“Ri-ich as fuck ?” repeated Rada, quizzically
The way the well elocuted ‘fuck’ burst forth from those rosebud lips was enough to send Wingnut into a paroxysm of hysterical giggling. He didn’t know where to put his goofy self. He went automatically to his Zi. He had no idea what to do without it. No wonder his grandparents smoked themselves to death, he thought. Without zyburbia at your fingertips, what else was there to do?
By this time the trio had circled back to the hall where drinks and lunch were laid out. Sumptuous salads, freshly baked breads and pies overspilled the plates.
“Ooh, cherry pie!” Wingnut swooped. “That looks cocklickin’ good.” He couldn’t stand the way that Rada was looking at him. Spooky. He dived into the cherries, drowning himself in their delectable sweetness. He, like his classmates, was embarrassed to eat naked, as it were. They couldn’t bear being without their earchips for non-stop music, their screens for the latest podcast or video, or their Zi-boards for surfing and texting. Rada, Tania and Vassily were attentive hosts. There was so much TALKING going on. It felt a bit much!
“How can you guys stand it without Live-stream?” Rachel asked, stuffing her mouth with potato and beetroot salad. “Don’t you even have laptops?”
“Yes, I have a laptop and a phone,” said Vassily, “but they are in the Tech building. I only use them sometimes, and then in the evening.”
“God, how boring. What do you do?”
“It is not boring at all. We dance, sing, have fun.”
Rachel nearly spat beetroot in disgust.
After lunch there was a massive rush for the ZiSleeves.
Rada reached for MV as he set out to join the surge. Her touch on his pale arm was warm and inviting. “Would you like me to show you the forest, MV?”
He felt his eyeballs burning as she looked into them. He thought of his PipStream, which would be overflowing; and Jeezbob, waiting for his next move. “Yeah sure,” he said uncertainly, “after I do a quick pip shuffle.”
A flicker of her disappointment flashed between them. He felt like a junkie; starving for his next fix. However he was reminded of another kind of fix altogether; the way her arse curved brought warmth to his groin. He’d heard Russian girls were hot. “Okay,” he said impulsively, “I’ll come.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had even gone for a walk, let alone without his ZiSleeve.
Rada led him through a garden that radiated out from behind the Tech building. Flowers spilled onto paths, intricately laid with attractive stones. Rada picked a daisy and threaded it into her braid. The clear skin on her face glowed in the streams of sun that filtered through the trees.
She led him through the solar garden and past the windmills.
“Are you totally off-grid here?”
“Of course,” she trilled. “We have very hot summers and in the winter when the wind sweeps down from the Steppes, the windmills take over. Like how you would say…?” She chose her words carefully. “The demented howling of the wind is miraculously converted into the sounds of a flute concerto by Mozart—beautiful to listen to on a wintry evening.”
“You are beautiful to listen to all the time.” The thought bubbled from him like within a cartoon. The way she spoke fascinated him. Her words held a beauty that stirred a small neglected pebble resting somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. It felt starved of juice. He promptly dismissed the sensation as sentimental hogwash.
They walked towards a forest of cedars that swayed tall and majestic, whispering their distinctive hum in the breeze. MV breathed the sweet pine scent into his lungs.
“Do you have forests near you?” asked Rada.
“We did have but they are disappearing fast.” MV tried to push the dreadful fires of 2016 out of his mind. Angeles National Forest had been razed to the ground, taking with it many human lives including those of his favourite uncle, aunt and cousins. “In the north of California some forests do remain, but many are dying.” He looked up at the cedars but did not see the tell-tale brown foliage which was causing the demise of many of those trees. “Your trees look pretty healthy.”
“In Russia, forests cover 45% of the land mass—the most extensive reserves in the world. Also this area is full of rivers, mountains and rich black earth. In the last ten years there has been a massive cleanup of the industrial pollution that was a legacy of Stalin, and the American factories which poured in during the 1990s. Now our trees are very happy. They love to supply us with fragrant air.” She went up to one and spread her arms upwards in worship.
