And then a few days later another siege dominated the screens. The world quickly forgot the plastic martyrs, whose charred remains had still not sunk to the bottom of the filthy ocean.
They came to a wooden seat and sat down.
"Are you trying to tell me that my online stuff is bad?"
"No, I am online too."
"You are?"
"Yes I am in communication with gardeners all over the world. Kim is one of them."
"Gardeners?"
"Yes I have several hundred thousand followers in Russia alone on TwitRus."
MV's mouth fell open. As a fifth grader he had boasted the most Twitter followers of his age group, but it had peaked at 10,000 before Twitter sank without trace, just like Jonas and his followers.
"What I'm saying, Miroslav, is that you think the Web is the be-all and end-all of life."
"But it's great, being in touch with so many people everywhere."
"I agree. Our gardeners' forum is amazing and a fantastic vehicle for disseminating valuable information and support. But it is not a substitute for direct contact. This is why Colleen has brought you here. Tekos teaches you how to have both. What Shchetinin helps us discover is that we humans have so much more creative potential than we dare imagine. It is not dependent on the Web. We become easily enslaved by technology, fear, greed, envy. He set up this school so students can flower into who we truly are. And when we contact each other--look into each other's hearts, share each other's dreams, the potential for healing the planet explodes a thousand times! And you will see the positive results beginning to manifest in the Krasnodar region."
"But the Orthodox Church obviously doesn't think so?"
"Oh, many priests don't want people to take control of their own destinies."
The way she looked at him made him want to dive away into his music, his videos, his games, anything to escape those orbs of green fire trying to ring him in. Off-grid world was unnerving. Made him feel uncomfortable. At least with his ZiSleeve he was in control. He was king of his castle. He could dictate all.
"I'm hungry. When's breakfast?"
"Stay here in the sun. It's good for your skin. I will bring breakfast."
MV didn't resist. Besides, he could reconnect his earchip and disappear into music.
Rada brought back a tray of watermelon, apricots and muesli.
"This muesli is packed with cedar nuts from our trees. So healing for your body." She touched his cheek.
No escape! he thought, sinking his teeth into succulent watermelon, trying unsuccessfully to listen to the latest track from Blazedinger.
"We grew these watermelons. Full of sunshine and water. We are lucky to have plenty of both."
MV disconnected his earchip resignedly. This chick sure liked to talk a lot.
"Miroslav, who do you have direct contact with? Your family?"
MV thought about his mother complaining that the kids were always absorbed in their ZiSleeves. She had tried to ban Zis at dinner but he and his brothers caused such a fuss she gave in. Now WebMother accompanied them at meals. RealMother began blogging other mothers, all complaining about their mono-syllabic families gripped by weblock.
"You eat together?" Rada interrupted his thoughts.
"Well, sort of."
MV's Zi winked like an alien between them as they crunched their muesli.
"You eat together with your Zis?"
"Well, er-yes."
"So who do you have real contact with? Girl friends?" MV thought of all the girls he'd bonked with his ZiSleeve on. He felt another strange emotion. Was it shame? He feigned a coughing fit.
"Do you ever take your ZiSleeve off?"
"Er-no, yes. I switch it off at baseball matches. Dammit Rada," he spat out a watermelon pip. "I like this technology."
"I'm not saying anything is wrong with the technology--it is how we use it. The technology is there to serve us. For example our solar greenhouses extend the growing season." She pointed to the glass structures glinting in the solar garden. "It's our relationship with technology that is important--either we dominate it or it dominates us."
They finished their breakfast. The group were getting ready to go out in the Solaritza.
"Come see our Tech block." She took his hand and dragged him through the door of the wooden building, inscribed with: Never doubt the power of a small group of thoughtful, committed people to change the world. It is the only thing that ever has.
"Wow," said MV, marvelling at the inside. "Cool. You do have some serious bit of kit. Holographic screens. Your own databanks?"
"Yes, two of them--we are able to store valuable information without being held hostage to web pirates and unpredictable crises with bandwidth."
