A collection of fantastic novels, short stories, articles, essays, compiled and published by the All-Union Creative Association of Young Science Fiction Writers at the Institute of Postgraduate Education of the Komsomol Central Committee "Young Guard"

Anatoly Britikov. The expediency of beauty in the aesthetics of I. A. Efremov

RUMBA FANTASTIC

Stepan Vartanov. Dragon hunting

Evgeny Drozd. Kings and alchemists

Evgeny Drozd. Drama at Ephesus

Alexander Copty. Sad story about a car tire

Evgeny Lensky. In the chain of the departed and the future

Sergey Lukyanenko. The Man Who Couldn't Do Much

Taisiya Pyankova. Kumankovo ​​swamp

Nicholas Romanetsky. Cossack robbers

Alexander Siletsky. If someone called someone

Alexander Siletsky. Unidentified offended client

Alexander Siletsky. Top down

Alexander Siletsky. Treasure

Vladimir Trapeznikov. entertainment planet

BEAUTIFUL RIDER. Anthology of modern Czech and Slovak fiction.

Anton Gikish. Loneliness with Virgil

Ivan Izakovich. Awakening

Yaroslav Irkal. Mysteries of the Universe

Jan Lencho. Library

Lubor Pok. The Man Who Learned to Laugh

Joseph Pushkas. Dump

Ludwig Soucek. From a galactic point of view

Zbyshek Blueberry. A trip to the ancestors

Vladimir Chort. There will come another time

Alzhbet Sherberov. beautiful rider

THE CHARM OF THE EXTRAORDINARY

Vladimir Shcherbakov. Where did the gods and heroes of the sagas live?

Anatoly Smirnov. From the depths of centuries

CROSSROADS OF OPINIONS

Dmitry Lysenkov. Fantasies in the context of realities

Anatoly Shishkin. Dystopian predictions and sci-fi perspectives on some trends in modern Western literature about the future

Alexander Kashirin. Experience of the bibliography of Czech and Slovak fiction

On the 1st cover page: fragment of the painting by Gervasio Gallardo (USA) “Bird Worship”

On the 4th cover page: Elena Kulinich (USSR) “Ice”.

Drafting A.N. Kashirina

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• Emperor of two empires
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• Grotto of the Dancing Deer
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• space opera
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  Contains foul language!

Anatoly Alekseevich Shishkin - was born on October 15, 1936 in the village of Gilev Log, Altai Territory. He was brought up only by his mother, his father died at the front.

Anatoly became a poet, a journalist by vocation, which he felt from childhood: he began to write poetry from the age of seven. He dedicated his first work on six notebook sheets to a village tractor driver and immediately sent it to the Writers' Union. Soon an answer came to the Altai village from Moscow. The whole village read it. On beautiful glossy paper with seals and stamps, the young poet was thanked for the poem and recommended to read more fiction.

As a teenager, he came to Leninsk-Kuznetsky, graduated from a mining technical school, worked at a mine, then at a processing plant. He brought his poems to the editorial office of "Lenin Miner". From time to time they were published in regional publications.

In the same newspaper, over and over again, correspondence from Anatoly Shishkin began to appear.. The author talked about his fellow workers, about the hard work of a miner. Journalistic work really fascinated the gifted guy.

In 1963, he was accepted into the staff of the editorial office of the Leninsk-Kuznetsky newspaper., where Shishkin went through a good newspaper school. Four months later he was appointed head of the department.

He worked, wrote, graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in absentia. Became a true professional.

In 1969, A.A. Shishkin was appointed deputy editor of the city newspaper "For Communism" in Berezovsky.

In 1973 he was transferred to the city of Osinniki, where he rightfully took the position of editor of the city newspaper "Mayak Kommunizma" and worked for about 20 years, not sparing himself.

He was a real leader - demanding, strict and kind at the same time. But he never gave up writing poetry. He did not bombard the editors with his manuscripts. I wrote more for the soul. Only once, in 1996, did Anatoly Shishkin manage to publish a thin collection of poems- a good light little book, which the author called "A miner lives half his life on earth."

He left us in 2000.

Not a road but a song

Ten miles - and all the forest,

Ten miles - as in fairy tales.

blue veil

The July forest is treated kindly:

The air is filled with pitch

filled with fragrance,

Masted fir

Near the humpbacked hills.

Dispersed like a herd

Short birches -

Their joy is inescapable

Their bitterness is unrelenting.

My companion said

Correcting the knapsack:

"To rise above the steep cedar,

Would lie with a ringing duct,

Spring bubbling b

At the cherry bushes!

Is there a greater happiness?

Is there a better fate?

I didn't answer him

(He didn’t answer - and is it necessary ?!):

"To live forever in the world

With this beauty nearby!

Ten miles - and all the forest,

Past the firs and cedars.

Not a road, but a song

Not expensive, but generosity.

Return

Among the rough bark,

Under the May rays

More streams breathed

The rooks were already screaming.

We took off our jackets

And - right behind the slope

spread their hands,

Heavy like tons.

