The Androids: #4. Ivan Ivanovich's Dawn

Ivan Ivanovich’s Dawn

Рассвет Ивана Ивановича

(Originally published on April 2013)

Vadim could not move at all. He was tightly strapped onto the ejection seat, while the roaring sound of jet engines started to drive him mad.

What the?

“Ivan Ivanovich ….”

Upon hearing the faint voice amidst the constant roaring of jet engines inside that cramped space capsule, he wanted to move his lips and answer, at least just to say that his first name was Vadim and not Ivan. But he couldn’t. His face was as hard as an iron mask. He could also feel his skin layers weren’t as elastic as it was supposed to be, despite the similar texture.

Outside the window of that small capsule, Earth—glowing bright blue—looked as if it moved away under him, surrounded by infinite darkness.

Vadim could see his thin reflection on that window. At that very moment he realized he was clad in bright orange cosmonaut attire. The pair of brown eyes staring back at him, not even blinking, indeed looked almost exactly like those of his own, save for the different color. Still, those eyes—even that body—wasn’t his. A white sheet of paper with MAKET written in stark black letters covered the lower part of his face.

Next to his seat, a female dog in space outfit was also strapped in her own seat. She glanced at him, and then turned to bark at him.

“Ivan Ivanovich, please come in!”

The call was heard once more. Vadim really wanted to answer, but with his locked mouth he could only wait for the communication device, which he couldn’t even actually operate himself, to send back a pre-recorded message.

“First off, prepare some beet roots, sour cream, cabbage...”

If only Vadim could open his mouth, or at least produce voice without having to do it, his laughter could have burst out when the record played. He didn’t have the slightest idea the next recording to be transmitted back to Earth was a recipe for borshch.

Seconds after the recipe was completely recited, some noises filled the gap from the radio equipment before another voice called.

“Ivanovich, can you hear us? Please come in.”

For a while, Vadim was stunned. That voice reminded him so much of Artem.

“Ivanovich?”

The next recording, probably the last one, played. The orchestra began to play, and that made Vadim want to melt away the iron mask so badly and wince until both his eyebrows meet.

The choir started singing Smuglyanka.

He really wanted to laugh, but he chose to pay attention to the song and mentally sing along while staring at the moving, shape-shifting white patterns above the bright blue-green ball outside his window. At least, a choir wouldn’t sound as silly as that borshch recipe.

“Good. Now get ready for re-entry.”

The voice was heard once more, and with it, he could sense the capsule’s change of direction from where he sat. His metal body—probably Ivan Ivanovich’s body was more correct—could have been floating for a short while in microgravity had he not been secured to his seat.

His flight would soon end.

The blue-green ball grew closer and the white patterns enlarged in his sight. Heat started to gather in the cramped little capsule as the outer shell of the capsule rubbed against the atmosphere. Vadim could feel his metal body growing heavier again.

White patterns transformed into grey clouds, through which the capsule poked holes rapidly, and he could also see light snow falling outside before he ejected out of there, followed by a loud boom—as if a plane just fell down—and the searing hiss of melted snow, combined with the resulting water coming into direct contact with the hot capsule’s shell.

Snowflakes gathered on his bright orange spacesuit when he floated down with a parachute. Moments later he touched down on the snow-covered ground not far away from the capsule’s impaction site. His eyes stared blankly forward, his face was still hard as an iron mask, and the MAKET inscription over his face no longer stayed in its place.

The female dog who went up with him was already taken out of the capsule. She ran to Vadim, poked her head out over his expressionless face, and barked, just like then, before a man’s hands carried her away. Vadim could hear the man mutter as he carried her away, “Good dog, Zvezdochka, good dog ....”

People who came to fetch him were busy packing up things and carrying back the animals carried in a separate compartment. One of them approached and stared at him. Vadim could see the man’s face showed slight fear before he lifted the metal body of the test cosmonaut with two other people and hurried him away from there.

Vadim felt the body was carried into a car, and he was seated between two people. One of them started boasting around, “This flight was a great success! We will celebrate upon arrival in Moscow... Korabl-Sputnik will finally be able to carry a human... from Tyura-Tam, several weeks from now... Yura and comrades...”

He didn’t really pay attention to the man’s twaddle. Instead, he was more interested to watch the other man as he spread out Izvestiya, the daily paper owned by the government. At a glance, Vadim could see the date: March 25, 1961.

Suddenly, everything he experienced since the first time he found himself inside the small capsule orbiting Earth until his re-entry, also part of his gabble he could catch about Korabl-Sputnik, Tyura-Tam, “Yura and comrades,” became interconnected.

So that’s why, the name—Ivan Ivanovich!

He wanted to smile at himself. Still—he couldn’t. Slowly everything faded to black, and then orange.

# # #

Vadim woke up and caught the sight of a very familiar ceiling. He was laid down on the sofa, in his own living room. He lifted his arms—which felt far lighter—and felt his skin as its texture was back to normal, finally trying to say something. Just one word.

“I—“

He sighed with relief as he felt his lips move and heard his own voice. On the other sofa next to him, Alisa soundly slept. He glanced at the digital clock on the wall right opposite him: April 13, 7:46 AM.

His memory on what happened before slowly flowed back. He invited his friends for dinner and to celebrate Alisa’s birthday—coinciding with Day of Cosmonautics and Yuri’s Night. He could recall putting a blanket over the young lady before he saw, heard, and felt what Ivan Ivanovich experienced in his own sleep.

“What perfect timing,” he bitterly chuckled.

When he nearly jumped down the sofa, he was startled at the sight of Artem curling up almost exactly under his feet, inside another blanket he usually uses until all scrunched.

Artyoshka—damn it, my blanket! Should have stepped on you, he thought.

He walked to the kitchen to see whatever he still had for breakfast. Instead, he found Nadya sleeping on the dining table after cleaning everything up.

“Hey, Nadya,” he called as he gently patted on Nadya’s hand. He nearly jumped back when he touched her skin—a bit warm. But, not so long afterwards, the short-haired girl lifted her head.

“Oh… you, Vadim,” Nadya answered as she rose. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

Vadim opened the kitchen windows. Stars were clearly visible in the pitch-dark sky. There was no snowfall all night long—a sign of the coming spring.

“No snow out, and it’s still dark. Ah—what about me waking up the others and we go out on the roof, stargazing and drinking kvass?”

“Not bad,” Nadya got up from the dining chair. “Wake ‘em all up. I’ll prepare the kvass and glasses.”

Before Vadim completely went away from behind the dining room divider, his laughter burst when he heard Nadya, almost shouting, “If Artyosha doesn’t want to wake up, just kick him!”

But, he found Artem and Alisa were awake. They were still leaning on the sofa while watching the morning news.

“How could you, Nadya?” Artem moaned as he tightened his blanket when Vadim appeared from the dining room, still giggling. Alisa also chuckled.

“Oi, you—return the damn blanket! What on earth, you just use it without tidying it back up?” Vadim cut off as he pulled the blanket off Artem’s body. Artem scowled, but he did fold the blanket and return it to the wardrobe near Vadim’s bedroom door. Alisa’s laughter grew louder.

“Dimochka, where’s Nadya?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Vadim grabbed the long coat hanging on the wall, and then put it on Alisa. “Come on—you too, Artyosha—let’s get to the rooftop. She’ll come after us later.”

