Jesus and Christ
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– Why are you repeating my thoughts all of a sudden? – Ruthra remembered that it had occurred to him to say the same thing last time.
– That's what you think," was the reply from the interlocutor, the same as last time.
– First of all, I haven't interacted with anyone here yet, except for you here, I see the same environment as I have a few times before, and....
"And I thought I answered the same way that time," Ruthra thought, "or…? Maybe there was no last time? Hell, no, there was…"
He was distracted from his thoughts by otherworldly noises. He turned, noticing the anxious, intense, beastly look of horror in his companion's eyes.
– So much for politicians," the rabbi's voice sounded depressed, just like last time.
"A master of the stage," Ruthra thought, only his doubts grew stronger.
And, trying again to tear his gaze away from the madness in the Jew's eyes, he looked at the scorched branding – the six-pointed star (magendavid) looked a little different, bigger and… it was a real scar from the scorched branding. Ruthra, feeling unconsciously anxious, turned around. What he saw gave him an answer, but it was from a different area, though Ruthra still doubted whether it was the right one: the same horde of Selekwid warriors were coming at them. He wasn't surprised by the director's idea, but the horror in his gaze… something instinctive… that spoke of reality.
"It's all very real," Ruthra reasoned with himself, "but it's still a production. Or…"
Everything repeated itself: a group of men approached the oasis with shouts and yells, pursued by another group, mostly horsemen.
Apparently our brains have senses other than sight and hearing, which were necessary to understand what we were seeing, so with some sixth sense Ruthra realized the reality of what was happening. Doubts or belief in the scene already played out remained, even when the riders caught up with the pursuers at the tree. Doubts remained even as scarlet hot blood hissed from the severed necks. Doubts still remained when the screams, the cries of the dying began to fade. Doubts remained when the mahaira, a variant of the xiphos, a short light sword for horsemen, glittered over the rabbi who had convinced him. Doubts remained when the rabbi was not quite a rabbi, for he drew his sicarius and fended off the blows of three opponents one after another.
"Sicarius," Ruthra said excitedly to himself, "he is a sicarius 4 . The short curved sword of the sica no doubt speaks volumes." This public, though from the pages of historiography, Rutra knew well. Knew, too, that "sicri" was the Latin nickname for secret assassins. It was not for nothing that the term had become entrenched in the vocabulary of the Latins as something derived from the word for assassin – sicarius in Latin. "And yet what is going on around here?" – Rutra wondered. Shrieks, screams, howls, cries, distraught moans, the wheeze of air escaping from their lungs through the shards of severed necks… it all sounded from one side or the other. And yet Ruthra still had doubts about the reality of what was happening. But suddenly those doubts were dispelled by the cold blade of a heavy akinak.
4
Sicarii – "daggers" – a militant Jewish group, a splinter wing of the Zealot movement; they attacked both invaders and collaborators.
***
Perhaps in a moment, perhaps in a billion years, perhaps where he lay in the rig, perhaps in another universe… how do we know, since the existence of a parallel world identical to our own is real… Rutra "woke up".
– Your doubts are justified," Maimun said snidely above him, "perhaps we shouldn't get up now? Are you not too tired, your majesty?
– Back off," Ruthra replied gruffly and held out his hand to his assistant.
– That was reality," he said, "you woke up because of the death of the consciousness carrier in that world," he explained quite seriously.
Ruthra replied with a thoughtful look, weakly trying to hide his astonishment.
– It was real," Maimun said quietly, as if it were some kind of secret, patting his palms timidly.
Rutra paused, looking around at his colleagues and the laboratory staff. The staff took turns joining in the congratulations of the luminary of science – clapping softly, looking at Ruthra with admiration – and soon the room was filled with applause. Master Paschow was overcome with a look of amazement that turned to one of rapture.
Chapter 4: One of the worlds that has not fallen
"…and the other inhabitants of the universe have not fallen…"
(Book of Isaiah: chapter 26 verse 18)
After stretching his muscles and going through the hygiene and medical procedures, Ruthra returned to the room with the displacement units. This time he was curious to do a session himself. But he took his time, went over everything his mind had memorized with the analysts, and, trying not to show his concern, wondered if this was really some kind of world or if it was happening inside his brain. That it was no longer a staging – he knew – Rangit was an impartial arbiter, and yes the intuitive subconscious feeling we define as 'gut feeling' spoke of the reality of the event. "I wonder," thought Rutra, "in an actual logical line what the Indians of America had come to imagine the world to be like when they first saw the Europeans, Columbus and crew?" Another thought came next: how do we know what we dream in those dreams we don't remember? In fact, we don't remember at all what in our consciousness is going on in the dream. And is it in our consciousness? And is it in ours?
Ruthra lay down in the machine, and the process began: a bright beam, an indistinguishable sound, a slight but sharp reflex twitching of the body… and his consciousness was already seeing another reality. Whether it was a staging, a dream, hypnosis, trance, or an artificial coma, Ruthra didn't even want to find out. Everything that was happening around him felt real, natural. What made it real was that he was aware of his sensations in this state and remembered the events that had preceded his arrival here. "But how the hell how?" – he wondered, though he himself was proving the possibility of it. And yet, how could such a thing be believed, for everything around him was the same, well, almost the same, as it was there, in that world of his. And in that world? Is it yours? Is this world alien, is it different?
The same type as before was walking towards him again. As he approached, Ruthra pondered, "This type is a figment of my imagination, even if he is natural. After all, it was Rangit who pulled him out of my imagination, out of my mind, back when there were perception experiments. So it could very well be fictional now, too. It couldn't be the other way around. Then Rangit must have known about this world, about this Bedouin, to put his image into my consciousness… or the stage manager's perception." Ruthra grinned, saying to himself: "Yeah, right, all fictional, no matter how real it seemed last session. That's the trick – the identity of the man. Though… is he identical? And me… what am I like?" Rutra looked around himself… he was dressed the same way he was in the movie sessions and in the past… "God, is this really real? And the face…?" – he asked himself. Then he looked at the smoothness of the pond, walked towards it, not waiting for the Bedouin he thought the man walking towards him looked like. "One must take a look at oneself," he pondered.
– Your doubts are justified," he heard the familiar one. – There is no need to go there, you are not like yourself, can't you feel it by the sensations of your body?
– How am I supposed to feel, it's not that big of a difference.
– There you go. And yet there is a difference.
Ruthra ran toward the body of water, the stranger continued unperturbed:
– Consciousness takes up residence in the preferred body, which is more familiar. The law of subconscious logic is that this body should also be controlled by consciousness. You will choose a familiar vehicle than some unknown one if you are given a free choice. Moreover, you will not drive a locomotive if you are untrained.