Chapter 7 Dimitri
DIMITRI
The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of air-conditioning, the stronger hum of the dehumidifier, and Petrov's snoring from the cot in the corner.
Dimitri should have become used to the constant background noise by now, but it was almost as oppressive as the heat and humidity outside the lab building. Almost, but not quite. And to think that he'd dreamt of living on a tropical island.
It was the stress. That's why everything was so irritating.
Working on compounds that might free his mind from Dave's compulsion while surveillance cameras followed his every move was nerve-wracking.
He could always claim that he was developing something for Dave, and neither Losham nor the hive mind of Dave knew enough about chemistry to challenge him, but it was still risky.
The stakes out here were much higher than back home.
Back there, the punishment for insubordination was Siberia. Here it was execution.
The mushroom extract sitting in a small vial to his left was the fourth iteration of the formula, refined after days of trial and error.
The mushrooms were supposed to open his mind to alternative channels of perception that Dave wouldn't know how to access, and the stimulant compound he'd synthesized from readily available precursors was designed to counteract the hallucinogenic effects so he could think clearly.
The trick was to achieve the right balance. Too much mushroom extract and he'd be useless, lost in the world of hallucinations. But too much stimulant would make his heart race and his hands shake, and he would be useless as well, just for a different reason.
Thankfully, he was young and healthy, so he didn't need to worry about it causing a heart attack, but if he also wanted to free Petrov, he would need to be careful.
Dave's compulsion forced him to work on improving the enhancement drugs, which would make the eight stronger and more resilient. But the better the drugs were, the more powerful Dave's compulsion became.
Dimitri was forced to forge the chains that bound him, with every successful formula making those chains tighter.
It was a classic example of a Catch-22.
The one loophole he'd discovered so far was that the compulsion was result-oriented and required precise phrasing, like them not sabotaging anything, not talking about their work with anyone other than Losham and Dave, and not straying beyond a certain perimeter, which made it impossible for them to reach the docks and try to escape.
Other than that, as long as he and Petrov continued to improve the formula, Dave and Losham didn't care what they did once their workday was done. That's how they could spend their evenings in the bar, and how Petrov could spend most of his nights at the brothel.
Dimitri had also realized that wording mattered in compulsion, and precision meant limitations. There were gaps and loopholes he could exploit as long as he was smart about it, but the surveillance cameras made things more difficult.
With that in mind, Dimitri turned sideways as he drew the combined solution into a clean syringe, putting his back to one camera while hiding what he was doing behind an equipment rack from another.
It was a smaller dose than he'd used in the last tests, and hopefully, it would prove to be the sweet spot.
He found a vein, injected, and braced for the effects.
The compound worked fast.
The familiar fog descended first, which was the mushroom extract doing its work, but this time, instead of the disorientation, he felt the stimulant kick in.
Sharp, sudden, and almost painful clarity.
He could feel the pressure at the edges of his thoughts, a subtle insistence that he should focus on the enhancement drugs, but it felt distant. Manageable. Like hearing someone talking from another room instead of having them directly at his ear.
His heart rate increased, his hands developed a faint tremor, but his mind was almost his own.
For the first time in days, his thoughts didn't have to navigate around invisible barriers. He could think about escape even if it seemed impossible. At least he could embrace the concept without developing a debilitating headache.
"It's progress," he murmured.
"Wha'?" Petrov's slurred voice came from the cot. "What you say?"
Dimitri looked over at his mentor, who was struggling to sit up, his hair wild, his eyes bloodshot. The man had passed out hours ago after consuming what was the last of his personal vodka stash.
"Nothing," Dimitri said. "I was just talking to myself."
"Must be a very stimulating conversation." Petrov rubbed his face with both hands. "What time is it?"
"Nearly seven."
"In the evening?" Petrov squinted at the windows, which showed the tropical dusk settling over the island. "How long was I asleep?"
"Two hours."
"Feels like five minutes." Petrov swung his legs off the cot and stood, swaying slightly. "I'm sobering up, and I have no more vodka. Let's go to the bar."
Excitement bubbled in Dimitri's chest at the prospect of seeing Mattie again, but since he'd just injected himself with a combination of a hallucinogenic and a stimulant, he didn't trust his responses.
"Let me just clean up here first."
He disposed of the syringe, labeled and stored his compounds, and made notes in his research journal that looked like preliminary work on new enhancement drugs but were actually coded documentation of his personal formula.
In a way, it was a loophole. Dave's compulsion prevented Dimitri from neglecting or sabotaging the work, but it didn't specify what other research he could pursue as long as the main objectives were met.
"Come on." Petrov stood at the door. "It's not like we have to pass an inspection. No one cares if this place is a mess."
"I care." Dimitri wiped the workbench. "A clean and organized workspace contributes to productivity."
"Yeah, yeah." Petrov pushed the door open. "Let's go."
They walked through the humid evening air toward the hotel, past buildings that were still being repaired from the uprising that had torn through the island.
Dimitri had never gotten the full story, but he knew that it had been the enhanced soldiers who had led the rebellion, and most of them had been eliminated.
Only the eight who had become Dave remained, and that had been a mistake.
Lord Navuh should have cut his losses and eliminated them as well.
It was very likely that they had killed him, and Losham was covering it up to maintain order on the island. That was a much more logical explanation than the one Losham was providing about Navuh working from the harem.
When they entered the bar, Dimitri noted that it was a little busier than it had been the previous night, and as he scanned the room, he wasn't cataloging faces and positions as he usually did. He was looking for Mattie.
He found her carrying a tray of drinks to a table in the back, moving carefully and favoring her left leg.
She was so beautiful, and he wasn't the only one who thought so.
