NationStates Jolt Archive

Goto Predestinatsia, Novaya Russian territorial waters

The sun again was at dawn, with its rays clearing the metal plates and wood of the transport ironclad. Sailors awaited for their next duties and an authority, elderly figure stood amidst the bridge, with a his golden trenchcoat and black pants, and a brown ushanka on his head with the yellow star of Novaya Russia, amidst a few medals that returned to the battles of the Revolution, a time when they still lived in Earth, and an ironic sight considering where such captain lived now. Holding to the railings of the Novayan vessel at the stern, Ivan wondered about the events that unfolded. Perhaps he could save the life of his new friend Yelena again, yet he felt strange about how he was about to contribute with science. If it succeeded, one more evidence would point that technology is superior to the raw, barely controllable magic that has led him to get into this attempt to solve such trouble with the young woman's life. Sometimes, he wondered if all was part of a bad dream, and if the woman simply had a natural heart stroke and somehow appeared at his arms, for the latest weeks have been a surreal, impossible experience, contrasting with the reality, where nothing could be solved by the mere wave of a hand.

He knew the time was close. There was one last chance to ensure that Yelena Praskovya would not fall upon nonexistence, a limited chance, and yet he wished to attempt it, to fulfill her ultimate wish. He pondered on whether he was wrong to seek the defeat of death itself, but the fact that her death was not provoked by natural events was a powerful shield in his mind to dismiss all ethical and moral considerations. Doctor Vyankostanov was hundreds of kilometers away, to the far north among the borders of the civilized world, while ominous clouds announced the coming of a snowstorm. It was late December already, and winter announced its arrival. Ivan was completely oblivious to the cold, and it was not simply because of his bear fur overcoat, for his thoughts were elsewhere while his eyes watched the ripples formed by the movement of the waves.

´"I wish I have been just a doctor, I could be in Russia now, tending to those who need help, to those who once called me comrade and lauded me for my work. She had a reasoning to call it a curse, after all, she never managed to adapt her values to it. In heart, she was no different from those who persecuted her. I know she worked hard to restrain it, that she wanted to be an electric engineer. But it cannot be controlled or restrained. Since I came here, I could sense it. I remember some strange things when I was a kid, but I was the only one who could saw them. Sometimes I could spot shadows through the corner of my eyes, listen to voices which source could not be seen. Maybe it never was magic, after all, such folly does not exist Earth."´

The planet he was born into was only a memory now. The plains of Siberia, the Urals, the turmoil of the revolution. A distant past which was unforgiving and harsh in one place, but where he was accepted, and honored for his struggle, for his studies seeking to develop the foundations of modern healthcares. But when he arrived, everything shattered. Peace was broken for Ivan and for everyone, and he had to gulp the unpleasant choice of seeking refuge among the enemies of those who were his friends before, as his only chance of survival. How such strange event changed so many lives, broken old dreams, and perhaps gave hope to new ones, was something that was simply beyond the reach of the scientific method. Ivan pondered about the why of the shift to this new globe, ruled by magic. At late nights, Ivan always observed the stars, wondering if one of those could be the Sun. Yet, the only certainty was that such was indeed an alien world, for everyday, a distant, yet bright blue sun, arose from the west, giving a new spectacle of an alien dawn and creating an almost invisible hue that made all sights of the world different from those of Earth.

´"What has brought us to here? We never managed to understand it, nor found any clues. It simply does not make any sense. I still remember it. I had the misfortune of failing with her. I did my best in that surgery, but she was gone. Then something strange happened, like a huge flash of light. It took me a while to understand what happened, but soon I heard her voice, crying for help."´

His memories seemed to flash into his view, almost like he could see it again as he thought about it. The dull white walls and ceiling of the hospital, the blue sun coming through the light blue curtains, its ever-clean linoleum, the three other beds with stable patients recovering whose faces he could no longer draw from his memory, and the haunting vision of a dead one speaking to him, in a somewhat friendly introduction to what he would have to settle with in this new world.

