ediately pushed aside and the office became filled with workers. A dense wall of grey overalls and malicious, gloomy faces stopped before the table. Yurkovski looked around and saw, that Zhilin is standing on his right, hands shoved into his pockets, and Bela, curved up, clutching the back of the chair, without pulling his gaze away, is staring at Mr Richardson. - No unlawful actions, guys, easy now, guys, take it easy... Joshua, covered with plaster, pushed through the crowd. - We don't wish to quarrel with anyone, mister inspector, - he spoke hoarsely, staring at Yurkovski with a spiteful eye. - But we won't have any of your tricks around here. - What tricks? - Yurkovski inquired. - We have come here, in order to earn money... - And we have come here, in order to stop you from rotting alive... - And I am telling you, that it's none of your business! - Joshua shouted. He turned to the crowd and asked: - Right, guys? - Oo-o-o! - the crowd roared, and at this moment someone fired. Behind Yurkovski the glass display clinked, falling apart. Bela groaned, lifted a chair with an effort, and brought it down onto the head of Mr Richardson, who was standing in the front row, with eyes raised and hands folded in a prayer. Zhilin took his hands out of pockets and prepared to jump at someone. Joshua drew back, scared. Yurkovski stood up and said angrily: - Who was that idiot shooting? He almost got me. Sergeant, why are you standing still like a chair? Seize that idiot's weapon! Higgins dutifully climbed into the crowd. Zhilin shoved his hands into pockets again and sat on the corner of the desk. He looked at Bela and laughed. Bela's face gleamed with bliss. He was watching Richardson with delight. Two thugs were raising Richardson up, looking with spite and confusion at Bela, at Yurkovski, and at the workers. Richardson's eyes were shut; a dark bruise was spreading over his high smooth forehead. - By the way, - said Yurkovski, - all of you, surrender all weapons that you have here. I am telling you this now, you spongers! From this moment on, anyone who is found in possession of a weapon is subject to summary execution. I am investing commissioner Barabash with the requisite powers. Zhilin slowly walked around the table, took out his gun and handed it to Barabash. Barabash, staring closely at the closest gangster, slowly pulled back the lock. In a silence that set in the lock made a loud clink. An empty space immediately formed around the gangster. He grew pale, took a gun out of his back pocket, and threw it on the floor. Bela kicked the gun into the corner and turned to the thug holding Richardson up. - You! The thug let go of Richardson and, smiling crookedly, shook his head. - I haven't got any, - he said. - Well, then, - said Yurkovski. - Sergeant, help these characters disarm. Let's get back to our conversation. We were interrupted here, - he said, addressing Joshua. - I believe, you were saying that I shouldn't meddle in your affairs, right? - Right, - said Joshua. - We are free people and came here ourselves, for earnings. And you should stop getting in our way. We aren't getting in your way and you shouldn't stop us, too. - The question of who is getting in whose way, we'll leave aside for now, - said Yurkovski. - And now I would like to tell you something. - He produced from his pocket and threw on the desk a few dazzlingly sparkling multicoloured stones. - Here are the so-called space pearls, - he said. - You all know them very well. These are ordinary precious and semi-precious stones, which have been, for long periods of time here on Bamberga, subjected to the force of cosmic radiation and low temperatures. They don't bear any particular character, except for their really pretty glitter. Rich dames pay insane money for them, and from this double-dyed idiocy your company has sprung up. Enjoying high demand for these stones, your company collects lofty profits. - And so do we, - someone shouted from the crowd. - And so do you, - Yurkovski agreed. - But this is the thing. During the eight years of company's existence, around two thousand men have worked on Bamberga under a three-year contract. But did you know, how many of those who had returned, are still alive? Less than five hundred. An average workers lifespan after their return does not exceed two years. You bust your gut here on Bamberga for three years, only to rot alive for two years on Earth. First and foremost, this happens because nobody sticks to the resolution of the international commission, forbidding work in your mines for more than six hours a day. Back on Earth all you do is get treatment, suffer because you cannot have children, or give birth to deformed babies. This is the corporation's crime, but we aren't talking about the corporation right now. - Hold on, - said Joshua