02-23-2020, 06:57 PM
Lillian sighed gently. Save for her chin, her face was shadowed by the loose, fur-trimmed hood over her head, but in that shadow, Viktor Lih could see a smile.
“I rather thought,” he whispered, “that smiling was something you hadn’t planned on doing out here.”
“Dear boy,” she muttered, “let me have a moment of nostalgia in peace. It’s been a long time. I’d forgotten the flavor of this place.”
Lih paused. Whatever flavor the aging diplomat was detecting was entirely lost on him. As far as he was concerned, this particular time of year in Moscow smelled of baked goods leaking from the taiyaki stalls, and cooked meats, spices and musky perfumes, and a general humid, dusty odor of air that had been processed through the AC filters too many times.
“I don’t think I’m really getting the charm,” he decided.
Lillian rested a gloved hand on his arm. “It has a certain character, Vitya. You smell muggy filth, I breathe in the life, zest, the aroma of a deregulated, free trade zone. I smell the frontier, the challenge of the beyond. I smell a truly vigorous market where venturers can gather and do business away from government scrutiny.”
She glanced around at her younger companion, who was in plain clothes. “No offense,” she added.
“No taken,” he replied. “When were you last here?”
“Ages ago. But it hasn’t changed. I’d forgotten it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. Again, no offense.”
“Again,” said her cop companion, “none taken.”
They moved along the tents set up for street vendors to a stairwell leading up to the high line. Lih had to admit that what this place lacked in sophisticated smells, it more than made up for in visual impact. It had taken them ages to reach higher grounds through the crowds, but the view alone was worth the trip.
The view from the high line park was uncompromisingly strange. The sense of scale was terrifying. He was used to looking down on people from his 6 foot height, or from display screens. Now he stood on the very threshold of an elevated park, not even a high one, and could look around to see lights, yellow and tiny, glowed at pinprick windows in the darkness. Nearer at hand, vendors lay sheathed in their stalls, umbilically linked to the marketplace via the lit lanterns.
With the contrasting point of reference like Lenin’s statue in view, Lih’s mind balked a little at the dwarfing size of the festival, and by extension his city, and by further extension, the CCD.
And then, in turn, his tiny, inconsequential self.
Lillian ignored him. She was flicking through the displays projected to her wallet, manipulating the images with her gloved hand. She seemed preoccupied.
Every few minutes there was a brief flash of light. These emissions were just precursor flashes. Soon they would advance to fill the sky with blooms lasting hours. That was fireworks, when the people feasted and drank while the skies blazed.
He looked for Ivan, for the scarred man from Boda’s and the bar the other night. Nada.
“How is your search going?” she asked.
“It’s taking too much time,” Lih complained tersely.
Lillian chuckled. “What’s your problem? Got a hot date waiting?”
“Screw you, Lillian.”
Ah, banter. While Lih was always unfailingly polite and courteous to any strangers he encountered, he teased family and friends. But, Lillian considered, “screw you” lacked a great deal of the expected Lih finesse.
“What’s up?”
He shrugged and glanced at her. “Sorry,” he said.
“Nothing to be sorry for. You’re on edge.”
“I don’t know why it’s taking so long to find Ivan,” Lih sighed. “These fireworks aren’t helping. I still don’t know why we can’t just march into these tents and flash my badge and—“
“Look out there, Vitya Lih,” she pointed, indicating on the screen. The display image dissolved and changed. Now it showed an overview of the festival through several of the traffic cams. “Look at all the people gathered there. I see yakuza, rogue mercenaries, traders, and that?” She leaned over and tapped a few keys, swinging the image around to show more of the street itself. “They’re making a dramatic entrance. Arriving in style. Mysterious! What’s that? And that? And that over there, that big pavilion? That’s a quarter mile away, to give you some sense of scale. A fair number of people here care less for your authority… That’s what this outlandish festival means.” Lillian said.
“Maybe,” Lih said.
“You CCD bunch are only tolerated visitors here. Rumors have it that once in a while a visitor would go missing, lost forever after taking a wrong turn somewhere, or perhaps taken by the spirit of the festival as a payment.”
“The stuff you know.” Lih mocked.
