M.O.T.H.E.R.

M.O.T.H.E.R.

Smashwords edition, 2013

MICHAEL J BERTOLINI

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, in entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Michael J Bertolini

SMASHWORDS FIRST EDITION

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(website) www.michaeljbertolini.com

(twitter) @mbertolini

INSTITUT KOSMICHESKIKH ISSELDOVANITY

The stars were visible, making it a perfect opportunity to have a smoke. This close to the Christmas Holiday, Desya was thankful. Desya had few sins to worry about now; he’d been talked into sobriety by his brother Aleksandr. That was fine with Desya, his drinking had gotten him in trouble with his government employer before and he wasn’t willing to lose this job. It was a shit job; but he didn’t want to lose it. Ever since the last war, jobs were scarce and Desya was lucky to have anything. Considering his troublesome level of education, Aleksandr had to pull a lot of strings to get Desya into the IKI. Aleksandr was working in the Russko-Amerikanskiy Ofis Ob"yedineniya. It was the department that handled relations with the American government.

Desya spit in the snow. Every time he thought about the Americans, his stomach began to ache. It was those damned Americans that turned the world into the Hell it had become. The Americans had started the war in their never-ending need for natural resources; forcing countries like Russia to support their allies against the Americans. The Europeans avoided the conflict for the most part; few supporting the Russians while the rest deemed themselves neutral. The African countries would’ve stayed out of it; but many governments hired themselves out to foreign countries, the result was the near-total destruction of the African continent. The Japanese chose to help the Americans while the Chinese and Koreans attacked; hoping to catch the Americans off guard.

It was a mistake that resulted in nuclear catastrophe.

Those enemy countries that survived, like Russia, were taken over by the Americans. Africa had become a dead-zone, only recently repopulating, while China and Korea were obliterated by their own nuclear weapons. The Middle-East didn’t survive; they were already locked in conflict that ended when the Americans got what they wanted, before destroying the countries entirely.

Desya flicked his cigarette into the snow and walked back to the steel box that he worked in, huddling beneath his coat to fight off the cold. His breath puffed in his face, smelling of nicotine, as he entered the military base. The American group known as NASA was reinstated during the end of the war to put a defense system in space, Desya remembered little of it since he was a child when that occurred; now he worked for NASA as a research assistant.

He shrugged his coat off in the outer room before entering the core of the damp complex. Pipes and cables ran everywhere like the web of a stupid spider; crossing and awkward intervals that Desya avoided. The assistant working with him, an American named Tony, was watching a recording of a football game instead of the monitors that never changed. Desya glanced at the small TV; the game was decades old and the players retired, but Tony was obsessed with sports. Desya grunted, Tony raised his hand in a weak wave, and the Russia sat down at the desk. He could’ve looked at the monitors, but he was as bored as Tony. He picked up a magazine featuring nude women from around the living world and slowly began to unbutton his pants as he flipped through the pages. Tony heard the pages moving and looked over his shoulder with a twisted frown on his face.

Christ, Desya, Tony cursed, go into the bathroom if you’re going to jerk off! He turned back to the TV and shouted in glee when one of the teams scored a touchdown. It shouldn’t have been surprising; Tony had watched that same game over twenty times in the past few months. Still, he was excited every time as the clock ran down.

Desya pulled his hand out of his pants, grunted something obscene at Tony, and headed to the bathroom before his pants fell around his ankles. Inside the bathroom, which was mostly moldy tile housing a toilet and sink, was lit by a flickering fluorescent light. But it was enough to see by as Desya pulled his dick out and began stroking it as he looked at the various poses made by the naked women. He dreamed about fucking them, though he knew that the pictures were staged and most of the women weren’t nymphomaniacs. Still, his thoughts were enough to get him hard. Once he’d ejaculated on one of the pages, ruining several pictures in one explosion of white, Desya dropped the magazine beside the toilet as grabbed a few sheets of cheap toilet paper that was on a nearby roll. He cleaned himself off, buttoned his pants, and returned to the monitors.

Tony’s game was almost over yet he was watching as though he didn’t already know the outcome. Desya shook his head when he looked at the screen.

Patriots beat the Lions, 28-7. Desya said.

Fuck you, Desya! Tony snapped without looking. Desya shrugged and walked back to his seat. He sat down and put his legs up on the edge of the desk; preparing to fall asleep. His eyes had just closed when a buzzer went off. Desya’s eyes snapped open as he and Tony looked at a flashing red light that had never been illuminated before. The buzzing came from a speaker beside the light.

Chto proskhodit? Desya mumbled.

Desya, speak English. Tony said with his eye fixated on the flashing light.

What’s going on? Desya asked, doing as Tony requested. He knew that he was obligated to speak in English when in the presence of any American; but sometimes it was impossible to resist his native language.

Fuck if I know, Tony said softly, have you ever seen that light before? Desya shook his head.

I didn’t even know it was there. Desya admitted. He would’ve felt stupid if Tony hadn’t been as ignorant. Desya picked up a nearby red phone. He didn’t even have to press any buttons; the phone rang immediately. It was answered after only a few rings.

What? The voice sounded angry. Desya wasn’t surprised; it was 2 in the morning and the lead researcher was a typically angry man.

Sir, Desya didn’t have to identify himself since he was the only Russian on the base and he had a thick accent, we’re picking something up. Desya waited for a response but none came. There was a thud sound and the line went dead. Desya put the phone back; the researcher would arrive in minutes.

The lead researcher was an American that only ever used his last name; Baker. Desya sat in silence as several researchers entered the base; each showing the signs of exhaustion. Baker began giving orders as soon as everyone had gotten to their stations. Tony was forced to move from his desk by a British woman with red hair that Desya considered raping.

Get M.O.T.H.E.R. online; open a line to Houston, Baker barked, and get confirmation on the unidentified signal. His order was carried out by a pudgy man with glasses as brown