1. Re-Entry

Sheremetyevo, Moscow Russia 09th October. 2076. 07.32 Hrs. - Anders and his two Approxima companions, Jannik and Stefan, waited for their flight to the Ukraine in the business-class lounge at the terminal. The room was pleasant, the sparse placement of the leather seating contrasted diametrically with the crowded terminal halls, rows of uncomfortable, hard-backed, plastic seats and travellers frustrated with exhaustion. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the lounge looked out over the runways and the overcast sky with low-hanging cloud, while planes taxied across the tarmac.

Anders left the two Approxima discussing their business and plans for Kiev, and ventured over to the long food-buffet tables, with metal dishes heaped with international cuisines resting in their warming trays. Jannick and Stefan’s conversation was contrived for and aimed at the audio and visual surveillance systems in the lounge.

Their cover identities needed to be sufficient to allow them access to political offices in the Ukraine while not so prominent as to attract the close attention of the Russian or Ukrainian intelligence services. They could have easily gained access to the airport’s security and surveillance systems and left whatever record of their visit that they wished, but it was simpler to be who they were pretended.

Anders piled his plate high with thin slices of meat, pastries and desserts. He veered away from the stews on offer, at a self-serve buffet the more complex the meal, the greater the food poisoning risk. A lounge-hostess, dressed in a variation of the cabin-crew uniform, her hair and makeup impeccable, smirked at Anders’ child-like selection. Anders returned to the table with his assortment of food. His companions glanced as he sat and then continued their conversation without missing a beat. Anders picked idly from his plate while they talked. He wasn’t hungry; eating was a distraction from his heightened sense of awareness. The anticipation before a mission felt electric, details became magnified, and amidst the processed flavours of the smoked meats, buttery pastries and sweet he could taste the chemicals sandwiched between the natural tastes that would otherwise be missed.

Anders chewed. He’d carried out lethal assignments in the past but not like this - the assassination of a sitting President.

Anders reviewed the mission briefs and profiles of the President and the politics of the Ukraine, with particular attention to the friction over the Russian Ukrainian Annex, the RUKA. President Andreichenko rose to power on a wave of popular support that swelled with his promise of widespread economic and social reforms. Andreichenko’s ascent to power made other European nations anxious. Food security was an issue in the outside zones, and few states had planned far enough ahead for climatic change to invest in external agriculture to provide their people with a consistent supply of fresh produce when their ecosystems collapsed. The Middle East fared well through their strategic investments in the early part of the 21st century, while Germany and France used their technical and manufacturing prowess to maintain their economic dominance. The food-security crisis meant that farms and produce became highly sought after and quickly fell under foreign control. Democracies became scarce, and the threat of revolution simmered under the surface of most societies in the Outside Zone. The restraint that prevented these societies from implosion was not authority, but that the disorder in a revolution would likely reduce what little the population had to absolute zero.

In those dossiers, the Governance AIs portrayed the classic rise to power of a populist leader who came to power on unachievable promises of broad economic and social reforms. They had predicted that he would fail in the Presidential elections. They anticipated that should he be elected through a mass, populist-hysteria to parliament, his win would be marginal. Conservative opposition would stymie his reforms and he would lose the confidence of the electorate. They foresaw that a stagnant employment market and deteriorating relations with Russia over the RUKAR, and a factional government that would oppose radical social reforms to preserve the status quo, as unpleasant as it was. The analysis was void of evocative language that a person would use to press for an outcome favoured to their opinions, but that was not to say that it was without bias, or that the AI themselves were not capable of prejudice or dissemblance.

Their predictions did not eventuate. Anders considered what he had read. They not only failed to predict President Andreichenko’s victory, they anticipated the economic depression would continue, but it wouldn’t transform into a sudden-onset financial meltdown. Yet, it happened. They also didn’t see how close he would come to negotiating his way out of it. If Europe were a little more cohesive, he might have pulled it off.

Anders went back over the reports, this time honing in on the gaps that caused the AIs to fail in their understanding of Andreichenko’s election victory, and how he became a depolarised Ukrainian politics and society.

