The howl, a good half-minute long, caught Kit unprepared. He was leaning over the still lukewarm body of a dead woolly rhino calf, when the low wailing reached its crescendo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It came from the east, spilling out of the snow-covered canyon lined with rusty mining equipment. The crooked skeletons of excavators, cranes, and hulking dump trucks were visible through the approaching whiteout, like the dead ancestors of Kit\u2019s own polar exploration vehicle. Nicknamed the Lunohod<\/em> (\u2018moon rover\u2019), that demilitarized tundra crawler on 8X8 monster truck chassis, was trusted to Kit by his boss back in Norilsk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDIRE WOLVES,\u201d a voice in Kit\u2019s head murmured in English. \u201cI TOLD THEM THE SMART BASTARDS WOULD GET OUT OF THE PLEISTO PARK.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit himself didn\u2019t speak English, but he didn\u2019t need to. The foreign thoughts of his client, transmitted as a binary mash by a low-orbit satellite, reassembled themselves into a cocktail of meaning and emotion. The New Zealander on the other end felt mad and validated. And low-key worried for Kit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo wolves. That\u2019s just the blizzard whistling. Open pits sing in the wind like that,\u201d Kit mumbled into his scarf in Russian, while fixing a cargo hook to the tarp holding the calf. The comset crowning Kit\u2019s bald scalp under his ski hat did the translation to the same universal language of grumpy middle-aged men.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-better wrap up with this little piglet and head homeward-<\/em>\u201d Kit added mutely. The thought of a \u2018piglet\u2019 wasn\u2019t precise, but he trusted Dominic to know he meant the calf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFOLLOW THE HERD, MAYBE. IF THE CALF IS SICK WITH PITHOVIRUS THEY MUST HAVE SOME SICK ELDERS. WE NEED ANOTHER SPECIMEN TO BE SURE. BEWARE THE WOLVES.\u201d The New Zealander\u2019s remote thought projection was getting choppy. Either the magnetism messing with the satellite signal or Dominic being Dominic again and going full ADHD.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe blizzard\u2019s coming. Lots of diesel to burn chasing after the herd,\u201d Kit spoke. He traced the furrow left in the snow by the passing de-extincted mammals. Making sure Dominic saw it through his goggled eyes, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYEAH, NAH. THE DIESEL, JUST EXPENSE IT TO ME. I WILL TALK TO MY BIG CHEESE.\u201d Dominic\u2019s thoughts were getting less coherent. The mere mention of his boss, \u2018the Big Cheese\u2019 from the World Health Organization, had a panic-inducing effect on the Kiwi researcher. \u201cSHE SAYS PITHOVIRUS INVESTIGATION IS PRIORITY ONE FOR THE HEALTHIES. PICK YOUR CRYPTO, AND THEY\u2019LL PAY UP.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCrypto-shripto\u2026\u201d Kit grinned. He still had to sit down with Nadya and have her set up a cryptowallet for him, around the Russian national firewall. Her generation understood this digital nonsense a lot better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Inside his slipstream, an alien thought bubble popped. That was Dominic smiling to the unspoken nuance of Kit\u2019s family dynamic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFine, I\u2019ll do it, bratan<\/em>. Just for you!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCHUR, BRO. MANY THANKS.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit slogged his way back to the polar crawler\u2019s cargo compartment ramp. Near it, he found the Lunohod<\/em>\u2019s remote: a heavy-duty Chinese tablet insulated by Kit\u2019s daughter in decorative tufts. The man took off his sheepskin mittens and drag-and-dropped a few commands into an executive sequence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The vehicle spewed out a black cloud of smoke and shivered. The cable bobbin came to life inside the Lunohod<\/em>\u2019s underbelly, dragging the calf across the snow. As the half-ton corpse of a genetically modified rhino passed by him, Kit reached to fix the unraveling tarp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHANDS OFF, BRO!\u201d rang out inside Kit\u2019s head. A foreign force even reflexively pulled on his wrist, like a spasm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-what now-<\/em>\u201d Kit didn\u2019t verbalize.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWE\u2019RE HUNTING A PREHISTORIC VIRUS HERE, AND YOU\u2019RE ABOUT TO TOUCH A DEAD BODY. WANNA CARK IT, REALLY?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-i am not a rhino though-\u201d<\/em> Kit breathed at his freezing hand and put the mitten back on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMY FRIEND, IF THE HEALTHIES ARE RIGHT, THIS THING IS WHAT CREATED THE BLIGHTS.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arguing was pointless. To Kit, the Blights were just some globalist (or antiglobalist?) plot to isolate Russia \u2013 or China? \u2013 or America? \u2013 from the rest of the world. He\u2019d seen lockdowns and travel restrictions before, for lesser pandemics than this one. Himself, Kit didn\u2019t follow politics and had no opinion of scientists \u2013 except Dominic, a solid fellow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAWWE. THANK YOU, MATE.\u201d Dominic must\u2019ve been following Kit\u2019s internal monologue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlright. Let\u2019s get you a second piglet, bratan<\/em>.\u201d Kit chuckled and fixed another hook over the tarp, so that the calf could make its way up the ramp without rolling. \u201cJust don\u2019t drag it too long. I have to be back in Norilsk by Friday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWEEKEND PLANS WITH YOUR LITTLE MISSUS?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-i wish but no-<\/em>\u201d Kit mutely watched the beam of light getting squeezed by the closing ramp door. \u201c-on sunday i\u2019m chauffeuring for my own big cheese-<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit did his best to curate the emotions slipping through the mindstream. He rushed to the ladder leading to the Lunohod<\/em>\u2019s catwalk roof.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYOUR BIG CHEESE? THAT NOZZLE GUY?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit smiled under his scarf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-yes him \u2013 he\u2019s not as polite your boss-<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He started climbing, the ladder vibrating as the vehicle engine warmed up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI BET. WARLORD ECONOMY ISN\u2019T RUN ON THANK YOU\u2019S.\u201d Another smile from Kit. \u201cWHY\u2019D YOU CALL HIM THE NOZZLE?