Confronting the Shadows
I could not close my eyes all night. I recovered the deleted files, searched for new references, and found the data of those clergymen who took testimonies themselves.
I didn't notice when it dawned or when the girls woke up. I didn't even realize they both stayed the night here.
"Save your work and pay attention to us!" Clio's command instantly brought me back to reality.
The reality turned out to be really pleasant. The most beautiful creatures of our world were sitting in front of me. They were both wearing my boxer shorts and tank tops. I am not such a skilled writer that I can describe even close to all the charm of the scene unfolding before me. All I can say is that my serious, frowning girls looked incredibly cute, attractive, and of course funny all at the same time. I suddenly realized how happy I am that they are with me and involuntarily smiled.
"Now is not the time for that," Fia said firmly, breaking the silence. "We have to start the briefing."
Clio caught my smile and tilted her head, her eyes twinkling. "What's that smile for?"
"I realized how cute you both look in my boxers," I said. Although my comment didn't meet Clio's expectation for a gentle compliment, it did express my genuine feelings. The girls caught on and played along in their own unique way.
Fia muttered, "Idiot," under her breath, but her eyes said “I didn’t need pathos and heroism now, I didn’t need a benevolent or patronizing tone. All I needed was for you to celebrate my charm in men's boxers. Although it could be added that a men's tank shirt suits me very well too."
"Oh, I think we're in trouble," Clio said to Fia, and slapped herself on the forehead.
As much as I reveled in these playful exchanges with the two most captivating women in my life, it was time to face the grim reality. With a sense of urgency and without further ado, I got straight to the point.
"In short, everything is very bad," I decided to write the situation exactly as it was, without any introduction or embellishment. "At least, the fundamental data of our world does not correspond to the description, and at most, the description was falsified."
As a side note, I would like to mention that Fia finished our course in the top five, and Clio was recognized as the most promising young scientist in the history of the Seventh Republic.
"What data are you talking about?" Fia asked, her concern evident.
"Probably gravity," Clio said, her eyes pleading, hoping it wasn't related to gravity.
"Yes, gravity," I confirmed, disappointing Clio's hopes.
For a few seconds, there was complete silence in the room. Then, breaking the silence, Fia spoke. Neither I nor Clio dared to say it out loud.
"So you want to say that at least the most authoritative, famous, and respected holy fathers were wrong, and at most, they lied!"
"No, my dear. I think the situation is not so simple. Let's stick to the facts. For about a hundred years, reports about the variation of the force of gravity have been circulating in one form or another. All these reports, after a certain period of time, disappear from the public space. The clergy who spread these reports are also disappearing."
"But maybe the reports are false, and that's why the authors of these lies disappear to escape their own humiliation," Clio suggested, lacking enthusiasm.
"Yes, maybe," I agreed momentarily, wanting to encourage Clio's skepticism. "But as you understand, the probability of this possibility is very small. Father Polycarp, remember? He was with us..."
"He was a real genius, I think he was even smarter than you," Fia teased, trying to lighten the situation. Then, her tone turned serious as she added, "A crazy fanatic."
"Yes, a fanatic! Nothing could make him go against the teachings. But Poco wrote me this letter about a week ago. It was absurd, and it initially frightened me. I thought the alcohol, first tasted, had a strong effect on his inexperienced psyche. But then I remembered who Poco was—a strict pedant, a perfectionist, a preacher of scrupulous ritual observance. It's unbelievable that he allowed himself to write such a letter. But you can read it yourself" I said, gesturing toward the screen displaying the letter..
"The most virtuous, the most holy, and the most intelligent
Father Lucius Cornelius
To know how wonderful it is when you drink. You want to fly, and most importantly, you can. Nothing can hold you down anymore. Nothing. I may have gone a little too far, but gravity really can't hold you down anymore.
Excuse me, my Ace, but we've run out of whiskey. I've already opened the mystic account, and your riddle begins here. If you don't mind, send me: eight box 'Glenfiddich_' and two three large u 'Jack..ep..ep..at'.
I love you yahoouuuuuu."
"Are you seriously building theories on this nonsense?" Fia asked, visibly angry.
"Wait!" Clio interrupted Fia abruptly. "Gosh, how did I not see this at first? It's all so simple. 'I've already opened the mystic account'—that means he created the account. 'Your riddle begins here'—that's the start of the riddle. 'If you don't mind, send me:' is just an introduction to the task; it's a way to make it less obvious. So the task starts here, with the colon. It's clear that the address and the password are encrypted. Prudent people use numbers, upper and lower case letters, and special characters in their passwords. So, eight, two, and three become 8, 2, and 3; 'and' becomes '&'; 'large u' becomes a capital 'U.' So the password comes out to be '8box&23U.' As for the address, it's straightforward—'glenfiddich_jackepep@yahoo.com.' And voila, the email is open."
Fia watched Clio's manipulations in amazement, while I marveled at Clio's sharp and penetrating mind, hidden behind her seemingly carefree demeanor. It took me several attempts (as if I had forgotten exactly how many) to open the email, but Clio cracked it on her first try, typing in the correct address and password. Our draft correspondence revealed three letters.