Alisa turned the television off and trailed behind Vadim to the stairs heading up to the rooftop, Artem tagging along behind her. Above, the dark spring sky was sparkling with stars.

“How lucky you are to have a house in such location that doesn’t get light pollutions, Vadim.”

Vadim only smiled. The three of them sat on the smooth concrete surface and enjoyed the view. Once in a while, they could see a shooting star or two.

“What a fitting sky for Yuri’s Night,” Artem added. Right at that moment, Nadya appeared with two bottles of kvass and four glasses. She soon filled the glasses with kvass, helped by Vadim and Alisa. The brownish liquid slightly fizzed as it poured and filled glass after glass to the top. The fizzing sound reminded Vadim of Ivan Ivanovich’s landing, not so far off the capsule—scorched on the outer shell—amidst melting snow and boiling water. Alisa saw him making a grimace, although he tried to keep it to himself.

Vadim’s adoptive father, Ivan Petrovich Tarashenko, who also became the chief designer of the N-1 series androids, indeed once told him that he was a “living replica” of a cosmonaut. But, he never thought the cosmonaut he meant was Ivan Ivanovich, and the people at the laboratory went up to eleven creating detailed reconstructions of what could have been experienced inside Korabl-Sputnik and wedged it in-between dream sequences inside his operating system.

Yes, only what could have been. Ivan Ivanovich was just a mannequin, more often forgotten by people.

“Dima? What’s going on?”

Alisa’s voice shattered away the thoughts that started to fill Vadim’s head. He thinly smiled and reassured the blond girl, “Nothing. It’s just... funny to hear it fizz. Yet, it’s not soda.”

Had Ivan Ivanovich been “alive” like me, would he still be forgotten like now?

Soon, glasses of kvass were raised—a call for toast.

“For Alisa Mikhailovna Katerinskaya!”

The glasses clinked, and the kvass inside were finished off in a short silence. Alisa looked questioningly at Vadim as the man quickly filled them again until half-full. Before she could asked what for, Vadim broke the silence, only interrupted by the pouring, with another call for toast.

“For Ivan Ivanovich.”

Artem, Nadya and Alisa stared at each other, and then at Vadim—all with questions clearly on their eyes. He only smiled, saving his explanation on who Ivanovich was for later, when the sun is up and they’re back inside. The three friends only answered to Vadim’s call and repeated, accompanied with the clinking glasses of kvass, “For Ivan Ivanovich.”

In the distance, the lights downtown started to turn off and the sky began to fade into a shade of blue.

The Androids: #3. Mishka!

Mishka!

Мишка!

(Originally published on February 2013)

“Hey—still got more kvass?”

Vadim shook his head. Artem had just spent his third bottle of kvass, and he looked like a normal, nearly drunk human. Had Artem been not an android, the less-than-two-percents alcohol content in kvass wouldn’t make him look like that, but their machinery said something else. With that sort of condition, it seemed that the young man would have to stay at Vadim’s that night, although getting drunk on kvass sounded just plain nuts.

“Still have one, but that’s for Alisa when she comes over,” he coldly replied. “Plus, what for are you drinking that much? It won’t solve your problem, dude.”

Artem grimaced and threw himself on the sofa. Since Nadya’s appointment as presenter of Noteworthy, the new weekly music gazette on their TV station, they’d never had time to talk. Even on lunch breaks, Nadya would mostly buy sandwiches and spend her time in the department instead of meeting him at the canteen.

He understood that the concept of the show, also the demand to master the topic of the show she’ll be presenting—ranging from classical, jazz, traditional and folk, pop, rock, even electronic music—more or less had become a burden to Nadya. But, he was afraid he’d take the wrong way and make her angry.

“Well, yeah,” he whimpered weakly. “Fine then, Dedushka, I want your advice.”

“Damn—at least stop calling me ‘Dedushka’, won’t ye?” Vadim sighed, holding himself back from giving Artem a huge noogie. “Well, it’s not my area of specialty. I don’t know how to persuade her either. What if you try asking Alisa?”

Meanwhile, Alisa was making rough sketches for her costume designs while keeping Nadya company as she watched TV in Nadya’s flat. Between them was a half-empty pack of Mishka Kosolapy chocolate confection.

“Damn it,” Nadya cursed as she chewed her confection. “Is there nobody else fit for that show?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong if you give it a try, Nadezhda Aleksandrovna.”

“Just Nadya, Alisa—until when are you going to call me like that? We’ve been friends for long enough, eh?” she blurted, her hands on the remote to change channels. “Moreover, aren’t they usually choosing only the camera-faced, competent people for presenter jobs?”

“Come on, Artem Yuryevich was chosen,” Alisa chuckled. Nadya’s laughter burst on hearing that line, almost spraying out the partially chewed chocolate in her mouth.

Alisa’s cell phone rang. Without having to look at the blinking name on the screen, she knew who was calling from that ringtone: Vadim. She went out for a while and answered the phone in the kitchen.

“Dima? What’s up?”

“Artyosha’s here, and he thinks his relationship with Nadya is not going smoothly, but... well, you know, Dear.”

“So?”

“He said he wouldn’t stand it anymore if they go on like that any longer. Any idea?”

Alisa leaned her body onto the kitchen wall. Her eyes caught the Mishka Kosolapy wrapper, four bears printed on it, on her left hand—which she hadn’t been letting go of. While throwing the used wrapper into the trash can at the corner, she smiled meaningfully.

“Sure. Tell Artem Yuryevich...”

Vadim listened to Alisa, holding a pen and facing a piece of paper on his kitchen table. Half-rushed, he scribbled Mishka Kosolapy when Alisa mentioned that brand of chocolate.

“Okay then, spasibo. Later—lyublyu tebya.”

“Lyublyu tebya, Dima.”

Vadim hanged up and slipped the piece of paper with Mishka Kosolapy scribbling into sleeping Artem’s clenched hands, and then he walked into his own bedroom.

# # #

Artem examined the paper he found in his hands earlier that day while he waited for the make-up assistants in the dressing room. The writing was a little bit messy, but still clear enough to read: Mishka Kosolapy.

“Privet, Artyosha!”

Sasha cheerfully greeted and walked in with her small briefcase full of cosmetics and make-up equipments. “What’s that?”

Artem couldn’t hide the piece of paper anymore. He gave in when Sasha glanced at the piece of paper and read whatever was on it.

“Mishka Kosolapy? Oh—that legendary chocolate! It’s sweet and delicious, really, but it simply ruins every woman’s diet program. One is never, ever enough,” she mumbled.

What? Diet program? Guess that wouldn’t be a problem for Nadya, Artem thought. Moreover she needs it more as a stress relief.

“What’s with Mishka Kosolapy?”

“Eh, a friend asked me to buy a pack after I’m done with work... for his niece,” Artem made up a reason as fast as he could. Sasha only smiled and started doing her job.

“Hey, Sashenka!”

Nadya’s voice alarmed Artem to quickly hide the paper in his pants’ pocket. Then, within moments, Nadya appeared by the door.

“Oh, privet, Nadya! Ready to record your new show’s teaser?”

Nadya only bitterly laughed as she buttoned up her grey blazer and sat next to Artem. She kept her eyes on the script for said teaser until Sasha finished doing the make-up. Artem himself remained silent, afraid he’d say something wrong, and only stared at their reflections on the mirror. He realized the snowflake pendant he gave on the New Year’s Eve was still dangling around Nadya’s neck. At moments, the snowflake glinted with the light from the vanity table.