and raised his hand. - Let me have a say, too. We have heard this all already. Mister commissioner has dinned it into our ears. I dunno about others, but I don't care about those who died. I am a healthy man and don't intend to die. - Right-o, - the crowd hummed. - Let the milksops die. - Kids or no kids - that's my business. And getting medical treatment is not for you, but me. Thank god, I am long since an adult and I answer for my actions. I don't wish to hear any speeches. Here you have confiscated gangsters' weapons, I say: well done. Find the distillers, shut the saloon. Right? - He turned to the crowd. The crowd began murmuring ambiguously. - What are you mumbling about? I am talking sense here. Where have you seen this - one drink for two dollars? Take care of some bribe-takers. That would be right as well. But don't interfere with my work. I have come here to earn money, and I will earn them. Once I decide to open my business - I will do that. But I have no use for your speeches. Words alone won't buy a house... - That's right, Joe! - people shouted in the crowd. - Not right at all, - said Yurkovski. His eyes suddenly became bloodshot and he yelled: - What do you think, we will let you croak just like this? My dear fellows, this is not the nineteenth century! Your business, our business, - he started talking in a normal voice again. - There are at best four hundred of you, fools, over here. And four billion - of us. And we don't want you to die. And you will not die. Fair enough, I am not going to talk to you about your spiritual poverty. As far as I can see, you aren't capable of understanding this. Only your kids will understand this, if you will ever have them. I will talk to you in a language you can understand. The language of the law. Humanity had passed legislation, which forbids running yourself into the grave. A law, do you understand? A law! The company will be held accountable under this law, and you should remember the following. Humanity doesn't need your mines. Mining on Bamberga can be shut at any moment, and everyone will only sigh with relief. And keep this in mind: if the IBCC commissioner will report just one more instance of some violation, no matter what kind - overtime, bribes, spirits, shooting, - the mines will be shut down, and Bamberga will be fused with cosmic dust. This is the law, and I am telling this to you on behalf of humanity. Yurkovski sat down. - We can kiss our money good-bye, - someone said loudly. The crowd became noisy. Someone shouted: - So that means, shut the mines, and we are out the street? Yurkovski got up. - Don't talk rubbish, - he said. - What kind of absurd impression of life do you have? There is so much work on Earth and in space! Genuine work, really urgent, needed by everybody, can you understand? Not by a handful of satisfied dames, but by everybody! By the way, I have a proposition from IBCC to you: volunteers can settle up with the company and transfer to building and technical works on other asteroids and satellites of large planets. You know, if you would here all together vote to shut these stinking mines, I would do it immediately today. And there will be more work than you can imagine. - And what are the rates? - someone shouted. - The rates are, of course, about five times less, - Yurkovski answered. - But you will have work for the rest of your life, and good friends, genuine people, who will make genuine people out of you as well. You will both stay healthy and will be the participants of the greatest development in the world. - What's the point of working for someone else's business? - said Joshua. - Yeah, it's no good to us, - the crowd began talking. - What kind of business is this? - Everyone will be telling you what you can and can't do... - Spend your whole life a labourer this way... - Businessmen! - with ineffable contempt said Yurkovski. - Well, it is time to wind up. Bear in mind, this gentleman, - he pointed to mister Richardson, - I have arrested this gentleman, he will go on trial. Elect a temporary manager and let me know. I will be with commissioner Barabash. Joshua told Yurkovski gloomily: - This is a wrong law, mister inspector. How is it fair not to let workers earn money? And you, communists, keep bragging that you are pro-workers. - My friend, - Yurkovski said gently, - communists support an altogether different kind of workers. Workers, and not petty proprietors. In Barabash's room Yurkovski suddenly slapped himself on the forehead - Bonehead, - he said. - I left the stones on general manager's desk. Bela laughed. - Well, you won't see them any more, - he said. - Someone will become a petty proprietor. - Stuff them, - said Yurkovski. - But your nerves... err... Bela, are really... not that great. Zhilin laughed. - How did he get him with the