Denisov genetic drift download fb2. Vadim Denisov - genetic drift. About the book “Genetic Drift” Vadim Denisov

Man from the North under the Greek stars. So far, with Yegor Sanin, everything is almost traditional.

Having fallen out into the space from the air-conditioned atmosphere of the already familiar sea view bungalow “B-Eleven” - I learned, Christmas trees, every evening after ordering drinks you have to dictate the number to the waiter - I, shuffling with flip-flops, without much cheerfulness, went down the concrete steps cracked from the endless heat to pool, around which regulars steamed on sun loungers. They lie there for days. Sunbathing. Stupid. How can you lie flat among overheated concrete with a sapphire-colored sea at your side? Yes, here the real Blue Lagoon is hidden under bent pine trees, take advantage, gentlemen!

Do not want.

The bodies on the white plastic counters are international, but they always look the same - immobilized and lifeless, like pieces of meat at the Danilovsky market. Only there the meat looks appetizing. You can chop off a piece of a leg or butt with a butcher's ax, and no one will notice, including the object of the chopping itself - there is complete suspended animation around, many do not even swim in the pool. Most often, there are Germans who lie here, hanging their faded multi-season rags on sunbeds in the dark, taking up comfortable places for the whole gang at once. Because it’s a freebie, the sunbeds by the pool are free, but they don’t really want to shell out seven euros for a set of an umbrella and two sunbeds on the beach...

Germans often organize themselves. I remember that during one of the races, a whole anthill of pale-faced douches gathered at the pool early in the morning, and only food could distract them from the auto-frying process. In the evening, this whole Wehrmacht moved light tables on the terrace: beer in tall glasses, tasteless local sausages, sedentary German songs without dancing. They wake up lazily, with a chill... Once I watched with emotion the sluggish bouncing on chairs moving like a train around the table. Now there are fewer Germans in the hotel, but the British have arrived in large numbers. The British are also quite happy to sing drunkenly at tables in the evenings. Britons, as a rule, don’t have sausages on their plates, but they willingly crack French fries with ketchup. Thus, the islanders do not leave the area near the restaurant for days, moving in a vicious circle: room - pool - bar - restaurant.

About eighty percent of holidaymakers at the Holiday Palace are over fifty years of age, most of them from Western Europe. Pensioners are very sociable and friendly, they willingly ask about Russia, especially getting excited at the words “Siberia” and “Taimyr Territory”. There are few Russians yet, the staff says that ours will catch up in July. And in general there are few people here in May; many hotels nearby are completely empty. Although the sea is warming up, and the heat during the day jumps to quite summer temperatures.

I don't care about sunbeds by the pool. I dived off the side, cooled my skin a little, and that was enough, I went on about my business. The hotel has two swimming pools. Closed - in case of bad weather - and open. The outdoor pool at the Holiday Palace is large, heated, and filled with salty sea water. There is a place for children fenced with a chain of buoys. There is quite a lot of chlorine in this pool. It’s also so warm that it’s not refreshing; the water temperature is at least thirty degrees.

I have no contact with Danilovsky meat.

Fortunately, a wonderful neighbor settled in my neighboring bungalow, a great guy! An Irishman with the Italian name Tony, a thin, short brown-haired man with sharp features. Sociable, sincere person, kindred spirit. He and I periodically try something Irish. Either single malt or dark foam. Thanks to him, I improved my English to a more or less acceptable level. Actually, he's Anthony, but that's what his wife calls him. Tony is relaxing at the Holiday Palace with his wife and daughter, they do not in the least interfere with the father of the family communicating in the evenings with a restless Russian friend. His wife Sophie is pregnant, smiling and quiet. Green-eyed, like her parents, four-year-old daughter Laura runs on the special grass of the huge lawn in front of the bungalow, barefoot, always wearing a flower wreath, in an unironed simple chintz dress, always disheveled. So alive, spontaneous, natural. I don’t know how typical they are, these Irish... Well, these are the ones I got. True, their beach towels are really green.

Walking past a row of sun loungers, I looked around, noticed, smiled carnivorously and traditionally showed the textured hood to two Deutsche friends I knew, tenderly saying something they hated so much:

- Stalingrad, comrades!

In response, they immediately hissed with vipers in two voices. I won’t say anything about the steppe viper, but the common viper makes two distinct, dissimilar dry lisping sounds: on inhalation and on exhalation, which results in a two-pass volume hissing.

There are two people here - one viper.

Meet my enemies. Pie friends.

