The red emergency light pulsed with the calmness of a metronome, periodically filling the concrete space of the checkpoint. Bending over the console, the colonel wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and turned off the alarm, and then sank exhausted into a chair.
The silence that followed lasted no more than a couple of minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to the colonel. The sharp ringing of the phone on the table startled the colonel. He slowly picked up the phone and, trying to remain calm, asked:
— Peter Petrovich… Is everything all right there?
“Yes, everything’s fine,” a slightly frivolous voice answered on the phone.
— I evacuated the complex.…
“Really?” I’m glad you’re finding something to do. But I’m not really interested in that right now.
— What are you interested in now? The colonel asked as gently as possible.
“Only my memories…
* * *
— Brilliant! Brilliant! Pyotr Petrovich ran joyfully from corner to corner. He still didn’t fully believe his unexpected guess, but the formula he had carelessly written on the blackboard a minute ago was inexorably inspiring. A stable stranglet existed. It should have existed. It had to exist. Which meant that… Pyotr Petrovich nervously tugged at his pointed Trotskyist beard and muttered:
— You can try to apply magnetic retention…
Peter Petrovich was now on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He had been waiting too long for his moment of glory. He spent too long developing unpromising topics. And now he got a taste of the coming upheaval in the world of fundamental particles. Yes, of course, the taste was mixed with the anticipation of world fame, and perhaps the Nobel Prize, as well as the sweet intoxicating smell of government funding.
But for now… We need to figure out how to deliver the experience. Calculate the probability of birth and the required energy. The cold shower of experimental physics chilled the scientist. Pyotr Petrovich frowned and nervously erased the formulas from the blackboard. Where will all this be done? And by whom? Some Helmud Skarsgard in some cozy Switzerland. And not by Peter Petrovich Sazhin. Not to them…
* * *
— Peter Petrovich… Are you still there?” the colonel asked a little hesitantly, frantically listening to the silence on the other end of the phone.
—Yes,— Sazhin replied, “did you get bored there, Comrade Colonel?” Would you like to come down to my place?
“Perhaps,” the Colonel agreed.
— Then go to the central elevator, I’ll turn it on.
— good. The main thing is, don’t do anything stupid, Pyotr Petrovich.
The colonel hung up the phone, got up slowly and walked confidently down the underground corridor towards the elevator. The fluorescent lights seemed particularly lifeless and sinister to him now.
The colonel went to the elevators and, pressing the call button, heard the mechanism that lifted the cabin to the upper level. An internal speaker crackled somewhere in the ceiling.
— I can’t hear you, Colonel, but I hope you can hear me… — Sazhin’s voice, distorted by the speaker, echoed off the concrete walls and also seemed somehow dead, — I just wanted to say that you should not absolve yourself of responsibility. After all, nothing would have happened without you.… And in the end, you got what you wanted.…
The lifting mechanism fell silent, and the elevator doors opened in front of the colonel with a light clink.
* * *
An office with windows draped with thick heavy curtains, massive furniture, and semi-darkness… It seemed that over the past 30 years, only the portrait on the wall above the head of the boss with large shoulder straps had changed.
— Are these your new physical principles again? The general frowned.
— Scientists don’t say that, but… — the colonel shrugged his shoulders
— But?
— New weapons can be developed within 5-10 years.
“Isn’t that a little overconfident, Colonel?” The general frowned again.
— The Commission confirmed that the topic has potential.
“Are you trying on Lavrentiy Beria’s laurels, by any chance?”
“I’m doing my duty,— the colonel replied dryly.
— Well, all right, all right! Work hard! The old general waved his hand wearily.
He was just under a year away from retiring. For now, the court is on the case, and then let the young people figure out what will happen from these new physical principles with these particles, blasters and clusters.
* * *
The lower level of the complex looked casual. The accelerators were controlled from a higher-level laboratory. Detector data also flowed there for processing. Here, among the intricacies of multicolored cables, technicians worked only occasionally.
After exiting the elevator, the colonel froze for a moment, listening to the measured hum of the equipment. Everything worked reliably. Too reliable. And how well the place was chosen. Depth of occurrence. Distance from large settlements. The maximum time of approach of a potential enemy’s missiles.
A great place to do cutting-edge scientific research with a high level of secrecy. Or to finally bury them…
* * *
—Here,” the colonel said, stopping on a hillock.
“Where?” Pyotr Petrovich did not understand, trying to wrap himself even more warmly in a down jacket that was at least two sizes too big for him.
— Here!… — the colonel answered even more vaguely, solemnly, like Peter the Great, pointing with his hand at the panorama unfolding under the place where they stopped.
The view from the hill opened, and, indeed, majestic. There was a rather steep descent going down, ending almost vertically above the blue surface of the river. Further on, the river made a bend, turning like a sickle around a hill overgrown with dense forest.