chair!.. - A really nasty face, isn't it? - Bela asked - Why, no, - Zhilin said. - A very cultured and urbane man. Yurkovski noted with disgust: - A courteous brute. And look at the facilities here, comrades? They have built such a palace here, whilst death-planeters live in elevators. No, I am going to take care of this, I am not letting this drop. - Want to have dinner? - Bela asked. - No, we'll go have dinner on "Takhmaseeb". Soon all these long proceedings will end... - My god, - Bela said dreamily. - To sit at a table with good ordinary people, not to hear about dollars, or shares, or that all people are scum... Vladimir Sergeevich, - he said in a pleading tone, - could you just send someone else to be here with me. - Just bear it a little longer, Bela, - Yurkovski said. - This business will soon stop. - By the way, about shares, - Zhilin said. - There must be total bedlam in the radio-room right now... - Most likely, - Bela said. - Selling and buying spots in a queue to the radio operator. Eyes bulged, faces in foam... Oh, when will I get out of here!... - Come on, come on, - said Yurkovski. - Let me have a look at your records. - Bela walked to the safe. - Buy the way Bela, will anyone here make a more or less decent manager, at least? Bela was rummaging in the safe. - Why not, - he said. - Someone can be, of course. Engineers here - are decent people, after all. Petty businessmen. There was a knock on the door. A gloomy Joshua, covered with plaster, walked in. - Let's go, mister inspector, - he said dismally. Yurkovski, groaning, got up. - Let's go, - he said. Joshua stretched out an open palm to him. - You forgot your stones there, - he said in a sullen voice. - I picked them up. 'Cause we have all kind of folk here. "Takhmaseeb". A GIANT FLUCTUATION It was the hour of pre-dinner study. Yura was tormented by the "Metals theory course". Dishevelled, sleepy Yurkovski was indolently shuffling through another report. From time to time he would yawn voluptuously, delicately covering his mouth with his hand. Bykov was sitting in his chair, finishing the last magazines. It was the twenty-fourth day of the journey, somewhere between the Jupiter's orbit and Saturn. "The transformation of cadmium type crystal lattice in relation to temperature in regions of low temperatures is determined, as we had observed, by the correlation..." - read Yura. He thought: "I wonder, what would happen when Alexey Petrovich runs out of journals?" He remembered Caldwell's story, where a boy was paring a tiny stick with a knife on a hot afternoon, and how everyone waited, for what would happen, when the stick runs out. He chuckled, and at the same moment Yurkovski abruptly turned to Bykov. - If you only knew, how sick I am of all this, Alexey, - he said, - how much do I want to stretch out... - Take Zhilin's dumbbells, - Bykov advised. - You know perfectly well, what I am talking about, - Yurkovski said. - I suspect it, - Bykov grumbled. - I've been suspecting it for a while now. - And what do you think... err... about this? - You restless old man, - said Bykov and closed his magazine. - You are not twenty-five any more. Why do you always look for trouble? Yura began listening with enjoyment. - Why for... err... trouble? - Yurkovski was surprised. - It will be a small-scale, totally safe search... - And perhaps, enough is enough? - said Bykov. - First a totally safe search into a cave with leeches, then a safe search with death-planeters - by the way, how is your liver? - then a completely fanfaronade run-in at Bamberga. - Excuse me, but that was my duty, - said Yurkovski. - Your duty was to summon the general manager to "Takhmaseeb", we would jointly give him a dressing-down here, threaten to burn the mines with our reactor, ask the workers to give up the gangsters and alcohol distillers - and everything would work out without any foolish shooting. What is this manner of yours to choose the most dangerous variant out of all others? - What do you mean - dangerous? - said Yurkovski. - Danger is a subjective concept. To you it seems dangerous, and to me - not in the least. - Ok, very well then, - said Bykov. - I find the search in Saturn's Ring dangerous. And then I will not allow you to conduct that search. - Well, all right, fine, - said Yurkovski. - We'll have another talk about it, - he flipped a few pages of the report with frustration and turned to Bykov again. - Sometimes you simply amaze me, Alexey! - he announced. - If I came across a man, who would call you a coward, I would spread the impudent bastard across the wall, but sometimes I look at you and... - he shook his head and flipped a few more report pages. - There is foolish bravery, - Bykov said admonishingly, - and there is also rational bravery! - Rational bravery - it's a catachresis! "The serenity of