Synthetics (7 page)

Chapter 9

My eyes opened. It took me almost a minute to focus the amorphous blurs and realize that I was not dead. It was so warm.

“Where am I?” I asked no one in particular.

My surroundings were realigning and I could make out a stained timber roof, tinted orange from the light of a flickering fire.

“You’re a guest in the home of Mariana Kerensky.”

I recognized Cole’s voice.

“Why aren’t I dead?” I asked.

I had a throbbing headache, my tongue felt swollen, and my bung leg was aching.

“Frederick,” said Cole.

He was sitting by my bed. Frederick?

“Did you pass out as well?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I sat up and my world started spinning. I spotted Frederick standing in the corner like a suit of armor.

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

Frederick did not speak but left the room. As he turned, I noticed a giant tear down his chest. The edges were ragged and sharp like the metal had been ripped apart and then clumsily closed.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“We were out in the blizzard for three days,” said Cole.

“And we’re not dead?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Cole, “You were conscious some of the time.”

All I remembered was bright light and damp heat.

“Frederick improvised,” continued Cole with a reverent shrug. “He has a fusion reactor, akin to a small sun, suspended magnetically in the cavity that formerly housed his heart. If you crack him open he goes critical and essentially bleeds fire.”

“So he cracked himself open?”

“Yes, I watched. He had to use both hands.”

“I guess I should stop calling him Frankenstein then?”

“Perhaps.”

“So are you gonna fix him?”

“This is sensitive technology Fletcher,” said Cole in a whisper, “The only other successful fusion reactor in existence is the hydrogen bomb. That thing in his chest should not be theoretically possible with today’s technology. Yet, we built it.”

“He’s a walking bomb then?”

Cole started looking out the window. “No. We just never expected the cavity containing the reactor to be ruptured. The delicate balance has been upset and now…”

“So, you can’t fix him?”

I didn’t care about the science. I cared about the solution.

“Yes, we need to get him back to Washington,” nodded Cole, “Before he turns this tundra into a desert.”

***

Later that afternoon I watched from the window as Frederick trudged off into the snow swept wastes.

“Where’s he going?” I asked Cole.

“Somewhere to minimize the collateral. If it should come to that.”

“Will he come back?”

“CANA will find him eventually. He has a tracker installed. It is us that should be worried. This house has no phone, no Internet, and we are in the middle of nowhere. Mariana said that her cousin was meant to be visiting soon. He may give us a ride into town.”

Mariana appeared beside us. She had to go on tippy toes to see out the window.

“Sneg prizrak,” she said in a whisper.

I looked at her with curiosity and she started giving me a lecture in her strange language. Finally satisfied, she smiled and left.

“She calls him the Snow Ghost,” translated Cole, “She says he came with the storm and must now leave with the storm. Apparently she is certain that there will be clear blue skies tomorrow.”

I nodded and turned back to the barren expanse. The Snow Ghost was barely visible now.

***

The next day was calm and not a cloud could be found in the sky.

“How did you know?” I asked Mariana, using Cole as a translator.

She started giggling like only an old woman can and said a few cheerful words.

“She says that she bought a radio last month,” said Cole grinning now, “She says that she loves to listen to the weather station.”

I liked Mariana.

***

Mariana was a painter and her house was full of paintings. She signed each with an MS and the year. I noticed that as the years got closer to present the paintings became less defined and detailed. Mariana was losing her eyesight.

At the moment she sat in front of an easel, perched by the crackling fire. The house creaked under the weight of snow.

“Mariana paints from photographs,” said Cole, “She told me that whenever a family member comes to visit they will give her a photograph and she will paint it for them. They give her food and help in return.”

“Is that enough to survive on, though?” I asked.

“She has a very big family,” smiled Cole.

We sat together at a table in the corner. Cole was reading one of the many old books that lined the walls, while I flipped through a photo album. It looked recent.

“So how come you know Russian?” I asked.

“Because I was born in Russia,” replied Cole, “Just like Sasha.”

“Like Sasha?” I asked. “Sasha has a past doesn’t he? What happened?”

“We all have pasts Fletcher,” said Cole.

“Well you know everything about me,” I said, “So why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

Cole put down his book and looked at me suspiciously.

“My past is linked with Sasha’s,” said Cole, “I am not sure that I am at liberty to discuss it with you.”

I frowned. “I didn’t mean tell me everything. Just tell me about where you grew up. About the house you lived in and the trees you climbed. Nothing heavy.”

Just as Cole was about to say something I flipped the page of the photo album and gasped.

“What?” said Cole, “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off a particular photo in the right hand corner.