And the sky was falling

On us a transparent block.

To those who were not in the mine,

So you can't see the sky.

Not clear and not precise

They hear differently.

And the crackle of swollen kidneys,

And sparrow noise.

And spring thundered for us,

Like a hundred-sounding bell,

And numb before her

Tiredness, restlessness...

Grass as if brushed

Not kindly, not rudely -

We tickled our cheeks

And refreshed my lips.

Everything is higher, higher, higher

The bird takes the song.

We didn't come out of the mine

We have risen from the earth.

We were merged with her

And more than merged -

That the nerves of the argillites

What an anthracite heart.

And the sky, like a fairy tale,

Hangs in a transparent block.

To those who were not in the mine,

So you can't see the sky!

Where does the stream start?

Seemed like a long day

The hot sun swayed

In splashing water.

And the stream dived into the sedge,

Hiding in a willow

Again with a high note

He spoke in the distance.

Not cloudy, not shallow,

Without slowing down the sonorous run,

Along the poplar fields

He turned blue with a bright ribbon.

And I asked late at night

Having crouched at the shore:

You, little one, don't stop

You, little one, don't be silent.

Hold on a little longer

Relax in the woods...

Do you want me in your palms

Will I carry it through the bumps?

I embroider thoughts

Bunnies, roses,

To think less

Late evenings.

To cry less

In quiet solitude

Remembering Jacob

Kuzmich by patronymic.

There is nothing to remember

Not his fault:

Three happy evenings

And then - the war.

There was a time - crying,

Like a midnight

Where is Jacob's grave?

Kuzmich by patronymic?

There is nothing to remember

And there's nothing to come up with -

Three short evenings

And separation is eternal.

Cold, oh cold

In a lonely mountain...

Youth has flown

Who will follow her?

To think less

blizzard evenings,

I embroider thoughts

No one needs...

Last monologue

To you, my worn shoes,

I say the last monologue

I will throw you into the far corner of the kitchen -

What to do if the deadline has passed!

You have not served me well

/ I can’t, therefore, wear /,

If, of course, on asphalt,

If, of course, by taxi ...

If only on polished parquets

Walk on the envy of hundreds of eyes ...

Only I love winter and summer

Right through the snowdrifts, through the mud...

So for a day you are, it happened,

That sometimes you doze off on the go.

It's not like shoes, here, perhaps,

Marsh boots will be handed over.

After all, unbeaten roads - without an account,

And someone needs to torment them,

Stomp through swamps and swamps,

With miles in their own way to speak.

We'll manage, shoes, without reproaches!

/Well, what can be a reproach here?!/

Than to serve without benefit and beyond the term,

Better with benefit, at least for a short time ...

Be my echo, ringing echo

Respond to my laughter with laughter,

Respond to the song - song,

Have fun when I'm happy.

Be a stream, murmuring in the thicket,

Be a non-setting star

Be a path, be blind

To all sorts of trifling antics ..

But when I lie to you

But when I can lie -

Be a storm

be a tear

Corroding eye sockets.

Don't think to be a trail

Never be blind

Forbid me even to dream

The day I can lie.

Coal

In the institute reading room the sheets rustled,

And the boys crammed, somlev out of boredom:

"Charcoal is the remains of forgotten plants

And the creatures that lived in the ancient land."

In the silence of the office, on the pages of notebooks,

Under the pillow lying with us until dawn,

So everything was clear, and simple and neat,

At least a handful of that coal, go and take it.

Coal is not that ... That's when the load

Bend down and creak pans,

And grabbing a shovel, frankly, in Russian

Miners spit in the palm of their hand with a smile -

This is coal ... When, cursing with anger,

For the fifth time, the foreman pulls the phone:

"Let's forest ... Hello ... You throw fables to me,

Or instead of pillars we should stand, maybe !?" -

This is coal ... When in dim lighting

You will not consider the features of soiled faces,

And the guys understand you by signs,

In short: "Higher! To the right! Take it!" -

This is coal. Not the same as the remains of plants -

Pain in your joints, sweat on your dirty back...

I sometimes remember the institute walls

And suddenly it becomes a little funny to me.

Do you want to look beyond the horizon or become a little stronger and more adapted to life in autonomous conditions? Take a look at my collection of science tips and you will surely find a lot of interesting things. The titles of technical articles correspond to their content.

In the heading "On the front page" there are new items and, in my opinion, the most interesting works from my work.
I also have purely artistic works, they are called so: stories, novels, novels.

