Terraplane (2 page)

"To all poets of color."

NO SIGN ALEKHINE, he tapped. I pressed knee against table's
underside, muffling vibes to throw overaware readers. IIIREE
WEEKS GONE. So long as the cassette spun anything misread could
be decoded later, reviewed in-hotel. If you wished to plug Russian
ears this was standard op. In Russia, even when trees didn't fall,
they were heard.

WHERE? I wondered. Solid cover alluded to my meeting reps of
our company's Russian ann, Vladamer-true, in a sense; Maliuta
Skuratov, as he called himself, was our leading subcontractor. Jake
came as my enabler, undesired by me, an extra ingredient to spoil
the sauce. We were meeting none but Skuratov for none other than
to effect Alekhine's transfer to our department.

HE WALKS THE WIND.

"Why aren't we knived?" Jake asked, shaking his contagion-freestamped dinner packet. In his, as in ours, was but a napkin, spoon
and fork with rounded tines. Said cutlery looked metal, felt plastic;
was some unwarranted alliance of both, like that solid used in
rocket-part production which always failed when most essentialled.

WE TAKE HIS ASSOCIATE.

"Too handy in event of nondinner maneuvers," said Skuratov.
His crust of dark wool suit sufficed for daily performance, but his
footwear betrayed the lie that lay always beneath truth; calfskin
Italians in brown and white, handstitched by Neapolitan serfs,
cozied his toes. His family was of the old nomenklatura, who had
eased so fittingly into Krasnaya ways after the reimplementations
(the Czara and Politburo answered to Krasnaya as the President and
Congress answered to us, to Dryco). In younger life-he was my
age-he was one of the zolotaya holodyozh, or golden youth. "So
the belief is ruled. Risk of contretemps, yes? Russian food tender
enough not to demand sharp utensils."

SHE IS A HOYDEN. A TERMAGANT.

From his white vest Jake slid his switch, flicking it open. Bladed,
his utensil stood fourteen inches, appearing suitable for dropping
trees. He gracefully slashed the packet as if lending a birthmark to
one heretofore unblemished, spilling contents across his place mat.
He tabled his knife to the left of his spoon.

"We hear so much that is interesting concerning Jake," Skuratov
said, staring. Peacekeeping is my natural; wasn't Jake's. Our waitress happened upon our table just then, extracted her pocket
computer from her filthy apron's crevasses, prepped to doublecheck
menu availability. She gleaned my accent immediate.

"Ischo Amerikantski," she said, her voice rising, as if she'd found worms in the honey. "Borghe moy!" Narrow-minded Russians
found state policy of businessing with America inconsistent with
the existing thirty-three-year intercountry war, but held tongue
upon penalty of removal. Krasnaya oversaw each and every: it
fought the war in chosen countries; decided the output, traded the
surplus; treated the adults and readied the children. The old way
never approached Krasnaya's success. Two dozen species of police
assured propriety; of all those units the most problematic were the
Shnitmilit-translated colloquial, the Dream `learn.

LEFT DUBNA TWO NIGHTS PAST. IN MOSCOW NOW.

"No coffee?" I asked.

"They're washing the cup," she said, stonefaced. Russians hated
Americans as we hated Russians, to similar purpose and with like
result. Thus the war continued, with negotiations essentialled only
when time came to split the booty.

SENSORED THIS MORNING. NO MOVEMENT SINCE.

"There've been many trying efforts recently bringing cargo in
from Indonesia," interrupted Skuratov, shrugging. "Nichevo; can't
be helped."

"Under present situation, what have you?" I asked.

`Armenian cognac." Eyeglassing, she parroted her screen. "Tsi-
nandali wine from Georgia. Milk. Pepsi in hygienic reusables.
Pepper and lemon vodka, vodka with buffalo grass. Scotch--"

HIDING IN NORT11 QUARTER. BAD NEIGHBORHOOD.

"Made from vintage Scotch grapes," Skuratov said, winking.

SHE HAS IT. UNDOUBTED.

Untabling his hands, he lapped them stomachways. His face
lacked all but laughter; his smile's rictus certified caution. Whether
someone truly fixed us or whether he only felt nerves was unbeknownst. Transactions within Russia problematicked; feasting with
those who might moneyfy you or kill you with equal ease and
reason poured no syrup over the already indigestible. My boss
thrived under such. I always held out for honorability's illusion, if
no more, had I choice.

"Pepsi," said Jake.

"Bottle of Tsinandali," I said.