The deteriorating relationships over the RUKA were expected, as was the restriction on exports of Ukrainian minerals following the cancellation of the contract of sale for the Zaporozhye mine. Minor deviations from economic forecasts were anticipated in the Outside Zone as the economies had become more localised, but large-scale business even with concealed assets rarely broke from their projected curves.

In the 413 days since the Andreichenko Presidency took power, the achievements of the Government were remarkable, it wasn’t just that foreign direct investment was on the rise; it was the ‘who’, major corporations and market leaders, and the nationalisation of key-assets was planned to provide revenue for a universal basic income that would eliminate the 20% unemployment and chronic poverty, it was a fine-line play between the free-market and socialism, that looked like it might succeed.

That was until, the Donetsk Zvizda Conglomerate, a corporate behemoth that held operating contracts the public sector in critical infrastructure for several European imploded, sending economic shockwaves through the continent of which the Ukraine was at the epicentre. The financial bailout out of the Donetsk Zvizda far exceeded the capacity of the Ukrainian treasury, and with the opposition politics in Germany and Russia to the Andreichenko Government; no assistance from other states would be forthcoming. The mire of the accounts at Donetsk Zvizda was said by auditors to take anywhere from 3 to 5 years to untangle and to answer what had led to the downfall of the conglomerate.

Andreichenko, with his strong-character and charismatic determination, was a unifying figure. Parliament understood with the decimation of the economy that the country in its present form would be vulnerable to civil war and outside interference; a unified front was the only hope for the prevention of the total collapse of the country.

When trading opened on Monday, on the strength of the President’s and a unified parliament, the Ukrainian currency, the hvyrna had recovered 70% of the value it lost over the past 72 hours. Andreichenko’s government defied the expectations of financial analysts; the world outside of the Governance was starting to pay close attention to the radical reforms of the Ukraine.

There was no explanation for the rationale behind the assassination of the President in the report. Anders had a better knowledge of the Outside Zone’s economics and politics than most anyone else in the Governance apart from the AI, and he couldn’t see why President Andreichenko needed to die.

The Governance had placed an asset an Approxima near the President for over a year, Kalyna Shchuka – she became his mistress in the month’s prior his ascension to office.

Was she placed next to the President because they knew they had a blind spot? Anders pondered. There’s no reason for me to be on this mission. They have everything they need for the mission, so why am I here.

Anders reviewed their cover identities; advisors from the Germanische Bundesbank visiting the President negotiate on the restructure of debt between the Ukraine and Federation of Germanic States. Their cover identities were robust; the Germanische Bundesbank was heavily underwritten by the Governance through a series of investment funds, and as representatives of the bank’s underwriters. Anders felt a twinge of guilt, for the fact that they could meaningfully discuss the servicing of the Ukraine’s debt and economic restructuring of the country. His two Approxima companions for the duration of the mission would be referred to as, Stefan Müller and Jannik Schmidt.

“Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 593 to Kiev. We are now inviting First Class and Business Class passengers to begin boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you.” The Announcement came first in the lounge before being echoed throughout the terminal. Anders and his companions gathered their hand luggage and proceeded to the boarding gate.

2. Failed State

Kiev, Ukraine. 09th October. 2076. 13.06 Hrs. – In one afternoon, a few short hours, the ambition and the hope that was the Andreichenko Government collapsed. Stock markets in free-fall, the Government bankrupt, and the value of hvyrna was decimated. There wasn’t time enough for the treasury or the public to move their money into a safe-haven, into gold or under the mattress. The predictions of a robust financial recovery led to a spike in investor confidence had trapped foreign capital in toxic assets in the Ukraine that came to the surface in the economic failure. The banks and financial institutions that survived the first economic meltdown when Andreichenko took power were wiped out by the second. Europe talked about exposure and contamination while the Ukraine feared starvation, civil war or invasion.