I once put a towel on one of the sunbeds they had staked out - one of them immediately started babbling, at first peacefully, then angrily. I explained to him quietly and peacefully: they say, why are you worrying, Genosse, now I’ll quickly dive into the pool and pick it up, why bother getting up? No, he yells: “Busy, my friend is about to show up!” I’m far from an expert in English, but I studied German up to and including high school, so I understood something. Well, in response, I explained the obvious to him, yeah. The excited second Hans immediately came running - this didn’t stop me at all, although the guys are very hog-witted. Trained, pumped up, bodybuilders.

One of the enemies is blond and freckled, always smeared with thick white cream, like a cake, which is why he can’t tan in any way, he just turns red and constantly peels off. And the cream rolls the peeling scales into nasty-looking pellet tubes. The second comrade is tanned to the precancerous barrier, and therefore black, like shoe polish, as if he were not a German, but that Pakistani who trims the bushes around the bungalow sector with huge scissors with long handles. The Pakistani, by the way, surprises me to the core. When the temperature at noon is around thirty-six, he works exclusively in a dark blue jumpsuit made of thick fabric and heavy black boots. With ankle boots. Here in shorts and a T-shirt you then get wet...

Concluding the portrait: the little black German has frankly stupid eyes, there are such in nature, I won’t even explain, I’ve probably seen them myself more than once. Hands are in Asian Shaolin partaks, from shoulders to fingertips. The tattoos are colored, but human skin is not a Samsung display - on the charred body, the once elegant designs have become dirty and look untidy, like signs of a contagious disease. Ugh, it’s scary to touch... This devil always wears a bright pink T-shirt, for a sexy contrast. This is what the bitch wears when she swims in the pool. It's such a new fashion to swim in T-shirts. This is damn unpleasant for me, it makes me think of free laundry. Soon people will start diving in socks. Both without a hair on their body - completely depilated, a nightmare.

To be honest, perhaps any of them will be able to drop me quickly enough, according to objective physical indicators, if they were engaged in combat, of course. It’s just that there is no sweetness in the guys, they can still swear, but when they fight, excuse me, they squeal. And this is the main thing, what's the point of your exercise equipment if you're afraid of getting punched in the face? If you are afraid of pain, don’t go to dances. Actually, I’m not a weakling myself, I was involved in boxing at the institute, plus regular hunting and fishing, I work as a foreman in a swimming shop, the position is far from sedentary, I’ll say more - it’s conflict-ridden. And at the ABC, sometimes I pump up with the guys in the gym. But I haven’t seen such cans for a long time, it couldn’t be done without anabolic steroids... True, lying flat for many days does not contribute to training the respiratory tract and heart. How is the enemy doing with this? I hope to check it out someday.

A week ago we fought, and since then I’m not a fool to fight. But in fact there is no one, that’s the problem!

It is not customary to fight in Corfu; it is a very peaceful island. Greeks are friendly. Maybe they are overly emotional. If continental Greeks are lazy, then island Greeks are doubly lazy. This is such a local, fistic philosophy. Sometimes I think the philosophy is right. And one more thing – Greeks don’t fight. The fact is that fighters in this country face huge fines. Therefore, they let off steam acoustically, by screaming. If two Greeks are arguing at a crossroads, gesticulating vigorously, and a third one is walking by, then he will take advantage of the situation and let off steam by starting to yell at both, without being familiar with either of them, and, as a rule, the third one is basically not in the know. . After shouting, he calmly moves on. In general, Greeks are always good-natured and invariably polite when dealing with foreigners.

Vadim Denisov

Genetic drift

Man from the North under the Greek stars. So far, with Yegor Sanin, everything is almost traditional.

Having fallen out into the space from the air-conditioned atmosphere of the already familiar sea view bungalow “B-Eleven” - I learned, Christmas trees, every evening after ordering drinks you have to dictate the number to the waiter - I, shuffling with flip-flops, without much cheerfulness, went down the concrete steps cracked from the endless heat to pool, around which regulars steamed on sun loungers. They lie there for days. Sunbathing. Stupid. How can you lie flat among overheated concrete with a sapphire-colored sea at your side? Yes, here the real Blue Lagoon is hidden under bent pine trees, take advantage, gentlemen!

Do not want.

The bodies on the white plastic counters are international, but they always look the same - immobilized and lifeless, like pieces of meat at the Danilovsky market. Only there the meat looks appetizing. You can chop off a piece of a leg or butt with a butcher's ax, and no one will notice, including the object of the chopping itself - there is complete suspended animation around, many do not even swim in the pool. Most often, there are Germans who lie here, hanging their faded multi-season rags on sunbeds in the dark, taking up comfortable places for the whole gang at once. Because it’s a freebie, the sunbeds by the pool are free, but they don’t really want to shell out seven euros for a set of an umbrella and two sunbeds on the beach...