Oh no, not a treehugger too. The thought was rapidly followed by another. This babe is in perfect position for me to ram her against the tree trunk.
But before this thought could be brought to fruition, Rada skipped lightly away and led him into a glade with a pond. She ran about frolicking and did several cartwheels, her light summer dress cascading over her womanly body in such mesmerising whirls that MV couldn’t tear his eyes away. Her reddish gold hair escaped from its braid and fell in waves down her back.
Wow, this chick is hot—I’m sure she ain’t wearing knickers! If only he could vid-port this gorgeous sight to Jeezbob.
“Can you cartwheel MV?”
Cartwheel! MV had never cartwheeled in his life—that was so uncool! He shook his head vigorously.
“Oh please try.” With that she did a series of perfect arcs around him ending in a spectacular somersault.
“Well—er—er—” he stuttered.
“Oh, come on. Try!” Her eyes danced, green like the light through the trees. So hard to resist her plea.
So he tried. It wasn’t good. His ZiSleeve arm was weak and the other crippled by a wii tennis injury. He crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, cursing violently.
Rada ran up to him with concern and massaged his arm. He felt the pain ease. He smelled the mead of her breath. Now was the time to make his move. Slip his tongue into that honeyed portal. But something stopped him—a strange emotion. Was it shyness? This was bad—he needed Jeezbob to knock some macho sense into him. What was wrong with him? He always found seducing chicks so easy.
“Let’s go for a swim. It is so hot!”
With that she peeled off her dress and dived in. He was right. No knickers. Hell! She came up laughing. “Come on.”
MV was still reeling with shock at the glimpse of her brown body unencumbered by undergarments.
“Come on,” she repeated.
MV was not averse to skinny dipping, but this was something else. She was expecting him to take his clothes off and dive in. Just like that. In such a natural, innocent way. He thought ruefully of the skin fungus that had spread over his back.
“Come on MV—it is wonderful in here.” Her pearly teeth shone in the glints of the water. It did look inviting and he was sweltering.
As she disappeared under again, he took his clothes off and dived in, catching his breath as the cold hit. But within a few seconds he was up and paddling. Divine. Very different to the pools in LA. No chemicals—just pure water. Rada was splashing about and laughing with infectious delight, her hair plastered in a thick wodge over her forehead. He thought of all the LA girls who never wet their sleek hairdos, preferring to preen in gaggles on edges of swimming pools, showing off their latest designer swimsuits.
Rada splashed him. He had such an urge to splash her back.
She playfully splashed again. This time he did splash back and they had a glorious orgy of splashing. He felt exhilarated. Like a kid.
She then jumped out and spread-eagled herself on the grass, offering her body to the sun. He climbed out slowly, mesmerised by the bush of gold curling hair, bejewelled with droplets of water, that sprouted over her pubis. It looked unruly, untidy, wild. Every girl he had ever seen naked was either shaved or clipped. He had an immense desire to run his hands through it. Or film it with his Zi-Lens and put it on YouTube. He envisioned the title with a chuckle. Wild beaver on the loose.
Now dude, enticed the inner seducer. Now is
the time to tease apart that bushy fuzz and jump her. Look, she’s just lying there asking for it.
Yes, jump her! responded his inner gallery of observers, including Jeezbob with his rakish grin.
But instead he collapsed next to her, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his body.
Rada had picked up his T-Shirt and was examining the school logo glowing from it.
“Groovy, eh?” said MV proudly. “Silica nanoparticles blended into a light-emitting gel, then printed onto the cotton to form pixels. The gel consists of a ruthenium compound that emits a bright light when a voltage is applied to it, along with an electrolyte and...”
Rada looked away and dropped the shirt. He was taken aback, just when he was in full flow. He had been instrumental in getting these logos embedded in schoolwear. The girls back at school had been impressed. And had shown him how much.
“Ruthenium!” said Rada “That is a rare trace element! I thought you Americans had learnt your lesson, plundering the planet for your endless vanity!”
