Project Ouroboros (2 page)

The rough wind blew the sand off; the waves were beating furiously on the slippery washed ashore rocks. It was getting dark quickly, the thunder was getting closer and closer, the horizon was no longer the boundary between the sky and the sea, and the air was filled with the smell of salt and rain. The storm was approaching.

Through the crescent thunder blasts the rare passers-by could hear an amazing melody. Dissolving in the dusk, it made the heart quiver and left the minds guessing. What is it, a flute?.. No... Something more tender...

A golden-haired skinny guy in strange baggy clothes was sitting on a folding stool, playing an outlandish wooden instrument. The young man chose the site on the corner of two main streets, but in anticipation of the storm even this place was deserted: only six students gathered around him.

— What is it? — asked the girl of four years old, tugging the sleeve of her mother.

— It’s a pipe, honey — she replied.

— No, not exactly, but very close. This is a pan flute – the musician smiled. — A very ancient instrument.

The child stared in fascination at the wooden object that looked like tubes of different lengths glued together. On the surface of the flute there were white-red geometric patterns, resembling to the ethnic ones. Hardly anywhere in Anshan you could find anything of the kind, so surprising it was for people, who were accustomed to digital music.

— Once upon a time a man with goat horns and hooves was playing it! — Musician leaned toward the girl, putting his fingers to his head, representing the horns. — He lived in the woods, playing the pan flute and people thought he was the god of the wild!

— Mom, what is a forest?

— Come on, lo, I will tell you on our way home — a woman pulled out a wallet from the bag.

— Do I look like a beggar? – said the man, offended. — Buy your daughter an ice cream and come again. Tomorrow at this time I'll be waiting for you!

He stood up, bowed, clasped the stool in the backpack and hurried to leave as a downpour has begun. Musician got wet after a few minutes, his jacket with a hood was very light and he didn’t have any warmer clothes. Actually, the young man had nothing but the instrument, and the folding stool. He slipped into the nearest open entrance hall and sniffed, wet strands stuck to his face, nose dripping. "The main thing is that the instrument is fine" — he thought.

The house, as it turned out, wasn’t inhabited. He wondered if the apartments had already been closed. Maybe he could hide from the rain and spend the night in one of them? Sitting on concrete floor certainly wasn’t good, but better than soaking in the rain on the street. All that he was dreaming of was a big warm blanket and a cup of tea. And with that you could even sleep there, in wet clothes on cold plates.

"You're a fool, Aleph, you should have taken the money! Too proud, aren’t you?! But I would have slept in the hotel – a slight sigh of regret. – It is so cold here... I’d better not get sick."

Aleph looked out the window. The rain had intensified, and this meant that he wouldn’t be able to leave his shelter any time soon. The chances of a normal overnight decreased with each falling drop.

The boy sighed again and pulled a pan-flute out of the backpack, feeling something soft at the bottom. The musician pulled a scarf and a hat that someone had forgotten during one of his speeches out too. Yes, it was really cold then... Aleph got dressed and sat down on the backpack, looking at the instrument. "I hope all is all right" — he thought. He decided to play a little, to be sure.

Quiet melody filled the room, made it more comfortable and even warmer. There was still absolutely nothing to do: nowhere to go and no need to fuss; it was still raining, and he didn’t feel like sleeping — after all it was too early to drop with fatigue to decide to sleep on the concrete.

If only I could keep warm...

...The rain stopped as abruptly as it began. It was quiet outside. This meant that it was time to continue the way. Maybe this time someone would also want to thank him with a few coins... he would only need to force himself to take them.

The streets were empty. There was no hope to collect even a minimal audience. Aleph wilted, but he didn’t want to come back. He went to the city theater, in hope that the show was not canceled due to bad weather.

Seated on a portable stool, Aleph started playing. Plaintively and piercingly. Maybe someone would pay attention, for example, the group nearby. Handymen, probably ... Noisy and drunk most likely. Drunken people are often more generous too.

— Hey, why are you here? – He heard overhead.

No, these are not generous. These are pissed. And what do we do now?

— Attaching to the culture of the city, — said Aleph. — And you?

— You're implying something, eh?