The immortals were openly leering at her, and he wanted to punch each of them in the face to erase those sleazy expressions from their annoyingly handsome faces.
It was a fantasy, a daydream.
He was human, and they were immortal, and they could squash him like a bug. The only advantage he had over them was his brain and what he could cook up in his laboratory.
Well, it wasn't his, it was theirs, but he knew what he was doing in there, and they were clueless. Perhaps he could develop a compound to neutralize immortals. Not to kill them, but to cause them severe pain. A neurotoxin shouldn't be too difficult to make.
Mattie handled them just fine though, plastering a fake smile on her face and scuttling away to the next table, but when she saw him, the smile she gave him was the real deal.
She looked happy to see him.
The warmth spreading through Dimitri had nothing to do with the compounds he had injected himself with earlier.
Petrov followed his gaze. "The pretty waitress likes you. Just look at that smile. I forgot what it was like to have a girl smile at me like that." He sighed. "Only my Irena ever looked at me with such fondness, so I married her."
His wife had died a long time ago, which probably correlated with him developing this insane drinking habit.
He was trying to drown his grief in vodka and visits to the brothel.
"She smiles at all her customers."
"Pftt." Petrov waved a hand. "I'm an old drunk, but I still remember what a smile like that means." He steered them toward their usual table. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing."
"Coward." Petrov grinned. "You are young, brilliant, and handsome, and yet you are terrified of asking a pretty girl out on a date."
Dimitri snorted. "A date? Here? Have you forgotten where we are?"
"I did not forget, my young apprentice." Petrov leaned closer, his vodka breath enough to fell a horse. "Love finds a way."
"Love." Dimitri chuckled. "You must be drunker than usual."
"Not drunk enough." Petrov lifted his hand and signaled for Mattie to come over.
She finished taking an order at another table and then walked over to theirs. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said. "The usual?"
"Yes. Vodka for me," Petrov said. "Double, and please keep them coming."
"Whiskey," Dimitri said. "The Yamazaki, please. If you still have it."
"We do." Her eyes met his and lingered for a moment. "I'll be right back with your drinks."
As she walked away, Petrov leaned across the table with a knowing look. "See? She even remembers what we drink. She paid attention."
"It's her job to remember."
"It's personal interest." Petrov sat back, looking pleased with himself. "I might not look it, but I know a thing or two about women."
Dimitri thought about Petrov's frequent visits to the brothel and decided not to comment.
Mattie returned with their drinks, and as she placed Dimitri's glass in front of him, he reached for it, and their fingers brushed. The contact sent a jolt through him that was entirely unexpected.
"Busy night?" he asked, just to keep her at the table for a little longer.
"Not too bad." She glanced around the crowded bar. "Manageable."
He glared at the immortals who were still leering. "Are they giving you any trouble?"
"I know how to handle them."
He sincerely doubted that. The immortal soldiers were the elite of this island, and they felt entitled. Combined with their complete lack of respect for women, it was a recipe for abuse. If they decided to drag Mattie behind a bush and have their way with her, no one would stop them.
Talk about feeling useless and helpless. He wouldn't be able to even help her.
The thought sent a wave of rage that burned through the mushrooms' relaxing effects. He really needed to develop some deadly compounds and carry several syringes with him at all times.
"Do you get breaks, Mattie?" Petrov asked out of nowhere.
"Short ones," she said. "Why?"
Petrov looked at Dimitri and winked. "Just asking for my young friend here who is too shy to do it himself."
"I'm going to strangle you in your sleep," Dimitri hissed in Russian. "After I pour all of your vodka into the toilet."
Petrov lifted his arms in the air. "So violent. I was just trying to help."
Mattie blushed, smiled, and then moved to another table.
Petrov burst out laughing. "You're terrible at this. How did you ever manage to have a girlfriend?"
Dimitri had never been a ladies' man, and his last serious relationship had been at the university.
"I haven't had one in a long time. I was in a gulag for the past two years, remember?"
"Well, you've got an opportunity now." Petrov raised his glass. "The question is whether you're brave enough to go for it."
It wasn't a question of bravery. If he had met Mattie in a bar in Sydney, he would have asked her out in a heartbeat, and given the way she looked at him, there was a good chance she would have said yes.
But they weren't in Sydney or in Moskva.
They were in the land of immortal barbarians, and normal rules of conduct didn't apply here.
The last thing he wanted was to put Mattie in even greater danger than she was already in.
Over the next hour, Petrov kept drinking and growing louder and more jovial with each glass, while Dimitri nursed his whiskey, hyperaware of Mattie's presence.
"Well, I'm out." Petrov stood, swaying only slightly. "I have an appointment with the lovely Anita." He clapped Dimitri on the shoulder. "I'm not going to offer you to join me because I know you want to stay and pine after the beautiful Australian. Good luck, my friend."
He wove his way toward the exit, leaving Dimitri alone at the table.
When Mattie came to collect Petrov's glass, Dimitri made his decision.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
She paused. "You can ask, but I can't promise I'll answer."
"Are you allowed to go on dates? I mean, is that something you're permitted to do, or..." He trailed off, suddenly aware of how absurd that sounded. They were both captives. What kind of a date could they possibly have on this island?
Mattie stared at him, her expression frozen somewhere between surprise, confusion, and indecision.
Silence stretched between them.
"It's okay," he said. "I understand if you can't, or if you don't want to. I shouldn't have asked."
"No," Mattie interrupted. "It wasn't. I just..." She glanced around the bar, checking for listeners, then looked back at him. "Let me think about it."
"Of course. Take all the time you need." Dimitri was already regretting the question, already imagining the awkwardness of future encounters, already cataloging all the ways this was making her uncomfortable.