The Final Circle of Paradise

"Understand me correctly, Ivan," he continued. "I am not opposed to philosophy. But philosophy is one thing and our work altogether another. Judge for yourself, Ivan. If there is no secret headquarters, if we are faced with a deluge of do-it-yourself enterprise, then why all the secretiveness? All this conspiratorial atmosphere? Why is slug enveloped in such mystery? I allow that Rimeyer is silent because of pangs of conscience in general and specifically on your account, Ivan.

But the rest? Slug is not illegal; everyone knows about it and yet everyone keeps it a secret. Oscar, here, doesn't philosophize; he postulates that the inhabitants are simply terrorized. I can understand that. And what do you postulate, Ivan?"

"In your pocket," I said, "there is a slug. Go in the bathroom. There's Devon on the shelf – one tablet orally, four in the water. There's some whiskey in the medicine chest. Oscar and I will wait. And then you can tell us aloud, so we can hear, we your comrades in work and your underlings, about your sensations and experiences. And we – better it should be Oscar – should listen, but as for me, I think I'll leave."

Matia put on his glasses and stared at me.

"You are implying that I won't tell? You propose that I, too, will be derelict in my duty?"

"What you will learn will have no relation whatsoever to your duty. That you will renege on subsequently. As did Rimeyer. Comrades, this is slug. It's a cute device, which awakens fantasy and directs it where it will, particularly where you yourself subconsciously – and I mean subconsciously – would like to direct it. The further you are removed from the animal, the more inoffensive would slug be, but the closer to the animal, the more you would be impelled to adhere to the conspiratorial way. The animals themselves are altogether silent. They just know how to press the lever."

"What lever?"

I explained about the rats to them.

"Did you try it yourself?" asked Matia.

"Yes."

"And?"

"As you can see, I tend to silence."

Matia sibilated for some time and then said, "Well, I am no nearer to the animal than you are. How do you put it in?"

I loaded the radio and handed it to him. Oscar was following all this with interest.

"God be with me," said Matia, "Where is your bath? I'll wash after my trip while I'm at it."

He locked himself in, and we could hear him dropping things.

"Strange affair," said Oscar.

"It's really not an affair," I contradicted. "It's a piece of history, Oscar, and you would like to fit it into a file and tie it with a ribbon. But this is no gangster business. It should be obvious to a hedgehog, as Yurkovsky used to say."

"Who?"

"Yurkovsky, Vladimir Sergeyevitch. There was such a renowned planetologist. I worked with him."

"Aah," said Oscar, "By the way, on the plaza by the Hotel Olympic there is a monument to a Yurkovsky."

"The very same man."

"Really?" said Oscar. "On the other hand, it's quite possible. However, the monument was not put up because he was a renowned planetologist. It's simply that for the first time in the history of the city, he broke the electronic roulette bank.

It was decided to immortalize such a feat."

"I expected something of the sort," I murmured. I felt depressed.

The shower began to hiss in the bathroom, and there was a frightful roar from Matia, At first, I decided that he turned on ice water instead of warm, but he kept yelling and then began to curse in the most horrendous terms. Oscar and I exchanged glances. He was generally calm, interpreting this as the typical action of slug, and his face exhibited a compassionate expression. The latch rattled wildly, the door flew open with a crash. Bare heels slapped in the bedroom, and a naked Matia rolled into the study.

"Are you some kind of an idiot?" he bellowed at me. "What sort of filthy trick is this?"

I went numb. Matia resembled a grotesque zebra. His well-fed body was covered with poison-green vertical stripes.

He reared and stamped his feet, spraying emerald drops. When we regained our composure and investigated the site of the accident, we learned that the shower head had been stuffed with a sponge saturated with a green dye. I remembered Len's note and guessed that Vousi was the culprit. It took a long while to restore a normal atmosphere. Matia viewed the incident as a boorish joke and an inadmissible disregard of subordinate discipline and behavior. Oscar horse-laughed. I scrubbed Matia with a brush and explained. Then Matia announced that from now on he wouldn't trust anyone and would try out slug when he got home. He dressed and went into conference with Oscar on the plans for blockading the city.