´"And I regained my vision, I saw a spectral figure standing close to her body, it was Anya, and she seemed completely unaware of the fact she was dead, and oblivious to the sight of her own corpse. It frightened me the fact I saw her. Before it, I was an atheist, but I witnessed the spirit of one of my best friends right in my front, asking for help. I helped her to accept the fact she has died. It was difficult for me to see her spirit depart to an afterlife I have no idea about."´

With that, he shifted into the present, and turned his back to the railings, heading to the pilot house as he stepped through the weather deck, and climbed through a set of metallic stairs, opening a metallic door to the bridge. There, a group of five officers kept their attention on several electric devices, including a binnacle, the steering wheel and the communication tubes that seemed to lead to several important decks from where officers could issue orders to the navigation of the same. Ivan truly had friends, for that was a military vessel currently dismissed from duty, and considering its origin, it rose even further questions on how he befriended its captain.

Ivan looked at the captain, apparently at ease due to the tranquil nature of the trip, for no incidents happening from their arrival at the harbor of Abakan, and apparently the truce has held between them and Perun, probably because their latest war did not bring any territorial gains, but only a sort of mutual defeat due to their losses. The captain was a man younger than Ivan, with greying hair and a few signs of aging. With a stiff necked posture, he looked at Ivan with his brown eyes, as Ivan said:

"Thanks again for the favor Yavinski. I was truly tired of Perun and those self-righteous people, specially after this latest journey of mine, where I have met some that made even the most devout pagan priest of Perun seem less annoying. The same types that pressured this new friend of mine to commit suicide"

"Do you mean literally, or in the sense of saving a life that is not worth by doing an incredibly stupid action to pretend being a major altruist?" captain Yavinski asked. He seemed less than impressed about all the tales Ivan said, and in certain manners, was more cynical than Yelena and Ivan together, although slightly more optimistic and hopeful of mankind.

"The latter, and it was not even an human life, I am not even sure if what Yelena died for was sentient or a mere equivalent of an automaton. If she did not forced me to leave the place, I could have advised her to not commit such foolishness. I ended in a sort of mystic not so Dark Age, with the right of much of the dumb superstitions of the real Dark Age. I wonder how in a completely different universe which seem completely devoid of Christianism, the Christian views regarding the practice of necromancy are held as valid," Ivan answered, pondering again about the weird fact. Then his pal was quick to throw his opinion about it:

"I know that the Perunians love Tripium like we love a good spikefruit juice. Maybe you never got out of this world. Have you ever thought on the possibility all of that was a illusion provoked by mind-altering drugs? That would explain the Christian views on Necromancy. Maybe it was some sort of analysis of your inner self, like when a writer create characters to reflect facets of his personality or inner struggles"

"Interesting theory Yavinski, and sound, except for the occurrence of Anya's decease in reality, and that I failed her," Ivan gave such words through his voice to his friend, and sighed.

Yavinski pondered too much when he had free time, for he was a experienced man who liked to issue advices, and from the way of Ivan's behavior, he had certain suspicions about the old man, specially for someone who had such a troubled life for so many years, a cigarette of Tripium was very tempting as a manner to escape from the harsh reality, and thus he replied:

"Look, Ivan, I would not want to hurt you. But maybe, could it all be a machination of your mind influenced by drugs after you witnessed Yelena die of a heart stroke in the sea? That would make sense on why they did not want you to keep the body. Because leaving a body on a ship is very helpful to the spread of diseases, except for the state of conservation you have managed to keep her at. But I bet they were not aware of your skills on preserving corpses. That "sanctuary" was only when you hid her body and yourself in a safe place, and your leave when you disembarked."

"Yavinski, I have seem their ship arriving at that tower. And they were all surprised by Yelena's death. I never hid in any of the lower decks, and I have a lucid enough memory about it. I truly arrived there, but now I feel that it was a complete depletion of a time that could have been useful, like I said before. There is a chasm piercing the fabric of reality the North coast of the Badlands, and I have witnessed the streams of another realm which led us to that universe and location. It is true," Ivan answered back, insisting that it could have never been the mere work of an human mind hallucinating in a extremely realistic manner.