MV thought of Wingnut who used up more bytes than a starving crocodile. Not that it bothered him. Just charged extra bandwidth to his dad's account.
"And here is our server."
MV had done a summer internship for Wingnut's father. Here was a chance to show this smart-arse broad a thing or two. He fired a question at her.
"So what's your PUE for this?"
Rada didn't even bat one of her gorgeously curved eyelashes. "Oh it hovers around 1.05."
MV's's jaw dropped jaw dropped. Even the most energy efficient servers didn't score so low.
"Yes," Rada continued. "We take our Power User Efficiency very seriously. We don't like to waste precious energy on ancillary functions. And because it comes straight from the sun and wind, we are even happier. Oh, there's the Solaritza, ready for boarding."
"Oh by the way, where do you plug the bus in?"
"We don't. Our Solaritza is capable of converting and storing energy when there's no sun, with nano-antennae which absorb infrared rays."
MV texted Jeezbob. This chick is driving me mad--invading my headspace, man.
Just fuck her brains out, dude. That will shut her up.
He was too ashamed to tell Jeezbob that he hadn't even made out with her yet.
The Solaritza took the group on several excursions, including Krasnodar city with its abundance of trees, gardens and fountains; crucial as cities all over the world sizzled in higher temperatures. A large industrial complex which once housed Philip Morris was now a myriad of gardens on various levels, swarming with people who resembled industrious ants. Tania informed the visitors that these were once factory workers who decided that feeding the city's inhabitants with fresh produce was better than making cigarettes which were slowly killing them.
They went to the Sea of Azov and brought back a crate of fresh fish.
They soaked in thermal and salt springs which were abundant. MV noticed his skin fungus fading.
On other days, Shchetinin invited the group to tackle an issue that interested them, Tekos style. This was so different from the classroom approach they were used to. Shchetinin did not teach anything. He offered himself, Tania, Rada and Vassily as resources if needed, and showed them tools they could use to tackle seemingly insoluble problems. One involved drawing 'rich pictures' with coloured pens. MV scoffed. "Child"s play!" Resented the absence of his ZiSleeve. But was astounded by the new ways of seeing the problem this facilitated. The group was encouraged to deepen contact with each other, to really listen and to bounce ideas off each other. This fostered greater depth and clarity and a sense of collective potential. It was as if a new collective organ of sight was opening up. Often the group would lapse into deep silence. MV found this surprisingly nourishing; just a silent communion where he found he could access a deeper place within himself. Invariably profound insights would bubble up. The group would be energised and ideas would fly around like brilliant fireworks.
Rada told them how the presence of the Tekos School had affected the Krasnodar region; how students had gone out into the community and helped people envision a positive future and begin working towards implementing it. This was often met with great resistance initially--for example when they wanted to close down the Pepsi Cola factory. However, as in the P
hilip Morris case, the positive vision won, and a new enterprise evolved. The place was now run by local people, making local produce such as berry juices, jams, wines and cedar nut oil.
So the days at sunny Tekos rolled by. For some it was interminably slow; for others it was rushing too fast.
Rachel had been persuaded by Vassily to walk each day, and feast only on morsels of fresh fish and berries. She could feel the fat falling off. Demoloron, on his black steed, was fading fast into zyberspace. She had little desire to follow.
Enrita found that washing dishes in the summer kitchen and sharing a joke with the others was fun. Her nano-wand gathered dust in her room.
Wingnut clung desperately to his porn world, but kept wanting to follow Tania around.
MV felt he was on a roller coaster. The more he found out about Tekos, the more questions he had, and the less he felt attached to his ZiSleeve. His total obsession with Rada continued, unabated.
One morning MV woke with a start and raced out to Rada who was doing her usual routine of singing to the flowers.
"I now know who you remind me of! You have her body and a certain look in your eyes--Guidolon's girlfriend, Trisuron."
"Oh Miroslav!" Rada leapt up and hugged him. It took his breath away. "Trisuron is my heroine--I am a great follower of the weekly adventures of Guidolon, the Giant Space Chicken. This series is so popular in Russia. I want to be like Trisuron. A ray of love beams from her forehead with which she melts away the latest giant monster. This is what I aspire to."