“But this technology’s from Japan. You must admit it’s amazing? The way the letters sparkle?”
She shrugged. “It is not interesting to me. I prefer the sparkle on the water, the blue-green glow on a blowfly, the glinting of dew in the grass. And it is certainly not as interesting as the sparkle that comes from your eyes.” She looked deeply into them. Such a pure look. Again she reminded him of someone. Who the hell was it? Then he felt a strange emotion—like prickles of tears at the back of his eyes. Was he going to cry?
“What do the initials MV stand for?”
“Hey dudika, no-one, but no-one knows that!” He drew back, welcoming the anger that squashed unfamiliar feelings.
“Really? But surely your mother must know.”
Was this girl dumb, or just silly?
“Of course she knows. She gave me the stupid name.”
“But what name is it?” She was persistent.
“It is such a dumb, embarrassing name—it truly sucks.”
Rada screwed up her nose quizzically. “But she must have given it to you for a reason.”
“Well yes, it was my great-grandfather’s name. He was from Ukraine.”
She sat up with alacrity.
“Ukraine? So your family comes from this part of the world?”
“Yeah but a long time ago.” He was distracted by the bounce of her breasts as she became more animated. The pink nipples bobbed enticingly.
“So what was your great-grandfather’s name?”
“Miroslav.” He spat out the word with disgust. “Can you imagine such a name in sophisticated LA? Horrible.”
“Miroslav.” The name rolled off her tongue like a bubble of poetic syrup. So different to his pronunciation. She jumped up and started cartwheeling in glee. Naked. God he wished he had his Zi-Lens!
“That is such a beautiful name. Do you know what it means?”
“Fuck no. I don’t want to know.”
“It means ‘peace.’ Do you mind if I call you Miroslav?”
“Only in private. Not in front of my classmates.”
She looked slightly dejected but agreed.
“What about your name, Rada? What does that mean?”
“Happiness.”
They dressed and walked back. MV felt strangely refreshed and peaceful. Perhaps there was something in the meaning of a name after all. Rada did radiate happiness like he had never seen before.
Rada skipped ahead, cartwheeling occasionally. She was so wholesome—like a kid but also a woman—he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Back in LA he would have fucked this chick by now. But Rada aroused him in a whole different way. He felt warm and his skin tingled all over.
Back at the school, the afternoon sun was settling over the cedars. He saw his mates sitting outside the Tech building absorbed within their Zi worlds. He felt a strange revulsion. His own ZiSleeve sat on the trestle table, lonely and winking furiously. He moved towards it leadenly. He zi-croed it on. It felt like a shackle.
VASSILY WATCHED RACHEL’S ZiScreen over her shoulder, as her avatar, resplendent in a gold bikini, was about to be seduced by Demoloron on his black steed. “Rachel,” he interrupted. “Did you know that the futures you keep dreaming up in Second Life, you can dream up in real life.”
“And did you know Vassily, you are annoying me intensely,” replied Rachel, her cheeks wobbling exasperatedly. “Why don’t you go and dance or whatever the fuck you do in this stupid place.” Vassily immediately leapt up and did a Cossack dance right there in the courtyard, in front of her. An old man with silver hair took up an accordion and played it in accompaniment. Rachel turned away scornfully.
“Who’s that old geezer?” Wingnut asked Colleen.
“That’s Mikhail Shchetinin, the guy who started this school over 25 years ago. He’s about to give a talk.”
“Jeez. Spare me,” said Wingnut, getting up to go.
“Wait,” commanded Colleen. “I think you should stay and listen.” Separating Wingnut from his zyberworld was like dislodging a prehistoric mammoth from permafrost. But she had promised Wingnut’s father she would try. It was he who had invented the ZiSleeve, so he felt responsible that his only child had disappeared up it, so to speak. He had arranged the plane for the school trip, as a reward for Wingnut’s class finishing school. The only way he could entice Wingnut to visit Tekos, was the promise of the Moscow Expo first. Colleen sighed. How was she going to prise Wingnut away from the Web by even a millimetre? Tania came to her aid by announcing in front of the gathering, that she would be translating. Wingnut decided that Gorko the Viking having his way with Saxon slave girls would have to wait. Instead he feasted his eyes upon Tania as she began to translate for the benevolent-looking old man.
