30. Petrov
PETROV
"It smells so good out here." Petrov tucked Anita's hand into the crook of his arm. "Cut grass and grilled meat. It makes me hungry."
Dimitri and Mattie walked ahead of Anita and him, arguing about whether to turn left or right at the fork, as if the whole village were not twenty-five minutes away in any direction and consulting the interactive map on their phones was too complicated.
Thankfully, Mattie ignored Dimitri's inflated confidence in his navigation ability and pulled out her phone.
"It's that way." She steered them to the right turn.
"You've just eaten," Anita said. "You can't be hungry again already."
"I can always eat a good steak, followed by a glass of good vodka."
"Just a glass?" Dimitri said without turning back to look at them. "It used to be at least half a bottle."
Petrov groaned. "After my enforced sobriety, I'm afraid my capacity is diminished." He shot Anita a mock glare. "I was told I was a free man in this beautiful village, but since I brought my jailer along, I can't be free."
She rolled her eyes. "So dramatic, Konstantin. I agreed to the bar tonight, so stop complaining."
"But I like complaining. It's my favorite pastime."
"I thought it was drinking," Dimitri said from the front.
When they reached the Hobbit, it lived up to its name. The bar was built into the hill, with a round wooden door and two round windows, both shuttered, possibly for the night or permanently.
The bar looked like a barrel sticking out of the hillside, and Petrov liked it immediately.
"This is my kind of place."
Dimitri pulled the door open for Mattie. "After you, my lady." He held it until they were all inside, then closed it behind him.
It didn't smell of booze inside like Petrov had expected, and there were no rowdy drunk patrons either.
Sparse lanterns hung from the wooden beams. The tables were made from barrels topped with rounds of polished wood, and the stools were made from smaller barrels or handmade from rough wood.
Behind the enormous bar stood a pretty young woman with a welcoming smile and mischief in her eyes.
He liked her immediately as well.
"Welcome," she said with a heavy Scottish accent. "You must be the new scientists. I was told to expect you yesterday."
"We were too tired after moving and settling in." Anita walked to the bar and offered the woman her hand. "I'm Anita. Doctor Petrov's partner."
"I'm Fenella." She shook Anita's hand. "I'm glad you're here, even if you're a bit early. We don't open until eight."
"We can come later," Dimitri offered.
Petrov wanted to strangle him. With salvation so close, he wouldn't let anything or anyone keep him away from his vodka.
"Nonsense," Fenella said. "It gives us a chance to get to know each other before the place gets crowded. First round's on me, and I warn you, I collect payment in gossip. New faces are currency in the village."
"Vodka, please," Petrov said. "No ice, no fruit, nothing floating in it."
"A purist." She took down a bottle without looking. "You'll find the Kra-ell good drinking companions."
"Are they good people?" he asked.
"They're excellent drinkers. They keep to themselves and don't make trouble, but their sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired."
As they sat at the bar, Anita surveyed the furniture while Petrov looked over at the lone man sitting in the back with his laptop open.
"A movie at home would have been nicer," Anita said. "We have homes now, and we haven't had a chance to enjoy them yet."
"You were outvoted three to one," Dimitri said.
"Democracy is overrated." She pursed her lips. "It's a ship of fools."
Petrov frowned at her. "You've read Plato's The Republic?"
She shrugged. "I haven't, but I knew someone who used to say that all the time."
"Did you read it?" Mattie asked Dimitri.
"A long time ago."
"Now I feel like the only one lacking education," Mattie said. "What's it about?"
Thankfully, Fenella set a glass of vodka in front of Petrov before launching into the philosophical discussion.
"That's because you are young, and schools don't teach the classics anymore.
What Anita quoted is an allegory about a ship's crew being swayed by whoever is loudest or most charismatic.
They rebel, imprison the only skilled navigator who can bring them safely home, and seize the helm, which leads them to drift aimlessly, squander their resources, and eventually crash into the rocks.