Rada sprang up and did Trisuron's victory dance. So sexy, funny, delightful.
MV stared enraptured. This girl never ceased to amaze him.
"What do you you dream of, Miroslav?"
It was a hot afternoon after one of Shchetinin's sessions. MV and Rada had just been cycling.
Dreaming of bonking you darling. The thought bubble rose unbidden.
She must have caught his look, or worse, read his mind. "No, I don't mean immediate gratification."
He caught his breath. Was she a witch?
"What do you dream of in the future?"
He thought of the dreams he'd had as a kid--become a baseball star, be captain at school...
"Go to Yale--work on saving the dying oceans." This had been the topic in today's Shchetinin group and they had come up with some brilliant ideas.
"Sounds good. What about family?"
"You must be kidding, I'm only 18."
"I dream of a man who is worthy of me, with whom I can create a space of love. I see it clearly in my mind's eye. Our own piece of land with an orchard, a garden, and where we can live in joy with our children."
She looked at him, her eyes blazing; he imagined sparks flying from them.
He felt naked in her gaze. He found himself feeling decidedly unworthy of her. Rada's laugh, tinkling through the trees, and the quality of her attention, stirred something deep within him. He remembered hiking with his mother, in the beautiful Angeles National Park long before the terrible fire. He saw her dejected face when he refused to accompany her the next year and the next. Great sadness swept over him. So many lost opportunities. He decided then and there that he would go hiking with her when he returned. And he silently vowed never to wear his ZiSleeve at dinner again.
Jeezbob help! This girl is driving me wild--I don't know if I'm coming or going!
Well I sure hope it's more coming than going, man. Get a grip--slam her against a garden wall. You know they love it!
You don't know this girl, thought MV.
Rada took MV to a large dark cellar. The shelves were stacked with produce in bottles. Strings of garlic and bunches of dried herbs hung from hooks. Intoxicating odours enveloped him. She took a jar of cherries and opened it. The smell hit him.
"Close your eyes!" She slid something wet, round and squelchy into his mouth.
The taste of the cherry was just divine--he opened his eyes to see her licking sticky red liquid off her fingers.
"Wow, that's amazing." It was even more delicious than anything he tasted when he had the munchies after smoking weed.
"The secret is in the bottling. The fruit must go straight into the jars after it is picked and sealed in immediately with beet sugar or honey." A drop of juice glistened on her lips.
"Rada," dared MV, "Have you ever been kissed?"
"Many times, by my family and friends."
"No I mean, by a boy? A man?"
"Oh no, Miroslav--that would be mixing juices and I intend to do that only with the father of my future children."
The countless girls he had bonked indiscriminately whirred before his eyes; he felt shame.
She picked up some jars of peppers, beetroots and cucumbers and put them in his arms. "For lunch!" She also took some cherries.
"I will make these into cherry dumplings. Especially for you." She licked her lips with such an enticing look, his legs turned to jelly.
A trip was planned to the Dolmens, ancient spiritual tombs in the nearby hills. Rada was staying behind to work in the garden. MV mumbled an excuse to Colleen--overflowing inbox. Wingnut decided to stay behind too, ensconcing himself behind the Tech block so he could watch his porn 'without being judged by these freaks.' He, or strictly speaking his avatar Gorko, was embarking on another sex slave game in the bowels of Second Life. A secret enclave where huge wads of cash were needed, as the players sank deeper into their lustful orgies. That stupid Tania, he thought, she says money can't buy happiness. Well she's wrong. Gorko with his huge 3D cock can buy as much happiness as he wants.
MV sat in the quadrangle chuckling at the latest from LaughTube. He watched Rada coming from the garden with radishes in her hands. She smiled warmly at him as usual, but then her face darkened. MV turned to follow her gaze.
He saw shadowy figures creeping around the edge of the main school building, carrying what looked like cans. The unfamiliar smell of petrol hit his nostrils.