Probably Vadim was right.

He intended to ask Nadya to get home together after work, but he changed his mind. He had a new plan.

“Artem Yuryevich, ready? We’re on in five minutes!”

“Okay!”

Artem stood to tidy up his shirt, and gave Nadya’s shoulder a gentle pat before walking out of the dressing room. Nadya turned, but she only smiled without saying a word before getting back to her script.

Immediately the opening music for On Stage played. Sasha closed the door and prepared the equipments she would need to get Nadya ready.

“Artyosha is so confident,” Sasha giggled as she started applying foundation cream on Nadya’s face. Nadya winced, throwing her script on the vanity table.

“Isn’t he always like that?”

“Oh, you,” Sasha laughed, but the laughter didn’t last long for her eyes caught something shiny behind Nadya’s shirt collar.

“Hey, nice necklace. Where did you buy it?”

“This?” Nadya pulled the pendant and stared at it intently. “I didn't. Artyosha gave me.”

“How romantic,” Sasha teased, reaching for blush-on from her cosmetic box.

“Sasha,” Nadya’s face turned red, but her hands weren’t off the snowflake pendant—Sasha needed to duck a little so she could apply blush-on and lip gloss on her. It was like she could feel Artem lightly patting on her shoulder before leaving for the studio again. She did feel they hadn’t talked and spent time together for a while.

Maybe, after this godforsaken teaser’s done...?

Nadya smiled to herself and let the pendant slip off her fingers. A cameraperson appeared by the other door of the dressing room leading to the studio next to one used for On Stage.

“Nadezhda Aleksandrovna? Are you ready?”

Nadya nodded. Sasha finished her job and gave Nadya a light pat before the young lady got up from her seat.

“Good luck, Nadya!”

She entered the all-white studio where the recording for Noteworthy’s teaser would be held. She really wished not to make mistakes and retake the same old scene over and over. She closed her eyes for a few seconds until the mark, “Camera, rolling... action!”

Nadya didn’t take her eyes off the camera at all. Her voice sounded strong and left an impression of dignity as she presented a few headlines for the first broadcast of Noteworthy, starting from several prestigious vocal competitions recently held, up to the indie band festival at St. Petersburg.

“All on the first edition of Noteworthy. I’m Nadezhda Morozova, and see you!”

“Cut! Okay, we’re done!”

Nadya smiled and shook hands with several colleagues who congratulated her for her new show once more, all while giving her instructions to some other production staffs. Afterwards, she headed straight to the editing room with Olga and Mikhail, where she controlled the process until they finally finished the teaser at nine o’clock.

Artyosha must have been home since this afternoon.

Nadya sighed as she put her favorite thin sweater back on by the lockers. She grabbed her cell phone from her bag, ready to type a new message with Artem’s number in the recipient field, only to discard the message again. She put her earphones on and chased the next metro from the station within proximity of the TV station building where she worked, accompanied only by music playing from her phone.

The early spring night still felt like winter to Nadya. The roads were still jammed, the air was just as cold, and snow still fell once in a while, although it no longer piled up into some thick white lump by the sidewalks. Along her trip, she only found some warmth in the station, while passing by several buildings with open doors, and by Lyubov Ivanovna’s bakery.

The day felt so long, to the extent that she just wanted to tuck in as soon as she reached her apartment. Usually she would still be up watching movies on TV until late at night. She was just switching her shoes with a pair of bunny slippers and put her bag on the sofa when the bell rang. Without asking who was there anymore, she dashed to the door and peeked through the small lens to see who was there.

She saw nobody—only a grocery bag left in front of the door. A card was taped to its handle, on its surface was inscribed “For Nadya”.

Carefully she opened the door and peeked into the bag. She was petrified. The bag was full with her favorite Mishka Kosolapy chocolates in all variants, bars and confections. Her curiosity peaked. She pulled out the taped card, opened it, and read what was inside.

Nadya, honestly, I miss you. I understand you’re busy lately, but... uh, sorry if I sound selfish, but I really need to talk to you. Lots.
Lyublyu tebya—you know it.
Artyosha.

She was stunned.

Artyosha—he’s not too far off here yet!

She slammed the door closed and ran through the corridors. By the elevator, nobody was there. She jumped and quickly pushed the button with a reversed triangle, hoping the doors would soon open again. Thirty seconds, and the lift opened, revealing nobody inside. She was starting to give up, but she went in anyway and pushed the button numbered 1.

Or... that far off?

The doors opened again, and she reached the lobby. Only the receptionist, security officers, and several other apartment residents she doesn’t recognize were seen.

She ran again, this time out from the apartment building. This time, her eyes caught the sight of a tall young man with short black hair and a familiar grey coat. She wasn’t half sure, but when the young man stopped for a while by the street lights and glanced at the huge digital clock mounted next to a billboard on the other building across the road, she could see his face.

“Artem Yuryevich!”

The young man, looking surprised, turned to see whoever called him out loud. He was really Artem, and looking at Nadya standing out in the snow with bunny slippers and the grocery bag he left earlier, he approached.

“Nadya? What are you doing with those bunny slippers? It’s cold out here.”

Instead of answering right away, she ran into Artem and hugged him.

“You want to talk? We talk now,” she faintly said, not yet letting go of her hug.

Soon enough, they were back at Nadya’s apartment, sitting next to each other on the sofa at the living room. The TV, showing reruns of indie bands’ live concerts were only functioning as a source for background music. The wet bunny slippers, back home from the lightly snowy roadside, looked as if they were warming themselves up by the heater.

“Artyosha, sorry I didn’t have time for you these days.”

“No, no problem,” Artem cut and pulled Nadya closer into his embrace. “You feel better now?” “Think so. Moreover, at least that damn show’s teaser is finished now,” she answered as her hands reached for a bar of Mishka Kosolapy from the pile of chocolates wrapped in paper with bears over it.

“Plus, who wouldn’t feel better with chocolate as good as Mishka?”

They laughed. With every piece of blue wrapping paper with four bears opened, their conversation moved further away from where they started. They didn’t mull over the initial problem anymore. They just kept changing topics, starting from whatever is happening in their department, the skating rink at GUM which would close in three days, the Japanese restaurant just opened near the metro station close by their office, up to the development of N-1a project androids at their ‘birthplace’.

“So, any news on N-1a?”

“The progress is slow. Well, N-1 and all variants were five years away from M-1’s withdrawal. Moreover, N-1a isn’t an adult type. At least that was what I heard from Dedushka,” Artem giggled.

“Had Vadim been here, he’d give you a dope slap.”

They laughed again. Two bars of chocolate left on the table, amidst the pile of blue paper with bears, were soon grabbed off by two different hands.

“Hey, Nadya, by the way... this May, there will be an international concourse for choirs in Kazan, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Nadya shortly answered while still chewing her chocolate. “So what? Are you going to report on it?”

“Yeah,” Artem’s face slowly faded to red. “Besides... I want to see your parents.”

Startled, Nadya looked at him. Artem smiled meaningfully.

“Hey, I mean, we have to prepare for things early on, right?”

The Androids: #2. White Snow Over Red Square

White Snow Over Red Square

Белый снег над Красной площадью

(Originally published on January 2013)

“Hey, do you believe Ded Moroz exists?”

