Gagarin is the mystery of the mission - стр. 2

In the Future, we will recognize which version of the future we created in the past.

Chapter 1: The Pope's Revelation

For as long as I could remember, I had lived in the company of adults, as I later realized, employees of the secret research center where my father worked. My name was Rutra, but I rarely heard my own name, so I thought it was a title. Iris, or affectionately Iriska, was called Iris by everyone. I remember my mother sporadically, she was always away for a long time. I did not communicate with children, and there were none here, although many said that they would like to have the same child. My dad used to say: the technology is patented, get a license – and you're welcome.

When I started asking questions about why they didn't have children, my dad at first waved me off, put his finger to his lips, and then, when my questions became more persistent, whispered in my ear:

– There is no place on Earth, and people don't want to go there," he pointed his finger upwards.

I also often heard about a certain mysterious place of the Russian Academy of Sciences, which was located in a magical city called Moscow. What made them mysterious and magical for me was their conversations in low voices. I often overheard them. Nobody lived in this city anymore, though in the past there was no place for an apple to fall. Especially cautious they talked about the quantum monster, located in the Russian Academy of Sciences and commanding everything in the world. And even more cautiously they reasoned that allegedly this monster is the whole building of RAS and consists of water; the more water, the stronger it is.

I knew almost everything about the world, I dreamed about it, and in the form of a book or even an encyclopedia. This world, the one I saw in my dreams, seemed like a faraway wonderful country, where for some reason I was not allowed to go.

When I was 12 years old, I became more and more interested in it, and my uncle Gostomysl, whom my father called no other than Richelieu, asked me more and more often about the details of dreams. For some reason, after I recounted my dream, he would ask me what year it was, whether the borders of land and water converged with those on the globe? Then he would describe a circle in the air with his finger and the globe would appear there. I answered cheerfully that everything was the same. He smiled back and stroked my head. And once, during negotiations with my mother, she suddenly opened her jacket and showed me the inscription on her T-shirt "Mars 2020-2050, the anniversary of the colony", then quickly zipped up – and the connection was lost. Uncle Gostomysl broke into the room, took me by the collar of my shirt, came close to me and, looking intently and strictly into my eyes, asked me if I had lied to him about the content of my dreams.