However, Pyotr Petrovich did not appreciate the beauty of the local Siberian nature. In his mind, he was already marking out the site for the experimental complex: he was inscribing the collider ring into the relief, calculating where the reactor coolers, detectors and magnetic trap assemblies would be located.
—Yes,— he finally said, —this place is suitable.
The colonel nodded silently, made a note on his clipboard, and headed back to the helicopter. Both of them still had at least an hour and a half to shake inside the Mi-8 to the military unit.
* * *
A narrow corridor, like a duct in the body of some huge animal, opened into the cavity of the main engine room. Cables, like a network of blood vessels, spread out in different directions and went up the vaulted walls. At the top, they met on the rounded bulk of a magnetic trap. Now, with its entire multi-ton mass, it loomed over the colonel and resembled a heart throbbing in his chest.
—The heart of the complex…— the colonel said involuntarily.
“And you’re a romantic,— Pyotr Petrovich unexpectedly replied from the loudspeaker.
The colonel turned and looked to where the glass box of the emergency control room protruded slightly from the wall. Inside, like a fish in an aquarium, Sazhin was sitting at the console.
“That’s what you always called him,— the colonel remarked, carefully feeling the handle of the PMa with his fingers.
“Come on, Colonel,— Sazhin waved a little irritably, –it’s just a bomb. Just a bomb. And you know this much better than I do… by the way, you shouldn’t be trying to get your gun out. He can’t break through that armored glass.
— No, it’s fine, — the colonel defiantly raised his hands, – Maybe let me in and we’ll talk? Just let’s talk.
— Sazhin smiled maliciously, — I blocked the door from the inside. But I can offer you a chair. Have a seat, Colonel.
In front of the control room, the colonel actually saw a chair, apparently specially brought by Sazhin from the upper level. The colonel slowly picked him up, moved him closer to the glass, behind which the scientist was still smiling maliciously, and calmly sat down.
— And what are we going to discuss?
— Yes, anything. Take your time, we still have time,” Sazhin chuckled, continuing to fake a grin over his pointed beard.
— And yet… Pyotr Petrovich, what did you miss? It all started well.…
* * *
The complex, built by metro builders right under the forest in the thickness of the hill in record time, grew every day with expensive equipment of titanic size and was filled with its electrostatic and electromagnetic force.
— Which CERN do you like? Soon everyone will want to be here! But they can’t! — more and more often, Sazhin declared with undisguised pride to the employees at the meetings.
Pyotr Petrovich rejoiced. It was the first time he had been entrusted with such a large-scale event. And although there were military men everywhere, whom he disliked and frankly considered to be narrow-minded, Sazhin still sincerely enjoyed what was happening. Some of his colleagues, who had not noticed his talent before, were now subordinate to him and obsequiously ran up for questions and consultations.
— What is the necessary field strength, Pyotr Petrovich?
— Is this reproduction coefficient enough, Pyotr Petrovich?
— Please sign it, Pyotr Petrovich…
Pyotr Petrovich grew into a benevolent smile and gradually swelled with a sense of self-importance. It was still a long way from completion, and the success of the experiments was questionable, but he already felt like a winner. And, as you know, they are not judged.
Moreover, the work was ahead of schedule. Pyotr Petrovich spared no budget funds, generously distributing orders to Sredmash, Tochmash and other “Mash”, as he condescendingly called them in backstage conversations. However, if such conversations were conducted openly, no one would object anyway. In those years, many enterprises and research institutes were extremely grateful to Sazhin for unprecedented financial investments in Russian science.
Every day, Pyotr Petrovich watched with pleasure how all the elements of the huge designer were put together under his strict guidance into a single and truly magnificent structure. In the evenings, locked in his office and looking at the text of his scientific work on the computer, Sazhin increasingly felt like the center of what was happening.
— It’s all done here! And by whom? Not some Helmud Skarsgard in some lousy Switzerland. No! By Peter Petrovich Sazhin himself! By me!
Peter Petrovich decisively pressed a few keys and replaced the English word “stranglet”, which was disliked by his heart, with a much more gentle and somehow native “strapelka”.
* * *
“Is that what this is about?” — the colonel suggested, – Do you want fame? Fame? It’s not a problem. When you finish all the experiments… When the product is ready, you will be able to publish your scientific papers. The priority of opening will always remain with you.
“Science?” An opening?! Sazhin shrieked hysterically, jumping up from his seat, “How late do you remember those words, Colonel! That’s enough! Science has always been the last thing you’ve been interested in. All of you!
The physicist took a deep breath and slowly walked almost close to the armored glass.
“There will be no more experiments, Colonel,— Pyotr Petrovich paused, —the product is… ready. There it is above your head.
The colonel looked back up once more, where the huge magnetic trap was located.
“Inside?”
– yes. Inside,” Sazhin paused for a moment, thinking, “there is an amazing potential … destructive… But also creative. The embodiment of God’s wrath. The Ultimate Weapon… Did you really think that I would give it to you, Colonel? For what? Scientific fame? Awards? Money? All these are just pieces of paper to amuse empty human vanity. Glass beads for the savage. And this thing… She’s priceless! By its very existence, it negates everything that can be obtained for it.
