Pill E-Book

Sergiy Zhuravlov

• Herausgeber: SUNRAY
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Three IN One
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 345

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Lightning strikes and the consciousnesses of Rita and Castro return to their bodies. However, the participants in the experiment still retain the ability to sense each other, to influence each other's thoughts and actions. Sanja, wounded during the thunderstorm, loses his memory. His enemies search for him. Rita and Castro rush to his aid. The three heroes meet, but not everything is easy. Rita and Sanya, barely having had time to declare their feelings, find themselves on the brink of breakup. Not only that, but they also find themselves on an island, where the greedy bondmen stage gladiatorial fights in the new Coliseum. Here everything is real: blood flows, people die... Sania and Rita's death is imminent, but an experienced fighter comes to their aid. The heroes win, but immediately find themselves in an equally difficult situation: they must choose which of them to die

Leseprobe

Table of contents

Prologue

Alas, it is often not conscience but cowardice that keeps our greed at bay…

Whenever something bothers me, I remember the wise Che…

Ruler Hun complained: my messengers are the fastest of turtles…

Women often hide intelligence behind naivety…

The weak and foolish will never have power over the strong and…

Know how to wait and wait for yours the train, they teach you…

I'm happy because all my dreams have come true…

The dead don't live long…

In a love triangle, the best position is in the center…

Near the house I drew a circle and walked around it…

They used to jump off bridges to prove love…

One who has never been envied has only pity…

I was losing as much as I was finding, but I was finding someone else's…

If a man has no enemies, he has no friends as such…

You don't reach out to a man flying into the abyss, that's why you grab his hooves…

Greed leads to riches far less often than riches to greed…

How much do we have in common when we talk about others…

The clever calf was scratched by the ear, fed with clover, and given milk…

Whoever was able to jump higher than the others will surely declare it a…

Outsiders are not offended by trifles, they are not asked to help with moving…

Take your time. He who reaches the last line quickly, then walks long and…

Ever since we overtook the monkey in development…

Often you have to have a serious fight to make up

The end of one thing is always the beginning of something else…

Shortly about the author

I hope you won't be too picky about inaccuracies in the transmission. I just don't have the money for an editor and proofreader. Although, if I have some spare money, with your help, perhaps I can improve my books.

Pill

© 2022 SERGIY / copyright holder.

All rights reserved.

Author: Sergiy Zhuravlov

[email protected]

Arthur Jeynov

Sergiy Zhuravlov

Drawings Igor Shvidkiy

SUNRAY 2022

ROMAN

THREE IN ONE

BOOK 2

PILL

Prologue

Lightning strikes and the consciousnesses of Rita and Castro return to their bodies. However, the participants in the experiment still retain the ability to sense one another and influence each other's thoughts and actions. Wounded during the thunderstorm, Sanya loses his memory. His enemies search for him. Rita and Castro rush to his aid. The three heroes meet and find themselves in an incredible and dangerous new adventure. They win, but immediately find themselves in an equally difficult situation: they must choose which of the three of them to die…

For fans of suspenseful literature.

All characters in the novel are fictional, the coincidence or similarity of their names with the names of real people are accidental.

Houshi said: "Alas, it is often not conscience but cowardice that keeps our greed at bay."

The sun is at its zenith, it's hot. It's only a block to the diner and the same distance back. Seems easy. Maybe to some people it is, Skinny doesn't seem that way. Skinny weighs a hundred and twenty. His shoes are too tight, and his jacket is unseasonable. The asphalt's hot as a shish kebab. Walking like he was pulling a plough.

“It's a bastard day, the salesgirl's a fool, the bastards are stomping on my feet and the ugly faces and the cars honking… Should I kill somebody?”

Finally got to the basement. He stood by the door, caught his breath, moved the bag from one hand to the other, and knocked four times.

“It's open,” came from inside.

Skinny swore, spat, and entered. He clicked the lock and started down the stairs.

Ginger was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. A cup of coffee in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. He wasn't ginger at all; he was bald. Coincidentally, the redheads were the three peddlers he had killed for a ridiculous amount of money in the early days of his gangster career.

The redhead greeted the entrant with a guilty smile.

“I forgot to lock up.”

Skinny took a cigarette from him and extinguished it by dipping it in his coffee.

“I have asthma!” Said with anger.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you so soon. Would you like a coffee?” I suggested ingratiatingly.”

“In this heat?”

“It's not hot in here. I'm even a little cold. “He flinched defiantly. “Why didn't you close it?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Did you wash it?”

“I did. I even gave him a massage.”

Skinny threw the bag on the table, sat down in a chair.

“Massage is unnecessary.”

The next room was empty: a broken chair, an old TV, a wheelchair bed against the wall. Skinny's gaze rested on a pale, muscular arm dangling from the bed.