— No, I'm interested — Aleph knew that no good could come from such conversation, but the rage on that day drowned out all the arguments of common sense.

— Guys, don’t you want some exercise before changing?

How to escape, taking the stool with him? No money to buy another one.

— Going somewhere?.. — Musician was caught by the jacket.

The first impact was in the jaw, the second — in the stomach.

There wasn’t a third one for some reason.

Legs failed and he fell, curled into a ball right on the pavement, clutching a flute in his hands – only for it not to be taken. It hurt to breathe, the time seemed to have stopped and everything swam before his eyes: the theater building, frightened faces... even dark grey sky after the rain looked blurry and dim.

The crowd was standing around Aleph and deciding what to do. Someone seated him and threw a coat on his shoulders. Someone carefully folded the instrument and the stool into the backpack, and someone else took him by the hand and led along. People were excitedly screaming at each other, but gradually their cries became silent and it was becoming quieter.

— Where are you taking me? — Aleph asked his companion as they had walked far enough. He was breathing hard, and he could hardly stand on his feet, but the saviour dragged him along struggling.

— Home with me — a dry woman's voice said. — You need a break. The main thing is that we aren’t stopped by the police because of your horrible look.

— I have never been stopped by the police.

— Do you have a house?

Aleph remained silent.

— What do you do in this city then?

He said nothing again.

— Well, we’ll figure that out later. My name is Ea.

— Mine is Aleph.

— A good name. Do you know what it means?

— I am the first of the twenty-two.

They were walking down sonorous and cold pavements on and on, but the musician was suddenly struck with a thought, on which he lost breath and everything inside shrunk from sticky fear. He really didn’t know what he was doing in Anshan and how he had got there. My God, he didn’t remember anything at all! As if... as if he didn’t exist before his arrival in the capital of Elam.

Dr Tekhina Ami accustomed to the university quickly. Despite the irritation arising because of quite a negative first impression, she was accustomed to the technician as well and tried to assign him interesting work, which she could have done herself. It seemed that everything went well. The university administration was satisfied with Tekhina, and she confidently settled in the laboratory, started working intensively on the theoretical developments in the field of purified protein nerve impulses that were to be the main basis of her research. The ability to speed up the transmission of nerve impulses of the human brain interested her in the first place. There was some progress, but lectures on biochemistry and biotechnology took a lot of her time. After just a month Tekhina realized that she should find additional funding, as in the training university laboratory, even if it was instrumented with the best modern equipment in the world, managing those was usually done by the clever laboratory assistant, most of the experiments were still unavailable. And the cost of the consumables in adequate quantities was too high. To top it all one could only dream of the freedom of action.

— So what are you going to do? — asked Dingir after rector refused to increase Dr. Ami’s funding, justifying his decision with strictly limited budget.

University was not exactly a rich institution. Discounts and bonuses for students, rather high salaries for teachers created a beautiful outer shell, inside of which there was a gaping void. There was barely enough funds to support the normal departmental work.

— I think we should try to find a sponsor — Tekhina sat in a chair near a huge desktop, from which the neon glow came, drinking coffee. — Although I do not know anyone in this town who might be interested in the artificial physiology. There are no international corporations or military organizations. It’s a huge half-empty city, inhabited by mid-level professionals and nothing more.

— I'll ask my parents, maybe they have some advice — Dingir thought. — But in exchange for the information, I want to push my condition; I will be more involved in your research.

— And your parents can really help? Who are they?

— I think they can. They work in a government agency for revival of Elam.

Ami thought. She had not heard of this organization before, but there were no other options.

— When can you do it? — She looked at the laboratory assistant, who was rhythmically rocking in a chair near his desk suffering from idleness.

— As soon as you let me go.

— Then you can go — Tekhina shrugged and went to the cooler to pour a little hot water to make another cup of coffee.

— Excellent, thank you! See you tomorrow, Dr. Ami.

— Have a nice day, Dingir.

The laboratory assistant went to change in the laundry room, which for some reason was called staffroom. He took off and hung his smock in the closet and replaced a T-shirt with a shirt.

Tekhina put the cup on the table and looked at the monitor. It seemed that an error crept into the calculations of neural connections, but which one? She sighed. She had to redo everything again until late at night. Peering into the equation, Tekhina was thinking and therefore startled when the lab door slammed loudly and she was left there alone.

