Twenty-Nine Cozy Bears

01

"Silence gives consent."

– Russian Proverb

Moscow, Russia

The small digital clock display at the bottom of the dim computer console flashed twice in bright ultra-hazard green against the black and dark theme, then faded away as if it knew its lot in life was to be accurate, precise and ignored.

The man's eyes flicked down to the time display, then he cursed under his breath. There was always one more thing hanging, undone; always a piece left flapping in the wind. Never enough time to complete — not as it should be completed. There was always time to rush it up, to make do, to ignore and push ahead. Frustration. It curled tight around his balls.

The man closed his eyes, and leaned back from the computer screen. Light, no, not just light but sunlight glowed out of the edges around the thick curtained windows. Why did he live like a vampire when any slight observance could see how much his flesh needed that pure natural light?

Then a pair of hands reached out, took hold of the curtains and yanked them back. Sunlight blazed into the large bedroom. The man growled, biting back a yelp.

Alek Petrov, the man's flat mate, turned to him, and said, "Oh good, you are awake. We are in motion. This morning has turned. We can not be late."

"What makes this morning so Pakhant, and so irreverent that it must be treated better?" the man queried from behind his splayed, embittered hands held up with the misguided self belief that he could block the sun.

His teammate tuned and in a tone with no jest and an expression with no guile, said, "Because he will be waiting for us."

There was no need to divulge by name who 'he' was. It was clear by the weight of the word how high a position came stepping down to inspect them. "No shit?" The President wished to meet with them.

"Нет. No shit. He is on his way now. It is only twenty minutes from the Kremlin office. We need to go."

The man's mind slugged from one confused purpose to another, without a router to guide the neural net. His brain felt tossed out, on the surface of things, bobbing in an unresponsive way. Adrift. Derelict.

His obsessiveness had ridden him like a horse, all night it drove him through logic bombs and entangled loops. The sad, and crazy thing ... the whole idea amounted to nothing but vaporware. The science wasn't there. Someday, yes, but not today. And yet it drove him with 'what ifs' and 'would not this solve that' flashes. If he ignored them they just piled up. Except it did not matter. All of the fixes and ideas could be right — all true to the mark, and still it would not work. Not in any meaningful way.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Code, and glyphs flowed in a bejeweled passion behind his lids — like fuzzy D65 burns — after-images from starring too long into the abyss of the monitor..

"We are not forfeit for an hour," the man protested, but did so as he stood up and strode toward the closet for his fresh uniform. The high vaulted ceiling painted with infants running around a garden echoed his boots on the tile floor. Not like the Italians angelic babies. These were Russian infants, they possessed intent.

Alek coughed into his hand to hide his grin, then said "Do be sure to tell him — to explain when we arrive on time — twenty minutes after he has been there — be sure to explain so an unfortunate slight does not fester."

The way Alek said that, the way he mixed and wove the sarcasm with the subtle tones of understatement — did not make it sound good. No, that did not sound ideal.

A thought struck him. "It might be only bad because of the sanguine way you made it sound." the man said, then he laughed, not being able to maintain the state of shock any longer. Awe he could maintain but not expressed in low, solemn funeral vowels. He could be ambushed, sure, like anyone. Who among the mere mortal population could say they were immune to chance or surprise? No one believes the bad is not coming. But after the jolt, after that adrenalin hit, after the bad said boo, how long must he tremble?

This reaction, the man knew to be Obucheniye -- Training -- And he was fond of that knowledge.

Besides. he was only the president of the county. Many countries had them. Even the US had one. For now, anyway. Since the man worked for him, directly, it was natural that the president would be seen now and again, on various days.

Only, he had been here for almost two years and not once had he stood in the same building as the leader. Not once.