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-soplov is his last name \u2013 sounds almost like<\/em> soplo<\/em>–<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit liked that he didn\u2019t need to explain Russian plays on words when hosting Dominic inside his head. The mindstream somehow made sense out of it all without translation: \u2018soplo\u2019 meant \u2018nozzle\u2019 in Russian, and the New Zealander was obviously laughing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A gust of wind pulled Kit out of his thoughts, grainy snow prickling his cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cALRIGHT, MR. WHALE. WHY ARE WE ON THE TRUCK\u2019S ROOF NOW?\u201d Dominic threw a play on words of his own. \u2018Kit\u2019 meant \u2018whale\u2019 in Russian, his old army callsign before he deserted and moved to a boomtown in the Far North.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe rhino trail goes north-east. Still fresh,\u201d Kit spoke. He peeked through the gray mist of the advancing blizzard, the distant hillocks crawling with blue fuzz of the taiga forest to the horizon. \u201cIf you\u2019re scared of wolves, we\u2019d meet them there. So, I need my rifle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dominic gave a mental equivalent of a silent nod.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Holding onto the railing, Kit made his way to the transparent cupola of the spotting deck. There, he found an overturned, half-sealed thermos and, next to it, the rifle: a modified Dragunov<\/em>, loaded with sleep darts big enough to take down a mature de-extincted mammoth. Or a polar bear migrating southward, away from the iceless ocean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit tried to lift the weapon, to no avail. He yanked it again. And again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPROBLEM, MATE?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-look-\u201d Kit squatted over the gun. The tea had leaked from the large thermos and froze into a proper brown glacier around the Dragunov<\/em>\u2019s stock and strap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The wind whistled between the catwalk railing, a distant howl merging with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBratan<\/em>, I\u2019m heading home now,\u201d Kit said. \u201cHave to keep the Nozzle happy. Chase your rhinos after.\u201d He took off his ski hat and tapped the wired electrodes hugging his skull like multicolored, coiled snakes. \u201cBrain me out, friend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya heard the metal door open downstairs, ice grinding on ice like the gnashing of molars. Heavy thumping echoed through the zigzagging staircase. A visitor stomping the snow off their boots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBatya<\/em> returned,\u201d Nadya said to herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t even a guess. The central heating busted as it was, few people lived in the abandoned high-rise even before the Blight wave combed through Norilsk last fall. Now, Nadya and her dad shared the hulking, brutalist vysotka<\/em> with a single family of Turkmen refugees. But they were nocturnal, working late shifts in a private smelter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlright, girl. Ask batya<\/em> the right question, and he\u2019ll let you do it.\u201d She gave her cigarette one last greedy puff, waved the smoke cloud away, and headed back into the apartment, her fuzzy slippers clapping on her heels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On her way to the kitchen, Nadya gave one heavy kick to the shiny, India-made heat generator. Her dad\u2019s recent loot from the Nozzle\u2019s fizzled-out prospector project. The diesel generator cackled from the hit, shook, and returned to its normal rickety hum. It was the only thing keeping the apartment sweater-warm during winter months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya sat on a stool by the window, trying to look nonchalant. She had a warm bowl of pelmeni<\/em> dumplings sitting on the table, waiting for the hungry batya<\/em>. She touched the bowl. Lukewarm dumplings. Damn, she had to be extra persuasive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The apartment door yawned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya made her move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPapochka<\/em>, hear me out! I was pig-butchering this dum-dum from Arizona, and he started talking of his uncle who is a sovereign senator in America, and he loves big-game hunting, and he dreams of hunting some Pleistocene beef, but he can\u2019t travel cross-border because of the lockdowns, so now I\u2019m brainhosting him to a rhino hunt this weekend \u2013 can I please<\/em> borrow your comset!?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She inhaled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit stood in the hallway, the snow melting on his black shipskin coat like sparkling diamonds. He dropped the green comset hoop on the worn-out ottoman chair, along with the messy braids of trode cords.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPainkillers?\u201d Nadya asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit nodded slowly. He took off his hat and rubbed the bridge of his red nose. His bald scalp had pale markings where the comset trodes were attached just a few hours ago, like large sunspots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya squeezed past him to the tiny bathroom and returned with expired generics. Batya<\/em>\u2019s head was always killing him after a long hosting. Usually, he did it for Japanese eco-tourists, but those gigs had scheduled breaks, at least.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan\u2019t your Australian cut you some slack?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA New Zealander.\u201d Kit swept the trodes from the ottoman and crashed onto it. \u201cWater?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya returned with a glass of freshly melted snow. \u201cPapa<\/em>. Can I do it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her batya<\/em> swallowed and tried to kick off one shoe. Nadya kneeled to help him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHosting an American? Not afraid of any trouble with the Nozzle\u2019s goons?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe deals with foreigners all the time!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cChinese. Those are different.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya assisted him out of the heavy coat, the belt buckle clinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBatya<\/em>. It pays so well.\u201d Nadya helped her dad up. \u201cListen, with how much they promised, we\u2019d be able to leave this shithole for\u2026 Brazil, I dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBig-game hunting, huh?