“I think I might be able to guess who Mariana’s cousin is.”

There staring back at me with a big hearty grin was a young man with a big flowing moustache. There was no denying the resemblance.

“What should we do?” I asked Cole, ‘What if he is the cousin? What if he is coming here?”

Cole paused and then said, “I will talk to Mariana.”

***

Mariana’s cousin came to visit exactly two weeks later, when the storm let up. I watched him from the kitchen window as he pulled up in a rusted out truck. I recognized the man who trudged in under the sagging door frame.

“Mariana,” he shouted in English upon seeing me sitting at the kitchen table, “What the hell are these Americans doing here!”

“I’m a Kiwi,” I reminded him quietly.

“I do not care,” he spat back.

It was Moustache Man again, in his entire unkempt, rugged splendor.

“If that thing has hurt little Mariana then I shall…”

“Rip off our fingernails one by one?” Cole appeared in the hallway with Mariana in tow.

Moustache Man was visibly relieved to see Mariana with all her limbs. He rushed forward and embraced her, kissing her on both cheeks. Her smile was so large that it was contagious and I found myself grinning along with them.

It was then that I realized Moustache Man was merely a real life teddy bear; fearsome to look at but all cuddles at heart. A frantic exchange took place between Mariana and Moustache Man before he finally turned back to us.

“So the thing is gone?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded Cole.

“Good,” said Moustache Man.

“He spared your life you know,” I said, getting to my feet.

Irritated by Moustache Man’s flippant dismissal of Frederick.

“He could have crushed the life from you with just his thumb and forefinger.”

Moustache Man looked contemplative for a moment.

“I could not stand up for five days,” he said, “I am still glad he is gone. I do not trust anything made by Americans.”

The three of us stood watching each other warily, before Moustache Man finally sighed and said, “But if Mariana trusts you then I shall also trust you. Besides, I could not bring myself to kill you in front of dear Mariana.” He laughed at his own joke. “ Now, my name is Julian and this is Siberia.”

After our introductions, we all sat down at the kitchen table, while Mariana made us tea.

“Why did you ambush us?” said Cole straight to the point, “Who are you working for?”

Julian chuckled and slapped the rough wooden table with his palm. “You ask the wrong questions American.”

“Call me Cole.”

“We are a forgotten people,” continued Julian, eyes closed.

His moustache quivered.

“Our lungs will burst before the government hears our cries. The soviet’s failed, the union has fallen, and now we are left to waste away in the tundra. When we hear of your American plane carrying some cargo of great value we are intrigued. So we planned to take it, for the people.”

“You’re common thieves?” said Cole.

Julian’s eyes shot open.

“We are a proud people. Your kind steal from us everyday but you are protected by legislation and… and…”

His English was failing him.

“If I withhold food from a starving man, my spirit tells me that I am a murderer. I went to university in America. I have seen it for myself. You bourgeoisie and your corporations do not understand this. Is it right that medicine should cost the workingman half a week’s wages? There are many ways to kill a man legally. Therefore I say, to hell with the law. All I need is my conscience.”

“So you’re like a Russian Robin Hood?” I asked.

“What is a Robin Hood?”

“Never mind,” said Cole frowning at me. “We understand.”

“Thank you, Mariana,” said Julian taking a tea. “So what is that monster of steel?”

“Sneg prizrak,” said Mariana, serving Cole.

So she could at least understand English. Julian chuckled.

“A ghost cannot throw a man through the air like a bundle of kindling.”

Cole had an elbow on the table, and was stirring his tea with his other hand.

“He is a man,” said Cole, “They are called Synthetics.”

“This I find just as unbelievable,” said Julian, “He is no man.”

“It’s true,” I said, “He saved us both. He is a man.”

“I have never before seen a man clothed in steel,” said Julian, “But I will take your word for it.”

He finished off his tea with a big swig.

“I shall take you into the village tomorrow. From there you can contact your people and arrange transport.”

“Thank you,” said Cole staring into his cup.

***

Three days later and we were at another airfield, waiting on the arrival of a CANA aircraft. Julian and Mariana were there to see us off.

“Safe travels, Americans,” said Julian.

He shook Cole’s hand. The plane had arrived and was bumping along down the runway.

“Stay safe Julian,” said Cole.

“We are Russian,” replied Julian, “We survive. Just look at where we live.”

Mariana kissed us both on the cheeks and gave us each a carved wooden necklace. Cole got a tiger and I got a wolf. On the back was a lot of Russian writing, a poem perhaps.

“And Julian,” said Cole, standing in the entrance, “Can you do me a favor?”

“I am listening American.”