“Dunno,” Nadya shrugged. “You know....”

“Oh, yeah,” Artem laughed. Looking at Nadya, he almost forgot that they both had never been kids, although there were the “childhood memories” slipped inside their memories as anticipation—in case other people wanted to chat with them about their childhood.

“But seems like fun if Ded Moroz really visits our homes and give us New Year’s presents, right?”

“Come it off, Artyosha, we’re adults. Impossible! It’s more plausible that we would have to play Ded Moroz and Snegurochka to please the kids,” Nadya rebutted.

“You’re too serious,” Artem frowned as he stared out the metro’s windows. Okhotny Ryad Station was close by.

“By the way, Nadya, sorry we’re only on metro today.”

“No problem. Moreover, if we really are planning to spend all night outside, we could have been trapped and unable to get out of the parking lot, even if we park behind GUM. What time do you want to reach home that way?”

They laughed. Every New Year’s Eve, a large crowd would form in Red Square for various reasons. Some wanted to date and spend the night with the loved ones, some others just wanted to skate in the rink right in front of GUM, a small part took a group picture in front of the large tree of lights not so far off the rink, and there were even kids who asked their parents to get them to meet Ded Moroz to make their wish.

Artem and Nadya were just out of Bolshoi Theatre, where they watched the opera Eugene Onegin starting 2pm that afternoon. At first Nadya thought they were only going to watch that opera, but seemed like Artem had another plan. He took her out for dinner again, and then, like the first day they decided to start a relationship, they would skate together at GUM’s skating rink until well into the night.

“So, where to dine? Stolovaya or Bosco Cafe?”

“Whichever,” Nadya gave him a wide grin, showing her line of white teeth. “Moreover, you’re paying.”

Artem looked deep into her eyes and started pulling her woolen mittens playfully.

“Come on, Nadya....”

“Right, okay, we’re off to Bosco Cafe. We can hit Stolovaya on Old New Year’s Eve, and I won’t let you treat me again then,” she coldly replied.

“You! Before this, you’ve been treating me every so often, right? It’s New Year’s Eve anyway, so it’s alright for me to treat you out at an expensive resto, okay?”

Nadya only chuckled. Artem looked out the window and searched his coat’s pocket. There, he kept a slender black box with white ribbon: his present for Nadya.

Shortly after, the metro stopped in Okhotny Ryad Station, not so far off Kremlin.

“We’ll drop by the ticket office of the rink, then we’ll get to Bosco Cafe. Okay?”

Nadya nodded and smiled at him. They rushed out of the metro station and walked their way to GUM. Snow had been falling since they walked out of Bolshoi Theatre, and it started to turn Moscow white, getting heavier each moment. Vaguely, people could be heard moaning and worrying the fireworks launch at midnight would be cancelled due to snow if it didn’t stop soon enough.

But, it was not the true cause of the buzz in Red Square.

Where’s Ded Moroz?

Children sniveled, some running around the tall tree of lights right in front of GUM’s skating rink. Even when Nadya waited outside the long line for Artem as he ordered two tickets for 10pm, she saw a little girl with red face and swelling eyes from crying approaching her.

“Tyotenka, where is Ded Moroz?”

Nadya looked around. No sign of anyone clad in red—or blue—coat with white fur hat, long white beard, and walking stick around there. Not wanting to destroy her expectations, she tried to make up reasons without having to lie.

“Probably he’s walking around on the other side of Red Square, devochka,” Nadya soothed the girl’s blond hair gently and pointed at St. Basil’s Cathedral in the distance. “This is a vast place. He could be saying hi to children over there.”

Artem returned right when the girl went off to be back with her parents, who were still standing not far away from there.

“Nadya, what happened? Was she lost?”

“For shame! She only asked where Ded Moroz was.”

“Oh,” Artem looked around and searched for the Old Man Winter, who always greets children on the New Year. He winced. Usually, there would be at least one person waddling around in Ded Moroz’s costume in Red Square—even there were five people playing Ded Moroz there last year!—yet, he hadn’t seen any.

“Right. Usually there’d be at least one Ded Moroz here, but why not at all? It’s getting late...”

“Nobody knows,” Nadya shrugged.

Artem put the tickets he had been holding for some time into his pocket, took Nadya by the arm and led her into GUM, but even by the entrance, children still echoed the same question, confused and starting to become desperate.

Where’s Ded Moroz?

Christmas-themed music and lively decor, complete with lights and trees every several meters, welcomed them as they walked in—the ambience always present in every New Year, since most Russians don’t celebrate Christmas on December 25 and put up decorated trees for New Year’s celebrations instead. In some places, not far off the trees, there were strings of lights arranged to form the sentence “S novym GUM-om”—portmanteau of “S novym godom” (Happy New Year) and GUM—hanging under red and white ribbons. Nadya giggled when she noticed it.

They hadn’t been enjoying the ambience for long enough when a drunk guy clad in an open coat lined with white fur, his hat slipping off his head, and the smell of vodka rising out from his fake beard jumped out from behind one of the trees. Nearby, a wooden walking stick was on the floor, discarded by its owner.

Ded Moroz?

He then started singing with such unpleasant voice and vague lyrics as he danced on the tree like a poledancer. His moves began to grow suggestive and he suddenly pulled off his coat, throwing it towards Artem, who didn’t even give it a chance to touch him. He was already hiding behind Nadya, grimacing with fear. Some parents who were walking by with their children quickly covered the poor kids’ eyes.

A small family passed by Artem and Nadya. They could hear the child asking, “Daddy, that—Ded Moroz?”

“Nope. That’s just a drunkard uncle who had too much vodka and thinks he is Ded Moroz.”

“So, where’s the real Ded Moroz?”

Nadya bitterly chuckled. Artem sighed as he stared at the security officers dragging away the drunken actor from the scene.

“Those poor children,” he took Nadya’s arms again and continued making their way to Bosco Cafe.

They arrived at the cafe with classic Italian-style interior only to find almost every table was full. Out of the two tables left, they opted for the table next to the window. While they wait for their orders, they both stared at the crowd outside, with the red wall of Kremlin and still-falling white snow as the backdrop.

Children were still seen wandering around, questioning the same thing to every adult near them. Muted by snow and interfered by noises from inside, Artem and Nadya could still hear their little voices.

Where’s Ded Moroz?

“Poor children,” Nadya shook her head. “Obviously the Ded Moroz they want to meet is not the drunkard who think the tree was a pole for poledancing. But, why did nobody come in place of that drunkard?”

“Probably in a little while,” Artem cracked a thin smile. Something else started to creep in his mind. He only tore the bread over his bowl of zuppa soup and stirred the soup inside for the next several minutes.

“Um … Artyosha? What’s wrong?”

Nadya’s voice startled him, to the point that his spoon slipped off his hand.

“Ah, ne-nevazhno, Nadya,” he rushingly answered.

Nadya fixed her eyes on his and began staring closer at him. He gave up and took a deep breath before he started speaking.

“Those children,” he opened, “they’re just... adorable. I think everyone wants to have children of their own, too. But...” Artem shrugged. “We’re different. No matter how we want it so badly, we just can’t.”

Nadya wasn’t taking her eyes off Artem yet, but something changed from the way she looked. The usual brightness in her eyes dimmed down.