Yavinski found it quite interesting. So there were places where magic could achieve the most absurd and surreal feats, where everything seemed simple, yet dangers hid beneath the facade. However, a certain detail finally came to his thoughts, on how Ivan mentioned two names. An opportunity his inquisitive mind could not miss:

"All right, but now you got me intrigued about something. Why did you mention that you failed Anya and then referred to Yelena? As far as I know, her actual name is Yelena. Would it bother you to tell me who is Anya?"

"Yes, they are two different people, but I would rather not talk about it, lets care about the present events, or the past might swallow us away from now," replied Ivan, trying to observe the still alien sky, as a manner to forget it. At the same moment, he took an wallet from his pocket which was filled to the point that one more note would make a mess over it. He counted some of the notes and took a large pile off the wallet, handing it to Yavinski

"Here are your six thousand rubles, Yavinski, I am very satisfied with your schedule and timely arrival, and should I ever need you again, I shall dial you from my new house, after I finish what must be done to honor my dead friend. I presume we have less than one day left for arrival, correct?"

With ambitious eyes and an expression that could be mirrored by any anti-capitalist propaganda of Soviet Steam, Yavinski grabbed the money like a starving dog would grab a slice of fresh meat, and after accounting it himself, and putting it into his pocket, he shook Ivan's hand and answered, pondering about how everything changes:

"And to think that twelve years ago I was one of the most passionate revolutionaries for the Soviet. Sometimes it seems almost like there is something pulling some slight strings to provoke ironies like this one right now. But in the end, why does it matter?"

"Yes, it does not matter. Fate is simply a shield for those who cannot cope with reality as it is, but that is for another day. I need to check on my friend, because her looks might deceive people she is only in a state of coma, and forgive me," Ivan said, lowering his voice to an whisper.

"I do not trust hundred of young sailors, some even still teenagers, who traveled for months without any harlot to entertain them. And that would be the most dishonorable thing that could happen"

"Yes, there is a minute probability of that happening despite the discipline of the boys, but I do not want a mutiny here, so you best pretend you trust them," whispered back Yavinski, who seemed a bit uneasy on the subject. The officers seemed to care little, if they did, on what he talked about to Ivan. He whispered to his "friend":

"Do not worry Yavinski, I have been at my own discretion so far, and thus I will until this long journey finally ends"

As all was settled, Ivan headed to the lower deck where a wooden coffin with its lid open held the flawless, unharmed body of Yelena Praskovya. As Ivan stared at her body, dressed into a ceremonial funerary dress, he pondered about a different subject.

´"Anya... why it had to be you? Why? The only one who loved me as a friend, who would come together with me not to praise my previous deeds, nor because of my current fortune. At least now I know, that when the capital is gone, other means to justify people to pretend being friends emerge. If only Anya was alive. I will never find a real friend again. Should I simply adapt to this situation? Or... maybe there is something to learn from this. Anya cannot be the only person of the world driven by true friendship."´

Then the spirit of Yelena spawned right in front of him. Her ethereal, pale face expressed a strange, negative feeling towards him, and she stared him with blank, ghastly eyes, speaking directly to his mind:

"Who is Anya? Was her your girlfriend when you was eighteen? So is this all about her? You better pay attention to three things then. First, as you are a filthy bourgeois now, all your friends will be sycophants or mercenaries after your money and prestige. Second, whoever this Anya is, she is gone now, and her body is beyond any attempt of bringing back. Third, I am not a mere reflection of your Anya! I am another person, so stop treating me like if I was her!"

Ivan rarely became nervous, but this time, the dead one managed to pour peppered salt in his greatest wounds, and he could not longer hold his nervous breakdown, which was fortunately vocal rather than physical, even though no one else could listen to him other than her:

"First, you are violating the sanctity of my mind! Second, it's none of your business who was Anya, and third, I can just let you rot and extinguish into oblivion, so you better respect at least the privacy of my thoughts Yelena!"

"All right! But I did not read them, you was thinking so loud about it that I could not avoid to listen. Now if I am not Anya, why do you want to attempt bringing me back to life?" Yelena asked him

"I already answered that question. Regarding what Anya has to do with this, you will only learn if it succeeds. On the rest, the wealth simply came in a less than expected manner. I never could imagine that magic could be such a business. Rich people just came in for me to contact their dead relatives, and gave me financial rewards without I even asking."