\u201d On his way to the kitchen, Kit kicked the generator for a good measure. At last, he took a seat at a tiny square of a table, nestled between a fridge and an ancient laptop serving as a TV.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPelmeni<\/em>?\u201d Nadya pushed the bowl to him and put a tea kettle on the stove. She needed to be a good girl for just one last squeeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit picked up the fork, his chin hanging low over the meal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you know how to set up a cryptowallet?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPapa<\/em>, how do you think I do pig-butchering?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDominic asked for a favor. Need to snatch some diesel from the Nozzle. Better replace it before he finds out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya ground her teeth and sighed. Kit put a cluster of three stuck dumplings into his mouth and started to slowly chew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBatya<\/em>. Can I use your comset?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit looked his daughter in the eye. She was formidable, like her mat\u2019<\/em>. No one but Blight could break that woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFine. Use mom\u2019s. It\u2019s cleaner, newer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya jumped in her seat and hugged her dad, dodging the fork with a dumpling impaled on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ll need a lift?\u201d Kit asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, papochka<\/em>. To the winter cottage. I know the deer need culling, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure. Just leave the guns clean. When is the hunt?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSunday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit stopped the fork, a dumpling half-way into his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis Sunday?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan\u2019t. I\u2019m taking the Nozzle whoring around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBatya<\/em>, listen\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHis business partner is here. Some warlord ass from Saratov. He\u2019s doing a sauna with girls aboard the Lunohod<\/em> again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The kettle started to whistle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan\u2019t they do some stationary<\/em> whoring, for a change?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cKiddo, it\u2019s his shtick. Good for deal-making.\u201d His appetite back, Kit was now chewing more dumplings than his cheeks could fit. \u201cHis nickel business has been slow lately. After those Chinese hucksters from Hezhou\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The kettle was hysterical now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBatya<\/em>, come on. Just sneak us out in the cargo compartment. We\u2019ll be quiet, unarmed. We\u2019ll jump off near the hunting cabin, it has the barrels.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit stopped chewing. \u201cUs? We?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes \u2013 us, we,\u201d Nadya turned off the stove, as if twisting a chicken\u2019s neck. \u201cThis senator has two buddies. I found two other hosts. They have their comsets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHold the fuck on. Other hosts?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, two solid guys\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTwo guys<\/em>!? You know what some perverts can do with you while you\u2019re hosting? There\u2019s a bodily override\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know, I know\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNadya, that\u2019s not safe. A girl like you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBatya<\/em>\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey can do all sorts of shameful things with you if\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what. Do you think. I\u2019ve been doing. With mom\u2019s comset this entire time?\u201d She punctuated it with a slap on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit dropped the fork into the bowl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya sat on the stool next to him. Her shoulders felt stiff and her arms heavy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEvery week. When you go on these expeditions of yours,\u201d she managed. \u201cIt pays well. I\u2019ve saved a good stash, in crypto. All diversified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Their eyes met.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPapa<\/em>. I want this one last gig.\u201d Nadya got up and headed out of the kitchen, hugging herself. \u201cIt\u2019s gotta get me out of here. Far, far away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She gave one last kick to the shivering generator. \u201cPlease, don\u2019t fuck it up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n The river valley, flanked by the taiga forest, was gleaming in the sunlight reflected from the freshly fallen snow. Usually, Kit didn\u2019t like taking the Lunohod<\/em> offroading on ice, thick as it was mid-winter. But Mr. Soplov insisted on a picturesque route.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was a good sign: the Saratov warlord the Nozzle was hosting must\u2019ve given him cover from those Chinese party men the boss\u2019d fallen out with. The onboard orgy was promising to be a drunken mess, with lots of surfaces for Kit to clean afterward, but also a free hand for him to enjoy for the rest of the month. More time to work with Dominic or those eco-tourists. Less arms trafficking and shady one-way trips for local journalists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That wasn\u2019t the biggest thing on Kit\u2019s mind, though. Slouching over the giant steering wheel, he anxiously checked his smartphone, worried he\u2019d see Nadya\u2019s agreed-upon distress signal: a \u2018face with tongue\u2019 emoji. Their message chat had nothing since last November.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sighing, Kit turned to a tablet resting atop the rug-covered dashboard. There, an infrared security camera feed was showing the cargo compartment in its frigid, claustrophobic glory. The woolly rhino calf was still there, wrapped in tarp and frozen solid. In a corner by the trapdoor, three figures in military surplus arctic gear squatted next to a pile of rucksacks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The smuggled passengers didn\u2019t talk and barely exchanged glances. Kit liked it that way \u2013 no flirting with his girl, no stupid energy. One, a middle-aged Azerbaijani, was quietly adjusting the comset trodes under his parka hood. The other one, a war vet with a deadman\u2019s gleam inside his deeply set, tired eyes, was treating his hangover with cheap vodka.