"Jug only," she said. Russian staples came packaged economy sole if availabled. Potatoes left stores only in fifty-kilo bags. Sliced
bread sold by the meter. If shoes wanted, you imagined yourself a
spider, and provisioned accordingly. Hereby overblown inventories
and farm surpluses left over from military application forever turnovered, and cash flow ran as rain.

"When does performance begin?" Skuratov shouted after her as
she stomped away.

"Soon." Skuratov's jaw muscles belied his grin's peace as they
drew up, throbbing, seemingly exposed to unexpected G-force. I
read the room's faces, hoping to nail whomever he'd spotted. Under
carcinogenic fluorescence profiteers dispersed vast rewards grifted
through the Second New Econ Policy; NEP II, it was officialled.
Barrel-waisted Ukrainians welded into dinner jackets rang crystal
with anorected Lithuanian women. Wiry Buryats guzzed cognac,
rewinding after long Gobi pipeline months. Dark Kazakhs and
Afghans, looking as if they'd been imprisoned for years in similar
tanning rooms, abandoned religious principle to attempt drink-bydrink seduction of tight-skirted Finnish market analysts. Cubans
and Siberians pored over spreads, rigged Monday's margins, traded
inside rumors, at intervals tablerapped knuckles, spurring waitresses with the crack of gold rings. Jake and I, nonsmokers, sucked
in what oxygen remained in the fume.

Full-dressed Krasnaya lackeys bedeckled the crowd, so ignorable
and as appreciated as rocks in a salad. None but one eyed us
overmuch. Skuratov's respect towards him underwhelmed. "The
alert one there is Kidin," he said. "Grazhny brazhny. So ugly,
when he looks in window poor people inside think someone is
climbing in ass first."

"Is this subject proper?" I asked, stilling lips. Skuratov always
showed overmuch among his lessers, in my opinion, so used was he
to freedom of action befitting high command. In theory such
conduct was disallowed.

"I'll tell you secrets everyone knows. Not long time past he
oversaw drug company in Smolensk. Pharmaceutical Patrol called
upon all producers to manufacture more penicillin-ten capsules
for use in Iraqi refugee fraternities. Smolensk company produces
four times as much overnight to great acclaim. They make quotas by putting no penicillin-ten in capsules. Russian inventiveness
America's equal any day." Expecting a laugh, we received a shiny
smile no warmer than the metal shown. "Now again he rises in
Observance Buro as if from dead. Pushing shit deeper through
bowels till one day all pours out. I know worse things he did than
that. Thus, no worries. "

Kidin studied the Kazakhs as they palmed warm Finnish hips.
He looked as a type I forever assigned to disinfo; his eyes' look
awared that he would never know joy so long as truth left his lips.
Twenty polished medals secured his chest from gunfire's blessing.
The ad above his head showed waterskied Stalin, drawn by hydrofoil. Be Young in Yalta, the copy read.

"Eyes and ears everywhere," said Skuratov, forwarding, flattening hands tableside, readying to pick up where he'd paused.
"Stukachny; informers mad to further themselves while keeping
Rus pure. You watch me watch you, we say. Once it was tried a
plan whereby all newborn citizens would be implanted with
needed sensory device to make future days more workable. Didn't
work. Most died from-" He stopped. Skuratov's English sufficed,
yet still he needed often to rifle his mind for suitably innocent
phrasing. "Unforeseeables, yes. Technology carries us so far
through the swamp, till we sink or float, depending. Dream Team
developed more productive techniques later on in either event."

His fingers actioned anew. SAFE NOW. Never, truly. As the prop
claimed, the Dream Team knew what wasn't known; saw what
wasn't seen. They were termed the Dream Team because they
picked thoughts even if thoughts emerged but in sleep. You never
knew them; anyone might be one, though they didn't exist. If you
spoke to yourself, the Dream Team heard. The Dream Team's
reflection showed in your lover's eyes; their fingerprints smudged
every soul. So, as said, the prop claimed.

"Here citizens tell all they know without nudge," he continued.
"Krasnaya has prophylacted dissent of those eternally unsatisfied.
There is backlash to this. People do right thing like maintenant
without seeing that for them it could prove wrong thing. A sixyear-old girl last June handed over her parents on politicalirresponsibility charges and so they were delivered to Lubianka." He drew finger crossthroat. "The right thing, no question. It followed, sure, that small devotchka then paid her own price for
showing disrespect for essential family structures. She accepted
punishment with "smiling heart."

SHE I)OESNT EXPECTAll ENTION AS YET.