The colonel’s face changed. Now it has become somehow leaden-gray, and the look is empty and emotionless.
“What do you want?”
* * *
For many, the morning at the experimental complex began as a matter of routine. The sun in the east turned the sky, clouds, and tops of the pines crimson. The staff went to their desks. Pyotr Petrovich took his place in the laboratory behind the backs of people clinging to monitors with detector readings. The accelerator howled a little more loudly, pushing the nuclei forward, bringing them to high energies and speeds. The mouth of the magnetic trap opened as usual, preparing to receive the coveted particle…
And suddenly… somewhere in the depths of the units, a shut-off relay clicked. This detector detected theoretically predicted decay modes. Microscopic fragments, traces of the synthesis that took place. The system stopped the accelerator, switching all the energy to magnetic retention. The mousetrap snapped shut.
A heavy, dense silence hung in the room, as if electrifying the air.
“I hope this isn’t the same glitch as last month,— Sazhin muttered irritably.
“No, Pyotr Petrovich,— replied the laboratory assistant, who was literally staring at the readings on the monitor, “I think this is it.”…
“It seems…” the physicist chuckled.
— By weight… In all respects… it matches.
“Let’s check it out,” Sazhin said decisively.
— Let’s get started…
The accelerator howled for a while longer to throw the ill-fated deuterium core into the potential pit of the magnetic trap, and fell silent again.
— Peter Petrovich… There was a recombination of quarks. The mass has doubled…” the laboratory assistant commented on what Sazhin had already seen on the screen. In a matter of milliseconds, he suddenly realized that this was the moment of truth he had been waiting for for so long, and he slammed the alarm button.
While everyone was jumping up from their seats and hurriedly leaving the complex, Pyotr Petrovich de-energized the central control panel, and then took a chair and leisurely went downstairs to the emergency room. According to the instructions, the military had to completely evacuate the personnel in 6 and a half minutes. Ten minutes have passed. Sazhin picked up the phone and dialed the checkpoint.…
* * *
“What do you want?” — The colonel repeated his question dryly.
— I want to tell you something about strapels… Strange droplets. It’s really a very mysterious thing. Tightly packed quarks… Matter of a different type, even more perfect in some ways, because there are no atoms for it anymore. This is a stable quark system. It can make up everything from subatomic particles to planetary-scale objects. If only there were material… everything that can be absorbed,” the physicist thought, “It’s amazing that they didn’t arise at the time of the Big Bang… if that had happened, our universe would have been completely different.”…
— Why are you saying this, Sazhin? — The colonel couldn’t stand it, – What the hell are you up to?!
You’re wrong. I didn’t plan anything,” Pyotr Petrovich replied calmly, —You planned all this!” — he dramatically spread his hands to the sides, — You have decided that with the help of my intellect, at the cost of my genius, you will be able to keep forces in subjection, the full power of which you cannot even imagine! But you were wrong! This whole complex is one huge grenade that has already had the pin pulled. And I’m tired of holding her.…
—Sazhin, you’re crazy.
—Oh, no,” he said. I am absolutely healthy. The whole world is full of madmen: governments, politicians, military… In the struggle for power, for spheres of influence, and for sales markets, you are ready to threaten all of humanity with annihilation. And you’ve always wanted to get a gun for that. And here it is! The Doomsday machine. She’s ready. She works… The irony is that once launched, it is impossible to stop it. All these superconducting magnets can’t stop Cerberus sitting inside, they just keep him on a short leash. But one day, someone won’t have the strength or patience.
— It can still be stopped…
— Alas, nothing can be stopped, Colonel, and nothing can be fixed… the ultimate weapon is ready. A cocked pistol is already pointed at the temple of every inhabitant of the planet, regardless of his nationality, citizenship or religion. A weapon that cannot be used in war. It is only suitable for global terror. But once it’s created, it’s bound to work. In 10 years, in 20, in 50… it doesn’t matter. Entire generations can be born and raised in slavery on pain of total annihilation. What for? Why not end it right now? Immediately. Without any additional conditions…
— The vain madman…
“Not at all… There is not a single drop of vanity in my actions. Because no one will ever know or remember what I did. In a way, it’s an act of absolute altruism, Colonel. Perhaps this was the task of humanity.… The end result and the meaning of our very existence? The triumph of the human mind! What do you think?
“Stop it!”
“I’m already stopping you.” I’m stopping this whole universe. Maybe the next one will be better.…
Having said that, Pyotr Petrovich turned off the electricity supply.
* * *
Petr Petrovich, annoyed, knocked a piece of chalk and crumbled it on the board. Something about the damn formula definitely didn’t add up. There was still a lot of work to do, but now it was just necessary to take a break. Pyotr Petrovich thoughtfully tugged at his pointed Trotskyist beard, put on his hat and went out into the street. The sun was still shining there.
