by Dima Zales
I close my eyes and bring up AROS. The green box icon that represents text messaging dings with the address Mitya promised.
I dismiss AROS and realize I’m feeling a little different today. My mind is clear, as though I had a bunch of coffee and a ton of sleep—except I had neither. Maybe the intelligence boost is kicking in? I’ll have to check with Ada about that.
Unable to delay the unpleasant task any longer, I call Joe and tell him what’s going on.
“Your friend’s right,” Joe says. “We need to get there as soon as possible.”
I nearly drop my phone for the third time today.
“What do you mean, we?” I try to sound casual.
“I mean I’m obviously going to Russia to get my aunt,” my cousin says. “And it sounds like you’re going too. Therefore, we.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I hold the phone in silence for a moment, then say, “Okay, Joe. Let me text you the address.”
“Good,” he says and hangs up.
Stunned, I make my way to Ada’s kitchen.
Only the sight of Ada in her PJs takes me out of my daze. Well, that and the sight of Mr. Spock sitting on the counter.
I think I see recognition in the rat’s eyes. He even seems friendly. If he could talk, I bet he’d say, “Hey, I know you. We’ve slept together.”
“Take this,” Ada says and hands me a gigantic plastic cup with something thick and green inside.
I sip the liquid gingerly and get hit with a surprisingly refreshing taste. The liquid is cold, sweet, and exactly what I needed.
“Yum,” I say after I swallow my third icy gulp. “It tastes a lot like a milkshake. What’s in it?”
“Frozen banana, silken tofu, and a little spinach for color.” Ada pours herself another cup and looks me over approvingly.
I follow her gaze and remember I’m only wearing boxers.
Oh well. Since she doesn’t seem to mind, I decide I’ll get dressed after breakfast. I tell her what I’ve learned, concluding with the fact that Joe will be accompanying me on this trip to Russia.
“I can see why you don’t want Joe joining you,” she says. “But I think he might actually be of some help. His job is providing people with security, after all. What I don’t get is your problem with visiting Russia.” Ada takes a small sip of her green drink. “I’d love to see Russia if I could.”
“You’re not going,” I say firmly, in case she was hinting at it.
“Of course not. I need to provide backup, and I’m best equipped to do that here,” Ada says. “It still doesn’t explain what your problem with Russia is.”
“How can I explain it to you?” I savor my drink and say, “Picture every Russian movie villain.”
Ada demonstratively closes her eyes and smiles.
Taking that to mean she’s using her imagination like I instructed, I continue. “So, I bet you’re picturing a Russian drug lord, or a weapons dealer, or a crazed Soviet spy, or an ex-military mercenary—”
“Actually”—Ada’s eyes open, glinting amber in the morning light—“I was thinking of the guys who kidnapped and threatened to cannibalize the yellow M&M candy in that Super Bowl commercial.”
“You know, that ‘Boris the Bullet Dodger’ actor in the ad is actually Croatian. His Russian was barely coherent during his monologue, but yeah, that’ll work as far as the point I’m trying to make. Now, take that guy and his crew and picture all these villains multiplied millions of times and located in a spot roughly double the size of NYC.”
“Okay.” Ada’s tone is serious, but her eyes roll slightly upward.
“You now have Moscow in your mind’s eye.”
“Sure I do. I can trust you, the guy who hasn’t visited the motherland since the early nineties.”
She has a semi-decent point. I don’t watch Russian movies or shows like Mom does, and I haven’t read a book in Russian for two decades. As a result, I don’t have a clue what’s really going on in Russia, outside of American news, and they definitely put a spin on things. So I know the picture I painted for Ada might be irrational, but it doesn’t change how I feel.
“I hope you’re right,” I tell her. “And even if you’re not, it’s not like I have much choice.”
“If it’s as bad as you think, it’s even more important that you get your mom back as soon as possible.”
Either Ada’s words or the air conditioning makes me shiver, so I say, “I’ll go get dressed.”
“Me too, and then I’ll prep a bunch of stuff for you to take with,” Ada says and reaches inside her fridge.
