Chapter Three

 

 

 

…And I opened my eyes. The table clock showed a quarter to seven. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. As soon as I cracked the first egg over the frying pan, a small virtual fragment of that large panoramic futuristic “canvas” that my father, mother, and I had observed during the night flight fluttered out of its shell.

It was about Scotland, a country that had left the United Kingdom. Before me, floating the rocky shores of the islandы, washed by the cold waters of the North Sea. I saw fishing schooners with holds full of herring shining silver; countless flocks of fine-wool sheep on mountain pastures; and finally, large oak barrels in which malt whiskey matures. And I even fancied I could smell its tart aroma.

The shrill sounds of bagpipes and drums reached my ears. Scottish archers in traditional kilts marched along the streets of Edinburgh, stamping their feet. A crowd of festively dressed people greeted them: men, putting their right hands to their temple in a military manner, women and girls throwing red and white roses at the archers' feet.

The proud, obstinate ancestors of malt whisky made their choice. In a national referendum, they declared that pan-European democratic values were more precious to them than the ossified, mossy traditions of the British monarchy. London refused to recognize Edinburgh's independence. After a series of ultimatums, the English threatened to return the Scots to the flock of the metropolis, like lost sheep, by force.

But it was too late. By that time, Scotland had been recognized by Argentina, Bolivia, Ghana, Guatemala, Honduras, Qatar, Iraq and other democratic states. The Scots were supported by the European Bureaucratic International. Brussels warned London that if force was used, it would receive the toughest economic sanctions in response. And a NATO rapid response military contingent, reinforced by two divisions of Ukrainian marines, would land on the British Isles to protect the free democratic expression of the will of the Scots.

After that, in the offices of Buckingham Palace, in the House of Lords and on Downing Street, they came to a unanimous opinion: it would be cheaper for the United Kingdom to lose one, even the most delicious of its constituent parts, than to feed a foreign army. And, having cried into each other's shoulders, the proud English swallowed the "Scottish pill", no matter how bitter it tasted. Thus, in my futuristic dream, "Brexit", that is, its exit from the European Union, came back to haunt proud Albion.

"This can't be! And anyway, what do you have against Great Britain?" So my awakened Brain reacted to this not-yet-happened geopolitical event of the distant future. Which I immediately guessed from the electrical impulses that flashed between the temporal parts of my head.

"This can't be! And anyway, what do you have against Great Britain?" So, Brain reacted to a geopolitical event of the distant future. Which I guessed from the electrical impulses that flashed between the temporal parts of my head.

"Who narrowed it? What narrowed it? Why narrowed it?" Brain, who had woken up, started asking me questions.

“Don't worry, it was just a dream!” I said. "However, dreams can sometimes be prophetic. Just imagine the situation: while the politicians and military of the United States of America are sorting out the Californian separatists, who have decided to formalize a civilized divorce from the federal government, Russia and Turkey will be strengthening their positions in the Middle East.

Yes, after a long military confrontation, they will collude and divide the territory of Syria into parts, creating two sovereign puppet democratic states: Southern and Northern Syria. Thus, they will present not only the world community, but also the main conductor of anti-terrorist activities in the Near and Middle East – the United States of America – with a fait accompli…

“Nothing, absolutely, nothing! I just dreamed it. And after watching TV news programs, as you know, you can dream about anything,” I answered peacefully, like an unshakable pacifist.

Taking the second egg in my hand, I hesitated: should I need to break it? It was not a fact that another fragment from that very futuristic panorama would not “hatch” from its shell, which can turn out to be no less controversial than the previous one. After hesitating for a minute, I nevertheless broke the egg - I was really hungry! And as soon as the contents of the egg spread over the surface of the frying pan like a sunny chamomile, I felt a smell of burning, in my face a hit of dry hot sand. “The Middle East!” I guessed. And I thought, what a tight geopolitical knot will be tied there soon!”

"Who narrowed it? What narrowed it? Why narrowed it?" Brain, who had woken up, started asking me questions.

“Don't worry, it was just a dream!” I said. "However, dreams can sometimes be prophetic. Just imagine the situation: while the politicians and military of the United States of America are sorting out the Californian separatists, who have decided to formalize a civilized divorce from the federal government, Russia and Turkey will be strengthening their positions in the Middle East.

Yes, after a long military confrontation, they will collude and divide the territory of Syria into parts, creating two sovereign puppet democratic states: Southern and Northern Syria. Thus, they will present not only the world community, but also the main conductor of anti-terrorist activities in the Near and Middle East – the United States of America – with a fait accompli…

 

"Who narrowed it? What narrowed it? Why narrowed it?" Brain, who had woken up, started asking me questions.