“At the crash site, in the cargo compartment of the plane, there is a box of documents.”

“And what do you wish me to do with them?”

“If you find them,” said Cole, “Burn them.”

Julian laughed.

“What makes you think I won’t just sell them? Such documents must be worth a considerable sum to the right people.”

It was Cole’s turn to laugh.

“For the people, right?”

“For the people,” agreed Julian, “But if I find them, I will do as you say for Mariana’s sake. You were good to her.”

Cole nodded and entered the cabin.

“Perhaps we shall meet again, Julian,” said Cole.

Julian smiled in reply. “Perhaps we shall.”

As the plane taxied, I could finally relax. We were safe and I was going to see Kate again.

Life was good once again.

Chapter 10

We arrived back at the CANA Head Office in Washington, at three in the afternoon. Sasha was waiting in the foyer, with Stuart at his side.

“Fletcher! Cole!” Sasha said, throwing his arms wide, “It is so good to see you.”

Much to my surprise, he hugged Cole and then hugged me as well. Various passersby watched us in amusement. The receptionist sniggered a little and then looked away.

“Welcome home,” he said to Cole, “We were so worried, when we heard of the plane crash. We have waited so long.”

Stuart gave me an awkward little wave and a sad attempt at a smile.

“I’m glad you’re safe. So how was Siberia?” he asked.

“Cold,” I replied.

He nodded and stood there blankly. Someone was missing

“Where’s Kate?” I asked.

Sasha looked at me and frowned, “Regrettably she has left the internship.”

My reality was shattered.

“But…”

“Perhaps we can discuss this somewhere private,” said Sasha.

***

That night, I sat in Sasha’s office and watched Cole pace back and forth.

“I am sorry, but Sasha has been called into an urgent meeting. This should only take a minute. I understand that you and Kate had a…” He paused as he searched for the words. “I understand that you and Kate were...” He paused and then said, “I understand that you were romantically involved?”

“Yes.”

“And that this must be hard for you,” he said wringing his hands together, “I don’t know how to say this but…”

“You don’t allow your interns to mix business with pleasure?”

“No. Not that. We’re all for diversifying the working environment. Kate has left the internship upon her own accord.”

I swallowed.

“Why?”

“She cited personal reasons.”

“Did she leave a phone number, or an address, or something?”

“No Fletcher, apparently not.”

Cole was biting his lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“But you must know where she is! You’re practically her family!”

“Sasha will know where she is staying, but I do not know the reason she left the internship.”

“Then get Sasha to tell me where she is.”

Cole sat down opposite me.

“I cannot do that Fletcher.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Just tell me the address.”

“She told Sasha that she does not want anyone to contact her, Fletcher. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t speak. I just sat in a stunned silence.

“I’m sorry Fletcher,” he added again, “You can have the rest of the week off to recover from your recent adventure.”

I left the room without a word.

***

I spent the remainder of that night playing solitaire on my computer and eating takeout. I didn’t even leave my room the next day.

***

For the next four months at CANA, I lived as an automaton. I would wake up, I would head out to work (Sasha had attached me to a lab at the university, it was good for a bit of extra cash), I would return to CANA, and then I would go to sleep. Interspersed in this fun filled (sarcasm) routine was eating, drinking, occasionally phoning home, and playing video games.

I forgot about Kate in the day, remembered her at night, and then would lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering what she was doing at that exact moment. The one question which occupied my sleep-deprived mind until the early hours of the morning was, was she thinking of me at this exact moment?

The most curious thing about my situation was that my pulse still quickened when I thought of her intrigued eyes looking at me. I should have been bitter, forgotten her, and then moved on. But she was the only girl in the world I had ever kissed and I was starting to fear that this might be because she was the only girl in the world willing to kiss me. Perhaps I had aimed too high? She was out of my league and I should have embraced that.

But she kissed me.

***

“Get up bro.”

Stuart burst into my room and switched on the lights. I winced. It was twelve at night. I just groaned.

“Stop acting like a heart broken twelve year old and come get amongst it bro.”

I had barely seen Stuart these past four months.

“It’s too late for that,” I moaned.

“The clubs are just heating up at this time. Live a little.”

“Fine.”

I gave in. It could be fun.

“Meet you out front in twenty then.”

***

“So what’s been up with you?” I asked Stuart.

We were sitting at the bar, sipping bourbon and cola.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind these past months,” he replied.

“Same,” I said, “Pretty heavy, this internship. And I nearly died in Siberia.”

“Yeah.”

He paused in thought and then continued.

“I’ve been thinking Fletcher. Sometimes you just have to forget and move on. Life’s too short. Well for most people anyway. There are always more girls.”