Germans often organize themselves. I remember that during one of the races, a whole anthill of pale-faced douches gathered at the pool early in the morning, and only food could distract them from the auto-frying process. In the evening, this whole Wehrmacht moved light tables on the terrace: beer in tall glasses, tasteless local sausages, sedentary German songs without dancing. They wake up lazily, with a chill... Once I watched with emotion the sluggish bouncing on chairs moving like a train around the table. Now there are fewer Germans in the hotel, but the British have arrived in large numbers. The British are also quite happy to sing drunkenly at tables in the evenings. Britons, as a rule, don’t have sausages on their plates, but they willingly crack French fries with ketchup. Thus, the islanders do not leave the area near the restaurant for days, moving in a vicious circle: room - pool - bar - restaurant.

About eighty percent of holidaymakers at the Holiday Palace are over fifty years of age, most of them from Western Europe. Pensioners are very sociable and friendly, they willingly ask about Russia, especially getting excited at the words “Siberia” and “Taimyr Territory”. There are few Russians yet, the staff says that ours will catch up in July. And in general there are few people here in May; many hotels nearby are completely empty. Although the sea is warming up, and the heat during the day jumps to quite summer temperatures.

I don't care about sunbeds by the pool. I dived off the side, cooled my skin a little, and that was enough, I went on about my business. The hotel has two swimming pools. Closed - in case of bad weather - and open. The outdoor pool at the Holiday Palace is large, heated, and filled with salty sea water. There is a place for children fenced with a chain of buoys. There is quite a lot of chlorine in this pool. It’s also so warm that it’s not refreshing; the water temperature is at least thirty degrees.

I have no contact with Danilovsky meat.

Fortunately, a wonderful neighbor settled in my neighboring bungalow, a great guy! An Irishman with the Italian name Tony, a thin, short brown-haired man with sharp features. Sociable, sincere person, kindred spirit. He and I periodically try something Irish. Either single malt or dark foam. Thanks to him, I improved my English to a more or less acceptable level. Actually, he's Anthony, but that's what his wife calls him. Tony is relaxing at the Holiday Palace with his wife and daughter, they do not in the least interfere with the father of the family communicating in the evenings with a restless Russian friend. His wife Sophie is pregnant, smiling and quiet. Green-eyed, like her parents, four-year-old daughter Laura runs on the special grass of the huge lawn in front of the bungalow, barefoot, always wearing a flower wreath, in an unironed simple chintz dress, always disheveled. So alive, spontaneous, natural. I don’t know how typical they are, these Irish... Well, these are the ones I got. True, their beach towels are really green.

Walking past a row of sun loungers, I looked around, noticed, smiled carnivorously and traditionally showed the textured hood to two Deutsche friends I knew, tenderly saying something they hated so much:

- Stalingrad, comrades!

In response, they immediately hissed with vipers in two voices. I won’t say anything about the steppe viper, but the common viper makes two distinct, dissimilar dry lisping sounds: on inhalation and on exhalation, which results in a two-pass volume hissing.

Vadim Denisov

Genetic drift

Man from the North under the Greek stars. So far, with Yegor Sanin, everything is almost traditional.

Having fallen out into the space from the air-conditioned atmosphere of the already familiar sea view bungalow “B-Eleven” - I learned, Christmas trees, every evening after ordering drinks you have to dictate the number to the waiter - I, shuffling with flip-flops, without much cheerfulness, went down the concrete steps cracked from the endless heat to pool, around which regulars steamed on sun loungers. They lie there for days. Sunbathing. Stupid. How can you lie flat among overheated concrete with a sapphire-colored sea at your side? Yes, here the real Blue Lagoon is hidden under bent pine trees, take advantage, gentlemen!

Do not want.

The bodies on the white plastic counters are international, but they always look the same - immobilized and lifeless, like pieces of meat at the Danilovsky market. Only there the meat looks appetizing. You can chop off a piece of a leg or butt with a butcher's ax, and no one will notice, including the object of the chopping itself - there is complete suspended animation around, many do not even swim in the pool. Most often, there are Germans who lie here, hanging their faded multi-season rags on sunbeds in the dark, taking up comfortable places for the whole gang at once. Because it’s a freebie, the sunbeds by the pool are free, but they don’t really want to shell out seven euros for a set of an umbrella and two sunbeds on the beach...

