by Rick K. Reut
The hotel hung on a hill of gambling-green grass going all the way down to the concrete river bank, like a colossal card table strewn with chip-shaped flower beds and bowers. Thirty years after the New World State’s switch from gas, oil and atomic to solar, wind and other sources of clean renewable energy, the river water was as pure as ever. Thanks to the latest upgrades of production at plants and factories as well as making all but official government transport public, so was the air.
Over the past several centuries the ozone layer had been completely restored as a result of replanting all city parks with hundreds of thousands of trees. The perfectly pedicured foot of the hill the hotel stood on was no exception. Controller Globe, Director Downing and Adam descended to the foot along one of the numerous asphalted alleys looking likes wrinkles on the face of old mother Earth that had postpone most of the plastic surgery procedures for another millennium. The process of overall hormonal rejuvenation initiated by the New World State’s government, however, had already begun.
Down at the foot, the threesome walked along the river bank winding in the south-east direction, savoring the scenery. Like toy models of jet planes, swarms of swallows scissored the wadding-soft air, screaming louder than rusty swings, as they turned together with the river twisting around Troitskoye like a giant water snake diving under the bridge.
Once on the other side, the Controller and the Director exchanged a couple of complacent cues concerning the topography and then carried on to the next bridge that sliced that side of the Svisloch river from the former Gorky and current Sweets Park, like a prominent piece of pie, marking the beginning of former International and current Intersexual Street.
Intersexual Street began just beyond the second bridge, bending south-west, to ascend another hill, covered with tile and asphalt all the way up to the top. They strolled past a parking lot by the back entrance into the former Palace of the Republic in current September Square.
“I hear they’re having another upgrade this fall and are finally going to rename it into the New World State Palace to serve as the next summer’s summit spot,” said Director Downing, as soon as they’d crossed former Engels Street and found themselves passing the Hotel De Europe. “They say Freezena Frost is staying here And why aren’t we, by the way? It seems so much closer to the Government House than our Hotel.”
“Minsk Hotel is even closer,” commented the Controller, as they stopped at the intersection of Intersexual and Freud – former International and Lenina – the moment the traffic lights turned red. “But I don’t like the view. All you see are the windows across the street. And all you hear is this horrible traffic noise.”
As if in confirmation of the Controller’s words, a torrent of all sorts of state-of-the-art solar-charged street cars streamed by the sidewalk.
“Well, they should definitely work on the noise pollution problem in this part of town,” the Director noted reflectively. “But then again, don’t the sound-proof windows suppress it?” It wondered, staring up at the seventeen-storied front of the hotel.
“As a matter of fact, they do. Yesterday, I spent the whole evening in Tania’s rooms in Minsk Hotel and all I could hear was Its constant chirping and crying as It came. Sooner or later one does have to go out, though, and that’s when the inconveniences start. The only inconvenience in Belarus is that it’s about an hour’s walk from the house. It is, however, completely compensated by the remarkable view of the river, let alone the Victory Park across it. And if time is an issue, one can always fly,” added the Controller, looking up at a line of air-cushioned sky-cars above them, moving ahead with a muffled murmur that mirrored the billowing flow of traffic below.
“So, why didn’t we?” wondered the Director, when the red lights finally turned back to green, letting them across.
“I just wanted to walk,” replied Controller Globe, studying the pedestrians, who were, in their turn, studying the silent and sullen male man by the Director’s side.
Intersexual Street was one of the most seldom used central streets in Minsk, and yet Adam still attracted an ample amount of attention simply strolling along. The Director and the Controller couldn’t help noticing that the part of a living museum exhibit did not appeal to him.
“Now you see why you’d never be able to fit into our society without transforming yourself physically?” said Controller Globe, looking down at Adam who was looking even further down at the street’s ash-grey asphalt swimming in tears of shame from the scornful stares of the passing she-males.
“Calm down, Mister Marx” continued the Controller, “We’re almost there. Only two more blocks to go.”
It took them ten minutes to cover that distance. They did it in total silence, crossing the current City Val and then ascending another asphalted hill before turning south-east into former Volodarskogo Street. Notwithstanding the name change, the street was still stained with the somber-looking building of the former Police Station overlooking a nearby public garden out of the corner of its countless tinted glass eyes squinting from behind a tall slab wall.
The threesome strolled up the street till they reached the former Gorky Drama Theatre and then turned south-west again. There they saw the sketchy silhouette of the former Temple of Saint Simon and Saint Helen and the Current Trans Temple of FordorFreud stand out of its own shadow into the sleepy morning sun.
Only after passing the Trans Temple and approaching the House of Government sited right next to it did the Controller speak up again.
“Remember,” It said, before stepping inside the building, “do and say everything exactly as I told you.”
“Name and access number,” a resonant, robotic voice snarled at them as soon as they entered the edifice. The voice came from a colossal T-shaped robot sentinel with two paralyzing cannons attached to its outstretched arms.