"You could have said it was not necessary," replied Yelena

"I am not stupid enough to become blinded to all the clues and facts, there is no way socialism and magic or any form of innate gifts beyond human normality could ever be compatible concepts. Socialism implies on equality, but whenever one has a power nobody else has, such shall be reflected socially. Magic is much closer to capitalism"

"Indeed, truly close. Neither of them works in Earth," Yelena's spirit remarked with a cynical smile

"For the intend of bringing advantage to the wealthy, capitalism always worked," Ivan said

"I meant that neither those who practice capitalism nor those who practice magic work. When you have such wealth or can do anything you want through your will, why would you be a hard worker? The last time I worked when alive was more than ten years ago" Yelena again bitingly commented.

Ivan was getting tired of her ways, apparently being so close to nothingness influenced in her ways, and yet another cynical was born in face of imminent doom. Ivan though quickly thought and replied, hoping to shut her up for a while:

"You would be retired for handicap anyway."

The spirit simply sighed and vanished into its decayed shell. Ivan laid into an adjacent bed to the location of the coffin holding the smell-less, clean corpse. He leaned to the right to watch over her while he took a well deserved rest.

(OOC: Sign-up is here ( http://forums3.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=561445 ), please pay attention to some details and rules in the OOC thread)

Arkhangelsk Harbor, Novaya Russia

Finally, Ivan stepped out of the vessel, looking at the harbor town ahead. The harbor of Arkhangelsk occupied most of the urban area, being one of the prime cores of the shipping and shipbuilding industry in Novaya Russia. Far through the horizon, a black smog perpetually covered the lifeless surroundings of a coal powerplant which fed both it and neighboring cities. The harbor housed more than only warehouses and piers. It was the downtown, where most of commerce concentrated. Bars, a few opera houses, workshops, stores, groceries. It was small town, but it surely was known for a very alive commerce due to its important status as the primary receptor of foreign imports and relay for exports, from and to Soviet Steam and, in the latest months, Perun as well, which began to take its first steps into the industrial era, despite the attempts of its rulers to stop it. Much has changed during Ivan's absence, yet for now, most of those news were irrelevant to what he sought.

Behind him, a few aides he personally hired carried the coffin with Yelena's body, in what seemed to be a simple, funeral march. It was a extremely featureless, simple wooden grave, without any decoration or form of luxury. Ivan found it strange, but considering who asked him for it, expectable. He stepped on the wooden boards of the pier, seeing many cranes and winches around, and walked through the first block of warehouses, which became closer to his eyes, with the cold breeze indicating him the winter to come. Peeking through the square building doors, he noticed several crates piled which workers continually moved, climbing and using pulleys to load them into carts, in an organization worthy of an assembly line.

Ivan looked at those aides and gestured for them to drop the coffin softly on the floor and rest over it while watching it. As a sturdy wooden furniture, it served as a good improvised bench, provided that the morbid fact of sitting down over a cadaver was not an issue. Those hard-working men simply sat there, innocently, and waited. Ivan entered inside the warehouse, navigation through piles of crates until getting into a simple and small room where three employees used his ball writer to type some documents in their papers, and an young businessman immediately noticed him, as he stopped poking with a compact analytical calculator he seemed to be busy with before.

"Inuit Shipping, what services would you be interested at sir?"

"Berezovsky. I came here because I am looking for those who provide exotic transportation services with high standards of safety, and I have been aware of your company reputation. I will be straight on it. My request is not simple, but I can cover the additional fees for risk, I need to reach the home of the almost legendary doctor Vyankostanov in Soviet Steam."

The man ahead of Ivan immediately widened his eyes, and some of the employees suddenly stopped with their duties as they heard the word. The man then looked at Ivan with a face of negation, predictably announcing his answer:

"Look mister Berezovsky, provided you are not simply joking, your request is simply beyond what anyone could offer. There is no additional fee that can cover a suicidal shipping, and nobody here ever saw this doctor, he could not even exist. I can offer you a shipping advisory free of charge: forget about it, some told me Vyankostanov was just a joke of a group of cynical nihilists regarding life and death that some simpletons took seriously and spread around. I can notice that it is about someone you lost, but there is no turning back."