I leave to go put on some clothes, and by the time I return to the kitchen, Ada has already changed out of her PJs and is holding a backpack. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt with an internet meme on it. The meme is of Patrick Stewart next to a quote that says, “Use the force, Harry,” with an attribution to Gandalf.
“This is for you.” Ada hands me the backpack. “I made you sandwiches for the flight and also put in some items that might aid in your brain development.”
I take the backpack, thank Ada, and together, we leave her apartment. As we walk down a flight of stairs, I mentally activate Einstein and ask him to get us a car on Uber.
The car arrives a minute after we exit the building, and I get to play the gentleman once again by holding the door open for Ada.
“I’ll work on a few apps for you,” Ada says and whips out her laptop as the car pulls into traffic. “You should make sure to set up a mobile hotspot on your phone, and double-check you’ll have cell coverage in Russia. This way, your Brainocytes will be able to connect to the internet through your phone.”
Appreciating Ada’s advice, I spend the next twenty minutes sorting out my phone. The whole process feels like it takes hours, but in the end, I’m satisfied. I even surprise the otherwise uncaring customer service rep by telling him their outrageous roaming prices are “fair enough.”
Once I’m done, I look over Ada’s shoulder to see what she’s coding.
After I watch for a while, I can’t help mumbling, “That’s even less readable than before. How’s it going to pass code review?”
“You can review the code on the plane if you want. Since this is just a little video game I’m writing for your entertainment, the review is optional,” Ada says without looking away from her laptop. “Tell me something, does Russia have the same expression about looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
“There’s a mare and teeth in the proverb, but yeah, there’s something like that,” I say. “Do you mind if I keep watching?”
“Why do you think I’m not writing this in my head?” she responds via a mental text message. “I want to encourage you to be able to do this for yourself someday.”
“Thanks,” I mentally type back.
My focus on Ada’s work is so intense I don’t notice the car stopping and get startled when the driver coughs to get our attention.
We’re standing by an airport entrance gate. After a call to Mitya, we’re escorted to a special golf cart that takes us to the plane.
Before today, I’ve only seen Mitya’s custom version of the Boeing 747 on his Facebook page. Driving up to it now, I’m amazed at its sleekness and size. I’ve always pictured something smaller, but this is almost as big as a commercial jet.
My admiration is interrupted when Ada closes her laptop and says, “Okay, I finished and loaded the game into your AROS environment.”
“Thanks,” I say and resume gawking at the airplane.
When we stop moving, I get out of the vehicle and run into yet another surprise.
My cousin is already here.
“Hey, Joe,” I say as Ada and I walk up to him. “How did you get through security?”
Joe doesn’t respond, his lizard eyes boring a hole into something over my shoulder.
I follow his gaze and see a posh limo pulling up. It must be an electric, because I didn’t hear it arrive at all. “It’s probably my friend Mitya,” I say. �
��This is his plane.”
Joe crosses his arms over his chest and watches the limo with the same determined mistrust.
When the door opens, it’s indeed Mitya who gets out.
I approach and reluctantly give him a Russian-style man hug, a gesture I reserve for close friends I haven’t seen in a while. “Good to see you, man. Sorry we won’t get a chance to hang out face to face.”
Mitya assures me we’ll get to chill once I return, and I make the introductions. Ignoring my cousin’s suspicious glare, Mitya asks his driver to take my backpack up to the plane, but I protest, saying I’m still capable of carrying twenty pounds strapped to my back.
As we walk up the fancy airstairs, I can tell by Mitya’s eager stride that he wants to show off his pimped-out air ride.
The place doesn’t disappoint. We pass a high-tech 3D movie theater setup and a huge collection of parachutes and wingsuits. After he shows them off, Mitya leads us past uber-comfortable beds and lets us park our butts on couches that look twenty times more expensive than what I have in my apartment—and I splurged.
Happy his efforts to impress us succeeded, Mitya really pushes it by hollering for the two stewardesses who will accompany us on the flight. The women come out wearing cutesy uniforms that emphasize their ridiculously long legs and model-like facial symmetry.
