by Alex Sapegin
“How long?” the old “boa” asked in surprise.
“An hour and a half in observation mode. We thought of a new scheme and tried it out yesterday,” Remezov clarified.
Kerimov stepped forward and awkwardly hugged Denis.
“Boss, I’m not one of those,” he began.
“You can start shopping for new glasses for Alex. I’ll shower you with pineapples and bananas!” Iliya Evgenevich slapped Paul on the back of the forehead as well and then quickly changed his tone. “I’ll give you two days to finish off the scheme and get the apparatus in order. On Wednesday, he’ll be here in person!” He pointed somewhere in the middle of the ceiling with his big finger that looked more like a sausage. “Don’t embarrass me, guys.”
“We won’t!” Denis barked. The rest of them nodded enthusiastically in agreement with their “leader.”
“In ten minutes, I’ll be expecting you in the operator’s room. Show me what rabbit you pulled out of the hat over the weekend.” Mr. Kerimov said, and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Three pairs of eyes stared at the main Bandar-log. Remezov, sighing gloomily, lowered his head. Slap-slap. His head flinched from two slaps from Oleg and Paul. Alex gave him a hearty noogie.
“God forbid I ever again make a bet with some crazy mathematicians,” he whispered, rubbing his noggin.
“Dad, when are we going to look for Andy?” they all suddenly heard the girl’s melodious voice coming from the operating room.
“Sweetheart, just wait a bit. The Ban… uh, scientists are finishing their lunch.” The scientists stared at one another in stunned silence.
“Let’s go,” Paul Chuiko summed up their common thought. He couldn’t wait to see the new arrival.
Russia. N-ville. Two days later...
Iliya Kerimov positioned himself near the turnstiles at the arrivals room. The A-330 flight he was expecting had landed some time ago, the passengers had deboarded, but the high-level guest was not among them. Perhaps, our sky-high higher-ups decided to change plans last minute? But why wouldn’t they have let me know? Or has Mr. Bratulev decided to come in his private jet? It’s entirely possible; it’s happened more than once.
“Iliya Kerimov?” he heard a voice behind him. Kerimov turned around. His eyes met those of a tall, athletic man wearing a conservative business suit and shiny black shoes pointed at the toe. “Come with me. Mr. Bratulev is waiting for you in the car,” he explained, and gestured to Iliya to follow him. “Don’t worry about your car. A driver has already been instructed to pick it up and will be waiting for you on site.”
Iliya Evgenevich glanced at the exit and noticed two more “aides.” This made sense. The resident of the sky had planned out his visit beforehand and taken the necessary security measures, including seeing to the timely cover of his own butt. The new chief of security he’d been promised hadn’t yet arrived. On the other hand, it was possible that the leadership had decided not to force things by inviting competitors and secret service officers to create an unhealthy fuss about one particular scientific “racket.” Proceeding to the exit, Kerimov nodded to one of the “aides.” He quietly gave an order into the microphone attached to his lapel. The other pair of “men in black” covered Kerimov from possible interference from the direction of the street.
“Hello, Mr. Bratulev. How was your flight?” Kerimov said politely once he was inside the boss’ armored Land Cruiser. It was air-conditioned and chilly inside. The armored car emitted a small black cloud of pollution from its pipe and took off. Security vehicles drove ahead and behind them, making up a motorcade. In addition, several different, simpler types of cars left the parking lot along with them, which differed from other cars of the same brands in their fancy interiors.
“Hello,” the “racket” owner answered and shook the scientist’s hand. The oligarch had a strong handshake, very masculine. “Although it’s still evening back there, but now I’m in Russia. Let’s get down to business. Iliya, my time’s too important for small talk. Please, for starters, give me the overview of what happened there, and we’ll take a look at the details on site. What was it you wanted to tell me?” Mr. Bratulev asked. “You can speak freely. I trust my people.”
Kerimov took his laptop out of his bag.
“It’s simpler to show you and then answer questions.” He removed a flat device from his computer used for destroying the hard drive, entered a long password and, pulling up an image on the screen, turned the monitor towards his guest Mr. Big Stuff.
“What is the meaning of this?” the oligarch asked, looking at landscapes depicting tropical scenes or sub-tropical islands. While he was still speaking, the image changed. Now the screen showed mountains overgrown with forests.
“It’s a planet, actually a parallel world, to be more precise. It’s located fifteen minutes from the Earth time axis of coordinates which we accepted as ‘point zero.’ The planet is a lot like Earth, except for the fact that there is no intelligent life on it.”
“Well well.” The guest drummed his fingers on the seat.
The director of the institute looked at his employer while a feverish thought process was going on in his head. There was something strange about Bratulev’s behavior. Most certainly he was acting strange. Previously, the guest from highest heaven would be laid-back when he visited N-ville. Sometimes he was even too uninhibited, not shying away from patting one of the science guys on the back. In general, he liked playing the role of Santa Claus with his shiny bags of bonuses. It often occurred to Iliya that the oligarch was pretending to be a strict but fair parent or deity who didn’t mind lowering himself to their level and listening to the needs of the simple mortals. Now he wasn’t like that. Was it just that they were alone, and he did not see the need to throw dust in the eyes of the public or play any roles at all? A completely different man was sitting in front of Iliya Kerimov. He was deathly tired, weighed down by a mountain of problems, as downtrodden by life as Iliya himself.