"Stop right there!" commanded Rada.
One of the figures jumped up. He approached her carrying a gun.
MV, who was hidden behind an apple tree, quickly pipped Jeezbob.
Hey we're being attacked.
Yeah, pipped back Jeezbob. I can see it all.
Really? A picture of the garden flashed onto his screen. MV looked up. He understood. Wingnut, abandoning Gorko, had quietly climbed up a tree behind the Tech block, with his Zi-Lens. He shivered as he recorded the scene below. This was the best reality TV people could watch--but it was dangerous for the recorders. Most of them got shot. Wingnut hoped against hope he wouldn't be noticed. This would be such a scoop for SchoolTube.
MV watched breathlessly as the men moved into the quadrangle. He was now in full view. One ran up to MV shouting at him to take off his ZiSleeve.
MV felt like he was divesting a weapon as he ripped it off. He didn't dare look up at Wingnut, hoping all was being relayed to Jeezbob. Knowing Jeezbob was in the frame, so to speak, comforted him. They both knew how to get out of tight spots.
He was led at gunpoint further into the quadrangle.
Rada was calmly standing in front of the ringleader.
"Hello Dangovich. Before you burn us down again, why don't you let me show you around. Tell you about what we do. You can invite your boss."
Dangovich felt her gaze uncomfortably warm on his face.
"Stop staring you wi-itch or I put bullet between zose green eyes."
MV thought Rada was wasting her Trisuron ray of love on such a dickhead. But what could he do? He so wanted to protect her--to be worthy of her.
"Leave her alone, dude," he dared. The honcho span round.
"Ah, stupi-id Americanyitz." He spat at his feet. MV sprang back in terror, feeling as rattled and useless as Guidolon the giant Space Chicken.
"This proves you are cult," Dangovich spat at Rada. "Mi-ixing wi'zis cheap scum."
Dangovich grabbed MV by the neck, and put the gun to his face.
He had strict orders. To burn the place down. It
was assumed it was empty for the summer. But if any cult members were around, they must not be harmed. That would only make martyrs of them. But the boss hadn't said anything about filthy Americanyitzi.
God, thought MV, this is like that game I played with Jeezbob where we were attacked by a Triad gang. How did we get out of that?
The reality was so different. He was terrified. Dangovich reeked of garlic and sweat. That plus the cold metal against his cheek was vomit inducing. Nausea and terror had never been part of zyber-games.
He caught Rada's gaze--it was so beautiful, reassuring, calming. Trisuron looking at Guidolon. He managed to take a breath.
"Let him go," Rada said. "He is a visitor."
What an inane thing to say, thought MV.
"Vi-isitor hey? Bringing stupi-id ideas to zis country!"
"Hello, Comrade!" said MV, feebly.
Dangovich gave him a look so icy that the Pole caps would not dare melt another centimetre, his breath so pungent that MV's nose nearly dropped off in protest.
In NewYork, Jeezob was staring open-mouthed. His finger throbbed. He wished there was something he could click to wipe this asshole out. "Siege," he pipped.
"Siege! Siege! Siege!" was pipped all over the world. ZiFlickr relayed the images to SiegeTube. Web addicts everywhere glued themselves to their screens.
Wingut trembled as the scene unfolded. It was all he could do to stay up in the tree and not fall out.
Rada calmly thought through her options--just as long as MV and Wingnut didn't do anything unexpected. She sent a look at MV with the intent, Everything is fine--no heroics.
MV misread the look and thought. She looks naively calm--I'll have to save her.
Rada knew this was a big test for her. Of everything she had learnt. Could she keep love in her heart in the face of adversity? Could she do what many others had done before her? Mandela had lasted 28 years; Aung San Suu Kyi, 26 years; the Dalai Llama, 55 years. She, Rada, was 18 years old. She didn't think she could last 5 minutes. She recalled tears of joy when the Dalai Llama triumphantly re-entered Lhasa. She quelled her trembling knees by remembering what Suu Kyi said. "You must never let your fear take over--if you do they have won."
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