“Don't worry, it was just a dream!” I said. “While the politicians and military of the United States of America are sorting out the Californian separatists in Sacramento who have decided to formalize a civilized divorce from the federal government, Russia and Turkey wanted will strengthen their positions in the Middle East.

After a long military confrontation, they will collude and divide the territory of Syria into parts, creating two sovereign puppet democratic states: Southern and Northern Syria. And thus they will present not only the world community, but also the main conductor of anti-terrorist activities in the Near and Middle East – the United States of America – with a fait accompli…

"And what about Israel? Will it remain silent? Or will it appeal to the United Nations again?" my Brain was indignant, twisting the chain of neurons into a tight serpentine spiral.

Yes, about Israel? It will be put in an awkward position,” I continued cautiously, knowing with what reverence my Brain treats the descendants of Kings Solomon and David. "Nevertheless, the Jews will soon come to their senses and respond to the geopolitical conundrum that has arisen adequately. They will take and annex the Palestinian Authority under the cover of noise, thereby wiping Iran's nose. In addition, Jerusalem will annex the Jordan Valley, Jewish settlements in Judea and Samaria, as was done in its time with the Golan Heights, which, with the consent of the United States, became an integral part of the Jewish state...”

 “Nonsense, this is all sheer nonsense!” Brain gave a crisp answer. “Nonsense, this is all sheer nonsense!” Brain gave a crisp answer on my prognosis politic.

“And the divorce of Sacramento and Washington, in your opinion, is also nonsense?” I persisted.

"I don't know, I don't know, in recent years American public opinion has become more radical. In particular, in the state of California itself. As a result of the aggravated disagreements on this issue, several initiatives were submitted for public discussion: one of them concerned the division of California into smaller states, others - about its secession from the United States," Brain summed up.

“In other words, you don’t rule out the possibility of such a scenario developing in the future?” I asked with the caution of a diplomat well-versed in international negotiations, especially during meetings with the red-headed Dodi.

"It's not my business to go that far," Brain avoided a direct answer. "I'd rather refer to the authoritative opinion of professionals. For example, political scientist and professor at Carleton University Steve Sideman believes, that California's departure for 'independent sailing" largely depends on who will be in power by that time. "If it's the Republicans, they'll most likely say: "good riddance," while the Democrats will argue with them: "We must keep California in the United States, otherwise we'll find ourselves on the sidelines forever," the professor believes...

“Today, yes! And tomorrow?” I asked cautiously, afraid to upset the balance that had been established between us.

“Everything you say comes across as biased, I would even say far-fetched!” Brain responded with a slight strain of his brain.

“This is not for me personally, but in my futuristic dream.”

"Is it really? But it seems to me that there was no dream," he objected. "You made it all up yourself, only to fool me."

“Do you think I'm capable of that?”

"I doubt. But you never know!" Brain admitted frankly. And, as it seemed to me, he dozed off again.

"Finally!"  I thought. "Let him rest a little! "But before breaking the third egg, I prepared myself for another surprise. And I was right.

"I didn't have time to throw the third eggshell into the trash can, a stereoscopic self-moving picture appeared above the sizzling frying pan. The main characters of this short film were a young man and a pretty black woman. They were walking along Avenue des Champs-Élysées towards the Arc de Triomphe, and kissing under the shade of chestnut trees.

Lovers are a must-see feature of this Parisian landscape; as is the endless stream of people and cars, and, of course, the famous old tower, sticking out in the background like the raised middle finger of the right hand of its creator, engineer Eiffel.

“Is it really you, Lenya! How come I didn't recognize you right away?” Said Mom, hugging and pressing me to herself. “And who is this sweet Black girl? You know, I've already fallen in love with her as my daughter-in-law...”

Dad patted me on the shoulder and said:

“Well done, boy, I knew that you wouldn’t let me down and would make me happy by finally learning the nature of happiness!”

My parents were happy. They had long dreamed of grandchildren and believed that their expectations had finally been fulfilled. I, standing nearby, nervously bit my lips. I felt awkward watching, as if through a keyhole, these two neophytes who were walking the streets of Paris and kissing passionately.

At the same time, I could not understand or explain to myself where this unknown episode of my biography came from. Yes, I had a dark-skinned gypsy girl from the Sambar, yes, I had an affair with a nice local Jewish woman - a poetess, short, with an olive-colored face and stiff, wire-like, black curly hair. But I don’t remember that kissing a black woman, even if you kill me! And I told my father about it. However, he brushed aside my explanations and stated, “If it didn’t happen to you yet, it will definitely happen in the future! You only have to wait, to believe, and to hope…”

I don't know if he was in his right mind when he said that. But here I am again, in a delicate position: from my bachelor's kitchen, watching myself. Yes, watching myself, watching myself, watching myself, kissing a black girl on a famous Parisian street. Not only that, I'm not only watching them, I'm listening to their conversation.