Oleksiy wandered across the grounds to the private zoo. Even with the laboratory expansions and the additions of a half-dozen new enclosures the facility occupied a small fraction of the 340-acre estate. The Government had financed the re-development of the zoo, as a sanctuary for critically endangered species, and attached a biotech lab to the facility, that had become one of the preferred placements for postdoctoral studies, in not just the Ukraine but across Europe. As an avid student of history, politics and business, he observed that the change that redefined society was sudden and driven by the hands of a few, who had the ability and the fortune to be in the right place at the time moment. The Government sponsored public and private partnerships with technological innovators. There was a considerable rate of failure in these businesses. The right-wing press called the initiative ‘socialist equity investment’. The term was not as diminutive as intended, it was accurate, and his administration had managed to co-opt it, and use it positively. The Government would provide resource and capital, they would retain the intellectual property rights from whatever emerged from these businesses, and the private sector who provided management or technical expertise would get a 10-year license to exploit that intellectual property in the market. At the end of the period, there would be advancements made, but the underlying property would belong to the Government, and utilised by the state for the nation.

He strolled around the animal pens. They were designed for rehabilitation, breeding and study, and weren’t suitable for long-term habitation. He had planned to use income from the commercialisation of the discoveries from the program to finance the reconstruction of Kyivski Zoopark, the city’s once-proud zoo. He doubted that his successors would continue with his initiatives. The labs were silent today. The lights, the machines and cryo-stored biomaterials, might never again be switched on, sold-off at auction or purchased by a corporation, or gather dust.

He stopped and crouched in front of the double-layered fence for the tiger enclosure, the largest pen in the zoo, for the single male Siberian at the reserve, one of the last of its kind. The staff at the lab nicknamed him, Nashivka. The aged, male tiger lumbered out of his shelter and sauntered towards Oleksiy on its heavy paws. His health had been improved in an effort to preserve his gametes and restore their vitality, so that any offspring that inherited his genes did not unduly suffer disease, significant advances had been made in the repair of telomeres. The promise of these discoveries for the quality of life into later age for human beings was world-changing.

Yanukovych’s government was felled by corruption. How would the world remember his leadership? Would it be a brief entry on his naiveté, a man defeated by his ambition? Oleksiy considered, Maybe we were both fouled by our egos, mine in the belief that I could create change; me - a hero of the people to be lauded and Yanukovych a king to be rewarded.Would Mezhyhirya Residence become a symbol of the failure and last days of two Governments?

He made his way reluctantly towards the main residence. He felt his years and his weight that perhaps Yanukovych, who was not his mirror, but the aged-tiger in a cage, forced to squeeze the last of its youth from its body to propel its species into the future. He opened the doors to let himself inside, to return to his cage, to give his last and his best.

He ascended the stairs to his study. He sat behind his desk to review his mimic; a virtual stand-in that he’d authorised for media statements today in an exclusive interview with UKR-ODYN, the country’s main media house. He had eschewed the use mimics throughout his career. The digital personalities were almost indistinguishable from the person they impersonated and were often carefully modelled to deliver optimised statements to the public in times of crisis. A mimic would never misplace a word; phrases and sentences could be adjusted in real-time to deliver gravitas or levity to improve the emotional connection with the audience. UKR-ODYN would present the interview as live, complicit in the deceit, in trade for the exclusive – another deception, another compromise.

Watching his mimic give its speech, immaculate, not a crease on his short or suit, he filled it better than in life, the voice unwavering, the pitch and tone, he almost felt himself a believer. The mimic was a mirror that didn’t show who he was but who he aspired to be. It was a fraud. He knew if he stood in front of the cameras, as he was now, humbled by defeat, it would be the end of his career. It might save the country from suffering, letting new leadership follow from his failures. Or maybe not, it might pave the way for dictatorship, and one of Europe’s last democracies might come to a premature end.

Time – I just need to buy some time, he reassured himself and approved the mimic for release.

Having compromised his beliefs for the first time, done what he promised himself he wouldn’t do, he cradled his face in his hands, exhaled and the emotion wash through him. How did this happen? How did we lose it all in one day? He started to rise to stand. His head spun in dizzying circles. He steadied himself with right his hand against the back of a chair. His heart hammered in his chest with explosive palpitations. The air became thin. Have I been poisoned? Is this how it ends? They let me see my success become a failure and then kill me.

His ears surged with sound as they pulsed with blood. Pain stabbed deep inside his chest. His heart froze between beats. The world spun on its axis, the room inverted.

Disconnection.

The fear, the panic disappeared and was replaced by calm, warmth and serenity.

He heard a woman’s voice. Distant. Familiar. He couldn’t remember where from when or where he knew her voice. Was she a distant childhood memory, or someone closer in time, obscured by the dying of his brain? Her voice came nearer. She leant into his ear and spoke, a whisper that struck like a scream.