Germans often organize themselves. I remember that during one of the races, a whole anthill of pale-faced douches gathered at the pool early in the morning, and only food could distract them from the auto-frying process. In the evening, this whole Wehrmacht moved light tables on the terrace: beer in tall glasses, tasteless local sausages, sedentary German songs without dancing. They wake up lazily, with a chill... Once I watched with emotion the sluggish bouncing on chairs moving like a train around the table. Now there are fewer Germans in the hotel, but the British have arrived in large numbers. The British are also quite happy to sing drunkenly at tables in the evenings. Britons, as a rule, don’t have sausages on their plates, but they willingly crack French fries with ketchup. Thus, the islanders do not leave the area near the restaurant for days, moving in a vicious circle: room - pool - bar - restaurant.

About eighty percent of holidaymakers at the Holiday Palace are over fifty years of age, most of them from Western Europe. Pensioners are very sociable and friendly, they willingly ask about Russia, especially getting excited at the words “Siberia” and “Taimyr Territory”. There are few Russians yet, the staff says that ours will catch up in July. And in general there are few people here in May; many hotels nearby are completely empty. Although the sea is warming up, and the heat during the day jumps to quite summer temperatures.

I don't care about sunbeds by the pool. I dived off the side, cooled my skin a little, and that was enough, I went on about my business. The hotel has two swimming pools. Closed - in case of bad weather - and open. The outdoor pool at the Holiday Palace is large, heated, and filled with salty sea water. There is a place for children fenced with a chain of buoys. There is quite a lot of chlorine in this pool. It’s also so warm that it’s not refreshing; the water temperature is at least thirty degrees.

I have no contact with Danilovsky meat.

Fortunately, a wonderful neighbor settled in my neighboring bungalow, a great guy! An Irishman with the Italian name Tony, a thin, short brown-haired man with sharp features. Sociable, sincere person, kindred spirit. He and I periodically try something Irish. Either single malt or dark foam. Thanks to him, I improved my English to a more or less acceptable level. Actually, he's Anthony, but that's what his wife calls him. Tony is relaxing at the Holiday Palace with his wife and daughter, they do not in the least interfere with the father of the family communicating in the evenings with a restless Russian friend. His wife Sophie is pregnant, smiling and quiet. Green-eyed, like her parents, four-year-old daughter Laura runs on the special grass of the huge lawn in front of the bungalow, barefoot, always wearing a flower wreath, in an unironed simple chintz dress, always disheveled. So alive, spontaneous, natural. I don’t know how typical they are, these Irish... Well, these are the ones I got. True, their beach towels are really green.

Walking past a row of sun loungers, I looked around, noticed, smiled carnivorously and traditionally showed the textured hood to two Deutsche friends I knew, tenderly saying something they hated so much:

- Stalingrad, comrades!

In response, they immediately hissed with vipers in two voices. I won’t say anything about the steppe viper, but the common viper makes two distinct, dissimilar dry lisping sounds: on inhalation and on exhalation, which results in a two-pass volume hissing.

There are two people here - one viper.

Meet my enemies. Pie friends.

I once put a towel on one of the sunbeds they had staked out - one of them immediately started babbling, at first peacefully, then angrily. I explained to him quietly and peacefully: they say, why are you worrying, Genosse, now I’ll quickly dive into the pool and pick it up, why bother getting up? No, he yells: “Busy, my friend is about to show up!” I’m far from an expert in English, but I studied German up to and including high school, so I understood something. Well, in response, I explained the obvious to him, yeah. The excited second Hans immediately came running - this didn’t stop me at all, although the guys are very hog-witted. Trained, pumped up, bodybuilders.

One of the enemies is blond and freckled, always smeared with thick white cream, like a cake, which is why he can’t tan in any way, he just turns red and constantly peels off. And the cream rolls the peeling scales into nasty-looking pellet tubes. The second comrade is tanned to the precancerous barrier, and therefore black, like shoe polish, as if he were not a German, but that Pakistani who trims the bushes around the bungalow sector with huge scissors with long handles. The Pakistani, by the way, surprises me to the core. When the temperature at noon is around thirty-six, he works exclusively in a dark blue jumpsuit made of thick fabric and heavy black boots. With ankle boots. Here in shorts and a T-shirt you then get wet...