“Should we change his sheet?”

“What for?”

Skinny shrugged, reached into a bag, pulled out some fries and gravy.

“Did you get me one?” Red asked.

“Buy it yourself.”

“You went anyway… What, was it hard?”

“Buy it yourself,” said Thin, popping gold bars into his mouth. “You never got up again?” Nodded to the side.

“No. Well, I'll be off then, won't I?” Said Red tiredly.

“Go,” the fat man replied without looking at him, wiped the fat from his cheeks and took a hot dog out of the bag.

Red walked away. Skinny stopped chewing. For almost a minute, without moving, he stared in front of him. Then he grabbed the sauce bottle from the table, smashed it against the wall with a yell of “Here!” and began frantically banging his fists on the table. “What? What am I doing here! What?”

The fat man murmured some more, cooled down, flopped back in his chair, and reached into the bag. He took out a Fanta, took a few sips. Sweat broke out on his forehead at once. Skinny wiped himself with his sleeve. Without getting up, he took his hands out of his jacket, drew his pistol from his pocket, put it beside him on the corner of the table. Unbuckled his belt. Breathing became easier.

He ate for a long time, chewing thoroughly, when suddenly he froze, a piece stuck in his throat… Something had happened. Something terrible had happened. Something that should not, could not be. One thing was clear: it was better not to make any sudden moves. He turned his head cautiously, found the gun with his eyes.

“Don't,” said the man sitting a meter away at the table in a tired voice.

“I won't have time… Heavy useless iron, as much as I've been dragging around with you…” the fat man grinned. “How could I have been so careless?”

Slowly he looked up. The guest seemed not at all interested in what the gun owner would do. The detached gaze went in the other direction. The fat man thought of the gun again. There it was, very near. Bending down and reaching out his hand seemed so easy.

His tablemate read his thoughts, turned his pale face, and shook his head faintly. The fat man gritted his teeth, pouted, and turned away. His hand reached for the bag. He took out a hot dog, took a bite.

“Will you kill me?” He asked, chewing sluggishly.

Castro, and it was none other than him, shrugged uncertainly.

The fat man complained:

“I was always afraid you'd pull something like that. I never, believe me, never put a gun on the table like that. Stupid coincidence. A black streak. I had a bad morning and… I didn't think you'd wake up…”

The Cuban shook his head sympathetically and spread his hands. Only now he paid attention to his clothes. Pulled a fold of clothes on his stomach. What at first he took for a hospital gown, turned out to be a woman's nightgown. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes.

“My head ached,” he complained. “What have you got on me?”

The fat man grinned:

“What you found. You're lucky you're not naked.”

Castro touched his cheekbones.

“Have I been shaved? What for?”

“What else is there to do here?” The fat man took a glass and drank some Fanta. “All because of you! Let's pussyfoot around in this dump.”

“Oh!” Castro was surprised and raised his bare foot. “Why did you paint your nails?”

The fat man took another sip from his glass.

“I told you there's nothing to do. We're just staring at each other. I wish we had a TV. Some movie… about love.”

The Cuban took the gun, twirled it in his hands, put it back. He touched his leg, groaned:

“It hurts.”

“You got a bolt from your thigh, like this,” he showed me two clenched fingers, “pulled out.

“Yeah?” Castro looked around. “My mouth felt nasty. No toothbrush?”

The fat man did not answer.

“I see. You have a good appetite,” he said. “Share it.”

“I don't share.”

Castro took the bag. The fat man changed his face, clenched his fists, tried to protest:

“Come on!”

The Cuban raised his palm, quietly warned:

“Don't be cheeky!” He took out a bag with potatoes, unpacked it. “Don't be cheeky,” he repeated more quietly. “How much money have you got?” The fried crust crunched on my teeth.

“Not at all,” answered the angry fat man. “You asked me something,” remembered Castro. “Oh, yes, you asked me if I would kill you, didn't you?”

The fat man stiffened his nose and bit his upper lip.

“How much do you want?”

“All of it.”

“Leave at least a couple of hundreds. We'll starve to death.”

“I'll leave you a couple of hundreds,” Castro took pity on him. “Your partner coming anytime soon?”

“It's just me.”

The Cuban smiled.

“I asked him when he was coming.”

“He'll be here in about five minutes,” the fat man answered, realizing that there was no point in lying any further. “He has one too. More than I have. Take it all from that miser! The bastard knows I have asthma, doesn't he?”

“Deal,” agreed Cuban and put away the bag of potatoes. “Phew, why does it feel so bad? Keep your hands on the table where I can see them. Yeah, like that,” I looked at the face of my interlocutor. “I remember you. It's been 20 years. Remember Belo Horizonte? You used to pass me ciphers… and a radio…”

“I don't like Brazil,” muttered the fat man.