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That vet could be trouble, Kit thought. He remembered meeting him and the Azerbaijani in the pale early morning just after paying off the Nozzle\u2019s security guard to let them in. Nadya had been already waiting for them inside the cargo compartment. After a thorough body search for weapons (there were none allowed), the guard waved them aboard. To be extra safe, Kit flatly lied to the two mindstreamers that his daughter had AIDS and a pithovirus, a word he\u2019d only just learned from Dominic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit\u2019s angst got rudely interrupted as the Lunohod<\/em>\u2019s giant wheel drove over a volcanic rock, a signal that the valley was turning into a shallow creek. If Nadya and her hunting buddies were going to make it up the hill to Kit\u2019s hunting cabin, they had to jump off now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With a sigh, Kit poked an instruction sequence into the Lunohod<\/em>\u2019s remote control tablet. The cargo compartment illuminated with a red light of a single neon \u2018noodle\u2019 leading to the exit. The trapdoor started sliding open. Kit slowed down the vehicle and zoomed in his security camera. Nadya was tapping her temple, activating the comset through her fuzzy ushanka<\/em> hat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n She always welcomed the moment before the mindstream kicked in. Her shame and anxiety erased, Nadya would seemingly separate with her flesh in a short, but liberating out-of-body experience. Better than the glue she\u2019d inhaled as a teenager to get high.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When she returned to her body, something felt off. The client she was hosting was there as a usual phantom presence, sure. But instead of a vague stream of invasive thoughts, the mindstreaming felt like a pulse of a high-voltage power grid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The man in front of her \u2013 the war vet who\u2019d introduced himself simply as Vova \u2013 gave her a mesmerized look, a string of saliva frozen in his beard. In the red gloom of a single neon light, he barked something that sounded like an idle motorcycle engine. Uncannily, Nadya understood his foreign tongue: \u201cShame. My meatbag\u2019s all hammered.<\/em>\u201d Or, rather, the person inside her head understood it for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-what language was that<\/em>?-\u201d she mentally asked her own client.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCANTONESE. SHUT IT, ONE-OFF,\u201d the foreign voice responded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was no Arizona senator. Nadya reached for her smartphone. The pulsation in the back of her mind grew, slowing down her movement and guiding her hands along predetermined paths \u2013 away from the pocket where her smartphone sat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vova the war vet spit out another phrase in poorly pronounced (but somehow understandable) Cantonese. \u201cShit, the soldier guy was supposed to be our shooter<\/em>.\u201d His eyes bewildered, he crushed his plastic vodka bottle, like possessed by a spirit. \u201cNow what?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Uncle Fazil, the Azerbaijani family man Nadya recruited from a job-search forum, shrugged off his parka. \u201cThis one\u2019s good enough for bullet-soaking<\/em>,\u201d he spoke in a language his lips weren\u2019t used to. Fazil looked at Nadya with horror in his eyes and babbled in his accented Russian, \u201cWho\u2019s in us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya tried to reach for his exposed trodes, hoping to tear them off. The same eerie force froze her hand and clenched it in a white-knuckled fist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTHIS BITCH IS GUNFIGHTING-READY,\u201d the voice inside her head spoke. Immediately, the pulsating force made her repeat it in a tongue she didn\u2019t know, like a puppet moving her tongue and facial muscles. \u201cONLY HUNTING REFLEXES, BUT SHE\u2019S MALLEABLE. JUST GET HER A GUN, I\u2019LL MICROMANAGE HER.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya touched her chest in a spooked \u2018who \u2013 me?\u2019 gesture. And again, the force lowered her hand and stood her at attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The men frozen in front of her both nodded and rushed to the second hatch hiding in the cargo section\u2019s darker corner. Nadya knew it led to the tundra crawler\u2019s crew quarters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Vova and Fazil, straining their shoulders, unscrewed the frozen hatch lock open, a beam of warm light and a mist of steamy air washed over their pale, mask-like faces. Uncle Fazil had tears on his cheeks, but his burly body moved with angular confidence of a videogame character \u2013 up the ladder and into the mist. Vova followed shortly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya felt that her handler briefly lost his focus. A sequence of images flipped through her subconscious: the same middle-aged Slavic man, under different angles, in different lighting. Smiling, grinning, deadly serious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was Mr. Soplov, the Nozzle. With a wave of panic, Nadya realized her rider was memorizing the face of his supposed victim. She was a hitman\u2019s weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya had an opening for a single, quick move. Jump off outside? Or tear off a couple of trodes? Or text that \u2018face with tongue\u2019 emoji to her dad?<\/p>\n\n\n\n The pulsating dark matter inside Nadya\u2019s skull came back to fill her like a vessel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just before she lost control completely, Nadya managed to find the blinking red light of a security camera in the darkness. Her lips trembled when she stuck out her tongue and squealed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n A sunroof-covered greenhouse room separated the Lunohod<\/em>\u2019s driver\u2019s cabin from the crew quarters. Still clenching the tablet, Kit rushed through the narrow passage between the raised soil beds. Potato plants slapped his waist with their branches as he ran past, the thawed water from ceiling sprinklers spraying Kit\u2019s panicked face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stopped by the sealed door to the living quarters. Back at the wheel, when he saw Nadya\u2019s grimace in the security camera \u2013 the \u2018face with tongue\u2019 he couldn\u2019t shake off, – Kit had no time to think it through. What would he say to Mr. Soplov? \u201cI skirted your rules, and now my daughter is in trouble?