Ivanov seemed to not be very satisfied about it, and somehow perhaps it could be an obvious fact why his request was dismissed. Maybe it was time to be more clear about who he was:

"Very well, I thought that you truly shipped an expedition to the most dangerous waters of the north coast of the Wasteland, and I am saddened to see that you are not as daring of an enterprise like my friends who recommended your services to me, Ivan Berezovsky, said."

The businessman suddenly shifted his expression, and smiled plastically to Ivan, like any of his kind would be expected to do:

"I apologize, I was not aware that you were the almost legendary survivor of the Badlands. We can probably provide a transport equipment and personell sufficiently rugged to not be disrupted by the physical distortions of that area, and with the discretion needed to ensure nobody shall bother you and your assistants during your travel. Meet me tomorrow, and I shall give a definite answer and the cost for the services. Is there anything else you would like?"

Ivan nodded with a cynical smile, reminding of how wealth changes people, and answered:

"Sir, do you have the number of the nearest funerary service? And mind if I borrow one of your telephones?"

"Of course, feel free to peruse that free telephone there," the man replied, pointing to an empty wooden desk with a black telephone next to it.

"And the Morana Funerary number is eighty-one five nine zero six. Thank you again for your choice" he added.

Ivan smiled again in his dissimulated way and sat down on the chair. He looked around the hard-working people for a while. Most of them seemed quite beaten off, with visible signs of overwork. He thought to himself before taking the telephone:

´"Good thing she is not alive to see it. The last thing in the world I would want now is for her to rant against capitalism right here"´

He dialed the number of the local telephone operator service as he was informed of the funerary number in the ancient telephone. It was a quite elegant device with an outer shell carved of wood, and with its dial painted in brown. He waited for the answer to come as a female voice came:

"Greetings from Arkhangelsk Telephone Company One, how may I help you?"

"Good afternoon telephonist, I would like to call number eighty-one five nine zero six of the Morana Funerary Services", Ivan replied.

"A moment sir, I will be passing your call to the requested destination, thank you for choosing us"

As Ivan waited for a few seconds, in another place, amidst a series of machines and devices, a woman began to exchange a wire among a switchboard to comply with Ivan's request. Soon the telephone rang again for a while, and finally came the standardized answer from a secretary.

"Morana Funerary Services, how may I help you?"

"I am Ivan Berezovsky, I would like to contract a temporary funerary transport and holding service for an already preserved body. I am at Harbor street, Warehouse five at the junction with Gornov Avenue", Ivan replied, for he would need to leave Yelena somewhere else while he spent the day on the town. He had to look over for supplies, and for the extremely rare hirelings willing to take the risks and help him.

"A moment sir Ivan, could you please inform us your national identity or passport number?" replied the attendant.

Ivan again grabbed his wallet taking a document from the same which was featured by the yellow star and looked at it as he replied:

"I am a visitor, my passport number is eleven, two five, six nine, four three dash twenty dot zero"

"Just one moment sir Ivan," the receptionist answered, as Ivan took his patient await for them to check his background and shrugged, thinking about the irony of it.

´"Sometimes Novaya Russia seems more bureaucratic than its technological neighbor. Each to their inherent flaws, perhaps"´

Four minutes later the answer finally came as the anxious silence ended:

"Thank you for your choice sir. We are dispatching a steam car to lift you and your loved one to the funerary. Stay by the street, they will be at there in five to ten minutes. Have a good day, mister Ivan."

And the call ended. Ivan looked at the businessman again as he got out from the chair and prepared to head back to the outside, and professionally shook the man's hand:

"Again I offer my thanks for allowing me to use one of your telephones. I will return tomorrow, at this same time. I hope you can find sufficiently adventurous personell for the task at hand, mister?"

"Boris, Boris Tobrin. I will be here to give you an answer tomorrow, mister Ivan, enjoy the town. I am sure you will find many respectable establishments where you can acquire more supplies for your journey, or entertain yourself."