“He was so fit. You're getting old.”

“Do you think you've grown young?”

“Yes,” the Cuban sighed sadly. “But there is a positive thing in all this: the past connects us by common work, and the future by common money. How much did you say you have?”

Houshi said: “Whenever something bothers me, I remember the wise Che. He was afraid of the neighbor's dog. The dog was afraid of the owner, and the owner was afraid of wise Che.”

… The blue one was twice as big. But the red dog was not frightened by her size: she pretended to swim by, then suddenly rushed, ducked and bit the blue dog's tail from underneath. She did this trick five times. They have a short-term memory of a couple of seconds. The blue one is bigger and always forgets that the little red one is to be feared.

Rem tapped his finger on the aquarium, the fish didn't react in any way. The red one went for another run.

“What are you thinking about, Rem?” Muller asked, holding out his famous cigarette case to the interlocutor.

“I don't smoke,” he answered, took his eyes off the aquarium, leaned back in his chair and, slightly squinting his eyes, looked at the interlocutor, trying to guess his mood.

Muller rose from his chair, took out a small bag of food, threw a pinch into the aquarium.

“They have a complicated relationship. I called them Cain and Abel. I can't wait to see how it ends,” he said and glanced at the guest, waiting for a reaction.

The multimillionaire Muller told this joke to everyone he invited to his greenhouse. Some laughed, some showed a “class” sign, some shook their heads and smiled for a long time, but not like that… Not a muscle flinched on Rem's face. Smiling out of politeness was not his style.

Aleksey Muller was no coward. Only two things frightened him – poverty and Ram's smile. However, when the man in the black cloak did not smile, it was also scary. An inexplicable animal fear surged just at the mention of his short name. Intelligent, serious, terse Rem frightened Muller. He knew firsthand about this man's dodgy mind and cruelty. Applying to the agency, Muller always asked to send anyone, but not Rem. But Ram always came. And Aleksey greeted him with a happy face: “What people!”

“And I wondered who would take over my complicated case! What luck! Glad to see you! Sincerely glad to see you, friend.”

The grim guest folded his hands on his stomach.

“Aleksey, tell me again how it was.”

“Ram, I am not a parrot. I understand, unpleasant. Fortuna...” He glanced at Rem in passing. The expression on his guest's face remained unchanged, but Muller's insides clenched.

“Ram, we have known each other for a long time. I will cover all the expenses. I'll even give you a bonus. The case is closed. I will have other requests. I already have…”

The guest grinned unfriendly. Muller sank into the chair and suddenly realized that he would have to tell the story again, and maybe more than once.

“We sat opposite each other, that's how we're sitting now. He asked how to address me, and he demanded an oath from me. I told you about it.

He gave me the flash drive, and I checked it…”

“The flash drive?” Ram asked me loudly again.

“Yes, the flash drive,” said Aleksey again.

Ram leaned over the desk.

“He gave you the flash drive…”

The Dictator's Purse felt nervous, his anger boiling up inside him.

“Do I have some sort of diction problem? He gave me the flash drive, Ram. A small, shiny, nondescript little thing! And I took it, with this very hand. With this hand! See the hand? Now imagine me taking it. That's it! Do you have a picture?”

“Don't be nervous,” said the guest calmly. “Did you check everything? Is it exactly what we were looking for?”

“Well, of course it is!”

“And he gave you nothing else?”

“Я! I gave him a million! I'll give it to you, but don't cry.”

“Don't cry.”

“You refuse compensation?” Muller was surprised.

“Compensation does not interest me,” replied the gloomy interlocutor, rising from his chair. He went to the aquarium, took a bag of food, slowly poured its contents into the water and tapped his finger on the glass.

“There is no intrigue here, Aleksey. It's an old story. Cain will kill Abel.”

Rem said goodbye to Muller and, accompanied by his guards, headed for the exit. Phil and his men were waiting for him in the gazebo outside.

There were several gazebos. When Rem arrived, they were empty. Now there was someone sitting in each. Phil glanced at the chief and pointed to one of them. Ram stopped and turned his head.

“We don't know how to work, but we take kickbacks!” Someone shouted at him in poor English.

Ram recognized the voice and grimaced. Soon the loudmouth himself appeared – Xiao. Behind him, glancing about, were his bodyguards, all well-built European, big, athletic, former sailors, like his master.

Phil raised his men and hurried with them to help, but Ram stopped him with a gesture. Three local guards came out to meet the Chinaman.

“Mr. Xiao,” one of them said, “you can go no further. We have instructions. We don't want any carnage.”