"What punishment fit?" asked Jake, shielding his lids with his
hands. "Gulaged? Steady-state tranquilized? Thirty years' labor at
Baikal Chemical?"

"How cruel you think us, Jake," said Skuratov, shaking his head
as if hearing a plea. "Certainly such things aren't done." Afterthought: "They shot her."

SURPRISE ESSENTIAL.

Muffled backstage crashes alerted me that the show readied to
underway. Our waitress ripped her cart through the crowd's blanket. As dishes fell from bumped tables I whipped round, frozen, set
to hit; over years control again settles over everalert muscles but
some reactions always respond to the big red light. Jake, unmoving,
lifted his eyebrows. As the waitress posted us Skuratov Ainexed her;
once promised, she allowed us our food. He penned in a fivepercent tip; repenning, she adjusted to twenty. After a moment's
heat they settled at twelve. Receipting him, she plodded off.

SHOULD BE PUSSYCAT ONCE SECURED.

"Your first visit to Russia, Jake?" he asked, changing tone, his
cig's smoke shunning him, seeking us. "How do you find us so far?"

Russians mastered paranoia, whether causing it or suffering
from it. Eversuspicious of how outers perceived, they demanded
constant reassurance as to their worth, no matter what bluster
moved their tongues. I'd suggested applicable responses to such
questions to Jake before we left. He proceeded unmindful, with his
usual detachment; Jake was one of few I'd known who never
vomited, before or after a kill.

TOMORROW AT EIGHT-THIRTY. DETSKY MIR SECOND FLOOR. The
toy store; a toy, after all, was our ultimate catch.

"Schizo," said Jake. "One face lips, another voices."

"Americans equally accomplished in similar technique."

WE GO FROM THERE.

Jake smiled, showing rotting American teeth. "Channel official and the party line draws an old old picture. Econ equals. Europe's
spectres loosed free. Toss the chain and run. Peace first, profit
second. Worker's triumph as tradition demands. Fancies and
delights, nothing more."

I WILL PILOT.

"Myths and legends passed from father to son, yes?" Skuratov
"Myths
remarked, popping a radish from his zakuski platter into his
mouth. "As in America every child becomes President." My
pirogi, ordered boiled, arrived fried. I wouldn't touch them. An
actor behind-curtain screamed. Jake's lids pressed as if to squash; he
despised scream's sound. "Our country remains the worker's state,
it is said."

"Shopper's state, more like," said Jake. "Buy or die. Lookabout,
blind boy. Every store passed teemed with mob. Peddlers hustling
corners all. Heaven's Mall. "

"Housing, free. Medicine, free. Essentials provided to all without taxes. Money earned must be spent, Jake. Most useful method
in calming domestic tension is to employ best of both worlds."
Skuratov held a lump of saccharin between his teeth, slurping his
tea through its fabric. "Bourgeois liberalization has purpose so
long as spontaneous movements remain minimalized, said Lenin,
or so we now hear. Ergo, sozializtkapitalizm. Nation owns producers. Producers sell goods. Buyers sell goods to other buyers. A
most productive state."

I TOO REALIGN PERSONAL SENSIBILITIES.

`And all money returns to Krasnaya," I said, "but for drips and
drabs. "

"Krasnaya invests big. Others invest small. In time small money
becomes big. Thorough success."

"Which makes happier citizens." I unscrewed my jug's cap,
pouring a cupful of wine. Varnish's smooth poison shellacked my
mouth. The culpable grapes might have been Georgian; the bottler
of this grand old label was Stolichnaya, subbrand of Vladamer, a
Dryco subsidiary. Dryco-our company-convinced me to retire
when I did so that I might join them in spirit, having worked for
t boot.
them in flesh since my first day at-boot.-

"That some become happier and wealthier sooner than others is unavoidable dysfunction of near-perfect system," Skuratov said.
"Eventually monies reach all society members."

"Marvelous theory."

"Popular in America many years too, yes?" he said, laying the
saccharin on his plate as he would a pulled tooth. "Here it works.
Fresh techniques satisfy long-hindered desires. Russian people
have money now to buy fine products at last available in plentitude. "

"They have to buy," Jake said, lifting and twirling his switch
between his fingers as if keen to plant it. Russians failing to meet
their monthly purchase quotas were investigated by the Consumer
Patrol. If matters were beyond their hands, the Dream Team
settled.

"First-time Americans visiting our country find it always difficult to suspend belief in long-heard propaganda even when facts
beat them over head with shovel," said Skuratov. "In America,
perhaps, facts so hard to face propaganda is better, yes?"