I notice Ada frowning at them, but I don’t feel comfortable reassuring her she has nothing to worry about, in case she’s feeling jealous. They’re not my type—not that it makes a difference, since I only have one woman on my mind these days, and that’s Ada. Besides, if she was going to worry, it should be about the Russian girls I’ll meet once I step off the plane. I’ve heard crazy stories of debauchery from almost everyone who’s gone to Russia. In fact, I know men who go to Russia primarily for the effect they have on the country’s female population. Vic, one of the analysts at my fund, got married to a Russian girl while visiting there—a girl who’s so out of his league the rest of us are convinced she just wants him for his green card.
“Any problem with the Wi-Fi?” Mitya asks when Joe and I take our seats.
“Nope, all set,” I mentally text him.
Mitya’s phone plays Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” intro as his text notification. He looks at it and says, “Ada, can I get the Brainocytes as soon as we’re done? Mike just convinced me I’d give my left kidney to have them.”
“Sure,” she says. “We’ll need to get the backups first, but afterwards, we can do that. I assume you know or have access to a nurse?”
“No problem. Anything you need.” Mitya pushes his power specs farther up his nose with his middle finger, a gesture that someone might mistake for getting flipped off. “Okay, Mike, anything you want to discuss before we leave?”
I’m tempted to tell Mitya in Russian to keep his grubby paws off Ada, but since she understands Russian now, I’d only sound like a jealous idiot, so I opt for something more practical.
“I have some app ideas that’ll be useful when we’re in Russia, particularly this gun app I have in mind,” I say. “Can you guys help me out by developing these apps once Mitya gets what he wants?”
They wholeheartedly agree, and I feel a tiny spurt of guilt mixed with relief. The big coding project I gave them is, in part, to keep them busy so they don’t get too chummy with each other. The rational part of me trusts Mitya. He knows I like Ada and wouldn’t stab me in the back. However, the irrational, primitive part of me thinks no one can resist Ada. Either way, the apps will be useful, and if the request has the added bonus of girl-theft prevention, that’s just gravy.
“So this is goodbye,” Ada says as she comes up to me.
She looks like she wants a hug, so I stand up to give her one. I usually find this type of human interaction a little uncomfortable, but since it’s Ada, I might actually enjoy it.
Ada glances at the blond stewardess, then at me, and then she suddenly rises on her tiptoes. She’s looking directly into my eyes, and I feel like a fly caught in amber.
Ada’s lips touch mine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I have to admit, until this very moment, I fully expected something like a peck on the cheek. As I savor the reality of Ada’s lips on mine, my eyes threaten to jump out of my head.
In contrast, Ada’s eyes are closed, the skin around them creased in smile lines.
I return the kiss, noting she tastes like a strawberry vanilla milkshake. This is odd, since she’s a vegan who avoids dairy. More random thoughts like that fly through my mind. I wonder if this kiss is how Ada always says goodbye to her friends. As unlikely as it is, there are precedents. In the Russian culture, even men will sometimes smooch each other on the lips. Brezhnev, the communist leader when I was a little kid, was famous for it.
I almost send Ada a mental message asking, “What does this mean?” but I’m glad I refrain, because at that moment, Ada’s tiny tongue locates mine, dispelling any illusion that this is some kind of platonic gesture.
I close my eyes and enjoy the kiss. However, my Zen quickly turns into something primal as blood rushes from my head into other parts.
Somewhere far away, I hear someone, I assume Mitya, chuckle uncomfortably, and I realize my hand found its way onto Ada’s bottom—and might be grabbing said bottom demonstratively.
Grudgingly, Ada and I part. Her face is flushed, and I imagine mine would be too if it weren’t purple from all the bruises.
“We have to head out,” I say hoarsely, my tone apologetic.
I hear a chime indicating a mental text arrival. It’s from Ada, and it says, “To be continued.”
“Let’s go,” Mitya says and leads Ada off the plane. Mitya’s butler/driver bows and follows his employer.