“You wouldn’t believe.” Lillian replied.
“I rather thought,” he whispered, “that smiling was something you hadn’t planned on doing out here.”
“Dear boy,” she muttered, “let me have a moment of nostalgia in peace. It’s been a long time. I’d forgotten the flavor of this place.”
Lih paused. Whatever flavor the aging diplomat was detecting was entirely lost on him. As far as he was concerned, this particular time of year in Moscow smelled of baked goods leaking from the taiyaki stalls, and cooked meats, spices and musky perfumes, and a general humid, dusty odor of air that had been processed through the AC filters too many times.
“I don’t think I’m really getting the charm,” he decided.
Lillian rested a gloved hand on his arm. “It has a certain character, Vitya. You smell muggy filth, I breathe in the life, zest, the aroma of a deregulated, free trade zone. I smell the frontier, the challenge of the beyond. I smell a truly vigorous market where venturers can gather and do business away from government scrutiny.”
She glanced around at her younger companion, who was in plain clothes. “No offense,” she added.
“No taken,” he replied. “When were you last here?”
“Ages ago. But it hasn’t changed. I’d forgotten it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. Again, no offense.”
“Again,” said her cop companion, “none taken.”
They moved along the tents set up for street vendors to a stairwell leading up to the high line. Lih had to admit that what this place lacked in sophisticated smells, it more than made up for in visual impact. It had taken them ages to reach higher grounds through the crowds, but the view alone was worth the trip.
The view from the high line park was uncompromisingly strange. The sense of scale was terrifying. He was used to looking down on people from his 6 foot height, or from display screens. Now he stood on the very threshold of an elevated park, not even a high one, and could look around to see lights, yellow and tiny, glowed at pinprick windows in the darkness. Nearer at hand, vendors lay sheathed in their stalls, umbilically linked to the marketplace via the lit lanterns.
With the contrasting point of reference like Lenin’s statue in view, Lih’s mind balked a little at the dwarfing size of the festival, and by extension his city, and by further extension, the CCD.
And then, in turn, his tiny, inconsequential self.
Lillian ignored him. She was flicking through the displays projected to her wallet, manipulating the images with her gloved hand. She seemed preoccupied.
Every few minutes there was a brief flash of light. These emissions were just precursor flashes. Soon they would advance to fill the sky with blooms lasting hours. That was fireworks, when the people feasted and drank while the skies blazed.
He looked for Ivan, for the scarred man from Boda’s and the bar the other night. Nada.
“How is your search going?” she asked.
“It’s taking too much time,” Lih complained tersely.
Lillian chuckled. “What’s your problem? Got a hot date waiting?”
“Screw you, Lillian.”
Ah, banter. While Lih was always unfailingly polite and courteous to any strangers he encountered, he teased family and friends. But, Lillian considered, “screw you” lacked a great deal of the expected Lih finesse.
“What’s up?”
He shrugged and glanced at her. “Sorry,” he said.
“Nothing to be sorry for. You’re on edge.”
“I don’t know why it’s taking so long to find Ivan,” Lih sighed. “These fireworks aren’t helping. I still don’t know why we can’t just march into these tents and flash my badge and—“
“Look out there, Vitya Lih,” she pointed, indicating on the screen. The display image dissolved and changed. Now it showed an overview of the festival through several of the traffic cams. “Look at all the people gathered there. I see yakuza, rogue mercenaries, traders, and that?” She leaned over and tapped a few keys, swinging the image around to show more of the street itself. “They’re making a dramatic entrance. Arriving in style. Mysterious! What’s that? And that? And that over there, that big pavilion? That’s a quarter mile away, to give you some sense of scale. A fair number of people here care less for your authority… That’s what this outlandish festival means.” Lillian said.
“Maybe,” Lih said.
“You CCD bunch are only tolerated visitors here. Rumors have it that once in a while a visitor would go missing, lost forever after taking a wrong turn somewhere, or perhaps taken by the spirit of the festival as a payment.”
“The stuff you know.” Lih mocked.
“You wouldn’t believe.” Lillian replied.
Viktor Lih
Officer of CCDPD
Officer of CCDPD