Bratulev was nervous and did not try to hide it. There was no trace of his previous laid-back demeanor.
“I won’t believe for a minute that you’ve limited yourselves to just one world,” he broke the silence.
“I can’t believe for a minute that they haven’t reported to you about our discoveries,” Kerimov responded. Bratulev coughed, but let the little impudence slide.
“They reported to me. A daily summary of the institute’s progress was put on my desk, but don’t you think, Iliya, that you’re taking a few liberties through your professional position?”
“You mean in searching for my son?” the scientist’s eyes flashed an icy glow from under his knit brows. “It was my searching that led me to all these worlds. If you’re interested, we’ve clearly determined and recorded the coordinates of two dozen worlds. Half of them do not contain intelligent life. These worlds can bring you such fabulous profit, that the gold of Fort-Knox will seem a trifle.”
The oligarch laughed a strained laugh:
“Iliya, why aren’t you telling me that the day before yesterday your guys made a successful attempt to open a spatial portal to Kamchatka?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Naive soul.” Bratulev handed Kerimov a thin black leather folder. “I have a surprise for you too. Read this.”
The folder contained three A-4 sheets of paper with typewritten text. Kerimov shot the oligarch a puzzled look.
“Read it, read.”
“It turns out…,” Iliya mumbled in shock after reading the last line. When it rains, it pours. Just what he’d been afraid of. Kerimov had long-since felt wary of this happening, but he decided to feign surprise and play a role. Hm, I might make a nice career for myself in the theater. His surprise seemed quite natural, and Bratulev didn’t notice anything. Now it became clear why Mr. Big Stuff was not his usual child-like self.
“It turns out,” Bratulev echoed sardonically. “Get ready for a change in leadershi
p. You think ‘Bratulev doesn’t care about the institute?’ After all, your institution is my offspring, too, and I did not at all like its being taken away from me!” The oligarch cracked his fist against the armrest with all his might. “Damn it, and there’s nothing I can do about it, absolutely nothing! I was surrounded like a wolf, and they’re preparing to sick all the dogs! What gold and wealth of Eldorado, Kerimov? What profits are you talking about if because of your little mickey-mouse outfit I might lose everything?”
“Why did you come to Russia? You could have sat there in the States and not give a crap?”
“To make a deal, Kerimov, to make a deal. My business is in Russia. Someone’s obviously controlling the people and representatives of cunning government agencies that have taken my business into a hard turn, and that someone gives the impression of being fully competent. You read the papers. The institute is under a tight lid. They won’t let me to the table, but they might let me lick up the crumbs that fall from it, which is nothing to sneeze at. Or maybe they won’t. I don’t understand why the KGB kooks haven’t taken over yet?” The oligarch turned to the window and watched the scenery for a few minutes.
Iliya Evgenevich decided not to break the silence. You’re in for tough luck, Mr. Oligarch, but hope springs eternal, so go ahead and hope…. The government’s not stupid. They won’t let a sure-fire secret weapon of steel against the evil Americans out of their hands. And you haven’t yet learned to lie, Konstantin Ivanovich. Something else brought you back to the homeland. The crumbs from the table are total rubbish. Now a certain Kerimov is of much more interest to the government, that unknown man, … well, only known in narrow circles. I’m more important to them than Bratulev, who can be easily written off and no one will notice the loss. That’s what you’re here to negotiate. Anyone the Russian state perceives as a threat, it expels from the country, or worse. And with a secret like that, I don’t think banishment is the mercy you can look forward to. The secret service has such a long reach…. And here I was thinking they’d take over on Monday already, but they didn’t. The successful opening of the portal to Kamchatka was a death sentence to nuclear equation: rockets, planes, and other carriers of nuclear weapons can be thrown into the landfill….
People from “the Company” were probably already well aware that when you open a galaxy of other worlds, there are bound to be one or two that are high-tech and more advanced than old lady Earth by about a hundred years. Opening a “window” and the observation regime allow us to contact them and… to steal. Highly developed technologies in exchange for rare earth elements and natural elements dug up from the “empty” worlds. Who could refuse a deal like that? Moreover, you could have guessed it from the very beginning. The probability of what was happening now was determined by scientists two years ago. Yes, he reached his goal, but at what price? Andy! Kerimov turned away from the oligarch and looked out the window. Andy, it would have been better if Olga hadn’t found you.
