Ruthra looked around.

– Okay, it didn't work out, it didn't work out. God bless you, goldfish. What's all the drama for?

– Now, let's be clear. How did you expect to see the result of your experiment?

Ruthra looked around again, scrutinizing the distance, turned sharply on the Bedouin, studied him.

– And now imagine what we got this time," he suggested or stated.

– How am I supposed to visualize if it didn't work out in real life?

– And how did you in real life, as you put it, have to realize whether it worked or not? Do you remember the moment you fell asleep? You wouldn't have realized in the dream that you were in it.

– Okay.

– So imagine it like you're sleeping right now.

– Why?

– You did it. This is the real world.

– Ha.

– There's an anesthesia procedure. After all, a person may not come out of this state, which happens from time to time. Those subjected to such a procedure are not surprised by their "waking up" in the intensive care unit. If copying information, for example, your videotape, can move through time and space, why can't you record and move human consciousness? Although, as you said, you already have that technology. So why can't consciousness move from one world to another? Or do you not believe in worlds, but you do believe in transference? Yet, however, it is your own assertion that there is everything in infinity. You invented this technology yourself. Why do not you believe in the reality of realization of other worlds and your stay in them?

– Hmm," Ruthra looked around.

The surroundings were the same, or almost the same. And then he caught himself thinking… "It was exactly the same situation last time, and not just exactly the same, but… everything was almost exactly the same: the situation, and the Bedouin, but the dialog… The dialog was not the same. Could it be… deja vu?" – Ruthra thought. What the stranger said almost made him stutter.

– Agree, if you were transported to an unfamiliar place, to an unfamiliar country, to an unfamiliar society and environment while sleepy or in a coma state, say unconsciousness, you would have the same state of distrust of reality.

– Why are you repeating my thoughts all of a sudden? – Ruthra remembered that it had occurred to him to say the same thing last time.

– That's what you think," was the reply from the interlocutor, the same as last time.

– First of all, I haven't interacted with anyone here yet, except for you here, I see the same environment as I have a few times before, and....

"And I thought I answered the same way that time," Ruthra thought, "or…? Maybe there was no last time? Hell, no, there was…"

He was distracted from his thoughts by otherworldly noises. He turned, noticing the anxious, intense, beastly look of horror in his companion's eyes.

– So much for politicians," the rabbi's voice sounded depressed, just like last time.

"A master of the stage," Ruthra thought, only his doubts grew stronger.

And, trying again to tear his gaze away from the madness in the Jew's eyes, he looked at the scorched branding – the six-pointed star (magendavid) looked a little different, bigger and… it was a real scar from the scorched branding. Ruthra, feeling unconsciously anxious, turned around. What he saw gave him an answer, but it was from a different area, though Ruthra still doubted whether it was the right one: the same horde of Selekwid warriors were coming at them. He wasn't surprised by the director's idea, but the horror in his gaze… something instinctive… that spoke of reality.

"It's all very real," Ruthra reasoned with himself, "but it's still a production. Or…"

Everything repeated itself: a group of men approached the oasis with shouts and yells, pursued by another group, mostly horsemen.

Apparently our brains have senses other than sight and hearing, which were necessary to understand what we were seeing, so with some sixth sense Ruthra realized the reality of what was happening. Doubts or belief in the scene already played out remained, even when the riders caught up with the pursuers at the tree. Doubts remained even as scarlet hot blood hissed from the severed necks. Doubts still remained when the screams, the cries of the dying began to fade. Doubts remained when the mahaira, a variant of the xiphos, a short light sword for horsemen, glittered over the rabbi who had convinced him. Doubts remained when the rabbi was not quite a rabbi, for he drew his sicarius and fended off the blows of three opponents one after another.

"Sicarius," Ruthra said excitedly to himself, "he is a sicarius4 . The short curved sword of the sica no doubt speaks volumes." This public, though from the pages of historiography, Rutra knew well. Knew, too, that "sicri" was the Latin nickname for secret assassins. It was not for nothing that the term had become entrenched in the vocabulary of the Latins as something derived from the word for assassin – sicarius in Latin. "And yet what is going on around here?" – Rutra wondered. Shrieks, screams, howls, cries, distraught moans, the wheeze of air escaping from their lungs through the shards of severed necks… it all sounded from one side or the other. And yet Ruthra still had doubts about the reality of what was happening. But suddenly those doubts were dispelled by the cold blade of a heavy akinak.

***

Perhaps in a moment, perhaps in a billion years, perhaps where he lay in the rig, perhaps in another universe… how do we know, since the existence of a parallel world identical to our own is real… Rutra "woke up".

– Your doubts are justified," Maimun said snidely above him, "perhaps we shouldn't get up now? Are you not too tired, your majesty?

– Back off," Ruthra replied gruffly and held out his hand to his assistant.

– That was reality," he said, "you woke up because of the death of the consciousness carrier in that world," he explained quite seriously.

Ruthra replied with a thoughtful look, weakly trying to hide his astonishment.

– It was real," Maimun said quietly, as if it were some kind of secret, patting his palms timidly.

Rutra paused, looking around at his colleagues and the laboratory staff. The staff took turns joining in the congratulations of the luminary of science – clapping softly, looking at Ruthra with admiration – and soon the room was filled with applause. Master Paschow was overcome with a look of amazement that turned to one of rapture.

"…and the other inhabitants of the universe have not fallen…"

(Book of Isaiah: chapter 26 verse 18)

After stretching his muscles and going through the hygiene and medical procedures, Ruthra returned to the room with the displacement units. This time he was curious to do a session himself. But he took his time, went over everything his mind had memorized with the analysts, and, trying not to show his concern, wondered if this was really some kind of world or if it was happening inside his brain. That it was no longer a staging – he knew – Rangit was an impartial arbiter, and yes the intuitive subconscious feeling we define as 'gut feeling' spoke of the reality of the event. "I wonder," thought Rutra, "in an actual logical line what the Indians of America had come to imagine the world to be like when they first saw the Europeans, Columbus and crew?" Another thought came next: how do we know what we dream in those dreams we don't remember? In fact, we don't remember at all what in our consciousness is going on in the dream. And is it in our consciousness? And is it in ours?