“The present is not something that has just happened to us, we have all participated in its creation...”
Yeah, thought Wingnut, admiring her blonde, blue-eyed beauty, I could create a perfect sex slave out of you darling.
NEXT MORNING MV was woken by singing. Cursing, he went to the window. He’d been up half the night catching up with pips and downloads. Just a few hours away from his ZiSleeve was lethal. It mustn’t happen again.
Out of the window the garden looked resplendent in the morning sunshine. Tripping through it barefoot was his nemesis, that temptress Rada. It looked like she was singing to the flowers. Bloody hell—what a kook! Colleen had made such a mistake bringing them to this Godforsaken place.
Well it must be near midnight in New York—time for a game before Jeezbob hit the sack. He closed the curtain. Jeezbob had manoeuvred him into a cave full of unexploded mines, and the sound of whizzing, banging and explosions drowned out that wretched singing.
A shaft of sunlight slipped through a crack in the curtain and caught his face. Dammit. It reminded him of the sparkle on Rada’s pearly teeth. He went to the window. Oh God she was cartwheeling again. As she came up, she spied him.
“Come, come outside! It is so wonderful out here.” He was torn. Then he saw the quote above his door.
If we don’t change our direction, we’ll wind up where we are headed.
Boy, was this place trying to brainwash him? He decided to take his ZiSleeve with him. As protection.
“Oh okay, but I’m not doing any more cartwheels.”
“Of course not—I want to show you the gardens.”
“Just for a short while.” Out he went, armoured with his ZiSleeve.
The garden was bursting with vegetables and flowers. Cabbages the size of footballs swelled out among a riot of nasturtiums.
“You grow all your own vegetables?”
“Yes, and fruits, and healing herbs. We use permaculture techniques.”
“Do you guard your gardens?”
“No.”
“Why not?” In LA, gardens had sprouted everywhere—disused lots, sides of roads where guerrilla gardeners had to become more guerrilla-like to protect their produce. MV earned extra money by patrolling gardens at n
ight, entertained by his ZiSleeve of course.
“Well Miroslav.” She lowered her voice as she said his name. Despite himself he thrilled at the way she pronounced it. “We have plenty of gardens in Russia. And land. You must remember the Soviet Union collapsed twenty years before the world financial crash of 2009. Fortunately most people, even those in the cities, still had access to a dacha and garden. In the early 1990s while Russia boiled out of control in a soup of intrigue, power and greed, these gardens saved Russia from starvation and possibly another revolution.”
“Revolution may have been a good thing.”
“No Miroslav—our country was worse than a battered, bloody dog after seventy years of revolution. In 1995 there emerged from the Siberian Taiga my heroine, the eco-mystic Anastasia, who persuaded hundreds of thousands of people to turn away from the transient attraction of luxury consumer goods, and delight in the simple pleasures of planting seeds and creating gardens. By the time Capitalism cracked apart, President Medvedev was passing legislation for people to acquire land cheaply, so they could be self-sufficient. What was great was that these people were well educated and technically literate and brought their new knowledge to the land. My parents were successful city people who became quickly disillusioned with a Western copycat lifestyle; they traded their concrete coop in Moscow for an eco-house in the countryside, at first commuting while they built it.”
Her eyes sparkled as she spoke of her parents. “Oh Miroslav I wish I could take you to visit them, so you could eat one of the apples from the tree they planted when I was born. It would help your skin condition.”
MV looked at the rosy flush of her skin and longed to touch it—to somehow infuse it into his own.
“So what is so special about this school?” He had avoided going to Shchetinin’ s talk, pleading Zi overload.
“We learn how to create a positive future.”
“How?”
“In many ways, but basically by relating to each other and thinking.”
“Thinking?”
“Yes, most people only use a fraction of their thinking capabilities.”
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