The idea is that democracies are not run by the best people for the job but by the loudest voices. "
Mattie nodded. "That's true, but it's still better than the alternatives. I'd rather live in a democracy than in any other form of government."
"As a former Soviet, I'll drink to that," Dimitri said. "What whiskey do you have here?"
Fenella grinned. "Any whiskey you can think of." She motioned at the display behind her. "Take your pick."
They had been given credit cards to use inside the village and to order things from outside it, and supposedly they had no limit, but Petrov didn't believe that. Why would the clan allow them to buy whatever they wanted? What if they bought cars and yachts?
"That one." Dimitri pointed at a light-colored bottle with a copper top.
"Good taste." Fenella reached for the bottle. "Ben Nevis 26-Year-Old 1998 Lady of the Glen." She poured him a glass, then turned to Mattie. "What about you?"
"Can I have a Whiskey Sour?" Mattie asked.
"Of course." Fenella turned to Anita. "And you?"
"A glass of wine. Whatever you recommend."
Once everyone had their drinks, Dimitri raised his glass. "To the new lab. It's not everything we dreamed of, but it works."
"You can say that again." Petrov drained the rest of the vodka and set the glass down with a thump. "I hate to say it, but our lab on the island was leagues above what we have here. It wasn't underground. It had windows, and there was room to move."
"And we were like rats under a magnifying glass," Dimitri added. "I'll take the dingy room they gave us in their underground and the freedom that comes with it over the proper lab we had on the island."
"Freedom." Petrov snorted. "We don't have freedom. We have the illusion of freedom."
"We have our own houses, though," Mattie said. "We can have families if we want to."
"I'll drink to that," Dimitri said.
As the bar filled up and Fenella's counter grew crowded, the four of them ordered another round and moved to a table in the back.
To the left, a big guy was trying to organize a sea shanty and failing for lack of recruits. Then someone said something about Fenella reading inanimate objects, and the entertainment portion of the night had begun.
She held a patron's car key to her forehead. "These keys have a secret to tell. Their owner sings when he's alone in his car. His favorite is The Phantom of the Opera, and he sings both the male and the female parts."
The bar erupted in cheers, and someone started a chant. "Sing! Sing! Sing!"
"I can't sing," the owner of the keys protested. "Everyone who ever heard me sing told me to stop."
The chant continued until the guy caved in and started singing the sea shanty the other guy had tried to organize.
He was just as bad as he had claimed to be, but as others joined in, it became tolerable.
Petrov appreciated the brilliance of Fenella's act. The fraud was honest because everyone was in on it, and she knew how to electrify her crowd.
On her next round, Fenella stopped at their table and held out her palm to Anita. "Give me something. You look like a skeptic, and skeptics are my favorite victims."
Anita drew a pin from her hair and handed it over to Fenella. "Do your worst."
Fenella pressed it to her forehead and closed her eyes. 'Oh, this pin has plans. It says its owner is about to plant vegetables in her backyard and feed half this village."
Anita's mouth opened, then closed. "How did you know?"
"She made it up," Mattie said. "That's the game."
"The pin doesn't lie," Fenella said solemnly, handing it back with a wink.
"I like her." Anita patted the stool beside her. "Come, sit with us for a bit and tell us about yourself and how you came up with your act."
That was that. From then on, every lull behind the bar ended with Fenella perched at their table, trading recipes with Anita as if they had known each other for years.
During one of those lulls, she waved over the guy with the laptop who had been there when they'd come in. "I want you to meet Din, my mate."
Din came over and pulled a stool to the table's edge. "The scientists," Din said.
"The mate," Petrov said.
"Din is a professor of archaeology," Fenella said. "Currently on sabbatical."
The guy didn't look like a scholar, but then these immortals had so much time on their hands that they could learn whatever they damned well pleased.
As Dimitri started asking Din about archaeology, Mattie turned to Fenella.
"Do you need help behind the bar or waiting tables?" She flexed her hand, the one that had been crushed and healed. "I need something to do, and I don't really care how much it pays. I just want to be around people and feel normal again."
