Terraplane

ALSO BY JACK WOMACK

AMBIENT

HEATHERN

ELVISSEY

RANDOM ACTS OF

SENSELESS VIOLENCE

LET'S PUT THE FUTURE
BEHIND US

A N O V E L B Y

JACK WOMACK

F O R
C A R O L I N E,
F 0 R E V E R

"A 'T'OAST;" SAID OUR I IOSI' AND CON'IAC'1; SKURAI'OV. LIKE MOST
of his countryfolk he flashed steel teeth, and resembled a car's grille
when he smiled. He'd treated us to the Brotherhood of Money
restaurant on Gorki Street. In Moscow restaurants the first decor
systems noticed, once eyes unblinded beneath overhead flood's
glare, were the enormous wallpapered ads. From each the longrotted leader glowered at his descendants as they chowed. In
twelvecolor holograph the Big Boy modeled furs, guzzled kvas,
smirked at his reflection in freshly waxed Lenin, patted puppies'
heads, spun the wheels of Hungarian sportsters and proffered tubes
of holistic nostrums. If his icon was on it, Russians bought it.
Stalin sold everything from laser printers to pantyhose. "To great
general-"

"Spassebo. Retired general," I reminded. Retired, with reason.
Twenty-seven army years proved overmuch. In business was no less
danger but the pay was twice tripled.

"Of course."

Marx's and Lenin's dead pans were found, too: in the Buros, on
apparatchiks' desks, in the wallets of workers for the Ministry of
History. That team couldn't leg it like the Big Boy when it came to
pumping profits. BBDS & S, Dryco's ad arm, discovered this
through countrycrossed demoteering analysis done for Krasnaya while Russian-backed Saharan forces assaulted a tenth, final time
American-supplied Zairian troops. We sustained a personnel
realignment of 275,000 in that entanglement-by chance, the
same number of people who were surveyed. Didn't matter; the
casualties would have never spent like the survivors.

"To great retired general, Robert Luther Biggerstaff," Skuratov
continued, hoisting his complimentary glass of mineral water. I
raised mine, examining it against the light; saw it unsullied clear,
as in a stream, on a field nonbattle betrammeled.

"Na zdorovye," I said.

"Das vydanya," said Jake, for whom one lingua sufficed. I
wondered how Skuratov saw my associate. Jake's first impression
was glacierlike; showing as something immeasurably cold which
crushed all before it. Skuratov smiled, hearing the error. Jake knew
why he smiled. I activated the minicam sewn into my jacket,
rolling the tape. Our host and guide drummed fingertips against
the crimson tablecloth with a five/four beat, Morsing the code.

OVERHEAD CAM ANGLE DESTABILIZED. SIIOOT.

"A young man still," he said. "Thirty when generalship conferred, yes?"

"Thirty-five," I said. Generalship conferred unwanted, lived
with thereafter. "I lucked."

"Turnover rate in your army gloriously high at the time if memory serves true. We know great men take their place in history with
little need of luck, even in America where you negritanski suffer
such difficulties-"

"Black." Suffered little; my family held money bushelsful before
the collapse. Joining the army was the sole method to thrive and
prosper further at the time, and I joined as a second lieutenant.
"Like Pushkin," I added. He drained his glass and rephrased.