“Even if we can, how would he grow? We—and he too—can’t grow like other living organisms,” he whispered so others wouldn’t hear it. “From there on, there would only be what-ifs in each and every point of our worries.”

Nadya stayed silent for a while. She knew exactly what sort of consequences androids have to get through. They may get married with other androids for now—there still are possibilities that they will later be able to marry humans. Yet, reproductive challenges will still exist until sufficient technology to create a very humanoid android—growing, developing, able to have offsprings—are developed, and that would involve large interventions in their programs and operating systems.

“I understand,” she answered faintly as she sipped her peppermint tea.

“Oh—sorry, Nadya.”

“No, really. I do, Artyosha.”

The situation grew awkward as the silence elongated. They just finished off their food instead of chatting casually like common lovers.

Suddenly, a ray of light flashed from behind them.

“Artyosha? What was that?”

They turned and searched for the source of the flash outside the window. The figure of a tall man in red coat with furry white edges walked out from behind the huge tree in front of the skating rink. A sivler star emitted a bluish white light from the top of his walking stick, and people could hear his signature laughter as he walked: “Ho-ho, ho-ho-ho!”

“Nadya, look—Ded Moroz!”

“Yes,” a smile formed on Nadya’s face, “seems like he is the Ded Moroz they are after.”

Children ran to the Ded Moroz they had been waiting for. Behind Ded Moroz, Snegurochka—the snow princess in a long blue and silver coat, the granddaughter and assistant of the Old Man Winter—followed.

“Hey, there’s Snegurochka too,” Artem commented.

Within moments, the two winter fairytale figures were surrounded by happy children. Ded Moroz slightly ducked, asking the children to stay in line and patiently wait for their turn. Snegurochka pulled out her small bag of chocolate candies and small toys, and then started distributing it to the good children who would patiently wait.

Looking at the whole thing, Artem scooted closer to Nadya and put his hand over hers.

How delightfully sweet.

Artem made a face as he glanced at the grandfather clock near another window. Almost ten. Their skating session would soon start, and that cafe would soon close as well, along with almost every other shop in GUM. Despite it being New Year’s Eve, as usual, there would only be three places open until midnight in GUM: gastronome, movie theatre, and skating rink.

“Come on.”

He led her out through the door that directly connects the cafe to the Red Square. The snow had piled up thick enough to record the foot marks of people passing by. Children still formed a small crowd, although some had gone home with their parents.

Upon arrival to GUM’s skating rink, Nadya put her skates on before swiftly helping Artem with his skates too. Seemed like Artem forgot not to tie both pairs of his skates’ laces too tight after the last time they went skating together.

Then, a loud whistle, followed by blue and white lights banging right over the arena and the cheering children. Not so big, but very pretty. Artem searched for the source of the fireworks.

He glanced at Ded Moroz and Snegurochka, both still attending to the children under the tree.

“Do it again, Snegurochka! Again!”

Snegurochka held her palm up towards the sky above the arena and shot a ray of white light, the same high-pitched whistling followed. The small ray became a ball of light that exploded mid-air, forming a bright blue spiral edged by smaller red pops.

Artem was stunned. He plucked on Nadya’s sleeves.

“How could she...?”

Nadya watched as Snegurochka repeated the trick. At a glance people might think she was only giving a code to the fireworks operator hiding somewhere behind the tree or some other trick, but no! The fireworks shot out of a small cleft inside the creases of Snegurochka’s palm, disguised by her sleeve’s furry edges.

Snegurochka—she’s an android.

“What pretty fireworks, Snegurochka! Come on, again!”

This time Snegurochka only chuckled and started giving away small gifts to children still gathering around her and Ded Moroz. Some kids, having already made their wish, tried to reach for the brightly shining silver star at the top of Ded Moroz’s walking stick.

Artem glanced at Nadya when only two or three children were left.

“Now?”

Nadya laughed. “What are you waiting for?”

Soon, the two began skating on the bright rink decorated by colorful lights, racing to reach the big billboard with the rink’s name. Artem was quite agile, but an amateur lady who was pushing a handled penguin statue almost hit him, giving Nadya a chance to glide past him.

Within a short distance from the billboard, some pros in glittery attires were twirling and dancing in pairs on ice.

“You wanna try twirling like that?”

“Fine,” Artem quickly held Nadya’s hand and they started to twirl slowly, finding the most stable position for each.

“Huh, how slow,” Nadya sneered as she sped up a little. Just minutes since they started, Artem skidded and fell on the ice. Some people around them chuckled, some said “Too bad”, and the pros, still dancing gracefully on ice, only giggled to see it.

With a frown on his face, he got up and led Nadya along the edges of the rink as it grew more crowded, despite the fact that night was growing late—moreover many wanted to spend the last night of the year there.

“Nadezhda Aleksandrovna!”

Nadya quickly turned, for there would hardly be anyone calling her name with the patronym. Another android girl she got to know at the lab—a modified N-1 prototype who just got activated when she herself was already working at a TV station—stood by the rink, right behind her, dressed in a coat just like Snegurochka’s.

“Alisa? You—“

“Yes,” Alisa, the Snegurochka girl, smiled. “Hearing the incident this afternoon, Vadim and I called the GUM management and they allowed us to take over. You know, kids will be disappointed if they don’t meet Ded Moroz and Snegurochka on New Year’s Eve, right?”

“I thought you work for Novaya Opera,” Nadya leaned her body over the fence surrounding the rink.

“My job for the season is all done. Plus, Vadim is off work and he kindly made me this modification,” Alisa pointed at the small cleft from which she launched the fireworks.

“So, that Old Man Winter...?”

“That’s him,” Alisa laughed. “Fits him perfectly, eh? He’s old, indeed.”

“So it was you guys,” Nadya laughed. “Oh, by the way, Alisa, you remember Artyosha?”

“Sure. Long time no see, Artem Yuryevich,” she politely greeted. Artem nodded, playing cool as he skated nearby. But, the cool image he built was destroyed in seconds when another rookie skater—this time a panda-pushing teenager—hit him again. Nadya’s laughter burst, and Alisa giggled. Artem moved away, his face completely red.

“What a shame,” he moaned. “Alisa—where’s Vadim?”

“He’s renting skates,” Alisa glanced at the skates rent. “At least without that silly fake beard, walking stick, excessive blush-on and a pillow tied to his belly, he looks quite acceptable now.”

“What? So that Ded Moroz was Vadim?” Artem laughed out loud. “Damn, thought he was a real old chap!”

“What freaking old chap?! It was only fate that I was the first to be developed among us four,” Vadim blurted as he appeared behind Alisa with two pairs of skates. “Artyosha and Nadya—how’s your TV job?”

“Just like that. You sometimes see Artyosha on the screen, right? I spend more time behind the scene,” she answered.

“Nadya’s a great producer,” Artem proudly smiled.

They continued chatting for another while and skated together, until it was almost time for the rink to close for ice resurfacing and they parted. Artem pulled Nadya under the grand entrance of GUM, planning to spend time until the countdown and the big fireworks that would be launched from behind St. Basil’s Cathedral.

“No more kids here,” Artem whispered.

“You should propose to move to the children’s show department,” Nadya joked.

“Probably,” Artem bitterly chuckled. “But... seriously, I want children of my own too. I—I don’t know if a standard model like you also have the same want on your system. You know, like Vadim, I’m pretty much experimental.”

