Vadim Simbarskiy – Cubes (страница 4)

“Alright, that’s enough. What rebels? What nonsense

is this? And anyway, what’s happening? Where am I?

No, seriously, is this Earth, planet Earth?” I

asked, almost crying and feeling foolish.

The stranger looked at me as if I were an idiot

and drawled:

“Eaaaaarth,” while taking a step back, apparently

already wary of my reaction.

“Earth…” I repeated in surprise. After a short

pause, I asked again: “And what year is it?”

I started to feel even more foolish. And a crazy

thought about time travel flashed through my mind.

“Yeaaaar?” the stranger continued in the same

drawn-out manner. “2150.”

“2150!!!” I exclaimed and immediately fell silent.

My mind was occupied with the thought: “Oh God,

I’m even afraid to admit it… but there are two

options here: either I’ve somehow really traveled

through time, just like in the movies, or I’m in

a coma after the fall and all this… Well, it all

seems very real…” I reasoned, biting my lip.

Apparently, I was reasoning out loud, and my savior

said:

“Okay, let’s go to my place and figure out who you

are, where you’re from, and why you’re here. I

don’t understand what you’re talking about, but

you don’t seem like an obvious psycho.”

I agreed and obeyed, as this was probably the best

thing to do in this situation, at least it seemed

so to me.

A minute later, we found ourselves in some quarter,

consisting of completely identical small red square

houses, separated by straight, even passages

between them.

“We’re here, come in,” the stranger offered,

opening the door. “Oh, by the way, my name is Stel.

And you?”

“Okay, Ben,” I muttered and added: “I was definitely

him this morning,” but without waiting for a

reaction to my apparent joke, I entered the house.

Inside, everything was laconic, simple, clean, and

without any excess. Again, the same strict geometric

proportions, squares, and rectangles. A minimal

set of furniture provided significant free space

in this very small house, which generally resembled

an enlarged shoebox, inside which a room had been

neatly made.

“Sit down, and I’ll organize dinner. And since

you’re from the elite, you have taste sensations,

right?”

“I don’t know what elite I’m from, but I could tell

honey from horseradish this morning,” I joked again.

“Yes, I’m afraid if you’re not from the elite, then

you’re definitely not below the green level. Well,

if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine, let’s eat

first. Today is Tuesday, and in our city on Tuesdays,

you can order organic food.”

Stel approached a large monitor, pressed some

button, and the monitor’s voice asked: “What would

you like for dinner?”

“What will you have?”

“Sushi,” I answered automatically without thinking.

“Ooh,” Stel drawled, “you’re definitely from the

elite if you’ve eaten sushi.”

“Well, yes, of course. Haven’t you?”