2019 year. Behind me is the mouth of the Sviyaga River. To my right, on one of the islands, is the white-stone city-monastery of Sviyazhsk. Former All-Union madhouse. Behind Innopolis and the local ski resort. On the horizon in a narrow strip, overgrown with pine forests, the left bank of the Volga River. Thirty kilometers, down the Volga, also on the left bank of Kazan. She is not visible in the photo. But behind Sviyazhsk and beyond the Volga, the outskirts of the city of Zelenodolsk are visible, there is a reserve of the most beautiful women in Russia. In Novosibirsk, the longest legs, in Omsk the most feminine, in Magadan the most affordable, in Zelenodolsk, simply the most beautiful. And on the right bank, starting from the Sviyaga and down the Volga to the mouth of the Kama, for 150 kilometers, there are wild gardens. Back at the end of the 19th century, the bourgeois were imprisoned for their own enrichment and in clubbing. The gardens are still growing, intermittently for villages and orchards. Apples, pears, plums, cherries, gooseberries, all sorts of currants ... They bear fruit and are not needed by anyone. The explanation is simple. On the right bank of the Volga, there is solid black soil. Stick a stick in the ground and it will bloom. Local farmers are unable to cope with their harvest. They tried to make fruit and berry wines from free fruits, they made half of Russia drunk, and in the time of Gorbachev they stopped this disgrace. I was born and live in Kazan, this is my Motherland.

To my chagrin and regret, my survival tips are suddenly in high demand. Finally, someone realized that the idea of ​​survival is not the ability to eat dog poop or earthworms out of hunger and hopelessness, but a full life in any extreme conditions without exotic quirks. Everything that a Person needs, he can find or make himself from improvised material. It is animals that adapt to the environment, Man adapts the environment for himself!
Preparing for the World End of the World, in my opinion, is pointless. But in order to postpone a completely possible personal-personal end of the world, it would be necessary to prepare. So to speak, arm yourself with trouble. The most important weapon of a MAN is his Knowledge and Skills. Knowledge and Skills can be equal to the arsenal, but they do not contradict the laws of the Criminal Code in any country, they do not pull the pocket and always have it with you.

To find my works in the Reading Izba, you need to: type Anatoly Shishkin in Yandex and click on the Reading Izba with my name.

An indiscreet question: Isn't it time for me, as a writer, to be recorded not only in the FAVORITES, but also in the FAVORITES? (Do not confuse with recommended.)

Anatoly Galeikhaidarovich Shishkin. Kazan, Tatarstan.
anatolii-shishkin(@)yandex.ru Just remove the brackets and gaps.
So, in the beginning there was a word..."

God created man, and Man created everything else!
Do you want to look beyond the horizon or become a little stronger and more adapted to life in autonomous conditions? Take a look at my collection of science tips and you will surely find a lot of interesting things. The titles of technical articles correspond to their content.

In the heading "On the front page" there are new items and, in my opinion, the most interesting works from my work.
I also have purely artistic works, they are called so: stories, novels, novels.

2019 year. Behind me is the mouth of the Sviyaga River. To my right, on one of the islands, is the white-stone city-monastery of Sviyazhsk. Former All-Union madhouse. Behind Innopolis and the local ski resort. On the horizon in a narrow strip, overgrown with pine forests, the left bank of the Volga River. Thirty kilometers, down the Volga, also on the left bank of Kazan. She is not visible in the photo. But behind Sviyazhsk and beyond the Volga, the outskirts of the city of Zelenodolsk are visible, there is a reserve of the most beautiful women in Russia. In Novosibirsk, the longest legs, in Omsk the most feminine, in Magadan the most affordable, in Zelenodolsk, simply the most beautiful. And on the right bank, starting from the Sviyaga and down the Volga to the mouth of the Kama, for 150 kilometers, there are wild gardens. Back at the end of the 19th century, the bourgeois were imprisoned for their own enrichment and in clubbing. The gardens are still growing, intermittently for villages and orchards. Apples, pears, plums, cherries, gooseberries, all sorts of currants ... They bear fruit and are not needed by anyone. The explanation is simple. On the right bank of the Volga, there is solid black soil. Stick a stick in the ground and it will bloom. Local farmers are unable to cope with their harvest. They tried to make fruit and berry wines from free fruits, they made half of Russia drunk, and in the time of Gorbachev they stopped this disgrace. I was born and live in Kazan, this is my Motherland.

To my chagrin and regret, my survival tips are suddenly in high demand. Finally, someone realized that the idea of ​​survival is not the ability to eat dog poop or earthworms out of hunger and hopelessness, but a full life in any extreme conditions without exotic quirks. Everything that a Person needs, he can find or make himself from improvised material. It is animals that adapt to the environment, Man adapts the environment for himself!
Preparing for the World End of the World, in my opinion, is pointless. But in order to postpone a completely possible personal-personal end of the world, it would be necessary to prepare. So to speak, arm yourself with trouble. The most important weapon of a MAN is his Knowledge and Skills. Knowledge and Skills can be equal to the arsenal, but they do not contradict the laws of the Criminal Code in any country, they do not pull the pocket and always have it with you.

To find my works in the Reading Izba, you need to: type Anatoly Shishkin in Yandex and click on the Reading Izba with my name.

An indiscreet question: Isn't it time for me, as a writer, to be recorded not only in the FAVORITES, but also in the FAVORITES? (Do not confuse with recommended.)

Anatoly Galeikhaidarovich Shishkin. Kazan, Tatarstan.
anatolii-shishkin(@)yandex.ru Just remove the brackets and gaps.
So, in the beginning there was a word..."