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n What sort of trouble, Kit didn\u2019t know himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He checked his smartphone again. There were no answers from Nadya after his four panicked messages. The security camera on his tablet showed only the dead woolly rhino.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDamn Americans!\u201d Kit grit his teeth and knocked on the door. Twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lock clinked, and the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was the Nozzle\u2019s bodyguard Kit had bribed earlier: a wide-shouldered, tall fellow nicknamed Berlin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cKit? Whatcha doing here?\u201d Berlin grumbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cListen, bratan<\/em>. Something\u2019s up with my girl, she\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit didn\u2019t finish, because Berlin rammed his fist into his solar plexus. Weak on his knees and awash in cold sweat, Kit stumbled backward into the greenhouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Berlin shook his head and reached to shut the door. Before he did, another voice stopped him. \u201cHold it. Bring in this bloke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Berlin gave Kit one raging look of \u2018you ratted us out.\u2019 Still gasping for air, Kit dragged his feet over the threshold and past the fuming Berlin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The living quarters were taken up by a massive banquet table crawling with delicacies and dotted by towering cathedrals of fancy vodka bottles. The observation room with a panoramic screen on the vehicle\u2019s left side was apparently still locked: the Nozzle didn\u2019t end up using the only part that made their tundra cruise unique. The vehicle\u2019s right side was taken by the sauna, and that\u2019s where the party was at. Through the steaming crack under the sauna door, Kit heard a loud drumbeat of Europop and EBM, along with rhythmic groaning of multiple women.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019d ya say about your girl?\u201d said the same voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit could focus his eyes on the people now. Besides the neatly groomed and suited-up Berlin, there were two other armed men standing around. Both were athletic skinheads, dressed in unbuttoned military fatigues. Their faces and chests gleamed with drunken sweat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBerlin?\u201d one of them, the warlord\u2019s apparent bodyguard, said after Kit failed to respond. \u201cWho is he and why have we stopped?\u201d The man had a witch-burning tattooed on his chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before Berlin answered, the observation room door clanked open. A jacketless, stout man rushed into the room, his movement precise like that of a mime. Kit recognized that Azerbaijani family guy, his eyes bulging and his bald head topped with a messy entanglement of comset trodes. One Saratovite bodyguard pulled his handgun and opened fire with no warning. Bullets buried themselves into the possessed man\u2019s stomach, painting his green sweater dark brown. Unfazed by the pain, the Azerbaijani sped up and tackled the bodyguard in one fearless leap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The man with a witch hunt on his chest rushed to help his partner, but Nadya\u2019s veteran friend barged in next. With an inhuman force, he threw his hiking backpack at the bodyguard, before zigzagging away from a gunshot, picking a steak knife from the table, and repeatedly stabbing the Saratovite between the ribs with the speed of a sewing machine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Nadya appeared in the doorway, Berlin trained his pistol at her. Gasping, Kit body-slammed the man just before a gunshot rang out next to his ear. The bullet went ricocheting around the room. A moment later, Kit found himself on the floor, his nose broken \u2013 the work of Berlin\u2019s elbow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit started crawling \u2013 not sure where to, but away from the massacre. There were more gunshots and screaming behind. He didn\u2019t hear Nadya\u2019s voice, only her heavy, rhythmic breathing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRun, kiddo!\u201d he yelled, half-sure she couldn\u2019t even if she wanted to. Behind him, there were more gunshots, cracking of boots on the glass, and Berlin\u2019s long scream. Kit expected to feel a hot sting of a bullet wound any moment, but none came.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When he felt cold water sprayed over his head and back, Kit realized he was in the greenhouse. He picked himself up from the floor and rushed to close the door behind himself. The last thing he saw before slamming it shut was Nadya \u2013 alive and slouching over Berlin\u2019s bloodied body, his pistol in her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry, papa<\/em>,\u201d she whimpered, her gums bleeding, before pointing the gun at him and shooting twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya had tears running down her cheeks, even though her handler didn\u2019t let her blink throughout the entire massacre. Now, her eyes itched, her knees and hands trembled, and the adrenalin withdrawal was crushing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The only good news was her batya\u2019s<\/em> escape. After her shots missed (not without her self-sabotage), Vova chased \u2018the damn driver\u2019 to the steering cabin. By the time the vet broke through the locked door, Nadya\u2019s dad was gone, his jacket discarded and a porthole window open. Vova\u2019s operator decided to focus on the assassination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis one\u2019s alive!<\/em>\u201d standing atop the banquet table, Vova spoke in Cantonese. He jumped down and kicked a camo-wearing bodyguard that Fazil had choked to unconsciousness before bleeding white himself. \u201cLay flat, purchase time for yourself.\u201d Vova spoke to the bodyguard in awkwardly translated (but perfectly pronounced) Russian. \u201cWe have a purpose for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pinned under Fazil\u2019s body, the security man groaned and threw up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rapidly, Vova took away the bodyguards\u2019 firearms. Three pistols and two assault rifles were arranged on the Persian floor carpet soaked in blood. Nadya picked an AK-12 and trained it on the sauna door, her movement economic and precise, all orchestrated by her rider.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMeatbag Three is negative<\/em>,\u201d Vova kicked Fazil\u2019s body next. \u201cAnd mine is expiring fast.