Here they are walking along the Champs Elysees and discussing a Parisian woman who just left Tiffany's in shoes on her bare feet.

"Here, the shabby bitch, and she too!" said the girl. "What do you mean?" asked the guy. "Legs," she said. "What legs, I don't understand?" he said. "Bare feet of French women are a brand! It showed that their owner belongs to the so-called "bobo", that is, to the bourgeois bohemia," said the girl…

I could have watched this pair of lovers for a long time, and listened to everything they said. Having forgotten myself, I was about to use that method of moving in time and space that Alberta had invented, and step out of my kitchen straight to them, on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Yes, exactly as he had done in his time: moving in the blink of an eye to the Arabian Desert and back.

However, the noxious smell of smoke filling the kitchen brought me back to reality. I suddenly turned off the gas, but it was too late: my fried eggs were pretty burnt. And I had to eat my breakfast of sandwiches alone. While I was eating, I watched the news program on the World News channel. In the morning hours, they broadcast yesterday's latest news.

“Syrian troops, with the support of Russian aviation, have resumed their offensive in Idlib province,” the announcer reported. “Due to intense shelling, hundreds of thousands of residents of this province have left their homes… Western countries are afraid that a further advance by government troops could cause a humanitarian crisis in Syria and a new influx of refugees into EU countries…”

The events that were discussed in the news program were not a surprise to me. I had learned about them much earlier, when I was in a temporary “formlessness” with my mom and dad. “But if the scenario of these events changed for some reason, it is no longer my fault,” I thought and switched to the local TV channel.

Harry Violet immediately appeared on the screen, as always, in a fashionable baggy jacket. Harry is a local celebrity, a TV star. He was informing the population of the region about the rise in utility prices. While reporting this banal news, Harry behaved like a provincial clown: he puffed out his cheeks, stuck out his lips and bulged his eyes so much that they almost popped out of their sockets.

At the same time, he manipulated his voice, sometimes lowering its timbre to a tragic sound, sometimes raising it to a screech. It was obvious to the naked eye that Harry wanted to appear smarter in the eyes of TV viewers than he actually was. However, no matter how hard he tried, he was far from the level of Larry King or Tucker Carlson, or even our Matvey Gonapolsky. And I, pressing a button on the remote control, returned this local clown back to the other side of the plasma TV screen from where he had just appeared.

“You’re jealous, huh?” Brain responded to my actions after waking up.

“Why ‘envy’?” I was indignant.

"Because you wanted to become a famous journalist yourself, but you were kicked out of there like a mangy dog. That's why you're angry..." Brain teleported to me.

“What do you mean: "Kicked out?" I wanted to become an international journalist, but they immediately offered me to join the ruling party. Without it, they said, you won't make a career. So I had to leave. For ethical reasons, as you remember...”

"Yes, yes, I remember," Brain took note of my explanations. "But don't be upset, soon artificial intelligence will take over mass media affairs. It will compose texts itself, voice them, control them and broadcast them. Only dry facts, only balanced commentary and no emotions, eroticism or pornography. Because all this negatively affects the digestion process of millions of decent law-abiding citizens..."

“And what will happen to these already active journalists?”

"No big deal! They've been broadcasting and will continue to broadcast banal truths, unsuccessfully trying to manipulate the consciousness of gullible viewers. But this will happen on other channels, in another spatial and temporal dimension. As I believe, they will be specially opened for losers like you!" Brain sneered once again.

Yes, I remember that in the twentieth century, scientists from economically developed countries worked on creating new types of weapons so that they could destroy an enemy or outcast country with one blow. But how drastically the vector of their searches has changed! Now these "eggheads" have taken up the creation of artificial intelligence. Humanity, if it survives, will never forgive them for such a dirty trick.

You're right! Artificial intelligence is a weapon of the highest order. Our solar system hasn't seen anything like it since its inception..." Brain agreed with me.

“My biggest fear is that with the help of artificial intelligence, governments and corporations will know more about us than we know about ourselves. Using this knowledge, they will be able to manipulate not only our consciousness, but also our feelings. Though they have been doing this for a long time, turning us all into digital autists," thought I.

“Alas, the plans of artificial intelligence and the petty interests of ordinary people are incompatible!” clarified Brain.