a mountain spring, the cool of a summer sun", - as Kipling would say. To the madness of valiant we sing this song!.. - Enough singing, - said Bykov. - In our times we ought to work, and not sing. I don't know what a catachresis is, but sensible bravery - this is the only kind of bravery, acceptable in our times. Without any of those... deceased. Who needs deceased Yurkovski? - What utilitarianism! - Yurkovski exclaimed. - I don't wish to say, that I am the only one right! But please don't forget, that people exist with different temperaments. I, for instance, simply draw enjoyment from risky situations. I am bored living just plainly! And thank God, I am not the only one... - You know what, Volodya, - said Bykov. - Next time take Bagrat as your captain - if he'll still be alive by then - and fly with him to the Sun, if you wish. And I do not intend to indulge in your amusements. They both fell quiet angrily. Yura started reading again: " The transformation of cadmium type crystal lattice in relation to temperature...". Can Bykov be right, he thought. How boring would it be, if he were right. It's true then, what they say - the most sensible things are the most boring ones... Zhilin came out of the deck-cabin. He came up to Bykov and said quietly: - Here, Alexey Petrovich, this is from Michael Antonovich... - What's this? - Bykov asked. - The program for cyber-pilot for the voyage from Japheth. - Fine, leave it here, I will have a look, - said Bykov. "There already is a program for the voyage past Japheth, - Yura thought. - They will fly somewhere else still, but I won't be here". He looked at Zhilin sombrely. Zhilin was wearing the same chequered shirt with rolled up sleeves. Yurkovski suddenly said: - Try to understand this, Alexey. I am already old. In a year, or two, I will stay on Earth forever, like Daugeh, like Misha... And, perhaps, the current voyage - it's my last opportunity. Why don't you want to let me go?.. Zhilin tiptoed across the cabin and sat on the sofa. - I don't wish to let you go, not so much because it is dangerous, - Bykov spoke slowly, - but more because this is senselessly dangerous. Come on, Vladimir, what an insane idea - the artificial origin of Saturn's rings. This is geriatric senility, honestly... - You were always devoid of imagination, Alexey, - Yurkovski said dryly. The cosmogony of Saturn's rings isn't clear, and I think that my hypothesis has no less of a right to existence, than any other, more, so to speak, rational one. A hypothesis must also have moral significance - it must rouse imagination and compel people to think... - What does this have to do with imagination? - said Bykov. - This is a clear calculation. The probability of aliens arriving exactly in our solar system is tiny. The probability, that they will, all of a sudden, decide to demolish satellites and construct a ring from them is, I think, lower still... - What do we know of probability? - Yurkovski declared. - All right, fine, let's say you are right, - said Bykov. - Let's say, that indeed, in times immemorial aliens had come to the solar system and for some reason built an artificial Ring around Saturn. Made their mark, so to speak. But do you expect to find the confirmation of your hypothesis in this first and only search in the Ring? - What do we know of probability? - Yurkovski repeated. - I know one thing, - Bykov said angrily, - that you have absolutely no chance, and this entire idea is insane. They fell silent again and Yurkovski went back to the report. His face looked really sad and very aged. Yura felt unbearably sorry for him, but he did not know how to help. He looked at Zhilin. Zhilin was thinking with concentration. Yura looked at Bykov. Bykov was pretending to be reading a journal. It was obvious, that he also feels very sorry for Yurkovski. Zhilin said suddenly: - Alexey Petrovich, why do you think that, if the chances are low, then one should have no hope? Bykov lowered the journal. - And you think otherwise? - The world is vast, - said Zhilin. - I really liked Vladimir Sergeevich's words: "What do we know of probability?" - Well, and what don't we know of probability? - Bykov asked. Yurkovski, without lifting his eyes from the report, became alert. - I remembered one man, - said Zhilin. - He had a really curious fate... - Zhilin paused hesitantly. - Perhaps I am disturbing you, Vladimir Sergeevich? - Tell us, - Yurkovski demanded and shut the report decisively. - This will take some time, - Zhilin warned. - Even better, - said Yurkovski. - Tell us. And Zhilin began telling. THE STORY ABOUT A GIANT FLUCTUATION Back then I was still a kid and did not understand many things then and had forgotten a lot, perhaps the most interesting things. It was night, and I did not manage to look closely at this man's face. And his