It seemed his hopes of getting his son back were not fated to be realized. He’d been fooling himself all these months. He’d dreamed of a family and a career, but now his ambitions had been sent down the toilet. His drop of vanity, which all creative people have to one extent or another, withered to the root. For almost nine months, he stubbornly pursued one goal. He kept going, deep in his soul knowing that he and his baby were being closely watched. He was never a fool, and he learned to read between the lines in his research career back in his youth as a college student. All these months, he’d been deceiving himself, cherishing the hope that if they could just get a little farther, just a little more—and Andy would be there. He hoped that it would be before the competent authorities took over the institution, but as to the fact that this would happen sooner or later, not a single sensible employee doubted. Too an ambiguous a discovery was made within its walls. Kerimov, with the methodicality of a heavy asphalt paver, paved ahead, hoping the oligarch’s money would hold off the state for some time, but his billions were powerless before the thoughtful attack of the secret services. The secret operation generals struck at the most painful place for anybody with deep pockets—at the wallet! To be precise, the schemes of financial transactions and the dirtiest (they’re the most profitable) earnings were uncovered. Three sheets of typewritten text did not reflect the above picture; however, conclusions could also be drawn on the basis of the dry numbers printed on the sheets. They’d grabbed the institute owner by the throat and slowly squeezed. He understood the smutty hint and decided to earn an indulgence. Billions of little green papers on one side of the scales, the notorious scientific center on the other. You don’t have to be a seer to guess which of the two bowls will outweigh the other. My God, how hard it is in my heart to find my son and then lose him again. Dashed hopes….
Bratulev’s voice sounded like thunder from a clear blue sky:
“Iliya, what were the experiments involving your daughter you conducted on Monday?”
There was a cloud click inside the car. The scientist-husband looked with surprise at the elbow rest he’d ripped out of its place on the seat. The “aide” sitting in front scoffed and cast a careful glance from the “violator” to the oligarch. Bratulev carefully took the now useless car part from the director of the institute and set it on the floor.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
“I was looking for Andy,” Iliya wheezed.
“And you found him, I know.”
Kerimov threw the black folder onto the floor:
“…And, it seems, I lost him again…,” he looked at the sheets of paper protruding from the folder. “The government security agencies probably won’t allow me to conduct any personal matters there now….”
Bratulev wanted to ask the scientist one more provocative question regarding his youngest daughter, but, seeing his reaction to the last one, decided against it.
Iliya Evgenevich once again turned to the window. His nerves together with the stress of the last few days would probably give him a heart attack. Olga said not to worry. But how could he not worry if there were terrible things happening in that awful magical world? Kerimov clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white. He wasn’t expecting to see Andy like that, no one was. Except, perhaps, Olga…
Russia. N-ville. Two days previously…
“Let’s go.” Paul Chuiko, practically jumping up and down from impatience, booked it out of the cafeteria. The door clapped shut behind him, muffling the sound of his friends’ loud laughter. “Those jerks,” he said into the emptiness.
“Dad, why do you have such a big TV here?”
“It’s the main screen.”
“Like what astronauts have?”
“Yes, Olga, that’s right.”
“Cool!”
The boss’ head popped out from behind the server shelves. Chuiko plopped himself into the chair of the second operator’s workstation. As soon as his butt had squished the leather seat, Olga, running ahead of her father, ran into the operator’s portion of the room.
She looks just like her older sister! It’s too bad I can’t see her eyes behind those children’s sunglasses. Paul involuntarily swallowed and looked back at the guys leaving the cafeteria: the scoundrels. The evenings were filled with innumerable quips and comebacks. Raising one eyebrow, Denis stopped halfway there and stared at the boss’ daughter and Chuiko, frozen in the chair. He called Alex over and whispered something in his ear. Alex tried to glance around—and got a light slap to the back of the head. Listening to the “chief,” Alex nodded and grinned. Those scheming skunks—they’ve already thought of something.
Chuiko looked askance at the monitor, where in the black flatness of the dead screen, he could see the reflection of Olga and the boss. He heaved a sigh. What demon had possessed him to blab to Remezov that he was interested in Irina Kerimov? They’d had a few too many at the Christmas party while celebrating the holidays and the successful launch of the apparatus. Paul was quite candid, as he usu
ally is in that state. Denis listened to his friend and played along with a wise look. When he heard the titbit about the boss’ older daughter, he hiccuped and asked, interested, with the stupidest look on his face, “Where did a hero-lover meet a lady with such good prospects?” Never met her? Why the romantic feelings then? Saw a photo of her? Denis again hiccuped. And where, it would be interesting to know, do they give out photos of the beauties of N-ville? Paul explained that in the boss’ office half his desk was strewn with family photos. Remezov stopped hiccuping. He scratched his butt and nodded in agreement, as if to say yes, true, the boss’ office is full of photos…. So, that means his friend fell in love with a photograph? At twenty-eight years old? “Well, yeah!” Chuiko answered and took another swig of beer. At that moment, he wasn’t capable of noticing the small malignant fires he’d kindled behind Denis’ eyes. Today only the boss himself remained unaware of a certain promising employee’s unrequited love for his eldest child. Although, Iliya was pretty keen and kept abreast of the latest office gossip. It was possible he had heard this rumor too, but if so, he wasn’t letting on. Fickle Irina had no shortage of suitors and could have easily instigated any one of them to go against Chuiko. He needed clear-headed employees, well able to think. Ah, youth!