“Gianna Globe, access number zero one three two six four five seven eight nine,” the Controller responded rapidly.
So did the Director: “Darlina Downing, access number one three two four six five seven eight nine zero.”
Caught completely off guard by the guard’s programmed pushiness, Adam was the only one who didn’t know what to say.
“Name and access number?!” the robot repeated with a roar, taking two threatening steps towards them and aiming its arms straight at Adam.
“Adam Marx. Guest admittance number three four five seven six eight nine zero one two,” intervened the Controller, stepping forward in front of the sentry to shield Adam with Its bulging breasts.
“Thank you, Controller Globe,” thundered the machine, pronouncing the words in syllables, like someone suffering from a severe speech impediment. “You are allowed to proceed.”
“Remind me to raise the question of having these Russian AI robots’ voice and behavior patterns readjusted before the next summit,” said the Controller, after they’d left the lobby behind on the way to the main lift. “It really sounds a bit too militaristic to my mind.”
“Isn’t Tania responsible for these readjustments on this territory?” wondered Director Downing as they entered the elevator.
“Not directly. Push seven, please. But I’ve got a point. It may be easier to solve the problem by speaking to someone actually in charge around here,” conceded the Controller as the chrome-yellow doors of the elevator finally slid shut.
“Story Seven! The Summit Hall!” announced another android voice virtually identical to the one in the lobby. The voice came from a loudspeaker in the ceiling as the lift stopped and slid its chrome-yellow doors open, revealing a long corridor covered with a classic communist-red carpet runner.
“Having an armed guard at every entry is so hopelessly uncivilized,” continued the Controller as the threesome left the lift and ambled along the runner. “As if somebody in our society would be stupid enough to try overthrowing the existing regime. That is, to deliberately jeopardize their own wellbeing, which would completely contradict their conditioning program to associate the regime of po
wer in our welfare state with their own welfare.”
“Yes, but what about the Islands’ Rebel Alliance?” wondered the Director.
“IRA!? That’s ridiculous? They’ve never had one single successful operation on the mainland. Only on the Islands. And there these terrorists threaten nobody but their own kith and kin. And all that instead of submitting to someone much smarter and stronger who will let them live in peace and pleasure for the rest of their otherwise worthless lives. It’s really so simple. Only four words: Community, Identity, Stability, Transsexuality. All they need to know to be happy is right there. But for some strange reason they still refuse to do that, letting their rage to cloud the cool judgment any sane human being should be capable of.”
“Quite so,” nodded the Director as they approached the end of the entryway.
“And since they are too stupid to understand that, we should hardly expect them to be smart enough to find a way to harm us. Which is why having all these robots this deep in the heartland of the European Continent looks like a chronic waste of valuable resources. It’s not so much the mainland itself as the islands’ shorelines that we should be concentrating on,” the Controller concluded, stopping and taking a long critical look at the highly offensive and as highly old-fashioned double door at the end of the passage.
“My Ford! Tania’s tastes are totally terrifying. Just look at that!”
“Old soviet style stuff,” commented the Director. “Some say they haven’t changed them since they were first installed. And that was when Our FordorFreud were still in Flivver of Their First Coming. I believe that bloodthirsty tyrant Stalin ordered it himself.”
“Jesus! I mean Freud! Stalin himself?! Don’t be ridiculous, Darlina. There’s no way they could have held on for so long. Even with the embalming techniques they used in the mausoleum to preserve the cadaver of comrade Lenin. But I must admit that these Russians are a little too radical in conserving their past. And it does set a pretty bad example for the future of those living in the present. I must really have word with Tania about all these necrophiliac tendencies in case everything goes smoothly enough.”
“As smoothly as snake skin on sand,” said Director Downing, smiling smugly.
“Darlina, dear, please, don’t quote me in my face, will you,” frowned the Controller. “And especially when I’m so worried.”
“You’re worried?”
“Of course I am. Who do you take me for? The outcome of this meeting is too important not to be taken seriously. And those Russians, as always, make it even more difficult than it should be.
“All right! I promise not to do it again.”
“Good. And now gather up and get ready for the worst. Remember, anything can happen behind these doors. So, keep my instructions in mind. Especially you, Mister Marx. Mister Marx!?”
Adam, who had been shivering with cold fear since the lobby encounter, looked up at Controller Globe from the depths of his disturbed being.
“Concentrate! I need you focused! Do you remember everything I told you the other day about a possible cross-interrogation?”
The shivering man nodded nervously.
“Let’s hope you do,” whispered the Controller, finally pushing the polished door open.
They walked into a spacious, square-shaped chamber with crudely coated walls, hard wooden floor and fairly high ceiling. In the center of the chamber, there was a large black wooden table, totally round and surrounded by ten identical black silicotton-upholstered chairs, only one of which was occupied. Chief Caretaking Continent Controller for West Asia Tania Trahova was sitting half turned to the window, staring out. When they walked in, It turned to them and threw a transient glance at the glass clock in the corner.
“Only half past eleven,” commented the West Asian Controller. “You’re early.”
