Terraplane Read online

  ALSO BY JACK WOMACK

  AMBIENT

  HEATHERN

  ELVISSEY

  RANDOM ACTS OF

  SENSELESS VIOLENCE

  LET'S PUT THE FUTURE BEHIND US

  A N O V E L B Y

  JACK WOMACK

  F O R C A R O L I N E, F 0 R E V E R

  "A 'T'OAST;" SAID OUR I IOSI' AND CON'IAC'1; SKURAI'OV. LIKE MOST of his countryfolk he flashed steel teeth, and resembled a car's grille when he smiled. He'd treated us to the Brotherhood of Money restaurant on Gorki Street. In Moscow restaurants the first decor systems noticed, once eyes unblinded beneath overhead flood's glare, were the enormous wallpapered ads. From each the longrotted leader glowered at his descendants as they chowed. In twelvecolor holograph the Big Boy modeled furs, guzzled kvas, smirked at his reflection in freshly waxed Lenin, patted puppies' heads, spun the wheels of Hungarian sportsters and proffered tubes of holistic nostrums. If his icon was on it, Russians bought it. Stalin sold everything from laser printers to pantyhose. "To great general-"

  "Spassebo. Retired general," I reminded. Retired, with reason. Twenty-seven army years proved overmuch. In business was no less danger but the pay was twice tripled.

  "Of course."

  Marx's and Lenin's dead pans were found, too: in the Buros, on apparatchiks' desks, in the wallets of workers for the Ministry of History. That team couldn't leg it like the Big Boy when it came to pumping profits. BBDS & S, Dryco's ad arm, discovered this through countrycrossed demoteering analysis done for Krasnaya while Russian-backed Saharan forces assaulted a tenth, final time American-supplied Zairian troops. We sustained a personnel realignment of 275,000 in that entanglement-by chance, the same number of people who were surveyed. Didn't matter; the casualties would have never spent like the survivors.

  "To great retired general, Robert Luther Biggerstaff," Skuratov continued, hoisting his complimentary glass of mineral water. I raised mine, examining it against the light; saw it unsullied clear, as in a stream, on a field nonbattle betrammeled.

  "Na zdorovye," I said.

  "Das vydanya," said Jake, for whom one lingua sufficed. I wondered how Skuratov saw my associate. Jake's first impression was glacierlike; showing as something immeasurably cold which crushed all before it. Skuratov smiled, hearing the error. Jake knew why he smiled. I activated the minicam sewn into my jacket, rolling the tape. Our host and guide drummed fingertips against the crimson tablecloth with a five/four beat, Morsing the code.

  OVERHEAD CAM ANGLE DESTABILIZED. SIIOOT.

  "A young man still," he said. "Thirty when generalship conferred, yes?"

  "Thirty-five," I said. Generalship conferred unwanted, lived with thereafter. "I lucked."

  "Turnover rate in your army gloriously high at the time if memory serves true. We know great men take their place in history with little need of luck, even in America where you negritanski suffer such difficulties-"

  "Black." Suffered little; my family held money bushelsful before the collapse. Joining the army was the sole method to thrive and prosper further at the time, and I joined as a second lieutenant. "Like Pushkin," I added. He drained his glass and rephrased.

  "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 surp
luses 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?"

  "You haven't been in ten years," I said.

  "Russia and America both bloody lands," he said, frowning. "We transfuse ours. You spill yours. One day you learn as we did."

  INTERCEPT THIS MORNING GAVE NEW INFO.

  The curtain rose. The lights brightened. The orchestra's flaccidity drooped over a synthesizer bank, cracking knuckles, scratching himself.

  "A toast. Na zdorovye!" cried Skuratov, lifting his cup, tapping mine, rubbing it against Jake's box of Pepsi. "Tomorrow you do business in best business place in world. To Vladamer."

  DEVICE IS PROBABLY NOT WEAPON AS SUCH.

  WHAT? I tapped.

  POSSIBLE TRANSFERRAL DEVICE.

  No set showed onstage. Two yellowed posters of New York's skyline hung from the back wall; a green Statue of Liberty molded from one of the lesser plastics stood at stage center. The Drama Advisers chose to rouse at once; their production-West Side Story-opened with `America."

  "Songs left in original tongue to preserve purity of text," Skuratov noted.

  TRANSFERRAL WHERE? I tapped.

  WHERE ALEKHINE WENT.

  The Puerto Rican girls wore nuns' habits and flapping wimples, and possibly came as if from a convent to attempt conversion of the male dancers, boys of Sakhalin shoeblacked to appear more tropical. Backgrounders repeatedly slammed together as if following choreography's demand. The synthesizist, orchestra's iconoclast, lent a sixty-piece unit's sound.