<\/em>\u201d He raised his left arm. His armpit was bleeding, a bright red blot spreading over the white arctic camouflage. Glancing at Vova\u2019s purple, trembling lips, Nadya could only imagine the pain he silently endured and his captors ignored.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya forced herself to swallow, feeling her chipped teeth under her tongue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-please \u2013 get it over with-<\/em>\u201d she pleaded to her captor. For some reason, she wanted to imagine her as a woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her rider spoke back to Vova through her lips. \u201cThe sauna door is breakable. How do we storm?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Before Vova replied, a male voice boomed at them from the sauna in Russian. \u201cDo you know who you\u2019re tickling, you dumb peckers!?\u201d The man continued yelling and swearing, now less coherently. At last, he punctuated his statement with a gunshot. Several women screamed inside the sauna. One started to cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya could tell it wasn\u2019t the Nozzle, who she\u2019d seen on TV before. The dark matter picked that thought straight from her slipstream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her captor made her yell in Russian. \u201cYou\u2019re a business partner of Mr. Soplov? The Hezhou Committee has no hostility to you. We only want him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She barely finished, when another shot rang out inside the sauna. There was a lot more female screaming this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe won\u2019t be helping you anymore.\u201d This was the Nozzle\u2019s voice this time. \u201cTell the Committee to shove my nickel up their asses.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pale like death, Vova turned to Nadya. \u201cIs the target alone there? Let\u2019s rush him before my meatbag is gone<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s two guns in the sauna. We\u2019ll need another bullet-soaker<\/em>.\u201d Nadya replied. The words spoken through her mouth gave her a panic attack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vova nodded and started plucking the entangled trodes off of uncle Fazil\u2019s scalp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey you, bald skull,\u201d he said in Russian to the surviving bodyguard. \u201cGood news. You\u2019re a vessel ready to be filled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And he smacked the first red trode sticker to the moaning skinhead\u2019s forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dominic felt under the weather. The wine tasting his wife took him to was in a bayside patio, and by the date\u2019s end he was both tipsy and shivering. Worse yet, on his way home he received a message from Kit to urgently come online and brain into his departed wife\u2019s comset, a passcode attached. That was rude and weird.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Luckily, Jess was a lightweight, so Dom kissed her good night, made himself some Earl Gray and ventured into the basement. There, he donned his WHO-provided mindcasting comset \u2013 a sleek transparent helmet decorated with Viking horns \u2013 and casually turned on his gaming machine. Dom liked playing city-builders when riding Kit across the Siberian wilderness. Living in a simple man\u2019s mind was not as exciting as commercials would make you believe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After a longer-than-usual tremor of warm-up signals, something flickered in Dom\u2019s vision, like a descending curtain of a daydream. The comset he was calling was probably a downmarket model, grainier and slower than Kit\u2019s usual piece, not fit for any complex work. Dom was going to ask \u201cMr. Whale\u201d how his family weekend was going and maybe discuss some invoicing shenanigans. What else could he possibly–<\/p>\n\n\n\n Panting. Feral rage. Freezing cold. Stinging pain in the right hip. Swollen, numb face. And agony of separation \u2013 from who?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Kit\u2019s mindstream hit Dominic like a whip. The Kiwi flailed, knocking the tea onto the fuzzy carpet. \u201cBRO, WHAT\u2019S HAPPENING!?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-woe \u2013 need help-\u201d Kit\u2019s thoughts were militarily snappy and forceful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Through the Russian\u2019s eyes, Dom saw the sprawling river valley. Kit was in a spotting booth atop his tundra crawler, a tuft-covered tablet in one hand and something scorching hot in another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-my girl needs help \u2013 they\u2019re riding her to death-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWHO RIDES WHO?\u201d Dominic was so agitated, he was mumbling his projected thoughts out loud. Upstairs, Jess complained in her sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The hot object in Kit\u2019s hand was a large Styrofoam cup of ramen, the broth dripping over the man\u2019s red hands. The Russian leaned over the Dragunov<\/em> rifle he\u2019d left in the spotting booth on Friday, encased in ice. His fingers shaking, Kit poured the broth, along with the hot noodles, over that mini-glacier. He kicked the melting icicle twice, before finally cracking the ice and yanking the rifle free.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWHAT DO YOU NEED FROM ME, BRO?\u201d Dom\u2019s socks were now wet from the tea, but he stayed in his seat, gripping the elbow rests.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-before i escaped i sent you a link \u2013 a tunnel for the lunohod<\/em>\u2019s controllers-\u201d Kit was now filling the large front pocket of his bib pants with sleep darts. \u201c-nadya set it up for me \u2013 i didn\u2019t think i\u2019d ever need it \u2013 login and password is my nickname-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dom pulled out of the mindstream, rubbed his sweating face, and quickly checked the messenger on his computer. A click on the link opened a remote desktop. The same interface Dom usually saw on Kit\u2019s tablet was now taking up his PC screen. All buttons had Russian words spelled in Latin characters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dom slapped his comset back on. \u201cYOU WANT ME TO CONTROL THE CRAWLER FOR YOU?