20 minutes passed and Aljovich woke up panting and looking shocked. However, the shock and pained face almost immediately turned into fist-shaking and cursing. Aljovich hadn't seen anything. Or at least according to his words, he had just walked down the street and stopped at a grocery store. There was no news, and nobody had talked about anything other than pie-making recipes. The disappointment on Palmer's face was mild but visible. Aljovich's miserable mood soon eased. "He should just forget the lottery and focus fully on the research itself," Palmer scolded more heavily this time. They will try again tomorrow. Only one attempt per day was Palmer's rule.
Oleg lay down on the couch. His hand held the thin, cool, black disc. The surface of the disc was full of some pattern too small for eyes to see, but you could feel it with your fingertips. Oleg called it a disc because he didn't know what it really was. It felt like it could bend if folded, but he hadn't dared to try. Just holding it sent cold shivers down his limbs. He put the headphones in his ears and pressed play on Alexey Omelchuk's composition again, sinking into its world, towards the white light.