voice was really ordinary, a little sad and husky, and he would cough from time to time, as if from confusion. In other words, if I will see him once more in the street somewhere, or, say, at a party somewhere, I probably won't recognise him. We met on the beach. I have just had a swim and was sitting on a rock. Then I heard pebbles sliding behind me - that was him coming down from the embankment, - I could smell tobacco smoke, and he stopped next to me. As I already told you, it was night time. The sky was covered in clouds, and a severe storm was gathering at sea. Along the beach a strong warm wind was blowing. The stranger was smoking. The wind was striking long orange sparks from his cigarette, that would float and disappear over the deserted beach. It was very beautiful, and I remember that very well. I was only sixteen, and I did not even think, that he would talk to me. But he spoke. He began in a strange way. - The world is full of amazing things, - he said. I decided, that he is simply thinking out loud, and stayed quiet. I turned around and looked at him, but saw nothing, it was too dark. And he repeated: - The world is full of amazing things, - and then took a puff, spraying me with a shower of sparks. I said nothing again: back then I was shy. He finished smoking his cigarette, lit up a new one and sat on the stones next to me. From time to time he would mumble something, but the water noise concealed his words, and I would only hear incomprehensible hum. Then he announced out loud: - No, this is too much. I must tell this to someone. And he addressed me directly, for the first time since the moment of his appearance. - Please don't refuse to hear me out. Naturally, I did not refuse. He said: - Only I will have to start in a roundabout way, because, if I were to tell you, what it is, you won't understand and you won't believe me. No one believes me, and now this has gone so far... He kept quiet for a bit and informed me: - This began during my childhood. I was learning how to play a violin and broke four glasses and one saucer. - How do you mean? - I asked. I immediately remembered some joke, where one woman tells her friend: "Can you believe this, yesterday the dvornik was throwing firewood over to us, and broke the crystal chandelier". There is this old joke. The stranger chuckled somewhat sadly and said: - Just imagine this. During the first month of learning to play. Already back then my teacher said that he had not seen anything like this in his life. I kept quiet, but also thought, that it must look quite strange. I imagined, how he is waving the bow around and, from time to time, hits the cupboard. This could really lead him very far. - This is a common law of physics, - he explained unexpectedly. - The notion of resonance. - And, without stopping, he outlined to me a corresponding anecdote from school physics, about a column of soldiers walking across a bridge, keeping their step, and then the bridge collapsed. Then he explained to me, that glasses and saucers can also be shattered by resonance, if one can pick the sound vibrations of appropriate frequencies. I must say, that exactly from that day I began to understand clearly, that sound - is also a vibration. The stranger explained to me, that in daily life (in the household, as he would put it) resonance is an unusually rare thing, and was delighted with the fact, that some ancient code of laws covered such a trifling possibility and provided a penalty for the owner of a rooster who shatters a neighbour's jug with its crowing. I agreed, that this must be, indeed, a rare phenomenon. Personally, I have never heard of anything of this sort. - Very, very rare, - he said. - Whilst I have shattered four glasses and a saucer in one month with my violin. But it was only the beginning. He lit up another cigarette and informed me: - Very soon, my parents and friends noted, that I am breaking the law of the sandwich. Here I did not want to lose face and said: - A strange last name. - What last name? - he asked. - Oh, the law? No, that is not a surname. This is... how can I put it... something jocular. You know, there is a whole bunch of sayings: got what you deserved... the sandwich always falls face down on the floor... In the sense that the negative happens more often than the positive. Or, expressed scientifically: the probability of a desired event is always less than half. - Half of what? - I asked and immediately realised that I made a fool of myself. He was really surprised at my question. - Aren't you familiar with the theory of probability? - he asked. I told him we have not yet covered that in school. - Then you won't understand anything, - he said with disappointment. - Why don't you explain, - I said grumpily, and he obediently began explaining. He announced, that