“Is that what you’ve done?” I asked, “Forgot and moved on.”

Stuart swilled his glass about.

“Nah,” he said, “Some things you can’t forget.”

I nodded and watched the lady at the bar pouring drinks. Stuart appeared lost in thought.

“You know what’s worse than a life sentence,” he said finally.

He was on his fourth drink.

“The death sentence?”

Stuart shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, what?”

Stuart ordered another drink before speaking.

“Doing the crime but not doing the time.”

“Most convicts would probably disagree with you there.”

Stuart laughed. It was a harsh laugh, almost a snort.

“What did you do then?” I asked.

Stuart stared at me for a moment and then said, “Ah, what the hell. I was sixteen; I had borrowed my parent’s car, and was showing off to my mates. I turned a corner, lost traction and plowed into the side of a house.”

“Doesn’t sound that bad. So you damaged some property.”

“The car went through the nursery.”

“Oh.”

“Since I was a juvenile I got six months community service and I lost my license. Six months!”

I shook my head slowly.

“But I’ve figured it out,” he said, raising his glass.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m doing it.” He downed the remainder of his drink. “I’m going to pay my debts.”

“What are you on about?”

He had a crazy look in his eye.

“I’m getting integrated.”

He stood up.

“You mean you’re gonna become like Frederick? A Synthetic?”

“Hell yeah, now lets party.”

Stuart vanished into the writhing throng of bodies, which was the dance floor.

“Can I please have a tequila shot?” I asked the bar lady. “Actually, make that two.”

Downing my drinks, I followed Stuart into the crowd and tried to forget. Forget Kate, forget this conversation, and forget CANA.

I have never quite liked dancing. Possibly because when I danced I looked like a crippled orangutan. I surveyed the crowd to familiarize myself with the accepted style of dancing in the club. It was mainly grinding, or lethargic head bops and gangster slouching. Depended on your gender I guess.

“Nice cane.”

“Pardon?”

I had lost Stuart and so was just having a casual dance by myself (as in, leaning against the bar and bopping my head to the music). I had gone with the, drink in one hand, cane in the other, I’m cool in a casual kind of way pose. I fancied that I looked like a sugar daddy, a skinny white sugar daddy.

“I said you have a nice cane,” said a girl to my left.

I had bought a new cane after losing mine in Siberia. It was sleek and black. It almost made me look cool if I was strolling down the street, but it made me look like an idiot in the dark club.

“Thanks,” I said.

I almost said, ‘My Granddad made it’. It had become my programmed response when people commented on my cane.

“I’m Jessica.”

“Fletcher.”

We danced next to each other for a little while. It was a tad awkward.

“I like your accent. Are you Australian?”

“No, I’m a Kiwi.”

“Wow, what are you doing all the way over here? I thought Kiwi’s can’t fly.”

I genuinely laughed, for the first time in months. It felt good.

“I’m a ecology undergrad,” she said, “I know these things.”

“Wanna grab some air?” I asked.

I was starting to feel sick. Jessica snorted.

“Sorry bud, if that was a pickup line I ain't biting. I don’t swing that way.”

“I got a headache!” I said, “And a girlfriend.”

“Neither of those stop most guys,” replied Jessica, “Is she a nice girl?”

“Yeah but...”

I didn’t know what to say. Why did I still think of Kate as my girlfriend? I hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask her out.

“But?”

“I haven't seen her in like four months so I dunno...”

“Huh are you like one of them tween couples that build a relationship electronically?”

We were moving away from the dance floor. It was hard to have a conversation over the thumping bass.

“No,” I said quickly, eager to leave, “Well... Not exactly. We used to hang heaps. I've never actually asked her out. She went away and now… We used to hang a lot.”

I didn’t have a clue why I was defending myself.

“Fletcher, you are romantically retarded.”

I nodded in agreement.

“I gotta go,” I said and then left without waving goodbye.

Stuart could find his own way home. I was too tipsy to care.

***

The next morning before work, I found myself acting like a stalker and casually perusing Kate’s, now vacant, room. I lay on the bed, fiddled with the pillows, and started to form the opinion in my head that I was going crazy. I suspected that my mental faculties had been deteriorating. Apart from a raging hangover, I couldn’t concentrate. Sasha had started calling me in for ‘talks’ every night, and I couldn’t sleep more than two hours at a time. On top of that, I was now lying down in Kate’s old bed. I was creeping myself out.

But then something caught my eye. It was a slip of paper, which had fallen down behind the bedside table and was trapped against the wall. After prying it free, I discovered that it was a letter. It was from her Grandmother.

And it had a return address.