"Alexander Abramov, Sergei Abramov. Journey Across Three Worlds (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Galya. What's the essence of the idea of a neutrino generator, and how is it
connected with the condensing of biological currents?"
"Nikodimov and Zargaryan?" laughed Galya.
"As you see, I found something out, at least."
"You found out rubbish, and you're talking rubbish. Nikodimov renounced
the idea of the neutrino generator long ago, that is, the way it was
formulated by Zemlicka. Now he's working on the fixation of the power field
set up by the activity of the brain ... something like a single complex of
the electro-magnetic field that arises in the brain cells. You see, I also
discovered something."
"Zargaryan is a physiologist. What's his tie-up with Nikodimov?"
"Their work is top secret. I don't know the inside story, nor if
there's any future in what they're doing," admitted Galya. "But one way or
another, it's connected with codifying the physiological neuronal state of
the brain."
"What?" I asked blankly.
"The brain," Galya stressed, "the brain, my dear. Your Hyde connected
these names with the Brain Institute, and not by chance. Though ... from
what aspect to view all this.... Perhaps, it's even a problem of pure
physics."
She was thinking hard: the membrane in the receiver carried her heavy
breathing.
"The key is here, Sergei," she concluded. "The more I think about it,
the surer I am. Find the scientists, and you'll find the key."
The scientific research over, there was still the ordinary search. We
began it with Zoya.
She answered the call at once. Yes, she knew both Zargaryan and
Nikodimov. The latter only by name: he was like a ground-hog who never came
near receptions. But she was personally acquainted with Zargaryan. Had even
danced with him at an evening social. He was very interested in dreams.
"He's interested in dreams," repeated Olga to me, putting her hand over
the mouthpiece.
"What??" I cried, and reached for the telephone. "Zoya darling. It's
me. Right you are, in person, your secret worshipper. What were you saying
just now about dreams? Who's interested? It's very important."
"I told Zargaryan about a strange dream I had," responded Zoya, "and he
was terribly interested, asked all about the details. And what details -
frightful, but utterly. And he listened, and told me I should come to him
every week and be sure to relate all my dreams. He needed it for his work.
But you know yourself, I'm no fool. I know what kind of work he meant."
"Zoya," I groaned, "beg him to give me an appointment."
"Are you mad?" cried Zoya, terrified. "He can't stand reporters."
"But you won't tell him I'm from a paper. Simply say that a man who
sees strange dreams wants to see him. And the strangest thing of all is that
these dreams are repeated, as if tape-recorded. Repeated year after year.
Zoya, try to tell him all that. If you fail, I'll try to contact him
myself."
She rang back in ten minutes.
"Just imagine, it worked. He'll see you today after nine o'clock. Don't
be late. He doesn't like it," she chattered on without a break, just as she