“Oh, really? He's an old friend of mine! It's Ram! We're just gonna talk to him, that's all. He's like my little brother.”

The guard had to take Xiao by the hand.

“Last time you said the same thing, then there were fifteen dead bodies, and we had trouble replacing the sidewalk tiles. Please go back to your seat. Aleksey Mueller will be calling for you shortly.”

“Why is he early?” Xiao pointed to Ram. “Why do I have to wait?”

The guard looked at his watch.

“You don't have an appointment for half an hour.”

“Yes! But I came specially ahead of time. I wanted to have a little chat with an old friend of mine. Tell him a little bit about respect. You don't know what respect is!” Xiao poked the guard in the stomach. “Grabbing my hands like a street girl! You couldn't read yet, and I buried my friends with these hands! You stupid sons of bitches! Just like you. Half a thousand of us were slaughtered in one night. You know why? Because they didn't respect the enemy, they overestimated their strength. Stay out of my way, boy!”

“Don't get me involved. Go back to your place.”

“Ram, what are you like a sissy!” Xiao shouted from behind someone else's shoulder, trying in vain to push the guard who was holding his hand tightly out of the way. “Come here! I'll break your ribs! I'll rip your face off, you bastard! I'll rip out your giblets and feed them to the filthy pigs!”

“Well, let him go, let him go!” Ram shouted to the guard.

At the shouting armed men began to rush in from everywhere and stand between Ram and the Chinaman. They got Xiao in a ring, but he kept jumping up and down and waving his fists.

“Don't you dare step on my territory! You crossed the line! You crossed the line!”

Ram grinned, waved him off, and headed toward Phil.

“What can I do for you?” He asked as he approached.

“'Muller's got a present for everybody,' said Phil, glancing in the direction of the bustling guards. “He's afraid they won't beg for compensation, he suggested it himself. Makes it easier to save face. Look who's here. We leave for Mexico in an hour. The board has decided to take over the whole concern. It's gonna be a lot of work.

I also wanted to tell him about Castro's escape, but I stopped myself in time. They made a mistake – let them justify themselves. I wasn't there, I had nothing to do with it. If I say too much, they'll make me look bad, like they always do.”

Rem noticed that two of Xiao's bodyguards had gone to the bathroom, and without thinking, he followed. Five minutes later, Phil was helping him wash the blood off his hands.

“Both of them?” Phil asked, lowering the canister lower and lower.

“Pour harder. That's it. Both of them. Let the yellow one be mad.”

“Who are we taking with us?”

“We're not going to Mexico,” Ram wondered.

“How's that?”

“We're not finished here.”

“Chief, Mueller got what he wanted,” Phil reminded him. “Splurged on a payoff. Case closed.”

Ram picked up a towel, started wiping his hands. He unfolded the towel in front of him before handing it over. Eyes wide open, from the terry cloth smiled at him a naked brown-haired woman. A familiar face. One of Muller's mistresses, it seemed.

“From where?” Asked an embarrassed Phil.

He waved toward the house.

“I looked in the sauna. There are many more of those there.”

Ram threw the towel at Phil's feet.

“Take it back to where you found it.”

“All right,” said the helper, picking up the towel and hiding it behind his back.

“Give it back!” Demanded the chief repeated.

Phil nodded frustratedly.

Ram took his cloak from him.

“We'll be here a while,” he said as he slipped his hands into the tight sleeves and smiled, which rarely happened to him. “The wicked boy didn't give it all away. He left a copy. He was stingy.

“Left it?” Phil wondered. “Does Mueller know?”

Ram put his index finger to his nose.

“Shhh…”

Houshi recalled, “Ruler Hun complained: my messengers are the fastest of turtles, my advisors the smartest of rams. Gods! What is the cause of my failures?”

Pavel Igorevich did not eat breakfast or lunch today. As a sign of solidarity, none of the lab technicians left for break. Time began its countdown. Every minute was important. Sergei brought the professor tea, but the drink remained untouched. Holding a scalpel in his left hand, Igorevich was digging into mouse brains, while his right hand was adjusting the focus of the microscope. With his right eye through the lens he looked for anomalies in blood samples, with his left he looked through the fibers of the frontal lobe. Every fifteen minutes Sergei would bring in new samples and impartially state: “Another one is dead.”

“Did you get any new ideas?” Asked the professor and, without waiting for an answer, added: “Then what are you doing? If Aristotle had been so lazy, the Earth would still be flat. Go look for it, look for it!”

Igor fell asleep at the table. Not five minutes later, he was awakened by shouting loudly in his ear: “Good morning!”

He flinched and, gawking sleepy eyes, stared at the dial in surprise. The big and small hands joined at the number twelve. It was midnight. Someone put a hand on his shoulder. The scientist turned around, but the man appeared to be standing on the other side. Turned his face to the other side.