“So are you,” said Controller Globe, approaching the table and taking one of the chairs.
“The Chair Tran is expected to be early.”
“So is the Case Stator,” said Controller Globe, opening Its attaché case.
“Only when It’s worried,” grinned Tania Trahova.
Gianna Globe only shrugged Its shoulders and smiled.
“Pretending to be imperturbable? Interesting strategy. But I’m afraid it won’t work,” said the West Asian Controller, before switching Its attention to Adam and Director Downing, who were still dawdling in the doorway.
“I see you’ve brought a babysitter for your little boyfriend. Why don’t you tell them to come on in instead of beating about the pubic bush like a bunch of poor beggars before the rest of the Council comes around?”
“Why don’t you stop being such a bitch and do it yourself,” retorted Controller Globe. “You’re the host of this show after all, aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am, and you’d better remember that,” hissed the hot-tempered West Asian Controller with an incinerating look in Its ember-red eyes one blink short of setting the skin of Gianna’s face on fire.
“As for you two love birds, why don’t you wait till you’re called upon in the rest nest over there,” Tania nodded at the door to the adjourning room, barely containing Its anger. “I need to confer with my colleague in private.”
As soon as they Adam and Director Downing were safely out of sight, Controller Trahova stood up and walked to the window overlooking Dependence Square. Gianna Globe followed It with Its eyes. The West Asian Controller leaned forward, laying Its hands on the sill and staring out in silence. Several seconds passed before It broke it with the following heavily accented words:
“You do know that the success of your project depends solely on my official approval?”
“As well as the approval of all the other members of the Council.”
“Perhaps. But you do need a unanimous decision, and you can’t possibly get one without me.”
“So, what do you want?” asked Controller Globe, coldly.
Tania chuckled.
“What I like about you, westerners, is that you always go straight to business.”
“It’s much better than being so mysteriously queer about it. Besides, we seem to have discussed everything at the hotel.”
“You mean almost everything,” Tania turned around, revealing a blood-red grin painted across face.
“Is there anything else?”
“There’s always something else.” Tania crossed Its arms under Its huge bulging breasts, making them look like two cuddled babies. “You see, I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“Happy to hear that,” Gianna cut in impatiently. “But let me remind you that the rest of the council will be here in no time. So stop beating about the pubic bush yourself and tell me what you want.”
Tania threw a sharp glance at Gianna’s frozen face, turned around and looked out of the window – a long lasting look, at the end of which only one word was spoken.
“Minsk.”
“Minsk?” Gianna echoed in surprise. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want it.”
“What do you mean, you just want it? Haven’t you got it already?”
“For now. But I hear they’re planning to reassign the place to Europe to even out the two Continents by moving your eastern frontier as far as Orsha. Or maybe even Smolensk. So, Minsk may become your city pretty soon.”
“And you want me to do what?” Gianna gazed ay Tania, suspiciously
“I want you, no, I need you to come up with a plausible argument for them not to do it.”
“And can’t you come up with one yourself?”
“I certainly can. But the Council won’t listen to me unless it comes from you too.”
“I see,” said Its Freudship, sitting down. “So, all this ado is about a piece of land?”
“It’s not just a piece of land. It’s the land where I was decanted and conditioned to become…” the West Asian Controller stuttered and slowly turned back to face Gianna Globe who only now, for the first time in twenty years
they had known each other, saw a glimpse of a genuine human emotion in Tania’s eyes.
“Well, in that case, I don’t see a problem.”
“You don’t?” wondered Tania, wiping Its face with a tissue.
“They made me in Manchester. So, this town doesn’t mean that much to me.”
“Is that your way of saying that we understand each other?
“I suppose so.”
“Then so be it,” said Tania, smiling slightly.
“Does it mean that you’ll let my project pass?”
“I’ll do my best,” said West Asian Controller, approaching the table.
That same second the old-fashioned double door burst open, letting the rest of the current Chief Caretaking Continent Controllers’ Council charge into the chamber.
Chapter Twenty
“Look at that, ladies! They’re amusing themselves in our absence!”
“And again, almost all alone!”
A couple of heavily accented cries broke through the door, flooding the chamber where Adam and Director Downing had been waiting for the past half an hour.
He looked at the door and then at the Director who was sitting on one of the cushioned window sills. Cool and casual, It was busy massaging Its suntanned feet and staring out at the head building of the former Belarusian and current World State University on the other side of Dependence Square.
Catching Adam’s anxious look, the Director’s head turned and smiled straight at him. Adam tried to smile back, but couldn’t. He was too tense with worry.
“It’s so indecently selfish of you,” interposed another accented voice, doing its best to sound berating, but was betrayed by every syllable. One could basically see a smirk behind every sound.
And then the whole adjoining room turned into a beehive of buzzing activity. Even through the closed door, Adam could hear the clatter of high heels blend with the scratching of chairs and peals of foreign laughter, as the voices seemed to climb on top of each other with every following exclamation.