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c-override the interior settings – be my guardian angel dominic-\u201d Kit had one sleep dart cracked open. \u201c-and i\u2019ll try to be one for nadya-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Russian carefully emptied most of the tranquilizer capsule, before fixing it closed and placing the special dart in a side pocket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n From all the hunting trips with batya<\/em>, Nadya was used to staying still, her scoped rifle tracing the wild game. But her current task \u2013 of holding the sauna door at gunpoint against a breakout by the survivors \u2013 was making her neck shake from tension. She had already wetted her pants twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vova\u2019s handler still worked on hosting the third rider inside the skinhead bodyguard, when the crawler started acting up. The light in the living quarters changed the ambiance to soft green. The central heating abruptly switched for a chill breeze, before dying off completely. As the sauna cooled, its door got covered in condensation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At last, the skinhead stopped moaning and got up with the same robotic precision that uncle Fazil had earlier. His left eye was completely covered by a massive swelling, and an ear was missing, painting a hemisphere of messy trodework brown-red.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tattoos dancing on his muscular back, the new puppet approached the sauna door with a crowbar, a handgun behind his belt. Nadya and Vova both took positions at both sides of the door, assault rifles at the ready. Nadya felt her lips purse against her will \u2013 the rider muffling all the noise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The breach started with no warning, no tactical gestures. Their Cantonese handlers must\u2019ve been coordinating offline between themselves. With a heave, the skinhead discharged several pistol rounds at the lock, before dropping the gun and violently prying the door open with the crowbar. Over his head, Vova lifted his AK-12 and fired several rounds into the gap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A woman cried out inside in a short, broken kind of way. Then came the returning fire, two pistol shots grating the door and plopping into the skinhead\u2019s torso. Still, the crowbar kept on working, the man\u2019s muscular shoulders gleaming with sweat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suddenly, the ambient lighting went out completely. Inside the sauna, shower water started running from all showerheads at once. Boiling hot, if Nadya could guess by the Nozzle\u2019s scream and by how quickly the door gap started steaming again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The gunfire stopped, both sides blinded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The silence didn\u2019t last. Ukrainian techno started playing from the central speakers. Nothing could surprise Nadya anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The skinhead was gargling blood with every heaving breath, the arterial blood, black in the semi-darkness, gushing rhythmically from each entry wound. He leaned backward like a boxer in a knockdown, about to pass out from a shock, but the devil riding him whipped his limbs into one last rush of power.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At last, the door lock banged loose. The skinhead tried to push the door open, but some heavy, soft object blocked its way. \u201cThe dead mobster!<\/em>\u201d the skinhead yelled in Cantonese, before choking on his own blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Something metallic clanged out in the observation room, but Nadya\u2019s rider didn\u2019t let her check her peripherals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before the bullet-soaker collapsed, Vova yanked him away from the door by his comset trodes. \u201cQuicksilver!<\/em>\u201d Vova\u2019s rider commanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya didn\u2019t know what that meant \u2013 but her handler did. Her limbs came into action. She dropped her assault rifle. As Vova kept firing into the gap, she pushed the door ever so open, before squeezing through into the sauna, only a handgun with her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In a flash of Vova\u2019s gunfire, she briefly saw a barrel-chested, middle-aged man standing in the sweatroom\u2019s entrance, his human shield a skinny woman with a witch-hunt tattoo on her sternum. The man aimed his pistol at Nadya and pulled the trigger, the longest short moment in Nadya\u2019s life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before the barrel flash blinded her, a sudden tremor yanked the floor from under their feet. The missing bullets ricocheting, the entire crawler violently jerked forward. There were sounds of crashing furniture everywhere. Screaming \u2013 of Soplov and that pleasure woman he held. And two brief, loud bangs of a different gun in the banquet room. Batya<\/em>\u2019s Dragunov<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nadya found herself on the chopped tile floor, the hot water with a metallic smell of blood washing over her face. As the Lunohod<\/em> stopped, the limp body of the Saratovite warlord bumped into her, sliding in the puddle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For a second, no commands came. Her rider was lost, more than her. While he waited, Nadya fired her gun blindly at the steamroom entrance and dashed to the cover of the shattered, chipped Jacuzzi<\/em> hot tub, the water leaking through the cracks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still surrounded by darkness, Nadya heard rushed, wet steps on the tile floor. The Nozzle was dashing for the exit. This awakened her rider. Her shaking hands clutched the gun and aimed at the moving sound source.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suddenly, the lights came online, a throbbing nightclub sequence of pink, blue, and bright green.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the doorway, stood her dad, reloading his Dragunov<\/em>. At his feet, Vova was convulsing atop the skinhead\u2019s still body. Two large, megafauna sleep darts stuck out of Vova\u2019s camouflaged back like blooming flowers over the white snow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Nozzle dropped the pistol and froze just before batya<\/em>, thinking him another remote assassin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Batya<\/em> kicked Soplov in his beer belly, sending him flying away from the doorway. Nadya fired twice, only grazing the lucky Nozzle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She felt the fountain of rage deep inside \u2013 not her own, but her handler\u2019s. The inner force picked her off the floor and sent her limping for the banquet room. Her winter hunting gear was soaked and heavy, and she felt several trode stickers coming off under her wet ushanka<\/em> hat. Nadya\u2019s face felt free of the rider\u2019s control.