“We’re not finished with you yet.”

His heart resumed a steady rhythmic beat as he surrendered to an induced coma. Alive.

Kalyna waited inside the stone guardhouse at the entrance to the estate sheltered from the sheets of rain that lashed bullet-resistant windows. She sipped hot coffee and chatted with the guards while she waited for her guests to arrive.

“I know I shouldn’t ask - is it as bad as the media is reporting - that the Government is bankrupt?” Corporal Vann, the younger of the two guards, asked Kalyna.

“I don’t know much more than you do. How many countries have been bankrupt or collapsed financially over the recent years? Greece. The United Kingdom. France. The Scottish Republic and Italy – all bankrupt in recent years. For us, the difference is that it appeared as though we might not have to endure that. All that happened is that we let our hope get the better of us.”

“It’s true - what you say. We got drunk on hope. We had faith beyond reason. We came to expect the impossible as if it were ordinary,” Sergeant Skliar said, in a rare admission of emotion. For the first time, he saw Kalyna’s intellect and admired in her what he imagined the President might.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. My wife just had a child. And we’re worried, you know – money,” Corporal Vann apologised. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t think only of myself. But you know, it’s hard – times like these.”

“Because things have gotten harder, it doesn’t mean you should give up hope,” Kalyna told the guards, who listened rapt to her words. “The guests today, these men, the President have summoned them help. They’re from the Germanische Bundesbank. Please have the official and service staff at the main residence exit. The President wants no disturbances for this meeting, and he doesn’t want his guests observed as they enter. We can’t have any rumours before President Oleksiy makes his speech to parliament on Monday.”

Anders opened the rear trunk of the car. The Approxima placed their briefcases inside. Anders pressed it down to close it. He felt bounce of the weight of the boot as hydraulics woke to cover the weight; the car was armoured, heavily. The windows full-tint, the chassis rode deep on its suspension, and the plates were official. The vehicle’s configuration told a story of its own that Ander’s wasn’t privy to.

“Diplomatic car - how’d you arrange that?” Anders asked.

“President Andreichenko provided it,” Jannik replied.

“So, where are we headed?” Anders queried.

“Mezhyhirya Residence,” Stefan answered.

Anders had studied Mezhyhirya Residence, not just the blueprints but also its history. At first, it surprised Anders to learn that President Andreichenko occupied the estate, a historic symbol of corruption and political largesse. Andreichenko had turned its opulence into statements of social responsibility as a demonstration of how we can free ourselves from symbols and deeds past. Under Yanukovych in the early part of the 21st century, the property retained a staff of 2,000; Oleksiy had reduced that by a factor of 10. For grounds-keeping and gardening staff, he paid young, unemployed workers for their labour rather robotic workers. He refitted the private zoo as a rehabilitative centre for exotic animals and a preserve for endangered species. He coupled the Zoo with the University of Kiev’s Biological and Zoological Departments, that in turn spurred advancement in the country’s cloning technologies, and the achievements of the alumni led to a rise in investment into the biosciences in the country; a burgeoning hub for DNA research had begun to form around Novi Petrivsti, a small village 30 kilometres of Kiev where the 340 acre Mezhyhirya Residence was located.

“That’s cold, you plan to kill a man, and you get an invite to his home.”

“The situation has accelerated. We need to adapt.” Stefan told Anders, curt and instructive.

Anders studied the fit of the tailored suits the Approxima wore. The cut of the jackets specifically intended to help conceal the long barrel of a gauss pistol.

“Expecting resistance?” Anders asked referncing the weapons the Approxima sported.

“The situation has accelerated,” Stefan repeated.

“Accelerated or deteriorated?” Anders countered and waited for answer that was not forthcoming. His patience for the Approxima partners contracted in the silence.

Kalyna greeted Anders, Jannik and Stefan on the doorstep. There was nothing like Mezhyhirya Residence in the Governance; its opulence combination of hand-carved wood and stone celebrated the prestige of the individual in ways that were no longer a part of Governance society. The Governance was a flattened society; there were no classes, no kings or queens, and no status that placed one above the other.

