed a pass.
- You are free. When I need you, I will find you. If anyone bothers you, refer to me, I will 'Face' them, they know me.
The pastor thanked Stierlitz for a long time and left, still not believing that he was finally free.
Stierlitz stretched, yawned, and lay down on the folding bed. A colossal plan was brewing in his head. He dozed off. Suddenly, Aysman burst into the office.
- What, did you let him go?
- Who? - Stierlitz asked sleepily.
- That stinky pastor...
- He cracked, - said the magnificent Stierlitz, - and even agreed to become my agent.
Aysman looked at Stierlitz with respect and adjusted the black eye patch.
- Yes, Stierlitz, however, you know how to work with people.
They drank toner, Aysman told a couple of new rude viruses from Bormann and advised to be careful about inserting disks into the second computer from the door. They sat like that until the end of the working day.
Contents of the publication: Oberon #02
- Introduction
Introduction to the second issue of Oberon magazine, with insights into its delays and team expansion. The editorial team acknowledges past misunderstandings and introduces the new issue's contributors. Details on distribution, contributions, and user interaction features are provided.
- Scroll - Alex Noman
Game manual for 'Peking', detailing controls, menu options, and gameplay strategy, involving matching pairs of crates under time constraints.
- Scroll
Empire 128 is a strategic space game where players act as merchants dealing with an alien invasion. Gameplay involves trading, mission completion, and space exploration. The game requires 128K memory and offers both disk and RAM save options.
- Scroll
Description of various space ships, including their specifications, weapon systems, and purposes. Each model differs in speed, armament, and functionality. Includes notes on origins and uses.
- Review
Review of ZX Spectrum games and tools: Double Xinox 128 offers a modern twist on Xonix with 80 levels and new challenges. UFO 2: Terror in the Deep has multiple versions with improvements and issues noted. Shadow Dancer for ZX Spectrum shows graphical evolution but maintains classic gameplay elements.
- Review - Unbeliever
Analysis of the 1996 ENLIGHT demo competition in St. Petersburg, evaluating participants and results across platforms. Highlights the achievements and critiques of notable entries. Provides insights into the dynamics of the competition and perspectives on the ZX Spectrum demos.
- Our Response
Reader feedback and editor's response regarding magazine content, the need for more graphics, and the state of local Samara software distribution.
- About Everything
Critique of Sinclair software quality, concerns about poor programming affecting computer lifespan, and commentary on CODE BUSTERS group's practices.
- Educational Program - Paul Atrides
An in-depth examination of the eight essential stages of software development, from defining technical requirements to testing and distribution. The article provides insights into the necessity of each stage and critiques poorly executed examples. It emphasizes the importance of systematic programming for both commercial and personal software projects.
- Hardware
The article discusses synchronization issues in various Spectrum models and provides a circuit solution to correct INT signal delays for improved graphics performance.
- Announcement - M.M.A
Introduction of new column highlighting Samara programmers' works, detailing projects like ZX-WINWORD, UNRECOGNIZED FORMATTING OBJECT, and DESIGNER ANALYSIS FUNCTIONS. ZX-WINWORD aims to be a publishing system for Spectrum, while U.F.O. offers advanced disk copying. DESIGNER ANALYSIS FUNCTIONS aids in mathematical graphing and function analysis.
- Programming - Unbeliever
A humorous narrative featuring Stirlitz, a fictional intelligence officer, in absurd and surreal situations involving Gestapo, programming, and secret plans.
- Pogurammim - Unbeliever
A humorous and fictional narrative involving Shtrilitz's spy adventures during a covert operation with many unexpected turns and satire.
- Advertisement
Advertisement for electronics and components store offering used equipment, software, and literature.