Having left the university building, Dingir immediately headed towards one of the ziggurats. The route ran along the main city street, but the student was not interested in local buildings. He was totally absorbed by his thoughts about the upcoming conversation with his parents. After a few blocks, he heard a familiar melody which charmed with strange sounds. He was curious and decided to see what was happening and who was playing: if it was a regular guitar, Dingir most likely just wouldn’t pay attention to it.

Squeezing through the suddenly arisen in his way the crowd and complaining about his short stature, Dingir looked over woman’s shoulder and his interest was replaced by anxiety. Something in the flautist was wrong. Dingir felt an unpleasant chill creeping back. He wanted to see the face of the musician quickly, but people more people came by and the crowd grew. It was necessary to advance to the first row...

Flutist stopped playing and stood up to bow. He was quite tall and thin. Golden hair framed his face, transparent like glass blue eyes shone with an extraordinary light. Almost emotionless narrow face, clear white skin, thin nose and small plump lips made him look like a porcelain doll. Cold image was completed by light, almost invisible eyebrows and eyelashes. Sleek street minstrel’s face contrasted sharply with his old stretched T-shirt and dirty jeans. And something inexplicable coming from a musician increased Dingir’s anxiety, which gradually developed into panic. Is it really time? Now?

Looking at the musician for the last time, the student pulled himself together, left the crowd and headed to his parents.

Shining blue plastic Gekko-4 was much smaller than the others and differed by humble appearance. Few people knew, but in fact there were lower floors that went deep underground. It was the Ministry for revival of Elam. However, half of the main building and all underground levels were occupied by other organizations — Research Centre "Enki", which you could enter only if you had a special biometric pass.

A huge banner reading "Revival of Elam" in the central hall indicated that the Ministry was in the right part of Hekkoy. Entrance to the closed part of the building was designated by a small gilded plate on the checkpoint “Enki. Science. Reason. Achievements".

At first glance the room that housed the organization was no different from hundreds of other offices and administrations: large glazed spaces, which were divided into the uncomfortable box-offices, accounting, technical support divisions, and simple computing laboratories. Heads of departments and senior managers offices were more spacious and could be found on the upper floors, the last of them fully occupied by Mr Director-General and his personal secretary.

However Dingir wasn't going to the top of the plastic-glass pyramid, but down to the experimental unit, where his parents worked.

In the central hall there were three lifts: one serving the floors of the Ministry, the other two were for "Enki". Dingir called the elevator number 3, which stopped at the lowest level in front of the additional checkpoint where standard biometrics was not enough. The monitoring system scanned the retina, found it in the database and only after these manipulations young man was finally able to pass to his parents.

The office with high ceilings contained several large laboratories. There were huge computing machines, operating tables with pulse generators and other cumbersome research equipment. More compact devices, documents, and other necessary things were stocked on the shelves along the walls. Among the staff this floor was jokingly called "area (corner) of Dr. Moreau."

Dingir's parents — Lydia and Trier Lugal chaired the "corner" long before the ill-fated hurricane Tiamat. So they were happy to come back and continue their work, which without exaggeration was the work of their lives.

— Oh, hi! — Lydia got up from her desk to hug her son. — You are early today!

Despite the fact that Dingir was not high, the woman barely reached his shoulder. They both had dark skin, dark-hair and brown-eyes, as most of the locals once did.

As for Trier Lugal, he was tall, pale-faced with sparkling dark eyes and an unusual form of moustache, which he adored even more than his work. He constantly combed, trimmed and curled them at the tips old-fashioned way. Now Trier went around the table with printed schedules of his projects, trying to understand what should be optimized.

— I came on business — Dingir sat on the empty chair and pulled out a tiny laptop from his backpack. — I brought the documentation on the research of  Dr. Ami. It is very interesting and promising. Dr. Amy could actually do it, you know?

— Leave these files for us, we will take a look and pass them to the authorities. Mr Soph is to be in the office tomorrow — Lydia said strictly.

— I would like to work here with her. University is not capable of anything. And even more. I saw him. The musician. You are to decide for yourself, what to do.