“Can't you sleep, professor?” Looking intently and smiling broadly, asked the stranger.

“You?” Shrieked the scientist and recoiled, recognizing the man, whose appearance turned his life into a nightmare.

“You guessed it, Professor.”

“Here you are…”

“And there you have it. A remarkable observation,” said the man. He saw the corpses of dissected mice in a pile, and squeamishly grimaced. “Bad mood?”

The scientist shook his head. Sleep had completely vanished.

“But you are in a good mood. Run away, then?”

“Gone.”

Igorevich glanced at his watch.

“Came to himself at eleven – right?”

“Now, that's what I call insight.”

“Rita at the same time, so no insight.”

Castro sat down on the edge of the table.

“Well, how is the old lady? Did she say anything good about me?”

“She flew away last night… to Asia somewhere. What happened there? I had to talk to Rita, and she flew away… The scientist sighed. It's very bad that she flew away-very bad.”

“To Asia,” the Cuban grinned. “And I woke up – it's cold. Hungry as a motherfucker, and he's got a bottle against the wall… My head was ringing…”

“What bottle?”

“Walking down the street, shaking all over, staggering, some chickens. I can't feel my hands, smells, perfumes… I wonder why. Now my palms are dry, like I'm holding the tap. Do you know what it is?”

“What's what?”

“I just realized it now. She's washing her hands. I can feel it, you know? I can feel him, too. You got me into a bad story, magic old man. What can I do, three good deeds, and I'll be my old self? I waddle, I stumble on the curbs, and I think that's not the way to go. I think I'll look in, I'll unscrew Doel's head and bang it on the cupboard, maybe he'll give me some hope.”

“No one called you, you got involved in the experiment!” Shouted the scientist. “I told you would be sorry. And now what? And now I do not know what!” The professor rose from his chair and paced from corner to corner. Castro took a glass of cold tea from the table, drank half of it, crossed his arms across his chest and silently watched Pavel Igorevich.

“The chill will pass, and the strength will return,” said the scientist thoughtfully. “And then… then…” he was silent for a few seconds. “For a month we only think about how to separate the three consciousnesses. We don't sleep at all. We know how to join them together, but to separate them again… And then there was the lightning… Curse Zeus and his Olympic spawn! This is all so out of time. I'm so tired. I'm out of ideas. No ideas at all. If I could sleep like Mendeleev, maybe I'd think of something too. But I don't have time to sleep! No time! At this moment, we conducted three hundred and four experiments… on mice…” the professor came to the table, picked up the body cut with a scalpel by the tail. “We have mice, see?”

Castro hesitated.

“I didn't get it.”

Professor returned to his chair, took tea from Cuban, drank it and grunted.

“What is not clear? Shoving three consciousnesses into one body – fine. We separate – great! And in two weeks it's over!” The professor slammed his hand on the table. “They die, you know? They die!!!

Castro looked at the pile of shredded rodents in a new way and grimaced.

“All dead? But it wasn't like that with humans, was it?”

The professor dropped his head on his hands.

“Not all of them. If you give the drug, one out of three dies. It's been worse. The last hundred experiments, ninety-eight dead bodies. In the two hundred and two hundred and seventy-three all survived. Why, huh? I have no ideas! No ideas...” he whimpered like a child, then perked up. “I need a fresh idea.”

“The first thing that comes to mind?”

“Well, say something! Come on!”

Castro got confused, threw up his hands and blurted out:

“Adrenaline?”

“What? What has adrenaline got to do with it? Well, what has adrenaline got to do with it?” Shouted the professor. “Idiot! Idiot! Do you have any idea about the structure of consciousness?”

Adrenalin! You fool! Get out of here!

Castro looked down.

“How do you know which one of the three will die?”

“Everyone has a different sensitivity to the drug,” said the professor, with difficulty, as if every word caused him pain. “The one who is better survives.”

“And if one of the three does not take it at all?”

“Doomed,” tiredly exhaled the scientist.

They were silent for five minutes. There was only one lamp in the room, blinking all the time due to voltage fluctuations. Suddenly, it flashed unexpectedly bright. A moth flitted from a dark corner, whirled around the light, now and then burning its wings against the hot glass. He touched again, it seems, swung harder, but this did not help: twisted like an autumn leaf, fell to the floor, fluttering long legs.

Igorevich pulled a stool from under the table and offered his guest to sit down.

“I'm not a lord,” said the professor, bent down, pulled the handle of the drawer. “It's not up to me to decide. Destiny. The odds are even.”

He took out a cardboard box and poured a handful of red pills into the palm of his hand. He counted out three and put them in Castro's palm, looking intently into his eyes.

