“It's a rather drab view of creation,
isn't it?” I said.
The bandit's smile dropped.
“If by drab, you mean practical, then
yes” He replied, shutting the heavy door behind him.
He shoved me onto the sofa, and sunk
into a chair by an electric heater. I struggled against the zip-ties
on my wrists, but to no avail.
“Very practical. Almost, nihilistic.”
I leaned back onto the fraying cushions, and cricked my neck.
“It's very, very convoluted I know.
But then, so's the idea of a big bang. Everything, coming from
nothing? Nothing is as simple as that.”
“I don't think you understand the
meaning of the word convoluted.” I threw back at him, as if I could
do anything to offend an idiot who didn't believe in the big bang.
He laughed, and passed me a bottle of
water from a case under his chair.
“It's all theories, the big bang
theory, string theory, hell even particle theory.” We both laughed
at that one.
“What brings you too Moscow, to the
MIPT anyway? We don't see a lot of Americans, or a lot of anyone
these days.”
I had stopped struggling at this point.
Obviously he was going through the motions, and it wasn't like my
family wouldn’t pay a ransom. Might as well try and get cosy.
“Well I'm from MIT, needless to say
there's a lot less urine over there.”
It took him a minute, but he let out a
great guffaw of laugher, following by a very quick “That really
wasn't very funny”.
“But let's get back to your view of
creation, I can't quite remember the finer details.”
He smiled, and while was probably able
to guess I was just killing time until the E-payment reached his
account in a few minutes, he obliged me.
“I'm sure you have read, on the
Wikipedia, about, about sverkhnoyaya zvezda? Super explosion?”
“A supernova.” I corrected him.
“Da, yes.” He continued. “Well,
when heavy elements are formed, they almost immediately decay, yes?
Half the Actinides aren't even formed in Supernova, I don't think.”
His face crumpled, and he got up to
take a large black book off the shelf. He leafs through it for a
minute or two, then happily continues reading from a heavily
annotated page.
“Indeed, r-process, all that.” He
looked up, and looked a little surprised too see me following his
every word.
“You follow?” He asked, and I
nodded, taking a drink from my water.
“Well then, what if life, organic
intelligent life, is the actual force that creates heavy elements.”
He shut the book, and placed on a nearby table.
“What if it's our, no, the higher
calling for all life is creating heavy elements? Nothing else we
really do would matter, outside of the human mindset, would it? No
matter where you're from, in any galaxy, you're all made out protons
and neutrons. What if beings from other places in space, or higher
dimensions, simply allow us to exist, or created us, to synthesise
these heavy nuclear elements? What if we are just a circuit, running
one part of a great universal computer?”
He had a starry look in his eyes, and
was completely absorbed in his monologue. So was I, to be fair.
But a van honk seemed to break the
spell, and he fell back to Earth.
“But, then, well I can make enough
holes in my theory without you chipping in. So do me a favour, and
don't tell me how foolish I am, ey?” I laughed, and so did he.
Being a hostage wasn't that bad.
His wristwatch chirped, and he started
swiping through messages.
“Well friend, it seems your folks
back home are incredible generous!” He stood up, walked over
pulling a knife out from behind his back, and cut off my zip-ties.
I stood up, rubbing my wrists.
“Is that it then, I'm free to go?”
I looked nervously around, but the revolver stayed on his belt.
“Yeah, sure. They payed in USD too,
so, even better!” The bandit was looking jovially at me, and
signalled towards the door. “Out with you! Go home and tell all
your friends about how enjoyable and enlightening your kidnapping
was! Maybe they'll come visit Moscow as well, and give me more
business!”
I walked towards the day, but turned
sharply, startling my host.
“Your theory. The heavy element
theory. It's fascinating, it's-”
“It's govno, nonsense, bullshit,
that's what it is,” he cut in, with a grim smile on his face. “You
think I want to kidnap rich Americans for a living? They kicked me
out the institute for my bullshit, too much philosophy, not enough
math.”
I was standing in the corridor now. “I
can just go? What about the police?”
“What police?” He laughed, and took
out his cigarettes, offered me one, then lit his own when I refused.
“Police his Moscow”. He muttered, chuckling.
“Away with you, fellow dreamer. Take
my wild ideas to America, go on little lady.” He shooed me out the
door.
“Your name, at least. What if I want
to talk again-”
“Hah! The police might be mice but if
I give you my name, that's practically asking for it, isn't it?
Besides, you couldn’t pronounce it.”
He patted me on the shoulder,
cheerfully said“Dasvidania!”, and slammed the door in my face.
And that was that.