I take a seat next to Joe. He reaches into his jeans pocket and takes out a small box with medicine.
“Ambien.” He pops two pills into his palm and extends his hand to me.
Since I just woke up about an hour ago, I’m tempted to refuse the sleeping pills. However, I might change my mind mid-flight, so I take them and say, “Thanks.”
Not wasting his breath on niceties like “you’re welcome,” or even a shrug, Joe dry swallows his pill and closes his eyes.
I pocket mine and spend a few minutes speccing out the apps I want my friends to work on. When I finish the email, I decide to check out the game Ada wrote for me, hoping it’ll distract me from the departure—my least favorite part of air travel, aside from turbulence, landing, and being in the sky in general.
Closing my eyes, I bring up the AROS interface. The new icon is vaguely familiar. I launch it, and as soon as I hear the music, I recognize the game. I probably should’ve known it from the code I glimpsed.
The music is a Russian folk song called “Korobeiniki.” I’ve heard it performed with the original lyrics about a thousand times as a kid. Now, though, since Gameboy borrowed the song for this game, it’s much more famous and familiar to me as the theme for Tetris. I guess Ada thought a game originally developed in Russia while I was growing up would be a fitting gift for my trip back to the motherland.
A three-dimensional rectangle appears in my field of vision, reminiscent of the typical playfield in Tetris, except it’s as big as the Empire State Building. The tetriminos—the pieces in Tetris—are the size of gas tankers as they fall from the top at speeds approaching fifty miles per hour. Though all this looks three-dimensional, I can only manipulate the tetrimino across the same axes as regular Tetris. The scope, colors, and movement are way over the top, and I think I prefer playing the game on my phone. Still, this just demonstrates the videogame potential of the tech—not that I had any doubts about that.
On the bright side, my scores are the best I’ve ever gotten, though I can’t tell if it’s from the intelligence boost or just a side effect of controlling the game with my mind, which is obviously more efficient. Another bonus is that I indeed missed the departure.
I write Ada a thank-you email in my head, dismiss AROS, and o
pen the backpack she gave me to see what else I can find to entertain myself.
At the very top of the pile is a Rubik’s Cube. I guess Ada really wants me to play with geometric shapes today. The cube is an interesting coincidence. Mom brought one, or its Soviet knockoff, on our momentous trip to the United States. I remember this because I was so bored on the flight that I decided to give the puzzle a shot, a decision I regretted after a few hours. Solving the cube intuitively requires patience, and patience was an alien concept to me as a teen. Now, though, I hope I can do better since I’m around the same age Mom was on our trip to America—a mind-boggling fact in itself.
I take the cube and begin twisting it.
An hour later, I decide that solving this thing intuitively will take way too long, and I still don’t have the necessary patience. Bringing up my trusty mental browser, I search “speed cubing.” I quickly learn it’s possible to solve the cube in under a minute. Intrigued, I read some more and learn the most popular method for solving the cube is called the Fridrich method, sometimes referred to as CFOP. It’s perfect for my purposes, since you only have to use intuition to make the cross on the bottom of your cube. After that, thinking is reduced, and you rely more heavily on pattern recognition and muscle memory. Though I don’t know which skill sets got boosted for me, if any, pattern recognition should be the most basic thing to improve, since that’s what brains are best at in general.
Following a cheat sheet from one of the websites, I solve the cube in ten minutes for the first time in my life. A few solves later, I halve my time. Eventually, I can do it in four minutes, but my hands ache so much I’m forced to stop.
Massaging my hands, I come to the depressing conclusion that speed-solving the cube won’t tell me whether my intelligence got boosted, a question I’m pondering more and more.
I reach into the backpack, hoping Ada packed something I can use to better gauge my new and improved mental skills.
I quickly come across a manila folder, on which Ada neatly wrote “Tests” with a thick black sharpie. I take the folder out and spread its contents on the cushion next to me. As the label suggested, I find a slew of tests that include the SAT, the GRE, the MCAT, and a bunch more I don’t even recognize.