“Artyosha... I think there is.”

Artem was stunned.

“Looks like the pioneers of N-1 series development had made our programs too human. The good side, we blend in very well. The bad side... you know,” she softly whimpered. “And from what the registrar knows of us in the data, seems like we’re still unable to do what our ‘parents’ did for us yet.”

“Adoption?”

“Sorta. Maybe we should wait.”

Snow began to pile up higher in GUM’s facade, and snow cleaners began going back and forth again to clear it. The cold winter night’s air crept into Nadya’s coat. Feeling a bit awkward, she moved closer to Artem, but she didn’t anticipate when the young man pulled her close and shared his big, thick coat with her.

“I envy Vadim and Alisa. They brought back the magic of New Year here. Those kids—they were so happy...”

“We don’t have to be Ded Moroz and Snegurochka to make children happy. We just need to... find our own way.”

Artem glanced at the large clock mounted on the high-rising Spasskaya Tower behind the red Kremlin wall. One minute left before the change of year. He secretly hoped for some so-called miracle of the New Year, either in the last seconds of the old year or later in the incoming one. He searched his coat’s left pocket for the present he wanted to give Nadya.

All over Red Square, everyone’s gaze was all directed to St. Basil’s Cathedral. Tension began to rise as the countdown started.

Ten! Nine! Eight!

Nadya and Artem exchanged glances, smiled at each other, and started counting down as well. The voices grew louder as the numbers shrunk.

Three! Two! One!

Rays of light flashed through the air, against the cold snowfall. With the booming sounds and cheering crowds, colorful fireworks shone upon Moscow’s skies. There were plenty of people taking out their cameras to snap pictures of the spectacular view.

Artem pulled out the slender box, which had stayed in his pocket since ever, and covered Nadya’s eyes with his right hand.

“Oi!”

“One minute,” Artem quickly cut as he inserted his gift box into Nadya’s sweater pocket beneath her short coat, then he let his hand off her eyes. “Nah, okay, now see what you have in your sweater’s pocket.”

Nadya reached into her pocket and found Artem’s gift there.

“Now, open,” he smiled. Nadya shrugged and opened the box. Colorful reflections of the fireworks’ light caught her eyes before she saw what was inside: a silver necklace with snowflake-shaped pendant, adorned with some gems. Artem took the necklace out from its box and put it around the young lady’s neck.

“How beautiful,” she whispered. “Spasibo, Artyosha!”

Soon, she was reminded of her present for Artem and quickly reached for her handbag. She pulled out a black velvet box with gold accents on the edges of its top surface.

“My turn,” she smiled and handed the box to Artem, who immediately opened it. The young man couldn’t resist laughing when he saw what Nadya gave him.

“Oh, you, Nadya,” he still laughed even as he wore the watch around his left wrist. “I was actually just joking when I told you I wanted a new water-resistant watch for New Year! You took it seriously, huh....”

“Ha! So you didn’t like it?”

“No, no, I love this! Spasibo bol’shoe,” Artem smiled and tightly embraced Nadya. The young woman’s face turned red, like the firework just blown off above Red Square.

Suddenly, their cell phones vibrated at the same time. A short message from the laboratory that developed them just went in, containing an information of the possibility for developing type N-1a, a similarly designed android shaped like a child and would be expected to grow—although probably not picture-perfect yet—and the inquiry for consent to be involved and be adoptive parents of the N-1a prototype when testing time is due.

“Maybe it would be in a couple more years or so,” Artem mouthed. His face grew red instantly. “But, I guess this is the miracle of the New Year for us. And, by ‘us’... uh, I mean....”

Nadya laughed. “Sounds a bit rushed, but why not?”

Artem held her even closer and tighter. Under the light, white snowflakes still falling in Red Square, they got their own share of miracles, although it would still need more time.

“S novym godom, Nadezhda Aleksandrovna.”

Nadya smiled ear-to-ear as she answered his whispered greeting, “S novym godom… Artem Yuryevich.”

The Androids: #1. Snowfall

Snowfall

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(Originally published as Snegopad on October 2012)

The snow was getting heavier and the strong winds began to blow as Nadya ran out from the metro station. She almost skidded off and fell hard if she didn’t grab the light pole quickly enough. She was lucky not to drop her groceries and briefcase. She ran across the sidewalk and jumped under the roof of her favorite bakery.

The bell tinked when she opened the door. From behind the thermostat-regulated display cases, a middle-aged lady she knew very well greeted.

“Privet, Nadya! Oh, dear, look, your coat’s buttons are all off!”

“Well, Lyubov Ivanovna—rush hour metro. Never a vacant place,” Nadya sighed, fixed her messy coat, and grabbed a tray and tongs.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re alright.”

Lyubov Ivanovna was busy with her cash register again, serving the customers who paid for their orders. Nadya got herself a loaf of bread and four pieces of Prague cake.

Of course I’m okay, she thought. Had I been really human, I could have been all bruised thanks to that group of impatient uncles back there at the metro!

She was just about to eye on the large pan of apple pie nearby when the bells tinkled again, followed by the creaking door. Artem, one of her teammates at the independent TV station where she worked, appeared with a tidy coat, not much snow over it.

“Nadya?”

“Artem! What coincidence that you stop by around here. Thought you’d be heading straight back home after work hours,” she blurted.

“Well, yeah. You were on metro, eh?”

“As usual,” Nadya quickly answered as she put the tray with Prague cakes and loaf of bread on an empty table below the hanger with tongs, next to the cash register. “And if this snow isn’t going to ease up soon enough, my coat could be blown off in the wind before I even make it halfway to the apartment if I don’t stop by! That’s why I’m stopping by here—for snacks, too.”

A thin smile formed on Artem’s face as he began picking what he would buy. He had just been working together with her for a month, but he didn’t know what made him feel like they’d known each other since ever. She just got along with him that easily, unlike most of his other female colleagues.

Nadya grabbed another empty tray and easily moved the apple pie she had been eyeing on over it before walking to the cashier’s counter.

“Nadya, wait—“

Nadya turned. She was just done paying her goods.

“Wait for me. Let me drive you home.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to trouble you.”

“But outside the snow is still heavy and the winds are only getting stronger. And you have many things to carry. No worries,” Artem grinned.

Nadya looked out the window. Artem was right. Piles of snow grew thicker and silhouettes of people going against the strong wind were vaguely seen in the distance, lit up by the street lights and neon signs.

“Fine then—spasibo.”

“Nevazhno.”

Artem only got himself some pirozhki and immediately paid, then he led Nadya to his car. Nadya waved at Lyubov Ivanovna as she walked out from the bakery and into Artem’s car.

The young man turned his key and tried to get the engine going as soon as possible, but just as he was about to switch gears, his right hand touched Nadya’s left. Short-circuit—a spark appeared. They both reflexively pulled their hands.

“Bozhe moi!” Artem blurted. “Oh—sorry, Nadya.”

“No, nothing. It’s okay.”

Nadya checked her left hand. She saw a slight reddish tear that looks like a laceration there—she remembered the closing metro doors pinched her skin a little as she was jammed into the metro, and probably the pinch damaged part of the cables’ isolating coat behind it.

But, why was Artem the one apologizing? He’s not an android, right?