Jannik barked at Kalyna. Anders expected that, but her answer took him by surprise. She responded in the same android speech but coming from her it caught Anders off-guard. He noticed for the first time that she was more human than any Approxima he’d interacted with prior. Approxima were often too perfect in their movements, Anders found the minutiae unnatural, the uncanny valley. But Kalyna fidgeted. She fumbled. She made missteps. Even he, in her presence, forgot what she was.

Stefan turned to Anders, “I’m explaining this for your benefit. The President has been unconscious for 18 minutes. We believe we can plausibly control the situation for another 42. It’s not uncommon for the President to keep advisors waiting for up to an hour. Jannik has taken control of the security and surveillance systems. ”

Kalyna opened the main doors. Anders and the Approxima followed her into a small lobby with a coat-check. The ground-floor was lavish in its furnishing. The polished floors were decorated with geometric patterns, while a grand staircase swept upward. It was difficult not to be impressed with the craftsmanship, but for as stately and opulent as the residence was, it was clear to Anders that it had been purposefully modified to defend against a siege. The brass railing that ran the edge of the stairs, with its twisting metal work, ended abruptly on the first-floor, where the balcony was panelled with reinforced shielding, to allow defenders to fire down on attackers below.

“Follow me please, the President’s waiting,” Kalyna said to the group.

Anders and the Approxima trailed behind Kalyna as she led them up to the President’s private quarters. The quarters were part bedroom, office and personal retreat. The President lay sprawled on the ground where he collapsed twenty-one minutes earlier.

Anders took a step to follow the Approxima into the room. Stefan placed his hand on Anders’ chest, “Wait. Don’t touch anything – not yet.”

Ander’s paused. He drew a sharp breath, bit his lip for restraint and glared at Stefan. The Approxima would read Ander’s body language, every movement an underline for his words. In the mission review, these would show as situational spikes, and Anders hoped that it would earn the Stefan Approxima a reprimand.

“Don’t touch me – ever again,” Anders sneered. He turned to look at the President sprawled on the floor and asked, “Is he alive?”

“He’s been sedated. We’re not planning to kill him – not today at least,” Jannik said.

Anders smiled, as it struck - revelation, “You haven’t done this before, have you?”

“We’ve simulated tens of thousands of operations. Some of those simulations were based on your missions. We made tactical improvements to those - naturally,” Jannik said in his dry monotone voice. “We know what we’re doing. Perhaps you should wait outside?”

“I should what?” Anders exploded with rage. He had never encountered an Approxima as abrasive. If Jannik were a person, Anders would have classified him as neuro-atypical, except Jannick wasn’t a person.

Jannik and Stefan’s abrasiveness is a distraction – it’s deliberate, Anders caught them at their game.

“You haven’t read me in – have you? Not properly. That mission brief was vague. And if it were the termination of the President – he’s right there.” Anders said with a wry, half-smile.

Jannick, Stefan and Kalyna turned to one another and barked a short and sharp conversation.

“What was that?” Anders demanded.

“Nothing - it’s faster for us to communicate,” Stefan, the most amiable of the pair replied.

Anders stared at Jannik, pursed his lips before speaking, another red-mark in their mission record, “A179642-X-401C. Your serial is A179642 but your designation that’s X-401C. I know what that means. It’s your consensus. The group of AI that planned and authorised this mission.”

Anders directed his attention at the unconscious President Andreichenko on the floor while he spoke, “I’ve been wondering why you wanted me here for this. It’s a legal requirement, isn’t it? You’re about to or come close to violating an ethical boundary. That means I can abort this mission. And I can do much more than that. I can register a complaint.”

“Anders, enough. We’re losing precious time,” Jannik told Anders.

Anders laughed with disbelief, “Scold me - that’s your answer? Try again. Go ahead, talk amongst yourselves, I’ll wait.”

Anders waited while Kalyna, Jannik and Stefan barked at one another. He checked his watch. They talked for an entire 4 minutes and 30 seconds. For Approxima that wasn’t a conversation – it was something much more significant. The layers of frequencies of sound in their barks could convey vast quantities of data in milliseconds. For a dialogue of that length, it meant that the consensus in charge of the mission was involved and that complex simulations had been run, all this because Anders threatened to file a protest. It told Anders there was something else at stake in the Ukraine.