Concluding the portrait: the little black German has frankly stupid eyes, there are such in nature, I won’t even explain, I’ve probably seen them myself more than once. Hands are in Asian Shaolin partaks, from shoulders to fingertips. The tattoos are colored, but human skin is not a Samsung display - on the charred body, the once elegant designs have become dirty and look untidy, like signs of a contagious disease. Ugh, it’s scary to touch... This devil always wears a bright pink T-shirt, for a sexy contrast. This is what the bitch wears when she swims in the pool. It's such a new fashion to swim in T-shirts. This is damn unpleasant for me, it makes me think of free laundry. Soon people will start diving in socks. Both without a hair on their body - completely depilated, a nightmare.

To be honest, perhaps any of them will be able to drop me quickly enough, according to objective physical indicators, if they were engaged in combat, of course. It’s just that there is no sweetness in the guys, they can still swear, but when they fight, excuse me, they squeal. And this is the main thing, what's the point of your exercise equipment if you're afraid of getting punched in the face? If you are afraid of pain, don’t go to dances. Actually, I’m not a weakling myself, I was involved in boxing at the institute, plus regular hunting and fishing, I work as a foreman in a swimming shop, the position is far from sedentary, I’ll say more - it’s conflict-ridden. And at the ABC, sometimes I pump up with the guys in the gym. But I haven’t seen such cans for a long time, it couldn’t be done without anabolic steroids... True, lying flat for many days does not contribute to training the respiratory tract and heart. How is the enemy doing with this? I hope to check it out someday.

A week ago we fought, and since then I’m not a fool to fight. But in fact there is no one, that’s the problem!

It is not customary to fight in Corfu; it is a very peaceful island. Greeks are friendly. Maybe they are overly emotional. If continental Greeks are lazy, then island Greeks are doubly lazy. This is such a local, fistic philosophy. Sometimes I think the philosophy is right. And one more thing – Greeks don’t fight. The fact is that fighters in this country face huge fines. Therefore, they let off steam acoustically, by screaming. If two Greeks are arguing at a crossroads, gesticulating vigorously, and a third one is walking by, then he will take advantage of the situation and let off steam by starting to yell at both, without being familiar with either of them, and, as a rule, the third one is basically not in the know. . After shouting, he calmly moves on. In general, Greeks are always good-natured and invariably polite when dealing with foreigners.

So I’m picking on old friends.

Last night, Tony and I, having sat over a bottle of whiskey until the morning, waited for the blond Hans to jump out of the building in the semi-darkness and hastily hang his rag tags on the fattest sunbeds. After which they immediately crept to the staked-out lounge and, with a giggle, threw the towels into the pool, after tying them in their wet state with tight sailor knots.

Genetic drift Vadim Denisov

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Title: Genetic drift

About the book “Genetic Drift” Vadim Denisov

“Genetic Drift” is a work written in the genre of combat science fiction. Here the reader will encounter alien creatures and the struggle of man with uninvited guests. And the story of the novel “Genetic Drift” begins with how the main character, Yegor Sanin, decided to relax a little and relax on the exotic Greek island of Corfu. However, the vacation was not successful due to the appearance of an unidentified alien ship, on which local human rights activists opened fire. In response, the aliens crushed the defenders of order in an instant. But this was only a tiny fraction of the losses, which soon became obvious to all islanders and guests.

Egor and his friends attempted to escape by sea, but this turned out to be a very difficult task, since the world around them, as a result of the genetic weapons used by aliens, began to look more and more like a huge mass grave. What lies ahead for the heroes? The unknown. But something must be done!

Vadim Denisov is a Russian writer, a well-known publicist in certain circles. Denisov's fame came as a result of his writing of science fiction works, as well as works in the genre of combat science fiction. The writer positions himself as a supporter of fantastic realism. Explaining the semantic direction of his books, Vadim Denisov defines their goal as creating a new reality and experimenting in the field of social and personal structure of society.

The writer likes to experiment, mixing directions and styles in his works. Vadim Denisov considers readers’ interest in his novels to be a consequence of certain features, which consist in an intuitive search for ideas and events for his books. The author's books are quite popular, since they are easily perceived by the reader, they also do not have complex interweavings, the descriptions of events are vivid and imaginative, and there are no omissions in the details of the events described.

The writer is originally from Moscow. Published since 2003. The list of his works includes the following books: “Lake. Taimyr is killing you" "Anti-bunker. Immersion", "Strategy. Castle Russia", "Strategy. Expansion", "Genetic Explosion", "Genetic Drift" and many others.

The book “Genetic Drift” has a very exciting plot and takes you into the world of fantasy, creating a feeling of the reader’s presence in the events taking place here.

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