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, the force kept her slogging after the escaping warlord. But first, her rider wanted to shoot her dad. As she pointed her pistol at batya<\/em> across the room, Nadya closed her eyes \u2013 and refused to open them. The force still squeezed the trigger, but the gunshots just ricocheted off the metal walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGo snack on some crushed glass, you sucker!\u201d she screamed. \u201cYou hear, you fucking imp inside me!?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Batya<\/em>\u2019s Dragunov<\/em> popped again, and something stabbed her thigh. Still, Nadya refused to open her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPEEL IT! NOW!\u201d The force inside her mind felt like a rabid dog gnawing on its cage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo your dirty job yourself, you maggot!\u201d she couldn\u2019t stop screaming. Maybe, now she\u2019d never stop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFINE. TUCKING LOOSE ENDS NOW,\u201d the voice said. \u201cSTUBBORN BITCH. WE ALMOST GOT HIM!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n With it, her arm, still obedient to her rider, lifted the handgun to her temple. Wincing, crying, Nadya didn\u2019t budge and kept her eyes closed. \u201cPapa<\/em>, I lov\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t finish. Her dad tackled her to the ground just before she pulled the trigger. Stunned and gasping for air, Nadya\u2019s body kept struggling against batya<\/em>\u2019s steel grip, pushing his hands away from the remaining trodework, poking the gun blindly and firing, firing, firing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The techno music stopped playing. Nadya felt batya<\/em>\u2019s chapped lips on her forehead. She realized her body had been feeling pleasantly numb for the past few seconds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before she fell asleep, Nadya heard her dad sing her a lullaby. Or was he singing in English?<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dominic\u2019s fingers were shaking, and his jaw hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked at Kit\u2019s daughter through her dad\u2019s eyes. He felt his calloused fingers brushing her bloodied, wet hair. She wasn\u2019t a pretty girl, but in Kit\u2019s eyes, she might as well be Princess Diana herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Kit asked Dom to help him with an appropriate song, Dom panicked and started belting Imagine<\/em> by John Lennon. Jess swore upstairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Back on the crawler\u2019s roof, he\u2019d thought even the reduced dosage would kill Nadya. But now, with the girl breathing healthily in her dad\u2019s arms, Dom sensed a happy ending. He was teary-eyed. The damn Russian wrestled with it for a second, but eventually Kit, too, started sobbing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When the dad\u2019s crying turned ugly, Dominic gave him some privacy and tapped out of the comset.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His temples were still throbbing with the brainwave aftersignal. Dom was about to go outside \u2013 mostly just to scream at the moon like a madman, but also to go get utterly wasted \u2013 when he remembered about one bit of unfinished business.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He quickly scanned through his crawler controls. His desktop was a chessboard of multiple screens and dashboards by now, the entire Lunohod<\/em> mapped out in a two-dimensional mess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere\u2019s our Mr. Nozzle?\u201d Dom mumbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned on the lights across all compartments. Set the AC to a comfortable twenty four degrees. Stopped the shower water. Unlike his first, awkward attempts to tame the beast, this pass was almost effortless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At last, Dom decided to check the cargo compartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There, in the red light of a single neon lamp, something was steaming under the tarp covering the dead calf. Dom turned on the normal lighting and muttered, \u201cwakie-wakie\u201d<\/em> into the microphone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And there he was. Mr. Nozzle himself, climbing from his hideout, butt-naked and shivering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With a grin, Dominic plugged himself back into Kit\u2019s slipstream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMY FRIEND. NEVER MIND OUR PITHOVIRUS MISSION,\u201d he projected into the Russian. \u201cWE HAVE A PERFECT TEST SUBJECT NOW.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the cargo compartment screen, the burly man was dancing to warm up now. He still had a strand of the woolly rhino hair stuck to his back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019M CALLING MY BIG CHEESE ABOUT SOPLOV\u2019S EXTRACTION.\u201d Dominic looked at Nadya drooling into her dad\u2019s sweater and added, \u201cAND I\u2019LL MAKE SURE THE EXTRACTORS SAVE TWO EMPTY SEATS FOR YOU. NIGHT NIGHT.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Born and raised in Eastern Siberia, Oleg started his writing quest when he came to the US to study fiction writing under the founder of the Story Workshop method John Schultz in Columbia College Chicago. Since then, he has won the Writers of the Future award with his science fiction story Long Jump, as well as had several publications of his literary and historical short pieces. His story themes tend to explore the overlap of technology and human condition in extreme social settings, which allows him to reflect on his own youth in the 1990s Russia.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n When he doesn’t write, Oleg runs corporate as a technologist. He’s married and has two daughters. Find him at Chicago-based SF conventions (Capricon and Windycon) if you want to say hi.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The howl, a good half-minute long, caught Kit unprepared. He was leaning over the still…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":100043673,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-100043670","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100043670","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=100043670"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100043670\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":100043682,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/100043670\/revisions\/100043682"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/100043673"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=100043670"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=100043670"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.neondystopia.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=100043670"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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