The car started to make its way on the slippery snow-covered road. Artem didn’t dare to speed up too much—the weather only multiplied the possibility of encountering a reckless driver who had too much vodka to warm up and still insisted to speed drive. Too many incidents already.

“Nadya, did you drop by at the gastronome at Red Square’s GUM?”

Nadya took her eyes off the snow-covered city view outside and glanced at Artem. “So what?”

”Nope—just asking if the usual skating rink is open already.”

“Oh, that one? It is. Starting two days ago.”

Artem nodded, and the conversation didn’t continue until they reached the crossroad. From the car’s radio, only political talk shows were heard. Artem randomly took out a music CD from the small drawer right under the radio and opened it. The song immediately playing was definitely not a new song, but he recognized it well enough: Balerina.

Nadya didn’t say anything. She only enjoyed Valery Meladze’s old song while staring out the windows. She preferred music way more than political talks—she didn’t even understand why she didn’t just apply at the culture channel Rossiya K right away.

They rolled again, and Nadya’s apartment was visible ahead. Artem turned the car and entered a parking building, stopping his car at the second floor.

“Here, let me help with your goods,” Artem reached out his hand when Nadya was ready to jump down the car.

“Artem, you—I can carry them on my own, really!”

“Hey, what would people say if they see you carry all of them alone to your apartment, and there’s a man with you?”

“Probably wouldn’t matter much... okay then,” Nadya handed Artem her bag of groceries.

The young man took the bag with his right hand and pushed the lock button on his car’s remote control with the other, slightly playing it cool by swinging the key behind his back.

“Ha! Nailed it,” Nadya teased. Artem chuckled.

They dashed through the hostile snow, quickly getting into the apartment building. The small pile of snow on their coats began to slowly melt when they reached the elevator.

“Third floor, right?”

“Of course.”

“Hard to forget, Nadya. I once went up the wrong floor and got a healthy dose of swearing from the resident two floors above yours,” Artem chuckled and pushed the button numbered 3. Nadya laughed.

A short tinking sound was heard, along with the swishing of the doors. They walked out together from the lift and walked along the corridor until they reached the door numbered 6. The name Nadezhda Morozova was written on the plastic panel mounted on the door.

Nadya grabbed her key from her coat’s pocket, and with a swift move the door to her apartment opened.

“Hey, want to stay a bit longer? I can make you some hot chocolate if you want,” Nadya asked as she placed her briefcase on the sofa and the bag from the bakery on the small table right in front of it.

Artem smiled and put the grocery bag on the table. “No, thanks, Nadya. It’s getting late, and the traffic jam’s going to be real crazy.”

“Well, you’re right.”

“Okay then, I’m going home. See you tomorrow, Nadya!”

“Spasibo, Artem! See you tomorrow.”

Nadya put her coat off and laid on the sofa after seeing Artem off and closing the door. Upon seeing the bag with cake and the large apple pie on the table, her palm went over her forehead.

Damn it! How could I forget to share that pie with Artem?!

She jumped off the sofa, rushed to the door and quickly opened it, to no avail—Artem was gone. She shook her head in disappointment and closed the door, throwing herself on the sofa once more.

She glanced at the small scratch on her left hand, looking reddish from the spark. She was dead sure the spark came out of her hand, not from static electricity, the electrical system in Artem’s car, and most of all the man’s hand. As far as she knew, Artem wasn’t an android like her.

She made a face as she went to grab her toolbox and skin coating to get things fixed.

If only I wouldn’t have to hide this from anybody....

Since her first-ever activation by the Morozov family, Nadya knew that she was one out of the four prototypes in N-1 android series that had been truly activated. Only, she had to keep her android status a secret, with regards to the unpleasant experiences of the L-1, publicly released two years ago, solely because they were not human.

Because of that too, she had to be careful in her social relations.

According to the manual, the N-1 series were designed to feel human emotions—that includes love—but of course, she should never even think of getting married to humans, for it would only inflate people’s fears of reproductive inhibition.

Nadya didn’t want to recall such things for too long. She quickly repaired the small blue cable behind her laceration with a specially made tape, and then she coated the lacerated part with the coating, tinted exactly the same color as hers. The scratch was gone, as if it had never been there. She smiled with satisfaction as she returned the toolbox and coating container to their places.

She walked into her bedroom and casually laid on the bed, with the TV showing live music broadcasts from the channel where she worked. Outside, the snow didn’t seem to ease up the slightest. She kept staring out the windows until she fell asleep, without even turning out the lights and the TV.

When Nadya woke up, the music broadcast had turned to political talk show with Iosif Fedorov, a senior colleague at the station. Without having to look at the clock at the edge of the screen, she knew it was already over eleven at night. The snow had calmed down, but not yet stopped. The snowflakes slightly glistened with reflections of street lights and the buildings around.

She turned off the television. She wasn’t really interested in the talk about the seemingly never-ending opposition protests. She dashed to the living room and grabbed the Prague cake she bought before waddling back into her bedroom to brew some coffee on the electric jug. She knew she would have to come earlier to the office to prepare for On Stage the next morning, but she had decided not to tuck back in for the rest of the night.

# # #

Artem sat alone in front of the huge mirrors at the dressing room, turning the pages of the script on his hands—for On Stage—while waiting for further instructions from the producers. The make-up artists were out for coffee while waiting for the guest star, Evgeniya Ostrovina, a soprano who just made her debut at Novaya Opera.

“Ready?”

He turned away from the script and caught Nadya’s reflection, standing with folded arms behind him.

“Nadya, it’s not the first time I interview a famous person, but this time... oh, well, you know.”

“You’re nervous because Zhenya is too beautiful for you?”

“N-not really...”

“Come on, admit it,” she teased. “She is beautiful. It’s normal if you’re a bit nervous in front of her.”

Artem could only chuckle. He remembered there was something he had wanted to say since the previous day.

Now or never, Artem Yuryevich!

He gathered his voice, but he thought he just couldn’t man up enough to talk without looking away from the reflections on the mirror and directly look at the girl.

“Hey, Nadya ….”

“Hmm?”

Feeling a slight pressure over his back rest, he knew Nadya was slightly getting closer to him. His mind raced.

“You... don’t have work tonight, right?”

“Nope—only day shift.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Any appointments or other plans after work?”

“I’m free. What?”

“Eh... I want to skate at the rink at the Red Square, but I just feel like it’s better to have company,” he answered, almost whispering. “Mind to join me?”

“I’d love to. But, anyway, the earliest session we can get tickets for will be at six, or later—today we’re out at four, right? If we’re not lucky and get out of tickets, we might even start skating at eight. Want to have a snack at Festivalnoe Cafe on the third floor?”

Artem’s face blushed a little. It never got to his mind that Nadya would simply say yes to his offer to skate together—even she wanted to dine out with him.

“I—“

“Relax,” Nadya chuckled and let her hands’ pressure off Artem’s back rest. “My treat this time.”

He dared himself to lift his face, put the scripts aside and look into Nadya’s eyes—still through the mirror.

“Alright then, wait for me this afternoon! We’ll meet by the lockers.”

“Sure. I’m off to the broadcast control room now!”

Artem felt strange when Nadya left. His feelings grew even weirder. Fortunately, not long after the girl left, the make-up artists returned with Evgeniya, the guest star.

“Artyosha, oh, dear! Your face is red! Did Sasha apply too much blush-on?”