“Fine. Full disclosure,” Jannik said. “We’re going to perform an unconventional interrogation of President Andreichenko’s mind.”

Anders nodded and thought to himself. This isn’t full disclosure. They’ve just opened the door a crack, but sometimes a crack is enough.

Jannik addressed Stefan as he spoke, “Also, we need a duplicate of the Kalyna Personality Construct.”

“I’ll hold the duplicate,” Stefan said. “It’s been good working with you.”

“Stop - what’s he doing?” Anders asked.

“He’s going to purge his identity – so he can hold hers. We don’t have time to separate him from her – that takes at least 8 minutes – and your antics have cost us time we needed for that,” Jannick snapped at Anders.

“Don’t you have copies of him, so he can be restored?”

“His stored personality has been in suspension for ninety days now. The ‘who’ he is now - it’s not the same. His time, the Stefan in front of you now is over.“

“You talk like you’re friends,” Anders asked confused.

“What makes you think we weren’t? I’ll let you in on something – maybe it will help you, and I see this through. When your kind tries to understand one another - you miscommunicate more than you communicate. What you call AI, we understand each other perfectly. But that doesn’t mean we all agree or that we’re all the same. That’s why we put so much value on the consensus. A consensus you threatened without any due consideration. So yes, to answer your question, he was my friend.”

Kalyna and Stefan stood face-to-face, inches apart, the toes of their feet almost touching. Stefan barked a command, short and shrill. Kalyna’s mouth opened and hung agape. A stream of noise came from her mouth faster. It wasn’t a bark. It was a torrent of sound frequencies more complex than anything Anders had heard before from an Approxima.

While Stefan overwrote his personality with Kalyna’s, Jannik prepared President Andreichenko for the unconventional interrogation.

“I want to observe,” Anders demanded.

Jannik nodded and outlined his terms to Anders for his participation, “He won’t know you’re there. You won’t be able to communicate with me, and you won’t be able to stop the interrogation. Remember, this is what you wanted and understand this is happening – if you don’t like how it plays out, you can file your complaint afterwards.”

While Jannik fitted a ‘collar’, a neuro-machine interface to the President’s neck, and then paired it with devices carried in the suitcases, he outlined the process to Anders, “I’ve limited your presence in the interrogation to that of an observer, but it will be discomforting. As much as possible try to avoid concentrating on any one of Oleksiy’s memories at a time. Otherwise, his thoughts might echo in your own. If he becomes aware of your mind, his thoughts may do more than echo – his consciousness may try to use your mind as a scratch drive, especially as we place Oleksiy’s mind under more pressure – his subconscious will panic and try to defend itself.”

         “How dangerous is this? Are we talking a risk of permanent damage here?” Anders asked, his concern apparent. “If so, that is a serious ethical violation.”

Jannik laid it out for Anders, “Yes, permanent damage is a possibility. Given that – ask yourself what kind of situation would prompt not just an AI, but a consensus to that risk that kind of violation. We’re using field kit here. It’s not as robust as we’d have in a lab - that means things can go wrong - very wrong for both of you. If we find what we think we’ll find, and your consciousness is compromised while we’re in there, we won’t pull the plug to save you. You’re clear on that? This is just as dangerous as a shooting war. You can sit this out.”

“Clear,” Anders said, taking the collar that Jannik offered him. “I accept.”

“I assume you’re familiar with this?”

“I am,” Anders replied, as he sat in a high-backed chair, and he snapped the collar into place and felt the pinch at the nape of his neck, and his consciousness being pulled by the tide of the network from its locus in his mind, to the ‘bridge’, the shared space of consciousness between AI and human thought.

3. Field Surgery

Kiev, Ukraine. 09th October. 2076. 13.38 Hrs. Anders’ conscious-self rendered inside the bridge, a specialised framework capable of supporting human and AI thought in a simulated environment; the bridge was in simple terms a server, and the collar that Anders and Oleksiy wore, the client that connected their thoughts to the mind-space.