probability - is a quantitative characteristic of the likelihood of some event taking place. - And what does this have to do with sandwiches? - I asked. - The sandwich may fall either face down or face up, - he said. - So then, generally speaking, if you are going to throw the sandwich by chance, it will fall down either this or that way. In half the cases it will land face up, in another half - face down. Is that clear? - Clear, - I said. All of a sudden I remembered that I haven't yet had supper. - In these situations, it is said that the probability of a desired outcome equals is half - or one second. Later he told me, that if you throw the sandwich, for instance, one hundred times, that it may not fall face up fifty times, but fifty five or twenty times, and that only if you throw it for a while and a lot, then butter will stay on top in approximately half of all cases. I imagined to myself this poor sandwich with butter (and, possibly, even with caviar) after it had been thrown on the floor a thousand times, even if the floor wasn't too dirty, and asked, whether there really were people who did it. He began telling, that for this purpose people chiefly used not sandwiches but coins, as in a game of heads and tales, and began explaining how it is done, getting even more bogged down in explanations, and soon I stopped understanding him and sat there, looking at the gloomy sky, and thought, that, probably, it will rain soon. All that I remembered from this first lecture on the theory of probability was the semi-familiar term "mathematical expectancy". The stranger applied this term more than once, and each time I imagined a large room, something like a transit lounge, with a tiled floor, where people sit with briefcases and folders, and, throwing coins and sandwiches up to ceiling from time to time, are awaiting something with concentration. To this day I often see it in my dreams. But then the stranger stunned me with a resounding term "maximum theory of Mouavre-Laplais" and said that none of this is relevant. - You know, I wanted to talk to you about something altogether different, - he said in a voice devoid of former vivacity. - Forgive me, you probably are a mathematician? - I asked. - No, - he replied dismally. - What kind of a mathematician would I make? I am a fluctuation. I stayed silent to be polite. - Oh yes, I think I still haven't told you my story, - he remembered. - You were talking about sandwiches, - I said. - You know, my uncle was the first one to note this, - he continued. - You know, I was absent-minded and would drop sandwiches often. And my sandwiches always landed with the butter up. - Well, so that's good, - I said. He sighed dolefully. - It is good, if it's occasional... But when it's always! You understand - always! I did not understand anything and told him that. - My uncle knew maths a little and was interested in the theory of probability. He suggested that I should throw a coin. We were throwing it together. Back then, I did not immediately understand that I am a lost case, but my uncle understood that. He even told me so then: "You are a lost case!" I still could not understand a thing. - The first time I flipped a coin a hundred times, and my uncle flipped it a hundred times, too. He got heads fifty-three times, and I got it ninety-eight times. You know, my uncle's eyes bulged to his forehead. And mine, too. Then I threw the coin another two hundred times, and can you imagine, the heads came up one hundred ninety-six times for me. I ought to have realised back then, what these things finally lead to. I ought to have understood, that a night like this one will come eventually, too! - Here, I think, he sobbed. - But, you see, at that time, I was very young, younger than you. It all seemed really interesting to me. I thought it was very amusing to feel myself the convergence point of all wonders in the world. - To feel what? - I was dumbfounded. - Err... convergence point of wonders. I cannot pick another word, though I tried. Gradually, he calmed down and began telling everything in order, continuously smoking and coughing from time to time. He told his story in detail, assiduously describing all parts and invariably supporting all the narrated events with a scientific basis. He amazed me, if not with the depth, then with the versatility of his knowledge. He showered me with terms from physics, mathematics, thermodynamics and kinetic theory of gases, such that later, having grown up, I often wondered, why this or that term seemed so familiar to me. Often, he would launch into philosophical discourse, and sometimes he would seem plainly incapable of self-criticism. Thus, he repeatedly branded himself a "phenomenon", a "wonder of nature" and a "gigantic fluctuation". Then I understood, that it was not a profession. He