“Sanya, Rita… You will find them, won't you? In two weeks, on the seventeenth, before the meal. Better that at the same time.”

Castro slipped the pills into his breast pocket.

“You're an asshole, Grandpa. You're a fucking experimenter. You should work for fascists. You almost killed such a prominent man,” he pointed at himself.

The Cuban left, but he was not the only one who visited the famous scientist that night. The professor only closed his eyes for two minutes as someone already jerked him by the shoulder.

“Pavel Igorevich! Pavel Igorevich, let's begin,” excitedly whispered the assistant.

Tearing his cheek from the table and wiping saliva from his lip, the professor asked sleepily:

“Shall we begin?”

“Beginning, Pavel Igorevich. Let's heat up the marshes. In five minutes I start.”

Professor remembered something, and his face distorted with a pained grimace.

“Caesar?”

“Uh-huh,” confirmed the deputy. “And two cats... The boys brought them in. I checked, they're big… just flea-ridden.”

“It's a pity about Caesar,” said the professor sadly.

Sergey nodded.

“A pity.”

The scientist lowered his gaze, took out of his pocket glasses, wiped them with his sleeve, put them on his nose and looked up again.

“It is necessary, so it is necessary.”

Sergey turned around and went to the exit, but suddenly remembered something, stopped and waved his hand toward the door.

“I forgot to tell you, that man came to see you…”

The door creaked. From the unpleasant sensation, the scientist squeezed his sleepless tired eyes. He thought he was about to fall out of his chair, so he gripped the lid of the table just in case.

First a big hunchbacked nose appeared in the doorway, and then, with the words ”Good night,” the visitor himself appeared.

The scientist adjusted his spectacles and cried out in fright:

“You!”

The man stepped inside.

“We were not expecting you, and we came to see you,” he stretched out his mouth in a smile, and, shutting the door behind him and spreading his arms for a hug, headed towards Pavel Igorevich. Then really hugged him and even kissed him on the temple.

“Who let you in?” whimpered scientist. “What do you want? Why again came? Barbarians! Inquisitors! Come to torture me?”

“Come on, it's me, Phil, your friend,” he slapped the professor on the knee. “Have you forgotten me? We drank tea… Remember! From the samovar. And you also gave me such a shiny thing. Do you remember? Well, with such buttons… What do you want?”

“What do you want, what do you want… So, you do… recognize me, no?

No? Yes? Hear that, did he show up, our friend? You know, the… the bad man. Castro. No? He didn't show up? You never remembered me. Yes? I was with a comrade…

You didn't remember?” Phil looked at Sergei and pointed at the professor. “We are friends with him. And you also drank tea with us. I saw you in the corridor.”

“I'll go now,” said Sergei. “May I?”

“Where to?” said Phil. “Actually, go, of course. Yes, that,” shouted after, “how are the health, how are the family?”

Deputy looked around.

“Thank you.”

“Yes? Well, good! Go, do what you need,” and to someone loudly ordered: “Let him through!”

He looked at Pavel Igorevich again.

“And when I came in, I immediately noticed him in the hallway.”

“Oh, I think I recognize his face!”

The professor moved with the chair.

“What? What do you want from me? Why do you come here? Barging in, destroying my brainchild, the cradle of a new science unknown to the world. Killing my colleagues… They have families…”

Phil sniffed his nose and said in a hurt voice:

“And you are vindictive. I came to you as to a friend. With good news. I thought you'd be glad. I may have a grudge against you, too, but I've forgotten it.

“Listen…”

The professor did not finish, Sergei entered the office with two lab technicians. He was carrying a cage with a rabbit, the lab technicians were holding two gray sickly skinny cats.

“Oh! Scarecrow red-eyed! Ha-ha!” Phil rejoiced when he saw the rabbit. “How he bit my finger! Almost bit my hand off. The beast! Predatory beast!” I patted the professor on the wrist. “Friend, give him to me.”

They opened a massive door, with a huge peephole, or rather a porthole, and entered an adjoining room, where something clicked and buzzed.

“Look,” said the professor tiredly.

“Come on, come on…" the nosey man stopped him. “Keep it. That's what we want... We want it all,” he put his hands up and twirled his two index fingers, “to move to Moscow. Good, understanding people are interested in you. How much do you make? You want a hundred and fifty, two hundred thousand a year? And what do all those people in your bathrobes live on? We'll take them all away and build them houses. Work. We're good… We're like UNESCO. Or Greenpeace. Only a much richer.”

The scientists came out of the adjoining room. Sergey tightened the huge valve on the door, like on submarines, and, looking at Pavel Igorevich, reported:

“It will lock in three minutes.”

