Synthetics

by B. Wulf

Frederick started walking towards the thugs. A few less courageous individuals were already piling into vehicles and gunning their engines; former pilot included.

  “Keep your head down,” said Cole, resting his hand on my shoulder, “This could get messy.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes of the metal colossus and neither could Moustache Man. For something or someone so large, Frederick moved so gracefully. I found myself smiling at how dangerously beautiful he was. He was the epitome of freedom. It was just like Sasha said. You give a man a gun and he can defend himself. You make a man bulletproof and he no longer needs to defend himself. No one could control Frederick or exploit him. He was truly free. But then wasn’t he Sasha’s employee? I wonder if he had a pension plan.

  I was jerked back to reality by the terrified screams of Moustache Man, “Shoot it! Kill it! Don’t let it reach me!”

  “Will he kill them all?” I asked Cole.

  “No, at least not intentionally. Frederick is gentle.”

  “Really?” I said in disbelief, “Lucky for them.”

  And then the bullets started flying. The few that hit Frederick just ricocheted of his titanium plated exterior. The air was full of a symphony of gunfire and pinging bullets. Frederick kept walking towards Moustache Man.

  And then someone had the smart idea to pop off an RPG at Frederick. The thug miraculously managed to get it on target, but Frederick merely swatted it aside into the fuselage of the downed airplane. I ducked my head, as we were showered with debris. My ears were ringing but I still couldn’t take my eyes of Frederick. He had nearly reached Moustache Man.

  “Please,” Moustache Man was getting very worried by now and his men had ceased firing for fear of hitting their leader. “We can come to an agreement? We can sort this out!”

  Frederick did not speak. He grabbed Moustache Man by the shirt and lifted him from the ground. They looked at each other, one with eyes full of tears and one with eyes of ebony. Suddenly Moustache Man’s countenance hardened and he spat upon Frederick.

  “Do your worst, devil. I am not afraid.”

  Then Frederick drew back his arm and threw the man towards the line of soldiers. He sailed through the air, screaming in rage all the while, until he was silenced by gravity. He landed in a snowdrift beside a truck and lay there moaning.

  The firing did not resume. Instead the thugs packed their incapacitated leader into the back of a truck and retreated. They even kindly left a jeep behind in their haste. I was in shock.

  “So what happens now?” I stammered.

  “We follow them to civilization, contact CANA and then wait out the storm.”

  I suspected that there would be multiple kinds of storms on the horizon.

  ***

  “We’re running low on gas,” said Cole, the inside of the jeeps cabin was icy cold, “We will have to find shelter soon.”

  We had lost the retreating convoy in the blizzard, which overtook us that night. Cole didn’t even bother with the headlights. They made no difference in these conditions and just made it harder to spot lights. I was praying for a light to appear in the darkness. I wanted warmth. Nothing more. Just warmth. My joints were aching and my breath made me look like a chain smoker. I started wondering what it would be like to freeze to death.

  “It’s empty,” said Cole softly as the Jeep coughed and died.

  I guess I would get to find out what it felt like soon enough.

  “We will have to walk.”

  I looked like an ewok in the four jackets I had on. We had found a stash in the boot of the jeep. I pitied Frederick who was crammed into the back. He wasn’t a very convenient size.

  “But we’ll freeze out there,” I said.

  “We will freeze in here as well. At least we will have a chance.”

  I couldn’t speak. I was twenty years old and about to die in a Siberian wasteland. All I could think of was Kate. I wanted my last thoughts to be of Kate.

  “Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste here.”

  Shaking like a leaf in a cyclone, I stepped out into the tumult.

  ***

  With each step I felt my strength leaving me. Cole staggered along beside me. We grasped Frederick’s waist, taking shelter from the wind. I was soaked to the bone and couldn’t feel my hands or feet. I’d lost my replacement cane, unable to grip the slick handle, so each step was agony. Frederick essentially dragged me along. He still did not speak.

  Every single human through history has faced what Cole and I were about to face. It came in many shapes and forms but its essence was the same. It was like the moment when you were perched on the edge of a cliff and then you felt yourself being pushed off. It wasn’t the falling that terrified you. It was the uncertainty. What was at the bottom of the cliff? Water or concrete? How high was the cliff? Two feet or two hundred? There was always the little flame of hope, that perhaps you would survive the fall. Perhaps there was something waiting for you at the bottom, something that explained why you had to fall in the first place. But surrounding that hope was the enshrouding dark of realism. There was nothing at the bottom. Only concrete.

  My flame was growing dim. I passed out.

  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 minim
ize 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 tra
nsport.”

  “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.