Vadim Babenko - The Place of Quarantine

This book is a work of fiction. The research efforts of its main protagonist cannot be considered scientifically legitimate however, I have aimed to keep them as close as possible to genuine theories developed by serious scientists. I have also tried to avoid anything fundamentally impossible from a modern scientific point of view.

Id like to express my sincere gratitude to all those who have helped me in my work. I would especially like to mention Giuseppe Vitiello, whose articles, advice and consultations have played a significant role in the formation of the books most important concepts. The main one the application of quantum field theory to the modeling of human memory and intelligence in many respects echoes the works of Vitiello, including his publications in co-authorship with Walter Freeman and others.

Many thanks are due to Andrei Parnachev for our conversation about superstrings and branes.

And finally, a special thanks to Alexander Bobkov, who agreed to read through most of the manuscript and made a number of valuable comments.

First, a sound is born as if a copper string is trembling nearby. A tender echo responds at the farthest point of my consciousness, near its borderline. Then comes the notion that out there, beyond this border, is where my cradle once stood. Someone has willed me to abandon it; there is no return.

The sound becomes louder, more distinct, sharper. It contains a myriad of harmonics, each living its own life. Their chorus is unbearable; it grows, it drives me crazy and suddenly breaks off at full crescendo. Silence reigns, and held within it a memory of the cradle, its final, barely perceptible trace. Its elusive image, the shadow of a strange, very alien yearning. As if someone has exclaimed, What a pity! and then its gone, the trace lost amid a multitude of others. The sound of the copper string returns but now it is not so loud and is quite bearable. Contours and lines emerge out of the gray haze like an image on photographic paper. Little by little, they meld into a single whole to form a meaningful picture.

I see my hands resting on my knees, a flight of stairs, a handrail and walls. Beneath me there are more steps; I sit, hunched over, staring at the floor. My mind is empty; all I know is that this is the first time I have been here on these steps, on this staircase. I sense that I am capable of remembering who I am, but I dont have the strength. I am happy just sitting like this, doing nothing, not even changing my position. Staring at the concrete stairs and not thinking about anything.

Time passes and suddenly I am aware that I have been idle for too long. Something is urging me from within; Theo, I murmur out loud, and I know: this is my name. The sound remains; in search of its source, I look around me. Then I glance up and it becomes clear there is no taut copper string. Its all much more trivial: a dingy fluorescent tube hums and crackles over my head. Itll burn out soon, I note mechanically, and I shudder somewhere below a door slams.

Immediately, I start to feel extraneous sounds pressing in from all sides. It seems I can hear footsteps, laughter, irritated voices, a childs wailing. I can hear car horns, screaming sirens, the noises of the city. Roaring waves and howling whirlwinds, the rustle of grass, leaves, paper

I am anxious; my recent serenity evaporates. The door slams over and over again; I get up and lean over the bannister. There is nothing to see down below there is only darkness and a flight of stairs disappearing into nowhere. Mierda, I whisper, starting back; my head is beginning to spin. Its already clear I cant stay here and cannot afford to lose any more time. I give myself the once-over and see a gray coat, brown pants and a pair of blunt-toed boots. My outfit doesnt impress me, but I have no choice in the matter. I raise my collar, zip my coat right up to my chin and take a step up the staircase.

Everything goes quiet again, as if on command; all that can be heard is the squeak of the soles of my boots. I climb several floors, each indistinguishable from the last. Every landing has a single bare door with no number or nameplate; there isnt the slightest murmur coming from behind any of them, only deathly silence. I dont dare knock, and, moreover, I have no desire to see anyone. I am devoid of any desires whatsoever, but I do have a purpose, although for now its unclear even to myself. Landing after landing, I keep climbing. There is a musty smell in the air; the light-gray walls are smooth, with no cracks or graffiti. There is no life in this building, I whisper to myself and then, suddenly, I see the door on the next floor slightly ajar.

At the door stands a woman of about thirty in a blue cotton dress and summer shoes. She has lovely legs and an open, welcoming smile. I freeze in a daze: her presence is unexpected, hardly possible. I have almost become convinced that Im all alone in this house and in this whole strange world. The woman is entirely real, however. Welcome, she says, opening the door a bit wider. Then she introduces herself, Im Elsa. I just look at her, bewildered. Her voice echoes in the emptiness of the stairwell and seems to resonate within me, like the buzzing fluorescent light down below.

Then I realize its foolish to just stand there and enter in through the door, squeezing past Elsa on my way. She exudes warmth and a fresh fragrance, resonant of juniper and vanilla. For a brief second, it occurs to me the scent of her sex is probably as sweet as an exotic fruit and I pass through into the living room and look around. Elsa closes the door, throws the chain and follows behind me.

This is the living room, she says. Theres not much furniture but we dont need any more at least to my taste.

Indeed, there is only a table, some chairs and a large sofa, which looks uncomfortable. There isnt a single lamp, but soft neutral light streams in from the walls and ceiling. In the far corner is a kitchen with a chrome sink and an electric stove. To the right a window; I go up to it and look outside. There is a mountainous landscape with pine trees and snow. Something vaguely familiar that pricks my memory.

Dont believe what you see, Elsa says with a snicker. Its only an image; there are a lot of different ones. And please, do introduce yourself!

I turn around she is standing there with the same welcoming smile. Sometimes they call me Theo, I murmur cautiously, intrigued by the sound of my own voice. It sounds familiar; Yes, Theo, I repeat and try to grin in reply.

Im very pleased! says Elsa, moving closer. Ive been so lonely on my own

I notice that when she speaks, her lips morph into an indistinct, blurry O. For some reason this doesnt surprise me.

Ive already been here three days without a roommate, she adds. Its a bit long, dont you think?

I simply shrug and look out the window again. A squirrel jumps in the branches of the nearest pine tree, soft snow sparkling in the sun. I dont think I could imagine anything more real.

Elsa, I ask, glancing at the squirrel, please, explain to me whats happening. Where am I, what am I and who are you? I cant remember a thing was I ill? Have we been abducted and taken prisoner?

Elsa stands next to me, running her finger along the windowpane. I note that she has finely manicured hands.

Youre not going to like my answer, she says, pausing slightly. And its not likely to help but I frankly dont know how to say all this. I myself thought they were making fun of me