The professor nodded and angrily muttered to Phil:

“Neither I nor my colleagues are going anywhere.”

“That's too bad,” Phil shook his head. “I was so afraid of that. How should I go on? I thought we just became friends. I thought we were going to visit each other, talk about science. God, God, how tired I am of burying friends!”

Sergey and the lab technicians went out, soon his muffled voice came from behind the door:

“Pavel Igorevich, come here for a second. I don't know what the margin of error is.”

“Zero seven,” shouted the scientist.

“If so, we lose contrast, let's put a ten!”

The professor pushed back his chair, stood up and hurried to his boss. At the door he lingered, looked around the room, sternly threw, turning to his guest: “Don't touch anything,” and disappeared into the corridor.

Phil waited a minute, sitting on a chair, and then he started pacing the room to do nothing, and suddenly stopped at a door with a porthole. His face lit up with joy:

“Ha-ha,” he laughed resoundingly. “Red-eyed scarecrow!”

A few minutes later, the scientist and his deputy returned to the room, discussing something loudly.

“All right,” assured Pavel Igorevich, “the delta remains the same, the range is changing.”

“The delta must be changed,” Sergei disagreed. “Leaving it alone is dangerous.”

“You're an absorbent cotton. If every half an hour Makedonsky chattered dangerous, dangerous…” he suddenly stopped talking and looked around. “Something is wrong. Has something changed?”

Sergey looked around.

“Are the lights brighter?”

“No.”

“Ah! The system one you have is noisy. I'll clean the fan, it'll buzz like a bee.”

“That's not the problem.”

Sergey looked at the door with the porthole and his face changed. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

Deputy touched his nose, showed as if it were huge. Now the professor was frightened, too. Without a word, both rushed to the door. Sergey leaned against the porthole. Nosey was squatting by the cage with Caesar, banging on the bars, shouting something.

The professor grasped the valve.

“Open it! Open it!”

“It's blocked! It won't work!” Pulling the door handle, yelled Sergey. “It's blocked! It won't open! The new system! We wanted the best way!”

“Open! Open the damn door!” The scientist shouted in a panic.

“I can't do it! I can not!”

Pavel Igorevich ripped his hands from the valve, fists at his sides, his whole body was shaking.

“Turn it off! Turn it all off!” Grunted, breathing heavily.

Sergei kept on pulling the handle, by inertia.

“I told you, it will not open!”

The professor grabbed his elbow and spelled it out as calmly as possible:

“Knock it out.”

Deputy shook his head and, having finally realized what was required of him, rushed out of the room, knocking over chairs.

The scientist breathed on the glass and wiped it with his sleeve. Phil was still kicking the bars, and Caesar was frightened, scurrying about the cage. He was terribly amused, and did not notice that the golden orb above his head was pulsating and growing rapidly in size. Phil looked back at the door, saw Pavel Igorevich's bewildered face and waved his hand. The scientist smiled and waved back. Then walked away from the door, sat down on a chair and banged his forehead twice on the table-top.

Two minutes later Sergey came back and sat down silently. The professor was still planting his forehead upon the table, and his arms were hanging limply about his body.

“Here,” whispered the deputy and put in front of him a half-drunk bottle of cognac.

Pavel Igorevich, turning his head slightly, looked at the label.

“No poison?”

Sergey put two shot glasses next to the bottle, slowly filled.

“And what will it be?” Asked the professor.

“Pavel Igorevich, I do not know… All I could.”

“And what could you?”

“Cats separated,” whispered the deputy. “Two in one… run.”

“And with “it” what?”

“Caesar,” Sergey hesitated, raised his shot glass, drank, took a sip, and finished his phrase: “Caesar in it.”

The professor stood up, took his shot glass, looked at his colleague.

“Tell me, Seryozha, maybe you and I are fools?”

Sergei reached for the bottle again and filled the empty shot glasses.

“Drink up, Pavel Igorevich. Drink. What I think: now we'll disconnect them. We won't give Caesar the drug. The man will live, the rabbit will die.”

The professor drank his cognac, sniffed with the collar of his robe.

“The drug is already in Caesar, I gave it to him myself,” he said without any emotion.

“One out of two will survive. We'll kill Caesar ourselves.”

Igorevich smiled languidly.

“You do not understand the principle. They draw life from one another, like vampires. Kill a rabbit, and the man doesn't survive. He's strong, but he's also weak. Can't take another man's life, he kills himself. A battle of immunities. Multiple consciousnesses in one are an unnatural phenomenon. Nature does not like it when its laws are disregarded. It is not ceremonious.”

Sergey shook his head, cackled.

“So you can not separate them now?”

The professor did not answer. The lock clicked in the door. The scientist, rising slightly in his chair, turned anxiously in that direction.