And thus Ivan passed through the lines of crates, winches and workers back to the exist door of the warehouse, where the coffin was still there, with the four handymen still sitting over it, and talking among themselves of trivial matters. Ivan looked at the men and said, while taking two hundred rubles from his wallet:

"Here your payment boys, I wish you good luck finding an employment."

One of them looked at Ivan with his eyes, and shrugged as he pessimistically said to him, while the others leaved to their issues, probably looking for other temporary jobs to fill their stomachs:

"With the recession, all we can hope is to find more people who need the occasional help like you, mister Ivan. This part of the harbor closer to the shore does not show it much, but if you get farther, you will see lines of mendicants begging to not starve because they cannot find employment, and those are the honest, for the dishonest simply join the ranks of Ruffians. At least we have a home, thus we should be glad," to which he suddenly interrupted, with a sort of ashamed expression:

"Sorry for bothering you with these personal matters. But anyway, I overheard that you are getting through the Badlands, and no offense, but it seems that the aid of a strong and young lad would be welcome. I am not afraid of offering my hand to help you."

Ivan looked at the young man. He seemed to be at his twenties, with somewhat weary grey eyes and short black hair, being slightly muscular, due to the sort of professional activities he performed, but still presenting a sort of skinny appearance, and with an humble but well kept attire of an old winter cloak and simple boots. He thought about it, and looked at the lad, saying:

"Let me warn you first, so later you will not complain I did not: in the Badlands, there are much worser fates than poverty, and threats are permanent and constant, specially at this time of the winter. Are you sure that you would want to risk your life, and perhaps even your own soul, for the sake of wealth? Would you be ready to travel through the biting cold of the Yuri mountains? Also, regardless of your answer, I would like to know your name before I make a choice."

To which the young boy said, looking with eyes the exhaled ambition, and some sort of hopefulness, like if that was an opportunity like no other for the youngster:

"Mister Ivan, my name is Sergej Yaroslav. I know of the dangers of the Badlands, although I am skeptical about most of them. I have many dreams in my life, and I feel that this is the chance I always looked for to give a better future for my future children and for myself. I cannot lose this chance. I truly wish to help with your journey in exchange of a reward that can give me an opportunity in life"

"Young Sergej, no offense intended, but do you know how to read and write? I really need someone who does for this travel, only because they are more difficult to find, and I believe you understand why," Ivan pointed, pondering whether the answer would be positive or not.

"Yes, my family was poor, but they worked hard to ensure I would at least finish High School. I never had a chance to get into University though. Actually I had but it was right when the recession began," the youngster answered back.

Ivan knew how such individuals would pour milk from rock for a chance like that, and naively ignore the risks. Just what capitalism makes people go through, the price of being free to choose your life, to an extent, rather than leaving such choice entirely at the hands of the government. And thus he took one of his vials from his bag, which was labeled with Slavic words, and asked of Sergej:

"Could you read it for me?"

"Shake stopping potion. Drink one per day," Sergej quickly said as he read it, and asked Ivan:

"I hope it does not bother you to ask, but are you epileptic?"

"Sergej, I believe we are equally able in different things. Since when I was born, I always had an exceptional intelligence, and an exceptionally bad endurance. I am an epileptic yes, and that motivated me to study medicine, to an extent. I created the chemistry behind these remedies I use to prevent the symptoms, and I have to take them everyday to ensure I will not have a seizure. And sorry for the test. You know how it is difficult to trust each other these days. You are welcome to come with me Sergej, I will pay you well, but I prefer to tell you not how much until it is finished. But I will offer you this as a first part of it."

And Ivan generously handed the man a thousand of rubles, which was a sum that Sergej did not see in his hands for a long time. It would serve as a good test, but instead of simply running away with the money, Sergej smiled and shook Ivan hand:

"Deal, where are we going now, mister Ivan?"

"To the Morana Funerary Services, I cannot afford to keep her in the middle of the street. A car is coming to catch me and the coffin. In about six minutes at most.

And thus Ivan waited at the junction of two streets for a car to come, watching the occasional, small movement of both carriages and more rare automobiles through them, and of pedestrians and workers through the harbor. A grand journey was being prepared.