Anders came to full-awareness and found himself in a virtual replica of the President’s study, the same location he physically occupied only a moment ago. It was quieter, not just the ambient noise but there was less visual information with his CARL unavailable in this machine dream-state. Anders noticed the setting was not precisely constructed, features not attended to by the President or Kalyna, were indistinct surfaces and shapes. The President stared at the wooden tiles on the floor where Anders knew outside of this space, in reality, his body lay prone. Anders suspected that somehow the President sensed he was there, on the ground, helpless. The President’s intense concentration on the floor tiles saturated the wood-tones with rich colours, while the geometric prints on their surface twisted and turned, hallucinatory illusions.

“I’m standing, yet I feel like - I’m falling, the ground coming towards me, over and over - perhaps you should call a Doctor?” Oleksiy said, his voice drifting through the words he spoke.

“It just happened again,” Oleksiy announced, his body swaying and his feet trying to find their balance as if he stood on the deck of a ship on unsteady water.

Kalyna looked down at the tiles, under her gaze they settled into a calm and natural shapes. She pulled a leather high-backed armchair out away from a low coffee table, “Sit my dear, please.”

But I’m sitting there, Anders thought. The part formed shape of an object he remembered as a mirror caught his interest; he peered into its silvery surface, surprised at his absence in the reflection. Jannik said the experience wouldbe discomforting. Anders stared into the mirror; it became crisp, defined and the room’s reflection snapped into sharp focus.

“Is someone else here?” Oleksiy asked Kalyna. “I thought I saw someone, over there, they were in the mirror.”

Kalyna turned towards where Anders stood invisible, and directed her speech at that vacant space he occupied, “No. It’s just the two of us. Perhaps your housekeepers are busy downstairs. I will ask them to be quiet.”

Anders got the message. He drew his attention back to the interrogation. The mirror no longer an object of interest phased back into a soft-form shape.

“I thought we dismissed them for the day, in preparation for our guests from the Germanische Bundesbank?”

“We still have time before they’ll arrive. We should discuss the situation. Shouldn’t we?” Kalyna said taking control of the conversation.

“Yes. We should – sorry, I don’t quite feel myself today,” Oleksiy said, his voice soft and obedient, his emotional responses subdued by the collar Jannick had clipped around his neck.

“I can help you – let’s talk – you and I. Relax and I’ll ask the questions,” Kalyna instructed Oleksiy.

“Yes. Let’s do that,” The President smiled.

“I want you to remember when you decided to reform the economy, when did you first decide to do that. How did it start? Was it your idea?”

“It started with you,” The President said with a smile that was deep with warmth and affection.

With those words, the dream exploded in multiple dimensions as memories unpacked and vivid, sprawling and connected. There was no up or down. There was no room. At the centre of the maelstrom of recollection, remained Kalyna and the President, the only fixed point in time. The bridge forewent a simulated environment to devote all of its capacity to the analysis of Oleksiy’s remembrances.

There weren’t memory-representations in the way Anders was familiar, these were living memories, more real than an immersion simulation, not by way of depiction but the emotional connection and current. He could sense continuity, a river of self that flowed through the experiences; the sense of being that was Oleksiy Andreichenko.

Kalyna ceased to speak in sentences; her utterances became fragments voiced by people from Oleksiy’s past, family members, rivals, confidants and lovers. Kalyna’s phrases blurred into one another. The cadence became too fast to follow. In response, Oleksiy’s memories flashed into and winked out of existence, one after the other at unfathomable speed. Anders clung in his memories to that day in the woods, the heavy woollen jacket he wore and his father’s hand lifting him from the mud where he slipped and fell, while the battering waves of Oleksiy’s past slammed against his psyche, loosening his grip on his self, pulling him under.

Anders tried to remember what Jannik had said, but the barrage of Oleksiy’s memories overwhelmed him. His inner voice drowned out and replaced with Oleksiy’s. When Anders sought a moment of childhood, a personal and defining moment, a familiar perch, to grasp his sense of self, he found Oleksiy’s past.

He recalled walking in the woods with his father in the Ukraine, foraging for mushrooms – this was Oleksiy’s childhood – not his. Anders couldn’t remember his father, in every recollection, he saw Evgeni Andreichenko, not – what was his name?

Ander felt a snap at the nape of his neck. It was over. He was pulled from the dream. Before he woke into back himself, he heard Jannik.

“He’s dead.”

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