announced to me, that wonders don't exist, and only low-probability events take place. - In nature, - he spoke with admonition, - the most likely events materialize most often, whilst the least likely events occur much more infrequently. He meant the law of constant entropy, but at that time for me it all sounded impressive. Then he made an attempt at explaining to me the concept of the most probable state and fluctuation. My imagination was shaken then by this famous example of air, which concentrated fully in one half of the room. - In this case, - he was saying, - everyone, who sat in the other half, would asphyxiate, and the rest would consider it to be a miracle. And this is far from a miracle, this is one quite real, though unusually improbable fact. This would be a giant fluctuation, an insignificant deviation from the most probable state of things. According to his words, he was that kind of deviation from the most probable state of being. He was surrounded by miracles. For instance, seeing a twelve-time magnified rainbow was a trifle for him - he had seen it six or seven times. - I can beat any amateur synopticist, - he boasted despondently. - I witnessed the northern lights in Alma-Ata, the Brocken phantom in Kavkaz Mountains, observed the famous green ray or "the sword of famine", as it is called, twenty times. I arrived in Batumi and drought began there. Then I went to travel in the Gobi dessert, and got caught by tropical rain three times. During his studies at school and university he passed many exams and would always draw the examination question number five. Once he was sitting an examination for a special subject, and it was known for a fact that there will only be four questions - according to the number of students, - and he still drew question number five, because one hour before the exam the lecturer suddenly decided to add another question. His sandwiches kept falling with the butter up. ("I guess, I am doomed to experience this till the end of my days, - he said. - It will always remind me, that I am not some ordinary person, but a gigantic fluctuation"). Twice he happened to be present at the formation of large air lens ("these are macroscopical fluctuations of air density", - he explained ambiguously), and both these times the lens would light a match in his hand. All wonders, which he came across, he divided into three groups. Into pleasant, unpleasant and neutral ones. The sandwiches with the butter up, for instance, fell into the first group. An invariable cold, regular and independent of the weather that began and ended on the first of every month fell into the second group. To the third group belonged various rarest natural phenomena that had the honour of occurring in his presence. Once, in his presence, the transgression of the second law of thermodynamics took place: water in a vessel containing flowers suddenly started to draw heat from the surrounding atmosphere and brought itself to boiling point, whilst frost fell in the room. ("After that, I walked around totally dumbstruck, and, you know, to this day, I test water with my finger prior to, let's say, drinking it...") Repeatedly, into his tent - he travelled a lot - lightning globes would fly in and hang under the ceiling for hours. Eventually he became used to it, and used the lightning globe as electric lamps: for reading. - Do you know, what a meteorite is? - he asked suddenly. Youth is inclined to make crass jokes, and I replied that meteorites - are falling stars, that have nothing whatsoever in common with stars that do not fall. - Meteorites sometimes strike houses, - he said reflectively. - But that is a very rare event. And there is only one registered case, you know, when a meteorite struck a person. A single case of its kind, you see... - So what? - I asked. He leaned over to me and whispered: - So that person - is me! - You are kidding, - I said, with a shudder. - Not at all, - he said gloomily. It turned out, that all this happened in Ural Mountains. He was walking across the highlands, stopped for a minute, to tie a lace on his boot. A sharp rustling trill was heard and he felt a nudge against his, you know, rear part of the body and pain from the burn. - On my pants there was a hole about that big, - he was telling me. - Blood was flowing, you know, but not much. Pity that it's dark now, or I would show you the scar. He picked up a few suspicious stones there and kept them in his desk - perhaps, one of them, is indeed that meteorite. Things absolutely inexplicable from the scientific viewpoint also happened to him. At least for now, with the current level of scientific progress. Thus, one time he became a powerful magnetic field emitter all of a sudden. This manifested itself when all ferromagnetic objects, present in the room, leaped