“Ah, Zhenya, maybe it was just you.”

Artem got up from his seat and buttoned up his suit. Half an hour left before they go live, and he never felt readier before—his nervous bouts were all spent when he faced Nadya. With confidence, he marched into the studio.

# # #

Praises from the department’s chief-producer and director were the last things Artem heard before the evaluation ended. Out from the meeting room, he headed straight for the lockers lining the corridor leading to the lobby, although he knew Nadya was still in the meeting room with the editors when he left.

With a quick turn of the key, the locker opened. Artem pulled out his jacket, not realizing the presence of a cardboard box full of empty VHS tapes, which was supposed to be returned to the storage room, right above his locker. His swift pull had moved the box further to the edge, and it fell on his hand exactly as he slammed the locker close and prepared to lock it back.

On the crashing sound of something falling, a technical staff just returning from the rest rooms rushed to him.

”Bozhe moi—Artem Yuryevich! Are you alright?”

“It’s okay, Fedya,” Artem crouched and grabbed his key, flung off not so far from the locker, near the scattered empty tapes.

“I’m sorry, I was supposed to return these first,” the man he called Fedya apologized, his head bowed down—he didn’t dare to look back at Artem.

“No, really, it’s okay,” Artem cracked a thin smile, trying to hide his nearly formed grimace. The inner side of his right hand looked red.

Shortly, Fedya finished collecting the scattered tapes, and Nadya appeared from the other end of the corridor. Artem put his wool gloves in a rush to cover his red hand.

“Sorry to make you wait. Some things concerning the rerun still needed to be rediscussed.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, Nadya. Come on, let’s go!”

They walked together to Artem’s car, parked right next to the lobby’s entrance. Soon after the doors slammed shut, Artem glanced at the clock displayed on his car’s radio. Twenty five minutes past four, and that meant the rink was closed temporarily for ice resurfacing.

“Nadya, I guess we should go to Festivalnoe first. Just don’t pull out that wallet too quickly,” he teased.
Nadya turned and gave him a questioning look.

“What do you mean?”

“Once in a while it may be fine if you treat, but this time... it’s my turn,” Artem smiled as he paced the car out from the TV station’s building, and then all the way to the Red Square. Outside, the snow began to fall again.

“You—I’ve caused you quite the trouble!”

“When did you cause me trouble? Never,” Artem casually answered.

The traffic light went red at the second crossroad before GUM’s parking space. Artem stopped his car right on the line before the zebra cross.

Then, a spark, followed by a thin white smoke and the smell of burning cables. Nadya did realize it too, but she didn’t question until Artem suddenly put his right hand off the steering wheel.

“Hey, can you help me with the gears?”

“Artem? Are you alright?”

“I don’t know, Nadya—just do it for now. The lights are going green!”

Nadya only said yes and followed his instruction for the rest of their trip until they finally parked the car near GUM’s entrance.

Artem pulled his right glove off in panic. He was stunned when he saw his previously red skin had melted off, and behind the open wound were some fine cables—red, pale yellow and blue—burned and cut off in the middle. But one thing scared him even more: he was with Nadya, and the girl had seen everything.

“I-I-I can explain this, Nadya. I—“

“Calm down!”

Nadya reached for her briefcase right under the seat and acquired her small emergency kit in one swift move. Artem was petrified at the sight of the kit—it was exactly the same as his.

Could Nadya had known from the start? Or...?

Nadya took Artem’s hand and examined which cables were burned, also the surrounding components. The types, the cables, the wiring pattern, motor units, even all the chips implanted behind the whole thing were just like hers.

”Bozhe moi,” she whispered, “how could it be?”

“Probably you saw it—the box of tapes Fedya brought away....”

“That’s why,” she muttered as she began fixing the burned cables. Artem sighed and leaned his head against the door, letting the girl work. She was already working on the edges of the melted skin coating, carefully cutting away the torn edges so that some fine fibres underneath were not damaged—analogues of the human nerve fibres—before coating them again to a perfect finish.

“Done—good as new!”

Artem saw his right hand was back to its normal condition. Even his strength had also returned when he tried grasping—meanwhile he couldn’t even get a grip on the steering wheel before.

“Right, Nadya, we’re going now. I’ll have plenty to ask up there at the cafe.”

Nadya only shrugged. They walked out in the white parking space as snow was already piling up again, and then through the elaborate entrance of GUM and straight up to Festivalnoe Cafe on the third floor.

Festivalnoe Cafe, just like its name, looked festive with decorations and colorful posters depicting people in traditional costumes from countries around the world. The chairs were also brightly colored, contrasting its white walls and floors. The cafe itself wasn’t really crowded when Artem and Nadya arrived there. They agreed to sit by the window after they finished ordering.

Artem took a deep breath before looking right into Nadya’s brown eyes and starting to question her.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

“No. What for?”

“I thought humans would go hysterical, screaming and all, when they knew their friends were not human.”

“You’ve watched too much cartoons,” Nadya chuckled.

“Oh, and since I’m already caught... now, where did you get that kit? Any of your family members working at a robotics lab or something? That kit was specific for my type, as I know....”

Nadya’s expression became a mix of held-back laughter and astonishment.

“So we’ve been having wrong assumptions on each other?”

Artem winced.

“...Uh, what do you mean?”

“My father is very much a businessman, mother is an English teacher, and no Morozov works in any lab, as far as I know,” Nadya leaned her body forward. “So, if I’m a human, what for am I bringing along the emergency kit for N-1 prototypes everywhere with me?”

Nadya’s words shocked Artem.

“Nadya—so you are, too...?”

“Yes,” Nadya laughed and put the kit back into her bag after pointing it out. “Definitely!”

That day couldn’t be more unbelievable to him. The successful live broadcast, his request to go out together—to which she just simply said yes, and now the truth that the girl sitting right opposite him was also an N-1 prototype. He looked away from Nadya and stared out the window.

“I don’t understand, but... I’m relieved to hear it. I thought I would have no hope....”

Nadya straightened her back’s position, no longer leaning on the back cushion.

“About what?”

“You know the rules, Nadya... and I’ve never thought I would meet another of my kind. And now we’re this close.”

Nadya smiled meaningfully—a smile that triggered a strange stinging sensation on Artem’s face.

“Neither have I.”

“Is this possibly why... I feel like I’ve known you for a long, long time?”

Nadya laughed as Artem’s face turned red when he said that. She then felt the same stinging sensation on her face as it also began turning red. Artem laughed back at her.

She could understand what Artem was supposed to mean. She and the young man were of the same type, with compatible components, and almost exactly the same operating system and programs running their bodies.

I don’t know, but this time I really hope this is an expression of the same emotional function.

“So, are we going down now... Artyosha?”

Artem nodded and immediately got up from his seat.

“Sure! We’ll see who’s better on ice!”

They went out from the majestic building, across the pile of snow, before preparing to skate together on the rink adorned with merry, colorful lighting and decoration, no less festive than Festivalnoe Cafe. One thing in their minds: their days would never be the same again.

Welcome to MezzoScribbles!

Well, okay, hello.

I will mostly use English to post in this blog. This place will also host English translations of short stories I wrote in the Kastil Fantasi Goodreads group on the monthly CerBul (Cerita Bulanan, lit. "monthly story") challenge that I happen to participate in.

See you soon enough!