Deputy glanced at his watch.

“Exactly five minutes. The lock was off.”

“Something's jammed on your jammier,” Phil said in a little whisper, peeking out from behind the door. “I jerk and jerk,” he twisted the doorknob to be sure, “neither here nor there.”

The door opened, the hinges creaked, and the man, instead of stepping over the threshold and out, jerked unnaturally sharply and high backward.

The professor, covering his eyes with his palm, kneaded the skin on his forehead with his fingers.

“Here we go, here we go.”

Phil appeared in the doorway again.

“What a squeak, eh! Somebody growled, didn't they? Don't you have a dog in there?”

“There's only us here.”

Sergei got up and stood behind a chair, just in case. Phil, looking around, walked leisurely into the room.

“Have a seat,” Sergei suggested, letting go of the back of the chair and taking a step back.

Phil climbed into the offered chair with his legs and squatted down.

“And your rabbit seems to have died. He was jumping, jumping, and then – pop! Eh, I think …” suddenly he stopped, paid attention to his strange posture. Smirked to himself and sat down properly.

Sergei was a little relieved.

“I do not see any particular change,” he turned to the professor. “Maybe we were frightened too soon.”

“What?” said Phil, pressing his hands to his chest and sniffing the air. His upper lip swelled slightly and his upper two front teeth protruded.

“How do you feel?” The professor asked him.

“Oh,” said Phil, grinning. “What are you shouting for?” His ears wiggled unnaturally, one went up, and the other went down, his left eye began to blink and the skin under it twitched, as if a nerve was pinched.

The scientists looked at each other. The professor looked away, then averted his gaze.

“What is it?” Phil asked, climbing back into the chair.

Houshi said: “Women often hide intelligence behind naivety, men tend to hide stupidity behind cynicism.”

Rita was not able to get up until half an hour after waking up. Her whole body felt weak. It was difficult to speak, not to move.

Her father did not leave her side. Holding her daughter's hand, he told her everything that had happened in the past month and a half. It was an unstoppable, incoherent flow of words and emotions. The girl learned that Daddy had a fight with Pavel Igorevich and promised to burn down the laboratory. Daddy has a headache all the time. Daddy takes new doctors to her every day. Daddy's relationship with Nikolai Ivanovich, his business partner, deteriorated completely after Rita rejected Vadim. The unsuccessful matchmaker threatens to sell his share if Rita, as he put it, will continue to be lambasted. Rita also found out that she wasn't always lying in bed. A week after it happened, she began to get up and wander around the room like a sleepwalker. To keep her from leaving, her father made sure that the locks on the inside could only be opened with the keys, and put shutters on the windows. Rita was visited by her friends. It seemed to Dad that one of them had a relationship with Vadim.

“Vadim is very hurt, he's understandable,” Dad said, “but he didn't leave you chained to the bed, he came every Wednesday. And if you can appreciate loyalty in people,” he raised his voice, “you have to restore the relationship with him.”

“Papa,” Rita answered warmly, “let's never quarrel again. I love you so much. You are the best father in this town.”

“Yes… Dad thought about it. “That's what you used to say when you were little. You were so obedient when you were little. And now,” he shook his head.

“I don't love Vadim, Dad. I love the other man.”

Dad laughed, splashing his hands.

“Ha-ha… daughter, what nonsense! It's nonsense, a fantasy, there is no other! You've been here, in front of my eyes for a month and a half… It's a blur, it will pass. You imagined someone and fell in love. Dreams are dreams, baby, but life is a little different. Ideals are great, but you have to choose from these, from the real ones. And dreams of a prince on a white horse are a thing of the past. You're a big girl.”

“Daddy, I missed you. Let me hug you,” She said, smiling, and reached for her father.

He came over, pressed her head to his chest, kissed the top of her head and whispered:

“Rita, I almost lost my mind. If I lose you – I have nothing to live for. I'll kill myself… I started smoking again…”

“To quit!” Sternly said the daughter.

“Uh-huh… I smoke on the balcony. I open the door a little, I look at you and think, if he dies, I'll dig two graves and tell him to stay close… He would slit his wrists and that's it…”

Rita sniffed her nose.

“What are you talking about!”

“Yes, yes…”

“And I'm going away, Daddy,” she whispered, pressing her cheek even harder against his chest.

“Where to, my daughter?”

“To Myanmar.”

“Why not Shanghai? Shanghai is closer.”

“No one needs me in Shanghai.”

“Ha-ha… “Dad laughed – You're imaginative. Do you need me in Myanmar?”

“He's not well. I have to help him.”

“Tall?”

“He's tall. He's even taller than you.”

“Slim?”

“Yes, slim. He has a nice body. So tanned...

“Handsome?