from their places and dashed towards him along the lines of force. A steel fountain pen pierced his cheek, something hit him painfully on the head and the back. He covered himself with his hands, shaking in horror, covered from head to toe with knives, forks, scissors, and suddenly it all finished. The phenomenon lasted no more than ten seconds, and he had absolutely no idea how to explain it. Another time, having received a letter from a friend, after the very first line, to his amazement he discovered, that he had already received an identical letter a few years ago. He even recalled, that on the back of the page, next to the signature, was supposed to be a big inkblot. Having turned the letter over, he really saw an inkblot. - All these things never repeated, - he informed me sadly. - I regarded them as the most remarkable in my collection. But, you see, only until tonight. Generally, he often cut himself off, just to announce: "All this, you see, would have been very good, but today... It is really too much, I assure you". - But don't you think, - I asked, - that you present an interest to science? - I had thought about it, - he said. - I wrote away. I offered, you know. Nobody believes me. Even my family doesn't. Only my uncle believed me, but now he had died. Everyone finds me original and an irrepressible comedian. I cannot even imagine, what they will think after today's incident. - He sighed and threw down the cigarette butt. - Yes, perhaps it's even better this way, that no one believes me. Let's presume that someone did believe me. They would form a commission, they would walk behind me everywhere waiting for miracles. And I'm naturally a reclusive person, and on top of everything I have lost my good disposition totally. Sometimes I don't sleep at night - I am afraid. On the topic of the commission I did not agree with him. Because, after all, he could not produce miracles by his will. He was only the convergence of miracles, a point in space, as he said, where improbable events occur. It could not be done without a commission and without observation. - I wrote a letter to one well-known scientist, - he continued. - In general, to tell the truth, it was about the meteorite and the water in the vase. But you see, he treated this with humour. He replied, that the meteorite fell not on me at all, but on some driver, Japanese, I think he was. I became really interested in this driver. I thought that he could perhaps also be a giant fluctuation - you understand it yourself, it is possible. But it turned out that he had died many years ago. Yes, you see... - He became lost in thought. - So I went to see a doctor anyway. It turned out, that from medicine's viewpoint, I represent nothing extraordinary. But he did find some imbalance of the nervous system and sent me here, to the sea resort. And I went. How could I have known, what will happen here? He suddenly grasped my shoulder and whispered: - An hour ago my girlfriend flew away! I did not understand. - We were walking, up there, in the park. After all, I am human and I had the most serious intentions. We met in the cafe, went for a walk in the park, and she flew away. - Where? - I yelled. - I don't know. We were walking, suddenly she cried out "oh oh", took off and rose up in the air. I had no time to think, just grabbed her by the foot, and here... He shoved some hard object into my hand. It was a sandal, an ordinary light-coloured sandal medium-sized. - You see, this is absolutely impossible, - the phenomenon was mumbling. - Chaotic movement of gas molecules, Brown's movement of particles in a live colloid became ordered, she was torn away from earth and carried somewhere I cannot even imagine. Very, very improbable... Just tell me now, please, should I consider myself a murderer? I was shattered and stayed silent. For the first time a thought entered into my head, that perhaps he had made it all up. And he said with anguish: - And you know, that is not even it. After all, she could have got stuck in a tree somewhere. You know, I never went looking for her, because I was afraid that I wouldn't find her. But this, you see... Before all these miracles only affected me. I really disliked fluctuations, but fluctuations, you see, really liked me. And now? If such things will start happening to my friends, too?.. Today a girl flies away, tomorrow a colleague drops through the ground, the next day... Take you even, for instance. Indeed, you are not secure against anything right now. That I already understood myself, and I felt wondrously intrigued and creepy. How cool, I thought. Wish it were sooner! It suddenly seemed to me, that I am taking off, and I clutched the stone under me with both hands. The stranger suddenly got up. - You know, I better go, - he said sorrowfully. - I don't lik