"I could use some help on the weekends," Fenella said.
She didn't sound very convincing, which made Petrov think she was doing it to help Mattie, not because she really needed help in the bar.
He put a hand on Mattie's shoulder. "You didn't dream of serving beer when you got free, devochka."
"He's right," Dimitri said, turning to her. "You wanted to make films."
"It was just an idea for one silly movie.
" Mattie looked embarrassed. "A wedding heist, where the bride steals the groom's family diamonds during the ceremony.
It's a comedy." She shrugged. "It's just a silly dream.
I live in a hidden village that isn't on any map. Where exactly would I make films?"
Fenella leaned away and cast Mattie an appraising look. "There are opportunities in the village you might not be aware of. Have you heard of Perfect Match?"
Mattie shook her head. "What is that?"
"Virtual fantasy you can actually live in for a few hours.
The company has studios in most major cities now, and it's owned by people living in the clan.
You go in, lie down on something that looks like a fancy dentist's chair from space, and for a few hours, you live inside a story of your choosing that feels more real than real life.
While you're inside, you don't remember who you were before entering the virtual adventure.
You are whoever you choose to be. When you wake up, you remember everything.
" She braced a hip against the table. "We have two machines right here in the village for residents, and there are dozens of adventures you can enjoy, but there is a long waiting list, so if you want to try it, I suggest putting your names down as soon as you can. "
"What kind of adventures?" Anita asked.
"There are solo adventures, like skydiving, deep-sea diving, race car driving, escaping from a Russian prison in Siberia, and expeditions into the past or future, among others.
There are also couples' adventures, which you can do with your romantic partner or a friend, depending on the type of activity you are after.
In the outside world, it's mainly about hooking up with your perfect counterpart. That's why it's called Perfect Match."
Petrov's mind went into overdrive. "How does that work?"
"Artificial intelligence on steroids," Din said.
"And the surprising part is that the tech was invented by humans.
The immortals helped, but the original idea was conceived by two human engineers.
Before you go in, you have to fill out a massive questionnaire, and that alone is an education.
Then your answers are fed to the computer, and it builds a perfect adventure made to order based on your specifications.
If you do it to find your perfect match, it sifts through the large database of other applicants and finds you the most suitable play buddy. "
"Who watches the bodies while the minds are busy adventuring?" Petrov asked.
"A medical tech monitors each participant throughout the session," Fenella said.
"Nobody goes in without one." She turned to Mattie.
"Someone has to build those dream scenarios.
The worlds, the story, the way it all unfolds so it feels organic.
What is a scenario if not a film for an audience that lives inside it?
You wouldn't be directing one camera. You'd be directing all of them, plus the weather, the planets' orbits, and everything else.
The company moved one of its development departments to the village, and I know two lovely ladies on the team, Margo and Frankie.
You can get in touch with them to see if they have openings. "
Mattie's eyes were shining with excitement. "Where do I find them?"
"They're on the village contact list, like everyone else."
Mattie's face fell. "They'd want experience, and I don't have any."
"According to them, they didn't have experience before joining the team either. I think they're more on the user interface side than the creative, but I'm sure they know who to refer you to."
Mattie pulled out her phone and started scrolling. "Found Frankie." She kept going. "And Margo." She stared at the screen. "What do I even write?"
"Dear Margo or dear Frankie," Anita dictated. "I am a filmmaker who just moved to the village and have many exciting ideas for Perfect Match adventures. Can we meet to talk about them?"
"I can't write that. I'm not a filmmaker."
"You are a filmmaker in the making," Anita said. "Write it."
"Not now." Mattie chickened out and slipped the phone back into her pocket. "I need to figure out exactly what I want to say to them and how."
"As you wish." Anita turned to Fenella. "I would love to invite you and Din to dinner at our house this Saturday. Are you free?"
Fenella scrunched her nose. "My shift starts at six p.m., so it will have to be an early dinner or lunch."
"Lunch it is, then."
"Bring vodka," Petrov murmured.
Fenella laughed. "I will."